#con abuse

[add1ctedpup]

arff .ᐟ.ᐟ arffggg .ᐟ.ᐟ eli at your service hueheu disz meee .ᐟ.ᐟ does my ownersz likes my artss (〃´𓎟`〃)"/)"

hehwsszz ( theysz made me a bit more white...z rfgghh )

[h3ml0ck3]

I love being a stupid little puppy ^w^

[redhoodsleftnut]

i am not looking for a hypnosis kink situation, or any kind of typical kinky stuff. i dont mind kink being infused into it, or even the entire focus (truly, truly, whatever you want, master), but i want you to own me. i need you to break me. i dont want to be my own person, i want to exist for you. for you to use however youd like. for you to abuse as much as you want. for you to torture, fuck, or just a stupid cash pig.. just do whatever you want to me.

[keferon]

What are your thoughts on a decepticon prowl?

Oh I'm all for it. But! Only if he's actually a Con. Like. Wholeheartedly.

Not "nnnooo we're doingg a bad thing and I kind of dont wanna do bad thing but I have no choice poor me".

You know how in canon he truly believes he's on the right side and makes everything to ensure that Optimus wins the war? You know how he's willing to make every tough decision so Optimus doesn't have to risk his reputation? You know how he literally makes Autobots look like shiny brave and clean heroes who did nothing wrong ever?

I want all that but the other way around. I want him to do that for Megatron and for the Decepticons. The implications would be so fucking dramatic I could write a whole essay.

Low rank Cons would hate him so fucking bad.

Starscream would try to murder him at least once a day.

Megatron would absolutely treasure him. Autobots would have it r o u g h

Can you imagine

[konigsblog]

not sure if you've don this yet but stockholm syndrome with konig

like reader tryed to run once and after that became 'such a sweet thing'

TW: KIDNAPPER-KÖNIG, KIDNAPPING, ABUSE, RAPE. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. MDNI 18+

At some point, you can't resist König's 'love'. You're comforted by the abuse and rape, how obsessed König is over you. You enjoy having someone admire and dote over you 24/7. If anything, you crave it.

When König isn't with you, you fall into a depressive slump. You ignore the bowl of porridge on the dirty ground beside you, even when König has left a handwritten note left beside it. He'll be gone for the majority of the day, running errands, he says. The thought of being without König for hours leaves you weeping, your appetite now lost, and it becomes cold rather quickly. You play around with the sticky mush and distract yourself by thinking about your past, what life was like without König.

You've convinced yourself that your life without König wasn't healthy, that you were depressed and anxious constantly, never healing from anything. Now, that you are with your true love and soulmate, you can relax, let your guard down. König means so much to you, even when he love bombs you and leaves you alone for days, without food or water, only bruises on your soft skin and hips. He leaves blood and cum all down your thighs, only bathing you after three days. You sob at his comforting and familiar touch, the way the rough skin on his calloused hands graze against your body.

He may be sick and twisted, an abuser and a rapist, but to you, he's the love of your life, your reason to keep going. Or at least, that's what he repeats every single day, until you believe him and trust him, allow him to take control even if a part of you is screaming for you to defend and protect yourself from that sick, monstrous bastard.

[mizgnomer]

Furniture Abuse by David Tennant - Part Seven (!)

For even more Furniture Abuse: [ One ] [ Two ] [ Three ] [ Four ] [ Five ] [ Six ]

[alicenpai]

i love...wanpee...........🍊🍶🧡💚

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare 

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

I. in media res

     -the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

     -intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

     -fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

     -avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

     -broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

     -kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

[marejuka]

Pls dont bully me, i'll c4m

I knew it was stupid that i told the guy who bullied me for years to " shut the f up"

I knew it was stupid when he asked for forgivness and i accepted.

I knew it was stupid that i got home with him

____________________________________________

...

His left hand was in my hair pulling so hard my back Arched against his hard croch, hands against the cold wall of his room while my nails Dug into some cheap Posters of boxers. I tried keeping my mouth shut but the violent Hits against my ass and sometimes against my ribs made it hard not to cry and plead. "Please stop"my whiny voice encouraged him, i could feel his breath getting heavier. He made me whimper at every spank, the Hits got more aggressive every second. I could feel my knees weaken and embarrassingly my panties get wet. My mind Was full of how i could get out this Situation without him noticeing how arroused i am. I was so busy trying not to let the pain get out of hand and trying to come up with an escape plan that I didn't notice him opening my bra at first.

