Something Goes Whump in the Night...

Seven kicked the pile of fabric aside and turned to face the wall. The leather was cool against his skin when Wes lowered an opening around his neck. The tangled leather strips slid along his shoulders and down to his armpits. 

“Hands up,” came the order, and Seven obeyed, raising his hands and allowing his head to dip downwards in surrender. 

The harness criss-crossed over his chest as Wes configured it, laying the straps flat across his sternum and down his torso. 

“Arms down.” 

Seven obeyed, willing his hands to fall and still themselves at his sides. He balled his fingers into fists to avoid the nervous fidgeting Wes hated so much. 

Wes yanked the leather pieces together between Seven’s shoulder blades and Seven let out a small gasp as the strap over his sternum tightened firmly. With a faint click, Wes secured a buckle behind his back, locking it into place with a small, silver padlock. Seven realized then, with an anxious twist in his stomach, that he wasn’t supposed to be able to remove it himself. He’d probably have to beg—nicely—for it to come off when all was said and done. He could feel a gnawing dread building within him, creeping up his throat. He clenched his fists harder. The leather strips still dangled down to the floor at his sides. Seven bit his lip. Wes wasn’t finished. 

Seven shivered in the cool of the AC. He focused on the feeling of the soft carpet of Wes’ bedroom beneath his bare toes, trying to will his mind anywhere else. 

Seven squeezed his eyes shut as Wes dragged the leather straps to wrap around his waist, tightening them snugly and snapping another buckle into place at the base of his spine. Seven heard the clink of another padlock, and it cemented the dread—he definitely wasn’t meant to be able to remove the harness without Wes’ help—and key. 

Wes tugged experimentally on the binding at Seven’s waist, before sliding his fingers down the leather pieces that remained. Seven exhaled a little more sharply than he would’ve liked at the gesture. 

Seven felt a sharp rapping at his ankles as Wes kicked his feet apart, and he parted his stance without resistance. He shivered harder, naked and bared and posed before his master, dreading whatever was coming. 

The harness was still going, and Wes’ tanned fingers descended past his slender waist to cinch the leather around Seven’s upper thighs. Seven could feel the warmth radiating from his master’s hands as he slid his fingers down his skin, along his sides and down to his thighs to play at the straps that held him. Wes tugged at the leather around his legs just slightly, to test the fit, and Seven bit his lip harder to avoid making a sound. This was fucking humiliating, he thought. But Seven held perfectly still, fighting the shiver that ran through him when Wes ran a finger smoothly down the dip of his spine, goosebumps trailing in their wake. Seven squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to retain his complete silence. He didn’t want to make whatever this was even worse.  

Seemingly satisfied with the way the leather hugged his servant’s thighs, Wes secured a final buckle somewhere behind him, and Seven could feel the way it cinched him fully. 

“You look pretty like this. ‘Makes you easier to handle, huh?” Wes mused, an audible smile in his voice as he tugged at the leather once more. Seven felt it all when he pulled, the straps across his chest and around his hips and thighs tightening all at once. He was fully ensnared now, helpless to be tugged around at his master’s mere whims.

Then he felt the absence of Wes’ body heat as he took a step back. He took a moment, letting the silence between them grow thick and heavy as Wes’ eyes raked over his work. 

“Turn around.” 

Seven obeyed, his eyes locked on the floor. 

“Fuck..” Wes breathed, sliding a finger down Seven’s chest to hook around the strap that ran across his sternum. 

“Yeah… you look so fucking good like this. Better than I expected, honestly.” Wes’ voice was a low hum in his throat, quite pleased with his purchase. 

“Turn. Face the mirror,” he ordered. Seven turned as ordered and had to bite back a small whine when he saw his full appearance. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a cheesy kinky porno, wearing nothing but the straps of winding leather and the locked collar that never left his throat. 

“I’m having a party tonight, d’you know that, servant?” Seven nodded, and disappointment and fear settled over him as he realized Wes’ plans were not to merely appreciate the sight of him alone. 

