#anthracene ao3 fic

[anthracenes]

Worth a Thousand Words | Chapter 1

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Triggers. Drunk Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Relapse, Drug Addiction, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Blackmail, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Humiliation, Begging, Anal Sex, Nude Photos, Verbal Humiliation, Online Dating, Serial Rapist, Obsessive Behavior, Obsession, Stalker, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Forced Orgasm, Drugged Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

[read on AO3 here]

Aiden is parked in front of the apartment complex of his online date a few minutes shy of the time they agreed to meet. This is about to be his first ever foray into the gay dating scene, and he’s rightfully a little awkward and nervous about it as he walks toward the building and makes his way up the stairs inside. 

He had only dated a few times before this way back in high school, and it was only ever with the opposite sex. He could hardly count those as real experiences anyways when “dating” at that time was less about dating and more about trying to assimilate and look cool to avoid getting bullied. Even then, after eventually uncovering his true sexual orientation, it wouldn’t be until another five years later that he learned to finally accept this part of himself and stop living in denial.

At twenty-five years old now, Aiden was still a kissless virgin when it came to other men. 

His own denial aside, he had no time or energy left for relationships anyways up until now. Not when he had been too busy these past few years trying not to flunk out of college due to his crippling alcoholism at the time. A combination of a shitty home life with shitty alcoholic parents had resulted in Aiden himself turning to the same poison that had been responsible for most of his shitty upbringing, even when he was far too young for it. He had thought that finally moving away from his parents to college would have helped him get over it, but the frat party culture everywhere on campus had only exacerbated it until it was too late. 

It was only after being faced with the threat of dropping out for his worsening grades during his junior year that he decided he had to go cold turkey and stop once and for all. It was the most painful decision he had ever made in his life, but with the help of some of his sympathetic professors he managed to undo a bit of the damage he’d done to his transcript and scrape by the minimum requirements to graduate with a bachelor’s. Since then, Aiden had moved far out into a quiet little suburb, getting himself far away from all the bars and pubs of the city that proved far too tempting for his inner demons as he worked on recovery. He had been making good progress taking back control of his life bit by bit. It’s been rough, and some days are harder than others still, but the barrier of physical distance has definitely helped keep him sober for over two years now. 

After a few flights of stairs, he finally arrives at the room on the third story, #304. Balling his clammy hand into a fist, Aiden firmly gives the door three rapid knocks and waits.

He doesn’t regret moving that far away from the city, but it still meant he had to drive quite a bit to get to the city and have any real sort of social interaction like this. Not knowing how else to get more experience for this kind of thing, he had caved and installed an online dating app for himself on his phone. Casual hookups aren't quite his thing, but it’s not like a guy like him could just come up to a random man on the street and ask him on a date. Not without the likely possibility of getting hate-crimed for it, anyways. And other than dating apps, the only other avenue he knows of for meeting up with potential romantic partners of the same sex is through gay bars—and that’s obviously just out of the question for him.

Before he could try to knock again, the door suddenly opens. Dylan, the man that greets him, is in a plain white t-shirt and blue short-shorts. The tight clothes nicely accentuate his rippling abs, broad firm shoulders, and shapely calves, which surprisingly look even better in person than in his profile photos online. He’s only five years older than Aiden according to his bio, but stands at least a full head taller than him—about three inches away from being as tall as the top of the door frame. Aiden already has a soft spot for tall guys, but combined with the man’s sharp jawline, piercing green eyes, and extremely fit body it's hard not to swoon at least a little bit. 

“Aiden?”

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Aiden to realize his mouth is hanging open this entire time since his date had opened the door. He’s no slouch himself, but he’s already feeling pretty self-conscious standing next to the Adonis before him. When he finally catches himself, he turns beet red as he clasps his mouth shut and quickly nods. 

“It’s so nice to meet you! I’m so glad you can make it all the way here,” Dylan gives a lighthearted laugh at him, sending even more butterflies fluttering in Aiden’s stomach. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Dylan,” Aiden replies shyly. “You, uh… look a lot better in person.”

“Oh? Well, you don’t look too bad yourself, sweet cheeks,” Dylan smirks with a playful wink. “Why don’t you come on in and give me a better look?”

Blushing furiously, Aiden nods and follows Dylan inside to his living room. The apartment is small but clean and well-furnished, almost like it was ripped straight out of a page from a Modern Home magazine. Aiden has had a lot of experience rooming with guys in his college years to know not only how rare it is for a man his age to keep a place so neat, but also to have a great appreciation for good, thoughtful interior design. 

“Seriously though, thanks for coming all the way here,” Dylan says, ushering him to sit down. “You must be so tired after the long drive. Sit, make yourself comfortable! Want anything to drink? Coke, lemonade, orange soda?”

“Orange soda sounds good actually,” Aiden clears his throat as he replies, feeling his throat dry. “Thank you.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back with some drinks for us then.” With a smile, Dylan leaves him to go to the kitchen. 

Only when Aiden sinks down on the soft, plush cushions does he realize how tired and parched he is after the journey. He had driven three and a half hours in his ten year old Toyota to get here, all in the blazing hot summer sun. The beat up AC unit in his car had been on blast the entire way here, to little effect. The soft breeze of the well-cooled apartment is heaven on his burning skin, and he finds himself sprawled out on the couch comfortably.

Dylan returns in just a few minutes, carrying a glass of orange soda in one hand and two tall slim cans in another. He sets down the glass in front of Aiden on the coffee table, and sets the two cans down on his side before reclining on the chair right across from him.

It’s only when the cans leave his hand and sit on the table that he sees that they are cans of beer. 

“Ah, I don’t—”

“Oh, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to of course,” Dylan interrupts him before he could finish. “I know you mentioned before that you don’t drink, but I figured I’d get you one just in case you change your mind. I mean, one beer never killed anybody, right?”

A lead ball forms in his gut as Aiden longingly watches the man open one of the cans in front of him and take a few long gulps from it. This is Dylan’s place: the man is free to have alcohol on his own if he wants to. It’s not like he’s forcing Aiden to drink when he doesn’t want to—he still gave him his orange soda after all. He’s been in recovery for over two years now—he should be able to stomach other people drinking around him without having a fit. But God, if he hadn’t felt a craving this strong since his first week of sobriety. The familiar sight of the amber brown liquid, the familiar smell of alcohol… Aiden finds himself sweating from it all despite how cold it is in the apartment. Prying his eyes away to look at literally anything else, he wills himself to grab his soda and downs it all in a few seconds, much faster than he had intended to on account of his own thirst on top of the craving.  

“Whoa there,” Dylan’s brows raised as his green eyes widened. “Someone must be thirsty. I didn’t expect you to finish a tall glass like that so quickly.”

“Sorry, guess I was thirstier than I thought,” Aiden mumbles, bright red. His entire face felt hot. They haven’t even done anything yet and already he was embarrassing himself in front of the person who’s going to be his first time. 

“No, no it’s alright!” The man chuckles, setting down his open can of beer on the table. “Hey, not a problem at all. Let me get you more, I don’t want you passing out on me before we even get started. I’ll be right back.”

Before Aiden could say anything, Dylan was up on his feet and already making his way back to the kitchen. It’s not that he had a problem with the man leaving to get him more drinks—if anything, the one glass of soda he just downed had revealed to him just how dehydrated he had been in the summer heat. He definitely could benefit from having more fluids.

But while he’s gone, Aiden is left all alone with the two cans of beer staring him dead in the face. 

He bites his lip. It’s just a few minutes. In a few minutes, Dylan will be back with more soda. He can do this. Aiden’s survived over two years without the stuff, a few minutes should be nothing. But with each second he’s sitting there with the two cans his head throbs, screaming at him a jumble of mixed messages—to drink, not to drink. He has to bite down harder and harder just to have something, anything, to focus on other than his insane craving in the meantime. Even if he hides them so that they’re no longer in plain sight, he still wouldn’t be able to hide from the tantalizing smell. And if he grabs the can to hide it, it would have to be in his hands at some point. The close proximity even now is hard… in his hands, it would be an instant game over. 

God, why does he have to be so weak? It’s just beer. Not even his preferred drink by far. Any normal person wouldn’t have a conniption over something so small—at a guest’s place no less. He can’t help but be reminded of his mother’s shouted words: how much of an embarrassment, a mistake he was, how he should have never been born in the first place. He can’t help but be pulled back to the times when his father practically beat those messages into him. And—

Oh.

The can… is in his hands now.

The opened can that Dylan drank from is in the tight grip of his trembling hands, inches away from his parted lips. Ready to erase those painful memories for him once again. His nostrils are inundated with the sharp, bittersweet, malty fragrance of the brew with every inhale. Every muscle in his body is tight, tense with anticipation of his next move.

In one swift motion, Aiden closes his eyes and downs the remainder of the open can. 

Relief like nothing he’s ever felt before instantly floods his system as he feels the burning amber liquid sliding smoothly down his throat and esophagus, all the way down into his stomach. Goosebumps dot the skin of his arms and legs as he feels the tingling warmth diffuse from within his stomach throughout the rest of his body, melting the tension right out of his muscles. He could feel the horrible ache of those memories start to fade away from the pit of his stomach as a new, pleasant warmth fills the void in its place. 

Why did he ever choose to refrain from this stuff in the first place?

Aiden reaches for the unopened can next and cracks it open, gulping down the contents within it with the speed of a man dying of thirst in the desert. The warmth spreads even further, until every inch of his skin feels tingly and hot to the touch—from the tips of his toes to the tips of his ears. The painful memories are all but gone now, far in the distance where he can’t see or feel them anymore. Where they should be. He’s no lightweight when it comes to holding his alcohol of course, but with only one and a half drinks in his system now he’s never felt so good so fast. Aiden chalks it up to no longer being used to drinking anymore after a two year dry spell, and welcomes the delightful sensation nonetheless without any further question. 

“Good, isn’t it?”

Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Aiden jumps when Dylan seemingly appears from out of nowhere and catches him finishing his second beer. The sudden jolt is enough to bring Aiden crashing back to his senses temporarily, and his stomach seizes painfully as he looks around and realizes what he’s just done. 

In one fell swoop, he had just broken his two long years of sobriety.

All of the AA chips he’s acquired in these past years, all of the support he’s received over the years from his professors, therapists, meetings… all of the struggles he had worked to overcome day by day… 

All down the drain. Meaningless.

He had just done the unthinkable. The dirty,  filthy word on everyone’s tongue, the dreaded thing that everyone has warned him to avoid time and time again, is now echoing in his throbbing head over and over.

Relapse.

“I… I…” Aiden drops the emptied can he had in his hand, as if it burned to hold on to it for any longer. It clatters onto the edge of the table before rolling a short distance and falling onto the floor.

The pleasant warmth that encompassed his whole body earlier now morphs into a blazing fire of guilt and self-hatred that threatens to consume him from the inside. How did this happen? How did he allow himself to fall like this? 

He’s going to be sick. 

At that moment, Aiden starts to notice the things Dylan had laid out onto the table in front of him. A bottle of whiskey, spiced rum, and vodka sits all in a row, with two small shot glasses flanking them on either side.

The orange soda is nowhere to be seen.

“Go ahead, sexy,” Dylan purrs, opening the bottle of rum first and pours the tantalizing golden brown liquid into the two shot glasses. He takes one of them in one hand and holds the other out in front of him, gesturing it to Aiden. “You can’t hide it from me anymore. I know you want it. You know you want it. You can let yourself live a little for one day, can’t you?”

Aiden audibly swallows, throat going dry. He’s frozen in place as the sweet, spicy fragrance lingers in the air, drawing him in as the shot glass hovers closer and closer to his lips. 

He does want it. 

He wants it so bad.

But in a moment of clarity he suddenly remembers why he’s even here in the first place, and it finally hits him what Dylan is doing to him. Despite having been told repeatedly through text that Aiden doesn’t drink anymore, the man is actively enticing him to go back on his own words. 

Drinking in front of him. Leaving him alone with booze. Tempting him at every turn. Shamelessly enabling and egging him on for more.  

He intended for him to relapse before they had sex.

Aiden pushes himself up off of the couch and onto his feet. He doesn’t know how long until this brief state of lucidity will escape him, so he doesn’t want to risk even a second to open his mouth and say anything. He just knows he has to leave immediately. He’s more than a bit buzzed at the moment, probably to the point where it’s no longer safe for him to get behind the wheel, but he’ll be damned if he’s leaving his car behind in front of the place of this potential rapist. He’ll never make it very far on foot anyways, and he doesn’t have the time to wait around for a cab to come pick him up.

“Hm?” Dylan looks up at him nonchalantly. “Just where do you think you’re going, handsome?”

Ignoring his words and unsettling smile, Aiden takes a few unsteady steps towards the entrance. He’s still a good few feet away from the door, however, when his vision starts to blur. It’s the only warning he gets before his knees suddenly give out underneath him and he collapses face-first onto the floor unconscious.

- - - - -

The first thing Aiden comes to feel is the intense, sweltering heat. 

Every inch of him feels as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, worse than even the worst fever he’s ever suffered from in the twenty five years of his life. His right cheek is pressed against hot, sweat-soaked fabric, and he’s not sure if it’s the heat of the damp fibers that’s making him this hot, or if it’s the friction of his own burning skin rubbing against it that’s heating up the fabric beneath him. His bare shins and knees are on fire too, likely from being pressed against the same hot fabric as his cheek. He can only be a bit grateful that at the very least, the scorching fabric he happened to be on was laid atop something soft. No matter how hot and uncomfortable it was against the burning skin of his cheek and knees, at least he didn’t have to worry about further injuries that could come about from a rougher, more unforgiving surface.

The most intense of it, however, seems to emanate from within the lower half of his torso. There’s a blinding, thick wet heat quickly pistoning in and out of his guts. It sears him from the inside as it moves, like a thick hot branding iron being run across his soft delicate inner walls, pressing against every one of his many sensitive nerve endings there with an overwhelming, almost painful sort of pleasure. His tight, sweaty body is repeatedly stuffed to the brim with it, never left feeling empty for more than a second. Every once in a while, the heat will curve at just the right angle while thrusting inside him and presses against a small bundle of nerves that has his entire body lighting up in pleasure, the likes of which he’s never experienced before in his life. In those moments, he finds it hard to hold onto the heat, discomfort, or whatever nonsense he had been thinking about before, and happily loses himself in sensations as every part of his being is flooded with bone-deep, mind-blowing ecstasy. 

Amidst the filthy, wet squelching sounds of whatever’s rearranging his innards at the moment is a cacophony of grunts and groans, coupled with a soft drone of incessant moaning further encouraging the depravity to continue. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Dylan says without missing a beat, after Aiden’s eyes start to flutter open. From behind him, the man plasters his body against his naked back until his breath is a mere inch away against the shell of his ear. “Have a nice little nap?”

Before Aiden can even begin to put together where he was or what was going on to formulate a reply, Dylan suddenly pulls away. As he does so, Aiden feels the thick wet heat inside him retract, nearly pulling out altogether before thrusting back in with a quick hard snap of Dylan’s hips slamming against his ass. The older man sighs contentedly as Aiden clenches down hard on him in response.

“Mm. God. There’s nothing I love more than making pretty boy sluts like you squirm and moan and feel so fucking good on my cock.” 

He punctuates the last few words with a series of pointed thrusts, each one harder than the last. The final snap of his hips has the older man’s cock ramming inside at the perfect angle against the same sensitive bundle of nerves from before. Aiden’s brain shorts out in pure, unadulterated bliss, stopping whatever train of thought he might have had at that moment dead in its tracks. He shoots out a tiny spurt of precum underneath him with a long, strangled moan. 

“Oh?” Taking one of his hands from the tight, bruising grip he had previously maintained on his hips, Dylan reaches underneath to salvage whatever spilled fluids he could from the bed. Scooping them up, he wraps his slick-coated fingers around Aiden’s throbbing cock and tugs. He firmly rubs the slick bulbous head with his thumb as he strokes him off, working in Aiden’s own precum into his sensitive slit, until the older man has his cock leaking even more of it into his hand nonstop. 

“Such a mess. Why, you’re already as wet as a girl for me here and we’re only just getting started,” Dylan chuckles darkly. “G sure is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? Or were you always just this much of a slut deep down?”

