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"Unleashed"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: D/s, BDSM, Kink, Daddy Kink, Spanking,
Bondage, Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Orgasm Delay, Object
Penetration, Anal Sex, Rimming, Fluf Pairings: 3x4 Summary: They've been dabbling in the world of kink for a few months now and Trowa is ready to push the envelope. AN: This is Moreena's fault. Blame her. She's the one that reblogged the photo that inspired this piece of kinky filth. ~.^ Notes: Just like the warnings say, there are things in this story that won't be for everyone and I strongly advise heeding them. This is not intended to promote, or advocate any kind of lifestyle. It is only a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes and to explore the world of BDSM in a safe, fictional setting. Everything that occurs in this story is between fully consenting adults. Remember the most important rules if you ever decide to delve into the D/s world: Safe, Sane, and Consensual. This is not age play. Both characters acknowledge their adult bodies and minds.
" Unleashed" His reflection stared back at him, green eyes sharp and approving. His brown hair was swept off his forehead, secured with the help of a waxy product Quatre had purchased for him a few months ago. He’d been jumping back and forth between a few different styles, trying to figure out which one made him look the most mature and this one did the trick. It brought out the chiseled structure of his face, made him look intimidating. Dangerous. The beard took some getting used to, but after five months, it finally seemed look and feel as natural as the hair on his head. The itching was probably the worst part. That and the complaints from Quatre that it felt like a Brillo pad on his sensitive private areas. The declaration that his blond lover had “rug burns” on his inner thighs and the cheeks of his rump initially made Trowa cringe with sympathy. But beneath that, there was a deep spark of something else...something dark and heady when he gazed at the creamy skin with its red splotches and scratches. He loved to look at them and relish in the knowledge that he was the one responsible for them being there. His guilty pleasure was later vindicated when Quatre confessed he actually enjoyed them as well and asked for more with a hesitant whisper and blushing cheeks. Their first spanking scene happened just before he began growing the beard. Quatre had patiently guided him through the process after spending nearly twelve hours pouring over internet research about the protocols for enacting safe kink scenes, pain kink, how to maximize your pleasure, the importance of safe words, and aftercare. They decided on “Sandrock” and after Trowa’s painstakingly healthy supper - after all, a good kink scene was made even better when properly nourished with the correct balance of vitamins, minerals, fats, and proteins - they set about the preparations to begin their inaugural launch into the world of BDSM. Quatre’s hand trembled when he’d offered him a simple blue blindfold, smiling a little awkwardly as he explained that sensory deprivation could enhance the experience and asked if he could put it on him. Trowa tried to quell his own tremors before he slid the satin blindfold over the blond’s head, not wanting Quatre to know how nervous he was. Nervous, but excited and deeply aroused by the prospect of spanking his lover’s bare bottom, the delight of watching the peachy flesh redden and feeling the heat of friction beneath his hand. The responsibility was laid squarely on his shoulders and while it was normal for a novice Dom to be apprehensive, he was the one who had to remain in control for both his and Quatre’s sake. He’d never be able to live with himself if he unintentionally hurt his partner. It went better than expected, both of them abandoning inhibitions and reservations in favor of the sheer pleasure of the moment. Letting go of self-consciousness and fear was liberating. After twenty strikes of his hand, he’d rolled his lover onto his belly across the bed to spare his flaming bum and climbed over him, hornier than he could ever remember being. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever been so wound up. He paused only long enough to slather his cock with lube before he pushed inside the hot, velvety clench of Quatre’s body. He remembered savoring the soft whimpers, slightly hoarse from his vocalizations during the spanking, the fingers that clutched the rumpled bedding on either side of the blond’s tousled head, and the erotic bounce of pert asscheeks, red and mottled in the silver glow of moonlight. He’d spilled his orgasm all over those delicious hand marks that night, the visual tattooing itself onto the backs of his eyelids as wank fodder, inked there for years to come. They’d taken it slow, allowing enough time between scenes for full recoveries and making sure they were both healthy and mentally ready before moving on to the next one. The beard was Quatre’s idea after he’d inadvertently called Trowa, “Daddy” during a particularly intense scene that involved spanking and wall-fucking while he was suspended from the ceiling in a pair of dangling cuffs that Trowa installed with chain and wall-mounted brackets. Instead of feeling awkward when he heard the title slip from his lover’s lips, Trowa instantly went with it, a natural improviser. Growling into Quatre’s soft neck and hissing filth into his ears while he dug his fingers into supple, freshly-spanked buttocks. He plowed into him with an aggressiveness that frightened him after all was said and done. But he didn’t need to worry. Quatre reassured him that he was right as rain and continued to use the title to his advantage when he was feeling particularly amorous, knowing it drove Trowa to the edge of sanity and ignited that sinfully delightful spark of dominance that he inevitably reaped the rewards of. He ran his fingers through the wiry hair along his jaw, scratching a little when he reached just below his ear. His lower belly churned with wicked arousal, the anticipation of carnal pleasure that awaited him, awaited them both tonight. He took his time exiting the bathroom, knowing full well his lover was squirming with impatience and sadistically enjoying the no doubt pained expression on Quatre’s pretty face. The blond knew better than to shout for him, to demand what was taking so long. He’d learned to press those beautifully plush lips together when the urge struck. To disobey would only mean he’d have to wait longer to receive pleasure. Over the months, he'd learned that pleasure was a privilege, not a right. Trowa swung the door open and flicked off the light as he stepped into their bedroom. Illuminated by a crackling fire and the moonlight outside the window, his lover remained where Trowa had left him, just as he’d been ordered to. He was splayed out on the floor, legs wide. His well-spanked ass was on display, upturned by thick pillows propped beneath his pelvis. Silk scarves in pale blue kept his arms twisted behind his back, tied around his slender wrists and finished off with a bow. And what a gift he was. The orange and red flames from the fire kissed his skin gold and enhanced the shine of his thick flaxen waves, longer now than they’d been during the war. When upright, the tips his hair reached just below his chin which had strengthened since their war days, but still possessed the softness of his youth. And unlike Trowa’s, as smooth and hairless as the day he was born. Trowa stepped over to the tall chest of drawers and swiped the bottle of Jack and the cigar he’d left there, drinking from the bottle as he stepped around the bed to devour the breathtaking vision laid out on the floor like a sacrificial offering. He stuck the end of the cigar into his mouth, biting down with his teeth. He was not going to light it, didn’t actually smoke them. It was more a prop for his role in this game, though tonight, he had other plans for it. The room was quiet except for the crackle of the fire and Quatre’s steady breathing, purposely regulated as a way to control his excitement. Daddy didn’t like it when he forgot his manners. “You’ve been a very good boy, kitten,” Trowa murmured, walking around the prone body until he reached Quatre’s head, turned to the side with his shiny blond waves spread out like a halo of spun gold. Fucking hell, but he was beautiful. An angel fallen from grace and sullied by the hands of man. Perfection meant nothing if not tainted by sin. For that is where true beauty lies. Quatre did not respond aside from a drowsy blink of his glassy eyes. He’d been teased for the better part of half the day, but not permitted to come. Not yet. That was a privilege he still had to earn and until Trowa was satisfied that he had, the tight ring around the base of his cock would remain where it was. Trowa reached a hand out and brushed his calloused palm over the reddened skin of the blond’s ass, feeling the heated flesh jump beneath his touch and heard the hitch in Quatre’s breath. “Still sensitive, I see. Is it safe to assume you have learned your lesson, or must we repeat the punishment until you do?” “No!” Quatre yelped, genuine alarm in his voice. He forced himself to calm when Trowa responded with a sharp slap to his stinging buttock, sucking in a deep, shaky breath and releasing it in carefully