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Astarion sits straight-backed in a cushioned armchair, picking nervously at the frayed skin of one nail. This is it. This is his last chance before he winds up on the corner of some street, offering himself to the first person that comes along. His eyes shift around the office, beautifully decorated with imported wood furniture and real leather chairs. Oil paintings that must have cost a fortune, and shelves of rare and valuable artifacts behind locked cases. He glances back at the owner of the office, the proprietor of the House of Hope, and his salvation.
Raphael studies the contract they’ve been drafting closely, ignoring Astarion for the moment. He takes a breath, trying to calm his nerves, reassuring himself as best he can. The House of Hope has a reputation for treating its workers well. Security is top-notch, and rumor has it Raphael is a fair, if demanding, boss. A boon of an opportunity for Astarion, really. At this point, literally anything would be better than Cazador’s Palace or (Astarion shudders) The Kennel.
From behind the desk, Raphael glances up over the rim of his glasses, frowning when he catches sight of Astarion’s hands. “Stop that.”
Astarion stops, resting his palms on the tops of his knees. Setting the small stack of papers down, Raphael removes his glasses, sitting back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. He folds his hands in his lap, staring for a long moment at Astarion, as if trying to read something he could not glean from the contract waiting for them on the desk. All of Astarion’s desires, all the things that frighten him, his history, his medical records, all whittled down to several hundred words printed in black ink.
“Everything seems to be in order. Your background check is… acceptable. Five months for burglary.” Raphael tuts, chiding playfully. “It’s no wonder you’re having a hard time finding honest work. How lucky for you I’m willing to overlook such slights. As you know, security here is the best money can buy. You’d have to be a fool to think about stealing from me.”
“I won’t!” Astarion says, quick to assure. Gods, he saw the brute Yurgir outside. He likes his head firmly attached to his body, thank you.
“Of course not. As I said, everything seems in order. Your references check out, and your medical exam is clean. A little malnourished, but that’s easily remedied with a steady paycheck, I’d imagine.” His dark brown eyes travel slowly down Astarion’s body, making him shiver as if the man is mentally undressing him. He’s not sure why the thought makes warmth pool in his belly. Makes him squirm and resist the urge to cross his legs. Plenty of people look at him like that. Open, hungry desire on their faces. But something about Raphael’s predatory smile makes his breath catch and his hair stand on end. Makes him feel powerless to flee. Like he wants to bare his neck. Raphael’s voice is deep and sinfully smooth as he slides the contract across the desk. “All that’s left is to sign.” He places a gold pen that probably cost more than Astarion’s shitty flat on the small stack of paper.
Swallowing, Astarion nods, plucking the pen and twirling it in his hand. “We…” he clears his throat. “After this we will…?” They discussed the hiring process; he’s not sure why he’s even asking. Raphael vets all his new employees personally. If he finds Astarion’s performance acceptable, he’ll land the coveted position as a paid submissive in one of the best brothels just outside Baldur’s Gate. Getting paid for something he already did for free in various nightclubs. It could be so much worse. If Raphael doesn’t enjoy his performance, well—at least he still gets paid for tonight. And Raphael already assured him, they’re not required to have sex tonight. It’s even in the contract. He simply wants to assess Astarion’s limits, to find where he excels so he can match him to appropriate clients.
Not that Astarion would mind sex necessarily, eyeing the man in turn. He’s broad-shouldered with lovely olive skin, neatly styled brown hair, and classically handsome features. A bit older than Astarion, but that’s no problem at all. His immaculate suit fits him like a second skin. Astarion wouldn’t mind seeing what it looks like on his bedroom floor.
Raphael gestures to the set of red doors on his right. “We’ll conduct your assessment. As per our agreement.”
With a deep breath, Astarion signs his name. Taking the contract back, Raphael signs his own name beside Astarion’s briskly before tapping the papers on the desk and placing them in a folder. He places the folder in the drawer to his left, then stands, straightening the front of his suit. “Shall we?” he says, gesturing with his hand to the red doors.
Astarion nods, standing to follow behind his new master.
Throwing the doors open, Raphael beckons him forward, holding his palm out. “Come along, pet.”
The room beyond bears many of the hallmarks Astarion has seen in other playrooms, but far more expensive and tastefully decorated than most. Polished wooden floors glow warmly under the soft white light from above. Dark red walls, with a few curtains and floor-length mirrors. Black leather furniture, tables, cabinets, benches. Along the walls are hooks from which hang familiar implements—whips, rope, paddles. A swing dangles from the ceiling in the corner to his left. And in the corner to his right, a cross mounted on the wall with restraints at each end. A bed with four tall posts sits in the center of the room, looking soft and inviting with silky red sheets and fluffy pillows. Attached to each post are more restraints ending in fur-lined cuffs.
