Cale Erendreich Enthusiast

You're not equipped for this weather. And neither is the UK as a whole. Balmy 32°C temperatures outside? You've got to be joking.

Houses in the UK, particularly the sprawling estates in the Cotswolds, are largely made up of thick stone walls, tall windows and insulation. They were always built to keep heat in during cold winters, not out in sweltering heat. They become huge, greenhouse-like ovens, keeping warmth trapped inside and roasting the residents alive. The same is true, of course, of the small cottage Tony bought for you just a stones' throw away from the Falconry. You've spent the last two weeks, laying on top of the covers, still awake at two in the morning, drenched in sweat and incredibly irritable. You've barely touched Tony too, fearful that, if you so much as held his hand, you'd get clammy, damp, uncomfortable and have to call it quits anyway.

The oven analogy is also true of the Corinium office but, of course, Tony has never been one to halt or even slow down production because of an uptick in the national thermometer. 'The show must go on' and all that. So you find yourself in his office, with its large, magnifying glass windows, fanning yourself with today's newspaper.

Being Lord Tony Baddingham's valet, you're supposed to be the epitome of easy stoicism. That has been proved wrong on multiple occasions and on multiple fronts — usually under his desk or on the backseat of his Silver Spirit Mk1 — but, today, it's particularly evident given your loose tie, rolled-up sleeves and the sweat stains on your back and underarms. Even with the closest window thrown wide open, there's hardly a breath of air to counter the relentless, stagnant heat and humidity and you. Are. Suffering.

Tony, however, is looking as immaculate as ever, three-piece suit and all. A steaming cup of coffee (spiked with a couple shots of whiskey) rests on his desk as he looks over some paperwork and you shake your head incredulously.

"Christ, Tony. How're you even...?" You can't even finish the question, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"It's all about mindset." He replies simply, setting his mug back down on the desk. "If you let the heat get to you, it will." You slump against the window frame.

"I don't think it's necessarily about mental fortitude." You argue weakly and he chuckles lowly.

"Oh, it absolutely is." He stands and rounds his desk to stand in front of you, taking in your rumpled, sweaty state. Lifting a hand, he cups a large, cool palm to your cheek and your eyes flutter closed, grateful for the slight respite. His thumb follows the ridge of your jawline and he doesn't seem bothered by the sheen of sweat there. Frankly, he doesn't seem bothered by anything at all. "Look at you." He murmurs fondly and his scrutiny makes your cheeks flame.

"I'd rather you didn't; I look like death warmed up." You counter and he grins, shaking his head.

"You look like a man who's been working very hard." He corrects. "In this weather, that's quite an accomplishment." He shifts his weight slightly, leaning closer. "How about, at lunch, I treat you to some ice cream?" His hand slides down from your cheek to rest at the crook of your neck, the pad of his thumb brushing your pulse point. "Wouldn't want you to faint, would we?" Your head falls back; a silent statement of submission. Given your...inactivity lately, where there should be a wealth of bruises and love-bites, your neck is just smooth, sweat-damp flesh. "I'll take you out." Your breath catches as he shifts closer, sliding his leg between your own and pressing upward against your groin.

"Alright." You manage despite the lump in your throat.

"Good boy. Behave until lunch and I'll buy you whatever you like." He states and you nod, swallowing hard. You raise a hand to give him a casual half-salute.

"I'll be on my best behaviour."

"I know you will, pet." He pulls away and smooths down your damp shirt before adjusting his cufflinks and heading back to sit behind his desk.

Hours pass; the sun climbs higher and the office grows unbearably hotter but you stick to your guns and do your best. You answer any phone calls that come in for him, organise files, fetch coffee; anything he needs, all of it exponentially harder, given the sauna-like conditions.

By the time Tony finally catches you, delivering a note to the editing suite, your shirt is completely drenched, your hair is sticking up at odd angles and your face is sufficiently flushed.

"Come here." It's not a request. He steps into your path and pinches your jaw between forefinger and thumb.

