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Being with Oliver for a little over a year had meant exploring a lot of things that I previously had no idea I’d be into on account of never trusting anyone enough to try them. At this point I’d let the man tie me up, boss me around, make me beg, tell me when to cum, and even choke me. Though, to be fair, that last one was totally a me request. And, of course, Oliver would never push me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with. He always checked in a million times when we tried something new and even when we were doing the dirtiest stuff, he found a way to make it tender and sweet and… Oliver.
But I thought we had reached the fullest extent of it. Like, I had legitimately cried from him fucking and choking me so good at least twice now, though the first required a lot of reassurance on my end that I was only tearing up because it felt so good. So like, I thought we were pretty kinky. Like pretty solidly kinky. And I thought we had reached the peak kink that we were going to reach.
That is, until the other day. Ironically, it was headed in the direction of me being in charge for the night. I was straddling Oliver, who was sitting against the headboard in his bed after I’d forcibly closed his laptop and set it to the side. I licked hot kisses into his mouth and fucked with his hair.
“Okay,” he breathed, “you have my attention.”
I smiled, looking down at him. “Good. Because you haven’t paid attention to me all evening.”
His lips twitched up. “I’ll have to make it up to you,” and then his hands trailed up my thighs to squeeze my arse.
“Actually,” I breathed into his ear, “I was thinking I’d punish you for neglecting me.”
He let out a soft moan. “Suppose I deserve that,” he breathed, “what did you… what do you… what would you like to do to me?”
He was so adorable when we reversed our typical roles. It was so hard for him to trust that I really liked doing sexy things for him as much as he liked doing them for me, and it resulted in this flustered, timid Oliver that I got to fuck with and cherish.
“I was thinking I’d restrain you,” I kissed him, relishing in his moan. Me tying Oliver up was a new development that we both liked. “And tease you,” I kissed him again, “and neglect you like you neglected me.”
He groaned. “That doesn’t sound fun at all.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “If you’re good I might suck your cock while I’m at it.”
“Fuck, Lucien,” he breathed. And then, without really seeming to think about it, he wound his hands up and clapped them both hard against my arse.
The sound I made was somewhere between a yelp and moan. The force pushed me forward and I was clinging to Oliver’s head. My cheeks felt flushed and I was hot all over. Fuck… that was really… that was really hot. But like, I also felt really embarrassed about my reaction to it so I just sort of clung to his head for a second. Of course he’d given me a smack here and there in the past, but nothing like that.
“Lucien,” he mumbled against my shirt. “Are you alright?”
I cleared my throat, but my voice came out jumping octaves anyway. “Uh huh. Fine. Peachy.”
“Lucien, I can’t breathe very well,” he said, still muffled against my shirt.
“Well… well you choke me all the time,” I retorted, still clinging to him.
“You ask me to.”
“Shut up,” I swung off of him and pulled a pillow over my face. I couldn’t see him, but I could practically feel his confused gaze.
“Lucien did I… did I do something wrong?”
Fuck me. Now I had to either admit that I’d liked it when he spanked me or let him feel like he violated me. And guilty-ethical-dilemma Oliver was one of the most heart-wrenching Olivers.
“N-no,” I said from under my pillow. “I was just… surprised.”
It’s like I could hear his brain click. “I suppose I… got carried away?” he half stated half asked.
“Suppose so,” I mumbled.
“I’m sorry, Lucien. I won’t do that again.”
Suddenly this felt like way back when he’d first called me Lucien and I’d told him to stop because of how vulnerable it felt to like it so much. Fuck, if I didn’t tell him I’d liked that he’d respect my wishes and never spank me again.
“I can also give you some space, if you like,” he offered, shifting away from me.
I caught his arm. “Um. No. And, you can.”
“...I’m confused, I can give you space? But you also don’t want me to leave?”
I peaked from under my pillow. “You… you can do that again. Like, if you have to.”
I could see the confusion on his face. He looked like he was about to say something like, ‘that’s hardly an endorsement’ or ‘it’s certainly not a requirement,’ or, ‘only if it’s agreeable’ or whatever Olivery, excessively-consent-y thing he could conjure up. But then his face went soft and teasing and I realized I had let him get to know me way, way too well.
“So… you liked that then?”
I covered my eyes again and mumbled against the pillow.
“I can’t hear you, Lucien.”
“I didn’t hate it,” I mumbled louder.
“Well,” he said in a teasing voice instead of a concerned one, “that’s hardly an endorsement.”
I fucking knew it. I was fully prepared to blush myself to death under the softness of his silk pillowcase. But then he stole my fucking pillow.
“Hey!” I sat up as he threw it. God, I was pretty sure my face was beet red.
