C.E. Clark ☣ General Hux (fiercemachine) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2017-05-12 23:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | c.e. clark |
Who: Clark
What: Relieving a little tension.
Where: A fetish club in Los Angeles, CA
When: Friday, May 12; late night
Warnings: Pretty R-rated. Sex and dubiously safe, sane, and consensual BDSM practices.
There was tension in Clark's shoulders that hadn't faded since the moment that Kyle Roth sent him that impertinent message over the boards. As if Clark didn't know very well that Kyle had complete control over Combat's training schedule. He would imagine that Roth took great delight in controlling that, in as many petty ways as he could. It was entirely within the realm of possibility that he'd adjusted the time that the training started to irritate the members of his department instead of to irritate Clark; Clark wasn't self-obsessed enough to think that everything that Roth did was about him. This though. This was most definitely about him and about the few things that Roth could do to resist the command to assist Clark in any way he needed in regards to his research. His projects. Not that there weren't things that Clark could do that didn't require Roth's presence and participation either. Kyle Roth was less vital to Clark's life than the brat would like to believe. This though. This was deliberate provocation. Attempting to get under Clark's skin. This was Roth acting out.
There was only one treatment for little brats that liked to act out in the world that Clark inhabited outside of his working hours.
Unfortunately he couldn't employ those methods with Roth. Not now. Likely not ever; the man was a fellow department head and not someone that Clark could fully manipulate and expect to keep quiet about the matter. That Roth was practically begging for it only made that even more frustrating. Clearly he hadn't received enough discipline as a child. At the very least he hadn't received the correct sort of discipline. Clark would be very happy to correct that if he was given the slightest of opportunities to do so.
In the meanwhile there were things that Clark could control.
He'd been to this club before. Not for a while. Clark had been too busy to indulge himself since he'd begun his project in earnest. Since he'd begun dealing with Roth on a regular basis. It was no wonder that he'd fixated on a man who was very like the bratty little subs that misbehaved only so their Doms would punish them. Not that Clark had ever taken a sub as his own; he could find plenty of girls and boys to play with that didn't require that kind of commitment. Commitment was something that Clark didn't have the time or attention for. Not with the sort of difficult subjects that he preferred to work with. There were no sweet little subs that just wanted to sit at their Master's feet for him. He wanted the ones that needed to be broken in before they could let go and give in to the submission that they craved.
There were plenty of options in the club that night. There were always more subs around than there were Doms. Not real subs. Not the kind of sub that could handle Clark and what he needed. They wanted to be petted and pampered, wanted some light pain play and then to be soothed and given the orgasm of their lives. They wanted play that centered around them and their needs. They wanted Fifty Shades of fucking Grey.
He could have had one of them if he wanted. Clark looked like the sort of polite Dom that they were all looking for. Attractive. Professional; he hadn't bothered changing into any sort of leather or chains before he stepped foot in the club. He was still in his work clothes and they were the clothes of a man who spent most of his day behind a desk. Not a man given to any kind of physical pursuit. The look was deceptive of course. Clark could inflict pain with the best of them. It was about technique, not the strength of a man's arm, when it came to wielding the tools of the lifestyle.
Clark's technique was flawless. He wouldn't stand for anything less than perfection from himself.
He wouldn't stand for anything less than perfection when it came to his partner for the night either. Clark was a busy man. He didn't have the time for more than one scene; that meant that he had to make the right choice the first time.
All that he ordered at the bar was water with lemon. He didn't drink when he would be engaging in a scene. It was irresponsible. It robbed him of his control. Not something that Clark was fond of on a regular basis, but he took it as a personal affront to his skills if he slipped and drew blood when he hadn't meant to, or left a deeper bruise than he'd intended. Everything that Clark did was intentional.
