The New Deal

by Raine

  "That's it, baby, you got it," Daniel said, and Clark thrashed, gripped link and lifted himself by fractions of an inch. All it earned him was a fiery scalp and slower invading crawl. "Good God, watching this go in... sweet love, what you can take... good... good... relax... just a little farther." The patter of Daniel's praise continued between the professor's broken pants and Clark's slurred moans, until the splayed base of the dildo contacted Clark's body and tried to break him in two.

  "Nnah... oh... oh..." Clark's mind whited out, and his body worked to accommodate and accept. Daniel didn't ease in the slightest until Clark's arms trembled, gave out, and Clark hung by the cuffs. The cruel grip released Clark's hair, but the reassuring sonnet of Daniel's voice continued with affection and wonder. It crested the roar in Clark's mind, made him starve for more of anything Daniel wanted to give. Light quick tugs yanked at the band at Clark's waist, and Clark gasped when his Sir had to let go of the dildo's base just long enough for his body to attempt to expel it. The friction fried his nerves.

  "S-shit, Sir," Clark stammered. The toy got firmly wedged back into Clark. The strap flicked against Clark's skin, and Daniel fastened the thing in tight.

  "Aw, fuck," Clark cursed, and he swayed in the confines, plugged ass seeking another thrust and ringed dick searching for friction. Behind him, Daniel eased closer, and a sweat-damp torso pressed to Clark's back. Daniel lifted Clark's ankles to rest over Daniel's knees, and Clark tipped forward. Immediately dizzy in semi-weightlessness, Clark choked when an iron bar of a forearm hugged his hips and avoided his aching hard-on. Daniel wrapped the other arm across Clark's chest, bracing.

  Soft groans filled the room over the creak of bed frame and complaint of leather. Daniel nuzzled the side of Clark's head, teeth catching an earlobe. Flashes of what they'd negotiated tore a primal noise from Clark's throat, and the knowledge that Daniel would do exactly as the professor had promised made Clark feel feather light and anchor heavy at the same time.

  "Sir, please... Need..." Clark began. Fingers viciously pinched one of Clark's nipples, and Daniel ground against the dildo's base with a repetitive circular motion that stirred Clark's insides. Undiluted, crazed want thundered through Clark, annihilating all else, and he rocked against Daniel. The injustice of the toy inside him and not his Sir and the longing for the pain Daniel had sworn to give collided as two bodies tried to occupy the same space. "God," Clark called, almost angry. "Oooh, God, Sir, yes."

  "Ngh... sh--fucking perfect." Daniel's tone was like crushed gravel, and hot air blew against the nape of Clark's neck. "The height's perfect for... for later."

  Clark jerked a look over his shoulder, a sliver of frustration slicing through him, and Daniel's eyes met his and widened. Daniel stilled, held on, and Daniel's forehead met Clark's shoulder with a fleshy thunk.

  "Shit," Daniel said, high and helpless, and clarity stirred deep in Clark's mind, tried to surface. "Yellow, Clark. Yellow."

  Clark's heart stopped, hurt, and resumed beating. He heard the worried notes spill from his lips, and he pushed against Daniel until the professor let him turn. "Sir?" Clark rasped.

  "Sorry," Daniel answered. "It's just that I'm about a nanosecond from yanking that damned dildo out and just burying myself in you 'til you scream." The rushed words sank into Clark's brain, demanded it to focus. "You're taking everything so courageously," Daniel continued. "And, fuck, how you looked when I filled you... God... I want you." The professor shuddered.

  "How can I help, Sir?" Clark asked in all sincerity, and Daniel laughed in delighted surprise. Clark kissed his cheek.

  "Being who you are helps immensely, love. Just... give me a second?" Daniel licked his lips, and Clark longed to taste them, feel them, suck them. "I want what we agreed on, if you still do. Know where it'll get us."

  "All green here, Sir," Clark reassured his partner despite his tap dancing libido. "Definitely fucking green."

  "Good, Clark. Good." Daniel sighed against Clark's shoulder, and his Sir squeezed him. "I'm going to get the glove and lay out the other things."