The warmth of Raphael’s hand on the small of his back startles him, and he jumps a little. Dulcet laughter at his skittishness makes Astarion blush and then makes him scowl. He’s done this countless times. What the hells does he have to be nervous for? Oh, right, the negative numbers in his bank account and empty refrigerator in his unheated flat—plenty of reasons to not screw this up.
Fingers brush gently through his curls. “Easy, pet. You’re going to enjoy this.”
“Am I? You’re confident, aren’t you?” The flippant tone just slips out, easy as breathing. Astarion bites his lip, annoyed with himself and his smart mouth. It always gets him into trouble. Though sometimes the trouble is fun.
Raphael doesn’t seem to mind. His smile broadens, showing his teeth. “Hmmm, I like a bit of fight. You’re going to be fun. And you’re going to behave.” It’s not a question.
Astarion lets his eyes drop from Raphael’s dark gaze after a long moment. He nods. “Yes, Master.”
“Very good.” A finger comes under his chin, lifting his head back up. Raphael catches his gaze once more, looking entirely serious. “What’s your safeword, Astarion?”
The warm lighting brings out the gold in Raphael’s eyes. Something about it settles Astarion’s nerves. “Sunlight,” he says softly.
“Shall we begin?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Wonderful. Strip and place your clothes on the cabinet there.” Raphael gestures and then turns to walk over to a leather sofa, unbuttoning his suit jacket and settling himself comfortably.
Astarion lets out a breath. Lets the edges of his thoughts soften and drift away like smoke as he lets go of his pride, lets go of control, and puts his trust in Raphael. His eyes drift shut. His head falls back, exposing the long line of his neck as he runs a hand up his torso. His fingers brush over a nipple, making his breath hitch just a little. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, he can feel his heart hammering with the beginnings of excitement. He unbuttons his shirt slowly, glancing up from under his lashes, expecting to see his master watching him. Expecting to see a lustful gaze looking back at him. Instead, he finds Raphael fiddling with something on the table beside him, not even paying him any attention.
Well, that’s a first. Annoyed, Astarion resists the temptation to stomp his foot, demanding the attention he so rightly deserves, and undresses methodically, taking a moment to fold his clothes and place them in the cabinet. When he turns back, Raphael’s eyes are back on Astarion, taking in his naked form, and now there’s a flicker of something—his tan skin darkens ever so slightly in arousal, his eyes glitter with approval. That’s more like it.
Astarion preens a little, grateful the room is warm. “See something you like?”
“Fishing for compliments?” Raphael leans back in the chair, watching him closely. The intensity of his gaze sends a frisson of arousal coursing through Astarion’s veins. Gods, but the man is handsome. Astarion bites back a moan as his cock begins to swell, hanging plump between his legs, thinking of all the things this man may do to him. Dark laughter makes Astarion blush again. Raphael gestures with his hand. “Come here.”
Astarion takes a step, halting when Raphael’s hand goes up. He points to the floor, his brow raised, expectation clear. He wants Astarion to crawl. Astarion hesitates briefly. He doesn’t love crawling around on all fours, truth be told. It’s like being told to eat your vegetables if you want dessert. And absolute murder on the knees. But it isn’t one of his limits, and he isn’t about to give Raphael any reason to find him lacking, so he drops gracefully to the floor, planting his hands and arching his back just enough to entice, and begins to crawl. Keeping his head up and eyes on his master, Astarion crawls the length of the room. Warmth from the heated floor makes the going easier—actually, he could get used to this.
Raphael’s eyes grow darker as he comes to a stop between his parted knees, kneeling at his feet. His hand brushes the end of Astarion’s curls before drifting lightly across his cheek. “Aren’t you a pretty one?”
Pleasure suffuses Astarion’s chest, making his breath hitch. He presses his face against the hand at his cheek, tempted to kiss the warm skin there, to take Raphael’s thumb into his mouth. He bites back a moan of protest when the hand retreats, pouting as he watches Raphael reach for something on the table beside him. He holds out a thin rectangular box, opening it to reveal a leather collar. Deep red with silver clasps and a silver ring in the shape of a heart at the front. Astarion does moan now. As much as he dislikes crawling, he loves the collar. The snug feeling of it against his skin like an embrace. The way his mind blanks when his master places it around his neck as he slips fully into his control. Safe in his hands.
“So eager.” Raphael’s dark chuckle sends a shiver down his spine. Astarion leans up on his knees, pressing between Raphael’s legs. Feeling bold, he rests his hands atop Raphael’s knees, pleased when he does not protest. He tilts his head back, offering his neck, his lips twitching at the sound of Raphael’s husky breathing. The soft inner lining brushes his skin as Raphael secures the collar around his neck, warm fingers running along his skin underneath to ensure it’s not too tight. The throbbing between his legs that had started with the crawl becomes an ache.
