#Dr. Harding Hooten | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

illiana-mystery · 7 months ago

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Here's a little something for my mutual @fabuloussisterofsin. Happy Reading!

Cycle of Care

Plot: After another long day in the OBGYN unit of Chelsea General Hospital (he's a gynecologist in this fic), Harding arrives home expecting his usual greeting from his beloved girlfriend and the smell of dinner welcoming him in. However, tonight, he receives neither usual welcoming gestures. Confused, he goes upstairs to investigate to find his dear love sick and weak in their bathroom. So he takes it upon himself to take care of her and make her feel better after her own long day of battling the first bout of her period.

⚠️ This is an 18+ fic with mild NSFW content. Minors do not engage. 🔞 Thank you. 🙂

Taglist: @goodoldcharley , @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @braindead94, @curbitkirby, @freddiefredfive, @writingkitten, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

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“Honey, I'm home,” the older man called from the front corridor as he put his briefcase to the side and hung his coats on the rack nearby.

He waited for your normal response, but to his surprise, it was silent.

He scratched his head in confusion, realizing that you were nowhere in sight.

Swiftly after, he noted that the lights were off in the kitchen and the living room.

That was even more peculiar.

You were always in one of those two rooms when he got home. And you always greeted him after work, especially on long nights like this.

And it was a very, long night.

He made you aware of that, as well as his growing annoyance with all of his fellow OBGYN's at Chelsea General Hospital at the time.

It worried you.

But you did your best to calm him down via text.

You kept sending him videos of apex predators being strong and steadfast in the wild. That, in turn, gave him the confidence and energy he needed to get through the rest of his hellish shift.

So he expected you to welcome him with big, open arms and a nice dinner as soon as he made it back home.

But nothing.

Still, he made his way upstairs to see if you were there. It didn't seem like the house was disturbed in any way and your car was parked outside.

So you had to be upstairs, right?

His inquiry was soon answered as he took his last step up to the top floor. In an instant, he heard you loudly throwing up in your shared master bathroom before the toilet loudly flushed after.

Harding was puzzled. He wondered if you were sick or if it was your monthly gift.

It made more sense that you were just sick, since you never threw up during your cycles.

But then again, you had started a new birth control he prescribed for you, so maybe that was the culprit.

Calmly, he walked into your shared room and then pried the bathroom door open to find you curled over the toilet still hurling into the bowl.

You had been in that same position for longer than 5 minutes and although you felt like you threw up all the remnants of your stomach lining, you still felt the urge to vomit more. So you didn't leave that spot.

However, your eyes did move over to your boyfriend. You felt horrible seeing how concerned he looked.

You could just tell his heart was aching from seeing you in such distress. It was clear as day in his dark eyes.

“Honey, are you okay?” he asked, before you threw up again.

“Hardy,” you started after you picked your head back up. “Babe, I'm fine. I promise. Just some menstrual sickness. I'll be okay.”

“You never have to vomit,” Harding swiftly replied. “This has to be a side effect of the new birth control I put you on.”

“Oh, right,” you responded. “Well, it'll pass. I trust your judgment. I like this birth control so far. If this is the only side effect, well that's fine with me.”

“Right,” he groaned. “How long have you been at the toilet like this?”

“About five minutes,” you admitted. “My period started this afternoon and you know how bad my cramps are. So I was resting, although this new birth control seems to make my cramps not as bad. Anyway, I guess I overslept and didn't have time to cook your dinner. I'm sorry, babe.”

“That's alright. I can warm some leftovers. That doesn't matter right now. What matters is you. Your dysmenorrhea is my main concern right now,” he clarified. “Is it just your normal cramps and this little side effect that's been bothering you today? Is that it?”

“Yes, I promise, Hardy. You don't need to worry about me. I'm okay.”

He wiped his brow in relief.

“Okay, good. I'm glad these new pills are helping your cramps a little, but I hope you won't be throwing up like this frequently. I guess we have to see throughout your cycle what happens,” he started. “But looks like you're done for now, so leftovers will have to wait. Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”

“We don't have to eat leftovers, Hardy,” you assured him. “That Thai street food place is still open til midnight. Just call it in. I'll get my usual.”

“Okay, but after we shower,” he specified.

“Aye, aye captain,” you teased.

He chuckled, before walking over to you and giving you his hand. You took it and he helped you back on your feet.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said back, giving you a sweet kiss on your cheek. You blushed, before he bent down lower and gave you another kiss on your neck.

“Hardy,” you cooed. “What are you doing?”

“Just because I can't kiss your lips right now, doesn't mean I don't want to kiss you at all,” he explained, as his hands moved to your clothes.

Gingerly, he took your tank top off before swiping your shorts and panties off too.

And when he glanced at your bare body, he couldn't help but lick his lips.

Sure, he had seen you naked plenty of times, but your natural curves and soft skin always made him go mad.

You were just so beautiful to him. It made him go crazy every time.

“Damn. You take my breath away every time I see your bare skin.”

You giggled, before blushing.

“Oh, you,” you chirped. “Now it's my turn.”

He snickered, before you moved forward and removed his bowtie. Once discarded, you began to unbutton his crisp work shirt and quickly threw it to the side to expose his peak form you loved so much.

