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Bruce knelt on the polished floor beside the wide expanse of his king-sized bed.
The wood beneath him was cold. Cold enough to bite through his exposed flesh. The only concession made for his comfort was a cushion. A simple cushion of deep crimson velvet, to protect his knees and keep him from freezing.
Bruce shifted, redistributing the weight between his knees. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there; kneeling, his hands bound behind his back with a simple leather cord. The bindings were tight, deliberately so. He was aware that he could tear through the cord in a heartbeat. But the restraint alone was a test.
He was taught quite diligently that his actions would have consequences. And the man who tied those bindings, Kal-El, would make sure that Bruce regretted any escape attempts.
So Bruce stayed. Waiting.
The waiting was always the hardest part.
The silk blindfold wrapped tightly around his eyes erased the world entirely. With no visual cues, there was nothing waiting for him but the suffocating darkness of Wayne Manor.
It didn’t help that the room remained silent. A silence that felt unnatural. For once, even the pattering of rain outside the window was absent.
Bruce swallowed thickly. For all he knew, the Kryptonian could already be in the room with him, lying in wait, or studying him the way a predator would before striking its unsuspecting prey.
That was all he was to him, anyway. A creature to be studied, tamed, owned.
He was unsure of how much time had passed before the quiet shifting of fabric alerted him to a presence. The sound was faint, barely there. But there was no mistaking who it belonged to.
Kal-El.
His breath hitched, muscles twitching in anticipation. Pressing his knees together slightly, he sat as straight as he could.
Clack-tap.
Slow footsteps made their way toward him, circling slowly. The sound was deliberate; a reminder of who was in control. Kal-El was a predator of the highest order, a bird of prey.
Bruce knew that he was the alien’s choice of prey.
“You’re shaking.” Kal’s smooth voice echoed, far too close for comfort. “I can hear your heart hammering away.”
Bruce craned his neck, a pathetic attempt to follow the man’s voice, to orient himself. “I’m not.” He rasped.
He was.
His response earned a deep chuckle, the footsteps coming to a stop directly in front of him.
Bruce felt the air shift minutely before the temperature began to climb. Kal-El was a furnace; a miniature sun designed to burn Bruce to a crisp. A bead of sweat rolled down his spine as he trembled.
“Do I scare you, Bruce?” The voice was barely a whisper. Strong fingers reached to thread into the thick hair of his temples, tugging his head back with a measured strength. His grip served its purpose: to keep the Dark Knight in his grasp, under his control.
Bruce swallowed. “No.” Another lie. “You don’t.”
“I should.” He admitted, “I have so few rules, Bruce. My only request is that you follow them.” His voice was so low, barely a whisper. The words still tore through Bruce.
“It wasn’t that bad.” He breathed out. A feeble excuse, certainly, but he needed to defend himself. “It was an accident, Kal, please.”
“An accident,” Kal murmured, fingers tightening in his hair. A whimper was torn from his throat as the man tugged, suddenly, forcing him to arch his back to relieve the pressure. “An accident which marked my property. Scarred my property.”
The air felt charged as the Kryptonian’s anger grew. Bruce wanted to hide, to prostrate himself before the man. He yearned to both soothe him and escape his clutches.
With a slow breath, Kal released his grip on Bruce’s hair. His fingers slid toward his jaw, instead. “No matter.” He murmured, “I simply need to remind you.” He murmured, thumb stroking reverently. “Remind you of your place, yet again.”
A shiver slid down his spine. He was too painfully aware that he was the only one naked, currently. His cock ached to be touched.
Kal’s thumb slid across his plush lips. “Now, what is the first rule, pet?” He murmured. Bruce’s lips parted for the man’s thumb, instinctively.
He didn’t want to answer. If he gave Kal-El everything he wanted, then he was accepting his role as the man’s pampered pet. He couldn’t.
He wanted to.
Stubbornly, he refused to speak. This didn’t deter Kal, though. Nothing could.
“Oh? Are you pretending to be a brat today, then?” He hummed. “No matter. You always take your punishments so well,” He stepped closer, until the unmistakable bulge in his suit was pressing against Bruce’s face. The vigilante wet his lips, tongue barely brushing against the man’s crotch.
The smell was enough to drive him deep into subspace. It was so thick, so heady, so unmistakably Kal-El. He panted lowly as he began mouthing at the clothed bulge, dampening the alien fabric with his saliva; his desperation.
