Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason followed Tim down the hallway, eyeing the paintings hanging on the walls. Nothing interesting, really. Collections worth a fortune with no real artistic value.

Rich kid.

The bedroom door opened, and Tim gestured for him to enter, closing it quietly behind them.
A table with two chairs sat in the center of the room. It wasn’t big or ostentatious, but Jason was sure it cost more than his entire house.

Tim took a seat in one of the chairs, and Jason mirrored him, settling into the other.
On the table, a contract and a pen lay neatly arranged.

"I’d like this to be good for both of us, Mr. Todd."

Jason grimaced. The formality grated in his ears.

"Just Jason. 'Mr. Todd' is my father."

Tim smiled, wide and smug.
"We're not quite that close yet, Mr. Todd."

Jason rolled his eyes and focused on the contract.

"Whatever you say."

Tim started tapping his fingers against the table in a slow rhythm before speaking again:

"It’s just seven days I’ll need your company. I’ve laid out some options for what I want each day." —Tim turned a page, and Jason followed— "I’m not picky. I can give or take, depending on the mood. My greatest pleasure is knowing you're comfortable too."

Jason looked at the page for the first day. Today, specifically.

"Ties," he muttered. Not really surprising. Pretty standard, actually.

"I’d like that one for myself. Purple looks good on my skin."

"Fine."

Jason turned the page, reading carefully. His brow furrowed at the specifics.

"I’d like to take this one too," he murmured.

He looked up and caught the subtle dilation in Tim’s pupils.

Then came the next page. The word Green opened the paragraph.

He read slowly, second-guessing every line. The phrasing was odd. Slippery. Deliberate.

"I—"

Tim tilted his head, curious.

"If you can’t handle it, you’re free to leave. I’d prefer to have the same man for every day, Mr. Todd."

Jason swallowed hard, then nodded.

"I can handle it," he said, not entirely convinced, but knowing it wouldn’t be the worst thing he'd been asked to do.

"I’ll take it, of course. It's my game, after all," Tim added with a grin. Too many teeth. Too white. Fake.

Jason paused on the next page.

"Are you taking all of them?"

Tim shrugged, his smile unapologetic.

"You caught me. After living this long, a man starts craving bolder experiences."

Bold? This was deranged.

He should’ve known the moment he saw Yellow.

But again, it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had to do.

Jason flipped to the next prompt: Orange.
Literal. An orange.

"If I may ask... whose idea was this?"

Tim looked away for a second, chuckling under his breath.

"Someone who probably never expected it to go this far."

Don’t ask, Jason. You don’t want to know.

Finally, Red was scrawled in oversized letters, practically gleaming with enthusiasm.

The air caught in Jason’s throat. He felt the color drain from his skin. His hands trembled over the pages.

"This..."

Tim dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"You’ll be fine. Everything’s been arranged to make sure nothing bad happens to you."

"But—"

"Jason," Tim cut in, firm now. "If you agree, let’s spend the next few days having one hell of an intimate experience. And if you don’t, just walk out. I’m not holding you here. But—" he raised a finger and pointed— "if you sign and back out, you won’t live long enough to pay me back."

Jason swallowed, glancing from the contract to Tim. It was a lot of money. Enough to cover his mother’s medical bills. Enough to get his father out of prison. Enough to live somewhere decent in Gotham, far from Crime Alley. Enough to escape the life he was stuck in.

All he had to do was… this.
Cater to the whims of a rich, unhinged brat—and not end up in jail for it.

He was handing his head over to this lunatic. But with luck, he’d regret it on the last day and go home with the money and a conscience that, while shaken, would at least be intact.

"I... yeah. Okay."

He picked up the pen and signed his name on each page.

It felt a bit like selling his soul to the devil.
Though, truth be told, the devil would probably be kinder.

Only after he finished signing did he realize something was missing.

"You said seven days."

He looked up and met Tim’s gaze. Tim was leaning over his side of the table, seemingly relaxed.

Tim tilted his head, an expression of genuine confusion on his face.

"Did I?"

A chill ran down Jason’s spine. Something thick and cold rose in his throat.

"Yeah. You did."

Tim just smiled, shaking his head slightly.

"I must’ve been mistaken. A rainbow only has six colors."

No, it didn’t.
But Jason wasn’t about to argue with the maniac who’d just paid him.

"So… shall we begin?"

Chapter Text

Tim sat on the bed, completely naked. In front of them, there was only a mirror with no reflection. Nothing but a black void swallowing the space around it, as if everything else had ceased to exist.

"I can see it," he murmured, raising his hands, wrists together, like an offering.

Jason moved behind him in silence, gripping the rope between his fingers until his knuckles turned white. His breathing was shallow, rough in his throat.

Tim bit his lip. A low, involuntary moan slipped out as he felt his fingers beginning to go numb.

"Give me a good show, boy," Tim purred, flashing a crooked smile.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Jason took a deep breath and lifted Tim’s arms, folding them firmly at the elbows until his forearms rested against his chest, palms open and pointed toward his chin. An uncomfortable position. Humiliating. Vulnerable in every way.

With precise movements, Jason slipped the rope beneath Tim’s arms, crossing it over his chest. He measured the ends carefully and began—like lacing a shoe, like weaving something intimate and cruel. He looped one strand over the other, tightened once, then again—harder.

The rope tensed.

The first contact was almost gentle, but as soon as he pulled the ends tight, it bit into the skin. Tim gasped—a short, dry sound, more tremor than voice. Jason repeated the process, wrapping and tightening with each pass, binding Tim’s arms tightly against his torso in a prison of knots.

Muscles compressed. Flesh pressed down until veins flattened beneath the rope—trapped, subdued. There was no room to move. Not even to breathe deeply.

Tim moaned with every pull. Not from pure pain, but from that burning edge between punishment and pleasure. Each knot stripped a little more control from him. It marked him. Just as he had asked. Like a purple stroke blooming across the skin where blood no longer flowed.

Jason finished by wrapping the rope tightly around Tim’s wrists, and with one brutal tug, he tied the final knot. Unmoving. Firm. Unforgiving. Tight enough to cut off circulation. Tight enough to hurt.

They had fifteen minutes before Tim stopped feeling his arms entirely.

When Jason looked up, he found Tim in ecstasy. His eyes locked on the black mirror. He barely moved his arms, gasping as the rope dug deeper into his skin, as if it could slice through. The red was rising—but it hadn’t bled yet.

"Still," Jason ordered.

Tim moaned. His body trembled as he felt the blood leaving his limbs. The color shifted slowly: fingers first, then palms. A tingling spread through every trapped inch of skin.

Jason watched closely, his dark eyes full of desire and restrained patience. The red marks slowly turned purple—a deep, lifeless violet. As if the rope was draining the life from him.

It was a violent hue. A stain spreading from his wrists to his shoulders, trapped beneath the cords like imprisoned blood.

Tim lowered his head, breathing in short bursts, feeling the tingling give way to numbness. Maybe he couldn’t feel his arms anymore. Maybe he didn’t care. There was no complaint. No fear.

Jason waited. Steady. Like a loyal servant. Still clothed, yet more exposed than ever. Watching. Waiting for instruction.

Tim seemed to take a moment. He got lost in the black reflection of the mirror, admiring something only he could see. He opened his mouth to speak.

"As—"

He never finished the word.

A silhouette stepped out of the shadows. As if it had always been there. Only a white mask was visible, floating over a body made of darkness. Jason instinctively stepped back, heart pounding in his throat. Vulnerable—for the first time.

The man—As—dragged a bench into place in front of them. He didn’t speak. He made no sound. He simply picked Tim up with a gentleness that clashed with everything before and laid him face down on the bench. His tied arms pressed even tighter against his chest, making Tim gasp out loud.

The contact of his hard cock against the fabric of the bench was instant. He trembled, moaning as he rubbed against the soft surface, rocking his hips in search of more.

"Ja… son..."

As handed him a paddle. Next to the bench, several impact toys were neatly lined up on a table. Jason took a deep breath and positioned himself behind Tim.

As placed another mirror—just as black—right behind them. The angle was perfect. Tim’s ass was framed between that mirror and the one in front, like a reflection. If those mirrors even reflected anything at all.

Tim rolled his hips with a low moan, begging for attention.

"Move," Tim ordered.

Jason obeyed without thinking.

He raised the paddle and brought down a first slap on Tim’s left cheek. It was more exploratory than effective. Tim turned his head to glance at him, annoyed, yawning shamelessly as he lazily rubbed himself against the bench with his eyes closed.

The fucker wanted to provoke him. He was asking for more. He wanted to make sure Jason followed through. That he wouldn’t stop. That he’d take him all the way, just like the contract promised. Just like Tim wanted.

Jason flipped the paddle in his hand, exhaled deeply, and focused.

The next strike cracked like a whip. Tim jolted violently and let out a broken moan. Jason didn’t hesitate. He struck again, same spot, same strength. Tim’s moan grew louder, tangled with his ragged breath.

"Just like that... keep going..."

Jason obeyed. He raised the paddle again, hitting with rhythm, over and over. Tim’s ass lit up under each impact. His moans blended with the slick sound of his skin rubbing against the bench.

Jason growled. The red marks looked too soft. Not enough. He tossed the paddle aside in disgust and spun around to grab a cane from the table. In one smooth motion, he lifted his arm and whipped Tim’s right cheek with full force.

A choked sound escaped Tim’s lips. His face flushed deeper with every strike. Pupils blown wide. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, smearing the bench under his open mouth.

"More..."

"No," Jason growled.

Tim whimpered, desperate, as Jason slowly dragged the cane down the crack of his ass, stopping just at the entrance. Tim shuddered, raising his hips, even if it meant crushing his numb arms further against the bench.

The moan that followed was pure desperation: a filthy mix of pain, hunger, and need. He pushed back toward the cane, trying to pull it into himself.

"Put it in," he growled, almost a command.

"I can’t. It’s not in the contract," Jason mocked, smirking with malice.

He twisted the tip of the cane against his hole, pressing just enough before pulling it back and landing a dry sideways strike right over his entrance. Tim screamed. His whole body recoiled in an involuntary spasm. His arms, fully bruised, trembled under his weight. The marks on his ass were burning.

Jason dragged the cane down slowly, brushing over the perineum in a threatening motion.

"Beg."

Tim gasped, mouth open, whole body shaking, eyes locked on Jason.

"Again," Tim demanded more than begged.

With a predatory smile, Jason aimed the cane precisely before pulling it back and landing another brutal hit on the same sensitive spot.

Tim convulsed. His arms still pinned beneath his chest. The bruising from the rope was beginning to pale, but still there—marking every second without blood flow.

Five minutes, Jason thought.

He struck again. Harder this time. Same exact spot. Tim gasped sharply, and Jason noticed the precum leaking from his cock.

"Sensitive like any fucking whore," Jason spat, lashing him again without mercy.

Tim’s legs shook violently, but his eyes never left Jason.

"Then I guess we’re on the same team, kid."

Jason snorted, stepped back half a pace, and struck with all his strength straight to Tim’s left cheek. Tim screamed. His skin was already red, throbbing, darkening more with every hit. His cock pulsed beneath his body, dripping precum uncontrollably.

Jason dropped the cane without caring where it fell and picked up a flogger. He didn’t bother calculating his swing. He lifted it and delivered the first hit mercilessly.

The multiple leather strands lashed across Tim’s ass from every direction. The sound was heavy, wet, brutal. Tim gasped, back arched, body hungry for the next strike.

He lifted his ass again, offering himself shamelessly. Jason repeated the strike. His skin was already a patchwork of red welts and deep purple bruises shaped by the cane. He showed no mercy. Blow after blow, Jason punished Tim’s sensitive flesh, wringing tremors from his body with every hit. The whip bit into his ass again and again, while his untouched cock kept dripping thick strings of cum.

“I can’t touch you,” Jason growled. “If you don’t finish this, your arms are gonna turn to jelly, and your dick will stay hard and ignored.”

As he spoke, he landed a dry blow with the handle across Tim’s back.

The scream came instantly. Tim’s body arched violently, shaken by that strange pleasure pain could bring. Jason struck again. This time, the skin split. Red lines opened up like claw marks, slicing across his back.

“Blood’s red, kid,” Tim muttered, voice ragged, a broken laugh still clinging to his lips.

Jason snorted. He let the whip fall carelessly and grabbed the cane. He dragged it slowly down Tim’s back, tracing a line until the tip rested just under his shoulder.

“Pain for pleasure...? Or pleasure from pain?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He hit the shoulder hard. The skin turned purple on impact. Tim let out a choked sound between a cry and a moan, his whole body twitching. Jason hit again, relentless. Another strike. Another bruise. Another mark on that pale flesh.

He moved to the other side and aimed at the opposite shoulder. Brought the cane down one, two, three times in a row. Tim sobbed, his muscles jerking under the reddening skin as the marks multiplied, drawing across his body like a wounded canvas.

He needed to finish. Now.

Jason lowered the cane, aimed straight at the perineum.

“Come on, slut... If you don’t finish, this is only gonna get worse for you.”

