Title: Restricted Freedom
Universe: Tokio Hotel (Real Person Fiction).
Theme/Topic: Total Power Exchange, a close examination.
Characters: Bill and Tom focused.
Warnings/Spoilers: Incest, BDSM, punishment, spanking, total power exchange.
Word Count: WIP - constantly expanding.
Time: WIP - the clock is still ticking, people.
Summary: To both Bill and Tom, control is key; it's how they work together. Bill takes it, without or without permission, over everything from clothes to food to songs to bedtime. Tom gives it, freely and wholehearted to his brother - what Bill thinks is best for him is best; whether it is girls, outfits, where they eat or sleep. How they have sex. He is not Master, he is not Sir. He is Bill, and Tom loves him.
Dedication: Nobody in particular - for a anon kink meme prompt which requested this:
I'd love Tom to be fully mentally under Bill's control.
They'd look outside like we see them, but behind the scenes Bill controls everything in Tom's life and Tom is happy about that. You can choose how far or in which things you want to focus on in this fic, but basically total control over everything (like Tom's looks, clothes, using bathroom, everything). Bill also controls Tom's relationships and sex life (chooses Tom's gf's, random sex partners...) and in their own not-so-platonic relationship. Tom is happy to give all his control to Bill and it makes him feel safe. Sometimes Bill plays with Tom's OCD (messes things up, re-arrange things like Tom's need to color match) and it causes Tom anxiety, but in the end they are really happy together like this.
This is not about an abusive relationship, but very loving and caring one.here for list of distribution places. Previous Chapter can be found here.
Bill pushes him into the room further, shutting the door behind them and the silence is heavy as Tom observes the equipment that Bill has carefully laid out.
On the floor is are several big towels, put out for him to lay on and then laying on the edge of the bath - the fucking enema bag. Big, black, and shiny as well, the dark tube coiled up on top of it, like a snake.
He’s never liked snakes, anyway.
It’s a big one - six quarts at the maximum and he knows what it’s like to take all of those but he hopes that Bill won’t be doing that tonight; five takes him over the edge of pleasure and six well into painful. He’s rarely forced into that painful territory; Bill doesn’t like to cause him that much pain. But then again, he’s never gone up against Bill so much like the last few days and it’s not as though Bill has proven himself to be against taking Tom right to the edge.
God, he prays that Bill has mercy for the next few hours.
“Strip,” Bill orders him and mindful of the punishment he just copped, Tom is obedient and silent. He neatly folds his clothes, placing them on the counter top, stepping out of his jeans and setting his caps aside carefully on the marble surface. “Boxers and socks too.” Great. Completely naked, then. Sometimes Bill lets him keep a shirt on, or his boxers, but not now. Not after that little show of disobedience in there.
He strips the last of his clothing off, lays his socks neatly on top of his jeans and folds his boxers too. Bill likes him to be neat and tidy, even if he fucks with it sometimes just to make Tom panic, but it’s not out of meanness. Much.
“On your side.” Bill points to the towels on the floor. “Now, Tom.”
Tom sighs, wishes he could stop this somehow and kneels on the floor, and Bill nods in approval. A hand on his back and shoulder guides him into place so that he’s lying on his side on warm towels, still hot from the rack. He’s now uncomfortably exposed and he feels Bill’s gaze on him sear into his skin. He rests his head on the pillow of folded towels, lets the terrycloth press against his skin and comfort him from what is about to happen. .
“Good boy,” Bill says and there’s a soothing hand up his side, dipping down to pull at his nipple before leaving him be, rummaging around with the stuff on the edge of the bath.
Tom stares at the wall and obediently bends his knee as Bill’s soft hands push at him to move to the familiar position. Tom hears the unscrewing of the cap of the Vaseline, the soft slick and slide as Bill lubricates the nozzle and he clenches his eyes shut. It’s coming.
“Relax, Tom.” Bill’s voice is soft too, soft and calming but Tom flinches all the same.
“I know.” Bill’s been with him every time they’ve done this, knows how hard it is for him to open up and take the water or Bill’s fingers or even Bill’s dick. It doesn’t matter how recently they fucked, or how often Tom is told to relax he’s always tighter than a virgin and hypersensitive too and it’s been far too long for him to take it easy. “Shush, it’s okay...” He strokes one hand down Tom’s shoulder as the other rests on his buttock, and the smell of Johnson and Johnsons is overwhelming in the tiny room. “You’re okay,” Bill murmurs as he strokes along the crease of Tom’s arse, past the freshly waxed skin and just touches against his asshole but it’s a touch too soon and Tom flinches hard.
“I know. Whenever you’re ready.” Bill reassures him, and the clock over the door ticks loudly as Tom struggles to relax enough. But Bill is patient and waits for his chest to stop heaving, for his face to lose the frown carved into it and slowly, oh so fucking slowly Tom lets go of the tension.
“‘Kay.” He doesn’t think he can say any more but Bill hums in approval and his fingers make quick of preparing Tom for the nozzle. It’s not prep for play and it doesn’t feel like it - Bill is too fast, too clinical - the gloves on his hands take away any real sensation of pleasure Tom might have gleaned from skin to skin contact. What’s worse is that the feel of the nozzle working its way inside him absolutely destroys any chance of a hard on.
He feels humiliated.
The water is warm, thankfully, and Bill strips off the gloves to sit beside him, pressing his thigh and hip along Tom’s back and holding his hand and rubbing down his side but Tom still feels the pressing need to cry again. He hates this feeling - his swelling abdomen, the pain-not-pain, the low ache deep inside that levels every emotional restraint he’s ever had.
He really wishes Bill hadn’t discovered enemas on the internet. Really.
It’s been in and flowing for barely fifty seconds when Tom breaks again.
“Please!” He’s begging for mercy already, his body trembling as it anticipates pain and fullness. Bill grabs his wrists as he tries to reach for his aching dick, forcing them against the floor with just one hand.
“No, Tom!” His voice is determined and harsh as he slaps the back of Tom’s thigh, hard. The impact ripples through his belly, through the water inside and he actually whimpers as he senses the water move with his rocking.
“I’m sorry, Bill, please – I am so sorry I was bad – I really am! Please make it stop!” Tom is begging, over and over but Bill doesn’t take the hose out. Instead, he keeps hushing Tom, making little shush shush sounds whenever Tom tries to open his mouth and rocking him side to side to make the water move through him. “I don’t want this anymore, Bill…” He whispers as he stares across the bathroom floor.
“I know, Tom.” Bill says, and his voice is as soft as his hands as he strokes along Tom’s belly, down around his aching dick, up over the stinging red patch on his thigh where the smack landed. “But you’re going to be good, aren’t you? You’re going to take it all.”
“Shush, Tom.” Bill hand is on his wrist, and he’s stroking his fingers across Tom’s palm, tracing the lines he must know by heart now because it’s one of a hundred ways he knows to bring Tom back from the brink. The soft touches ground him, keep him down on the bathroom floor and not somewhere up in his own head.
“…can’t, Bill.” Tom whispers, so quietly, he’s not sure Bill heard him but then there’s a sigh.
“Yes, you can, Tom. Be a good boy. For me, okay?” And Bill stops stroking his palm to cradle his wrist, bringing it up to Tom’s face and presenting him with a thumb to his mouth. He makes him suck on it and it keeps him quiet for the most part as the water continues to flow. Tom’s world is small now – the water, his thumb, Bill’s hand caressing along his swollen belly, the soft material under his cheek.
“Good boy,” Bill praises
It goes on for ages, Bill clamping off the hose whenever Tom needs it and he rocks in place, cramps making it difficult to breathe properly. He doesn’t ask how much is gone, and Bill doesn’t tell him, letting the bag drain from where it’s clipped onto the bathroom vanity chair in its own time.
When he tries to speak - the pain prompting a gasp or when he thinks (hopes) the bag is empty - Bill shushes him, trailing fingers down his belly to the cock ring that keeps him confined and restrained as he pushes his thumb into his mouth a little more with the other. “You can take a little more,” he always answers and Tom whimpers.
When he feels Bill get up, he grunts, wondering what’s going on but Bill tells him to stay down. The dull thwack on the bag from Bill’s flick tells him that it’s empty. Finally.
He breathes deep and slow, waiting for Bill’s next move; the fingers moving along his crack, removing the nozzle, replacing it with the black plug. He feels the harness go on as well - around his waist, down between his legs, keeping the silicone in place. He dislikes the feeling of it but he’s learnt his lesson about going without it.
