Beginner's Lessons
by FF Calliope


Legalities: Methos, MacLeod, and the whole Highlander concept aren't mine, I just like to play with them. I don't make money off of this, yadda yadda yadda.

Warning: This is an ADULT piece. If you are under 18 years of age, or if you don't like to read explicit sexual content, or are squeamish about BDSM, hit that delete key now.

Note on Characterization: This piece is a sequel to "Lessons", which was written with the assumption that Methos is an experienced player in the BDSM scene. I didn't take time to give the history on how he got involved, etc., just wrote as if that were a given. It isn't necessary to read "Lessons" to understand this piece, but if you want to, you can find it here.

Copyright August, 1997.

"So, how's the slave?" Joe popped the cap off a beer bottle and thunked it down on the bar in front of Methos.

Duncan's eyebrows lifted. "Slave? You're kidding, right?"

The bar wouldn't open for another hour, so the three men had the place to themselves. Methos gave Joe an irritated look, and took a swig of beer before answering. Joe just grinned.

"A subbie I picked up the other night. She's fine, thank you for asking." His lips quirked in a sarcastic little half-smile, and he added, "We're playing again this weekend, as a matter of fact."

Joe chuckled and moved away to make sure everything was stocked and ready for the night's business. What, Methos wondered, was so amusing about it? Not in the mood to deal with teasing, he slipped off the bar stool and sat down at a table, hoping that would close the subject. No such luck.

Grabbing his tumbler of scotch, Duncan followed. Methos sighed as his friend turned a chair around backwards and straddled it, folding his arms over the top. Dark brown eyes studied him curiously. Was the Boy Scout worried that he might revert to his former ways? No doubt he wanted Methos to explain himself. Well, too bloody bad, MacLeod; I didn't do it before, and I won't now.

"I didn't know you were into... that."

"I'm into a lot of things."

"Funny, how you never talk about it. Probably embarrassed." MacLeod grinned, obviously intent upon teasing him mercilessly.

"Fine. You want to know? Yes. I like to tie up people and whip them."

"I've got to see this for myself."

Methos choked on his beer. Of all the things Mac might have said, that was the very last thing he'd expected. "Excuse me?"

"I wonder if the Watchers put that sort of thing in their files." MacLeod smirked. "But I guess, writing your own chronicle, you leave all the good stuff out."

"Very funny." He glared at him for a moment, then his expression became more speculative. "I don't usually perform for an audience, but I might make an exception for you. If you really want to learn about it."

"Naw, I'm not the voyeuristic type."

"Prefer to learn by doing? I might could arrange that."

"I didn't mean -"

"What's the matter, MacLeod? Afraid you won't... measure up?"

"I 'measure up' just fine, thank you," he answered sourly.

Methos took a sip of beer and grinned. This could be fun. First, to bait the hook... "If you say so."

"Some of us have natural talent."

"Some of us have had longer to practice."

"Maybe I'm a fast learner."

"One way to find out."

MacLeod frowned suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Now cast the line, drink a beer, and see if he bites. "Come over Saturday night. Unless you're squeamish about this sort of thing."

"What! You can't be serious."

"I'll have to check with Slave first, make sure she doesn't mind being a guinea pig for a neophyte Master, but I think she'll be all right with it. You'll like her; she's very well trained."

"You make her sound like a dancing poodle."

"Hardly." Methos laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. A nibble, but not quite a bite. "Come on, MacLeod. You're far too young to be stuck in a rut. Try something new."

"I haven't had any complaints."

"I wonder what Amanda's chronicle says about that."

This time, it was the Highlander who choked on his drink. Spluttering, he said, "All right, fine! You tell me what time, and I'll be there."

Got him, hook, line, and sinker. Methos finished off his beer and set it down, barely disguising his amusement. "I'll do that."

Methos stiffened as he felt the presence of another immortal nearby, even though he knew who it must be. The woman curled up at his feet sensed his tension, and lifted her gaze to study his face. He gave her a reassuring smile.