“Good boy.” Kal breathed, one hand deftly undoing his suit and yanking it off. As he pulled his briefs off, there was nothing to serve as a barrier between Bruce and the obscenely thick Kryptonian cock.
Smearing a dribble of precum across his cheek, Kal relished marking the vigilante as his own.
As his property.
Bruce put up no fight when Kal’s hips shifted, pressing the thick head of his cock into his awaiting mouth. For the Kryptonian, there was no better sight than his pet on his knees, worshipping his master’s cock. In his opinion, Bruce Wayne was born to serve as his cockwarmer.
His alone.
Bruce swallowed as his jaw was forced to stretch beyond its limits, already aching from the exertion. But Kal didn’t care; no, he continued working his cock inch by inch into Bruce’s waiting mouth. Taking Kal’s cock used to be more of a challenge, back when his gag reflex hadn’t been trained out of him. Now, nothing prevented the man from using him as a sleeve, bullying his way deep into his throat.
With measured patience, Kal inched forward until Bruce’s nose was pressed firmly against his crotch, buried in the thick hair at its base. A single hand on the back of his head kept him in place. His throat spasmed with the intrusion, air choked from his lungs as he was smothered by Kal’s cock.
The Kryptonian hummed, pleased at the sight of his pet on his knees. The sound vibrated through every nerve of Bruce’s body. It was electric.
“There.” He purred. “That’s where you belong, yes?”
Tears began to well up in the corners of Bruce’s eyes. His throat spasmed again, unable to relax around the intrusion.
Kal didn’t wait for a response, not this time. His thrusts were slow, at first. He liked to start by pulling out entirely, before working his cock back into the man’s bruised throat. Bruce was sure that it was because of the choked gasps he made; the gurgles of near-suffocation that made Kal’s cock impossibly harder.
In no time, his hips began moving faster. Kal set out at a ruthless pace, holding Bruce’s hair as his balls bounced off his chin. The wet, entirely obscene sounds of Kal ruthlessly fucking his mouth filled the room around them, only punctuated by Bruce’s choked gasps and ragged breaths.
In one swift movement, the blindfold was tugged off and thrown haphazardly to the side. Bruce’s eyes fluttered as he readjusted to the dim lighting of the room. “Good boy,” Kal growled, voice deeper than usual. “Let me see those pretty eyes, Bruce. Look at me.”
He could hardly deny such a simple request.
Sliding his gaze up the man’s perfectly sculpted chest, his wide, teary eyes locked onto his. He was absolutely ruined as Kal’s hips sped up further, spearing Bruce’s throat with his fat cock.
Every whimper fucked out of Bruce only fueled the Kryptonian.
Without warning, the hand on his head pulled him firmly down to the root. Thick ropes of burning Kryptonian cum poured down his throat, smothering him further in Kal-El’s mark, both inside and out. He twitched helplessly as he tried to drink down load after load. The volume proved to be too much, spilling from the corners of his mouth as he hung limply, nothing more than a hole for his master to use.
Pleased, Kal inched his cock from his pet’s throat. The Kryptonian relished in the pathetic choking noise that accompanied the movement. The last few spurts splattered across his face, painting him in obscenity.
Bruce sat back on his knees, head tilted backward as he gazed up at Kal with hooded eyes. Tears streaked down his cheeks, saliva and cum spilling down his chin. He was a mess.
Kal hummed, reaching forward to run his finger through the cum on Bruce’s face. “What was that rule again, hm?” He asked, pressing the digit between his pet’s swollen, bruised lips.
Bruce didn’t put up a fight this time. He obediently ran his tongue over the digit, allowing his master to feed him the spilled cum. Blinking slowly, he pulled off the digit with a pop. “S-Stay safe.” He rasped, throat burning from the abuse it faced.
Kal’s touch was too gentle, stroking his cheek slowly as he gathered more of the spilled fluids, guiding them once more into Bruce’s waiting mouth. “Look at that. You can learn.” He mused, stepping back. “On the bed. I expect you to present for me.”
With his hands bound behind his back, standing was a challenge he was unprepared for. His legs shook as he surged to his feet. His only saving grace was that the bed was so close, easy for him to fall on top of.
Sinking into a presenting position was far too easy. His cock ached fiercely as it bobbed against his stomach, precum steadily dripping onto the sheets.
Kal’s hands slid up his thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. They settled on the globes of his ass, squeezing with the exact amount of force required to burst blood vessels; bruising his creamy flesh with Kal’s very handprint.
