hallowing | ic inbox;

（ there's a suck of his teeth at that little show of resistance, the way sasuke fights the intrusion. as much as he craves this boy's perfect, absolute submission — that prideful defiance, demonstrated in the safety and shelter of the scene, is fucking obscene. ）

Oh, good girl — you know I love it when you fight me. （ the working length of the dildo — less than what he'd threatened — is pushed back in with one hand looping beneath sasuke's pelvis to force him still and steady to take it, until it's fully seated in him. cy strokes his hand against the boy's mons pubis, the jut of his swollen belly soothingly, as if he's trying to settle him into the relaxation and acceptance of the toy. ） You're so beautiful when you struggle, and I love that sharp tongue of yours. The only weapon I've left you with, hm?

（ a gentle little pat to his flank as he straightens up, hooking the dildo up properly to the machine. ）

When I turn it on, you'll feel it thicken inside you. The water's warmed to your body temperature, and it'll be pumped in beneath the silicone sheath of the dildo, slowly filling out until I'm satisfied, but it's going to be hard on your body because it'll be such a weight. It won't hurt, but you'll be desperately uncomfortable. You'll be glad for the restraints then, holding you up.

（ idly, he pushes two fingers into the boy's cunt, coming away messy and slick with arousal — as he circles sasuke deliberately, he undoes his pants and takes his cock in hand, smearing that honeysweet slick against the head of it, which hardly needs the help — precome has already beaded at the head of the glans. he pushes his dick in against the boy's mouth, sliding a thumb between his lips to prise them apart. his goal is a simple one: he wants sasuke to clean the taste of himself up with only his mouth. just a brief torment, before he finishes his work. ）

Next time I leave, I'll see to it you're seated on a cock eight hours a day. And if anyone gets any brave ideas to avail themselves of your other holes... mm. （ he pushes his hips forward, seating himself down sasuke's throat in a cruel push, petting his cheek, stroking the line of his throat until the collar inhibits it. ） I'll have them killed, for touching what's mine.

[He feels that hand slip low, under his belly, forcing him to take the slide of silicone until it's fitted inside of him to that deep extent — clenching his teeth around a sound of discomfort for the unprepared stretch. The plug he was wearing before feels like it did nothing at all, for how full he is now. Those cooing praises don't help, set on the backdrop of a certain cruelty that is an intoxicant in the context of the scene.

Part of Sasuke understands that the running narration of what comes next is partly practical, so that the illusion can shift to accommodate Cy's needs of it — but that second piece, the one that is clearly meant to keep him on the seat of anticipation, cuts his composure like a hot knife. Knowing what will happen beforehand makes him more sensitive to every torment, jolting when fingers abruptly push into his slippery cunt, swallowing another pitiful noise as he sees Cy slick his cock from the corner of his eyes.

Cy's presence, while he's affixed by restraints like this, is indomitable. Overwhelming. The man towers over him, radiating authority in a way that is impossible not to bend beneath. When that thumb pries his mouth open he bares his teeth — but he doesn't bite. Like he's learned. A red tongue cleans off his own slick arousal from the man's cock, leaving it shiny with spit. Then his throat is pushed into — he can't help the higher sound of protest that never makes it past his lips, stuffed down with the intrusion of Cy's dick, a yank at the hooked collar around his neck and tied-up hair taking him nowhere fast.

That possessiveness should not sound so good, but for the role he's playing it is like music, because this is all he is. He belongs to this man. He has been molded by these hands, made into a woman, subjugated to a position where his body is a vessel to give pleasure, accept pain, and produce children. Nothing else.]

Edited 2024-09-01 20:23 (UTC)

（ he stays there until he can feel the involuntary flutter of sasuke's throat work around the crown of his dick, until an absence of oxygen takes him right to the edge of a swoon and then he pulls back — only to wipe his cock against sasuke's cheek to halfly dry it before he tucks himself back in his pants. ）

There you go. Thank you for cleaning up your mess.

