Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

[trashmod]

Welcome to the latest, greatest, scummiest iteration of hydratrashmeme. Come on in and please check your sense of shame at the door.

Rules in brief: Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because this is emphatically not a safe space. Link your fills on the fill post. Unprompted fills: make a prompt or a header comment and reply to it with the full text. Continuations of fills from earlier rounds: just make sure you link in both places.

What's on-topic: Filthy and perverted twists on all the quality whump served up by Cap: Winter Soldier. Noncon, aftermath, uncomfortably sexualized violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves.
What's off-topic: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, shippy/romanticized noncon, MCU heroes repurposed into OOC or edgydark delivery vehicles for your fave's suffering. If you've got a prompt for one of those burning a hole in your brain, head on over to mcu_trash.

[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Round 4] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive] [Round 5 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Comments

Re: Tainted Touch 9c/?

[(Anonymous)]

Natasha came to him a week later, simply dropping the little black book on the table in front of him. No-one was in the room, she had made sure of that. Bucky picked it up, looking at her questioningly. There had been a silence between them since that last mission. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, per se, but it wasn’t what had become their usual manner, and he had missed both brief conversations and banter.

“Your punishment,” she said with a raspy voice her body tense. “Choose a date, if you still think you need it.”

Bucky had not expected her to come to him anymore, to be honest. Now that she had, he was both relieved and petrified. He leafed through the pages, finding it hard to turn them, as his fingers shook. As he reached the current date, he saw the next evening was free, and he wrote his name there ‘ “James” - the letters crooked as the anxiety made him unable to draw a steady line on paper. He was not that kind of masochist, he supposed – the kind that enjoyed drawing it out. He just wanted to get it over with.

She took the book back from him and slid it in her pocket.

“I will not go easy on you, James,” she said, her face unreadable.

“That would defeat the point, Mistress,” he replied.

He listened to the clicking of her heels as she walked away. Even as she moved out of sight, he imagined her hips swaying. He hated himself for it.


Bucky – or James, rather – came to their usual playspace the following night. He had doubted, until the very last moment, to call it off entirely. It seemed silly, as he had pleaded for it so adamantly. But now that it was actually coming, his stomach turned at the actual thought.

Natasha had texted him instructions before coming, and he had followed them to the letter. He had has washed himself before coming, both inside and out. Gotten rid of excess body hair. Worn the collar under his sweater. And finally, he was pressing the elevator button exactly on the hour. Everything creaked as the the old thing started its climb to the ground floor. Bucky’s heart beat so hard he felt like fainting when he entered, and a shiver ran down his spine as it took him down.

His Mistress was waiting for him, as beautiful as she was stoic. She was wearing her catsuit – but she had added different touches. She was wearing her hair up, her make-up more pronounced that it had been the last time. Her lips were a deep red; her eyes outlined by long black lashes. The heels she was wearing were higher than those she chose for comfort, and she seemed taller overall, posture straight and shoulders rigid. She was playing her part, as he did his, in this strange dance they did.

“Good evening, James,” she said.

“Good evening, Mistress,” he replied, and there was a comfort in that ritual.

She led him to the middle of the playroom, where a strange contraption had taken the place of the old chair. Next to it was a table, with all of his Mistress’ equipment in sight. One side had an assortment of dildoes, arranged from small to large. The other displayed hips, floggers, belts, canes and other devices of torture. They had clearly been placed there for him to see.

“Undress,” she ordered, and he did so swiftly, folding his clothing neatly on the floor, until nothing but the collar remained. He wasn’t hard yet, his anxiousness stronger than his arousal. He loved his head behind his back, and bowed his head – a pose of non-aggression.

“Very good, James,” she said, and as much as he hated to admit it, his heart jumped a little at her praise.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked.

“It looks like vibranium.”

“It is.”

“How did you even get that?”

“You’d be surprised what smugglers will give you when they prefer their arms attached.”

It was supposed to sound intimidating. It was intimidating. The idea that she would and could take out a smuggling operation on her own was downright scary. But any fear he could have felt was clouded by worry at the idea she’d risked her life to get this here, for this stupid game of theirs to get his broken body off, and make his messed-up head halfway sane. He’d tell her off for that…later.

Now he just looked at the thing with resignation.

“You know what comes next, don’t you James?”

He nodded.

Her hand slapped his naked buttocks almost immediately. Right, he forgot. Words.

“Yes, Mistress”.

“Position yourself,” she ordered.

He took a few more looks at the vibranium skeleton, examining it with his hands. It seemed relatively strain- forward. He climbed in, keeling down, hen placing his arms forward.


The contraption held him in place on all fours, as she attached vibranium restraints on his waist, tights, ankles, wrist and arms holdings him in place. His feet were kept apart by a sturdy bar, giving her all the access she could want. He felt his heart beat uncontrollably, but that was part of the game.

“That comfortable?” Natasha asked as he checked the restrains again.

“As much as they need be,” he answered flatly.

She took a cane from the table and ran it over his buttocks. He shivered.

“You know why you are here?”

“Yes”.

“Tell me,” she demanded as she moved into his line of vision. It stirred in him again, the thought of going for her throat and ending this. He pushed it away, only for it to be replaced by that other thought he wanted to be punished for, the part of him that wanted to rip her clothes off and have his way with her. He silenced it, because it would never happen.

