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It turns out that, for all the fuss that was made about it, this dance is actually very boring.
This is only just barely a surprise; any event that requires chaperones is an event that Lindsay generally doesn't look forward to. But it is true. Lindsay has had maybe a bit too much to drink, by now — he's accustomed to Bacchanal rites; the feeling is hardly unfamiliar — and successfully slipped away from his chaperone, and yet it is still boring.
That's good, that's good, Ashley should definitely keep doing that — Lindsay feels soft, safe, like he's floating —
Ashley keeps doing that for a while!
Then he gets between Lindsay's legs and starts to mouth his prick, while the fingers Lindsay was sucking start to probe his ass.
He can't really arch his back when he's tied like this, but he's — trying —
Ashley pulls off, rests his head on Lindsay's thigh, replaces his mouth with his hand. His fingers are still moving in Lindsay's ass. "I could do whatever I want with you, you know, now that you're tied up like this. I could hurt you, I could cut you, I could mark you up so everyone knows how desperate you are, how I ruined you..."
"Please hurt me," he says, still soft, "please mark me up — somewhere no one will see —"
The bruises on his thighs from a week ago aren't visible anymore, but they still ache when Lindsay presses a thumb into them. Having Ashley's marks on top of them feels, right now, like the best thing in the world.
"I could mark you up where someone could see. It's a bit reckless, being tied up by a dom you haven't known for even an hour." Ashley swallows Lindsay down his throat, then pulls off and says, "I like reckless."
A quiet whimper. Lindsay — can't think about things like should, not when Ashley is looking at him like this, talking to him like this, using that voice with those words. The world is soft around the edges and Ashley's voice feels like the only important thing in it, Ashley's voice and Ashley's hands and Ashley's mouth.
Ashley bites Lindsay's thigh hard, one hand fucking him, the other stroking his prick.
Lindsay cries out, loud and sharp, and pulls against the rope and presses his hips forward into Ashley's hands.
Lindsay's cries turn into moans turn into whimpers turn into harsh, ragged gasps.
He's quieter now, gasping and whimpering rather than moaning — the only thing in the world is this bed, and the rope on his wrists and Ashley's mouth around him —
The fingers of one of Ashley's hands is digging into Lindsay's thigh where the bruises are; the other hand is fucking him roughly; he's taking Lindsay deep into his throat.
Lindsay goes quiet when he gets close, shakes under Ashley's hands.
Ashley stops completely, takes his fingers out of Lindsay's ass and his mouth off Lindsay's dick, and smiles.
He's quieter this time — occasionally a whimper makes it through but shh, good boy keeps echoing in his head —
Ashley can get him to the edge much quicker, this time.
And when he does Ashley sits up and lightly traces lines on Lindsey's chest and says, "you look lovely when you're desperate."
A small gasp at the praise.
"Thank you," with no voice behind it, only air, "thank you —"
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