The silence stretched out, and he imagined MacLeod hesitating on the other side of the door, wondering if it was too late to back out. Then the doorbell rang.

Well, well, Methos thought. Will wonders never cease. With a nod of his head, he indicated to his slave that she should answer it.

The woman rose smoothly and moved to obey. Normally, she would already be naked, but tonight she wore a short, cobalt-blue silk robe that he'd purchased for her. I was right about the color, he thought, watching her pad across the floor. It flatters her blonde hair and fair skin beautifully.

Opening the door, she let the Highlander into the flat. Methos hid a smile as the two of them looked each other over. Slave seemed rather stunned, but then MacLeod often had that effect on women. Already well into the submissive headspace, she smiled shyly, taking the visitor's coat and hanging it up, then offered him a drink. Mac hesitated before requesting a glass of wine.

"Come on in, MacLeod, take a load off," Methos said. He didn't bother to get up from where he lounged in his favorite chair, one leg draped over the arm.

The other man moved into the living room, his expression guarded, and perched on the end of the couch.

"That's her?" he asked.

"What were you expecting - a French maid's outfit? a garterbelt, fishnets, and 5" heels? Yes, that's her."

The woman returned from the kitchen with a glass of burgundy, and knelt in front of MacLeod, holding it up to him, her hands trembling just enough to set the wine rippling. Mac took the glass and thanked her awkwardly. They were both nervous. Best establish the ground rules right away, he decided. Methos motioned to her, and she moved back to her position at his feet, leaning a little closer than before.

"Right. Mac, this is Slave. Slave, this is Duncan MacLeod. You are to address him as either Sir or Mr. MacLeod, understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Let's get a few things straight, first. If, for any reason, this does not feel right to either of you, speak up. Now, or at any time during the evening." Long fingers stroked the woman's hair, and she tilted her head slightly to encourage it. "All right?"

The other two nodded, and he went on. "Slave is very vulnerable, MacLeod. Sharing her kinkiest fantasies with a stranger is bloody difficult, so if you don't think you can do this without laughing or judging, I'd rather you left."

"I'm not a complete moron," Mac answered, rolling his eyes.

Methos smirked, but for once didn't voice his smart-ass response. Instead, he simply said, "Slave. Strip."

That made the Highlander blink, all right. Especially when the woman got up and took off her robe without argument or hesitation.

"Look at her," he urged, pitching his voice in a soothing purr. "That bum is made for spanking, don't you think? Nice and round and soft."

The woman turned a slow circle, showing herself to both of the men, keeping her eyes lowered. Mac stared into his wineglass for a moment, obviously embarrassed, but finally looked up to study her from head to toe.

Standing, Methos placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face MacLeod, pressing himself against her back. He felt tension in her muscles, and kneaded gently as he murmured into her ear, "Are you all right?"

"A little scared," she admitted.

"Of what?"

"Of failing to please." The words came out in a whisper.

"You'll be fine." He kissed her temple, then the nape of her neck. "Just relax, and trust me. Do you like what you've seen of Mr. MacLeod?"

A blush stained her cheeks, and she nodded.

"Would you like to please him?"

He felt the little shiver that went through her, and grinned to himself. One large hand strayed from her shoulder to brush over her nipples, making her suck in a sharp breath before she answered, "Yes, Master, very much."

"If you don't want to do something that either he or I asks of you, I expect you to tell us. I'll be very angry if you don't. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir." Her head lowered, and a few wisps of hair swung down across her face. Damn, but she was a sweet one.

"Good girl. Now, go to the post and wait for us. We'll be right in."

With one last shy glance at MacLeod, she turned to obey, disappearing into the bedroom. Methos smiled, seeing his friend watch the dimpled curves of her behind as she walked away from them.

"Is she always like that?" MacLeod asked.

"Like what?"

"You know... quiet. No mind of her own."

"Oh, she has a mind of her own, all right. She's just in a very submissive headspace right now. It's like an altered state of consciousness."