“I have hurt you,” he said instead. “And I thought about hurting you more.”

He did not say the rest. In a way, he did not need to. In a way, it was the same. For a man like him…to inflict himself upon a woman, how could it not hurt her, in the end? I was a transgression of the worst kind, perhaps worse still that to wrap his fingers around her neck.

“James, are you with me?” she asked, seeing he was drifting.

“Yes. I am sorry. I am very sorry, Mistress.”

“Tell me what your punishment is.”

“I will be beaten, then I will be fucked into orgasm and when I will beg for you to stop, I will be silenced and fucked again.”

“And do you accept this punishment?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Without warning, the cane came down on his buttocks and he cried out, as much in surprise as in pain. She did not give him time to recover, and the next hit was on his back, then on the back of his thighs, the alternating between those places, making him flinch. She was not holding back – the blows were hard and swift, and almost clinically functional. It was different than from when they played before, where she played with him like a cat with a mouse. There was a distance now, an almost scary efficiency, that really did make it feel like a punishment. After maybe 20 blows, he started shivering, and muffled a scream.

“You can let it out”, she said, and he did then, screaming his lungs out as she kept hitting him, his skin on fire while the rest of him felt icily cold. He felt the sweat forming on his skin, and tears running from his eyes, past his lips, until the dropped down from his chin. He looked down on the place on the floor where they had landed, small splashes that bore witness to his plain.


“How many were those?” he heard her as; like in the distance.

“I don’t know, he sobbed. “I’m sorry, Mistress, I don’t.

He felt her cane poke against his balls, and he braced for a blow there, shrinking as much into himself as the restraints allowed. The blow never came, and the cane was replaced by her hand, touching his still flaccid member. It felt wrong, so very wrong to have her touch him there, especially as he was exhibiting his pathetic dysfunction even when she was giving him what he needed for arousal.

“What’s wrong, James?” she asked, and the thought of failing her gave him more distress. “You’re not counting, you’re not getting hard, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know”, he said again, bawling like a child. “I’m….I’m sorry I’m failing you.”

She knelt down in front of him, and he lifted his face so he could see her.

“S-sorrry,” he said again. “M-mmaybe I’m just s-sscared.” He felt pathetic admitting it.


“There there,” she said, and she petted his hair much like if he were a dog. It was humiliating, but he craved every second of that touch and he leaned into it.

“We can still stop this,” she said.

“N-no, please. I need…I need….” He struggled to say, but there words didn’t come out anymore.

She continued to pet his hair and he found it became easier to breathe. Her hand them moved from his head past his cheek and to his mouth, forcing her thumb in.

“Suck,” she ordered, and he did. He sucked it expertly, although it was small compared to the cocks head taken, bobbing his head up and down in that all familiar motion. He looked at her through his tears and something changed in that emotionless face, even if just ever so slightly. He couldn’t dare to guess her thoughts, but he chose to imagine that she liked it, if only for his own benefit – and sure enough, after a few minutes his cock finally started responding.

“That’s a good boy, James,” she said, and that sent even more blood rushing to his dick. She got up again, and took something from the table. Unexpectedly, he felt her slicked thumb rub over his hole.

“Open up for me, James.”

Not that he could, really. But it gave him fair warning, and sent another wave of arousal through him. Something was forced inside him, and this time he truly did strain against the contraption that held him, but it didn’t budge. He wasn’t familiar with the toy that penetrated him, it wasn’t quite as big as some of those he had taken, but it curved peculiarly, hitting a very sensitive spot. He whimpered as she flipped some sort of switch, and the toy started vibrating, stimulating him mercilessly from the inside.

“Oh God,” he whined.

She stood up straight again, and he could see the cane again from the corner of her eye.

“Get with the program, James,” his Mistress ordered. “I expect you to count now. We were at fifty”.

Three more vicious blows landed on his buttocks, then five on his back, then five on his ass. He was crying again in no time, pain and guilty pleasure assaulting his senses at the same time.

“How many, James?” she asked.

“Sss-sixty-ttt-three, Mistress,” he managed, gasping convulsively.

More pain came, the cane swishing and reaching even more sensitive places – the inside of his thigh, the again the back of them, then back once again to his burning behind. He was sure the skin had broken in a few places. Good, he thought, she wasn’t holding back on the punishment factor.

“How many?, she checked again.

“Ssss….sss-seventy-ttt-two,” he slurred, the ability for speech rapidly abandoning him. He could feel himself leaking precum, and dear God, he might just come on the spot just from being beaten like that.

More came still, a seemingly never-ending wave of pain, flowing over him as the cane licked up to his shoulders, the down again to his legs, until his entire body felt like an open wound.

“Give me a number, James.”

“Nnnn….nnnnn….” he tried, but his mouth didn’t want to anymore. But…;he did not want to fail her. “Nnnnn-nnnninty,” he finally forced out.

“Good. Almost there,” she said, and something in her voice sounded like she was relieved as well.

Ten more strikes followed, hitting already damaged flesh, then two between his buttcheeks – and the last, the last on his cock, so he screamed until his lungs seemed to give out – and then they were at hundred, but she didn’t make him say that anymore, and it was over.