This update has no connection to the main component of the story but is just a small little bundle of something of sugar and a lot of spice for everything nice for your, my readers.
Warning; smut; bondage, hand job.
Enjoy<3
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de·vo·tion
/dəˈvōSH(ə)n/
noun
-love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity, or cause.
-religious worship or observance.
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"Is it too tight?"
Your voice calls in a cooing gentle recurve of a snark hidden in your tone.
A tease of a question that holds some resemblance of respect in its vocally foundered and fathered down stone set ways of a life you've led.
It's a simple question.
With an arrange of awnsers that burned in the frontal cortex of Königs gut and burned belly that scorched aflame in his joints. His body practically buzzing beneath your gaze as you allowed your eyes to roam against the red rope restricting his visage just barely to the wooden chair.
Barely able to withold his mere sheer size let alone the way his muscles tense and bulge against his movements.
You love it.
Even more the stark contrast between the harsh appearance of his black uniform and the red rope.
Accentuated by the red rope that defined his frame like a sore thumb, like a stale mate between you both as his emerald gaze still reveled you to quiver at your knees so easily..
You digress and almost chuckle at the puppy look in his gaze, impatient even.
Almost.
Pure submission was never an option for the Colonel.
Not even now.
He always held a power of a bite in the room, but this time; this time you had a say to bite back and not except to be punished for it in his own ways of hours of denied orgasms on your own end.
And yet; he still makes you weak at your knees as he remains tied to the chair and pampered down to noth8ng more then red hemp and discouraged lines of beginnings and ends.
"Colonel. I asked you a question."
His eyes sharpen as they snap and focus on you; tilting his head to lift slightly to meet you gaze. His eyes, those piercing emerald orbs of a detained praises of years of life ebbing behind them scours into glassy; fuzzy clouds: as if he's somewhere else.
Your face ticks into a small frown, teeth gritting ever so slightly at the distance of the look in his eyes; you didn't like the taste his eyes gaze left in your mouth.
Your fingers danced around the red hemp like a tease and reveled to tickling covered skin like a bored caress; feathered even.
Before you pulled the rope of his thighs, and waist to pull him back down from where he may be devoted to; and not you.
It's a small look of jealously, greened by the prepped and primed time it took for you to cup his frame do well in the hemp, only for him to be snapped out of it.
It's perfect.
He looks perfect.
It makes a warmth bloom in your belly and swoon you into a small smirk at the corner of your lips, pleased at your own meticulous work as your gaze rakes him in deliciously slow.
His arms restricted barely behind the chair, he legs and thighs held fast and tight, spread wide for you own imprinted manners of dealing with him on your own according.
Crotch free.
His pants, a growing tent with no way for him to touch.
It's perfect .
And it's pretty.
He is so..so pretty.
Like a kiss of aphrodite muddled it's way on the Austrians life as a blessing even as he aged like marbled oils of old and minerals of aged wine; so ..so pretty..
And all yours.
"It's fine," He finally croaks, Könisg voice murmurs a harshness behind it that witholds want and need in its shambles of a chamber, retribution never tasted so much like damnation of devotion in his mouth before.
He tries to shuffle around for the red confines to rub agaisnt his twitching bulge.
To no avail.
He's frustrated, there's no doubting it. You know it, and it's not at all that hard to tell or even guess to withold a small guess at those movements of his of desperation as his chest heaved with air that he had all the room to consume but found it unable to hold onto.
And by all means.
He's throbbing and thriving off of the small power imbalance in the moment.
Fazed and dizzy drunk off of it.
You run your fingers over it, the red hemp, and smile in a coy and innocent like manner, eye lashes batting like the pretty little doe he's bound you too by name and almost coo at how he stares up at you like the gods themselves.
Devotion never tasted so sweet of submission and victory on your tongue before; until now.
Your fingers dance alongside the hemp rope, nails catching and scratching at the rope, feeling every fiber filled twist and light knots meticoulsy placed as it scratches against your skin.
Deliberately and sickeningly taunting, cruel even, your fingers never touch him.
Not once.
Not even a whisped breath.
As if the hemp itself was merely an extension of his own frame and flesh.
It's cute, how his eyes follow your hands and finger tips and beg, wishing and borderline quietly pleading that you touch him; to graze him even once.
He's almost envious, jealous even, but having you so close to him, paying so much attention to his weeping body; but yet so little consideration for it; has his mind stumbling over itself.
A Colonel, meant to oversee large units. A body, two heads taller then you, and a prescence on the battle field that has more fleeing the staying and fighting; god of war even.
