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𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || James needs something new this week, something that will put you both to the test.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 4.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (oral m receiving, brief rimjob, sensual sex, oversimulation [but it’s not bucky this time 👀]), ANGST!!, like seriously so much angst, heavy BDSM, blood (don't say I didn't warn you), whipping, bondage/chains (standing bondage? if that's a warning), pain kink, emotions (bucky's emotions, reader's emotions, my emotions, and probably your emotions)

new parts posted on thursdays (typically)! follow my reblog account to be ‘tagged’!

When you realized your true feelings, you truly considered calling it off.

For a thousand reasons, it would break your heart to end your professional relationship with James, but it seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn’t fair to either of you when clearly real feelings were getting involved.

So, in a certain sense, you’d already decided to end it. But, in another and much more important sense, you had been putting it off for weeks now. There was never a ‘good time’ to do it— you always seemed to struggle to find ‘good times’ to do things it just so happened that you didn’t want to do. That was why you ended up going through with three more sessions, letting yourself live each one within the fantasy that you were quickly becoming addicted to.

The Boyfriend Experience. After all this time playing the game and wearing the heels and living the lie, you never thought you’d fall for it; but now you couldn’t help but wonder if you were getting more out of James than he was getting out of you.

Speaking of what he was getting out of you, you smiled when you saw a notification of an email from James— but your grin of glee started to fall as you read what he really wanted.

I need more this week. Chains, preferably standing up. The crop, or a whip would be better if you have one. Something to break the skin.

Go hard on me, I can handle a lot.

It wasn't out of the ordinary for you, in fact it was much closer to your normal style with all your other clients. That was exactly what worried you about it: since when did James want what your other clients got?

This was a new feeling for you— well, not new, but rare. The last time you felt this way, it was when you were about to go onstage to sing for the entire fourth grade and their families for your small (but not small enough) role in Seussical the Musical. It was like your stomach would sink until it hit your feet, like your head was buzzing with enough anxious energy to make lightning shoot out of your ears.

And although your body was reacting in a similar way, stepping up to face James— naked as the day he was born (presumably; you weren’t there, after all) with his arms pulled up above his head by the shackles hooked to the ceiling— was very different from stepping onto the school auditorium stage to sing The People Versus Horton the Elephant.

His eyes didn’t look up to scan your body as you approached him, but you gave him a thorough glance as you slowly thread the end of the whip between your fingers. “You want me to hurt you, James?” you asked, breaking the longest silence you’d had in a while.

He nodded, the long ends of his hair shaking a bit as he did it.

“Use your words,” you reminded him.

“Yes— hurt me, Mistress, please,” he answered dutifully.

“Good boy.”

But he didn’t have the reaction to it that you were used to; because unlike before, he didn’t believe you.

You traced the whip gently over his chest first, before suddenly hitting him once on his side; he winced, barely, but hardly reacted— so you did it again. And again. And one more time, until you could see welts form alongside where his ribs were visible through his skin when he took a deep breath.

Hurting him was harder on you than you expected, or wanted. Certainly harder than you were prepared for. But you kept going, because it was your job. You hoped he didn’t see the way you winced, too, when you hit him.

You went harder on his back, you figured he could take more there. He started to groan louder with each one, though it was still pretty quiet compared to the sound of the whip cracking and the shackles clinking above his head.

"Color?" you asked suddenly, breaking a tense silence.

"Blue," he answered quickly. More… you could give him more, but it might take something out of you.

You honestly sort of spaced out, because you knew it would break your heart to focus on this too hard. Of course it was a bit dangerous to not have your full attention on him in a time like this, but when had this not been dangerous?

You knew better than to get feelings involved, you knew it you knew it you knew it and you still couldn't stop yourself— and now here you were, beating the man you loved bloody, for money.

"Harder," you heard him beg, moaning loudly when you obeyed. "Fuck, more, please…"

You really let him have it: it was like you were moving on autopilot, like you did with everyone else. The noise he made was clearly that of a sob suppressed— he needed to cry, but he was fighting it, wouldn’t allow himself the release he needed.

It was another painful reminder that he wasn't everyone else. He was James.

“It’s okay,” you softened slightly to inform him, “it’s okay to cry.”

“Wanna be strong,” he explained with a whimper.

“You are,” you assured, “but I wanna see you cry— be my good boy and cry for me.”

He shook his head.

“Tell me what you need," you requested instead.

“Hurt me.”

You swallowed before answering. “Why?”

“Deserve it,” he answered tensely. “Did bad things… hurt people. I need the pain…”

“You want me to punish you?” you pressed.

“Yes, please,” he sighed, closing his eyes. He looked exhausted— not underslept, though… something much deeper than that.

“What for?” you asked.

“Everything.”

“Tell me what it is about pain that excites you, James,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he repeated, even more tense than before. “Like that it hurts. Like that if I ask, you’ll stop.”

You tried to keep your face neutral as your heart twisted. “Tell me who hurt you,” you requested, running your fingers over his scars.

“Everyone,” he whimpered. “Everyone but you.”

He protested with a whine when you reached to unshackle him.

“N-no, don’t wanna stop,” he shuddered.

“I think you need to,” you explained.

“No!” he yelped, scaring you slightly, before tightening his face and body as fear shifted to simmering rage: “No. I need to… I need to learn to control it. I need to control it.”

You didn’t understand entirely what that meant, but you pushed past your discomfort to give him what he was asking for as you lowered your arms and left his chains untouched. “Give me your color.”

“Blue,” he snarled.

“How hard do you want it?”

“Wanna bleed.”

And he did. The first drop that rolled down his back made you grimace, another made your eyes sting until you had to sniffle slightly and hoped he wouldn’t hear you on the verge of crying.

It wasn’t the sight of blood itself that disturbed you, in fact it sometimes soothed or grounded you. But it was his blood, it was his pain, and you were crushed with the truth that love is not pain. That love is not suffering. And that you never want to hurt the person you love, even when he asks you to.

Some dominatrix you were; Love had transformed you, softened you— and, you feared, ruined you. You wouldn’t be able to give him what he needed anymore. He would leave. You would be alone.

So you kept hitting him, watching the cuts line his back in stripes, hearing his yelps and growls as he tried to keep from crying. If only he knew that you were probably trying even harder than him.

You let up on his back for a moment and suddenly his chest; that must’ve been what pushed it all over the edge, because finally, the tears started to fall— slow at first, then a rush. To your surprise, they were his. “Color?” you asked quietly.

“Green,” he whispered huskily between sobs. At least he didn’t say ‘blue’ again.

You hit him again and heard him cry a bit harder— it took a lot but he was finally letting go and letting it out. Each impact pushed another sob from his chest, especially a hit on his thigh that seemed to catch him off-guard. He threw his head back and shut his eyes tight, breathing through his clenched teeth. When he gasped and whimpered and shuddered after every crack of the whip, you could see on his face the way it melted his defenses away. He wasn’t wrong before, he clearly needed the pain, and he clearly needed to cry like this.

That said, you couldn’t push him much harder than you already had; you had limits, too, and you’d broken enough of your own rules for a while.

"You've had enough," you decided when tears covered his face and wounds decorated almost all of him.

"N-no," he whimpered.

"I said you've had enough," you repeated firmly, though you softened out of your dom voice immediately and reached up to the metal around his wrists. "I'm gonna take you out of these, okay?"

Finally, finally, he nodded and you began to unlock the shackles on his wrists.

He crumpled into your arms the second you released him, his limp weight requiring all your strength (and then some) to get him onto the bed where you tried to set him down but he instantly pulled you on top of him.

“Just hold me,” he pleaded in a whisper, his hand clenching as he grabbed at the back of your dress; you were glad his eyes had fallen shut so he wouldn’t see yours water.

“Need to take care of you first,” you explained as you slipped away to the bathroom, dampening a rag and grabbing some hydrogen peroxide from your cabinet.

Gingerly, and with as much precision as you could muster, you tended to his cuts and wounds.

“Might sting a bit,” you warned before you dabbed at him with the hydrogen peroxide. He winced but said nothing, letting you patch him up. You caught him looking at you while you did it, his eyes moving from your hands to your face and back. In a moment where your curiosity overpowered your respect for his privacy, you blurted out the question that had been burning in your mind since this all started: “Is this what you really wanted?”

He didn’t seem to understand, or at least he was pretending not to.

“Did you really just want to be cared for, and the only way you knew how was to be hurt first?”

This time, he must have understood, because his jaw tightened and he looked away. You set your rag aside and rested your hand on his chest, pulling him into you.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, “I’m here. I care. You’re safe.”

Until the exact moment that his arms wrapped around you, you thought you’d done something wrong. But he gave in and embraced you tightly, his body nearly enveloping yours at this point. The skin on his back was cool to the touch and you frowned. “Baby, you must be freezing…”

You didn’t even notice the casual pet name you’d called him— normally you stopped that kind of talk when the scene ended.

But, normally you didn’t fall in love, so…

The two of you just held each other for a while, and it made you hopeful that you could still give him something he needed even if you had lost your ability to beat him up. You found yourself idly playing with his hair, before he suddenly rolled away and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. "God, I'm so stupid," he sighed.

"Shh, don't say that," you frowned, reaching forward to keep combing his hair with your fingers and even hold his face for a moment.

"It's true,” he assured. “You're like this with everyone… it's not real."

You stopped moving, unsure how to respond. "I don't… I don't do this with anyone else."

He breathed out quickly; almost like a laugh, but not quite. "You don't need to flatter me. It's okay. This is your job."

You sighed a little as you sat up, guiding him to do the same until he sat at the edge of the bed and you carefully got on top of him, straddling his legs. It reminded you a bit of the first session you had with him, and shocked you with how much has changed since then.

You searched for words as you held his face in your hands, but where you looked for words you just found feelings, and desires. For once, you let yourself act on one. Gently, hesitantly— tenderly— you leaned closer and pressed your lips to his. Your eyes fell shut first, and you felt his lips reciprocate your subtle movements at the same time that his fingers brushed over your back.

Butterflies… you hadn’t felt these in a while. You hadn’t gone into something not knowing how it would go in years, probably. It made you nervous, fuck, it made you terrified, but you loved it. You kissed him harder, you moved your hands to his shoulders, you sighed slightly when you felt him pull you closer.

You were disappointed when he pulled away, but that quickly faded as he started to kiss your neck instead; you couldn’t remember being this sensitive here before, but right now it made your toes curl inside your heels. “Is this okay?” he asked against your skin.

“Yes,” you sighed, almost moaning it out, “anything’s okay, James…”

That seemed to surprise him, understandably. “Anything?” he asked in a whisper against your skin.

“Whatever you need,” you clarified. “Do you need to feel good?”

He hesitated before nodding— you felt it against your neck, along with his sigh— but you used his hair to gently guide his head away from your back and up to look at you.

“Let me spoil you,” you offered— oh who am I kidding? You were begging him for it. “Let me make you feel good. No pain, no torture, no denial. Just…” love, you wanted to say, but you stopped yourself. “Just pleasure.”

His mouth fell slack but he said nothing as he nodded slightly.

You smiled as you gently pushed him to lay back on the bed and began kissing down his chest, taking the time to lick over the fading marks that you’d left on his body. He healed quickly, you’d noticed, and he seemed to begrudge it considering how he always wanted more bruises to take the old ones’ place. You hoped he wouldn’t want that anymore.

It was nearly silent, but you could just barely hear his breath catch when you circled a nipple with your tongue, his skin pimpling into goosebumps. You didn’t stay with it very long, too excited to move lower to where his cock was leaking and bobbing against nothing.

Your instincts told you to tease him for it, mock his eagerness, but that wasn’t what you wanted to do today. It didn’t mean you had to stay silent.

“Love how hard you are for me,” you praised instead, looking up at him from between his thick thighs. “Wanna taste it, James— wanna taste you.”

You didn’t wait for permission, because the stunned look on his face combined with the precum leaking out of his slit seemed like approval enough. Wrapping your hand around the base of him, you moaned a little as you stuck your tongue out and pushed his head against it, savoring the taste along with the way his body jerked a little.

“Tastes so good,” you hummed, “fuck, I want more…”

You closed your lips over the head and swirled your tongue as you sucked; you savored it, something you didn’t usually get to do when you had to keep part of your attention on how best to tease and edge him. You took him deeper with every bob of your head, and though you mostly kept your eyes closed in order to focus on the weight of him on your tongue, you opened them for a moment and caught a glimpse of him clutching the sheets in his fists at his sides.

You stopped only to look up at him with a small smile. “You’re not tied up anymore… you can touch me,” you reminded him.

“O-okay,” he stammered, sighing slightly as you got back to it.

He was hesitant as he reached out and brushed his hands over your face, your hair, your neck, while you slowly bobbed over his length again. But you could tell he’d wanted to do this every time you’d sucked his cock. If anything, you were a little surprised he didn’t just grab your head and fuck your throat right there. You wouldn’t have minded, but it made your heart sing when all he did was caress your jaw while you continued your work, running his thumb over your hollowed cheek.

You pulled off of him with a pop! and a smile, lowering your head to lick and suck his balls a bit until he shivered under you. Your tongue laved over whatever you could reach, your eyebrow raising as you had an idea.

"Can I put my tongue somewhere new?" you asked gently, letting the tip venture a little bit lower so he'd hopefully know where you were referring to.

"Oh," he sighed, like the wind was knocked out of him just from your words, "um, yes, please…"

You smiled and pushed his legs up slightly, just enough that you could lean down and slide your tongue between his cheeks, both of you groaning when you circled his sensitive rim.

That pretty face turned pink, tossed back in pleasure… it was a sight to behold. It made need pang between your legs, your insides clenching around nothing. You lapped at it eagerly for a little while, still using one hand to stroke his spit-slicked cock.

“Mistress,” he blurted out at one point, somewhere between a moan and a sigh and a sob. It made you smile around your extended tongue; it also made you sit up and look down at him proudly. You knew what he wanted next, but you also knew he was too afraid to ask for it— so you asked instead.

“Can I ride you?” you requested quietly.

“Please,” he groaned, and not one to make him wait (anymore), you quickly hopped up to straddle his legs while he sat upright again. He pushed your dress up your thighs and over your hips while you carefully pulled your thong aside, before you lowered yourself onto him as you both sighed in relief.

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back as your hips met his. “Oh… oh my god, James— so good, you feel so good.”

He made a sound you thought you might’ve never heard from him before. It had that weak, sobbing quality to it like a lot of his moans did, but this time it was less shaky, less desperate, with confidence around the edge instead. He reached up and held your hips, guiding you at the pace he wanted— and you loved that he was finally learning how to take pleasure from you after he’d taken so much suffering.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and when your name tumbled from his lips, he suddenly glanced to you as if he was afraid you’d be upset for not saying ‘Mistress.’ But you smiled down at him and carded your fingers through his hair, kissing him again while you rode him faster. It was a needier kiss than before: hungrier, less delicate, and you moaned into it when his hand found the back of your head and pulled you deeper into it.

The pleasure had you tempted to throw your head back, but the kiss kept you bent down towards him. When you tried to bounce up and down, the metal hand on your hip kept you held tight and close, until all you could do was grind back and forth on him. Not that you minded that— it made your clit rub up against him and it made you both breathe heavily into each other’s mouths.

“James,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“I just wanted to say it,” you smiled. But he was very serious as he said your name back to you— dead serious, even, and it made your heart clench in the right way, for once.

You could come like this, honestly, and it wouldn’t even take you much longer… but you had better ideas, so good that you couldn’t help but blurt it out.

“Do you wanna get on top?” you asked, smirking slightly.

The conflict was obvious on his face: he was afraid that if you gave him any control, he’d take all of it. How ironic that for everything you’d done to him, he was so terrified to hurt you. But you understood. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m ready,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” you relented, “but I think you are. I think it’ll feel so good to be under you, to let you do whatever you want to me. I think it’ll feel so good to be yours, James.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and you felt his cock flex inside you. For a moment you thought he’d shake his head and tell you to keep riding him, but instead he quickly flipped you onto your back and hovered above you. “You’re sure?” he whispered.

