"Why did you flee without asking for my protection?"
Ed stared long into Mustang's eyes and saw the earnest hurt behind the words. There was no kind answer for that. The cruel, honest part of him wanted to say, "because you can't protect me," but he held his tongue.
Inside, his mind rattled on, spilling the words he couldn't say in private, and certainly wouldn't say here on this rocky riverbank, with his brother standing close to him and Winry just a few feet away. These were people who could be truly hurt by the knowledge of what the Military could and did do. Winry was already hurt by Mustang's confession to killing her parents under orders. She'd be only further hurt to hear that despite his words, Mustang had continued to follow orders, even ones that he didn't approve of, all the way up to the last time Ed had seen him.
He was following them right now. Mustang didn't want to be chasing down his AWOL ex-subordinate. He had better, more important things to be doing.
You can't protect me, thought Ed. You can't even protect yourself. Time and time again I've seen you doing things that churn your guts. Even to me. You want to fight, but you can't say no to an order, no matter how much guilt you feel afterwards. You are too vulnerable, too easy to manipulate, too tightly reigned in. Even now I could floor you with two simple words. Corpus Deposeo.
Corpus Deposeo: Demanding the body. A polite way of saying punishment by rape.
The military had sentenced him to those words eight times. Ed remembered each time quite distinctly, even the first, when he hadn't known the term. Later, as he coped with his shame and confusion, he'd studied up on military law and learned not only the words, but their full implications. According to the law, his body belonged to the Brass for a period of no more than three hours, during which time they could demand literally anything of it. Pain, humiliation, pleasure. He was lucky their tastes were fairly simple, and, if not benign, at least administered with an eye to his future usefulness.
What they wanted was to see him weak and compliant, available, if not entirely willing, for them to vent their lust on. They wanted to move him like a doll, to dress him and have him perform for their amusement and sexual gratification. And they wanted him to know that the only reason they didn't go farther was that they chose not to. Three hours was a long time—but the Brass had never used more than half of their allotment. One day they might use the full thing. One day he might not be able to walk away from their wrath.
They could have used their hands on him, their mouths, their cocks if they had chosen. And he would have been forced to bear it. But they hadn't. In the perverse way his life worked, they invariably paired him up with Mustang, and made that man do their dirty work, while they sat back and watched.
Ed felt a pang of guilt. Mustang was right when he said the punishment was ineffective. Forcing Ed to feel Mustang's touch, his mouth, his cock was like punishing a child with ice cream. Ed was quite willing to bear pain and degradation in order to be the center of Mustang's attention. There were a few especially shameful times he'd deliberately acted out in the hopes that they'd make Mustang touch him. Later the realization of how horribly selfish he was being hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. While part of him tried to rationalize his actions out ( if Mustang had just fucked me in private, I wouldn't have had to make him do it in public) the truth was that Mustang was an unwilling, innocent victim, who didn't owe Ed anything.
Which is why Ed did not point out to Mustang how truly incapable of protecting Ed he was. Somewhere inside, the man must know that if he couldn't even save himself from having to rape, hurt and humiliate a twelve year old boy he couldn't protect Ed now. He couldn't even prevent that same, thoughtless, egotistical brat from turning around and abusing him.
It was partially for Mustang's sake that Ed had transferred himself to Archer's command. And partially for Mustang's sake that he and Al then went AWOL. The Colonel was a very nice man, sincere, smart, beautiful, and everything a young man could crush over. But he had his weak spots, and the Fuhrer knew exactly what they were and so did Ed. No longer would Ed let his behavior be used to keep Mustang in line.
Ed broke eye contact and turned his head away. Next to him Al hunched, up the hill Winry bit back tears, and all around Ed felt the men of Mustang's command shift uncomfortably. Damn it, Colonel Ed thought letting irritation cover over his guilt. I have enough things to worry about without dragging you into my messes. Why did you have to be the one to come after me?
Armstrong cleared his voice and reached into a deep pocket, pulling out an envelope. He passed it over to Ed.
Ed's eyes scanned the neatly typed address and felt his stomach drop a few meters. He quickly broke the wax seal with the Fuhrer's personal insignia embossed into it, and pulled out the letter itself.
My, but you are an ornery boy. My patience with you has been stretched to the limit. In light of recent events it has come to my attention that much more radical disciplining is necessary for you to understand that importance of following orders.
