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Gemma comes back to their bedroom after their son is fast asleep, and she spends a few unhurried moments admiring the sight in front of her:
Thomas is on the floor, kneeling on a felt cushion, eyes squeezed shut. Hands resting on his legs like a good boy should be, although his nails are slowly digging into the flesh. He hunches a bit, as he always does, but he's utterly still aside from the smallest rise and fall of his chest and the minute tremors in his legs, as the hitachi wand strapped to his thigh buzzes away quietly at his cock.
She turns up the control.
A small, choked noise escapes his lips the moment she presses the button. Thomas can't help but lower his hips, grinding against the cushion for some friction, some release. Eyebrows knitted together as he slowly finds that the cushion can't satisfy him. He throws his head back, and as he stretches his neck, it shows off the collar wrapped snugly around his neck.
Gemma smiles to herself. He's already so wet down there, the dark, damp spot on the cushion growing with each passing minute. Poor puppy, he’s been teased relentlessly for hours. He doesn’t even know he’s being watched yet, thinking he can get away with breaking a rule, thinking he can cum on his own.
Well, let him think that for a while longer. Her husband is putting on such a good show for her after all. Thomas bites on his lips, trying to hold back his whines and gasps, and god, it's such a pretty sight. Her husband, all shy and embarrassed and helpless, a pink tint to his cheeks as he mindlessly ruts into the cushion like an animal.
He's so close to the tip. So close already.
Without a warning, Gemma turns the wand off. Leaving Thomas hanging off a cliff.
“Aww, look at you, getting my cushion all filthy,” she tuts, walking up to Thomas. “Having fun all by yourself, pup?”
Thomas freezes for a moment as he registers her presence, before he remembers he’s not supposed to move at all, and he quickly shakes his head, dark curls flopping down, panting like a dog. He can't even talk now, she realizes with some glee.
Gemma twirls a strand of his curls around her finger, and tension bleeds out of Thomas’ body slowly the moment she touches him. Like a pilgrim who's finally found his temple, exhaling in relief. Her hand wanders down to cup his face, bare and smooth to the touch. Gone are his fine stubbles; he's changed in these two years, she thinks. But she can get used to the new smooth feeling under her skin.
Thomas, too, is getting used to her more calloused hand, rubbing his face against her palm. His warm breath tickles her, as does his quiet hums that he tries to muffle in her hand. Dark eyelashes flutter like butterflies as he fights an uphill battle to stay awake and alert.
For a few moments she lets him settle and relax, simply content with stroking him. He leans into every touch, resting against her thigh.
Then the subtle shifts down her leg draws her attention.
There Thomas is, humping on her leg. Getting wet all over her as he bites on his lips, trying to stifle all his pathetic noises.
As if he could ever hide from her.
Gemma’s hand lingers on the collar for a moment, before she yanks on it by the ring, forcing him to look up. “Desperate, are we? Humping on my leg like a bitch in heat,” she spits out the word, catching how Thomas’ breath hitches at it. “I thought I trained you better than that, pup.”
Thomas closes his eyes, unable to meet her gaze, trying to hide away. Even when he’s caught red-handed, Thomas can’t stop grinding against her leg, wetness spreading down. Gemma kicks his hips lightly, forcing a whimper out of him as he reluctantly stops.
“Two years away with your precious little cult, and look what it’s done. You’ve forgotten all your manners,” she says, deceptively mild, and Thomas can’t help but shiver at the tone. Gemma will give him a hard time for this, and he knows it. She lets go, only to pull on his hair. “You look me in the eye when I talk to you, pet.”
Watery eyes peek at her through his curtain of curls, wide with desperation. Thomas shakes his head, only half conscious of her, his mind soaked in pleasure and desire as they build up in him with no room for release. Gemma gives his hair another tug, sharper this time, and Thomas yelps.
“Talk to me.”
Thomas opens his mouth, and closes it again. It takes him a few times before he makes any sound, struggling to piece together a coherent thought. “N- no, not bad, not their—” he stammers out, breath catching before he could finish the sentence.
Gemma only looks down, stone-faced with no mercy. Say it.
“Pup.” He admits quietly, and Gemma grips him before he can try to hide his face again. “Not their pet.”
