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Sid knocked, and worried that maybe Gunnar wasn’t in. They didn’t know what RA schedules were like. They didn’t know what graduate student schedules were like.
Before Sid could make a fool of themselves and turn away, the door swung open.
Gunnar was tall and curvy and Gunnar was also definitely the coolest RA in the building, though maybe Sid was a bit biased. They had a dry sense of humor, almost condescending—in the same that one type of favorite teacher in high school is always a little insolent and mean but will always stay after class if their students needed someone to confide in.
Gunnar took care of the residents: half-carried drunk kids to their rooms and dumped them in bed with water and ibuprofen; always had snacks to share; gave room searches purposefully sloppy to ignore the weed and alcohol that had definitely been shoved to the back of clothes drawers five minutes before. Sid was kind of upset Gunnar wasn’t their RA, because they lived two floors down and had some girl who didn’t seem to care about her job at all. So Sid mostly hung out on the floor where they didn’t live, clinging to the few words Gunnar sometimes dropped for them in passing along with that little sideways up-and-down and that smirk.
That smirk always made Sid blush bright red and start sputtering, especially when they were around their friends, because they didn’t think there was anything their friends liked more than to heckle them about it. Sid would like to say they’d actually had a conversation with Gunnar before, but they actually just memorized their rounds and lamely hung out when they knew Gunnar might pass. They were still in their first year, and Gunnar was a grad student.
And people… talked… about Gunnar. Not in the dorm, but sat near the back of his classes where his TAs were—other grad students—and they heard the whispers and the giggles and cupped a hand over the crotch of their pants, keeping their head fixed forward, flushing red hot and having to excuse themself to the bathroom after class.
“Hi,” Sid said, very lamely.
“What do you want?” Gunnar said, because that was the way they talked to everyone, but even girls who’d gone through a breakup or had an incident at the frats still knew they were welcome in to chat. Maybe Gunnar wasn’t on duty tonight? They were wearing frayed chinos and a battered shirt that said DID YOU EVEN READ THE FUCKING SYLLABUS on it in curling text, their dark hair down in damp ringlets. Their eyes were dark and friendly, framed handsomely by long lashes that made Sid lose their breath.
“Are you busy?” Sid asked.
Gunnar just raised an eyebrow.
They flushed. “I was just… I was wondering… um.” Maybe they might explode. Maybe this wasn’t worth it.
Maybe it was. “I heard… I heard you…”Just spit it out! “…do BDSM stuff.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” Gunnar said. “What, are you trying to get me reported on a rumor that anybody who isn’t a Puritan probably doesn’t care about?”
“No!” Sid said quickly. “No, no. I just….” Sid was probably the most embarrassed they had ever been in their life, but their stomach still fluttered, their cheeks feverish: it felt like they had been wet since Sid had first started thinking about this, and they kept their thighs together, embarrassed at the fantasy of Gunnar making fun of them for being so easy and doing anything they told Sid to do; Gunnar pinning them against the wall and kissing them hard and possessive until they couldn’t think straight and had to be held up; Gunnar controlling what Sid wore and who they talked to and what they did all day.
Sid was sure Gunnar could see them thinking about these things now, the click and spin of their brain. Their knees weak with how much they needed this, they sank down onto the carpeted dorm hallway before they could get too embarrassed and run off.
Gunnar laughed, making to close their door. “Fuck off, kid. Go do your homework or something.”
“Please,” Sid said desperately, grabbing the leg of Gunnar’s chinos, widening their eyes. They’d seen the way Gunnar looked at them before; the way Gunnar looked at them now, narrow-eyed, predatory, like they were seconds away from licking their lips. Sid spread their thighs a little more. “I was just… I wanted to be… I wanted to try. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Being… tied up.” Their cheeks were on fire. “And spanked.”
Gunnar snorted and started to close the door again. “Go find some other kid who has fuzzy handcuffs.”