（ he cards a hand through sasuke's hair, and then slips back around behind him to tend to the second insertion — this dildo is markedly shorter, but it's thicker — though not beyond what sasuke can comfortably take. he tugs the machine into place and aligns the dildo so it will plunge into him the moment it's turned on, though he rubs it between the pretty folds of his pussy first before nudging it just barely inside him. there's a hard press of his palm against the boy's clit, and then he steps away to admire his work. speculatively — ）

Now, we need to figure out what to do with your tits. I've got a few ideas. I could tie them with weights — （ this is punctuated by him reaching down to squeeze one breast and to close his fingers tight against it, pulling it downward by a pinch to the nipple until the skin is taut and there's a spatter of milk on the floor. ） that will make them sway with every thrust of the machine. I could hit them with a riding crop until they're pretty and bruised for me, until you're crying from the pain.

（ a rougher tightening of his fingers accompanies that one, deliberately pressing bruises and a cruel twist of the breast until he gets some physical sign of pain from sasuke significant enough that he eases off. ）

You remember the humbler, right? How snug it felt against you, how well it kept you on your knees for me, how perfectly it presented your balls for torment? I could do something like that with your tits. Or I could just... （ another squeeze, another yield of milk in a messy spill across his fingertips, which he raises to his own mouth and tastes with an appreciative sound. ） milk you, and take that bountiful yield to feed your men. So they know everything you've sacrificed for their safety.

[Lack of oxygen lingers like a burn in his throat, starry behind his eyelids when Cy draws away — the wipe of the man's cock against his cheek leaves a wet smear, an act so acutely belittling that it throbs in his cunt. Then there's the tease of that other affixed dildo as it's positioned just enough where he can feel the blunt end, but he can't satisfy himself by pushing down on it and taking it inside. Every action is deliberately cruel, intended to hurt or cause an ache of expectation for some future hurt, some pleasure held tantalizingly out of reach.

The man's palm is rough across his clit enough that he cries out, jerking in his bonds, those next words weaving a delirious web over his imagination. Cy fondles him, pinching a nipple made even more tender by the metal piercing hooked into it — his face is hot, sweat beginning to freckle his hairline with the strain of being trussed up. Milk is forced from his breast, dripping to the floor below in an obscene spill — it's painful, but with that sensation is a knife-edge of alleviation, too-full pressure eased by that forceful flow.]

Don't. It hurts when you touch them — stop. [A quiet plea, knowing that this glimmer of fear will be what Cy looks for. Covering his tits in bruises, or milking them, or dragging them down with weights: his fear is a shining beacon that allows tears to dampen his lashes.] I thought I said — to leave my men out of your... perversions. That was our agreement.

[His voice comes thin and strained, struggling where he's held bent at the hips, feeling that the slightest movement might push his pussy down onto the dildo and knowing he is wet enough it would slide right in.]

That was your understanding of our agreement.

（ it's said almost sympathetically, as if it's a matter of sasuke simply having a poor memory, and not cy gaming the system. he makes one more cruel grind of his fingers against the boy's breast and then lets go, wiping his hand on his pants before he pats sasuke's flank. ）

Thing is, I don't recall ever agreeing to it.

（ he skirts around behind sasuke again to turn the machine on, just a slow drive of that second dildo into place, inch by tantalizing inch at the lowest possible setting. as it pushes into sasuke's pussy, he levers a hand between his legs and strokes against his clit. ）

There you go, good girl. （ it would sound almost fond, if the situation wasn't — what it is. ） You're so wet — you really missed me, huh, sweetheart?

[He can't even hang his head down at the onslaught of sensation, feeling the dildo ease inside of him to sit snugly within slick interior walls, which clench against his will to hold the shape of silicone in that tight channel. The withdrawal is worse — but the stroke of his clit, sorely tender, drives him to the very edge of orgasm so suddenly that he loses his breath on one full, gasping sob.

Will Cy punish him if he comes now? He can feel the hot, blinding wave right at the boundary of his own self-control, threatening to crash through him.]

S—Stop, I'm cl... close. [There's no way to escape the pleasure of stimulation between his legs, in his cunt, where fingers drag across that sensitive bundle of nerves, but he tries by fighting his restraints.] It's too much.

（ there's a bleak sound of amusement. then — ）

Didn't I tell you once, you never get to say stop to me?

（ there's another long, slow drag of his fingers from the point of penetration to the piercing at his clit. he grasps the lead that comes off the piercing and gives it a firm, gentle tug. he can tell that sasuke's close, resisting against his own pleasure out of sheer, stubborn will — but he wants to drag him over the ragged edge just the same. ）

I've enjoyed it, you know. Making sure everyone knows what I've done to you. What I've reduced you to. You're serving as a cautionary tale to those that would resist me, and a fantasy to those who want to be like me. （ his left hand is free, and slips his palm over sasuke's stomach, possessive. ） I don't think there's anyone left in the realm who thinks your name synonymous with any word but whore.