My breath fell silent when the hits stopped and a big rough hand wrapped around my soft tits, he still had his hand in my hair and made me arch even more against him. His other hand was Playing with my titt roughly. My mouth opened and soft moans escaped it without me Wanting it.His mouth nibbled at the soft flesh of my neck, the outprint of his Member pressed against my round ass, Sexual excitement filled my thin body which made me forget my fear of him. I grabbed at his hair, my voice whiny and full of need for him; " take me..mhmm take my virginity please.. just you ahh" he hummed deeply , his hand still busy with my perky titts. I almost forgot his mean behavior when we were in school

he let go of me and turned me around to force me against the wall, he looked down at my blushed face. Tiny hands rabbed the end of his tshirt, he grabbed them and held them above my head with just one if his hands. His eyes look dark, full of lust and hatred.

" you come with me, you let me degraid you infront of people and now you beg me to stretch your tight stupid hole?.." his voice became weirdly angry at me,the free hand closed around my narrow neck and he immediately pressed tightly " why have you never had a boyfriend? you are So pretty, a great body, a good little girl with good character" his praising made my heart beat faster, his hand around my neck and my wrists gave me a Feeling of being completly defenseless and at his dominant temper" i know why..i know you get wet when im mean, i know you like it that im choking you" i was at first disappointed when he let go of my neck but not long. He pushed his hand under my short skirt into my slip, feeling my wet cunt that has been drenching my tighs " my my your little pssy is just as needy as you have been telling me"

i moand in Respond. His Fingers slid through my wet folds. I bucked my hips into his hand. Finally after alot of teasing, i felt one of his Huge Fingers slowly entering my hole. At first it was just his Fingertip. He groand at my tight Walls that hug his Finger. I tried to keep quite but failed automatically when he entered me completly. He first didnt move, just so he could feel my tight Walls clenching " p-please move i-aah" He immediately pull his finger out so he could ram it back in with force " omg y-yes f-fuck"I wanted to encourage him with my whimpering to be rougher and it worked out. He looked down at me his breath was heavie, his face distorted into a lustful expression "Yea you like getting fucked by me? Fuuck i wish i knew sooner" lips crashed against mine. Thrusts became harder, moans filled his room when his thumb caressed my clit.

I swung my head to side so the tall men had free access to my neck. " ahh oh my aah w-wait not two Fingers its too much" He didnt Listen to my pleas and shoved another Finger in my soaked hole " you can do it stupid little girl, you came with me.. you wanted this! Tell me .. TELL ME" there is the angry voice again. My mind weak from all the degraiding made me submissive, aswell it made me weak that i didnt want him to stop Fingering my cunt, my clit was already swollen.. the familiar Feeling was building up in my tummy. In no Circumstances i wanted him to stop, i would do anything " nhha w-what .. what do you wanna hear sir? Please dont stop i need you i- Aah i do anything " tears rolling down my pretty face. He continued with a dark look on his face

" tell me the truth, why did you never report me?"I look at him innocently, he already knows the truth. He slows down so can answer him

" i wanted you" I got that far, he crached down on my lips while fingering rougher than ever before. My eyes rolled into the back of my head. We kissed so roughly my lips were cracked when he let go so we can catch a breath. My orgasm Was so close, finally he let go of my wrist that were above my head the entire time. Finally i Was allowed to feel him, his muscles flexing underneath his Shirt made me feeling even hotter. "Cum for me sweet stupid girl.." he talked so sweetly that i didnt even noitice his degraiding words, i didnt care even if he called me the meanest words. 3... s-so close 2.. .. " ahh yess sir y -yeess ahh oh my " with loud moans and alot of squirting i came on his hand.