Oh his titties and little paunch looked so nice under the bathroom lighting. And his little tufts of chest hair really were a nice garnish to his natural look.

But you had to see him bare like you were.

It wasn't enough to just see his glorious chest.

You wanted to bask in him, even if you couldn't have sex like you wanted to right now.

“Still admiring me?” he asked, thick eyebrow cocked up.

“When am I not? You're so damn handsome.”

He blushed before asking in a cocky tone,

“Are you gonna take off my trousers and boxers? Or will I have to while you watch?”

“I'm capable of taking off the rest of your clothes and admiring you at the same time,” you huffed as you began to take his pants off.

He just laughed, but loved the look on your face when you saw his unclothed, resting cock.

Well, it was half mast, but still a sight to behold to you.

It still amazed you how nice his cock was and how much his girth made up for his average length.

He had a nice, thick penis and he knew how to use it. And you were ever so grateful, especially on nights like these where he wanted to fuck his stress away.

You were so tempted to at least touch it, just to give him some sexual satisfaction. But to your surprise, he smacked your hand away.

“Oww, what was that for?”

“I don't need you to do that for me. I'm fine. Now let's get in the shower. Tonight, I'm taking care of you. Sex can wait until your cycle is over…that means any and all sexual activity.”

“Yes, Hardy,” you groaned before you followed him into the shower after he started the water.

After manureving to stand in front of your big and tall boyfriend, you sighed in relief as the gentle caress of warm water coated your aching body.

Harding always knew the right setting to put the shower spray on and tonight was no different. It felt like the soft pour of rain deep within the Amazon, and it was heaven to you.

He took notice of your euphoria, smiling at the sight of your content.

Your smile and the way your face would turn red at the slightest compliment or touch always warmed his heart.

He never liked to see you down or hurt or sick, so seeing this change in demeanor really helped him calm his worry for the moment.

“Relaxed?” he softly asked.

You nodded, running your hand through your now damp hair.

He lightly chuckled, before suddenly asking,

“Are your breasts tender?”

“A little,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I forgot to earlier,” he clarified. “Allow me to help with that.”

You giggled, before the blush on your face exposed how excited you were for him to touch and massage your breasts.

Because you knew he wasn’t JUST gonna massage your breasts.

And you were proven right, yet again when you felt his soft belly against your back.

You mewed, before he bent down and began to track his lips down your jaw and into your neck. His gentle kisses made you feel all warm inside, before he finally moved his hands over to your bosom.

Gingerly, he rubbed the tips of his index and ring fingers on both hands against your nipples, moving them in a circular motion.

You bit your lip, trying not to scream at how good it felt. Harding was more than aware of how sensitive your nipples were, being your gynecologist first and all.

The memory of you moaning audibly when he gave you your breast exam during your first appointment with him still made both of you giggle.

“Still so sensitive,” he whispered against your shoulder he was now kissing. “Just like the first time I touched you there.”

“Yeah,” you hummed. “Your fingers and hands just feel so good.”

He chuckled.

“That's what made me fall in love with you,” he admitted.

“Really? You never told me that.”

“I guess I never wanted to admit it. But we've been together for a year now so might as well be honest. I never thought I would fall in love so quickly after my wife died. But then you came into my office, you beautiful ray of sunshine. My angel, sent to me from above. Your smile, your laugh, your timid voice, it all just sent my soul ablaze. I'm just glad you gave an old man like me a chance.”

“Oh, Hardy. I love you,” you hummed. “And I don't care that you're older than me. You know I like older men. You've been a heaven sent to me too. You're the best gynecologist and boyfriend a girl could ever hope to have. And between you and me, I've never had orgasms as good as you give me.”

He snickered before blushing himself.

“Thank you kindly, angel. I love you too,” he assured you with a quick kiss to your cheek.

His hands moved up to your soft flesh after, and gently he knead your boobs between his strong and sturdy hands.

You moaned loudly as he did so, leaning more into his belly as his massage became a little firmer.

“Still feels good, angel?”

“Yes, yes, Hardy. Please don't stop.”

“I’ll keep going for a little longer. But I have to address your cramps soon too,” he explained. “Looks like you don't have any lumps though. That's good.”

You laughed.

“It's not a breast exam, Hardy. You're always on, I swear.”

“Nothing wrong with checking on your breast health while I’m making you feel good,” he remarked.

“I guess you got me there,” you relented, before he slowly removed his hands from your breasts. “Thank you, Hardy. That felt so good.”

“You're welcome, angel,” he quickly replied before he took the handheld shower head off of its stand and angled it at your stomach and midsection.

“What are you doing?” you asked, annoyed that the water wasn't falling down on you anymore.

“Handling your cramps,” he swiftly said, before his thumb pushed the nob down and made the water spray out a little heavier and a bit faster against that skin.

“Ooh, okay. That feels really good,” you moaned, making Harding give you another cheek kiss.

“I know, love. I'm just gonna run this over your abdomen and midsection for a couple of minutes. Let me know if I need to change the speed or the temperature.”

“Okay,” you cooed.