“Lucien,” he said, somewhat playful, somewhat stern, an intense glint of silver in his eyes. “Come here.”
Oh fuck. I felt my pulse in my entire body. I felt myself grow achingly hard. Slowly, I made my way over and straddled him again, clinging to him, though a little more gently so he could breathe this time, with my head resting on his shoulder so he couldn’t look at me.
“Can I… can I try that again?” he asked.
“If you must,” I breathed.
“Lucien,” he said sternly.
I couldn’t get myself to say it. I nodded instead. And a year ago, maybe he would have waited for expressed, verbal consent. But with solid safe-words in place and months of experimenting under our belt, he seemed to take this as a go.
He brushed his hands over where my arse was nestled in my jeans, still stinging ever so slightly from where he had spanked me the first time. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
“I mean…” he squeezed, “you did distract me from my work.”
I let out a whimper.
“And then you were acting pretty slutty.”
“Oliver,” I whined.
“So I suppose you’d deserve it if I…”
He wound up his hands again. I braced for impact, but then he gently patted me and squeezed some more.
“Oliver,” I whined again, more whine-ily. I was literally shaking with anticipation.
Then he wound up quickly and spanked me. I let out the same embarrassing yelp and let the force of it knock me forward.
“Fuck, Lucien,” he breathed, lightly squeezing the offended area and pulling me against him, likely so he could feel my excessive reaction. “I could get used to this.”
Then he wound up and spanked me again. And again. And again. And again. In quick succession.
“Oliver,” I whined, helplessly grinding against him and clinging to him with shaky arms. “P-please. Please fuck me.”
“Oh Lucien.” He gave me one last hardy spank, to which I let out the most embarrassing whimper, and then he flipped me onto my back and got to fucking me quicker than he had in a while. Usually when he was in a kinky type of mood he’d make me beg way, way more than that. But he either had mercy on me or he had liked that enough to not want to wait himself.
So… yeah, I guess that was on the table now.
What wasn’t on the table a week later was dinner. On account of I was making it. And on account of, I was doing a pretty shit job at making it.
When Oliver came home I was desperately fanning the smoke alarm and something was definitely overflowing on the stove.
He coughed through the smoke. “Lucien, what in the-” he joined me in the kitchen to turn everything off and make sure I didn’t burn the house down.
By the time it was confirmed that nothing was on fire and the smoke alarm was done yelling at us, we both laughed.
“What were you trying to make this time?” He asked me.
“Um… shepherd's pie?” I said sheepishly.
He laughed some more. “I don’t understand why you do this to yourself, Lucien. You can always stick with pasta.”
“I wanted to make something nice for you!” I protested.
“It’d be quite nice to not have my house burn down,” he retorted before backing me gently into the wall to kiss me. “Thanks, Lucien,” he said sincerely, “I appreciate the sentiment.”
I laughed. “That is the worst thing to thank someone for ever.”
“Well do I have anything else to thank you for?” he teased.
I shifted. “Burnt meat and overflowing potato water?”
He chuckled. “An eventful evening, perhaps.”
“Now that ,” I teased, “is a good way to thank me.”
“Well…” his eyes darkened, “with the mess you made I’m not sure if I should thank you or punish you.”
I let out a soft moan. His hand made its way gently to my neck. Then my eyes darted past him to glance at the wooden spoon I’d been cooking with. And then I darted them back and pretended they hadn’t.
Being endlessly observant, Oliver looked over his shoulder before fixing me with an intense look. “I still can’t decide if you’ve been very bad or very good this evening.”
I swallowed. “I… I’ve been bad I’d think.” Fuck, that was kind of embarrassing. But also kind of hot. And also it was all okay, because this was Oliver.
“Yes, but I’m not convinced you need to be punished,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along my throat.
“But,” I looked at him with innocent eyes, practically looking up at him due to how I was leaning and the fact that he hadn’t even taken off his shoes, “I was so messy.”
He squeezed gently at my neck. “And so reckless.”
I let out a breathy laugh, “Yes, I almost committed arson.”
“Hmm…” he choked me lightly and nipped at my jaw. I groaned and clung to his arm. “But should your punishment be penal or corporal?”
Fuck. He meant, ‘should I cuff you up, or should I spank you?’ My eyes darted to the spoon again. His did too.
He smiled darkly at me, loosening his grip on my neck and caressing it with his thumb. “It appears you have a preference.”
I shrugged. “Barrister’s choice.”
“That’s not how the legal system works, Lucien,” he said, seemingly forgetting what was happening for a moment in order to give me a legal lesson.
I had to laugh. “It’s not? But it does include spanking me with a wooden spoon for fucking up dinner?”