" i hope its clear to you that you are mine now little girl"

I look up at him and just nod

[valtsv]

Please in no way shape or form feel obligated to answer this but since I so rarely hear about MEDICAL abuse as opposed to, ya know, the more traditional verbal/physical type (tho I think that they often go hand-in-hand) and I want to compare experiences. Was your mom "always" alternative for EVERYONE or did she make exceptions for herself? For example my mom never got me vaccinated and, like yours, withheld all sorts of medication under the guise of "protecting" me but when she got diagnosed with a chronic illness she started taking whatever the doctors gave her under excuses of her pain being "unbearable" or HER doctor not being a quack like the others, etc. Honestly it's been 4 years since I've had any contact with my mom but what makes me the maddest looking back was her hypocrisy.

my mom is on the opposite end of the spectrum in that regard. she categorically refuses to participate in any medical treatment that conflicts with her personal principles, and claimed she would kill herself if she was faced with no choice but to be vaccinated during covid (needless to say i haven't told her i'm fully vaxxed), and i believe her, because once when she had a fever so high her body seized up and she went into shock she refused to let us take her to hospital and told me she'd never forgive me if i dialled for a doctor. the whole experience needless to say didn't make me trust her opinion more, and i'm aware of how ableist and dangerous her "if your body isn't strong enough to deal with its health issues naturally it's because you're doing something wrong" stance is. i'm really sorry your mom is such a hypocrite though, that's hellishly infuriating.

[ren4ever]

Limerence love

TW: nsfw at the bottom (you'll be warned there, for now SFW 15+) masked men kink, "if anything i wouldnt even wish limerence upon my enemies"

🐰 h/n, the man you have an big fat crush on for no reason even though he gives u icks left n right and yet u still fantantize over this big bully, do you really just love being shoved to his locker while being whispered depraved shit? thats fucking delusional. 🐰 Your friend that always had been supportive with everything untill she heard that you like h/n, she always complains why your into such douchebags and that you could find a better man than him

🐰 you also frquently stalk his intagram and he knows it, you can hear him often chuckling with his friends about how desperate you are but secreeetttlyyyy maybe, just maybe he likes you ... a bit? 🐰 your parents decided to move to an different city for no fucking reason, so slowly but surely you started losing feelings for him 🐰 after several years you finally graduated and got hired as an militairy nurse 🐰 while you were getting an tour of the base, you noticed someone who looked fimilair leaning against the walls, staring at you. BEFORE READING FURTHER, NSFW WARNING TW: non-con (MINORS SCROLL)

after the tour you imediately evacuted to the restroom you started panicking! as you felt an cold, eerie presence behind u, your hands on the sink counter started trembling. Before u could even move he easily traps you against the sink, whilst using his free hand to pull onto ur hair "Where'd you think your going?" you struggle against him "let me fucking go" he scoffed at your pathetic plea, finally letting go off your hair "shut up" giving you an fierce glance before he forcefully drags you out of the restroom, his grip was too strong so your body just eventually gave up he then easily swang you over to his broad big shoulders, walking towards his barracks he roughly threw you onto his bed like a useless ragdoll before he crawled on top of you, "wh-- what are you doing?!-" you tried agressively kicking him off of you but he didnt care it as if you were just a little mouse compared to him "behave" he whispered calmy, while tearing ur clothes off as an needy maniac zziiiiippp "seeing a real man's dick for the first time hmm, yeah?" he then strokes his length while staring at your messed up face before he shoves it ruthelessly in you, you couldnt do anything but protest weakly "S-Shit.. ah.. s-stop! pleasee..." u beg him to stop while you writhe beneath him "shhh.." he wrap his hand around your neck forcing u to choke and hiccupping for air, "this is what you'll get for making me wait all those fucking years!" using you to relieve his fusteration (yeah, no im bad at writing NSFW so ill end it here sighhhh)

face down on the pillow, gasping for air with humiliating moans n whimpers.

[add1ctedpup]

new yearsz if ut was peak

(i wldve transitioned into a doggy rn rfffgh n probably be takn care of)

[h3ml0ck3]

^ - ^ we're gonna get as h1gh as we can !!!! plz send us asks 〜 (＞人＜;)

[diejager]

I HAVE A (kinda) stepdad!König+DBF!Horangi

so it was a while ago but I reealllyyyy liked the one u did where reader’s sort of hooking up w/ soap and ghost on the side?? If u remember that

I was wondering if you could do a story where they’re sort of just hooking up occasionally (as often as reader can get away) but clearly both the boy like them and want to further it but she’s worried about König and Horangi finding out.

pretty much they notice her exhibiting really weird behaviors in and out of bed towards them?? She’ll freak out if they approach her a specific way (not knowing König and Horangi take advantage of her that way) or sort of doesn’t rly care about her own pleasure cuz she’s sacrificing it for theirs…just sort of stuff that makes Soap and Ghost go “uhhh 🧍🧍‍♂️that’s kinda weird innit” (they’re presenting traits of being groomed/manipulated/raped/etc)

anyways somehow Soap and Ghost find out ab what’s going on at home and….yeah they’re not happy 😬😬

Thank you for your consideration!!!

