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Bruce is kneeling on the unforgiving stone floor, wrists and ankles bound in cold steel. His veins thrum with hot blood, still pulsing with the anger that drove him to burn down his Master’s bed. Master floats above him, his beautiful white cape billowing around him like a halo. The alien circles him, a predator, sizing his prey. Bruce is unfazed – he went through all that trouble to make a statement, to make it clear to his Master that he would not tolerate any other pets. Whatever punishment he receives now, it will be exactly what he had been hoping for. Master’s entire attention – focused only on him. He’s contemplating what to do with Bruce, he can feel it – the intensity of his gaze boring into Bruce’s skin. It makes the boy tremble with excitement.
“You’re an awful lot more difficult than I took you for, you know?” Lord Kal-El breaks the silence. “When I found you in that cage, a shivering little pile of sticks with not one rebellious bone in your body, I thought you’d be an easy pet.”
There’s a sound like tearing fabric, then he is on the ground, standing before Bruce with a torn off strip of his cape in his hand. He cups Bruce’s cheek with the other, tilting his face up to look him in the eyes. He shakes his head in resigned disbelief.
“Such a pretty face. Innocent eyes. All you ever had to do was bat your lashes like a little dame and I gave you whatever you wanted. Is that what your father did too, give you whatever you wanted?”
Bruce nods.
“I want your words, boy. You had a lot to say when you wrecked my throne, did you not?”
“Yes, master,” Bruce says.
Kal smiles, passing a hand through the boy’s hair and pushing it out of his eyes. “And you’re just as polite as ever,” he sighs, “this is just what you wanted, isn’t it? Just me and you, here in our play place, nobody to join us.”
“Yes, master.”
“Very well then. I can’t say I’m too mad, because I want this too,” Kal lays the strip of cloth against Bruce’s nose, teasing it just against his bottom lashes, “I’ve grown quite fond of you too, my little bat. Before we start, I want you to know, it is because of my fondness for you that you are only going to experience this punishment. Today, muffin is not an option. I don’t care if you cry, if you scream, if you beg me for mercy till you lose your conscious – I’m not gonna stop till I’m done, princess.” He pulls the blindfold over the boy’s eyes, wrapping it around and gently burning the ends together at the side of Bruce’s head.
Bruce shudders as his world goes blank, the strange kryptonian material robbing him of not only his vision but his sense of direction as well. He’s thrust into a void, the cold stone floor the only thing grounding him to reality. He gets a sense of what’s coming next – Kal uses this blindfold when he wants Bruce to be entirely consumed by pleasure, by pain.
Bruce is a visual person. He enjoys watching his holes get fucked, he gets spanked in front of a mirror, he likes to accompany Kal to the kitchens to observe the food being prepared, he sits in the cramped little sew shop while the tailor cuts his dresses. He likes to see the process of things.
Taking away his vision – forcing him to stare into an empty void while anticipating the strike of Kal’s palm across his flesh – is punishment in itself.
The strike never comes. Bruce finds himself waiting, and waiting, and waiting, his cocklet getting harder the longer he has to wait. He runs through previous punishments in his head, wonders what Master’s first move may be.
His cuffs are removed.
The cold steel vanishes from his joints with a soft clink, his hands falling out of position at the sudden release.
“Alpha…?”
“I’m not angry enough, Bruce. You have not sufficiently stimulated me. What have I said, about this?”
“I must please you or anger you, with no in between.”
A rough hand at his throat, lifting him up with a finger hooked in his collar. “Yes. And you have neither pleased me, nor angered me. I am simply… disappointed. Do you know what I do with disappointments, little bat?”
“Th-the dungeons,” the words are whispered, fear creeping into Bruce’s voice for the first time. He feels... he feels humiliated. Scared. He wanted Master to be angry. He thought - he had thought he had made him angry. Now, now Bruce is in a space he definitely did not expect.
“Hm, yes. That. But I can’t send you to the dungeons, can I? They wouldn’t know what to do with you, you bratty little thing. I don’t know what to do with you. I could fuck you, but you like that too much. You’re a cock whore through and through. I would spank my pets if they got out of line, but you like that too much too, don’t you? What is it that you don’t like, my difficult boy?”