“Oh.” Astarion feels himself pitch forward when Raphael’s hands leave him, catching himself before he falls into his lap entirely.
“My, we’ve hardly begun.”
“Sorry, Master,” Astarion mutters, righting himself.
“Hmm, don’t think that apology absolves you of your punishment.”
“What?” Punishment? He hadn’t done anything! Not yet anyway.
“Yes. You hesitated when I asked you to crawl.”
“What!?”
“For ten whole seconds. I think that warrants a spanking…” Raphael hums thoughtfully, running a hand across his lips as he considers Astarion with gleeful malice. “Ten slaps. One for each second you disobeyed me. But you’re very sweet, and I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you decide: my hand or my belt.”
“For ten seconds? Are you serious?”
“Careful, pet. My generosity has its limits. Continue to talk back and I’ll make it fifty, and I’ll choose the implement.” He grabs Astarion’s chin, jerking his head up. Astarion flinches at the scowl on his face. “I promise you, you do not want me to choose.”
Astarion eyes the leather belt at Raphael’s waist warily. “Your hand. Please, Master.”
“Excellent choice.” Raphael leans back, patting his lap with his hands. “Up here.”
Astarion rises, trepidation filling his belly. He doesn’t know what Raphael is capable of, whether he’ll show… restraint. Hells, he’s already found a reason to punish him. The prickle of fear under his skin does nothing to diminish the pulsing between his legs. He lays himself across Raphael’s lap, biting his lip when his cock brushes against the fabric of his pants. The sofa is long enough that he can stretch out, with only his feet dangling over the edge.
“Be a good boy and count for me.”
Not trusting his voice at the moment, Astarion only nods. Raphael’s hand ghosts over the swell of his ass, a promise. A threat. He chances a glance over his shoulder, his heart thundering at the possessive look in Raphael’s eyes. Astarion feels his breath rushing in and out of his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting.
The first slap sounds loud in the room, but not as loud as his gasp at the pain that stings brightly against his ass cheek. His hips jerk, cock dragging along Raphael’s thigh, blending pain with pleasure. “One…” he murmurs, pressing his face into his forearms.
The second comes fast and hard, and then a third, right on its heels. Painful, open-handed slaps that sting mercilessly, expertly executed by a man who has clearly punished more than one submissive in his time. Heat blossoms from each point of contact as blood rushes to Astarion’s abused flesh. “Two… three…”
“You’re so pale,” Raphael remarks, rubbing his palm idly over his handiwork. He grabs a fistful of flesh, squeezing it, and Astarion notes the timbre of his voice drop an octave, taking on a husky quality. “Just a few slaps has you beautifully pink. What a delight you are.”
A moan slips out at the praise. Astarion rocks his hips down again, teasing himself with the pressure of Raphael’s warm thigh against his dripping length. “Please…”
“Please, what?”
“Another, Master.”
“Oh, very good, pet. Begging for your punishment so sweetly.” Fingers card gently through his hair. “You’re going to be very popular here. I daresay I may be able to charge a premium for the privilege of punishing you.”
Shit, Astarion almost forgot this was a job interview. Something about Raphael made him lose himself. At least it seems to be going well, if the bulge Astarion can feel in Raphael’s pants is anything to go on. Astarion’s fingers itch with the temptation to touch it. How good it would feel in his hand.
The next slap strikes with such force, Astarion whimpers, hot tears springing to his eyes with both pain and humiliation. “F-four…”
Slap. “Five…”
Slap. “Six…”
Slap. “Seven!”
Astarion lets out a sob. Each slap hurts more than the last, the pain compounding as his flesh grows more sensitive. But each slap also forces his hips down into Raphael’s lap, an agonizing push-pull of pain and pleasure that makes him rut mindlessly, seeking relief in any way he can. His cock leaks profusely now, sliding wetly against the fabric of Raphael’s pants. If the man notices or cares, he doesn’t say so, and Astarion, who has always been greedy for pleasure, takes advantage where he can.
“Three more.” The hand in his hair drifts down to caress his damp cheek, smearing the tears gathered on his face, a soothing counterpoint to the brutal spanking. Above him, Raphael’s breath grows a touch ragged. “You’re doing well. Brace yourself.”
He bites into the meat of his forearm, muffling a scream when Raphael’s hand comes down bruisingly hard. Once again, his cock drags along the wet patch he’s made, twitching with unspent need. “Eight,” he moans pitifully.