— 🌘 !

Cw: DARKFIC, STEPCEST, DUB-CON/NON-CON, implied smut, abuse, implied kidnapping, possessive behaviour, implied one night stand, implied crush, kinda poly, tell if I missed any.

They weren’t saints. If anything, they were the farthest thing possible from good-natured men, with kind hearts and sound morals. Ghost and Soap were sick men, soaked in bloodshed and tragedy, gunpowder and tears, they weren’t good men, they were simply men doing another’s dirty work to keep the world safer. They’d seen their fair share of filth on this earth, the most depraved and savage monsters that found pleasure in plundering and killing, covert crimes done under the nose of most civilians, and hushed exchanges for prizes. They, themselves, have committed unforgettable and unforgivable acts, torture, murders, arson, and so, so much regrettable things that would forever scar their victims.

But this- your situation was gut-wrenching, in a way that twisted their guts and made their throats tight, deathly silent in the brewing rage. From Simon, who had an abusive up-bringing and torturous life, morals and ethics twisted beyond normalcy and comprehension; to Johnny, who’s busybody life turned darker and darker with every life he’s taken, bodies piling over bodies, a permanent reminder that he wasn’t the same bright-eyed and goodwilling saint he was when he first enlisted. 

They were mad: Simon enraptured in wrath, burning hotter than hell’s fire, whose rage rivaled one of God; and Johnny bubbled with rage, running through his veins like rivers of magma, scorching everything on his path to ash and rock. They were enraged to see the way you were used and forced into a new purpose by older men —much, much older men that they knew. Whereas Simon seethed silently, Johnny screeched loudly, words stumbling in a crazed frenzy.

It just- it simply wasn’t a good-natured frenzy. Ghost and Soap were not good men. It stemmed from jealousy and emotional possession. The many dates that you’d suddenly canceled, calling in a rain check that they had listened, were because you’d been fucked numb, legs too weak to walk or support you, tied to your bed or filled with another man’s cum. How rarely they met you outside of simple bar nights with your girlfriends before you’d hookup with them for the night until you had to leave. Or your reoccurring bruises, hidden under the clear lie of being clumsy, a white lie, truly, but a lie nonetheless and they hated liars. 

And the worse thing, the one that hits the most, was that you were being fucked, and abused, and taken advantage of by men they constantly butted heads with. Once enemies, always enemies. They didn’t forgive or forget in their business, and their rivalry would continue until one or the other had died. Ghost would plan, scheme your taking and Soap would take care of you, a man much softer than his rough hide. Soap would gently introduce you into your new life, and if it does work, then Ghost would have to step in, eyes dark and heart frozen over. 

You’d eventually like living with them. At least you liked them.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[wri0thesley]

yet again thinking about wriothesley but i'm thinking about old perv wriothesley duke of the fortress of meropide administrator in charge of your prison sentence and your punishments and all of the humiliating things he makes you do that no other inmates are subjected to. it's nice of him, you suppose, to have you as his personal assistant so you don't need to do heavy labour (he'd chuckled, quirked an eyebrow; 'and ruin those pretty hands?' he'd said. 'have you out there for anyone to take advantage of in a dark corner? and hurt yourself? no, sweetheart. you're better off here. it's a much better job for someone as . . . green as you are.')

but you don't know how you feel about the uniform you have to wear. he furrows his brow when you voice a quiet, squeaky complaint, and you're too scared to do it again so you wear the short tight skirt that emphasises the curve of your hip and the little pouch of your tummy, the blouse that's just too small to button over your chest without popping a few off, the stockings that dig into the pudge of your thighs, fiddle with the garters--

and you don't wear underwear, because three times a day wriothesley comes over to your desk and makes you climb onto your desk and spread your thighs for him for an 'inspection'. just to make sure you're taking care of yourself. just to make sure you're not letting anyone between your legs, to make sure that you're just as pretty as he remembers. thumbs spreading the lips of your labia wide, breath hot against your sensitive folds, mouth murmuring so close to your clit you can barely stand it, fingers prodding against your entrance with chuckles about how tight you are and how cute it is when you get wet for him like this and tremble and whine and sniffle--

yep. wriothesley pats your cunt as he stands up, the chains and rings sending a shock through your over-sensitive exposed folds. just a routine inspection, sweetheart, he tells you as he adjusts his trousers. no funny business. just doing his duty. just making sure you're being good.