He only snickered in response, keeping the shower head in his left hand while his right hand held your waist steady.

His hand holding your waist also moved in circles, gingerly tickling your skin there. It made you giggle and he gave you a sweet neck kiss after.

“Okay, you want me to run the water on your tummy a little longer? Or are you ready for me to wash your hair and body?”

“I'm ready for you to wash me,” you replied. “I miss more of your touch.”

He snickered in your ear.

“I'll wash your hair first,” he whispered, after he put the shower head back on its stand. “I want to take my time washing your beautiful body and praising it like I want to.”

“Okay…daddy…”

“What did you call me?” he asked, his voice oozing with intrigue.

“You heard me…daddy.”

He sinisterly snickered before pulling you closer to his paunch again.

“I'm gonna tear you up in 5 days,” he warned with a kiss to your ear and jaw. “But until then, I'm gonna make you squirm and beg for Wednesday night to come.”

“Oh, daddy,” you whimpered, as his teeth grazed your sensitive spot on your neck. He nibbled down, making you jolt a bit before you moaned in ecstasy.

“Sexy temptress,” he moaned, before he moved his head and hands from you.

You whined, but turned your head to see him gathering your shampoo in one hand as his other hand pushed down the pump.

“I'm coming,” he said when he saw you looking his way. “Be patient, little grasshopper.”

You giggled.

“Okay,” you playfully moaned before you felt his shampoo slathered palms moving around your scalp and hair.

His firm, big hands always felt so nice moving the shampoo around.

It was the most pleasant head massage.

“Rinse,” he instructed you before you ran your head right under the shower again and let the shampoo run down your skin and down the drain.

As you were doing that, Harding gathered some conditioner the same way as the shampoo.

You both met halfway again after and soon he was working the conditioner into your hair.

He was even more thorough, knowing that your conditioner of choice made your hair even more smooth and silky than it naturally was.

Because he loved touching and admiring your hair. It was one of his favorite ways to show affection to you other than the neck kisses and bites he always gave you.

“Okay. I'll let that sit while I wash you off,” he told you. “Would you like me to bathe you with your lavender wash or cucumber melon wash?”

“Lavender, please,” you answered.

“Your wish is my command, angel,” he replied, before he put some of the liquid on your favorite purple loofah.

He started moving the loofah against your back, making sure to make his fingers slip from the material so it could graze your back.

You whined at the teasing touch, so he began to kiss every area his fingers and loofah traced.

And to your delight, he got on his knees to playfully smack your ass before he moved the loofah over and kissed right where he smacked you.

“Oh, daddy. You're so naughty,” you teased to get a reaction out of him.

“I'll definitely be Wednesday,” he promised as he got off his knees.

He turned you around after, fully intending to wash off your breasts first.

He was gentle though especially when he got to your pussy.

And his kisses felt even nicer as he went on while you were facing him.

“Okay, you can rinse again,” he told you after he got back up on his feet again.

“Yes, daddy,” you teased again, as you did as he said.

Once you were done rinsing your body and the conditioner out of your hair, you returned the favor by washing Harding off with his favorite Old Spice gel.

He was practically mewing at your soft touch too, since you let your fingers slip past the loofah like he had. And you gave him many many kisses upon his body as well.

You just had to show him how much you loved him and appreciated his care.

“That was quite a shower,” Harding said after he turned the water off.

“Yeah, it was. But I'm hungry now.”

“Ditto,” he replied. “But let's get dried off and dressed first. Then I'll order dinner.”

“Sounds good to me,” you said back, following him out of the shower.

As expected, Harding insisted on drying your body and hair off before he dried himself off.

Then, of course, he also dressed you in your favorite pajamas once you put some new pads and panties on.

You threw your now dry hair into a bun after, while he got into his own pair of favorite pajamas.

You stared intently, but he didn't notice until he pulled his pajama pants up. Then he chuckled once he noticed.

“Like what you see?”

“Of course, handsome,” you said, reassuring him with a warm hug.

“Angel, you're too kind,” he said, his face turning completely red. “Now let's get you to bed. I'll order our food after.”

“Okay,” you hummed, rubbing your head against his arm.

He chuckled again, kissed your forehead, and then led you back into your room.

Without hesitation, you crawled to your side of the bed and let him tuck you in before he gave you another kiss upon your cheek.

“Take it easy, angel. I'm gonna go back downstairs, order the food, and wait for it while you rest up here.”

“Sounds good to me,” you chirped, before he left you, snickering all the way downstairs.

Luckily, you weren't by yourself in bed for too long. Between Harding ordering the food and him waiting for it, it was about 25 minutes of wait time.

And when he made his way back upstairs, you got really excited because you could hear his loud footsteps.

You smiled as he made his way back into the room. And you noticed that he had a tray with two bowls and two tea cups in his hands.

“Dinner is served,” he announced. “I got us Pad Thai to share, some roti bread, and green tea. I just wanted some tea, but I figured that you could have some too. It does help with cramps.”

“Aww, Hardy…thank you!,” you said as he came over to your side of the bed and placed the tray down by your feet.

Carefully, he gathered the teacup and put it on your nightstand before he handed you your bowl he topped with the roti bread.

