“There’s my good boy.” Nikolai smoothed both palms across Douglas’s chest, gently tweaked his nipples. “Here, let me help you.”
And at that, he gave himself over to their shared pleasure, thrusting slowly but steadily, deep and careful. The boy moaned in time to his thrusts, his cock firming up again in his experienced hand.
“Enjoy this,” Nikolai whispered into his ear. “Touching yourself is a pleasure afforded to very few in your position. In fact, I may cage this cock when we’re finished here, just to teach you the true value of my kindness.”
Douglas’s reply was unintelligible, a high whining moan through tightly sealed lips.
“Mmm, yes,” Nikolai groaned, hips stuttering a little now. “I like the idea of that. How long do you think you can go without coming before you rethink your lack of gratitude? Sucking me, having my cock in your ass, every single day and never finding your own release. You’ll cry to let me touch you like this. You’ll do anything to feel this pleasure and freedom.”
“No,” Douglas whimpered back, still jerking himself, hand flying over his shaft making lovely wet slapping noises, the sound of a thoroughly abused cock. “I won’t beg, I won’t, I won’t, I—” Like a skipping record. Close to orgasm, then.
No, not close. Done already.
The boy’s fingers were webbed with cum. Cum on his heaving stomach, even on his chest. His strokes were already slowing, becoming lighter as his cock grew oversensitized.
Nikolai knocked the boy’s hand away and seized the still-hard cock in his own. Douglas yelped, squirmed, but Nikolai just pinned him by the throat with his other hand and drove hard into his clenching hole. “What did I tell you,” he growled, “about coming without permission?”
He thrust harder, faster, sped up his hand over Douglas’s deflating cock to match. The boy whimpered, then moaned, then shouted. Writhed beneath Nikolai, but he couldn’t escape. “Please,” he finally managed between desperate, panting breaths. “Please . . . s-stop, God, stop!”
Nikolai responded by slamming balls deep over and over into that thrashing body. The boy’s cock was withered in his hand, but he stroked it mercilessly, gripping hard enough to have hurt even if Douglas weren’t post-orgasm oversensitive. “Be quiet, boy. This is why you ask permission. How dare you take your pleasure before your master’s? And then compound your offense by asking me to stop?”
“I’m sorry!” Douglas cried, hands pushing at Nikolai’s shoulders—no doubt subconsciously. Nikolai would let it slide for now, especially given the way Douglas’s hole was clenching so delightfully around his cock. “I’m sorry! Please! Please stop please please please please . . .”
“Not until you’re hard again. Not until you come—or not—on my terms, with my permission.”
Douglas was full-on crying now, not merely tears but big sobs, ugly sniffles, gaping mouth twisted like the tragedy masks Madame favored. Hands curled into limp fists, he pounded the heels of his palms against Nikolai’s body. Completely out of control. Still not hard.
“Stop that,” Nikolai barked, and took his hand from the boy’s throat just long enough to slap him, hard, forward and then back across both cheeks. “Hit me again, for any reason, and I’ll teach you real pain, do you understand, boy?”
Douglas nodded brokenly and buried his face in both hands. When Nikolai barked, “No, never hide yourself from me,” Douglas gripped at the sheets instead. Lay there tossing his head as Nikolai fucked and stroked and fucked him some more.
The boy had better get hard again soon. Nikolai wouldn’t last forever, no matter how disciplined he was. He supposed he could always bring out a fucking machine, but he really wanted to keep this personal if he could.
He changed angles, aiming straight for the boy’s prostate. Gentled his hand a little, sliding the foreskin over the shaft but staying away from the crown. At last, a twitch. A slight filling. Hardening. “That’s it,” he praised. “Nice and hard for your master again.”
Douglas shook in place, eyes rolling back in his head. Nikolai slowed his thrusts lest he come too soon, sped up his stroking to compensate. Took his hand from around the boy’s throat—no need to pin him down anymore—and went for his nipples again. Nothing too rough—the boy clearly didn’t get off on pain. Just stroking and flicking and rolling. Tempting. Teasing.
And ah, there it was, a soft pleasured moan, humiliated, burning with shame, but genuine.