[hannahbarberra162]

Yes, I have a lot to work on. BUT ALSO mean Marco. So. I'll pop it on Ao3 later as an OS.

It's fun to be mean.

TW: DEAD DOVE, NON CON, mean mean Marco, Victorian asylum AU, medical mistreatment, forced exhibitionism

The clacking of shoes on the tiled floor made you perk up your head as far as it would go with the restraints. You’d been defiant that morning and had bitten the orderly when he tried to feel your breasts during your morning “treatment.” You regretted your actions - the orderly had then stripped you down and dressed you in a medical gown before putting you in full restraints to the narrow hospital bed. Your arms and legs ached from being stretched in the same position for so long and your neck was bound to the bed as well, making looking in any direction other than up difficult. You had a gag in your mouth to ensure you didn’t bite anyone else and it was making your jaw ache while drool pooled in your mouth. You’d been staring at the blank white ceiling for hours, finally feeling like you had the “insanity” that your family claimed was your ailment.

You’d been in the asylum for months - or so you thought, it was difficult to keep track of time from your windowless room. Your family had wanted you to marry Marco “the Phoenix” Newgate, the handsome doctor who ran the asylum. He had gotten his nickname for being so skilled in medical treatment that he’d brought many patients back from the brink of death. Marco was from a large and wealthy family, the first son of the Newgate magnate. You didn’t care, there was something in the doctor’s eyes that gave you pause, some base part of your reptilian brain telling you to run. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a predator and the hair on the back of your neck rose whenever he kissed your hand chastely. Your parents accused you of having hysteria for not wanting to marry such a well respected, handsome and intelligent bachelor. Ever the gentleman, Marco “The Phoenix” said he would honor the original arrangement, that he would see to your treatment personally in his own luxury sanatorium. Thus your family had checked you into the sanatorium against your will and he’d been tending to you ever since.

Society was abuzz with how kind the doctor was to love someone as silly as you, how incredibly lucky you were that the blond doctor would make you his wife after your illness had concluded. There were more sordid whispers that the doctor was a skilled lover, that he was a veritable angel in bed. But you knew better - you knew the doctor was a demon sent from hell. You hated seeing his half lidded eyes as they watched you succumb to his treatments, his very presence made your skin crawl. There was nothing to do - you were stuck in the sanatorium until he said you were mentally fit. And you suspected that day might never come. 

Still, you held onto a naive hope that the sound was the nurses coming to check on you and give you a sip of water. As the reverberating sounds of chatter reached your ears, you heard the low voice that made an unbidden shiver run down your spine. Closing your eyes, you held on to one last shred of hope that they’d continue down the hallway to torture someone else for a change. The jingle of the door handle had your heart beating faster and faster as the creaking door opened. 

“Which of course, brings us to the patient here yoi,” the doctor said, speaking only to his medical students. He rarely spoke to you directly in front of others, preferring to talk to you during your personal night treatments. Your nipples hardened even as you tried pulling against your restraints in vain. He had you trained well, one of his best and most responsive patients, he said. He always said it was a shame that you had to linger in the Psychiatric Hospital with how lovely you were, but he simply couldn’t release you until your hysteria had cleared. 

Walking closer to your bed, the doctor pulled a stool to the front of your bed and snapped his fingers to the orderlies who had come into the room with him. You tried to stop the whimper that left your throat as they adjusted your bindings so your legs were in the stirrups attached to the end of the bed. You’d tried fighting at this point many times before but the only effect was the further tightening of the straps on the stirrups, securing your legs in an even harsher grip. Doctor Marco turned the crank to the stirrups, opening them as far as they would go. Your already aching legs protested sharply but you didn’t make any noise; you knew from experience that the Doctor didn’t appreciate it when you did. Cold air hit your bald pussy as Marco hummed in approval.  