Then he repeated the strike. No pauses. No mercy. The cane, wide enough, struck both cheeks with each hit, branding both sides of Tim’s ass with each swing that made his whole body jolt.

Red quickly turned to purple. Tim’s balls bounced against the cane with every hit, swinging from the spasms wrecking his body. The bench dragged across his dick with every jolt, and each graze pulled a fresh tremble, another shot of precum, one more hollow moan.

Tim was a mess of gasps, cries, and strangled moans. His whole body trembled, stuck between pain and overstimulation. His cock, pressed against the bench, kept grinding with every movement, triggering involuntary spasms that made him shake even more.

Then, one last scream broke in his throat. It bled into a sob as his body arched violently. He convulsed. Eyes rolled back, mouth open. Thick ropes of cum shot from his cock, splashing the bench, his chest, his bound hands. Coating everything.

Tim was panting, gasping nonstop, still rubbing himself against the bench, trapped in the final waves of orgasm. Like a wild animal, grinding in desperation as the last drops of cum oozed from him.

Jason dropped the cane to the floor.

He grabbed a blanket from the bed and laid it over Tim’s sweaty body. Then carefully helped him down from the bench, sitting next to him on the floor.

“This is gonna hurt. Don’t move.”

He loosened the bindings around his arms with precision, massaging the stiff muscles to help the blood return. Tim’s fingers twitched. His knuckles were white from clenching too hard.

“You still alive?” Jason asked, barely lifting his gaze.

Tim had a dumb smile hanging from his lips. His head slumped forward. His eyes were glassy—but still there. He saw Jason. He nodded faintly. Exhaled, trembling.

“More alive than ever...”

Jason narrowed his eyes. He didn’t answer.

He finished untying the knots, rubbing Tim’s arms with both palms until color returned to his limbs.

“You did good, kid,” Tim whispered—right before collapsing against Jason’s chest.

Jason blinked, startled. He looked at Tim, then at the figure silently approaching. A shadow placed a bucket of warm water and a towel in front of them, then vanished without a word.

He wasn’t surprised there was a butler in the middle of all this. Rich people always had one. But those black mirrors... the white owl mask...

He swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts aside.

He had read the contract.

If he sold his soul to some cult, that was his call. No one forced him.

But if they kept their promise—if they really followed through—his mother’s health would be covered. And his father would be out of prison.

That was all he needed.

Chapter Text

Jason was sitting in a chair, naked again, facing the black mirror. His leg bounced against the floor in a nervous tic.

Tim was also naked, pacing back and forth in front of him, eyes locked on the long, showy table covered in ropes. There was everything—thin ropes, thick ones, short, endless. Black, blue, green, red. All within that same range. All chosen with intention.

Every few seconds, Tim would pause, lift his gaze toward the opaque glass of the mirror, then shake his head and focus back on the ropes. He sighed, finally turning to Jason.

“Any of them catch your eye?” he asked, voice loaded with more than curiosity.

Jason frowned as he scanned the cords.

“I like the red ones.”

That was all Tim needed to hear. He threw the rest to the floor, leaving only the red ropes in front of him.

“Eeny, meeny, miny...”

“Huh?” Jason muttered, confused.

But Tim was already smiling, delighted by his own choice. He picked up one of the ropes and walked toward him with a wide, dangerously bright grin.

“I hope you know what I expect from you,” he purred, handing him the rope.

Jason nodded silently, wrapping the cord firmly around his hand and spreading his legs without shame.

The gesture seemed to hypnotize Tim. He licked his lips, eyes fixed between Jason’s thighs.

“Knees,” Jason ordered.

Tim dropped gracefully, obedient, still staring at his cock—soft, but heavy.

Jason didn’t look at him; instead, he tangled one hand in his hair and yanked hard, drawing a rough grunt from him. He didn’t need to see his face. That wasn’t the point. Not for either of them.

He stroked his cock slowly, savoring the hunger burning in Tim’s eyes. He could drag this out a little longer. Push him further. He ran his hand down the warm shaft with deliberate slowness, increasing the pressure, dragging it from base to tip. Then yanked his hair harder, forcing Tim to look up.

That hair was a luxury. Easy to grip, easy to use like reins on this cock-hungry freak.

He held Tim’s gaze and smirked, a poisonous kind of superiority in his expression.

“What do you want?”

Tim swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the tension. His lips were parted, trembling, making no effort to hide the brutal need consuming him.

“Your cock.”

Jason yanked harder on his hair.

“And what do you want to do with my cock?”

“Suck it,” Tim moaned, voice raw, shaky. “Choke on it… until I can’t breathe. And then I want you to fuck me…”

Jason cut him off with a sudden pull, shoving his face down into his lap, forcing his cock down his throat in one brutal motion.

Tim gasped, inhaling through his nose as the tip slammed into the back of his throat. He didn’t fight it. He relaxed his jaw, letting himself open up, letting Jason sink all the way in.

Jason silenced him roughly, pushing his head down and stuffing his cock into his throat in one full, savage thrust. Tim gasped, breathing through his nose as the shaft dragged across his tongue and hit the back of his throat.

He didn’t fight back. He let go completely. Jason gripped his hair with brutal force, yanking without mercy, setting a rough, erratic rhythm. He shoved in and out of Tim’s mouth like he owned it, like that hole was made for this.

Tim let himself be used, tongue curling around the shaft as it filled his throat. Each thrust knocked the air out of him, wracking him with silent, wet spasms. Saliva spilled in thick strands from his lips, dripping messily down his chest. He was just a hole now. That was it. And still… he wanted more. He needed more.

When Jason pulled back for a second, Tim pinched his thigh impatiently, glaring up at him with wet, shameless, almost feral eyes.

Jason snorted, rolling his eyes before finally letting go of his hair.

“You’re such an impatient little slut.”

“And you think you’re so smart... for someone that hard and begging to get ridden, boy.”

Jason leaned back on the bed, settling into the center with a look full of expectation. Tim didn’t hesitate. He climbed up slowly, feline, deliberate, moving like he knew exactly what effect he had, keeping his ass high and spread, facing the mirror. His wet hole clenched with every step—twitching, exposed, aching to be filled.

He crawled across the mattress in deliberate, provocative movements, smirking to the side, just enough to show a hint of teeth.

“Remember your place, boy.”

Jason swallowed hard, leaning back slightly and spreading his legs. His cock stood firm, soaked, pulsing with need. An open invitation.

Tim ran his fingers over the tip, collecting a thick mix of precum and spit. Without saying a word, he brought the slick fingers to Jason’s lips. Jason stuck his tongue out instantly—obedient. Tim let out a low moan of approval and pressed down on his tongue between two fingers.

“You’d look good with a tongue piercing, Jays.”

He let go. Jason inhaled sharply, chest rising.

“I can’t afford one.”

Tim scoffed, turning around to face the mirror. Without warning, he reached back and guided Jason’s cock to his entrance. The tip barely brushed the wet rim before his body jolted in response. Jason groaned behind him.

“So sensitive,” Tim mocked, with a crooked grin.

He didn’t wait. Dropped down hard, impaling himself in one brutal movement. The moan that tore from his throat was raw, deep, guttural. His body opened around it, burning. The unprepared entrance stretched with resistance, dragging a sharp line of unfiltered pleasure through his core.

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t try to adjust. Rose up onto his knees again, then slammed down just as hard.

Jason moaned beneath him, nearly frantic, as Tim rode him with steady, vicious rhythm. His insides forced themselves open around every inch, taking him deeper. Each stroke hit something electric. Every thrust rocked his body. His entrance stretched wide, pulsing, overwhelmed.

His own cock dripped precum with every bounce—rock-hard, twitching, untouched while the pleasure spread like fire through his limbs.

“Jason…” he moaned, his voice a command barely disguised as a whisper.

And Jason obeyed.

He shifted, adjusting the angle until his cock slammed straight into Tim’s prostate. Tim jolted hard, a broken gasp flying from his lips. He rolled his hips with urgency, chasing that exact spot—chasing the delirium.

The feel of the rope around his neck made him shudder. His breath turned to ragged moans. He kept moving—kept fucking himself on Jason’s cock as the noose pulled tighter, the cord winding steadily around his throat.

Tim inhaled deep, then exhaled slowly as the pressure climbed. His lips parted. Eyes glassy. A shiver tore through him as the air stopped flowing. The rope squeezed tight, cutting off his breath entirely.

Jason didn’t stop—and Tim didn’t want him to. He held the rope in one hand and gripped Jason’s waist with the other, anchoring himself to ride harder. The pressure on his neck grew with every motion, stealing his breath as Jason rocked his hips with brutal force, driving into him over and over with relentless strength. Slamming deep, again and again.

Tim didn’t make a sound—his mind was vibrating, lost in the swirl of sensation, while Jason filled him with each rage-fueled thrust. His cock struck his prostate over and over, mercilessly precise, forcing Tim’s body to quake in response.

Lights danced at the edges of his vision—sparks of pleasure and oxygen-starved haze—while the rope dug into his skin, leaving its mark. And Jason didn’t stop. He kept fucking him like his only purpose was to empty himself inside, using Tim’s hole without shame, with a selfish determination that made Tim throb. That thought turned him on even more. Made his hole clench instinctively, desperate to swallow every last inch of the cock splitting him open.

Dirty tears streaked his face as his mouth searched for air that wouldn’t come. The dizziness clung to him like a thick fog, his brain swimming in oxygen deprivation. His cock stayed hard, pulsing, ignored, leaking between his thighs while Jason wrecked him from the inside—slamming deep with a savage rhythm that didn’t allow space to breathe, to think. Only to feel himself being torn in half.

Tim’s legs trembled uncontrollably, buckling under the weight of violent pleasure. He could feel the heat draining from his face, his body right on the edge, collapsing in time with every thrust.

“He has to come or pass out. That’s the contract.”

He knows. Tim knows. But the choke feels exquisite. The burn in his throat is fire, and still—he doesn’t want it to stop. Being used like this, on the verge of passing out, with death brushing over his skin like a filthy caress, keeps him conscious. Keeps him alive. Burning. Just a little longer.

Just a little more of Jason’s cock driving through him in desperate strokes. Just a little more of that cock inside. Harder. Deeper.

He can’t touch himself. Can’t let go of the rope. He’s trapped between pleasure and suffocation—eyes red, mouth open with no air, face soaked, throat tight. Pale face, lips tinted blue, gasping in silence. Only feeling. Only getting fucked.

His cock twitched again as Jason nailed his prostate head-on. A spasm tore through his core. His eyes rolled back the second his consciousness slipped. And even then—he could feel Jason still slamming into him, driving deep, claiming every part of him as his awareness vanished.

Jason gasped hard, catching Tim’s body before it fully collapsed. With tense hands, he loosened the rope wrapped around his neck, letting go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He looked up and met As’s eyes—watching with barely restrained impatience.

Jason growled low, frustrated, and shifted Tim onto his back on the mattress. The body was limp, unresponsive, legs spread wide. His cock, still hard, still glistening with a few stubborn drops of precum, stood untouched in the middle of the mess.

Jason gripped his hips, lined himself up, and pushed back inside without hesitation. He resumed the motion with urgency—rough, relentless thrusts that pounded straight into Tim’s prostate, forcing reactions from a body too far gone to control them. Tim’s cock throbbed, twitched, responding even in unconsciousness, as Jason dragged his orgasm out of him like it was being ripped loose.

He clenched his teeth, the pace growing wilder. Tim’s loosened insides gripped him with pulsing heat, flexing weakly around his cock. Jason’s body convulsed—his orgasm hit fast, brutal. Tim’s cock jerked violently, and a broken, guttural sound slipped from his lips, no more than a ghost echo caught in sleep. He arched hard, folding over himself just as the climax exploded from base to tip.

Streams of cum shot out, splattering across his own chest, his chin, and the cock still buried deep inside him. Jason didn’t stop. He kept thrusting, overstimulating Tim’s prostate until the last tremor forced out the final drops, while Tim’s body gave out completely, spent and motionless.

Only when his breathing started to steady did Jason finally stop. He froze for a moment, then slowly pulled out, shivering as he stepped back. He stared at the limp body in front of him like he was seeing something dragged out from his worst nightmares—like the ghosts that had haunted him forever had taken flesh and were now staring back at him from that bed.

He flinched when As silently stepped in, setting down a bucket of hot water and a clean cloth.

Jason didn’t want to touch him again. His hands were shaking. The reddish marks around his fingers—burned in from gripping the rope—were proof enough of what he’d done.

He wished—no, begged—for Tim to regret it. To stop. To change his mind. To hit him, punish him, hate him. Anything that might let him take it all back.

But he knew that wouldn’t happen.

And that he’d have to live with this. Or end it, once his family was safe.

With trembling fingers, he picked up the cloth, dipped it in the water, and wrung it out slowly. He brought it to Tim’s chest, gently wiping away the sticky remnants of cum with slow, almost reverent strokes.

Tim sighed in his sleep, a faint smile curling on his lips.