“No, I… I want you to…. I want you.” It came out in the most humiliating, overly-sappy way like a dog desperate for a master, and Sid’s thought they might dissolve in a puddle, their underwear getting slippery and their nipples hard with the embarrassment of the admission. They didn’t know how to explain it, that they knew Gunnar would understand them and some other floppy pretender wouldn’t.
Gunnar looked at them for a long time—long enough that Sid’s breath started coming quicker and he looked around the hall, worried someone would walk by, even though it was late, their skin prickling and sensitive.
“So, what, you want a hookup,” Gunnar said.
Sid’s tongue was clumsy in their mouth, their thoughts cottony. They hadn’t thought that far ahead, and now they could imagine Gunnar claiming them, Gunnar wrapping their slender fingers around Sid’s throat followed by a collar with Gunnar’s name on it so everyone would know who Sid belonged to. “Um, sure?” they breathed. “Please.” They could feel their underwear becoming damp.
Maybe Gunnar knew, too, because the toe of their foot suddenly brushed against Sid’s crotch and pressed down—in full view of anyone who might walk by. Sid’s jaw fell open in shock. They whimpered as their thighs parted further.
Gunnar smirked at them. “You’re pretty trusting.”
Sid looked down. I know you’d take care of me, they wanted to say. I know you’d respect me. There was no way to say this without sounding extraordinarily corny.
Gunnar pulled their foot back. “You know,” Gunnar said, “freshman ask me to do a lot of shit. Stupid shit especially, that I know better than to do. Why should you be any different?” Sid really couldn’t think of a reason why Gunnar should even still be talking to them.
“I don’t know,” they said.
Gunnar’s smirk almost seemed pleased, and a shiver of warmth made its way down Sid’s back.
Then, they opened their door wider—an invitation. Sid stared before they jolted to life, eager. They started to stand—
“I didn’t say you could get up,” Gunnar said, amused.
Sid looked up at them, half crouched, and sank back down, their face flaming as they realized what Gunnar meant.
This was what Sid had wanted. Yes. It was so much better than their imagination, having the real Gunnar say it rather than the Gunnar that Sid imagined, to know the real Gunnar was watching them and judging them and probably liking what they saw. And Sid so desperately wanted to make a good impression, wanted Gunnar to like what they were seeing. Wanted to debase themself for Gunnar—show them how much Sid wanted them, respected them, would be willing to do for them.
Sid shut their mouth. Their skin prickled as they lowered themselves onto their hands and knees. A door banged, somewhere else on the floor. Hurriedly, they crawled past Gunnar’s slides into the room, hearing a chuckle.
“Nice ass,” Gunnar said. “You do this a lot?”
“No,” Sid said, their face flaming.
“Where’s the confidence come from, then? Don’t you think you should be groveling a little more?”
The door shut, the lock clicked. Sid’s breath caught, and they looked up as Gunnar walked in front of them. The room looked pretty much like Sid’s, except there was only one bed instead of two.
“Go on,” Gunnar said. Their tone made Sid’s blood run hot. “Beg for what you want, the proper way.”
Sid looked down at the carpet, their mouth hot and filled with saliva, tongue fat and clumsy. Jerkily, they lowered themselves down further, until their chest was pressed against the carpet, their ass in the air—Gunnar liked their ass—and they squirmed across the carpet to press their cheek Gunnar’s feet, almost panting—they didn’t know whether it was from the effort or their arousal.
“Please spank me,” they whispered.
“Speak up,” Gunnar snorted, unimpressed.
Embarrassment rushed through Sid—the same feeling they got when they answered a question wrong in class. Gunnar’s proximity—the smell of their lavender soap at their ankles, the feeling of them towering over Sid—was heady, scrambling Sid’s thoughts. The breath left Sid in a guilty rush, their fingers and toes curling as they pressed their lips cautiously to the top of Gunnar’s foot reverently, not sure if this was allowed: a gentle kiss.