He turned lightly pink. “Fair point.” And then, because he was Oliver, he turned to get the spoon, determined it was too dirty, and washed it in the sink. I laughed shamelessly. “Sorry, did you want me to get burnt food on your jeans?” he asked.
“Actually, I wanted you to get burnt food on my arse.”
He cleared his throat. “You’ve warmed up to liking this quite quickly.”
I blushed. “Yes, well. You make me feel safe, you bastard. So hurry up and beat me with a spoon already.”
“I’ll beat you with a spoon when I want to,” he retorted, drying it off on a tea-towel. “I mean, of course, only if you want me to. Just to be clear.”
God, I loved him so much.
“Well you seem to really want to,” I teased, still leaning against the wall.
He squinted. “And you seem to really want me to.”
Helplessly, I bit my lip and nodded slowly. Oliver gave me a slow smile and walked up to me. He held out the hand that wasn’t holding the spoon and I looked at it in confusion.
“Give me your hand, Lucien.”
I did, and then he turned it over so my palm was facing up. He ran the spoon over my palm slowly before wacking it against the meaty bit below my thumb. I moaned.
“How’s that feel?” he asked me.
“Um… kind of… stingy,” I reported, “more than I expected.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a good thing?”
“...do it again.”
He did. I moaned again.
“Yes,” I breathed, “It’s a good thing.”
He pulled me in for a kiss before nipping at my jaw and bringing his lips to my ear. “What will you say if you want me to check in with you?” he murmured.
I swallowed, “I’ll say, ‘M’lud, the honorable counsel seems to be confused about how the legal system works.’”
He laughed but then fixed me with a look. “Seriously, Lucien.”
“I’ll… I’ll say yellow.”
He gave me a rewarding little kiss. “And if you want me to stop completely?”
“Objection! Battering the witness.”
He gave me what was meant to be a stern look, but wasn’t at all stern. “Lucien.”
“I’ll say red.”
His lips twitched up. “Good. Now… go lean against the counter and think about the mess you’ve made.”
I groaned and did what he said, gripping the cool granite with my hands and leaning slightly over it.
Oliver approached slowly and I could hear his shoes click. He literally tutted. “That won’t do. Lean onto your elbows.”
Oh fuck. I… I did. And I stifled a whimper.
“Good.” Oliver mused. He reached me and ran a hand up my back before gripping my hair and tugging lightly. He was standing slightly to my side so that he could position the spoon against my arse with his other hand. He rubbed circles against the back pockets of my jeans. “You’ve been very bad, Lucien.”
I moaned.
“I’m afraid I have to punish you.”
I moaned again.
He wound up the spoon and I braced myself, but then he only patted me gently and went back to rubbing circles.
“Baby,” I whined.
“Although it does seem like you might want to be punished.”
This was getting a little too meta for me. But I thought he’d stop if I pointed that out. “Oliver,” I found myself whining again.
“ Fuck, Lucien,” he groaned. And then he wound the spoon back and brought it hard against my arse.
I whimpered. Then he did it again and I whimpered again. He was starting a little harder than I’d expected him to, and I didn’t mind at all.
“Did that feel okay, Lucien?” he asked, his fingers turning from tugging my hair to stroking it.
“Y-yes,” I breathed, “It feels really fucking good.”
He seemed to be encouraged by this. Gripping my hair again, he gave me 6 more spanks in quick succession, spreading them out against my arse. Then he was rubbing circles again as if to either soothe or solidify the sting
“Fuck, Oliver,” I groaned.
“You deserve this, Lucien,” he said in a low, grumbling voice, “and I’m nowhere near done with you.”
He spanked me some more, not so much that I thought we’d reached twenty, but enough that I lost track after ten. Every impact stung and left a warm feeling, every blow making me moan and whimper and whine his name.
“Oh fuck,” I was moaning on the last few blows before he stopped, “oh fuck.”
“God, Lucien. You’re so sexy like this,” he said, stroking my hair again. “Should I keep going?”
I nodded helplessly. He rubbed circles again.
“In that case… why don’t you pull your jeans and boxers down.”
A whimper escaped my lips and I leaned up to do so. I pulled them past my arse and went to take them the rest of the way off, but he tugged at my hair to stop me.
“That’s plenty,” he murmured, “lean back against the counter.”
“Of fuck, Oliver,” I whined. That was kind of humiliating, and also kind of extremely sexy. Like he couldn’t even wait for me. I leaned against the counter like he said and let my pants fall to my ankles.
“Good,” he murmured, groaning himself, “your skin is so red.”
“Yes,” I laughed breathily, “you’ve been hitting it with a spoon.”