"You're in one, too, aren't you? But not submissive."

Methos grinned. "You are a fast learner."

Mac scowled at him. "So what now?"

"Now the fun starts." Without waiting to see if the other man would follow, Methos turned on his heel and went into the bedroom.

The woman stood beside the post, one hand stroking up and down the smooth wood in a nervous little gesture. He'd sent her ahead so that she would have time to look over the array of toys laid out on the bed. Building anticipation. Judging by the shine in her eyes when she looked up at him, the ploy had worked exactly as intended.

"Take my shirt off, Slave," he ordered, holding out his arms.

Her small hands deftly untucked his black turtleneck and peeled it up over his head. The motion brought her close enough that her breasts bumped against his chest, reminding him that he had yet to feel them wrapped around his cock. Perhaps tonight. It was certainly time he tortured them a bit, especially those perky little nipples.

Behind him, MacLeod moved into the room and leaned against the wall, watching. Planning to keep your distance, Highlander? he thought. Not if I have anything to do with it.

"See if Mr. MacLeod needs help with his," he suggested, once she had draped his shirt over a chair.

MacLeod started to protest, but when the slave went to him and lightly ran her hands over his broad chest, his words sputtered into silence. Slender fingers flicked open the buttons of his silk shirt, and she dipped her head down to kiss each new bit of skin as she bared it. Spreading the shirt open, the woman pressed her body to his and unwrapped him like a birthday present. Methos noted with satisfaction the way MacLeod's breathing changed, the way his attention narrowed to focus on her. She lingered just a moment longer than necessary before breaking away to hang his shirt beside Methos' on the chair.

Methos crossed over to the bed and picked up the restraints and the spreader-bar. A jerk of his chin told her to return to the post.

"Back to it, hands behind your head."

The position made her spine arch, thrusting her breasts forward in the most tempting way. Methos crooked a finger at MacLeod, who reluctantly joined him at the post.

"Restraints," he said, holding them up. "More secure than rope, and they don't cut off circulation. Easier to use, too. Just buckle them on and clip them to the eye-bolts." Tossing one to his friend, he buckled the other leather cuff around the wrist nearest him, then guided it to one of the eye-bolts, clipping it into place. MacLeod only hesitated a few seconds before following his example. The slave moaned softly, and her ripe lips curved into a smile.

Next he held up the spreader-bar. It consisted of a three-foot long piece of oak, capped at each end with steel eye-bolts, from which dangled a pair of larger leather cuffs. "I imagine you can guess what this is for."

"To keep her legs apart, right?"

"Right. Give me a hand." Kneeling, he buckled one cuff around the woman's ankle, and watched as MacLeod did the same on the other side. Her feet scooted first outwards, then closer in, adjusting to the width of the bar, which made the muscles of her calves and thighs ripple slightly. Methos ran a fingertip up the inside of her leg just to feel those muscles move.

"Nice position, isn't it?" he commented. "Gives us access to every inch of her. Comfortable, Slave?"

"Mmmm, yes, Master."

"Let me know if your arms go numb."

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you remember your safewords?"

"Red for stop, and yellow for slow down."

"Good. Remember that, MacLeod. If she says 'red', everything stops, we take her down from the post and talk about what happened. If she says 'yellow', we slow down and check on her more carefully to see how she's doing."


Methos picked up a bottle of oil from the nightstand, uncapped it, then waved it under the woman's nose. She inhaled deeply, and her eyes widened when she recognized the scent.

"Cinnamon oil," he said, for MacLeod's benefit. "It produces a burning sensation."

"Mind if I try some?"

"Be my guest."

Mac dabbed a little onto his wrist and frowned. "Doesn't do much. What's the point?"

"It's all in where you apply it." Methos coated one fingertip in the tingling, warm oil. With the other hand, he gently peeled back the hood of skin covering the woman's clit, then rubbed the oil into the delicate nub of flesh.