“Good boy…” he murmured, reaching a hand into the air, searching—“I feel empty. You didn’t finish. Give me your cock.”

Jason held his breath. He wanted to pull away. To run. But he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t human anymore. He wasn’t free. Just another piece of property bought by that lunatic.

He took Tim’s hand and guided it to his cock. Tim wrapped his fingers around it eagerly, stroking slowly, lazily, but with purpose.

Without a word, Jason kept cleaning Tim’s body. Breathing deep to silence the words screaming in his head, and the crushing regret eating at his chest.

“You can’t break the contract, Jason,” Tim whispered, voice hoarse and low.

Jason swallowed hard.

“I know…”

“I don’t think you do, boy,” Tim chuckled darkly. He covered his mouth to cough, then spat blood into his palm, holding it out for As to wipe away. “You waiting for me to change my mind?”

His tone was mocking now, eyes half-lidded and shining with cruelty.

“Not gonna happen. And let me remind you again—” his nails dug into the sensitive skin of Jason’s cock, drawing a choked gasp—“One lifetime won’t be enough to pay me back. And if you plan to run like a coward, your debt goes to your mother. Or your father. You don’t want that… do you?”

Jason nodded quickly, breath ragged. The claws withdrew, switching back to gentle, lazy strokes.

“You weren’t forced to stay, Jason. But now you can’t leave. Do you understand that?”

Another nod.

“Good... Stay in the mansion for the next few days. I don’t think you’ll run, but it’ll be more fun to have you around full-time.”

“I need to take care of my mom,” he said weakly, voice barely above a whisper.

Tim hummed, thoughtful, glancing toward As.

“Do we still have the guest house out back?”

As nodded once.

“Perfect. She can stay there for a few days.”

Jason didn’t feel safe with the offer, but he knew better than to refuse. It was a request disguised as 24/7 slavery. A trap with a smile.

“Thank you.”

Tim smiled, relaxing back into the bed. Jason kept cleaning the remaining mess from his body while Tim’s hand kept stroking him, slow and thoughtless.

Chapter Text

The servants placed large amounts of food in front of him. The same amount was served in front of Tim, on the other side of the small table. To his surprise, it wasn’t an ostentatious table, as he might have expected from a rich kid, but a standard-sized one.

Perhaps because the luxury was reserved for the large mirror to his right: a black rectangle that remained completely opaque, even in the daylight.

"Your mother was offered an equally generous portion, Jason," Tim said in a formal tone. "So, be my guest."

He gestured toward the plates between them, calmly taking a slice of cake.

Jason looked at everything with suspicion. This was completely intentional. The contract spelled it out clearly: fill your stomach to satisfy your buyer’s particular fetish.

He glanced at his plates, then Tim’s, then at the clock across the room. His time had been bought in full. From sunrise to the very last minute of the day, every second belonged to Tim. And with his mother inside the mansion, he had no reason to leave.

He sighed, accepting what he had signed. Tim’s threats, his enthusiastic smile from across the table, the way he ate with delight... it was all part of the game. And so were the coming days. Whatever happened afterward, the contract required that he and his family—his mother, even his father, the convict—be paid and protected.

This madness would remain between him, Tim, the owl-masked butler... and whoever was behind the black mirror.

He bit into a piece of toast. Chewed repeatedly, crushing the food without tasting it. Just the thought of what would come next made his stomach turn. And yet, he knew this wasn’t the worst part of the contract.

"Did you sleep well last night?" Tim asked, his cheer far too bright.

Too bright. His eyes were gleaming, pupils dilated. He wasn’t looking at Jason. He was seeing what was coming next.

Jason swallowed. The mush scraped his dry throat. He gasped and nodded awkwardly.

"Yes. It’s a beautiful house."

Tim toyed with a strawberry on his fork, smiling with amusement.

"So I’ve been told."

Without biting it, he popped the whole fruit into his mouth, eyes fixed on Jason.

There were no more words after that.

Jason ate slowly, forced. He chewed each bite, emptied plate after plate, which were removed as soon as they were clean. Still, more food kept appearing. In front of him. In front of Tim, who no longer ate. He had set his utensils down and was just watching him. Waiting.

Jason swallowed hard. His stomach clenched just looking at another piece of bread. He couldn’t eat anymore. He felt like he would burst. His stomach was full to the brim, tight, bloated. The fruits, chocolate cakes, cream, and bread blended into a thick, suffocating mess.

He let the spoon fall onto the table. The gesture was like a signal.

The butlers moved instantly. They cleared the plates, wiped the table, and left without a word.

Only he, Tim, and As remained in the room.

Tim looked at him, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands.

"There’s something I want to do now," he finally said. "And something else I want to do later."

His smile widened. Sharper. Crueler. Bigger.

"You can choose. Because I’m a good host."

⟪You fucking son of a bi…⟫

"Let me be a good guest," Jason replied through clenched teeth. "Let me take your cock into my mouth."

Tim whistled. Low and dark. He lifted his chin with theatrical arrogance.

"You play this game well, Jason. I like that."

He stood, walked halfway around the table, and climbed onto it. He spread his legs in a clear invitation.

Jason swallowed dryly. His throat burned as he approached, anticipation churning in his stomach. Tim looked down at him, a mocking smile curling his lips. He leaned back, bracing his hands on the table with an air of superiority.

"I thought you’d done this before," he said playfully. "I read your record."

Jason glanced at him sideways as he settled between his legs and pulled down the zipper.

"Doesn’t mean it gets any easier," he muttered low.

Tim puckered his lips in a fake pout, mock compassion on his face.

"Well," he purred, "with what you’re going to earn this week... you won’t have to sell your body to anyone ever again."

Jason pulled the pants down one leg, looking for space. Tim’s cock sprang toward him—hard, damp, pulsing with anticipation. Just from watching him eat.

He took a deep breath and dropped to his knees. The hard impact on the marble jarred his body. He wrapped his fingers around Tim’s cock, and the smell hit him instantly: thick musk, dry sweat, hot skin. It stung his nose. His stomach twisted in another spasm.

He brought his mouth close and brushed the head with his lips. It was already dripping with pre-cum—salty, warm, viscous. He licked the tip, the strong taste clinging to his palate. He swallowed with effort; the motion triggered a faint gag, as if his bile was looking for any excuse to rise.

Tim gripped his hair firmly, groaning through his teeth when Jason ran his tongue along the shaft again.

“Slower,” Tim murmured, his voice trembling with anxious excitement. “I’m on the edge, just from watching you eat so slowly, so desperately trying to avoid this,” he mocked.

Jason looked up at him, eyes glossy. He opened his mouth wider, sucking the head slowly, letting the heat and taste flood him all at once. He felt Tim’s body tense, followed by a breathless laugh.

Tim yanked his hair harder, pulling him off the cock only to shove him forward again, burying it deep down his throat.

The acid rose slowly. Jason swallowed to keep it down, gasping around the cock lodged in his mouth. Tim moved slowly, without mercy, pushing deeper, harder. He held him by the nape, keeping him steady, thrusting with each moan. Every impact against the back of his throat triggered a new gag.

Jason took it even deeper, until the burning became unbearable. The girth stretched his windpipe, forcing it open. The gags grew more violent, impossible to suppress.

Tim let go of his hair and released a delighted moan. He leaned into his hands, legs spread and relaxed, savoring every convulsion that rippled through Jason’s body.

“Swallow. Don’t stop,” he ordered with a cruel softness.

Jason obeyed. The mix of saliva and bitter bile made him dizzy. He kept sucking, driving the cock to the back of his throat, running his tongue along the hard shaft, sucking with every retreat—only to thrust it back in himself, until it hit the deepest part.

He gasped for air. His body trembled, his throat burned with every thick gulp he couldn’t keep down. His stomach ached—completely full, stretched, overflowing. A bomb on the verge of detonation.

And yet, he leaned in again, swallowing it like there was no other choice.

Tim moaned low, his fingers tangling again in Jason’s hair, stroking it between the jolts.

“That’s it. Just like that. Don’t stop. You’re not done yet.”

Jason closed his eyes. Forced his mouth open again. His slippery lips wrapped around the already soaked girth. He lowered his head in desperation, swallowing inch by inch as his chest convulsed under the pressure.

He knew what was coming. He felt it throb, swell, grow even harder against his tongue.

Tim panted uncontrollably. His body stiff, hips twitching in sharp, shallow thrusts.

“Swallow it, Jason. Don’t waste a drop,” he spat. “You’re going to swallow every last bit.”

Jason obeyed. The saliva mixed with the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat made his head spin. He sucked Tim’s cock, burying it deep in his throat. Ran his tongue along the shaft, sucked hard with each retreat, only to plunge it back into himself until it hit the farthest point.

The final thrust was Tim’s. He drove it deep into Jason’s throat and wrapped his legs around him, locking him in place. Jason gasped. The release hit—hot, thick, straight down his throat—just as he was trying to breathe and swallow at the same time. He clung to Tim’s thighs to keep from collapsing, his eyes glassy from lack of air.

The semen struck his throat. Swallowing it was hard. He gasped as Tim pushed deeper, holding him there. Swallowing again was nearly impossible. His stomach churned. He couldn’t hold anything else.

The next spurt didn’t make it. Jason clamped his lips shut, jaw tight. But he failed. His body trembled, a guttural noise tore from his chest, and vomit surged up like a wave from deep inside.

He couldn’t stop it. The semen he couldn’t swallow mixed with the food still packed in his stomach. It burst from his mouth in a violent retch.

Tim moaned, overwhelmed by the sight. The sudden heat on his cock made him shudder. Jason’s nails dug into his thighs, raking his skin with each convulsion.

Vomiting on him, Tim’s cock was now coated in a dense mix of mush, cream, fruit, and saliva. Still warm. Thick streams dripped down the base, spilling onto the table with a wet, sticky sound.

Tim didn’t let go. He held tighter. Forcing out every last bit of food Jason had inside.

"Yes, yes, yes," Tim murmured, placing a hand over his chest, fingers twitching with pleasure. "Show me everything. Don’t hold it back. I want to see it all."

The bile, half-digested food, and saliva mixed into a thick, hot mess that dripped from Jason’s chin. It slid down his neck, soaking his chest, his stomach, running all the way to his groin. It splattered onto the floor with a dense, wet sound.

Jason no longer had control over his body. His chest burned, his trachea scraped with every retch, his now-empty stomach contracting endlessly. His muscles trembled from sheer exhaustion. He couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred, eyes rolling back, body swaying on the edge of collapse.

Only then did Tim let go.

Jason fell forward, too weak to hold himself up, groaning faintly. He collapsed between Tim’s legs, coughing violently. His throat expelled bitter remains. He convulsed with dry heaves, shuddering on his own knees.

Vomit still dripped from his split lips. Thick drool mixed with bile and tears, coating his face in a hot mask. Swollen eyes, burning cheeks, chin slick with fluids. His hands still rested there, clumsy, between Tim’s thighs, as if he couldn’t remember how to hold himself upright.

"God..." Tim whispered, still staring at him, breath unsteady. "You’re such a perfect toy."

"Bastard..." Jason rasped, barely lifting his head from the floor, voice broken, throat raw. "You almost suffocated me."

"But I didn’t," Tim sang, tilting his head with a feline smile. "And now you have the rest of the day off… to go visit your beloved mother, Jays."

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, like swatting away a dog. Cruel. Mocking.

Jason pushed himself up with effort, swaying. His legs faltered, muscles weak and spent. He coughed one last time, spitting on the floor with disdain before turning and dragging himself out of the dining room, jaw clenched, breath ragged.

Tim watched him go. He didn’t say a word. Just smiled, his cock soft, still sticky and warm.

A second passed. Then another.

He looked down.

His hand drifted slowly to his groin. He slid his fingers through the mess—wet remains still clinging to his skin. With his fingers, he gathered thick traces of semen, bile, and saliva, still warm, sticky together.

He brought them to his mouth deliberately.

He pressed his tongue into his palm, licking slowly. He savored the acidic bitterness as it coated his palate, shivering subtly, almost intimately. He closed his eyes as it slid down his throat.

He barely moaned, as if his body reacted on its own. His cock twitched low, thick and resentful, stirring again with a silent ache.

He licked his fingers calmly, one by one, as if committing the taste to memory.

He was already looking forward to nightfall.

He couldn’t wait for his next turn.

🖤🍰🖤🍰🖤🍰🖤

Tim should have had more self-control than this. But there was something hypnotic about Jason—about that wet, stray dog look he gave while following every rule to the letter. About how he clung to the hope that Tim might regret it.

Poor fool. Without any real understanding of the world, he was nothing but cannon fodder for others to play with. Just as Tim was doing now.

He licked his lips slowly, softened his expression as much as he could, swallowing the predatory grin that threatened to show as he knocked on the door of the old house.

Age didn’t make the place any less decent or respectful. It had been his parents’ favorite spot—they used to run away here when he was a child. They’d protected his innocence by keeping him from hearing what adults did behind closed doors.

And look at him now. What a sinner he’d become. Beyond saving.

The door creaked open slowly. Jason looked at him through the narrow gap.

