heroeswork | Walk, come with me now, I'm gonna take you down

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Walk, come with me now, I'm gonna take you down

It wasn't often that Billy let those he'd trap walk free. He'd play with them until they were all used up, then dispose of them. Or they were unable to pass his little tests. More than a few just swallowed a handful of pills rather than face what he'd do to them. But Mike was different. Special. So Billy got curious. After he'd played with him for long enough, he still wasn't used up. And he hadn't stuffed the pills into his mouth. So now came the rarest test of all.

He'd made plenty of promises of keeping Mike well stocked in his vices, and for so much cheaper than Kelly ever could do for him. But sitting in his usual perch in that dive bar, he wasn't shocked, but mildly surprised when just a few days later Mike walked in. He'd expected at least a month to pass before he'd see the boy again. A token effort of resistance.

Billy could have done the deal then and there, but he couldn't resist toying with the man. So he followed the same processes as before. Getting him out to the truck. Driving far, far from the bar. Only this time when they stopped it wasn't the side of the road or an old warehouse. It was a house that had seen better days. The place Billy currently called home.

He led Mike inside without a word. Tossed his coat over an old arm chair. Went into the kitchen to grab a drink. All without a word. Just waiting to see what Mike was really after. He couldn't have gone through his stash already, could he?

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Liam waits for a few heartbeats after Mike speaks, leaving an opening, a chance to say more. But the junkie doesn't say anything more than the two words he'd been given. Impressive. Even in such a situation, he expected the other to just keep running his mouth. He was starting to worry that nothing but a physical gag could keep Mike from saying more than he should, but so far, he'd been proven wrong.

"So, you CAN learn," Liam said as he ran his hand over the mark he'd left. Red and raised, hot beneath his fingers. "Keep it up and you just might get a reward this time..." His hand dipped, sliding down between Mike's legs, teasing over that tender expanse of skin. So close to where they could do so much more, meeting more urgent needs. But instead he just teased.

He moans. It's greedy and he feels like a whore, but Mike is obsessed with those soft touches on stinging skin and, more importantly, Liam's hand dipping between his leg.

This is what he wants. He feels like it's what he deserves. He can be good--he can count. He can count and keep his mouth shut. He bites down at his lip, craning his neck to look at the other. He's not stupid enough to say anything, not now, but his face is red and his breathing is ragged from the fear ebbing into something else, slowly turning into a cavalcade of mixed emotions. Lust, pain, and hope are now tinting that fear, though with Mike, hope doesn't seem to mix well at all with him in these situations.

A promise of a reward.

He takes a deep breath, nodding, and visibly tries to force himself to calm down. It doesn't work very well.

Liam's hand shifted, moving back up over one cheek, kneading at it gently. He let out a soft, contemplative sound as he ran his thumb over the welt. He could keep going with the crop, but there was so much more he could be doing. While the slow approach was sometimes good, as it had been at the warehouse, now was not the time to slowly wear away at Mike's defenses. He wanted the junkie as completely undone as possible in as short of time as possible. They were getting there, but he needed to make it clear just how much he was the one in control here.

"I think..." he said finally, dragging the tip of the crop over the other end of the red mark. "...we need something different." He stepped away and went to the closet again. It didn't take long for him to decide, making a soft pleased sort of hand as he extracted it. He doubted Mike would be ready for something as brutal as a whip, and some of the ones Liam had would do far more damage than they needed here today.

"I hope you've not lost count," was all he said as he got back into position. He doubted Mike could forget that there'd only been one strike so far, but there was no telling with junkies. He took his time ensuring he got just the right angle before bringing the cane down hard across Mike's ass. A strike meant for true pain, nothing held back.

No. No, they don't need something different, unless it's Liam's hand on his dick--he opens his mouth to protest, actually only lets himself say half a syllable before he cuts himself off and bows his head and readies himself for what ever Liam is dong.

He can't stand this, waiting. Anticipating--bracing himself for things that may not even come. He wants Liam, either his mouth on his cock or fucking him, but he wants Liam, not Liam's demented version of punishment.

He shakes his head, however briefly, as the other hopes he hasn't lost count. Maybe if they had gotten further, maybe if he was higher than he was now instead of slowly coming down, yes, but he knows. It's one. It's only one.

His entire body jerks as Liam brings the bamboo cane down, hard, and it leaves him with a stinging sensation so difficult to pinpoint his toes curl, and it's not from pleasure. Nor is the strangled sound he gives, supposed to be a moan but changes sharply into a yell. It's a legitimate yell, not a whimper or a yelp--his ass clenches, his fingers move into fists, and he jerks his arms in response to the pain. They go nowhere, closed and it makes his entire straight jacket extremely uncomfortable.

