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palacechristian[Warning for disturbing content.]
The chamber door clicked open and Marton entered, carrying an unconscious Christian. The young man Liam remembered was tall and fit, slim but muscular, tanned and healthy. The young man carried into the room by his father was thin, pale and clearly sick, with sunken eyes and a twitching tension even in sleep.
"Over here." Liam motioned Marton toward a sturdy frame in the center of the room. While Marton held him up, Liam buckled cuffs around his wrists. Once awake, Christian would be able to stand, but for right now his full weight slumped toward the floor. By the time he woke up his shoulders, elbows and wrists would all be aching. Liam pulled the boy's sleep pants off and tossed them into a bin in one corner; not even that much familiarity would be visible in the room.
"Where do you want me?" Marton's voice was low and tight. The room was dim and its furnishings unfamiliar -- harsh even, ominous under such circumstances.
"There will do." Liam pointed to a seat in a dark corner out of Christian's line of sight.
Marton moved over and took the indicated seat, his hands fidgeting in his lap before falling still, gripping each other tightly. "What's... should we have a safeword, or...?"
Liam gave him a grim smile. "Safewords exist to allow the sub to use verbal protest to enhance the realism and pleasure of a scene while still being able to communicate true unwillingness or distress to the dom. Since this isn't a scene and you're not the one involved anyway, I think you can just tell me to slow down or stop if you feel the need."
Marton flushed, and felt annoyed at the same time by Liam's pedantic manner, but he simply said, "Of course." He watched as Liam conducted one last examination of Christian, looking and touching and checking, in preparation before waking him up. There was no affectation in his manner, no posturing, no "domming" as Marton understood it. He went about his tasks with an efficient competence which Marton the father found comforting. He realized then that Liam's matter-of-fact reply to his earlier question was part of that spare efficiency, along with the lack of fetish in his dress; he'd removed his shirt, but otherwise was wearing the same dark slacks and plain shoes he'd arrived in.
Marton still wouldn't want to run into him in a dark alley. Not without Vin, anyway.
"Anything before I wake him up? Questions, requests, information?"
Marton shook his head. "No."
Liam nodded and administered the stimulant, along with the hallucinogen, the blocker and the sensory enhancer, all in one long hiss.
Christian opened his eyes on another nightmare. He moaned and tried to shift, but his shoulders protested. His knees dangled off the floor and leather cuffs bit into his wrists, a sharp, stinging pain balancing out the dull, throbbing one in his joints.
A deep voice commanded, "Stand up."
Christian tried to pull himself to his feet, but obviously wasn't fast enough. A crack! of pain exploded across his back and he gasped out a cry. He lurched erect, panting a little at the relief afforded his arms.
Another half dozen slashing blows from the crop got across that the bastard wanted him to stand up straighter. He wanted to resist, to slump back down just to spite him, but the pain went through him like a blade. Nothing had ever hurt so much in his life, not even getting shot on the border, and he found himself sobbing and struggling to do whatever Carstairs wanted, whatever it was he wanted, why didn't he just say what he wanted??
The crop finally went still, leaving him with burning slashes on his back, his thighs, his chest, his arse. He was left alone for a while, he couldn't tell how long, and then he was there again, adjusting something with straps around his chest, pulling buckles tight and then moving away once more.
Christian looked down at himself, squinting in the dim. He was wearing a harness of white leather. It had a very... feminine look to it, and he felt a wave of shame and dread pass through him. Another party? It must be something big if Carstairs was prepping him himself instead of letting the handlers do it.
More harness, white again with silver fittings, delicate silver chains connecting it to a white collar around his throat, a collar tight enough to make its presence felt whenever he swallowed.
Big, warm fingers teased his nipples and he gasped, squirming. God, that felt good! He moaned in protest, tried to writhe away, but no matter which way he jerked or twisted the fingers were always there, pinching and twisting, flicking lightly until he was panting with need. Tears ran down his cheeks, born of both frustrated desire and burning shame.
A pause and then a double snap! A pair of clips bit down simultaneously on his sensitized nipples, and Christian screamed. Any desire he'd been feeling before vanished as the pain zinged through his nerves. He jerked in a futile effort to escape the searing pain but only succeeded in making the tiny bells strung on the chain between the clamps jingle merrily.
