You completely rule. Your RPS inspires me so much that I practically want to weep with joy. And who can say 'no' to an orbital sander and a Dyson?
I haven't known you long, but bunnyohare keeps helping me fall in love with you and your writing again and again.
Alliteration time: Long Live
Say it with me everyone, evilmaniclaugh rules the roost (I am a chicken and so am allowed to say "roost" hahahaha)!!
Have fun with my dirty Bad Whores. It sucks, but I tried. ;-)
Title: Practice Makes Perfect
Warnings: AU m/m slash, Borderline non-con, WHORES, spankin'
Disclaimer: All characters owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Not mine, no profit, la la la. Just a bit of fun.
Alex huddled under the whipping table, cupping his balls and whimpering slightly. The rug burn on his knees and the chafing on his backside didn't bother him anymore, slight pains now, at least compared to the throbbing from the violent kick he'd just received. But it wasn't Spike's fault. He'd only tried to do what Kenneth asked. No one disobeyed Kenneth. The last guy who'd done that got the bareback clients, and then got sick and disappeared.
Spike's boots clanked across the threadbare carpet, ringing on the concrete just below it, metal tips and spurs scuffing along. He stopped by the table and leaned down to whisper quickly into Alex's ear. A hasty apology, and a tongue nibbling his earlobe, and Spike was back by the bars by the time Kenneth rounded the corner of the hallway outside the cell. He was dragging a painted-up little tart casually behind him, holding the boy roughly by his coat collar, heedless of the little grunts of pain.
"Spike," Kenneth roared, still filled with ire, his voice only one notch below a full on yell, "I'm going to show you how it's done. Just one more lesson. This is your last chance, you ungrateful whore." Spittle collected in his beard, and his eyes gleamed angrily. He dumped the tarted-up nymph unceremoniously on the hallway floor and unlocked the cell door. "You screw this up again, you lose your position, and your boyfriend gets more than just one kick in the nuts. There's plenty of other boys eager to fill your filthy shoes." Half bluff, and they all knew it, because there was no one as good as Spike.
Alex watched with dread. He hated that Kenneth punished Spike this way. It wasn't the pain in his balls, it was the pain in Spike's eyes as his boot connected with them -- Spike loathed himself when he hurt his Alex, when he submitted to Kenneth's twisted orders. Kenneth knew just what kind of fucking mind games would hurt the most. But they both knew that the training cell was a far better situation for them than being back in the selection pool, waiting to service every smelly john who walked through the doors of the brothel, waiting to meet god knows what humiliation at the hands of a total stranger. At least with Kenneth they knew what to expect, and they knew he wouldn't leave permanent marks on their faces or necks. And getting to train the other boys -- that was almost fun, figuring out who would be best at what, setting up scenarios, running simulations, horsing around and sometimes even laughing a bit when a practice orgy fell apart into a mass of tangled arms and legs.
"This rotten little rascal is Drew," Kenneth intoned, picking up the wiry waif in the hallway and hauling him into the cell. "Our best scout Wes picked Drew out of a group of part-timers over at Mack's. Drew comes very well recommended. Tried and tested." The kid leered back at Kenneth, as if proud of his very personal tryout. Then he winked at the whole room, his long mascara-laden lashes batting at each of them in turn.
With only a nod from the man, Drew quickly stripped off his torn gray jean jacket, dirty wifebeater, and faded jeans. He had arrived barefoot, and he wasn't wearing any underwear. Various unidentifiable tattoos adorned his hips, snaking through his curly sandy blond hairs and reaching all the way around his cock, which sprang carelessly up when Kenneth reached around and tweaked a pierced, glitter-covered nipple. The scamp trotted over toward the whipping table and licked his lips suggestively at Spike, running a hand over his smoothly shaved head and then grabbing his erection and waving it about under the table so Alex could see it, as he rested his elbows down on the table top. The two-inch chain and leather cuff he wore on his left wrist clanged against it, metal on metal.
Alex was mesmerized, his gaze following the purple-painted fingernails as they left the pretty prick and disappeared beyond the top edge of the table. He had long ago stopped whimpering as the pain in his balls receded. Besides, if Kenneth heard him make even a peep, he would be hauled out from under the table and served another kick, or perhaps a whipping atop the gleaming table. If he held still and was quiet, Kenneth would let him spend the night wrapped up in Spike's arms instead of being thrown in the general quarters with all the other rent boys.
