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30PlusFanfic Non-Event Fics
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Published:
2022-11-25
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2,587
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1/1
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Woe is Your Master

Summary:

Wednesday needs to know who Tyler's master is, and she'll extract the information by any means necessary.

Notes:

Or... What if Sheriff Galpin never interrupts Wednesday's interrogation of Tyler in 01x08?

Work Text:

“Let’s test your reflexes.”

Wednesday raised the hammer as far behind her as she could, and she swung with the weight of her whole body.  Tyler’s flinch made the movement that much sweeter.

But when the hammer knocked into the soft tendon just below his knee cap, the vibrations bounded through the hammer and traveled to every fiber of her body.  It was like being electrocuted but without the lights.

What intensified the feeling was Tyler’s maniacal laughter.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” Wednesday asked, pleased at how little an impact her torture was making.

“It’s a little funny.  Come on.”  He lifted his contrite eyes just barely visible beneath the frizzy mop on top of his head.  “You said it was a surprise.”

Wednesday leaned over Tyler with dead eyes and ran a finger along the cold metal keeping him from running away.  Then she scraped her hammer to take over for her finger.  The high-pitched screech hurt her ears, and elicited a slight whimper from her captive, so she kept going.

Then she lifted his chin with the sharp end of the hammer, and said flatly, “I didn’t say it was a bad surprise.”

Tyler smirked and leaned his neck into the hammer until Wednesday removed it.  He was enjoying it too much so she whacked his other knee, forgetting what it did to her.

She turned quickly and leaned over the table so Tyler wouldn’t read her.

She held the small, rusty saw, perfect for slowly slicing off fingers and toes, in front of her face.  She focused on it, trying to figure out where she would start.

Then she lowered it, sure of her next move, until Tyler blurted out, “I thought you said this wasn’t a date.”

The corners of Wednesday’s mouth bent just a little, and she slid the chain from his neck and began cutting, and she moved it down to his chest, cutting through his t-shirt until the knife scraped against his chains.

Tyler grinned again, and moaned.

“I never said it wasn’t,” she said as she straddled his lap.

“If only I had known,” he said, entirely too pleased with his situation.  “Things might have been different.”

Then she dropped the saw, and held him by the chains.  “Who are you, Tyler?”

The chains clanked against each other, and Wednesday resisted the urge to play with them.

“Oh, I think you know,” he said.  Then he bit one of the braids she had neglectfully allowed to float past her shoulder.

He pulled hard until the tiny hairs on her head tickled with one follicle at a time, until she felt it in one mass.  

“Let go, Tyler,” she said but he didn’t.

She cradled his jaw with her hand, and forced his head back.  He swallowed under the weight, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath her hand, but he didn’t let go.

She sat on his lap and slid forward for more leverage.  “Let go.”

She pulled his jaw until he let go, and she saw the obedience in his eyes flicker back to some brand of fascination.

She let go and pressed his knees behind him to test how much pain he could actually tolerate.

“Oh,” he says with clenched eyes.  Then he licked his lips, and whispered, “Harder…”

It felt as though his knees caused the vibrations.

“I can smell you,” he said.  

She let go of his knees, and lunged her body against his, the feel of the rubbing chains beneath her breasts caused a gasp in Tyler’s ear.

Her eyes popped open in shock, but she didn’t move.  And she didn’t back up when he whispered into her ear, “I can smell you.”

Then he licked her neck, and continued, “From miles away.”

Wednesday swallowed hard when he scraped his teeth lightly against her neck.

She closed her eyes to savor the feeling of the hammer’s vibrations, which were only growing stronger each second he lingered.  And when his lips sealed against her skin, and sucked, she bit her lip to keep from letting him know how much she liked it.

She got up and turned away from him again, then looked over her shoulder.  “Who’s your master, Hyde?”

Tyler leaned back on his chair, and said smugly, “You tell me.  You know so much.”

If she couldn’t find out who his master was, this would have all been in vain.  So she stomped over to him, shoulders hunched forward in as menacing a pose as she could manage.

She held him by the chains and shook him.  He cackled, so she pushed his chair over until he fell backwards.

The intensity of his laughter grew past an annoyance to vexation.  She went back for the hammer again, and threatened him.

A low pitched growl permeated her ears until the throbbing of her carotid overpowered it.  

