Intervention: A TwiKinkFest Entry in Five Parts

AN: Thanks to the anon prompter and to the TwiKinkFest staff. I read this and knew I had to write it…and then it grew and grew. I hope the prompter doesn't mind that I inserted the tiniest bit of plot arc, and that it turned into a multi-chapter short. Thanks also to StormDragonfly, my intrepid beta for this project, whose own lemons are truly inspirational. Thanks to ZoyaZalan who first taught me the joys of poly Cullens, and finally to giselle-lx, whose insightful rants provided some inspiration for this story.

1. TwiKinkFest Prompt: "The playful, scheming Cullens (led by Esme) plot to kidnap overworked, overstressed uptight Carlisle and restrain him for forced-vacation of debauchery. Each take turns playing/pleasuring him starting w Esme & ending with Edward. Others can work in pairs or groups, just give him a show, no limits. But significant sex with Edward is solo and the last one."

2. Rating: Rated: M/MA/NC-17 Carlisle/everyone else (except Renesmee). Vampy and very AU.

3. Content Warnings: If you got here because you have me author-alerted out of appreciation for my as yet sex-free canon fics, PLEASE think twice before reading this. I'm scared enough to post it, and would really rather not have a bunch of my loyal readers lambasting me in reviews. Please, if it's not your thing (and I know for many of you it won't be), please just move along…I promise new, sweet, angsty chapters of Intermezzo and Prelude very soon. I did this in part because sex will be entering the Prelude universe soon, and I was terrified. This was a good way to experiment, and after the kinky shit in this story, a straight up love scene should be easy. This is not my usual Carlisle, but they share some common personal history, and perhaps even one fantasy…

If you got here because of the TwiKinkFest, or are a regular reader of mine and like this sort of thing, welcome to Intervention, aka Kinkapalooza! My mind went in so many directions from this prompt that I ended up writing it all, in multiple chapters. Carlisle will be having sex with everyone (except Renesmee; this AU does not include her). So get past that first.

This story is an intervention, but after the initial abduction, it is basically is about Carlisle being allowed to explore his darkest, most forbidden fantasies in a safe environment. No one is humiliated, though dominance is exerted in places.

Warnings and characters involved will be posted at the top of each chapter, but here's the comprehensive list: Het loving D/s BDSM (no humiliation), bondage, anonymous(ish) poly sex with bondage, rimming, het Daddy kink, deep throating, het anal, poly slash, blood kink, vampy/instinct/dominance sex, slash, and romance.

Chapter 1. The Van

Carlisle x Esme; D/s BDSM (no humiliation), bondage

He was late. He was always late leaving the hospital these days, but tonight he was very late. Between the auditors, and the change over to electronic patient files, and the fact that one of the new nurses was not working out, Carlisle was simply balancing too many responsibilities at the hospital. Dr. Gerandy was a fine doctor, but as an administrator, he was rather disorganized. Carlisle had been forced to take over as the liaison to the auditors, pulling together documentation they needed. Since he refused to neglect his patients, that work had to be done when he was officially off-duty, when he should be keeping up on the medical literature or spending time with his family.

The truth was, he'd been busy at work since before Edward's wedding. Long before. He had taken the week of the ceremony off to help, but during the months of the engagement, and the three months since the wedding, Carlisle had been bombarded with a growing number of projects and patients. It had just felt impossible to say 'no', and he'd felt increasingly caught up in the minutia of the hospital. This weekend would be good: three days off in a row…plenty of time to get caught up on his reading and take a quick hunting trip in the mountains with his family… Maybe review the documentation on the new patient record software to ease with the implementation…

Carlisle balanced his briefcase and a box of medical journals in one hand as he pushed the hospital door open. He walked out to the parking lot under the streetlamp where he always parked, to find his Mercedes missing. Startled, he spun around, searching the parking lot. In a dark corner, a familiar figure stood by a large black van.

He smiled and walked toward her, noticing the stiletto boots and slim trench coat protecting her from the light drizzle.

"Esme, darling, what are you doing here?" He bent down to kiss her cheek. "And where's my car?"

"Rosalie wanted to have a look at the Mercedes, so I'm here to pick you up."

"Oh, I'm sorry I'm so late…I hope you haven't been waiting outside here the whole time. Dr. Gerandy called a staff meeting that went for hours, and I had to pull the medical records for the auditors by hand because the computer records haven't been fully implemented yet. That new nurse, Holly, nearly killed a patient today because she almost gave the meds for bed 2 to the patient in bed 6…I barely caught her in time…"

"Carlisle, slow down," Esme said gently. "You have three days to unwind, now."