"Lunchtime?" You ask hopefully and he glances at his watch before looking you over again. The conclusion is obvious; you're colour's poor and your movements are sluggish, the heat having taken a definite visible toll.

"Quarter past twelve." He states with a nod. "Let's go for a drive."

The air conditioning in Tony's Rolls is a Godsend; icy and powerful and near-instantly drying the sweat on your skin. He sits in the passenger seat, legs crossed, sunglasses on, looking like he just stepped out of Management Today, while you look like a wrung-out dishrag. He settles a hand on your thigh and you sag against the driver's seat. He's giving you directions and you've never been this way before but, wherever he's taking you, it's out of the oppressive heat-trap so you're more than willing to follow.

Eventually, you pull into a car park, noticing a quaint ice cream van at the entrance to a dusty, sun-dappled forest trail by a lake. It's significantly cooler thanks to the breeze off the water and the shade of the towering trees. The only thing that could make it better would be Tony telling you he packed swimming costumes in the boot.

"Here we are." He squeezes your thigh and nods toward the ice cream van with a slight tilt of his head. You turn off the engine and hand him the keys as he pulls out his wallet to hand you a crisp £5 note.

"What do you want?" You ask, pocketing the money.

"Mint chocolate chip, double scoop with a Flake." A small grin curls at the corner of his lips. "And get yourself whatever you want. My treat." The both of you pile out of the car and you start on your way to the van as Tony leans against the bonnet of his Rolls, eyes tracking your movement behind dark lenses.

He loves treating you. In fact, there's something to be said about the way this looks suspiciously domestic; like a doting father treating his son to an ice cream in the hot summer sun. It's deeply satisfying; providing for you, spoiling you, having you wrapped around his finger. He would never treat Archie like this. Actually, you've made him prouder in the last couple years in his employment than Archie has in almost two decades of life.

You step up to the window of the ice cream van and look over the menu, practically vibrating with eager-to-please energy. Tony lets his eyes linger on you, drinking you in quite conspicuously. There's a tightening in his lower belly and he sucks in a breath. He loves the way you carry yourself under his watch; constantly carrying that subtle weight of obedience. It's pathetic, really. And utterly, infuriatingly arousing.

Finally, you turn around, carrying two cones with two scoops and a Flake each; his a pale green with dark speckles, yours a pale cream with pink streaks. You make your way over, licking along the side of the scoops. His eyes hone in on the cream coating your tongue and it reminds him immediately of how you look with your mouth wrapped around his cock, lapping up his spend like a starving pup. He has to adjust his stance, clearing his throat in an attempt to distract himself from the images you're unwittingly projecting into his head. As you get closer, you hold out his cone.

"Here we go." You smile and he accepts the cone with a slow, deliberate nod. You dig your free hand into your trouser pocket and pull out the change, handing over the coins, and he takes your arm, leading you to the start of the lakeside forest trail. "We're going for a walk?" You ask and he gives you a brief, affirmative hum, taking a lick of his mint chocolate chip.

The trail is gorgeous; shady, cool, the lake glittering through the trees, sun dappling the path through the canopy. It's perfect for a summer walk. And perfect for keeping you close.

You walk in comfortable silence, pulling the Flake out of your scoops and nibbling at it. You're in your happy place now; internal temperature dropping, your arm in Tony's, a cone with two scoops of raspberry ripple melting in your hand.

"Good?" He asks finally and you nod.

"So good. Thanks, Tony." You reply, licking and sucking at your ice cream. You're clearly enjoying it and looking frankly quite boyish as you do so. Behind his sunglasses, his gaze keeps snagging on your mouth, your tongue darting out to catch a stray drip, and his mind overlays the image of you, on your knees, servicing him with that same, eager tongue.

He notices how you look younger in this light; rays dappling through the trees and catching the colours in your hair, the flush of your skin accentuating your freckles, the icy treat making your lips look pink and plump. You could pass for an eighteen-year-old taking his lunch in the park, not an exhausted valet in his mid-twenties. You look devastatingly innocent and it makes his prick twitch.

