“Are you sure?” Jonathan asked.
“It was my idea,” Jonah replied, testing the leather strap across his chest. It was pressing his breasts down in a way that wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but didn’t limit his breathing at all.
“Still,” Jonathan said, pulling the strap at the middle of the table across Jonah’s hips and buckling it in place. “I don’t wish to hurt you.”
Jonah laughed, softly.
“I don’t want to hurt you more than is pleasurable,” Jonathan corrected, not quite irately. “You’ll inform me if you want to stop?”
Jonah tapped the table three times, demonstratively. The movement was sloppy, due to the way his wrists were cuffed, but it was unmistakable. “I will.”
Jonathan bound Jonah’s legs at the ankles and knees, taking his time tightening the restraints. His fingers dragged over Jonah’s bare flesh, not quite tickling him, but making him twitch all the same.
“Do I need to loosen the restraint?” Jonathan asked, when Jonah began to pant.
“You need to get on with it,” Jonah snapped, trying to kick at Jonathan.
Jonathan tightened the buckle on the restraints across Jonah’s knees, and checked the ankle cuffs.
After a moment of stillness so long that Jonah almost snapped at him again, Jonathan stroked the inside of Jonah’s thigh, lingered there for a moment, as if in thought, then pinched Jonah's clit between his thumb and forefinger.
Jonah twitched and cried out, but stayed immobile. “Jonathan!”
Jonathan wiped his fingers on his apron. “I wanted to be sure you were properly restrained.”
“Don’t make me gag you,” Jonathan threatened, with a tilt to his smile that made it much less threatening.
“Please,” Jonah grated out, squirming under the restraints, hips straining up. He’d barely noticed his building arousal before Jonathan touched him, but the moment of contact had left him desperate, seeking friction that simply wasn’t there.
“That’s just one word.”
“Please gag me, Dr. Fanshawe, sir .” Jonah spit out.
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “Is that how it’s going to be,” he said. It was phrased like a question, but the requisite inflection was absent. “Mr. Magnus?”
“I wouldn’t want to distract you,” Jonah managed. “I’ll be loud. Audacious, even. Outright vulgar .”
“You aren’t making a good case for the gag,” Jonathan said, mildly, but he rounded the table to Jonah’s head and picked up the strap that would lay across his mouth.
“ Please ,” Jonah repeated. Even to himself his voice sounded grating, high and nasally.
Jonathan adjusted the strap to account for the presence of the cushion beneath Jonah’s head, and pulled it across Jonah’s mouth. He started to buckle it, then stopped. “No, I don’t think so. That sweet mouth deserves something more... delicate. Give me a moment.”
Jonah kept squirming while Jonathan turned and walked away, shifting upward in the restraints. Straining his ankles and shoulders and arching his back as much as he could, he managed to brush the edge of the strap across his hips against the top of his cunt.
He was rocking his hips back and forth, trying to get the leather against his clit, when something struck sharply against the inside of his thigh.
Yelping in pain, Jonah dropped back to the table. His head hit the cushion, but his hips smacked painfully against the bare wood.
“I didn’t ask you to pleasure yourself, Mr. Magnus,” Jonathan said.
Jonah craned his neck up again, to look at Jonathan. The dog collar Barnabas had modified into a ring gag hung from his hand. Given the way Jonah’s thigh stung, that was what Jonathan had hit him with.
There was a dildo in Jonathan’s other hand, just about the size of the ring gag.
“I apologize,” Jonah breathed. His cunt throbbed in time with his racing heart. “I’m sorry, Dr. Fanshawe, I was… overcome.”
Jonathan frowned, but he buckled the gag around Jonah’s head, settling the ring into his mouth. Jonah expected him to slide the cock in afterwards, but he set it aside instead.
“You’ll have to earn that,” Jonathan said, the disappointed frown smoothing itself out, leaving his expression dangerously passive.
Without warning, without even acknowledging Jonah’s petulant whine, he began.
Jonathan’s fingers were long, the nails trimmed neatly. He had the soft skin of a man who did not perform manual labor, but the calluses of an overly tight grip on his tools.
Jonah knew the touch of them intimately. Biblically. Jonathan had barely touched him, pressing only a fingertip into Jonah’s cunt, and Jonah was already trembling, every sensation heightened by association, by memory.
Jonathan pressed his finger deeper, and Jonah moaned. If he had been gagged with the dildo that sat upright in his periphery, the sound would have been muffled, but the ring gag only strangled the sound, not quieting it at all.
Jonathan crooked his finger in a come-hither motion, and Jonah’s breath left him in a gasp. He was drooling already, quivering with need.
“Greedy,” Jonathan said, somewhere between complimentary and scolding. “I have much further to go before I’ll feel the need to service you, Mr. Magnus.”
Jonathan’s finger pressed deeper, and Jonah’s chest heaved breathlessly. He could feel Jonathan’s knuckles against his folds, and Jonathan’s thumb hovering over his clit.
Jonathan didn’t move for a long moment, while Jonah caught his breath. Then his thumb curled away.
Jonah moaned desperately.
“I would be kinder to you if you hadn’t been so impatient,” Jonathan said, mocking laughter in his voice.
No you wouldn’t, Jonah thought, but any attempt to verbalize that thought was cut short by Jonathan pushing a second finger into Jonah’s cunt.
Jonah twitched. He must have made a sound, because Jonathan chuckled softly, but his mind had gone blank.
“I don’t even need to open you up,” Jonathan said, scissoring his fingers. “I could put my whole hand in you right now, you’re so loose.”
Jonah whined, rocked his hips, and gasped , as Jonathan’s third finger pressed in, seemingly without effort.
“I could reach inside you,” Jonathan breathed, pumping his fingers in and out of Jonah’s cunt. Without stopping, he leaned to the side, picking up the dildo he’d set aside. He turned it over, examining it.
“You can have this in your mouth if you take my fist,” Jonathan proposed.
Jonah could only nod and mumble his assent, spit gathering at the corners of his mouth and sliding down his cheeks.
Jonathan spread his fingers, pressed them together again, and slid his pinky in.
Jonah’s vision turned to fractals. He gasped for air, barely aware of the motion of Jonathan’s fingers, only of the pressure, the pleasure bordering on pain as he was stretched.
Jonathan turned his hand over, his thumb brushing Jonah’s clit, and Jonah came.
He was still shaking with the force of it when Jonathan’s thumb slid into Jonah, and he curled his hand into a fist.
“Good boy,” Jonathan said, his voice far away, muffled through the ringing in Jonah’s ears. His opposite hand, the one not wrist-deep in Jonah’s cunt, stroked the top of his thigh, then pressed against his orgasm-sensitive clit.
If Jonah came again, he didn’t remember. He only remembered the slide of the dildo past the ring gag and into his mouth, only remembered drooling and weeping as Jonathan’s fist pressed and twisted inside of him, only remembered shaking fit to shatter every time Jonathan’s opposite hand touched him.
Then Jonathan’s hands were gone from inside him and against him, and Jonah was alone for a moment, aware of very little, until the restraints were unbuckled and removed, one by one.
“Very good,” Jonathan said. Jonah opened his eyes to blink at him. “You did very well, Jonah. Why don’t you rest while I clean you up?”
When Jonathan walked away from the table, likely to fetch water and rags. Jonah shut his eyes again, exhausted and sated. He was asleep before Jonathan returned.