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A Cornucopia of Delights

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“Lower yourself onto it,” says Richard, looking down at Taron from above, his voice firm. He stands above Taron, wearing only his spiked boots and leather pants. He had just finished the ritual of putting Taron’s collar on, solidifying that they were in that space where what he said went.

Taron was naked except for the collar and the ropes which bound his arms behind his back. That collar always put him into the beginnings of his favorite headspace. The one where he would give up control; the one where he was Richard’s slut.

He’s squatting, his arms tied behind his back, and hovering over a large dildo anchored into a plank mount. It was sturdy, would allow riding without falling over, and was absolutely perfect for Richard to make Taron put on a show for him.

Taron tries lowering himself down onto the lubed up dildo, sliding past it and losing his balance, landing on his bum.

He looks up at Richard, who stands with his hands on his hips and his face fixed in a look of disapproval.

“Stop messing around. Mount it,” says Richard, not about to let Taron off easily.

The harsh words make him smile, and Taron rolls over back onto his knees and sits over the dildo again, trying very hard to line it up with his slick hole.

Richard gets impatient, deciding to take matters into his own hands.

“Fuck Taron, if you can’t mount it on your own, you have to wear this,” he says, pulling out his favorite cock ring from behind his back. “Looks like someone doesn’t get to come tonight.”

At this Taron whines, looking down, ashamed as Richard bends down and puts the cock ring on him. He’s already starting to get hard and so this is going to be excruciating.

“Please Richard, I’m sorry,” Taron pleads, the humiliation of it all making his cheeks burn.

“I’m sorry, Taron. But you need to learn better,” says Richard, seriously, as if this were really an important lesson for Taron to learn. Because to him, in this space, it is.

Richard then guides Taron over the dildo, using his hands to line it up and push Taron down onto it. As the tip breaches Taron, he hisses, Richard taking away his hands as Taron lowers himself down onto it.

“Fuck,” Taron whines, finding himself becoming fully hard. “So good.”

“I’m sure it is, but don’t you dare come. Now move,” says Richard crossing his arms and smiling as Taron begins to slowly lift himself up.

Taron rises and falls, keeping it slow and steady as he goes, trying to control himself. He tries to avoid letting the dildo hit his prostate, which is difficult, but he manages to miss it as often as it hits.
Richard gives an approving nod and then turns to the table next to him, picking up a whip he had placed there earlier. He gingerly cups Taron’s face as he comes up, making him pause for a moment. Richard kisses him, lightly, and then frowns, letting go of Taron’s face.

“Who said you could stop?” he asks, and Taron mewls with arousal as he sinks back down onto the dildo.

Richard grins as he watches Taron, enjoying the look of strained concentration on his face, the beads of sweat starting to form on his brow. He hums at the pretty sight, and then walks around Taron, stopping a few steps behind him.

He unloops the whip and cracks it in the air, pleased with the way Taron moans at just the sound. Taking a practice hit to loosen up, Richard takes a deep breath, and then strikes Taron’s upper back, lightly.

Taron’s breath hitches at the feel, and his hips stutter as he sinks back down onto the dildo slowly.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” asks Richard, whipping him again, lower this time. He’s practiced, making sure not to hit Taron in the kidneys.

Richard steps back a bit, getting aroused himself at the view of Taron rising and falling on the dildo. The place where it breaches him isn’t quite visible, however, and so he whips Taron again, harshly.

“Bend forward,” he says, grinning as Taron obeys and he can get a better view of where the dildo meets Taron’s hole. “Good boy.”

Taron’s breath catches at the praise, and his pace gets erotic when Richard hits him again. He’s painfully hard now, his cock straining against the ring. He loves this, Richard taking control and using him how he will.

Richard strikes him again, hitting Taron’s gorgeous arse, leaving beautiful red welts wherever the whip lands.

“So pretty,” says Richard, pausing for a moment to pull out his own cock. He palms himself gently, fully hard now due to the pretty sight and the noises that Taron makes every time he sinks down onto the dildo.

Taron whines at the next strike, so on edge and needy. He is floating and every painful hit causes a surge of adrenaline and a rush of pleasure that shoots all the way up his back. He fucking loves it, that stingey, sharp sensation followed immediately by a waterful of pleasure.

Richard loves this too, loves the feeling of being this in control. He grips his cock tightly, moving his hand up and down.

“Faster,” he growls, and Taron whines as he tries to move faster without falling over. Richard strokes himself harder at the sight of Taron’s attempts to keep his balance, and he whips him again and again.

“Come on, up and down. Work yourself,” he demands, whipping Taron with an unrelenting pace, not giving him much of a break.

“God, Richard. Yes,” babbles Taron, trying to move up and down on the dilldo and crying out whenever the whip hits his now red flesh.

Richard is stroking himself in earnest now, the sight in front of him just too much at this point.

“Faster!”

And Taron is practically bouncing on the dildo, sobbing whenever the whip hits his shoulders or back or arse. He’s struggling to keep his balance and he grunts and moans as he tries to keep this pace up and still breathe. His back aches from the angle and the whip is unrelenting, and the way his cock strains against the ring is painful by this point.

Richard starts walking closer again, his strikes getting less hard as he approaches Taron, cock still in hand.

He gently touches Taron’s shoulder, walking around the beautiful mess of a man and looking down at him.

“Keep going,” says Richard, continuing to grip his hard cock. With his free hand he grips Taron’s throat, adding slight pressure.