“Please spank me,” they mumbled. “I want to be spanked. With something really hard. More than just your hand. If I could bother you to. I can’t stop thinking about it. How much it would sting. I want my whole ass to be red and bruised with it. I want to be thinking of you when I go to class and I have to sit down. I want to forget about the bruises and then try to sit down too hard and then yelp and have everyone stare at me and wonder what’s wrong with me. Maybe the professor or the TA even asks. And I can’t tell them, but I get horny thinking of you. And I think about you all day.” They already thought about Gunnar all day. But they wanted Gunnar’s mark on them.
“Yeah, you’d get horny at pretty much anything, though, wouldn’t you?” Gunnar said.
Sid flushed. “No.”
Gunnar’s chuckle was low and so, so quiet. Their feet slid away as they crouched down, clothes rustling. Fingers wound into Sid’s hair—not pulling them up, keeping them contorted on the floor, but craning their head back so that they could strain to see Gunnar’s face. “Sluts don’t need to lie about dripping into their underwear all day,” Gunnar said softly, patronizingly.
Sid couldn’t catch the whimper that escaped them. Gunnar’s eyes were a beautiful brown, picking apart Sid almost curiously, as if their behavior really were out of the norm. Sid swallowed thickly. They knew it wasn’t. Had heard what those other grad student said, about seeing Gunnar at that goth bar, spanking volunteers who went up on stage. Sid, if that bar would let in under-21s, would’ve stayed on that stage with Gunnar all night, even if their ass ended up bleeding from it. Sid had to swallow the saliva collecting in their mouth before they could speak.
“And you’re a leaky slut, aren’t you?”
“Uh huh,” Sid breathed, tears pricking at their eyes, unable to admit to anything but the truth while pinned under that gaze, held so immovably. They trembled, muscles aching at the odd, twisted position, not daring to move.
“Mm.” Gunnar smiled, the expression softening their whole face. “That’s good. I do like it when things can’t control themselves.”
“Yes,” Sid whimpered in agreement.
“So you need some help.”
“Yes, yes.” They were breathing fast and shallow, their hole wet and leaking, shifting their hips against their underwear riding up, their ass wiggling in the air.
“Should I help you, Sid?”
Oh god, Sid couldn’t believe Gunnar remembered their name. They almost melted into a puddle. “Please! Please. You can do anything to me.”
“You poor little slut,” Gunnar purred. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”All at once, they stood and stepped away. Their absence was like a vacuum. Sid nearly cried out, their face almost smacking into the floor as Gunnar released them.
Gunnar wanted them?
It was all they could think of.
Gunnar had thought of them?
A possessive hand fondled at their ass, kneading roughly, and Sid gasped, cheek pressed to the floor, eyes fluttering closed.
“I’m not going to be nice,” Gunnar said. They sounded amused, like they already knew what Sid’s answer would be.
“I don’t want nice,” Sid whispered to the floor.
The answering chuckle was low, smoky, kindling the fire in Sid’s stomach. Gunnar’s hand—warm, firm, broad enough that Sid wondered if this was how the rugby balls felt when Gunnar held one—slipped under the waistband of their loose shorts, tickling their hip. Gunnar snapped the elastic—it didn’t even hurt. “Yeah, that’s right. Said you didn’t want to be able to sit down, didn’t you?”
Sid whimpered affirmation as Gunnar shoved their hand down their pants, pulling them down along with their underwear, baring their ass to the room.
“Those kinds of bruises are going to last weeks.”
Sid squeaked in surprise as Gunnar pulled their cheeks apart, clenching down reflexively, knowing their hole was fluttering under the inspection. They buried their face in their arms in humiliation—they’d eventually decided not to shave, and now Gunnar was staring straight at it, and Sid didn’t know if they liked that or not. They would’ve waxed their whole body if Gunnar asked. Would’ve rubbed themselves shiny with oil and knelt for hours for Gunnar, even if they were left ignored in a corner. Gunnar didn’t have a partner—Sid didn’t think—but they wouldn’t mind Gunnar fucking someone else as long as they could even be in the same room, watching Gunnar’s fingers under someone’s—anyone’s— chin, working them over until they were begging and non-sensate and then fucking them while smirking across the room at Sid, knowing that Sid would wish that was them, but Gunnar had said no, so Sid would be happy enough to watch even as they moaned and whimpered just as much as that person getting fucked, hand between their stupid legs as they tried to get off on their own. A slippery line of fluid dripped down into the underwear pooled around their knees.
