Big Book of Rythna One Shots

Restrictions (N)

TW: Contains sexual content, bondage, and nudity.

"You're not listening, Rythian."

Light strips of leather slid down his sweat dotted skin, leaving ghosting sensations. It made him shiver in place and crave to scratch and dig at his skin to scare the feeling away, but his hands couldn't even come close to the rest of his body. Another violent yank could only move the platform he was bound to. His fingers skidded up the smooth wood of the coffee table, Rythian was beginning to become more accustomed to them than his own legs.

Wanting to call the situation makeshift would only cover his deep desire of wishing it to be so, but he couldn't ignore the sobering knowledge of the prepared tools. Sleek was not a word he wanted to describe the rope around his wrists, ankles, and hips, but the amount of wriggling he did to escape them, only brushed his skin closer to the smooth fibers.

The silk tie had long ago fallen from the place on his eyes. Each blink reminded him of it, gracing his eyelashes and blocking the bottom of his sight. Part of him wished he could see his own body, watch over what was happening to it. He could only hedge his bets on how red his skin was, what marks and shapes would be left.

"Listen harder!"

Coming together in the force of a swing, the parted leather slammed against his arm. The sound cracking centimetres away from his ear. Pulling his lips tightly together, Rythian held in any verbal reaction his instincts begged him to make.

"Good boy..." The voice purred with sweet notes as a hand drew up Rythian's sternum, circling a relaxed finger around a nipple.

Swallowing back thick saliva, Rythian tried to have his voice heard above the stinging of his body. "La-lalna..."

Watching the swift rise of the other man's arm, Rythian turned his head away, not needing to see the impact to know it was happening. Cold leather again, and Rythian could almost count the number of strips to the flogger, each splaying out along his inner arm.

"Wrong name, Rythian." Lalna's teeth virtually glowed in the dim lighting. His smile grew to a pout, to hush sounds that were not there. "You know what you're to call me, don't you? Come on, be the good boy I know you want to be and say it."

Dropping his head down, lower for his ear to pick up the sounds he desired, any lower and Rythian could almost lurch up and bite his earlobe. Lalna knew the perfect angles, and used them liberally. Rythian was well aware his patience didn't stream long, but he'd wait as long as it took, to hear him even just mutter what he was compelled to say.

Clearing his throat of previous cries and shrill sounds of desperation, Rythian let his sight dart again for his pride to let him speak it. "... Master." The breath tasted sour, yet the knuckles rolling along his stomach pushed out more. "I-I am good... master."

Lalna stood up with a twisted giggle, considerably pleased by the outcome. Even with an added sharp tug at his restraints, Rythian remained immobile. A heated sigh down his chin and he let his shoulders relax for the moment. With his arms raised above his head and bound securely, any second to himself was used to care for the ache in his muscles. More than anything he needed to stretch and ward off further pains, particularly for his long legs that were forced to bend so his feet could properly meet that of the coffee table's.

Licking nervously at his dry cracked lips, he struggled to lift his back off the unforgiving flat surface. His spine burned from the pressure and popped bones in place. The clear paint coat on the top of the table stuck to his skin, each lift causing a peel, and more than welcoming to suck him back down. Hearing his knees click for the countless time since he was forced to the living room furniture, Rythian tried not to remember how exposed he was, his body becoming the new table spread.