“Please… ah… s-so good…” Aiden mindlessly whines, not at all registering the sinister words that had just been spoken to him. He’s far too busy rocking his hips, trying to meet each one of Dylan’s thrusts, jerk himself off in his hand, and chase after the pleasure of having his prostate abused over and over again all at once.  “Please, God, please, wanna cum…”

“Well, since you’re begging me so nicely…” Dylan drapes himself over Aiden’s back once again, not once stopping the rhythm of his thrusts or the hand jacking him off as he does so. A flick of the tongue across the base of his neck is the only warning he gets before the older man wraps his lips around the area and sucks down hard, forming a large, visible bruise that’ll last days to come. The feeling of Dylan marking his body so aggressively, coupled with the older man’s hand tugging at his dick and his thick cock pressing against his prostate one final time, has Aiden finally tipping over the edge. Ropes of white hot cum splatter across his stomach, the bedsheets, and Dylan’s own fingers, while his knees buckle underneath him and send his body crumbling atop all of the mess he had just made.

Right before he loses consciousness again, the very last thing Aiden hears is Dylan, murmuring how it’s only going to get even better from here, and what a shame he won’t remember any of it when the drugs wear off.

- - - - -

Dylan smiles as he scrolls through the most recent album on his phone. 

After the boy had first blacked out on his bed, he had taken the opportunity to grab his own phone from the nightstand and snap a few pictures of his unconscious lover, commemorating their first time together. He had then taken Aiden a total of four more times throughout that entire day. In between waiting for his own refractory periods to end, he would spend his time arranging that beautiful limp body on his bed in various obscene, revealing positions for each photo, covered in nothing but cum. In that way, it was more than easy to tell how many times the boy had been fucked just from looking at the photo he was in. 

Aiden would also wake up and fall unconscious a few more times due to the GHB in his system. Sometimes, the aphrodisiac-like properties of the drug turned him into little more than a mindless, horny slut, shamelessly gagging for his cock like he had during their first time. Twice, however, the boy had woken up in the middle of it crying and pleading for mercy, begging for Dylan to stop and let him go. 

The latter two, of course, were the most interesting ones of all to him. 

Aiden was far from the first who had fallen victim to him in such a way, but there was something about this boy in particular that Dylan was helplessly drawn to, more than any other victim of his in the past. Dylan had gone so far as to use the boy’s own fingerprints to unlock his phone—a new extraneous step he had never bothered with for anyone else before. He rooted through every piece of important identifying information he could gather: Aiden’s full name, date of birth, phone number, home address, emergency contacts, emails, workplace. Everything important Dylan could think of he wrote down onto his own phone for future reference. Hell, at some point he’d even briefly thought of just kidnapping the boy—fantasizing what it might be like to actually keep one of his victims all to himself this time—before ultimately deciding his current place is not at all prepared to accommodate such a big, spur-of-the-moment decision.

Perhaps it was how irresistibly cute the boy had been, when he cries and begs while being made to take his cock. Perhaps it was his mysterious vulnerability to alcohol, a personal quirk which he never once delved into with Dylan in his texts nor in person. 

Perhaps still it was the fact that Aiden had impressed him by being the very first of his victims smart enough to ever catch on to what he was doing, even if it was still far too late in the end. After all, if the GHB took even a minute longer to kick in, the boy might have even made it to his front door. And who knows what possible series of events would have followed if that had transpired instead? Of course, Dylan would have still certainly been able to catch him anyway, if he really wanted to. But the uncertainty element of it all, that only Aiden alone had ever introduced to him. The element that never came up with the several other victims of his in the past. 

It will cement him in Dylan’s mind for quite a long time, even if the boy himself won’t remember much at all come next morning. 

And besides, if he really wanted him to remember someday…

Well, that’s what the photos are for, isn’t it?

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 7

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Manipulation, Objectification, Creampie, Implied/Reference Incest, Step-Parent/Step-Child Incest, Cock Rings, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spitroasting

[read on AO3 here]

“Mm, yes... Very good, Isaac," Wilfred murmurs, carefully stripping the young man of his clothes. "What a good, obedient boy you've been. Always just the sweetest little thing for me, aren't you?”  

He chuckles upon seeing Isaac blush, cock already twitching to life at the tutor's words of praise. Wilfred strokes the member in between his fingers, relishing the way his student shivers helpless beneath him.  

"I'm sure you must be exceptionally starving right now, seeing how busy you must've been all day. Poor thing. What kind of terrible hosts would we be if we didn't feed our guest properly?" The older tutor tuts, shaking his head as he pulls out the bottle of lube from under the table. 

"That's why we have something quite different planned this time around now," he gestures towards the kitchen with a wave of his hand. "An extra special treat just for you—on account of how tired and hungry you are today, after all."  

From the kitchen's entrance, the younger "tutor" shyly peeks his head out. Wilfred smiles, nodding.

"It's alright, kitten. Come on out now."

Seeing him give his permission, his loyal pet struts on all fours until he's nuzzling at his feet, purring. As always, his kitten is wearing nothing save for the collar snug around his neck and the clamps he adores so much on him.  

"Isaac," Wilfred whispers, breath hot in the boy's ear. "In a moment, both of us are going to fill you up and give you everything you need. Make you feel so good , just like you wanted. It’ll be just like our previous study break, too—except you’ll come out feeling even fuller and happier and better than ever before. Doesn’t that just sound perfect?” The older tutor traces the rim of Isaac’s hole with slick, lubed fingers, teasing the boy before slowly plunging them in. 

“Ah! Mm… Y-yess...” the sleeping boy gasps, moaning. Isaac clenches down on his fingers, almost as if desperate to suck them in. 

“And the best part? You won’t be able to think about anything else the entire time. No, thinking is just too hard when you’re so tired and hungry ; you can’t afford to clutter your mind with anything else right now. You’ll make plenty of room for us both to fill you up, because you won’t have even a single thought lingering in that empty little head...” 

“Thinking... too hard..... nnh..”

“That’s right, Isaac… Very nice,” he murmurs, scissoring two fingers inside of the boy. He works them in, slow and deliberate, dragging the thick, calloused digits against soft, inner walls as he spreads him open. All the while, the older tutor also takes care to rub his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves within, teasing the boy relentless. “Thinking is just too difficult right now, isn’t it? You’ll need that space for more important things, after all. You’ll be so much happier leaving all the hard thinking to your tutors...”  

After enough time of toying with his student, Wilfred withdrew from the boy's hole. The older tutor chuckles at the low whine from his student, who desperately shakes his head and moans at the loss of fingers inside of him. 

“Look at you. So hungry. You’re practically drooling for it already, Isaac. But a hungry boy like you is not going to be satisfied with just this now, are you?” 

The older tutor unfastens his own slacks and strips off his underwear, quickly kicking them both to the side.  

“No, no. A growing boy like you needs lots of thick, heavy protein filling him up. Luckily, we have just the thing for you here. Why don’t you come and join us right now? 

“Open your eyes, Isaac. Get into position for it, on your hands and knees between us. Show me just how bad you want it.” 

The boy does just that without a word—fluttering his brown eyes open as he slinks off the couch and onto the floor to obey. Isaac splays his legs apart, moving sensually before the tutor. 

“Please... I-I want... inside..."

Spreading his student open, the older tutor lines himself up at the boy’s entrance. As Isaac tries to rock back onto his cock, however, Wilfred holds him in place by his hips.

“ No, no. No. When had I given you permission to do that? You don't want to start being a bad boy for me now, do you Isaac?" He grips the boy firmly as a warning, almost hard enough to bruise him. 

The boy shakes his head, groaning.

"That's right. Only good boys get to relax and have their tummies filled during study breaks," Wilfred relaxes his hold on Isaac, gently stroking the skin beneath him. 

"That's what you want now, isn't it? You want nothing else than to be a good , obedient boy for me, Isaac. And good, obedient boys wait for permission. They do everything they're told, and don't do anything else they weren't."   

Isaac shivers, nodding.

"Now there's a good boy... Don't worry, sweetling. You'll still get to be full and rested in the end, just like you've wanted..." the tutor smiles, kissing the shell of the boy's ear. "But first, before I give you what you need, let's try something new." 

"After all, my cute kitty over there is lonely all by himself, too. He has a nice, tasty snack for you and wants to help out, see?" Running his fingers through soft, chestnut brown hair, Wilfred guides the boy towards his stepson’s crotch in front of him. 

“See? Smells delicious, doesn’t it?” Wilfred gently nudges Isaac’s head forward until his kitten’s hard length is pressed against the boy's nose, smearing precum all over his pretty pink cheeks. “I can see your mouth watering for it already, Isaac. Oh, it'll come to be one of your favorite treats, just you see. One taste and you’ll go mad for it. You just can’t wait to take it in, can you? To have it melt over your tongue as all that thick, creamy goodness gushes down your throat. You can’t wait to slurp it all, down to every last drop.”

Thin streams of drool roll down the boy’s vacant expression and onto the rug on the floor. Isaac shivers with anticipation, whining but otherwise staying in place obediently after learning his lesson previous. 

"Mm, very good…You did really well, waiting patiently this time. It's alright, Isaac; you have my full permission. Go ahead now—open up nice and wide , and take it all in."

With a wanton moan, the boy rolls his eyes back as he takes all of Alex into his mouth. He holds onto the younger tutor's hips with both hands, licking and sucking at his cock as if his life depended on it.  

The older man watches with perverse delight the sight of his hypnosis at work—his words and suggestions sinking its claws deeper and deeper into his student’s psyche, molding Isaac into the mindless cockslut he's destined to be. 

“There now… that’s a good boy. You just can't help yourself anymore now, can you?” Wilfred murmurs, voice low with arousal. 

"Me neither."

He moans in unison with Isaac as he finally sheaths himself inside in one swift motion. Wilfred fucks into his student hard, gripping the boy's hips tightly as he plows into his student’s tight, wet heat. 

“Don’t be shy yourself, kitten,” the older tutor grunts out, “Show our esteemed guest here all the hospitality he deserves. He’s gagging for it badly enough, the pretty little thing.”

Both tutors started moving inside him then, one right after the other. Wilfred picks up his pace, pushing Isaac forward with each thrust as his pet would push him back towards him immediately after. Back and forth, in and out—over and over again. Even his sweet little kitten held nothing back as he earnestly fucked the sleeping boy's face, gripping the hair on his head as leverage and pulling back almost all the way out of his student before slamming back inside him.  

Between them both, Isaac was trapped. Even if he was awake, the boy wouldn't be able to move away from one without propelling himself onto the other. The student could only shudder and take it, helpless to the two cocks filling him up and fucking his body senseless.   

Wilfred pulls the boy’s hips up as he moves in and out, changing the angle until he hits something that makes Isaac choke on the dick in the back of his throat. 

“Oh? Having fun, are we? I knew you would come to love this, sweetling. It feels amazing , doesn’t it? You’ll want this to happen every time you meet us, I’m sure. After all, nothing feels better than surrendering your mind and letting your tutors take care of everything for you…" 

He reaches around with one hand, wrapping his fingers around the boy's cock and jerking him off in time to his own thrusts. It quickly became his favorite thing to do, to tease the slit against his thumb while peppering the boy with sweet, sweet praises—smearing precum all over the sensitive member and making Isaac clench down on his dick oh-so-prettily. 

The boy ruts back and forth between the two in a frenzied, erratic manner, desperate to fill his greedy holes and chase after the pleasurable friction on both ends. Every press against his prostate, the back of his throat, the slit of his cock, sends him closer and closer to the edge, moaning around the cock in his throat like a seasoned whore. 

Eventually the student tips over it altogether, shooting ropes of white onto the floor with a muffled shout.

"Mm… Very good. This is just second nature to you, isn’t it?" Wilfred breathes out, grinning. "You were born for this, Isaac..."

Both tutors pick up the pace. Their grip on his head and hips are the only things holding the boy upright anymore. Alex gasps as he grinds himself against the back of Isaac’s throat. He’s skillfully maneuvering the boy’s head on the length of his cock, using his face as a personal fucktoy and enjoying this rare privilege bestowed by his master to the fullest. 

Meanwhile, Wilfred takes care to couple each of his own thrusts with even more suggestions to further corrupt the boy's mind.

“And now that you’ve had a taste, it’ll be all you can ever think about, day and night. You’ll grow to crave it, until it’s all you can think about during your classes. You’ll grow restless with it, needy for it, until it’s all you can do to beg for us to fill you up. Until all you’ll want to do is rest, relax, and surrender your mind as we stuff your hungry body with what it really needs…”

With a loud groan, Wilfred comes deep inside of his student. The older tutor holds Isaac tightly by his hips—staying buried in him the entire time as he's emptying his load inside the boy, and keeping him in place until he's all but soft enough to pull out. His kitten finishes not long after him, pumping Isaac’s throat full of thick, hot semen until some inevitably spills out from the corners of his mouth and down onto his chin.  

"Very good… You’ve been such a good boy for us today, as always.” The older tutor pats the boy’s head, smirking. He picks up his own clothing from the pile on the floor and signals for his kitten to leave up the stairs for now. 

“Look at you. You were made for this, Isaac. A real natural. It would be a shame if you wasted all of it away…" 

"... a shame…" Isaac repeats softly.

"Exactly," Wilfred smirks, stroking his hair. "You would only be throwing this god-given talent away if you were to continue with all those grueling years to become a doctor. And for what? A thankless task, really. Look at how exhausted and hungry you were just now, right when you came in today. It's clearly not good for you or your health to continue like this."  

The older tutor leans into his ear. 

"Stay with us, Isaac. This is what you were meant to do. You want so badly to let go of all these responsibilities, don't you? You're tired of thinking and worrying about exams and grades and classes. You want to surrender yourself to us, and let us take care of everything for you. You want your tutors to make you feel so much better..." 

"I want… but… m-my parents……nnh.." the boy hesitates, shaking his head. 

"Shh, shh…. It's alright, Isaac," Wilfred murmurs. "It’s alright. I won't force you to decide right now. You won't even have to decide the next time we see you. But you will think about it, won’t you?”

The older tutor helps Isaac back into his clothes. Just like in the session previous, he slips the clothing back on the sleeping boy without first cleaning him up—preferring to see his own cum slowly trickle down the student's thighs right before he puts his pants back on him. 

He chuckles to himself, admiring his handiwork.    

“Of course you will. You’ll be thinking about it when you wonder why you’re so physically and mentally exhausted all the time, no matter how much sleep you may get at night. You’ll be thinking about it when you find yourself craving for more in between your classes. 

“And when your body grows so restless and needy for it, to the point where you can no longer even focus on anything anymore, you’ll know the decision you’ll make then. And you’ll come home to us.”

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 5

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Manipulation, Objectification, Creampie, Implied/Reference Incest, Step-Parent/Step-Child Incest, Cock Rings, Orgasm Delay/Denial

[read on AO3 here]

After sending Isaac home for the day, Wilfred closes and locks the front door behind him.

He strolls through the foyer, the living room, and past the empty kitchen—traversing nearly the entirety of the first floor alone, all the way towards the staircase in the back. Though he knows of the lovely surprise he’s kept waiting for him, Wilfred is in no real hurry to actually get to it. He’s slow to climb the winding flight of steps leading to his bedroom.

All the while, he can't help but think of Isaac. As Wilfred makes his way up, his mind continues to replay over and over again the sinful, mesmerizing acts shared between him and his new “student”. He thinks back to those big brown eyes: soft pools of melted honey, staring up at him with such innocence through the boy’s long lashes. Warm and oh-so-trusting till the very end, when they had glazed over as Isaac beautifully submits to him.

And who could forget such creamy thighs—wrapped around his shoulders like a vice, pulling him in closer as he plowed through the boy’s virgin-tight body?

Goosebumps prickle at his skin as Wilfred recalls the absolute thrill of it. The boy’s reaction at the end is all but icing on the cake. What matters to him more is successfully instilling in his student the suggestion to let go and obey—to crave the feeling of sitting back, surrendering both mind and body to his tutor during these little “breaks”. Once he has Isaac addicted to this, it will be mere moments before the boy is his; and by that point, it won’t matter how he reacts in the end. Wilfred could reveal everything to Isaac then, and the poor boy will still be all but helpless on his knees for him.

Two lovely pets, both under his complete and utter control.

Wilfred couldn’t wait for the day to come. He’s only certain his little kitten feels the same way.

Eventually, Wilfred reaches the end of the narrow corridor leading to his bedroom. Turning his attention to the silver knob in his hand, he gently pushes open the door.

“Here, little kitty,” he calls, smiling. “Master’s back.”

Inside, his “surprise” lays splayed out on top of his bed. Naked, of course—save for the weighted clamps biting down on his pink, puffy nipples, and the collar snug around his neck. His kitten’s thighs are spread wide open for him on the mattress, giving Wilfred a lovely view of the thick vibrator he slides in and out of his hole. His prick stands tall and pretty between parted legs, drooling all over him as it strains against his cock ring.

His head, lolled to the side in mindless bliss, perks up at the sound of his master’s voice.

