Mother_NA

I …

This is the third time I’ve tried to start this letter and I still don’t know where to begin. I tossed the first attempt into the fire where it rightfully belonged, and the second I crumpled up into a ball because it did not even serve any worth in incriminating me of anything. Just pointless, directionless prattle. At this point, I almost wonder if I should cease altogether before I waste any more paper.

If I could freely write out my thoughts, and if I had it in good faith that Lord Dottore would in fact deliver it into the hands of my mother, I think I would like to ask her … 

How did it feel when you first fell in love with papa? 

Oh, dear. Now this letter will have to be burned as well. 

May the blessed mother help me! 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The pointed nudge of 65’s cane is so slight, so subtle, that it just barely moves the front of your skirt where it has slipped underneath the fabric, but you feel it on your cunt with near startling intensity. It’s a little hard not to be hyperaware of it, though, when the handle is unrelentingly solid and firm the way it ever so faintly rubs against the apex of your slit through your underwear. And the unavoidable knowledge that he was doing this right in front of an audience doesn’t help much either. 

Yet at your prolonged silence, when you neither move to pull away or make any sounds at all beyond that first gasp of surprise, the masked man rumbles another low chuckle of drawling amusement. 

“Lovely to look at and obedient. That’s quite the rare combination of qualities to find in a young person, especially for a girl as pretty as yourself. I might have expected you to be a bit uppity.” Crooning at you so softly you’re sure you must be the only one who hears him speaking, 65 offers your captured hand a brief squeeze of approval. “Yes, I’d say Zandik certainly got the better end of the deal in this arrangement. Would you care for a piece of candy, little one?” 

“I’m … I’m sorry?” You whisper back, letting your eyes momentarily pinch shut while you try to find your bearings again. 

Humming softly, the dapperly dressed gentleman sitting in front of you eases his cane out from under your uniform and leans it against his leg while he reaches for a pocket in his massive black coat. You’re more than just slightly taken aback when, indeed, you soon find him pressing a neatly wrapped piece of candy into your slack fingers which he manually closes around the offered treat to make sure you don’t drop it. 

“There. Run back to your master’s side now, dear. Be a good pet for us, eh?” He says, giving your curled fingers a rather fond pat. 

Feeling numb and jittery, and highly confused, you ever so slowly straighten up from the respectful crouch you’d assumed to put yourself level with him. You aren’t really sure what to expect when you finally manage to turn away from 65 but, to your great relief, you find 8 still standing in front of Zandik’s chair with his back to you. It looked like he was still in the middle of telling the old man something about his trip to Liyue in that soft, vaguely supercilious little voice of his, and it doesn’t appear he’s even noticed what’s happening on the other side of the room yet. 

Thank the blessed mother for that small mercy! 

Still trembling weakly from the flood of warring emotions that kick up a storm inside your body, you stiffly step out of the loose sprawl of 65’s legs and make your way over to Zandik as well. There, you position yourself at his elbow where you send the hard ball of sugar in your palm a quick, surreptitious glance before sliding it into the pocket on your apron. You weren’t so sure you wanted to actually eat it but, even more than that, you have to wonder why he was carrying this sort of thing around with him. Was it for 8, maybe? 

“My, it sounds like the two of you had quite the adventure.” Zandik is saying to his youngest counterpart, drawing your attention now. The affectionate way he speaks to the boy unexpectedly pulls at your heartstrings almost as much as the kind, almost grandfatherly expression on his handsome face does, and you come very close to getting choked up about it. 

This situation really wasn’t fair. Not to him or to you, or any of them either. It’s somehow too much on your poor heart for you to think that even when they were so fundamentally at odds with one another, even when they looked down on the others existence, Zandik had still cobbled together some sort of dysfunctional family unit around himself with his own segments … it was enough to have you sobbing like a baby. 

But you stubbornly blink back the tears that come into your eyes while you watch the two of them interact, choosing to focus on this instead of the way 65’s attention seems to linger on you. It wasn’t hard to see where this was likely to go, particularly when you were getting so well acquainted with how things worked in this place, but that would have to come later. Not now. Not when it feels like there’s a knife slowly twisting in your gut. 

“And did you find what you were looking for?” Zandik asks the child who proceeds to huff a mildly bothered sigh. 

“No. That place is much too massive. It would have taken us months to comb through every inch of The Chasm on what would have been a wild goose chase at best. I don’t even know what an archaic stone is supposed to look like to recognize when I’ve found one.” 

The old man hums a soft sound of agreement, looking like he could truly sympathize with those frustrations. “I’ve never seen one either. They’re an exceptionally rare material that, at least according to what few sources still exist, are only formed in the veins of the oldest mountains. It makes sense that you would attempt to seek this ore out in Liyue, given that it is home to some of the most ancient stone structures in Teyvat. Do not lose heart, though. Perhaps you will have better luck next time.” 

You can’t help the way you slowly blink at that, momentarily forgetting some of your sorrows. They’d gone all the way to the Nation of Contracts just to look for a rock? 