There. By the man playing at being some kind of leather daddy when he clearly didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing. The boy was dark haired and making a show of kneeling obediently, but there was something in his eyes... frustration. He wasn't getting what he needed from the gentle petting that the man was delivering. Even while Clark watched, he shifted away from it, a frown on his perfect face while he glanced around the club like he was looking for something else. Someone else.
His eyes caught Clark's. Clark responded to the flare of challenge with a raised eyebrow and a gesture to come closer.
It sparked a fire in his gut when the boy set his jaw and stayed right where he was. Someone needed to be taught a lesson.
"I believe you have something that belongs to me," Clark told the man who'd been petting his boy once he made his way across the room. The man in his leather straps made to protest, but Clark commanded sharply, "stand."
The boy stayed stubbornly in place for the space of a few breaths, and then rose with no regard for his previous companion's protests. "He doesn't know what you need," Clark told the boy.
"And you do?" The boy scoffed, and the spark built into a flame creeping down to Clark's loins.
Clark slid a hand to the boy's hair, but he didn't pet. He gripped and tugged, hard. "You need discipline. You need someone to show you where your place is. Someone to put you there. Don't you, boy?"
It wasn't enough to bring the boy to heel, but it was something. It was enough to make him squirm, to tug against Clark's grip on his hair and shut his eyes while he savored it. "You think you can do that... sir?" He was still testing. Still acting out because he knew. He knew exactly what he was doing to Clark.
"That's not what you call me, boy."
The only thing that gave the boy away was the smile that flickered at the corners of his lips before he murmured, "yes, daddy."
Clark hummed his approval. It didn't last long though. There was far more that his boy needed to do than that to please Clark. "You're a bad boy, talking back to your daddy. You need a reminder to keep a civil tongue in your head."
He could have taken the boy to one of the spanking benches. They were there, waiting for anyone who wanted to use them. Clark had used them before; he still preferred a more personal touch. He took the boy to a table, instead, lowered himself into a chair and tugged the boy across his lap. If they'd been somewhere more private... if they'd been in a back room, Clark could have tugged the boy's pants down. He could have bared his firm little ass so that he could see it go pink. Clark didn't have the time for even that much, that night. Clark needed to satisfy himself now.
The blows probably hurt his hand as much as they hurt the boy's ass, but he didn't flinch as he struck. The boy fought at first, but it didn't take long before he was squirming in his lap, hard cock pressing down against Clark's thigh. His own cock was hard in his pants, in the clothes that he'd been wearing to work, that he'd been wearing when Roth had pulled his little stunt.
From this angle, the boy across his lap looked like Roth.
Impact after impact, thud after dull thud, Clark punished the boy. More than what he deserved for his impertinence, but the little slut wasn't even trying to beg him to stop, much less using the club's safeword. He was more than happy to receive Roth's punishment alongside his own and Clark was more than happy to give it to him.
"Please, daddy, please, I need..." The boy on his lap was sobbing, squirming, trying to rub himself off against Clark's thigh.
There wasn't supposed to be any sex. Not in the club. Anything went in the back rooms of course. They were consenting adults, all of them. Clark couldn't care less about the club's rules. No one was going to say a word about a boy getting a little too excited during a spanking, after all, and Clark needed it. As much as he needed to come himself, he needed this boy to come apart.
"Do it." The command was a growl. It was almost drowned out by the boy's sharp cry as one final blow landed and jarred him, hard, against Clark's thigh. Clark could feel his cock jerk, could feel the dampness of his release through multiple layers of fabric as he shook and then slumped, breath still coming in sobs.
Clark was achingly hard. He rubbed the boy's ass through his pants, soothing skin that he knew had to be a lovely shade of red. "Such a messy boy. I don't know if messy boys deserve to suck their daddy's cocks."
It was far too soon for the boy to even think about getting hard again. His hips jerked anyway. "Please, daddy, let me suck your cock. I'll do anything..."
That was exactly what Clark wanted to hear. Too bad it was the wrong naughty boy saying it... but he'd take it anyway. He was a conqueror, after all. He would take whatever ground he could.