"I know; I'm relieved I'll finally have some time to catch up on the literature. I haven't been able to read any journal articles for weeks. I'm bringing them home," he said, lifting the box briefly. Esme looked disapproving. "But I promise, I won't spend all of my time reading…Esme, is everything okay?"

Her eyes softened a bit. "Yes, of course. I need a proper kiss, though."

Carlisle grinned, set the box and briefcase on the ground, and wrapped his arms around his wife's waist, kissing her softly. He felt Esme's arms wrap around his neck; her fingers coiled through his hair and she deepened the kiss. The slow, intoxicating gliding of tongues mesmerized Carlisle. How long had it been since they'd taken the time to kiss like this? Carlisle allowed himself to get lost in it, savoring the gentle tickle of Esme's fingers as she trailed them down his neck, over his shoulders, down his arms… Carlisle groaned into the kiss, but then abruptly Esme's mouth was gone, he heard the click of handcuffs closing over his wrists and a black leather bag descended over his head.

"Don't struggle," came Esme's whisper through the bag, right at his ear, and he stilled his resistance to the strong, hard body grasping him from behind; from the scent, and Esme's calm, he could tell it was a family member…probably Edward or Jasper, but the strong scent of leather made it hard to tell. He heard the van door open, and he was shoved backward, roughly moved to the floor of the van, and then repositioned onto something softer.

"Secure him," Esme commanded, and he felt his hands being raised over his head, and heard the sound of metal meeting metal. He explored with his fingers as rough hands pulled at his ankles, stretching him out, fastening bindings around his ankles and securing him to the floor. He found that his handcuffs had been hooked to a metal bar extruding vertically from the floor of the van. It smelled of titanium, and he knew what that meant.

He heard a tearing sound and the rumble of the van starting, and suddenly the bag was off his head, a large piece of duct tape was over his mouth, and Esme was standing over him, one stiletto-clad foot on either side of his waist. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and his cock twitched.

How many times, over their ninety years together, had he opened his eyes to see her looming over his restrained body? And it never ceased to thrill him. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of his body reacting to her dominance.

They both loved this. For Esme, exerting control had become a way to heal... to exorcise her past. She used her control to coax pleasure from his mind and body, in stark contrast to the control that had been exerted against her during her human life.

For Carlisle, whose entire life was defined by his ability to control, relinquishing it was cathartic. He found it humbling to expose his impervious skin to stings and blows. It was almost spiritual: to strike the body to clear the mind. To give control to someone wholly trusted, wholly loved: to Esme. He did not react to the floggings like the monks of old, who mortified the flesh to sublimate sex. He entered a sort of trance, a meditative state, and when he was done, he was always very, very ready for sex. Focused sex. Sex in which his thoughts weren't scattered like light into a dozen refracted colors and subjects. Sex in which his only white hot thought was her, and whatever she was doing to him. Even now, just looking at her like this, arousal was coiling around his spine, coursing through his veins; it had been far too long since he felt this way. She knew; she always knew.

Ironically, it had been Edward who had first convinced him to say something. When Carlisle had been single and virginal, he'd been able to keep the fantasies at bay. But once he'd become married and sexually active, his mind returned over and over to things he'd seen in Volterra: chains, naked bodies, cries of pleasure… Finally, when they were hunting together one evening while Esme worked at home, Edward had grown exasperated with the thoughts.

"Just ask her, Carlisle! Just ask her and be done with it," he'd said.

"I could never… I don't… I…" Carlisle had been horrified. He didn't want to want to be tied up. It was unnatural. A source of shame. "Esme is everything I need," Carlisle had finally blurted out.

"No, she's not. And you won't even let her try to be, which is very unfair of you, I think. Just tell her what you like."

"I just can't…"

"Why not?" he'd demanded. "It's not like you want to tie her up."

Esme, it turned out, was surprisingly amenable to the idea.