Wilfred walks over to the bed beside him. The clothes he had him wear to greet Isaac had since been discarded on the floor, tucked neatly in a little corner away from the bed. His kitten must have been so uncomfortable having to pretend to be human, even for such a short amount of time, that he must have shed them here immediately after. Even still, he’s carried everything out so nicely that Wilfred has little to complain about. The performance he had given them all was stellar, given the truth of the matter. And he’s even gone above and beyond his orders here—putting on his collar and clamps all on his own, knowing just what to do to please his master.

Such obedience begs to be properly rewarded.

Gathering his kitten’s face in his hands, he leans in for a taste. The kiss between them is sloppy and rough, just the way he likes it: lips and tongues grinding against one another in a fervent, heated passion as Wilfred plunders his mouth. He relishes the little sounds he receives from his pet, who’s long abandoned playing with his toy in favor of wrapping his arms around him—pawing desperately at his face, his hair, his chest, his back. When he pulls away from the boy, Wilfred admires the adorable way his lips tremble, glistening with saliva in the pale light of the room.

He doesn’t need to look hard to notice the flush that had crept onto his skin, or the way his bound cock twitches with wanton need in between his legs.

“My… eager today aren’t we?” Wilfred smiles, nipping at his lips. “Were you that lonely, kitten? Waiting here for me, all on your own?”

Alex nods, mewling. His pet nuzzles insistently at him, rubbing his face against his fingers.

Wilfred chuckles. He narrows his eyes as he slides his fingers past his kitten’s cheeks and drags them onto his hungry lips.

“Well. Why don’t you show me how much you’ve missed your master, then?”

His kitten eagerly takes them in his mouth, licking and sucking on the digits like there’s nothing else he’s ever meant to do in life. He closes his eyes, moaning around them as he starts to couple the act with other sensations—tugging at the weights dangling from his chest, stuffing himself silly with the toy again.

“Good boy…” Wilfred purrs, sighing as he pets the boy’s head. “You’ve become such a good kitty for me now, haven’t you?”

The sight of such a submissive display from his pet only excites Wilfred. There is such a marked difference from the way the boy had been their very first meeting together, and it only highlights just how far his pet had come since then. It’s a blessing that Wilfred had come and “fixed” him just when he had. His mother, the weak-willed woman, had only spoiled the brat rotten all these years. Were it not for him, there’s no telling what type of trouble the little wretch would be getting into otherwise—what with that mouthy attitude, and his blatant disrespect for his elders.

Now, though? Now, his stepson is nothing if not an absolute dream.

A mindless, cum-thirsty little kitten, who lives only to please and serve.

He takes his fingers away from his pet, eliciting a desperate whine from the boy. Before he could go on to protest anymore, however, Wilfred flips him over face down—lifting his hips up and pinning his wrists down onto the mattress. He traces the curve of his lovely ass, rubbing soft, sensual circles with the flat of his digits before surprising his pet with a loud, harsh smack.

“Now, now... we’ve gone over this before, pet,” Wilfred whispers, voice thick and husky in the boy’s ear. “Well-behaved little kitties don’t complain like that now, do they?”

He rubs the sore bottom before giving it another hard spank.

“What should you do instead, when you want to ask Master for something nice?”

Alex keens at the assault on his buttocks. If the way he’d moaned just now hadn’t already signaled how much he had enjoyed his punishment, the way his cock twitches and leaks precum all over the sheets certainly does. He’s long been made receptive to Wilfred’s every touch—mind heavily altered and played with, to crave every bit of pain and pleasure his master wishes to hand him.

Everything Wilfred does to his body now feels nothing short of good.

“Forgive me, I… please…” he breathes, in between heavy panting. “I… I want… in me… please…”

“What’s that?” Wilfred tugs hard on a weighted clamp, causing his kitten to cry out from under him. “I can’t hear you at all. Come now, Alex, speak up for me. Tell Master what you need, properly.”

“Please, Master!” Alex cries, shamelessly begging him. “I need your cock inside me, please…!”

Wilfred chuckles, letting go of the weight. He removes the clamps off his pet’s chest altogether, taking a swollen nipple and rolling it gently in between his fingers. With his other hand, he grabs the vibrator and slides it out of the boy, turning it off.

“I do love it when my kitten purrs so prettily.”

Wilfred unfastens his slacks, just enough to pull his hard cock out from within while still leaving the clothing on him. He doesn’t bother grabbing the lube from his nightstand either, seeing as how his pet had done well to prepare himself already—judging by how slick and gaping his hole is for him. He strokes himself off before lining up at the boy’s entrance.

“You did good out there today… I couldn’t be more proud of you. Good kitties like you deserve to be rewarded once in a while, don’t they?”

His pet mewls, nodding.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Wilfred grins, gripping his pet tightly. “Here’s your reward, little kitty.”

With a quick thrust of his hips, he shoves himself in. Both Wilfred and Alex moan in unison as his cock twitches deep inside the boy, buried up to the hilt. Wilfred holds himself there, steady and fully seated inside his kitten’s fluttering hole. He makes no effort to move, casually taking the time to enjoy the warm, wet heat of his body while he watches his pet strain to keep from rutting back.

“Don’t move, darling. Stay. You know who’s in control, don’t you?”

Alex nods, shivering.

“Who do you belong to, Alex?”

“You, Master,” the boy manages. “I’m yours, a… all yours…”

“Do you want to cum?”

“Only if... Master wishes for it…”

Wilfred smiles, pleased at his kitten’s complete obedience. He knows there’s simply no turning back from here. There’s no undoing the months of sex and abuse he had heaped onto his stepson’s body; certainly no undoing the fact that he had long taken his virginity. His kitten can’t even get it up without a cock in either hole now. Even if he could erase the suggestions rooted firmly in his mind, there’s no way his pet would ever go on to enjoy a normal life after all of this.

He starts thrusting in earnest, then. In and out at a brutal pace, fucking his kitten hard into the mattress and making the boy gasp and writhe around him. He slides back, almost pulling out completely before slamming back inside, over and over again.

“That’s right. You’re mine, Alex. My pet, for me to use as I wish,” Wilfred whispers in his ear. “Your mind, your body, your orgasms, your pleasure… only I decide what to do with it all. And for you, there is no greater pleasure in life than that now, is there?”

His kitten shakes his head. He’s mewling happily as he gets to rut back and forth, driving his cock deeper into his unresisting body.

“To let go and take everything I give you, without a single thought in that empty little brain. It’s the highest honor a pet like you could ever have. And now you’ll help me bestow it on our new student too, won’t you?

“What do you say, Alex? A new little pup for you and I to play with. How does that sound?”

“Yes, yes yes...” his pet moans, rolling his eyes back. “Please, Master, please…”

Wilfred holds his kitten tight as he feels himself nearing orgasm. He reaches down front, smearing the boy’s own fluids all over his bound prick before tugging at the cock ring.

“I’m going to fill you up, kitten,” he grunts. “Nice and full. I want you to feel me deep inside of you, as you come on my cock. That will be your reward for such a brilliant performance.”

His pet merely sobs in gratitude, too far gone for words at this point.

Wilfred slides the ring off of him as he reaches his own climax. Immediately his pet cries out, cock pulsing as he shoots ropes and ropes of white onto his hand. The feeling of his kitten clenching down on him is so good, Wilfred is content to stay that way on top of him for a while—allowing that beautiful hole to milk him dry.

They collapse on the bed, not long after. Wilfred holds his stepson close as they both come down, panting heavily and catching their breaths together. Up close, he watches as his kitten closes his eyes, fast asleep in his master’s arms. He must have been so exhausted from the day’s activities, to have succumbed to sleep so quickly like that.

Wilfred chuckles. He pats his head gently, smiling as he murmurs sweet nothings into the sleeping boy’s ears. Alex is permanently, irreversibly ruined, now—incapable of being anything other than the dumb little pet Wilfred had meant for him to be.

And pretty soon, Isaac will be too.

[anthracenes]

Rivers | Chapter 9

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Self-Harm, Abuse of Authority, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Abduction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Victim Blaming, Dissociation, Forced Orgasm, Creampie, Kidnapping, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, Crying, Angst, Dark, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Fucked Up, Slut Shaming, Asphyxiation, Spitroasting

[read on AO3 here]

The light switches on. A single lightbulb flickers dimly from one end of the room, casting odd, terrifying shadows across the faces of his two predators.

“Oh? Why, just look at that face,” Robertson coos, climbing onto the bed with them. “He really did fall for it. Just like you said he would.”

Richard shakes his head. Trembling. He can’t process any of the events unfolding before him as anything but a dream: some horrible figment born of his subconscious mind. How else can evil like this exist otherwise? How else can he rationalize to himself ever deserving of such a thing?

Yet—in all of his time here, and with all of his nightmares—he knows none were so cruel as to torment him like this before. There is something beyond vile at play here, something that surpasses even the extent of Richard’s wildest imagination.

He understands even then, deep down, that this is one nightmare he’ll never wake up from.

“Cute little thing you have there, Andrew. You should’ve seen him. The kid was practically melting in my arms—all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, thinking he would finally get to run away from you.”

“Is that so..?” Rivers croons, running his fingers in Richard’s hair. “What a pity. And here I thought you’ve promised to be good for me from now on.”

Rivers sighs—a hint of eagerness in his expression that does not go unnoticed. His gray eyes lock with the pair of fearful ones looking up at him.

“You’ve disappointed me again, Dick. You do know what has to happen now, don’t you? Let’s find out what happens to naughty little boys who go on breakin’ their promises, tryin’ to sneak away...”

The dam bursts, upon hearing this imminent threat. The tears Richard worked so hard to hold back comes streaming down his face, all at once. It’s not the first Rivers has levied against him in all this time, but Richard knows him far too well to doubt the validity of his intent—or the severity of his actions.

“... Mr. R-Rivers… p… please! I… I d-didn’t mean to…! I’ll be… good… please….”

Both Robertson and Rivers only chuckle at his outburst.

“You hear that? Poor thing didn’t mean it,” he insists, pinching his tear-stained cheeks. The officer licks away at Richard’s tears, wearing a smile on his face that betrays just how much he’s savoring this moment. “Did you, Richie? You were just trying so hard to be good. You didn’t mean to break your promise, did you?”

Richard shakes his head, sniffling. Between the men surrounding him, he can’t be sure yet who was the more sadistic of the two. Still, Richard can’t help but to gravitate towards the saccharine poison, clinging to any bit of softness he can get.

He certainly can’t afford to get on the other’s bad side now—not after having upset Rivers this badly.

“He’ll get the wrong idea if you keep spoilin’ him like that, Paul. Wouldn’t want the boy thinkin’ he can get away with anything now, just by battin’ his eyes and utterin’ a little apology.”

“You may be right there…” Robertson hums, considering the possibilities in his head. “... but I have a feeling that a bit of tenderness will work better to teach this one.”

“What do you think, Andrew? Should we…?”

After a few seconds of silence between them, Robertson and Rivers both break into laughter. Watching their eerie grins, illuminated by the faint lighting, it’s as if their lighthearted banter were only part of some coordinated performance Richard has no script for. He’s left to let his imagination run wild, guessing at what they could have in store for him as both men take their time undressing.

“Why, you bring up a good point,” Rivers says, chuckling. He lifts him off his lap, propping Richard’s head atop a few pillows before sliding off his own trousers. “I think we should. After all, I should know just how much my little star student here craves love and tenderness more than anything in the world.”

Rivers grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand. He dribbles a generous amount onto himself, palming his own cock to hardness.

“Alright, Dick. We’ll give you one more chance to do right by us. Why don’t you show us a good time, to demonstrate how sorry you are for tryin’ to run away?”

“All you’d have to do is have us finish,” Robertson chimes in. “Put that mouth and hole of yours to good use, while you reflect on what you’ve done. If you do a good enough job, we’ll forgive you. That should be easy enough, for a star pupil like you?”

Before Richard could think to respond, however, Rivers cuts him off.

“Not so fast, Dick. There’s just one more thing…”

Rivers brushes a lubed finger against Richard’s flaccid dick, running it across the tip and drawing a shiver from him.

“See this? This right here?” He leans in close, whispering into his ear. “I want you to keep it just like this until we’re all finished. No having fun yet until we’re done with you. We all know how much of a cockslut you are, but this is us givin’ you another chance.

“Consider this your only warnin’, Dick. If you come before either of us, I’m personally doublin’ your punishment from before. Understand?”

Richard swallows. Knowing Rivers, there’s no way he’d make something like this easy—but he can’t help feeling a little hopeful despite himself. It’s not like he wants any of this, anyways. The thought of either of them makes him ill. And even if his traitorous body decides it has other plans, lasting longer than two middle-aged men shouldn’t be that difficult either. If this is what it takes to avoid another one of Rivers’ punishments, it’s certainly not the worst situation he could possibly find himself in.

He nods slowly, throat going dry.

“Now there’s a good boy…” Robertson murmurs, stroking his face. “I can see why you’re still Andrew’s favorite student, after all these years.”

The officer grabs his black uniform from the discarded pile of clothes on the bed. Before Richard could tell what he was planning to do, Robertson had rolled up the shirt and placed it over his eyes—fastening it into a makeshift blindfold.

With how securely the cloth is tied around his head now, Richard could no longer see a thing.

“Wha—”

“Shh… It’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head over, Richie.”

He feels a finger gently placed onto his lips.

“You want to show us how sorry you are, don’t you? Why don’t you start right here then, with that lovely mouth of yours?”

The finger works its way in. Richard does his best, licking and suckling on the digit, turning it over and under around his tongue. One finger becomes two, which eventually becomes three and four in his mouth. With his vision gone, it was hard not to get lost in the sensation of it—sucking blindly for some time like that, as if these fingers were Richard’s only connection to the world outside his blindfold.

“There you go… Just like that. Doesn’t this feel good? It’s so much better when you let go and obey…”

He’s almost lulled into a sense of complacency this way, because the feeling of rough hands on his hips catches him by surprise. His legs are hoisted atop what he thinks is Rivers’ shoulders and, before he could think to react, Richard suddenly feels the twitching, wet head of the man’s prick pressed against his entrance.

“Wait no, not y—”

His next words are lost to him as Richard cries out, throwing his head back as the head of his cock pops past the tight ring of muscle. He’s panting, breathing heavily through his open mouth as he feels himself stretching and stretching impossibly around Rivers, who slides inside him in one slick thrust.

Within seconds, he’s become so unbelievably full.  

Richard moans, feverish and sick. It’s so much. It’s so much. The feeling of Rivers’ cock against his walls, the way his hole flutters and tenses around the wide girth—he’s forced to feel every bit of it, in far more detail and clarity than the night he’s lost his innocence. He rolls his eyes back behind the blindfold as he feels Rivers slowly pressing in, further and further until the man eventually bottoms out. Somehow, without being able to see for himself, Richard could picture the older man now: balls deep inside of him, jutting obscenely out of his stomach as he fills it to the brim.

In all the times he had been taken by Rivers, never once had he felt anything remotely like the way he feels now, blindfolded and stretched wide around his prick. It fills him so much, so completely, that it leaves him speechless—no room for words, thoughts, or anything else. By the time he realizes it’s only his lack of sight playing tricks on his senses, it’s much too late for him.

Richard is already hard, cock swelling and twitching to life in between his legs.

“Oh? What’s this now?” Rivers drawls. He wraps his fingers around his shaft, rubbing his thumb mercilessly against the head. “We’ve only just started, and you’re already gaggin’ for it here. Little slut. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re just beggin’ to be punished.”

Next to him, Robertson chuckles. The man pulls his fingers out from within his mouth, using them instead to pry his jaw open. Holding his head steady in his hands, he slides his length inside of Richard’s mouth nice and slow.

“I suppose you were right after all, Andrew. The kid cries and protests around you, but slips into his role just fine at the end of the day. No need for foreplay at all with this one; eager little thing. I’m even willing to bet he’d done it just for the punishment all along.”

Richard’s a mess; inside and out. Tears stream down his cheeks as he sucks and rocks his hips back and forth, doing his best to keep pace and pleasure both men while desperately holding his own at bay. Between the perpetual darkness and the mind-numbing assault on both his holes, however, it’s getting harder to even remember why.

He can hear voices around him talking, but none of the words make any sense in his ears.

He keeps trying to remember something, but it slips away from his mind with each hit to his prostate.

Every thrust, every drag against his tongue, his insides, is only made that much more in this overwhelming darkness—magnified tenfold until he feels little more than simply a mouth and a hole to fuck.

Everything feels hazy.

His mind’s in pieces.

Before long, there’s nothing left of him but his basest responses. His tongue laps up the salty, musky taste of the officer inside his mouth. His hips grind against the older man, mindlessly chasing his own orgasm. He groans, delirious, as he feels his own cock heavy and leaking with precum—ready to burst at a moment’s notice.

