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Sample Story: Tie Myself Up

"You all set?" Mark breathes, his hand tight around Andy's wrist. "You remember your safewords?"

Andy nods, but he knows that's not going to be enough for Mark. He licks his lips and murmurs, "Verbal safeword is 'red', non-verbal safeword is this–" He puts up his first two fingers, together, his fingertips brushing against Mark's forearm. Mark eases his grip on Andy's wrist, and Andy sighs and sinks down into the bed, rubs his face against the pillow. "That wasn't actually meant to be a safeword call, you know."

Mark just snorts softly and climbs off Andy's back. "Yeah, I know," he says, "but I don't want to start this off with all the advantage. I'm going to give you five minutes alone to get set up however you want, and we'll improvise when I come back in. Sound good?"

"Five minutes?" Andy rolls over onto his back and raises his eyebrows. "You need five minutes to psych up for this?" It's not like this is their first time playing with mock non-consent; by now, Andy half expects Mark to growl against the back of his neck and just start going for it when Andy says he's in the mood.

Mark's got a hell of a growl on him, but he's never taken one of these scenes lightly. He's not going to start now, either, and Andy's as grateful for that as he is slightly irritated by it. Negotiation can really stomp on a fantasy at first, but he's got to admit Mark's right to insist on it; he likes improvisation a lot, they both do, but improvising the negotiations themselves can really fuck with both their heads. These scenes run a lot smoother if they at least have some idea about how it's going to go down, or how to get out of it if things take a weird turn.

"We both need five minutes," Mark says, and Andy sighs and nods. Mark goes to the dresser, grabs out a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and he stops for socks and boots and his belt–oh, nice, the one with all the grommets–before leaving the room, too. Okay, Mark's going with "fully dressed" on his end, then. Andy grins and starts digging into the nightstand drawers. Lube, towel, cuffs, double-clip. Good; he's got all the things he really needs.

He slicks up with the lube; he uses a lot of it, smears it all over the insides of his thighs. He doesn't have time to grab one of their dildos and get himself good and stretched, but he makes a pretty thorough mess of himself, and he doesn't spare the bed beneath him, either. The lube's cold now, but his body heat ought to take care of that over the next few minutes. He wipes his hands clean with the towel, tosses lube and towel back into the nightstand, and gets the cuffs buckled onto his wrists.

"Two minutes," Mark calls from the hallway. "Do you need more time?"

"No, I'm good here," Andy says. He stretches his arms out above his head and slips the double clip behind one of the bedrails. It's easy enough getting it clipped into place–as easy as it would be to unclip, if it came to that–and when he's done, he squirms around in the bed, kicking at the covers, trying to imagine what he looks like, if Mark's going to pick up on Andy's ideas for what's been happening here.

Andy's not a small guy. He's six feet even, long legs, but all sharp angles; to really sell this scene, he ought to have some bruises on his legs and arms, because he's the kind of guy who looks like he'd put up a fight. He should be sweating, his blond hair should be dark at the temples and lying down at odd angles all over–and okay, he's got the odd angles down, but they're not because he's had guys holding him by the hair and forcing his mouth down on their cocks. Still, he can pretend they are, and hopefully Mark won't be afraid to do some of that himself.

Andy's cock is hard–if the mere suggestion of this particular fantasy hadn't done it, lubing himself up and cuffing himself to the bed sure as hell would have–and he knows it's big enough to hold Mark's attention, even in a scene like this. Whether Mark's going to do anything with it, Andy doesn't know–sometimes he gets Mark's mouth and Mark teases him, in-character, about being the kind of guy who gets off on what Mark's doing to him; sometimes Mark stays hands-off and makes Andy plead until he gets something.

Regardless of how it's going to go down, Andy's five minutes are up. Mark knocks once on the door. "All set?"

"All set," Andy agrees, and then, as the door opens, he growls out, "Hey, fuck you, asshole, you turn your ass right around and walk the fuck back out that door."

Mark steps in and looks at Andy while Andy's snarling. God, Mark looks good–there's no way someone should have the right to look that put-together with five minutes' notice and nothing but a t-shirt, jeans, boots, and a belt to work with. But Mark's always like that–he's good-looking in the classic sense of the word instead of Andy's "you get used to it" sense. Six feet, two-twenty, black hair, blue eyes. And Andy might be thinking he's all mine if he weren't so busy thinking I'm all his right at this particular moment.