But of course 8 notices your attention on him, and he lifts his face with a grumpy little frown tugging at his mouth now. “Your maid is confused, Zandik. Is she always so easily bewildered?”

Despite your best attempts not to, you still softly cringe at that. Yes, you could certainly see how this precocious young boy would go on to grow into the shoes of the Doctor when he was an adult. 

But, to your great surprise, Zandik is quick to come to your rescue. “Oh, don’t terrorize her so. She’s actually quite clever, you know. But I expect you to be patient with her the same way you are with Feofan, alright? She can’t know something unless she is taught.”

Your heart gives a tiny, fluttery wrench at that. Just as he’d taken it upon himself to gently teach you how to find your pleasures in the flesh instead of taking it by force or demanding compliance from you. It seemed, then, that this impatience bred from his staggering intellect was one aspect of himself he’d truly managed to temper somewhere along the way. How curious. 

And to his credit, 8 bobs his small chin in agreement, crossing his arms in a way that makes him look wise beyond his years. “Very true. And that’s why I am going to take it upon myself to teach her while I’m here.”

“Oh?” Zandik sends you a sidelong glance, but you’re too busy wilting in embarrassment to even look at him now. “You think my maid is in need of a tutor then, I take it? What ways have you found her lacking, hm?” 

“Master …” 

But even at your recoiling murmur, 8 will not be deterred. “I’d say it’s obvious. If she cannot even memorize our designations then she must be lacking somewhere. Can she even read?” 

“Ah. Well, in that case, I’m sure you will be quite pleased to know that she is not only quite literate but even a rather accomplished writer on top of that. Occasionally, when my arthritis is acting up, I’ll have her jot my notes for me while I dictate. Does that help quell some of your concerns?” 

8 sends you another slow, plainly critical glance. “Can she do any arithmetic?” 

You hang your head in shame, internally wincing so badly your skin feels like it’s trying to crawl right off your bones, but it is 65 who chimes in then to shield you from the boy's harsh assessment. 

“Come now, come. There’s no need to make the poor thing feel bad about herself, is there? You’re being much too unforgiving of her lot in life, if you ask me.” He says, giving his head a slow shake that makes the pointed beak of his mask stiffly bob. “Considering what Omega told us, I’d say the fact she can read and write at all is already impressive enough. Besides, what use does a maid have for arithmetic anyway?” 

Another slow, grinding chuckle drawls out of him, making the excess of fur on his shoulders twitch. Despite the mild mannered reproach in that finely aged voice, 8 doesn’t even try to hide the way his little face twists up in peevish annoyance at that.  

“But she is working not just for a Fatui Harbinger, but the number two rank at that. Doesn’t that reflect poorly on us? You would think even the servants of such high ranking officials would be able to add and subtract.” 

Your hand flies up to your throat with unconcealed affront as you quickly rush to your own defense. “I - I can at least do that much! I’m not a complete idiot!” 

“It’s alright, girl.” Zandik soothes you, reaching up with one wavering, cool to the touch hand to gently capture your fingers and give them a light squeeze. “You don’t need to explain yourself. As you can see, I’ve always had trouble knowing when to stop talking and I fear I still haven’t quite mastered that particular skill yet even at my old age.”

You send him a coddled look to which he gives you one of those exceedingly tender smiles that makes your heart turn into mush inside your chest before directing his attention back around to the frowning lad. Releasing you, he extends his arm out to give his younger self a mindful tweak at the lobe of his ear. 

“And you don’t need to worry about such things. Trust me, she’s doing just fine for herself. But even putting that aside, you know I relinquished my title to Omega a long time ago. As far as the needs of a simple old man are concerned, I don’t think I could have asked for a better maid so be nice to her, alright?” 

8 doesn’t look cowed by the reprimand, exactly, but he does deferentially drop his gaze in a clear sign of relent. “Alright. But can I still tutor her a little bit?” 

The wizened man barks a warmly amused laugh. “You just want to have a student to instruct, don’t you?” At the child’s stilted nod, Zandik exhales a slow, patient breath that just seems to twist the knife in you even harder when you think this was how he might have been as a father. The thought alone is almost sickening. 

“If she’s amenable to it then I don’t see the harm. But that doesn’t mean you can pressure her into attending your lessons whenever the whim happens to strike you. Don’t forget she still has a job to do. Understood?” 

Looking fairly pleased at that, 8 brings his attention back up with another nod. “Understood.”

“Good. Then why don’t you run along and check on your yeast propagation experiment down in the cellar so you can tell me how that’s going, hm? I’m sure if you keep at it much longer, you’ll be making wine for Feofan to enjoy the next time he stops in for a visit.” 

The boy scrunches his nose up at that, clearly signaling his thoughts about alcohol and the banker’s apparent propensity for drinking it, but he obediently shuffles off towards the door without complaint. Something about the scene really does warm your heart in a way you never could have guessed it would, and you abruptly realize that there’s a fresh prickling of tears in your eyes. Gods, why were you suddenly feeling so weepy? 

