Misha's Master
Title: Misha's Master
Author: xephwrites
Pairings: Misha/?
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: 814
Disclaimer: Misha is his own person, and most likely doesn't do stuff like this. This is just my dirty mind playing.
Summary: Misha will do anything for his Master, even if he hates it.
Warnings: dub-con, bondage, humiliation
Notes: Written for spn_hardcore's BDSM meme. The prompt was Anybody/Misha He likes Misha to strip slowly, and waits until the shirt is almost off and Misha's wrists are trapped in it. He holds him like that, touches him where he wants, until Misha is begging him to stop. Ironic that in private, Misha doesn't like to be studied, looked at, touched. Especially when he doesn't get a say. And this is what happened....
~*~*~*~*~*~
Misha entered his apartment, thankful to be home after a long day. He removed his jacket and hung it on the wall peg. He placed his keys on the small table. He ran his hand along the leather collar, the only other item on the table. He toed off his shoes and picked up the collar, and walked into the living room.
Misha’s Master is sitting on the couch, waiting for him. Misha drops to his knees and bows his head. He presents the collar to Master.
“Good evening, my pet,” Master says, his voice low and rumbling. Misha shivers slightly. Just the sound of his voice gets him every time. Master took the collar from Misha’s outstretched hands. Misha immediately drops his hands to rest on his thighs. A huge wave of relief floods Misha as the collar is secured around his neck.
“How was your day?” Misha was asked.
“Tiring, Sir,” He replied. A hand came out to stroke his cheek affectionately. Misha leaned into the touch, his chest bursting with love. Master treats him so well.
“Strip for me,” Master commanded. Misha nodded and stood. Misha’s hands went to the hem of his shirt. “No. Pants first. And slowly.” Misha nodded.
With nimble fingers, Misha undoes the leather belt. Carefully, he slides it out through the loops and places it on the couch beside his Master. The button is undone next, and Misha slides the zipper down, letting each click of teeth be heard.
Misha’s Master’s breath hitches slightly as the sight of his dark wiry hairs are revealed. Master rarely lets him wear underwear. Looping his thumbs through the now empty belt loops, he tugs the pants lower, revealing the sharp curve of his hipbone. Another tug of the pants and his half hard dick is exposed.
“Beautiful,” Master praises. Misha flushes slightly, partially from the praise, but also for being on display like that.
Despite his very outgoing personality and public antics, he hates feeling like he’s on display. He can always feel people staring, like its something physical running over his body. It’s awkward and makes him feel no better than a piece of meat for sale. And Master knows this.
Slowly, Misha slides the pants down his well toned thighs and calves. He stepped out of them and picked the pants up off the floor. He folded them carefully and placed them beside the belt.
“Turn around,” Master ordered. Misha turned, facing away. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up slowly. As his head was free of the fabric, his Master grabbed the shirt. He forced Misha’s arms down to his sides, arms still trapped in the fabric. Master gave a twist of the shirt, binding his arms.
A hand trailed over Misha’s chest, drawing a shudder from him.
“Beautiful,” Master said again. The flush in his face burned harder. His Master circled his dark nipples and buried his nose in the crook of Misha’s neck. His skin goosebumped where the hot breath tickled his skin. Misha tried not to squirm away from the attention.
His Master ran his hand reverently over ribs, across flat stomach muscles, over his hipbones and down to lightly pull at his dark, wiry pubic hair. Misha closed his eyes, embarrassed by the attention he was receiving.
His Master pulled away and gave the shirt a few more twists. Misha could easily get out of it, but he knew he’d be punished. He stood with his head bowed as his Master walked away.
He saw a flash, and the sound of a Polaroid ejecting. Tears pricked at his eyes. He heard his Master walk around to his front and took another picture. He heard the camera settle on the table and the warmth of his Master’s body against his front.
Misha’s chin was tilted upwards, forcing him to stare into his Master’s eyes. A single tear broke free and rolled down his cheek. A thumb came up and brushed it away.
“Don’t cry,” Master whispered before leaning down and kissing the side of Misha’s neck. Master’s hand ran down Misha’s hip, curving inwards to gently stroke his balls. His hand came up and wrapped around Misha’s now flaccid dick. He gave it a few strokes as his mouth trailed over the leather collar.
The shirt trapping Misha’s wrists got tighter as his Master bit down on his collarbone, hard. Misha tried to twist away, but was trapped. His Master’s hand stroked down Misha’s back and played in between his cheeks.
“Master, please,” Misha begged.
“Please what?”
“Stop,” Misha trembled.
“Why don’t you like this?”
“I don’t know,” Misha whispered. His Master rubbed against Misha’s hole, pushing in slightly.
“You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”
Another tear slipped down Misha’s cheek. Master has been promising him that he’d enjoy it for so long now. But it never seems to happen.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Continued here!!
