raj

Title: ABC Kink - "P for Pet Training"
Author/Artist:

raja815
Character/Fandom: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1450
Warnings: Hardcore S&M. D/s. Human animal roleplay. Toys.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.

for “Pet Training"

Jean Havoc could no longer hold back his whimpers.

The wide leather collar around his neck was so thick and tight that it prevented him from bringing his head up. If he wanted to look up at Roy, he had to bend his waist, sit up on his haunches, forcing himself into the posture Black Hayate took when he noticed someone coming his way with a treat. Not that he did it often; when he did, Roy tapped him on the nose and admonished him; “Down, boy! Down. Bad dog.”

There were still dried smears of gravy from the dinner he’d eaten from a bowl on Roy’s kitchen floor on his face. He’d licked what he could reach away with his tongue, but there was still some on his chin and cheeks, and it was beginning to flake and itch. For a while he’d thought he might get a bath, as he did some nights, but no such luck. His Master had different plans for him.

Havoc’s jaw felt sore, too, since one of those plans had included a long game of fetch, and it was hard to get his mouth to close around the ball. But it was worth it, as it always was, when he dropped it at Mustang’s feet and the man’s hands came down, caressing Jean’s hair, rubbing his chest, while he praised him.

His knees were going raw from repeated exposure to the rough carpet in Roy’s apartment. The scrapes from the previous week’s session hadn’t quite healed yet, and the fetching game had reopened them a bit. Roy had noticed the scrapes earlier in the week, and had placed an order from a leatherworks shop in South City (distance was always important for anonymity; they both shuddered to think what might happen if they ordered from a craftsman here in the East) for thick guards for his knees and palms, but they hadn’t come yet. Roy had asked him if he wanted to hold off this week, but of course, Jean has said no. He lived for these sessions, after all. He spent so much of his life under Roy Mustang's control, and once the sexual aspect of their relationship had begun, the need for that control to be complete had become all-consuming. As long as he was going to be a dog of the military, he wanted to be treated like one.

After the game had come his “walk,” which was usually just up and down the hallways of Roy’s apartment, finishing up in the bathroom where there were newspapers spread out so he could relieve himself. Once Roy had lead him up and down the stairwells in the building, which had been absolutely terrifying, and so thrilling that they’d both ended the night much quicker than normal. It had been almost perfectly safe, of course, no one else was up and around at three in the morning on a Wednesday, but the knowledge that they were out in the open and they could be caught was inexpressibly arousing. Still, they hadn’t dared try it again. There was a private, enclosed yard behind Roy’s building that no one used at night since it wasn’t lighted after dark and the other building surrounding it made it absolutely pitch-black, and Jean sometimes fantasized that one day Roy would take him there. He imagined crawling across the dirt, naked but for his collar, his “tail,” the leather ears attached to his head, and the length of chain Roy walked him with, looking up at Roy, immaculate as ever in his uniform, licking Roy's hands in the dark, worshiping his Master with his eyes and tongue and harsh, voiced barks, and all the while the windows of the building behind them, darkened and blind, never knowing what voyeurs they might hide…

Most of all though, more so than the constraining collar, the itching of dried food of his face, the sting of his knees and the longing for the yard, what was slowing moving Jean’s mind to the kind of legitimate, animal madness that always ended their nights, was the vibration of his tail.

The tail was a long length of leather strap on a long, sturdy wire attached to a length of anal beads. It felt good when it was first put in, made him feel full and put a pleasant pressure against his prostate that gave him an erection instantly. But it was the design of the beads that was the device's real mastery. The beads, though encased with a rubber coating, were hollow metal, with smaller metal balls inside. These beads were connected by the length of wire that held the visible leather tail out straight. When Jean moved, the wire swayed, giving the impression of a wagging tail, but it also set the metal balls inside the beads moving, and they gave off sharp, sustained vibrations. It was so intense, the first few ties he’d worn it he hadn’t been able to hold off begging for Roy to finish him more than a few minutes. Now, though, he wore the tail all night, and near the end of the game he was sweating, shaking, raging hard, and puppy-like whimpers were pouring unbidden from his throat.

The game of fetch had sped things up, as the bounding after the ball had made the vibrations particularly strong, and he was half-mad with arousal all throughout his walk. His senses felt sharpened by the denial of climax, heightening the impression of animality; he felt the tension of his lead, the closeness of Roy, the smell of him, the power of him looming above and looking down. He was so horny by the end of the walk he couldn't urinate. It was always difficult, as it aroused him to know Roy was watching, but this time it was impossible, and he could only mime the action, balanced on one stinging knee, the leg he held in the air shaking with effort.

Roy praised him anyway, rubbing his hair and neck, and doglike whimpers leeched themselves from Jean’s throat. He longed for his voice, but that was as alien while he was being trained as walking upright.

“Good dog,” Roy said, and unclipped the leash. He kept ginger snaps in one pocket, and he held one out on the flat of his palm. Jean licked, ignoring the treat until the last possible moment, preferring the taste of the sweat on his master’s palm.

He followed Roy back to the living room, whining all the way, and when Roy sat in his chair, Jean curled around his feet, whimpering, pawing. There were tears in his eyes, he was so desperate.

“Quiet, boy,” Roy admonished. Jean sat up, in begging posture, Please, sir, please, and Roy tapped his nose. “Down, boy. Bad dog.” But Jean would not, could not. It had to be now or he’d go crazy.

“Nnn, nnnnnn,” the whimpers came thick and high and harsh, and if he’d still been thinking he would’ve been shocked his could produce such piercing noises.

“Oh, very well. If you must,” Roy finally said, feigning exasperation. “Up, boy, come up.” He patted his lap and Jean scrambled up. He spread his knees, straddling Roy’s lap, placed his arms on Roy’s shoulders, and licked his master’s neck while Roy seized his erection with one hand, his tail with the other, began to pump his cock and flick the tail, sending the vibration stirring hard, harder, harder…

At the precise moment Jean came, he seized the base of the tail and pulled. The beads came out, one by one, as his muscles spasmed and contracted, and each bead sent a wave of pleasure through him so great he felt the whole word shuddered.

Once he was finished, before he’d even come back to himself, he felt Roy moving beneath him, unfastening his pants, slicking himself with Jean’s own semen, and then Roy was moving him, was in him, was fucking him, and relief and exhaustion and renewing arousal mixed in him and kept him in his bestial state all the longer.

Once Roy was finished the game was technically over, but as always, once the maddening pleasure-torture of the vibration was gone, Jean was sorry he’d given in and let it end so soon. So he curled, still dog-like, on Roy’s lap, licked the taste of himself off Roy’s hands, and let waves of sleepiness begin to overtake him.

“What a good boy,” Mustang murmured. “What a very good boy.”