  The warmth against Clark's back drew away, and Daniel lifted Clark's ankles, settling him again on three points of contact. Daniel bounced off the bed and went to the box, digging. Clark zeroed in on every detail: the tattooed koi wrapped around Daniel's middle, the way the professor's hands were steady even though the man's shoulders shook with adrenaline, and Clark's chest expanded with Daniel's as both men breathed deeply. Clark forced himself to do it again when Daniel shoved a hand into a leather glove and set a flogger near Clark's knee. It was their favorite one, gray and blue and soft hide that could hit with a thud and a nice burn.

  "Mmm," Clark intoned, and Daniel glanced at Clark and put their newest toy -- a custom-made eight-foot whip with a lash that split into multiple tails for the last three feet -- in a coil next to the flogger. Clark's mouth watered, lower body rolling and a moan escaping before he could think twice.

  "Keep giving me those kinds of sounds, and I'll be very pleased," Daniel said in a husky voice that sent chills down Clark's spine. "Love how much you want it, Clark."

  "Sir, yes, Sir," Clark replied with numbed lips.

  Daniel positioned himself directly in front of Clark, noses nearly touching. Clark counted thick eyelashes, saw wide pupils, and Daniel put his bare hand on Clark's hip for balance. Daniel glanced down, and the first slap landed on the inside of Clark's right thigh.

  "Sir, yes, Sir," Clark whispered.

  Arc-welder heat sprang into his Sir's intent gaze. Quick, sharp stings rained upon one limb's side and down the other, and Clark centered on Daniel so as not to flinch, jerk, or move. It was the kind of challenge Clark loved to meet and master, and Daniel's upper lip pulled into a snarl of concentration. The professor didn't look down after the first smack, though Daniel came within a thumb's width of Clark's bound balls and heavy cock. Clark hissed, and the light blows traveled onward, over hips and across abs. Swallowing, Clark deliberately bared his teeth, rumbled a truncated groan, and leaned closer. "More." A fast breath with a harsher slap to left thigh. "Give me a chance to take what I know you really want to give. Please. Sir."

  "Oh, I'll give you plenty of chances, Clark. I promise," Daniel answered, and his mouth closed the fraction of an inch between them. His kiss was hungry and demanding, and the punishing palm worked around to Clark's ass. Daniel broke away to lay another set of blows on the reddening skin of Clark's front.

  Clark shut his eyes, red blooming behind closed lids. He let his head fall back, and he lost track of time and movement. He grunted with the steady dull pain that built on itself, and he relaxed his grip around the chain. He stopped wishing for more or different or less and started living in the space between impacts. Eventually the pause before another slap was too long, and Clark watched Daniel wrap a fist around the flogger's handle.

  Daniel ran cool fingers over Clark's chest before gently cradling Clark's jaw. "Nicely done, Clark. What are your safewords?"

  "Yellow to pause, red to stop," Clark answered on autopilot, the words taking sincere effort to form. He couldn't stop staring at Daniel's mouth with a longing like a separate entity residing within him. It was beyond his reach, unattainable, so Clark nosed Daniel's palm and sucked Daniel's thumb into his mouth, nibbling at the pad while his entire body burned inside and out.

  "Excellent, my Sergeant." Daniel traced Clark's lip, and shifted his grip into Clark's hair. Clark pushed into the touch, willed it to guide and to hurt. It firmed but didn't ache, and when Daniel spoke, the movement of lips against Clark's was maddening. "My brave heart, I want you to take this and hold nothing back from me. I know you can and will, and I'll treasure everything you give me." The kiss was sweet and all too swift.

  "Anything," Clark murmured, voice distant to his own ears, but the truth coming from the very core of his being. "For you, from you, with you, Sir. Anything."

  Daniel squeezed Clark's hair, and Clark's shaky breath slithered into the air bef
ore Daniel let go. The professor slid off the bed with the high rasp of damp skin to slick comforter, and Daniel stepped back. Clark's focus narrowed on the tool in Daniel's hand, and he heard the whisper of tails a lightning strike second before the first thud landed on the outside of Clark's thigh. It was still warm up, still Daniel loosening up a shoulder and getting Clark to the point where he didn't care about anything except sensation. The detached part of Clark's mind informed him that they might already be there, and Clark laughed. He silently counted the beat of the measured hits moving from knee to hip, and the tails forced air from Clark's lungs in toned gasps. When the beat paused, Clark glanced at Daniel, saw the wrist turn in slow motion, and two blows struck Clark's stomach and a final one hit across his chest.