“That’s good, Tom.” Bill says, and Tom nods. He needs that, the support, the reassurance, the quiet comfort. Bill sneaks a hand into his, pulling him flat onto his back and he gasps as the water shifts inside him, and the plug presses deeper.
He’s already had a smaller one tonight - one he administered in his own room by himself in preparation for this, but this feels - “Five?” he gasps out.
“Yep.” Bill nods, trailing a painted nail around Tom’s swollen belly. Holy fuck, he feels full - full and sore. “You did so well too - five whole quarts!” He sounds content. Pleased. Like he likes Tom full and unable to fucking move on his own.
He feels like a blimp, or a pregnant woman, so full he can’t lift himself up to see his own feet anymore, the water in his belly forcing him to lift up on his elbows to even see Bill and even then it’s a laborious task, and he feels cold sweat break out on his back, as he pants and whimpers. He can feel the pain begin already, the soft burn in his spine and the dull ache in his belly stretching out into his groin.
His cock twitches between his legs and he groans.
“Such a good boy, Tom,” Bill smiles at him, and he’s reaching between Tom’s spread thighs, trying to touch the source of the throbbing hurt that’s overriding everything but Tom won’t let him. He forces his knees together, preventing Bill from having clear access to his groin and he gets a raised eyebrow for his troubles.
“Ah, Tom. Open wide…” Bill’s voice is a little mocking but mostly gentle, as if Tom was a wild animal he was trying to convince to trust him, but Tom doesn’t trust Bill like that at the moment. Mainly because his fingers, far from soothing Tom’s distress, are now creeping down the back of his thigh, brushing at his balls with just the tips as Bill tries to get Tom to let him in.
Shove off Bill, he wants to say but all he can get out is a moan of “Bill!”
“Come on, Tom,” Bill rests his chin on Tom’s bent knees as he holds him steady with one hand and torments with the other, “Let me play with you. Be a good boy for me, hmm?”
Fuck you, Tom wants to say but he can’t and Bill fingers are just nudging at his cock, swollen and hot though it is. All that comes out of his mouth is “Please!”
“Come on, Tomi,” Bill murmurs, pressing a kiss to Tom’s knee as he rocks closer. “Open up. Be a good boy for me, hmm?”
“Can’t.” Tom mutters as he tenses, trying to stay on his elbows as the harness cuts into his hip and his belly is tighter than a drum.
“Yes, you can, Tomi,” Bill coaxes, “Open your legs, and let me see that pretty cock of yours…”
Tom hates it when Bill calls it that – not a cock, but pretty – because it’s not fucking pretty or cute or whatever the hell that Bill wants to call it. It’s his dick and he’s nearly all man even though he feels quite like a girl at the moment, being told to lie back and spread his legs.
“S’not pretty," he grunts, except it sounds more like a moan because Bill is thumbing the head and Tom is so close to orgasm he can practically taste himself on Bill’s fingers already.
Bill likes him to clean up his hand if Tom’s come all over it. With his mouth.
Wet wipes just won’t do…
“Yeah, it is.” Bill chuckles at Tom’s aggrieved huff, “So pretty… Should get you some pretty jewellery there too – maybe a ring here…” He thumbs the head of Tom’s dick, “Or maybe a stud here,” he just touches Tom’s balls, “Or even here,” he presses two fingers just above Tom’s cock. “What do you think, Tom?”
Tom just moans, the touches driving him to the point of madness, “Want to come, Bill,” he whispers.
“Not yet, Tomi. Not yet.” Bill takes his hand away, rests them both on Tom’s knees. “Open for me. Let me see your pretty thighs, sweets.”
It’s the nickname that does it for him, sweets , as though Tom really is a girl, or a pretty little thing anyway and he can’t help the twitch of his dick that happens when Bill calls him that.
He drops off his elbows, his back hitting the towels with a dull thud. He spreads his legs, trying to rock his hips up and Bill coos at him, presses two fingers behind his balls and Tom gasps, moans, opens his legs even wider. He’s offering himself up, desperately begging for a touch on his aching cock, his swollen belly and Bill leans down, and Tom nearly weeps because he think he might actually get a blowjob or something from it, but Bill has other ideas.