If Mark's surprised by Andy's setup, he's not showing it. He takes in Andy's cuffs and his position and the tangled mess of covers at his feet immediately, and then his eyes linger on Andy's cock and the smear of lube between his legs. After he's had a chance to look at everything, he fixes his eyes on Andy's and smirks.

Fuck, yeah. That smirk goes right to Andy's cock; he shifts on the bed and tries really, really hard to glare at Mark instead of just spreading his legs and asking him–okay, begging him–to come over.

"Guess my boys already had their fun with you," Mark says softly. He leans against the doorframe and rests his hand over the bulge in his jeans–oh, yeah, Mark's game for this. Andy licks his lips before he can stop himself; he can just imagine what it'd be like having Mark straddle his face and grind his crotch against Andy's mouth, denim and all. "I told them they didn't have to wait until I got here. I kinda like it when someone's all used up and sore before I fuck them."

He slides into the room and stands at the side of the bed; he slips his thumbs into his pockets and slides his tongue slowly, carefully over his lips as he looks Andy over from head to foot. "So how are you doing?" Mark murmurs. "Feeling used up? Sore already? Is it going to burn like hell when I fuck you?"

Andy tugs at his cuffs and squirms back, getting a few inches away from Mark. "Go to hell."

Mark grins and stretches his hand out, and he starts at Andy's ankle–warm, hard, firm touch that goes from his ankle up his calf to his thigh, and Mark finds a patch of skin that isn't smeared with lube and pinches, hard. Andy throws his head back and grits his teeth, growling softly under his breath; damn, that's good.

"You like that?" Mark switches to Andy's other thigh and this time twists along with the pinch. "Is that how this works? You like getting hurt?"

Yes, obviously; Mark knows that, Andy knows damn well Mark knows that, but in the scene, Andy gets to decide if the answer's yes or no. "Go fuck yourself," Andy grits out.

"When I've got you right here? Come on." Mark reaches up and gets his hand around Andy's cock; Andy can't help moaning, squirming under Mark's touch. Mark squeezes hard, hard enough there's just a little pain under all that heat and all that want. "I'm not going to let my boys have all the fun. I bet you've still got something to give me."

Andy groans and twists his hands in the cuffs. "Sick motherfucking bastard," he says, panting. "Can't get laid on your own, so you gotta haul somebody in off the street? Is that it?"

"Look at me. Does it look like I have a problem getting laid?" And Mark grins, because he knows exactly what he looks like, exactly how good he looks. "I just like it this way. And trust me, by the time I'm done with you? You're going to like it this way, too."

Andy has to really work for the sneer, because Christ he just wants Mark to get on with it already. "Oh, you're gonna rape me until I love it?"

"That's the plan," Mark murmurs, and he slides onto the bed, reaching down and gripping Andy hard by the hair. Andy groans out loud and tries to squirm away, but Mark just slams one knee down onto his thigh and pins him there, and with Andy's wrists bound above his head and the fact that, deep down, he doesn't want to go anywhere, he just ends up squirming against Mark, not trying to get away at all.

"Look at you," Mark whispers. "Just fucking look at you. You're like a present. All wrapped up. Just waiting for me to do whatever I want."

"Talk, talk, talk," Andy fires back. "You ask me, if you could get it up long enough to fuck me, you wouldn't be wasting my time."

Mark just laughs–and then he surges up, swings his leg over Andy's body, and it's just like Andy imagined–he braces himself with one hand on the headboard and keeps the other in Andy's hair, dragging Andy's head up as he straddles Andy's face and rubs his groin right against it. Andy tries to twist his head to the side, but Mark's grip on his hair is too good; Andy can feel every inch of Mark's cock as Mark thrusts up against him. And, oh, fuck, he's hard. Andy can almost smell him. It's all he can do not to open his mouth up and start sucking on the denim.

"You like that?" Mark thrusts against Andy's face again, the scrape of denim making Andy's skin feel tight and raw. "Oh, why the hell am I even asking–of course you fucking like it." He drops Andy's head and rests his weight lightly on Andy's chest; Andy bites down hard on his lower lip, trying to keep himself under control. "Look at you." Mark traces Andy's lower lip with a fingertip. "You're just biting your lip trying to keep yourself from begging, aren't you? Or opening up that pretty mouth so you can suck some cock?"

Andy snarls and snaps at Mark's finger; Mark gets it away just in time. "Maybe I'm just warming up so I can bite off anything you try to feed me."

Mark's expression fails for half a second–that grin on his face is a genuine, nearly-cracking-up one–but he quickly turns his face to the side and rubs his cheek against his shoulder. Andy bites his lip again, harder this time. If Mark loses his character, there's no way Andy's going to be able to hold onto his, and they've had to give up more than one roleplay scene because they couldn't stay in their roles.

Andy squirms underneath Mark, looking up at him. "Are we good?" he murmurs.

Mark nods a couple of times, still not looking down at Andy; his eyes are still crinkled at the corners, his mouth still tight from holding back a grin or a laugh. Andy rocks his hips, twists from side to side.

"You like it when they beg, huh?" Andy asks softly. "Is that what I'm doing here?"

Mark shudders out a breath and rubs his hand across his face; while he's got his face covered, he says, "We both know what you're doing here. Begging–that's just a bonus." And then he's back, he's got it; he turns full-on toward Andy and looks down at him, face back to its impassive, I can take you and do whatever I want with you expression. He crawls back, easing his way down the bed, thighs rubbing against Andy's sides and making Andy shiver. When he's down to Andy's thighs, he reaches down and curls his hand around Andy's cock, and oh, oh–fuck, that's good. Andy clenches his hands, makes fists as he squirms against Mark's touch. "But you don't have to say a word. This is telling me everything I need to know."

"Fuck you," Andy mutters, tugging at his cuffs some more. But then Mark twists his hand, and the lube–God, there's lube everywhere, and it makes Mark's strokes all slick and gliding. Andy can't stay still through that, can't keep pretending he doesn't want it; he turns his head to the side, burying his face against his arm, and he shudders as Mark touches him.

"That's it," Mark murmurs. "That's it. Come on. I know you didn't give this up for my boys, but you're going to give it to me, aren't you?"

"Give–" Andy sets his teeth for a second, breathing hard as Mark hits just the right spot and lingers. Christ, he's playing dirty; a real kidnapper wouldn't know where all Andy's hot spots are, but Mark knows everything–and right now he's not afraid to use it. "Give what," Andy pants.

"This right here," Mark says, the pads of his fingers rubbing gently against the underside of Andy's cock. "I'm going to make you come so hard…"

"Doesn't mean anything," Andy growls. He still has his face pressed against the inside of his arm, and he gasps as Mark twists his hand back and forth. "Automatic–response… to being… jerked off."

"Hit the right spot and you won't be able to help yourself?" Mark chuckles; Andy spares a glance upward, takes in the way Mark's grinning down at him. Fuck. Mark just looks so damned sure of himself, so pleased with himself–all because he's got Andy right here, at his mercy. Andy rocks his hips up despite himself; he's getting to a point where he can't not.

Mark notices that, of course. Mark gets his other hand between Andy's legs and gives Andy's balls a light squeeze. "Yeah," Mark whispers. "Yeah, I bet there's a lot of things you won't be able to help." He shifts his weight on Andy's thighs, and before Andy even realizes he's doing it, he's spreading his legs a little wider. He can't get them apart very far, but he can spread himself a few inches further now, and he's squirming under Mark to make it happen. "Like right now," Mark murmurs. "Spreading your legs like you want something–what do you want me to do to you? Hmm?" He slips his hand between Andy's legs, and Andy gasps; it's a tight squeeze, still, but Mark's got two fingers searching for–oh, God, finding his hole, teasing at it, circling it. Andy bites down hard on his lower lip. "God," Mark moans. "How many times have you been fucked tonight? And you're still hungry for it."

"It's nothing. It's a reflex," Andy whispers. He's not very convincing, though. "Christ, stop–" Stop teasing, he thinks, but he manages to keep himself from saying it just in time. He might be ready to give in and get fucked, but the guy he's pretending to be? Not yet. "Just–fucking stop."