Still, their first attempts had been disastrous. Esme had tried to tie him to her bed with ropes. It was the first bed he'd ever gotten her, a cherry-wood four-poster bed with filmy white curtains. In her first months with him, she'd lain on that bed for hours, depressed and mourning. He'd watched her through the sheer curtains, longing to go to her, comfort her, drape her in the petals of the flowers he brought her every few days… love her. Being tied to that bed had been one of the sexiest things he'd ever felt, but it had gone terribly wrong. Despite his submissive mind frame, he'd been so aroused that when he finally came, he'd pulled the bed apart with his thrashing. The bed had collapsed in on itself as his mind swam through bliss, the wood falling to the floor with a thud and the filmy curtains drifting down and tangling in their arms and legs. They'd laughed for five solid minutes, and couldn't seriously attempt any bondage again for months. He still mourned that bed…

Eventually Esme got better at restraining him. They'd started with thick chains, like the ones the Volturi used. They were effective, but cumbersome, and not conducive to changing positions. A natural at physics as it applied to architecture, support and balancing forces, she learned the subtle art of removing his leverage, allowing her to immobilize him with even mundane objects if she used enough of them.

But the real fun had begun once Rosalie joined the family. She had a way with metallurgy, and though she was shocked at first, she didn't have a problem with a man being tied down and fucked. She began experimenting and soon developed an alloy of titanium that was extremely strong, not brittle, and easily molded into cuffs, bolts, chains, whatever they might need. Esme, ever a creative mind, had found surprising uses for it. The alluring smell of that alloy was thickly present in the air of the van, causing Carlisle to quiver in anticipation.

He opened his eyes again to find Esme watching his reaction: the expressions that were no doubt dancing across his face, the way his cock was straining against his work pants. She slowly began playing with the belt of her coat.

"You've been very bad lately, Carlisle," she said softly as the van began to move. "Working too late; ignoring your family. For months it seems your mind has been elsewhere. You've been consumed with office politics, stressing over things that don't matter, avoiding things that do. I'm staging an intervention."

She slowly untied her belt and shed her coat. Carlisle groaned at what was revealed beneath: the black stiletto boots extended from very pointed toes to high on her perfect thigh. A black leather bustier accentuated her hourglass figure, flaring at her hips and breasts, and leaving only inches of champagne skin exposed between the bustier and the tops of the boots. Carlisle wanted to explore that small stretch of skin: drag his fingers from the outer curve of her hips, across the front of her thighs to meet at the neatly trimmed mound of auburn curls exposed in the center, but when he reached for her, metal clanged, and he remembered his bindings.

Esme clucked her disapproval. "They are titanium alloy. It all is, including the reinforcement on the van's frame. After all," she whispered suggestively, "we wouldn't want you tearing it apart while we're barreling down the highway at 120 mph…could prove embarrassing." Carlisle groaned and writhed, realizing the extent of her preparations. "You shouldn't be able to get out of them, Carlisle. But then, you don't want to, do you? You don't want to damage your bindings?" He shook his head and groaned. No, he was very happy where he was. He knew she was right; he'd let unimportant things take over his life again. And he knew that Esme could refocus his attention. He needed her. He always did.

"This weekend you will not be in control. You will submit to me, to my desires for you. Do you agree?" Carlisle groaned and nodded, a heat growing in his gaze. "You will also submit to anyone I send to you. You will play along with any scenario presented to you, no matter how tawdry or forbidden. Do you agree?"

God, yes! Carlisle nodded emphatically.

"And you will not, under any circumstances, think about the contents of your briefcase, that box you were carrying, or politics at the hospital. You are mine this weekend, and I will have your full attention. Do you agree?"

Carlisle whimpered and nodded furiously. Anything she wanted, so long as she touched him soon. He was aching for her as he looked up at his beautiful, confident, demanding wife. She smiled at him.

"Good boy. Now, I think you are wearing far too many clothes." She bent her knees, squatting over him as she removed the tape and loosened his tie. Her knees were splayed wide, and Carlisle could see her glistening folds mere inches above his very proper button-down shirt: the juxtaposition of her black leather and naked sex next to his upstanding work clothes was deliciously decadent. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating and he growled his approval. His eyes rolled back, and that was when he noticed what was hanging neatly from the walls of the van: rows and rows of floggers, crops, whips, chains, paddles, canes, metal rebar… and there were drawers…god only knew what was in the drawers.

Carlisle's gaze returned to Esme. She smirked as she watched him take in the tools on the walls. "I told you I'd been working on some new remodeling projects," she said, quirking an eyebrow.

"I really like what you've done with the place," Carlisle responded breathily, and Esme laughed as she tore his clothes and shoes away, dumping them into a bin in the corner. She stood and retrieved a red suede flogger from the wall, dragging it slowly up his leg, over his cock, and across his chest. He writhed in pleasure.

