What a good little lamb he was, already bending over the armrest of the overstuffed velour chair with his jeans and boxers around his ankles, presenting a sacrifice on the altar to the gods. To his own personal goddess.
Morgana had plenty of grown men twice her size at her stiletto-clad feet before, trembling and crying like babes at her touch that stung, then soothed, and while she knew she shouldn’t play favorites, she couldn’t help it. Every since this one had nervously appeared at the doorstep of her private studio, stammering wildly as he gestured to one of her ads in his hand that looked worn and wrinkled, she had been intrigued.
(With a coy smile, she had asked him how many times he had jerked off to her ad, and the blush of mortification that spread through his cheeks and those ears of his filled Morgana with a indescribable sense of glee.)
“Now, have you been utterly naughty?” Morgana purred as she dragged a lone, manicured fingernail across the milky flesh of his backside, delighting in how his hips jerked in sensation of the angry scratch she left behind. His breathing was already growing heavy and haggard, probably from the position he was in; Morgana bent down over him, tilting his chin up so their eyes met and noting how his gaze was already glossy with desire. “I believe I asked you a question, Merlin.”
“Please,” is all Merlin whispered in response, licking his chapped lips. It was an innocent, unconscious motion, but it secretly did things to Morgana that only her whip and paddle did to others. “Please, Morgana.”
He was the only one who could get away without saying “Mistress” before her name.
“Well,” Morgana drawled as she straightened up once more, her hand resting on one of his buttock cheeks, squeezing the lean muscle underneath, “only because you asked so nicely.”
In a instant, Morgana whipped her hand upwards and then back down, the resounding slap bouncing off the walls of the room. She cupped her fingers against the red, ugly mark that started to form against his otherwise flawless skin only for a moment before spanking it again, rewarded by the sharp cry that spring forth from Merlin’s lips.
That was why Morgana brought out the ball gag; while she might have bound Merlin’s wrists in leather cuffs to prevent him from touching himself or her, she never wanted the ardent sounds that came out of that beautiful mouth of his to ever stop.
Her barrage of cutting caresses continued, and Morgana made sure to alternate which side she hit; fair was fair after all. Merlin pleaded under his breath for more, harder, his words running together until it was one intangible mantra. Unable to touch himself, he rubbed his erection against the fabric of the chair, the friction with the combination of Morgana’s ministrations causing him to moan as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
All it took was one last forceful smack that left a handprint of splayed fingers against both cheeks, and Merlin came completely undone; his whole body tensed before he climaxed with loud, shuddering sobs.
“Good boy,” Morgana murmured as she rubbed the tender flesh, “Such a good, sweet boy.”
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branchandroot
The Magic Word (Merlin/Morgana, R)
Date: 2012-03-28 04:46 pm (UTC)Morgana had plenty of grown men twice her size at her stiletto-clad feet before, trembling and crying like babes at her touch that stung, then soothed, and while she knew she shouldn’t play favorites, she couldn’t help it. Every since this one had nervously appeared at the doorstep of her private studio, stammering wildly as he gestured to one of her ads in his hand that looked worn and wrinkled, she had been intrigued.
(With a coy smile, she had asked him how many times he had jerked off to her ad, and the blush of mortification that spread through his cheeks and those ears of his filled Morgana with a indescribable sense of glee.)
“Now, have you been utterly naughty?” Morgana purred as she dragged a lone, manicured fingernail across the milky flesh of his backside, delighting in how his hips jerked in sensation of the angry scratch she left behind. His breathing was already growing heavy and haggard, probably from the position he was in; Morgana bent down over him, tilting his chin up so their eyes met and noting how his gaze was already glossy with desire. “I believe I asked you a question, Merlin.”
“Please,” is all Merlin whispered in response, licking his chapped lips. It was an innocent, unconscious motion, but it secretly did things to Morgana that only her whip and paddle did to others. “Please, Morgana.”
He was the only one who could get away without saying “Mistress” before her name.
“Well,” Morgana drawled as she straightened up once more, her hand resting on one of his buttock cheeks, squeezing the lean muscle underneath, “only because you asked so nicely.”
In a instant, Morgana whipped her hand upwards and then back down, the resounding slap bouncing off the walls of the room. She cupped her fingers against the red, ugly mark that started to form against his otherwise flawless skin only for a moment before spanking it again, rewarded by the sharp cry that spring forth from Merlin’s lips.
That was why Morgana brought out the ball gag; while she might have bound Merlin’s wrists in leather cuffs to prevent him from touching himself or her, she never wanted the ardent sounds that came out of that beautiful mouth of his to ever stop.
Her barrage of cutting caresses continued, and Morgana made sure to alternate which side she hit; fair was fair after all. Merlin pleaded under his breath for more, harder, his words running together until it was one intangible mantra. Unable to touch himself, he rubbed his erection against the fabric of the chair, the friction with the combination of Morgana’s ministrations causing him to moan as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
All it took was one last forceful smack that left a handprint of splayed fingers against both cheeks, and Merlin came completely undone; his whole body tensed before he climaxed with loud, shuddering sobs.
“Good boy,” Morgana murmured as she rubbed the tender flesh, “Such a good, sweet boy.”