The restraints jingled, followed by a loud hiss of indrawn breath. Every muscle in her body tensed briefly, then relaxed into a fluid undulation as she let out the breath in a soft moan. Beneath his finger, her clit swelled and throbbed in immediate response. Looking up at her flushed face, he explored further.

"So wet, already?" He chuckled.

Her flush deepened, and she bit her lip in embarrassment. To his surprise, Mac's hand nudged his aside, and his thick fingers dipped into the moist well. Slave shuddered, her hips pushing forward against the pair of them in a wordless plea.

Methos slid his fingers up over her mons, her belly, between her breasts, leaving a shining trail behind before finally pressing them between her teeth. He didn't have to tell her what to do. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she sucked the fingers into her mouth and cleaned them, her tongue stroking in a slow, teasing rhythm that made his heart rate speed up. His jeans, tight to begin with, were rapidly growing uncomfortable.

Leaving her to Mac for a moment, he went to the bed and picked up a pair of nipple-clamps. When he returned, she was sucking his friend's fingers clean, cheeks hollowed around them in a promise of things to come. The look on Mac's face was priceless. Too bad he didn't have a hidden camera.

"I think she likes you, MacLeod."

The Highlander stepped back and adjusted his trousers. "I'm flattered. What're those?"

Methos held them up for the slave to see, then used one to draw invisible little designs over her breasts. "Tell him, Slave."

"They're nipple-clamps, Sir."

"You mean they -- "

"Yes. Like this." Methos unscrewed one so that its tiny jaws opened wide enough to fit around one hard nipple, then screwed it back down, pinching the flesh tightly. When a frown-line appeared across the woman's forehead, he tightened it one more turn, and stopped. A light-weight chain connected the two clamps, and he gave it a tug to see if the thing was on securely. Slave gasped, and he was pleased to see that the clamp didn't slip off. Perfect.

"Want to do the other side?"

Again, MacLeod hesitated, but when Methos raised his eyebrows, he took the clamp and cautiously fastened it into place. "Don't they hurt?"

Methos chuckled, and gave the chain a little tug that made the slave flinch, then groan. "That's what this is all about, MacLeod. Experiencing pain as pleasure. She's learned to transform the sensation into arousal. Look at her, you can see it's true."

Sure enough, the woman was breathing faster, and everything about her posture and expression spoke of sexual desire. Mac touched a fingertip to one nipple, and her breasts quivered as she trembled in response.

To heighten the effect still more, Methos dabbed a little of the cinnamon oil onto each nipple before putting the bottle away. She couldn't help but squirm within her restraints as the oil set her most sensitive places on fire.

Then he picked up the crop.

"Recognize this?" he asked, showing it to MacLeod.

The slave hummed softly in anticipation, and he held it out to her so that she could kiss the handle. Her lips parted, caressed it, then nuzzled up and down the leather, distracting him until Mac's voice broke the spell.

"Sure, a riding crop. I've used them on horses before."

"It's a very versatile instrument. It can be used to caress..." holding it by the handle, he teased the leather flap over the slave's inner thighs "... or to strike...." then delivered a single, light swat to her hip, making her jump. "It gives you a lot of control. You can pinpoint exactly where you want to hit, and how hard. This slave likes a slow build-up, so start out lightly with her and gradually increase the intensity of the blows. Using just the leather flap hardly hurts at all, but the shaft can deliver a hell of a sting. Also, keep in mind that some spots are more sensitive than others."

Handing him the crop, Methos moved to stand just behind the post, leaning against it. Her head tipped back when he reached around to stroke her hair with one large hand, and when his other hand smoothed over her ass and moved between her spread legs, she arched against it, rubbing like a cat.

MacLeod trailed the crop over her belly and up to her breasts, flicking very lightly at her clamped nipples. "Are you sure she likes this?"

Methos chuckled, and whispered into her ear, "Tell him, Slave."

"Oh, yessss... please, Mr. MacLeod, please use the crop on me."