A click accompanied a tightening metallic grip around his cock, just behind the head. It was uncomfortable, but not actually painful. Although that could change if he started swelling.... Another click tugged on his cock, then a third yanked on his nipples, drawing another pained yelp from him. Carstairs stepped back to have a look at his handiwork and Christian could feel the weight of his cock pulling down on the chain attached to his nipples. The clamps bit in tight, making him tremble, which set the whole thing swaying which tugged on the clamps which--
"Very pretty." The deep voice poured into his mind, stirring recognition and... desire? No!
"No!" he shouted, his voice sounding weak and rasping. "Leave me alone! Don't!"
A broad body stepped close, a bare chest brushing against his own. Hands reached up to fiddle with his cuffs. The tension suddenly let go and his arms fell to his sides like dead weights. His body swayed, his balance gone, and a muscular arm slid around him, supporting him. He leaned into it, nearly sobbing with gratitude.
The man led him slowly across the room, then positioned him in front of a bar sticking up out of the floor like a squared-off U. His feet were nudged into position and then-- couldn't move. It was as though they'd been clamped down, but they weren't. His hands were placed on the bar, right at hip level, and-- they stuck too. He tried to pull away, then jerked, but his bells jingled and the chains yanked on his nipples and nothing else happened.
"What--?" He looked up over his shoulder at the man behind him, feeling confused and betrayed. He'd let him go, so why...?
Carstairs walked around in front of him, looked him straight in the eye, and held out his hand. A bundle of straps and such floated through the air and landed in his palm.
A telekinetic? Another TK! Oh, gods, that's why--! Christian jerked his hands and feet, but the only reaction was an amused smirk on the face of the man before him.
"Open."
Christian tried to resist, but his jaws were pried apart and something -- something huge, smeared with burning, mint-flavored gel, and fuck it he hated mint! -- was forced into his mouth. He felt buckles being fastened on his head, holding the penis gag in place, then tightening. The force holding his mouth open relaxed, and now it was only the cock-shaped rubber prod filling his mouth, oozing gel down his throat until he felt like he was about to choke.
He managed to relax his throat muscles and had just caught his breath when a hand on the back of his neck shoved, bending him over the bar. His hands released from the top of the bar, only to reattach themselves to the supports down near his calves. His bells chimed with his struggles, but his hands and feet stuck as though cemented.
The only good thing about this position was that with his hips higher than his chest, his cock hung forward and took some of the strain off his throbbing nipples.
Just then he felt something hard and slick probing at his entrance. That low, penetrating voice purred, "Open up little boy! Coming in!" and a dildo slammed into him, ripping and tearing him open. He felt blood running down his thighs, it had to be blood, all he could smell was that goddamned fucking mint but it had to be blood it hurt so bad and the mint burned into every opening every gaping wound and below his own muffled shrieks loud enough to echo through his head even with the gag in he could almost hear what sounded like voices -- voices? two voices? but there was only one person here only one bastard only Carstairs -- but his own screams of pain drowned out anything else that might be going on in the room....
"Jeezus, what the hell--?!" Marton was up out of his chair and halfway across the room before he remembered the enhancer and stopped.
"He's fine," Liam said, glancing over his shoulder for just a moment. There was a hint of strain in the man's voice, but just barely, and his movements were smooth and sure. "I can feel him, remember. It hurts, but it has to hurt. He's all right."
"I know that, dammit!" Marton snapped, then shut up and sat back down. Shut up, shut up, stay out of it! This is the only way he'll come out with his mind intact so just shut up and let Liam do his job, the job you begged him to come and do for you!
He wanted nothing more than to curl up around himself with his eyes closed and his head buried in his arms, to hide here in the dark in the corner until it was all over, but he couldn't do that, he owed it to Christian. Even if Liam never needed to be stopped or restrained and he wouldn't he was a professional he was the best that's why he was here he still owed it to Christian to be here for this, to watch and listen and experience as much of it as he could which was damned little compared with what Christian was going through so he could fucking well just sit here and maintain!
The dildo pumped in and out of Christian's arse, harder and faster, jabbing his prostate at uneven intervals. As his muscles relaxed and his body became accustomed to the penetration, he began to feel little jolts of pleasure. He felt himself moan around the rubber cock in his mouth and instantly tensed, horrified shame flooding through him.
