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Ma_vie_en_rose
New member
Username: Ma_vie_en_rose
Post Number: 43
Registered: 01-2006
| | Posted on Wednesday, February 15, 2006 - 01:32 am: | 
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I've actually never written something like this before. I'm not really a writer, more a scientist, but.. I got the image in my head and wanted to give it a try. I also wanted to contribute something to this community.
It is based on two characters whom a girl I care very deeply for and I roleplay with over the internet. They are not based on real people, and any similiarities to real people is solely coincidental. Thereby, the characters are property of myself and her (for Val and Thomas, respectively). That being said, their lives may be a bit glamourous, but I do not think wholly unbelievable.
The characters do not actually have a relationship exactly like this, it is experimental and sometimes kinky, but not with an actual D/s slant to it. However, nor do I see it as unlikely or vastly out of character for either of the boys. It does have a fluid nature of dominance that I find absolutely fascinating though and I think this story captures that well.
Warnings: This story contains homosexual themes, nothing graphic, but I will warn that if this does offend you, then you may wish to skip this
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“I saw the little joke you pulled today.” Thomas stormed into the apartment in a false show of rage, there really was no way he could remain mad at the rolled up drawings and love notes that had filled his cigarette case as opposed to the addictive sticks he normally found. However, bumming cigarettes off people all day had grown tedious.
Valerey Arthur Waldgrave, the disappointingly gay, artistic eldest son of Count A. R. Waldgrave (of the Shropshire Waldgraves), had left England, but more importantly, the family bank one year ago to pursue a love that would never produce an all important heir and settle in Paris with his stripper turned model lover, Jean-Thomas (Good-luck-ever-learning-his-middle-name) St. Arnault and a passion for the artistic world promising only through pure connection, luck, and of course, talent. It had not been a hostile separation, but it had been a sore subject for a good portion of his tenure in Paris. It had been one hell of a year.
Despite it all, the British man previously prone to melancholy, easily leaned back over the arm of their sofa, pushing the puppy from his lap, and chuckled. “It is called ambush art, my dear Thomas--quite the rage in America.”
Thomas cackled softly, an old habit, as he moved over to his lover. “And I thought that you, my dear Lord, stopped caring about that continent when they threw your tea in a harbour.” He grinned and knelt down to greet the man with an upside down peck, setting his bag down beside the sofa, much to the interest of the growing German shepherd.
“The ocean was no where near warm enough for such good tea.” His amber eyes sparkled as he reached up to pull the man back down to his lips. “You taste so fresh since you have cut back on the cigarettes.”
Thomas closed his eyes at the compliment, responding with another kiss and the discussion was closed.
At least until afterwards, when replacing the tube of lubricant later in its hiding place below the couch cushion and a half empty golden pack of cigarettes fell out.
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“But Val!” An unusual panic had entered the usually self-assured Frenchman’s voice as his lover stood before him, arranging pillows on the bed. “The neighbours will hear us!”
“Thomas…” The long haired brunette turned around to cup Thomas’ cheek, thumb stroking the man’s perfectly crafted cheekbones. “The neighbours always hear us. That’s why we get the glares in the courtyard.” Valerey couldn’t wait to move.
“…But this isn’t sex, Val!” He crossed his arms, almost to the point of stamping a foot in an undeniably endearing juvenile way he would never admit to doing.
Val’s amber eyes wrinkled in a soft chuckle as he leaned in and kissed Thomas’ cheek between the V of his thumb and forefinger. “Well, If you are loud enough, perhaps they will think nothing of it. Come on, mon chaton.” The fingers slid back through his lover’s black hair, curling against his skull. “Let us get this over with.”
Thomas ceremoniously draped himself over the pillows, offering a final complaint about the situation in his compliance. He knew the reasons Val wanted him to quit, and he knew the agreements (multiple—his lover could be such a pushover when it came to a pair of pretty eyes) they had made, but he still did not have to be happy with it. He was trying—for the most part.
Val sighed and picked up the riding crop which had been retired from equine uses when he had moved to France. “Thomas.. you make it sound as if I enjoy this..” It was true that he would rather be on the receiving end than punish his lover. Hurt the man for hurting himself? It made so little sense it was maddening. But it was to avoid hurting them both.
The smoking had already aggravated a long dormant asthma in the former banker, and marked the winter with a bout of bronchitis in Thomas. Val would not lose his lover, even if he had to take the punishments himself to show Thomas how much the little sticks were hurting them both.
That was the plan if this technique failed.
Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but, glancing at his lover standing defeated, yet determinedly behind him he looked back down at his hands clutching the pillows. He sighed to match the man he loved and a quiet submission mixed with experience caused him to straighten his legs. “Je m’excuse, Val…”
Reaching out to rub Thomas’ back, a lunar smile lingered on the man. “Je t’aime.” As he stepped back, delicate hands moved to roll up his sleeves. “Eighteen. Count them.”
There was little he could do but brace himself in preparation for the first stroke which came whistling through the air. It impacted with a sharp noise, and a sharper breath which closed the younger man’s intense golden eyes as he managed to force out, “One.”