"Like this?" Mac swatted one thigh.

"Oh, yesss... please..."

Another swat, this time to her left hip. She caught her breath at the sting, then a fresh gush of wetness coated Methos' fingers. His cock stiffened painfully against the tight fabric of his jeans.

Mac's fascination was obvious. Watching her reactions, he experimented with her like a new toy, tapping the crop against her inner thigh, the swell of her breast, the back of one knee. Methos stroked and teased her in counterpoint to the stinging little smacks, until she yearned for more.

"You want it harder?" MacLeod asked.

"Please, Sir, please. Harder."

Her breathy whisper was scarcely audible. At MacLeod's questioning glance, Methos nodded his approval. She was plenty ready.

The crop snapped against the soft inside of one thigh, less than an inch from her sex, and she cried out, startled by the sudden increase in pain, even though she'd begged for it. MacLeod stopped, his eyes darkening with worry, but when she thrust back against Methos' hand, he raised it again and swatted her other thigh.

One long finger slid into her. Methos felt the wet heat clasping him, and imagined how good it would feel around his cock. A swat to the side of one rounded ass-cheek made the little ring of muscle around her entrance tighten up, clutching at him, and he bit back a groan.


MacLeod frowned. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. It's just my turn, that's all." Methos eased his finger out of her and walked around in front so that she could see him suck it clean. The little chain dangling between her nipples swayed as she caught her breath. Taking the crop, he nudged his friend out of the way.

Mac stepped back, folding his arms over his naked chest as he watched. Methos swatted one breast, then the other, back and forth in a gradually quickening rhythm, working all around the plump flesh, getting closer and closer to the nipples. Her ribs began to rise and fall visibly as she breathed faster, controlling the pain.

"Fifteen to each nipple," he warned her. "Count."

Her face twisted up, but she nodded her head. After each blow, she counted aloud, her voice rising steadily until it broke into a sob on the last "fifteen."

"Hitting in the same spot over and over is much more painful," he told MacLeod.

"She's crying. I don't know about this -- "

"It isn't just her face that's wet. Look at her thighs."

MacLeod moved closer, and saw the beads of creamy liquid that dripped down from her sex. He threw a startled glance towards Methos, who smirked back.

"Master? My arms are getting numb."

Hardly surprising, considering the position. Methos tossed the crop aside and went to her. "Time for you to come down, then."

Together, he and MacLeod unclipped her from the post and eased her arms into a more natural position, massaging them to stimulate circulation. The two pairs of male hands seemed to affect her nearly as much as the crop. She obviously wanted them both, and badly.

Not just yet, Methos thought. You'll have to work harder than that to earn such a reward.

"My jeans are feeling a bit tight," he told her. "Take them off for me."

Not as easy as it sounded, considering they hadn't removed the spreader-bar. The woman started to protest, but one glance at his face told her that it would do no good. Frowning in concentration, she shifted down onto her knees, legs stretched apart at an uncomfortable angle, and scooted around until she faced him. The position threw her balance off just enough that she had to rest her forehead against his stomach to keep from falling over while she unfastened his jeans. Methos encouraged her by lightly caressing her hair. The damp heat of her breath fanned across his skin in an uneven rhythm, making his muscles clench involuntarily. As she worked the denim over his hips and thighs, she grew bolder, her mouth opening to nuzzle him, and he was tempted to push her head lower. Instead, he grasped her hair and pulled her away from him, frowning.

"Did I say you could do that?"

"No, Master. I'm sorry, Sir."

"I think you need to be punished. What do you think?"

Her face fell. Probably didn't realize that he was teasing, he thought. Voice catching, she answered, "If - if it pleases you, Master."

No sense in making her doubt herself; she hadn't really done anything wrong. He just wanted an excuse to spank her. Easing his grip on her hair, Methos smiled, and said, "You do please me, Slave."

"Thank you, Master." She relaxed, reassured, and smiled back.