[The pleasure wraps itself around the pain — an inextricable weave, braided into the sensation of metal yanking at nerves, tender clit sending a hot wave through him that only ebbs into the sharper, razor-edged electricity of the piercing. The dildo slides inside of him, unyielding, that slow rhythm set by a mechanical pace that does not tire or falter. It feels inhuman, and it won't respond to the way he ineffectively grinds down onto its length.

And those cruel words degrade him further, make him nothing more than a whore pregnant by his enemy's seed. It burns to imagine the rest of the world's perception of him now. Stripped of pride, and power, and kept here like a decorated prize. There's a hitch in his throat, broken on another crack in composure — sobbing for air, eyes closed tight, past the point of formulating words in retaliation.

He comes hard, the orgasm trembling through him, pussy clenching until the size of the toy shoved into it starts to hurt a little; Cy will feel the tremors where that hand strokes over his swollen belly. He's gasping, crying out only to bite his tongue so it isn't so loud, feeling the slick rush of arousal that soon begins to smear his inner thighs.]

（ cy just shushes him through it — not kindly, not gently. it's more as if sasuke's pleasure is so expected, so demanded, that the show of it is perfunctory. it's simply something to be taken, and then set aside as he moves on to the next cruelty.

cy lets his hand drop away from between the boy's slick thighs, coming around in front of him — steps masked by the mechanical thrum of the machinery as that dildo is pushed into his body unceasingly. he one hand is put into sasuke's hair, and the other forces his mouth open — again, to clean his fingers. but it's clearly not the only thing he intends to do with the boy's open mouth, because his next act is to call a spider gag to hand, and once his hand has been satisfactorily cleaned, the gag is slotted into his mouth, holding it open, biting into the edges of his mouth should he try to work the ring free. but rather than his cock — at least for now — he heads to a chest along one wall and returns with a dildo that has similar dimensions, but with one salient difference: it has a hole from base to tip, wide enough and rigid enough that it can be breathed through.

there's no warm-up. no kind words. he simply takes sasuke's head by a rough grip of his hair and pushes the dildo into his mouth until it bottoms out at the back of his throat. he pulls it back and thrusts forward again, in time with the machine, and once sasuke is sufficiently messy with drool, the dildo is shoved in as deeply as he can take it, and then cy works to affix it to the gag, fully seated there. ）

You can breathe through it. Not well or easily, but you can. So long as you stay calm, it won't be a problem. You don't want to lose consciousness — a lack of oxygen could harm our child.

（ which he'd promised he wouldn't do, and meant. but sasuke knows how capricious he can be, and that the possibility of him going back on his word is high. it's not, and he wouldn't — after all, he cares about this life as much as sasuke has come to. but the illusion of fear is sweet enough for him.

he hooks one finger in the gag's restraints, and uses it to force sasuke to look at him. ）

Marshal yourself. I'm not finished making you come yet.

[The lightheaded haze of orgasm has not faded by the time Cy circles around to his head, wet fingers prying into his mouth. A tongue obediently cleans them off once more, because he knows what will happen if he refuses, and then — a pair of mismatched eyes catch sight of the spider gag. Having worn it once before, Sasuke knows what to expect when it is fitted into his mouth, yet his heart kicks a little faster still, calling back to mind Cy's threat of other holes. He feels the metal dig into soft gums behind his teeth, jaw forced into that perfect 'o' as the straps dent his cheeks where it buckles around his head.

And then he sees the dildo. This time he lets the fear flash across his face, unprepared by the abrupt shove of hollow silicone into his throat, protest formed in the guttural sound that leaves him — pulling his head against its restraints even knowing he won't escape the man's brutal, precise actions. It slides in anyway; he feels it hit that tight space at the back of his throat, choking on it until that rhythm allows brief sucks of air and his mouth is pooling with drool.

Stay calm. The look he gives when forced is baleful, glaring — but he does make an effort to breathe by sheer necessity. It's difficult. At first he struggles to get it right, and Cy will hear him gagging around the toy's width, alternately taking oxygen through his nose to keep from blacking out. It's not supposed to be easy. That danger lurks, and he's well-aware that in this state he is vulnerable to everything this man chooses to do to him.