Sitting on the low wooden stool, Doctor Marco slotted himself between your now open legs, your bare pussy on display to the assorted medical students crowding around him. You’d been shaved personally by Marco to better allow the students to see your anatomy, he said. Even though this treatment had been given to you many times before, shame brought a flush to your face as you heard Doctor Marco snap gloves on his hands. At least you could only stare up this time, you didn’t have to watch the medical students become engrossed in your torture.

“Unfortunately this patient has to be completely restrained due to her temperament. She was brought to the hospital a few months ago by her family, her hysteria causing her to be completely unmanageable. And who can tell the group the cure for female hysteria yoi?” the doctor asked. You already knew the answer, you’d heard parts of this lecture many times over. 

“Yes?” the Doctor said, indicating a student who had raised his hand.

“Prophylactic enemas?” one student answered, making your shudder. Doctor Marco ran a hand down your thigh as a means to soothe you but it only made you quiver more.

“No, though this patient does receive those as well to induce colo-rectal compliance. Any other answers?” Doctor Marco asked the assembled students. You heard no other students speak and Doctor Marco sighed, causing your panic to rise immediately. You tried to close your legs out of instinct for what you knew was coming, but Doctor Marco slapped your inner thigh.

“It seems your professors have been remiss in their classroom instruction yoi. But that’s what practical rotations are for. The patient needs to be brought to repeated orgasm in order to quell her hysteria. Observe,” the doctor said, bringing his hands closer to your cunt. You whined and tried to move away but were so tightly bound there was no movement you could make to shift from the Doctor’s wicked hands. 

“You see, she is already moving in an attempt to avoid treatment. Many patients with hysteria behave this way but you can guide them back to health with a firm hand,” Marco said, punctuating his sentence with a slap to your pussy. “Don’t feel the need to be soft with them, poor handling is what got the dears into this mess in the first place,” Marco said as he spread your pussy lips apart and held them in place with his long fingers. Marco hadn’t done anything yet but your body had been through this procedure many times before and just the touch of his finger was enough to start your body’s reaction. You started to get wet, your slick pooling at the top of your thighs.

“As you can see, moisture is already dripping from her body to prepare for the cure to her ailment. This patient is particularly responsive which is why I prefer for medical students to observe her. Now this,” Doctor Marco said, pinching your clit, making you yelp, “is her clitoris. It contains the highest concentration of nerve endings in the female body. And most physicians believe that the fleshy nub is the sum total of the clitoris - but that is not the case. It actually has a larger area than that, spanning around the clitoris in an almost circular formation, though you will always get the best reaction from touching the clitoris directly.” Marco began stroking your clit with his gloved fingers, taking moisture from your leaking hole before continuing his ministrations.

“You may have noticed I used her own fluids as lubrication. That is preferable and we will get to the vaginal canal momentarily. For the moment, watch and observe.” With deft fingers, Doctor Marco began rubbing your clit in a practised fashion as he had so many times before. He knew your body like it was his own, playing you like a violin. He stroked with consistent pressure, rubbing you in small circles to the rapt attention of the students. You mewled against your will from behind the gag, small cries spilling from your lips as he continued to tease you. Your humiliation grew with your wetness as he continued to play with you to the endless intrigue of the students.

Doctor Marco was keeping you primed but never quite achieving release as he once again turned to his students. You tried to move your hips towards his hand in hopes of ending the session but the Doctor simply stopped stroking you, leaving only the hand still holding your lips apart.

“There are many potential treatments available at this juncture - you can bring the patient to the brink of orgasm but deny it at the last moment. This is effective as behavioral modification in addition to relieving hysteria. I once kept this patient engaged but unable to orgasm for five hours and at the end she was most agreeable to anything I suggested.” You shuddered as you remembered the event, you had cried and screamed for hours, begging for relief, for the doctor to stop, for God to strike you down from above, for anything other than the Doctor’s hands and mouth. It was brutal but luckily Marco saved it for those times when you were “non-compliant,” and “defiant.” You hoped today’s treatment didn’t include the same.