No!
But the thrusting dildo hit his prostate more often, and then every time, and a then big hand ran lightly over the clamps on his nipples, sending pain/pleasure signals down to meet up with the ones coming out of his ass and he was whimpering and sobbing in protest but it didn't prevent his cock from filling and thickening.
The pressure on his feet and wrists released and the dildo slid all the way out and he slumped over the metal bar, gasping around the obstruction in his mouth, but before he could catch his breath he felt himself lifted through the air and then dropped to land in a thudding heap on the polished wood floor.
The voice hissed, "Slut!" and a lash cracked across his arse, then again twice more. He gave a gagged scream and tried to move, to roll out of the way, but the same force that had tossed him down to the floor held him there, pinned and helpless. He tried to focus, to push, to fight it, but it felt like a thick quilt was wrapped around his head and no matter how hard he strained it absorbed his every effort, like trying to swim with no arms or legs there was just nothing and he'd never felt so helpless.
Half a dozen more lashes and then he was picked up and thrown down on his back. A narrow strip of cling-bandage came ribboning through the air and wrapped itself around the base of his still half-hard cock, looping a neat figure-eight around his balls. Once in place it stuck to itself and Christian could feel himself growing erect, need and want building up between his legs even as the punishing lash laid down stripes of humiliation across his chest and belly.
His body lifted off the floor once more, his wrists and ankles dangling below the arch of his hips. A massive hand curled around his straining erection and began a slow massage. Persistent fingers stroked his balls, one curling down every few seconds to tickle his entrance. He felt a desperate need coil through him. His balls tightened and his hips began to jerk despite the tears flowing into his hair and the humiliated whimpers which were all that could escape from behind the choking gag.
"Pretty little slut," purred that hated voice -- that deep, rich, mesmerizing voice which wrapped itself around him even as the bandage around his genitals slithered away. "They'll just love you. They're all going to love you."
Christian screamed, Nooooooooooo! in his mind even as his ass clenched and his cock jerked and hot come fountained onto his stomach in one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had. The most horrible and humiliating orgasm of his life. Pleasure and shame filled him and exploded and chased him, laughing, down into the dark.
The chamber door clicked open and Marton entered, carrying an unconscious Christian. The young man Liam remembered was tall and fit, slim but muscular, tanned and healthy. The young man carried into the room by his father was thin, pale and clearly sick, with sunken eyes and a twitching tension even in sleep.
"Over here." Liam motioned Marton toward a sturdy frame in the center of the room. While Marton held him up, Liam buckled cuffs around his wrists. Once awake, Christian would be able to stand, but for right now his full weight slumped toward the floor. By the time he woke up his shoulders, elbows and wrists would all be aching. Liam pulled the boy's sleep pants off and tossed them into a bin in one corner; not even that much familiarity would be visible in the room.
"Where do you want me?" Marton's voice was low and tight. The room was dim and its furnishings unfamiliar -- harsh even, ominous under such circumstances.
"There will do." Liam pointed to a seat in a dark corner out of Christian's line of sight.
Marton moved over and took the indicated seat, his hands fidgeting in his lap before falling still, gripping each other tightly. "What's... should we have a safeword, or...?"
Liam gave him a grim smile. "Safewords exist to allow the sub to use verbal protest to enhance the realism and pleasure of a scene while still being able to communicate true unwillingness or distress to the dom. Since this isn't a scene and you're not the one involved anyway, I think you can just tell me to slow down or stop if you feel the need."
Marton flushed, and felt annoyed at the same time by Liam's pedantic manner, but he simply said, "Of course." He watched as Liam conducted one last examination of Christian, looking and touching and checking, in preparation before waking him up. There was no affectation in his manner, no posturing, no "domming" as Marton understood it. He went about his tasks with an efficient competence which Marton the father found comforting. He realized then that Liam's matter-of-fact reply to his earlier question was part of that spare efficiency, along with the lack of fetish in his dress; he'd removed his shirt, but otherwise was wearing the same dark slacks and plain shoes he'd arrived in.
Marton still wouldn't want to run into him in a dark alley. Not without Vin, anyway.
"Anything before I wake him up? Questions, requests, information?"
Marton shook his head. "No."
