Short Stories (Multifandom)

Bells Pt. 1

The sweet, blissful pull of the ropes against Brendon's skin sent him into a craze. Completely speechless, breathless.

He was hung a foot from the mattress with a makeshift harness above the bed frame. The leather chafing underneath his arms, across his pecks, holding him up for dear life.

His ankles were bound together by thick cuffs, as were his wrists and he often tugged at them both. Pulling apart his legs with the strength he's got left, his arms including. His muscles rippled as he remained tense.

As with the rest of his body; nearly numb with euphoria.

He's kept count. Forty-three; forty-three minutes and twenty-eight seconds he's been here. Bound and fucked senseless by the plug in his bottom and the vibrating ring around his cock. But if it were to be too much, a bell was tied in double knots around his fore and middle finger, and he was requested to ring it.

Brendon's dominant knew that if it were ever to reach this far, his submissive would lack the ability to speak their safe word.

"Gah," Brendon's head hung low, his mouth open as he took in breaths. His lips were wet with saliva as he was unable to swallow anymore. God, the pleasure and the pain. Pain and the pleasure. It was all too much but he couldn't get enough of it.

One hour.

"Brendon." A voice spoke through the midst of all the clouds in his head. "Brendon, look up at me."

His head continued to hang, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His cock was pulsing, begging to be freed but no, no! He wants more. One more hour, please.

At this point, Brendon's fingers twitch which cause the bell to make the tiniest of sound. It's not that he wants to stop, it's that he physically can't verbalize what he wants.

Small noises come from that back of his throat as his abdomen tightens, fire boils and he releases once more. The towel underneath his body was nearly covered with cum and he loved the sight of it. He wanted it drenched.

But his daddy needs his attention.

The bell rings repeatedly as Brendon goes limp. His head all foggy, his eyes closed, his breaths erratic. Hums of sensitivity leave his mouth over and over again.

"I've got you, baby." The words register through his brain but he makes no sign of movement. He lets his daddy unbuckle the harness, then catches him before he falls onto the bed. Next come the cuffs and the rope, and with each pull of the knots coming undone, Brendon feels defeated. He told himself "two hours, I can go two hours" but here he was, relentlessly fallen and out-of-mind in his daddy's arms.

This scene was a massive fail, he decides.

"Let's get you some water." He's being carried out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

No, no. He doesn't want it! He begins to squirm and whine, his eyes still closed.

"Don't fight, Bren. I need to take care of you."

He doesn't want the aftercare!

"N-no..."

Dallon laid his worn out boy onto the sofa, covering his body with a quilt as he went to the fridge and poured a glass of water. He made sure to grab a straw before he made his way back.

Brendon's eyes were open and attentive, staring around and Dallon could see that he was thinking and overthinking the previous scene and how he cannot, will not, accept this aftercare. "Drink," he demands, kneeling down to be eye level with Brendon. The poor boy was slipping in and out of reality and his subspace, wanting to fight the aftercare with all his might, but he desperately needed the affection.

Dallon knows he'll need to be more stern with Brendon from here on out, until midday tomorrow at least. Usually, Brendon denies all care and scenes twenty-four hours after one he's just had; that's if he lets himself down. Or so he thinks.

However, he's so proud of his boy.

Brendon downs the water surprisingly. His body getting the taste of hydration and completely letting himself down but accepting something he doesn't want. He puts up a fight for something he requires and ultimately his body gives in. No, not this time, he thinks. He won't disappoint himself any further.

"Here," Dallon decides its time to put Brendon's collar back on, pulling the straps tight, but not too tight, just enough for Brendon to breathe with no struggle. The bell hanging from the front remains silent for the rest of the night.

—

The next day Brendon is left alone; Dallon having to run a few errands. It's not like he didn't want to go, he couldn't.

As punishment from this morning, Brendon was left in isolation for the next few hours. He knows he shouldn't have talked back to his daddy, or spill his cereal on purpose or even throw a few swear words around. He just couldn't help it! Shame on his daddy for not letting him go another hour in last nights scene. If he can't feel the pain, his daddy sure will.

But now he's regretting it. He just wanted to apologize and be a good boy.

The walls around him were closing in and he could feel his tunnel vision start to cloud his mind. But this wasn't one of his limits, not at all. In fact, this was on the list of punishments he was okay with. Isolation from the outside, day or night, was okay. Truth be told, he was addicted to the emotional and physical pain.

Now he was crying.

Convincing? Maybe. But he loved it.

Click.

Brendon turns towards the door of the room he's in and watches it open. "D-daddy?" He crawls over to Dallon and grabs at his pant legs, only to be shoved away. Lightly that is, but still enough to cause Brendon to stumble back onto his bottom.

He's being ignored.

The door closes again after Dallon had refilled the hydro-flask he had left for Brendon, then placed a plate of food down onto the floor.

"I-" Brendon couldn't finish his sentence before the door opened again.

"Hush." His daddy muttered then the door was shut again.

Brendon's face flushes a deep red and he smiles pleasingly to himself. And as he eats his cock is so, so hard and he's itching to touch himself, but he doesn't because he's a good boy and good boys don't touch themselves without daddy's permission.