"But I still think I should punish you." He winked, and knew by her giggle that this time she understood. "First, let's get that spreader-bar off. MacLeod? If you would...?"

The Highlander knelt down behind her and unfastened the restraints. His broad hands massaged her ankles, and she looked back over her shoulder to thank him.

"You're welcome. Need help getting up?"

Slave hesitated, looking to her Master for permission. At his nod, she held out a hand to MacLeod, who took it, pulling her to her feet. Methos kicked his jeans aside. The front of his boxers resembled a tent, but he was a hell of a lot more comfortable this way.

"Why don't you take off my pants, too," Mac suggested, guiding her hand to his belt.

Getting to you, isn't it? Methos thought. The power, the control, her submission. Hardly chivalrous. There may be hope for you yet.

The woman was more than happy to oblige. With a flick of the wrist, she unfastened his belt, then cupped one hand around the bulge in his pants while she lowered his zipper. Methos grinned knowingly at the way his friend's muscles tensed.

"Don't make me punish you, too." The Scottish accent was more pronounced than usual. Full lips curved into a smile, but the dark eyes gleamed like a predator's.

"What kind of punishment?"

Methos almost laughed aloud. The little flirt. Turning to hide his amusement, he walked over to the bed and sat down. "Come here, Slave. Lay across my lap."

The sway of her hips riveted the Highlander's gaze as she moved away from him. The poor guy was so distracted that he nearly forgot to kick off his shoes before stepping out of his pants. Methos stifled another laugh and settled the woman into the position he wanted, guiding her between his open thighs and laying her face-down over one long leg. Closing his legs together around hers guaranteed that he'd have control of her no matter how much she squirmed. He knew that, with her head dangling upside-down, she couldn't stay this way long before getting dizzy, but for a short spanking it was perfect, making her bottom the focus of attention. His erection pressed against her side as he studied the plump, round shape of her ass.

"Ready, Slave?"

"Yes, Master." The slave arched, tipping her behind up just that much more. Methos smoothed a palm over it, feeling how cool the skin was. Not for long.

Raising his hand, he looked up at MacLeod and grinned. Then he brought it down with a loud smack. Slave jerked in reaction, her stomach tensing against his thigh.

MacLeod grinned back at him. "May I?"

"Please do."

Methos stroked down along the slave's thighs, and his friend's broad, dark hand curved around a pale cheek, then gave it a sharp slap. MacLeod knelt in front of him to get a better angle, and repeated the slap, harder. The woman squirmed, legs opening a little.

"Told you she had a spankable arse." Another smack, this time to the sweet spot at the undercurve of her cheek, accented his words. The flesh jiggled deliciously. A moan vibrated through her, and the helpless twist of her body rubbed against his erection, making it throb. Methos shifted his legs, fighting the urge to stroke himself.

MacLeod brought his hand down again, harder this time. "No argument there."

"You take that side, and I'll take this one." Methos slapped a claim on his half.

"Deal." Mac matched his blow on the other side.

One after the other, they fell into a rhythm, making her writhe and cry out. Her skin turned pink, then red. Methos gritted his teeth as she rubbed against his hard cock with each spank, faster and faster, the sounds echoing through the room, until the blows fell so fast that their hands blurred.


Both men stopped immediately. Methos rubbed her ass in a gentle, soothing caress. "Too much?"

"I'm sorry, Master." She was crying. They'd gotten carried away -- easy to do when you were teaming up on the poor sub. MacLeod's face darkened with guilt, and he glared reproachfully at him.

"Shhh, it's all right." Lifting her up, Methos turned her around and pulled her into his arms, rocking her. The woman snuggled close.

Mac leaned in, wanting to comfort her, and Methos felt his erection brush against his shin. For an instant, he wondered if it had been on purpose, but no, the other man's attention was all for the slave, stroking her hair, whispering to her. Pity...

"Why are you sorry?" MacLeod asked. "We should be the ones apologizing."

"I - I couldn't take as much as you wanted to give me."