“That’s right, you’re mine. My pup, my property.” Gemma looks right into his eyes, catching the barest flicker of shame as the words sink into Thomas that he’s once again reduced to nothing more than a puppy at her heels. And then the shame disappears, drowned out by his thrill of being owned.
Liking what she sees so far, Gemma scratches him under his chin, feeling the rising warmth of his skin as he blushes, leaning happily into her hand once again. Try as he might, there’s no denying that she has him all figured out. Thomas has always been easy to tease, easy to fluster—which made him her ideal pet.
Thomas whines the moment her hand leaves, a pitiful sound.
“Oh, stop it,” she gives him the lightest kiss on his head, and he shuts up immediately. It’s almost comical how easily he’s satisfied. “You wanna be good for me, don’t you, baby? I know you’re a good pup deep down, you just need a chance to prove it.”
Gemma sits on the bed and uncrosses her legs, and motions at him to come to her. To her delight, Thomas crawls on all fours towards her. Up above, every inch of his skin is laid bare for her to see, dark curls a stark contrast against the pale skin that never saw much sun.
Thomas nuzzles into her thigh, and Gemma has to hide her gasp, curls tickling her sensitive skin. He butts at her with his nose, silently begging to taste her, waiting for her to give him the permission to please her. Heat pools down her as she realizes that two years away hasn’t wiped away all that made up her husband. That he’s still hungry for her. That he’s still her pet.
Gemma hikes her nightgown up just barely. “Go on. Show me how good you can be, pup. And maybe you’ll get a treat later.”
Thomas nips on the waistband, and pulls down her panties with his mouth only, gently, reverently, so careful that his teeth don’t even scrape her skin at all. His hot breath caresses her like the quietest prayers in a church. Gemma is so glad he can’t see her face. The warmth on her cheeks would give her away so quickly, if the wetness hasn’t already.
He fumbles, struggling to take it all the way off, and she chuckles. “You can use your hands for this, baby.”
Thomas’ head shoots up, seeking her smile, her laugh just to know for sure that he’s not dreaming, that she’s actually letting him touch her with his hands. And then he makes quick work with it, scared that she would take back the offer any time.
His adam’s apple bobbles, accentuated by the snug black collar around his neck. Her cunt is so close to him it’s within reach now, and the eagerness is so obvious Gemma can’t help but be endeared. She cards through his hair, gentle but unyielding. “Go on, pet.”
He dives in. Thomas isn’t gentle or unhurried by any means, sucking and licking like a starving man. Two years shaved away some of his expertise, but the desperation is a welcome change, Gemma thinks as her eyes widen at the intensity of it. She hasn’t even realized how badly it ached, how much she’s missed this until now, with Thomas’ tongue drawing frantic circles around her cunt, delving into every fold.
“Oh, you’re good, Th- pet,” Gemma exhales. She almost slipped and called him his name, as Thomas moans and dives deeper in, just as eager to prove her right.
Her hand finds the remote in her pocket again. Feeling mischievous, and suddenly very aware that the vibrator is still strapped to him, she turns it back on the highest setting.
The effect is instant: Thomas lets out a surprised whimper that sends vibrations straight into her heat, rattling her to the very core. Gemma tilts her head back, gasping quietly. “God, yes, that’s it, that’s—ah, you’re being so good for me—”
Thomas whines, his every noise only heightened as the wand works its magic, hands gripping onto her to steady himself between her legs. It drives him deeper and deeper in, drawing out even more moans that drive her insane. Every time he pulls away for air, she pushes him back in, fingers tangled in his hair. And every time he chases further and further in as she leans back, burying himself and all that he has to offer between her legs.
Warmth wrapped around her clit, and Gemma sees stars. She arches back, her hand scrambling backward to find purchase on the bed as she rides out the shockwaves of electricity coursing through her veins.
When she comes back, Thomas is lapping up the stickiness on her thighs, working hard to clean up the mess that she has made. He’s slowed down now to a gentle pace, as if moving on to the desserts after a full meal. Gemma bites her lips; the thought of Thomas swallowing her slick like a three course meal is dizzying, and she can feel herself starting to get wet again.
She lightly pushes him away, holding him in his place with a finger hooked around the ring on his collar. “That’s enough for now, pup.”
Thomas doesn’t seem to entirely register her words, as Gemma feels his lips around her thighs again. “But I want to clean you up, ma’am,” he says, muffled.
