Be Kind, Rewind

by Jane Davitt




Shawn doesn't move his head, not an inch, not a twitch. Really, he doesn't. He might have moved his eyes, slanting them over to the right as far as they'll go, but that's not been expressly forbidden and if his head stays just where Lassie told him to keep it, Lassie can't know that he's…

There's a tug at his left ear and sound rushes in as the ear plug is removed.

"I told you what would happen if you tried to look," Lassie says calmly. "The plug's going back in and then I'm using the blindfold. Don't bother to complain. You earned it."

He waits, but Shawn doesn't speak until he can feel the nudge of the ear plug when the indignant words burst out. "I didn't move!"

"Are you saying that you didn't look?" Lassie sounds entirely too reasonable for someone with a naked man across his knee. If the situations were reversed, Shawn's certain that he…okay, now he's wriggling, just the thought of Lassie in this position enough to make staying still impossible. God, what would he do to Lassie's pale, upturned ass? So many deliciously dirty, naughty things. Or maybe he should be thinking about what he could do that Lassie's never done to him, but that doesn't leave much.

Lassiter sighs. "And now you're moving."

"I didn't mean --" Shawn licks his lips, Lassie's disappointment sharp enough to feel and to make him stop talking. Lassie likes to deliver punishments at a leisurely pace, but Shawn's making him rush here. Even Lassie can't break his own rules, and one he won't move on is that if Shawn fails to obey him during a session, retribution is instant. He was told to lie still, not look at the TV, not talk, and in the space of a minute, he's done all three.

Shame really; with one ear plug out, he can hear the dialog and the episode -- and his ordeal -- is almost at an end. Listening to it was a privilege he lost when the punishment began, because the reason he's like this in the first place is that he didn't pay attention to what Lassie had said that morning. Keeping Lassiter waiting at a restaurant for a lunch date who never showed, with people staring at him pityingly, has cranked Lassiter's insecurities up to eleven.

He subsides. Lets his hearing be taken, lets his eyes be bound into blindness. His sense of smell has gone, too; Lassiter had taken that away by overloading it, a finger smeared with menthol gel inserted into Shawn's nostrils, making them sting coldly, forcing easy tears from his eyes.

They don't count.

The episode doesn't matter, either. Sure, it's Magnum, and who wouldn't want to watch that, but Shawn knows the dialog by heart and it's his DVD set, after all. It's a symbolic deprivation, no more than that.

The ball gag comes next. He'd always known that he wouldn't make it to the end of the episode without talking. Frankly, he's surprised he's lasted this long. It makes his jaw ache and he hates the way he ends up drooling over Lassie's leg like a large, panting dog that sheds and pees on the carpet, but it does what Lassie wants it to, so he opens wide, Lassie's good boy, and tries to control the convulsive jerk of his throat muscles as they protest.

He can't hear anything Lassiter is saying now, but he can feel the words, a vibration in Lassiter's body, and he's so close to Lassiter like this…

He wants to clutch at Lassiter's legs, kiss the hand moving over his face to check the fit of the gag, but he can't. His hands are cuffed in the small of his back and his mouth is full. The ball tastes faintly of menthol from Lassiter's fingers. Maybe those fingers, laden and slippery, will push the gel deep into his ass later, make it burn and tingle. He doesn't know what the label says about internal application, though. Lassie always reads them, always plays it safe, even when he's playing hard and rough and taking Shawn into dark places where the only light is in Lassiter's eyes. It's the way Lassie does it, which means it's the way Shawn wants it.

He ticks off his senses. Taste went with scent and if it hadn't, the gag's taken care of that. Sight, hearing, gone. Touch…well, he can't touch anything with his hands, but --

He arches, tries to whimper, tries to breathe as Lassiter's hand strikes his ass hard, the only warning a spoken one Shawn can't translate and the displacement of air as Lassiter's hand slices through it that Shawn was too slow to notice.

Lassiter owns it all now. Controls everything he's feeling.

And with each hard, hot slap, he's taking away Shawn's guilt and evening the score.

Shawn closes eyes that are only seeing darkness and starts to think of ways to say thank you when this is all over -- the spanking is taking care of the need to say sorry -- another part of his mind reciting dialog, then humming the music from the end credits.

The crisp, centered strikes are making his ass sizzle and steam. He's starting to drift when he realizes that the episode is over -- has to be -- but the spanking isn't.

He smiles, more in his head than his muscles. He's forgotten that Lassie has the remote close to hand.

Lassie's rewound.


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