"There's a box of tissue on the nightstand. Get her one, would you?" The other man moved away, leaving Methos both disappointed and relieved. This wasn't the place or time to make a pass at MacLeod. "A slave's greatest desire is to please the Master she serves. She feels like she failed me," he explained. More softly, he murmured into her ear, "You did very well. You pleased us both."

"I did?" Her voice wavered with uncertainty.

Methos pressed his lips into her hair, answering, "Yes, you did," and his arms tightened their hold. Protectiveness welled up in response to her vulnerability. What a precious gift, this submission. What an honor, that she offered it to him.

Taking the tissue, she eased back to dab at her eyes, then blew her nose with a loud honk that made them all laugh. MacLeod grimaced when she handed him the used tissue, but threw it away without complaining, and Methos stood her up on her feet.

"I think it's time for these to come off." He indicated the nipple-clamps.

"Thank you, Sir."

That meant they must be hurting her. Slowly, he unscrewed one clamp, then the other, and she winced as the blood flowed back into each nipple. Methos tossed the clamps out of the way, then drew her between his legs and tipped his head so that he could gently lick and suck at the tortured little bits of flesh, knowing that they would be exquisitely sensitive. Hot cinnamon flavor flooded his mouth, making his tongue tingle. The slave stiffened at first, still in pain, but gradually her body softened, then arched into him, the pain giving way to intense pleasure. Soft flesh pressed against his chin, his cheek, tantalizing him yet again with the image of his cock sliding between those lush breasts.

MacLeod moved in behind her and pushed Methos' hands out of the way so that he could caress the hot skin of her reddened ass. A low purr sounded in her throat.

I'd say she earned her reward, Methos decided. Releasing her nipple, he blew a cool stream of air over it, and looked up to see MacLeod's dark hair mingling with her blonde tresses as he nibbled at an earlobe. Judging by her expression, she thought she'd died and gone to heaven.

Curling one hand around her upper thigh, he nudged his thumb into the folds of her sex. The woman responded as if he'd sent a bolt of electricity through her, arching sharply, crying out, hips moving to increase the teasing pressure. She was still dripping wet, and her clit throbbed to his touch.

"Please, Master!" she begged.

"Please what?"

Embarrassed, she hesitated, until MacLeod growled into her ear, "Say it."

"Oh, gods -- please -- please fuck me, Master!"

Methos looked up and met the Highlander's questioning gaze.

"Just me, Slave? What about Mr. MacLeod?"

"Either... both... please, please, Master...."

The two men grinned at each other over her writhing form.

"What do you think, Mac? One, or both?"

"Well... we did gang up on her with the spanking. It seems only fair that we double the pleasure after doubling the pain."

"Good point. Slave, lay down on the bed, on your back."

Mac reluctantly stepped away so that she could obey, and Methos went to the nightstand. Picking up a bottle of lubricant for himself, he tossed a condom to the other man. Then he peeled off his boxers. He couldn't help but stare a moment when Mac stepped out of his briefs - damn, but that man was beautiful. The sound of foil ripping elicited a moan from the slave, and he turned his attention back to her.

Blue eyes focused on the Highlander's cock as he unrolled the condom onto it. The sight of her tongue flicking out to wet her lips almost made Methos change his mind about where he wanted to take her. Another time, he promised himself.

"Scoot down so that your legs hang off the end of the bed," he ordered. Grabbing a pillow, he tossed it to MacLeod. "Use this, if she's not high enough for you."

Her breasts swayed and bounced as she obeyed him, making him ache with anticipation. Mac knelt between her open legs and used the pillow, placing her just where he wanted, and when he was satisfied, Methos climbed onto the bed to straddle her waist. He felt her trembling beneath him. Squeezing his cock with one hand, he squeezed the tube of lubrication with the other, squirting it into the valley between her breasts. Small hands clutched at his thighs. Throwing the tube in the general direction of the nightstand, he rubbed the oil into her skin, over his cock, massaging them both. Every time he brushed against a nipple, she shuddered eloquently.