"We have a long drive before we reach our destination, and I think perhaps you need some time to focus your mind before we arrive." She leaned over and gently caressed his cheek. Then her fingers raked through his hair, pulling it slightly. Their eyes met and in both cases, gold was shifting to black. "Are you going to be good?'

"Yes, Esme," he said steadily, his voice taking on the familiar submissive tone.

She moved to the restraints on his ankles and unlatched the carabiners that were securing him to the floor. The carabiners were slightly thicker than those commercially available for rock climbing: stronger, and able to support more weight. However, they had the same quick release and secure latch system, allowing Esme to quickly alter his positions. Esme often teasingly referred to them as his cufflinks in public, trying to embarrass him. They'd been using a system of anchors, cuffs and carabiners for years.

"On your knees."

His arms still fastened together overhead, Carlisle rolled onto his stomach and tucked his knees under him, noticing that D-bolts ran up the entire length of the mat. Named for it's 'D' shape, the flat side of the 'D' mounted flush with the floor, resulting in a half-circular loop protruding from the floor, perfect to link to a carabiner. All the D-bolts ensured that Esme would be able to fasten his leather and metal ankle restraints wherever she wanted. It was ingenious, and his cock twitched at the possibilities as she reconnected the carabiners, securing him in position. The pole, too, had D-bolts running up its length. Between all the ways she could secure him, and all the tools on the walls, the possibilities were endless. A few hours would not be enough in his new favorite vehicle.

Carlisle heard a faint chuckle from the front of the van, and realized that Edward must be driving; he then felt the sting of a riding crop on his hip. He looked over his shoulder at Esme, who had the flogger in one hand and a crop in the other.

"I will have your attention, Carlisle. I intend to make this pleasurable, but if you will not focus…"

"You have my attention, Esme," he said as he arched his back and raised his ass for her. "I'm yours."

"Good. Now count. You shouldn't need a word unless it's a number."

He nodded and put his head down, heard the swish of the suede in the air, and then felt the strands wrap around his ass like a caress.


An hour later, he was standing with his ankles bound to the D-bolts nearest the pole and his hands bound close to the floor. He was doubled over at the waist; each slap of the metal cane seemed to travel straight through his balls, and his mind was blissfully, blissfully blank. His cock dripped fluid onto his belly and chest. Esme had established a beautiful rhythm: whoosh, clang, grunt, count. It was almost musical. She had built him up to it gently, lovingly, as she always did. First the arousing tickle and tease of the flogger, then the slap of the paddle, the sensuous tingle of the whip, and the sting of the metal cables and rebar canes. She always escalated slowly, letting his skin grow acclimated to one touch before advancing to the next. She never hurt him. The only thing that would truly cause pain was a bite, which was a rare, sought-after pleasure. The growing intensity of sensation was centering. By the time Esme was finished with a session, Carlisle's mind was always clear and focused intensely on her, just as his body was aching for hers: he was ready to feel, to adore, to love, and absolutely ready to fuck. The cane snapped, and Esme discarded it with the other broken paddles, canes and cables littering the floor. She ran her hand over Carlisle's ass, grazing his balls, and he moaned thickly.

"So responsive. You're ready, I think." She unfastened his ankles. "On your back." Carlisle carefully scooted his feet back until he could get to his knees, and then rotated back to his original position. Esme secured his ankles and stood over him again, dragging the tip of a riding crop slowly over his flesh. His cock bobbed when the crop approached his lower belly.

"Very nice," Esme cooed. "But I'm having some trouble concentrating. Before we do anything more with your lovely cock, I need some relief." She fell to her knees, straddling his face. "I require your mouth, Carlisle."

Carlisle barely got the "yes, Esme" out before he covered her with his mouth. His tongue ran up and down her dripping folds, circled her clit, and when a fresh pulse of juices flowed from her core, he groaned and bucked, only to feel the sting of the crop on his hip.

"This is not your moment, Carlisle." She stood, and Carlisle feared she would stop their game, but she reached into a drawer and pulled out very short, very thick, black rubber tiebacks with metal hooks on each end. "If you cannot hold still yourself, I shall have to ensure that you stay still."