Liam nodded and administered the stimulant, along with the hallucinogen, the blocker and the sensory enhancer, all in one long hiss.
Christian opened his eyes on another nightmare. He moaned and tried to shift, but his shoulders protested. His knees dangled off the floor and leather cuffs bit into his wrists, a sharp, stinging pain balancing out the dull, throbbing one in his joints.
A deep voice commanded, "Stand up."
Christian tried to pull himself to his feet, but obviously wasn't fast enough. A crack! of pain exploded across his back and he gasped out a cry. He lurched erect, panting a little at the relief afforded his arms.
Another half dozen slashing blows from the crop got across that the bastard wanted him to stand up straighter. He wanted to resist, to slump back down just to spite him, but the pain went through him like a blade. Nothing had ever hurt so much in his life, not even getting shot on the border, and he found himself sobbing and struggling to do whatever Carstairs wanted, whatever it was he wanted, why didn't he just say what he wanted??
The crop finally went still, leaving him with burning slashes on his back, his thighs, his chest, his arse. He was left alone for a while, he couldn't tell how long, and then he was there again, adjusting something with straps around his chest, pulling buckles tight and then moving away once more.
Christian looked down at himself, squinting in the dim. He was wearing a harness of white leather. It had a very... feminine look to it, and he felt a wave of shame and dread pass through him. Another party? It must be something big if Carstairs was prepping him himself instead of letting the handlers do it.
More harness, white again with silver fittings, delicate silver chains connecting it to a white collar around his throat, a collar tight enough to make its presence felt whenever he swallowed.
Big, warm fingers teased his nipples and he gasped, squirming. God, that felt good! He moaned in protest, tried to writhe away, but no matter which way he jerked or twisted the fingers were always there, pinching and twisting, flicking lightly until he was panting with need. Tears ran down his cheeks, born of both frustrated desire and burning shame.
A pause and then a double snap! A pair of clips bit down simultaneously on his sensitized nipples, and Christian screamed. Any desire he'd been feeling before vanished as the pain zinged through his nerves. He jerked in a futile effort to escape the searing pain but only succeeded in making the tiny bells strung on the chain between the clamps jingle merrily.
A click accompanied a tightening metallic grip around his cock, just behind the head. It was uncomfortable, but not actually painful. Although that could change if he started swelling.... Another click tugged on his cock, then a third yanked on his nipples, drawing another pained yelp from him. Carstairs stepped back to have a look at his handiwork and Christian could feel the weight of his cock pulling down on the chain attached to his nipples. The clamps bit in tight, making him tremble, which set the whole thing swaying which tugged on the clamps which--
"Very pretty." The deep voice poured into his mind, stirring recognition and... desire? No!
"No!" he shouted, his voice sounding weak and rasping. "Leave me alone! Don't!"
A broad body stepped close, a bare chest brushing against his own. Hands reached up to fiddle with his cuffs. The tension suddenly let go and his arms fell to his sides like dead weights. His body swayed, his balance gone, and a muscular arm slid around him, supporting him. He leaned into it, nearly sobbing with gratitude.
The man led him slowly across the room, then positioned him in front of a bar sticking up out of the floor like a squared-off U. His feet were nudged into position and then-- couldn't move. It was as though they'd been clamped down, but they weren't. His hands were placed on the bar, right at hip level, and-- they stuck too. He tried to pull away, then jerked, but his bells jingled and the chains yanked on his nipples and nothing else happened.
"What--?" He looked up over his shoulder at the man behind him, feeling confused and betrayed. He'd let him go, so why...?
Carstairs walked around in front of him, looked him straight in the eye, and held out his hand. A bundle of straps and such floated through the air and landed in his palm.
A telekinetic? Another TK! Oh, gods, that's why--! Christian jerked his hands and feet, but the only reaction was an amused smirk on the face of the man before him.
"Open."
Christian tried to resist, but his jaws were pried apart and something -- something huge, smeared with burning, mint-flavored gel, and fuck it he hated mint! -- was forced into his mouth. He felt buckles being fastened on his head, holding the penis gag in place, then tightening. The force holding his mouth open relaxed, and now it was only the cock-shaped rubber prod filling his mouth, oozing gel down his throat until he felt like he was about to choke.