Seven had heard Wes chatting away to his friends earlier that day, as he’d scrubbed dishes in the kitchen. He was only half listening, but had caught bits and pieces about some plans this evening that Wes was excited for. There was something he was eager for them to see. It clicked in his head what that thing was. It must have been him— this—that Wes had been eager to show off. 

Wes came up behind him and gripped the leather strap across his back. He abruptly yanked on it, dragging Seven back a few steps until Seven stumbled back and hit Wes’ torso. Wes held him there, cinched up by the web of leather that tightened across his whole body. 

“Yeah…” Wes breathed into his ear, and Seven felt goosebumps make the tiny blonde hairs on his arms stand on end. 

“I can’t wait for them to see you like this,” Wes purred, letting his tongue dip out to lap a small, wet stripe just below his servant’s ear. Seven squeezed his eyes shut, a high-pitched keen struggling to escape his tightened throat. He braced himself for more, for worse, but as suddenly as he’d grabbed him, Wes’ hand released him. 

“Get dressed. No shirt. Pants only.” 

Seven scrambled to obey, eager to be at least partially covered once more. He all but fell into the pile of dark fabric on the floor in an attempt to clothe his lower body as quickly as possible. He thanked his lucky stars he’d been allowed at least that. 

As he dressed himself, Wes rattled off about the party. 

“You’re gonna help me get ready for tonight,” he said, like this was the most normal situation in the world. “All the jello shots from the back fridge should be set by now. Put those out on a bed of ice. And put all the drinks from the storage room into the main fridge. Chill that good champagne I’ve been saving. And for fucks sake, clean the fucking kitchen again. And I swear to god, the last time you supposedly ‘cleaned’ the floors, I still couldn’t see my reflection perfectly.” 

Wes yanked him forward once again by the leather at his chest, bringing him way too close for comfort and tugging his servant up onto his tiptoes. “Get your shit together, Seven,” he hissed. “I have people I want to impress tonight.” 

✧ ─  ༻✦༺  ─ ✧

Just before the guests were set to arrive, Seven heard a sound ring out, startling him from his work scrubbing the kitchen floor. Something thick and metal was clanking against the marble floor of the penthouse, trailing along with Wes’ slow, deliberate footsteps. Seven’s eyes darted towards the noise, and he paled when he saw the long length of chain in his master’s hand. Wes was dragging it along the shining marble, letting it trail behind him as he approached his kneeling servant with a wicked grin. 

“Hey, Sevennn…” he drawled. “You might want to pay attention now.” Seven scrambled to his feet, the knees of his dark pants slightly wetted with the cleaning solution he’d smeared over the marble tiles. 

“D’you remember a few days ago… when you fucked up?”

Seven’s eyes snapped wide open. He swallowed, his own throat felt thick as the terror crept up his esophagus. 

“You really don’t remember?” Wes frowned. “You stupid fucking bitch,” his voice dipped into a low growl. “You don’t remember when you rolled your fucking eyes at me three days ago?” 

Seven gasped softly. He remembered. He hadn’t meant to do it. It must have been a trick of the light. An accidental twitch of his eyes? How the hell had he let Wes see that??

Wes stared him down, drawing closer and dragging the chain after him. “You want me to remind you? It was Thursday. Around 7. Is your memory really that shit?” Wes’ voice was rising. “Have I really beaten you entirely stupid?? Slammed your fucking head against the ground too many times??” Wes was nearly yelling now, despite the mere inches between them. “Did you just hope I’d forget and you’d get off scott-free?!” 

Seven cowered before his ire, his hands rising, palms out in deference. “I—I’m so sorry, si—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Wes snapped, rage searing through the narrowed slits of his eyes. His free hand rose and backhanded Seven hard across the side of his face. Seven’s head snapped to the side as he let out a choked cry. 

“I don’t wanna hear any pathetic excuses,” Wes hissed. “I didn’t punish you then, but I’ve been thinking about what would be fitting. What would finally teach you a lesson and cut out that shitty attitude of yours.”

Seven said nothing, standing frozen before him, feeling his cheek pulse with fresh pain. His watering eyes flicked down and locked onto the heavy chain in Wes’ hand. 