They knew Gunnar saw, because Gunnar laughed, letting go of them and smacking their ass almost playfully with one palm, making Sid jolt. “Not even doing anything, and you’re already dripping like a faucet. What are you picturing, huh? I should just let you sit here and entertain yourself with that overactive imagination.”
“Will you fuck me?” Sid whimpered. Their hole drooled hungrily.
“Nah,” Gunnar said lazily. “I don’t fuck kids.”
“I’m not—”
“Shut up,” Gunnar said casually, and Sid’s mouth snapped shut of its own volition. “I don’t like petulant brats.”
Sid blinked quickly to fan away hot tears, their hands clenching into fists, their chest tight, squirming where they sat on the carpet, feeling the slickness that was starting to cling between their thighs. They weren’t a brat. They’d prove it.
There was the rattle of Gunnar going through what must have been their drawers.
“You don’t really know what a spanking is,” Gunnar said, their voice moving across the room again, toward their bed. “Do you even know what you’re asking for? Come here.”
Sid scrambled back up onto their hands and knees, hurrying over to where Gunnar was, their eyes on Gunnar’s knees as Gunnar stood at the edge of their bed—having a whole room to themself meant they didn’t have to loft it like Sid and their roommate—and Sid felt their own mouth go slack and eager at the thought of humping Gunnar’s leg, just like this, while Gunnar did something else, anything else, and sneered at Sid for not being able to control themselves. And then maybe Sid could apologize with their mouth on them until their lips and tongue went numb and they needed to piss from how much of Gunnar’s fluids they swallowed.
“Yeah,” Gunnar laughed, one hand in their hair again, pulling—not cruelly, but just enough that Sid scrambled to follow where they were leading as they guided Sid up onto the bed. “This isn’t a hookup. This is me teaching you not to go around asking strangers for something you don’t know anything about. A spanking’s a punishment, slut. You’d better remember that. There’s going to be a quiz before you leave.”
Sid couldn’t even protest what Gunnar was saying—because they were wrong, Sid knew they were going to love it, knew that even if Gunnar stopped this right now, they’d be thinking about this for years to come—but right now, they were lightheaded with disbelief. It was happening. This was happening. Finally. They could already feel the phantom imprint of Gunnar striking their ass, and squirmed.
Gunnar’s bedcovers were lilac, and smelled of flowers—so nice that Sid wanted to wrap themselves up in the comforter and lose themselves in it, breathing Gunnar in: the perfume, the slight saltiness of sweat from the night, from when Gunnar might’ve jerked off in this bed themself. How did they get themself off? Fucking themself? Doing the fucking? Vibrators? Fingers? Bunching up the blankets and humping them, a growl tailing each of their breaths as they neared climax?
“Please, can I suck you off?” Sid begged.
Gunnar just laughed at them, flipping them over easily, sweeping their legs up. “Aww. You want a treat?”
Sid was shocked at the moan that escaped their lips, high and pleading. “Please.”
“The more you ask me for things,” Gunnar said, “The more purple I’m going to turn your ass.” Gunnar stripped them of their pants with the kind of efficiency that made Sid wonder how often they did this, and Sid caught sight of the dark spot where their wetness had sunk into their thin underwear, blushing hot. This was going to be a lesson, Gunnar had said. Yeah, Sid was learning a lot about themself right now, staying pliant in Gunnar’s hands as Gunnar unrolled a cylinder of white fabric.