Even if all of that lethality is an elaborate illusion in genjutsu, he finds it intoxicating to pretend. He never thought it could feel so good to hand himself over, but it has unlocked some sense of freedom, subspace an Eden of relief in the foundation of their relationship. That's why his mouth relaxes, and his breathing becomes even, focused, taking the abuse as he has learned to do it.]

（ there's a litany of filth intermingled with praise — how good he looks like this, bound and fucked and owned so completely that there is no question of whose name falls synonymous with god in the small sphere of sasuke's narrowed world. cy slips his thumb over the air hole, keeping eye contact with sasuke as he struggles, and then — relaxes into calm focus. there we go.

then he stoops, kissing his forehead. ）

My perfect little slave. Look at that, three holes all used, just like you deserve. You look good like this for me, owned so completely that no other man would ever dare to put a hand on you.

（ he cups sasuke's cheeks briefly, and then lets him go, turning back to the room itself. a chair is dragged — he could move it with magic, but it's more fun to hear the irascible creak of the heavy furnishings as he drags it across the floor — and then arranged at sasuke's side. then he selects a cruel implement from a rack on the far wall, a slender rod whose purpose can only be one thing, as he sits down beside the boy. a snap of the rod impacts against one breast, and cy gives sasuke a brief, precious moment to sort out his breathing before he continues: ）

See, there's two problems here. One, I was away long enough on campaign that all my bruises faded from your pretty skin. Two, your tits are clearly aching for another kind of attention.

（ he'd promised sasuke a whipping, after all. the rod rubs against one tender nipple, and then there's another sharp tap against it, deceptively hard for how closely the blow falls. ）

So I'll give you a choice. Would you rather be milked or struck? Show me with your hand — one finger for the first option, two for the second.

[There's a physical jolt when Cy covers the air hole, but soon it eases, that kiss set to his head like a crown. It answers a deep need in him to be praised, recognized, and approved of — even with unshed tears gleaming in his eyes, with his mouth stretched wide and a toy in his throat, in his cunt and his ass, face blotchy with color.

The scrape of the chair legs has the intended effect of intimidation. He shivers, waiting in that prone position, unable to fully turn his head and watch where Cy finally settles at his side. The first impact drives a high noise out of his throat — he can't even clench his jaw to smother the sound, so it's loud in his ears, half-choked by silicone. He loses his breath again, a few hitches of effort around the toy before he manages to grasp a tempered rhythm so he won't suffocate. The soft skin of his breast stings, redness blooming where he's been struck by the rod.

And then Cy presents him with that choice. Rather than the act itself, it is a decision between two different punishments — one that will provide pain, and one that will provide relief at the cost of severe, scalding humiliation. It feels more like a trick or an illusion. Won't Cy just do both, in the end?

What if Sasuke wants both? To have his tits bruised, striped with welts, and then to have Cy's hands covering those fresh marks as he's milked, splattering his own feet, pooling on the floor.

There's another sob, overwhelmed by the choice, a tear dripping down his hot cheek. His right hand fights the cuff holding it affixed, and then he shows one hesitant finger.]

（ there's a contemplative hm as he digests that response, and then: ）

See, you picked the humiliating option. That actually surprises me, given the stubborn adhesion you've had to your pride.

（ he leans forward in the chair, one arm braced on his knee as he reaches for one of sasuke's breasts, kneading roughly into the flesh and then squeezing until a glut of milk saturates his hand, splatters on the ground below them. ）

I think I'm going to do both anyway. Shh, shh — don't fight. I'll be gentle, since I think this is actually a big step for you. Accepting your place, your fate — sweetheart, short of bearing my child, that's about the best gift you could give me.

（ his touch is briefly gentled, almost a caress before he pulls away. ）

Just give me one sec, okay? I'm gonna fill out that dildo in your ass first so you've got some competing sensations to help you work through the pain.

（ he stands, pushing the chair back with an ominous shriek of wood on stone, stepping sideways to survey the machine. the dildo working his pussy gets an increase of its speed, the torturous slowness of the thrust increased to a more frantic pace. the other, as promised, gets an increase of its diameter, the hydraulic pump whirring as it fills the tight silicone sleeve with water from the reservoir. the water's warm thanks to genjutsu, so it won't be a shock to the system — but as he'd threatened, it will cause a rich heaviness as it thickens in his body. cy lingers a moment to ensure everything's working as intended, slaps sasuke once on the ass and then returns to his chair to take up the rod. ）

Count off on your hand for me, make a fist for five and start back at the beginning. Twenty to each breast. If you mess up the count, I'll start again. Make sure you control your breathing. Make a fist when you're ready for me to start.