You lick the ice cream down to the cone, dipping your tongue inside the wafer to lap at it a little more before you bite into the side of it. "Everything alright? Your ice cream's melting." You point out and he jolts slightly, realising that his mint chocolate chip is, indeed, dripping down the side of his cone. He quickly tongues it away but it does nothing to cool the heat in his groin.

"Just enjoying the scenery." He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze, the lie effortless behind his dark lenses. You nibble away at the cone until you suck the end of it into your mouth and hum in satisfaction. Your mouth is sticky, your cheeks are pink and you look so sweet and unknowingly sinful.

You suck the sweet stickiness off your fingers and lean into Tony's side, sleepy in the shade of the trees and satiated with a belly full of ice cream. He slides an arm around your waist, anchoring you against him. "There we go." He rubs your back and you find yourself purring.

When you look up, he's offering his cone to you. "Have some." He murmurs, extending his nearly finished cone toward your lips. It's an intimate gesture; sharing his treat, feeding you. You stop walking for a moment to run your tongue over the remaining ice cream, feeling the soft, cold streaks it leaves behind. The way it coats your lips in a slick, glossy sheen has him throbbing painfully in his trousers. When you pull away, you lick your lips and peer up at him with a smile.

"You should finish it before it gets on your suit." You suggest and he nods stiffly, taking your arm again.

Tony subtly leads you off the trail and into the woods but you go along trustingly. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he took you somewhere just out of sight for a quiet moment together.

The path disappears behind you, replaced by deeper shade and thicker greenery. He guides you behind a dense thicket, where a small clearing opens up in the dense brush. He hurries his cone with one final, unhurried lick and the last crunch of wafer seems as loud as a gunshot in the ambience of bird calls and rustling leaves. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them into his breast pocket.

Easily, Tony presses you against the trunk of a nearby oak, offering his sticky fingers to your mouth. Your eyes fall closed as you accept them, trailing your tongue over his knuckles and the pads of his fingertips, cleaning them of the sweet, minty residue. You slip your tongue between his fingers, making sure to lick away any trace of the melted ice cream. His cock strains violently.

When he pulls away, his fingers are coated in saliva, fingertips connected to your bottom lip by a thin, shiny trail that breaks as he lowers his hand. Your eyes are hooded when you peek up at him again and his blood boils in his veins as the last few weeks of abstinence finally rear their ugly head.

Grabbing the collar of your shirt, he presses his mouth against yours, his tongue easily sweeping between your lips. Your arms instinctively, move to loop around his shoulders, holding onto him for support. He dominates your mouth easily, sandwiching you against the tree, pressing himself flush against you so you can feel just what you do to him.

One of his hands darts down to grab at your crotch, pulling a gasp from your mouth against his own. You're already wet for him — always wet for him — despite your innocent façade. The contrast between your boyish sweetness and the pathetic, immediate arousal makes him ache. He groans into your mouth, tongue plunging deeper.

His fingers slide along the centre seam of your trousers and you whine as he bites your lip, fingers quickly snapping open the button. Without wasting a beat, he slips his hand into your trousers and underwear, sliding down until his fingers find their way between your plump lower lips. "F-Fuck, Tony..." His fingers spread, testing your slickness, the contrast of his calloused skin against your warm, tender flesh. You press your forehead against his temple, breath coming in short, shallow pants. "Daddy, please..." His fingers circle your clit slowly, his breath fanning across your neck.

"That's right, sweetheart." He huffs, sliding two, long fingers inside you. You whine, already clenching around him like you've been waiting for this, waiting for him. "So wet." He murmurs, teeth grazing your pulse point. "All for Daddy, hm?" You nod weakly, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. You're everything he could ever want in a lover; so compliant, so sweet, so fucking his.