I am well aware that Flame has been coddling you. But as he is no longer your commanding officer, he will not be able to use his personal sacrifice to buffer you from the full extent of your consequences. Your current commanding officer, Colonel Archer, was gravely injured at Lior, and unable to fulfill his duties at this time. You are hereby transferred directly under my command, until such time as Colonel Archer has recovered.
As your commanding officer, I recommended you be sentenced to one year hard labor at Central Prison #2. During your incarceration, I shall personally undertake the duty of training you in the art of proper submission. You may discuss with Flame what this entails, as he is amply familiar with my methods. You may expect my lessons weekly.
As a taste of what is to come, you have also been sentenced to corpus deposeo. I have elected Major Armstrong to administer the punishment, as per my written instructions. The proceedings shall be filmed and presented to myself and other generals who, for obvious reasons, cannot attend.
Further, your guardianship of your brother has been revoked. I am well aware that you were given your emancipation at the tender age of twelve, however, this does not mean that your brother will be similarly afforded such. As Fuhrer, I will take on the responsibility of his proper upbringing and education, until such time as he has reached his majority at age eighteen, or you have shown with your behavior sufficient self-control that I feel I can justify awarding his custody back to you.
Fuhrer King Bradley
Ed blanched as he read the note. His first pang was for himself: He was going to feel that humiliation again. Be whipped and teased and forced to endure the touch of another. But those hands would not be Mustang's, not this time. Ed just didn't want to be fondled by someone else.
The last paragraph kicked him in the stomach. No. They could do anything to him, but not Al. Al wasn't part of this. Al had already suffered enough. This was his job, his onus, his debt. Ed had vowed long ago that the Military would never get their hands on his brother.
This simply couldn't happen. He could not go back to being a Dog again. Right now the military didn't know what Al was—but when they realized that he was the philosopher's stone—the idea was beyond horrific. And with Ed in jail, there would be no one to protect Al, to speak up for him, to prevent them from abusing him, and using him, and doing experiments on him. It was a neat and horribly legal trap, where the Fuhrer could play the two off each other and wring their compliance merely by threatening the other's welfare.
"Sir," Ed said desperately to Mustang. "You can't take me back there. You have to let us go. Just turn your back and let us run." If there ever was a time for you to protect me—
But Mustang was angry and hurt. "Why Fullmetal? Why should I do that? Why should I stick my neck out for you? I have my own ambitions, you know."
Ed looked over at Al. I can't tell him about the philosopher's stone. It will only make him feel more honor bound to bring us back. And as for Bradley being a homunculus, does it really matter if it's a monster or a human making the orders? The results are the same.
"I have taken so much for you," Mustang continued. "You don't know how much I have done to protect you from the Fuhrer's wrath. It's out of my hands, now. For once you will just have to face it."
I know. Still—Ed pushed the letter desperately in to Mustang's hand. "Please read this. Please!"
Mustang glanced at the paper in his hand, then turned away and walked back to his line up of men. "You brought it on yourself."
"Edward," said Armstrong softly, his eyes looking genuinely concerned. "I have my orders, there is no need to do this in front of your friends and family."
Ed met Armstrong's eyes and despaired. The man was every inch a man of honor and integrity, but that merely meant he couldn't disobey orders. Armstrong had followed Archer's orders with that same regretful look in his eye. No matter how good intentioned the Major was, he'd find no mercy there.
Ed looked at the stones beneath his shoes. "I'm coming," he grumbled, and turned to follow Armstrong into the woods.
"Brother? What's going to happen?" asked Al, worried. "What was in the letter?"
"I—" said Ed, then he heaved a sign, "It's just military stuff. I'll tell you later." No need to worry Al yet.
Ed continued walking without looking back, past the group of men with their guns trained on him, and into the woods, hearing the sound of boots behind him. They followed a trail about a quarter of a mile away from the others, to a place where the trees gave way to grass. "Here will do," pronounced Armstrong.
The two soldiers who had followed them began unpacking a tripod and a movie camera, while Armstrong unrolled a tarp onto the ground. Ed simply stood by, neither helping nor fighting. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around what was to come.
