Bedsprings Arc

Author's Note: Plot? What plot? I need no plot, I have Evan Fucking Please-Die Rosier and Matty Dean going at it like rabbits. And the world can never have too much Evan and Matty going at it like rabbits. They're on vacation somewhere. At a farm. For some terribly relevant reason that I might explain if asked at some time when I'm not focused on the sex.

Warning for kink, spankings, and role-play. But hey, if you've dealt with Evan and Matty this far, do you really need warnings?

Dedicated to the artist Pirotess, for the picture she drew to give me the inspiration I so desperately needed.

*

The ice cream carton is almost empty by the time he finds me. I hear the barn door slide and freeze.

"Matty," he grumbles. "You're so dead."

It's very fucking important to stay still. I weigh each breath, low and quiet, hearing his footsteps enter, stirring up stray footfalls of dust. A melting drop of ice cream falls from my spoon and hits my shirt. I swear aloud, and only a moment later realize what a mistake this is.

The ladder rattles and a moment later his head appears over the edge of the loft. "Matty. Darling."

His voice is laced with menace. I'm so screwed.

I hide the carton of ice cream behind my back and smile innocently at him. "Hi."

He takes another step up, resting his arms on the edge of the loft. "I believe I warned you what would happen if you stole my last carton of caramel fudge swirl."

I lick the spoon slowly, running my tongue along the flat of it, then up along the rim, cleaning the last drops of melting cream from it. "You threatened to fucking impale me."

"I might have to do worse." He takes one more step, then another, cresting the top of the ladder.

I decide I'll take my chances at escape, and scramble to my feet. He makes a grab for me. I duck, he slips, tripping me by accident, and we go down in a heap on the hay, me straddled awkwardly over his lap. Swearing at my bad luck, I make another attempt to run for it, and he grabs me by the belt, hauling me back. He bends me over his lap, holding me in place with a firm hand on my lower back as he reaches for the ice cream, which has now dissolved into a puddle of off-white sludge in the bottom of the carton.

"Bitch," he mutters, setting the carton back down, and pushes my shirt up, rolling me over so that he can take off my belt and unfasten my jeans.

"What are you doing?" I ask, struggling curiously, as he takes my belt and uses it to tie my wrists together. His answer is to roll me back over and yank my pants down, baring my ass. My eyes widen. "Fuck. Evan!"

His hand connects with my ass with a crack like a bone caught in a food processor. I yell, because that fucking hurts. "HEY!" He does it again. And again. I'm struggling in earnest now, because it feels like I sat down on a fucking stove, and he's not about to stop. Around the fifth or sixth spank I hear myself fucking whimper at the pain, still struggling and swearing at him. "Get your fuck—ah!—fucking hands off me—OW! FUCK!—you fucking wanker!"

"Shut up," he says. He's smirking. As usual. He hits my ass again, and I realize with horror that at some point my struggles have become less focused on escape, and I'm grinding myself against his leg with every blow. I am so aroused. And he knows it. So he spanks me again. And again. I've lost count.

"Evan," I mew, hands clawing uselessly at the hay, still trying to escape, although I think my legs have melted from the pain in my ass. "Please."

He hesitates with his hand raised, lowering it to stroke one of my buttocks, cupping it in his palm. I wince at the touch. "Please what?" he asks.

"Please," I whimper. "No more."

I get another spank for my trouble. "That's for me to decide, bitch"—spank—"not you." Spank. "You need to be punished." Spank. "Unless you think you've learned your lesson."

"Yes." I'm quivering. I didn't know I was capable of being this aroused while in this much pain, although Evan's hardly the type to be gentle with me. "I'll be good."

"Will you?" Spank. "Be a good little bitch?"

"Yes," I writhe. "Master?"

"Is that a request?"

His hand hesitates. I pounce the opportunity. "Yes. Please. Please fuck me?"

He caresses my ass, considering. "Sure." He grins at me in a way that makes me shudder to think of what I just begged to endure on my already burning ass. Right now, I want to go sit down in a bucket of ice, not get fucked.

He leans back, reaching for the carton again, and I stare at him. "I thought you were gonna fuck me," I start, watching him lift out the spoon, dripping with melted ice cream.

"Oh, I am." He says, smirking. "Don't you want lube?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't—oh. Fuck." Upon realizing his intentions, I start struggling again. He shifts our positions so that I'm still on my stomach in the hay, and he's straddling my waist so he has no problem holding me down while his hands are busy. Firm hands spread my aching ass, and I wince as drops of still-icy wet cream hit my exposed anus, the only part of my ass that's not currently aching for cool relief. Then something even colder presses against it, and I hear a tormented whine escape my lips, clawing at the ground in a futile attempt at escape as he smears the spoonful of melted goo over my crack, then turns the spoon around, gliding the rounded end of the handle into me. I start swearing more than ever. "Oh, fuck, Evan! That's cold!"

His hand hits the side of my ass with a raw smack. I'm grateful he has the sense to be careful of the spoon. "Suffer," he recommends, helpfully.

I moan. "Please just fuck me." After a moment I add, under my breath, huffing strands of hair out of my face. "You crazy fucking bastard."

He pulls the spoon out without warning. I hear the pop it makes and wince, cussing him out until he gives me another spank and I shut up, gritting my teeth at the pain and comforting myself by imagining how he'd like it if someone rammed an ice cream spoon up his ass. He moves off me and I shift onto my knees, exposing my ass obediently for him.

"Good boy," he says, kissing an ass cheek as he slathers more of the ice cream on my asshole.

"Please fucking die," I grumble, bracing myself. He hovers over me, and I can feel his breath ruffling the hair at the back of my neck before he starts pressing into me. My moan goes through my entire body, gliding like ice down my back, and I hear him growl appreciatively in return as he pushes in, slow and steady. He hilts it in me, then stops. I'm grateful for the pause, gasping as I try to get used to it inside me. I'll never get used to his cock. It's too obscene.

I whine, writhing, and after a moment he starts to move. I know I'm still in trouble, so I can't hope that he'll be gentle, and he fucks the way he likes it, hard, ruthless, almost cruel, but so damn good. I hate myself, but I know I'm begging for more with every breath, dissolving into pleas and moans under his touch.

My breath catches and I start to shudder, about to come, but his hand reaches down and wraps tight around the base of my cock, stopping it. I yelp in surprise and indignation, shaking with need. "No, Evan, please, please let me come," I beg, scratching at the floor, tears running down my face with need. "Please, please, please let me."

"Not yet," he growls, still rutting into me. "Not before me."

I keep begging, regardless, overwhelmed with pain and desperation, until he finally comes, agonizing minutes later, releasing me into my own orgasm. Relief crashes into me and I come, hard, screaming.

I open my eyes a few minutes later to realize I must have passed out from orgasm, because he's done already and pulled out. He's rolled me onto my back and is leaning over me worriedly, patting my cheek gently to wake me up. When I moan, he grins. "Matty. You fainted."

I feel my face go as red as my ass. "I did not faint. I passed out from the abuse."

"Same thing." He kisses me with a grin. I push him away, rolling over because it hurts to have weight on my ass. He lies next to me in the hay. "Matty?"

"What?" I mumble, weakly.

"That wasn't my last carton."

I look up, staring at him in shock.

"There's another freezer. A padlocked freezer, in the basement. It's stocked."

My jaw has dropped, and I'm just staring. "So you—you didn't—you knew—you BASTARD!"

He kisses my cheek. "Yes. But you didn't. And I'm not the type to waste a perfectly good opportunity."

I moan, dropping my head into my arms in exasperation. "I'm denying you sex," I tell him.

He smirks. "You can try."