“And I’ve finally thought of something I think sounds… appropriate.” Wes nearly spat the last word at him, the air squeezing through his bared teeth. 

Wes’ fist rattled the chain against the floor, sending another shiver up Seven’s back. He flinched at the sudden noise, quickly righting himself and hoping Wes wouldn’t grow more angry at how jumpy he was. 

Wes only drew closer. “I think it’s time to pay up, don’t you think?” 

Seven opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was already wrapped up in the leather harness—what on earth was the chain for? Wes’ raised a single eyebrow and shook the chain again—his signal to answer him already. 

At last, though he felt frozen as a doe in headlights, Seven found his words—the ones Wes was looking for. “Y-yes, sir,” he said. His voice sounded small and timid, and the heat of embarrassment warmed his already burning cheeks at the sound of it—the way he already sounded so defeated. 

Wes lifted the chain. 

“What are you—“ It slipped out before Seven could stop it. 

Wes slapped him again, hard across the other cheek, and Seven cried out at the sudden shock of pain that radiated through his cheekbone and off the sides of his skull.  

“Shut up and turn around.”  Wes’ tone stung him with an icy chill. It left no room for hesitance. Seven shut his mouth and obeyed, his shoulders shaking slightly, his face still blossoming with red heat. 

“Hands behind you,” came Wes’ order, his voice a low hiss behind him. Seven twisted his arms behind his back and held the position, letting his head fall forward until the back of his neck was bared. He stared down at his own feet, resigned to whatever awful thing was about to happen to him. He realized again that he was shaking. 

Seven winced a little when he felt the familiar snap of the metal handcuffs around his wrists. He felt them click into place and heard the metallic zzzt as Wes tightened them firmly around his bony wrists, cinching Seven’s hands firmly together behind his back. 

Seven didn’t move, even when Wes’ hands retreated. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to do whatever was about to happen. Maybe if he didn’t move, didn’t blink, time itself would stop. If only… 

Wes didn’t even order him to turn around this time—he simply gripped his servant’s shoulder and spun Seven around to face him. The sudden movement jostled Seven’s attempt to zone out, and his eyes snapped up to take in his master’s expression. 

Wes looked to be deep in focus, his eyes dark and intense. The slightest upturn of his lips gave away his amusement, barely containing his rising anticipation of whatever was about to transpire. 

Wes lifted the heavy length of chain and wrapped one end around Seven’s neck, securing it like a lead with a heavy padlock. Instantly, Seven felt the weight of the chain and the lock pulling him down, a burden that tugged him towards the floor as it dangled from his neck. He wished he could follow the impulse and melt into the floor entirely—let it swallow him whole before Wes did whatever he was about to do next. He let the image of it comfort him as a brief idle moment stretched between the two men in the kitchen. 

Wes gave the length of chain an experimental tug, and Seven gasped and stumbled forward a few steps, unable to stretch his arms out, he was barely able to catch himself on his toes just before he collided into Wes’ chest. He was breathing heavily, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the sense of impending doom he felt creeping through him. Perhaps it was the humiliation, rising hot and fresh to further redden his cheeks—at the way he couldn’t use his hands to keep from slamming face-first into his master’s torso, if Wes just tugged a little harder. 

Seven tried to back up slightly, though Wes allowed little slack in the chain. Seven made the mistake of looking up at him and his panicked breath caught suddenly in his throat. 

Wes eyed him hungrily, his smirk deepening as he yanked the chain forward again, harder, and forced a choked gasp out of Seven. This time, the servant collided hard against Wes’ torso, his face falling into his master’s broad chest. Seven righted himself quickly—he didn’t want to give Wes the satisfaction of seeing how this was affecting him—how the dread and anticipation and the helplessness of getting tugged around like a ragdoll made his head hazy with terror. 

Wes could do whatever he wanted to him right now. 

He always could. It was always the case, and Seven knew this, but with no hands to shield himself, at the mercy of Wes and the chain in his hand, it spiked his fear above his usual levels in a way that made him almost nauseous. 