（ of course, if he refuses he'll start anyway, but. #gettingsasuketoparticipateinhisowntormentishiskinktho. ）

[There's another sound muffled by the silicone toy locked in his throat, gasping at the hard squeeze to his breast that punctuates cruelty — he hears more than he sees the milk leaking from a sore nipple, dripping to the floor, messily obscene. He should have known that such a choice was an illusion. It is like Cy himself has peeled the deeper fantasy out of his mind, has read his body and his need beyond the layers of the scene. And if their roles are ever to grow into something else, his desire must be more obvious, well-known to this man's domination of him, his changing loyalty made stark. Humiliation and pain are too intricately tied, and he aches to be given both even as he plays it off as fear.

He hears the chair, picking up his head, vision blurry with tears he stubbornly holds back. The threat earns a useless strain in his restraints, voice choked on protest — there's nowhere to go and his spirited attempts to resist are futile. Yet it feels good to struggle, no matter how stripped of his freedom to communicate.

As promised, the dildo in his ass fills and thickens, a sensation at first strange and warm but soon impossible to endure quietly as it stretches his hole to a dull throb. It stifles his ability to move in what limited space he has — forcing him utterly still to bear the full, heavy girth of that toy as best he can. A whimper responds to it, muscles shivering, the steady tempo of the other dildo in his pussy never ceasing. He feels overwhelmed by the competing sensations, and then Cy is there again at his side to demand his attention.

Sasuke manages a ragged, wet gasp, his mouth still pooled with drool that drips from his chin — trying to control the in-out rhythm of breath. And then after a delay of tension, his hand forms a perfect fist.]

There you go.

（ he leans forward to drop a kiss against sasuke's shoulder where it's held in cruel flexion, and then he briefly covers sasuke's hand with his own, a crude imitation of holding hands before he settles back in his chair. there's a shift of his posture, easing into a slouch, and then he lifts his legs and settles them across the small of sasuke's back, ankles crossed and heels digging in. the end result leaves him at a bit of an angle to sasuke's bound position, but there's still plenty of space to work.

there's neither mercy nor kindness offered — the fall of the rod is brutal, precise. the blows redden at first, and then darken along the gradient of fresh bruising as each newer stripe is laid into his skin. normally, he is so attentive on sasuke's body language during the infliction of pain that he never quite loses himself in meting it out, but — knowing this is genjutsu, knowing that sasuke is in absolute control of the scene helps him to brush past the innate concern and fear. as much as it's dangerous and intoxicating to let go of his inhibitions, trusting beyond trust that sasuke will catch him if he strays is a panacea that allows it.

it's an act of love quite unlike any other — that lowering of his walls, that sidestep into the whipping as an enforcement of reality and not an indulgence of fantasy that requires strict rules and unyielding control. it becomes the only thing that occupies his senses, everything else filtered away, filtered out. the snap of impact, the way the vibration echoes along the rod to his hand, the sounds sasuke makes, muffled and truncated as they are. the way he tries to cringe away, the way he trembles but ultimately, keeps the correct count on his fingers.

when he's finished with one breast, he rolls the cane against the nipple piercing, raps it once to cause a bright starburst of pain, and then drops his feet back to the ground to lean in and touch him, palming over reddened, inflamed skin that radiates the heat of the blows back at him. this handling is gentler by contrast, soothing the way he holds him, supporting the weight of that heavy breast. ）

Oh, my sweet whore. You took that so well for me. You were made for this, weren't you?

（ his hand shifts lower, cupping the curve of a prominent belly and the promise contained therein, following the chain that's affixed to both nipples and clit down between his legs for another agonizing, teasing touch there, slick against his messy cunt. ）

You never could have known this bliss if you'd stayed as you were. Never known true submission, true pleasure, true meaning. This will be your life — an endless cycle of being used to meet my needs, bear my children, take my punishment. If I would have known you would be such a perfect slave, I would have captured you years ago.