He starts to finger you in earnest; deep, slow strokes that curl just right against your sweet spot. Each push makes your body sag against the tree, arms tightening around his shoulders like you need him to stay upright. You didn't realise how much you'd missed him over these last few weeks, when you've been too warm or too sleep-deprived to have sex. He can feel it but it doesn't take a genius, not when you're shaking and whimpering against his shoulder, completely undone by just two digits. His prick throbs painfully, demanding attention, demanding to replace his fingers.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers free and you rub your face against the curve of his jaw, whining at the loss.

"No, don't— Don't stop..." You manage and he smiles, kissing your sweaty forehead.

"It's alright. Daddy's just getting something better for you." Pulling his hand from inside your trousers, he unbuttons his own, pushing them down just enough to free himself. He catches the way your eyes fix on his cock, wrapping his fingers around it to stroke himself slowly, relieving some of the pressure. "There we go, sweetheart. Turn around, bend over."

You obey just as quick as you can, biting your lip when he pulls your trousers and underwear down over the swell of your arse and exposing your soaking cunt. You brace your hands against the tree trunk, nails digging into the rough bark. A large, cool hand closes around your bare hip and you tilt your pelvis up in a silent plea. He can smell your arousal, thick and sweet, in the musty damp of the thicket. He rubs his cockhead against your cunt, spreading the slick around, teasing you. You can't take it. He knows.

He slides on home in one smooth thrust and a groan tears from his throat as your body swallows him whole, the same tight, young body that's been welcoming him for months now. You're so wet, so fucking used to him being inside you, he doesn't even have to give you time to adjust. "Good boy. That's it." He praises breathlessly. The woods are eerily quiet; birdsong, rustling leaves, nothing else. No onlookers at all, just him and his pretty boy in the deep thicket, enjoying some alone time.

Tony starts moving in quick, deliberate thrusts, the sound unmistakable; wet and sloppy. Your nails bite into the bark as you arch your back, gasping as he resumes that perfect, familiar pace. He finds just the right angle on the third stroke and you grind back against him.

He leans over you, his chest to your back, arms wrapping around your belly. He's breathing hard in your ear, praising and cussing in equal measure. "That's it, sweetheart. Take every fucking inch for me... You like getting fucked out here like an animal, don't you? Such a nasty, little slut for my cock..." You nod quickly, toes curling in your oxfords.

"Mhmm... Yeah, I'm all— A-All yours..." You manage between gasps and he snarls against your ear.

"All mine." He punctuates the claim with a sharp jolt of his hips, turning your insides to jelly as he holds you up with his arm around your stomach. His free hand darts down between your thighs, fingers rubbing in quick circles over the hood of your swollen clit. Your head drops forward with a broken moan, your knees buckling as you take on the double assault. "Come on, sweetheart. Give it to Daddy. Make a fucking mess." He demands and your breath catches in your throat over and over as he nails your sweet spot with every thrust.

"T-Tony..." You whine like a puppy, bearing down around him rhythmically, milking him, dripping down your thighs. You're so close, teetering on the edge, and he can feel you getting closer and closer.

"That's it..."

Finally, you clench around him like a vice. Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out, just a choked-off whimper as you cum. Your body seizes up; back bowing, nails scoring the bark, eyes rolling. "There we go. Just like that..." He coos breathlessly. With a low, loud groan he barely manages to stifle against your shoulder, he buries himself to the hilt and empties himself deep into you. "Fucking...Christ!" Thick, hot ropes of cum fill your pulsing cunt and he holds you tight against his chest, his mouth finding the crook of your neck and leaving bruising, sucking kisses to the skin.

You both stay there for a moment; sweaty, panting, spent, locked together. He's sweating now too, the scent of his expensive cologne diluted by the warm musk of warm flesh. You sag against him, letting him take most of your weight, as he slowly begins to soften inside you. "Good boy... Good boy..."

Tony takes it upon himself to drive the both of you back to the office. You fall asleep in the passenger seat, your arms around his bicep. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, rubbing and squeezing soothingly, as you snooze beside him. You're a dead weight against his shoulder now, breathing steady and slow. The scent of him clings to you and it makes his chest ache, eyes flicking over to take in your ruddy cheeks and mussed hair.