“Pain? No one likes pain,” Bruce supplies.
An open palm comes down against his thigh, a sharp crack echoing through the room. Seconds later, the stinging pain blooms across his flesh and draws an involuntary moan from his lips.
“As I said,” Kal tsks. "You like pain. Although…"
Bruce finds himself hanging from his Master's hand in mid-air, held up only by the large hand between his legs, tugging and twisting at his balls. He bites back any sound building in his throat, because alpha is thinking, he needs silence to think. Yet his legs kick and jerk of their own accord as Kal continues to think, his fingers idly pordding around Bruce's cock and balls. Like a stress ball, Sybil had once told him. Having something to squeeze in his hands helps him think better. He does it with my boobs sometimes.
"Oh, yes!" In a blur, Bruce is face-down on the bed, on his hands and knees.
“See, I think you enjoy pain because there is no work to it. You are not putting in any effort when I tie you down and beat you black and blue. You are just taking it, enjoying it. So I’m going to give you some work to do. We’ll start small.”
With no further words, he shoves a cock into each of Bruce’s holes, and a cuff is wrapped around his balls. Kal chuckles as he hefts the small omegan cock in his fingers and wraps it – it’s always a bit comical to compare the size of omegas with his own. And yet, their holes… Kal knows without doubt that he could never stretch his asshole as wide as Bruce lets his get gaped. He would never allow it.
Bruce gasps as something cold is placed on his back. It has a significant weight to it, yet it feels… unbalanced. A gentle kiss is placed against the tattoo at the small of his back, then Master retreats, finding a seat at the edge of the bed.
“Better brace yourself darling, get started on some breath control, mental exercises, whatever.” Then he turns on the toys – a gentle, low vibrational setting. Bruce, is quick to moan and arch his back into the pleasure. Kal smirks at the predictability of it. The half-filled pitcher of water tips over, drenching the wanton omega in icy liquid.
The omega shrieks in confusion. He rolls over on his back, panting, wheezing, hips canting up on their own as the toys don’t turn off. He’s glaring up at Kal with a betrayed look in his eyes, with surprise. Kal can’t help but chuckle.
“I told you you’d have some work to do,” he reminds, grabbing his pet by the ankle and flipping him over. He puts him back on his hands and knees – now trembling from the cold of the water and the prolonged exposure to the vibrators – and places a half-filled pitcher of water back on his spine. “Keep it there, sweetheart,” he instructs, “every time you knock this off, I add a little more water, and a little more speed.” A click of a button, and the vibrators are going faster, the omega’s mouth falling open in a soundless cry.
“H-how– how many times?”
“That, is for me to decide, as I see fit.”
Kal takes his seat again, at the edge of the bed. His mate’s pleased little whines and moans wash over him, an ever pleasant sound. Kal crosses his legs and patiently waits, watching Bruce’s holes drip and clench in ecstasy from the stimulation. Occasionally, a tremor runs through him, his muscles shivering from the cold. Kal uses some sparse bursts of heat vision to speed up the rewarming of his omega’s skin – especially the abdomen and his nethers – to increase the contrast upon the next spill.
It goes just as expected – as Bruce’s body warms up, his pleasure mounts, and his trained hips arch towards the sensation. The pitcher tumbles over and drenches the boy in icy water, violently tearing him down from the crest of climax.
Kal reassembles him on his hands and knees, fills the pitcher 3/4th full and ups the vibrators by one setting.
The pitcher tumbles over and drenches the boy in icy water, violently tearing him away from orgasm. He rolls over on his back, panting.
Kal flips him over, slaps him, assembles him on his hands and knees, fills the pitcher completely full and ups the vibrators by another setting.
The pitcher tumbles over and drenches the boy in icy water, ripping him down from the crest of climax. He falls to his side, shivering.
Kal flips him over, slaps him, assembles him on his hands and knees, fills the pitcher again and ups the vibrators by yet another setting.
