nsync in black and white

Fiction by Pen . . . . . not real, made up, purely intended for entertainment


A companion piece to Fettered.

The moment Justin and Joey went off to get ready for a night's clubbing, Lance caught JC's eye.

"My room." It wasn't a suggestion. It wasn't a request. JC was out of his chair and heading for the elevators before he could even think about it.

Lance permitted himself a small smile.

Opposite him, Chris was glaring. Their eyes met, and Chris lowered his gaze, but that resentment was plain in the tension of his body. That was part of the excitement of Chris, the way he wanted and resented at the same time. Walking along that edge, trying to gauge how far he could go, should go, to keep Chris in the right place.

Lance hadn't come close to JC's limits yet.

"So, Chris," he began, in a conversational tone.

"I guess I could take up Justin's offer," Chris muttered.

"If that's what you want." Lance shrugged. Chris shifted in his seat. "Or," Lance continued, "you can come to my room in... forty minutes from now. Not a second before. Don't knock."


Lance looked at him. "You could always go dance with Justin," he said silkily. Checked his watch. Got up to leave. JC would be getting twitchy. "Your choice, Chris."

He left the spare keycard on the table.


JC was such a challenge. He had to keep finding new ways to deal with JC. Lance was gentler than JC wanted, sometimes, but JC hadn't figured out yet that it wasn't only because Lance had to take care of him. Padded cuffs this time, and not too strenuously tied, he wanted JC focusing on what was happening in this room, not on the delicious pain of wire-fettered wrists.

And now JC was standing naked, framed by the bathroom door, blindfolded and helpless. Hard. And so very pretty.

"Have a good night, JC." Lance chuckled to himself. Opened the bedroom door, swung it wide and stepped into position against the wall. Pulled the door shut and settled, silently, to watch JC.

Very, very pretty.


Thirty-three minutes later, the key in the lock. Ah, Chris's face, when he saw JC tied up and helpless. Surprise, desire, trepidation, chased across his features.

"Inside," Lance ordered. "Don't want to put on a show for the whole floor, do we." He led Chris into the room to look at JC, straining and quivering against the bathroom door. "Beautiful, isn't he? And look how much he wants this. Look how much he loves it. He can't escape, can't even see what we're going to do, and he wants it. Whatever happens next."

Chris shivered against him as JC whimpered.

"Do you know what he'd like? Do you?" Lance said carefully into Chris's ear. "I think he'd like to hear you scream, Chris."

Chris jerked in surprise. Yes, Chris had feared this would be all about JC. Lance's hand came round to the front of Chris's throat and spread, feeling the tumultuous pulse on both sides, and Chris moaned. "Shall we give him that, Chris? Shall we let him hear you scream? Because I think you can do that for me, Chris. I think you want to. Don't you?"


Lance released him, and moved across to JC. Ordered him to be quiet. Then he sat on the bed, and watched Chris strip. Went slowly through the ritual of allowing Chris to remove his footwear, and then his shirt. Not the pants, of course. Required Chris to bring him the leather briefcase. Chris's eyes were bright and hot with anticipation as Lance unlocked the case and opened the lid.

"Which one shall I start with, Chris? Choose."

Oh, Chris. Greedy Chris. Some day I shall have to teach you patience. Start with the tiniest flicks and work up to more than you think you can take. But not tonight. "Are you sure, Chris? Because it's going to hurt."

"Yes. Yes."

"That's my jewel. Stand against the wall."

As Chris spread himself eagerly against the wall, Lance looked across at JC, and smiled. JC's lips were parted, the wet tip of his tongue visible, as though he were tasting the sounds in the air, like a snake. Another glint of moisture at the tip of his erection.

So. Chris. Arms and legs parted wide as he leant against the wall, smooth and white and vulnerable. Lance ran his hand down Chris's back, lingered over the curve of one buttock, slid down the back of a thigh. Told him how pretty he was, and watched JC's avid face. Both of them his like this, it was so far beyond what his meticulous imagination had shown him. "Poor 'C, he can't see how beautiful you look, spread for me like this. We'll just have to tell him how good it feels, won't we, Chris, let him hear how good it feels." Traced up again slowly with one finger, inside a tender thigh. Fingernail over perineum. A sharp pinch to the back of his balls. That got a reaction.

He picked up the whip. Felt the missing weight settle into line with his arm, corrected his stance, prepared himself. Picked the spot. Took his time, and watched Chris tauten with anticipation.


Chris grunted into the wall. Lance traced down his spine with the tip of the heavy whip. "It's a good whip, Chris. Feel it kissing your skin." The crease of his perfect ass. "This is what you want." Delving between. "You want more."