controlled measure. “No, Daddy. I’m sorry. I’ve learned. I’ll be good for you.” Trowa rubbed the burn, a soothing gesture, but one they both knew heightened the ache in his backside. An ache which never failed to send pangs of raw arousal to Quatre’s groin. Trowa watched him shift, aware that he was trying to subdue the throb of his cock by rubbing it against the carpet. “You didn’t come, did you?” “No, Daddy,” Quatre slurred, immediately stilling his movements when Trowa’s fingers clenched into his buttock. “Sorry, Daddy.” He hummed in approval and edged his finger towards the dark, inviting cleft between the luscious cheeks, beginning at the top and stroking downwards until he reached the whorled opening and savored the shiver that worked its way up Quatre’s body like a bolt of lightning. “And what have we learned, kitten?” “That I’m not allowed to touch myself there unless you say so.” “Hmm...and why is that?” He asked, circling the tip of his finger around the rim. “So...so you can watch me.” “Watch you what?” There was a pause and then Quatre turned his face into the carpet, his voice muffled when he said, “So you can watch me fuck myself.” “That’s right,” he purred, gently brushing wisps of hair from Quatre’s face. “Very good. Because you are mine, aren’t you, love?” “Yes. Yes, I’m...I’m all yours. Only yours. I’ll do whatever you want.” “I know you will,” he agreed, rising up and moving around behind the blond. He stepped between the spread legs and crouched down, his eyes focused on the glorious sight pert buttocks decorated by his own hand prints and the tempting cleft between where he knew from personal experience, the most exquisite rapture awaited him. He pried one cheek to the side and hissed when he caught a glimpse of the tiny rosebud in the dim light. Funny how such a thing held so much power over him, forced him into a life of willing servitude for the pleasure it could bring him. He was under no illusions that despite Quatre being the one tied down and spreadeagled, he possessed more power in his slender body than Trowa could ever hope to have. The power to bring him to his knees in worship, the power to turn him into nothing more than a mindless beast, seeking desperate absolution in the carnal act of sex. He was not immune and didn’t ever want to be. Even during their more vanilla lovemaking that didn’t include a kink scene, he was helpless to the wiles of his lover, sobbing into Quatre’s delicate throat as he fucked his way to a shattering climax within the searing confines of his body. He was a slave to it, to him, and he wouldn't have changed that for the world. He lowered his head to the quivering bum, pressing his face between the soft cheeks and licked a swath over the opening, groaning when he heard the muffled cry of his lover. He suckled the twitching hole, making sure to turn his head side to side so that the sensitive skin of Quatre cleft received the slight burn of his scratchy beard. He lost himself in the task as he always did, so immersed in the luxury of tasting his lover and basking in the keening vocalizations. Awareness came back abruptly after a rather loud cry and a startling jump of Quatre’s hips. He pulled back and wiped spit from his chin as he listened to the breathless panting, sliding a hand down one trembling thigh. That spark of wicked lust shot through his groin again from the knowledge that only he was privy to such a beautifully erotic sight. For his eyes only, just as it should be. “And that is why you must not touch yourself without telling me. To deny me the pleasure of watching you come undone should be criminal. Do not be selfish, kitten. Your pleasure is mine to behold. You understand?” There was a muffled, shaky moan and then, “Yes, Daddy. I will never deny you again. I promise.” He swallowed down a growl, his eyes nearly rolling back in ecstasy at the sound of that musical voice calling him “Daddy”. It was just one of those things he never knew he needed until that fateful slip and now it was something he could not live without. It wasn’t a kink they delved into often, rather, it was best savored and saved for a special occasion, like a rare delicacy. “That’s good,” he husked bending down again to nip a soft cheek. The temptation to bite was overpowering and he sunk his teeth in deeper, his groin lighting up with a surge of sinister lust as Quatre emitted a soft squeak of surprise and pain. He soothed the bite with his tongue, loving the vision of flawless skin, marked by his hand and mouth. His gaze traveled further up to the narrow lower back, drinking in the Celtic insignia inked into the porcelain flesh. The design began in the center and scrolled to the left, dipping down to touch the