“You didn’t have to come here in person,” he said quietly, worry etched across his face as he glanced quickly inside.

“I want to be a good host,” Tim purred, lifting the apple pie with a smile. “I heard this one wasn’t included in your mother’s breakfast or your recent lunch. I thought she might enjoy a different dessert.”

Jason glanced from the pie to him, gripping the doorframe with one hand.

“It wasn’t necessary,” he muttered through his teeth.

Tim smiled wider.

“But I wanted to,” he said with a theatrical tone, placing a hand over his heart. “Would you deny me entry to my own property?”

Jason narrowed his eyes, muttering a curse under his breath. At last, he stepped aside and opened the door.

Tim stepped in, delighted, walking with a lightness that bordered on mocking. Everything was just as he remembered. Just as unpleasant.

His stomach twisted. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to hold himself together. At least for now.

“Sweetheart?” Catherine’s voice came from another room. Her frail figure appeared moments later, her head tilting slightly when she saw him.

Tim set the pie on the table and approached quickly.

“Ma’am, I’m a friend of your son’s. My name is Tim,” he said, offering her his hand gently.

Catherine’s face lit up. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Jason told me you’ve been helping with my treatment,” she said sweetly. “You have no idea how much I appreciate it. You didn’t have to…”

Tim interrupted her with a slight shake of his head—it made him a little dizzy—and smiled kindly.

“The pleasure is mine. Jason’s an incredible man. I couldn’t say no.”

Catherine laughed, lighthearted.

“Sometimes he is, but don’t let him fool you,” she leaned in a bit (the gesture sent a chill down his spine), and whispered, “He’s got quite the temper sometimes.”

Tim laughed with her, warmly and carefully measured.

“I brought dessert,” he announced, stepping back and finally catching his breath. “It’s an exquisite apple pie.”

He gestured toward the pie on the table. Catherine beamed, released his hand, and headed into the kitchen.

“I’ll bring the plates. Jason, this smells delicious,” she said with a smile.

Jason.

Still in the center of the room. Motionless. Tense. His hands clenched. His eyes locked on Tim. Face expressionless. But the trembling in his fingers gave him away.

Tim glanced at the closed door, then refocused on him. He licked his lips slowly, letting his teeth show through a faint smile. A predator at ease in the territory of his prey, knowing full well it couldn’t escape.

Jason inhaled sharply. The trembling in his hands intensified. He shook his head, and panic spilled across his face.

Tim’s erection throbbed hard. The cornered animal was exactly where he wanted him.

He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself… but the scent of daisies hit him full force. He covered his face, nausea rising up his throat.

He growled through clenched teeth. He should’ve burned those flowers years ago.

He stepped toward Jason with purpose, grabbed the edge of his shirt, and forced him to lean down. His nails dug into the skin of Jason’s neck as he breathed him in.

Nothing special. Cheap cologne, two-in-one shampoo, the cold sweat of fear running down his back. Almost magnificent. Almost.

“Oh.”

Jason pulled away abruptly when he saw his mother coming back from the kitchen. She was covering her smile with one hand. Jason’s face flushed red in seconds, and Tim drank in that blush with hungry delight, already wanting to make him do it again.

“I can go back to the kitchen,” she said, amused.

Jason quickly shook his head and rushed to take the plates from her.

“Please don’t. Sit down. You shouldn’t be on your feet so long.”

He gently guided her to the couch, seating her in one corner. Then he took the middle seat.

Tim watched the scene with a mix of amusement and curiosity. The kid was sharp. He had to give him that.

He took the remaining seat and accepted the plate Jason handed him. Jason was all tension and haste, every movement quicker than the last, like he expected Tim to vanish at any moment.

Charming.

“Delicious,” Catherine murmured after her first bite.

Tim looked at his plate, then at the woman. Jason’s eyes snapped to him instantly, catching him in the center of the scene. His own plate was still untouched—so was Tim’s. Jason seemed to be calculating every outcome, sneaking glances at his mother, who ate peacefully, unaware of the tension next to her.

“I’ve never tasted anything so delicious,” Catherine said, looking at Tim, then at the untouched plates. “Aren’t you two going to eat?”

Jason looked at him. Anxiety pressed tight against his lips. Tim glanced at the half-eaten piece on her plate and decided the moment had come.

“Yes, of course. We just got a little distracted,” he replied with a polite smile. He took a bite of the pie and brought it to his mouth.

It didn’t ease Jason at all, but he gave in under his mother’s gaze. Easy to pressure, Tim thought, watching him chew with visible reluctance.

The real problem for Tim started the moment the apple hit his tongue. The taste repulsed him. His stomach twisted instantly. Still, he kept his face neutral, forcing himself not to grimace as the flavor spread in his mouth.

He swallowed with effort. The conversation blurred around him. Catherine was speaking cheerfully. Jason responded quickly, like he didn’t trust Tim to hold the act for much longer.

The lie about the job. The contract. The terms Jason had agreed to.

The apple slid down his throat like liquid fire. Heat pooled in his chest, and a dull nausea pressed upward from his belly, thick and slow.

He took another bite. His stomach protested immediately. He brought it to his mouth. The second taste was worse.

A sudden cramp in his abdomen made him flinch as soon as the apple touched his tongue. Saliva built up. He forced himself to chew. A shiver ran down his spine. His eyes burned. Sweat dampened his shirt.

At last, Catherine noticed. Her expression shifted immediately.

"Are you okay?"

Tim’s hands trembled. The plate slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor into a thousand pieces. He covered his mouth with one hand, barely straightening up. His legs gave out beneath him. His stomach was twisted into an unbearable knot.

"Tim!" Catherine cried, alarmed.

Jason’s arms moved instantly. He caught Tim firmly and rushed him to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind them.

He bent Tim over the toilet, gently but urgently. Tim growled, rejecting the contact, swatting his hand off his shoulder with a sharp movement. Jason froze, a frown forming as fear spread visibly across his face. If Tim had the strength, he would’ve laughed in it. But all he could manage was a twisted grimace, stained with bile.

Still, he shoved him back with more strength than expected. Jason hit the floor, too stunned to react. Tim knelt between his legs, trapping him, mirroring their previous position. Submission was back. The other’s body, vulnerable again, unable to resist even if he wanted to.

Tim grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him violently. Jason squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to pull away. He felt Tim’s tongue push in, invade, forcing his mouth open. The hot breath and fermented apple taste hit without warning.

That sickly sweet and sour flavor broke him. Tim’s stomach convulsed uncontrollably. The vomit surged up, violent and inevitable.

Jason gasped, fists clenched against the floor. He froze. Didn’t move. Didn’t think. He just let it happen. It was what Tim wanted. An open mouth. A still body. A space to pour into.

Bile mixed with saliva filled him. Sticky. Sour. Tim didn’t pull away—he pushed in deeper, keeping his lips locked. Each retch jolted his body and drove him further against Jason.

He moaned, gripping Jason’s jaw, forcing his mouth wider. The first burst hit—hot vomit coating his tongue, dripping down his chin. Jason swallowed on reflex, his own nausea twisting his stomach. But he didn’t move. He was trapped. Pinned between Tim’s legs, breathing vomit like it was the only air left.

Tim was shaking, panting. His hands clung to Jason’s face. The apple, now returned, came back in waves. Every corrupted bite scraped his throat and forced out more. More chunks, more fluid, more half-digested mess spilling over Jason without pause.

Jason remained still. Eyes shut, jaw locked. The bathroom filled with harsh sounds—dry heaves, wet splatters against his chest, Tim’s ragged breath against his ear. And still, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t speak. He endured.

Tim was overwhelmed. The burning in his stomach, the rawness in his throat, the constant trembling—it drowned him in a feverish frenzy. Every spasm felt like an inverted orgasm. A punishment. And Jason, his vessel. His human trash bin.

The vomit dripped, soaked his clothes, covered his fingers. Still, he kept going. Forcing himself forward, tongue invading the other’s mouth with filthy hunger. Teeth stained, bile dripping down his chin.

Jason couldn’t take any more. The last gulp of acid scorched his tongue. He tried to pull back, but he was still trapped. Not just by the body—by the contract. By the choice he had made. There was no will left. Only endurance.

Seconds that stretched into eternity.

The bathroom reeked of bile, rotten apples, and defeat. And Tim remained on top of him like he was climaxing—filthy, euphoric. As if this had been the fantasy all along. It was in the contract. Jason should’ve known.

Tim pulled away abruptly. Jason collapsed to the side, coughing violently. The air burned in his lungs. His stomach spun. He didn’t want to vomit—not again. He wouldn’t give Tim that satisfaction.

Tim spat out what still clung to his tongue, a string of saliva hanging from his lips. He panted. His chest heaved. He was drenched in sweat, pale, trembling. But he smiled.

A razor-sharp grin. Gleaming teeth. Absolute control in every feature.

“You’re an incredible toy,” he murmured, leaning over him. He stuck out his tongue and slowly licked Jason’s chin, savoring the mess.

Jason shuddered, motionless. So still. So obedient. So completely surrendered that Tim wanted to drag him back into the house and fuck him right there.

But not yet. Not just yet.

The sound of his tongue filled the room—obscene and wet. Every tremble under Jason’s skin burned between Tim’s legs. His cock throbbed again, heavy, as if it hadn’t finished. He panted against Jason’s cheek and bit lightly at his jaw. Jason tensed... and then gave in. His body responded instantly.

Perfect.

“There’s a back exit,” he finally said, standing up slowly. Not a single drop of vomit had stained Jason. “You can wash up in the guest bathroom, change clothes… and burn that shirt. Whatever you prefer.”

He gestured with disdain at the soaked garment.

“I’m heading out. See you later, Jays. And give your mother my apologies,” he added with a raised eyebrow. “Adults disgust me.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He left the bathroom with a relaxed stride, closing the door behind him.

Jason took a deep breath. Bad idea.

The stench hit him full force. He lunged for the toilet with a dry groan, emptying what little remained in his stomach. Harsh spasms shook his body. He coughed, panted, spat out thick bile and saliva.

He was grateful Tim had already gone. He couldn’t have stood doing that in front of him again. Not now. Shit. And he still had to do it again. Later.

He clung to the porcelain edge, trembling. Hands spread flat, stiff, pressed against the cold. He had to survive this. He had to.

Because if he didn’t make it, he was damned.

He already felt damned. Tied to a future he couldn’t escape. To a contract he couldn’t break. To memories that neither money nor distance would ever erase.

Maybe, when all this was over… when his parents were safe…

Jason could disappear. Cease to exist. And, with luck, take his guilt with him.

🖤🍰🖤🍰🖤🍰🖤

A heavy silence hung over them. Dinner was served. The same plates in front of them, but neither made the slightest move to touch anything.

Jason felt sick just thinking about eating. The lingering smell in the dining room twisted his stomach. He was almost tempted to grab the biggest slice of pie and shove it in his mouth just to throw up all over the table and give the maniac across from him a show.

Or maybe take the soup, walk up to Tim, and swear he’d vomit the moment that thick, lukewarm liquid touched his throat. Choking on his own puke didn’t sound so bad if it meant ending this damn day once and for all.

Tim didn’t look much better. He wasn’t even pretending to eat—his arms were crossed on the table, his head buried between them. It almost looked like a child’s tantrum when they don’t get what they want.

Jason’s foot tapped the floor in a steady, anxious rhythm. Time stretched like a punishment, and the uncertainty gnawed at his nerves. None of the servants moved. They all remained at their posts, as if waiting for divine orders.

Jason wondered if he could dismiss them. Let the dishes sit, and let hell do whatever it wanted with them.

So he did.

Tim hadn’t done anything dramatic before, so Jason mimicked him. He raised a hand and flicked it, as if waving off a fly.

The staff exchanged a silent glance among themselves, then with As, standing behind Jason. Just a second. Then, with a brief, synchronized bow, they left the room.

Tim’s raspy laugh startled him.

“You really think you’re someone, don’t you?”

Jason stood up without looking at him. Crossed the room with a tense body.

“I’m not the one throwing a tantrum,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “There are only a few hours left in the day, and tomorrow we’ve got another wonderful recreational activity. You want me to stay? You want me to leave? Or, I don’t know… maybe you’d prefer I fuck the guy in the mask over there?”

Tim’s head snapped up. His eyes darkened instantly. His face showed no emotion—except in the way he watched Jason, tracking every tiny movement.

“Don’t even think about it. You’re mine. I don’t share.”

Jason shrugged. Maybe he was pushing his luck. But he felt wrecked, and it was only the third day. The worst hadn’t even started yet.

“So, buyer… do you want to play with me now, or not?”

Tim didn’t respond. His eyes scanned him. From Jason to the plates. From the plates to As. Then back to Jason.

“The food smells like shit,” he said with contempt.

Jason held back from rolling his eyes. There was something in that dark blue gaze that made him rein it in.

“Wonder why,” he muttered.

Tim let out a short, dry laugh as he rose from the table.

“Think you’re funny?”

“I’m sure that was in my file,” Jason replied, leaning against the edge of the table with a lopsided grin.

