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They have a routine in place by now.
Hiram calls up FP Jones and tells him that he requires Jughead's services.
Jughead gets himself ready, and then he drives his death-trap of a bike over to the Northside and present himself for Hiram's pleasure.
Hiram watches him undress, and after that it varies, but it always ends with Jughead putting his clothes back on and driving home.
***
“Bend over and hold yourself open for me,” Hiram says, raising his eyebrow in challenge, and Jughead flushes, mortified, even as he mutters a sullen “yes, sir,” to him, clenching his hands into frustrated fists at his side.
He still obeys.
He always does.
It's slow-going, but he bends at the waist, properly, like a good little slut should, biting his lip as he grabs one round ass-cheek in each hand and spreads himself open, putting his tight little hole on display.
It's a humiliating position to be in, and it never fails to put Jughead in the right head-space, to remind him who he belongs to.
His dick is also on display like this, and it's with some degree of smugness Hiram notices that it's half-hard already.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, reaching down to deliver a long luxurious stroke to his dick, making Jughead jump a little, almost toppling over.
“No,” Jughead forces out, voice is trembling a little.
“Hm,” Hiram just says, smirking a little to himself.
Jughead must notice his mistake, because he hurries to tack on a belated 'sir' to his denial.
It makes Hiram smile, to see how well-trained he's become. His own personal little toy, to play with and take care of and punish as he sees fit.
“Keep your position,” he suggests, making his voice mild. He knows Jughead will obey him.
He makes his way over to the non-descript gym bag he brings with him to his office on days like this. Jughead likes to refer to it as his little bag of tricks, and to his chagrin, Hiram has started to mentally call it that as well.
It's become quite full lately, and Hiram's seriously considering having a hidden locker of some kind installed instead. He does so dislike untidiness.
After some careful determination, he chooses a length of black rope, a bottle of lube, and a black plug.
Hiram is quite fond of that particular plug. It's remote controlled, large enough to make Jughead shift uncomfortably even when it's turned off, and when it's turned on it turns him into a desperate and begging mess.
A fun little toy, even if Jughead is more likely to call it 'evil'.
There's a spring in his step as he makes his way back to Jughead, and it only becomes more pronounced when he sees that he is still holding position, even though it has to be quite uncomfortable for him.
It's ridiculous, really, how the boy has a hold on Hiram's emotions like that.
He tucks the rope and the remote into the pocket of his suit jacket, and gives Jughead a reassuring pat on the back.
“Think you can relax for me?” he asks.
It's all hypothetical anyway; Jughead will relax for him. It's not like he has a choice.
Jughead exhales noisily and hangs his head, his long hair sweeping almost comically with the movement.
Hiram presses the tip of the plug to his asshole, and Jughead takes a deep breath, knowing what's coming.
In the beginning, it took a fair bit of work to get this particular plug to fit. Jughead wasn't a stranger to taking cock even then, but the plug was larger than anything he'd had inside him before, and it had taken a lot of coaxing, making him take it.
Now, Hiram just needs to lube it up properly and he can push it in without much trouble.
There's some resistance, like there always is, Jughead's tight channel struggling to accept the thick length of the toy, but, finally, the boy opens for him, shuddering helplessly as Hiram pushes the plug safely inside, the wide base nestled between his cheeks.
He looks obscene like this, spread open by the plug, his thin fingers still holding himself vulnerable and exposed for Hiram's pleasure, his dick completely hard now.
“See, that wasn't so bad,” Hiram says, not hiding how pleased he is with him. “Just for that I'll go easy on you.”
Jughead stiffens, and Hiram smiles at his reaction.
“Don't think I've forgotten about your lapse in manners,” he teases him, making Jughead blow an irritated puff of air with his mouth.
“A spanking will do, I think,” Hiram decides.
He grabs one of the visitor chairs and drags it closer to the fireplace, noting that Jughead still hasn't moved, even though his body has started to tremble slightly from the strain, his thin back almost vibrating with the effort.
The boy never stops surprising him with how very good he can be.
He places the chair so that Jughead can see it if he lifts his head just a little, and sits down, his hands straightening the creases of his brand new Armani suit pants more out of habit than necessity.
“On my lap,” he says, and watches the way Jughead raises his head a little, biting his lip.
Indecisive then.
He makes the right choice though, gingerly lowering himself down on his bare knees and crawling over to Hiram, his face red from embarrassment.
It makes Hiram smile to see it, his approval sparking a proud little smile on Jughead's face in turn.
He's awkward draping himself over Hiram's lap though, his long limbs ungainly as he tries to get himself situated in a way that won't put any pressure on his arms. He's an observant boy, Hiram knows, and probably noticed the rope tucked haphazardly in his pocket right away.
It's still the kind of presumption that warrants a punishment, Hiram thinks.