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Valerey closed one eye and stepped back looking from the petit blond man to the painting hanging on the wall. “I think it could work better for the showing if we painted the wall a different color…”
He had had shows himself—two, one in the very gallery he owned now, in the past year—both successful enough to earn a small name for himself in European Art Circles. “A new Titian,” one review had claimed. The gallery had just reopened, and the blond, an American discovered on a trip with Thomas to New York, was to be the gallery’s first exhibition under new management.
Eric, the artist of the piece on the wall canted his head to one side and stepped back to study the younger (more charmed) artist’s suggestion “A dark green perhaps?”
Valerey bit his lower lip, flawless brow furrowing in thought. “I would think..” He glanced up, hearing his young secretary—a friend recently hired to answer the phone—clear her through.
“Val…” He raised an eyebrow. They were new, friends, but a large part of the Englishman’s experience was in the more professionally stringent world of banking. “excuse me.” She was biting back a grin—she had been anyhow—as she grandly bowed. “Lord Waldgrave. You have a telephone call in your office.”
He chuckled returning with the same façade of a bow“Thank you Mlle Ruillent” Turning to Eric he patted the man’s shoulder. “Would you be offended if I were to field that call quickly?”
Eric shook his head, growing used to the propriety of his host and benefactor. “Not at all. It will give me time to think about the wall.”
Val stepped out of the room and turned to corner and entered his office still cluttered with unpacked boxes. It was the only portion of the gallery into which the man had yet to fully move. Picking up the phone without a second glance at the clutter, he frowned as he heard nothing but a dial tone. He had not been that long.
It was then that he felt the hands at his waist. Turning, his eyes widened first in surprise, then pleasure. “Thomas!” Val lit up and embraced the man, lips meeting lips like a perfect key would turn the tumblers in a lock. “I thought you had a fitting this afternoon.” Modeling, they had both discovered, was much more work than Val at least had believed.
“Shh…” Thomas stole Val’s lips again, hands adroitly fumbling at his lover’s belt as he leaned back to kick the door closed. “I must go back in an hour.” His lips lightly moved down the man’s jaw to his lover’s special spot—a point on his neck which could render the man helpless.
“T..Thomas.. Eric and Margot are waiting…” It took a good deal of willpower for Val to mutter the half-hearted protest as his pants and boxers slid down his thighs, revealing the flesh all too eager to wake up in response to the intimacy and constraint on the unintended tryst.
“Then you will have to be quiet and I shall be quick.” He turned the man, pushing aside the sketchpad and nameplate on his lover’s cherry desk to allow the man to comfortably rest on the surface. “S’il. Te. Plait. ” the almost singsong request was purred.
“Quickly, then.” Defeated quite willingly, Val glanced back at Thomas and nodded, his amber eyes closing peacefully. He was, in theory, quite against such worktime encounters, but, he was after all, only a man despite his duty and nobility. Thomas was very persuasive. Would the thought not be enough to make him stammer, possibly blush, he could even reason Margot knew this was what would happen and could control the damage.
It was then that Thomas picked up a thin bamboo pole from an intended but abandoned project and brought it down across his lover’s content if unexpecting thighs. The loud crack startled Val as much as the sudden line of fire which spread through him. He barely bit back a cry. Not angrily as much as stunned, Val’s eyes widened accusatorily at the man behind him.
When he could speak again, a stammered objection emerged. “Thomas..! They will hear us!”
Thomas rubbed the mark he had left and kissed his lover’s back. “Then I shall come back after my fitting to finish.” He looked at the makeshift cane, again rubbing the reminder of his visit idly. “….I rather like this one, don’t you?”
His hands reached back to run over the warm, raising line, a shiver running up his spine. “…Thomas?” He did not quite follow the reasoning for the stroke and promised threatened others. He had always hated canes—ever since a minor (really, rather insignificant, completely blown out of proportion) incident at his secondary boarding school. But at least, with Thomas, the raw sensation as they rubbed against and inside one another afterwards was mind-blowing.
That part had never happened at school.
Thomas picked up on the unasked question and cackled. “Why?” His long fingers removed the silver cigarette case from his jacket and placed the ornate case filled with eleven meticulously recrafted cigarettes stuffed with garlic and rosemary—another attempt of his artist fiance’s attempt to curb his smoking. They smelled fantastic in the case, probably not as much on the man’s breath.
That explained most everything. Val coughed back a secretly proud, sheepish grin. “I see that you liked them?”
“I believe it is called” The Frenchman grinned and patted Val’s smooth backside with as much promise as desire. “Ambush art.” |
Bethie
Moderator/Spanking Aficionado
Username: Bethie
Post Number: 688
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Tuesday, February 28, 2006 - 02:31 am: |
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Thank you for this contribution! I like the characters and it's a fun story. I really enjoyed it!
I hope you'll consider writing more. It's good to have variety here so all our readers can find something to their liking.  |
Tigerman
New member
Username: Tigerman
Post Number: 48
Registered: 02-2006
| | Posted on Wednesday, March 01, 2006 - 11:23 am: |
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Excellent job Rose...keep up the great work!!! |
Ma_vie_en_rose
Junior Spanko
Username: Ma_vie_en_rose
Post Number: 139
Registered: 01-2006
| | Posted on Wednesday, March 01, 2006 - 01:53 pm: |
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Bethie and Tigerman,
Thank you for the comments. I was beginning to think no one had read my story ^^;. I'm glad you liked it :D |
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