You grabbed it and smiled at him, then watched as he moved the tray over to his side to get his bowl and teacup.

And once he got his self straightened out, he got closer to you in the bed.

“You can eat now, angel,” he said after he noticed you hesitating. “You don't have to wait for me.”

“I know. But I wanted to,” you clarified. “Thank you for making my first night of shark week better. You always have a way of picking me back up.”

“Funny, I could say the same,” he said with a hardy chuckle. “You're welcome, though. Guess this night wasn’t a complete bust on my end either.”

You giggled, before you leaned against his arm.

“I love you so much, Hardy. I'm so glad you're off tomorrow so you can take care of me more.”

He laughed.

“I love you more, angel. I'm glad to be off too. Because there's no patient I rather be with and care for than you,” he assured you...

...making you blush even more.

#hope you enjoy #happy reading #this is my first time writing harding #so i hope i did him justice #harding hooten #dr. harding hooten #monday mornings #fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction #alfred molina

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writingsofhubris-a · 2 years ago

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And all I can do is pour some tea for two

[AO3] Rating: Explicit WC: 5362 Tags: Wax Play, Rope Bondage, Japanese Rope Bondage, Rope Suspension, Knifeplay, Food Kink, Porn with Feelings, Cameras, erotic art Fandom: Monday Mornings Ship: Harding Hooten/Reader Disc: Hel oves Art in all forms, right? Why wouldn't he love suspension? Beta'ed by the wonderful @weenis-beenis and plotted with the amazing @chopstickpizza THank you for your help, dears <3

Harding Hooten had well earned his right to your trust at this point. He was half convinced if he asked you to perform a burn excision with only his words to guide your movements, you would be on par with the day you’d first left Chelsea; you would do so with efficiency and with minimal questions. Harding knew that as much as you were ensnared in his webbing, you had snared him. The years of separation had only cemented one fact to the surgeon; he had missed his chance when you emailed your resignation in. He'd long since accepted your loss to the unit; your skills had rivalled even Dr Wilson, though few people would have dared to tarnish the other doctor's ego like that. No, the truth was found in whispered comments in the halls during consults.

Harding still remembered walking down a hall one day, just to hear your name spoken around the corner.

"...would manage to retain the brain function Ty would overlook. And the patient will never trust Ty as much…" the conversation floated away as the doctors began walking. His heart still swelled when he thought of the accidental eavesdrop. They'd be correct, and when you were asked to perform the surgery, you managed a flawless no shave operation. The patient had even dared to ask Hooten if he could be released early, as he claimed to feel better than ever. Despite even Harding's assessment, the patient stayed for a few more days.

Harding reached his fingers out, and took hold of the rod your arms were tied to. Your body stopped spinning, and you could feel his eyes on your body, almost akin to his fingers drifting over your body. It was physical, despite no skin meeting his. The hitch of breath that fell from your lips echoed in the silent room. You were entirely on display for only him. Tied over your table, he had a perfect view of your entire nude body, scars and all.

It'd taken Harding slightly longer than normal to ensure the ties wrapped around your body, knots that rested neatly against your skin. You were trussed up for him, arms wrapped over a thick, smooth, straight wooden length. Ropes crossed your back in complicated patterns, spreading the support of the ropes over your body. Your chest was left as free as Harding could manage, but your shoulders held crossings of knots.

He'd taken great care with your thighs, binding your calves to thighs, disallowing any attempt for movement. Your legs were the highest part of your body, spread to frame your pussy, in full view. You didn't know how much space was between your head and the table, the blindfold cutting off most of your vision, and the dim light from the candles unable to leak through the edges. You were entirely at Harding's mercy, not that you minded one bit.

His rule was simple. Once he hoisted you around, the only reason the rods could touch the table was to help turn yourself for his viewing. If they rested too long, you would receive a punishment. One rule, that was it. You'd agreed; still on your back and spread, waiting for him to attach the final ropes to you, and pull you to the ceiling.

Harding returned with a fragrant plate of food, before he decided to hoist you. And you had been spinning since. Slow, silently, with only your slow breathing to mark the revolutions. Every twenty breaths, your rod would tap against the hardwood of your table, a quick reminder before they straightened once more, level with the wood for Harding to watch.

And watch Harding did. He was silent, other than the soft slumps of water, interspersed with his own tap of metal fork against ceramic plate.

It was delicate, soft tapping from you both, starting a comforting rhythm to lose yourself to.

Harding stood almost silently. At this point, you were hyper aware of any change in your surroundings, and his taps against the floor were in a cadence he'd used for years.

"Open." The order threw you for a loop, trying to remember what words were, and what they did.

Your lips opened for him, tongue sticking out and pressing against your chin, wide as you could spread. A small piece of strawberry was placed in your mouth, his finger trailing over your top lip. "Close."

The flavor pulled a soft moan from you, texture just right. Then, he started slowly spinning you, watching your body in the dim light again.

The rhythm changed.