Taron’s movements stutter but he doesn’t stop, and Richard starts to jerk himself in front of him. Tears are free flowing and Taron’s face is red and he’s gasping as Richard tightens his grip, a wicked smile on his face.

For just a moment, Taron is scared. Not distressed, not hurting, just scared. This man in front of him can do whatever he wants to him, and he fully believes it. He sucks in a breath as Richard loosens his grip for a moment, and the relief is overshadowed by how utterly aroused he is by the true and unequivocal feeling of complete surrender.

His thoughts are interrupted by Richard, and he snaps back to where they are and the feelings keep rushing through him, as if he were only a vessel meant for these sensations.

“You’re so good, Taron. Put on such a pretty show for me. Taking it so well,” praises Richard, his breath catching as he keeps stroking himself long and good. The sight of Taron having completely let go is bringing him to new heights, and he wants Taron to know how good he is.

Taron smiles as he keeps riding the dildo, rising and falling and unable to moan due to being choked. His mouth is wide open and he is so on edge and needy, his skin flushed and his eyes fluttering with the pleasure and overstimulation of it all.

“God, Taron. Fuck, You’re so beautiful. You’re so beautiful, I love you,” Richard practically howls, stroking himself to completion, coming on Taron’s face, his cum dripping down his forehead and nose.

Taron looks so lost in pleasure, keening forward and his tongue lapping at his face, trying to lick up the cum as it drips down into his mouth.

Richard let’s up on Taron’s throat, instead using Taron’s shoulders to steady himself as his legs give out slightly. Taron finally stops moving, supporting Richard’s weight, sunk all the way down on the dildo. Richard pants and digs his nails into Taron’s shoulders, holding him tight. He feels so overcome with protective feelings and love that he just steadies himself there, trying to catch his breath.

“Good boy,” whispers Richard, breathing deeply as he leans in and kisses Taron’s forehead, stroking his hair and holding him close.

He then stands back up, taking his weight off of Taron and walking behind him, quickly undoing the ropes. He will take care of him now, Richard caring for Taron in the other ways he needs.

“Up up,” he says, tapping Taron’s bum and helping him rise up off of the dildo, Taron whining at the loss. He collapses on the floor, and Richard grabs a blanket, pulling the shivering, whining mess of a man up onto all fours and wrapping him in it. He helps Taron to stand and walks him over to a couch, laying him down and rapping the blanket around him.

“Such a good boy, “ he says, gently reaching down and with a deft hand taking off the cock ring. Taron whimpers at the sensation on his still hard cock, knowing that he won’t get to come this night is really doing it for him. He can’t help but laugh as Richard pulls him close, knowing that he’s getting off on not being allowed to get off.

“You’re okay love, I’m here,” coos Richard, settling Taron’s head in his lap as he shivers and comes down. It’s such a beautiful feeling, comforting his Taron after bringing him to such heights. Richard leans down and gently kisses his neck, gripping tightly at his little sub. “Mine.”

“Yours,” hums Taron, loving the touch and closeness of his Dom taking care of him. “Am yours.”

Richard smiles into the back of Taron’s neck, tracing his hand through the sparse hairs on Taron’s chest. He adores taking care of his sweet submissive, and pretty soon Taron is once again sitting up, Richard helping Taron to drink some water and wiping the cume off his face and feeding him some dried fruit. He wants to make sure Taron is okay, won’t let anything bad happen to him.

This time the tears that fall from Richard’s eyes are just a reaction of coming down from his high, no guilt or fear. This is him. He’s accepted that, and despite still being in need of physical comfort as his adrenaline falls, he gets that from the closeness to Taron, whenever he snuggles back into a touch or kisses Richard or expresses love in his million different, goofy ways. And Richard drinks it up, so appreciative of the beautiful man who trusts him so and the things that they do for each other.

Taron is relaxed and keening into every little touch and caress, lost in sensation and loving this new level Richard has gone too. His erection is gone by this point, hurting somewhat still due to not getting off. Richard has spooned himself around Taron from behind, pressing his lips into the back of Taron’s neck.

“You’ve been holding back,” teases Taron, and Richard just chuckles, laughing with his face pressed against Taron’s soft skin.

“Ay, I guess I have,” he confirms, tightening his grip on Taron, protectively. “Mine.”

Taroon laughs as Richard squeezes him tight, and then shivers when Richard grabs his now flaccid cock. “Mine,” he repeats, softer, and Taron hums in agreement, feeling like he belongs to someone.

Slowly, the hormonal rush does abate, and Taron starts to drift. That intense of an experience wasn’t something he had ever expected to actually have, and so had never emotionally prepared for.

He doesn’t cry, though, at least not until Richard leans in close and softly whispers “what do you need, Taron?”

Chapter Text

Taron hums as the cuffs are locked into place, loving the way Richard worked. The Scotsman was meticulous, always savouring the beginning of things and drawing them out.

When Richard had pulled out his collar earlier, Taron had swooned. He had had a rough day, coming off of one interview after another promoting Rocketman. Richard had been busy with The Bodyguard dropping on netflix and signing up with Disney. They hadn’t seen much of each other that week as a result.

Taron had hoped that Richard would want to do something in their hotel that night. They had shared a stop together on their promotional tours and Richard had hinted at things to come during dinner.

It didn’t even matter whatever country they were in, or what interview was the next day or what planes they were getting on, they were together.