"Two," He speaks, and it's a growl as he tries to catch his breath. His teeth are gritted. "Sir."

"There we go," Liam said, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. Once again, his hand ran over the mark he'd left, savoring Mike's reaction. The way he'd jerked and growled and the way his toes curled. He drew in a deep breath, slowly replaying it in his mind. They would do it again and and again, but nothing would quite capture everything about that first strike. The shock and surprise it caused, the way everything clenched afterward.

He could keep going without hesitation, sure. But the lesson would not be properly cemented if it was nothing but relentless pain. That was a lesson he enjoyed teaching, but it was something that needed to be saved for when Mike truly fucked up. But there would be no straight jacket involved, and they would not be in a bedroom. So that firm hand moved down between Mike's legs, delivering what he'd teased at earlier. It wasn't just a teasing touch, either. It was a good, proper stroke of the man's cock. And another. But two was all he got before he pulled his hand back to deliver another strike. And pausing just long enough for Mike to speak, another right behind it.

Mike's breathing is heavy, and it's less lust--though he always finds anything Liam does to be sexy, as long as it doesn't make Liam mad. He hates when Liam gets mad. It's more pain and surprise, and he swears Liam's hand, soft on the raised welt, is just spreading the stinging sensation around.

It doesn't leave--it lingers, like a bad taste in Mike's mouth, but he's distracted by Liam's hands on his dick. Finally, even if it's just two strokes, they're good and Mike is already rutting, murmuring inaudible noises of encouragement. This is what he needs--he needs--

--A second time, and Mike tenses again, and that same desperate growl is in his voice, as if vocalizing the pain somehow makes it better. "Three, sir," he says, and no sooner than he does then another blow reigns down on his ass. His hips buck, his whole body tenses, and it takes a brief second for him to remember how to speak, pulse and heart racing.

"Four sir," he says loudly and quickly, and he tries to shift so the straight jacket is a little more comfortable. It isn't, and his left arm is slightly numb, but all he gives a shit about is this over so Liam can finally fuck him. He just has to wait it out--as intense as it is.

But he wants that hand back. He wants that hand back, or Liam's lips on his cock. He rolls his hips, grunting, trying to keep his ass steady in the air when all he wants is to rut against the sheets and come.

Liam pauses, watching Mike adjusting and shifting. So desperate and frantic. So needy. But Mike didn't yet understand what true need really was. Liam had teased and delayed and made Mike beg. But he'd never taken the time to push him to the edge and keep him there. He'd never been wracked with such pure need that his entire body shivered for it. They were well away from those tremors.

"You're doing so good," Liam practically purred the words. He leaned over Mike, hips pressed to his welted ass, his own arousal clear even through denim. The cane crept up between Mike's thighs, before the knobby surface rubbed gently against the side of his cock. "If you keep doing good, maybe I'll let you get off…" then his voice dipped toward something dark and dangerous. "But if you come before I say you can, it's going to hurt a lot worse. Do you understand?" As he said it, his fingers wrapped around Mike's shaft, pinning the cane against it as he slowly stroked.

He's doing good. He's doing good--he's doing what Liam wants--and Mike tries not to grin. He winds up hiding his face among the fabric, though if Liam asks it's from the pain. This is all he wants--all he needs.

And then Liam said he'd be able to get off. Liam says 'maybe' and Mike's brain skips that part, selectively focusing on what he craves. Liam presses into and against his ass, and there's something about the feel of denim and Liam's erection on those welts that make him have to close his eyes to stop from moaning. Then that cane begins to rub along his length and he allows himself to expel a small hiss of pleasure, nodding slightly as the other speaks. He gets it, but he doesn't want to interrupt, and then Liam is grabbing his dick and rubbing it, and his fingers and the cane and how slowly he stroked causes a moan to escape from Mike's lips.

"I understand," he murmurs, and it's quick and needy and he moans again. "You're so good to me, sir--God." He can barely finish the sentence. He's been worked up since before they even got up the stairs.

Previously, Liam had let Mike's slip slide. A halted syllable was excusable, a sign that Mike was trying to control himself. But this time, as he tried to say more, Liam tried to stop him. A hand grabbed for a handful of Mike's hair, a scolding sound bursting out of him. But he wasn't fast enough. Though he let out a soft growl of disapproval, he was rather pleased. Mike seemed incapable of behaving, giving Liam more than enough excuse to punish his little captive.