Comments adored!!
cash loan
Author: xephwrites
Pairings: Misha/?
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: 814
Disclaimer: Misha is his own person, and most likely doesn't do stuff like this. This is just my dirty mind playing.
Summary: Misha will do anything for his Master, even if he hates it.
Warnings: dub-con, bondage, humiliation
Notes: Written for spn_hardcore's BDSM meme. The prompt was Anybody/Misha He likes Misha to strip slowly, and waits until the shirt is almost off and Misha's wrists are trapped in it. He holds him like that, touches him where he wants, until Misha is begging him to stop. Ironic that in private, Misha doesn't like to be studied, looked at, touched. Especially when he doesn't get a say. And this is what happened....
~*~*~*~*~*~
Misha entered his apartment, thankful to be home after a long day. He removed his jacket and hung it on the wall peg. He placed his keys on the small table. He ran his hand along the leather collar, the only other item on the table. He toed off his shoes and picked up the collar, and walked into the living room.
Misha’s Master is sitting on the couch, waiting for him. Misha drops to his knees and bows his head. He presents the collar to Master.
“Good evening, my pet,” Master says, his voice low and rumbling. Misha shivers slightly. Just the sound of his voice gets him every time. Master took the collar from Misha’s outstretched hands. Misha immediately drops his hands to rest on his thighs. A huge wave of relief floods Misha as the collar is secured around his neck.
“How was your day?” Misha was asked.
“Tiring, Sir,” He replied. A hand came out to stroke his cheek affectionately. Misha leaned into the touch, his chest bursting with love. Master treats him so well.
“Strip for me,” Master commanded. Misha nodded and stood. Misha’s hands went to the hem of his shirt. “No. Pants first. And slowly.” Misha nodded.
With nimble fingers, Misha undoes the leather belt. Carefully, he slides it out through the loops and places it on the couch beside his Master. The button is undone next, and Misha slides the zipper down, letting each click of teeth be heard.
Misha’s Master’s breath hitches slightly as the sight of his dark wiry hairs are revealed. Master rarely lets him wear underwear. Looping his thumbs through the now empty belt loops, he tugs the pants lower, revealing the sharp curve of his hipbone. Another tug of the pants and his half hard dick is exposed.
“Beautiful,” Master praises. Misha flushes slightly, partially from the praise, but also for being on display like that.
Despite his very outgoing personality and public antics, he hates feeling like he’s on display. He can always feel people staring, like its something physical running over his body. It’s awkward and makes him feel no better than a piece of meat for sale. And Master knows this.
Slowly, Misha slides the pants down his well toned thighs and calves. He stepped out of them and picked the pants up off the floor. He folded them carefully and placed them beside the belt.
“Turn around,” Master ordered. Misha turned, facing away. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up slowly. As his head was free of the fabric, his Master grabbed the shirt. He forced Misha’s arms down to his sides, arms still trapped in the fabric. Master gave a twist of the shirt, binding his arms.
A hand trailed over Misha’s chest, drawing a shudder from him.
“Beautiful,” Master said again. The flush in his face burned harder. His Master circled his dark nipples and buried his nose in the crook of Misha’s neck. His skin goosebumped where the hot breath tickled his skin. Misha tried not to squirm away from the attention.
His Master ran his hand reverently over ribs, across flat stomach muscles, over his hipbones and down to lightly pull at his dark, wiry pubic hair. Misha closed his eyes, embarrassed by the attention he was receiving.
His Master pulled away and gave the shirt a few more twists. Misha could easily get out of it, but he knew he’d be punished. He stood with his head bowed as his Master walked away.
He saw a flash, and the sound of a Polaroid ejecting. Tears pricked at his eyes. He heard his Master walk around to his front and took another picture. He heard the camera settle on the table and the warmth of his Master’s body against his front.
Misha’s chin was tilted upwards, forcing him to stare into his Master’s eyes. A single tear broke free and rolled down his cheek. A thumb came up and brushed it away.
“Don’t cry,” Master whispered before leaning down and kissing the side of Misha’s neck. Master’s hand ran down Misha’s hip, curving inwards to gently stroke his balls. His hand came up and wrapped around Misha’s now flaccid dick. He gave it a few strokes as his mouth trailed over the leather collar.
The shirt trapping Misha’s wrists got tighter as his Master bit down on his collarbone, hard. Misha tried to twist away, but was trapped. His Master’s hand stroked down Misha’s back and played in between his cheeks.
“Master, please,” Misha begged.
“Please what?”
“Stop,” Misha trembled.
“Why don’t you like this?”
“I don’t know,” Misha whispered. His Master rubbed against Misha’s hole, pushing in slightly.
“You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”
Another tear slipped down Misha’s cheek. Master has been promising him that he’d enjoy it for so long now. But it never seems to happen.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Continued here!!
Comments adored!!
cash loan