“Fuck me,” you instructed, hoping a brief venture into your dom voice would get him to do what you knew he wanted to.

He was still slow and measured with it, more than you expected, but it felt fucking amazing to be caged in by his body and open wide for him.

“God, yes, just like that,” you encouraged, “fuck you’re so good, baby, your cock feels so fucking good…”

You loved the way your praises made his cock flex and his mouth fall into a gasp: so you kept going.

"My perfect boy, fucking his Mistress so good— I'm so proud of you, baby," you purred.

"Fuck, Mistress," he sighed, dropping his head onto your chest. "Mistress, Mistress, Mistress…" he chanted under his breath

"That's it, keep going, baby," you moaned, gasping when he suddenly slammed right into your spot. His head popped up again as he smiled at you.

"There?" he realized.

"Yes," you hissed. He gave you a hard, sudden thrust that made your legs quiver.

"There?" he repeated, grinning proudly.

"Yes," you answered again, though it was really more of a plea for more than it was a real response, made even more clear when you compulsively repeated it with every one of his movements. He held himself up with one hand as he hastily pulled your dress down with the other— when it didn’t give way easily, he growled and quickly ripped it. You gasped, though you smiled too, and he ignored it completely as he dove down to suck on your exposed breasts. “Fuck,” you moaned, even louder than you expected to.

He moved faster, fucked you harder, pushed you deeper into it until pins and needles started to spread over your body, forewarning of the onslaught of sensation that was about to hit you.

You bit down on your lip to try not to get too loud, but stopped when James suddenly kissed you again. You moaned into it, wrapping your legs around his hips as he gave you all of him with every thrust— and all of him was a lot to take, but you had been drenched and ready for it the second you had his cock in your mouth.

“You feel so good,” he whispered into the kiss, his words almost lost against your lips. “You feel so fucking good, how do you feel this good? Fuck, you’re perfect…”

Not true, but hot anyways.

“So tight,” he groaned, “I can’t believe I fit inside you, Mistress, but I do… feels like we’re made for each other.”

Of course that would be the thing to push you over the edge, sooner than either of you expected. “James!” you yelped as you reached your peak, back arching and legs quivering.

“Did you just come?” he asked, as if it wasn’t extremely obvious. Your eyes fell shut but you nodded through the haze and bit your lip. “Think you can do it again?”

“Fuck,” you sighed, eyes shooting open again to see his smile as he looked down at you. “You’re always full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Wanna make you come as many times as you made me come,” he explained.

“We’ll be here a while,” you chuckled.

“You have no idea,” he smirked, leaning in and kissing your neck softly. “I’m including every time I got myself off at home, thinking of you, remembering how good your body feels, remembering how I love being your good boy…”

Ironically, the words “good boy” seemed to do more for you in that moment than him; you purred through a grin, writhing slightly beneath him, but he pulled another gasp out of you when he pulled your hips up into the angle he wanted— which was, apparently, the angle that pushed his cock so deep that you choked on your own breath. “Oh fuck!” you gasped, feeling him smile wide against your shoulder before he bit it softly.

“You’re close again already, aren’t you?” he noticed.

You weren’t used to him being cocky (though it was still pretty soft, certainly not taunting), but you didn’t really mind it— especially since he was right.

Of course you'd always known how hard overstimulation can be on someone, you wouldn't subject your clients to something you didn't understand. But it was so different with James bringing you to the edge over and over, sending you into a seemingly-endless series of orgasms. After a while, each one was starting before the previous had even fully ended, overlapping pleasure making your head foggy and your body numb.

"Is this good?" he asked you as he breathed heavily, so oblivious it was almost funny, but you weren’t in the mood to laugh.

"So good," you growled, "so fucking good— my good boy."

"Fuck," he sobbed, "gonna come. Can I?”

It was sort of cute that he still asked. “Inside,” you pleaded, “come inside me.”

He groaned and fucked you faster and deeper, pinning you under his weight with each brutal thrust.

"Are you mine, James?" you asked between failed attempts to catch your breath.

He nodded breathlessly.

"Make me yours."

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