（ they fall into a rhythm, the crack of the crop and sasuke's refrain carrying them to vingt easily. heat radiates from the affected area, blood beginning to pool beneath the skin in a rich gradient of bruising that later he will soothe and tend and offer a spill of praise for enduring — but for now there is only the directive to endure. ）
Brace.
（ just one word — that, and the way his hand slips upwards from the collar to cradle the back of sasuke's head are the warning he gets before the next blow is delivered directly to his balls. unlike the strikes to his ass, which are measured and heavily meted out by dint of familiarity and practice between them, each one done with exacting and painful precision, this blow is by contrast barely a whisper. a light, controlled tap with the leather tongue of the crop.
he breaks character now, only for a moment — fingers curling into sasuke's hair, and in a soothing murmur that falls back into his honey-warm east side drawl — ）
Don't fight the pain. Open your body to it, and let it wash over you. （ then, stepping back into the cold veneer he's worn for this engagement — ） You know, I had the idea of keeping you alive to use as breeding stock. （ there's a pointed pass of his hand against sasuke's balls, palm cupping them. while it's easily played off as the deliberate cruelty of ownership, cy knows that the difference in the sensation will notch the sting down to a dull roar. ） At first I considered enlisting volunteers to bear your children. Your bloodline would strengthen my army.
（ as he talks, his attention shifts back to sasuke's ass, except instead of returning to the cadence of measured blows, he teases at the crease of it with the handle of the crop. pushing it in against his hole just enough to be suggestive of penetration, waiting to see if sasuke will relax or resist. ）
Is it true that the Sharingan is passed down matrilineally?
no subject
Brace.
（ just one word — that, and the way his hand slips upwards from the collar to cradle the back of sasuke's head are the warning he gets before the next blow is delivered directly to his balls. unlike the strikes to his ass, which are measured and heavily meted out by dint of familiarity and practice between them, each one done with exacting and painful precision, this blow is by contrast barely a whisper. a light, controlled tap with the leather tongue of the crop.
he breaks character now, only for a moment — fingers curling into sasuke's hair, and in a soothing murmur that falls back into his honey-warm east side drawl — ）
Don't fight the pain. Open your body to it, and let it wash over you. （ then, stepping back into the cold veneer he's worn for this engagement — ） You know, I had the idea of keeping you alive to use as breeding stock. （ there's a pointed pass of his hand against sasuke's balls, palm cupping them. while it's easily played off as the deliberate cruelty of ownership, cy knows that the difference in the sensation will notch the sting down to a dull roar. ） At first I considered enlisting volunteers to bear your children. Your bloodline would strengthen my army.
（ as he talks, his attention shifts back to sasuke's ass, except instead of returning to the cadence of measured blows, he teases at the crease of it with the handle of the crop. pushing it in against his hole just enough to be suggestive of penetration, waiting to see if sasuke will relax or resist. ）
Is it true that the Sharingan is passed down matrilineally?