[The pain is exquisite, laying stripes across his breast in a bright red soon discolored to bruised shading. He weathers the first few, keeping count with his immobilized right hand, but the flesh is so sore and swollen, full with milk, that his composure degrades rapidly. His world narrows down to the sensation of the rod against his tits, overcome by pain, thoughts wiped from the canvas of his head like water on glass. He dwells on nothing in that state but the immediacy of its agony. He cries out, first with his jaw clenched shut around the noise and then eventually without restraint, sobbing around the toy in his throat, against the metal ring that keeps his teeth pried open. Tears wet his eyelashes and streak his flushed face, indiscernible from the messy smear of drool on his chin.

Yet the count doesn't waver. Cy uses his body like furniture in that lazy sprawl, feet kicked up and heavy on the small of his back. It's demeaning as much as it is full of ownership, possessive as the hand that finally extends to cup his breast after twenty weathered hits, nipple puffy and red from that last strike. Sasuke whines in his throat, overstimulated and too sensitive to the touch on skin that feels raw — he squirms as his belly is stroked, breathing hard through his nose.

He could live this life in reality, he thinks, if it was for Cy. If Cy was the one who owned him. If there was love, eventually, within it — even if it was something twisted and dark, he wouldn't mind. Because it would be for Cy.

The rough fingers at his clit coax another series of desperate noises from his throat, half-shaped pleases and nos made unintelligible by hollow silicone. Orgasm rolls through him this time less violently, but a hard clench of interior muscles down onto both toys filling his cunt and his ass signal the wave of its arrival. It isn't something he can control, not when Cy is touching him like this in the deepest display of trust, making him feel special, valuable, loved in this humiliating state.]

（ cy praises him through the orgasm, petting him, pressing a kiss down against his flank, along the line of his spine. awareness of his own arousal comes into a gleam of brief focus, the urge to replace one of the toys with his own cock and bury himself there deep within the shelter of his body, and he has to — breathe out slow. sasuke would help him if he asked for it — a slight tweak to the genjutsu that lets him regain control. but he finds he likes the challenge of centring himself, of stepping back from the very real, very present need for unfettered relief. existing in the moment only in service of sasuke's pleasure.

another, softer kiss is laid down against his shoulder, and then cy shifts around to his head. the dildo down his throat is extricated gently, and tossed aside with a wet sound. the gag is next, though it's only pulled from his mouth and left to dangle by its binding beneath his chin. cy cups his cheek, and steps in closer so he can hold sasuke against his midriff, lovingly carding through hair that's fallen loose from its cruel tether. ）

Since you're missing your left hand, there's no way for me to watch you count on this side. You'll have to do it aloud for me, t'che serikko. I wouldn't want to beat you more than you deserve, hm?

[He can feel Cy behind him, but he can't turn around and look, so he follows the man's movements by the path of that hand on his body, by the rustle of clothing and careful footsteps. Then Cy is right there in front of him, looming above — he tries to tilt his head to look at him, wet eyes slightly bloodshot, lips stretched over the hidden gleam of white teeth.

When the dildo slides out of his throat, he chokes on its absence and coughs hard, accidentally sucking down some of the drool gathered in his mouth on an abrupt inhale. He can feel where his body has begun to ache from its rigid positioning — his jaw is no different, relief when he closes his mouth only emphasizing the strain from the gag and toy.]

I— [His voice is rough, swallowing again to manage the words.] I don't have a choice, do I? You're going to hurt me either way, no matter what you think I deserve.

[There's a burn of challenge in his dark, mismatched eyes, but it's impossible to completely master the desire in himself — a little slip of his role, shining in his hungry expression.]

You know I'm going to obey.

I do.

（ he cups the boy's cheeks, wiping away those shining tears. ）

You're an exquisite example of perfect obedience. It doesn't matter what I've forced you to endure. Torture, rape, the loss of everything you've ever pinned your identity on — the surrendering of your body to my every whim. You've taken all of it so perfectly, so sweetly.

（ what defiance exists is — perfunctory. he struggles being put into chains as much as into silks. he crosses his legs even when he knows the fucking will go worse for his having done so. he resists just enough to remind cy — or perhaps himself — of who he once was, and then he always, always surrenders. ）

How many nights did you put your hand between your thighs and think of me, while our child grew inside you?

[There's a sharp inhale, tension shivering through him in answer to those thoughts laid bare, those dark wants — that he has come to find meaning and sanctity in this life of subservience, made into a vessel for this man to use however he chooses. It's a fragile look on his face, cracked with fine fissures of vulnerability.]