"Yes, yes!"

Oh, yes, Chris wanted more. And he got it, his back and ass and thighs a pale canvas for the streaks of punishment, a work of art, moaning his appreciation as the lashes fell relentlessly in slow, deliberate rhythm, each pause just long enough for Chris to anticipate the pain of the next lash.


One last potent stroke, just there, and it drew an exquisite moan out of Chris.

Enough, for now. Lance laid the whip lovingly down, and set about easing the fire on Chris's striped skin. Chris was clinging to the wall, and whimpered helplessly as the cool liquid stroked over the stinging lines. Wouldn't want to leave blemishes on that lovely body. Lance murmured reassurance into his ear. "You can thank me now," he whispered, and drew Chris to kneel between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed.

And God, Chris was good at this. His mouth slid over Lance's cock, sucked and licked, so eager to please him, taking it down, stroking his shaft and balls and thighs, fuck, what a wicked mouth. Lance groaned with the pleasure of it, urged Chris to take his time, not to hurry him to orgasm because, God, this was good. Lance stroked the dark silk of Chris's hair, and rested his eyes on JC's writhing body. JC's tongue circled his own lips as Chris's tongue circled the straining head of Lance's cock. Lance swore helplessly and leaned back, thrusting up against Chris's hot, silky mouth, and came.

Chris cleaned the stray droplets carefully as Lance got himself back into control. "Do you want to be fucked now?" he asked, smiling into Chris's gorgeous dark eyes. He could see the answer before Chris managed to give it.

"That's good," Lance purred deliberately. JC was so desperate to hear it all and reacting so beautifully, his presence heightened everything—the impact of every lash, every word, every sensation. Chris felt it too, Lance was sure, though no doubt Chris's emotions were rather different than his own. Lance leaned closer, took Chris's face between his hands. "I want to fuck you." he said, looking straight into those bright black eyes. "I want to fill you up. I'm going to fill you and fuck you hard and make you scream. With this."

He could see the conflict in Chris's face when he showed him what he intended. Part avid, part afraid. Had he pushed too far? Was it too much?

"I... I can't. It—I—no..." Chris's eyes dilated with the fear/excitement. Did he want this as much as Lance hoped? With JC, there'd have been no doubt—JC would take anything. It scared Lance, sometimes, the thought that he might allow JC's greedy compliance to take him too far. But Chris, Chris wouldn't let him do that. He could push Chris, try to find that perfect hidden place where Chris wanted to be made to go.

Lance smiled down at Chris. "You are allowed to say no, Chris." Lance paused. "You just have to accept the consequences. You understand that." Chris knew all about consequences. He loved the whip.

"I—I—" God, he was beautiful, poised between want and flight like this. Lance held Chris's jaw, tilted his face up and stared him in the eye.

"You understand that, don't you, Chris?" Tell me if you want me to stop, Chris. I trust you.

"I understand."

Lance was hard again already, despite the mind-melting orgasm of a few minutes ago. "On your knees. Over there. Put your forehead on the floor," he commanded. "Is there anything you want to say, Chris?"

"Please..." It was muffled, but definite. He wanted this.

Slowly, Lance extracted the flogger from his briefcase. Balanced it carefully, so natural in his hand, ready for the perfect stroke on that offered, helpless flesh. "Consequences, Chris." The flogger came down.

Chris stayed there, clutching at the carpet, trembling but refusing to move. Lance raised the flogger, breathed deeply, and struck again.

"What do you want, Chris?"

"I—I, oh, God, please!"

Another stroke, another cry. Scarlet streaking across that pale skin like a contract in blood.

"What do you want, Chris?" Tell me, beg me for it, you know you want to be fucked out of your mind.

"Fuck me!" gasped Chris. "Fuck me, fill me up, make me scream, please, I want it, I want you to."

So Lance did. Careful, relentless, slow, irresistible, ruthless, forcing the painpleasure into ecstasy, until Chris's incredible little sounds ran together in desperate wordless pleading, until he gave up his orgasm with a helpless cry, and Lance caught him and brought him back.

And now, JC. Lance watched him for a moment, so perfect, so hot, so completely turned on by what he could only hear and imagine, taut as a bowstring and desperate for release. Lance went to him, put a hand on him, and let him come.


A long time later, sated with torment, Lance lay between the two of them and marveled at his incredible fortune. So precious, so strong, so beautiful, both of them, and both his. His arms ached, his cock was limp and quiet, his balls spent. He felt cleansed.

"So lucky," he murmured, and fell into sleep.



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