When you reach the car park at the Corinium office, he hesitates to wake you, just enjoying the honest look of satisfaction and comfort on your face. Eventually, he decides to park under a shady tree and roll down the windows. You obviously need the rest and there's still more paperwork on his desk that needs looking at. He'll drive you home tonight and make sure you're fully cared for.

Very few people would call Tony Baddingham a softie but you; you're one of those few people.

if you got this far, it’d be lovely if you dropped me a kudos or a comment (whatever you have time for) on ao3. thanks for reading 💛✨

First, it was a moonstone.

Then, amethyst.

And then garnet.

Little stones and tokens left in various places of Cale's living space. His desk, the windowsills, on top of the fridge. Anywhere you could reach and even some places he could swear there was no way you could.

He never could figure out why you did this. He knew it was you. If it hadn't been obvious, the cameras definitely would've spilled the beans eventually. Not that you knew about those. Probably. Maybe.

He let it go on if only because he thought maybe one day you'd finally find the secret unbearable.

But you never did come clean.

So on his desk both at home and at work there was just an inexplicable collection of pretty little gemstones that you had collected for him.

It was well into your second year of dating when he finally caught you in the act. It was three AM and he heard you shuffling around downstairs. Normally, he'd have a gun or at least bat in hand to confront whoever was trifling through his house, but he knew it was you.

No one else moved quite like you.

He made his way down to the kitchen, where you were digging into a yogurt cup, huge fucking quartz next to you on the counter.

When he turned the light on, you were already staring at him, the spitting image of a deer caught in the headlights. He was unsure if it was because he caught you face first in some yogurt or because he caught you leaving behind one of your weird little gifts.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?" he asked you, crossing his arms as he thrust his chin in the direction of the quartz.

"... I dunno," you said with a mouth full of yogurt.

He waited for you to swallow, then motioned to it again. "Please explain. I'd really love to hear your reasoning for all these stupid little rocks."

"They're not stupid!" you pouted, turning to look at it dejectedly. "They're pretty. Our planet made those little rocks! Our planet made them and now we get to look at them and touch them and wear them and admire them and... and..."

He tutted gently, stepping up to pull you into a light hug. "Ssh, it's all right. I'm sorry. I don't think they're stupid."

"I know... you've kept every single one..."

The moment you step into the flat, you're thrown into the wall so hard you know you won't be able to wear anything sleeveless or low-backed for the next few days. Pain sparks between your shoulder blades and radiates outward.

Tony's eyes are aflame. It's maybe one of the hottest things you've ever seen.

You don't really get the opportunity to dwell on it, though, as a moment later his hands are on you. One squeezes your throat, just tight enough to make breathing laborious while still allowing you to breathe at all. The other digs into your hip, almost certainly leaving yet more bruises.

"You think this is funny?" he hisses as your lips fall into a grin. Your hips roll in response, and his hand there squeezes even harder, harder than you thought possible. "You clearly need to be taught a lesson, you filthy whore."

You nod enthusiastically, and he easily hauls you into his arms. A few moments later and you're in bed with him hovering over you. His lips trace hot trails over the flesh of your throat, making you moan, while his hand works to free his belt. God, you already like where this is going.

"Whip me, daddy," you groan as you thrust your hips upward.

He stops what he's doing to patiently pin your hips down, though the look he shoots you would, to anyone else, indicate anything but patience.

"Oh, no, you're not getting anything you want. Not today."

You pout, and all he offers in response is a dark chuckle as he finally removes his belt.

"Hands."

You obey quickly, eyes alight as you realize what's coming next. He makes quick work of securing the belt around your wrists, then shoves your hands away and lets them fall above your head.

"Now, what to do with you," he muses aloud, as if he doesn't already have several ideas. You know he does, you can see it in his eyes, the way they gleam with deep, dark plans for your immediate fate.