19 breaths, Harding's fingers pressed between your lips, a tap of the rod your arms were tied to. He'd shock you on some of the refrains, pressing a kiss to your cheek, arm, lips, anywhere he could manage to throw off your counting. Morsels of fresh fruits, deep chocolates, each were pressed into your surprised, waiting mouth. Even at one point, Harding urged your mouth open with his fingers, only to seal your lips together, a taste of wine flooding into your mouth. Not nearly enough to need to swallow, just a mixture of dry wine and Harding's saliva coating your mouth.

When Harding pulled away, he was greeted at last with your first break; a long whine and an attempt to arch against the suspension.

"H..Harding…"

"No." His voice was resolute. No argument would be allowed, even as you squirmed for seconds more. As soon as you settled, his hand moved to your throat, warm fingers ran over the hard cartilage of your throat. "Colour?"

"Green." He was proud of how breathy your voice sounded. He'd already wrecked you, and all he'd done was kiss you a handful of times, and play with your tongue when he fed you.

"Needy. You need to understand what patience entails, pet. When we get too excited, too eager to run before we walk…" and the truth behind his hand was revealed. His hand grasped down and cut off any air that you could have pulled into your chest. "We stumble." The only sound was crackling candles and choked gasps. "We loosen ourselves from established patterns, and open ourselves up to mistakes. What did you forget?" His hand released your neck, just to stroke it gently. Your mind raced in fear before you realised. Your arms jerked to steady the pole once again, tapped down onto the table top in the midst of your begging.

"Keep them level," you whispered, trying to press your face against his arm, a contort of your neck that strained the muscle.

"Keep the pole level. Did you?"

"No, sir." His middle finger stroked up your pulse point just then, and you knew he was counting each beat against the pad of his finger.

"Continue, pet." And continue you did.

The rhythm changed.

20 breaths. In and out, and a tap on the 20th exhale.

The water in the kitchen started to run, the distinct click of dishes being cleaned. You didn't try to keep track of how long he was in there, instead focused on your twenty breaths, and the tug of the ropes against your body.

Harding was quiet when he returned. You didn't realise that he had even finished cleaning his dishes when you felt a sudden, hot pouring of liquid over your sternum. The hot liquid didn't run off like water, instead cooling slowly on your skin. It wasn't hot enough to be painful, but the liquid congealed against your skin and didn't budge.

Wax. Drips from a candle fell, high enough to only sound menacing. It wasn't overly hot yet, just a warm sensation that reminded you of how Harding would tap your skin to get your attention during scenes.

The trails of fire only began on your chest, though. You could never accurately guess what Harding was planning on doing at any given moment during a scene, his movements quick and assured.

The rhythm changed.

A few drops of wax would fall from Harding's fingers, only to feel his fingers run through the wax, taking his time to draw something onto the thin skin of your stomach, patterns and lines appearing and disappearing from your mind before you could realise them. Harding was sure in each swipe, sure in each movement, sure in just how to tease each spot on your body.

From his own view, it was a poor attempt at beauty. Nothing could ever hope to match your skill, your own innate beauty both from your hands or what was in the mirror. No, Harding knew better than to try and find a perfect recreation of the newest painting you'd just unveiled, but an impressionist imitation could be feasible. Simple colours swirled just so, wax replacing pigments, sure finger replacing brush, canvas of skin instead of fabric. A work of art, painted with wax on your stomach, offering the reasoning behind the way he had you tied. A perfectly angled canvas to allow the wax to drift from your belly button down towards your collar bone. Colours mixed and matched, swirled by his fingers.

He let one of the taper candles dip close to the pools of wax, melting a small portion and sending a small shock of heat through your sternum. A softer heat pressed near your hip, and you cried out, trying to curl despite the ropes.

You felt his hands on the outside of your elbows, holding onto the extended joint. His thumbs worked into the small area between elbow, rope, and pole, resting and stabilising you. Harding's hands didn't shake, didn't falter as he guided your left arm down, allowing the tip of the pole to rest against the table. His left hand slid from your elbow back to your neck, trailing his fingers over the skin he'd so recently grabbed tight. Or perhaps it had been a half hour since then. At this point, time didn't mean anything to you, and hadn't since you lost your weight to the ropes.

"New rule." Harding’s voice was deep, gravely from the disuse during dinner. "No lifting the rod. Do you understand?" You nodded, his hand squeezing for just a second against your neck, before smoothing both hands over your shoulders, to your back, and up your thighs. The movement rang through your body like the peels of a bell.

And then, his hands were entirely gone from your body. Suspended, held still by the pole, and now you weren't even able to count the rhythm anymore.

Harding let his fingers slip between your folds, though he didn't deign to flick against your clit. You might have chalked it up to the angle, until you realised his fingers were circulating just a centimetre around it. He refused to offer you that touch of pleasure. Harding knew exactly where you wanted his fingers, and refused you the barest bit of pleasure.

He was playing with your body, bringing you the most frustrating sensations he could possibly manage. You tried to tilt your hips closer, so his finger slipped, but he was too sure on his skills. The warm digit explored each crevice, before a new sensation started; ice, placed directly on the hood of your clit, freezing and nearly painful. But a pulse of pleasure shot from the connection of his fingers.

