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The Les Mis Anon Kink Meme, Round 8
and I am winterborn
10littlebullets wrote in makinghugospin
Since LJ seems to have finally capitulated to the Russian government and is now subject to Russian anti-obscenity laws, I'm not going to take a chance on sudden deletions. The Les Mis kinkmeme now lives at https://lesmiskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/. (Round 8 here.) Everything has been backed up there. The LJ kinkmeme will stay up, but is now closed to new comments.

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Re: I'm so sorry.

Javert filled the bowl with still water, splashing his face and viciously scrubbing it with a rough cloth. Once his face felt sensitive, slightly raw, he stopped, setting the cloth back onto the dusty wood, and backing away. He fell abruptly on the bed kicking off his boots and socks, slowly opening his pants pushing them down. Once he was completely bare, Javert spent a moment staring out the open door into the light, wishing for its warmth as his breath turned to sooty smoke around him.
Unable to completely force away the images of his day, Javert ran his fingers gently down his face, his neck, chest, and thighs. He closed his eyes, paying attention to his own self. Once he reached as far as he could without sitting up, he changed directions, pulling his hands back up against the hair that was beginning to grow back.
After a few more explorations, Javert reached under his cot for a small bag that was filled with a few innocuous items. He reached into he bag and pulled out a simple pair of steel tweezers. Without the aid of a mirror, he held the tweezers to his neck and started methodically pulling out any hairs he could find there. The sensitive skin of his throat stung a bit at the rough treatment, but long practice had numbed him to any real reaction to the hair being pulled out by the root. After each gathered bunch was pulled, he wiped the dirty tweezers against his bed sheets.
He traveled down his chest, some areas barely capable of feeling the sensation of pulling, while other, more sensitive areas smarted just a very little bit. When he reached the bottom of his torso, Javert smiled. It had been a long time since he had needed to punish himself so thoroughly, so his pubic hair had be largely untouched. He liked to leave it that way so that when times like these came he would be unused to the sensation of ripping clumps of hair out of his most sensitive skin.
Javert preemptively bit his bottom lip very slightly, as he gathered a clump of hair at the very top of his genitals. Making sure the tweezers were clamped quite tightly, he wrenched them as quickly as he could away from his body, suppressing the whimper that threatened with years of practice. Before the burning could fade, he brought his implements back for another round. He was not gentle with the sensitive skin, and by the time he reached his testicles, involuntary tears had welled in his sinful eyes.
The loose skin of his sac followed the tweezers, causing a full body flinch. Javert swallowed a whimper, and allowed the trembling first tear to fall, silent down his face. The salty water stung slightly on his bare chest, and Javert reached for a second pull. Swallowing down his frantic urge to move at a faster pace, Javert took his time in between each ripping sensation to explore with gentle fingers to find the next area to be cleared. The darkness mixed with tears completely blinded him to the process.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Javert was finally, clean, his whole body cleared of disgusting, wiry hairs. At that point, he took a breath, and finally sat up. Reaching into his special bag, he replaced the tweezers and pulled out a leather thong. He was ashamed to need it, but after years of use, it was part of his ritual. He gently looped the thong about his scrotum, twisting it over the shaft of his penis twice before tying it off, forcing the offending organ into a permanent downward position. Sometimes he couldn’t believe he lacked the self-discipline to control his own body, especially during his punishments, but he had long known that when the human spirit failed, there were outside influences that could step in to bend a man to their will.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: I'm so sorry.

The next object out of the bag was his discipline. He had knotted each of the cords himself, and in times of trouble ran his fingers over the knots like the beads of a rosary, thinking or speaking the virtues he had sworn to uphold. Now, with each knot he touched and he thought of his sins. He thought of his doubt against Monsieur Madeline, his obsession, and his desire to turn an upstanding citizen in without any sort of questioning. The man was strong, but how many strong men must makeup the population of France?
Javert slipped off the cot, kneeling on the rough wooden floor, scooting forward so he was well out of the way of the furniture. He was thirty four this year.
Thirty four was a good number.
Holding the cattail whip in both hands, Javert slowly brought it to his right, stilling once he had reached as far back as he could. In an explosion of motion, he brought the whip around to the other side, the cords curling around his upper arm and slapping at his back with all the speed their length allowed.
“One.” Javert smiled.
By four, he was gritting his teeth, but still smiling.
By nine, his erection was straining against its vicious restraint.
By twelve the smile was forgotten and his back was completely red.
At sixteen, he broke the skin, but he did not notice, because the drops of blood mingled with the sweat that had already beaded up on his skin despite the cold air.
By twenty-four he was barely able to speak real words, because opening is mouth led only to sobs escaping. He whispered twenty-five and twenty-six, switching sides so his back would be equally bruised.
The tension in his arms by thirty was causing his whole body to tremble violent. But he could not stop. He would have bruises on his arms from the knots hitting them again and again, as intended.
At thirty-four he could not drop the discipline in relief, because his hands had frozen into claws around the handle. He tried to unclench his fingers, but couldn’t, so he focused on breathing in through his nose, swallowing the snot mixed with tears that had to be cleared out to make room for stale air.
Instead of dropping the whip, Javert dropped his head to the floor in a kind of prayer. His mind was clear of all the unwanted images of his sins, floating free at last.
His tears on the floors were tiny confessions. Tomorrow, his conscious would be clear, and he could continue his pursuit of justice.
(Frozen) (Parent) (Thread)

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