“Are you going to come, Dick? Do you want to be a naughty boy and come before us?”

Richard nods, head lolling back and forth on the bed.

He moans as hands roam freely about his body, stroking at his nipples, his cock, and every erogenous zone in between. There’s no place they touched that hadn’t felt electrifying on his skin, burning his nerves raw with sheer bliss. He’s gasping with each stab of pleasure thrust into him, each little drag closer to throwing him off the edge. By the time the blindfold is pulled off of him, his eyes are rolled back to his head—little strips of white on his otherwise blank expression.

The shock of spilling his brains out is the last thing he feels.

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 6

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Manipulation, Objectification, Creampie, Implied/Reference Incest, Step-Parent/Step-Child Incest, Cock Rings, Orgasm Delay/Denial

[read on AO3 here]

“Welcome back, Isaac. Please, come on in!”

To no one’s surprise, Isaac is already back for another session at Wilfred’s—two days before when he was initially scheduled to come in. He had called them earlier that day to schedule one last minute, making good on their previous offer of extra sessions if he needed it. 

And the boy needed it, badly.  

Isaac looked horrible this time around: disheveled, with his hair tousled up and dark circles under his eyes. “Tired” doesn’t begin to cover it; it was more or less as if the boy had just rolled out of bed from several fitful nights of sleep. Wilfred could feel the palpable fatigue just by looking at him, yawning and spacing out as they both slowly made their way into the living room. He knew his student was constantly stretched thin by all the assignments and responsibilities that came with his academic track, so he could only imagine how Isaac was dealing with them now—with the added bonus of his suggestions weighing on his mind. 

It’s no wonder at all why the boy didn’t notice the small breathy moans Alex made that morning, when he had his kitten dutifully ride his cock as he took his call. 

“So I heard from Alex that you had to schedule an extra session with us all of a sudden, but I don’t think you mentioned why yet over the phone. Did the exam last Friday go well for you?” 

“Oh… uhm, yeah, they were great… I think I did a little better this time, thanks to our refresher on orbital basics last week,” Isaac frowns, visibly stumbling over his thoughts. It was clear even to Wilfred that the exam results were the last thing on his mind. 

“Oh? What’s brought you here to us so soon then?” the tutor asks.

“I’ve been having a hard time relaxing lately… Things have gotten hectic around the lab, and midterm season is approaching soon too. I know I’ve done a lot to prepare already, but maybe organic chemistry has been keeping me up at night more than I thought it would....” A pink flush colors the boy’s cheeks as he trails off.

“What’s wrong? You don’t need to be shy with me, Isaac.”

“Um… I was thinking... I guess I’d sleep a little better if we do some more review...? I just feel like... I’ll be able to relax once I feel more confident with the material,” Isaac says hesitantly. It wasn’t as if he had said anything out of the ordinary, but it was clear on the boy’s face that there was something not quite right with that statement. The boy looked puzzled, unsure—like he was trying to convince himself that this was the reason he came here today more than anything.  

“I see. No, that’s perfectly understandable,” Wilfred replied, nodding. “Pre-exam jitters can be quite a problem for many people. You’re certainly not the only student of mine to have had something like this happen.” 

Isaac smiles, seemingly relieved that Wilfred had understood him. Of course the tutor knew the real reason why his student felt compelled to come back to him so soon. Even if Isaac himself did not. Still, it was fun watching the boy struggle for a bit, trying to put together a reason for coming here that didn’t come out sounding absolutely ridiculous. 

“In those cases, it helps for some people to review the material until they know it like the back of their hand. Alex and I can help you with that all day today, since no one else is booked for the rest of the afternoon. We can go at your own pace, for as long as you want. And since we have an extra session this week, we may even cover a lot more material than I was planning to.” 

Wilfred sits himself on one end of the couch before gesturing to Isaac to do the same. 

“For now though, why don’t you have a seat right here so we can get started?”

     ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

  “So, Isaac,” Wilfred starts off, “Last time, we were able to briefly cover arrow-pushing after our review of orbitals, right before taking our study break. We were only able to briefly touch upon it, and I want us to go over it again before we move onto resonance structures.” The tutor uncaps a dry erase marker he pulled from underneath the table and draws the structure for nitrate on the whiteboard. “Do you remember what we covered last week?” 

Isaac nods slowly. “A little bit… I don’t remember much, but I think I remember from my lectures. It’s the flow of electrons, right? Electrons don’t stay fixed in one area and are constantly moving throughout the molecule.” 

“Good! You must also remember what arrow pushing is then?”

“It’s… the tool we use to help visualize the movement of these electrons.”

“That’s correct,” the tutor smiles, all saccharine and sweet. “Because our eyes can’t see the electrons moving throughout the molecule in real time, we use tools to picture in our head how these electrons may be moving. This is how we get a better sense of which parts of the molecule have a partial negative charge and which parts have a partial positive, which will help our understanding of how molecules bond with one another. Arrow pushing is an important early tool to grasp in order to master the subject of organic chemistry.”

Wilfred takes care to enunciate each and every one of his words softly, carefully—gradually slowing down his pace until his speech syncs perfectly to the hypnotic ticking of the living room clock. He uses this slower, gentler tone in his voice as he draws curved arrows pointing from lone pair to bond and bond to lone pair. 

Lone pair to bond and bond to lone pair. 

Meanwhile Isaac is splayed helpless on the couch, taken by the sights and sounds of Wilfred’s “lecture”. His brown eyes glaze over as they watch his tutor’s marker glide across the board, following the fluid movement swinging over from one point to another.

Lone pair to bond and bond to lone pair. 

Back and forth. It was just like the to and fro of the heavy brass behind the glass case—as if the marker was mimicking the natural swing of the pendulum perfectly. His arms and legs lay limp by his sides, while a thin sliver of drool hung from his parted lips. 

“Yes, that’s right… Arrow pushing is an important tool for us here, see? That’s why it’s important that you focus your all on these arrows, Isaac…”

Wilfred inches closer and closer while continuing to draw the curved arrows on the board. To and fro. To and fro. He stops leaning in only when his lips are a hair’s breadth from the boy’s ear. 

“Yes… just like that. Just these arrows and the sound of my voice. There's no need to think of anything else right now—nothing else matters but these arrows and the sound of my voice…”

A blank lifelessness crept over his student’s expression—as if everything else was in the process of being purged from his head one by one until only the arrows and his tutor’s voice remained. The boy lays on the couch, held captive by the marker’s movements until his mind was completely emptied.

A clean slate once again, now ready for the tutor to work with.    

“You look so tired, Isaac… so very sleepy,” Wilfred whispers. “I bet you’ve been wanting to sleep more than anything in the world, haven’t you?”

The boy gives a light nod of his head. 

“And you must be hungry too, I’m sure… You barely have time to sleep and eat, what with all of your classes and labs these days. You weren’t able to catch lunch on time today either, isn’t that right?”

Isaac frowns. “Yeah…”

“Sounds like what you need is a little study break then. A little break from studying, where you can rest and relax . I’ll have you fall into a nice, deep sleep and you’ll come out of it feeling refreshed and full by the end of it.” Wilfred smiles, not at all bothering to hide the dark, predatory glint in his expression at this point. 

“That’s right… And while you sleep, I’ll make sure to give you something big and thick to fill you up while you rest, too. Stuff your hungry body full, just like before. Doesn’t that sound nice? Wouldn’t you like to have that happen again in our sessions?”

“Please,” he whines, nodding once more. “Please, please…”

“Then let’s have another one together, Isaac,” the tutor whispers. “Right now.” 

Wilfred draws up a different structure on the board, right below the one of the nitrate. “Just like last time, I’m going to count aloud all the arrows here. And with each one, each number I read aloud, you’ll be made to feel all warm and relaxed. So relaxed you can’t help but close those heavy eyelids… So warm you can’t resist falling deeply asleep.” 

Without further ado, the tutor starts to count aloud to the ticking of the clock. With each one, he slowly traces over the curved marks with the capped end of his marker––going from bond to bond, to and fro.     

Wilfred doesn’t even need to reach halfway this time, however, before he finds Isaac collapsed onto his side.  

[anthracenes]

Rivers | Chapter 8

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Self-Harm, Abuse of Authority, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Abduction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Victim Blaming, Dissociation, Forced Orgasm, Creampie, Kidnapping, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, Crying, Angst, Dark, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Fucked Up, Slut Shaming, Asphyxiation

[read on AO3 here]

It has to have been weeks, at this point. The repeated abuse; the unyielding humiliation, heaped onto his decaying body and beaten into his fractured mind with every increment of time that passes.

Over and over and over again.

Richard had tried keeping track of it. A way to measure his stay, in this otherwise never-ending hell. But the exercise quickly proved itself useless after a while, when even he can’t be sure of its accuracy—not with the older man’s penchant for raping him unconscious, anyways. The truth, he’s realized bitterly, is that no matter how many times he’s suffered Richard is nowhere near closer to the end than he was at the very start. If anything, each count only served to solidify the helplessness of his situation: giving him an increasing figure for his brain to latch onto, while providing no real meaning or end in sight.

He stopped somewhere, after 17.

The door unlatches. The sound of it opening and closing rouses him from sleep, dragging him back into the land of the living. Richard groans as he wakes up to immense pain all over his body: hurt after terrible hurt after Rivers’ latest few visits, piled atop one another just beneath his skin, deeply buried within his tissues. One by one, they seize the muscles in his throat, his limbs, his torso, his chest. His lower half. Each part clamors over one another for his attention—taking turns to scream at him as if Richard could stand to do anything about them. As if merely lying conscious on the mattress, waiting for the inevitable, is not in and of itself a battle he’s sorely losing.

Wrapped in his own thoughts, Richard barely registers the hefty thumping down the stairs—too weighty and heavy footed a sound for it to be Rivers. He’s too busy mentally preparing for another few hours of having his body played with, he doesn’t even bother looking up at the hulking figure descending the staircase until it hovers directly over him.

“Richard?”

He cracks open his eyes.

“Are you Richard Carson?”

The large, intimidating man was dressed in black, in what looks to Richard to be some sort of uniform and matching jacket. The man takes one good look around the room before turning his head and talking to a device strapped onto his right-hand shoulder, tucked away almost completely by the large jacket. On his left, a silver badge sits above his breast pocket, gleaming under the pale yellow lighting of the room.

Richard balks at the sight of him. His heart pounds, fearing the sudden surge of hope threatening to overtake his body. He opens his mouth to answer the man, but eventually settles for a shaky nod when the words refuse to tumble out of him.

“Well, Richard,” the man says, crouching down to his eye-level. “I’m Officer Robertson, from the local county sheriff's department. Your friends, Katherine and Abigail, had called our office a few weeks ago and we’ve been on the case to find you since. I’m here to bring you back where you belong.”

His breath stutters. Soft and slow, like a repressed sob from deep within his chest. Richard stares at the officer for the longest time, refusing to even blink for fear that the man will disappear and it will all be some cruel dream he has yet to wake from.

It can’t… be.

He’s…

“Are you hurt anywhere, Richard? In any immediate pain I should know of?” The officer purses his lips, grimacing at the sight of the large, ghastly bruises mottling the skin around his neck, chest, and thighs. “Can you try sitting up for me?”

Richard tries his absolute hardest. He attempts to move his arms, his legs—anything he can leverage to get himself up. But despite his best efforts, his exhausted body refuses to budge even a muscle for him. Richard cries out in frustration. How long has he been locked up here that Rivers had done this much to him? He can’t even sit up.  

Tears start to well up in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the man says, reassuringly. “You stay right there, alright? I’m going to get you out of here, Richard; we’ll be out of here soon.”

Mr. Robertson inspects the chains binding his wrists to the bedpost. He gives it a good tug, before fumbling around for something in his pants.

“I can try to cut this chain if this doesn’t work, but I did find something while I was searching around the area.” He pulls out a ring of keys from within his left pocket. “I didn’t find anybody upstairs, but I did find this near the door. Do you know who has you here? Do you know where they might be right now?”

Richard nods, then immediately shakes his head. He realizes for the first time that he has no idea where Rivers heads off to after his visits. Up until now, he hadn’t even been aware the man had left the house.

It had been awhile since his last visit, Richard figures; perhaps Rivers had heard news that the police were coming for him and had fled the premises beforehand, abandoning him altogether.

“R… Ri..vers…”

“Rivers? Is that his name?” The officer tries out the various keys on the ring, until he finds a tarnished silver one that works. He inserts the right one into the keyholes on the cuffs, freeing Richard’s wrists.

“There we are. Now, do you have any clothes here? Or know anywhere we can get you clothes from?”

He shakes his head, blushing. He’s been left here without clothes for so long, he had almost forgotten...

The thought of that sends a shiver down his spine.

“Okay, then...” Mr. Robertson shrugs his jacket off of him, and offers it to Richard. “How's that? It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.”

The man guides him up on the bed, slowly, before helping him into his jacket. Richard’s nothing but grateful for it, even if the jacket’s scratchy fleece lining chafes at his sore, sensitive nipples.

“Thank you… s-sir…”

Mr. Robertson nods, standing up.

“From here, I think it’s best I carry you out. You can’t stand up now, can you Richard?”

He shakes his head. There’s no point in wasting time embarrassing himself in front of the officer again.

“That’s alright.” The officer hoists his body up with ease, placing Richard firmly across both his shoulders in a proper fireman’s carry. “Up you go, then.”

He doesn’t even care that the officer’s grip on his thighs is too firm to be comfortable. Richard stares at the basement room he’s leaving behind, growing further and further away as they climb up the stairs, until it’s out of sight altogether. The door closes—closing this chapter in his life for good.  

He’s free. He’s finally free.

Mr. Robertson makes his way across the house until he reaches what is presumably the front door. To Richard’s surprise, it is pitch black when they take their first few steps outside. It wasn’t as if he knew what time it was, but somehow Richard was expecting there to be some sunlight still by the time they headed out. The moonless sky tonight is almost suffocating in its darkness, and he feels a sense of unease as the officer continues on walking unfazed.

“Officer..?”

Before he can even think to ask, Richard feels himself suddenly lifted off the man’s shoulder. He grunts upon impact, back slamming down onto something soft.

His brain short circuits as he realizes what it is.

“Officer, no… !!”

He shouts as his jacket is brusquely ripped off of him. A pair of hands cradles his head, placing it onto what feels like a pair of thighs, while a different pair goes to grab both his arms. Richard could practically feel the blood curdling in his veins when the cold metal encases his wrists, cuffing them tightly to one another.

A tongue presses against his exposed skin, slithering up his neck. Breathing heavily against his ear.

“You didn’t think you’d be gettin’ away so easily from me, did you Dick?”

[anthracenes]

Rivers | Chapter 6

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Self-Harm, Abuse of Authority, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Abduction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Victim Blaming, Dissociation, Forced Orgasm, Creampie, Kidnapping, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, Crying, Angst, Dark, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Fucked Up, Slut Shaming, Asphyxiation

[read on AO3 here]

“Katie.” 

“...”

“Katie!”

“...!”

  She’s brought back from her racing thoughts and into reality as she hears her name shouted a second time. Katie stops her search to look around her, realizing just then that her friend hadn’t yet caught up. 

She finds Abby trailing behind, jogging to meet her with her phone held out in her hand.

“Katie, hey! Wait up. You need to see this... ” 

Katie takes the phone from her as she’s handed it, shielding her own eyes as she does. On any other day, she wouldn’t hesitate to complain to her friend about going blind every time she shows her something on her device, what with how ridiculously high Abby loves to turn up the brightness. She withholds it this time––silently working to adjust to it as she holds it up to her face. 

“... What?" 

"But wait... here Richard is… he’s…”

He’s not here? 

“It’s not on this side. Our side. According to the app here his phone should be around this area, but on the other street across from us,” Abby states, with a grim look on her face. “I hadn’t checked on my phone until now because I had taken your word for it when you called me.”  

She was sure it had been here this morning, when she had last checked. Has the signal moved since then?  

From her bag, Katie pulls out her own phone and logs into the app. To her dismay, the signal she sees on her device is also broadcasted from the same street Abby had pointed out.  

“I can’t believe it…”  

Abby grabs her phone back and slips it inside of her pocket. “C’mon. It’ll be alright. We’ll head over right now and start looking there. It’s not far from where we are, so we can just walk from here.” 

Katie grabs her arm, stopping her friend in her tracks.  

“Abby, wait. I… I want us to keep looking here.” 

It’s not as if she has any reason to doubt her friend now, or insist in wasting precious time here with the evidence at hand. Every second matters here, and she knows she’s already wasted plenty by doing nothing overnight. If she is truly wrong about this call, it will only spell danger for Richard—wherever he might be.  