“Had to go bare bones today, love,” murmures Richard making sure the cuffs were securely tied to the posts of the hotel bed. Richard was still dressed, wearing a white button down and black dress pants. The first three buttons of the shirt are open, the way the collar is pulled back exposing the hairs on Richard’s chest.

“Hmm, I don’t mind,” smiles Taron, leaning in for a kiss with Richard. One kiss quickly becomes two, and before Taron knows it he is losing himself in the feeling of those lips he has fallen in love with. ‘Fluffy pillow lips’ indeed; they were so soft, and yet accentuated harsh words so well. Words such as ‘cockring’ or ‘fuckboy’ or ‘spank-surface.’

Finally breaking the kiss, Richard pulled back and put his hand around Taron’s throat, in the place where Taron loved to be choked.

“You miss this?” asks Richard, eyes wild and a mischievous grin on his face.

Taron presses up into the grip, but Richard laughs and takes his hand away, shaking his head. “You can’t do that now, ruins it.”

“But I thought you liked to see me desperate,” says Taron, coy.

“Don’t get smart now, or I might not play nice,” replies Richard with a raised brow. But then Taron lets out a desperate whine and Richard relents, shaking his head. “The things you do to me, Mr Egerton.”

Taron settles back into the mattress, looking quite pleased with himself. Richard would be nice this night, he knew it by the way Richard rolled his eyes at him. This soft, playful and exasperated Richard was lovely, and Taron enjoyed it. He knew that it wouldn’t be forever, but this tiny moment together amidst a sea of chaos was too precious to spend getting into character or doing something intense that might go wrong. They only had this night, then another week apart. It felt like an eternity to the two.

“Now, why would I ever do tha-” says Taron in a sing song voice, cut off by a gasp as Richard runs his hand down his chest and lightly dances his fingers over his clothed member. He is wearing nothing but tight black boxer-briefs, and Taron was starting to regret this decision.

Richard was still fully clothed, looking delicious in a simple white tee and jeans. God, did he rock those jeans. Taron could tell that Richard was starting to get hard as well, the outline of his cock just visible against his clothed crotch.

“Because you’re a git, but I love it. So I’ll make ye a deal. I’ll play nice, in that I’m not stopping you from coming tonight. However, whether or not you do is really up to you.” The words ring through Taron’s ears and he tries to comprehend them. He supposes that he can’t think straight because all of the blood has flooded to his dick, and he strains against the touch.

“Fuck, Dickie, what are you…” his words are cut off by Richard palming over his tight black briefs with his hand, and Taron tries to lift his hips, keening into the touch. Unfortunately, this strains the muscles in his outstretched arms, and so Taron’s attempts to get more friction are in vain.

“Tut tut, so desperate. Can’t wait to see how you struggle in just a minute,” says Richard, removing his hand from Taron’s bulge. He turns and then bends down out of Taron’s line of sight, and then stands up, brandishing the Hitachi.

Taron mewls and tries desperately to scoot down toward Richard, but he’s so trapped, and he can’t get close enough.

Richard looks nonchalant as he carefully sets up the cordless Hitachi on a small stand so that it leans at an angle, just out of reach of Taron’s cock. He smirks as Taron strains toward it, and adjust the height so that it stands just above where the head of Taron’s dick peeks out of his boxer briefs.

“You’re killing me, love,” Taron says, his eyes rolling back in his skull as Richard rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. Richard grips him for a moment, rubbing his thumb in the pre-cum gathering at the head and then running his fingers up and down over the foreskin.

“No, just gonna make you work for it,” says Richard, a look of clinical concentration on his face. He wipes his hand on Taron’s thigh and then turns and pulls up a chair, perfect for him to watch from.

“What the- Richard?” asks Taron, exasperated and confused.

Richard just grins, sitting like a gentlemen in the chair with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap. “Just want a nice view,” he says, standing up again and holding up his hands in defense.

“Now,” says Richard, turning the Hitachi on and stepping back. “I want to watch you strain, and struggle, and get yourself off on that Hitachi. I want to see your hips bucking up off of the bed, and see you pulling on those cuffs, and the way you beg. That way, when I’m alone, promoting my show, and don’t have you with me, I can have a pretty fantasy to go back to. I can have that pleasured, tortured face of yours in my head and I can think of that when I get off.”

Taron chokes at this, biting his lips and straining up to get friction on his dick. Unfortunately, its just out of his reach.

Richard sits back down, composing himself as if to watch a west end play, instead of his own personal sex show.

The sight almost makes Taron laugh, until he catches the way Richard looks at him, a warning look that causes Taron to try to swallow the lump in his throat. Instead, he experimentally pulls at each of the cuffs, trying to get just a bit more length on them.

Richard had to have planned this out beforehand, and Taron is determined to figure out how to get that precious friction on his cock.

His hips buck upward, and the angle hurts his back a little bit, but the Hitachi just barely contacts his cock for just a second. The sensation makes him whine, a tortured sound that causes Richard to raise an eyebrow.

“Good, isn’t it?” asks Richard, appearing almost bored by the display.

“Please,” whines Taron, trying desperately to maintain the angle but having to relax his hips and taking in a deep breath.

“Well, I’m not stopping you. If ye want more, it’s right there for ye,” says Richard, the slight shift in posture giving away his arousal. He still looks composed, but looser, like he’s trying to look less like he’s straining in his pants.

“God, you’re so mean,” says Taron, angling his hips to get just a tiny bit more stimulation. His cock head gets just a slight amount of contact from the Hitachi, and his hips jut involuntarily, and Taron moans, holding the position as long as he can.

