The rope digs into his knee unpleasantly, but it's no deterrent. Sweeney swivels to the side, his calf pressing against Dorian's shoulder. The tight grip in the man's hair doesn't lessen, and it pulls his head to the side as the hand on his shoulder darts to Dorian's throat.
The length of it wraps around easily, but he makes no attempt to cut off his air. Instead, his thumb and forefinger catch roughly under his jaw and shove up, forcing Dorian's chin to lift even as weight presses the rest of him towards the floor.
Sweeney looks down his nose at the man before snapping his focus to Annie. His eyes are hungry, and his lips curl.
"Le do thoil, Trioblóid. Lig dom é a ghortú." He looks back down to Dorian as his smile spreads.
She's a little worried, but she knows Dorian goes this way. "If you want him to stop, grab my arm, okay?" She tells Dorian before she starts to fuck him again, long slow strokes while this is arranged.
There we go. Dorian grins as he feels a hand (that must be Sweeney's) around his throat. He lets out a small chuckle as he's forced upward, as even more weight is pressed up against him.
"Safe words are for pussies," he points out, letting out a small chuckle. And, as far as Dorian's concerned, grabbing Annie's arm counts as a safe word. He indulges in the feeling of being on the edge, of being fucked so hard that it's hard for him to concentrate.
His grip tightens to shallow Dorian's breath as his fingers burrow deeper under his jaw.
"Le do thoil, Trioblóid," he repeats. There's a pause before he tips his head, both in respect and deference.
"When ya would have it." Sweeney's tongue slides over his teeth as he peeks up at her, his head still bowed. Even lowered, his grin is still quite apparent. A thought comes, and he looks to the bed and back.
"Perhaps when he's earned it?" He's implying the privilege of being on the bed, but she's welcome to take it however she fancies.
Dorian certainly seems very excited at the idea of one, going on the bed and two, getting further fucked silly on the bed. He lets Sweeney and Annie guide him, moving wherever they direct him.
Sweeney releases Dorian’s throat and grabs the binding between his hands. He lifts it sharply in presentation to her, looking pointedly from her to the headboard and back with a raised brow, silently asking ‘do you want him tied to the bars?’.
“Back or knees?” he dutifully asks in follow up.
Whatever she decides, he’s prepared to execute. His hand slipping from Dorian’s hair, he shifts his knee so he can draw up the extra length of rope and pull the man up to standing. Sweeney allows him time to get his feet fully under him before turning his focus to getting the man up on the bed with a combination of yanking his hair and nudging the back of Dorian's thighs with his knees.
As Dorian's hoisted and yanked every which way, Dorian strains against Sweeney. He's very much being a shit and being difficult for the sake of difficult, making it so that Sweeney actually has to work for it.
As such, when Annie says 'knees,' he absolutely doesn't kneel down. "I'm already about to spend," Dorian laughs. "Go ahead and push me to completion."
"Hm." The sound is short and dismissive. Sweeney's not here to get Dorian off.
He makes no effort to restrain his wolfish grin. Sweeney kicks harder at the back of his knees to get Dorian on them as he shoves him roughly into something closer to the right place. His hand slides down the rope. A quick loop, twist, and pull sees it fastened to the headboard. There’s enough slack that Dorian can rest his hands on the bed or brace against the rod; it doesn’t much matter to Sweeney.
The task completed, he slides off the bed and crosses to her, nuzzling his forehead to hers in a passing gesture.
With a flick of his wrist, he manifests a reed cane; thicker and firmer than a switch, but too thin and straight to be meant for walking. Without further warning, he cracks a strike across the back of Dorian’s thighs. While it’s not full force, he doesn’t hold back.
There’s a pause after, both to gauge Dorian’s response, and to see if Annie approves enough for him to be able to keep doing it.
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The length of it wraps around easily, but he makes no attempt to cut off his air. Instead, his thumb and forefinger catch roughly under his jaw and shove up, forcing Dorian's chin to lift even as weight presses the rest of him towards the floor.
Sweeney looks down his nose at the man before snapping his focus to Annie. His eyes are hungry, and his lips curl.
"Le do thoil, Trioblóid. Lig dom é a ghortú." He looks back down to Dorian as his smile spreads.
"Let me show him my...experience."
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"Safe words are for pussies," he points out, letting out a small chuckle. And, as far as Dorian's concerned, grabbing Annie's arm counts as a safe word. He indulges in the feeling of being on the edge, of being fucked so hard that it's hard for him to concentrate.
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His grip tightens to shallow Dorian's breath as his fingers burrow deeper under his jaw.
"Le do thoil, Trioblóid," he repeats. There's a pause before he tips his head, both in respect and deference.
"When ya would have it." Sweeney's tongue slides over his teeth as he peeks up at her, his head still bowed. Even lowered, his grin is still quite apparent. A thought comes, and he looks to the bed and back.
"Perhaps when he's earned it?" He's implying the privilege of being on the bed, but she's welcome to take it however she fancies.
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This is something she could do, but she's enjoying issuing marching orders.
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“Back or knees?” he dutifully asks in follow up.
Whatever she decides, he’s prepared to execute. His hand slipping from Dorian’s hair, he shifts his knee so he can draw up the extra length of rope and pull the man up to standing. Sweeney allows him time to get his feet fully under him before turning his focus to getting the man up on the bed with a combination of yanking his hair and nudging the back of Dorian's thighs with his knees.
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"You sure you want him to hurt you, Dorian?" It's asked with a purr, because she knows he will say yes. "Go ahead, Conmac."
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As such, when Annie says 'knees,' he absolutely doesn't kneel down. "I'm already about to spend," Dorian laughs. "Go ahead and push me to completion."
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He makes no effort to restrain his wolfish grin. Sweeney kicks harder at the back of his knees to get Dorian on them as he shoves him roughly into something closer to the right place. His hand slides down the rope. A quick loop, twist, and pull sees it fastened to the headboard. There’s enough slack that Dorian can rest his hands on the bed or brace against the rod; it doesn’t much matter to Sweeney.
The task completed, he slides off the bed and crosses to her, nuzzling his forehead to hers in a passing gesture.
With a flick of his wrist, he manifests a reed cane; thicker and firmer than a switch, but too thin and straight to be meant for walking. Without further warning, he cracks a strike across the back of Dorian’s thighs. While it’s not full force, he doesn’t hold back.
There’s a pause after, both to gauge Dorian’s response, and to see if Annie approves enough for him to be able to keep doing it.
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Hitting, for her, has always been a negative, but she's holding out, watching.