To be fair, though, it has been an awfully long day, and you quickly decide you need to step outside for a moment to collect yourself. Luckily his leaving presented the perfect excuse for you to do just that. 

“Hold on. I’ll walk with you down to the kitchen so I can make a fresh pot of coffee for everyone. Would you like anything else brought back, Master Zandik?” 

“No, I think that will be more than sufficient. Thank you, girl.” 

Hesitantly pausing there, you send a cautious look over at the sofa. “And you, sir. Can I get you anything besides coffee? A sandwich, perhaps?” 

65 lifts a single, black gloved hand to give the offer a gracious wave. “That will be plenty, my dear. Do hurry back though. Two old fogeys can only keep themselves entertained for so long.” 

Your cheeks faintly warm at that but you’re a little too eager to get out of that room to stop and question it. Pivoting on your heel, you quickly start to push off so you can trail after 8 who lingers in the doorway but Zandik reaches out to snag your hand, stopping you. Noising a small sound of surprise, you bring your attention down to the figure sitting in the chair and watch, slack jawed, as he brings your trapped fingers up to press a brief kiss to the backs of them. 

And your face goes so immediately, so violently hot you woozily sway on your feet for a moment. 

“M - Master?” 

“Don’t even give it another thought, sweet girl.” He tells you gently, giving your hand a brief pinch in his bony grasp before letting go. “Off with you, now. And make sure you brew a large pot. You know how much I enjoy your coffee.” 

You nod once, knowing that in this case ‘I’ actually meant ‘we’ and he was including 65 in that statement, but you can’t quite seem to find your voice now as you almost drunkenly totter off towards the door. He’s turned you into such a thrumming ball of shy, happy nerves, in fact, that you almost trip over your own feet before you can make it out into the hall. 

While admittedly embarrassing to have him grace you with such sweet gestures in front of others, it's even more confoundingly alarming that you just feel so soft for him and how it very nearly leaves you incapacitated. 

Unfortunately 8 does not seem to be the least bit impressed when he closes the door behind the two of you before turning his face up with a rather bland look. 

“I thought he was only like that with Fanya.” 

It takes you a prolonged beat to truly shake off your disoriented stupor, sending him an uncertain look as you start to make your way back down the carpeted corridor together. “Who is Fanya?”

“Feofan.” He says as if it should have been obvious and, really, no matter what Zandik said, he was still quite certain that you did not meet his expectations of what he thought the hired help of a Fatui Harbinger should be. 

But despite any of his misgivings on the matter, 8 manages to catch you off guard when he brings his hand up to grab onto yours with his small fingers, exhaling a quiet sigh while he does it. 

“Haven’t you met him yet? He and Zandik are close.” 

That was certainly an understatement. “Oh. Yes, I’ve met … Lord Regrator.” 

“He doesn’t let you call him Fanya?” 

“Not yet.” You tell him, unable to hold back your laughter. 

For being so clearly intelligent in a way that far surpassed his age, it seems 8 was still somehow just as guileless as any other child. Even for as confusing as you find that contradiction to be, it still gladdens you a fair amount. You’d almost worried that just by virtue of being a segment and having to deal with the unscrupulous behaviors of the others, he’d been robbed of what little innocence he still had left to him but thankfully that did not appear to be the case. 

“I’m sure he will someday.” 8 assures you, sounding rather confident in this assertion. He falls silent for a while after that until the two of you have almost reached the kitchen again, when he abruptly brings his head back up. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

Even if he had, the fact he asked would have soothed away any of the lingering sting and you send him a warm smile. “Of course not. Don’t be silly. You were just thinking about Master Zandik’s reputation, weren’t you? Besides, what you said wasn’t even necessarily wrong. Truth be told, I actually am awful at mathematics.” 

He doesn’t smile but the rich red in his eyes does faintly light up with what you think is an eager gleam. “I’ll teach you. If you want. I won’t try to force you if you’d rather not, but …” 

You can tell by the inflection in his soft voice as much as the interest reflected back at you in his expression that he wants to do it, for some reason, and much like when dealing with Zandik, you just can’t seem to find the willpower to tell him ‘no’.

“I’d love that.” You tell him as you step into the kitchen together, guiding him by the hand across the flagstones almost without even realizing you were doing it. “Perhaps with your guidance, Lord Regrator might decide to hire me to work at his bank some day, after all. Wouldn’t that be funny?” 

Slowly blinking at that, 8 tips his head to one side rather inquisitively, looking very much like a miniature version of the Doctor with that gesture. “But you’re already working for Zandik. Do you not like it here?” 

“Oh, no. It’s not that, just …” 

You hesitate, wondering if he fully understood what it meant that the old man was mortal and that he was subject to the ravages of time as much as any other. Did he know Zandik would not be around forever, or that without him here you didn’t really have a clear place in their patchwork, highly confusing hierarchy? Although you didn’t doubt for one second that he was wise well beyond his years and had likely seen plenty of things most children his age couldn’t even imagine, was his mind truly capable of comprehending the limited scope of the human lifespan? 