Raphael hits him again, jerking his hips forward. “Nine…”
So close now. Raphael’s hand rubs along his ass slowly, like he’s assessing the best place to deliver the final blow. The texture of his palm burns against his skin, every bump, every raised fingerprint like sandpaper being dragged along an open wound. His fingers are back in Astarion’s hair, tilting his head to the side so he can see the open look of desire, of possession on Raphael’s face. Beneath him, his cock throbs in anticipation.
The tension in Raphael’s body is all the warning he gets before his hand comes down again, so fast and so hard Astarion rocks forward. Pleasure overtakes him at the warm, wet pressure against his aching cock, tipping him over the knife edge and into his orgasm with surprise.
“Ten! Oh!” Astarion’s hips twitch downward as he spends himself in his master’s lap. Long, juddering pulses that soak through the fabric of Raphael’s pants. He gasps, shuddering with a mixture of bliss and profound humiliation.
Fuck. Fuck. He came. Like a gods damned schoolboy coming in his pants.
Raphael laughs, cruelly amused. “My, I had no idea you were so sensitive. Just a few taps is all it takes?”
“I’m sorry,” Astarion moans miserably, hiding his face against his arms. Gods, he’s fucked this up. Raphael will never hire him now.
Raphael’s hand drifts along his sweaty back, sighing. “I didn’t say you couldn’t, but I must say I’m disappointed. I expect my pets to control themselves. Perhaps you’re not the right fit for the House of Hope.”
“I can control myself! I swear!” He has to fix this. Astarion rises, wincing at the mess he’s made of Raphael’s suit. The man watches him, the look on his face unreadable. Astarion bows his head. “Please give me another chance.”
“We’re all about second chances here,” Raphael says, the syrupy quality of his voice making Astarion feel as though he’s fallen into some trap. He wonders what this “second chance” will cost him. A hand touches his chin, bringing his eyes back up. Raphael’s predatory grin makes him shiver. “And you are a very pretty thing. I’d hate for this to be the end of your illustrious career. So I’ll give you one more chance.” Raphael points, snapping his fingers, making Astarion jump. “The chest of drawers over there. Select something from the topmost drawer. Whichever one you feel you deserve.”
Astarion scrambles to obey. With a mild sense of trepidation, Astarion opens the top drawer, his breath catching at the sight of several vibrating toys in various sizes, shapes, and materials. Though he’s just had an orgasm, he feels himself stir as he selects the one in the center. Silky black silicone, curved in a way he knows will press just right inside him, and with an external arm made to press up behind his balls, ending in a ring meant to wrap around the base of his cock. Stimulating inside and out—he could select something simpler, but he needs to prove himself.
He knows he’s made the right choice when he catches the smug approval on his master’s face. “One of my favorites. You’re either very sure of yourself or very foolish. I’m looking forward to finding out which.” Raphael holds out his hand, nodding his head, indicating Astarion should join him again on the sofa. He hands the toy and a small bottle of lubricant over before climbing back up.
Raphael pets along Astarion’s flank as he positions himself over his lap again, holding himself above the mess of his own come still puddled on the fine suit fabric. Reaching beneath him, Raphael wraps his broad hand around his cock, plump with the beginnings of new arousal but highly sensitive after one orgasm already. Biting his lip, Astarion breathes, searching for the pleasure in the overwhelming sensation, and gasps when a thumb presses mercilessly against his slit. He squirms, wanting to shy away from the pressure while paradoxically wanting more. A whimper escapes him when Raphael lets up, and he fills out quickly, thrusting incrementally into Raphael’s wonderfully warm fist.
“Hard again already.” More approval underscores Raphael’s tone. A hot mouth brushes against his ear. “So eager for my hand. I bet you’re dying to have this inside you. Such a little slut, aching to be filled.”
Gods, that shouldn’t sound so hot. Astarion nods. “Yes, Master.”
Raphael lets go of his cock, fitting the ring around his girth, and then presses the blunt head of the toy against his rim, wet with lubricant. It slides in easily, Astarion having already worked himself open before their meeting, anticipating… well, anything. Pressing his lips together, Astarion suppresses a moan when Raphael rocks the toy in and out a few times, teasing his rim open, fucking him slowly. He resists the temptation to push back, to beg for more, to be fucked hard and deep. For fuck’s sake, he’s supposed to be proving he can control himself. His knees shake with the effort to hold himself still until, finally, Raphael slides it deep, pressing it right up against his prostate. On the outside, the base fits snug against his perineum. Everything pressing at his most intimate, most pleasurable places. A pulse of fluid runs from the tip of his cock down the shaft to drip into Raphael’s pants. Damn, maybe this was a mistake. There’s no way he lasts with this thing on.