He chuckled. “Yes, and you’ve deserved every one.”
I didn’t have an answer to that, and then he was rubbing the spoon in circles against my bare skin and I decided I didn’t have to answer that.
“Fuck, Lucien. I can’t wait to hear what sound you’ll make when I do this.”
“F-fuck-”
He brought the spoon hard against my bare skin and I yelped. It was way, way stingier than with my jeans, and it probably didn’t help that I was pretty warmed up at that point.
He did it again.
“Oliver,” I whined.
“Is that alright?” He asked, rubbing circles again.
“Just… just a few more I think,” I breathed. “Then… maybe you can use your hand?”
He groaned. “Gladly.” He dutifully brought the spoon against my skin 4 more times, and then he dropped it and spanked me with his hand. His skin was somehow both softer and thuddier, and the impact of that made me moan instead of whimper.
“Lucien, I-” he panted after giving me a number of spanks, “I could do this all evening. How much longer should I… how are you feeling?”
“Fuck, Oliver,” I breathed, “It feels so good, I just… I want you.”
He groaned lightly, rubbing his hand against my very sensitive skin. “How’s ten?”
“Fuck… ten sounds good.”
“How’s ten extra hard ones?” he asked, “For good measure?”
“Oh… oh fuck. Yes.”
I heard him whip his hand back and I braced myself. But he patted me gently again. I found myself shaking.
“Oliver…”
“This doesn’t seem to be a punishment for you at all,” he teased, winding up, making my flinch again and then gently patting.
“Oliver,” I whimpered.
“In fact…” he wound up another infuriating time, earning the biggest flinch out of me, only to not even touch me that time, “In fact I think if you want me to spank you some more you’ll have to beg me.”
“Oliver,” I whined.
“I’m listening.” He brushed his fingers against my arse, raising goosebumps on the sensitive, offended skin.
Begging for sex was one thing. Begging to be spanked was… fuck it. “Please,” I muttered, “please spank me.”
“Gently?” He asked.
Fuck me. “Spank me hard. Please, Oliver.”
He groaned, squeezing my sensitive skin. “Say it again.”
“Fuck, please. Please spank me as hard as you can.”
Given his strength, I don't think he really took me up on that. But he spanked me 10 more times, each blow making my heels raise and making me whimper and moan. He was putting enough force in that it made him grunt. I felt close to crying when he was at 8, but I didn’t want to make him think I didn’t like it. When he got to 10 I turned to kiss him and almost tripped on account of my pants being at my ankles. He caught me though, and leaned me back against the counter to kiss me, the cool granite stinging my sensitive arse.
“Oliver,” I panted, “Take me upstairs. Now.”
He groaned. “God, Lucien. Take your jeans the rest of the way off. I’ll follow you.”
I did, almost tripping again on account of how shaky I was, but Oliver held me. Then we shuffled upstairs and he was on me in the bedroom, stripping my shirt off and pushing me onto the bed. He stripped himself too, throwing his clothes recklessly before pinning my wrists above my head and kissing me ragged.
“Please fuck me,” I breathed between kisses, “please.”
“Fuck, Lucien.” He got out just the lube since we were long past the need for condoms, and started putting some on his fingers.
“Fuck your fingers. Fuck me now,” I panted.
“Fuck… roll onto your side.”
That was a position we didn’t do often. But it was a really sexy one. I did what he said and he tucked in behind me before thrusting into me.
“Oh fuck,” I moaned, feeling the force of his thrusts against my tender skin. I reached back to tug at his hair, “choke me.”
I guess he thought I’d earned telling him what to do. Between his thrusting and ragged groans, he reached a hand around to grip my neck. His other hand rested solidly at my hip as if to aid him in thrusting into me mercilessly. I teared up as I came, and then he turned me onto my stomach and fucked me there until he came too.
I clung to him shameless after that, tucked onto his shoulder, and he ran a soothing hand up and down my spine.
“You,” I finally breathed, “are a total freak.”
He let out a breathy laugh. “You always say that.”
“Well I especially mean it now.”
“I think I could say the same to you considering you begged me for that.”
I blushed and hid my face against his neck.
“I got you, Lucien,” he murmured.
I nuzzled in. “I know. That’s why I like this kind of thing.”
I felt him smile against my forehead. “I’m glad I make you feel safe enough to try this stuff. And… you should know that I also feel uniquely safe trying things with you.”
I ran a hand along his chest. And then I remembered something very important. “Remember how I burned dinner?” I asked.
He chuckled. “How could I forget?”
“Well you should order us dinner,” I informed him, “I think I deserve it.”
He laughed, and then he did.