“I would think all those bare bell hip thrusts at the gym would have you better at this,” says Richard, shaking his head.

“Not like this, not with my hands tied up,” pleads Taron, thrusting his hips up into the vibrations and humming in pleasure as he holds it, so desperate for it.

“Yes, I wanted to add a bit of a challenge,” says Richard leaning back. He’s flushed now, still hiding how turned on he is, but just barely. He leans back more and rubs the back of his neck, trying oh so hard to remain composed.

Taron strains and keeps his hips lifted up, but the Hitachi is just too far away to get it where he needs it. His breathing comes hard and the burn in his thighs from trying to hold himself up is delicious. The stimulation just isn’t enough, and Taron moans and tries, oh so hard, to hold the position. But he just can’t and he collapses back down onto the bed again.

“Oh, you’re working hard, aren’t ye?” asks Richard, as if just noticing. He bites the knuckle of one finger, and Taron knows that Richard is just hard as a fucking rock.

“You are too, you old perve,” says Taron, and Richard sits back up, giving Taron a warning look.

“You want me to make this harder for you?” he asks, and Taron instantly realizes that this was a mistake.

“No, no please, don’t. I’m sorry,” says Taron, and Richard stands up, approaching the bed again and reaching for the Hitachi.

“I could just move it a little further away,” he says, moving the Hitachi and its stand just a centimeter further out of Taron’s reach, and he strains to try to keep in contact with it. “Or, I can just turn it down, or off,” says Richard, pushing it back into place and pressing the wand onto the head of Taron’s cock. He turns the vibrations up, and then down. It’s so mean, and then when Richard turns it off completely Taron cries out. He needs it.

“No, I’ll be good. I’m sorry,” says Taron, pleading and fruitlessly thrusting his hips up into the air.

“Oh, I always did enjoy watching you beg,” says Richard, relenting and turning the Hitachi back on.

Taron sighs and thrusts upward into that sweet friction. His hair is mussed up and his movements are strained, but he keeps it up.

Richard smiles and sits back down, crossing his legs again and watching the show with his hand folded together like in prayer.

Taron is on the edge, trying to get to that precipice, but unable to get quite enough friction when he thrusts upward. He can’t, he has to have more, this sweet torture too much for him.

Then, Taron remembers what he had said a few minutes before, about his hands cuffed so tightly above his head making him unable to thrust upward.

Taron takes a breath, relaxing his entire body. It feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he has to get there. He relaxes down into the mattress, and instead of pulling against the restraints he lets them go slack.

Concentrating on keeping his upper body relaxed, Taron thrusts his hips upward, getting the friction he wants. It’s against his shaft, not quite high enough, but it’s so good.

“Oh, figured it out now, have we?” asks Richard, a flushed mess, eyes burning and composer all but gone.

Taron doesn’t respond, just keeps lifting his hips. Then, in a desperate attempt to get it where he needs it, Taron squeezes his thighs and pulls the Hitachi and its stand forward on the bed. He makes his goal, the head of the wand now pressed against the head, which is barely protected from overstimulation by his boxer briefs and his foreskin. The friction on the head of his cock is so good, and so much, that Taron cries out in relief at the contact.

He wraps his legs around the stand, angling it just right and thrusts up against it.

Richard is chuckling, pleased with the sight and leaning back into his chair again, his eyes fluttering shut, pleased.

Taron uses his thighs to hold the wand exactly where he needs it and grinds up into the vibrations. He’s straining against the cuffs again but nothing will get the Hitachi out of the death grip of his legs wrapped around it. He cries in relief as he rides it to the edge, until...

“Fuck, Richard, I’m coming!” he chokes, his body tightening around the wand and tensing and stuttering as he thrusts against it. He holds it tightly, until his body slackens and Taron releases the toy from his thighs’ grasp.

He pants as he pulls himself up the bed, trying to get away, oversensitive. It became too much, and he lays still and takes deep breaths, eyes half shut.

Richard watches hungrilly, giving a few polite claps and standing, walking up to the bed.

“That was beautiful, Taron. Such a good boy,” he says, cupping Taron’s face tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

Taron keens into the touch, nuzzling as Richard pets him gently and then releases the cuffs. He half cries, half laughs as his body goes slack against the mattress. “God, Richard,” he pleads, not quite knowing what he wants as Richard turns off the Hitachi and moves it aside, sitting down next to Taron.

“Yes love?” Richard asks, checking Taron’s wrists for chafing against the soft leather cuffs.

Taron can’t say anything, so he just lifts himself to get closer to Richard, who wraps his arms around Taron’s shoulders, steadying him. “Shhh, easy love,” soothes Richard, helping Taron up slowly.

Richard helps Taron into the shower, discarding his dirty boxer briefs and holding him gently under the hot water. The soft suds and soothing spray of the shower helps Taron to relax, and Richard soothes him with his light caresses and sweet kisses. He scrubs Taron down, gently, holding him tightly against his chest.

Taron whines at the feel of Richard’s hard cock against his high, but Richard doesn’t acknowledge it, takes care of Taron like he’s not completely hot and bothered.

 

“Are you sure you’re good?” asks Taron, as Richard cuddles up to him under the fluffy covers of the hotel bed.

“I’m perfectly fine, love. Wanted to focus on you, how hard you make me. I’m going to treasure this in the week to come. Your want is so beautiful, love. Just wanted to see that,” says Richard, pulling Taron close and kissing the back of his neck. Taron smiles at the feeling, at the ticklish sensation of Richard breathing on him. “You’re perfect, love,” Richard whispers, sleepily, and Taron relaxes into the touch, drifting off in Richard’s arms.