He let go of Mike's cock and smacked the cane against the inside of his thigh. At this angle he couldn't get any force behind it so it was little more than a hard tap against tender skin. More to get his attention that actually cause pain. "Just because I've asked you a question does not give you permission to speak freely. Do it again and a gag will be the least of your worries." To mark his words he thumped the cane against Mike's other thigh.

God. God, he'd already fucked up. The dull thud on his inner thigh causes him to spread his legs a little, just a bit, but the thumps don't actually hurt. He has no doubt Liam can make them, though. He doesn't want that. It's the last thing he needs.

He just needs to make Liam happy and give him what he wants so he can get through this. If he's lucky, he gets to come, too. If he's unlucky, he gets something worse than a straightjacket and a stinging bamboo cane.

He nods quickly, or as much as he can with Liam grabbing onto his long hair, and he isn't ashamed that he's somehow more turned on by all of this than he should be. He's eager for it, despite everything, and he takes a slow breath out.

He doesn't know if he's allowed to speak after that. Instead, he shifts uncomfortably in the coat and bites at his lips.

"That's more like it," Liam said, sounding a lot more pleased. Mike actually made the right choice. He hadn't been asked a direct question, so there was no reason to give a verbal answer. Though, there was a little disappointment to be hand. He didn't have an excuse to pull out the head harness. Shame.

"But." He pushed back, standing properly and letting go of Mike's hair. "I cannot allow such obvious disobedience go unpunished. It was only going to be ten strokes, but now you're up to twenty. If we get there, we can re-evaluate." Not that he ever had an intention to stop there, or to let Mike get off after such a short time. They had so much more work to do.

He didn't wait for a response. He raised the cane and struck again. This time, he wouldn't make excuses to pause or tease. As long as Mike kept counting, he'd strike again, six times in total. Across ass and thighs, each just as strong as the first.

Mike visibly calms, though just for a second. He hadn't messed up. Liam is encouraging him, Liam is pleased by him, and it's those little compliments that Liam rarely dishes out that Mike has learned to love; learned to latch onto.

Liam stands back up and lets go of Mike's hair but Mike cranes his neck anyway, following him with his eyes listening to his every word as his ass still is in the air. His left arm is almost completely numb instead of just tingling, but he doesn't dare bring it up. Not now. Not when he's doing so good.

He counts. He counts and adds sir and after the fourth one he finds something peculiar happening, something that normally only happens when Liam is more brutal than his usual self--the warehouse comes to mind. He yells and actually screams when Liam hits a particularily sensitive spot on his left thigh, physically collapsing himself onto the bed but quickly pulling himself up. His legs are shaking, his face contorted in pain, but there's a glassy look in his eyes. It's not tears, but endorphines to deal with the pain--and, despite all of this, he still manages to count.

Liam's taught him well, for the most part.

Liam had promised twenty. They were only halfway there, but it just wouldn't do if he went straight through. Halfway through, he realizes Mike is...adjusting. Settling. Even when he collapses and rights himself. He's behaving too well. Which means only one thing, Liam had seen it in the warehouse. His captive was disassociating, in a way. Not exactly giving in or giving up, but...mentally withdrawing. And Liam just couldn't have that.

"Look at you," he purred, running his hands over the angry, red marks across Mike's ass and thighs. "Just..." he he dragged in a slow breath, "...look." He slapped a hand hard across one cheek, but immediately returned to knead at it, not expecting Mike to count it. "You're doing so very well. Doing things you should do without even being told. Who knew a junkie could learn new tricks, huh?"

His fingers started teasing lower, dipping down between Mike's thighs. "Tell you what. You've been so good, well drop five of them. For good behavior. We'll only go to fifteen, hm?" Instead of giving Mike's cock a stroke, dragged his fingernail along the bottom ridge. Not quite scratching, but enough to be startling.

Mike is concentrating on how the other kneads his ass, how the other is treating him like a goddamn prince--and for Mike, this is the good part. This is the decent part that he thrives on,that he lives for. Between this and the oxy, all he wants is Liam. He's not even sure when it came to this. Probably sometime in the warehouse.

Now, though, all that matters is that Liam is touching him. Not that he's lowering it--although that's a mercy in and of itself, his ass sore and in need of proper care (he feels), but it's more that hand on his cock,causing him to moan. Desperate and pleading, unable to help himself.

He's doing well. Mike is doing good. Mike can, maybe, get out of this without too much more pain. That proves that Liam loves him, in his mind.

"Please, sir," he manages, unable to hide his needy moans. "Please, just fifteen. I can take them."