She didn’t hesitate to swing the hammer at him.  He bucked his hips as the hammer crashed between his legs and broke the seat of the chair, and the weight of his legs, muscular as they were, crashed the chair legs to the ground.  

He freed the chain around his ankles from the hard wood, but he didn’t do anything to escape other than a feeble attempt to open and close his legs.  His torso and arms were still tied neatly in place where Wednesday had left them.

He arched his back, though, and Wednesday asked, slapping the wooden part of the hammer against her hand, “Who’s your master, Tyler?”

He sneered, “I’ll never tell.”

His unwillingness to comply, left her breath ragged.  She reached her platform boot out, and held it against his groin.  “Who’s your master?” she asked again.

He grew into her as she pressed more weight against him.

“Not… telling,” he said.

And when she let go, he banged his head behind him.

The hammer’s vibrations had localized between her legs, and Wednesday finally realized what was going on.

Tyler licked his lips, and said, “Is that a new perfume?  Because you’ve never smelled better.”

There was nothing for the feeling, and making him miserable, than to take care of it herself.  So she dragged the hammer between her legs, and she cringed when she realized how good it felt.

Tyler grunted, and shifted his hips up and down.

Wednesday dropped the hammer next to him and smirked.  “Who’s your master, Tyler?”

He stayed silent, not quite worn down as much as she’d like.  But the flush that had been growing in intensity since she picked up the hammer got to be enough to remove her jacket.  She tossed it to the ground, and he twitched at the sound.

“Tyler, look at me,” she said.  Then she pulled off her sweater.

He licked his lips, and said, “What are you doing?”

She unzipped her pants as slowly as she could, then dropped them to the floor, revealing knee length, black and white striped socks, the stripes not quite straight across.  Tyler leaned his head up for a better look as she stepped out of her pants.

“Torturing you.”  

She reached for the saw, and cut her undershirt down the middle.  She wore a simple, black cotton bra with a white bow in the center.  And her underwear covered as much as they could.  She fought against her mother, who wanted her to have something lacy and delicate, but she finally gave in.

Still, Tyler let out a labored breath.  “It’s working.”

“Good,” Wednesday said.  She straddled his hips, taller with her boots, and she crouched over him.  “No, who’s your master?”

He grunted, and said, “Can’t tell you…”

Wednesday quirked an eyebrow, and asked, “No?”

She got to her knees and lined her face up to his.  He challenged her with his dark eyes as she searched for any hint of the obedience she saw before.

He licked the blood off her lower lip, and she did her best to keep a straight face.  Finally, she allowed her brow to knit together, and he cowered beneath him.

She closed her eyes, and bit down on his lip.  He moaned until she sat up suddenly and her head fell back.

She saw herself nearly naked, writhing over him, holding onto his chains.

“Wednesday?  Are you ok?” Tyler asked with genuine concern.

“Who’s your master?” she asked again, knowing he wasn’t ready to talk.  It was going to take a lot more sacrifice to get to the answer she needed.  “Is it Kinbott?”

He stayed silent while she unbuttoned his pants, but he lifted his hips to cooperate.

It was fascinating.  She had seen her brother’s once, and she’d seen many in books, but this was a whole different species.  Her hand somehow wound itself around it, and Tyler cried out in torturous pleas.

“Who’s your master?” Wednesday demanded, but Tyler ignored her.

She squeezed him hard until he squirted, and she let go.  If she gave him what he wanted too easily, she’d lose her chance of extracting the information she needed.

So she stood above him again, and lowered her underwear.

Tyler strained his chest against the chains, then groaned.

“You’re so beautiful.  You know that?”

Wednesday dropped to her knees, lowering herself hard onto his shaft.  He let out the best whimper of the evening, and Wednesday leaned over him.

“Beauty is pain,” she said.

He closed his eyes, and said, “I couldn’t agree more.”

And as she started to rub herself against him, feeling the hammer’s vibrations in a much more visceral way, he said, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Her lips fell to his, and she remembered her mom saying that the first time hurt, and sometimes caused bleeding.  So Wednesday excitedly sat up and stuffed Tyler inside her.  She let out a blood-curdling scream, and Tyler said, “You’re so beautiful,” again.

If his hands were free, they’d be gently holding her thighs, or circling her waist to make it hurt so bad she was in ecstasy.  But then it hurt in a different way, like she was inching towards a goal she couldn’t quite reach, and it was agony.