He's right here, in front of you, devoted entirely of his attention to you like a well behaved mutt. Tied. Hard.
Panting, begging, obeying..
"Y/n..please-Damhirschkuh; how much longer are you going to make me wait?" He pleads, and your hands twitching, jaw ticking as your head tilts in his direction and revels a small pleased look on your features. You remove your hands and warmth, and turn to grab his mask that was resting on the table of his desk.
You step closer and tilt your head down at him like a curious pup would before cooing and tauntingly position yourself right between his legs and grab his jaw to tilt his head.
"Colonel, the more you talk and whine, the longer I'll make you wait. As far as i know, you have a meeting in this very office in about thirty minutes. So, how about you keep that mouth shut?"
It's a taunt that has him bunching beneath his restraints and glaring up at you through hazy and narrowed pleading eyes, it almost makes you weak in the gut.
Almost.
You force his mask in his mouth to use as an emergency gag, and he responds with a small rumbled grinding grunt that resounds like thunder in his chest and sends a small shiver up your spine before you 'tsk' at him for him even daring to growl out at you.
Before he nods.
"Good," you praise him, like a dog for being so well behaved for you, and let go of his jaw, just for him to drop his head.
What a sight he is.
You sit at the edge of his desk and hook your boot underneath his chair, pulling him towards you with a small lull of effort from the sheer mass he was, before you peer at him with a sly look dancing in your eyes as you speak.
Teasing and taunting him.
Foolish. You'll pay for it in the long run.
But for now; you rake in the advantages and count your wins and cut your losses.
"Seems painful Colonel," you coo, letting your boot rest on his thighs to force them apart even more, spreading his hips at an uncomfortable exposure of his tent in his pants, the bulge twitching with need beneath the fabric of his pants and confines of his clothes.
He whines, half- lidded eyes staring at the proximity of your foot and his crotch, and his length twitches in anticipation and agony.
He needs one touch, any kind of mercy agaisnt the ache of a burn in his belly and gut and the ebb dull ache of his cock and balls.
Any mercy for relief from you.
Anything.
And the more you wait around, and the longer you wait and keep your boots pressed into the soft flesh of muscle and harshness of uniform pants, the more his gut heats up until his hips thrash a low lulled ebb of a roll to get any kind to meet you.
He feels so unbelievably warm, his throat feels uncomfortably hot and dry, restricting itself as muffled pleas dribbled down his mouth.
"You want to get off?" You snark at him, now placing the sole of your boot on his crotch, pressing pressure ever so slightly, and it's a fruit filled bloom of a reward as he emits a small groan as he raises his hips up greedily.
He slumps forward, the restraints holding him to the chair as his frame shudders against the restraints.
"Yes- Scheisse please..bitte," He's muddled in his muffled reply through fabric of his mask, hoarse and heavy with a voice crackling with want.
And all you offer if an amused chuckle and retreive the mask from his mouth, "Bitte, ich brauch mehr," He mumbles, and it earns him a harsh dig at his gut, completely abandoning his boner.
"Stop mumbling. Repeat," It's a small warning that delves a small narrowed look from him to you as you stared back, leaning back on your palms as you let your boot dig agaisnt his gut once more in another silent warning on its own.
König can't stand it, that stupid smirk on your face as your gaze deters him from snarling back, the need for an orgasm for some relief was the only thing pitifully filling his brain not allowing him to be deterred into the slightest of shames as he speaks.
"Please; let me come- Damhirschkuh please."
You comply.
Finally giving him coerced mercy of a relief you've denied him.
You get up off of the table and stalk forward, leaning down to unzip his pants and nudge his boxers, you didn't even have to move him, his cock sprung out on its own, heavy and aching; twitching and uncut.
His hoarse thanks and murmurs of praise die heavy on your ears as you eye his twitching cock for a moment before your lips press into a small pleased look at how his hips start moving fanatically, frantic and completely disregarding the pressure he's putting on his confines.
At the end of the day; he's secured enough, but it will leave some rope marks, and you can't wait to see them.
You palm and grab at his base, and let it trail deliberately and softly; cruelly slow before you let some spit land on his head, before spreading it all over, smoothening over and gracing the Austrian giants cock.
The thing was thick and girth, a veign running fat and heavy at the underneath. Mean and heavy when it came to being inside of you, matched with peppered curls that where there like sprinkled softness of growing out hairs on his public, not scratchy like his hair would on his jaw when it would grow. His cock was matched with heavy balls; you decided to let you fingers trace against them for a moment before he whined, hoarse and heavy as he shuddered beneath your touch.