“What’s that?” Sid’s breath caught, because Gunnar could encircle both their ankles with one hand.
“This,” Gunnar said, smirking, “is an abdominal binder. Easily repurposed to keep things from wriggling away like a little worm.”
Oh god. Sid opened and closed their mouth wordlessly as Gunnar began to wrap the wide swath of fabric around their ankles, keeping Sid’s legs straight. Their chest heaved with excitement. Gunnar worked their way up, pulling the stretchy binder tight so that the elastic plastered Sid’s legs together, wrapping them up like a mummy all the way to Sid’s mid thigh, which was where Gunnar Velcroed the end of binder down.
Sid was so, so hot, overheated, feverish with arousal as they squirmed, staring at Gunnar’s thick thighs, then their crotch, then chest and thick arms, easily manhandling Sid. Meanwhile, Sid couldn’t even bend their knees anymore. Couldn’t even pull their legs apart more than an inch before the binder snatched them back together, turning their lower half into one useless limb. They were panting, their cheeks tight and hot.
“Thank you. Thank you,” they chanted as Gunnar flipped them back onto their stomach, grabbing their wrists, binding them together with something Sid didn’t even see, they were so distracted. Their inner thighs were wet. They could only imagine they were dribbling all over Gunnar’s sheets. Gunnar ignored their words completely, leaving a raw noise falling out of Sid’s mouth, desperate for their reverence to be heard. “Your grace. My owner.”
Gunnar chuckled, not even looking at them, and Sid’s head fell back limply on the bed as they sank their teeth into their lower lip.
“Owner, huh?” The mattress dipped as Gunnar sat on the edge. “You think I want to take care of another slut? That I don’t already have enough chasing after me?” The way they grabbed Sid, then, was so casual—Gunnar went straight for their ass, a finger sinking inside Sid’s hole for grip as they hauled Sid over their lap, like they were just an object to be moved—that Sid mewled and shuddered, submission making them go limp.
Gunnar spread them out like a piece of meat, not bothering to ease their discomfort as their ass stuck into the air, their chest pressed against the bed and their shirt rucked up to show their lower back. “I’m sorry,” Sid moaned.
“No you’re not.” Gunnar laughed at them, palming over the swell of their ass. “But that’s okay. You will be.” Between their legs, Sid felt themselves ooze a glob of slick they knew would end up soaking into Gunnar’s pants humiliatingly, a neon sign broadcasting how much this turned them on. They were pressed so intimately against Gunnar’s body—their thighs were soft and warm, sturdy; they wanted to stay here forever.
“You better tell me when you want me to stop,” Gunnar said, running their hand over Sid’s ass in a way that could only be reverence, like a painter in front of a fresh canvas. In that moment, Sid swore to themself that the word would never pass their lips. This was everything they could’ve dreamed of.
I think I’m in love with you, Sid wanted to say.
They never go the chance, because Gunnar picked something up, and the first hit cracked across Sid’s bare ass.
Sid jolted and gasped mostly out of surprise. The strike hurt far less than they’d thought it would: just a brief sting that quickly faded.
“Thank you!” they cried out. “Please, may I have another?”
Gunnar’s belly quivered as they laughed. “Now, I like that. Why don’t you keep begging, beautiful?”
The compliment turned their cheeks bright red.
The next hit came down on Sid’s other ass cheek, a loud smack whose heat quickly faded. Could the rooms next door hear what was going on? Sid’s breath caught. Would they know Sid was in here, begging like a slut, begging for pain? What would their friends say? What would their friends do? Bend Sid over themselves, order them to service the others, take turns with them? Their mouth filled with eager saliva.
Fingers wrapped around the back of their neck, nails digging into their delicate skin. “Where have your manners suddenly gone, Sid?” Gunnar’s tone was mocking, condescending, like scolding a child.
“I’m sorry,” they gasped wetly, squirming—their nipples scrubbed against their shirt, against Gunnar’s thigh, little bolts of sensation that only weakened their mind further. “Thank you. Thank you! Please, may this forgetful thing have another?”