“Isn’t it so much better when you give in? You crave this, Douglas. Now that you’ve had it, you always will.” Douglas shook his head, but even with his mouth clamped shut, another moan escaped. Exquisite. “Tonight you’ll dream of me inside you.” He drew himself out until the boy’s muscles squeezed only the head of his cock, then thrust back in, allowing his own moan to escape. “You’ll lie awake unable to touch yourself, and when I come to you tomorrow, you’ll be on your knees waiting to beg me to fuck you again. You’re mine now, whether you know it yet or not. Say it.”
“Yours. I’m yours. Sir. Please, please let it be over.”
Why did he have to ruin it that way? “It’s over when I say it’s over.” Now he really was considering bringing out a fucking machine. And a penis pump. Strapping the boy into both all night, watching him moan and writhe and beg and come and come and come. Gods, just the thought of that drew his balls up, tightened his belly. Yes. A fine lesson. “Look me in the eyes when I come.” He grabbed Douglas by the chin, hard enough that he’d probably bruised that beautiful pale skin. Kept Douglas’s face in position. Stared deep down into his frightened, horrified eyes.
You will be mine. Your body. Your heart. Your mind. You will. Soon. So soon.
Deep inside him. Deep enough to unmake him. Transform him into something glorious and new. His best possible self. The boy’s cock jerked and filled beneath Nikolai’s hand—so close, so close to coming again. But not this time. Not unless he begged. Nikolai pinched him off, relishing the boy’s involuntary whimper as he sped his own thrusts, chased his own pleasure as single-mindedly as any master would. As any master had the right to.
He kissed his boy as he came, emptying himself into that tight spasming ass, and when a nervous tongue darted into his mouth, sweet and questioning, he let Douglas come too as a reward, as one final gift.
A gift swiftly rejected when the boy tore his mouth away from Nikolai’s and sobbed. When Nikolai pulled free, cum dribbling in his wake, Douglas curled up tight on his side, hands covering his head, shoulders shaking.
Nikolai allowed it, but only for a moment. “There now,” he said, stroking a hand down Douglas’s flank. The muscle twitched beneath his fingertips, as if trying to get away. “It’s all right. I know it hurts now, Douglas, but letting go of the past always hurts. Moving forward can be a very frightening thing. The world is so big and scary and intimidating sometimes.”
Douglas said nothing, just kept on crying.
“Come now. Sit up and tend me. Weep if you must, but never neglect to clean your master after you’ve serviced him.”
Still weeping, Douglas pushed himself into a sitting position, plucked three tissues from the box on the nightstand with a trembling hand, and went to wipe the cum from Nikolai’s groin.
Nikolai stopped him with a gentle touch. “Use those to blow your nose and wipe your tears, but do not use them on me. You clean your master with your tongue.”
A fresh, loud sob, but the boy nodded. Wiped his streaming eyes. Blew his nose. Pointless, as hard as he was crying, but Nikolai applauded the effort and would never dream to deny him these cleansing tears. The boy was mourning; Nikolai understood that. Soon would come acceptance. He was on the cusp of his transformation, and then the tears would be over.
“Focus, now,” he warned as the boy balled the tissues over and over again in his fist. “Never keep your master waiting.”
“S-sorry, sir,” Douglas sobbed, voice hitching. But he obediently fell to his hands and knees, nuzzled his head between Nikolai’s spread thighs and took Nikolai�
��s soft cock into his mouth. Sucked very, very gently as he swiped, equally gently, with his tongue. Clearly, someone at Madame’s had already taught him this particular skill.
“Yes,” Nikolai sighed as the boy’s tongue snaked down to his balls, lapped softly there. Nikolai laid a hand on Douglas’s head, stroked through his hair. “That’s very good, Douglas. Very good. I see you need no further instruction in this at all.” Douglas made a snuffling sound, but said nothing. Kept at his cleaning until Nikolai nudged him away. “I think that’s enough. Now go into the bathroom and take care of yourself. Your master may not always let you wash—and a time will come when you may find you don’t want to wash—but you must always be clean and ready for him unless told otherwise.” Douglas stood on shaky legs, nodded. “And while you’re in there, wash your face. Your blotchiness offends.”
Douglas pulled himself together just long enough to manage, “Yes, sir, I-I’m sorry, sir.”
While Douglas was tending to his hygiene, Nikolai went to the room’s armoire, opening it up to shelves and shelves of implements. Dildos. Plugs. Vibrators. Gags. Restraints. Everything he needed to enhance his training. At last, he found what he was looking for: a small, vibrating prostate stimulator on a locking belt, and a clear silicone chastity cage with holes for air flow, washing, and urinating. Not as punishing as some of the others he often used—not punishing at all, really; the boy could wear it for months without the slightest harm—but exactly what he needed for his current purposes.
Douglas was standing behind him when he turned with them in his hands. He looked much better already, his face scrubbed fresh and only the slightest trembling left in his limbs. “Sir?” he asked, clearly unsure of what he was looking at, but smart enough by now to be wary of it.
“I said I’d teach you the true value of my kindness,” Nikolai explained. “I intend to keep my promise. Now come here, boy.”
Douglas obeyed.
I said I’d teach you the true value of my kindness.
“Sir!” Dougie screamed, absolutely hoarse. “Sir, please!” He pounded the closed door with both fists. “Sir! Sir, you can’t leave me like this!”
No answer. Nikolai wasn’t coming back. Dougie fell to his knees.
The plug inside him moved, not just shifting position, but vibrating, fucking shaking, and that horrible wicked curve hit what he now knew was his prostate and sent shudders of humiliation and unwanted pleasure through every inch of him. His moan turned into another raging scream. More pounding on the door. Every time he moved, the plug twitched inside him or drove upward or glanced down, every single motion a new torture.
Inside the so-called chastity cage, his cock swelled up, trying to rise, but was painfully strangled. He’d have been okay in it without the plug, maybe even with a plug that didn’t vibrate, like the one he’d worn at Madame’s. But with this plug constantly stroking him from the inside, buzzing relentlessly against his prostate, there was no stopping it. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Nikolai had plugged and caged him and he already felt like he was going crazy.
I said I’d teach you the true value of my kindness.
If Nikolai really was trying to teach Dougie some kind of lesson with this latest torture, well, Dougie wasn’t learning shit.
For the hundredth time, he yanked at the belt around his waist, fingers following the line of the straps that looped between his legs, trying to wrench the plug out. But there was no give. And the attempt completely backfired, because the motion of trying to pull the plug free just made everything worse.
Besides, what would Nikolai do to him if he did manage to get it out? Consequences, consequences . . . Nikolai hadn’t hurt him yet, not really—at least not in the more traditional sense—but he had no doubt the man was capable of it.
He pounded the door one more time, then threw himself on the bed and buried his face in his pillow, trying to ignore his screaming nerves. Intellectually, he knew his reactions to the plug were probably normal—he was healthy, male, twenty-three. What else did guys his age think about but sex? But God, how it shamed him to take pleasure from what’d been done to him. To have come twice—once at his rapist’s hand and once, oh God, at his own.
But worst of all? He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he weren’t in this fucking cock cage, he’d touch himself again. Relieve the pressure, the itch, the unbearable want. And surely he must want it on some level, or his body wouldn’t be behaving like this, right? How would he ever look Mat in the eye again? How would he ever look himself in the eye again?
Nikolai was right. He was a coward. Mat probably did hate him. No way Mat came like this, felt these urges, gave in so fucking completely. He probably didn’t even get hard.
Oh God, what would he do if he really was alone now? If Mat wouldn’t speak to him anymore? If the only person alive who’d so much as give him the time of day was Nikolai?
Best not to think about that. Best not to think at all, in fact. O, that way madness lies. Let me shun that.
Mat started awake to the sound of a . . . power tool? He lurched up in bed and spun toward the noise, saw two men installing a heavy punching bag at the same time he realized his bedroom door was wide open.
Run.
The thought had barely formed before the doorway was filled with two more men carrying a treadmill, and Nikolai, bringing up the rear, one hand stuffed casually in his pants pocket.
“Good morning, Mathias,” Nikolai said, grinning expansively, as if it really was a good morning.
