Chapter Text
“Something’s missing.” He can tell Sir is walking around him, circling where he’s resting on the padded bench, strapped down from waist to ankle to keep him from moving away from the machine thrusting a thick seven inches of cock into him at a steady pace.
His internal clock says it’s been somewhere between thirty minutes and three hours since Sir lovingly set him in place and pressed the lube cockhead to his hole, suggested he relax and enjoy himself despite knowing the stiff silicone wrapped around his cock would make it difficult to do more than drip and drool.
“Sir?” he murmurs, inflection leaving room for his Dominant to fill in the blanks. If he hadn’t been strapped in so snug, his thighs would have been trembling by now. The cock pushing its way into him isn’t going particularly fast — every five Mississippis by his count — but the consistent pulse and pressure, brushing against his prostate with precision, is far more effective long term.
Sir’s hands come to his face, thumbing over flushed cheeks. His chin is planted in the leather padding, facing forward as if he’s meant to be watching Sir from that angle. Without the blindfold, he would have easily tracked Sir around the room and could have judged the time better based on what Sir did. As it was he was lost to sensation, low moans puffing from his lips as if jarred loose by the steady thrusts.
Bucky’s cheek met with the leather, and he felt the tension ease in his neck at being allowed to relax. Next came Sir’s thumb on his lower lip, thumbing the plush petal before slowly pressing inward. He opened easily, gave over to Sir’s ministrations and dropped his jaw lower at the prodding.
“Yeah… this is what I want,” Sir hums above him, and he hears the tell-tale sound of snaps opening. He smells Sir’s musk before his mind connects the dots, lolls his tongue out not needing to be asked.
It’s not his job to anticipate his Sir’s desires, but rather to wait and be told. His own desire dictates the gesture, and he’s rewarded with the salty, silky head of Sir’s cock pressing into his mouth.
“Shame to have both holes open and ready, and to only use one, hm?” Sir coos above him, stroking over the stubble on his cheek while slowly feeding inch after inch into his mouth.
His eyelids flutter behind the blindfold, and he makes a sound of agreement. Holes are meant to be filled, used when Sir desires . The words circle in his head, zinging through his chest and down to his trapped cock, making him throb in the silicone confines. Half a whine eeks out around the first few inches of Sir’s cock, but it fades quickly with the inward press of hot, hard flesh.
“That’s enough of that. Be good, boy. Show me how grateful my sweet hole is.”
Gratitude sings in his veins, a reminder of his purpose, and Bucky gives over to the steady pressure filling him at both ends. Bliss curls in his chest, in his belly, better than any orgasm.