Warnings: Could be triggering due to descriptions of an uneven power balance in a sexual situation; also does not accurately represent the safe and sane guidelines recommended in a real BDSM situation.
Contents: pony play, bondage, power games, spanking, crack!porn, twisted humor, general wtf-ery
Genre: het, PWP, humor
Pairings: Bob Loblaw/Lindsay Bluth
A/N: Yeah, well, I googled too much after a certain episode of Bones and then I fell asleep with Arrested Development in my dvd player or *insert lame excuse here*, and I'd like to claim I was drunk or something, but that would be a lie. Originally written for the Porn Battle and posted with a sock journal.
Disclaimer: Arrested Development belongs to The Hurwitz Company, FOX, Ron Howard and other people saner than me.
"You're an attractive woman," Bob Loblaw says. "And you've been dressing like a common whore. The trouble is, whores really are quite common, especially in L.A. I want something different."
"I can be different." Lindsay leans over his desk, shakes her hair a bit, and lets him get a good look at her cleavage.
"Yeah." He studies her with apathy. "That's not different."
She licks her lips.
He rolls his eyes. "My daughter gave me an idea."
"Your daughter?" She frowns at him. Here she is, offering to debase herself, and he'd rather discuss his kid?
He trails his finger over her lips. "Ever been on a lunge line, Lindsay?"
She has no idea what that means, but for once she has his attention, so she goes with it. "I'll ride that lounge chair like it's going out of style."
"Right." He reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a tangle of leather. "How about we start with this."
Her throat goes a little dry as he walks around the desk and tilts her chin up. She searches for something sexy to say, but nothing comes to mind. Then he's buckling the straps around her head, and slipping a metal bar into her mouth. "Much better." He runs his fingers through her hair, arranging it around the gag. "You look beautiful in a bridle."
She's almost grateful for the bit in her mouth, because she's confused and her bravado is slipping, but at least she's saved from admitting it. She watches him unbutton her blouse, and run his hands over her stomach and down her sides. The blouse falls away, and he circles her. His scrutiny makes her shift from one foot to the other.
"Easy, girl." His hands stroke her shoulders, and slide down her arms. "Steady now." The leather wraps around one wrist, then the other. It feels soft, until she tugs experimentally, and the stiff edges press against her skin. "Easy there, that's a good filly."
He loosens her skirt and pushes it down. The fabric pools around her ankles, leaving her standing in her bra and panties as he circles again. When he stops in front of her, he plays with her hair, and she worries that the straps will make it flat. She'll never get an appointment with her stylist -- Bob nudges her feet apart with the toe of his shoe, and her attention switches to her balance. He looks her in the eye as he runs a hand down the outside of her thigh, and she's never felt more naked.
Her heart pounds, and she's shaking. Then he slips his hand into her panties and her knees almost buckle.
"Good filly," he says. "I knew you'd like this. I'm pleased." He removes his hand, and then slides her panties down to join her other clothes on the floor. He takes hold of her bridle and leads her forward.
She's completely out of her element, and that she's still wearing a bra feels ridiculous. Also, she's letting a man lead her in circles around his desk.
They stop, and he pulls a few more items from the drawer. There's a whip, and something that looks like a horse's tail. He's not seriously planning to dress her up like -- but he already has. She's wearing a bridle, and as she fidgets nervously, he buckles a strap around each of her thighs. Then he pushes her toward the desk.
"Easy girl." His hand slides up and down her back, then he tugs her head down, bending her foward over the desk. He taps her ankle until she moves it, and then he switches to the other foot. "Whoa now, there's a good filly."
Her feet are so wide apart that she'd never keep her balance, if not for her cheek pressing against the desk. He's stopped touching her, and she assumes he's undressing. She waits, expecting him to enter her at any moment, but nothing happens. She tries to turn to look at him, but fidgeting only shoves her breasts against the desk, and it hurts.
A slap echoes in the silent office. "Now whoa."
"Hey," she protests around the metal. "What the hell?"
"Quiet." His hand presses down on her neck, and the whip slices the air.
She yelps as it bites her ass. Then she notices that Bob is still dressed. "You're a fucking Nevernude?"
The bit muffles her words.