Wes smiled, pleased with the way his servant was coming undone. “Now c’mere, I’ve got a surprise for you.” 

Seven bit his lip and said nothing, but his stomach dropped and he let out a strangled cry when Wes yanked the chain again suddenly and started dragging him across the penthouse floor. 

Wes took a brisk pace, wasting no time, and Seven stumbled after him, trying to keep up to avoid being further choked by the heavy chain. 

When Wes reached the base of the grand staircase, he began to ascend it and Seven moved to follow him. But a few steps up, Wes turned around and held up his free hand. 

“No no,” he said, pointing down to the ground beside the base of the stairs. “You stay down there.” 

Seven looked up at him, confused, but began to back down the staircase, and Wes provided some slack in the chain to allow the movement. When he got to the bottom, Seven looked around, unsure where Wes wanted him. He just wanted to be good, but what did Wes want him to do? What was this for? 

Wes huffed a breath of impatience and marched back down the staircase, pulling Seven down by the chain towards the side of the banister. Wes dragged him along, positioning his servant standing on the floor, facing away from the banister that sloped up several feet above his head. 

“Now stay,” Wes ordered sternly, and Seven didn’t move. 

Wes began ascending the stairs once more, dragging the chain up behind him. Wes let it dangle from the bannister until he got about halfway up, the chain hanging from the staircase down to Seven’s throat. Seven could only listen to the heavy clinking sound, unable to look up at what his master was preparing. 

Wes wrapped the chain around a post in the banister and tugged. There was a loud metallic zippp as the chain tightened, and then suddenly it snapped and cinched hard around Seven’s throat. The force of it yanked a gagged choke from Seven’s throat as it squeezed abruptly into his windpipe. Wes pulled the chain tighter, until Seven was lifted up to his tiptoes, his ankles straining upwards just to be able to breathe. 

“Perfect,” Wes hummed above him, locking the chain into place with a heavy padlock. 

Seven stared forward with eyes wide. Surely this couldn’t be—was this his punishment?

Wes descended the stairs slowly, agonizingly slowly, enjoying the choked noises Seven made as he struggled to breathe. 

“You’re gonna stay here tonight,” Wes grinned. When he reached him, Wes leaned in and slid a finger up Seven’s bare chest, admiring the way he shuddered beneath his touch and the building strain of his position—admiring the way the leather straps clung to his quivering body. He gave them another little tug, just to emphasize, to remind Seven he was still wrapped up in them. Wes’ hand raised to gently cup his chin, and Seven’s eyes screwed shut and he winced as Wes turned his head to the side and let his tongue flick out once more to taste at the skin below his ear. 

“I’m gonna go get ready,” he said, voice low and velvety, speaking to his servant far too sweetly for the circumstances. “Stay put and be good, okay?” Seven heard the smile in Wes’ voice before he flicked his eyes open to verify it. He just let out a faint choked sound, “Please–sir…”

Wes only chuckled softly at him, patting his cheek condescendingly. He turned with a grin and ascended the grand staircase once more, leaving Seven to hang there, cuffed and leashed and harnessed and straining not to fucking pass out. It was unbearable. Seven hoped desperately that Wes wasn't serious—he prayed to whatever was out there that Wes would let him down before the actual party started. He couldn’t possibly maintain this position all fucking night. 

But it wasn't up to him, he knew that. Surely he shouldn't be shocked at his own powerlessness anymore, yet it somehow managed to astound him every time—to knock the proverbial breath from his lungs—at the way Wes seemed to keep on discovering new and creative ways to drive in Seven’s powerlessness, to emphasize his position in the most painful cruel ways. Seven choked and writhed uselessly against the chain as he heard Wes’ bedroom door close.

A few minutes later, Seven was jolted from his miserable train of thoughts as the bluetooth speaker chimed loudly before playing some hip-hop track at full volume. Seven’s spine shuddered with a fierce chill when, even over the sound of the speaker, he heard the elevator ding. 

✧─ ༻✦༺ ─✧

To be continued ~

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