Liam leaned back to inspect the work he'd done. The bold, red stripes that criss-crossed Mike's ass. A few spots looked like he'd come close to drawing blood. He ran a thumb over one of them, the dark speckled pattern that followed the stripe. Mikey would remember this for at least few days, there was no doubt of that.

"Are you sure about that?" He asked, leaning down to let his lips drag over where his thumb had been. At the same time, he used the other hand to drag the pad of a finger over the head of the man's cock. "You're barely holding it together, and if you falter even once..." he let his teeth drag over the mark, his fingers curling gently around the shaft, "We start back at one..." He started to stroke, slow and steady. "...and you really don't want that."

Mike twitches with each movement, each time the other's thumb runs over his ass. He lets out a whine, high and keening, almost like he's a dog in training even if he doesn't realize it. His fingers are tight in his fists, and it's obvious with one glance he's trying not to fight against the jacket despite wanting to, desperately.

"I want you, sir," he manages. "I--I need your hand on my cock, please, sir, I want to come. I want to come so bad, sir, so fucking bad---please. Please, sir, please help me."

He's never, ever begged so much in his entire life than when he's with Liam. This is no exception.

While that is precisely what Liam wanted to hear, it went against what he was trying to teach Mike. He let the begging go on for a moment, savoring it. No one begged quite like Mike, so desperate and pathetic. Just the right balance that made it sound like he genuinely meant it, and wasn't just saying it all of Liam's benefit.

With a snarl, he pulled back, needing to put some effort into it to make it sound convincing. He grabbed Mike by the shoulder and twisted him over onto his back. In one swift move, he straddled the man's hips and picked up the cane again. He used both hands to press it to Mike's throat. A threat without applying any real pressure.

He looked pissed in that quiet, cold way that meant he was beyond livid.

"And here I was willing to give you a reprieve for good behavior." He didn't sound angry, he sounded disappointed. "But it's clear we must do something about your mouth. And we start back at one."

"NO!" It's a shout; genuine and panicked. 'Start again,' Liam had said, and those words moved over him and he immediately began to squirm. There wasn't much he could do in the straight jacket, arms pinned, even as he's quickly turned to face Liam again. He doesn't bother to hide his desperation this time.

He's almost completely unwound, most of his dignity going out the window the moment the other said those words. 'Start over.' He doesn't think he can, if he's being honest--it hurts, even just with Liam straddling him. His ass feels like it's on fire: all of it. The cane to his neck causes him to tilt his head up, unable to quite get a full look at what Liam is doing, and he feels all of that praise and promise slipping.

"I'm sorry, sir, I just--" he mumbles, quick and concise and there's a wetness to his eyes as he tries his best to appeal. He opens his mouth half way before realizing, no, he can't speak.

Almost immediately, his eyes screw shut and his entire body tenses, waiting for that's to come. He's smart enough to stop talking but he wasn't smart enough to actually stop talking until a little later. He physically bites his lip, breathing heavy, all too aware of the cane at his throat.

"It won't happen again, sir."

Liam moves the cane from Mike's throat and smacks it hard against the bed as hard as he can. It makes a thunderous sound, far louder than was necessary. But he knew how to get the biggest sound out of it, and knew doing it so close to Mike's ear would be far more alarming than actually striking him. Coupled with a dark twist to his expression, a cloud of restrained anger, it was not a kind moment.

His free hand came up to grip Mike by the face, his fingers digging in hard, making the junkie look at him at point-blank range.

"You keep saying that..." he breathed out. "...yet I don't believe you." He shifted back slightly, adjusting his hips and grinding hard against Mike's hips. "I'm giving you one final chance." His weight shifted onto the hand holding the cane, shoulders rolling into a slight hunch so he loomed over the man beneath him. "If you fail me this time, the cane will be the least of your worries. Do I make myself clear?" The dangerous calm started to slip from his tone, an barely restrained note of aggression pushing through.

He doesn't scream or yelp but he curls as much as he can when that cane hits just by his ear, instinctively wanting to move away and make himself a smaller target. He swears he didn't do it, but he whimpers, too. The room is hot, even though he knows nothing's been done to the temperature--it's all of the adrenaline and his fear and his heightened sense of both pain and pleasure. His eyes are screwed shut when he feels those fingers digging into his face, forcing him to look.

Mike sees anger. He sees anger and disappointment and he has the urge to rectify it, to fucking fix it because he knows he's fucked up. He knows he has, but he's trying his hardest. It never occurs to Mike that Liam sets him up to fail--it's always his fault. Always.