“Who’s your master?” she asked between heavy breaths.

Tyler was so far gone all he could do was grunt.  She had to keep trying before it was too late.  She thought about stopping as another way to torture him, but she needed this torture for herself.

Then she saw stars, more than being electrocuted, and a dull stroke of satisfaction, stronger than the hammer’s vibrations, filled her completely.  She had completely forgotten Tyler was even there, until he said, “You’re bleeding.”

He could smell it.  So she wiped her finger where she felt the drip, and smeared it on his lips.

“Who’s your master?” she asked again.  He answered by bucking his hips so he plunged deeper inside, and Wednesday needed more.

But this time she focused more on Tyler, and pleasing him.  Until she couldn’t help herself, and gave into the painful pleasure once more.

Sweat matted her bangs, and glued her braids to her neck.

“I could do this all day,” Tyler teased.

Wednesday pressed harder, faster, and deeper, determined to bring him so close to the edge he’d have no choice to give into her.

After several experiments with pressure, and position, she found the most painful way to bring him pleasure, and she kept herself from release so she could control his.

“Wednesday…” he muttered over and over.

“Who’s your master?” she asked again.  And again.

She panicked, and slowed down, hoping to make it last a little longer.

His face contorted, and he howled, and she only had one more chance at this.

“Who’s your master?”

“YOU ARE!!!” he howled with his final two thrusts.  And once he slowed down to a stop, he said as tenderly as anyone had ever spoken to Wednesday, “You’re my master now, Wednesday Addams.”

She couldn’t hide a depraved smile from him before leaning against the chains on his chest.

“I mean it,” he said, as he strained for a kiss on the top of her head.  “I don’t want anyone else to chain me up.  Ever.  And I want you to chain me up as much as you think I deserve it.  And I want you to hurt me until I can’t take it anymore.”

He broke the armrests, and held her close to him.

“I knew you weren’t a normie,” she said too flatly to convey the tease it was.

He chuckled anyway, and said, “I trust you with my life, Wednesday.”

“You don't think I’m just using you?”  She couldn’t look at him when she asked the question.  As much as she enjoyed hurting him physically, she now inexplicably cared about his feelings, and his good opinion, slightly more than she cared about anyone else's.

He moved his hands to her cheeks, and forced her to look at him.  “I know you, Wednesday Addams, as well as you know me now.  And I want all of you.  All of your darkness.  All of your flaws.  And I want to live at your whim.”

His eyes were filled with obedience, and it made Wednesday ache inside.  She had been giving and selfless, in a way.  And it had left her incomplete.

“Let me prove it to you,” he said. Then he held her by the waist and sat her on his face so her slit crossed his mouth.  He pushed the last of his mess inside her, then swirled his tongue, before flicking against the spot the hammer had tickled.  Not feeling the full extent of pleasure in that spot had been the only disappointing thing about him being inside her, but now he was making her whole.

After he’d extracted so much pleasure from her that it became painful, he moved her back to his waist, and she fell to her side next to him, sighing at the splinters from the chair's debris she'd have to remember this moment.  She settled with her arm across his chest, and her cheek against his chains, and she stroked each link she could.  “So, what about your other master?” Then she lifted her head to ask in her best attempt at being coy.

“I don’t even remember who my master was before you.  You’re the only one, and I’m completely yours.”

Wednesday crawled on top of him and slid onto him one more time.  She didn’t even care about her investigation anymore.  All that mattered was the complete agony his obedience and the clashing metal beneath her hands caused her.

“Who’s your master?” she asked one more time, as she pulled his chains as tight as she could.

“You are!” he cried, until they finished together.

“I am your master,” Wednesday said, and fell to the metal chains crossing his chest.  She extended her arms to hold on to the chains at his wrists, and they laid there silent but for their still heaving chests.  She closed her eyelids fruitlessly, unable to rest her mind.  She wondered what color their bruises would be, the best way to chain him up in the cave, and how long she could leave him there unable to satisfy his own needs.  Her eyes popped open, and her mouth settled into a smile when she came up with the perfect plan.  Then she laid awake for hours, listening to his deep breaths, and watching his eyes twitch in peaceful sleep.  He needed to rest so he could be ready for his first gauntlet.