He'd never had sex with anyone other than Mustang. What would Armstrong be like? Ed ran his eyes up and down Armstrong's oversized and overly muscular physique and shuddered. Even Armstrong's fingers were thick, and Ed knew with absolute certainty that his fingers would not be all that Ed would feel.
Ed was not surprised to see the rope come out of the bag, nor the very familiar bottle of lubricant. But that was all that Armstrong carried with him. What? No blinders? No gag? No whip?, almost on the heels of that thought, delayed by only a hitch of Ed's breath was a hearty thank God.
"Edward Elric," said Armstrong. "Please don't be afraid. I have studied the human body and I will not let you down. I must go by the script I have been given, but to what extent I can, I will spare you any suffering. I would advise you however to attempt to keep your voice down, we are not so far away from the others that they will not hear a loud scream."
Ed let out a bitter laugh. "I can keep my voice down."
"Very good," the older man replied. "If you will undress, I shall begin."
"Major," said Ed as he unsnapped the latch on his coat. "I can tell you don't want to do this. Have you ever considered, just not following an order?"
Armstrong's gaze oozed sincerity. "As a soldier, I am often ordered to do things that I would not choose to do. Taking a young man unwillingly is not something I care for, however it has been ordered, and I must do my duty."
"Yes," said Ed, aborting his attempt to reason. The camera was rolling. "I understand." Anything he said now he might as well say in front of the Fuhrer. Desertion was a bad enough offense without adding treason on top of it. He undressed the rest of the way, aware that the eyes of not only Armstrong but the two low ranking military men were on him. He couldn't keep the blush off his cheeks.
"Forgive me, Edward, But they specified that I do this," said Armstrong and he reached over and unlatched Ed's automail arm. Ed hissed as the rod slid free of the socket, sending phantom tingles though his nonexistent fingers. In all the other times he'd been through this punishment he'd never been "disarmed," but it wasn't that unexpected. There was always some unnecessary kink thrown into performance. He'd figured the Fuhrer would eventually get around to playing up the amputation angle.
The cameraman panned down as Armstrong lifted the arm away and carefully laid it on the edge of the tarp next to Ed's folded clothes. Ed's stomach tightened a moment but he held still as Armstrong came back with the rope.
"The art of knot tying has been passed down in my family for generations, allowing us to create bondage that is not only secure and comfortable, but also aesthetically pleasing." And true enough he spent the next three minutes confidently criss-crossing the rope in a way that attractively framed Ed's muscles. In the end he was held in a kneeling position, legs apart, his one arm pulled tightly across the small of his back in such a way that forced him to arch. Armstrong's thick fingers tested the ropes, pulling and adjusting them just slightly before pronouncing them proper.
Armstrong then made a show of undressing himself. Unlike Mustang there was no hesitation on the beefy Major's part, so deep was his faith in his own physical beauty that he found no shame in sharing it with the camera.
Ed couldn't keep his eyes off the hard, bulging, sparkling muscles. He swallowed as his eyes drifted lower. As in everything else, nature had awarded the man with more than his share of bounty when it came to his manhood. Ed was quite sure he'd never seen anything that thick or long before, at least not attached to a human being.
Oh—fuck. There went the idea of simply closing his eyes and pretending it was Mustang on him.
"According to the script, Edward Elric, I am to mete upon your thighs and buttocks no fewer than thirty resounding strokes with my right hand. Forgive me, but there is no way I can prevent this from being painful, however I shall endeavor not to cause any permanent harm, and therefore I shall merely use the strength of my own muscles and not my famed alchemy to supply the blows."
"Er—Thank you?" squeaked Ed. His sense of self-preservation took over and for the first time he began to fight his bonds. He managed to inch worm a foot or so across the tarp before the Major put out a hand and grabbed one of the ropes, snaring him far too effectively.
This was NOT going to be like Mustang's loud but rather gentle spanks. No, this was going to be much, much worse. Perhaps this time Corpus Deposeo would be an effective deterrent after all.
Armstrong settled cross-legged in front of the camera and with ridiculous ease, he lifted Ed up and draped him over his lap. Ed's buttocks were raised provocatively, and he was aware that the ropes had been arranged to leave that area completely exposed.
Oh God, this is gonna hurt, thought Ed tensing with all his might, and screwing his eyes shut.