Yet, somehow, she can’t shake off the gut feeling she has. 

Telling her to keep looking for him here, of all places .  

“I just have a feeling, that’s all. I mean, what if it’s just the wi-fi? What if the connection is worse here, and it’s messing with the app’s tracking?”

It’s not an implausible argument. In places with worse internet, she’s seen before how spotty and unreliable GPS can become—sometimes spanning from two, even three buildings off in its accuracy. Perhaps it’s the brownstone houses here, stacked next to one another like a towering wall of homes, that may play a role in disrupting the signal.  

Still, it leaves Abby unconvinced.  

“Katie, we’ve looked through most of this street already and we can’t find any sign of him so far. Let’s just cut our losses and try the next street over.” She pats her shoulder, gently. “It’ll be okay. It may not be too late. If we go now, we might still be able to find him there.” 

Katie looks at Abby, then down at her own phone.  

She noticed that the signal’s location has not been updated for a few minutes now, even though the latest update had all but guaranteed real-time tracking. It can’t hurt to try refreshing the app first before they leave, she figures. Just to be sure. Katie swipes down on her screen—expecting for the signal to remain where it is now, or perhaps even come back, if her previous theory had been correct. 

Instead, the faceless dot had moved to another part on the map entirely.  

Two streets from where they are now, this time.  

Katie swipes down again. And again. And again. While the signal remains broadcasted from the same street, it shifts down little by little with each refresh of the app. 

“Abby, it’s…” 

“... on the move.”      

They don’t say anything to each other after that. There’s no time. Together they make a run for it, frequently swiping down on their phone screens as they head for the new location.  

Whatever strange inclination she had before has left her entirely. Instead, what fills her chest in its place is a heady mix of suspense, fear, and excitement––hope. He's here. He's on the move. Those two thoughts carry her across the asphalt, faster and further than she's ever run before.  

Her lungs feel strong; her body light. She sprints onward, feeling unstoppable as she flies past Abby, the incoming vehicles.  

Nothing else has mattered more in her life than this one single moment.  

She can almost be certain of it now, what happened to Richard—and she’s this close to catching the culprit behind it. Just another crosswalk here. Just another block up ahead. Whatever the license plate number, whatever the model: Katie will find them, and bring them to justice for what they’ve done to her friend. She’ll finally get to bring him home, after all of this. 

Katie picks up the pace. She makes the sharp turn into the street, even almost spraining an ankle in doing so.  

Instead of pressing forward here, however, she grinds to a halt.

  “...”

  A hulking, ugly beast of metal blocks the road—shrieking as it hauled and heaped onto itself this week’s garbage from the piles on the curb. She watches the bags of rubbish disappear into the maw of the truck, one by one. And in that very instant, all the pieces suddenly fit.  

There is no car.  

There is no Richard.  

Katie drops to her knees. Stunned. The wind had been knocked right out of her, leaving her breathless, paralyzed. Hunched over the ground, as the blood in her body runs cold. 

Her phone falls faceup next to her—the faceless dot on the map standing right where she kneels on the concrete.  

The truck shrieks as it moves forward, collecting more of the waste rotting on the side of the road. By the time her friend had caught up to her, Katie too shrieked along with it. 

  “Katie… what…”

  “Call the police.” 

“Wait, but isn't it still too ear—” 

“He’s gone, Abby! Call the police!”  

[anthracenes]

Rivers | Chapter 5

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Self-Harm, Abuse of Authority, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Abduction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Victim Blaming, Dissociation, Forced Orgasm, Creampie, Kidnapping, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, Crying, Angst, Dark, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Fucked Up, Slut Shaming, Asphyxiation

[read on AO3 here]

Richard closes his eyes. It takes nearly everything out of him just to get himself down onto his knees, in between the older man’s spread legs. Still, he duly ignores the trembling in his body, the ash sitting heavy on his tongue, as he manages an apology.

“I’m sorry for... for being so naughty, s-sir. Please forgive me... I’ll be better, I… I promise...”

He turns and looks up at Rivers, hesitant. 

“That's a decent start. That’s not all there is though, is it?” Rivers shrugs, looking unimpressed. "You must be even dumber than you were ten years ago, if you think a simple sorry’s going to make up for all the shit you’ve given me so far." 

Rivers starts to get up from off the mattress.

“Pity. I’m sure Katie and Abby would provide me with something more interesting than this. Give me a better reason I shouldn’t march on out right now and—”

“Wait!” Upon raising his voice Richard lowers his head, clenching his cold, clammy fists by the skin of his thighs. It’s not as if he has much of a choice, but the words that he goes on to say next still leave his mouth tasting like blood, even before they depart from his lips. 

“Please don’t do that, sir. Please, I.. I swear I... I-I’ll do anything.”

Rivers looks at him for a bit. Pondering. His expression is unreadable for the longest time, but eventually he breaks into a smile, chuckling. 

“How sweet of you. A real gentleman! You must try real hard for that girlfriend of yours, don’t you Dick?” he croons, loosening his belt as he speaks. “Katie sure is one lucky gal.”

“Tell me, though––have you told her everything? Does she know yet, how much of a cum-thirsty slut you really are?”

Richard averts his gaze. He tries not to show it in his expression just how deep those words had cut into him.

“... She's not... my girlfriend.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Rivers asks, genuinely amused. “Well, now that I think of it, I’m not at all shocked. You’ve taken to ridin’ dick like a duck takes to water, after all. Poor girl probably wouldn’t know what to do with a cockslut like you.” 

He unfastens his trousers and pulls out his half-hard cock, before sitting back down on the bed. 

“Now, come here then. You’ve promised me you’d do anythin’ to be good from now on, haven’t you? Let’s test that with that fussy mouth of yours first. Here, I’ve even gone and done the hard work for you.”

That's right. He had already promised this to him––there’s no taking it back from here. Not that he can afford to be anything else but good for Rivers anyways, at this point. For Katie’s sake. 

Though it wouldn’t have been enough for him to be good by simply lying back and taking it, would it? To lie mindless on his back, while Rivers takes from his body what he wants––Richard almost prefers it, over this forced active role in what is already a humiliating violation against him.

Looking at the cock in front of him now, Richard feels sick. Feverish, even, as the skin he wears on him becomes much too hot all over. His flesh crawls as his hands hover over the prick—itching from deep within his tissues like a perpetual rash, far beyond his reach. His tongue lies thick and heavy in his mouth, a plug for the bile he feels rising in the back of his throat. 

The skin of his outer thighs burns, with how badly he wants them reopened. 

He swallows dryly. 

No. It doesn’t matter. None of his feelings hold any weight here. All he has to do is get over himself and do as he’s asked.  

He sucks in a breath in an attempt to steady his nerves, before wrapping his fingers around the older man’s cock. Richard takes the head of it on his tongue and sucks, giving small kitten licks on the underside every now and then as he slowly goes along his shaft.

Rivers moans, carding his fingers into his hair. “There, now… that’s a good boy. That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” He presses his head down further, guiding him to take more inside until Richard can feel the full weight of his cock entering his mouth, lips stretched wide around its width. 

“Look at you. My little star student. I remember how you were, back then––barely able to fit half of your teacher in, what with that tiny little mouth.” He shifts himself on the mattress, bucking his hips and nearly making Richard choke. “You’ve grown so much over the years though, haven’t you? Wonder how much more you can take now, at this age?”

“Let’s find out.”

With no other warning than that, Rivers grabs him by the hair. He pulls him in, firm and unyielding against Richard’s frenzied thrashing as the older man forces his cock further down his throat.  

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe. 

His lungs. His ribcage.

He can’t breathe—!

A steamroller terrorizes the insides of his chest. Pounding. Raging. Out of control. It presses and presses––flat against his organs, his lungs, against the brittle bone that holds them until they’re fit to burst out of his dying chest. 

Can’t breathe.

He’s screaming, though no sound ever makes it past his diaphragm. 

Can’t breathe...

Fighting, though none of it ever makes a difference.

Can’t…

His vision swims, as does the rest of his surroundings.

Richard has no idea how long Rivers kept him pinned to him like this. All he knows is that by the end of it, Richard is cradled by a pair of solid arms, equal parts gasping and crying into them as he coughs on lungfuls of air. His face is caked in something sticky, but he doesn’t have it left in him to care. He clings to the arms, clutching them as if his life depended on it.

“... rgive… me… p-please…” he gurgles out, sobbing. “... please… s-sir… for-give… me…”

He’s in shambles. Pieces. Each word he utters is a glass shard that embeds itself deep into his shredded throat. Despite that, however, Richard still does his best to beg for Rivers’ mercy––so terrified is he of further incurring whatever anger had brought on such brutality. 

“It’s okay. Shhh, it’s okay,” Rivers smiles, hushing him. “You were such a good boy for me, Dick. You did so well; I’m proud of you.”

“Still... you’ve promised me you’d do anythin’ to be good from now on, haven’t you? Come on, Dick. We’ve got a long way to go before we’re finished here.”

[anthracenes]

Chapter 7 of Rivers will not be reposted here due to formatting issues. 

If you’d like to read it, please do so here! I also suggest reading it over on desktop than mobile, for a much cleaner experience.

[anthracenes]

Rivers | Chapter 4

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Self-Harm, Abuse of Authority, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Abduction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Victim Blaming, Dissociation, Forced Orgasm, Creampie, Kidnapping, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, Crying, Angst, Dark, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Fucked Up, Slut Shaming

[read on AO3 here]

 The room he’s confined to is one Richard doesn’t recognize inside the house. It’s small, drab, and windowless—with a single old incandescent bulb left constantly on, casting an eerie yellow glow to the otherwise grey walls. He thinks he's been moved underground, probably the basement, judging by the set of stairs and how much colder this room feels to the rest of the building. There is no clock in sight from where he is chained to on the bed; no device he can use to somehow indicate the passing of time. There’s not much of anything else in the room, either—save for a dresser out of his reach across the room and a small bucket by the foot of the bed. 

He tugs hard at his chains again, to no avail.  

Has it been hours? Days? Richard has nothing to go by, but it all feels nothing short of an endless fever dream. He knows every now and again he’ll lose chunks of time to sleep, but he has no idea how long they last for, or when one nightmare ends and reality begins. Nothing much feels real anymore, anyways. 

“I'm back, Dick.”

That is, of course, with the exception of Rivers’ visits.

He hears the all-too-familiar sound of the man’s voice before he's able to see his figure descending down the stairs. This time, Rivers is carrying with him a lunch tray, with what looks to be a sandwich, an apple, and a small carton of milk on top of it. Richard stiffens at the obvious resemblance to a school lunch presented to him. He silently glares at the tray in his hands, then up at the older man himself.

Rivers only chuckles at him. 

“Oh? Don’t give me such a sour look.” He sets down the tray by his side, smiling as he sits on the edge of the bed. “It ruins your pretty face.”

“I’ve already told you I’d be gone for a few errands. Why, did you miss your teacher already?”

Richard curls in on himself, as far away on the bed as he could from Rivers and the food. He may be hungry, but there’s no trusting a man like Rivers that this isn’t a part of some elaborate trap. He wouldn’t be surprised if any of it turned out to be drugged, anyways. He holds himself tightly, ignoring the pangs he feels in his stomach as the scent of fresh, warm grilled cheese inevitably makes his mouth water. 

“... I’m not hungry. Leave me alone.” 

“What? After all that I went through, to get my star student his favorite lunch?” Rivers scoffs. “I’m real disappointed in you, Dick. What’s happened to you these past ten years? You used to be such a good kid back when I looked after you.” 

“Looked after?” Richard turns around. He knows deep down that Rivers is baiting a reaction out of him, but his blood boils hot in his veins after everything he’s been through. “Looked after? You raped me!”

“A pretty small price to pay for takin’ care of someone else’s brat, I’d say.” The man’s eyes darken as he crawls closer towards him on the bed, backing Richard slowly into a corner like the cowardly prey he is.  

“You’re nothing but a monster,” Richard spits out. “A small price? You.. you took so much of my life away. Years… My innocence, my whole childhood! Gone, because of you!”

“Your whole childhood was already shit. Isn’t that why you came runnin’ to ol’ Mr. Rivers? To feel cared for, for the first time? Loved? It’s only fair I ask for somethin’ in return. Mommy and daddy certainly weren’t even doin’ that, were they?”  

Richard shrinks back at that. The anger in him all but evaporates as his chest seizes painfully at the sudden, callous mention of his parents. 

The years of neglect he’s suffered, the constant arguments between his parents. The eventual split that tore his family apart. He hasn’t thought about them at all since he’s left it all behind him for college.

Having it all resurface like this while his rapist casually reminds him of his fuckups—it only forces Richard to rush for the bucket.

Rivers continues anyways, over the sound of his dry heaving. 

“Rape ? What’s all this nonsense about rape from you out of nowhere? Of all people. I mean, I’ve known you to be a filthy little liar even back then, but don’t you do that to yourself, Dick. Don’t you lie to yourself like that.” He sneers as he leans forward, whispering in his ear. 

“Call it whatever you’d like. At the end of the day, we all know who came to who to beg for the attention he’s not gettin’ at home. Who came to who to get his sweet little cunt all stirred up while mommy and daddy fought.”

“Stop it,” Richard sobs as he shakes his head. He covers both of his ears with trembling hands. “Stop it!”

“You’ve forgotten after all these years, haven’t you.” Rivers wraps his arms around his naked waist from behind. “Shame. I thought I’d given you a good enough refresher when I’d shown you how honest your body could really be last night.” His fingers stray downward, making their way towards his exposed crotch, as he brushes his lips against his ears.

“Should we try again now, then?”

Richard screams, jerking in his arms. “Stop! Don’t touch me!” 

He grabs at the older man’s hands, trying desperately to pry them away from him. After some struggle between the two, however, Rivers eventually overpowers him, seizing him by the wrists. He is pinned faceup onto the bed as the older man begins to straddle his body. 

“I think I’ve finally figured out who’s gotten you to become so naughty after all these years,” he croons. Rivers smacks his lips together before licking a long, wet stripe down the side of his neck. “You’ve managed to snatch up a little beauty for yourself over the years, haven’t you? Lied and lied to the poor girl all this time, until eventually you've started believin’ in these lies yourself. Abby, was it? Or did you prefer the little blonde one, Katie?”

That has Richard frozen in a heartbeat. Rivers had never made any indication that he’s familiar with Katie, but, as far as he knew, Abby was someone Katie had met out in college. Richard stares up at him, a wide-eyed deer in the headlights, as he tries the stammer out a response.

“Oh?” Rivers sneers. “It’s the blonde then, isn’t it? I thought I recognized her. Who knew?”

“H-how… how did you…”

“They’re outside right now lookin’ for you. Heard them runnin’ around, callin’ your name out on the streets on my way doin’ errands,” the older man states, matter-of-factly. His expression morphs into something sinister as he sits and lets this information stew.

“How about... I let them both in here?”

“No…”

“Show them how you really are when you’re bein’ honest with yourself—”

“No!”

“—Or better yet, why don’t I let them join in on the fun?” Rivers lets go of one of his wrists to tilt his head up with his thumb, gently tracing the edge of his jawline. “I’m sure you’d all have the time of your life here together. One big happy family. Now, wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t that be nice, Dick?”

Richard shudders, shaking his head. There’s nothing else Rivers needs to say here. He understands perfectly well the threat bared underneath those words. 

He lowers his head, averting his gaze in submission.

“Please… don’t. I-I’ll be good from now on, I promise. Just… please, don’t get them involved. Please ...”

“Now there’s the good little star student I remember.” The older man lets go of his wrists. There’s no need to be rough anymore, knowing how utterly defeated he now has him. He ruffles his hair lightly, kissing his forehead. 

“You want to be good for me from now on?” 

Richard nods. 

“Prove it, then. Show Mr. Rivers how good and honest you can be, Dick.”

[anthracenes]

Rivers | Chapter 3

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Self-Harm, Abuse of Authority, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Abduction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Victim Blaming, Dissociation, Forced Orgasm, Creampie, Kidnapping, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, Crying, Angst, Dark, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Fucked Up, Slut Shaming

[read on AO3 here]

Flipping her phone facedown on the coffee table, Katie sat alone in her empty living room and sighed.  

It’s not as if this was the first time Richard’s done something like this. She’s not even mad at that, per say—plans can always be remade if need be, and it’s not like they had planned for something extremely important that night. A heads up not to cancel dinner with Abby would have been nice, though. Something to let her know not to make the caramel popcorn that would only sit cold without him here. Hell, at this point, she’d settle for a single text back from him. She’s already given Richard seven chances for it; surely that can’t be too much to ask of him? 