Chapter Text

“Are you scared, love?” asks Richard, petting Taron gently. He was about to put Taron’s collar on and get to work, but first he had to do one last check.

“I’m okay, not scared. It freaks me out, but I like that it does?” Taron says, looking away. Richard cups his face and pulls him into a kiss.

“This is a bit odd, is all. The fact that you find it sexy is… well, I think its sexy to be objectified like this, but pretending that you and Jamie can actually get me pregnant…” Taron makes a face and Richard laughs.

“I like the objectification aspect, it’s Jamie who just really likes the idea of breeding,” says Richard, fitting the collar around Taron’s neck and kissing his throat as he buckles it.

“You’d think after making that mistake twice he’d be averse to it by now,” says Taron, chuckling as Richard patts his cheek.

“Naughty,” says Richard, playfully. “Now, lay down on the bench.”

Taron complies, that relaxed, pliant sensation that starts to overtake his body just beginning as he lays across the padded surface. The bench has support for his knees and hands, as well as hooks for cuffs or rope, and the supports are also padded..

“That’s how I like to see you, arse up and ready for anything,” says Richard, giving Taron’s ass a good spank before picking up the cuffs.

Taron leans back into the sensation, his arse burning where it was slapped. Richard secures his arms and legs, and he tugs against them experimentally. He can’t escape, Richard has him tied securely and if he tugs too hard, the bench will fall over. He’s open, his ass exposed and he’s completely defenseless.

“Hmm, so pretty, when you’re vulnerable like this,” murmurs Richard, petting Taron’s thigh lightly, before giving it another harsh slap.

“Ah, thank you,” says Taron, wincing and feeling overcome with the need to be used.

“Good boy,” hums Richard, petting Taron’s arse lovingly, moving directly behind him.

Taron can’t see him, but he hears the click of the lube bottle and then shivers as the cold liquid hits his sensitive skin, dripping down onto his hole.

“Like that, eh?” asks Richard, teasing two fingers over the area. He runs a finger down between Taron’s cheeks, over his hole, down his perineum, and then gently cups his balls.

Taron leans back into the touch, his cock starting to twitch and blood rushing to the area. Richard’s gentle grip and clever fingers tease little gasps out of him, until that hand slowly makes its way back toward his entrance.

“Gotta open you up for Jamie, love. Don’t want him to hurt you when he’s breeding you,” and then Taron feels a finger pressing in.

“Mmhhh, yes,” moans Taron, as Richard strokes his prostate with one finger. Another finger is added, and they scissor out, Taron now fully hard, the head of his cock rubbing on the bench under him.

“You’re so tight. You work these muscles so well. Gonna be easy, you having Jamie’s baby. You’ve developed such muscle control, won’t be any tearing or nothing,” soothes Richard, slowly working his fingers in and out, talking about Taron like he exists for this purpose. It’s fucked up, in a twisted, delicious way, and Taron relaxes into his touch as Richard works him open and runs a gentle hand down his thigh.

Pretty soon, Richard is adding a third finger, and Taron is biting his lips and crying, the friction from the bench on his dick almost unbearable.

“Better not come until Jamie-”until Jamie what?” Richard is cut off as Jamie enters the room. He’s leaning on the door frame, looking absolutely edible, his presence domineering. He’s wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up and tight blue jeans and a brown belt, his arms crossed in front of him like a man looking over a job that needs to be done.

“This our pretty little slut?” asks Jamie, coming around to look at Taron. He gets down on one knee in front of him, half smiling. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna swell with my seed. You’re gonna carry my offspring. You want that?”

Taron clenches all over, the thought just so fucked up in his mind. Instinctively, he shakes his head no, closing his eyes tight. It only adds to how good it is, to be objectified and used in this way, and Taron has to suppress a groan when Jamie grabs his chin and forces him to look up at him. “Well too bad. I’ll try to make it enjoyable anyway.”

He gasps, leaning toward Jamie as much as he can, until Richard hits his prostate and Taron’s eyes go wide. Jamie looks at him with a hungry grin, a look on his face that is reminiscent of the character he played in Nymphomaniac volume II.

“You’re gonna be good, take it, and if it doesn’t work we’ll just have to do this again and again,” he whispers in Taron’s ear. Jamie stands up, puts two fingers up to Taron’s mouth, who obediently sucks on them and whines around them.

Richard is still working him, scissoring out his fingers and adding more lube, and Taron sucks deeply on the proffered fingers in his mouth. He feels his cock leaking a little onto the bench, the way he’s being treated turning him on even more.

If he’s honest with himself, Taron would admit that he wishes they had done role play like this before. Maybe not breeding specifically, but him acting like he doesn’t want this is just making him feel more helpless, and he feels turned on at a completely new level.

When Jamie takes his fingers out of Taron’s mouth and pets him one last time, Taron pants, a bit of drool dripping down his lips

“Insatiable,” mutters Jamie, shaking his head and then walking behind Taron, his boots clicking on the floor.

Suddenly, Taron feels a harsh smack on his backside, and he cries out as one becomes two, and then three. Richard’s fingers are still deep within him, and the sensation of the fingers working him and the spankings are just too much.

Then, Richard’s fingers pull out, making a wet sound as they leave his now open hole, and he feels empty. However, he can’t think too long on this, as he hears the sound of a belt coming undone and then the metal clink against the floor.