“You bend over so easily, Bruce.” He breathed, teeth catching on one pristine cheek, imprinting the shape of his bite into his pet’s flesh. “You put up a fight, but you know your place in the end, don’t you? Say it,”
Bruce shuddered, a whimper muffling itself against the thick duvet. “I-I know my place.” He breathed, fingers clenching uselessly behind his back.
Warm fingers ghosted against his puffy hole; already abused from Kal’s previous ministrations the day prior. The Kryptonian took every chance possible to remind him of his place.
He hated it.
He didn’t.
He loved it.
There was something intoxicating about giving up control so completely. For a man like Bruce Wayne, so few people could exert control over him, make him forget.
Kal was different. He was all-encompassing. He broke Bruce down and rebuilt him time and time again, crafting the Dark Knight into a pet that would not break, no matter how hard he pushed.
Bruce craved it.
“And what is your place, Bruce? Tell me.” Two slick fingers slid into his hole at once, scissoring apart slowly. Bruce choked out a gasp as he was breached; already so oversensitive. Arching his back further, he pushed his hips towards Kal, urging him to push deeper, harder.
The man didn’t give in. He leaned backward, preventing Bruce from chasing his own pleasure. “I said, tell me.” He repeated, free hand landing a sharp slap on Bruce’s ass.
He didn’t have to look to see the sadistic gleam in Kal-El’s eyes. He thrived when he could put Bruce in his place.
A second slap on the same cheek made Bruce jolt, crying out in surprise. “M-My place is under you, Kal - Please!” He begged, neglected cock dripping obscenely.
Kal paused. “Is that what you should be calling me now?” He asked, fingers moving to trace the brand on his pet’s lower back. Long healed by now, it served to remind them both of who was in charge.
The S stands for hope.
Bruce shivered as Kal’s warm fingers traced over his marking, his brand of ownership.
The fingers slid out of his well-lubed hole; the thick head of Kal’s cock took their place, rubbing teasingly against him.
Bruce froze. Two fingers were not enough to stretch him enough, not for Kal’s inhumanly thick cock. He wouldn’t be able to walk for days if he weren’t stretched properly.
That meant nothing to Kal.
His words from earlier rang in Bruce’s head. “You ought to stay where I can keep an eye on you. It’s much safer that way.”
Kal would gladly clip his bird’s wings if it meant he wouldn’t fly free. “K-Kal!” He gasped, shifting forward on the bed. His choice of title earned him another sharp slap on the ass. “Fuck! I mean… master!” He groaned, “You’re too big. You won’t fit.”
“Oh, Bruce. You know I can.” Kal breathed, bending over his lower as he drove the tip into his tight hole. Bruce couldn’t help but keen. The stretch was immense; a blinding heat licked through his body as a ragged yelp was torn from his throat.
It was too much.
“How else am I to mark you as mine?” He purred, breath hot on Bruce’s already feverish skin.
Hands slid down his sweat-drenched torso, finding purchase on his trim waist. Kal didn’t push, though, not yet. He could be patient. Bruce shuddered weakly as he accommodated the stretch. This was hardly their first time, after all, but Kal’s cock was a force to be reckoned with.
“Say it, Bruce.” He whispered, eyes sinking down to where they were connected. “Who do you belong to?”
“You.” He keened, “I’m yours, Kal. Please.” He was desperate.
Kal grinned victoriously, burying his cock in one single, devastating thrust. It only took a split second to sheath himself fully in Bruce’s tight hole. Bruce screamed; a ragged, instinct-driven sound of overwhelming pain and pleasure. The sound was muffled by the silk duvet.
Again, Kal didn’t move. He held still, buried as deep as possible in Bruce’s willing and pliant body. Every muscle in his pet’s body was locked tight, coiled in a desperate effort to retain some semblance of control.
Bruce felt entirely split open. The ache was both torturous and addictive. A possessive pressure that carved out a space in his very being.
“Mine,” Kal growled, chest vibrating with the primal sound. Distinctly unhuman. His hands tightened further on Bruce’s hips, fingers bearing down on oversensitive flesh, anchoring Bruce in place. “Every part of you belongs to me. Say it.”
Bruce panted, face buried in silk; silk soaked from his saliva, his tears. His throat tightened. He had admitted it once already; surely he could do it again.