He managed to relax his throat muscles and had just caught his breath when a hand on the back of his neck shoved, bending him over the bar. His hands released from the top of the bar, only to reattach themselves to the supports down near his calves. His bells chimed with his struggles, but his hands and feet stuck as though cemented.
The only good thing about this position was that with his hips higher than his chest, his cock hung forward and took some of the strain off his throbbing nipples.
Just then he felt something hard and slick probing at his entrance. That low, penetrating voice purred, "Open up little boy! Coming in!" and a dildo slammed into him, ripping and tearing him open. He felt blood running down his thighs, it had to be blood, all he could smell was that goddamned fucking mint but it had to be blood it hurt so bad and the mint burned into every opening every gaping wound and below his own muffled shrieks loud enough to echo through his head even with the gag in he could almost hear what sounded like voices -- voices? two voices? but there was only one person here only one bastard only Carstairs -- but his own screams of pain drowned out anything else that might be going on in the room....
"Jeezus, what the hell--?!" Marton was up out of his chair and halfway across the room before he remembered the enhancer and stopped.
"He's fine," Liam said, glancing over his shoulder for just a moment. There was a hint of strain in the man's voice, but just barely, and his movements were smooth and sure. "I can feel him, remember. It hurts, but it has to hurt. He's all right."
"I know that, dammit!" Marton snapped, then shut up and sat back down. Shut up, shut up, stay out of it! This is the only way he'll come out with his mind intact so just shut up and let Liam do his job, the job you begged him to come and do for you!
He wanted nothing more than to curl up around himself with his eyes closed and his head buried in his arms, to hide here in the dark in the corner until it was all over, but he couldn't do that, he owed it to Christian. Even if Liam never needed to be stopped or restrained and he wouldn't he was a professional he was the best that's why he was here he still owed it to Christian to be here for this, to watch and listen and experience as much of it as he could which was damned little compared with what Christian was going through so he could fucking well just sit here and maintain!
The dildo pumped in and out of Christian's arse, harder and faster, jabbing his prostate at uneven intervals. As his muscles relaxed and his body became accustomed to the penetration, he began to feel little jolts of pleasure. He felt himself moan around the rubber cock in his mouth and instantly tensed, horrified shame flooding through him.
No!
But the thrusting dildo hit his prostate more often, and then every time, and a then big hand ran lightly over the clamps on his nipples, sending pain/pleasure signals down to meet up with the ones coming out of his ass and he was whimpering and sobbing in protest but it didn't prevent his cock from filling and thickening.
The pressure on his feet and wrists released and the dildo slid all the way out and he slumped over the metal bar, gasping around the obstruction in his mouth, but before he could catch his breath he felt himself lifted through the air and then dropped to land in a thudding heap on the polished wood floor.
The voice hissed, "Slut!" and a lash cracked across his arse, then again twice more. He gave a gagged scream and tried to move, to roll out of the way, but the same force that had tossed him down to the floor held him there, pinned and helpless. He tried to focus, to push, to fight it, but it felt like a thick quilt was wrapped around his head and no matter how hard he strained it absorbed his every effort, like trying to swim with no arms or legs there was just nothing and he'd never felt so helpless.
Half a dozen more lashes and then he was picked up and thrown down on his back. A narrow strip of cling-bandage came ribboning through the air and wrapped itself around the base of his still half-hard cock, looping a neat figure-eight around his balls. Once in place it stuck to itself and Christian could feel himself growing erect, need and want building up between his legs even as the punishing lash laid down stripes of humiliation across his chest and belly.
His body lifted off the floor once more, his wrists and ankles dangling below the arch of his hips. A massive hand curled around his straining erection and began a slow massage. Persistent fingers stroked his balls, one curling down every few seconds to tickle his entrance. He felt a desperate need coil through him. His balls tightened and his hips began to jerk despite the tears flowing into his hair and the humiliated whimpers which were all that could escape from behind the choking gag.
"Pretty little slut," purred that hated voice -- that deep, rich, mesmerizing voice which wrapped itself around him even as the bandage around his genitals slithered away. "They'll just love you. They're all going to love you."
Christian screamed, Nooooooooooo! in his mind even as his ass clenched and his cock jerked and hot come fountained onto his stomach in one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had. The most horrible and humiliating orgasm of his life. Pleasure and shame filled him and exploded and chased him, laughing, down into the dark.