“Forgetful thing,” Gunnar mused, sliding whatever they were using as a paddle deceptively gently against Sid’s ass. It was smooth and cold. Maybe the back of a hairbrush, like they’d asked for? Sid flushed. “You’re very descriptive, for a thing.”
“If it pleases you,” Sid moaned. The paddle lifted off their skin, and then came down again. Really, this wasn’t so bad at all. It sounded so much worse than it was. Sid giggled breathlessly.
“Thank you,” they moaned. “Please, may this worthless thing have another?”
The hairbrush lifted, and came down, again in a different spot.
“Thank you! Please, may this pathetic thing have another!”
Gunnar laughed. “So eager. You’re going to be begging me to stop, before long, you simple-minded thing.”
Sid groaned, hiding their face in the sheets at the crease where they met Gunnar’s leg. No, they wouldn’t be.
They didn’t even try to yank at the cuffs as Gunnar brought the hairbrush down again and again, rhythmically, never sticking to one place. The blows were more than manageable, pleasurable even, and Sid didn’t even realize they’d started rocking against Gunnar’s leg for friction until Gunnar laughed.
“Yeah, I never gave this thing permission to hump. It should stop that.”
Even wetter, Sid mewled at the casual stripping of their humanity, because it really had been their fault, introducing that, but they didn’t realize how brainless changing something as little as a pronoun would make them feel as they sank into a heady, hedonistic space, their hips speeding up with their little thrusts.
“Subs,” Gunnar scoffed—not meant for Sid’s ears, they were sure—and the paddle crashed down, suddenly so much harder than Sid remembered.
“Gunnar!” They yelped, flinching at the sudden, radiant pain, legs jerking uselessly in their mummified state, two legs become one. The pain spread out, warmed quickly, diffused Sid with a heavenly glow on their ass.
“Nah, it doesn’t get to address me,” Gunnar said. Sid choked on a sob as Gunnar took that privilege away from them.
“This thing is so sorry,” Sid begged, voice breaking as another deliciously vicious blow came down. “Please, it begs to be forgiven.” Sid could feel their personhood shrinking down to where it was no longer a concern, not a stressor. It left Sid a body and a voice, whimpering and whining as Gunnar spanked it and it pleaded for more and got what it asked for.
Sid stifled a whimper in Gunnar’s sheets, stuffing its face into the fabric.
One of Gunnar’s arms came down on its lower back, pinning Sid firmly. The strikes were starting to become relentless, sting layering over sting until Sid was squirming, gasping, biting the sheets, leaving them wet with its drool.
“What a beautiful color,” Gunnar purred, their voice coming from a slight distance. Sid’s backside was hot and aching and arousing, and Sid wanted to plead for Gunnar to thrust something into its hole. Then, it heard, with mock concern: “But it’s still so pale…”
The next time Gunnar brought the brush down, the burn immediately blazed through its flesh, radiating out, so painful that Sid cried out. It jerked—useless. Suddenly it realized the significance of being trussed up like a chicken. It couldn’t even squirm away if it tried. Its legs were a smooth, immobile lump. Pinned stomach down on Gunnar’s lap, hands bound behind it, this thing had no leverage.
The brush came down again without reprive, Sid’s flesh turning into pure fire. It cried out as Gunnar kept going and going, layering pain over pain across the whole mass of its buttocks and upper thighs until tears sprung to Sid’s eyes, and it had to blink them back.
“This thing is so grateful! It is so grateful!” it babbled ecstatically, body singing in pained pleasure.
Gunnar suddenly stopped. It took a moment for Sid to notice, gasping. Its ass throbbed and pulsed angrily in time with its heartbeat.