“God, you’re so adorable when you’re eager like this,” she laughs. It takes a moment before she realizes that she hasn’t laughed like this in two years either, not the kind of laughter that’s lazy and drenched with post-orgasm bliss.
Thomas peers up at her, eyes dark and dazed, his face flushed and covered with slick and sweat. He looks so beautiful, Gemma can’t help but reach down and wipe it off his cheeks, off his lips, reddened and parted as he pants for air.
The moment her hand brushes against his mouth, Thomas wraps his pretty lips around it and takes it into his mouth, sucking quietly on her thumb.
He’s a lot more docile than before, Gemma thinks. Before this whole mess, Thomas was more the type who needed a lot of encouragement and commands, someone to lay it out to him exactly what he had to do. Which was a very bad trait to possess in daily life, but she found it incredibly fun in the bedroom to order him around. Now, though, Thomas seems more active, trying to meet Gemma’s every request before she could even think to ask it, offering himself up on a platter for her to pick and choose to her liking.
It was intoxicating.
She watches in fascinated silence as Thomas releases her thumb with a wet pop, only to move on to the rest of her hand. His tongue wraps around her fingers one by one, even licking the folds between the digits.
The quiet is broken by his heaving, and Gemma shifts her gaze to see white stickiness on the floor.
“You came already? Baby, I didn’t even touch you.” Gemma tries not to laugh, as Thomas’ cheeks somehow grow another shade redder, whining into her legs, upset that he’s been exposed. Her pet with zero self control, she thinks with immense fondness.
She prods at his legs gently with a foot, jostling the vibrator, and Thomas shudders at the extra punch, letting out a high, needy groan. He shuffles in to grind against her foot again, hot breath warming her as he rests his head in her lap, clutching her hand. His only life ring as he’s tossed around in a sea of want.
“And you were doing so well too, I was just about to give you a reward.” she sighs, and Thomas’ face falls, no, plummets back to a pit of desperation again, letting out a sob.
“Please—”
“Ah, ah, bad pups don’t get to bargain,” Gemma tuts, placing a finger over his lips again. Thomas falls silent, eyes cast down in shame, looking every bit a chastised puppy. “Seems like you need a bit of a reminder, don’t you? Stupid pretty little pup forgot all about his rules.”
Thomas nods, face burning with such adorable shame. She pats her lap just once, and he shakes his head, frantic and quick. He hates punishment.
“Don’t get that attitude with me, mister,” Gemma clicks her tongue. “You’ve been bad, haven’t you? I didn’t say you could cum without permission, did I? Making a mess all over the floor. And that’s just the beginning of it.”
Even as his breath hitches with fear, knowing what’s about to come, Thomas climbs up and lies across her lap without a fight. Nice to know he hasn’t forgotten all his manners.
Above him, where he can’t see her face, Gemma inhales sharply. She nearly forgot how beautiful of a specimen her husband truly is, all laid out for her to feast her eyes on. She can’t help but trace a finger lightly along his back, the hills of his shoulder blades, the long mountain range of his spine, the valley that is the small of his back. Down to his bony behind.
Thomas shivers, hips swaying like a puppy wagging its tails at her touch, and that’s the cue for Gemma to hit him.
The blow on his ass is sudden, though not as harsh as Gemma can get. Thomas whimpers, fingers clenching the bedsheet beneath him as pain flares in him.
Gemma rubs the spot to soothe the pain, while Thomas glances up in apprehension. She wonders if he can sense that she has more in store for him than he thought, if he can sense the last flickering flame of anger still burning in her.
She smiles, sharp at the edge. “We’ll play a little game, you and I.” Thomas perks up, and Gemma has to gently push him down again. Eager little thing. “I’ve got a number in my mind of how many hits I want you to take. If you can get it right, I’ll let you go.”
Dull brown eyes blink rapidly, as Thomas tries to wake his mind up. “Ten?”
Of course that’s what he thinks, he’s so predictable. As if this is just a regular night for them. As if she hasn’t waited two years for this. He’s bound to lose, Gemma knows it all too well.
“No,” Gemma’s smile broadens, showing off her canines like a wolf, and she slaps him again, lighter this time. No sense in breaking him too soon. “Wanna try again?”