“He’s ready?” asks Jamie, unbuttoning his shirt.

“He is, just remember don’t hurt him,” warns Richard, eyeing Jamie’s ripped chest.

“Don’t plan on it, gonna make it good for him. He’s gonna carry my child, I want him to like it,” says Jamie, petting Taron’s thigh, and then using his spit slick fingers to check Taron’s hole

“God, no,” whines Taron, their words rippling through him. It’s so hot he can barely stand it, and when he feels Jamie lining his cock up with his hole, he pulls away slightly. He wants to feel forced, and Jamie obliges, grabbing his hips harshly.

“Come on, you,” Jamie says, pushing in, not too hard. Taron’s body goes rigid as Jamie bottoms out, feeling entirely helpless and objectified.

“Breathe love, it’s okay,” soothes Richard, putting a hand on Taron’s neck. Taron takes a deep breath and relaxes somewhat, moaning slightly at the feel of being filled by Jamie and the intense grip on his hips.

“Good boy,” says Jamie, licking his lips and pulling out some and then thrusting back in. The feel of Taron’s tight heat around him spurs him forward, and the idea of breeding Taron forces him to steady himself. He wants to make this last.

Taron is conflicted, moaning every time Jamie slowly thrusts in, the friction so good. His arse is up and open for the two beautiful men using him to see, and Richard is sitting by his side and petting him, murmuring pretty things in his ear, and it’s so hot to be used and comforted about being used while it’s happening.

The role play aspect, though, that this is nonconsensual adds a new depth, and Taron is barely hanging onto reality. He has to be able to safe word if he needs to, and getting too lost in this scene is not something that he wants to do.

“God yes, take it,” says Jamie, thrusting in harshly. He picks up the pace somewhat, thrusting up into Taron and moving his hands down from his hips to his thighs, spreading them further.

Taron cries and bites his lips, the intense feeling of Jamie pulling him back onto his dick overwhelming. He’s panting and Richard is petting and kissing him, and he realizes that he really needs Richard there with him, as a soothing presence to him as they role play him being bred.

Taron leans into his touch, Richard being an anchor for him here. That touch allows him to stay grounded, and he mentally checks himself. He’s enjoying this, even as he resists Jamie’s hands which pull him back onto his dick. He’s okay, Richard is there and this is pretend, and he breathes and relaxes into the touch of Richard’s hand and grins, the surrender he feels soothing as Jamie thrusts into him.

“I think he’s liking this,” mutters Richard, scratching Taron’s hair as if he were a well behaved dog.

“Good, be more likely if he’s not stressed. Chances are also better if he comes,” says Jamie, not slowing down. On the contrary, he thrusts in more harshly, causing Taron to yelp.

“Shhh, it’s okay pet. We’ll make it good for you,” soothes Richard, reaching under Taron and encircling his cock with his hand. Taron keens into the touch, panting and biting his lip harder as Richard gently strokes him.

“Yes, that’s it,” says Jamie, adjusting his grip and taking Taron’s hips in his hands again. “He’s so pretty. Will have such pretty kids. Gonna put these luscious hips to use.”

“God,” whines Taron, his body shuddering, almost there. “No, please.”

“Yes,” says Jamie, speeding up again, deciding to no longer draw this out.

Jamie tightens his grip and pounds into Taron, and Richard speeds up as well, jerking Taron off with intent.

Taron feels his orgasm building and it’s so intense, this complete helplessness and abuse having him so on edge. Suddenly the room goes white as he comes, his toes curling and his body tightening up as he is hit by an intense orgasm.

Jamie follows soon after, pounding into Taron and gripping onto his shoulders as he comes, his stomach flush with Taron's back. He holds onto Taron tightly, his hips stuttering against him and Taron can feel Jamie spurt inside of him. It’s a strange feeling, pretending that this would lead to pregnancy, but the sense of being used for this purpose makes Taron moan and shiver in an aftershock.

Jamie stays inside of him for a moment, soothing Taron’s bum with his hand before pulling out, carefully. Then there’s another pressure at Taron’s entrance and he realizes its a plug, and he gasps as it pushes into his open, used hole.

“That’ll keep it all in him. Make sure it settles and we see some results,” says Jamie, patting Taron’s bum and then coming around to face him again.

He zips up his pants and gets down on one knee, facing Taron and Richard. “You like that? You want to carry my children. Birth them? Have me fill you with more? Such a pretty set of birthing hips, a pretty bum, and to not be used for this would be such a shame.”

Taron whines as both men pet him, soothingly. He feels overstimulated but accepts the soft touches and tries to relax. To come down. However, the way Jamie is talking about him makes him wonder if they’re still in scene. Is it over? He still has the plug in. What’s going on?

He’s gasping and leaning into their touches as they quickly untie him and help him down off the bench and the idea of being pregnant is horrifying to him and yet hot and he feels so overstimulated and needs more touch. It’s so filthy and he is exhausted from the ordeal and focuses on just the light touches and words of praise as he nods off.

 

Taron wakes up a little while later, wrapped up in a blanket on the bed, still naked.

“Richard? Jamie?” he asks, looking around and seeing the two sitting next to him on the bed, kissing lightly.

“Oh, well look who’s awake?” says Jamie, smiling reassuringly, and Taron knows that they’re no longer in scene and he feels safe.

He looks over his body, and he’s been cleaned, the plug gone. “I fell asleep…” he says, trying to figure it out. He curls up in on himself, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Easy, you’re okay. What do you need, Taron?” asks Richard, in the serious, soothing way that always brings Taron back to reality.