He swallowed thickly as he watched her work to immobilize him. It was a sensuous experience. She took each strap, hooked one end on a D-bolt, stretched it across his body so tightly that the strap was nearly at the extent of its elasticity, and then she hooked it to a D-bolt on the other side of the mat. Each strap added a tight line across his body, another stripe of his stone flesh she claimed control over. And he loved giving her this: holding completely still for her as she claimed his control, his body, inch by inch. Soon, each D-bolt anchored several straps, crisscrossing his body. Scores of straps ran across his chest, his belly, his hips, his legs, pressing his entire frame deep into the mat. His cock alone jutted upward, flanked by black straps: there was no way he could thrust now. Only his head and his arms were offered limited movement. His hands were still attached to the pole overhead with an inch or two of play in his bindings. Where they had been his point of bondage earlier, now they were his one point of relative freedom. It almost felt dangerous, that one inch of play. Carlisle was glad, however, that he could raise his head and look down his body, seeing the lone monolith of his cock rising straight out of a sea of black restraints. The sight was sexy as hell, and could only be improved by the presence of Esme's gracious curves.

Esme was also admiring her work. "Very pretty," she said, gently dragging the end of the crop up his shaft as he moaned. "You are completely at my mercy now," she added with a small smirk.

"I am ever at your mercy, Esme," Carlisle replied, but he knew this was different. She rarely immobilized him so completely. She hovered just out of reach, taking her time, teasing him in his helplessness. And he ached for her, more and more as he watched her sexily pace, bending over to check that his hands were secure, and then dragging her fingers over the row of D-bolts, grazing the connections of all those straps. He could tell she was pleased with her design, and the possibilities it afforded. She was proud, and confident, and he loved seeing her like this…loved being this for her.

"Now, where were we? Oh yes, your tongue was on my clit." She straddled his face again, holding onto the bar, and was quickly writhing and grinding into him as he sucked her furiously. He gave her all his attention. All sixteen muscles of his tongue were devoted to her pleasure as he relished the sweet and tangy taste of her honey and felt the smooth skin of her folds. His eyes feasted on her gyrating body, and he was joyously drowning in the aroma of her intense arousal. He savored the symphony of her raspy groans, breathy gasps, and the creak of her leather boots as she rocked over him. It was magnificent to feel his senses all filled with just her… just his Esme… his beautiful, sensuous, glorious…

Esme tensed, and Carlisle thrust his tongue into her depths, growling as he felt her clench and scream her release. She clung to the bar, panting as Carlisle gently licked her clean, feeding his appetite for her. Finally she stood, shuffled her feet back until they were on either side of his hips, and looked down at his leaking cock. "Carlisle, you naughty boy. You've dripped so much, I don't think I need to get you any more wet…I could just slip over you…" He watched raptly as she lowered herself onto his cock, still balancing on those stiletto boots, Carlisle's new favorite shoes.

"Oh fuck, Esme!" he cried out, watching as he slid into her, and feeling the searing, tight, squeeze of her flesh on his own… so hot, so slick, so, so right. The handcuffs rattled as he strained to thrust and buck, but his arms were stretched too tight. He had no leverage, and the straps held him firmly in place. The sound focused him, though. He willed himself to be submissive, to hold his arms as still as the rest of his body, and to give himself over to Esme. He was hers absolutely: body, mind and soul.

Esme slowly, torturously raised herself almost completely off him, and then sunk slowly back down until she was sitting on straps covering his pelvis. She rested her hands on her knees and started a slow rhythm: up and down, push and pull, in and out, stronger and stronger. Carlisle could only feel her hot slick core sliding along his shaft. Every other touch on his body was a restraint. He was forced to let her set the pace; it felt magnificent.

She teased him, slowing as his breathing grew heavier, taking him to the edge and then pulling him back. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so aroused for so long. It was exquisite, exquisite torture, and just when he thought he might actually die from it, Esme tightened around him and began moving faster. The heat at the base of his spine intensified, and he had trouble keeping his eyes open, torn between wanting to just feel what she was doing to him and watching her sexy body as she raised and lowered it over his cock. He was glad he'd kept his eyes open when she trailed a finger slowly, sexily from her knee to her clit. He nearly came as she started making slow circles with her finger, throwing her head back, her breasts nearly leaving the confines of black leather. She sped her pace, both of her finger and the rocking of her body onto his. Faster and faster she circled and thrust as their breathing intensified, until finally with a loud cry, she clenched around him, and it was too much. He growled and shrieked his release. Stars splayed across his vision, and he could hear Esme coming, but it sounded muffled as his vision was completely encompassed with light. He was floating, and for a while, all he knew was the sound of his own gasping breaths.