The woman jerked beneath him, and he guessed that MacLeod must have entered her. Dark lashes fluttered shut as her face flushed, then her head tipped back and her mouth fell open in a silent picture of ecstasy. Whatever Mac was doing, she certainly seemed to like it. Positioning his cock between them, Methos squeezed her breasts together.

Ah... yes. They felt just as good as he'd imagined, all slick and warm and soft. Slowly, he drew back, then thrust in, savoring the way her flesh resisted, then gave way.

Short fingernails sank into him, not too hard, just enough to add spice to the sweetness of the other sensations. The woman undulated in a sensual dance, her muscles shifting against his thighs, and he caught on to the rhythm of MacLeod's thrusts and matched it. The world narrowed to the silken friction around his cock. Breathing faster, he watched the tip appear and disappear, drops of fluid leaking out the little hole.

"Master?" she whimpered.

"You may come when I do. Not before."

A mew of frustration answered him. She wouldn't be able to hold out long unless Mac eased up, and that didn't seem likely. Making a mental note to talk to MacLeod about slowly building pleasure as well as pain, Methos decided to have mercy on her. Groaning, he picked up his pace, his cock making wet crackling noises as it slid up and down the slick tunnel of flesh. His balls tightened almost painfully. Sensation pooled in his groin, intensifying with each stroke, until he hovered on the edge, his pulse pounding like a hammer. Behind him, he heard MacLeod's grunt of release, and that sent him over the edge. Milky fluid spurted up onto her throat, and at the feel of it she let out a grateful little cry. Her body went still for an instant, then bucked hard as the orgasm hit.

Methos slowed to an easy thrust-pull as he came. The slave went wild, thrashing uncontrollably, and his weight was the only thing that kept her on the bed. He growled at the extra little jolts of pleasure her twisting body added to his release. She seemed to come forever. Glancing over his shoulder, Methos saw Mac's thumb caressing her clit in firm, knowing circles, prolonging her pleasure until she whimpered with exhaustion. By the time he slowed to a stop, she'd been reduced to a quivering mass. The two men grinned at each other. Finally, she relaxed, an occasional echo making her shiver, until at last she lay still, her face positively glowing with contentment. Methos released his bruising grip on her breasts. Propping himself up on his elbows, he curled down to give her a long, deep kiss.

Mac was the first to move. Methos heard him pad across the floor and into the bathroom, no doubt getting rid of the condom. At the sound of water running, he crawled reluctantly off of the slave, and stood beside the bed, watching her stretch luxuriously, looking like a cat after a bowl of cream.

A warm, wet cloth hit him in the chest, and he caught it reflexively. MacLeod. Thoughtful bastard. Methos cleaned himself while the other man took care of the slave, washing off the sticky mess that covered her breasts and throat.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome." MacLeod chuckled, and kissed her forehead, then her lips. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." The woman giggled, and tipped her head up to kiss him again, more deeply this time. He didn't appear to mind.

Methos moved about the room, putting toys and restraints away while the other two cuddled. When he'd finished, he sat down on the other side of his slave, and was gratified that she immediately snuggled closer to him. MacLeod got up and gathered his clothes from where they were scattered around the room.

"Care to stay the night?"

"No. Thanks." The Highlander dressed and prepared to go.

He hadn't really expected the invitation to be accepted. "How about breakfast, then? The three of us. You could see Slave in her normal state of mind and talk to her a bit."

"I'd like that. Call me when you wake up."

"Good night, Mr. MacLeod."

"G'night, Slave. I'll, uh, see myself out."

Methos chuckled. "See you tomorrow."

Slave was already blinking sleepily as the door closed. He tucked them both under the sheets, and threw a leg over her, feeling a bit possessive. Have to watch that, he thought. In this day and age she didn't belong to anyone but herself. Sometimes he did miss the old days... On the other hand, there was a lot to be said for the here and now. Willing slaves were a hell of a lot less work.