Kal expected this stubbornness, though. Bruce’s walls were built out of stubborn denial; he would cling desperately to his pride. Subtly, he pressed his hips in further, grinding against the man’s marked ass. The friction pulled another cry from Bruce’s lungs.
“Say it, Bruce.” Kal purred, his voice warm as melted honey.
“Yours.” He breathed, instantly. There was no more denying it. He belonged, body and soul, to the Kryptonian on top of him. This was a fundamental fact of life, as true as the sky was blue.
It was always easier when he gave in.
“Again.” The command was absolute.
“Yours.” He choked out, fingers digging into the sheets. “Yours. All yours. Please.”
Kal hummed, a low, approving noise. Bruce shivered as it reverberated through him. “Good boy.” He praised, finally moving his hips.
His thrusts were slow and deep, driving into Bruce’s very core with each deliberate jerk of his hips. Kal shifted, just barely, driving into him at a new pace, a new angle.
The next thrust struck his prostate dead on, shattering something inside Bruce that caused his vision to white out, electricity exploding through every nerve of his body. Now that Kal knew what to aim for, his thrusts were relentless. Punishing. A broken, continuous sound spilled endlessly from Bruce’s lips. His aching cock, trapped between him and the duvet, throbbed with each hard thrust into his stomach. The silk beneath him was sticky from his endless drip of precum.
One hand slid to tangle in his sweat-soaked curls, pulling him up firmly by his hair until his back was pressed against Kal’s burning chest. His strokes didn’t let up, not in the slightest. Instead, they increased in pace, speeding up to an urgent rhythm. Sharp teeth sank into the flesh of Bruce’s earlobe.
“Mine.” He snarled, “You belong to me.” His tone was cold, possessive.
It was honest.
With a low snarl, Kal drove into Bruce with one last, punishing thrust. Buried to the hilt, rope after rope of thick Kryptonian cum filled the very space that Kal hollowed out, sealing his claim on Bruce’s body, on his soul.
Bruce spasmed against his lover’s chest. Neglected cock spurting his own release across the sheets in front of them.
Kal’s hands released their hold first. Bruce sank willingly into the sticky bed, his lungs burning as they tried to suck in enough air. Still, Kal did not pull out, not yet.
“You forget rule number two, Brucie.” He rasped, hips moving slowly. Cum frothed from where they were joined.
But he couldn’t think of anything. There was nothing in his mind apart from how full he was. Of Kal’s cock. His cum.
Kal’s cock brushed his overworked prostate once again. Bruce couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him. His body was a livewire; he couldn’t handle more.
Rule number two. Be grateful for what you’re given.
Tongue darted out over wet lips. He blinked the drying tears from his eyes. His pride was a distant memory at this point. His body was an object of Kal’s will, nothing more. His flesh ached from possession, from spankings and intentional bruises. Turning his head, he flushed. “T-Thank you, master.” He choked out, weak. “For reminding me of my - my place.”
With a hum, Kal inched his cock out of Bruce’s abused hole, pausing to admire the way his cum leaked from his little pet, the way his puffy hole gaped. “Good boy.” He mused, giving Bruce a playful swat on his ass.
Once he was freed from Kal’s cock, he sank into the bed. All he needed was a moment to breathe, to pick up the shattered pieces of himself. Then, with more effort than he thought possible, he rolled onto his back.
His hips twinged with the movement. Cum dripped thickly out of his undoubtedly gaping hole. The first thing he saw was Kal, kneeling above him. His expression was entirely unreadable. As always, he looked pristine. A statue come to life, Apollo in his truest form. Not a bead of sweat stuck to his skin, not a curl out of place. He was perfection.
The complete antithesis of Bruce.
His eyes, the impossibly bright, alien blue eyes, held fast to Bruce’s. There was no warmth in them, no love, or adoration. Only pride, the pride of a hunter for having captured the gazelle. Kal-El had staked his claim so thoroughly that the world would know exactly who Bruce belonged to.
Before speaking, Kal’s thumb reached forward, wiping a line of drool from Bruce’s chin. The motion itself was simple, but just as claiming as the others.
“I expect that you’ll learn from the mistakes you made tonight, Bruce.” His voice was low, unwavering.
“Or?” He rasped, throat destroyed from the brutal fucking it received.
“Or?” Kal echoed, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Or we see just how pretty you look in a collar. I believe Superman blue would suit you. Don’t you?”
Bruce knew better than to assume that was a question. Kal-El dealt in absolutes.
And Bruce Wayne absolutely belonged to him.