  "Mmph!" Clark elongated, stretching upward, and the tug of the spreader between his knees stunned him. He dropped his head to stare at it, confused and dazed. The plug shifted with Clark's clenching response; he tried to compensate, but he couldn't move his legs. An ice pick of irritation stabbed him, and he growled a curse at the ceiling.

  "I'm going to come back down," Daniel warned, and the blows fell in reverse order: chest to stomach to outer thigh.

  Clark tensed and bucked into absolutely nothing. The split second of sheer hatred was overwhelming, and Clark's mouth disconnected from his brain. "Oh, God, Sir. Fucking hell and... I... yeah... n-no, just..." Another pair of hits, harder, undeniable, and Clark rolled his forehead against his arm. He wanted so damned badly, needed and burned and gravity didn't seem to be working right. He tightened around the dildo up his ass, and couldn't keep his loud whine to himself. Rushing headlong toward the cliff that he'd seen so many times, Clark wanted nothing more than to leap. He knew he could and Daniel would be there, but there was still the last-ditch scramble for sanity and brakes.

  "Good." The bit of praise and acknowledgement cut through the fog and rocked a shiver through Clark. "Well done. You're getting there, Clark," Daniel said, and the bed moved. The professor set aside the flogger, and one heated and one cool hand rested on Clark's hips. Daniel ducked to find Clark's unseeing stare, and Clark blinked into searching pools of midnight blue. "Almost there. Just one more thing I need, baby. Lift yourself by the chain. I'm going to get you turned around."

  Answering by doing, Clark hefted himself with weakened arms, and he bellowed when the plug massaged his prostate and drove him closer to welcomed chaos. Daniel manhandled Clark into a one-hundred-and-eighty degree rotation, and Clark dropped onto the mattress with a moan. Fingers glanced over his throat, directed his chin, and Clark met his own eyes in the mirror over the headboard. He gasped. His skin shone with sweat, reddened in patches. His nipples were hard from the continual chill that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with arousal. His gray hair was mussed, his lips bright pink, and his rigid cock shone at the tip with pre-come. Every muscle he had stood out in strain, and Daniel...

  "Sir," Clark whispered.

  The professor was hard, flushed, and watching Clark with a keen intelligence that turned self-satisfied and relieved while Clark gaped. "Yes, Clark. Exactly as I need you, love, and you can see just how much I want every sweet suffering bastard inch of you," Daniel purred, and Clark chased oxygen.

  Daniel hugged Clark from behind to pinch the pebbled nubs of Clark's nipples, and Clark grunted and jerked. "This way you'll be able to see me coming at you with our new toy, too." Light kisses rained against the back of Clark's neck and across one shoulder. "Love you, Clark, and it always amazes me how much you love the fact that I want to give you pain."

  "I, yeah, oh... fuck, Sir, ooh... y-yeah." To the soundtrack of rattling restraints and rushing white noise, Clark relaxed into freefall both physical and mental. His shoulders complained, but that pain was distant. Daniel and the woven cocoon of bliss the man wrought were the only things that mattered. Clark's body danced, thrusting and longing for anything at all, but God, Clark hoped it would hurt; prayed Daniel would make it burn, sting, and mark. Because all Clark wanted in the universe was something to drive him down deeper and land him in Daniel's arms.

  "Love it... you, Sir," Clark said, and it wasn't until he spoke that he realized he was being vocal with every breath, the cadence pleading. "Please, Daniel? Please."

  "Yes, Clark," Daniel said, brushing a touch along Clark's spine before he slipped off the bed and picked up the flogger. "As you ask, so shall I deliver."

  In the mirror, Clark watched Daniel set his stance. Clark's heart thudded against the cage of sternum and ribs, and he braced for the impact he could see incoming. In quick figure-eights, Daniel laid lashes on Clark's untouched shoulders. Anxiety drained from Clark's every pore while the traveling impacts churned the lava in his guts. The two blows against Clark's stuffed ass were terrible in their pleasure, Clark's cock and balls screeched for reprieve, and Clark relished the denial with a shout. A low, sweet sound began to circle Clark, wrap around like a wool blanket: Daniel's voice.