The ice wasn't stationary, manipulated to slide over your thigh. You lost track of the ice, simply enjoying the feel of cool against your skin. It moved over spots that previously had felt too hot, spots that now chilled, heat leeched from your body. He was playing with you, nearly toying with you, trying to get your sounds to ring too loudly in the dining room.

Heat and cold started to alternate on your body, splashes of wax falling into rivulets over the ropes wrapped around your calves and thighs, ice trailed after a splash of wax on the bottom of your stomach; it turned the wax brittle effectively, and tugged lightly at the hair on your stomach. It was just a taste of pain, just a suggestion of what he could do.

Harding’s hand finally pulled away, leaving the thin sliver of ice cube rested against your clit. It was cold, much colder than you'd expected to feel tonight.

"Do not let that drop. Be a good pet, and hold it just there." The command was soft, a demand that asked for your submission. Another cube of ice once again found the wax on your lower stomach, and when it ran over your skin, you were proud of the fact you didn't jerk at the unexpected sensation.

That pride disappeared moments later, when the heat from your pussy finally finished melting the ice.

Harding could tell the exact moment the melted ice ran between your folds. He saw your thighs shake, you pussy clench down, and the sliver of ice that was left clattered to the table. Everything stopped; the ice in his hand, the heat from the candles, your breathing. Nothing moved. It wasn’t until Harding’s palm rested on your hip, and his first two fingers tapped three times on your hip that you allowed your lungs to expand again, pulling in the air harshly. It was noisy, messy, and you whimpered when the air escaped again.

“You almost managed, pet. So very close to meeting my expectations, but you fell short.” The words rang right through you, finding a grip and refusing to let you go. Shame echoed deep, and you were glad the blindfold was able to catch the tear that slipped out.

Your whimpers turned to a shout, next. All at once, everything seemed to be thrown into motion. The air, too cold, your breathing, almost too fast, but most importantly, wax poured directly onto your nipple, a sharp spring of pain. Your back tried to arch, to pull away from the pain, but it was futile. The patter of dripping wax was consistent, a painful, hot punishment.

Your other nipple was offered the same treatment, dripped and collected on the bud, trying to cover every sensitive inch. Your skin was sensitive to each droplet, needing the ice to press against your skin and soothe the ache the wax created.

Instead, you only received a repeat of the treatment, but it felt even hotter this time. He was your comfort, and you desperately wanted to arch into him, to press your face against his chest, his stomach, even his lap to find some kind of comfort in him. First and foremost, he would be your comfort. You weren’t sure just where he was standing, and trying to arch into him would be futile. Your only attempted offering was whines that almost sounded like Harding’s name, almost sounded like pleas.

Harding took pity on you at last.

The wax started to drip onto the underside of your breasts, a sensitive spot still open for his eyes. The shell of wax from earlier finally was extended to the wax covering your nipples, hiding your body from the air.

The last drop of wax was finished with a pass of an ice cube, trailing over the edges of the wax. The wet line trailed over your sides, pressing quickly against skin uncovered for his view. Harding lent forward, and blew a stream of air over one of the trails. A kiss was pressed to the skin, comfort in that second that was needed more than breathing.

Another whine, and his strong, cold, and slightly damp, fingers found their way between your legs, once again playing with your folds, exploring and nearly massaging. He knew how to play with the need that almost felt like a monster between your legs. You were lucky enough this time; Harding’s pity seemed to extend to your needy hole, slipping two fingers into you immediately.

“You’ve been very good for me, sweetheart.” Those fingers are slowly working into you, slipping open and trying to spread. “Loud, begging for me… You’re desperate and that’s no way to see you.” A sharp push into you, stretched around his fingers. “Can you say that? Can you say you’ve been a good slut for me?” The question took a few moments for you to figure out, enough time for Harding to slip another finger into you, spreading you and making it even harder to think.

“I’ve been a good slut for you, Sir,” you whispered, thrashing as much as you could in those moments. The rod tapped on the table, giving you away before you could’ve even tried to not. Harding’s fingers slipped out of you with a soft tsk.

“Open, pet.” Harding’s fingers were again in your mouth, and whilst strawberries had been on his fingers before, all you could taste was your own wetness. No more natural sugars, only the taste that Harding swore was better than the nectre of the gods. You did just what he’d wished; licked between each finger, cleaning and swirling your tongue as much as you could.

Harding’s fingers pulled out of your mouth, even when your teeth tried to catch his fingers with a small bite. You knew better than to bite hard, and keep him caught. It was only enough to try and keep him close. His fingers found themselves back between your legs again, pulling your lust back to the centre of your attention. A sudden wave of pleasure, entirely unexpected, ran over you. All it took was Harding’s fingers to slip into you, thumb still on the sensitive bud, and you were clenching around him, a sudden orgasm that left your thighs trembling.

His fingers worked you through the pleasure, allowed you the needed come down from the unexpected orgasm, before his heat entirely disappeared. His footsteps were too quiet to place, Harding was simply too prepared to be able to be found out. The silence settled into the room around your breathing, a cocoon of security.

Until the click of a camera shutter reached your ears, the whir of a photo printed immediately and the tap of the photo being set down on the table.

