Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

[trashmod]

Holy shitballs, look at us go. Welcome to Captain America fandom's resident wretched hive of scum and villainy: ROUND THREE. AKA Bad Guys Do Dirtybadwrong Things To Your Faves, AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. As usual, BLANKET NON-CON AND NSFW WARNINGS apply: just assume going in that everything in this landfill is unfit for human consumption.

Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, and dark!good guys AUs are off-topic.

[Round 1] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by greenkirtle)] [Round 3 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Round 3 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 4.

Comments

Re: Tainted Touch 6c/?

[(Anonymous)]

Also know as "Bucky's oral and anal trauma". Okay, just kidding, but I finally wrote the sex scene, and I hope it's adequately awful. An mistakes are my own. It's split in two for character length, but 6c and 6d are the same chapter.

----

She texted him with a time and place the next day, and his heart was beating in his chest uncontrollably at least five hours prior.

He had already cleaned himself out once that morning, but he did so again before leaving, just to be sure. Steve was actually not thrilled about letting him go on his own, he knew, but he wanted Bucky to build up some autonomy, so he actually let him borrow his motorbike.

When he arrived at the old warehouse, his legs were shaking under him, knowing that what would follow would not be pleasant. It reminded him of some of the places where he'd been kept - stored, even, like property - because that's what he had been.

He followed the instruction, making his way down in the elevator, and every heartbeat felt unbearable now. He found himself before a closed door, and he remembered what she had said before, so he stripped himself naked, folded his clothes neatly and left them on the floor. He placed his boots next to them. He debated if he should leave his hair tied, but figured naked was naked, and he did not want to incite her wrath, so he pulled it loose. This would be unpleasant enough without added punishment.

He knocked on the door, and pushed his arms behind his back, metal wrist held in his palm. His handlers had always wanted him to look non-threatening. Even if she was not really a handler, it was probably a good call.

The door opened, and he bowed down his head, awaiting instructions.

"Come in, James," she said, and he stepped forward. He dropped to his knees, legs apart like his handlers had liked it, head still bowed. He could hear her take a sharp intake of air, and wondered it that meant he was being good or bad.


When he looked up he saw she had chosen to wear her black catsuit, and had a stray thought about really liking her hair, but he pushed it away, it felt inappropriate to think like that about his Mistress. She has on gloves and was holding a bamboo cane, and he felt it brush over his cheek, then move under his chin. He knew it would be painful if she chose to beat him with it.

If she were anyone else, he might make a defiant remark now, a joke maybe - but this was a service, this was a kindness, he would not disrespect her.

"Stay like this", she ordered.

She crouched down next to him, and he was thinking this was wrong, she should not stoop to his level. She moved his hair to the side, tucking it behind his ear. It felt gentle for a moment, and he closed his eyes, letting it happen. It was small and meaningless and she probably didn't even think about it, but maybe that was enough to carry him through this.
Soon he realized what she was doing. He had been too caught up in the moment to notice before, but there was a black collar tucked behind her belt, and she carefully fastened it around his neck. Her fingers touched his skin a few times as she did so, and that was nice, he could enjoy it without feeling guilty. He did not look at her as she fastened the strap, he did not know if he was allowed. Soon - too soon - she was done, and he dared to breathe again. The collar was tight, but not too much so, he could still breathe perfectly well. She was being generous.

"Thank you, Mistress," he said.

She patted him on the head in a way that would be patronizing in most situations, but it made him feel like he did well. That was always an advantage in these situations.

"Come," she said and she nudged him with the cane. He had not been ordered to stand again, so he crawled after her, to where she was pointing. There was a bench next to one of the mirrors, and it had a collection of maybe 20 dildoes on it, arranged carefully in a row, going from small in size and girth, to intimidating, to absolutely terrifying.

"Choose one you could accommodate comfortably," she ordered.

The question was harder that she realized. In truth, he could accommodate none comfortably. His body closed up quickly when there wasn't any regular fucking, and even her fingers had been a little painful, before. In the back of his mind there was a part of him, the part that remembered playing on Brooklyn streets, that hated any penetration and wanted to punch anyone who even dared to suggest it.

