Without Instruction (NC-17; Charlie/Kingsley; 150 words)
Charlie is stretched as far as he can take it on the bed, which had been, before Kings arrived, much shorter. His skin is tingling, his balls are tight, and his cock's as hard as it's ever been as he tries to name the thirteen uses for dragon's blood.
"That's only twelve," Kings says, from his position by the hearth.
He turns a page in the book he's reading, at least, the one that Charlie hopes he's only pretending to read, and sighs.
"It's plain you don't want me to touch you, Charles."
Charlie's mind blanks, washing away even a hint of the thirteenth use.
"Pity, that," murmurs Kings.
Charlie's cock throbs, and desperate enough to go the cheeky but charming route, he speaks. "But sir, there's nothing in the handler's manual about the uses of—"
Oh, fuck, thinks Charlie.
"Where's your discipline, man?" Kings asks . . . turning another page.