You’re not so sure about that, and you’re even less sure you want to broach this topic when you already found it so very upsetting to think about, so you quickly decide to change the subject. 

“Truth be told, I hope to work for him for a long time still to come. I’ve found that I rather enjoy his company but it’s hard to say what the future might hold, isn’t it? By the way would you like me to make you a sandwich before you go off to check on your … yeast?”

Another slow blink. “I don’t really need food to sustain myself.” 

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t, right?” You say, starting to tip your head in that now familiar gesture before you catch yourself. Damned Dottore! “Do you like to eat? I’d be happy to prepare something for you.” 

Noising a small sound of consideration, 8 sends an almost listless glance over at the icebox along the far wall. “I like it sometimes … what do you have?” 

Ignoring the warm, almost maternal flutter in your chest, you guide him over to the big chiller box where you take a moment going over everything you have on hand. Luckily with the delivery just earlier that morning, you were well stocked and he pretty much has his pick of the lot. 

Eventually making his decision, he walks you through preparing a sandwich with left over chicken, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, black olives, mint leaves and a healthy dose of olive oil poured over the toppings which he informs you, rather curtly, would do even though it is not on par with what he could get in Sumeru. 

And that’s when it suddenly hits you. The style of his relatively simple robe and slippers … all you’d recognized at first was that the clothes were foreign and not something you really saw in Snezhnaya. But between the ingredients he’d picked out and the way he goes on to rather intimately describe the sorts of pita sandwiches one could obtain in the far distant rainforests and deserts, it occurs to you that that must be where his attire originated from. But did that in turn mean — 

“Can I ask you something that might seem a little – strange?” You hedge when he finally takes a bite of the sandwich after evidently exhausting his comprehensive knowledge of Sumerian cuisine. 

“Hm?”

“You just have me wondering now … is that by any chance where you and Zandik are originally from? Sumeru? I knew he wasn’t native to Snezhnaya, but …” 

And to your reeling surprise, the boy nods his head in agreement, swallowing his food so he can talk. “Yes, that’s right.” He tells you rather sullenly, the corners of his eyes faintly pinching. “Zandik — we were born there but it doesn’t really matter. That was a long time ago. We’ve been here in Snezhnaya ever since we left.” 

You almost catch yourself reaching out to pull 8 into a hug, wanting to comfort and reassure him, but at the last moment you manage to refrain from acting on the impulse. The very last thing you wanted was to make the boy think you pitied him for his past, and yet it’s so hard not to console him in that moment. Given the way he talks about it, you could only surmise, then, that the Doctor had been telling the truth about this too. 

“I see. Well, I’m glad all of you are here now.” You tell him softly. “I have to admit, it gladdens me to know Her Majesty would take you in like that. I’ve never gotten to meet her. Is she as lovely as they say?” 

He gives a vague bob of his chin, making it clear enough that he has little interest in discussing this with you, and you certainly weren’t going to force him. If he ever decided to open up to you it would be on his own terms, when he was ready. Much like it was with Zandik. 

“You can take your sandwich with you, if you want. Just make sure to bring the plate back when you’re done, okay? And please don’t hesitate to let me know if you want anything else. I’d better get started on that coffee before I have two angry old men wondering where I ran off to.” 

Hesitating, 8 just looks at you with a strange, unreadable look on his face before he finally offers you another slow nod. “… thank you.” 

At that, he shuffles off with his snack to disappear down the hallway with it, and you have to stop for a moment, just standing there while you blink back the rising tears in your eyes. This really was a miserable situation to find yourself in, wasn’t it? As if Zandik wasn’t already throwing your emotions into total disarray enough, now his eight year old self was too. You can’t help it though. Even if he was precocious and a bit abrasive at times, you still couldn’t imagine anyone turning their back on a child like that. 

And although it was hardly justification, you could see how such total rejection from not only his own people but even his homeland would then result in the fiendish behaviors of 22 and the surgeon, and even the Doctor further down the line. How could a man show others kindness or consideration if he had never received any himself? But, still … at some point something did change, and that was obvious. Zandik may not exactly have been what you would call nice, yet he wasn’t cruel or standoffish like some of the younger segments were either. You do have to wonder what could have facilitated that change in him, though. 

Thinking on this rather deeply over the next some odd minutes while you get everything together on a dainty silver tray — two place settings, and a large coffee carafe — you start to make your way back to your master, feeling much better now after taking that time to collect yourself. Of course you had even more questions swirling about inside your head now, but that was very quickly becoming the norm around here. It seemed that for every question answered, five more popped up. 

You assure yourself that everything would reveal itself eventually, however, and when you nudge the drawing room door open a few moments later, you find the two men having what appears to be a very pleasant conversation. Zandik is perfectly at ease where he lounges in his chair, hands clasped together over his stomach, and he glances up to send you a pleased quirk of his mouth. 65 looks at you as well, but with that full faced mask in the way you can’t even begin to guess at what his mood might be. 