Katie sinks back onto the couch, glumly picking off the buttered popcorn from her own bowl. She’s been friends with Richard ever since middle school, when she had been the odd one out transferring in at eighth grade when most kids had known each other from elementary. They had quickly bonded over the type of movies they had liked—a longstanding friendship that had clearly followed them even now as young adults, to where they would still come over and host movie nights for one another every now and then. 

But something’s changed about Richard, recently. Of course she can’t expect anyone to remain stagnant over the course of several years. But ever since three years ago he’s been scaring her with how differently he’s been acting. He’s overly jumpy and skittish, especially when it involves others touching him. Richard lost his head at Abby once, for hugging him unprompted—and while Abby had forgiven him for it since, the overreaction has left a sour taste between them. At times he would space out, like he’s somewhere in another dimension altogether. And, of course, he’s been isolating himself more and more too, cancelling and bailing on their plans like he’s doing right now.  

Most unnerving of all, however, she’s recently had reason to believe Richard had been harming himself for some time—and covering it up, no less. 

She’s not angry at him. Not really. She’s a little upset at the missed movie night, sure. But, more than that, she’s upset that her friend seems like he doesn’t trust her enough to tell her when he’s clearly hurting. She has no idea what could have happened in the last three years to have changed her friend so drastically, let alone how to go about helping him. He doesn’t seem to be talking about it to anyone else, but she’s afraid of further upsetting him by dredging it up in their own conversations. Lord knows what happened the last time she’s attempted it. The last thing she wants is to drive Richard away, but she knows this is never going to resolve on its own. 

She scrolls to the top of her contacts and decidedly calls him. When the machine inevitably answers her, she doesn’t bother leaving a message at the tone and simply hangs up. 

Katie buries her face in her hands, shaking her head. 

What is there left to do? She can’t forcibly help someone who refuses it at every turn. But seeing Richard struggling alone all this time is starting to eat away at her more than she thought. All she wants is to see her friend happy again. The movie nights once a month get them somewhat close to that, but it’s never quite the same anymore. 

She closes her contacts and absently scrolls through the rest of her phone. She stops her swiping midway only when her thumb hovers over a familiar orange tile in the right corner of the screen. 

The Find My Friends application.

She’s only doing this to check on him. To make sure that, if he’s not doing well at the moment, at least he’s safe at home. He has no one else she can contact otherwise to make sure he’s okay. This is the only thing she can do right now, as a friend concerned about her friend’s wellbeing.

But wouldn’t this be a breach of his privacy? 

She hesitates before ultimately opening it. 

Out of the number of little icons she finds clustered within the area, one faceless dot sticks out to her in the far northern part of the map. It’s in the shady part of the district: the part everyone’s heard stories about from a friend of a friend of a friend; the part she’s been warned many times never to go through alone late at night. 

A hundred possibilities fly through her head in that instant, and all of them do little to comfort. She feels a chill run up her spine after a particularly awful image of Richard collapsed in an alley after being assaulted by some thugs. 

It might just be an area he passes by on his way home from work. But it can’t be that he’s only getting home this late, can it? 

What business could he possibly have at this time, all the way out there? 

What business is it of hers to know? 

 Regardless Katie can’t shake off the harrowing thought of her friend, stranded in the bad parts of town on his own and in desperate need of help. This may not be the first time Richard’s acting this way towards her, but she can’t imagine any good scenario in which he’s alright, all the way out there and this late at night. 

It’s too late for her to do anything else at this point, though. As much as she hates to admit it. Going out there now would not only be dangerous, but it would be brash and stupid of her as well. There’s no way she could accomplish anything productive at this late an hour, in those dark, unfamiliar streets. If Richard is even out in the streets right now and not in a building somewhere, or a vehicle, on his way home. No, right now the best thing to do would be to write down the address and pray for the best. If his phone is still located in the same area by the morning, then she’ll call Abby first thing and they can both go tomorrow to look for him. 

For now, it’s all she can do to resign herself to bed with a heavy weight on her chest. 

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 4

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Manipulation, Objectification, Creampie

[read on AO3 here]

“Mm… Wilfred…?” Isaac mumbles, yawning. He gently rubs his eyes as he starts to come to. “...Had I fallen asleep?”  

In front of him, he could see Wilfred already cleaning up after their session. The tray of cookies had long been taken away, and the older man was placing the whiteboard and markers underneath the table. 

"Hm? Ah, you’re awake," Wilfred smiles. "Of course you had. We had agreed to take a little study break, after you had felt too tired to go on with the lesson. Remember?"  

“A study break...?” Isaac furrowed his brows. But hadn’t Wilfred only been going over orbital basics just now? Isaac must have started to doze off sometime during the lesson—he couldn’t recall anything happening after the lesson on orbitals, let alone ever asking for something like a break.  

Just when did that happen? 

"Why, you don’t remember asking me for one?" Wilfred asked, voice laced with concern. "We had both agreed on giving you a break after just how exhausted you had seemed earlier. There’s no point in forcing a lesson if you’re too tired to learn anything, right?" 

Isaac feels strange goosebumps prickle his skin as he tries to remember. A ‘study break’ does sound familiar, now that he thinks about it. And perhaps he can remember Wilfred’s express approval of something like that, too. Nothing about the break itself seemed anything out-of-the-ordinary, either—if anything, it was admittedly nice to get to wake up feeling this refreshed. But why, then, can’t he remember when they had this conversation? Had Isaac been that tired that he had sleep-talked all of it?  

"You need to take care of yourself, Isaac. I know it must be easier said than done, but how are you going to learn anything if you’re constantly pushing yourself too hard?" Wilfred said, frowning. "A break will give you the chance to relax, and maybe fill your stomach. Especially after what you had told me of your classes: something about not having the time to eat right before coming here, right? I can’t see how that would be healthy for anyone in the long term."

Isaac nodded. He remembers having said that last part, if nothing else. Still—even if he can’t recall it all exactly, he can’t deny that he’s grateful for Wilfred’s kindness. It’s only been the first day, and already the older tutor had been nothing but thoughtful thus far. It was awfully nice of Wilfred to take so much into consideration for his student’s well being—certainly much more than what he can say of any tutor he’s had in the past. Isaac can’t help but feel validated for his choice to go to a real person like Wilfred this time, over the multitude of faceless corporations his parents loved to have him shipped to back home. 

“Ah, yeah… I—wow. I just… never thought something like that would be important to a tutor, that’s all. I mean, wouldn’t a break just be taking time away from us studying?”

"Oh, that's nothing you need to worry about, Isaac. I’m not charging you for the time you spend here on break. I want my students to do well after all, and that all starts with feeling well first. Besides," The older tutor waves his hand towards the back of the living room, where the grandfather clock stood. "Half an hour for every break. Remember? That way it’s not too long, but it gives you enough to feel refreshed and ready to start on your assignments after the end of every session." 

Isaac couldn’t believe it. For the reasonable price Wilfred was offering, not only was he getting a top notch tutor that clearly cares about his students, but on top of that a rare opportunity for Isaac himself to take a step back. Relax. He can't seem to think of a time he's ever felt this recharged and ready to go, much less right after an hour-long tutoring session. And all of this was offered with a smile and free delicious food, to boot.  

It almost sounded too good to be true.

“Is this really alright, Wilfred? You're providing with so much more than I'm paying you for,” Isaac chuckled, reaching into his wallet to pay for today's session. “It feels like highway robbery.” 

"If I was really concerned with money, I know of companies out there I could slave under. I became a local tutor because there's nothing I love more than helping young people blossom and reach their full, unrealized potential." Wilfred shrugged, smiling. "I know not everyone can afford an expensive tutor, so I do my best to make sure cost isn’t a barrier for some people." 

He had initially said it as a lighthearted joke, but the response Isaac had gotten from Wilfred had taken him by surprise. It was a noble goal to strive for, and Isaac couldn’t help but respect the older tutor that much more for it. 

"This may come as a surprise to you, but before he came to work under me Alex used to be just like you, you know. College undergraduate, pre-med track—the whole nine yards. It was only after having me as his tutor a year ago that I helped him realize an undiscovered passion for teaching. He’s been with us here ever since." 

“Really?” Isaac asked, wide-eyed. So it was only a year ago that the younger tutor had been on the same boat as he is—only to have abandoned it in favor of teaching alongside Wilfred. He’d love for a chance to talk to Alex all about what that had been like: what about the older tutor had inspired him to give up his the track, and why he ultimately chose a profession like teaching over helping the medical community. 

And who knows? Perhaps he may even get his questions answered no later than next week, during his next study break.

"Yes, really." Wilfred looks as if he was about to say more, but stops himself as he glances at the time on the clock. "Unfortunately, it seems as though we’re all out of time for today, Isaac; I wouldn’t want to keep you here for too long after all, and it is getting dark soon. We can definitely talk more about it during our next session though, if you’d like." 

“Yes, of course.” 

Isaac stands to gather his things. As he gets on his feet, however, a mixture of confusion and discomfort hits him as he feels a warm, sticky wetness from in between his legs. 

What is this? 

... Something's not right. Even if he doesn't know what, he can sense that something strange has taken place—something he’s not sure he’ll even understand, even if he does know. Puzzled, Isaac looks around for a possible explanation.  

"Are you looking for something?" Wilfred asks, perceiving his sudden confusion. "Isaac, is something wrong?"

“I, uh—” 

Nothing that we’ve done so far will seem strange to you, because this is everything you want from a session isn’t it? 

A voice. Vaguely familiar, it halts his train of thought and echoes insistently in his mind the same line, over and over.   

Nothing that we’ve done so far will seem strange to you, because this is everything you want from a session isn’t it? 

Nothing that we’ve done so far will seem strange to you, because this is everything you want from a session isn’t it?

Nothing that we’ve done so far will seem strange to you,

 "...because this is everything you want from a session isn’t it?"

The strange feeling leaves him all at once, just as inexplicably as it came. Whatever had caused his uneasiness before had all but vanished without a trace—as if it had never been there to begin with.

"Isaac," Wilfred repeats, "is something wrong?" 

“No...” Isaac replies softly, almost to himself. He can't even remember what had him so riled up in the first place. “I don't think so.” 

He shakes his head. “Sorry about that. Same time next Thursday, right?”

The older tutor nods. "But as Alex may have told you earlier, if something comes up and you need to cancel, or if you need a session earlier than that, just let us know over the phone. We’re very flexible with our schedule, and we’ll be happy to accommodate you." 

Isaac thanks him and keeps the option in mind for the future. He walks with Wilfred out of the living room, down the hall, and through the foyer towards the door.  

"You have another exam tomorrow, don’t you? Relax and get plenty of rest—I'm sure the rest will follow." Wilfred smiles. "Take care, Isaac, and I’ll see you next week."

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 3

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Manipulation, Objectification, Creampie

[read on AO3 here]

Wilfred runs his fingers through the soft, brown locks of his sleeping victim. There was just something charming to him about how childlike the boy is. For a supposed eighteen-year-old in college, Isaac was barely into adulthood: lean and unbelievably tiny. If it weren’t for the college ID strung around his neck, Wilfred would have no trouble believing the boy to be fifteen at most. 

 Itching to see just what he was working with, he lays the boy on his back and removes his clothing from him, one by one. His shirt, sneakers, socks, pair of jeans: the tutor peels them all off within a matter of minutes, discarding them onto the floor, with the boy’s underwear placed at the very top of the pile. Wilfred finds with no surprise that, much like the rest of his lean body, Isaac’s is near hairless underneath those tight boxer briefs—with just the lightest dusting of hair covering the base of his slim, pretty cock.  

 “What a dream…” Wilfred’s whispers, pressing tongue onto naked flesh. He brushes his lips against the shell of his ear, the nape of his neck. Lavishes attention on the boy’s chest, his waist, and down—slowly, further down still—all the way until he’s buried his face inside Isaac’s warm, inviting thighs. Wilfred drinks in the way Isaac react to his touch even in his sleep, skin flushing and prickling underneath his lips as the tutor slowly peppers kisses throughout his vulnerable body. 

 “So pretty… and so, so small . If I didn’t know any better, Isaac, I’d say you haven’t even started puberty yet.”

 He nudges the sleeping boy’s thighs apart, suckling at the pale, creamy skin…

 … and smiles when he hears the boy gasp from underneath him, followed by a soft, sleepy moan. 

 “Mmm… fuck . You're going to be so much fun to break into, I can already tell,” Wilfred breathes, licking his lips.

 From the way he’s reacted to the slightest compliment, all flustered and pink, to the way he eagerly scarfs down what’s placed in front of him in a stranger’s house, the tutor can already venture a guess as to the kind of upbringing Isaac’s grown up with. Sheltered by wealth and strictly success-oriented, no doubt, with little room for any warmth. The prestigious school, the double-major, the tell-tale dreams of becoming a doctor—it all tells him just as much, as well: the all-too-familiar story of a child, overcompensating to impress the whims of his despotic parents. It’s no wonder the poor thing is all too eager to trust, running headfirst towards the first hints of the love and affection he’s never had growing up. 

��Right into the waiting maw of a predator like him.

 He has no one to thank more than the kid’s own parents, really. With Isaac at hand, naive and none-the-wiser, he could do so, so much to the boy. Corrupt him; groom him. Brainwash him into happily serving Wilfred on his hands and knees, instead of whatever shallow career his parents had meant for the boy to pursue. The tutor remembers fondly what that was like: the thrill of the time he had finally brought Alex home permanently, after going through their final session together. He feels himself getting hard in his slacks, thinking about getting to do it all over again.

 Two lovely pets, all to himself. If he plays his cards right, Alex will finally have a cute little playmate to join him in no time.

 With that in mind, Wilfred climbs onto the couch. He situates himself next to the boy and began whispering in his ear the same soft, calming tones that had lured Isaac in before. As always, the tutor takes great care to use the ticking of the clock to aid him, flowing the tempo of his words to the heavy swing of brass.

 To and fro. 

  To and fro.

 “Doesn’t this feel nice, Isaac? A nice, relaxing little study break, just for you. You deserve it, after all, after working so hard.”

 Without opening his eyes, the boy lolls his head forward, nodding. 

 “You never get a break from studying at home though, do you? You work so hard at school—but do you ever get a chance to stop? Sit back, relax, and just rest for a little while?”

 “Mm, no,” Isaac mumbles. “Not really…”

 “And why is that?”

 “Mother— Father... they’d just… have tutors ready for me, waiting at home after school…”

 “I see... And they don’t think at all about how exhausted their son would already be, coming home after a long day of learning, do they?” The tutor smiles, wolfish and predatory. “Poor dear. I just don’t know how you manage it, Isaac.”

 Isaac frowns—almost a pout. “I have to, to become a doctor… It’s a lot, but… can’t let them down…”

 Just as he suspected. And what a waste that would be—to throw away all that youthful innocence on something so painfully uninspired. He’ll definitely have to change that, won’t he?

 “I see. Well, Isaac, you’re always welcome to take a break here ,” The tutor pauses, letting the suggestion settle before continuing. “A little study break, once a week: where you get to relax and rest . Getting enough rest is important, after all—no matter what anyone else may insist.” 

 “From now on, let’s take a little study break like this, shall we? It’ll be a normal part of our tutoring sessions: something you can do to rest after a long week’s worth of studying and classes.”

 “Study break… rest…” the boy softly repeated.

 “Yes, Isaac. A nice, sleepy little study break ,” Wilfred smiles, gently stroking the boy’s cheek with his fingers. “And you won’t even think about it, will you Isaac? No, thinking’s too hard… The whole point of breaks are to rest your pretty little head, after all. Best to just rest and let go in these little study breaks— relax and let go to the sound of my voice.”

 A shiver travels through Isaac’s body as he absorbs the new suggestion.

 “Do you understand?”

 The boy nods. “Let go… Thinking... too hard……  sleepy…”    

 “That’s right… thinking is just too difficult, when you’re so very sleepy like this. ” Wilfred drawls, “During these breaks, it’s so much easier to just sit back and listen, isn’t it? Just leave all the difficult thinking to your tutor from here on out.”

 Isaac’s body sags even further at that, as if to wholly surrender himself to the perverted tutor. 

  “That’s it… just listen and let me help you, Isaac. Empty your mind of anything other than my voice. Just listen, obey, and let your tutor make you feel so much better...” 

 With that, Wilfred takes out the bottle of lube that had been warming in his pocket for the past hour. He squirts a generous amount onto his fingers before setting it to the side, making sure to apply more than what’s necessary. There’s just something about Isaac that screams to be taken apart slowly, savored and played with every step of the way—small and delicate as he is. 