"Bite down on this, it will help muffle your screams." Ed felt something soft pressing against his lips and opened his eyes briefly to see that Armstrong was offering a handkerchief.
Ed accepted the wad of fabric. And then bit down hard as the first blow landed. The pain blinded Ed for a second, and he screamed around his clenched teeth. No, no way, there was no way he could take thirty of those blows. No way.
And the second one came crashing down. He arched his back and wriggled helplessly in the ropes. Tears flooded his eyes. Shit that HURT. Agony didn't have a chance to die down before the next blow came. Then the next, and the next.
If he could have pulled his brain together enough he would have begged for Armstrong to stop, but he was so locked down in the agony of the moment speech was simply impossible. Ed lost track of the blows after ten. Somewhere not long after that the sensation took on a surreal quality, and Ed felt like he had fallen slightly out of his own body. He felt strangely drugged, floating, high on pain. He'd reached his capacity to feel, and all further blows simply blended into the general miasma of agony.
And then it all stopped, while Ed's eyes rolled and he fought to stay conscious while Armstrong rubbed his buttocks and thighs. The Major was gentle enough, but the pressure on his hot, swollen flesh hurt as much as it relieved. Ed moaned and spit out the cloth. "No more," he mumbled. "Please."
"The spanking is done, Edward," said Armstong gently. "Breathe deep, young Elric. The worst is over."
Is it over? Thought Ed hopefully. But no he could feel Armstrong's hands lifting him up onto his knees. Ed wavered a bit, still dizzy, but Armstrong held him in place with one hardmuscled arm. Ed blinked as he felt the Major's free hand explore his body, stroking his belly, then moving to his nipples, pinching and rubbing them in a way that bordered on painful. Ed moaned in protest, and shifted his shoulders, but couldn't free himself of Armstrong's grasp. He was aware that the camera was trained on him, and that his twitching could be perceived as a pleasured response.
After a few seconds of teasing and pinching the fingers moved away. Then Armstrong's great shiny head lowered and Ed mewed as he felt the man's mouth latch onto a nipple.
Ed wondered if this technique of sucking was, like everything else, passed down through generations in the Armstrong family. The idea was appalling, but what else could explain the sheer talent the man's tongue and lips had. Mustang had utterly ignored this portion of Ed's anatomy, so he had no real point of comparison, but he guessed that even the Colonel did not instinctively know exactly how much pressure to use the way Armstrong apparently did. Even the brush of his mustache was used in a way that drove him insane. Ed whined and gasped and rolled his hips, as tingles of pleasure traveled all the way from his chest to his stiffening cock. For a moment he even wondered if the man could give him an orgasm just from tonguing his chest.
Ed found himself actually wishing Armstrong would reach down with one of those oversized hands and pay a little attention to his erection. He didn't think it would take much to come at this point. But Armstrong withdrew, with that same look of regret in his blue eyes,
"I'm afraid it will be far too easy for you to succumb to my great sexual skills. I have been ordered to only give you a single orgasm, and then only after I myself have achieved several. This may take some time." Armstrong petted Ed's hair tenderly, "This saddens me somewhat, for I much prefer to give my lovers as many orgasms as I take from them, however, my consciousness is ameliorated by the thought that when at last you do achieve that pinnacle of pleasure, it will be with such quality that perhaps you will forgive the lack of quantity."
Ed groaned. He never imagined he could be this turned on by a man who so completely turned him off. Even the pain radiating hotly from his abused thighs and buttocks didn't damper his sexual tension. The military is turning me into a masochist.
"I can see by the delirious look in your eye, that my foreplay has made you ready for the next step." Armstrong gently lowered Ed back until he lay against the tarp. Ed didn't resist him. Although he had no gag in, he found it easier not to try to put words to his feelings. They were simply too complicated.
Armstrong moved him about positioning him for the camera. Ed spared a dazed look over in that direction, and saw that one soldier had removed the devise from the tripod and was propping it on a backpack about six inches from the ground. Getting a good close up view, Ed thought.
His next thought was cut off by the surprise of having Armstrong straddle his chest, thankfully, not putting any actual weight on it. Still those thighs felt very solid against Ed's flesh. Ed's vision was filled with the gleaming largeness that was the Major's member. Surely, he's not going to—
Armstrong pressed the sticky tip of his cock against Ed's mouth. Yes, yes, he is. Ed opened up and felt the hot thick flesh slide in. Armstrong's cock had little taste only a faint saltiness as the tip. But even if the flavor was not difficult to bear, Ed was overwhelmed by the petal smooth texture and the way it utterly filled his mouth.