“There’s the lovely little one. We were starting to miss you quite terribly, you know.” The dapper gentleman tells you with an accompanying, decidedly good natured chuckle that seems to caress over your skin like a spectral brush of velvet.  

“My apologies, Master. Sir. I stopped to make a quick sandwich for 8 before he went down into the cellar.” 

Zandik looks ever so slightly perplexed by that information as he follows you with his eyes over to the round table beside him. The very same one Pantalone had sat at with the two of you the prior day. 

“That’s not much like him. He usually doesn’t show any interest in the food here.” 

“Yes, well,” you respond lightly, making an effort to keep your voice in check when you weren’t sure how he would respond to the request you were about to make of him. In all your time here, you’d never once asked him for anything — other than to have your cunt played with, that is. “Considering what he had me prepare for him, I suspect he might have a preference for the tastes of his homeland, Master.” 

A vaguely pregnant pause follows that statement. 

“I see.” Zandik says at last. His voice isn’t tight, exactly, but it has an edge to it that makes you think he’s not quite sure how to navigate this new development. “And what might that be, sweet girl?” 

You send him a cautious look as you carefully set his cup down next to his elbow, making sure it’s in easy reach. “Sumeru, sir?”

He grumbles a short curse under his breath, but 65 laughs a deep, reverberating sound made ominous thanks to his mask. 

“That’s not really some closely guarded secret is it, Zandik?” 

“No.” The old man huffs, shooting you a rueful look while you set the carafe down on the table as well. “But I didn’t know you had any interest in that sort of information. I would have told you outright if you’d asked.”

“I’m sorry, Master. It didn’t seem all that important until I noticed 8’s clothes when we were standing in the kitchen together.” You hesitate for the span of but a single heartbeat before pressing on. “Forgive me for making this request of you, sir, but do you suppose we could make some adjustments to our weekly deliveries? I’d be happy to learn how to cook more Sumerian dishes for you and 8, if it would please you.” 

“… we can discuss it later.” He relents, waving you off with a vague flick of his wrist, and you quickly retreat with your little tray to give 65 his cup next. 

And you can’t quite seem to keep the smile off your face now, knowing by his reaction that he would not deny you this. It wasn’t hard to understand why he would feel put on the spot in such a situation, and it was clear that he just didn’t like having the tables turned on him like that, but you were quite sure he must have felt secretly flattered by it given the way he’d immediately shut the conversation down instead of antagonizing you any further. It was kind of cute of him, actually, even though you’d never dare to say that out loud. 

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” 65 coos as you come up beside him to set his coffee on the small side table next the sofa. “Most native Snezhnayan’s turn their noses up at Sumeru’s cuisine, you know. If it weren’t for the housekeeping uniform, I might have even thought you were a homemaker instead of a maid with that charmingly dutiful disposition of yours.” 

Your heart gives a wretched little twist inside your chest, skipping a long beat. 

Sadly you’re a little too caught up in the warm, fuzzy rush that makes you feel like a bottle rocket set to go off to recognize the shady note in his voice for what it is, but you certainly notice the following nudge at the back of your skirt. Startling, you let go of the delicate saucer before it’s lying completely flat to the sound of a loud clatter as you snap upright and glance over your shoulder. 

Sure enough, he’s got that damned cane casually stretched out to slip the subtly curved handle under the bulk of the material, slowly lifting it, and for a harrowing stretch of seconds you simply do not know how to react. There’s no question as to how you would have responded in your past life, that the old you wouldn’t have even hesitated before yanking yourself away to flee from the room in tears. But this place operated on a different rule set, and you were familiar enough with it now to understand that this was only part of the game. 

“S - sir?” You stammer, unable to conceal your surprise as you shoot an apprehensive look back at Zandik. 

And you find that he’s observing the unfolding scene before him quite closely indeed, the very interested expression on his face ensuring you he was amenable to watching the show, not put off by it. You have to consider it a good thing, then, that this was not the first time the prospect of sharing you had come up, otherwise you would not have been able to hide your scandalized alarm. 

Even so that doesn’t really do much to dissuade your flustered embarrassment at having so much attention on you all at once, especially when you were only just starting to grow comfortable with having the attention of one man at a time, and you nervously fidget in place as a result. 

“My, what cute little white panties you have on.” 65 murmurs, watching you shudder in response to the cool waft of air that washes over your exposed backside. “How very … innocent of you. I have a preference for black lace, myself.” 

Zandik snorts a quiet sound of amusement at that. “She has no such lingerie. Everything is white and virginal. Simple. And all the sexier for it, if you ask me.” 

“Well, we should amend that quickly, shouldn’t we? After all, it wouldn’t seem right to never see this luscious young body all wrapped up in the finest negligée’s money can buy, would it? I’m surprised Feofan hasn’t gotten on that already.” 

“I suspect his mind is leaning more towards steel accessories.” 

“Ah.” 65 relents, nudging his cane further down to slip it between your thighs, making you jolt. 

It reminds you a bit too much of 22 rutting so ruthlessly against you for it not to spark a certain amount of apprehension, and yet — 

“Tell me, little one. Do you like a taste of pain with your pleasure?”