“Clothes,” murmurs Taron, and Richard is on it, handing him boxers and a t-shirt to put on. Jamie brings him some water and Taron takes small sips of it, sitting up and trying to resettle himself. The scene is over. He wasn’t really bred.

“You okay?” asks Jamie, gently touching his hair.

“Yeah, just, that was intense. I… kinda lost myself, a bit,” says Taron, tentatively, trying to figure out what happened.

“If you don’t want to do that again, you don’t have to,” says Jamie, and Richard nods, serious.

“No, I think that... “ Taron thinks, trying to figure out what he needs. “I need more of a separation between scene and after care. You comforting me afterwards felt like it was still in scene, because of what you were saying and the plug. Wasn’t able to cool down.”

“Makes sense,” says Richard, settling in close to Taron and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “We’ll renegotiate later, if we ever want to do a scene like that again. Let’s just cool off properly for now.”

Taron nods, settling into the bed and handing the glass back to Jamie. “You got really into that, you know?”

Jamie laughs, shaking his head. “It’s a hot idea. Kinda rubs my ego, thinking I’m potent enough to defy the laws of nature. Although to be honest the idea terrifies me as well. Had to get psyched up for this scene in advance.

“Really?” asks Taron, thinking he had been the only one to have any hang ups about this.

“Yeah, I just had a kid. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you can’t really get pregnant. I don’t need another wee one at the moment, and the child support would be a nightmare.”

At this both Taron and Richard laugh, and the three cuddle up together. Before long, Richard orders fish and chips takeout, and the three settle into bed together and eat. The two older men lovingly feed Taron fish and chips and pet him as they sit close and watch a movie. Taron relaxes into every little touch, and he thinks, as Jamie feeds him a chip, that he could really get used to this.

Suddenly, he feels a hand snaking toward his belly. Jamie is resting his head on his shoulder and looking at him with dreamy eyes, but Taron catches his hand in his before it can reach its target. "Don't even think about it."

Chapter Text

Taron slowly brushes the boot polish on, circling the leather surface meticulously. He’s careful to get every surface of the boot, to not scratch the souple leather. It’s a task which requires his full attention, and he prides himself on doing this correctly, savoring the work.

He’s already done Richard’s pair of oxfords, his leather pants, and his leather body harness. This item in particular hangs carefully on a hook behind Taron, him wanting to show off his fantastic work, the leather shiny and pristine.

He sits on a small stool, brushing the polish over one of Richard’s spiked biker boots. Taron loves these, loves the indentations they leave in his skin when Richard presses them into his neck or uses one to hold him down flat on the mat.

Taron smiles, picturing the sensation of the boot pressing down into his shoulder.

He’s been at this task for hours, and Taron’s hands are covered in the black boot polish. He’s wearing jeans, a ratty white t-shirt, and an apron. It’s lovely, the feeling of doing this for Richard.

When he had asked Richard what he wanted for his birthday, this is what he had asked for. To have all of his leather goods worked over by Taron, cleaned and polished so that when the two were apart, Richard could wear them and think of him.

He’s also wearing a plug, Richard’s orders. It makes him squirm as he shifts on the hard surface of the stool, and it’s difficult to concentrate at times. Oh so difficult, whenever the textured silicon rubs his prostate, but he is determined to stay on task.

“How’s the progress coming, love?” asks Richard from behind Taron, walking into the room with hands in his pocket. He’s smiling down at Taron like he’s never seen something so pretty, standing over him and looking over his work.

“Almost done. Just these and the leather Jacket, and then it’s done,” says Taron, showing Richard the biker boot covered in boot black.

“I see, and you’ve done a lovely job, pet,” says Richard, stroking Taron’s hair sweetly.

Taron beams brightly at the praise, letting the boot back down and turning to get back to it. “Although…” muses Richard, checking his watch, narrowing his brows overdramatically. “You were supposed to finish for 5 so that we can make our reservation by 7. Don’t want you to not have time for a shower, now do we?”

Taron shakes his head no, flushing pink as he looks up at the clock on the wall. 5:08, and he’s not even done with the biker boots. He wants to argue that he’s being meticulous, and that great work takes time. But if Taron is honest with himself, he’s also been daydreaming about Richard’s reaction, and admiring his own work. Richard tuts and shakes his head, bemused at the crestfallen look on Taron’s face. “Don’t worry love, I know of a way to help you speed up and focus on your task.”

Richard kneels down, Taron setting the brush back down and leaning into his touch, unsure of what Richard has in mind but willing to accept it enthusiastically.

Their lips meet and its tender, Richard’s lips so soft, and the brush of the Scot’s beard always so good against his skin. Taron gasps into the kiss a little bit, and Richard chuckles, before patting him as a signal to get on his knees.

Taron complies, always happy to get on his knees for Richard. He has to adjust his apron a bit, and sighs as he feels Richard reaching around him to undo his belt.

Richard pulls down Taron’s jeans, exposing his round bum, as he’s not wearing boxers. He cups Taron’s cheeks, running his nails over the soft skin. He loves this, practically worships Taron’s perfect arse, just like a lot of fans, he laments. Still, he doesn’t let this bother him much, since he has the real thing in front of him.

Slowly, Richard runs a caressing finger down between Taron’s cheeks until it finds the base of the plug, and he gently pulls it out with a faint, wet pop.