Mat realized he was on his feet, though he couldn’t remember getting there, and that he was naked in front of a room full of very attractive men in their forties—the kinds of guys you’d see modeling suits in a Macy’s catalog—and that nobody but him seemed to think this was odd in the slightest. He forced himself not to cup his cock as one of the—servants? slaves? seriously discreet delivery guys?—turned eyes on him.
The treadmill guys left. The guys who’d been hanging the heavy bag moved on to mounting a speed bag beside it. Beside that, a chin-up bar was already screwed into the wall—how had he slept through that?—with a series of resistance band attachments for strength training. No free weights, though—obviously Nikolai didn’t trust him not to bludgeon someone.
“What is this?” he asked, trying very hard not to sound as suspicious as he felt. He added belatedly, “Sir?”
The treadmill guys came back carrying hand wraps, gloves, weighted gloves, sports tape, Power Punch cables, a medicine ball, a padded folding gym mat, an assortment of jump ropes, and—ohgodthankyou—workout shorts, socks, and sneakers. Was Nikolai planning to make him fight in an underground cage? Was that why he’d really bought him? Not for sex at all?
“A gift,” Nikolai said, grinning that same expansive grin. It fell a little when Mat did nothing, said nothing, just stood there no doubt looking as suspicious as he felt. “For you,” Nikolai added pointedly.
Mat nodded, forced himself to say “Thank you” and not sound too grudging about it, though all he really wanted to do was tell Nikolai to go fuck himself and fuck his gifts and let them go home. But Nikolai wouldn’t let them go home, and if Mat gave him lip about it now, Nikolai might just take his “gifts” away again, and Mat’s hands were already itching to be wrapped, his feet itching to run. He pictured drawing Nikolai’s face on the speed bag, hitting it so hard it burst.
Let me at it.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I need you fighting fit. I broke you a little. Now do what you do best—make yourself strong again. Put yourself back together.”
Mat was halfway across the room before he realized he’d moved. The four Macy’s guys formed a wall in front of Nikolai, faces hard, and Mat froze. They didn’t seem like hired muscle—not big enough, not holding themselves like fighters. If they had been, maybe he would have had the brass fucking balls to take them all on, if not to escape then just on principle, but he didn’t want to fight these guys regardless of the odds
. Something about them triggered sympathy inside him, and he didn’t want to send them all to the hospital with rearranged faces.
“You didn’t break me,” he growled to Nikolai, who was gently pushing two of the men aside to clear the path between himself and Mat. Mat stood his ground, squared his shoulders, lifted his chin. “Do I look broken to y—”
Nikolai thrust his hand out, auto-injector clutched in his palm, ready to strike. Every last drop of moisture fled Mat’s mouth and migrated north to his eyes. “Please,” he whispered. He was trembling. No more squared shoulders, no more proud chin. “I’m sorry.”
Nikolai put the auto-injector back in his pocket with another grin—less expansive, more I told you so.
“As I was saying,” Nikolai said, “you need to take care of yourself. Because nobody else will, not anymore. I’ll help you when I can, but it wouldn’t be fair to you to pamper you now. You’d only suffer for it later in your new master’s hands.”
There didn’t seem to be any call to respond to that, so Mat just swallowed, nodded. His gaze seemed stuck on Nikolai’s pocket, on what he knew was inside there. It felt like a reprieve of the highest order—like he’d barely avoided a terrible car crash or a firing squad—to see that needle put away. But his heart was still thrashing; he could still taste the adrenaline in the back of his throat.
“Please,” Nikolai said, gesturing him toward the little round table with its two chairs. “Sit. Let us talk.”
Oh God, not again. But he did as he was told. Of course. It fucking disgusted him to think that, but clearly, Nikolai was right—he had broken him.
“You told me once, not so very long ago, that I could never take your pride. In a way, I believed you. It’s why I bought you, you see. And yet, in another way—a way of long, personal experience—I know that all slaves, even ones as willful as you, must at the very least learn to put aside their pride, even if they never give in completely. I know you think your pride makes you a free man, but in this place, it makes you a dead man.”
Fragmentation Page 12