“I …” Whatever you might have said is quickly lost in the tiny squeak you blurt when the shaft of his cane nudges up to press along the line of your slit. Your eyes grow wide and you sway unsteadily there for a moment, trying to reorient yourself to no avail. 

Any reminders of 22 and his oafish treatment are gone in an instant, whisked away by the warm tingling pressure he exerts and the fleshy squish of your labia moulding against the solid presence between your legs. This was quite a different situation, actually. 

Struggling to make any sense of your whirlwind thoughts, you have to force your throat to work around a rough swallow before you can manage to speak again. “Sometimes, sir. I think.”

“You think?” 65 prods, giving your cunt an attention grabbing, coaxing nudge. Encouraging you to go on while at the same time distracting you terribly from what you may have wanted to say. 

“I’m — I’m still learning, sir. It’s a rather … new experience for me.”  

“I see. But you are not outright opposed to it then, I take it? And unless my old eyes are simply playing tricks on me, your bottom looked like it may have been recently spanked too. Was it for pleasure or punishment?” 

You turn your head towards the sofa to send him a plainly horrified look. “S - spanking for … for pleasure, sir?” 

That unsettling bird mask gives an inquisitive tip. “But of course. I’m of the opinion that even good girls need to be regularly taken over a knee and given a nice peppering to ensure they stay on their best behavior. Don’t tell me Zandik has started to turn soft in his old age?” 

Your master chuckles his amusement from the other side of the room. “I may very well be. This little girl responds beautifully to a softer hand though, and I just don’t seem to have the energy anymore to exact my will like a tyrant the way I used to.” 

A sharp zap of static electricity races down your spine at that, recalling quite clearly how rough and merciless some of the treatment you’ve received from the Doctor and the other segments has been. Yes, you didn’t doubt for one second that Zandik had been a real authoritarian in his youth. You had the bruises on your bottom to show for it. 

Humming a thoughtful sound now, 65 gently extracts the grip of his cane from your sadly squeezing pussy so he can pull it around to nudge at the outside of your hip instead. You quickly catch on that he wants you to turn around and, shyly holding the little silver tray against your chest, you oblige him with this request.

But you firmly keep your eyes downcast, far too embarrassed to be standing in the spotlight like this to look up and meet Zandik’s gaze, much preferring to keep your attention on the floor for the moment. 

“If that is the case,” 65 muses thoughtfully to himself. “Then it must not have been you who smacked this poor girl's bottom. Who did it then, little doll? Be honest with me, now.”  

You can feel yourself starting to wilt, bashfully hunching your shoulders up towards your ears. “It was … Lord Dottore, sir. This morning.” 

“Heh. That selfish brute, eh? He never was very good at tempering his hand. Ah, but there’s nothing to get so watery eyed about. Why don’t you hurry back to your Master and receive some nice pets from him, hm?” 

The cane eases back from your person, returned to its spot propped up between 65’s legs. Not sure what else to do now that you’ve been dismissed, at least temporarily, you mechanically turn and shuffle back over to Zandik. You feel dangerously close to fainting though, so hot and dizzy, roiling in shame as much as the startings of your arousal. Like you weren’t even in control of your own body anymore. 

But when the old man holds out his hand to you in offering, you don’t even give it a second thought before you take his fingers, letting him gently guide you into sitting on his lap. It almost comes as something of a shock to find yourself perched there, and in front of company no less. Although, you supposed, it probably didn’t count when it was himself sitting across from you, now watching the way you relinquish your flimsy shield to Zandik when he reaches up to take the tray from your clammy hands. 

Setting it aside on the table next to him, he then goes about tugging you closer to his chest, ensuring you’re nice and snug, and the polite gap you’d tried to maintain no longer exists. Oh, it was unexpectedly humiliating to have him coddling you like this in front of another person even while your heart swells the same way it does every time he’s soft and doting with you like this. 

“There. You’re a very good girl, you know that?” He tells you rather candidly, bringing a hand up to tap your chin while the other curls around your back. Ensuring you can’t scuttle away and escape, you can’t help thinking. “But you do not need to fear this one. I know the way he looks might make it more difficult than it is with me, but I can assure you we do not have dissimilar temperaments. In fact, I rather expect you’ll come to enjoy the sort of attention I liked to give when I was in my sixties.” 

Somehow your face has never felt hotter than it does in that moment, especially when Zandik reaches up to fondly pet over your hair, and you desperately cling to his jacket in an attempt to ground yourself. “W - what does that mean, Master?” 

“Hm. Curious? Would you like to find out?” 

It’s almost impossible to bring your eyes up and look him in the face but, after a real battle with your own will, you finally manage to shyly peer through the thicket of your lashes. And of course you find him attentively watching you, so keyed in on your expression, your body language, the way you gratefully lean into him as if in an instinctive search for more of his comforts. It really is no wonder that you crumple embarrassingly fast. 

As long as it was Master Zandik, you’re relatively certain you would do anything at all he asked of you. 