The whines turn into wails. The whimpered pleas turn into begging, loud and desperate. His holes convulse violently, almost painful to look at, but Kal is enjoying it.
The steady drip of fluid streaming down his thighs.
The angry red of his cock and balls, straining against the implement that is both restricting and stimulating. That is overstimulating. His cock is leaking pathetically, like a faulty faucet.
The trembling of his limbs, like leaves in the wind.
He’s drenched with sweat. With water. With tears.
That sweet face, twisted in pain. Genuine, unenjoyable pain.
But oh, how Kal enjoys it. He’s got his cock in hand, stroking idly – not really jerking off, no – just enjoying the sweet sensation of Bruce’s pain, transforming into pleasure as it courses through the room and reaches Kal. The pitcher tips over for the sixth time, and Bruce doesn’t scream – doesn’t fall over, doesn’t lurch forward, doesn’t curse anyone’s name or spit obscenities in Kal’s direction. He takes a deep, ragged breath, adjusts his posture, and waits.
Kal fills the pitcher and ups the vibrators to their last setting. Of course, Bruce doesn’t know it’s the last setting – but if he fails yet again, Kal will stop all the same. He’s rock hard and his omega’s holes are both so wet and red that Kal could not be tempted to resist any longer. Not even the planet erupting could stop Kal from burying himself in that velvet heat.
The pitcher doesn’t fall. Fists clench tightly at soaked bedsheets and toes curl so hard Kal is sure they’re painfully cramped, but the pitcher doesn’t fall. Not a single sound falls from the omega’s lips. And then – a sharp intake of breath, the splash of three tears, and a wet, shaky exhale.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s a whisper. Almost slips past Kal’s superhearing.
He descends upon him at once.
The vibrators are torn out and thrown somewhere across the room. The pitcher of water shatters against the far wall, the soaked bedsheets landing in a dark heap above its shards.
“You did so well darling, you did so well,” hands, hands all over his aching body, “You took your punishment so good,” lips, kisses, finally, the sweet comfort of Master’s lips against his own, his tongue pushing into his mouth, licking away his tears, his pain, “do you want to see yourself, sweetheart? Mhm, wanna see what you look like? Oh, you look so good, pet,” the blindfold finally, finally off his eyes, he’s out of the void, he’s out, he can see Alpha, he can see light, colors, shapes – there’s the mirror, the bedside mirror, as tall as the walls, “oh…” “oh, yes, you look beautiful, don’t you?” blushing, hiding his face, “oh, don’t get shy now! You like looking, don’t you?” a hand around his jaw, forcing his gaze towards the mirror, “watch, sweetheart,” a light breeze, master has stripped, he's pushing into Bruce's abused cunt – a fresh wave of fluid drips out, Bruce moans, suddenly finding himself on the edge of an orgasm – "can i…?" "of course, pet," he let's go, quivering, finally, finally, releasing, the hand tightens, he can't breathe, his face is buried into the mattress as Master takes full control, setting a brutal pace – he can't, he can't breathe, there's teeth against his mating gland, he's too full, he's numb, numb in both holes, unresponsive, loose, overstimulated, he can't breathe – his throat is full, blocked, airways blocked, panicked eyes stare back at him from the mirror, please, please.
Gasping, gasping for breath, the musk of alpha's seed thick and cloying in his nose, like honey, dripping down his throat, slipping into unconsciousness — he wakes up, many hours later, there are no pets clamoring down the hall, there's no outfit laid out, pressed and ready to wear, there's no cock in his cunt, forcing him awake. No, he wakes up slowly, sleepily. Lord Superman, his alpha, his mate – he's smiling down at him, stroking his hair. "I think you'll like your new collar," he says, instead of good morning. Bruce winces as he lifts himself up on his elbows, his limbs hurt like a nasty bruise. He cranes his neck and peers over his mate's considerable chest, at the mirror, sees a lovely bruise circling his throat, a collar. It's darker in some places, a little wider at the sides, but it frames his neck quite nicely.
"I love it," he smiles, and alpha smiles back, kissing him softly.
Softly. Gently. Lovingly.