"Suck, please," said Armstrong. And Ed closed his lips and tried to drink the monster down. It was a mighty good thing Ed had a very weak gag reflex, because the way Armstrong slid his cock all the way to the back would have surely triggered vomiting in someone less oral than himself. Still, But even without gagging, it was still hard to contend with such a mouthful.
While Ed was rather turned on by the idea of Mustang's cock in his mouth, it was only because Mustang was attached to it. The treat of being allowed to actually see Mustang in the throws of pleasure made the chore of working his dick worthwhile. Mustang on the edge of orgasm was possibly the hottest thing in existence. Armstrong genteelly coping with pleasure was a sight Ed could have easily lived the rest of his life without experiencing. Ed's cock deflated quickly under the ordeal.
Armstrong appeared to be oblivious. "Suck, young Elric. Suck." Ed tried his best but clearly he was inadequate for the job, because Armstrong reached his hand up and moved it along his own length, jacking himself off into Ed's mouth. Ed snorted in frustration. It wasn't his fault, and Ed's jaw was getting sore as it was.
Armstrong appeared to be in no hurry to come. His thrusts continued steadily pushing the back of Ed's throat and momentarily cutting off his air before retreating back. Ed fell into the rhythm of timing his breathing, and found that if he took deep breaths, his throat seemed to bear Armstrong's girth better.
Three hours, Ed comforted himself. They can only legally make this last three hours. Of which, what, maybe twenty minutes had passed? Or was it even that? Three hours was a freaking long time.
At last Armstrong sped up. Ed felt the major's thighs grow tight around his chest. A moment later Armstrong pulled out and Ed had just enough time to realize what was coming to close his eyes. The first splash hit his cheek, hot and sticky, roping down to his chin. The second got him squarely on the lips, sliding inside his mouth as Ed gasped. It's taste was salty and bitter, and the texture, for lack of a better word, gluey. Another hit his hair and forehead, then as he belatedly turned his head, he felt it copiously fill his ear. Revolted Ed turned the other direction and Armstrong caught his cheek and eye. Goddamn, wasn't there anything the Major did in small amounts?
At last, it ended and Armstrong got off of Ed's chest and knelt nearby. "Forgive me again, Edward, my orders dictated that I do that, too."
Because he seemed to be waiting for a response, Ed finally offered one up. "Yeah, I figured. Could you please wipe this off?"
"Of course!" Ed felt the major towel off his face, but even after the dripping masses were gone, his skin still felt sticky and stiff. "Are you ready for the next round, Edward," asked Armstrong.
"Next round—?" asked Ed. He looked over and saw that Armstrong had already recovered from his earlier orgasm.
Armstrong, Ed concluded, simply couldn't be human..
Without even a grunt of effort Armstrong hoisted Ed's butt up into the air. A moment later he set it down on something thick and rather lumpy—Armstrong's pack, he realized looking down. Ed knew that had nothing to do with his comfort and everything to do with giving the older alchemist complete access to his ass.
Ready or not, Armstrong had already started the preliminaries, making the nature of the next act amply obvious. He made a show of pouring the lube onto his fingers, making a careful show of covering each one completely, and in the process making the hair prickle up Ed's arms and legs. Just how many fingers did the Major plan on sticking into him?
On the other hand, just how much stretching would he need to accommodate that thing? Surely the Major would take mercy and not go through with this. Couldn't the oral be enough? Mustang never drew the process out past his orgasm. Those times Ed had been forced to suck the Mustang off, the Colonel had leaned down and jacked Ed to completion while the cum still dripped from his chin. He'd never gone for "seconds."
As tempting as it was, Ed was not going to beg for mercy at this point. Armstrong had made it clear before they started that he would be following his orders like a the good soldier he was. To plead at this point would only make the "show" more exciting for those who watched the film.
Ed didn't want to think about that too much. Bad enough that his humiliation be witnessed, but knowing that it was recorded and could be brought out and replayed was worse. And who would be watching this time? Just the dozen high ranking officers who usually attended his punishments, or would it be played for a wider audience this time. Ed had no reason to think the Fuhrer would make any attempt to preserve Ed's dignity. As long as the film existed, this punishment would never truly be over.