“Regretting your choice?” Raphael asks, as if reading his mind. His laugh, deep and cruel, sends a shot of defiance through Astarion. He grits his teeth, biting back a response. A light slap on his ass makes him jump, both from the bite of pain on his raw skin, and from the jolt of pleasure that courses through him when the toy presses deeper. He glares up at Raphael from under his lashes. “Oh, not so sweet after all, it seems.” Fingers grip his chin, pointing his jaw down to where his come has cooled and grown tacky. “You’ve made a mess, pet. This suit costs a fortune, so you’d better get it clean before that stain sets.”
He releases Astarion’s chin roughly, letting him go with a small shove like he’s disgusted with him. Annoyed, humiliated, and now painfully aroused, Astarion slides back to the floor. He settles on his knees, careful not to rest his bruised ass on his heels, but the new position makes the toy settle ever more snug inside of him, and he has to take a moment to get himself under control. He clasps his hands behind his back so he’s not tempted to touch himself.
Catching Raphael’s fingers drumming impatiently on the back of the sofa, Astarion leans forward between his master’s legs. His mouth opens wide as he drags his tongue through the cold mess of his own come, salty and bittersweet. “Good, pet,” Raphael drawls, his hand brushing through Astarion’s curls. Beneath his tongue, Astarion can feel the firm muscle of Raphael’s thigh flex, and brushing his cheek, Raphael’s erection hard between his legs. Astarion works carefully, gathering every drop of his spend, swallowing dutifully.
His mind goes quiet with the mundane task, his arousal settling into a dull ache between his legs, when he hears the click of a button and the toy inside him begins to vibrate. Slow but relentless, the plug buzzes right against his prostate, inside and out, around the base of his cock. “Fuck!” he yelps, nearly sinking his teeth into Raphael’s thigh. His eyes screw shut as an onslaught of pleasure overwhelms him. Unbidden, his hips rut forward, searching for friction, for anything to relieve the pressure. “Oh, hells, Mast—” the vibration increases for a few seconds before settling back down to a low rumble.
Astarion glances up, catching the cruel twist of Raphael’s smile, the mocking arch of his brow. He waggles the remote between his fingers, his eyes dark. “You didn’t think this would be easy, did you?”
Of course he didn’t. Gods, he just didn’t think it would be so mind-meltingly good. Didn’t think it would make his whole body buzz with ecstasy. Make him want to crawl back into Raphael’s lap and fuck himself against the bulge in his pants until he came so hard they had to throw the whole damned suit away. Astarion presses his lips together, trying not to moan, trying not to beg for it to stop. To beg for more. It takes significantly longer to marshal himself with the toy buzzing hotly between his legs. When he does, Raphael’s eyes glow with approval, making the effort worth it. Astarion feels himself drift, coasting on waves of agonizing pleasure and his master’s hand in his hair.
“Finish up, pet. There’s a reward for you if you finish quickly.”
Oh, Astarion loves rewards. Wasting no time, he gets back to work licking up the drying come. Gods damn it, he really made a mess. It’s everywhere—between Raphael’s thighs, soaked into the creases of his pants, splattered across his crotch. Astarion leans forward, lapping at the seam, moaning when his tongue drags along the hard length beneath. Just then, the remote clicks and the vibration increases, faster and even more relentless. His vision goes blurry, his breath coming in rapid pants. His cock feels like it might burst, but he keeps himself tightly leashed. He licks a broad stripe along Raphael’s clothed cock, suckling through the fabric. Fuck, he wants it on his tongue so badly, wants to feel hot, silky skin brushing the roof of his mouth—he fucking loves taking his master deep, feeling him twitch, hearing the harsh exhale as he bites back a moan.
Astarion laps up the last drop, his mouth hanging open, panting with desire, with the effort it’s taking to keep himself under control. The toy hasn’t let up the whole time, a sweet torture he longs to give in to. His cock hangs hard and heavy between his legs, pearly fluid running down his length to drip onto the floor. “D-done, Master.”
“So you are.” The hand that’s been carding through his hair caresses the side of his face. “Lean back.”
He leans back, watching as Raphael loosens his belt, giving a sigh at the soft susurration of the expensive leather sliding through the loops. Raphael takes a moment to coil it up, placing it on the cushion beside him. Astarion’s eyes stay locked with Raphael as he works the button of his pants open, lowering the zip. His cock eases free, still confined by his dark briefs.
“Your reward, pet.” Raphael brushes his thumb along Astarion’s lower lip, his eyes lowering to his mouth. “Go on. Let’s see if your mouth is good for more than just talking back.”