Gunnar chuckled, amused, as they admired their handiwork. Their hand, groping at Sid’s swollen ass cheek, made it groan as it pushed into the touch, trying to spread its thighs to tempt Gunnar into sinking their fingers into its hole, maybe even their whole hand. It felt wet and open enough, and the heat between its legs was unbearable, gooey and wet in a way it had never experienced before, loose and wanting for something to stretch it, something hard and solid to clench down on.
“That’s a good start,” Gunnar said, hauling Sid off of them so they could stand. “Nice and pink.”
“More, please,” Sid slurred.
Gunnar laughed, standing, stretching lazily, like a cat, while Sid craned its neck to watch their beautiful body, even if its vision was hazy at the edges.
Gunnar grinned down at it: wicked, ravenous, all teeth. There was a juicy wet spot on the middle of their thigh, light gray chinos stained black, from where Sid’s exuberance had drooled all over them. There was a smaller, fainter wet patch between Gunnar’s legs.
Sid couldn’t help but stare, mouth falling open and tongue poking out. It wanted to taste its own fluids; wanted to taste Gunnar’s.
The edge of Gunnar’s smile turned cruel as their hands went to their belt. Sid moaned eagerly, trying to squirm more upright in preparation.
Gunnar didn’t undo their fly. They slid their belt all the way out of their belt loops, the black leather hissing through their hands as they doubled it back on itself, then reached to reposition Sid lengthwise along the side of the bed, oddly gentle. This thing didn’t understand what was happening, distracted by the bob of Gunnar’s thighs near its face, until it heard a whisper through the air, and a searing smack laid itself down over its ass.
This thing cried out at the sudden stripe of agony laid down by the belt, and it jolted, biting down on the bedspread.
“More?” Gunnar said. Their arm raised again with the belt.
“Please, my owner!” This needy thing canted its hips up to make its ass an easier, more tempting target.
Gunnar smirked.
The belt came down again.
Stripe after stripe of heat layered down, Gunnar no longer bothering to set a rhythm, laying down fast, vicious licks to the tune of this thing’s wailed song. It wasn’t long until this thing was seeing sparks behind its eyes, its mind so fuzzy it couldn’t think, couldn’t even beg, could only feel.
And it felt, agony beating into the deeper flesh of its ass, and it couldn’t help but cry out in joy even as its body tried to escape, knowing it was earning those bruises it wanted so badly, that it would keep for weeks, if not months. Fire ran in its blood. It could taste the pain on the back of its tongue.
Thank god Gunnar decided to pin it down, resting their shin along the length of this thing’s back and leaning some of their weight there. Closer, now, Gunnar struck again and again at the seat of this thing’s ass, exactly on the flesh where its weight would rest when it sat down. The same place, Gunnar beat again and again, the belt coming down. And down. And down on the same spot.
At first, this grateful thing wept and squirmed. The spanking became torture. It became hell, as though knives were driving into the seat of its ass with each strike. Its legs shook.
“Oh,” Gunnar breathed. “I do so love it when they cry.”
This thing hadn’t realized its eyes were streaming with tears that ran down its face, soaking its cheeks, its nose stuffed. Its legs were thrashing in their bonds, its hands grasping at for anything to hold on to.
“Why don’t we stop now?” Gunnar said, patronizingly, as they laid down another strike across this thing’s ass, as if they thought this thing could no longer take it.
“No!” this thing squealed, voice breaking in the middle of a hit.
A minute later was the first time it screamed. The belt came down on top of a swollen welt, so white hot with agony that it swore its flesh was being cut open.
“Oh, no no, none of that,” Gunnar said pleasantly, shoving its face into a pillow to muffle it. The belt cracked against that same boiling welt. This thing’s voice became strangled in its throat as it thrashed violently, body unable to quell its protest.
This thing’s escape attempt was contained with a complete lack of effort on Gunnar’s part, the belt moving down its legs to the back of its sensitive thighs, the end flicking almost between them, the sensitive skin ripping with bright sparks of pain. On and on.