Thomas’ eyes flicker around, like a pair of tiny insects who are only slowly starting to realize they’re trapped. She can already imagine the engines in his brain trying to kickstart themselves, spluttering and struggling to turn the gears as pain slows down his mind. Pain, and pent up energy.
“I don’t know,” he finally says quietly, hiding his face in the mattress. No matter. His ears are burning, red and hot and poking out of his dark mop of hair.
“You’re not even gonna make a guess?” Gemma does laugh a bit this time. Thomas is especially adorable when his mind is all mushy and slow, she thinks, as he shakes his head again, slow and embarrassed to admit it.
“My dumb puppy, can’t even think for himself.” And Thomas’ high whine at this does things to her, god, she needs to hear it more often, she swears. “Count.”
One, and Gemma brings her hand down on Thomas. Two, and Thomas’ fingers dig deeper into the bedsheet. Three, and wetness slowly drips down onto her thighs.
She shifts her aim, and Thomas screams into the mattress. Right on his cunt.
“Do they even know you’ve got a cunt?” Gemma wonders out loud, spanking him there again.
Thomas gasps out a five. “N- no. Never showed ‘em, ma’am—”
Six. Thinking about the cult fuels the fire burning low in her. The cult, and her stupid, pretty, airheaded idiot of a husband. What’s they got that she doesn’t?
Three blows on Thomas’ cunt. “No? I heard all about your little meeting, pup. Lots of naked people around,” she pinches his ass, sharp nails digging crescent into skin as it slowly turns a warm pink. “I bet you were one of them too. Gagging at the chance to strip yourself naked like the slut you are.”
Gemma punctuates the word with another hit. Ten. She’s not even halfway through yet, but Thomas is already starting to break apart in her lap. “No, I’m sorry, ah— I swear to god I never did—”
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Gemma snaps, real anger lining her words this time. “I’ve talked to you friends, you were more than happy to get naked for your cult leader, apparently.” She clenches her fist, rubbing circles on his ass instead to dull his pain. Listening to his sniffles and pants as she breathes out the burst of jealous rage. In. Out.
Another smack on his cunt again, and Thomas sobs, loud and high. “God, you’re such a whore, pup. So desperate to spread your legs for him, hmm? Show him your pretty little cunt?”
In between gasps for air as her hits rain down, Thomas barely manages to get the words out, his denials peppered with numbers and “please, ma’am, I won’t do it again—”, eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he faithfully keeps count. “I didn’– didn’t do that, not even– not even the High Vi—”
Sixteen. She cuts him off, tired of hearing that stupid man and his equally stupid title. “You’re so hungry for attention, pet. Whoring yourself out to anyone who’d look at you. Dripping all over my knees just from being spanked.”
Thomas wails out a seventeen, soaking the sheet below him wet with tiny pools of tears. Gemma thwacks him on his abused lips a couple more times. God, he’s so wet down there, Gemma can’t wait to toy with it more.
“I’m sorry—” Thomas cries, a broken, beautiful sound, his whole body shaking, dark curls bouncing around every time she hits him. Telling her the words she’s been dying to hear for two years.
“For what?”
Thomas lies in her lap, listless and quietly whimpering. His eyes were unfocused, looking off beyond her. She smacks him, hard enough to startle him back with her, just light enough that it doesn’t send him off the edge yet. Twenty-one stumbles out of his lips, red and swollen after he’s been biting down on it for so long. Matches his swollen lips down there, she thinks.
“Not just a number, pup,” Gemma tugs on his hair, drawing another sob out of him. “What are you sorry for?”
“Bein- Being bad,” Thomas gasps weakly. “Getting myself off— t- twenty two!— shouldn’t have done that.”
Gemma’s eyes darken, and she presses a finger down on his poor, abused cunt. “Not just that, baby. Surely you can do better than that.”
With a low groan, Thomas rocks his hips against her hand, just once, and she hits him again. A warning to stop, one that he instinctively obeys even when the rest of his mind is failing to catch up. Her free hand moves to rub his back, stroking him like a dog.
Twenty four. One final smack.
“I dunno, ‘m sorry, ma’am, please—” Thomas pleads, slurring his words, and oh, he’s really tearing up now.
“Come on,” Gemma softens, as she’s wont to do whenever he starts to break and beg her. “You know what it is, pup. You’re a smart lad.”