“Though you are the one skilled with a brush, I do tend to know something about art as well.” Another click, this time you could place it to the head of the table, where he had been sat. Another click, from behind you. “I’ve never questioned your skills as an artist, from the first moment I saw your work in an exhibition. Of the names I had been expecting, I didn’t ever expect yours to be on the wall. It spoke for you, clearly from you, in ways I had never been able to see before. It showed sides of you that I didn’t realise existed, ones that were so explicit to who you are, I didn’t believe that I had ever missed such elements to your person.” You heard the click of a shutter again. “Once you left Chelsea, I accepted my mistake; I’d let you go without even an effort at keeping you here.” Click. “It was fortuitous to me that Scott forwarded me an email in regards to an art exhibit. An art exhibit to celebrate an artist who’s name I hadn’t seen in… How many years was it?” The math rang through your mind in a flash, faster than you’d normally manage it.

“Ten.” Your voice was cracked, disuse clear in the effort.

“Ten years, pet.” You heard the squeaky floorboard press down as he walked closer. “I went ten years without seeing your name, just to receive an email.” You felt his fingertips press against a clean spot of skin, between two ropes. He took a short pause, just to admire the way his hand looked on your body. His other hand moved to your hip, open palm resting with two fingers tapping against you. A deep breath was pulled into your lungs, and wax pulled against your body, the hair caught making it painful. “When I walked into our bar, and saw you already laughing…” There was a pause, a second of inaction from Harding, before he pressed a kiss to your thigh, one of the few spots without wax on it. His tongue darted out with the sound of your moan, his cold tongue pressing against your hot flesh. It only lasted for a moment, and one of his hands pulled away from your body.

The next contact was still just as cold; the icy metal of a blunted knife. Careful, dedicated strokes started at your knees, separating skin and wax. Flakes fell over other spots of your body, chipped and messy.

“To state I was shocked would be quite an understatement.” The knife and his hand left your body, only for you to hear another click of the camera. He was doing that just for your benefit, you knew it. A showman, through and through.

The knife once more found your skin, slipping between layers and cleaning you off. His trained hands were unwavering as he drug the edge over your skin, careful to not press any further than needed. His hand was expert in cutting the wax off your breast, up your sternum, dancing patterns over the shape of your body. It was soothing, welcome in a way that you hadn’t expected after the pain and straining of the candle. The blade ran over your body slowly, oriented just so against your skin. Harding allowed his hand to follow, flicking off the small bits of wax that were still waiting on your body. He cleaned you as well as he could, ignoring the ropes coated in the substance.

A kiss was pressed to your knee, and Harding was gone in the next moment. You could hear his steps now, clearly not trying to hold them back. Then, you felt yourself start to lower, slowly descending until your shoulder first tapped the wood, then your back, and your legs. Your arms were pinched slightly in this position, but you could manage it for now.

Another rhythm sounded around the room. The intonation of a vibrator, humming jovially against flesh already. Harding's sigh rang through the room, and the lewd image of his cock against a hard piece of vibrating plastic flashed into your mind. Your hips canted off the table for only a moment, trying to find that pressure that you needed in you, against you. The thought of Harding already needing to touch himself, needing some kind of release that only you could really give made a pulse of lust rush through you.

Harding finally moved to you, and his hands first connected with the skin of your thighs, ensuring the spread for what he needed to do. The vibrator, now turned lower, was placed against your clit, humming flooding your senses. Your moan was choked off, the sudden wave of pleasure shocking your system. It was painful, and your hips were hitching closer, trying to find more, receive more pleasure. The sound of tape unspooling hit your ears, familiar to you; he’d gotten a roll of medical tape, and secured the small bullet against your clit, leaving his hands free to do what he might.

“You can beg all you would like, sweetheart, but you only receive what I am willing to give you.” You whined, knowing he was right. Harding guided your body carefully, though he was forceful. He positioned your body with his large hands, flipping you over effectively, the vibrator still secured against you. The moment allowed you enough time to try and offer yourself more to him, give him a view of everything he was allowed to take. One hand still on your hip, and he pulled you back, guiding his length into your hole, slowly dragging you back to him. He didn’t falter in the motion, didn’t hesitate to press deeper into you when you started whining at him. His hand shifted, palm once again opened on your hip, and first two fingers tapped against you.

It was the simple motion that made you realise you were tense. A deep breath in, and with only Harding in your mind, you were able to take a breath, and relax. Harding let himself thrust in and out of your wetness, allowing the strokes to wet his entire cock with your slick, gliding against you. He pushed you against the wood of the table, pressure hard. You couldn’t move an inch if he didn’t want you to.

Then, his lips were on your shoulder blades, kissing and breathing hard as he tried to manage the composure he’d been maintaining this entire time. His hips stilled, fully thrust into you. The only sound was the vibrator, which only got louder when he reached around and turned it up further. Pleasure and pain spiked at the action, and you forced yourself to listen to Harding’s voice.

“Who owns you?”

“You, sir.” He nuzzled against the skin on the back of your neck.

“Say it.”

“You own me, Harding. Just… Just you.” You tried to push back into his face, any more affection that you could manage. His face pressed into you regardless, muting his moan. The groan still vibrated through your body, even through the clothes you could still feel him wearing.

