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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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.

It still hurts with his ass already sore, even if it is half-as hard. The hand sliding over his ass had hurt, even, instead of soothed like it normally would.

He has to do this right. He has to. He chokes out 'eleven, sir,' as the cane hits him, and even though it's half as hard, his legs are starting to shake. He's exhausted and tired and in pain and still, somehow, despite all of this, hard. And now he wants nothing more than for this to finish, but he'll follow through.

He needs Liam to approve. He needs Liam and his oxy and his praise and he needs to not fuck this up.

Edited 2016-05-23 09:57 (UTC)

"Good boy..." Liam practically purrs the words. He injects as much praise and warmth into those two little words as he can muster. For someone who doesn't care about such things, he can mimic the sentiment impeccably well.

His hand slid over the newest mark, letting out a soft sound of approval. The skin was hot to the touch, angry and visceral. He only wished he didn't have to let Mike leave after they were through. He wanted to watch the junkie accommodate for those marks for all the days they lingered.

"Are you ready for another?" Testing if Mike really was following orders, as the was really only one correct answer to such a question. As he asked it, his fingers teased lower over Mike's thigh, dipping toward that tender skin on the inner side.

Mike closes his eyes, gentle, wanting to stay in the echo of Liam's words forever. He'd done the right thing--he just had to keep it up, had to make sure he could keep keeping it up. He needed Liam and he needed to get off and he'd do what he absolutely could to get to that point.

And, there's a small part of him that just wants it to end so he can get his pills and stumble home, broken and bruised.

"Yes sir," he mumbles, and it's quick and clipped because he's already bracing himself. He doesn't have a choice--he can't say no, can't have a break. Maybe in actual scenarios like this there was a safeword, but not here. Not here, when he shifts his weight to better accommodate those fingers on his inner thigh.

Mike just needed to trust Liam implicitly.

In a healthy relationship similar to this, there would be far more than just safewords. Discussion of boundaries. Check-ins. Staying within the other's limits. Gently pushing those limits with slow and steady guidance. Liam never really had the patience for that. Why guide gently when he could break completely and reshape the way he wanted? He could coax Mike toward being able to take more and more, or he could force it until Mike had no other choice but to take it. The shaking and tears that so often came with that method were so very worth it.

His hand flicked up, dragging rough fingers over Mike's needy shaft. Dragging over his balls. Tracing the tender skin behind before turning and roughly dragging across all of those angry red marks. Then all at once he pulled his hand away and snapped the cane across Mike's ass with enough force to draw small beads of blood. He paused, fully expecting to hear the number twelve from Mike's lips.

He cries out this time, practically crumpling as it comes own harder than it has--something in the way Liam moves his wrist; something to do with how he'd felt pleasure moments before. His cock aches but what's overwhelming is the sense of pain and how his voice seems to bounce off of the walls. He wants to grab at something, needs to stabilize himself but he can't, he can only moan in the strange pain-pleasure combination his brain is swimming in.

Mike hastily tries to move his ass back into position, breathing heavily, entire body feeling like it's on fire but his dick is slick with precome and sweat and he can barely breathe.

The number. "Twelve, sir--twelve," His voice has cracked, feeling unstable and woozy but unable to properly tell with the amount of adrenaline and endorphines running in his system. He bites down on his lip, hard, and is acutely aware of every single movement Liam is doing; every single bit of air stinging his raw ass.

"That's what a like to hear," Liam said, in that same purr of approval he'd used before. "You've learned so well, haven't you, Mike?" Fingers of one hand slid across one cheek, smearing those small beads into faint streaks that criss-crossed the red marks.

He leaned down, a strangely graceful move for someone so violent, hot breath falling across the other cheek, over those angry marks. "Twelve. Just three more to go. If you keep doing so well, you just might get..." his hand dipped down, dragging the pad of a finger gently along the underside of Mike's cock, "...a reward." The finger traced the opposite direction as his tongue flicked out, dragging it over those fine red beads.

He could have just gotten it over with. Given the last three blows and let Mike be done with it. But this wasn't about the strikes, it was about the space between them. Letting the anticipation build each time. Strategic and slow.

Yes. Yes, he has learned so well--he's desperate to get off, but he can't say anything other than what he's told, he has to play by the rules. That's important.

If anything, it's the most important.

It's hard--his cocks' harder--and he can feel hot breath on his ass, hear Liam murmuring sweet, inviting words. His legs are shaking from the strain of holding himself up but he doesn't dare move them. No, instead he forces himself to stay in that position.

And then Liam is stroking him, slow and agonizing--just a swipe of his hands and still talking so sweetly to him, so good, Mike's entire face is flushed and he gives out an inaudible whimper because in the next second, Liam's tongue flicks over those marks on his ass.

He wants the caning to be over. Wants the stinging pain to stop, wants that tongue to soothe him. But most importantly Mike wants to come. He needs it, feeling like this whole thing has lasted forever, feeling like all he can do is shake and whimper like a fucking dog. He can't take it.

His shoulders shake, pressing his own face down in the already sweat stained sheets. All Mike wants to do is come, it feels like his cock is on fire with how much he wants it. His shoulders heave again and Mike doesn't even realize he's so sexually frustrated he's crying, though that is also in conjunction to all of the pain and endorphins floating through him. He wants to scream, wants to yell into a pillow but he knows now, more than ever, Liam will be looking for an excuse to have him start from one.

The worst part is that Mike isn't even sure of Liam will play fairly, despite his sweet, sweet promises. But there's still that hope that builds him up.

Liam lingered, letting hot breath fall over the wet streak he'd left. Two fingers teasing over the underside of Mike's cock. Waiting. For one breath. Two. Three. Listening. Giving Mike a chance to collapse or beg. But he didn't. Liam could feel him shaking, trembling from the war that must be waging in his mind between pain and pleasure, terror and the promise of a reward.

He was both pleased and disappointment when Mike didn't give in. Oh what he wouldn't give for an excuse to make it worse, but he couldn't break Mike if he just went for it anyway. He had to keep that notion of hope alive, no matter how futile it really was. Because the "reward" he had in mind wasn't exactly a benefit to Mike.

With nothing more than a soft sound of approval, he he stood back up. And just as quickly, he snapped the cane down again. Just as hard as the last one, a little lower this time.

He's never loved and hated so much at the same time. The pain he'd acclimatized to, at least to some degree, but it was the mental aspect that was the hardest. His whole body is shaking with effort and frustration and a myriad of emotions and it's only magnified by the pain.

He's bleeding and then, just lower, is the same harshness. It blossoms red almost immediately as Mike's entire body jerks forward, unable to keep himself up for much longer. He yells loudly, sharply, the sound echoing across the walls and only barely manages to remember.

"Thirteen, sir." It's strained, though it's hard to tell if the strain is from anger or pain or the desperate need to come. It's all three of them to some degree, and his legs feel like they're made out of lead, though he forces himself to get back into position. His left leg gives out but he's scrambling to put himself upright again, panting with the effort. HE can't take much more.

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