"I can see your trepidation, Edward," said Armstrong. "I realize that nature has endowed me more generously than most men, however, I will assure you that I will not cause undo pain."
Ed highly doubted that.
"My superior techniques in lovemaking will transport you to realms of delight and pleasure the likes of which you have never experienced."
Considering the only sex I've ever experienced has been as part of a punishment routine—well, no, I still don't believe that. There is no way Armstrong's monster prick can feel as good as Mustang's.
"And now you seem skeptical," said Armstrong, eyebrows peaked with mild disappointment. "Apparently only a physical demonstration will alleviate your worries." A moment later Ed felt the first brush of Armstrong's fingertips against the tight ring of his ass.
Ed hoped that Armstrong would remember to pay some attention to his cock. Tied up the way he was he was completely at the other man's mercy, and the thought of being penetrated "cold" made him shudder.
Armstrong didn't touch Ed's cock, but he also didn't immediately penetrate him the way Ed was expecting. Instead he began gently rubbing Ed's ass with well lubed fingers, massaging not only the ring of muscle, but the flesh around it, especially the area under Ed's testicles and oddly at the base of his spine. It wasn't bad, actually. Even as Ed gradually let his held breath out, the massaging changed, grew more intense and—
"Aaaaah!" Ed shouted.
"I see I have found your sexual reflex point."
"My wha huh wah?"
"It is a satellite trigger of your sacral chakra, which allows your sexual energy to flow freely through your nether regions and heightens your libido. By triggering these points I can turn off your pain receptors and transfer the energy to your pleasure nerves."
"Aaahg!" Ed managed to gargle. What was happening to his ass defied any rational explanation. The only thing he could coherently wrap his mind around was that it felt really, really good.
"By now the pain of my earlier blows should be turning into pleasure, the way one might get from a good massage. I shall have to be very careful not to overstimulate you or you shall come too fast and I will have failed my orders."
Ed almost missed when Armstrong glided his fingers in. It seemed like a natural extension of the rest of Armstrong's touches. True to Armstrong's word, there was no pain at all, only a sense of pressure and an itch that begged Ed to pump his hips to relieve.
The stimulation was both relentless, and relentlessly not enough. Ed was ready to be fucked by anyone. Past ready in fact, miles beyond ready, but Armstrong continued with this foreplay, oblivious to the way Ed drooled and grunted his need. In searching for relief of any sort, even visual, Ed turned his head towards the watching soldiers, both of whom seemed awestruck. The camera was focused on Ed's face and, oh, Ed was sure the show he was giving at this moment was prime quality.
"Are you ready, Edward?" asked Armstrong.
"Yesssssss!" Ed nodded vigorously.
Armstrong grabbed both of Ed's hips and lifted his butt up even further. Gravity brought Ed's knees back against his shoulders. His exposure was absolute, and Armstrong took full advantage of his access. Sparing a moment to line up his cock, he then leaned forward. Ed's eyes widened as he felt the penetration. He was ready, but god, even without the ripping agony he expected, it was a disconcertingly huge sensation. Armstrong pressed with the same physical control he used with fighting. The first thrust took almost a full minute to complete, and by the time he was fully seated, Ed was already moving his hips fucking himself in an effort to reach an orgasm that seemed so close but just wouldn't come.
There was really only so much Ed's mind could handle. Everything beyond the moment fell away. He forgot about the future, and all the dire things it held. He forgot about those closest to him, who were waiting patiently at the riverside. The camera lost it's significance, becoming part of the meaningless scenery along with the grass and the clouds. Even the fact that it was Armstrong who was holding became completely unimportant. His animal mind had taken over and the only thing he cared about was what he was feeling, and what he wanted to feel.
So close, so close. His cock gently bumped over the hard muscles of Armstrong's stomach. But just as he seemed to be getting somewhere, Armstrong withdrew and Ed's cock hung in the air, and he'd fall back away again, The sensation was teasing and cruel. The cock within him stretched him in a way that both turned him on and terrified him silly. Too much and yet at the same time not enough. Between his cock and his ass, it seemed that any moment he would be able to reach completion, but somehow he never quite got there.