Taron whines at the loss, wanting to feel filled and leaning back into Richard’s touch.

“Hmm, you’re so eager, love. You don’t even know what I’ve got in store for ye,” says Richard, pressing his face into Taron’s back. “I’ll play nice, though, for a bit.”

And then Taron hears the zipper of Richard’s pants, and he feels the blunt pressure at his entrance. A hand pushes down at his upper back and Taron bends down, the stool under him and his ass up in the air.

He arches as Richard pushes inside of him, loving how Richard grips him and pushes him down so he’s ass up and face pressed to the floor.

“Yes, oh god, Taron,” says Richard, setting a steady rhythm. “It’s okay to touch yourself, time is of the essence.” And with that Taron’s hand is on his own dick jerking himself as Richard fucks into him.

Taron’s cock had been hard earlier because of the plug, but being leaned over a stool and fucked right there on the floor where he is working is causing him to near his peak already.
His cock is leaking and he rubs it in earning, crying every time Richard hits his prostate.

“Richard, I”-”close, it’s okay, go ahead and let go.” And with that Taron is coming on his hand, and Richard is coming at the feeling of Taron clenching around him. It’s filthy and fast and Richard is pulling out, doing up his zipper and panting.

He pets Taron’s arse as he starts to scoot back and sit up, comfortingly stopping Taron’s hand as it goes to pull his pants back up. “Not yet, gotta plug you back up. This’ll help you to focus on getting these last things done nice and quick.”

Taron wonders what Richard could mean, when he suddenly feels a sharp burning at his entrance. He feels the pressure, not much more than one of the plugs he’s used to using, but its tingly and hot and the sudden new sensation makes him try to crawl away across the floor.

Richard steadies him with a hand, and that touch stills him. Taron breathes, it’s something they’ve talked about but never tried. Ginger, peeled to expose the acidic flesh, used as a plug. It burns, and he wants it out and to stay in all at once.

“Richard,” he whines, and Richard is petting him gently.

“Do you need to safeword?” asks Richard, steady. Not afraid, just checking. That steadiness reassures Taron, and he shakes his head no. He can do this. Wants to do this for his Richard.

“Okay, then I hope that this nice bit of garnish helps ye to stay on task and to get the rest of this done by… 6. That’ll give us plenty of time to make the reservation.”

And with that he gives Taron a nice slap on the bottom, making Taron’s hole clench around the evil little bit of spicy root that sits inside of him. Richard then pulls Taron’s pants back up and zips him up, making Taron feel put down, but in the best possible way.

“Now mind your task, Taron. Clock’s ticking, says Richard, tapping his watch

 

Half an hour later, and Taron is done. He’s sobbing, his eyes red and snot dripping from his nose. His hands are covered in boot black and they’re a bit shaky, arms crossed and gripping onto the edges of his t-shirt, pulling nervously at the edges. He walks slowly, taking little steps so as not to disturb the ginger plug inside of him. Every time it moves the burning just starts anew.

Richard is in his boxers, laying out clothes on the bed and focusing on getting ready, when he hears Taron knock and enter through the open door to their bedroom.

“Hi my sweet, you done?” asks Richard, approaching Taron and cupping his face gently.

“Yes,” mewls Taron, nodding his head. “Please, get it out.”

“Ay, let’s get you in the bathroom to clean you up,” and before Taron can think or say anything Richard is leading him into the large master bathroom. Richard undresses him and leans him over the counter, petting him lightly.

“Gonna pull it out, love,” he says, carefully gripping the carved, flared base and pulling out the ginger root, Taron gasping at the feel of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his swollen hole.

“Better?” asks Richard, spreading Taron’s cheeks to get a good look. The rim of Taron’s hole is pink and raw, and Taron is breathing hard under his touch, but he nods

“Better.”

Richard nods, pulling Taron up gently into a hug. “Let’s get you in the tub.”

Taron takes a step and Richard leads him to an already drawn bath, helping him to sit down in the warm water. It’s not as hot as Taron would usually want, but it’s soothing, just the right temp.

The sweet Welshman sighs at the feel, the fire going out where the ginger had been.

“Witch hazel, eucalyptus, aloe vera, and a few others,” says Richard taking a soft washcloth and gently dabbing away at Taron’s puffy face. “And you always say my bath products are stupid expensive for no reason.” Richard rusn the soft cloth over Taron’s body, letting him relax into the feeling before he tends to more sensitive areas.

Taron is keening into every touch, his arse still sore but the burning is gone. He trusts Richard, and leans in even when his hands dip under the water and the washcloth brushes his sensitive hole.

“I’m gonna take care of you, don’t worry,” whispers Richard, carefully cleaning around the swollen rim.

Taron winces even as he bears down, wanting Richard to go over every inch of his body, which he obliges.

When he’s clean and the water drained from the tub, Richard wraps him in a big, fluffy towel and rubs him down all over. Taron is giggling by this point, so happy to be taken care of and back down to a normal headspace.

“I’ve got to ask just to be sure, but are you still up for going out?” asks Richard, careful not to push Taron too hard here. “If I call an uber while you dress, we can get to the restaurant just in time for our reservation.”

“Depends on if we can split a dessert,” ventures Taron, tentative, the possible promise of dessert making the whole thing worth it for him.

“Of course, love. Wouldn’t be a birthday without something sweet. Was thinking creme brulee, or something on fire” says Richard, handing him his clothes and grinning at the face Taron made. “Now get dressed, or I might have to find a way to speed things up again.”