“You may also wish to cause several orgasms in short succession. This is likely to cause immediate distress to the patient but positive long term results. It is also a much shorter treatment duration than withholding orgasm which can be useful if you need to treat many patients. Today I’d like to demonstrate this technique for your edification.” Tears pooled on your lash line as you heard the announcement. You had been praying to any god that would listen for one orgasm at the hands of the doctor, the shortest treatment he gave you. Marco began stroking you gently again, this time pushing two of his thick fingers into you and bending them. Your toes curled as he forced your reaction.

“You can tell she is eager for release from her keening noises, the constriction of her vaginal canal, and the curling of her toes. If she were a better behaved patient you would be able to hear more of her lewd sounds as well. It is possible to see the constrictions from the outside but in clinical practice one should feel it manually yoi. Would anyone like to volunteer to identify the sensation?” You paled as you heard the Doctor’s question - this was something new. He’d never allowed the students to touch you during a treatment before. In your heart you knew this was retribution for not kissing him back the night before during his private session. But there wasn’t anything you could feasibly do to change the outcome of your current situation.

“You yoi. Come forward,” Marco said, handing a glove to whatever student he had selected. You heard another glove snapping on and short, limp fingers begin to prod at your opening.

“That’s it, push inside, she’s ready,” Doctor Marco instructed, the hand surging forward. The student was clumsy, nothing like Marco’s long skilled fingers. You felt multiple hands on you as Doctor Marco began stroking once more while holding your pussy open on display. The student was bothering you, pushing too weakly and inconsistently for you to enjoy the sensation. You whined in pain as he jabbed you with a stabbing motion rather than the smooth thrusts of the Doctor. Despite the jerks of the student’s hand you could feel yourself moving towards orgasm once more as Doctor Marco gave your clit more focused attention.

“Can you feel her canal gripping you?” Doctor Marco asked the student as he applied more pressure to your clit. After another moment of clumsy fingers moving about in you, Marco removed the hand of the student from within you. You sighed in relief as the painful sensations ended.

“No, no, you need more practice. You are showing hesitancy yoi. You need to remain in control, you are the doctor and she is the patient. Do not give her quarter to defy you. Allow me to demonstrate, this time using three fingers rather than the two from before. She can be quite wanton, you have to ensure she is satisfied,” Marco said, replacing the student’s fingers with his own. His large fingers stretched you as he worked them into you, pushing and curling his middle finger. You mewled loudly as he brushed your sweetest spot over and over again, still playing with your clit all the while. Panting, you felt the tension in you rising as you were brought closer and closer to orgasm, the students taking notes on your flushed form and leaking pussy. 

“I am stroking her Grafenberg spot, hence her intense reaction yoi. The clitoris can be stimulated simultaneously to produce orgasm as you'll see in just a moment. Come closer, I believe this patient is nearing their precipice.” You heard shuffling feet moving towards you as you strained against your bindings. Marco was stroking inside you with every pump of his fingers and rubbing your engorged clit, bringing you to close yet another unwanted orgasm. The loud squelching sounds of his fingers drowned out the murmurs of the medical students as they watched you curiously. 

“You can see her lubrication is increasing moment by moment. Her muscles are tense and she is straining against her bindings, those are all signs to look for. Ah, here she goes. Watch, I’ll give her a little spank and she’ll orgasm.” With that Marco slapped your clit and as if on command, you came around his fingers, screaming from behind your gag. Your vision went white as he continued to stroke and pump within you as you came, dragging out the sensation as long as possible. You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath as he removed his fingers. He parted your lips again, rubbing at your engorged clit with his thumb. You whined and started crying, the sensation too raw and close to your previous orgasm. 

“See how compliant she is? She has become increasingly docile and relaxed after many such treatments. Right now we are not letting her rest, she will be brought to another orgasm shortly by my hand,” Marco said, looking down at your face. He noted your tears with a smirk, reaching for your face to wipe them away. Unable to move, he brushed away the tears before taking your face in his hand.

“Perhaps later we can have a practical lesson and you students can take turns giving the patient her treatment under my supervision. Wouldn’t that be lovely, dear?” Marco said, addressing you directly for the first time. You looked up into the Doctor’s heavy lidded eyes, fear clouding your expression even as another orgasm built within you.

“Yes, she’s quite a needy patient. She will need many more treatments to ensure her mental health returns. Isn’t that so darling?” Marco said, looking you in the eyes. 

“But I have personally dedicated myself to healing her. She can stay in the asylum for treatment as long as she needs.”