atehimrightup | (no subject)

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george

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Lee is very unused to getting cars to go places. He's always just driven himself if he could, or walked if he couldn't. Hitchhiked, sometimes.

But now he's in a place where he can summon a stranger to drive him somewhere by tapping the tiny computer in his hand. The technological advancement in this place stuns him every single day. He can't even imagine how George deals with it.

He looks over at George next to him in the backseat of their current ride, watching him as he watches a touristy horse drawn carriage go by them with a big dopey grin on his face and, well, George is probably doing just fine.

He keeps staring, letting his gaze drop to the thin silver chain around George's neck. His going out collar, they've called it. Tonight is its first night in play, and Lee is eager to see how it goes.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Lee thanks the driver and slides out of the car, holding the door open and reaching out to take George's hand. "Come along, darling."

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“Such a fucking slut,” Lee says when George moans around his cock. He seems a little out of it, a little dazed, but Lee knows that’s kind of the point.

He shifts his leg until he kick George’s thighs wider apart, then presses the top of his boot up between George’s legs, worn leather against his cock and balls. He rocks his foot back and forth, applying pressure while fucking George’s mouth almost roughly, nudging the head of his cock against the back of George’s throat.

With his head shoved down, his mouth still on Lee's cock, it takes him a long moment to figure out what Lee is doing when he kicks his legs, but then Lee's foot is there, his boot snug against George's cock and balls and it gives him something to rock against, and he's pathetically grateful. Lee's cock nudges the back of his throat and George does his best to press lower, to swallow around it.

“That’s it,” Lee murmurs, amused and pleased when George starts to rock against his foot. “Hump my shoe like a little bitch.”

George sinks further down, taking Lee into his throat, and he groans as he forces himself in as deep as he can, until George’s nose is pressing into his pelvic bone. He keeps George there for a long, drawn out moment, petting his hair and squeezing the back of his neck. When George starts to squirm, Lee holds him firmly for another few seconds, drawing out his breathlessness, and then finally lets him go.

George pulls off of him with a wet gasp, spit leaking from his mouth, and Lee is enthralled.

“Even the air in your lungs is mine,” Lee tells him in a low voice, reaching out to grab George roughly by the chin. “Don’t forget that.”

His hips moving outside of his control, his cock leaking enough to ease the friction of skin against leather, George gasps for breath, his chest heaving. His aware that his eyes are slightly unfocused and he forces himself to be more present.

He nods. "I'm all yours." And he means it, so utterly. "Your slut. Your bitch."

“I know you are,” Lee says as he thumbs at George’s chin, undeniably fond. He watches as George struggles to stay present and wraps a hand around his throat over the collar, squeezing hard.

“You can let go, baby,” Lee assures him, leaning in to lick spit and cream from his chin, biting at his bottom lip and tugging. “I’ll keep you safe.”

He nods, his forehead touching against Lee's. "I know that," he says, his hips still rocking. "I know."

He knows whatever Lee makes him do, he'll be safe. Even the punishments, even the things he complains about, make him harder than he thinks he's ever been in his life.

“Good.” Lee kisses him messily, holding George’s face in his hands and licking until the cream is all gone. He grabs the lock on George’s collar and urges him up higher on his knees, reaching over to grab the leash from the bag and hooking it to the collar.

“My good boy,” Lee murmurs, tugging on the collar until he can press a kiss to George’s forehead. “Get across my lap, pup. I’ll make your ass nice and red and then see how many fingers I can fit inside it.”

Straightening up, George looks down and sees the mess that he's left behind on the leather of Lee's boot. His face burns at the thought of it. He arranges himself across Lee's lap and, as always, it's a little bit awkward, quite a lot humiliating, but he ends up head down with his arse in the air, cock and balls heavy between spread thighs.

“You get wet like a girl,” Lee muses as he looks down at the mess of his boot, saying it mostly just to make him squirm. “It’s incredible how desperate you get.”

George arranges himself in what has become a familiar position by now— him across Lee’s lap, with Lee’s hard cock pressed to his belly. Lee slides a hand up the back of George’s thigh, squeezing hard. “Hands behind your back, sweetheart.”

"All for you," he says, because he might fuck other people, but none of them make him feel like Lee does. When Lee tells him to put his hands behind his back, he does, but the whole thing makes him feel more precarious. Somehow, it's more humiliating than having both palms on the floor. He's achingly aware of the press of Lee's hard cock against him.

Lee lifts George’s head to put a pillow on the cushion beneath it, easing the strain on his neck. And then he pulls the chain taut between his collar and wrists, wrapping it securely around them.

“I know,” he says easily, spinning the leather handle at the end of the chain a few times before letting it come down hard on the back of George’s thigh, and then again on his ass. George jolts and Lee waits for him to settle before spanking him with his open palm in the same spot. “This pretty ass is all mine.”