Tim circled him slowly. He was shorter, by half a head maybe, but still looked down on him. Proud. Dominant.

Jason swallowed hard when Tim’s fingers grabbed his jaw. He squeezed—hard. Direct. Painful. Until marks were left on his skin.

“Open your mouth.”

He didn’t hesitate. He parted his lips as wide as he could, limited by the cruel grip on his jaw. He gasped when Tim’s nails grazed his skin; a shiver ran down his spine.

Tim leaned in closer, his body pressed to Jason’s. A wild glint in his eyes, a cruel smile curling his lips. He picked up a cookie from the table and held it between them.

Jason went pale. Horror stamped itself across his face—wide eyes, clenched jaw, cold sweat running down his back.

Tim laughed. Low. Slow. Cruel.

“Didn’t you want to play?” Tim whispered, bringing the bite close enough to brush Jason’s tongue. “Indulge me, Jays.”

Jason closed his eyes for a second. He blinked before opening them again, facing Tim’s twisted grin. The boy bit into half the cookie, chewing with a grimace of disgust, brows furrowed, face tight with tension.

Jason didn’t have time to speak. Tim yanked his jaw down, forcing his mouth open. He obeyed. There was no choice. The contract didn’t include the right to refuse.

Tim’s lips crashed against his. Teeth clashed. The kiss was messy, filthy, out of sync. Tim rubbed against him, his tongue trailing over Jason’s lips until he was forced to part them. And then it pushed inside.

Jason felt the nausea immediately. Tim’s tongue moved through his mouth, dragging soft, chewed-up bits soaked in saliva. The barely sweet cookie mixed with hot breath, with Jason’s own thick spit, and Tim’s. A warm paste slid across his tongue, pushed straight to the back of his throat.

He gasped. His fingers dug into the edge of the table. The effort not to push him away hurt his arms. His stomach twisted with the rancid taste.

Tim finally pulled back. Jason swallowed on reflex. He coughed, covering his mouth. He could feel the paste sliding down his throat, like thick mud slowly falling.

“Good boy,” Tim mocked.

Jason lifted his gaze slightly. Eyes wet. Tim was smiling—sharp and vicious, like he’d just broken something and was wondering how much more he could destroy.

“Isn’t this a fun game, Jays?”

“Disgusting,” Jason spat, unable to hold it back.

Tim’s smile widened. He leaned in closer, invading his space.

“That’s the best part,” he whispered, and bit off the next piece.

Jason braced himself. He parted his lips. This time, Tim grabbed him harder, fingers pressing into his face, denying him any escape—even air.

The second time was worse. His unsettled stomach reacted immediately. The bile rose hot, mixing with the sweetness and turning it vile. A brutal gag shook him, but Tim didn’t stop. He held Jason’s mouth open, forcing the cookie in.

Then he pulled back—only to clamp a hand over Jason’s mouth right after. Pressing his jaw shut. Holding him.

“Swallow,” he ordered, voice raspy, eyes fixed on his throat like he could watch the bite go down.

Jason could barely breathe. He inhaled sharply, irregularly, and still forced himself to obey. The wet paste stuck in his throat. He swallowed once. Twice. Three times. His eyes stung. The bile was there, threatening. And he had to swallow. Again. Keep it down.

Tim watched him like he was art. His fingers kept squeezing Jason’s jaw, feeling every tension, every muscle contraction as he fought not to throw it all up.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Swallow it. Feel it going down. Watching you force it down is exquisite, Jays.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Jason couldn’t give one. His hand was still over his mouth. He breathed hard through his nose, trying not to faint.

Tim picked up a piece of pie from the plate. Bigger this time. Crushed between his fingers. The topping shimmered with melted sugar, soaking his skin.

“Isn’t this romantic, Jays?” he said with a sharp, unhinged laugh.

He finally released his mouth. Jason opened his lips without thinking. Tim’s eyes lit up with perverse devotion, delighted by the obedience, hungry to keep breaking him.

Slowly, as if savoring each second of suffering, he smashed the pie into Jason’s face. Part of it landed in his mouth, some in his nose, some smeared across his jaw. The chocolate coated his tongue. Thick. Cold. Sticky.

Jason covered his mouth, holding back. Forcing himself not to spit it out.

The surprise on Tim’s face turned into pure ecstasy. He lowered his hand to his pants, playing with the zipper, while Jason chewed reflexively, swallowing by force, fighting the urge to vomit.

But this time was worse.

His stomach rejected everything now. It wouldn’t take anything in. The acidity clawed up his throat. Every bite was betrayal. He chewed without thinking, stupidly convinced it would make it easier. It didn’t.

The sharp sound of pants hitting the floor startled him.

Tim’s nails dug into his thighs, dragging him toward the table.

“Up.”

Jason obeyed clumsily. His body was stiff, his breath short. He sat with effort, just managing to swallow the cake. The movement tightened his stomach. The new position only made everything worse. It hurt more.

Tim stepped closer. His hot breath burned against Jason’s neck. Heavy, damp, charged.

“I want to see how long you can last before you throw up all over us,” he murmured.

He spread Jason’s legs and stepped between them. Jason trembled—from the cold, from fear, from tension. His limp cock hung between his thighs.

Tim clicked his tongue. He grabbed a jar of honey, poured it over his own cock, and wrapped his hand around it. He began stroking himself with a slow, firm rhythm—the heat of his fingers mixing with the thick sweetness, buzzing across his skin like static.

Jason swallowed hard. His cock started to harden. Slowly. Involuntarily. And he hated it.

Tim knew exactly what to do. How to touch. How to provoke. How to break him.

He placed another piece of cake in front of him. Jason opened his mouth. His lips trembled. Tim watched him. Attentive. As if every twitch was a gem.

Caught between pleasure and disgust, Jason just wanted it to end. But he couldn’t think about the end. Because he knew tomorrow would be worse.

He swallowed the bite. Stuck out his tongue to show him. Tim nodded, satisfied.

He offered another piece. Then another. Jason’s chest hurt. His legs couldn’t hold him up. And Tim’s hand never stopped. Up and down on his cock, squeezing, playing, delighting in the control.

“You’re shaking, Jays. What’s gonna burst first? Your stomach or your cock?”

Another piece. Bigger. Pushed hard. Tim’s fingers squeezing his jaw.

Tim licked his lips. He was panting.

Jason didn’t respond. He just swallowed.

The gag hit like a wave. A wet sound. A violent jolt. He coughed. A string of saliva slipped down his chin. His legs trembled. Sweat soaked his back.

Tim chuckled low.

“Don’t give up. You can take more.”

Another spoonful of cake. Whole. Forced in with fingers. The cold cream clung to his skin, drenched him. Tim shoved it against his lips.

Jason gasped. His nails dug into the table. Swallowing was hard. The damp mass clung to his tongue, to his palate. His stomach twisted like a wounded animal. The cloying sweetness mixed with the acid climbing his throat.

Tim licked his lips. He squeezed Jason’s balls with his other hand.

“Easy,” he whispered, stroking his cheek with sickening tenderness. “No one’s rushing you. We’ve got all night.”

“Fuck you,” Jason growled, teeth clenched.

He swallowed. Breathed through his mouth. His body trembled. His legs weak. His hands tense. Jaw numb.

Tim didn’t flinch. He scooped another spoonful. Offered it with a condescending smile.

“Not yet,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you know when. Until then, keep every drop inside your body.”

Jason opened his mouth again.

He didn’t even chew. Just swallowed. His throat burned. His stomach contracted like it would empty everything at once, but he held it back. He swallowed hard, panting, lips parted, chest on the verge of collapse.

“Good boy,” Tim murmured, sliding his fingers down his neck, right over where the bite traveled down. “I can almost see it going down.”

Jason panted. Saliva hung from his lips, and a dry heave shook his body. Tim gripped his cock, and Jason moaned before he could stop himself.

Tim watched him, enchanted. His dark eyes, brimming with pleasure, drank in every twitch like it was pure ecstasy.

“You’re making such an incredible effort. All just to please me.”

His voice was soft, hypnotic. A poisoned caress wrapping around him.

Another spoonful. More cake. More mass. More punishment.

Jason swallowed. Slower every time. More broken. His body only moved by reflex, drained.

“You know what I like most about you?” Tim whispered, pushing the next bite in. “You’re so obedient. I’ve had so many toys... and they all broke so easily.”

He pinched his cheek. Gently at first. Then harder. With repressed rage.

“You might earn a bonus if you make it to the end.”

Jason closed his eyes. Sweat ran down his forehead, soaked his back. His whole body was at the edge. At the limit. But not yet.

Tim stroked his hair. Slow. Deliberate.

“That’s what turns me on,” he whispered. “That silent war between your pride and your body. You keep insulting me. You keep cursing me. But you signed the contract.”

Another harsh tug at his cheek. A reminder. A mark.

“And you can’t blame me for any of this. You walked through that door.”

With a swift movement, Tim’s clothes were gone. Both of them moaned when their cocks touched. The shared heat. The pressure. The shiver in Jason’s muscles as he felt him so close.

“Put on a show for me, boy.”
Tim grabbed another piece of cake. He brought it to his mouth without taking his eyes off Jason. Unblinking. Hungry.

Then he threw himself on top of him. His hips moved fast, desperate. Their cocks rubbing against each other between their bellies. Tim’s tongue shoved the last bite into Jason’s mouth.

And that was it.

A violent shudder rippled through Jason. Tim pulled back just slightly, his eyes wide. His hand didn’t stop. He grabbed Jason by the nape and forced him to lower his head, eyes locked on the disaster about to erupt.

Jason’s stomach clenched violently. Everything rose at once. No warning. His body folded in half. Tim held him in place.

A wet, brutal sound tore from Jason’s throat.

The bile burned on its way up. Saliva dripped from his lips. And Tim moaned, jerking off faster, harder, rubbing their cocks together.

Jason couldn’t hold it anymore. He vomited all over their entangled cocks. The hot liquid soaked everything. The stench hit him. And that made it worse.

Another spasm. Another wave. Hot. Sickly sweet. Thick.

It burst from deep inside. Covered his groin. Streams ran down his stomach, his thighs, Tim’s hand—still pumping. Cake. Cookie. Bile. Soup. A warm flood that wouldn’t stop.

Tim’s free hand buried in his hair, yanking him hard by the scalp.

Jason whimpered in pain. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

He gasped between dry heaves. His chest convulsing. His body trembling. Tears. Sweat. Saliva hanging from his chin. Nothing clean. Nothing left.

Tim sped up.

Jason’s body shook harder. One last gag wracked him. And just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, Tim lifted his face. Took his mouth. Kissed him.

Jason moaned. Tried to pull away. Failed. The bile climbed again. His cock throbbed. Tim’s tongue forced its way in.

Tim moaned, his body seizing. Cum spilled, hot and thick, staining Jason’s chest and groin. Dripping from Tim’s hand.

And that was what broke Jason.

One last heave rose in his throat. No time to fight it. It poured out, directly into Tim’s open mouth. Coating his jaw. His chin.

Tim gasped. Coughed. Bent forward. But he didn’t stop.

Jason saw him collapse—and that was enough.

A spasm shot down his back. His whole body clenched. And he came. Cum spurting from his cock. Streaking across Tim’s chest. His hand. Everything.

Tim laughed. Short. Dry. Rough.

He licked his lips. Took a step back. Looked at him.

Jason was a living disaster. A ruined body. Filthy. Broken.

“You’re the best contract I’ve ever signed, Jays.”

Jason didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He panted, breath ragged. His arms trembling.

Vomit dripped from his lips. His chest rose and fell with effort.

Tim cupped his face with both hands. Slowly licked the corner of his mouth.

He tasted him. Closed his eyes.

Moaned.

“Perfect.”

Tim stepped back. Looked down at his groin for a long moment, as if analyzing a piece of art. Almost admiring it—until he shook his head slowly.

He snapped his fingers.

As appeared immediately, holding a bucket of warm water and a clean cloth. He offered it to Jason, but Tim brushed him aside with a sharp flick of the hand and took it himself.

“I have to clean my toys, As.”

The servant bowed his head in respect and disappeared silently, as if he’d never been there.

Tim dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and began wiping Jason’s body. Removing the semen, bile, and sweat with careful, almost ceremonial strokes.

Jason said nothing. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, thick and dry. He hadn’t seen Tim clothed often enough to understand him—and didn’t want to.

“As,” Tim called softly, without raising his voice. “Let Jason’s mother know he won’t be sleeping at home tonight.”

A quick nod. As exited the room.

Jason watched him leave. Then looked back at Tim.

“Why...?”

“I pay you to be with me all day,” Tim cut in, not even looking at him. “And I want you in the mansion for the next few. Any complaints?”

“No. Of course not,” Jason answered instantly, automatic.

“Good.”

Tim frowned. Scrubbed the cloth harder, like he was trying to scrape skin off. Irritation tightening his jaw.

“That’s not going to get rid of the smell.”

Tim’s eyes lit up.

“We’re going to bathe together.”