Mark's voice is like velvet now; smooth and dark and hot. "Say that again," he murmurs, fingertips pressing just the barest fraction of an inch inside. "Go on. Say it again."

"Stop," Andy breathes, and Mark pushes his fingers in to the first knuckle. Andy groans, head falling back on the pillow; he squirms harder against Mark's weight. If he weren't pinned down right now, he'd be spreading his legs as wide as he could; if he weren't cuffed down, he'd be grabbing at Mark, trying to pull him down on top of him. He's never quite as desperate for it as he is when he's pretending he doesn't want it. Maybe that's what Mark loves about these scenes; maybe that's why he's so willing to push and push and push until Andy's pleading.

"You love this," Mark whispers. "I can feel how tight you are–how good it's going to be when I'm fucking you. And you know you're going to beg for me. Why put it off? Start begging now, and I'll give you more of what you want."

"You don't have the first fucking clue what I want," Andy says, straining at his cuffs again. They rattle against the headboard, and the sound makes Mark grin.

"I know you want more than just my fingers." Mark manages to push in another inch, though the position's making that more and more difficult. "I know I'm going to give it to you. Hard. And I know you're going to thank me when I'm done."

"Fuck." Andy has to close his eyes; he can imagine that, he can picture it all too easily. Mark's body up against his, pushing him down, pinning him to the mattress, fucking him so hard Andy loses track of everything and just babbles out his need–hell, yes, he'd thank Mark when they were finished.

He bites down on his lower lip and settles down into the bed, exhaling hard through his nose. "Okay," he whispers. "Okay, fine–I'm too goddamned tired to stop you, so quit talking it to death and just fuck me already."

"Ask nicer."

Andy's eyes fly open, and he glares up at Mark. Mark's just smiling down at him, and he's twisting his fingers back and forth like he could keep this up all night if he wanted. "You asshole–"

"Ask me for it. Come on. I know you can do that much. Ask me to fuck you."

"You're going to do it either way–"

"Oh, yes." Mark slides his fingers out–no, no, no, fuck, Andy needs Mark in him, needs more than just his fingers, not less. "But I want to hear it. I want to hear you asking me nicely to fuck you."

"Well, you just keep on dreaming, then," Andy says quietly, still glaring. "Because you can pass me around like your own personal fuck toy all you want, but I still know how I got here, and I still know I didn't come here because I wanted to beg you to fuck me."

"You still remember that much, huh?" Mark just sounds amused, and he squeezes Andy's cock–Christ, he's still got a hand on Andy's cock, Andy had almost forgotten about that. The sensation had dulled down to a little snug warmth, but now–now he's getting Mark's best tight grip, a stroke or two between those tight, demanding squeezes, and Andy shudders and moans, because he's getting closer and closer to begging all the time.

Soon. Just a little longer, just hold out a little longer. He's rocking up against Mark's grip again, because he needs all of this so badly, but he's managing not to plead with Mark to just fucking do it.

"I'll make it real easy for you," Mark murmurs. "All I need to hear is 'please'. You don't have to be specific, you don't have to say what you're begging for… just the word 'please', and I'll give you what we both want."

Andy licks his lips and looks up at Mark one last time. Mark licks his lips, and he finds just the right rhythm–his hand's moving slow and steady on Andy's cock, not fast enough Andy's going to come anytime soon, but tight enough to strip away the last of Andy's willpower. Maybe someday he'll actually have Mark inside him before he starts begging for more, but not tonight. "Please," Andy whispers. "Please."

Mark's eyes are just about blazing with need now, and he sucks in a breath when Andy starts pleading with him. "Oh, God, yeah–yeah," he murmurs, and he's sliding down further, jerking at his belt and his jeans and shoving them both down over his hips. He's not even bothering to get undressed; he digs the condom out of his pocket, manages to tear it open awkwardly–God, both his hands are covered with lube–and then he's shoving himself down between Andy's legs, not that Andy's resisting that.

Andy stretches his legs to Mark's sides, but that's not enough for Mark; he pushes Andy's legs up and gets his knees to his chest, and leans in hard against them. "You look so goddamned good like this," Mark pants. "How the hell was I supposed to wait so long–"

"Please," Andy moans–but now he's trapped, now he really doesn't have any options. Now it's just a matter of Mark giving it to him, Mark deciding when. "Damn it–Mark, please–"

"I'm right here," Mark says, and then he's proving it: the blunt hot weight of his cock presses heavily against Andy's hole, and Andy closes his eyes and clenches his fists as Mark pushes in.