Thomas has run out of strength to scream, all the air knocked out of his lungs and reduced to the occasional whimper, head rubbing against her legs as she pets his hair again. “I’m- sorry,” he says slowly, hesitantly, voice hoarse and clogged with tears, “I’m sorry for leaving you.”
“That’s right,” Gemma can’t help but smile slightly. “You’ve been a very bad pup, running away from home. And you deserve to be punished for that, don’t you think? One hit for every month you’ve been away?”
“Y- yes, ma’am, I deserve that. I won’t ever run away again, ma’am,” Thomas says meekly, all the fight beaten out of him. She likes him a lot better this way, nice and pliant and no longer blabbing about how he’s right about the cult and she’s wrong.
“Good boy, taking your punishment so well.” Gemma leans down and kisses his back, his pale, beautiful skin flushed warm against her lips. Thomas inhales weakly at the sensation, tension locked in every muscle and tendon.
The wetness on her knees grows a bit. Gemma takes a look; his lips were so red and swollen and glistening with slick, and he lets out a choked sound as she rubs a finger around it, still rubbing his back soothingly. “That’s it, you did so well, pup.”
Thomas sobs again, and promptly cums all over her hand.
It takes them both a moment to realize what happened. Thomas lets out a fearful little noise, tears pooling in his eyes again as he recognizes that he’s just broken a rule again, and so soon after she called him a good boy too, he’s being bad again—
“Poor puppy,” Gemma coos, “your clit’s so sensitive now, it’s been neglected for so long.” She tucks a strand of hair behind his burning hot ear, drinking in the look of unease on his face as he braces for the other shoe to drop. “You never should’ve left me. I would’ve taken such good care of you, baby.”
Thomas sniffles, pawing at her, lying limp as he lets Gemma manhandle him until he’s sitting up in her lap. “You want that? You wanna be my brainless little pup and let me take care of you?”
He nods, and Gemma slides a hand down to his cunt again, lightly tracing circles, the tip of her finger teasing him. Hooking a finger around the collar ring again, she yanks him forward, “look at me and use your words, pet.”
He lifts his head oh so slowly, shy as always, and Gemma’s hand stops down there, waiting until he can’t bear it anymore and gazes at her, chocolate eyes hazy and half-lidded. “Please, ma’am—”
“Please, what?”
Gemma pinches his soaking wet lips, and Thomas gasps, “p- please touch me, ma’am, I need you— need you in me—”
“Touch you?” Gemma gives Thomas her most innocent smile, caressing the soft patch of skin under his chin. “I’m already touching you, sweetheart.”
Thomas whines in frustration. “Down there, ma’am, please—” he keens as Gemma’s thumb brushes so so lightly against his clit, “touch me down there, please, I want to ride your fingers—”
“Good boy,” Gemma kisses him on the nose, and relishes the way Thomas gasps and closes his eyes, as if he could get himself drunk on her praises alone.
It doesn’t take much to make Thomas cum again. Gemma knows her husband’s body inside and out, and even after two years apart, she still knows all the right spots to push and press to draw out the prettiest noises from him. Thomas buries his head in the crook of her neck, grinding his hips, panting and mewling and babbling how good it feels, and Gemma feels satisfaction welling up inside her. His body belongs to her and no one else’s, only she gets to toy with him and make him fall apart under her hands.
She crooks a finger inside him, and Thomas climaxes again, a boneless heap slumped against her.
His breath hitches, face screwing up as tears slide down his cheeks. At first a couple of droplets, then they fall down quicker like a string of crystals.
“I miss you,” Thomas mumbles through his tears.
Gemma’s eyes burn. What a simple confession, but the three words hold so much weight to them. She clears her throat quietly, voice breaking, “I miss you too, baby.”
He shifts against her, unable to meet her gaze, his cock still erect and pressed against her stomach. The silk of her nightgown rubs against him as he grinds hopelessly, desperate to meet her skin.
“You’re insatiable,” Gemma teases, blinking her tears away.
“They don’t like me there, not that way. Never got to go to the parties, I was scared they’d find out,” he confesses, looking down in embarrassment. The honesty is so uncharacteristic of him. Must be all the orgasms, she thinks with distant amusement. “That they’d make me go naked.” Like a woman hangs unspoken in the air.