He said it with a dangerous smile. Turned and walked away without waiting for a response.

Jason climbed off the table, trembling. Tripped over his own feet as he tried to pull his pants up halfway. He followed.

The hallway felt longer now. Darker. No servants. No voices. Nothing. The air was heavy. Still. Suffocating. Like the walls were closing in with every step.

“It’s been a while since I’ve bathed with someone,” Tim commented, laughing like he was telling a funny story. “We didn’t bring the mirror to the dining room. That wasn’t right.”

He clicked his tongue. Annoyed. Hard to tell if it was at Jason or himself.

A door slid open. Automatic. Pearlescent.

A bathroom. Complete. Spacious. But no tiles. No color. Everything was mirror. Black. Deep. Infinite.

The walls. The ceiling. The floor.

The same black stain Tim had brought into the bedroom, into the dining room. The one that seemed to reflect him—though Jason could never see it. Because Tim always could.

And whatever was behind it, too.

Like the star attraction of this twisted show.

“Welcome, Jason,” Tim said without looking back. “To day four.”

Chapter Text

“It’s been a long time since I’ve showered with someone,” Tim said, laughing like he was sharing a trivial anecdote, some meaningless detail. “We didn’t bring the mirror to the dining room. That wasn’t right.”

He clicked his tongue in irritation. No one could tell if his anger was directed at Jason or at himself.

The door opened on its own. Silent. Precise.

A full bathroom. Spacious. Cold. But there were no tiles, no marble, no colors. Everything was covered in the same black mirror. Deep. Absorbing. Infinite.

The ceiling, the walls, the floor.

The same dark stain Tim had brought into the bedroom. Into the dining room. The one that dragged itself with him without reflecting anything. Because Jason couldn’t see it. But Tim could. And whatever was behind it, could too.

As if the main show needed more eyes.

“Welcome, Jason,” Tim said without looking back. “To day five.”

Tim was the first to undress. He made a face of disgust as the damp, sweaty clothes fell to the floor. As if the game had a limit, and once past that point, he couldn’t stand his own skin.

A stupid thought, Jason told himself. And started undressing too.

The sound of the shower filled the room. Tim was leaning forward, one hand under the water, adjusting the temperature.

Jason hated him a little more for it.

The bastard had a good body. A little pale, but well-kept. Defined muscles—the kind of tone only constant training could achieve. His long hair fell loose, moving with every shift. No ties like usual. Nothing to hold it back.

He almost looked normal. Like someone you might bump into on the street and instinctively apologize to.

But no. He was the same sick bastard dragging him under the shower now. Boiling water falling like a curse. Jason clenched his teeth, stepping back slightly to avoid getting his skin seared.

Tim looked up. Water ran down his whole body.

“Too hot?” he asked, amused.

“You could serve my skin on a plate in thirty minutes.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. Jason quickly looked away. Regretting it.

“I didn’t mea—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tim cut him off. He turned the knob, lowering the temperature. Jason exhaled, shaky.

He didn’t move.

Tim started lathering him with a ridiculous amount of products. Every scent different. Flowers. Fruits. Chemicals. All mixed together. It burned his nose.

“Did you do what I asked?”

Unfortunately.

“Yes.”

“Perfect.”

Tim’s hands slid across his chest, covered in cream. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t gentle either. He did what he had to do. Without care. Without affection.

Like cleaning a dirty toy.

“On your knees.”

Jason dropped before he could even swallow. His body reacted on its own.

More creams. This time on his head. Tim was washing his hair, and though he was doing it roughly, a shiver ran down Jason’s spine. He couldn’t stop it. He moaned.

Tim chuckled softly.

“Look at that,” he murmured, running his fingers through every strand, every curve of his skull.

Jason gasped. The dizziness hit him fast. The last touch, right behind his ear, sent electricity down his back. His cock rose completely—tense, trembling.

A wave of real shame hit him.

Pretending to be a toy was one thing. But reacting that fast... for his body to betray him like that... He hated it.

There weren’t many places that made him shiver. He liked hiding them. But Tim found them.

And the worst part was that he hadn’t even been careful. He’d been almost rough.

“So sensitive,” Tim mocked.

He grabbed a fistful of Jason’s hair, yanked him back, forced him to look up.

Water ran down his face. The heat in his cheeks was a mix of shame and temperature. He knew he was blushing. He could feel it.

Tim stared at him like he was devouring him. Eyes locked. Pupils blown wide. His body perfectly still. His hard cock pressed against Jason’s chest.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched him.

“Be a good boy,” he said at last. “Wash my hair.”

He let go.

Jason didn’t answer. He stared at him as he stood. That look in his eyes didn’t need explanation. He knew what it meant. He knew what was coming.

Every madman has his method.

And this one, even younger, was no less demanding.

“Just let it out already,” Tim sighed, like he was bored. “It’s not that hard, Jays.”

Jason nodded. Moved carefully. Shifted around. Tim dropped to his knees, facing away from him.

He took the same cream. Started massaging his hair. Slow circles. Almost like he meant it.

It wouldn’t help. But Jason needed time. To breathe. To get ready.

He glanced at the mirrors. They reflected nothing. And yet, he felt hundreds of eyes on him. In every motion. Every touch. Every breath.

He inhaled deeply. Let his body loosen.

His bladder had been aching for twenty minutes. The cramps low in his belly wouldn’t let him focus. And Tim wanted him to do it right there. On him.

Fine. He would.

He reached back. Turned off the shower.

The water stopped.

Tim didn’t flinch. Just a sigh. A soft gasp, but shaky. He lowered his head. Jaw tight.

“Do it.”

Jason yanked his hair hard, forcing his head to tilt to one side. He grabbed his hard cock with one hand, aiming it directly at Tim’s exposed back. He felt the burn rising from the base, a sharp, urgent sting he had to push aside just to let go. The relief made him moan—low, heavy. There was no restraint. No pause. Just the pressure giving in, and the hot liquid spilling in a direct stream.

The piss hit Tim’s skin hard—yellow, acidic—dripping down his pale back in thick, dirty lines. A golden map stretching from the nape of his neck downward.
Tim gasped, a dry moan that vibrated from his chest up into his throat. He closed his eyes. His jaw clenched, back stiff. Mouth parted, pupils dilated. Fixed.
The first contact made him shudder involuntarily. The heat ran through him like a jolt.

Jason felt the smell hit his face—strong, pungent, almost bitter. The thick texture of the first spurts splashed against him. And still, he kept moaning. His body trembled. The pleasure of defiling him was overwhelming.

The heat kept flowing, freeing him with every spasm. Jet after jet of piss shot from his cock, hitting Tim’s back over and over, staining it, marking it. And with each new filthy line, shame twisted into desire.

And Tim did nothing but moan.

He moaned with each impact. Moaned as the liquid slid down his skin. As the smell surrounded him. As the heat wrapped around him.
He felt dirty.
He felt used.
He felt like what he was in that moment: nothing more than a human toilet, bent over, given up. With his mouth half-open and his body exposed.

Jason’s hand didn’t let go of him. He pulled harder on his hair, controlling him completely while gasping for air. The pleasure of owning him, of emptying himself on him, kept him standing.

The stream weakened. The last few spurts came out with effort, dripping between his legs and splashing onto the floor.

Only silence remained. Harsh breathing. Still bodies. And the wet sound of the last drop hitting the tile.

Tim pressed his hands to his own thighs, fingers tensed. He didn’t move.

He wouldn’t give the black void any more than that. Not yet.

The day was just beginning, and Tim wanted to enjoy it.
He didn’t plan to break Jason into pieces that fast.

🖤💛🖤 ⛓️ 🖤💛🖤

Jason stood in the middle of a room as big as the house he was staying in. Big—too big. Completely ostentatious.

His gaze was fixed on the floor, not out of obligation, but because once the heat had left his body and his mind came back to full awareness, his actions hit him like a truck.

And he simply couldn’t look Tim in the eyes.

Now, Tim was staring at him from the bed. His blue eyes didn’t blink, locked on him with a burning intensity. He was calmly drinking a glass of whiskey, as if there was nothing out of place.

Jason also held one in his hand—untouched. But he couldn’t bring it to his lips. He couldn’t force himself to drink anything.

One last detail: Jason was completely naked. The cold crawled across his skin, making him shiver. And Tim had spent the last twenty minutes just staring at him.

As was also present, standing in the darkest corner of the room. Jason didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse to always be able to feel his presence.

Though the answer should’ve been simple. He was always there.

Tim extended his glass, now empty, in front of him. No words were needed. As was by his side in an instant, taking the glass from his hand.

“Take Jason’s too and leave,” Tim said. As nodded, heading toward Jason. “And don’t come back, As. I’ll know. I want you gone.”

As’s hand trembled as he took Jason’s glass. He didn’t look up, but Jason could feel him watching. Hating him, though Jason didn’t know why.

The door closed, without a single sound to mark it. If Jason hadn’t followed him with his eyes, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

“Alright then, let’s do this.”

Tim stretched his arms over his head, walking toward a dresser on the far side of the room. He hummed softly as he searched through a drawer.

“We’re on yellow, so we can use one with the color—it’ll be more fun.”

He pulled a pair of handcuffs from the drawer and held them up for Jason to see. A lopsided smile on his face.

“Don’t you think?”

Jason swallowed, unsure.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said simply. “You don’t need to cuff me to anything.”

Tim scoffed, dismissing the comment with a wave of his hand.

“That’s not what they’re for, silly,” he said as he stepped closer. He looked at Jason with one eyebrow raised, and Jason immediately lifted his hands, offering them to Tim.

“They’re for me. I’m a heavy sleeper, and I won’t know when you get up to take care of your needs.”

The click of both cuffs felt like a sentence to Jason. Not as much as the contract he’d signed days ago—but for tonight, for this day, it was.

Tim tugged on the chain, and Jason followed. Almost like a dog on a leash.

There was no difference—except for the posture and the shape of the collar.

Tim crawled onto the bed, yawning as he dropped onto it, pulling the sheets over himself. He looked at Jason, then at the empty space beside him.

“Get in,” he said, though a soft giggle escaped his lips.

“Into bed. Lie down next to me, Jays.”

Jason obeyed. He took the empty spot on the bed, covering himself with the sheets. He stared at the ceiling, body stiff, hands clasped over his chest.

Tim yawned again, stretching his body awkwardly across the bed.

“Good night, Jays.”

“Good night, Tim.”

A loud clap from Tim’s hands, and the lights went out.

Jason had to sleep. The day would never end, and he already felt like he was drowning. The air scraped his throat on the way in.

He couldn’t breathe properly. The smell was still there, stuck in his nose.

He hoped—by some divine grace—that if Tim didn’t regret it, if he took this madness to the very last of its conditions, at least his mother would forgive him.

That God would have mercy on his soul.

And that none of it was more than just a very vivid dream.

🖤💛🖤 ⛓️ 🖤💛🖤

Tim felt a slight pull from the bed and groaned without opening his eyes, arms tightening around the body trying to slip away. The warmth next to him froze. Jason stopped moving. Perfect. Tim purred, pressing lazily against his back, shamelessly relaxed, as if nothing in the world could bother him.

“Tim…” the voice was barely a whisper, accompanied by a clumsy tap on his shoulder. “I need to… go to the bathroom.”

The tone was urgent. Broken.

He opened his eyes at once, blinking to adjust to the dimness. And he saw him. Jason, sitting at the edge of the mattress, thighs pressed together, his back slightly hunched forward. Lips pursed, cheeks flushed, and sweat tracing lines down his forehead. His chest rose and fell in erratic rhythm, like his whole body was straining.

Tim didn’t need more than that. He could read it. He knew how long Jason had been holding it. Hours, probably. Ever since their bathroom session. After dessert, when he’d forced him to eat cake after cake, laughing as he pretended not to notice how Jason’s body trembled in the chair.

His smile formed slowly, baring all his teeth. Slow. Predatory. Pleased.

“Why so shy? You’re my guest, Jays,” he said, sitting up with ease. He stretched without hurry, letting out a deep, satisfied groan.
“You didn’t need to hold it in for so long. You could’ve woken me hours ago.”

Jason lowered his head, shrinking slightly, as if guilt was curling his spine.

“I didn’t… I thought I could control it better.”

Tim let out a soft laugh. Control. Of course. How adorable.

“Of course. People can sleep for hours before needing to go. But the cakes you ate…” he paused, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, savoring the uncomfortable twitch on Jason’s face, “they were special.”

Jason stared at him. Lips tight, jaw clenched like he was holding something back. The slight tremble in his eyebrow told Tim everything. He wanted to scowl. He wanted to hate him. He wanted to break something.

Delightful.

“Shall we? I’m already up—I might as well take advantage.”

The bathroom in his room was comfortable, yes. But it wasn’t what he needed for this.

With his fingers closed around the center of the handcuffs—like holding a leash—he gave a sharp tug, making Jason follow without protest.

The hallway was dark, but not completely. They could still be seen. Maybe by the eyes in the deep. Maybe by someone else. Tim didn’t stop to think about it. Not his problem. If someone couldn’t handle it, they just shouldn’t look.