"Please," you pant quietly, shifting towards him desperately.

"Shut up."

You do as you're told, though your eyes continue to beg. He rolls his own, but leans down to give you a surprisingly soft kiss. Probably the last gentle thing you'll experience in the coming hours. Not that you mind.

He seems to have a stroke of genius, as his lips slip into a proud smirk. A shot of adrenaline hits your veins in anticipation, body on fire and ready for whatever he throws at you.

Silently, his hand sinks below your skirt, fingers finding your panty-clad slit and sliding over it. His tongue clicks in mock disappointment. "I can't believe you're already so wet -- and for what? You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you? That's why you insist on teasing me the way you do..."

Your breath catches as he pulls your panties down to circle your knees. It's all you can do not to pounce him right then and there.

His hand returns to your building heat, fingers teasing as he seems to consider his next move. You try to hold back, but a whimper escapes unbidden from your lips. His eyes snap up to meet yours, and his hand stops moving.

"God, you really are such a whore."

You nod your agreement, eagerly, the desperation in your gaze palpable.

He moves your panties the rest of the way off in response.

"Open," he commands, and you open your mouth for him. A moment later, and your panties are pushed in, guaranteeing your silence. Mostly.

You can't help the muffled moan that slips through.

The smack that hits your cheek is so hard you think maybe the whole room shakes from the blow. It certainly spins -- but maybe that's just a you problem.

Tears spring forward as the shock wears off and leaves only the angry sting of impact. Tony wipes them away, but it's not gentle. If anything, he seems annoyed at your softness.

He does give you a few moments to regain some composure before he slaps you again. This time, it's the other cheek. It doesn't hit as hard, but it's unclear to you if it's because he actually held back or if you were simply more prepared this time.

Another slap hits your thigh, and this time it takes every fiber of your being not to moan, and rather egregiously at that. Your body arches, cheeks reddening even deeper than they were already, all from the effort of holding back.

Tony appraises your efforts appreciatively, then slaps your thigh again.

This time, you can't contain it.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he clucks, petting your thigh where he'd hit it. "You really must work on your self-control."

You nod, and he slaps your thigh again.

The sting brings more tears to your eyes, yet you crave more.

"How many is that now?"

With your bound hands, you offer five fingers.

He smirks and pats your burning thigh. "Good girl. At least you have some brains in there. Enough to count to five, at least."

You nod in agreement.

For your reward, his hand finally finds your slit again. There's no word or warning, he simply slides two fingers inside you and curls them upward. You manage to bite back the squeal that threatens to explode out of you, but you can't stop the gasp that manages to make it past your best efforts.

He chuckles. "That was close, wasn't it?"

You nod again.

His fingers move in response, pressing against you in all the ways he knows will drive you the craziest. You know he's only searching for more reason to hit you, to punish you. You don't want to give him the satisfaction, but your resolve is beginning to melt with your core.

He digs in again, adding his thumb and a flick to your clit for good measure. Your body bucks in response, that building squeal finally passing all the barriers and all but echoing around the room.

The laugh that comes from Tony in response is quite threatening.

"You really can't control yourself, can you?"

You shake your head, fingers twitching desperately.

"I suppose it's unfair to punish you for something you can't control..." he starts, slowly, torturously withdrawing his hand from your depths.

You expect another smack. Instead, you are flipped onto your belly so fast it sends the world spinning. A moment later and you hear Tony fiddling with his trousers and the telltale sound of friction as the fabric slides down his thighs.

Oh, thank God.

The slap that hits your ass comes as a surprise and you yelp, eliciting another chuckle from Tony.

You feel his weight on top of you, his breath against your cheek, his hand softly cupping the other. He delicately removes your panties from your mouth and whispers in your ear, "Speak, whore."

"Please, Anthony," you beg, turning to meet his gaze. "Please, fuck me. Fuck me so good, fuck me hard!"

In response, he lines up his shot and plunges into your depths. You cry out in ecstasy, body tensing deliciously at his intrusion and arching up to meet his own.

He envelops you, arms circling your body and holding you flush against him. One hand returns to his second favorite spot -- your throat -- while the other takes hold of your breast and kneads with a fervent energy.

You moan, and he takes this as invitation to move, his hips rolling and thrusting against your own. Your walls squeeze upon each thrust, fighting to keep his cock buried deep within you. He has to fight just as hard to escape your hold, the effort causing him to pant into your ear.

"Fuck," you whine, and from behind you he echoes the sentiment.

You start to feel the hints of orgasm both within and without. Your belly begins to tighten, to warm. Your canal squeezes harder, desperate for the flood that will fill you. Tony, for his part, is also getting closer. His thrusts are starting to become erratic, his body tightening as muscles prepare for the inevitable climax.

He hits his peak a mere breath after you come to the realization, and as his warm seed fills you and his body jerks to a halt, it pushes you careening over the edge into a moaning mess that does its damned best to milk him for all he's worth.

You both pant as you come down, bodies relaxing into each other.

You don't expect Tony to move for at least an hour, but he surprises you by rolling the two of you over so that you're on top of him. You stare up at the ceiling, though you don't really see it. Your gaze is hazy, flushed with lust.

The moment you step into the flat, you're thrown into the wall so hard you know you won't be able to wear anything sleeveless or low-backed for the next few days. Pain sparks between your shoulder blades and radiates outward.

Tony's eyes are aflame. It's maybe one of the hottest things you've ever seen.

You don't really get the opportunity to dwell on it, though, as a moment later his hands are on you. One squeezes your throat, just tight enough to make breathing laborious while still allowing you to breathe at all. The other digs into your hip, almost certainly leaving yet more bruises.

"You think this is funny?" he hisses as your lips fall into a grin. Your hips roll in response, and his hand there squeezes even harder, harder than you thought possible. "You clearly need to be taught a lesson, you filthy whore."

You nod enthusiastically, and he easily hauls you into his arms. A few moments later and you're in bed with him hovering over you. His lips trace hot trails over the flesh of your throat, making you moan, while his hand works to free his belt. God, you already like where this is going.

"Whip me, daddy," you groan as you thrust your hips upward.

He stops what he's doing to patiently pin your hips down, though the look he shoots you would, to anyone else, indicate anything but patience.

"Oh, no, you're not getting anything you want. Not today."

You pout, and all he offers in response is a dark chuckle as he finally removes his belt.

"Hands."

You obey quickly, eyes alight as you realize what's coming next. He makes quick work of securing the belt around your wrists, then shoves your hands away and lets them fall above your head.

"Now, what to do with you," he muses aloud, as if he doesn't already have several ideas. You know he does, you can see it in his eyes, the way they gleam with deep, dark plans for your immediate fate.

"Please," you pant quietly, shifting towards him desperately.

"Shut up."

You do as you're told, though your eyes continue to beg. He rolls his own, but leans down to give you a surprisingly soft kiss. Probably the last gentle thing you'll experience in the coming hours. Not that you mind.

He seems to have a stroke of genius, as his lips slip into a proud smirk. A shot of adrenaline hits your veins in anticipation, body on fire and ready for whatever he throws at you.

Silently, his hand sinks below your skirt, fingers finding your panty-clad slit and sliding over it. His tongue clicks in mock disappointment. "I can't believe you're already so wet -- and for what? You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you? That's why you insist on teasing me the way you do..."

Your breath catches as he pulls your panties down to circle your knees. It's all you can do not to pounce him right then and there.

His hand returns to your building heat, fingers teasing as he seems to consider his next move. You try to hold back, but a whimper escapes unbidden from your lips. His eyes snap up to meet yours, and his hand stops moving.

"God, you really are such a whore."

You nod your agreement, eagerly, the desperation in your gaze palpable.

He moves your panties the rest of the way off in response.

"Open," he commands, and you open your mouth for him. A moment later, and your panties are pushed in, guaranteeing your silence. Mostly.