 He just can’t help but indulge the sweet boy a little.

 “In a moment, I’m going to spread you open right here,” he murmurs, spreading Isaac open and  lining slick fingers at the tight, pink entrance. “Make you feel so good during your study break, just like you wanted.”

 Wilfred traces the rim with the flat of his digits sensually, teasingly, until the hole is winking with anticipation. 

 “Tell me: have you ever done this to yourself before?”

 He hears Isaac’s breath hitch from underneath him. “No…” 

 “No?” The tutor chuckles. He leans forward, whispering over the boy’s ear.  “Oh, you’ll love it, Isaac. I’m going to make sure of it, one way or another…” 

 The tutor slides his fingers inside. He works them in nice and slow at first—pressing against the tight ring of muscle and feeling out Isaac’s virgin-tight passage, as he gently spreads the boy open on his fingers. 

 “God, you’re so tight… It’s as if your body is just sucking me in here,” Wilfred whispers. He eases his fingers in and out of the boy—quickly, efficiently, picking up his pace once the boy adjusts to him and filling the room with the slick, sloppy sounds of it. “... Like your body is just hungry for it.”

 Isaac is panting, ragged and breathy. Already Wilfred sees him starting to respond favorably—his little waist bucking as if it had a mind of its own; his pretty cock beginning to fill untouched. Eyes closed and lips parted open on a moan, the sleeping boy on his fingers looked no different than the image of someone lost in pure and utter bliss.

 He can’t wait to see what the boy looks like, spread open on his cock.

 “Look at you: so desperate to be filled you’re practically drooling for it,” the tutor smirks, reaching for his own zipper. “What a hungry, hungry boy you must be, Isaac.”

 He kicks off his own slacks towards the pile of Isaac’s discarded clothes and grabs the bottle of lube off from the side. Wilfred dribbles a fair amount on his hand, palming at his erection as he prepares himself to fully ravish the boy in his sleep.

 “The cookies weren’t nearly enough for you, were they? No, no—it looks to me like your body wants something even more to fill you up.

 “Something… more….” the boy mumbles.

  “Yes, something more. Something bigger, and thicker, and with even more protein to fill you up with. Yeah, you want for nothing more than to be filled up to the brim with all of that, right here.” 

 Isaac whines, drool pooling down his chin in thin little streams. With all of the capacity for thought siphoned out of his head, the boy is left utterly helpless to the whims of the tutor—unable to refuse the suggestions taking hold of his otherwise empty little mind. He has no other choice but to listen and obey: wanting for nothing else than what Wilfred dictates he does at the moment.

 “Open your eyes, Isaac. Beg for me properly. Spread those legs wide open and show me just how much you want me to stuff you full.”

 The boy follows immediately, lifting his legs up high and holding each in place by the back of his thighs as dazed, brown eyes fluttered open. Isaac’s body is nearly folded in half this way, giving the tutor quite the view as the student obediently awaits further commands.

 Placing the boy’s raised legs atop his shoulders, Wilfred lines himself up with Isaac’s hole. 

 “What a good boy,” the tutor coos, gripping Isaac’s hips as he slides himself inside the tight, wet heat. It doesn’t escape Wilfred’s attention just how positively the boy responds to even the slightest praise: the way he flushes scarlet all over, moaning—or the way his slim, pretty cock stood tall at his words, even despite the pain the boy was surely in. 

 “ Such a lovely, pretty boy for me, taking all of me so, so well.”

  “You love this, don’t you sweetling?”

  “This is what you were hungry for all along: nothing feels better to you than something big and thick inside of you like this, filling your slutty, hungry hole.”

 Isaac mewls—tiny, breathless little sounds as the tutor fucks the suggestions into him. The boy is stretched taut around his cock, and with each praise he gives him Wilfred could physically feel him more and more: clenched around him, tight and vise-like, as if his body was trying to draw him deeper in. 

 As he pounds into him hard and relentless, Wilfred comes across the little bundle of nerves inside of Isaac that pries a loud, desperate cry from the boy. He gives a quick snap of his hips, hitting the same spot again and again—making his student all but melt underneath him. 

 “There you go, sweetling. Doesn’t this feel so, so good? You want this to happen during each and every one of our sessions, every time we meet. You’ll grow to crave it, until it’s all you can think about during your classes. Until all you’ll want to do is rest, relax, and surrender your mind to me as I stuff your hungry body with what it really needs…” 

 He takes Isaac’s leaking cock in his hand, earning a choked moan from him as he wraps his fingers around it and strokes the boy off to the pace of his thrusts. 

  “Just let it all happen, Isaac. Accept it. Just let your tutor make you feel so much better…” 

 All at once, Isaac groans. The boy is trembling around him as he cums harder than he’s ever had in his life, painting his chest and tummy white. The sensation of Isaac clenching down around him only brings the tutor to quickly follow suit, spilling his seed inside the boy as he fucks his orgasm deep into him. 

 Wilfred collapses on top of the boy once he’s finished, laying there together for a little as they both catch their breath. When he finally regains his strength, the tutor pushes himself up and off the couch, putting his slacks back on and admiring how wrecked the boy looks, his puffy hole twitching, leaking cum onto the leather couch. 

 Eventually he’ll teach the boy to love getting on his knees and cleaning up after his fun little messes. For now, however, the tutor is content to just have Alex lick the upholstery clean for him after the session today is over.

 “ Good boy, Isaac. You’ve been such a good student for me today,” Wilfred says to him, not at all missing how Isaac practically glows under the praise. He helps Isaac get dressed, slipping his underwear, pants, and shirt back on—over the boy’s filthy, cum-splattered body. 

 He pats him on the cheek, smiling.

 “Close your eyes, Isaac. In a moment, I’m going to count down and have you wake up from your study break. When you do, nothing that we’ve done so far will seem strange to you, because this is everything you want from a session isn’t it?”

 Slowly, Isaac nods and shuts his eyes.

 “That’s right. You’re so stressed and hungry from your day-to-day classes that you have no more energy to even think when you get to these sessions,” he reiterates, driving the point home to the boy. “You come here to take a break from all of that: a nice, little study break, where you can let everything go and have your tutor make you feel so much better.”

 He sits Isaac upright on the couch, arranging his body to be exactly the way he was before the boy had fallen asleep on his lap.

 “Now, Isaac: wake up for me, in three…”

 “... Two…”

  “One.”

[anthracenes]

Rivers | Chapter 2

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Self-Harm, Abuse of Authority, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Abduction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Victim Blaming, Dissociation, Forced Orgasm, Creampie, Kidnapping, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Humiliation, Crying, Angst, Dark, Psychological Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Grooming, Fucked Up, Slut Shaming

[read on AO3 here]

He’s floating. 

A detached, dreamy sensation that leaves him unsure if he’s even alive in that moment.  

His ears are buzzing, obscuring the sounds that would otherwise reach them. His eyes are wide open, but he can’t understand just what he’s seeing. All the while, he can vaguely make out touches on him—pressing against his body, sliding against his skin. 

His lips part to say something, but he doesn’t recognize any of the words that tumble out of him.

Everything feels... so far away, for some reason. It’s almost as if his brain is not quite attached to the rest of him: aware of all of these sensory inputs, but nothing to process any of it with. He feels himself lost—deep in a haze so thick it suffocates him. Through this fog he could feel himself peering down at a body that is simultaneously his and not his. Lying inside a body that is simultaneously his and not his. His head spins between these two perspectives, over and over, and it isn’t long before the rest of the room is spinning along with him.  

I must be dreaming, he figures. It must be a dream. What else could it be otherwise, unless of course he’s—

 He never even finishes that train of thought before it is pulled out from under him. Richard is suddenly made aware of a warm, wet heat enveloping in between his legs—a sensation so foreign, it's enough to snap him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. It pulls him up, up, and out of the thick mental haze and, in a moment, he’s back to himself in a flash.

 ... Something is not right. He’s panting, reeling as the rest of the feeling in his body comes in much too hot, much too quickly for comfort. His head pounds, as swift and erratic as the heart hammering away in his ribcage. His stomach is in knots.  

Springing his eyes open, Richard ignores the burn of the lights as he turns his head downwards, towards the source of the sensation.  

 “There you are,” Rivers smiles, wolfish. Predatory. “Nice of you to finally join us, Dick.”

 Below him, he sees Rivers sitting comfortably on his knees. The mattress is dipped beneath the weight of both their bodies as the older man is nestled right in between Richard’s trembling thighs. A fine thread of saliva hangs from his former teacher's lips down to Richard’s own cock, which Rivers thumbs with one hand. 

“You gave me quite the scare there, Dick—with your eyes wide open like that and nobody home! For a minute, I was worried I'd have dragged a corpse right into my bed. Wouldn’t want our precious reunion to be spoiled by somethin’ like that now, do we?”

Scrambling to get away, Richard yelps when he finds that—to his horror—he’s in fact unable to. His wrists and ankles refuse to budge an inch from where they remain, fastened tightly to each of the bedposts surrounding him. It hits him right then and there just what position he’s in: tied up and spread eagled on Rivers' bed. 

Naked.

He suppresses the urge to vomit when he feels a hand on his bare thigh, slithering down towards his ankle.

"Oh, you do have to forgive me for this, though," his former teacher says, voice dripping with mock pity. Rivers traces the flesh underneath the thick rope, gently rubbing it with the flat of his fingers as if to soothe the chafed skin beneath it. 

"Didn't want to have to be so rough like this. Not on our first day back together, anyway," he chuckles, licking his lips. "Pity. But I really have no other choice, Dick. Wouldn't want you runnin' away on me again, after all. Not before we get to the fun part." 

"Please, sir..." Richard whispers. He feels small, so ridiculously small, spread out before Rivers and reduced to begging like this. Like he's 13 again, on the same bed, except this time there's absolutely no sane part of him that wants this. He takes a shuddering breath, lips quivering as he's on the verge of crying. "Please, please just let me go..." 

"Let you go? After all this time?" Rivers tuts, shaking his head. He's grinning from ear to ear, clearly amused, as his steel grey eyes meet Richard's soft brown ones. "Now why would I do that?" 

"It's been far too long since we've played together, Dick. I’ve missed you.” 

The former teacher takes Richard’s balls in one hand and his cock in the other. He fondles them as he strokes his former student off—slow and gentle.

“And by the looks of things, seems as though you miss your old man, too," he smirks, eyeing the half-hard cock he already has in his hand. "Is that why you've come back, after all these years?”

"No!" Richard practically shouts, trembling. He can’t help but writhe on the bed from Rivers touch, disgust washing over him as he feels the faintest flickers of arousal building within him. "No, stop… I... I don't want this... please.."

"You don't, do you?" Without any warning, he takes the cock in his hand and wraps his lips around it, earning a choked gasp from the young man. He wastes no time, swirling his tongue all around the head, the shaft—doing clever things with his mouth that has Richard all but squirming. He swallows the rest of it in one swift motion, down to the hilt, and sucks him down until he could feel his former student twitching in the back of his throat.

With a loud smack of his lips, Rivers pulls Richard out of his mouth, just as quickly as he's sucked him down. He licks the saliva slathered all over Richard's member. 

“Mm... Fuck," Rivers moans, lapping up the precum that beads at the tip. "You always were a naughty little liar, Dick—but I can always count on this part of you to be honest, can't I?”

Richard shakes his head, blinking away tears. He could barely process everything that was happening to him, let alone why his traitorous body was responding in such a way. He knows he doesn't want any part of this. He doesn't.

He doesn't.

And yet despite everything tells himself, here he is: clearly reacting as if he did. Inconceivably, undeniably erect, just from being molested by his middle school teacher. 

“Do you remember all those times we’ve played ‘Doctor’ together? How you used to fake tummy aches for me, just to get a dose of my special medicine after school?” Rivers chuckles. He unzips his pants, pulling out his own cock out while remaining almost entirely clothed otherwise. 

“You really were just a little slut even back then, weren’t you?”

Richard shuts his eyes. “I was only a child…! You took advantage of me!”

He's shaking. Anger, fear, shame, guilt—visceral waves of emotion, boiled and bubbled all into one. He says this, but deep down Richard knows the blame is only his, for falling for it in the first place. For giving in. He carries that blame everyday, hates himself everyday for it. 

The scars on his outer thighs are a testament to that.

"... I didn't... know... I didn't know any better..." 

Why must he have been so stupid? So reckless? If only he had said something sooner, back then. If only he had better sense to run away. 

If only... If only...

“Oh? You didn’t know any better, did you?" Sneering, Rivers takes Richard’s erect member in hand. He strokes it, running his fingers all over it—taunting him, with the shameful evidence of his body's own depravity. "How'd you go about explainin' this, then?”

Richard recoils, turning his head away.

“Admit it. Your body can’t lie, Dick. It loves me. Loves havin’ your teacher take care of you like this. And as a teacher, who am I to deny what my star student wants of me?”

From within his pocket, Rivers pulls out a small packet. He tears it open, dribbling lubricant all over his hand, his fingers—getting every inch, every corner of it wet before palming at his own cock. 

“We have a lot of catchin’ up to do. Ten years of it. And since you obviously pretended to be sick just now, why don’t we start 'ere? I’d love to be pumpin’ your tummy full of my special medicine again. For ol’ times sake.”

Richard’s eyes widen at that. He takes to his frenzied thrashing again, straining against the ropes as searing panic floods his veins. 

“Please, please, stop...! I don’t want this! I don't want to—!” 

He screams as Rivers penetrates him anyways, forcing his hole to stretch around him as he brutally shoves his way inside. The lube barely helps—he’s never dared to be intimate with anyone ever since, and as a result Rivers feels much, much too big to take like this. Even now, the man is only halfway in and already Richard is stuffed to the brim. He feels it much like being torn open and split in two, right down the middle. 

“Fuck… You feel so fuckin’ good around me, Dick…” 

Richard’s body jolts with every thrust. His head lolls back and forth, sliding to and fro on the pillow, occasionally hitting against the headboard. Hollow gasps are forced from his lips with every inch forced deeper inside, as if the air there is being physically punched out of him to make room. 

”... So fuckin’ tight...”

He’s dizzy from it all. Lightheaded. The world around him starts fading around the edges, swimming in and out of focus. Every breath feels more and more sharp and labored, and he distantly wonders whether he might pass out from the lack of air altogether.  

Eventually Rivers bottoms out. He grips his hips tight as he holds himself in place, balls deep inside of Richard. With his palm, he traces the visible outline of his cock jutting out from within the young man’s body.

“There. Finally, all in. You’ve done so well, Dick—takin' all of me in so well. You really are my star student after all,” Rivers murmurs. He gives a punctuated thrust, forcing yet another breathy gasp from the young man. “You’re suckin' me in so much 'ere, too. Must’ve really missed havin' me inside of you, huh?”

Richard shudders, too weak to protest. Despite the pain Richard still finds himself just as aroused as before, his cock not even flagging once throughout. He's so ashamed—ashamed of how he had blindly landed himself in the clutches of this monster yet again. Ashamed of how he’s reacting no differently to Rivers even now, as an adult. No matter how badly he may want to, Richard himself can't deny the way his body is responding to the positive attention—the almost-comical way his nerves light up at the slightest praise from his former teacher.

Just as disgustingly eager for it as he had been, years ago.

“Mm, but what kind of teacher would I be if I'd neglect my own student?” The older man flashes him a toothy smile. “It’s not enough to just give you your special medicine, clearly. If we really want to have you all better...”

Rivers starts fucking him again. This time, however, he’s much slower in his pace. Careful, almost gentle even, as if aiming for something in particular. He's working himself into Richard—taking his time to explore different angles, feel out his insides, until eventually—

Oh.

  Ohh—!

Pleasure suddenly shoots through his spine. It has his trembling body arched back as far as the restraints would allow him. The sensation melts away at his frayed nerves, shorts out his brain with the sheer heat and pleasure of it all. From the corners of his vision, Richard swears he could see literal sparks of white.

Gasping shallowly, he slowly looks up at Rivers. He knows what’s happening to him—knows from experience what his former teacher plans to do to him—and he prays to the God he no longer believes in that it’s somehow just not going to happen this time. That he's somehow going to be spared from it this time.

That his rapist doesn’t strip him of this last remaining thing he has.

"There we are,” Rivers sneers above him. The older man drags his tongue across Richard’s neck, licking a wet stripe up towards the shell of his ear. “That felt good, didn’t it?"

Rivers merely chuckles when Richard shakes his head.

"Don’t lie, Dick. I know it does. You think I can’t see you, squirmin’ around my cock like it’s the best thing you’ve felt in the entire world?”

Rivers hits the same spot in him, again and again, as if to force his point. Richard is half-moaning, half sobbing as he's thrusting in and out of him at a relentless pace, much too overwhelmed to stop the filthy noises from slipping through his lips.

“God, look at you," his former teacher murmurs. "You may have grown up to be an even worse liar all these years, but some things sure never change, huh?”

He can’t think. He can’t think. Any thoughts that might try and bubble up to the surface are almost immediately lost before they even get there—knocked out of him with each thrust, like the air from his lungs. It's hard to hear anything past the sound of his blood rushing loudly through his veins, and the slick, filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room does little to help. All the while his brain struggles to catch up, his body is on fire. The flames of arousal flickering in the pit of his stomach is stoked further and further, spiraling out of control until Richard is simply feverish with it. 

“There, that’s it... What a good little slut for me. You must really want your teacher to pump you full of my special medicine again, don't you? Breed your tight cunt so well, make you feel so good...”

Richard is helpless against the onslaught to his senses. He feels himself on the knife’s edge, muscles drawn tight as the cock shoving inside of him threatens to make him spill. Below, he could feel himself dripping all over his stomach, his thighs, with each sinful drag to his prostate. Richard shamefully tries to close his legs, but only succeeds in drawing more attention to them. 

“Oh? You’re gonna come for me soon, aren’t you?" He smiles when Richard shakes his head again. "Dishonest as ever, I see. Here—don't you worry. Just let ol’ Mr. Rivers help you out with that...”

A hand reaches down between his legs. Fingers smear his own fluids across his member—slowly coating the head of his cock with it, gently thumbing it right into his slit—all while the assault on his prostate only continues. The sensations of pain and pleasure coupled together this way is crushing, and before long, it sends him over the edge completely.

"That's it... there we go..."

With a shout, Richard's orgasm is ripped unbidden from his body. He's coming harder than he's had in a long time: spilling ropes and ropes of white across both their bodies as his former teacher continues to fuck into his oversensitized body. 

He slumps, defeated, while Rivers finishes inside of him not long after. The older man is placing a kiss on his belly, his thighs—clearly enjoying every bit of the satisfaction he derives from taking Richard apart completely like this. 

"Now, now... there's no need to cry anymore," he murmurs. A thumb wipes the tears that silently flowed down his cheeks. "After all, we can finally play with each other again."

Rivers smirks as he kisses the broken young man on his bed. 

  "Welcome home, Dick."

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 1

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing

[read on AO3 here]

He had first spotted it on his Chemistry Department's bulletin a week ago—set apart from the rest as being the one with the least art, the least color, and the most unassuming font to ever grace an ad. Isaac was just heading back to his dorm from having gotten his third D- in the class when he saw the stark flash of white from the corner of his eye.

A nondescript little flyer, advertising for some home-based, one-on-one tutoring off-campus.

He'd never admit it to his parents, but Isaac thinks he prefers it like that: learning with a real person on the other end. His first and only experience with it was on campus, with the student mentors he had the pleasure of working with last semester, but it was enough to open his eyes to it and never look back. His positive experiences that semester—being heard, listened to, treated as an average person and not another bottom line to satisfy—had made Isaac wonder for the first time whether there was more to learning than what he’s been led to believe all his life: whether classes, academics did not have to be the chores that they were—but something that could be appreciated with others, for their own sake.

He shudders to think what they would say to him now, if only they knew what he was up to. Mingling with everyday folk, and even learning a thing or two from them. But that was what college was all about, wasn’t it? Learning and trying all sorts of things a parent would never approve of, all on your own.

That’s what Isaac is doing now at least, in the passenger’s seat of a cab. It was unfortunate that the student mentors he so loved were unavailable this time around—mainly due to both popular demand and the sheer intensity of classes this semester. Still, all that meant was that he had to expand his search a little more. The two tutors from the flyer had offered help for an impressive breadth of STEM subjects: ranging from Calculus and Physics, General and Organic Chemistry, even to four different branches of biology. He had called the number provided and scheduled for a session for 3:00PM today, for help on Organic Chemistry, and is now on his way to meet them for the very first time. It’s not as if he’s sneaking around doing something awful, and yet Isaac feels a bit of a thrill in this—for being in control of at least one aspect of his life, for the first time.

As he skims the address plaques from the window of the cab, Isaac can't help but wonder about all sorts of things of his new tutors. How old are they? What relationship do the two have with each other? What inspired them both to take on this job? He wonders the reason for their preference to work from a house in the suburbs, as opposed to the luxury of a more established organization. The voice he had heard on the other end of the call last week was Wilfred’s: Caucasian, friendly, probably well in his late forties or fifties. Isaac wonders if it's him who will be tutoring him or the other tutor, Alexander.

Either way, he’s excited to meet them both.

“.. Oh, right here please. Thank you.”

He tips the driver and steps out of the vehicle with his belongings. Walking up to the welcome mat laid neatly under the white wooden door, he rings the doorbell and waits.

The neighborhood here is nice. It’s a quiet little cul-de-sac: a modest row of brownstone houses all lined up one after another, like a looping trail of dominoes. Instead of sprawling green lawns, many of the houses here have small gardens dotting along their front porches—a few morning glories here, rhododendron bushes there, even a plant growing little red chili peppers from across the street. This house in particular had pink, rose-like flowers he’s never seen before, adorning the entrance of the house in hanging baskets affixed to the ceiling.

Isaac hears footsteps approaching from the inside before the door finally opens. To his surprise, out steps a young man: dark hair and dimples, and barely any older than Isaac himself. The young man extended a hand to greet him, smiling.

“Welcome! You must be Isaac?”

He nods, shaking the outstretched hand.

“You can call me Alex,” the young man says. “I’m the other tutor here, along with Wilfred. It’s great to finally meet you, Isaac; please, come on in!”

Alex walks with him through the foyer, down the hall, and into the living room of the house—where all their tutoring sessions will be held. All the while, he’s all smiles as he goes over with Isaac the specifics of their arrangement.

“Tutoring usually lasts an hour, though we can always extend it if need be. It’s just us two for now, so we’re pretty flexible with our scheduling. You mentioned you preferred once a week on Thursdays to prep for your Friday exams, correct?”

”Yes, that’s correct,” he replied, grimacing slightly as he recounts the three awful ones he’s already been handed back so far. He has got to turn that around, and he’s sure he could with the help of this tutoring.

“Alright! Just let us know if that day no longer works for you for any reason, or if you want to add any more sessions in the future. Wilfred and I are happy to be of help, in any way we can.”

When they finally reach the living room at the end of the hall, the young man walks him to the brown leather couch right in the middle.

“Wilfred is in the kitchen right now, making snacks for the session. I’ll let him know you’re here so that we can get started right away. In the meantime, though,” he waves his hand, motioning for Isaac to sit before he heads to the kitchen, “Please, make yourself right at home here.”

Isaac sets his bag down next to his feet as he sits. He’s thrilled to have the privilege of studying with such wonderful people, and in such an inviting environment. The house is unique, welcoming, and charmingly eclectic in its furnishings; he feels he could identify at least five distinct styles and periods from the various things in the living room alone—all married together nicely to provide the overall personal, comforting atmosphere of the house. On the coffee table in front of him was a glass vase, filled with the same, swirling pink flowers he had seen from the hanging baskets outside.

But what catches his attention the most in the living room was not the flowers, or any of the other furnishings, but what sits across from it: all on its own, separated from anything else in the room.

There, positioned against the wall opposite him, stood a magnificent, cherry-red grandfather clock. Isaac's gaze is helplessly drawn to the structure: the swing of its shiny brass pendulum from behind the glass, to and fro and to and fro, with each movement accompanied by the monotonous, dull ticking of each second marching by. Isaac finds himself oddly relaxing to it as he stares on—sinking back into the soft cushions of the couch, letting each of the muscles in his body slowly unwind and let go of the tension he didn’t know he was even carrying with each heavy swing. His thoughts scatter away from him the more he watches the bob of the pendulum until there remains nothing else to pry him away from the hypnotic pull of the clock, lulling him deeper and deeper in unawares.

It was only when Wilfred himself appeared in front of him, setting down a tray of warm cookies on the table and blocking the clock from his direct line of sight, that Isaac was finally able to snap out of his strange reverie.

“Oh—! I… I’m so sorry,” he apologized, frowning. Isaac straightens up immediately, sitting up on the edge of the couch. “You haven’t been waiting long for me there, have you? I have no idea what’s gotten into me…”

“Oh, no; not at all,” The older tutor smiles, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. “I don’t mind it, really. I'm just glad you're able to find it so relaxing here."

After setting the tray down, the man extends a large hand out to shake his.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Isaac. Alex had probably told you already, but my name is Wilfred. We both look forward to working with you as your tutors from here on out.”

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 2

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing

[read on AO3 here]

Isaac stares at the tray of cookies on the table.

He figures these must be the snacks Alex was referring to earlier, but he’s still taken aback to see them here just the same. In all of his time with the posh, high-end programs of his parents’ choosing, no one has ever done anything more for him than what was strictly required. He can't seem to recall a time when any of his tutors had shown the slightest modicum of interest in him as a person—let alone a gesture as thoughtful as this.

The cookies had smelled great even before, filling the rest of the house with the rich aroma of butter and vanilla from all the way back in the kitchen. But now—sitting right here in front of him—they smelled nothing short of divine. The sweet, delectable scent wafted from the freshly baked goods into his nose, making Isaac salivate at the sight of them.

It's enough even to momentarily distract from the strangeness of what had just happened.

“Please, help yourself to some,” the tutor insists, gesturing to the tray as he sits himself down. “I’ve made them for you to have as you study.”

Isaac thanks him as he takes him up on his offer. Remarkably, the cookies are one of the best Isaac’s ever tasted: warm, fluffy, and just as sweet as they smelled—with the right amount of butter in them to make them melt perfectly with every bite. If he wasn't already hungry before, he certainly is now after just one taste. Isaac proceeds to munch on two more, finishing each one just as quickly as he takes them.

“While you’re at it, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself, too? I prefer to get to know my students first before we start working together, if that’s alright.”

Isaac is only happy to oblige over the scrumptious treats. He tells Wilfred all about himself: that he’s a first year undergraduate, 18 years old, and a double-major in both biology and chemistry, under the premedical program at the Institute of Health and Medicinal Sciences. “I’m currently taking organic chemistry after having finished accelerated general chemistry last semester,” he shares, in between bites of his third cookie. “That's why I'm here: to receive help for that class. I’ve come here after seeing one of your adverts posted on the Chemistry department’s bulletin.”

"Double major and premedical program, all on top of attending one of the best schools in the country?” Wilfred whistles appreciatively. “You must often have your hands full."

Isaac nods. "Just today I hadn't even had the time for lunch. I came as soon as I could—I headed here immediately after finishing up with my lab and coursework for the day."

"In all of my years of working as a tutor it never ceases to amaze me, how diligently students work these days. I can't fathom how so many of you kids do it: juggling that many classes, labs, homework." Wilfred smiles at him, cloying and sweet. "And finding the time for outside help still, on top of all that? It’s all so impressive."

Isaac feels his face flush at that. It's not even a particularly big compliment, but Isaac is terrible at receiving praise—always had been, after years of rarely receiving them as a child. It takes nearly everything in him to shyly accept this one from the older tutor.

"How many semesters of organic chemistry are you required to take for your premedical track? We can definitely alter the structure of our sessions so that we slowly ease you in to learning the more advanced topics while still covering for this one, if you'd prefer."

"Ah, that won't be necessary—I only need one semester," Isaac replies, adding, "though, I have to warn you: I am really behind as it is. I don't know if I will ever catch up in the class, or even what we will be able to cover in the span of time that we have together. At this point though, I'm sure any little bit helps."

“Do you have any other help available to you for this challenging class? Office hours with your instructor, maybe—or perhaps any student mentors or tutors in the school?”

He shakes his head. He shares with the tutor just how dismal the student mentor shortage had become in recent times, the unapproachable professor of the class, and how little options both had left him with.

“Well there's no need to worry anymore, at least,” Wilfred says, reassuringly, “It's what we tutors are here for, isn't it? We'll do our best to get you up to where you need to be. With some hard work you'll be in a better place by the end of it, I'm sure.”

"For now..." The tutor pulls out a whiteboard and a handful of colorful dry erase from underneath the table, “...Why don't we just get started and see where we go from here?"

Isaac nods, eager to get to work.

- - - - -

“You’ve mentioned your interest in going over the basics, so let’s start with a review of molecular bonds and orbitals.” Deftly uncapping the red marker with one hand, the tutor starts drawing on the whiteboard a chemical structure as he continues to speak. “This should be familiar to you from general chemistry, but I’d like to emphasize a few things from this section because a few of these concepts will be important in building the groundwork for future topics.”

Isaac does his best to follow along. Just as Wilfred had stated, most of these are concepts he'd already learned from the previous semester. Still, Isaac is grateful for it nonetheless; it’s good to have a refresher, after quite a while since having last seen the material. He can also appreciate the way Wilfred is approaching the material, too—enunciating clearly, concisely, always maintaining a balanced pace between not too quick and not too slow. He doesn‘t want the entire session today to only consist of review of course, but he does not want to risk glossing over anything either.

Something noticeably changes as the tutor segues into the new material, however.

Isaac could feel goosebumps prickle his skin as, all of a sudden, Wilfred’s voice seemingly takes on a strange quality to it. Softer. Calming. Pleasant to the ears, in a way he can only describe as almost inhuman. Isaac finds himself drawn to this new soothing voice, as the tutor continues his lecture on arrow pushing. He feels himself unconsciously relaxing to it—the tension practically melting away from his muscles as he listens attentively, until his frame had sunk back against the cushions entirely. Isaac appreciates the way the tutor adjusts his pace, too: gradually slowing down, until both his honeyed words and the arrows he drew on the board start to fall in rhythm with one another, and eventually with the steady ticking of the cherry-red grandfather clock.

To and fro. To and fro.

To and fro.

“I want you to focus on the flow of electrons about the molecule, depicted here by these arrows we push. Bond-to-bond... To and fro... Students often feel as if the concept of arrow-pushing is difficult—but there's really nothing to it, see? As long as you focus, you'll do just fine...”

Isaac nods, slowly. Nothing yet of organic chemistry seems challenging or anything out-of-the ordinary. In fact, it felt rather nice, even—to be going over such simple material like this with someone so nice to him. Why was it that he needed help with this, again? What did he even struggle with before? Isaac can’t seem to remember anymore, transfixed as he was to the pull of Wilfred's voice and the structures on the board.

“It becomes so much easier when you focus only on the important things, doesn't it? Just these arrows; nothing else. There's no need to think of anything else right now—thinking is too difficult; thinking will only... complicate things." Wilfred smiles, dark and predatory. "We want things to remain easy in this course, don't we?"

"Let everything go, Isaac, and focus. Focus on these arrows; focus on the clock. Focus on the sound of my voice...”

Isaac moans. He's helpless as he feels the rest of his thoughts scattering away one by one, slowly being siphoned off until his brain is little more than mush, whipped senseless by the constant, repetitive stream of stimuli. His body sags further down on the couch, sinking with the newfound weightlessness. The dazed expression left across his face is as empty as his head—a blank slate, perfect for Wilfred to write over as he pleases.

"Yes, just like that. It must feel so good, to relax and let go of everything." Slowly, the tutor gets up from across the table and makes his way towards him. He sits on the couch next to him, whiteboard still in hand, as he continues drawing the arrows that hold Isaac captive. Over and over again.

To and fro. To and fro.

"Do you want to feel even more relaxed, Isaac?” he whispers, hot against his ear. "Would you like me to make you feel so much better?"

Without once taking his eyes off the board, Isaac silently nods.

"Good," Wilfred drawls, fingers gently stroking the hollow of his cheeks. "In a moment, Isaac, I'm going to count aloud all the arrows here. With each one you hear me count, you'll be made to feel so much better: warm, and sleepy, and all the more relaxed for me."

"You'll feel like you want sleep more than anything in the world—but you won't be able to until I finish, no. I'll let you have a little 'study break', but only once we're done. Then, and only then, will I allow you to fall into a nice, deep sleep."

Without further ado, Wilfred starts to count. Steadily, to the rhythm of the grandfather clock, he counts aloud the curved arrows as he draws them—plunging Isaac closer and closer to the brink of sleep, edging him without any reprieve. He had merely gotten to the fourth one, when Isaac interrupts him with his whimpers.  

"Please," he breathes out, barely coherent in his delirious, semi-conscious state. "Please, please let me..."

Wilfred smiles. He hushes him and continues on counting, without skipping a beat.

Six...

Seven...

By the time the last number had left the tutor's lips, Isaac's entire body had fallen limp across his lap—out cold; blissfully asleep.