top of Quatre’s bony hip and then curved back up around his side, coming to a graceful point right where Dorothy’s sabre had once pierced him. Around the exit wound in his back, a branching tree limb with budding leaves curled over the scar tissue. It was Trowa’s way of healing not only Quatre’s body from the near fatal stabbing that had cost him his kidney, but also to heal his own heart that ached every time he saw the wounds. Even after eight years, he still blamed himself for not getting to his love in time to stop it. And oh, did it look exquisite. The black ink contrasting so beautifully against creamy, alabaster skin. All the better knowing such things were forbidden in Quatre’s culture. You know the Q’uran forbids tattoos. Does that bother you? A chuckle. No. We’ve never been very orthodox. Technically, I’m supposed to be wearing a beard, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. You’re a naughty Muslim, Quatre. Then discipline me. Trowa was with him when he got the ink. Of course he was. He designed the tattoo himself with the helpful plethora of information given by Catherine about their family’s origins and culture. In Trowa’s mind, it was a way of officially bringing Quatre into the family, yet it was still intimate enough to be something only he was allowed to see. Quatre was squirming now, though valiantly trying not to appear as if he was doing so. Trowa smiled down at him and decided he’d earned an act of mercy. “What do you want, love?” “To come. Daddy, please?” “Mmm...not yet, baby.” He ignored the petulant whine. “But I can still make you feel good until you have earned that.” He got up and walked towards the bed, retrieving the lube from the table and came back around, squatting down between the open legs. He picked up the cigar and leaned over his lover, swiping the length of it beneath Quatre’s nose. “Smells good, doesn’t it?” He waited for the dip of the blond head. “Cuban. They’ve always been the best. Do you know what I’m going to do with this, kitten?” He could hear the hitch in his breath and smirked, knowing that intelligent mind had already begun to put the pieces together. “I - I think so?” “And what’s that?” “Are you - are you going to fuck me with it?” His mouth split into a wide grin and he nodded though he knew Quatre couldn’t see it. “Very good, kitten. Would you like that?” The moan that followed was reedy with need. “Oh fuck, yes, Daddy.” Trowa wasn’t sure if it was voluntary, but the declaration was punctuated by a sensual roll of his hips that nearly had him coming undone inside his jeans. His hands shook as he lubed up the end of the cigar and brought it down between the splayed buttocks, watching with hungry eyes as the tip pushed inside. He sunk his teeth into his lip, consumed by iniquitous lust. The lewd sight of the cigar disappearing inside Quatre’s body caused a flare of intense heat that spread through his groin. He squeezed his cock to relieve the ache and to make sure he didn’t blow his nut. God help him if he lost it before he got to experience the squeeze of that sweet ass around his length. “You’re going to make Daddy come just from watching you. You have no idea how beautiful you look when you’re getting fucked, baby.” Encouraged by the deep voice and heady confession, Quatre moaned brokenly, his voice cracking as he was picked up and carried away by the pleasure. He rolled his hips, pushing back to get the cigar deeper, and then pressed his cock against the carpet, seeking climax in vain. It was no use. The ring around the base was secure and would not allow him to come until Trowa removed it and it could be hours until that happened. Not that he didn’t have a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. “Mmm...yeah. Fuck me, Daddy,” he slurred. “You fuck me so good.” Trowa knew exactly what he was doing, completely in tune with his spritely lover. The bond they’d formed almost from the first moment they met had only strengthened through the years. He allowed it for the simple reason that it was unwaveringly effective, no longer caring about being manipulated. In all honesty, it was hot as fuck and he was far too lascivious to object. He pressed the cigar in deeper, increasing the tempo, and tilted it so that the tip would scrape across the place that would inevitably - “Ah! Oh fuck, yes. Right there, Daddy. Do it again.” And now he was getting just a wee bit too bossy for his britches. Trowa slapped a quivering buttock and barked, “Mind yourself, kitten, or I’ll leave you here without stimulation for another hour.” Which worked like a charm. Quatre successfully quelled his demands and bleated into the carpet. His need to come, to earn that privilege taking precedence in