Her bamboo cane came down on his buttocks, not hard enough to actually be truly painful, but enough to get his attention.

"Choose, or I will choose for you."

He started to shake. He did not want her to pick one of the larger ones - even though he needed the pain, those might leave him bleeding for hours after, and he did not want to deal with that after this was done. He had bled for days on some occasions, after parties where he'd been use as release for the men. But then, he did not want to lie to her, either. The consequences for that could be far graver.

"Please," he stammered, "clarify orders, Mistress."

He braced for another stroke that never came.

"Which part it unclear, James?"

"Define 'accommodate comfortably'."

"Are you saying none are comfortable, James?"

"Correct, Mistress."

"Get on all fours."

He did and felt her move behind him.

"Spread wider", she ordered, and he obeyed, precariously keeping his balance.

He felt her pulling apart his ass-cheeks and he felt exposed and humiliated. He had taken the opportunity to look once there, with a mirror. His asshole did not quite look...normal. It was surrounded by a myriad of scars where he had been torn open, healed by the serum, the re-torn again. He knew that she could see it now that she was looking there, the evidence of a thousand or more cocks entering him there, and the idea made him have to fight back tears. She would see and she would know. He braced for an ugly remark that never came: Well would you look at that, our boy here has been put to good use before. Let's not keep him waiting.
The memory made his cock twitch, but he tried to push it away all the same, at the same moment that her thumb pushed in.

"Ah!" he cried out, part surprise and part pain. She swatted his ass and he could feel himself clench around her.

"Good boy," she said. "I feel how tight you are. You've been obedient and have not been playing with yourself, hm?". He was getting rapidly,shamefully hard. A deep, visceral part of him wanted to be obedient. Wanted to be good for her.

"Of course, Mistress."

She pulled out of him, and he had equal instinct to tell her to get away from him, and to beg her to please put it back in.

"Pick one that will hurt as much as necessary, but not more than needed."

That was an order he could work with. He crawled back to where the dildoes were aligned, and he picked the 5th from the smaller end. It was still generous, and he hoped she would not punish him for not picking something larger, but she did specify. He held it up, offering to her with his head bowed.

"Very well," she said. "Come with me." She slowly walked to the intimidating-looking chair in the middle of the room. He crawled along, staying next to her leg. When they arrived she yanked his hair and pulled his head up. She held the back of the dildo - the suction cup- near his mouth.

"Make it wet."

He licked it as well as he could, while her fingers were still curled in his hair. He glanced up at her, trying to find approval in her eyes, but he couldn't read her. When she deemed he was done, she pulled it away, and stuck the suction cup to the chair, making the dildo stand upright and hard in the middle of it. He knew where this was going.

"Kneel before it," she commanded, and he did.

She felt him push something in his hand. It felt like a small bottle.

"Lubricate it was much as necessary," she said.

He looked at the bottle in his hand, but then put it neatly back on the ground without opening it, looking back up at her. Her look was questioning.

"This is as much as is necessary, Mistress." Then he bowed his head again, both in shame and in fear of overstepping his boundaries.

He swore he could hear something of a sigh. Did he displease her? "Very well then. I wish to see you suck it."

That he could do. He remained kneeling, but pulled himself up on the armrest, aware of rattling the chains there. He took the dildo in his mouth and slacked open his jaw, letting it slide in. He bobbed his head up and down, taking it with skill and ease. He was hard against his own belly, and he was grateful for that. She knew how to give him what he needed.

She grabbed him by the hair again, and forcefully pushed him all the way down in it, making him deep-throat the toy. He had bigger, but pushed down like this it still had him struggling for air and it brought tears to his eyes.

"I knew you could do better , James."

She pulled him off, leaving him gasping for air, then almost instantly pushed him down again.

Good. Don't fight it.

She repeated this for several minutes, but it felt longer, until the lack of air made him giddy and the violation of it left him a horny mess. When she pulled him off the last time, he collapsed on the floor, face flushed and breath ragged, panting like a whore wanting more. The cane came down on his thigh and he flinched.

"Get up," she told him. He barely could, but he tried.

"Now sit on it."