Play
Category: The Mighty Boosh
Characters: Howard Moon, Vince Noir
Pairing: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Genre: PWP (porn without plot)
Rating: R
Warning: Spanking, Violence - Mild
Status: Complete
Length: 1-5k words
Play by Thingogram
Vince sat on Howard’s lap, excitable, fidgety and bored stupid.
Howard was engrossed in whatever old sci-fi happened to be gracing catch-up TV at the time, and Vince couldn’t be arsed with it. Uniforms, he decided, should always be fleshbaring and made of PVC. Never ever functional.
“Howard,” he whispered, leaning close to Howard’s ear. Howard just grunted, never taking his eyes off the telly. “Howard,” Vince moaned again, louder and more irate this time, before leaning over and giving Howard a sharp nip on the ear. “Howard.”
“Not now,” grumbled Howard. “I’m watching this.”
“Howard, play with me,” Vince said, giving Howard his best sad-puppy look.
“When it’s finished,” Howard maintained.
Vince sighed. Wanting the attention Howard was giving so freely to the television, and wanting it now, Vince decided to play anyway. And if Howard didn’t like it, then Vince was just going to keep playing until he did. He leaned up and nibbled Howard’s ear again, enjoying the movement of Howard trying to move all attackable parts of his anatomy out of the way of Vince’s hands and mouth, getting more and more annoyed by the second. The frustrated but not nearly stern enough smack he received for his troubles served only to spur him on.
“Vince,” Howard snapped, grabbing his wrists and trying to push him as far away as possible. “I will play when it’s finished, and you can either sit still till then or you can go on the floor.”
Vince weighed up his options, but still decided that a coy smile, a clever evasive manoeuvre and a grab at Howard’s shirt.
All too soon he found himself shoved to the floor.
Sighing in mock-contempt, he got up and attempted to replace himself on Howard’s lap. But Howard, stubborn mule that he was, knocked Vince back down with his feet every time he tried to get up. Giving up, Vince huffed and shuffled over to the sofa, where he tried to make himself comfortable alone.
Ten minutes, and he caught Howard glancing over. Sad-puppy face time.
“You can come back,” Howard told him. Vince got up and practically jumped back over to him, but Howard held him back. “As long as you behave yourself while my show’s still on.”
Vince gave a nod and a look of disappointed agreement, and Howard allowed him to settle back down on his warm thighs.
Soon, but not soon enough, Howard’s abysmal sci-fi show finished, and the ending credits had barely begun when Vince twisted in Howard’s lap and straddled him.
“Can we play now?” he asked.
“Not yet,” said Howard, smiling wickedly.
“Why not?” Vince pouted. “You told me-”
“Yes, I know I told you,” Howard replied lazily. “But my darling has misbehaved, and so my darling has to be punished.” He looked Vince right in the eye, an act that still surprised Vince at any time, but when the look was this evil, this sly, it made Vince shiver. “Doesn’t he.”
He pulled Vince over, back onto his lap. “I think six ought to be enough, over the knee, right now.” That smile was really starting to creep Vince out, and Howard was looking at him in the most disturbingly expectant way. “Turn over,” he ordered.
Vince thought, and then just looked at him. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you won’t be allowed to play,” Howard answered.
Vince sat back, looking up languidly. “I think I can wait till we’re in bed.”
Howard laughed, deep and mocking. “Who says you’ll be allowed then?”
Vince flashed him a momentary look of shock. It was quick, but not quick enough, and Howard caught it.
“If you don’t take it now, and you wait till bedtime, I’ll double it,” threatened Howard.
Vince hummed, pretending that he was giving this serious reflection. “And if I decide to ignore you and play anyway?”
Howard smiled at him like they were anywhere else, in public, talking about anything. “Then I’ll grab you, pin you down and spank you till I think you’ve had enough, and then, when you’ve calmed down and you see the error of your ways, I’ll give you the spanking I meant to give you in the first place, plus extras.”
As Howard looked at him causally, probably still expecting him to do as he was told and lie over Howard’s lap like a good boy, Vince hopped onto his feet, crossed the room and sat back on the sofa.
“Suit yourself,” said Howard, who got up and left for the haven of the bedroom.
Catch-up TV never showed anything good. How long had it been? Just over an hour. That must be enough time now. Howard would be missing him.
Casually, indifferently, Vince entered the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. The main lights were off but the bedside lamp filled the room with a soft glow.
“Come for your punishment?” Howard asked idly. God, was he still on that?
“No,” answered Vince. He sat still for a moment, before diving onto Howard and gnawing at every inch of naked flesh he could find. And everyone knew what an exhibitionist Howard was, given half a chance.
But with one shove from Howard’s arm, Vince found himself flung to the side. Seeing Howard’s mass sprawling towards him, he tried to crawl away, but after a moment’s scrambling he found himself unable to move, pinned under Howard’s left arm.
“Buggershit,” he muttered.
Whap!
Howard’s quick hand flashed and went, leaving a tingling patch of pain. He struggled, trying to straighten his legs and push away, but Howard’s arm held him firmly in place, and his hand returned for another stern slap on his thinly-clad bottom.
Whap!
What was it someone had said about tight trousers intensifying pain?
Whap!
They were bloody right.
Whap!
His backside was burning, actually burning, but Howard’s hand just smacked faster and faster, oblivious to the searing pain he was in.
He heard Howard laugh at him.
No, he’s not oblivious, Vince thought, he’s just having fun.
As Howard whacked harder, faster, stricter, Vince started to squirm and struggle for his life. He cried out, gasping and squealing as his sore arse got hotter and hotter.
He knew now that tight trousers caused more than one painful problem when you were being mercilessly spanked.
He reached down, trying to undo his jeans to relive the pressure, when Howard, noticing what he was doing, tightened his grip around him, squeezing him into Howard’s side and restricting any access to his cock.
“When I say,” Howard scolded, squeezing and smacking like a propulsion engine. Where the hell did he get so much energy from?
His backside flaming, his cock driving for release and his mind unable to focus on anything other than hot pain, he finally screamed.
And then nothing. Cold, silent nothing.
Howard let him drop.
He lay on his front gasping for a moment, before the uncontrollable strain drove him to jump to his knees and pull down his jeans, exposing his swollen, wanting cock to the open air.
He grasped it, heaving a sigh of relief.
Howard’s arm came snaking around his waist, and his other had landed sharply in a strict smack on the back of his left thigh.
“And that’s for not wearing underwear again,” Howard reprimanded him.
Not caring any more what Howard had to say, Vince stroked gratefully at his bursting cock.
Howard watched in amusement for a moment, before grabbing his wrists, both in one hand, and pulling them away. “No,” he said.
“What?” choked Vince. “Why?”
Howard glared at him, eyes stern, face set. Then he reached round and slapped Vince on his other thigh. “Because you do what I say,” he told him. “And I say no.”
Howard let go of his wrists, and he knelt uncomfortably, hands by his sides.
“Bend,” instructed Howard.
Vince leaned forward and rested his hands on the bed in front of him. He felt Howard’s hands grope at his arse, feeling and stroking, now unbelievably gentle. Vince leaned back into the soothing massage, groaning in pleasure. Then groaning in pain as he realised that this was only making him harder.
Howard stopped. He moved away and sat on the edge of the bed. “Here,” he ordered.
Vince crawled over to join him.
“Over,” instructed Howard, patting his thigh.
Vince just looked at him in apprehension.
“Vince, we agreed this,” sighed Howard. “Come on; lie over.”
Almost trembling, Vince obeyed. He felt his own cock press oppressively into his belly.
“Twenty-four,” Howard told him.
“What?” Vince shrieked. “Twenty-four?”
“Yes, twenty-four,” repeated Howard, as though to a particularly stupid child. “Six for being a brat, six for refusing to take your punishment earlier, six for coming in here and trying to avoid it altogether, and six because I just like watching your arse bounce.”
Vince sighed, more than a little genuinely afraid. He felt Howard’s hands, noticeably cooler now, stroking over his arse-cheeks again, caressing them tenderly.
“Now,” he said. “You may squeal. You may struggle. But you may not deliberately try to escape, you may not swear, and under no circumstances are you to come on me. If you come,” he said, his voice becoming much sterner, and his fingers closing in a vicious pinch on Vince’s arse, “you’ll get another twenty-four very soon after.”
Vince desperately wanted to argue, but held himself back, knowing that with Howard in this mood, he could only make it worse for himself.
“Do you understand?” Howard asked.
Vince nodded.
“Good boy,” Howard chuckled.
Vince shuddered as Howard’s left hand stroked his back and curled around his side, just over his ribs. He held his breath. He waited.
Smack!
He bucked as all the pain he had sustained since being caught the first time came flooding back into him at once.
Smack!
He cried out.
Smack!
He swore his cock was getting bigger underneath him.
Smack!
How the hell could he endure twenty more of these?
He writhed and shrieked as Howard’s firm palm came crashing down again and again. He kicked and grasped in desperation as whack after whack landed, retreated, and then landed again harder. He bit his tongue to stop the forbidden expletives from escaping.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. He was ready. He was very, very ready.
Tim Curry in anything other than Rocky Horror.
Margaret Thatcher.
Hold it, hold it…
Michael Jackson.
He could feel himself about to burst.
Howling Jimmy Jefferson.
Howling Jimmy Jefferson in a cocktail dress.
Howling Jimmy Jefferson in a ripped cocktail dress and stockings.
He could still feel his cock straining. His bottom seared with the force of Howard’s tyrannical smacks. How many had he taken? How much longer would he have to endure this?
Smack!
Fuck it. Another twenty-four; why not? He’d spent hours before now trying to coax spankings out of Howard; he might as well take them when they came.
Smack!
A warm spurt bounced off his belly and dripped down onto Howard’s thighs. Then another. And another.
Howard made a noise of mock-disappointment. “Twenty-three,” he sighed. “And you were doing so well.”
His nails dug into Vince’s side as Howard raised his hand and delivered the final stinging smack to Vince’s scorching bottom. Then he pulled him up, dumping him onto the bed and causing the pain in his sore backside to explode like a firebomb at the contact.
“Darling, darling,” he smiled. “You don’t ever learn your lessons, do you.”
End Notes: I’m quite interested to know who requested this.
No pressure or anything, just curious, if you want to.