his mind. At this point, he would do whatever it took. Trowa's own cock was begging for the same. He’d ignored it for as long as Quatre had been denied his orgasm and quite frankly, he was ready to burst. He watched the slick glide of the cigar and absurdly realized he’d never in his life been more envious of an inanimate object. He pulled the cigar out and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, no longer giving a shit what happened to it now that it had served its purpose. He ignored the blond’s whine of protest and fumbled with the scarf binding Quatre’s wrists together. “Get up on the bed, kitten. On your back. I’m going to fuck you so hard, your eyes will be crossed for days.” Quatre needed no further motivation, scrambling up onto his knees and then scampering over to the bed. He flung his naked body onto the comforter and then rolled onto his back, opening his legs wide. Trowa spotted the flutter of his hands drifting towards the straining erection jutting up from between his creamy thighs before Quatre remembered himself and lowered them back down to his sides. Their eyes met in the flickering light, gazing intently at each other as Trowa stripped out of his jeans and then crawled up onto the bed between the spread legs that were bent at the knees. The scarf that bound the blond’s wrists was held tightly between his teeth and he reached down to grab a slender arm, once again wrapping the silky fabric around one bony wrist. He threaded the scarf through the slats in the bed’s headboard and then wrapped the end around Quatre’s other wrist, tying it off tight. He sat up and admired the vision before him. A golden haired, alabaster angel, helplessly bound with his arms above his head and ripe for the taking. The very picture of innocence defiled. A celestial creature who’d gotten a taste of debauchery and craved it like an addict in need of a fix. Quatre’s eyes glittered in the moonlight, hungry, beseeching. White teeth dug into his plump lower lip as his hands twisted in their bonds. Trowa could feel the need rising off his skin like waves of heat. He glanced down at Quatre’s neglected cock, engorged with blood and waiting for the first opportunity to unleash the pent up agony that was no doubt swirling around inside his drawn up balls like lava ready to erupt from a volcano. His own cock twitched and throbbed in sympathy and he reached for the lube, done with games and ready to bury himself inside his lover. He leveled his gaze on the blond as he lubed himself up, knowing the dark gleam of dominance would stoke the fires of submission and within a few moments, Quatre was writhing against the bed, bleating with breathless pants. “Allah...Da - Daddy, please. Take me. I can’t stand it anymore.” “Hush, kitten. You will have your wish.” He couldn’t resist one last tease, loving the helpless desperation and the twisted look of pain on Quatre’s face. He traced the tip of a lubed finger around the raised skin of his lover’s opening, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth when Quatre pressed forward in a mindless need for penetration. “Ah, ah, ah, kitten. What have we learned about manners?” Quatre let out the most heart-wrenching sob he’d ever heard and his chest tightened with solicitude. He’d really been tormented for far too long. The most stimulation he’d endured without climax was three hours and it was well past three times that. Quatre tossed his blond head back and forth, his hands straining against the restraints and Trowa didn’t doubt that if he released him now, he’d simply reach down, unhook the ring from around his cock, and tug himself off. They were both struggling to stay in character now and Trowa decided to hell with it. They’d been tortured long enough. He grabbed his dick and guided it towards his lover’s opening, pressing in until his balls were snug against Quatre’s ass. There was no more patience left to wait for accommodations, especially now that his cock was singing with bliss inside the feverish confines of the blond’s body. And it seemed Quatre wasn’t willing to wait either. His hips twitched beneath the pinned weight of Trowa’s as he panted and pleaded for the fucking he’d been gagging for for the better part of seven hours. Surprisingly, he still had enough wits about him to remember his role. “Daddy,” he squeaked, huffing harsh breaths against Trowa’s face. “Fuck...I can’t - oh, Allah! Fuck me?” “Ssh,” Trowa soothed, pressing his lips against a damp cheek. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” Quatre nodded, disoriented, his eyes rolling beneath fluttering lashes. Trowa brushed sweaty golden hair away from his love’s face and leaned up, pulling his hips back and then pushing steadily back in, quickly building up a punishing rhythm that had Quatre garbling out broken words of affirmation, praise, and raw need. Trowa grabbed the trembling legs and slung them over his biceps, the new position tilting the blond’s hips up for deeper penetration and direct prostate stimulation. He worked his hips in deep, rapid strokes, tilting his head back and closing his eyes in rapture, surrendering to the gripping pleasure. “Tro - Daddy...please. Let me come…” Quatre reedy plea broke through the fervent haze and he stalled his rhythm just long enough to release the catch on the cock ring before resuming his volatile pace, grunting with exertion and the rising waves of hedonism spreading like wildfire across every nerve ending. His ears rang as the peak of ecstasy began to take hold, but through the roar in his head, he could hear Quatre’s triumphant, but pained cries, beyond words in the throes of his climax. Trowa’s own voice echoed off the walls like thunder and his body seized up, his muscles locked and going rigid as his cock spurted inside the convulsing sheath of Quatre’s ass. His head dropped between his heaving shoulders, groaning brokenly through clenched teeth while he rode the intense waves of his orgasm. He was dizzy and starry-eyed in the aftermath and he blinked spotted vision away to glance down and see how his lover was faring. Quatre was still trapped beneath his body with his arms restrained above his head and if ever there was to be an image forever ingrained beside the textbook definition of debauchery, this was it. He was spread out in total relaxation, eyes closed, and mouth parted in an almost dopey smile. Trowa couldn’t help but laugh even as he was still catching his breath. “You alright, love?” “Mmm...better than alright. That was…” He shook his head, in a daze and at a loss for words. “Incredible?” He offered, though that just didn’t seem to cut it. “Incredible...earth shattering, fabulous, blissful, memorable -” “I thought every time was memorable.” Quatre cracked an eyelid open and peered up at him. “You know what I mean.” “Yeah,” he agreed, pulling out and flopping to the side with a contented sigh. “Out of all the memorables, this is definitely at the top of the list.” He leaned over pressed a wet kiss to his lover’s mouth, slipping his tongue inside for a taste of sweetness before he rolled off the bed and went back to the bathroom to fetch a wet cloth and some ointment for Quatre’s backside. He wiped the blond down, smiling when he heard the soft moan of approval and then undid the ties around his wrists. After coaxing Quatre to roll over, he applied the balm to the blotched skin of his ass and crawled onto the bed, pulling his exhausted love against his chest. Quatre hummed with satisfaction, enveloped in warmth and safety. “So was it worth the wait?” Trowa inquired, gently closing his teeth around the shell of his ear. “Mmm-hmm. What do you think?” “I’d have to go with yes considering you jizzed all over the wall,” Trowa informed him, voice laced with amusement. “I - what?” Quatre lifted his head and stared at the wall with his jaw hanging open in shock. “Holy shit!” He snickered and buried his face in the pillow. Trowa could feel him shaking with laughter. “I wondered where most of it went.” Trowa chuckled. “I suppose I should clean that before it dries.” “No. I should. It is my jizz.” “Yeah, but it’s my fault for letting you go so long without coming that when you finally had the chance, you shot off like a bazooka.” He grinned as Quatre threw his head back and cackled. “True. It is your fault.” “No complaints?” “Are you kidding? I confess it felt close to torture towards the end there, but...that was the most intense sex I’ve ever had.” “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I went for as long as you did.” Quatre rolled over in his arms until they were lying chest to chest. He stroked a hand over Trowa’s beard, his face soft with love. “You don’t have to keep the beard if you don’t want to.” “You don’t like it?” “Of course I like it! You’re beautiful either way. I’m just saying, you don’t have to keep it on my account.” “Mmm...I don’t know. It’s kind of growing on me. Besides, the ladies love it, too,” he teased, waggling his brows when Quatre’s eyes narrowed. “Just as long as they know you are off limits,” he warned. “Of course I am. You know I only have eyes for you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the tip of his lover’s nose. Quatre preened, satisfied with that answer and settled in for the night. He tucked his head beneath Trowa’s chin with a murmured, “Love you, you brute.” “Love you, too, brat.”
End.
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