Archive: Master_Apprentice, my page
(http://flame.slashcity.org/index2.html); anybody else who
wants it, just let me know
Category: BDSM, but relatively mild (I think)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Whip. Naked padawan. 'nuf said?
Notes: I wrote this as a self-challenge to do something
different than my usual. Did it work?
Feedback: Yes, please! On list or off, doesn't matter to me.
The padawan lay on the rumpled bed, naked and aroused. He
passed the long strip of leather across his chest, the soft
hide tickling as it brushed over the fine hairs. He switched
the handle to his right hand and repeated the motion in the
opposite direction, schooling himself to patience. His master
would be home soon, and then he would have his wish. His master
always fulfilled his promises.
A flick of the wrist sent the whip's tail to the foot of the
bed, between the padawan's feet. He drew it up slowly, the slip
of leather gliding across his bare legs, winding over his cock
and across his flat belly like a snake intent on pleasure
torture. The young man sighed.
Another interminable Council meeting had taken his master from
him. He could envision the scene, his mentor standing straight
and tall as he faced the circle of councilors. His countenance
would be serene as he endured yet more inanities. His voice
would be calm as he responded to the statements of blind
arrogance mouthed by those who supposedly led the Order.
But inside, the padawan knew, his master burned in frustration.
Isolated in its high tower, the Council had lost touch with
what was truly happening in the Republic. Those who occupied
the ring of seats were more concerned with their precious Code
than with the advice of the Order's wisest members. His master
struggled to enlighten them, but to no avail. More often than
not, he departed the Council chambers struggling with emotions
entirely unbecoming a Jedi.
The master was usually able to center himself by concentrating
on his own personal truth, releasing his tension into the
wholeness of the Force. But there were times when the
frustration simply grew too great to dismiss. The great man was
close to that point now, the padawan knew, which was why he had
asked the favor. He wanted to help his mentor, even if only in
this small way.
He flipped the tip of the strap to the side of the bed. The
whip slithered across his body as he pulled it up to his face,
slowly rubbing the hide across his upper lip. One side was
rough, the other smooth. It was cool to the touch. He drew the
length of it across the tip of his tongue, tasting sweat and
desire. Salt and lust, perhaps tinged with blood. His cock
twitched.
He remembered the last time. His master had entered their
quarters with fists clenched, trying desperately to find his
center, but was ultimately unable to let go of the anger. The
padawan had quickly retrieved the whip from his room and knelt
at his master's feet, head bowed, offering the coil in his
upraised hands. His relief and gratitude when the man accepted
were profound.
The apprentice looped the pleasure toy over the back of his
neck and pulled it slowly, the evocative touch making the fine
hairs there stand up straight. As the tip came over his
shoulder, he noticed the similarity to the braid. Both were
long, thin, and soft. Both were objects of affection, gifts
from the master to the apprentice. Both signified deep love and
trust.
The padawan fantasized about the events to come. Hands braced
against the wall, he would spread his legs and await the sweet
kiss of the lash. He would sense his master behind him,
balancing the weight of the whip in his callused hand, studying
the pose of his naked padawan. The apprentice knew it would be
a struggle to keep his breathing even, as he must. The wait
always seemed endless. He would be trembling when the first
strike finally came, a blessed release from the anticipation.
His master was an artist with the lash, finding the perfect
spot time after time, building the hypnotic rhythm until the
padawan groaned with the pleasure of it. The snapping bites
caught at his soul, sending him soaring in sensual, beautiful
pain. He would arch into the strikes as they covered his back,
his ass, the tops of his legs. He would fight to keep from
thrusting his hard cock into the crackling air. His master
didn't approve of such movement, not wanting to risk a
misplaced stroke.
Kiss after kiss, leather would meet skin, setting his nerve
endings buzzing with the delicious sting. The sounds, he knew,
would be intoxicating - the crack of the leather, the slick
strike against flesh, and the moan of pleasure, all in perfect
cadence with the throbbing of his engorged phallus.
Flying in the ecstasy of love and endorphins, it would take him
a minute to realize that the rhythm had slowed and the strikes
become softer. At last, he would hear the whip thud softly
against the floor. He would remain still, only his chest
straining as he struggled to calm his breath. He would be able
to sense his master's approach, although he would not hear the
soft footsteps. He would steel himself, setting his jaw for
what was to come.
Softly, his master's hands would skim over his hypersensitive
skin. As always, the padawan knew, it would be tortuous. This
was true pain. The gentle touch would glide over his stinging
back, wrap around his sides, and perhaps slide down the
outsides of his legs. He would not move, biting his lip and
clenching his eyes shut as he fought to endure the caress.
This was part of it, he knew, as necessary for his master as
the lashing was. The hands would rove over his taut body,
mapping it, examining the small changes evoked by the whip.
Eventually, they would move up the insides of his legs, over
his thighs, and one hand would cup and tease his sac. The
padawan would by then be trembling once again.
The apprentice examined the lash, aching to feel its effects,
but he would not strike himself. Instead, he stretched the
leather strip between his hands, and leaving a short bit of the
tail to dangle against his sac, he wound the whip about his
cock, coiling it around and around the hard length in an
unyielding embrace, until only the bright red tip was exposed.
It was tight, and marvelous. He could feel his pulse pounding
against the constriction. He closed his eyes and returned to
the fantasy.
His master would then step away, finally, putting an end to the
agonizing gentleness. If he listened carefully, the padawan
would barely be able to hear the rustle of clothing as the big
man freed his erection. With swift, sure movements, the master
would remove the plug from the padawan's ass, grab hold of his
hips, and sink into his body. He would wrap his hand around the
young man's phallus and stroke roughly as he thrust. Yes, gods,
yes, so good. It would be fast, and harsh and oh, so wonderful.
The padawan pulled roughly on the handle of the whip, jerking
his leather-wrapped cock in time with the thrusts of the
anticipated taking. Yes, it would be so good. He tugged,
groaned, pulled again, thrust his hips upwards. The coils
slipped a bit, the roughness of it grating on his skin, fueling
his imagination.
With the padawan's hands still against the wall, his master
would take his satisfaction, but in the same act, provide it
for his lover. They would feel their orgasms build quickly, the
connection between them singing with the joy of the gift given
and received. They would arch and cry out as they climaxed, the
padawan feeling his master's essence deep within him as he
spilled himself over the huge hand wrapped around his shaft.
Lying in the big bed, the padawan froze, panting. He'd stopped
himself just in time. It wouldn't do for him to come without
his master. Carefully, he unwound the leather from his
erection, trying to minimize the stimulation. He must be
patient.
The outer door to the quarters snicked open, sending the young
man scrambling to the floor. He deftly coiled the strap into
neat loops, wanting to present a perfect picture for his master
when he entered the room. He knelt beside the bed with his
forehead touching the mat, arms stretched before him, the lash
in his hands. It was only a matter of minutes before he
glimpsed the familiar brown boot tips aligned before him.
"My Master," he whispered, and offered up the whip.
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