He wonders, as those hips grind against him and Liam doesn't perch but looms, when he had started associating this sort of feeling with love. Because Mike is frightened, especially as the other's tone dip, and his nails curl into the palm of his hands, and he just barely nods, but he deserves this. If this is the only way he can get Liam's approval, he'll do it.

"Yessir," He says quickly, and clears his throat to sound more confident. His left arm is still going numb, but that's the least of his worries.

He can't fuck this up. He can't.

That flinch and whimper were exactly what Liam wanted out of Mike. After everything, the junkie was still capable of such a response. Part of him hadn't yet given fully over to the treatment. In a way, it reminded him of his brother. So trusting, so eager, and yet still so very afraid. Never quite letting go of the fear. No one had given him quite so much since he and his brother parted ways. And with Mike, he could do so much more. His head tilted to the side as the junkie worked through everything, anger fading to mere impatience, masking his delight. Oh how he wanted an excuse to do so much more to the man.

"Good." One sharp word was all he said as he started to slide back off of Mike and off of the bed. He let go of the man's face, fingers trailing roughly down his canvas covered chest and arms.

"You will respond only with 'yes sir' and 'no sir' to any question I ask you. And you will pick up your counts where you left off." As his hand neared the end of the coat, he slowed, fingers teasing down over the very narrow expanse of exposed skin. "If you say a single--" His fingers wrapped suddenly and aggressively around Mike's shaft. "--word outside of this..." He started to stroke, firm and steady. "...you will lose your final chance. Do I make myself clear?"

Mike can't think of anything other than wanting to please Liam at this state--partially because he loves him, or he thinks he loves him, but also because he knows what will happen if he doesn't. The drugs aren't the biggest problem: Liam is, very much, even worse.

That hand curls around his cock and strokes and every single moment of doubt leaves, dissipating through every touch, and Mike already finds himself panting. "Yes, sir," He mumbles, and it's barely audible because he's far too focused on how good it feels.

This is what can happen when he behaves. This is what he can look forward to after every thing Liam does. His reward.

It never occurs to him that this has been taught. It never even occurs to him that he'd considered himself straight before all of this. All that mattered was keeping Liam happy and those hands still on his dick.

"Good..." Liam gives Mike a few more strokes, watching him closely. Watching how quickly he unravels and falls under the steamroller of pleasure. It wasn't the wanton enjoyment that he delighted in, but rather the anticipation of what came next. He waited until Mike seemed to have surrendered to it completely. Maybe even to the point of forgetting what came next. Just long enough to hint that it might just keep going.

Then and only then did he pull his hand away. One stroke turned into him slowly dragging his fingers away and moving down to Mike's thigh.

"Good," he repeated. "Now get back into position so we can finish this." He patted the junkie's thigh and stepped back. He had no intention of helping, wanting to watch the frustrated man and see if he could actually get back onto his knees from his current position.

This. This is what he wants--Liam whispering things in his ear, not about how useless he is but how he's doing a decent job. Those hands stroking him, and Mike just needs a few more to come before he drags his hands entirely away. He'd been biting his lip to keep quiet but the moment the other removed his hand entirely he breathes out, shaking. He's not sure how long he can do this, getting teased and caned only to have the process repeat itself.

"Yessir," he mumbles, and Liam steps back. He can do this. All he wants is to not make another mistake. It's all he wants to do. He wants to hear Liam say 'good' a third time in relation to him. That's all he needs.

He carefully, carefully grunts as he tries to move, only to have his entire face flicker with pain the moment he tries to roll over. His ass is already sore and in pain, and he's dimly aware there's something inherently fucked up with presenting his ass a second time. But this is what Liam wants, and ultimately, that's all that matters: Liam.

He manages to roll on his side, face a flicker of different emotions--most of them half-frustration--as he carefully, slowly and shaking, finds a way to get up to the same position--ass in the air, already bruising and angry. It took him a while--and one small noise of frustration as he slips--but he manages.

He's already screwing his eyes shut, slowly anticipating.

Liam stood to the side, watching, his face completely impassive. It was all he could do to mask how much he enjoyed this. Knowing he had such complete control over another person that even when promising a great deal of pain, his commands were still obeyed. It thrilled him in ways he hadn't thought possible. He'd thought having control like that over Mike would grow boring. But watching him struggle to roll over was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Maybe Mike wouldn't get boring, after all.

Once Mike was settled, Liam approached again. His hand slid over that raw, bruised ass, inspecting how the marks had developed. Wide, angry welts with blood presented in several different ways, both beneath and outside the skin. This was one session Mike would be remembering for a good long time.

He brought the cane down without a word, about half as hard as the strokes he'd done before. He needed to be able to work up to something more before he was done.

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