Instead of a hot wet mouth around his cock, or even a soft hand, Bill nuzzles his belly, crawling over him to stand on all fours, hovering above Tom’s naked body.
“Please!” Tom doesn’t want kisses and touches and cuddles – he wants sex in whatever form it comes in but Bill just crawls up to lap at his chest, caressing a nipple with his tongue and Tom is absolutely undone.
Whatever Bill wants, whatever he does, Tom doesn’t care. His brain is gone, his thought processes reduced to need to come and be a good boy and the two are at war with each other. One minute the need to be good is overarching, the next, he has an overwhelming urge to reach down and jack off and it keeps flicking between the two.
“Such a good boy,” Bill murmurs as he comes up from Tom’s chest, “Are you being a good boy for me?”
“Want to,” Tom murmurs, “Wanna be good for you, Bill…”
“Good, Tomi,” Bill gives him a peck on the lips, but it’s not enough before he takes a detour, pushing Tom’s head to the side with one hand, while the other stays over Tom’s right nipple, and it’s a fucking dangerous position.
“Shush, baby…” Bill whispers right into Tom’s ear before he bites softly on his lobe, and Tom is reminded instantly of Bill’s promise last year on their birthday.
“So pretty, Tom,” he had cooed as Tom stared at himself in the mirror, naked except from Bill’s hands framing his groin. “Such a pretty boy…”
He’d squirmed and moaned, desperately, then as now, to get off, and Bill had just smiled at him, kissing his ear lobe with soft lips.
“We’ll get you some little hoops, Tom,” he had whispered, “Lovely little gold hoops; make you look even sweeter than you do now. You need some studs – little hearts, maybe, because you’re a sweetheart…. or teddy bears.” Tom had shuddered, trembling under Bill’s confident hands and soft voice. “Hmm?”
“Please!” He’d begged for something – anything, and Bill had been merciful, jacking him off in front of the mirror, forcing Tom to watch as he’d kissed Tom’s neck into leopard spots, rubbing at his nipples to bring him to a climax that left him weak kneed and so dazed, he needed Bill to practically lift him to the bed.
Not before he’d made Tom lick his own come off the mirror though.
He wants another orgasm like that now; Bill has driven him right to the edge over and over and the journey each time is getting shorter and shorter. But it’s not going to happen and Bill is kissing in the hollow behind his ear, nibbling down his throat to kiss in the dip between his collarbones.
Still not enough.
“Want, Bill…” he moans, trying to wrap his legs around Bill’s waist, and press his groin to his brother’s but his belly is too big, and he’s too sensitive – the plug in his backside nudges against his button as Bill calls his prostate, and he goes limp and pliant just like that.
“I know,” Bill comforts, “I know but you’re on punishment so you can’t…”
Tom feels the tears escape – or maybe they’ve been escaping this whole time but he hasn’t noticed – and he reaches up, clinging to Bill like a life line. He tries to kiss Bill but it’s sloppy and he’s desperate and his cheeks are damp; his belly is huge and he can’t make up the distance without the plug twitching inside him.
“So pretty ,” Bill says as he takes Tom’s head in his heads, holds him steady to kiss him properly with licks and nips to his lip and pressing that tongue stud to the ring in Tom’s lip.
“Need you…” Tom mumbles, fretfully but Bill just chuckles, moving backwards so he can nuzzle at the bump in Tom’s abdomen and it’s so weird to look at. Normally he’s as flat as a prairie down there on a good day, slightly concave on a bad one, soft and tender for Bill to lick and touch and stroke with the pretty ribbons he likes so much. But now, it’s swollen and hard and his skin is tight over it, so much so he can’t see his feet over the top of it. It’s not much – hardly anything at all, comparatively, but when you’re not used to anything, something small seems quite a lot.
Bill loves it though, stroking at it, kissing it, nuzzling it and Tom wants Bill to leave it alone, let him get on with his two hours (how long left anyway?) if he won’t allow a climax.
“Shush, sweets,” He presses kisses to Tom’s lips, “You’ll be fine.”
“Need to come, Bill…” Tom begs and Bill laughs, and it’s not funny – he’s sweaty and hot, and full, and his cock throbs between his thighs and Bill thumbs his nipple. “Please – I’ll do anything!”
“Oh, Tom…” A smile – not regretful or soft or comforting, but predatory, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep…”