The thing didn’t know when something flipped in its mind. When it settled. Its attempts at escape, so worthless, ceased. Its mind unmoored. Its muscles relaxed and went limp. Its jaw slack, it panted in great heaving gasps, hips rocking against the wet sheets, hole clenching and fluttering around nothing, keeping it at a plateau of mindlessness. Pleasure and pain. Maybe it came. It didn’t know. Its whole body was one raw nerve.
“Poor, needy slut.” Gunnar’s voice floated around it. “It’s so touch-starved, isn’t it? It just doesn’t know when stopping is good for it.”
The thing whimpered unintelligently, reduced to pleasure, obedience. Willingness. The perfect toy.
Gunnar groped at its ass again, leaving it shrilling into the pillow at the sting. The thing sobbed in relief when the massage stopped. It didn’t know if it could take any more. Surely it couldn’t—
It heard the smack first, then felt the dull thud—something hard and vicious whipped into its ass, slamming into a thousand bruises and piercing into the deep fat and muscle. The thing’s eyes flew open as it screeched, the imprint of the belt buckle laid on its skin.
“Beg me to stop,” Gunnar said.
Another impossibly heavy, piercing whip, pounding against the bones under all its flesh. The bruised thing’s jaw dropped uselessly. Its skin was on fire. Its muscles ached. The pain swelled into its very bones.
“Beg me,” Gunnar said.
Another hit. It felt as though it passed all the way through the thing’s body to come out on its other side. Its eyes were glazing over with tears, a slide of drool hovering on its bitten, swollen lips.
“Beg me,” Gunnar repeated.
Another hit.
Please. Its lips moved soundlessly.
A hit beat into its thighs.
Please, it mouthed.
Gunnar didn’t hear it. The stupid thing managed to realize was never going to be able to sit down again. Wasn’t that what it had wanted? A tear slipped down its cheek as it remembered when its body hadn’t been a ball of torment. How long had it been? Thirty minutes? Fifteen? Five?
Another hit.
“Please,” the thing whispered. Voice becoming stronger, it started chanting the word like a prayer, sobbing, weeping, raising its voice in exaltation, beseeching, praying.
It took several minutes for it to realize the spanking had stopped. It was babbling, its words wet and slurred and nonsensical. Its ass was a mass of agony, hurting far beyond what this thing could comprehend, so tender that it didn’t think it could feel any more pain even if Gunnar had given it to them. It couldn’t even move.
Gunnar’s hand was in its sweaty hair, soothing.
They cried, chest heaving, as Gunnar undid their bound arms quickly and easily, hands flying up to hide their face as—more carefully—Gunnar unwrapped their legs. Their joints ached from being pressed up against one another, adding to the clamor of anguish under their skin.
Gunnar’s hand stayed in Sid’s hair, sifting through it gently as they used up the last of their tears.
“Am I bleeding?” they sniffed.
Gunnar snorted. “No,” they said. “You’ll just be black and blue for a week or two.”They pinched Sid’s buttock, and they squealed at the brand of pain that seized their whole spine, new tears welling in Sid’s eyes.
“Your eyes get so pretty when you cry,” Gunnar said. Sid blinked wetly, looking up at them.
The corner of Gunnar’s mouth twitched as they continued to roll that pinch of flesh between their fingers, a fat tear rolling down Sid’s cheek. “And you like it, don’t you?”
Sid bit their lip.
“Not a punishment at all,” Gunnar murmured, turning a glance to their handiwork and smoothing their hand over it painfully—the skin of Sid’s ass and the backs of their thighs were all blue and purple, and red and yellow toward the edges of the massive, singular bruise. “What are we going to do with you?”
Their whole ass protested when Sid tried to shift their legs, the pain digging deep into their muscle and seizing their bones with cramps. They gasped in fear and surprise. They weren’t even going to be able to get up, maybe, and they had class tomorrow. A whole week of classes, starting tomorrow.
They looked up at Gunnar’s arousal-black eyes and bit their lip.
“Please,” Sid whispered. “May I have more?”