Astarion bites back a reply that he’s hardly talked back at all this time, bringing his hands up from behind to ease the briefs down just enough to free Raphael’s hard length. He wastes no time licking a long path from base to tip, suckling the head into his mouth and moaning at the salty fluid that spreads across his tongue. His mind once again whites-out with the bliss of pleasuring his master. He takes Raphael as deep as he can, his tongue pulsing in time with the tapping of the infernal toy still beating inside him, his hips rocking forward, seeking friction to alleviate his own desperate need.
Above him, Raphael’s breathing has grown ragged. His hand descends into Astarion’s hair, mussing his curls as he guides his head down over his cock, feeding him his length over and over. Astarion feels him twitch, feels a hot splash of bitter fluid that he swallows with a groan, eager for more. He glances up to find his master watching his mouth, watching Astarion take him, seemingly transfixed. Suddenly, his brown eyes dart up to meet him, and a smirk curls the ends of his lips.
With a click of the remote, the vibration inside Astarion increases again, and again, Astarion loses himself to unrelenting pleasure so intense it burns like fire along his nerve endings. His cock leaks profusely now, a throbbing ache he can scarcely ignore, let alone endure. He feels himself careening towards orgasm, his body shaking with the effort to hold it at bay. His eyes flick to the belt lying beside him, a harsh reminder of his last punishment. Pulling off Raphael’s cock, he buries his face in the juncture of his hip, gritting his teeth, holding on to every ounce of his control.
Astarion takes several deep breaths, a high-pitched moan escaping him on every exhale. Raphael’s comforting hand in his hair helps, as does his deep voice, murmuring soft encouragement. “Easy. Deep breaths. You’re doing very well.”
The vibration doesn’t let up, despite his soothing words, but Astarion manages to get himself under some semblance of control after a while. He feels as though he’s balancing on a tightrope—dreading the slightest push that will send him over the edge into oblivion. Hot tears roll down his cheeks, captured by Raphael’s deft hand and brought to his lips. He sighs, sounding utterly satisfied.
“You suffer so beautifully, my dear. Has anyone ever told you that?”
In fact, someone has. Astarion glances up warily, trembling with the pleasure-pain of overstimulation, desperate for relief. “Please…” he begs pitifully.
“Please, what?”
“Have I—oh—!” Astarion bites his lip hard when the vibration increases again. Raphael watches him closely, smiling. The cruel fucking bastard. Astarion should bite him. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he turns his pleading eyes up to his master. “Have—mmh—have I pleased you, Master?”
“Immensely,” Raphael says, wiping more tears from his face. “I’m in an indulgent mood. What do you want, pet?”
“I want to come,” Astarion moans with another wretched throb between his legs. “Please, Master.”
“I think you’ve proven you can control yourself. What would you like?”
His eyes drift down to Raphael’s cock, wet with Astarion’s saliva and jutting proudly from the top of his briefs. “Fuck me,” he breathes, suddenly wanting it more than anything.
Raphael tilts his head, seeming to consider this thoughtfully, but Astarion doesn’t miss the flare of greedy desire that flashes across his face. Nor does he miss the way his hand twitches, as if he wants to grab Astarion and haul him back up into his lap. His ordinarily smooth voice turns rough when he says, “You know that’s not required.”
“I do.”
After a long, agonizing moment, Raphael nods. “As you wish.” He gestures to the room behind him. “Where would you like it?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Astarion considers his options. The swing, the bench… if he’s honest with himself, Astarion wants to try them both, but it’s the bed with the restraints that sends desire coursing through him. “The bed,” he says, looking back up from his spot kneeling between Raphael’s legs. “Tie me up and fuck me, Master.”
“Hells…” Raphael swears, open, needy desire flickering across his handsome face again. “Go. To the bed.”
Astarion starts to rise, eager for relief, until he catches the amused arch of Raphael’s brow. Not wanting to risk another spanking, he turns and begins crawling to the bed. “You learn fast,” Raphael says. Astarion glances over his shoulder, watching Raphael strip down to only his briefs and a buttoned shirt that hangs open, revealing his tanned, lightly muscled chest.
Fuck. The man was handsome in his finely tailored suit, but undressed… Astarion almost wants to tell Raphael to take him right there on the heated floor. Instead, he hurries as fast as he can to the bed, small whimpers escaping him as the toy shifts maddeningly with every move. A dark chuckle resonates over the pounding of his blood, and for a heart-stopping moment, Astarion thinks he’s about to feel the vibration of the plug increase even further, but Raphael mercifully dials down the intensity.
“Thank you, Master,” he breathes. Reaching the bed, Astarion climbs up, flouncing onto his back, luxuriating in silken sheets that feel like heaven against his overly sensitive skin. After the rough spanking and prolonged contact with the hard floor, the cool glide of silk and the soft cradle of the mattress make him moan in an entirely different way. Everything feels so overwhelming, too much and too good.