Eliciting moans and grunts from him as you graced him the relief you've denied him.
But; your a cruel thing when it come to games of any kind.
This was no different.
"I won't help you," your face splits into a grin, letting go of his cock and circling his chair to untie his left arm, the second the hemp falls to the floor, you lean down and pepper a small kiss at his pulse point, letting your teeth graze his sensitive skin of the softness of his neck with a whisper at the lobe of his ear.
"But, I'll allow you to take care of it yourself."
König startles when you put his mask around his eyes and tie it in place.
You take his vision, take his mind and force it beneath your feet in submission and crush it into a stale mate, to become nothing. Because when Königs with you, he doesn't need anything, but the freedom of submission to your grazing touches when you get him like this.
You walk back to his desk and sit on the edge of it again to observe him and eye him with a meticoul gaze, like a hawk instead of a doe.
And you watch as he inhales sharply and exhales roughly, gruffly shuddering at the feeling of your gaze upon him.
Over whelming, and his whole body is over stimulated, but he leaks, and he leaks pre-cum. Glistening white liquid at the tip of his head and through his own mental endeavors.
He holds the air with sort of confidence of his own, nonetheless, he always does..
The second his own hand reaches for his abandoned cock, he coats it in your own spit and starts stroking.
"There you go Colonel. No need to be shy, put a show on for me."
You barely see him in the electrically illuminated light of the darkened lights of his office that he has off for private reasons such as this one.
But enough to where you dont miss a single thing.
But you can feel how the choked sighs ripple across his body. You feel everything: the tight trembles, the density of the air around him. You hear the moist click as he swallows, the panting that rises. The occasional groans as he tenses against his restraints.
It's the petty desperation in his own movements, it just might make you cry. Even the sky cries for him, it seems, because a sudden gust of wind sends an entire sheet of rain against the window.
That's what this is about – the ever demanding furnace of flesh. He wants to drown in you, burn until there's nothing left. It's been days since he's had the time for a simple release, let alone you being able to witbold enough time alone like this for something..so..carnal. It's a devotion of movement on its own.
He finds that perfect angle, the one he likes. A harsh moan coats the air, and shoots fireworks inside your stomach. He moves his hand up and down his cock.
Sickeningly with harsh pants and his own growing release as his growing pre-cum dribbles out;
He hisses, as if he's in pain. But he's just close, and he ups the pace: his own hand is now only a loose, gentle cage on his own cock. He's so long, it seems like it takes forever to travel from the tip to the base. Even now as you watch.
It's tantalizing silence of a praise as you coo small sounds of your own silent praises as you watch him.
Then those lashes flutter beneath the mask and his shoulders shake just before he comes. He spills all over himself with a long groan and a soul-ripping jerk, a giant coming undone under his palm The load is so generous you wonder whether he has even had the time to jerk himself off during the last few days. If he's even had time for that privilege of alone time.
The last spurts are faster , a few gushes that float to coat his hand, and he finally stills into some form of peace. He breathes in the night, relaxed and empty.
You lean forward and untie his mask and give him his sight back and smile down at him and peck his forehead.
A silent praise at the small sounding a job well done on his end.
But he sees it.
The wobble of your knees.
The way your thighs twitch as you get up and untie him with quick efficients and watch as he uses a few tissues from his desk to wipe himself with a small shudder of sensitivity before pulling his boxers back up and pants and belt together followed by his fly.
He sees it in the flushness of your features.
But before he could even reach out to grant your own frame any form of relief your pecking his head and slipping through the door. Slipping something into his now mid- grasp hands.
He eyes the door as it shut, face scrunching at a small look of confusion as he slowly gets up, slightly dizzy of the collateral after math of what just happened and eyed what was now in his empty palms.
A sticky note rolled and crumbled, mid- pull of his mask back on, he unravels it gingerly and reads it with a small flattery in his stomach at the words on the yellow piece of note paper, 'After the meeting come and find me.'
He slowly shook his head and tucked the note in his pocket, and silently fixed his chair, returned his lights to normal and uncoordinated to unlock the door.
Before finally settling at the official chair at his desk and adjusted himself.
Thankful that the desk hides his lower half to conceal the still raging boner he had painfully concealed in his pants.
It would be taken care of you fully later on when he was finished with this meeting.
He'd find you and make you pay for the the two hours of teasing you just blew him through.
One could only hope you didn't mind laying in bed all day tomorrow; because he'd make sure he'd ensure to see to it himself that you couldn't walk tomorrow..just you wait Damhirschkuh.
Just you wait.