Taking Care


B/C Slash. FRAO. If you don't know what all that means, then run, my dear child. Run and save your poor virgin eyes, for there be slash here.

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 ***

Bruce shivered as the leather strip slithered teasingly up his back. He bit his lip and closed his eyes.

No way in hell would he let Clark win.

"You want to lose, Bruce."  The dark whisper breathed in his ear, mirroring his thoughts, and not for the first time did Bruce wonder if Clark had more powers than he'd ever let on.  "Just one little sound, pet. Let me hear you."

Bruce shook his head defiantly and tried to slow his breathing.  One of them was going to end up wearing the collar tonight, but it wouldn't be him.

Clark's wicked chuckle reverberated through his chest and into Bruce's groin.  Liquid warmth pooled between his thighs, and his cock stretched and filled, his sac hanging hot and heavy beneath.  Bruce wanted to grunt, to moan at how good it was.  He'd been working such difficult hours and he'd neglected his body in the meantime.  Clark was taking unfair advantage.

He flexed his arms, testing the cuffs around his wrists.  Clark had lashed him upright, nose and cock pressed against one of the Manor's supporting beams.  His legs trembled.  The leather slithered away and he bared his teeth in a feral smile.

Clark's huge, strong hand smacked Bruce's ass.  "Say.  It.  Say.  The.  Words."

With each word, another stinging blow landed, and the impact jolted through him, exciting him, inflaming him.  Again, again, again the hand smacked his red, throbbing skin and Bruce's cock swelled harder, stiffer, god it was so good!  Bruce arched his back, glorying in the pure, sensual delight of Clark's attentions.

He was panting now, his nipples stinging and tight. He wanted, oh please he wanted…

"Submit," Clark's deep voice commanded.

Smack

"Submit."

Smack

"Submit!"

A whimper escaped his clenched teeth, and immediately the big hands soothed and comforted his angry red skin.

"There, there, pet."  Clark murmured.  "Just relax.  I'll take care of you now."

Bruce rested his forehead against the smooth cherry wood.  He felt Clark slip the thin black band around his neck and buckle it from behind.  A quiet sigh slipped out, and he sagged against his tormenter, trusting Clark to take his weight.

The images of the little girl, bloody and beaten by her own father, filtered through Bruce's mind, and then were gone.  He was home, and Clark would care for him.


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