The burning sensation returns to Gemma’s eyes, a familiar pressure building up in her nose, and this time her heart does break for her husband. Beautiful, good, simple-minded, troubled Thomas, who caused her so much pain for two years but went through so much as well for the thirty-odd years he’s been alive. Thomas, who was always scared of being dismissed as a man because of his extra appendage, one that she adores no less than the rest of him.
She can cry later, but for now, she wants to turn Thomas into a crying mess, pound into him that she’s here, and she loves all of him the way that fucking cult never can.
“Poor baby,” she says, playing with his curls again, and it feels different this time. Genuine. “They just don’t know how to appreciate you, do they? Not like I do.” Gemma slips her hand down again, thumb stroking him just above his cunt. “You’ve got such a pretty hole, Thomas, so perfect for me to play with. The perfect man any woman could ask for.”
Thomas whines, embarrassed and unused to her praises and yet happy, soaking in all the nice words that he’s missed out on the last two years. He’s such a needy little thing, hanging onto every sound and every touch from her, and she wants nothing more than to give it all to him now, make him see all the good things he deserves. She wraps a hand around his cock, and Thomas lets out a choked noise. With every stroke, his breath hitches, getting shorter and shorter. “That good for you?”
Thomas shakes his head, and Gemma reminds him, “words, dear. Tell me what you want.”
He tries a few times before he manages to get any word out. “Need you still,” Thomas says, barely above a whisper, as if he’s scared to confess out loud that he wants his wife. She speeds up her hand a bit, tipping him closer to the edge, and all his filthy thoughts tumble out of him. “I want you in me. Make me whatever you want me to be, ma’am. Mold me, please,” his voice breaks a bit, and she senses that the word carries heavy weight for him.
Gemma brushes aside a few stray curls, plastered to his forehead from sweat. “Horny little pup,” she bites on his ear lobes lightly, and her voice drops as she whispers hot air right into his ears, “you want me to fuck you, don’t you? Fill you up like the puppy slut you are?”
“Yes, god, yes please, I need you, ma’am, I’d be so good for you,” Thomas gasps. A handjob isn’t enough anymore, he’s filled with the need to be owned completely. He needs it like he needs oxygen, just as she is overcome with the urge to claim him, especially when he's begging so nicely for her.
Gemma pulls him in with his collar and kisses him, tongue invading past his lips as she pushes him to lie down on the bed. Her lips play with his, teasing out all his moans before she swallows every last one of them, while her hands wander all over him. His ribs protrude out, well defined bony curves under her palms as she grabs his hips, hard enough they’re sure to bruise. Gemma quickly sheds her nightgown, finally meeting her husband skin to skin.
A strand of saliva connects them still when Gemma pulls away. Thomas whines at the loss of contact, and Gemma goes to nip his bottom lip, shutting him up. “Shhh, I’m just getting some stuff for you, okay? I’m gonna make you feel so good, pet.”
His whole body is flushed a lovely, delicate pink, like a ripe fruit ready to be picked. Eyelashes fluttering as he gazes up at her with half-lidded eyes, chocolate dark clouded with a layer of mental fog, gossamer thin and so so pretty.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Gemma says quietly. Beauty demands silence, she thinks. A moment of quiet nothing so she could really focus on every miniscule detail and appreciate it properly, and her husband is the most beautiful sight there ever is for her.
Thomas squirms under her intense gaze, but she grabs his legs and pins them open before he could close them. She could see how wet he is, cock leaking with precum, his cunt slick and glistening. “That’s right, pup, all opened up just for me.”
She makes quick work of the strap, lubing it up nicely, and teases the tip against both his holes. “Which one do you want tonight, baby?”
“I don’t care, wh- whatever’s good for you, ma’am,” Thomas babbles, toes curling in at the faint contact that has him wanting more and more of it. “It’ll be good either way, ma’am, please just—”
Gemma rubs the inner of his thighs gently with the tip of the strap, tracing a hand along his collar. “It’s your reward, I want you to tell me, pup. Show me.”
Thomas blushes furiously. Slowly, hesitantly, his hand—bony, large, an art work of itself—wanders down to grab her strap, and presses the tip against his cunt, a quiet cry escaping his lips. “I need— I need it, please, god—”
Gemma lines up the strap to Thomas’ cunt and pushes in. Thomas breathes out, as she moves gently, slowly, watching for any sign of discomfort on his face, until he’s well and truly filled to the brim. He’s all tired out, she realizes, slowly melting into the sheets while she thrusts into him.