He was sweating and shuddering, working his ass against Armstrong's cock because that was the only thing he could do. The only control he had.
"You look quite wanton, Edward," said Armstrong. "You seem to have some natural skill at lovemaking. I am sure the Fuhrer will be quite pleased with our performances."
Ed cried out and felt his pleasure backing down. He didn't want to hear about the Fuhrer. Right now the last person in the world he wanted to please was the Fuhrer. The creature who was responsible for so much misery, death and mayhem. Who openly planned on taking everything Ed held dear. He didn't want to know how happy that monster would be to see him writhing like a slut. Why couldn't the major let him pretend for a few minutes that this was concensual?
Ed pleaded with his eyes, but saw that the Major was lost in his own pleasure. Perhaps the idea of pleasing the Fuhrer was what turned the man on. Oh god, come already, Major. Just come and let me come and let this whole thing be over with
How long had this punishment gone on? Hours? Centuries?
Armstrong never lost control, until the very last moment he maintained the same pace and pressure. Ed's only awareness that the Major was close was when he suddenly pulled out entirely and shed his second come of the afternoon all over Ed's upturned buttocks.
The pressure technique that Armstrong had used to turn off Ed's pain was losing it's effect. He already felt an uncomfortable burning warmth rising from his thighs, and now that Armstrong was out, his ass was beginning to feel rather achy and irritated. Ed made a mental note to be careful what he ate for the next few days.
"Forgive me, Edward," said Armstrong. 'but I will need a minute or two to recover before we can begin our final phase."
Ed moaned. His balls were filled to capacity, having been tricked into thinking they would get to come, and now again the opportunity was taken away. Ed attempted to roll over so that he could thrust his needy cock into the rough rubberized fabric of the tarp, but Armstrong held him still with a firm hand on his hip. This was cruel. This was punishing .
Well of course it was, he thought bitterly to himself. The Fuhrer would be loving this film, loving Ed's obvious misery, his utter need. Ed blushed and turned his face away from the camera and tried to hold still, but his breath kept hitching.
He'd almost completely softened when Armstrong started the process again. Ed wiggled as he was rolled onto his back yet again, his clenched thighs parted by the Major's large hands. He felt the hot hard length of the Major slide against his belly, and then Armstrong finally touched Ed's cock.
Ed wasn't sure what the heck the man was trying to do, but it concerned his cock, and that at least was good. Armstrong lightly grasped him in one slippery, well lubed hand, and with the other pressed his own cock against Ed's length.
The disparity of size was ridiculous, and for a moment Ed thought that might be the point: to drive it into him that he less of a man. But then Armstrong started thrusting and Ed realized that Armstrong was masturbating against Ed's cock.
Armstrongs hand held them together so that every veiny ripple of Armstrong's cock rubbed hard against Ed's length. The act was a hell of a lot less stimulating to Ed than it was to Armstrong. Armstrong got the feel of not only Ed's cock but his own hand sliding up and down his length. Ed only felt the cock against the underside of his prick, and yes it was nice it was very nice, it wasn't the same as thrusting into someone's palm.
Armstrong made sure to use plenty of lube, so that there was no resistance to the slide of erection on erection. After a minute Ed gave up his inner cursing, and surrendered himself to the hope that this time he'd be allowed to come. He had no doubt he'd have to fight for it though. Armstrong had succeeded in keeping him horny but unsatisfied for far longer than Mustang ever had. Ed was beginning to doubt that he'd be allowed to come at all. Who knows, maybe that was in the Fuhrer's orders. To lead him on into thinking there would be some completion but then leave him hanging the entire three hours until by law Armtrong had to release him.
Ed begged with his eyes.
"Just a bit longer, Edward," said Armstrong, breathing deeply.
Ed thrust his hips wildly but only ended up pulling himself out of Armstrongs fingertip grasp. He then had to wait for Armstrong to carefully catch hold of him again before he could feel the man's cock stroke his again.
"Now," said Armstrong suddenly, and shifted his hand to encompass both of their cocks. Finally Ed had what he needed, and he spiraled towards the top with lightning speed. But not as fast as Armstrong whose come shot out immediately, coating Ed's cock and belly. Just as Armstrong finished his third orgasm, Ed began his.