"Time for your tail." His fingers trace the crack of her ass, and her eyes go wide as she figures out how that thing is meant to stay in place. "Whoa girl."
Lindsay is pretty sure her dignity is gone forever.
When he tugs her bridle, she stands and tries to close her legs, but something holds her knees apart. Her hands are still bound, and the ridiculous tail is brushing against the backs of her legs.
"What a pretty pony." His thumb glides over her nipple.
Maybe they're finally getting somewhere. She lets her eyes close to focus on his hand. Her nipples ache at his teasing. The fabric of her bra chafes. She wishes he'd remove it, and when he does, she arches her back to show off her best assets to their full advantage. Something jingles, and before her cloudy mind can puzzle that one out, pain shoots through her nipple.
"Ouch! What the -- " She looks down to find a fucking bell hanging from her nipple.
"Whoa there girl." Another clamp bites into her flesh. "Now you're ready for your exercise."
Exercise? This just keeps getting worse. What the hell is he going to do, put her on a stairmaster?
He tugs the rein, leading her forward, and she waddles awkwardly, hampered by whatever the hell's between her knees. "You look hot, Lindsay. You make a good filly."
She smiles at the flattery, or tries. The bit makes it hard. This guy's a freak, but at least he notices her. Tobias never touches her breasts.
He opens the door and she freezes. "Easy girl, it's okay." The hand not holding the reins strokes down her body and slips between her legs. "We have the place to ourselves."
She's shaking, and she can't help but to press herself against his fingers.
"That's a good filly." His hand leaves her, and she thinks she'll do anything to get him to touch her again. Even if her definition of anything has broadened in the last hour.
The sun is bright on his patio, and even brighter in the back yard. She looks around, her heart thumping.
"Let's get rid of these hobbles now." Bob unsnaps the bar between her legs, snaps a long rope onto her bridle and steps back, feeding out the slack as he moves away. "Now trot."
She blinks at him.
"Trot, Lindsay." He pulls out a whip and cracks it. "Pick up those pretty feet."
It's ridiculous, but when he snaps the whip a second time, and the lash bites into her skin, she runs forward, and soon she's jogging in a circle around him, running away from the whip like an animal. The bells jingle, her breasts ache, and the leather catches against her hair and pulls it. The stupid tail is impossible to ignore. Her side starts to cramp, and she knows she's sweating.
"Whoa, girl." Bob walks to her, coiling up the rope. "That's a good filly. Want your treat now?"
She nods before she can stop herself, and then he holds out his hand, with a sugar cube in his palm. She stares at it.
"Take your treat like a good pony."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" But her words are lost, because she still has the damn bit in her mouth.
"Take your treat, Lindsay."
She's done worse today, so she leans forward and uses her lips to take the sugar cube. While she struggles to get it past the bit, he strokes her tangled hair and runs his hands over her sweaty skin. She's even more gross than that time she tried to clean up the wetlands. She probably smells.
He strokes between her legs, touching her so lightly she wants to scream. "Get on your knees."
She kneels down awkwardly in the grass, and then falls forward on all fours as he releases her hands. His zipper sounds loud, even over her breathing, and then she hears the crinkle of a condom wrapper.
"Such a pretty pony." He brushes the tail aside and pushes into her. "You need a big strong stallion, don't you?"
The bells jingle as he thrusts, and for all the buildup, it's over fast. He pulls out and leaves her unsatisfied, panting on the grass.
"Whinny for me," he says, his fingers just shy of where she wants them. "Whinny for me, if you want to come."
"You sound like a chicken." He tugs at the tail, and runs a hand up and down her thigh. "I said whinny, Lindsay."
She tries again. And again. Finally she makes a noise that satisfies him, and he rubs her until she shudders.
"Good girl." He unclips the bells, interrupting pleasure with pain as the blood returns to her nipples. He unbuckles the bridle. "Same time tomorrow?"
Her nod is a lie, and she scampers into the house to find her clothes. She'll work it out with Tobias. There are worse things than cutoffs.
This transformative work constitutes a fair use of any copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. Arrested Development™© and related properties are Registered Trademarks of The Hurwitz Company, Imagine Entertainment, and 20th Century FOX Television. No copyright infringement intended. No profits made here. © Spiletta42, January 2009.