"What was it like sitting in the meeting with so many eyes on you?" Magnussen asks, voice low and soft, his palm smoothing across one pale, freckled arse cheek. "Wearing your mask, being an important man and making your important decisions, but all the while feeling my little reminder to you?"
Mycroft, bent over his desk and still clothed from the waist up, just closes his eyes, sucks in a long, wearied breath. Magnussen abruptly twists the plug buried deep inside of him, pulls it out slightly so that its flared end stretches his sore rim wide, and he can't help the hollar that escapes him. Then Magnussen begins working the plug in and out, fucking him with it, and he whimpers, his hands tensing into loose fists on the desktop.
After a minute, Magnussen yanks the plug out, setting it down on the desk. He quickly slips two fingers in to take its place. "You are so open," he remarks. "Still full of my seed from earlier. I think I will give you some more. Fill you up until you feel as though you might burst."
Magnussen's fingers retreat. There is the quiet rustle of shifting cloth, and then the slow, stinging slide of him seating himself within Mycroft's body anew. Mycroft chokes back a sob. He forces himself to draw another breath. Magnussen's hands close around his narrow hips, biting into his skin, and Mycroft sets his jaw and screws his eyes shut even more tightly as he Magnussen begins pounding into him with ruthless abandon.
"You are always so silent," Magnussen tells him. "But I have already made you my bitch. I will teach to whine for me; I will teach you to beg."
Reaching between Mycroft and the desk, Magnussen takes hold of Mycroft's cock, strokes him to hardness. But Mycroft is too wrung out to come this time. Too exhausted to do anything but ride out Magnussen's brutal thrusts and wait for him to reach his own climax with a hissing gasp.
For a half a minute, Magnussen gathers his breath, his palm sneaking beneath suit jacket and waistcoat and shirt to caress the small of Mycroft's back. "You are no longer your own man, Mr. Holmes," he says at last. "I know you are aware of this. Again and again, you give yourself to me."
"You seem to be under the delusion that a lack of resistance is tantamount to consent," Mycroft replies, voice hoarse from disuse.
Silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment, and then Magnussen whispers, "I do not think I am done filling you."
Fear seizes Mycroft's heart like an ice-cold hand. "Don't," he pleads. It's the first time he's offered a solid objection to Magnussen in the past few months. But Magnussen only chuckles softly. Grasps his hips bruisingly hard once again to keep him from trying to struggle free. Then alien warmth is spilling into his body, flooding up into untouched spaces, until he's shaking from the shattering fullness, sobbing from the soul-deep sense of violation.
Magnussen insinuates a hand beneath him. Splays it open over his belly and presses down. Mycroft cries out sharply. For three whole minutes, Magnussen simply lingers inside of him, savouring the heady thrill of possession, until at last the strange, swimming heat of his urine begins to cool. When he withdraws, Mycroft feels a still-warm gush leak out and trickle down his inner thigh, but Magnussen quickly stoppers him with the plug.
Bending down as he tucks himself away, Magnussen licks around the helix of Mycroft's ear, murmurs, "I think I am going to do this to you regularly from now."
Absolute Power (2/4) - NON-CON, humiliation, watersports
"What was it like sitting in the meeting with so many eyes on you?" Magnussen asks, voice low and soft, his palm smoothing across one pale, freckled arse cheek. "Wearing your mask, being an important man and making your important decisions, but all the while feeling my little reminder to you?"
Mycroft, bent over his desk and still clothed from the waist up, just closes his eyes, sucks in a long, wearied breath. Magnussen abruptly twists the plug buried deep inside of him, pulls it out slightly so that its flared end stretches his sore rim wide, and he can't help the hollar that escapes him. Then Magnussen begins working the plug in and out, fucking him with it, and he whimpers, his hands tensing into loose fists on the desktop.
After a minute, Magnussen yanks the plug out, setting it down on the desk. He quickly slips two fingers in to take its place. "You are so open," he remarks. "Still full of my seed from earlier. I think I will give you some more. Fill you up until you feel as though you might burst."
Magnussen's fingers retreat. There is the quiet rustle of shifting cloth, and then the slow, stinging slide of him seating himself within Mycroft's body anew. Mycroft chokes back a sob. He forces himself to draw another breath. Magnussen's hands close around his narrow hips, biting into his skin, and Mycroft sets his jaw and screws his eyes shut even more tightly as he Magnussen begins pounding into him with ruthless abandon.
"You are always so silent," Magnussen tells him. "But I have already made you my bitch. I will teach to whine for me; I will teach you to beg."
Reaching between Mycroft and the desk, Magnussen takes hold of Mycroft's cock, strokes him to hardness. But Mycroft is too wrung out to come this time. Too exhausted to do anything but ride out Magnussen's brutal thrusts and wait for him to reach his own climax with a hissing gasp.
For a half a minute, Magnussen gathers his breath, his palm sneaking beneath suit jacket and waistcoat and shirt to caress the small of Mycroft's back. "You are no longer your own man, Mr. Holmes," he says at last. "I know you are aware of this. Again and again, you give yourself to me."
"You seem to be under the delusion that a lack of resistance is tantamount to consent," Mycroft replies, voice hoarse from disuse.
Silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment, and then Magnussen whispers, "I do not think I am done filling you."
Fear seizes Mycroft's heart like an ice-cold hand. "Don't," he pleads. It's the first time he's offered a solid objection to Magnussen in the past few months. But Magnussen only chuckles softly. Grasps his hips bruisingly hard once again to keep him from trying to struggle free. Then alien warmth is spilling into his body, flooding up into untouched spaces, until he's shaking from the shattering fullness, sobbing from the soul-deep sense of violation.
Magnussen insinuates a hand beneath him. Splays it open over his belly and presses down. Mycroft cries out sharply. For three whole minutes, Magnussen simply lingers inside of him, savouring the heady thrill of possession, until at last the strange, swimming heat of his urine begins to cool. When he withdraws, Mycroft feels a still-warm gush leak out and trickle down his inner thigh, but Magnussen quickly stoppers him with the plug.
Bending down as he tucks himself away, Magnussen licks around the helix of Mycroft's ear, murmurs, "I think I am going to do this to you regularly from now."