“Yes, sir …” You murmur softly, bobbing your head in a stilted nod and earning yourself a warm squeeze in return. 

“Good. Then just sit with me for a moment. Relax. I won’t let anything bad happen to you in this room, alright?” 

Something about that immediately chokes you up and, eyes burning furiously again, you quickly turn your head to duck into the crook of his neck, hiding your face from the rest of the room. Zandik rumbles a low laugh at that, rubbing up and down your shuddering back as if to reassure and console you. 

To your surprise you catch the sound of 65 laughing too and you tremble harder at the indulgent, rich chuckle that slithers over to brush against your skin. 

“I see what you mean now.” The other man drawls, the amusement in his thick voice heavy. Unmistakably carnal. Tinged and colored with something far more masculine than you could ever hope to name. “What a sweet little girl you’ve found, Zandik. For once Omega seems to have done something right.” 

“For once.” Your master agrees, giving your shoulders a soft pat, pat. But, still, you weren’t quite ready to come out of hiding, content to stay tucked into his neck, and Zandik recognizes it for what it is. A clear indication that you needed time to sort yourself out first. 

And he gives it to you. 

“Why don’t we talk about your trip to Liyue for a while? I’m sure my clever girl would like to hear more about it anyway, and that should give her a chance to come around.”

“Oh, but I’m not even sure what clever little girls find interesting these days. It’s been a very long time since I last had one of my own. Is there anything in particular you’d like to hear about, my dear?” 

You’re marginally surprised at being addressed like that, particularly when you were being arguably rude by refusing to look at him this way, but … what he’d just said did stoke your curiosity quite a bit. Rather than his trip to the Nation of Contracts, you were almost more interested in hearing about that. Had he done it on purpose? Was this a calculated part of their plan to tempt you and sway your resolve? You weren’t even sure if it really mattered. 

Hating how very hot your face still feels, you carefully nudge your chin away from Zandik’s neck so you have enough room to speak. “Will you — tell me about the girls you’ve had?” 

Your voice is so small, so fragile in the thrumming tension of the room, that you almost expect him not to have heard you. 

But 65’s ears seem to be working perfectly fine, and he drawls another grating, granite scraping against granite chuckle that makes you feel invariably fidgety. 

“If that is what you would like to hear, then it would be my honor to oblige the little miss.” 

And he does. 

He tells you all about a secretary he used to have whom he seduced — seduced! You’d never heard such a shameful admittance spoken so casually in all your life! — before turning her into his own personal plaything. She’d been the serious, no nonsense type which, according to him, was how she’d landed the job in the first place. All merit and qualifications. But after spending enough time with her, he’d subsequently decided that her energy would be better spent on other pursuits. 

Those other pursuits being the servicing of his cock, and to hear him say it sends such an intense tremor racing through your body you nearly vibrate right off of Zandik’s lap. But your master holds you tight to his chest even when he can surely feel you vibrating at some of the more sordid details 65 relays to you, and he does not appear to skimp on any of them. For your benefit, you’re sure. 

How to suck him off. How to take him down her throat. He trained her, quite tirelessly by the sounds of it, to have such an innate, subconscious reaction to even just the simple suggestion of his cock that she would drop everything she was doing at a moment's notice to assume the position. Ready and waiting for him to take it out and slip it into her open mouth without having to be commanded to do so. 

He likes good girls too, 65 readily admits, but he has a particular sort of soft spot for training girls to be good. The rewards are just as important to him as the punishments, and almost as fun too. He tells you he likes spoiling good girls and taking away from girls who are still learning their place, whether that be his cock or the gifts he’s given them. And he informs you, rather curtly, that often it was the withholding of his cock that carried with it the most incentive. 

“And what sort of … rewards?” You finally ask, sounding dreamy and distant now. 

You’re not sure when, exactly, it happened, but at some point in listening to him you’ve turned your head to peer over at the couch from the safety of Zandik’s arms. Your head still rests against his shoulder though, not quite ready to fully extricate yourself from him just yet, but you’re able to observe the way 65 laughs to make his shoulders twitch from your vantage point. 

“I thought that might be of a certain interest to you. Most little ones do like to hear about that part, I suppose.” Pausing, he reaches for his nearly forgotten cup of coffee to bring it up towards his covered face. “How many orgasms have you had in a single sitting, little doll?”

You tense slightly at the question, suddenly feeling put on the spot again. But somehow being asked that doesn’t surprise you half as much as the way he reaches to tilt the bottom half of his mask up. It’s hard to make out much of anything from this angle yet you are able to briefly glimpse the coarse mouth he drinks from, assuring you that, at the very least, there really was a person under there. Or something like a human, anyway. 

But he makes no move to fully remove it and, in fact, nudges it right back into place as soon as he’s done sipping. An odd little sense of consternation trickles in then, effectively distracting you enough to keep you from getting too embarrassed about answering him. 

“Two, sir. Or maybe … three?” You send Zandik a slow look at that, and he gives your waist a tight squeeze as if in reward for seeking out his input. 