He pushed the door open and walked in without ceremony. Jason closed it behind them, but didn’t move forward. He stood still. Tense. Staring at the mirrors like they were altars, searching for a reflection that wasn’t there. Waiting for salvation that wouldn’t come.

Tim ignored him. He stood in front of the sink, grabbed one of the black ties, and pulled his hair up into a quick, functional ponytail. The motion caught Jason’s attention—he could feel it. It forced him to look. Good. He had him now.

With his back straight, Tim dropped to his knees in the center of the room. The floor was cold against his skin. It didn’t matter. He lifted his gaze and devoured him with his eyes.

Jason was completely naked. No clothes. No barriers. His body was everything Tim wanted to see. Hard muscle, clean, sun-kissed but unmarked. No hair. Nothing to hide. A neat, obedient skin. Just as he'd been told.

And there it was. His cock, hanging heavy, swollen with need. Morning wood that had survived the discomfort, the sleep, and the desperation. Pressed tight against his abdomen, tense, warm, pulsing faintly—right at Tim’s eye level.

A luxury.

He breathed in deeply, holding himself back. His own cock pressed hard against the fabric. Throbbing. But he wasn’t going to touch himself. Not yet. First, he wanted to see Jason surrender.

He lifted one hand and curled his fingers—a simple motion to make him come closer.
Like calling a dog.

🖤💛🖤 ⛓️ 🖤💛🖤

“Do you know what I want?” he asked, though the answer was obvious. The tone was just a formality.

“Of course,” Jason replied instantly. No hesitation. No stammering.
Wonderful.

“Perfect.”

Jason took a step. Then another. His cock trembled with each movement, his ragged breathing gave him away. He was on the edge.
And Tim knew it.
He had him.

When he was standing in front of him, his cock so close Tim could feel the heat radiating off it, he swallowed with a short, hungry gasp. His gaze dropped to the head—perfectly exposed. Shiny. Throbbing with need.

“Perfect,” he repeated, this time lower, darker, filthier.

He took the cock in his hand with deliberate slowness, first tracing the outline with his fingertips, feeling the subtle tremble running through Jason’s body. The hardness under his palm, the hot, tight skin, the pulse beating just beneath the base. He had him right at the edge.

And he knew it.

With no further warning, he took it into his mouth in one go. All the way down. His throat clenched for a second, and he moaned, swallowing hard not to let it go. The taste hit instantly—dried sweat, hot skin, and that thick charge that made his mouth water.

He moved with hunger, licking the cock like a salty candy, while the tip rubbed his palate and the precum slid like warm water. Jason’s scent filled his nose, that heavy aroma of a body forced to hold back, of shame kept in too long.

Jason’s hand tangled in his hair—hard, firm—and Tim growled in response. He loved that. That contradiction between control and surrender. He held his hips with both hands, digging his nails into the tense flesh, and pushed deeper, letting out a moan that made his throat vibrate.

And there it was. A tiny shift in body tension. A slight pull at the base of the cock. A dry shudder. And then—the first stream.
It was abrupt. Surprising. Acidic.

Tim choked on the golden liquid hitting his tongue without warning. His own cock pulsed instantly. His entire body shivered. He swallowed quickly, but the next release came even harder. A hot, steady blast straight down his throat. He closed his eyes and moaned, one desperate, clumsy hand already tugging down his pants, freeing his own cock so he could touch himself.

Jason didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The pressure broke, and the piss flooded him. Overflowed his mouth, spilled from the corners, dripped down his chin in warm drops that soaked the floor. The liquid coated his tongue, the sour, biting taste of ammonia filled his nose. It turned his stomach—and made his cock even harder. It was disgusting. It was perfect.

He kept swallowing through soft gags. His throat muscles working, the wet sound of each gulp mixing with the steady dripping of liquid against his tongue. Every new stream made him gasp. His chest jolted with every breath.

He could feel Jason’s body trembling in front of him. Legs giving out. Fingers tight in his hair. Breathing ragged, as if every second was being dragged out of his body.

The smell was dense. Heavy. The entire room stank of submission. Of heat. Of absolute surrender.

When the flow stopped, Tim pulled back just enough to breathe. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t stop stroking his cock. His tongue licked the tip, gathering the remnants mixed with precum. One drop sweet, one drop bitter. The contrast made him dizzy.

He moaned loud, hoarse, without holding back. His cock jerked violently, and his whole body curled forward as orgasm crashed into him without mercy. Hot jets splattered him, staining his chest, his arm, the floor. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t care. He just needed to empty himself. To be filled with it.

And he still wanted more.

He wanted to keep licking. He wanted to feel it again. He wanted to dive back down.

He breathed with difficulty, heart pounding against his ribs, hands trembling. Still on his knees. Still filthy. Still starving.

He opened his eyes all at once.

Jason was looking at him. His chest rising and falling like he’d just run miles, his face flushed, eyes wide with a mix of shock, exhaustion—and something else. Something filthy. Something irreversible.

His mouth was slightly open. Like he’d wanted to say something, but swallowed it back.

Tim smiled.

“Perfect,” he said again. His voice dry. Raspy. Loaded with something he couldn’t hide.

A short laugh broke from his chest, and he didn’t hold it in.

If Jason made it to the end, Tim would give him a reward far better than he’d promised.

🖤💛🖤 ⛓️ 🖤💛🖤

Tim wasn’t a brute. He brushed his teeth in the bathroom and washed his face, tossing his dirty clothes into the hamper.

Jason showered quickly, scrubbing his skin like he was trying to tear it off in strips.

He looked at the mirror. His reflection was little more than a blurry shadow. And he remembered…

He wasn’t supposed to be the one narrating this.

🖤💛🖤🐈‍⬛🖤💛🖤

Jason kept scrubbing his body with force, hoping to erase the previous night. This night. And the other. And, if possible, the ones that would come after. Every inch of skin weighed on him like a crime.

He stopped. Something didn’t add up.

His own words echoed in his mind, a warning drowning in fog.

What had happened the day before? It was the green. He remembered… or didn’t he?

“Jays, if you’re done, dry off. It’s still early and I’m sleepy,” Tim complained, standing at the edge of the bathtub.

“My beauty sleep requires more than three hours.”

Jason nodded immediately, standing up. He took the towel Tim held out and dried himself quickly. All under the watchful gaze of the other, who devoured him with his eyes.

“You’re a beauty, you know that?”

“No. But I appreciate the compliment,” he replied easily.

Lately, the answers came naturally. Quicker. Smoother. He didn’t remember being this “good” with other clients.

“I’m telling you—you are,” Tim purred, a predatory smile curling his lips. “Let’s get back to bed, Jays.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned gracefully, tugging on the cuffs.

The way back was more lit than before. A first ray of sunlight slid across the edge of the world, in a sunrise as beautiful as it was fake.

As was waiting for them at the bedroom entrance, opening the door with diligence.

“Good boy,” Tim said brightly, giving the man a pat on the head. “Always so desperate for attention,” he sighed with boredom, clicking his tongue. “Stay on your knees by the door until we come out.”

No second command was needed. As dropped instantly, head bowed to the floor like a punished dog.

Tim rolled his eyes and entered the room without looking back.

“That’s why I don’t play with you anymore,” he shouted into the air, to the empty room, though he knew As could hear him.

“You’re so obedient, it’s boring.”

He waved a hand, and Jason closed the door. The image of As hunched over himself was the last thing he saw.

Tim had stopped in the center of the room. He scanned every corner like he was searching for something hidden. Something only he could see.

His steps echoed loudly—too loudly for his slim body—as he walked to a corner. Suddenly, his hands dove into the shadows there and, with a furious motion, he hurled something to the floor.

The shatter of glass against tile shook everything.

“I don’t want mirrors unless I ask for them,” he growled.

Jason wanted to ask what he meant, but then a figure emerged from the darkness. Smaller than Tim, dressed the same as As. Only his mask was that of a black cat.

“Do your part,” ordered the shadow with a young, chilling voice. A voice that froze Jason’s blood.

It pointed to the center of the room with an arrogant, almost ceremonial gesture.

“And please our father.”

It walked through the room with its head held high, never once looking at Jason. It stopped at the door, glanced at As from the corner of its eye, shook its head slowly… and left without another word.

A sharp snap startled him. Jason turned to see Tim lazily pointing to the center of the room.

Jason reacted quickly, moving awkwardly to the indicated position.

Tim’s laughter vibrated in his chest as he approached.

“Don’t ask.”

“That’s not in my contract.”

Tim stared at him, and Jason dropped to his knees, opening his mouth. As if he’d done it all his life. As if his body knew how to obey before thinking.

It should’ve disturbed him. But it didn’t.

Tim pulled down his pants. He wasn’t wearing underwear. His cock was already hard, exposed to the air. He said nothing. Took it in his fingers, and with the other hand, grabbed Jason’s hair tightly.

He slid the head of his cock along Jason’s lips, coating them with the thick precum that dripped from the tip. Just seeing him drop without a word had been enough to get him fully hard. The soft lips sent a shiver down his spine, and Tim had to bite his lip not to piss on him right there. Not yet. Not so fast.

The moment he pushed just the tip into his mouth, the brush of teeth and lips made him gasp. The sensitive skin reacted instantly.

“Suck it like a toddler with his pacifier.”

Jason barely lifted his eyes, confused by the comparison. But he didn’t protest. He never did. He closed his lips around the glans, and the first suction jolted down Tim’s spine like an electric shock.

The heat of his mouth wrapped around him, Jason’s breath from his nose brushing the base, and Tim shivered. He gasped, feeling almost shaky.

Jason’s tongue barely touched the tip—a soft stroke that made Tim tremble entirely. He could feel saliva pooling around the head, warm and slick, while the tongue kept licking in slow, lazy circles.

He bit his lip, mesmerized by the motion of his mouth. Jason sucked awkwardly, but with focus. His lips tightened around the glans, sucking hard, pulling at the foreskin with each move.

Tim groaned through clenched teeth. Jason repeated the motion. His tongue kept caressing, sucking, obedient, like it really was a pacifier. Still. No hands. Just mouth and tongue. And his fists clenched over his knees, knuckles white from restraint. His cock, fully erect, bumped against his chest.

A delicious image.

Tim gasped, gripping his hair harder. He gave a slight tug, aiming for that exact spot on the scalp he knew would trigger him. He found it. Jason moaned, and the vibration shot through Tim’s entire cock like a jolt of lightning.

He pulled again, chasing that response. Jason obeyed. A longer, deeper moan that made Tim shudder.

His cock throbbed hard in that soft mouth. Each suction, each stroke, pushed him closer to the edge. The filthy sound of Jason hungrily sucking him filled the room, and Tim couldn’t look away.

“Just like that… just like that, Jays,” he murmured, voice hoarse, trembling with desire. “You don’t need to take it all. Just the tip. The tip will give you everything you want. My cum. My piss. And you’ll take it. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

Pre-cum kept flowing. Thick. Sticky. Jason swallowed without thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world. That kind of submission drove Tim mad.

The suction became a sweet punishment, a pleasurable ache. Jason’s tongue moved over the skin, back and forth, tugging, playing with the foreskin, deliberately brushing over the slit. The urethra. As if he knew. As if he were begging for the hot liquid.

A touch just below, where the skin was thinner. Tighter. More vulnerable. Tim leaned forward, pushing just slightly, a few more millimeters, never letting him take it fully. Just the head. Just for his pleasure. Just for Jason to use it as he’d been told.

“You feel it?” he whispered, lowering his gaze toward him. “Feel how it’s pulsing in your mouth? I’m so close to filling you with everything.”

Jason moaned in response. The vibration ran through him again. Tim tugged at his hair once more, trembling.

“Good boy. Best I’ve had in years. Almost worth digging through Crime Alley for. They’re all so desperate for money they’ll do anything to survive,” he chuckled darkly. “Tell me, Jays—how desperate were you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t care.

He held him tighter. The head was flushed, wet, tight from constant suction. Every squeeze from Jason’s lips knocked the breath out of him. Every flick of tongue made his thighs twitch.

The need to piss pressed against his abdomen, but he held it. Not yet. He still wanted to see him like this: on his knees, mouth stuffed with just the tip, sucking desperately, like he enjoyed it—even if he pretended not to.

Jason adjusted slightly, swallowing with difficulty. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked harder. And right then, exactly then, Tim felt himself about to explode.

He leaned forward, and Jason’s hands rose to hold him by the thigh. Steadying him. Keeping him upright, straight, while Tim’s body trembled.

“Good boy.”

His cock throbbed violently. Heat surged through his belly, and a shiver ran down his spine. All it took was one last touch from Jason—his tongue brushing lightly over the frenulum, slow and teasing—for Tim to lose control.

His body arched before he could stop it.

A guttural moan escaped his throat. His hips thrust forward just a bit, pushing another inch into Jason’s mouth. And Jason didn’t stop. He sucked harder, more insistently, more hungrily.

Tim was right on the edge. He knew it. And he still hadn’t pissed.