"Fuck, yes–"

Mark reaches down and grabs Andy by the chin. Andy could break that grip if he wanted–he might even break that grip without wanting to, Mark's hand is so slick–but he doesn't try. He looks into Mark's eyes, and sucks in a breath when he sees the serious look on Mark's face.

"'Please'," Mark growls. "Say 'please' again."

"Please," Andy moans–oh, that's not hard to say now, not at all, not when all he wants is Mark inside him, Mark fucking him inside out. "Please–yeah, fuck, please, please–"

"Yes–" And then Mark's gasping, pushing in harder and deeper, struggling to keep Andy's legs pinned while he drives in over and over. Andy tugs hard at his cuffs, the double clip rattling loudly against the bedframe now, and the sound seems to make Mark even more desperate than he already was. He speeds up, really giving it to Andy now, and Andy stops struggling and stops fighting and stops thinking, his whole world narrowed down to the sensation of being filled, taken, used. He could feel this way forever.

Or not forever; Mark shifts a little, brings one of Andy's legs down around his hip, and as soon as Andy pulls Mark in closer he realizes what Mark's going for. It's another few strokes before he finds it, before he's nailing Andy's prostate with every rough thrust in, but then he's there, and Andy gasps and struggles with his cuffs and keeps Mark locked in tight with his thigh. "Harder, harder, please, c'mon, please please please–"

"That's it, that's it, come on–" Mark groans, pushes in just right, and Andy hits the edge at a dead run, hanging there, so close, so close, any second, any minute, one more pounding thrust against his prostate–

He gets better than that, though; Mark reaches between them and grabs his cock, and it's rough, it's sloppy, but that one tight squeeze is all Andy needs to come, shouting Mark's name and begging, and it's not long before Mark catches up and buries himself inside Andy with a half-dozen aching, furious thrusts, fucking in so hard Andy practically feels like he's having the breath knocked out of him. Or maybe that's just from his own mind-blowing orgasm; he's sure as hell gasping for breath either way.

He collapses onto the bed, legs splaying wide apart, wrists limp in their cuffs, and Mark groans softly and–fuck, oh fuck, pulls out of him, slides away from him. He strips his t-shirt off over his head and wipes his hands off, and then he reaches up and gets the double clip unfastened. It doesn't really matter; Andy still isn't going anywhere.

He leans over and kisses Andy's forehead, and Andy hums out a few pleased sounds. "You need something?" Mark murmurs. "Water? Towel?"

"Are we done?" Andy mumbles back. "Already?"

Mark chuckles. "For now."

Andy manages to get his eyes open long enough to give Mark a hint of a pout, but then his yawn gives him away. "God. That was great."

"Always is," Mark says, stroking his fingers gently through Andy's hair. "I'm going to clean up a little. I'll bring you some water."

Andy nods. "Okay."

He drifts off a little while Mark cleans up, and when Mark comes back, he's just how Mark left him–hands still in their cuffs, even if the clip's gone; wrists still above his head. He's still spattered with come, still sticky and red and well-fucked, and Mark stares down at him, licking his lips.

"You back for another round?" Andy murmurs. He glances up and down Mark's body, eyes lingering at Mark's crotch–Mark isn't hard just yet, but it's not like they're in a hurry. "I think maybe I earned that water, at least."

"Oh, yeah, you definitely earned it." Mark grins. "Are you up for more?"

Andy brings his hands down and comes up onto his elbows. "Well, seeing as how you've totally busted through any and all urge I ever had to resist you–hell, yes, I'm up for more."

"In that case…" Mark starts stripping off the rest of his clothes. "I think maybe this time around I'm going to find out how good your mouth is."

Andy licks his lips. "Guess that means you get to find out if I bite, too." He sits up and gets the water, drinking fast.

"Maybe a little bit of teeth. Nothing too heavy." Mark takes the glass when Andy's done with it and sets it aside.

"Nothing too heavy," Andy promises. "Come on back to bed."