It seemed to take him a monumental effort for Harding’s hands to move from your hips to the rod your arms were still tied to. He pulled you up, now only supported by your knees, and his hands. He started slowly, allowing the vibrator to press between his balls and your clit, pressing just a little harder into you. It brought forth that bit of pleasure you needed, rocked between the need to be filled, then to be filled to the brim, ricocheting through you.

It was too much, and not nearly enough all at once. Everything combined together, the blindness, the sensitivity of your skin under his hands, the strength he had as he pulled you back and forth over his cock just by the rod.

your orgasm rushed over you, tightening around Harding’s dick, clenching down with a shout. If it wasn’t for Harding as he thrusted into you, you would’ve thought you passed out for a moment. But the overstimulation of his cock in you forced your attention on him.

Feeling you tighten seemed to have cued something into Harding, as he lowered your shoulders back to the table, taking a pause for just a moment. His hands moved to rest on the table, leaning his weight onto your ass and pushing your body into the unyielding wood.

“Such a good pet, so well behaved for…” His words cut off into another moan, and he pushed his face into your neck, harsh breath fanned over your skin. “Me. Just mine, just for me.” Harding nuzzled into your neck once again, before he took his chance to bite your trapezius, leaving a mark just from him. It hurt, just as much as it always did, but your attention was taken over by the feeling of Harding cumming, pressing deep in you.

Harding only took a few more moments to enjoy your warmth, stilled and perfectly buried in you.

Once you started to whimper, the pain in your hip vastly too much to ignore, Harding kissed your neck, and pulled out. His hand reached around you, to slip off the vibrator, the tape tugging against your pubic hair. This was always your least favourite part; slipping out of the roles, the shift back to reality.

Harding's hands were soft on your skin, rubbed over the spots where the rope had sat. The ropes were easy to his hands, his mind. First your right arm, then your left, the overly long pole slid to the free side of the long table.

“I’ve got you, darling,” Harding whispered, a kiss pressed against a red mark from the pole. With your hands at last free, you made an effort to grab at Harding, hold onto something, anything, but your muscles screamed in protest.

“H..”

“Right here, love.” He shifted you around, pulling you from the table, and onto his lap on one of the chairs. As one of his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your body against his fully, the other worked at the ropes on your legs. Bits of body hair stuck into the wax, pulling harshly. Your face pressed against his neck, trying to stifle the whimpers of pain. You used his body to shift the blindfold off your eyes, only to see the muted light from candles burn down almost to their holders.

Harding didn’t need to hear your words to know what was happening; His fingers slowed, sliding off the hardened ropes without thought, only to slide his hand over your legs, soothing any more distress the hair follicles might have.

He moved your hand to rest against his chest, curled up comfortably, and just rested against his collarbone.

“Pet? Can you sit up for some water?" You had to take your time, processing those words, before you nodded, trying to follow the command, but entirely unable. You shifted your head to the side, and a glass of cool water was pressed against your lips. A couple sips of cool water was all it took, and you sighed softly. Throat wetted again, you were able to breathe easier, more confidently.

“Can I bring you upstairs for a bath?” It took a moment for you to understand the words, before you nodded, curling into his chest. Harding would take care of you, that much you were certain of. He was a good man, a man who would support you whenever you needed him. He would be there, that was sure.

Most of the evening tapered into a hazy drone, Harding holding you, getting you to eat some food, some water.

Cleaned as well as possible, and the only issue being your sore muscles, you were laid down on the bed with him, He was prepared. Hardy was always prepared for you, well prepared In advance when he would try such involved scenes.

Harding's arm was around your shoulders, pulling your torso to rest against his chest, pressed just securely enough to tilt your head into him.

"Water, darling?" His voice was soft. Harding's voice was softer than the finest blankets, warmer than a fire roaring in front Of you. Your head managed to nod, and he guided the glass of water to your lips once more. You learnt back in the bed, curled into Hardy’s arms, secure in your bed. He was warm, he was comfortable, he was the one that you wanted to find yourself in the arms of every night.

“Can I show you something before you go to bed, darling?” Your eyes cracked open, confusion clear on your face.

“What’s that?” Hoarse voice, even still. He offered you a small rectangle, and you realised quickly it was a picture of the wax he had poured onto your body. A moment more of looking, and clarity pinged into your head.

“My…” You looked up, brow furrowed.

“Your newest painting. I recognized myself quite quickly when I first saw it hanging up.” It was an imperfect recreation, but as close as he could have managed with the wax. it was beautiful, and you looked into his rich eyes, before your hand cupped his cheek. You pulled his lips close to yours, and the press was all you needed to relax fully.

“Can you hold me?” His response was shuffling around, and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Of course.” Your head pressed into his chest, smelling his scent, the clean pyjamas, and the security that Harding offered you every day. “Happy anniversary, my love.” Your left hand was taken into his, and his lips pressed against the ring that had sat there for five years. You sluggishly copied his action, before rubbing his hand over your cheek.

“I love you, Harding.”

“I love you, too.” Your name was a caress in his voice. “Sleep well, my pet. I’ve got you.”

You were glad you’d taken him up on his offer for the spare room those years ago.