You can't help the muffled moan that slips through.

The smack that hits your cheek is so hard you think maybe the whole room shakes from the blow. It certainly spins -- but maybe that's just a you problem.

Tears spring forward as the shock wears off and leaves only the angry sting of impact. Tony wipes them away, but it's not gentle. If anything, he seems annoyed at your softness.

He does give you a few moments to regain some composure before he slaps you again. This time, it's the other cheek. It doesn't hit as hard, but it's unclear to you if it's because he actually held back or if you were simply more prepared this time.

Another slap hits your thigh, and this time it takes every fiber of your being not to moan, and rather egregiously at that. Your body arches, cheeks reddening even deeper than they were already, all from the effort of holding back.

Tony appraises your efforts appreciatively, then slaps your thigh again.

This time, you can't contain it.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he clucks, petting your thigh where he'd hit it. "You really must work on your self-control."

You nod, and he slaps your thigh again.

The sting brings more tears to your eyes, yet you crave more.

"How many is that now?"

With your bound hands, you offer five fingers.

He smirks and pats your burning thigh. "Good girl. At least you have some brains in there. Enough to count to five, at least."

You nod in agreement.

For your reward, his hand finally finds your slit again. There's no word or warning, he simply slides two fingers inside you and curls them upward. You manage to bite back the squeal that threatens to explode out of you, but you can't stop the gasp that manages to make it past your best efforts.

He chuckles. "That was close, wasn't it?"

You nod again.

His fingers move in response, pressing against you in all the ways he knows will drive you the craziest. You know he's only searching for more reason to hit you, to punish you. You don't want to give him the satisfaction, but your resolve is beginning to melt with your core.

He digs in again, adding his thumb and a flick to your clit for good measure. Your body bucks in response, that building squeal finally passing all the barriers and all but echoing around the room.

The laugh that comes from Tony in response is quite threatening.

"You really can't control yourself, can you?"

You shake your head, fingers twitching desperately.

"I suppose it's unfair to punish you for something you can't control..." he starts, slowly, torturously withdrawing his hand from your depths.

You expect another smack. Instead, you are flipped onto your belly so fast it sends the world spinning. A moment later and you hear Tony fiddling with his trousers and the telltale sound of friction as the fabric slides down his thighs.

Oh, thank God.

The slap that hits your ass comes as a surprise and you yelp, eliciting another chuckle from Tony.

You feel his weight on top of you, his breath against your cheek, his hand softly cupping the other. He delicately removes your panties from your mouth and whispers in your ear, "Speak, whore."

"Please, Anthony," you beg, turning to meet his gaze. "Please, fuck me. Fuck me so good, fuck me hard!"

In response, he lines up his shot and plunges into your depths. You cry out in ecstasy, body tensing deliciously at his intrusion and arching up to meet his own.

He envelops you, arms circling your body and holding you flush against him. One hand returns to his second favorite spot -- your throat -- while the other takes hold of your breast and kneads with a fervent energy.

You moan, and he takes this as invitation to move, his hips rolling and thrusting against your own. Your walls squeeze upon each thrust, fighting to keep his cock buried deep within you. He has to fight just as hard to escape your hold, the effort causing him to pant into your ear.

"Fuck," you whine, and from behind you he echoes the sentiment.

You start to feel the hints of orgasm both within and without. Your belly begins to tighten, to warm. Your canal squeezes harder, desperate for the flood that will fill you. Tony, for his part, is also getting closer. His thrusts are starting to become erratic, his body tightening as muscles prepare for the inevitable climax.

He hits his peak a mere breath after you come to the realization, and as his warm seed fills you and his body jerks to a halt, it pushes you careening over the edge into a moaning mess that does its damned best to milk him for all he's worth.

You both pant as you come down, bodies relaxing into each other.

You don't expect Tony to move for at least an hour, but he surprises you by rolling the two of you over so that you're on top of him. You stare up at the ceiling, though you don't really see it. Your gaze is hazy, flushed with lust.