Never. I never have.

[Our child. It makes him aware of the heaviness of his belly, more intolerable in this bent-over position even with the sling beneath offering some meager amount of support. That he has been inextricably tied to this man, their blood mingled to create new life — Sasuke wants to clench his thighs together at the thought, but the cuffs around his ankles prevents this motion.

He is not very good at lying.]

Please, just finish.

（ he pushes his thumb into sasuke's mouth just because he can, using the smear of saliva to dampen his lips. ）

You're lying to me. Answer the question, please.

[His mouth yields easily to the intrusion, though his gaze drops — concealing the look on his face. There is no choice with that command. What it reveals, whether Cy believes him or not, is only how well far he has fallen from a height of pride.]

I've lost count.

[The confession comes a whisper under his breath.]

（ there's a faint hm that gives away nothing of his opinion on the matter, and then he pats sasuke's cheek as he steps around him to that more vulnerable left side. he doesn't bother with pulling the chair around, just kneels at his side, calling the cane with the void to hand. ）

Good boy. （ is it a slip in the scene, a reward for good behaviour, or perhaps some awful mockery of what sasuke's lost — difficult to say, and nothing else gives it away. he snaps the cane against the piercing to get sasuke's attention, then: ）

Count for me. We're almost done.

（ — with this torment, at least. ）

[And he remains obedient, counting each crack of the rod against sore, swollen flesh aloud — this time with his voice betraying every compulsion of pain, five breaking on a gasp and ten cried out, desperate, unable to keep his jaw gritted shut. He's on the verge of dry sobs by the time they near the mark of fifteen, left breast as tenderly abused as its twin. Every strike that lays down a new welt causes his breast to sway, splattering pale milk on the floor beneath his feet, jewelry glittering in the low light of the room.

He stops holding himself back by twenty, because by then the height of pain has reached a point that it would be impossible. The illusion is still under his control — but for a moment he lets himself pretend this is real, this is all he is and will ever be. A sobbing, panting, pregnant whore.

When it stops, Sasuke hangs in his restraints utterly boneless. He has no energy left to fight or struggle even as an act.]

There you are.

（ it's said warmly, as if praise for how spent and stilled he goes in his bonds. and as before, this breast too gets a moment's tender attention — cy moulding his palm to give succour to abused flesh before he slips away again. this time he stays in sasuke's full sight as he approaches a sideboard. a glass is selected, a pretty crystal cup that he tosses up once in the air and catches as he saunters back. he doesn't speak to him, or acknowledge him in this sad state — he just crouches down, holds the cup to one breast and squeezes it until there's a telltale dribble into the glass. he talks about the campaign as he does it. resources spent, people sacrificed, a battle ultimately won. his voice is soft and melodic, grounding in a way that speaks more to cy as sasuke knows him, and not the towering monstrousness of a warlord he would never choose to be.

once he's satisfied, and the glass half-full — to say nothing of the mess on the floor — he circles back to stand in front of sasuke. he reaches to set the glass between the boy's shoulder blades, knowing he can't move enough to dislodge or dump it — and with both hands free he fits the gag back into place in his mouth, undoes the button on his pants and takes his cock out. it's clear immediately he hasn't been... unaffected by what he's done, the head of his dick messy with feverish smears of precome, and so hard in its entirety it's almost painful to bear.

one hand tangles in sasuke's bound up hair, and he steps in to an intimate nearness that seats him right to the back of the boy's throat in one smooth, easy push. clearly, he expects no participation whether willing or unwilling from sasuke — he just uses him as if he had no more autonomy than a sex toy, pulling back and then slowly sinking back in.

but it isn't until he's close — sooner than he'd like, but in a way that feels like poetry set to their scene — that he takes up that cup again. and it's with his cock seated deep in the forced hold of sasuke's open mouth that he pours some of the contents along the top of his shaft, knowing he's providing no option but to swallow it. the liquid is still afire with the heat of sasuke's body, and it provides a dizzying little stir to his perceptions, the juxtaposition between mouth and milk making his knees briefly weak. ）

I bet you're parched. Poor thing. Swallow for me.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

the day sasuke says 'tits' outloud his sexism will be cured

he will be a changed (wo)man

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: deranged cnc talk ig

pillow talk for them

truly tbqh

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject