Work Header

Seconds to Hours, Time is Ours

Work Text:




It’s what he detests the most.

Right now, waiting opens a door to uncertainties and he abhors the feeling of unease that it brings.

His master had made him wait before so he’s not a stranger to a scene such as this, but there’s something peculiar about this time. He defied his master a few times for the sake of his master emphasizing his rightful place. This time around, he was negligent. Something adulterates the familiar air, but he cannot determine what it is exactly. He cannot put a name to it.


Thick silence impregnates the air and it rings louder than he’s used to. It brings a clamorous ringing in his ears, an unsolicited ring that he immensely desires to mollify. He desires to eradicate the unpleasant noise but he couldn’t. And even if he could, he shouldn’t. He knows better, so he does nothing, embracing the aural torment he’s receiving.

Taemin loses track of time. He could not fathom how long it has been since the silence dominated the room. Has it been merely seconds? Has a few minutes passed? Has it been more than half an hour? Or maybe it has been more than an hour? What makes the silence different? Queries crowd his mind, but he deems these questions insignificant. Instead, he veers his mind elsewhere.

What he wishes to do now is observe any sort of disturbance around him, but he couldn’t do so. He couldn’t rely on his vision, for an ivory satin cloth wrapped around his head obstructs his sight. It’s nearly impossible to rely on his hearing, for besides the dreadful ringing induced by silence, the sounds of his heavy breathing and his beating heart pummelling against his chest block any other sounds from reaching his eardrums. The fact that he’s entirely denuded exasperates the situation. It’s a distraction, because the cold caress of the air makes his bare figure tremble and the whimpers lodging in his throat are becoming more difficult to suppress.

His limbs feel heavy, and the cuffs around his wrists are tighter than usual. Each leather cuff is chained to a leg of their king-sized bondage bed, the chains deliberately short to keep his arms wide apart while they lay on the floor. His cheek is against the gelid floor as well. The spreader bar cuffed around his ankles keeps his lower extremities apart, his bruised knees bent and kissing the ground as he maintains his unclothed rear raised.

His member is erect and throbbing. It aches incredibly for release after all the several orgasms that his master denied him. His stiff length is a blushing red like a blossoming rose, just like what his master would always say. The dildo nestled within him stretches him more than usual, its length and girth noticeably longer and thicker compared to what he’s used to. Even the little shift that he makes on his current position coaxes a lewd noise to part from his lips, but he subdues every single one.

Exhaustion begins to crawl up his parted legs, sending his smooth thighs quivering. He’s been in the same position for what feels like hours to him. He’s been doing his best to stay still even before the utter silence settled around the room. His pearly whites sink further into his bottom lip while he fights back a sob, and a metallic tang invades his mouth.

Another set of fresh tears falls from Taemin’s eyes, the rolling beads joining the pool at his temple and dampening the satin blindfold further. Pain and exhaustion are a pair that he’s acquainted with for so long. Such is a pair that he can withstand, but not waiting, most especially if it is joined with this new type of silence. Waiting, paired with the palpable silence, rouses uncertainty regarding his master’s whereabouts.

He cannot feel his presence within the room and with every second that passes, his resolve weakens. He fully trusts his master that he won’t abandon him like this – and he’s never done so, anyway – but his senses have always harboured a need to validate his master’s presence near him. The strange element present in the atmosphere only heightens this need. The cold floor cajoles him relentlessly to collapse and all this time, he kept resisting. But then, refusing the invitation is becoming too arduous now. He needs his master.

“Sir…” A loud sob parts from his swollen lips, challenging the room’s silence. “S-Sir, please…”

Taemin pleads. Every bit of him yearns for his master and aches to be touched, his desire for both nearly unbearable. But more than that, he seeks for an answer. There’s something foreign that sits above the silence and he could not identify what it is. He pleads, and he doesn’t realize that he spoke until his master’s voice tears the blanket of silence surrounding them.

“You bitch.” He hears his master speak once more, the silence around them finally shattering.

Before his master’s voice could even resonate across the room, the rattan cane meets his flesh. It was quick a blow, sharply hitting Taemin’s round globe, and he’s certain an evident welt will soon appear on his skin. The servile boy flinches violently at the sudden painful hit, the sting on his fair skin eliciting a suppressed cry to egress his throat.

“One!” Taemin cries out. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Did I give you permission to speak?” His master’s voice slightly rises. It’s commanding and authoritative, just like the usual, but there’s something in his voice that’s distressingly unfamiliar. It makes the sobbing Taemin want to sob even louder.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir– I’m–” Another piercing cry erupts from Taemin’s tiers, his speech abruptly cut as he receives another merciless hit.

“Two! T-Thank you, Sir.” Restrained Taemin arches his back and pulls on his constricting cuffs, the metal chains fixed onto the bedposts clanking and harmonizing with his cry.

The phallic toy inserted in his stretched rim shifts inside him, its tip brushing near his sensitive nerves. It sends a wave of combined pleasure and pain through him and this, together with everything else, sends Taemin nearer to the brink of his desperation.

He keeps the sobs and apologies incarcerated inside his throat and it makes his throat feel ablaze. Tears coalesce into a single rivulet as they stream down his face and gather at his temple, the wet patch on the thin satin cloth expanding and the side of his face becoming damp. He bites down on his bottom lip harder, his rows of lovely teeth dangerously close to breaking the ruby skin further, and he mentally chants a mantra to convince himself that he can take it all. He convinces himself that he will take it all.

It only takes a moment until Taemin’s efforts turn futile under his master’s ministrations, but the contact his master initiates is far from what he expected. The rattan cane lands on his skin once more, but this meeting contradicts the previous one. The contact is light and gentle, the edge of the lengthy cane ghosting along his stinging skin and following the curve of his round perky buttocks. It journeys down to the back of his thighs then moves north and returns to his rear, the pace unhurried and leisurely.  

Taemin’s resolve hangs on a thin thread. In his thoughts, he pleads for another blow, another contact with the cane on his heated skin, another outburst, another spit of profanity from his master’s lips. Though all of these may be excruciating, the nearly desperate boy derives comfort from it, for his master is giving him what he rightfully deserves. But more than that, he derives comfort from it for it puts his mind elsewhere. He can think about the spreading sting, regulating his unsteady breath, or containing the noises crowding in his throat and not what perplexes him.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” He hears his master say. His voice sounds calmer, but that unfamiliar tone still lingers. It sends a violent shiver on the trembling Taemin’s skin and it exacerbates the unease in him.

“Respond.” Taemin nods instantly in reply.

“What did you do wrong?” He furrows his eyebrow, unable to properly address his master’s question. Words seem to have left him and he fears only sobs would leave his lips.

“Speak. Use your words.” His master urges him, causing his eyebrows to furrow even more.

Taemin takes a heavy gulp with hopes of burying his sobs deep in his throat. He searches for the words that refuse to assemble on his tongue, for he knows he must not keep his master waiting for his response.

“I… I– I stayed out beyond t– the– ”

“Repeat.” His master cuts him off, and the faint touch of the rattan cane against his stinging skin disappears. “If you stammer again, I’ll add one more hit to your punishment.”

“Taemin, what did you do wrong?” Taemin bottom lip quivers at his master’s words and he hears himself sniffle.

“I stayed out beyond the agreed curfew,” he manages to say seamlessly. “and I didn’t inform Master when I left and where I was.”

His master only hums, the deep sound indicating that his master acknowledges his answer.  He awaits his master’s next move. He awaits the following words that shall saunter off his tongue. He waits, but it’s another round of silence that converses with him. Taemin tucks his thick bottom lip between his teeth, the metallic flavor coating its surface no longer a shock to his taste.

“You’ve been doing so good.” The voice Taemin adores so greatly returns. He wonders if the pair of familiar lips brushing along the soft shell of his ear is just his imagination deceiving him. His master’s voice is a blend of mellow and dulcet, an extreme contrast of the previous stern and controlled.

“You’ve been so good, Taemin,” his master repeats the praise. “and it made me so proud.”

He doesn’t understand. His master is praising him when it’s the last thing he deserves at the moment. Taemin emits a loud whimper and despite being blindfolded, he tightly shuts his eyes upon realizing that a whimper left his lips. He anticipates another hit. He greatly anticipates it. Seconds tick yet it does not come.

His master’s utterance of praise resonates in his mind. His master’s voice sounded so close and the rich deep tone still fills his ears. He wills himself not too bask in it too much for it would be utterly shameless of him to do such amidst an ongoing punishment. He deliberately takes a deep breath to calm himself but the smell of Jonghyun’s favourite fragrance strongly invades his olfactory senses. At that moment, his master entirely occupies his head. There is no pain and no exhaustion, only his adored master. It makes him slightly light-headed, the scent inebriating him. Their current proximity is the closest they have been since his punishment began and he fails to hinder himself from basking in it.

“It’s disappointing how you broke one of the most important rules that I’ve set.”

His master’s praises and strong scent made his mind swim, the said duo impeding his comprehension. Slowly, he grasps the essence of his master’s remark and as he fully understands what his master had said, the building euphoria within him evanesces. The weight of exhaustion on his limbs return and they feel heavy once more, but not as heavy as his heart. A quivering sob leaves his mouth but he suppresses it halfway, trapping his lower lip between his teeth.

He disappointed his beloved master.

Just then, everything falls into place. What troubles him is finally solved. The answer he has been seeking is found, and it is his master’s disappointment.  His master’s disappointment is so sheer that it infiltrated the familiar air, rendering it foreign. His breath gets caught in his throat at the sudden realization. Waves of regret and guilt wash over him now that he realizes the severity of his misdeed. It induces an ache to spread throughout his entirety. It’s a kind of ache that unfurls beneath the flesh and reaches deep in his core.

Gone are all his consistent efforts to suppress his crying once his chest tightens. Although he attempts to, he can no longer control the sobs passing through his lips. The raven-haired boy’s shoulders shake uncontrollably with every sob he releases, hot tears cascading down his face one after another. His emotions overwhelm him. His resolve shatters after arduously keeping it intact. Guilt bears hands and he feels them enclose around his neck, beginning to suffocate him.  His breathing becomes heavy and labored as he turns into a bawling mess before his master.

His beloved master is disappointed.

Breathing is becoming a task – a difficult task – and regaining his composure is turning into a losing battle. But then, a warm palm glides along his curved spine then buries itself in his tousled thick locks. Familiar fingers curl on his dark strands and it’s followed by a light tug on his hair. He questions himself if he did hear his master ask him to lift his head up. It was a command that sounded so faintly spoken so he can’t help but hesitate. Though he thinks his mind might be playing tricks on him, he still lifts his head up, heeding the command.

As soon as he does, a soft cloth caresses his skin, wiping the streams of tears staining his roseate cheeks away. Gently and delicately, the thin fabric reaches the side of his face and even his jawline. While his master does so, his previously rough digits concurrently comb through Taemin’s raven hair soothingly. Amidst a punishment, his master cares for him. His master still cares for him even at such a time and his heart wrenches at the thought.

His master loves him. Apologies turn into continuous sobs and once his master withdraws the cloth touching his cheeks, Taemin leans towards his beloved master’s touch. He thinks his master’s display of affection has ended and though he whimpers unabashedly for more, he understands. His master is already too generous and kind.  But to his surprise, it didn’t end there. The older male calms him with his soft mouth this time, littering languid kisses along the expanse of his back. His master does love him.

Taemin thinks he’s not deserving of affection – not until his punishment ends, at least – but his master thinks otherwise. Knowing that he disappointed his master pains him, and receiving all this affection pains him even more. He relishes in the affection momentarily, then he tells himself that he must reciprocate his unconditional care. And so, he takes a deep breath. Eventually, his loud sobs mollify into soft sniffles. With his efforts and his master’s comforting gestures, he calms down. The fingers stroking his hair and the pair of full lips pressing against his skin vanish.

“Breathe in for me, then breathe out.” His master commands him, his voice soft and dripping with honey, and the calming boy does as he’s told.

“Again. Breathe in, then breathe out.”  Taemin obeys.

“That’s a good boy.” Taemin’s mouth marginally curves into a smile. “Feeling better? Speak.”

“Yes, Sir,” is his soft, simple reply.

“Like I said earlier, I want you to learn. I don’t want you to do this again.”

I will never disobey my master again. I will do my best not to disappoint my master ever again. Taemin responds in his mind while his body stays still, save for a few sniffles he emits.

“Get into the proper position. In a minute or so, your punishment continues,” Upon hearing a soft rustle of fabric, he assumes that his master must have finally stood up. Taemin follows his master’s order right away – the state of his position slipping back into his mind only now since his emotional collapse – and lowers his head on the floor until he feels his cheek rest against the floor.

“Six more hits, then your punishment ends.” His master’s voice suddenly sounds distant, becoming even more so after every word, and Taemin could not feel his warmth anymore.

“Can you take six more hits, Taemin?” his master asked. “Speak.”

“Y– Yes, Sir. I can– I can take it, Sir.” Though he stammers, his response is prompt. His voice is shaky and breathy, but louder than he expected it to be. He can take more than six hits. He knows he can and he knows he deserves more than mere six hits, but if his master deems six as enough, then six it shall be.

Please, Sir. Please punish me. I deserve it. Punish me, and don’t show mercy.

“The same rules apply,” his master utters. “Count after every hit. Say it loud and clear.”

The clock ticks and the waiting submissive anticipates the coming hit. Staying true to his words, his master resumes the punishment. A calculated hit lands on his naked globes, the stiff cane reacquainting with Taemin’s blushing flesh. The impact only lasts for a brief second, the cane bouncing off his skin rapidly after the contact. He visibly flinches and jerks forward due to the force, then he returns to his previous position.

“Three!” The restrained boy emits a cry, adhering to his master’s orders. “Thank you, Sir.”

After the initial strike, he didn’t expect that silence would resurface around his surroundings. It redeems its reign over the atmosphere once more, leaving Taemin wondering about his master’s possible succeeding actions. His heart begins to pound within his chest, but not because of budding unease. In him, there is no room for both impatience and unease. Anticipation grows within him. His determination blossoms. He told himself that he shall reciprocate his master’s affection and care. Taemin shall do it in the most appropriate way he knows, and he shall do it impeccably. His mind is already set on it.

He is certain that his master’s gaze will not stray elsewhere, so he shall strive to be a delightful sight to see. Jonghyun, the only man that he entrusted his entirety with, will ensure that he learns his lesson today. That he knows. In turn, the kneeling male is genuinely grateful for this moment. The unpleasant weight he feels in his chest will be one that he shall always reminder, one that shall serve as a reminder of this day. Taemin vows to himself that today shall be etched in his memory, and that this experience shall never flee his mind.



It’s what he detests the most.

But this time, he willingly embraces every second of it. The shard-like sobs and whimpers he had entrapped in his once flaming throat are now gone. His knees no longer quiver like they did earlier, but his exhaustion remains. Exhaustion may cling onto his frame, but it can no longer entice him to seek tempting rest. Both his cock and filled entrance are still in dire need of attention, the pair eager to be used to reach completion, but he diverts his thoughts from it. To please his master is his prime objective – it is and it shall always be – for to please his master is to be of purpose. His beloved master is above him and everything else, and Taemin shall make it known.

Waiting no long opens the door to a platitude of uncertainties.

Waiting is a bestowed golden opportunity, for every second that passes is a new chance for him to polish himself for his only master. Every tick of the clock is one that he learns to cherish. It’s the time for him to reflect, to be closer to clemency, and to be ready to prove to his master that he’s worthy.

And now, he waits patiently. He waits obediently for the fourth hit.