The mattress dips beside him as Raphael presses a knee onto the bed. Astarion looks up, waiting. Taking one of his hands, Raphael kisses his wrist softly before bringing it above his head to secure it in the soft cuff dangling from the bedpost. He does the same with his other wrist, his lips dry and warm and bloody marvelous against Astarion’s skin. Every touch, every sensation feels heightened beyond belief. His cock rests hard and hot against his belly, dripping onto his skin, the toy still buzzing merrily away. Raphael tightens the slack on the restraints, pulling Astarion’s arms taught over his head.
“You look exquisite like this, pet,” he says, caressing a hand along Astarion’s thigh. “I’m almost tempted to keep you tied up in my bed for an eternity.”
The thought isn’t unappealing. A whine rises from the back of Astarion’s throat. His hips twitch up, desperate for more touch. More anything. Cuffs go around his ankles next, but Raphael leaves the slack just loose enough to allow him to bring his knees up and spread himself open. Finally, Raphael secures the last cuff, and Astarion surrenders the last shred of his control. Raphael can do anything to him now. He could turn the blasted toy up to max and leave him there to writhe and squirm. He could go back for his belt and beat Astarion until his skin is as red as the sheets beneath him.
Astarion’s breaths come in shallow pants as his mind spins endless possibilities, endless ways for his master to use him, both terrifying and more arousing than anything else he’s ever experienced. His breath leaves him entirely as Raphael settles between his thighs, shucking his briefs down and stroking his cock. For a while, Raphael watches him squirm, seeming to delight in having Astarion completely at his mercy. Then he reaches for the remote on the bed beside him and clicks the toy off.
Blessed relief floods through Astarion’s veins when the stimulation finally ends. His muscles twitch as they loosen, and his body relaxes even further into the bed. Raphael removes the toy carefully, no longer teasing, and then slicks himself up. He presses himself against Astarion’s entrance, his gaze fixed on Astarion’s face.
Time stops for a moment, as Astarion recalls the very first time they ever did this. When he posed as a desperate wretch seeking employment at the House of Hope; when what he was truly after was the pile of cash in the vault and the expensive artifacts kept in Raphael’s office. One of his employees, a loudmouth named Haarlep, had been kind enough (drunk enough) to spill all the details one night at a club. What was Astarion supposed to do? Not steal from the man? Honestly, he’d pulled off riskier heists. It seemed like easy money.
Some falsified records, and one sob story later, and he was through a pair of red doors not unlike the ones he stepped through earlier tonight. Everything had been going exactly according to plan. He just needed to let Raphael rough him up a bit, get his jollies dominating another person while Astarion cased his office—noting every window, every door, every camera, and how often security took a cigarette break.
Meanwhile, Raphael had put him on his knees, gagged him, and whipped him until he sobbed. Until he came. But he could handle it. He’d done a lot worse for a lot less. He just hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. He hadn’t expected to find Raphael so attractive. And he hadn’t expected to want more.
Astarion walked out later that night, his world rocked, his nice, simple plan in shambles. He didn’t show up the next day for his new job, nor did he follow through with his plan to break and enter and rob the place blind. Instead, he stayed far away from Raphael and the House of Hope for months. But that didn’t stop him from fantasizing. Didn’t stop him from fisting his cock beneath his sheets as he thought of all the depraved, delightful ways Raphael might own him. He never wanted to be owned before. He’d worked hard for his independence, first from controlling, abusive parents, and then from a controlling, abusive spouse. It didn’t make sense.
And yet he kept going back to the moment his mind cleared as he put all of his control, all of his trust, into Raphael’s hands. Thought endlessly about his dark, inviting voice, full of praise when Astarion was good. How pain had morphed into pleasure like a snake eating its own tail until Astarion could no longer distinguish the two. The way he’d come from just a few straps of leather on his ass and a rough hand in his hair. They hadn’t even had sex, and yet it was the single best sexual encounter Astarion had ever had.
He ventured into the clubs, searching for something, anything that would give him that experience again. He learned a lot about the lifestyle, enjoyed himself plenty, but nothing ever came close to that first night with Raphael. Until, as luck would have it, he ran into the man one night while he was learning the ropes (literally). A dominatrix known only as The Nightwarden had him suspended several feet off the ground, his arms and legs bound in intricate knots like the webs of a spider, when Raphael sat in the front row to watch the demonstration.
They couldn’t take their eyes off each other. Afterwards, Raphael bought him a drink, and they talked. He wistfully called Astarion “the one that got away” and wanted to know why he never came back. And Astarion had to admit he never wanted a job from Raphael. Raphael was the job. And Astarion had fucked it all up.