“Hands,” Hiram says when Jughead's finally settled.
Jughead reaches behind him, a little gingerly, letting Hiram tie his wrists tightly together, and like clockwork, he relaxes into Hiram's touch.
“My little bondage slut,” Hiram murmurs, just to annoy him.
He gives Jughead's cheek a caress, and then he gets to work, raining down slaps until Jughead's ass is starting to turn red. Jughead keeps making these startled little 'hah' noises whenever Hiram's hand makes contact with his skin, and Hiram can feel his hard dick pushing against his thigh.
He pauses, and Jughead lifts his head, confused and probably a bit wary. By now he knows that Hiram isn't inclined to let him get away so easily.
He's right in being wary, because Hiram has no intention of stopping yet. Instead he reaches into his pocket, getting his hand on the remote control for the plug.
He presses the button, and if Jughead moaning and twitching in his lap wouldn't be proof enough that the toy is doing its job, the soft buzzing it's emitting would.
“Shh,” he soothes him, even as he lets the controller, still in the 'on' position, fall to the floor.
“You can take it,” he says, and lifts his hand again.
This time, when he brings it down with a resounding 'smack,' Jughead yelps.
A few more slaps, and he's moaning, pretty little pleas falling from his mouth as he writhes on Hiram's lap, his poor desperate dick seeking friction as his prostate is relentlessly teased by the buzzing toy.
A few more slaps and he's whimpering, desperately humping Hiram's thigh. Hiram wonders if he's even aware he's doing it.
His ass is starting to turn a bright cherry red, and Hiram knows it has to hurt. Jughead is sobbing now, begging him to stop in one sentence; begging him for more the next.
“Please,” Jughead sobs, “please, please-”
“What do you want?” Hiram asks. He's feeling a little out of control himself. He wishes he'd had the foresight to remove his suit jacket beforehand. The heat from the fire, the exertion, the sheer pleasure of Jughead Jones falling to pieces on his lap, has him sweating.
“Wanna come,” Jughead wails, loud in the way he never is, and Hiram squeezes his ass, hard.
“You can come,” he grits out, and Jughead thanks him, sounding so very grateful, and one uncoordinated thrust later, he's coming against Hiram's thigh with a moan, staining the fabric of his designer pants.
The next second he collapses over Hiram's lap, a sweaty dead-weight, panting loudly.
The plug is still buzzing inside him, making him twitch and dragging broken whimpers from his throat.
Feeling merciful, Hiram reaches for the remote.
The buzzing stops, and Jughead draws a sigh of relief, relaxing, before he suddenly lifts his head.
“Your suit,” he says, voice very soft and concerned. Once again, Hiram is impressed with how perceptive he is.
“Clean it up,” Hiram suggests. There's really no doubt in his mind that he'll be obeyed.
“Yes, sir,” he mumbles, obediently sliding off Hiram's lap until he's kneeling naked on the floor in front of him.
His eyes are fever-bright, and his long eye-lashes have clumped together from the tears. He's the perfect picture of misery as he meets Hiram's gaze, his tear-stained cheek flushed a frantic red, and his tongue nervously darting out to wet his lip.
His green eyes don't leave Hiram's even as he leans down and gives an experimental lick, his nose wrinkling, rabbit-like, when he tastes himself.
“Either you clean it up now, or you'll have to pay my dry-cleaning bill,” Hiram tells him, but they both know it's an empty threat.
“Yes, sir,” Jughead mumbles, and leans in for another lick, eyes still locked on Hiram's face.
His tongue works the fabric over until there's not a drop of come left, all that's left a wet spot the size of a fist on his thigh.
Hiram's never liked the feeling of wet clothes against his skin, but all that fades away when he looks down at the boy kneeling at his feet.
He's beautiful, he thinks, not for the first time, with his slender body dappled with beauty-marks and his almost girlishly pretty face.
“Hey,” he says, and Jughead looks up at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, something trusting and open in his gaze.
Hiram huffs out a laugh and reaches for him, helps him lean against his thigh, his tied hands giving him some balancing trouble.
“You did good,” he says.
His hands dig into Jughead's sweaty hair, scritching his scalp in the way he knows he likes, and Jughead relaxes against him, his head a comforting weight against his leg.
“I'm so proud of you, baby,” he says, the words slipping out without any real input from his brain, but it is true, isn't it? He is proud of him, for being so good, for taking everything that Hiram gives him.
“Thank you, sir,” Jughead mumbles, sounding tired but pleased.
He's gonna have to drag him up from the floor soon. Get that plug out of him, untie him, work the kinks out of his muscles and help him take a bath.
Hiram doesn't think he can, in good conscience, allow him to ride his bike back home tonight. But maybe that's okay.
Just this once.