“God, you’re so tight, pup. Such a perfect whore, you feel so good,” Gemma pants, despite not feeling a thing using a cock that’s technically not hers. It’s not just about her, it’s about Thomas, and she knows all the right words to tell him that would draw out the prettiest noises from him.
“I’m– I’m your whore—oh god, Jesus—your pup, just for you, ma’am—” Thomas nods desperately, tears budding in his eyes again and making them shine like the most precious diamonds, hidden away where only she can see him and make him hers.
He’s spread out on the bed like the finest artwork, even his hands splayed out at the side, allowing her to roam her hands everywhere. This close, she can count out every individual eyelash shielding his eyes if she wants to, down to the varying shades of brown in his irises. Every quiet exhale is like music to her ears, and she can’t have enough of it. She bites down just below his chin, nibbling at the soft patch of skin, sucking hard enough it’s sure to bruise visibly. Then again, and again, marking out a trail down to his collarbones, interrupted only by his collar.
“Gonna mark you all over,” Gemma huffs out in between the kisses, hand splaying out on his pale and bony torso, a mass of land that’s all hers to claim while she thrusts into him, every move hitting all his right spots. “Tell everyone who you belong to, so they can never take you away from me.”
“God, fuck, just like that, oh god—” Thomas arches up with the last of his strength, chasing for more, tears sliding down his face freely. Gemma picks up the pace until even his mewls dissolve into watery gasps and his face contorts with pleasure. The words sink into him, and he glows, eyes closed in bliss.
His cries grow higher and weaker with every pounding and every bite, fingers digging into the bedsheet, as Gemma pounds into him. “I should buy you a leash and chain you to bed, pup. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My pretty, perfect puppy locked up safe and sound, just for me to play with.”
Thomas sobs openly now, completely broken, writhing under her, desperately trying to meld their two bodies into one. “Y- yes, fuck, yes—ma’am, I’m yours, all yours, please, Gem—”
Gemma snaps her hip at just the right angle, and Thomas shatters so, so beautifully. Eyes rolling back, tension rushing out of every taunt muscle in him as he finally finds his out, like arrows of light released from the confines of their bows at last, flying through the night sky. He arches back like a dying swan giving out a beautiful last cry, before he collapses onto the bed, dissolving into a puddle of tears.
“It’s alright, it’s all over now, you did so well, Thomas,” Gemma shushes him, carding a hand through his hair as he sobs into her. “You were so good for me. So perfect.”
She shifts to pull out, fingers fiddling with the strap on his collar, but Thomas lets out a distressed noise the moment she moves.
“Shh, I’ve got you now, baby, I’m just gonna take the collar off, yeah? You were such a perfect pup, but you can stop now, I’ve got you.” Gemma caresses the rim of skin around his collar, then wandering down to the nape of his neck, his collarbones, the light touches slowly bringing Thomas back to earth.
She waits patiently until Thomas nods, and she takes it off gently, kissing the patch of skin damp with sweat to complete the line of hickies trailing down. “There you are, Thomas.”
They stay like this for a while, the strap still buried inside Thomas while his breathing slowly evens out. If she isn’t all tired out, Gemma could think up some filthy thoughts about Thomas cockwarming her. But for now, she is content to simply hold Thomas in her arms, peppering kisses on the head, on his temple, his cheeks, telling him how wonderful he is over and over again. She needs to memorize it all again, the feeling of his skin under her lips, the distinct way the strands of his hair coil up, how his head fits so neatly in the crook of her neck.
She can bask in this moment for as long as it lasts. Let it stretch out indefinitely, just her and Thomas in bed. Safe, satisfied, warm.
Eventually Thomas moves, just enough to get off her before he snuggles back into their embrace. Gemma gets the feeling that he’s soaking up all her praises and kisses like a plant who hasn’t been watered for far too long, and she kisses him again to bury that ache in her chest.
“You don’t wanna shower?” She asks, and huffs out a laugh when Thomas shakes his head. His curls tickle her, as does how he tucks himself so securely under her chin. “You’re really like a puppy, anyone ever told you that?”
Thomas nuzzles into her neck like the sleepy pup he is. It’s really unfair how adorable he is, Gemma can’t stay mad at him when he’s so endearing.
“Yours,” he mumbles.
“Mine.”