He hadn’t used the bathroom in hours. His bladder was swollen, pressure pounding in his abdomen. Almost unbearable.

Perfect.

He exhaled deeply, his abdominal muscles trembling from holding it in. The head of his cock throbbed inside Jason’s mouth—sensitive, slick, soaked.

He was so certain. So sure he knew what was coming. And that only turned Tim on more. He relaxed his sphincter. Like it was second nature.

Climax and a full bladder. The perfect combo.

“Open your mouth wider,” he ordered, voice cracking, soaked in effort.

Jason obeyed. He parted his lips, letting the glans rest on his tongue—shiny, pulsing, exposed. Pre-cum kept dribbling back, thick strings sliding down his tongue. Warm. Viscous. Obscene.

“Don’t swallow. Don’t close your mouth. I want to watch you take it.”

Tim gritted his teeth as his entire body trembled. The orgasm hit him in a savage wave. Jason gasped when the first burst of cum hit him—hot and bitter.

But Tim didn’t stop.

The soft stream of piss followed right after. Yellow. Scalding. Acidic. Jason’s eyes, startled, looked up and found his. That flicker of guilty pleasure, barely hidden at the edge of those pupils, shot straight through Tim.

The first second flowed easily. The liquid hit the back of his throat, mixed with semen, overflowing to the sides, dripping from the corners of Jason’s mouth. He coughed, but didn’t pull away. Didn’t retreat. The acid and salt flooded his tongue, burning the roof of his mouth.

His eyes closed. His whole body tensed, gasping where he could. But he didn’t resist. He didn’t escape. He obeyed. Like he was supposed to.

Tim growled. His body had no strength left, but his pelvis still pushed forward on instinct, desperate to release every drop. The orgasm kept unraveling him, and his bladder burned, desperate to keep emptying.

He forced it. Pressed his hand hard against Jason’s head, holding him still, claiming him, while both fluids filled him.

Cum and piss, flooding his mouth at once. The tip of Tim’s cock trembled, pulsing, setting the pace. And Jason—still. Defeated. Taking it all.

His eyes rolled back when pain and pleasure fused. Another stream. Longer. Stronger. His cock ached from the effort, and Tim trembled under the brutal combination of relief and orgasm. The sound of piss splashing into Jason’s open mouth made him groan—deep, ragged, animal.

It landed on his tongue, his palate, splashed against his teeth, dripping down to his chin. Mixed with thick cum. Jason coughed, swallowing by reflex, but couldn’t keep up.

Both fluids spilled from his mouth. Ran down his neck in hot, dirty trails. Stained his chest. Soaked his bare skin. White and yellow painting him like a depraved canvas.

Tim panted. Relief shook him to the core. His orgasm still pulsed at the base of his balls, and the sight in front of him stole his breath.

Jason. Soaked. Dripping. On his knees. Mouth still open. Cock resting on his tongue, filthy, hot, leaking.

“Just like that… fuck…”

The third stream was slower. Steadier. A thin line that slid straight into his throat. Tim kept a tight grip on his hair, forcing him to stay still, to take it all.

Jason trembled. His chest rose and fell with strain. But he didn’t move.

And that… that broke something in him.

Tim felt like he could cum again. Not from pleasure. From power. From that raw, feral desire to own him completely.

He stroked his cheek with his thumb, wiping away a thin trail of piss running down his jaw.

“You know how beautiful you look like this?” he whispered, hoarse. “You’re a fucking living fountain of lust. Of submission.”

And Jason said nothing. Not because he didn’t want to.

But because he couldn’t.

Because his mouth was still open. And Tim still wasn’t done pissing in it.

The fourth stream came out in short, uneven spurts. The burning in his urethra began to ease, leaving a filthy warmth trickling down his legs. Piss dripped from the glans in lazy threads, falling onto Jason’s open tongue, spilling past the corners of his lips.

His mouth filled faster than he could swallow. He coughed. Drooled. Spat without meaning to. The liquid ran down his chest, splashed onto the floor, soaked his thighs.

Tim watched him, fascinated. Motionless. Silent. His hand still gripping his hair, feeling those last hot streams falling heavily, thick. His bladder emptying completely into that obedient body.

The final thread of piss stretched from the tip to Jason’s tongue, trembling like a golden string before it snapped and slid lazily down his chin.

Tim exhaled. Deep. Slow.

He finally let go of his hair and stepped back, taking in the scene.

Jason was still on his knees. Shaking. His face and chest dotted with yellow droplets. His lips wet, swollen. His neck gleamed under the dim light, and the floor beneath him was a warm puddle spreading slowly. He didn’t lift his head. He breathed like he was afraid he’d done something wrong.

“You can go take a shower,” Tim said at last, calm. Like he’d just given him permission to keep breathing.

Jason stood without a word. Clumsy. Slow. His feet slipping slightly over the wet surface. He closed the bathroom door behind him without a sound.

Tim stretched. Shook out his legs. A satisfied sigh swelled in his chest. He stroked his own cock with his fingers, still tingling from the release. From doing it like that. No filter. On him. In him.

And then he remembered.

Diamond.

The interruption earlier. The way he’d come in uninvited. What he’d implied in front of Jason.

Tim clicked his tongue in disdain.

“As!” he shouted, not bothering to look toward the door. “Here. Now.”

A few seconds passed. Then the door creaked open and As stepped in. Silent. Submissive. Eyes down.

“Clean the floor,” Tim ordered, pointing to the still-warm puddle in front of him.

As looked down at the floor. He already knew what he had to do. That obedience was burned into his body like a hot iron. Tim didn’t need to remind him of anything. A good servant knows. And As was the best of them all.

He dropped to his knees with rehearsed grace. Hands behind his back, body upright, holding himself with unnatural precision. Years of training distilled into a single figure.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not with the mask on. He wasn’t allowed to take it off. He was nothing without it. Taking it off was a betrayal to his masters. And As didn’t betray. Not ever.

Sometimes, Tim wished he would. That he’d break the mold. Show something outside his programming, just so he could punish him for real. Just to feel some genuine pleasure watching him break.

He circled the puddle without stepping in it and stood behind him. With his nails, he scratched at his neck—rough, scarred skin under his fingers. He took hold of the white mask, that polished, empty shine, and pulled it off As’s face.

He held it up in front of his own. Looked at it with contempt. It was the only boundary As couldn’t cross. The only change he wasn’t allowed to make. The owl tattoo burned into his skin sealed him as property.

Tim tossed the mask into the puddle with disgust. The plastic hit the liquid with a wet smack, splashing yellow everywhere, staining it.

“Not a single drop left, As.”

No further instruction needed. He leaned down, and the sound of his tongue dragging across the floor filled the room. Wet. Revolting. Desperate. His tongue sliding across the dirty marble, lips sticking to the ground. As always. As he’d been trained.

Tim folded his arms, leaned one shoulder against the bed, and watched him coldly.

“You’re so perfect it’s boring, As.”

Only then—only at those words—did As’s posture falter. His control cracked. And for an instant, he was human. Human in a way he hadn’t been for years.

That was the only real pleasure Tim could still get out of him lately.

As licked faster. His cheekbones flushed. His eyes fixed on his task, fully absorbed in pleasing him, like that was all that remained of his will.

“Good boy,” Tim said, just because he knew As hated it.

Because he knew it wasn’t true. And that delighted him.

With his face exposed, maskless, Tim could see the fractures As didn’t know how to hide. Half human. Half monster. Just for him.

He could almost do the same to Jason.

If he broke him enough.

If he survived it afterward.

🖤💛🖤 ⛓️ 🖤💛🖤

Jason looked at himself in the mirror. Just a moment to breathe. To feel in control. To remember he was human.

His reflection stared back with wide eyes, panic at the edges, regret on the lips.

Doubt. Etched into every feature.

Could he really end all of this?

But he had no other options. He had to keep going. He had a mother to protect, a father to save, and himself to hold together with the hope of something better—something waiting on the other side.

He just had to last a little longer. He could handle this. He had to.

He showered. Fast. He was clean in under ten minutes. And he stepped out to return to his temporary reality.

He ignored As lying on the floor. He didn’t ask. He couldn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to.

He lay back down in the designated spot on the bed. This time, a bit more free—no cuffs. He let Tim drop onto him with a satisfied purr.

He needed to sleep. He had to force himself to sleep.

He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. And let unconsciousness take him.

🖤💛🖤 ⛓️ 🖤💛🖤

They were woken by the servants at breakfast time.

Jason’s bladder didn’t bother him, and he was able to get through the morning with a bit of peace. Still naked, yes, and led around like a dog by Tim—cuffed and leashed. But at least, there were no new humiliating orders. No new tests.

Tim seemed… irritated. Distant. Uninterested.

“I don’t want you in front of me until dinner,” he growled, slamming the bedroom door in his face.

Jason was left standing in the hallway. Still naked. Saying nothing. He heard the sound of the lock clicking shut from inside.

Luckily, one of the maids found him a few minutes later and handed him clothes without asking questions. Jason didn’t say a word. He dressed in silence, still feeling the burn in his throat and the vague pressure in his empty stomach.

He didn’t wait around. Before risking upsetting Tim with a wrong look, a stray sound, or some careless misstep—he left.

He walked out of the mansion without looking back.

🖤💛🖤🐈‍⬛🖤💛🖤

It was during dinner, following As through the mansion, that a bad feeling—stronger than the others—settled in his chest.

When the dining room doors opened, Tim greeted him from the corner, a glass of liquor in hand. And the black cat sat in the center, staring at Jason intently.

“Jason, this is Diamond. He’ll be joining us tonight.”

Jason nodded.
“It’s a ple—”
“Timothy, your toy is wearing far too much.”

Tim’s fingers tightened around the glass. He looked Jason up and down.

“Take it off,” he ordered.

Jason swallowed. He undressed quickly, stripping completely in a matter of seconds.

A maid picked the clothes up from the floor. As appeared beside him, holding the cuffs. Jason raised his arms. The metal clicked shut around both wrists, the chain falling to the floor.

He didn’t move. He waited for the next order.

Tim and Diamond exchanged a glance, then looked behind him. They wanted him to look, too. Jason turned his head. In front of him, a small tree in its pot.

“You won’t be sitting at the table. Or eating. Not until you give us a show, Jays,” Tim said. His voice was low. Flat. Almost bored.

“Like the stray dog you are,” Diamond added, with a biting laugh.

By now, Jason had already separated from his body. From what he did with it. He moved on autopilot, fulfilling the whims of two rich men thrilled by humiliation. Closing off just enough not to hate them. Not to enjoy it. To still be able to regret it later.

He didn’t need instructions. Or repetition.

He dropped to his knees with ease—a kind of ease that made him shiver. He crawled on all fours to the tree. Circled it until his face was barely hidden behind the trunk. His ass and groin fully exposed.

He’d anticipated something like this. He hadn’t used the bathroom all day. His bladder ached. It was ready.

He gathered the cuffs and held the chain in his mouth. He didn’t want to get them dirty. Tim hated filth.

“Good boy,” Tim said with a low chuckle.
“Too slow,” Diamond added.

Jason shivered. He fixed his gaze on the trunk. His sentence.

He inhaled slowly. Braced himself with one hand and lifted a leg, holding it from behind. Left wide open. Exposed. His cock aimed at the tree.

The first stream was weak. Just a warm drop that slid down his shaft and fell without force.

“Dogs have better aim,” Diamond sneered.

Tim said nothing.

Jason tightened his grip on his leg. Forced the flow. The second stream came stronger. Longer. It hit the base of the tree, splashing dirt and roots.

His bladder emptied quickly, his body trembling with relief. The sound of the stream against wood, soil, dry leaves filled the room.

Diamond laughed, scornful.

“You picked the worst toy on the market.”

Tim answered without inflection:
“You’re not touching him.”

A chill ran down Jason’s back. His urethra relaxed further. The piss fell harder, soaking the tree, drenching the ground. The sound was constant. Filthy. Undeniable.

The splash of liquid against the bark. The drip into the dirt. The wet hiss on the dry leaves. And then, the spill down his legs, soaking him entirely. The smell grew thick. Acidic. Invasive.

Jason didn’t move. Didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t raise his head. He just did what he was supposed to do. His body vibrated with shame. Heat spread across his abdomen. One part of him felt relief. Another, disgust. Another, nothing at all.

He just wanted it to be over.

“Still useless, but moldable,” Diamond’s voice drilled into his skull. Each word like a weight he couldn’t shake off.

Finally, the stream faded to a thin trickle. The last few drops slid down his knee. The floor was soaked. The tree, splashed. The dirt steamed with the heat of the liquid.

Tim set the empty glass down on the table with a sharp clink.

“Good boy,” he repeated, emotionless. “Now go wash your hands.”

Jason moved carefully, avoiding the puddle. Jaw clenched as he followed As to the bathroom.

They didn’t give him clothes this time.
But at least he got to eat without being asked to perform again.

At least, the day ended.
And Tim sent him back to his mother’s house.

It wasn’t better—not with the fear of what might come next. But it was the closest thing to real rest he’d had in days.