"Fucking fuck this, fucker --" Spike couldn't stand Kenneth's stupid lessons, they drove him right up the damn wall, and saucy boy whores six years his junior annoyed him even more. But he managed to mutter it under his breath so even Alex couldn't hear, but could only just read his lips. "Wanking wanker wanking wanker fuck fuckfuckfuck ..."
The bearded menace followed the tweaked out twink to the table, paused meaningfully, and then began the lesson. His hand started out slowly and gently, spanking the firm young buttocks as if they were made of fluffy cotton baling. But his pace increased in speed and strength, wresting satisfying slapping sounds from the boy's rounded ass, masterfully switching hands and cheeks in a complex pattern designed to balance pain and pleasure just right, while also ensuring that Spike remained slightly confused as to the proper technique. The force of the spanks sent pleasurable waves right through to the boy's balls, and then transmuted them to a more ambiguous pain/pleasure sensation as his cock was forced involuntarily against the underside of table. Alex saw everything from his hiding place underneath, but he made himself sit still and not spring forward to help the kid.
Drew started out slow and quiet too, emitting hardly a moan, and sometimes letting out a low, glorious chuckle. But he became theatrical, screeching, wailing, squeaking, moaning alternately in pain and ecstacy, crying out imprecations, please, yes, more, harder, and grunting and thrusting his ass forward and back. Finally he emitted a fantastic yelp, and came, right in Alex's face. The writhing stopped, and the tartalicious tramp left his elbows in position on the table and didn't look back at his master, waiting for the command.
"Good boy." Kenneth caressed Drew's shoulders, and allowed him to stand. "You may leave. That will be all."
The kid bounced on the balls of his feet and leapt over to his clothes, giggling a bit and then very purposefully prat-falling on top of them, but making a show of rolling around a bit, in mock pain, his impish naughtiness untamed.
"Yes Master, whatever you say Master, I love your spanking sir, you're a complete fucking champion at it, morePleaseLater kickass fuckYeah --" He broke down in giggles and batted his eyelashes over his outrageously rouged cheeks and leather dog collar when Kenneth glared at him, falling silent but refusing to wipe the insane grin off his face.
"Impudent whore, shut up!" Kenneth cuffed Drew's ear, then dragged him up by it and slammed him against the cell bars. "Learn this, Spike, learn it well. Every uppity little whore bitch gets his due. He acts up, he gets his punishment. No other way to prepare them for the customers than to treat them the way the customers will. No other way to prepare the boys for what they'll get from me." He turned back to the now-trembling slag-boy, and shoved him harder into the bars, making sure they pressed into his flesh. He unzipped his trousers and forced himself into the twink's unprepared entrance, eliciting a most un-theatrical, unprepared scream. He covered Drew's mouth with a meaty paw, and used his other hand to hold the boy's head still. It was over mercifully fast, but probably not quite fast enough, judging by the now-muffled but still earnest moans. Alex looked on, aghast.
Spike has to do that to ME? Alex was freaked out just thinking about it. Having to hold still in front of all the new boys in the training class, while Spike performed these same acts on him that Kenneth was performing on Drew. But then he remembered the other times, and the secret lube that Spike scrounged and stole to ease the pain, and the way that Spike held him and kissed him afterwards. And all the private times late at night in their bed when he did it right, made love to Alex, entered him gently, sucked him slowly, let him take his sweet time, let him return the favor. And he remembered how Spike slipped something into Kenneth's hand, and how the nexty day Kenneth had the softest bedding and warmest, most comforting food brought to Alex when all the other boys were doing with less. There were even times Spike would disappear in a limo with a special call-in client, and not come back for days, and then finally return with two black eyes and a limp, and a sore, whipped, welt-covered chest. And how for weeks after each of these special trips, Alex would get baths in the hot tub, extra viagra, donuts, and access to a computer.
When the boss was done, zipped up, his anger drained mostly away, Drew scrambled into his clothes and left for general quarters with his head down, chastised, throwing just one sympathetic smile at Spike when Kenneth wasn't looking. A new guy could complicate things, but Alex saw Spike return the smile anyway.
Finally Kenneth left them alone, and Spike pulled Alex gently out from his hiding place, and wrapped his shivering naked body in a soft warm blanket, drawing him into a protective embrace and lowering them quietly onto the cot. Alex felt safe and horny all at once, with Spike's strong arms around him and Spike's patient hard-on pressed against his own.