Lee spreads him open with one hand and leans over him and spits, wet and messy, directly onto George’s hole, rubbing it in with his fingertips.

He loves the snap of leather against his skin, loves how it feels to have his wrists bound so that he couldn't move them even if he wanted to. And he doesn't want to.

When Lee spreads his cheeks and then he feels spit trickling over his hole and down to his balls, George's face burns and he whines, low in his throat.

“That toy really opened you up,” Lee says in a low voice, pressing two fingers into George’s hole and crooking them up. “Too bad you were such a little brat about it. I bet you would have liked fucking yourself on it.”

He pulls his fingers free and gives George a proper spanking when he thinks about it, three hard slaps on each cheek with the flat of his hand in quick succession.

Lee dips two fingers into him so easily that it's embarrassing and George whimpers, squirming his hips. He nods, cheek rubbing against the pillow.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I would like that."

“Mm, well. Too late now,” Lee tells him, lifting the leather strap again and slapping it lightly right over George’s wet hole. “Maybe next time you’ll do as you’re told, huh?”

He brings the leather strap down across his ass hard enough for it to leave a stark red line, then drops it to press three fingers into George, working them in and out and teasingly brushing his prostate each time. “But I know how much you like being a brat, so maybe not.”

George's eyes widen when the strap comes down across his hole, the sting sending a shock straight through him. Nobody's ever done anything like that to him before and he's surprised by how much it likes it.

"I blame my mother," he says, as Lee fingers his arse; after the toy, three fingers feels like barely a stretch. "I'm nothing but what she raised."

“You are no more your mother than I am my father,” Lee says fiercely, because he wants them both to be different, to be better. He wants it to be true, but that doesn’t mean it is.

“You’re not nothing,” Lee assures him, lining up his pinky and sliding four fingers into his body, watching with rapt fascination as George’s eager hole swallows them up. “You’re the only thing that’s ever been mine.”

Edited 2025-07-31 19:14 (UTC)

Four fingers does feel like a lot, and George moans, his eyes drifting closed, his hips squirming just a little. His fingers flex and relax.

"I'm yours," he says. He likes saying it.

“Say it again,” Lee says calmly, feeling his chest seize up at how much he likes hearing it. He has to remind himself that the collar is on, and everything said while the collar is on comes with a bit grain of salt, but he still likes it so much.

Lee presses his fingers together and fucks George with all four, slowly pressing them into the knuckle. He leans over to spit on his hole again, prodding curiously with the index finger of his other hand.

“How much could I stretch you open, I wonder?” Lee muses gently, nudging the tip of his index finger in alongside the other four.

"I'm yours," says George, his voice dreamy, breathy. "I'm yours. I'm..."

He loses his words in a moan when he feels Lee starts to press another finger into him. He's lost count. He thinks he can take it.

“Yeah, you are,” Lee says in a low voice, awed by the obscene stretch of George’s ass around his fingers.

“Have you never taken two cocks at once?” Lee asks, curious. He has five fingers pressed into George as deep as they can go, and he pulls them all free just to see how pink and open he is, all gaping and needy like something out of porn. He spits into his hole and replaces four fingers, shifting his hand so can rub the pad of his thumb against the tight ring of muscle. “Or a fist?”

"I..." It takes him a moment to even formulate words. There's a split second where he wants to answer in French. "Two cocks? Not unless you mean one in my mouth and one in my arse." He squirms his hips against the tease of Lee's thumb. "A fist? Once, a long time ago."

He can hear Jean, murmuring to him in the low light like he was a skittish horse. It feels forever ago.

Lee doesn’t know why he asked. He feels an intense rush of jealousy that he knows is exacerbated by the collar, and he knows it’s pointless and stupid. He knows, but it makes him sad anyway.

He just hums and doesn’t say anything, moving his thumb and going back to fucking him with four fingers, resting his other hand on George’s back.

"I didn't like it, at time," says George, feeling oddly relaxed, spread across Lee's lap, four fingers inside him and Lee's hand resting warm and comforting on his back. "In my memory, it hurt." He sighs, shifting his hips. "I think I'd like it better with you. Even if it hurt."

That makes it worse, somehow. Lee’s hand curls into a ball between George’s shoulders and he takes a deep breath, swallowing hard as he tries to calm himself down.

“I wouldn’t want it to hurt,” Lee says in a low voice, shaking his head as he starts to massage George’s prostate. There are ways he likes hurting George. That would not be one of them.

“You just have so many of my firsts,” he admits in a low voice, hating how jealous he sounds. He knows it’s stupid, but he takes solace in the fact that George is so out of it that he probably won’t even remember this conversation.