“Oh, pet,” Raphael had said, placing a proprietary hand on Astarion’s thigh. “If you’d wanted to be mine, you simply had to say so.”
And just like that, Astarion was his. They drew up a contract for one year of service. A year where they got to know each other more intimately than any series of dates to the movies or dinner would have allowed. Not that they didn’t have plenty of those. Raphael loved to take Astarion out. Loved to shove a plug inside him and then dress him lavishly as they dined at fancy restaurants or sat in a reserved box at the theater. All the while, Astarion biting the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning.
Somewhere along the way, they fell in love. And then, after their year was up, they signed a different contract. One that came with a ring and a declaration of “I do.”
Astarion wants to reach up to brush the hair from his husband’s eyes, but his hands are bound. Instead, he rubs his knee along Raphael’s hip. “I love you,” he says, breaking character. It’s okay. Raphael never punishes him for I love you.
His master leans forward, planting one hand on the bed beside Astarion’s ear. He takes Astarion in with heavy-lidded eyes, his normally dark gaze flickering with some unspoken emotion. Warm lips brush Astarion’s in a soft kiss. “Happy anniversary, pet.”
With one smooth thrust, he enters Astarion, penetrating him hard and deep. Astarion keens, his body shuddering as the live wire of his overstimulated nerve endings scream with pleasure. Already pushed right up to the edge, Astarion knows he will not last long. “Slow, darling,” he pleads, wanting to drag it out for as long as possible.
With a devilish smirk, Raphael obliges him, fucking him in long, languorous strokes that drag along his walls. A moan spills out from deep within his chest. His toes curl. “I spoil you,” Raphael grunts, taking one of Astarion's nipples between his teeth and biting hard. Gods, he really does.
Bound by the feet and wrists, Astarion can do nothing but take what Raphael gives him. Can do nothing but let Raphael take what he wants. The thought alone sends another spiral of pleasure reeling through him. Makes his cock twitch and leak between their bellies, so close. So close for so long now. His body bounces up on the bed with every deep thrust, no leverage for him to even push back. The complete surrender of his control liberates him, makes him feel as though he’s flying.
Loud moans echo around the room. Raphael didn’t gag him—he never gags him when he wants to hear Astarion scream. And scream he does, shouting his pleasure over the wet slap of their bodies meeting. “Oh, yes—fuck, yes—” Astarion cries, feeling himself coming unraveled.
All at once, his orgasm rushes out of him in an overwhelming torrent of sensation. Hot white streaks paint his stomach and chest as he pulses in blinding, unending waves. “Oh, Master!” he screams, his entire body bowing as he releases himself.
Inside he can feel Raphael pumping hard, low moans punched out of his chest as he fucks Astarion through his climax. Through the haze, Astarion can only just make out the grimace of pleasure written across his handsome face when Raphael’s hips jerk to a stop. His brow pinches, mouth falling open as hot pulses spill forth, making Astarion gasp and twitch as another wave of pleasure washes through him, another orgasm following on the heels of the last. Raphael moans deeply, his hips twitching forward as if he can bury himself entirely inside Astarion.
Astarion’s vision blurs with tears, emotions flooding through him fast, one after the other. Bliss, relief, and a profound welling of affection for the man that put him on his knees, spanked his ass raw, and then fucked him into euphoria. He floats on a sea of pleasure, his ears ringing, his body lax and loose-limbed. Warm hands wipe away his tears, gather him into a loving embrace—the restraints let loose so he can curl up against a lightly haired chest. Lips press into his hair, against his forehead, as he’s held safe.
Distantly, he can hear someone saying his name. Feel hands touching his face, his hair. “Astarion?”
“Yes, darling?” he moans, leaning into the hand at his cheek. He looks up, Raphael’s face swimming into view. Another wash of affection rushes through Astarion at the sight of the warm brown gaze looking back at him.
“You did well, my love,” Raphael says, approval underscoring his dulcet voice.
Sighing, Astarion burrows closer, wrapping his arms around Raphael’s torso. “So, did I get the job?” he asks dreamily.
A low chuckle rumbles from Raphael’s chest. “I’m afraid the position has been filled,” Raphael informs him regretfully. He caresses the side of Astarion’s face, placing a finger under his chin to tilt his head back up. “But I have another offer for you. One I think you’ll find most pleasurable.”
He kisses Astarion again, slow. Mouth clumsy, Astarion kisses back, sighing when he feels a tongue brush against his. Raphael tucks Astarion’s head under his chin, bringing the sheets up to wrap around his shoulders. Later, they’ll soak in a hot bath. Raphael will rub his shoulders, apply a soothing salve to his ass. They’ll curl up in their bed upstairs, and Astarion will fall asleep in the arms of the man that ended up stealing the heart of a professional thief.