Ed feared that now Armstrong was done he'd take away his hand, but thankfully the man showed mercy, pumping Ed with sure swift strokes. Ed had heard of being blinded by pleasure but he'd never experienced it before this. He was coming hard, and every fiber of his being seemed to be a part of it. Then it was over, and Ed collapsed—all tension eased. Relief was so acute it left no room in his mind for anything else.
Ed wasn't aware he'd passed out until he suddenly opened his eyes and saw that the sun had moved in the sky. He was unbound but still undressed. The various secretions and oils had dried all over him. It took him a moment to realize his arm had been reattached. The fact that someone (probably Armstrong) had managed to reinsert his automail without waking him was a testament to just how wrung out the session had left him.
"Ah you are awake at last," said Armstrong, fully dressed and surprisingly prim looking. "Two hours and thirty-five minutes. I'm afraid that was the best I could do. If there ever is a next time, I shall try harder to make it last the full allotment."
Ed wasn't sure if that was meant to be a promise or a threat, but either way, he vowed there never would be a next time. As good as Armstrong was (and yes, Ed grudgingly had to admit, the man was near perfect in sex just as he was in everything else) Ed had no desire to repeat the experience. Mustang may not have the incredible Armstrong technique, but he was Mustang, and there was more to fucking than just the physical act.
I've had enough corpus deposeo, thought Ed. This is the last time I let them do this to me. Ed clenched his fist. I will not let them trap me the way they have Mustang.
The soldiers had already packed way the camera equipment. The only thing left to do was to get himself in order. Much as Ed preferred a proper bath, he'd been in enough sticky situations to know how to do a quick alchemical clean when he had to. He clapped his hands and removed most of sexual dirt from his body. The rest came off with a towel from Armstrong' and bit of water from his canteen.
The walk back to the riverbank was uncomfortable, but bearable. Ed had lived through fights that left him worse off. The hard part was trying to keep his step even and prevent the discomfort from showing on his face. He didn't want Al and Winry to wonder too much about what he'd been through. It was bad enough that the Brass would get to watch his performance, he didn't need those he cared about trying to picture it as well.
He sensed a change in the air even as he walked into the camp. Al and Winry looked, well not happy, but not miserable like they had when he'd left. Ed looked around questioiningly and spotted Mustang sitting on a rock near where he and Armstrong had finally pinned Ed down.
Mustang stood and saluted as Armstrong approached. "Major, there has been a change in plans."
Armstrong dropped his salute with a look of surprise. "Sir?"
"In light of new information that has come to my attention, I will be journeying to Risembool with Fullmetal and his brother. Go back to Central, and take this letter to the Fuhrer. It explains my reasons for keeping the boys with me."
Ed's heart leapt. Mustang let his eyes drift from Armstrong to Ed. There was tenderness there, a gentle affection that Ed absolutely craved. Ed touched his chest with relief.
"Sir," said Armstrong. "I don't think the Fuhrer will be happy with this."
"I'll take responsibility," said Mustang, turning back to Armstrong. "I have reason to believe that the Fuhrer is behind Brigadier General Hughes death, and that the attack on Lior was completely unjustified. Ed has an important mission to complete, the fate of the country rests on it."
"Yes, sir," said Armstrong. "I shall return to Central with your message right away."
Ed watched the men pack up and begin walking back up the river trail. Only Mustang's closest subordinates remained behind. Mustang walked over to Ed and looked out into the river.
"Thank you for letting us go," said Ed.
"Your brother explained to me that the Fuhrer is an homunculus. A lot of things make sense now. I think I've always guessed there was something not right about the man, but now that it is confirmed, I feel like a weight has been lifted from me."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to involve you in this." Ed hung his head. "The Fuhrer is going to punish you."
"Yes, I imagine he will be quite upset with me. But this has helped me decide something. Something I've known I needed to do for a while, but haven't had the guts to actually do."
"What?" asked Ed, noting the dangerous look on Mustang's face.
But Mustang merely shook his head. "The day you trust me enough to come to me for help, and not just leave your brother to explain after the fact, is the day I will trust you enough to spell out my plans."
Ed snorted. "Fair enough."
"Maybe when you have finished what you need to do," said Mustang. "We can spend some time together and talk all our issues out."
That made Ed smile. "You bet." It's a date.