  Clark knew what was going to happen before his eyes registered the change in Daniel's stance, and the professor started working Clark's back in earnest. Daniel hit at random heights, but alternated sides with each swing. Shoulder, hip, outer thigh, upper back, and Clark's toes dug into the bed.

  "Yes! Nnngh, God, oh, yeah." The thuds just kept coming, over and over and not allowing even a second to gather tenuous thought or fractured wit. Clark was reacquainted with the hell inherent in roaring, all-encompassing desire to get off and the complete inability to do it. He rode the tide because resistance was impossible. Pain ignited, every inch of Clark was on fire, and suddenly the strikes stopped. The cessation blew Clark's mind to the four corners in a wicked combination of aggravation and abatement.

  There was a moment of disorientation, and then triumph, and then Clark remembered what was coming next. "Aw, shit," he panted.

  Low laughter sounded, and Daniel was there, hands all over Clark. "Yes, my love. Yes." Palms ran over every sensitized inch of tender skin, and Clark squirmed, wondering for the millionth time at his Sir's definition of "comforting."

  A soft huff of satisfaction blew over Clark's shoulders. "Love how you're taking this. You're going to bruise spectacularly, but no skin's broken, and not a single touch against kidneys or spine. I think we can go on, and I'd like you to count the next ten strikes, Clark. You up to that?"

  "Count?" Clark repeated, trying to figure out what in the hell Daniel meant. Daniel merely hummed in the affirmative and toyed with Clark's nipples until Clark wanted to bite him. Eventually Clark recalled the numeric system and what it did. "Yeah." He nodded, registering the movement in the mirror with blurry eyes. "Yes. Sir. Can do."

  "Good," Daniel said and kissed Clark's throat. "Want you with me while we try this out."

  Daniel picked up their new toy and walked toward the far wall of their room. He spun on his heel, shook out the coils of the whip, and the sight and sound of the tails sliding on the hardwood floor sent a shiver surging through Clark. Vertigo swung Clark in a vicious tango, and Clark waited in limbo.

  Rolling his neck, the professor flicked the whip along the ground, and steadied himself with bare feet planted wide. Time slowed down, cotton stuffed Clark's ears, and Clark started to drift just as Daniel threw the multi-tailed tool. It struck at the meat of Clark's right shoulder with deadly accuracy, and, in the mirror, Clark's jaw dropped and brow furrowed. Clark couldn't sort sensation: dull impact, flash pain, and then a spreading sting like sixteen singletails striking in a baseball-size circle.

  "One, thank you, Sir," Clark said on a stuttering exhale, still reeling.

  Daniel paused, and Clark refrained from cussing at the man, but barely. Clark clenched fists when Daniel's arm moved, and the next hit struck Clark's left shoulder in symmetry with the first throw. Skin still buzzing from strike one, Clark cried out when the next sphere of pain bloomed and widened to meet the other.

  "Jesus effing Christ," Clark rasped. "T-two, oh thank you, Sir."
<
br />   Daniel nodded abruptly. "You're welcome, Clark, and you're doing great. Keep up the count, and I'll keep going. I've got the range, now."

  "Yes, Sir," Clark mumbled, and he grunted with the thud of the next impact. This one was not quite on top of the first, but further down. "Motherfucking three, thank you, Sir," he hissed. The new pain trumped the pleasant throb left over from the flogging, and Clark bellowed when another whack struck the other side. "Shit! Four!" Clark's breath was chaotic and heartbeat frantic. He wrestled in the cuffs and spasmed with Daniel's next delivery, snarled, "Sonofabitch five." The plug inside Clark's ass was suddenly too much to bear, and the pleasure and the intensity of strangely sexual pain crashed into each other. The next strike woke up the insatiable urge to come, and Clark thought he might lose what was left of his mind.

  "S-six... oh, fuck me, Sir." Clark's head lolled forward, and he had no idea where the whip hit after that. All he knew was uncaged need, and all he felt was awesome agony. He knew he formed the words for seven and eight, thought maybe he even thanked his Sir for dishing out new kinds of breakage through which Clark could be remade.

  But when the tails lit him up with number nine, Clark didn't think he could take the final one. He panicked, crying out curses, pleas, and God only knew. Clark waited an eternity for the strike that didn't happen, and Clark got himself together enough to figure out the key to the continuance that Clark lusted for and feared.