“What was that? You lost count again?”
A sardonic and altogether delicious smile plays around Ben’s neatly bearded mouth. “You’d better pray, at this point, that I won’t let slip to your darling students just how bad you are at basic math, Doctor Finn.”
Jinn squirms, clenches his teeth in an effort to kick his brain into gear because everything he is, right now, is meat. Stripped, on display, and being relentlessly tenderized. He gulps in a deep breath, tries and fails to push the hair out of his eyes. Remembers that his hands are cuffed in front of him, which really shouldn’t prevent him except that Ben has had the foresight to first shove a broomstick between his back and his elbows, locking his arms in place.
He replays, in his head, the moment Ben slowly unzipped his leathers - yes, with his mouth, the bastard - and pushed them down just enough to free his already hard cock. It makes him moan.
Ben chuckles. “Answer in words, please. Or numbers. How many?”
“I… I don’t know.” Jinn’s shoulders are on fire from where Ben has let the flogger lick his skin, over and over and over, until the heat dripping down his spine and the heat throbbing in his groin became one and the only thing he could think any more was yes and more, hoping against hope that Ben would push him hard enough to make him come from just the sensation and beat the orgasm out of him.
Of course, he knows Ben better than that.
“That is unfortunate,” Ben says, voice calm and collected. “I expected more from a mathematician of your caliber.”
“Mathematician,” Jinn grinds out, “not a bean counter. There’s a difference - aah!”
Ben has excellent aim, he has to give him that.
“There is,” Ben replies sweetly. “Bean counters like me have the means to acquire fine floggers to wear out on recalcitrant mathematicians like you.” He leans in close enough that Jinn can feel every movement of his lips against his chest as he speaks. “All in the name of teaching you manners, of course.” A tiny nip to Jinn’s nipple draws another ragged gasp from him, and he has to compose himself, again, and without the use of his hands, which makes the task that much harder.
“You,” he finally growls, “are wearing my collar.”
Ben chuckles. “A fashion accessory, my dear. Or are you jealous of your relative lack of adornment?” He takes a step back, admiring his sweaty, needy lover clad in nothing but handcuffs and leather pants, pushed down just far enough to let his obscenely hard cock bob freely.
He wraps one hand around it, giving it a cursory squeeze that draws another moan from Jinn, then lets go with a smirk. “Be right back,” he murmurs. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Geometrically speaking, Jinn does have the ability to go somewhere, as long as he doesn't mind his pants falling off him and his arms still being resolutely restrained. Never mind parading a giant messy erection around Ben’s spotless apartment.
He considers going to his knees, just on general principle, but is distracted by Ben’s return, the flogger still swinging loosely in one hand while the other seems to hold something small and delicate.
“Here,” Ben says simply, holding out his palm. “I take it these are familiar to you? Lovely little helpers when one has mid-length hair and a rather aggressive squash-playing habit.” He grins. “Not that I’m going to put them in your hair, mind.”
Jinn is halfway through a deep calming breath when the first of the little hair clamps closes on his left nipple. Not quite tight enough to hurt, but enough to overload several of the nerve centers in that region of his body. He’s seen those things, of course… but the sensation of every tiny blunt plastic finger clamping down on his sensitive flesh, just enough to be maddening and impossible to dislodge… Ben, you’re a genius. An evil genius.
He is still panting his way through the sensations triggered by the first clamp when the second one settles on his other nipple, somehow sharper than the other one. A thick needy groan escapes him.
“How many?” Ben asks with a smirk, stepping back to admire his work.
“Two,” Jinn grinds out.
“Encouraging,” Ben replies softly, then wraps his hand around Jinn’s leaking cock and gives him a few quick jerks that send Jinn moaning. “I have more, of course, but I very much doubt I could make these stick quite where I’d want them.” As if to illustrate, he pinches the sensitive underside of Jinn’s cock, then expertly catches the resulting twitch and thrust in the channel of his fist. “That may be for another time,” he muses. “Or perhaps just a point of sensation to consider. I could see twine too… though it may be a little late to apply that now. While you’re soft, though… imagine. Imagine trying to harden against a web of sharp, tight sensation that pinches you for your trouble. Rewarding your arousal with exquisite little stabs of pain. Mmmmmh, yes.” He squeezes Jinn’s very much unbound cock again before letting go, leaving him to thrust into thin air.
“Now,” he says conversationally, hefting the flogger in his right hand while grinding the heel of his left into his own hard cock through impeccably clean slacks, “where were we?”
“Integers,” Jinn hisses, the irony not escaping him. “Bastard.”
“Your favorite bastard too,” Ben quips, planting a quick wet kiss on Jinn’s lips before dancing away again, flogger at the ready.
“Now,” he continues, “I wonder if it’ll be easier to make you count down this time. Thoughts?”
Jinn groans thickly as he finds his cock once again roughly fondled until all he wants is to spend himself in Ben’s clever hand. His nipples throb every time he as much as draws a breath, and he can frankly see no way he isn’t going to lose count again, not with this much fucking glory ripping his skin apart.
“I’m yours,” he finally whispers. “God. Do with me as you please.”
“Mmmmmmmmh, that’s what I like to hear.” He trails the flogger over Jinn’s twitching cock, pulling away quickly because damn it, the man is close already. “I’ll cut you a deal, favorite slut. I’ll start at twenty. If you make it to ten, I will release one of the nipple clamps and let you ride that rush for a bit. If you make it to five, the other one comes off. And if you make it to one…,” and here he leans in close from behind, one arm casually covering Jinn’s clamped nipples, his hot breath right in Jinn’s ear, “if you make it to one, you get to come in my hand like a good pet. Do we have a deal, slut?”
“Yes. God, yes.” Jinn swallows, several times, unsure if he has enough presence of mind left to make it through twenty strokes of Ben’s flogger without coming untouched.
“Good.” Damn, just the sound of Ben’s voice like that sends a curl of want down his spine. “Then let us begin. You keep count.”
He makes it to ten, without losing count, and lets out a long liquid moan as the first clamp comes off.
He makes it to five, surprising himself, gasping as the second clamp falls away, skittering on the hardwood floor.
He makes it to four, and three, briefly considers inserting pi, and e, and the square root of two in an effort to make this last, but isn’t sure Ben wouldn’t just stop and chide him for losing count again.
Two. A droplet of sweat trickles down between his shoulder blades, leaving a trail of heat and searing sensation on his raw skin.
One. Flames licking down his back, refusing to die even though Ben’s hands are long since otherwise occupied -
Zero, and his world goes supernova in the firm grip of Ben’s hand.
He dimly remembers falling to his knees, of course he does, and is surprised to find himself still on his knees, thighs spread wide, a stable position, leaning against Ben’s legs, the gentle touch of Ben’s hand in his hair.
Something smells familiar.
His eyes are slow to focus, but his other senses are reassuringly quick. Slick, warm, musky. He licks Ben’s finger languidly, savoring the taste of his own spunk.
“One,” he rasps, and finds Ben’s other hand lovingly tightening in his hair.
“Yes,” Ben replies warmly, “one.”