“I’m inclined to say two. There was some time between the first and the last one I gave you in the library. Although, knowing you, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if you could manage more than that back to back.” 

“This one has an eager cunt then, I take it?” 65 chimes in, making your master bark a sharp sound of mirth while you flush red hot. 

“To put it mildly. What do you think, pretty girl? Would you say you have a needy pussy?” 

“Y - yes, sir. I do.” You murmur, so caught up in staring into that handsome, wizened face, that you almost don’t even notice his hand angling towards your lap. 

But you certainly feel it when he bullies those long fingers between your thighs, forcing them apart so he can cup around your quim. You go ramrod stiff against him, gasping at the sudden contact, even as you instinctively nudge your pelvis up into his palm and clutch at his jacket all the more fervently while you do it. 

“Say it, sweetness. Be good and tell us what you have.” 

Your mouth moves but for a long stretch of seconds nothing comes out. It’s like your brain can’t quite catch up with your body until a delayed moment later when you finally manage a stammering response. “I - I have a needy cunt, sir. A greedy cunt. It … it’s overeager and insatiable.” 

Just like he was always saying. 

Rumbling a low sound of approval, Zandik gives your pubic mound a slow, lingering squeeze that squishes your pudgy lips together and you suddenly realize you’re soaking wet. Not just damp or mildly sticky, but absolutely flooded with slick arousal. Was that all from listening to 65 tell you about his secretary? 

“Mmmm. Good girl. And let me guess … even though I said no more after the last time today, I’d just bet you’re ready to go again, aren’t you?” 

You rather blithely nod your head before recalling what he’d said about liking to hear you tell him how you’re feeling. It was humiliating to have to say something so vulgar out loud, but … 

“Yes, sir. Yes. I’m already w - wet and — I want to cum again. May I? Please?” 

“I think that will depend on what my esteemed colleague decides, don’t you? Why don’t you go ask him yourself, little girl? See what he says.” 

Zandik slides his hand away from your pussy then, giving your back a gentle nudge with the other, and your chest wrenches painfully when you realize they’ve ensnared you in their insidiously laid trap. 

Unfortunately you’re running just a bit too hot and thinking slightly more with your pussy than your brain, so you somewhat listlessly let him coax you off his lap. It’s just like when you’d heeded Pantalone’s summons to come put your mouth on the old man without really even understanding why you were doing it. 

And when you find your feet, you reluctantly wander in the direction of the sofa even when you’d like nothing more than to turn back around and retreat to the safety of your Master again. But you know that’s not where you’ll find your pleasure this time, and you shyly shuffle up to 65 with your hands demurely folded behind your back. It’s an aptly fitting posture, given how much you feel like a naughty child approaching an amiable grandfather in that moment. Guilty, almost, as you come to a stop in front of him. 

“Yes, my dear?” He prods you not unkindly. 

For a prolonged moment you’re not quite sure what to say. How did you even begin to ask for something like this? 

“M - … may I have another orgasm, sir? If it would – please you?” 

“Oh, I don’t see why not.” Relenting immediately, he holds his gloved hand out to you with a showman’s flair which you carefully take. 

Like a gentleman guiding a lady, he directs you to perch atop his thigh, much like Zandik often did, and you’re mildly surprised at how much sturdier he feels underneath you as you get settled. But he’s quick to grab you around the middle to pull you further into his lap until you’re situated quite squarely over the stirring tent in his pants. You can feel it poking up into you with a fair amount of interest, and yet it seems much more tempered than 22’s had been. It’s still intimidating in its own right, just as you were starting to suspect all cocks were to some degree, but not anywhere near as aggressive in the way it seeks you out. 

Whimpering softly as 65 gives you a final nudge that leaves you leaning back into his chest, he wraps his arms around you tight to anchor you in place before giving you a somewhat belittling bounce on his legs. “There you are. That’s much more comfortable, isn’t it?” 

“Mm … yes, sir.” 

“Excellent. Now then, little miss, I do believe you asked me a question, didn’t you? If I’m not mistaken you wanted to know what sort of rewards I like to give to good girls, isn’t that right? Well, since you’ve got such an eager cunt, how do you like the sound of being held down and having your pussy licked until you can’t stand it anymore, hm?”

“O - oh.” You squeak, swaying dizzily there in 65’s hold, feeling like the room is starting to spin around you. This really was too much. 

“Or,” he goes on, evidently seeing that you were far too intoxicated by the rush to verbally respond. “If you find penetration the more satisfying option, I have some lovely little toys I could stuff you with instead. Ones that rumble around inside your guts or ones that simulate thrusting. I even made a few that would fit just right inside your sweet little ass too.” 

Seething a truly mindless sound, you have to close your eyes against those mental images and try to get ahold of yourself but it’s no use. It feels like you’re really sinking, suffocating in it. Just barely treading the surface of some great, bottomless lake that would drag you under, forever down into the dark void below. 

And it’s especially hard not to react to what he’s saying when it instantly brings back the memory of 25 fingering your ass open, how good it had felt even when you wished that it didn’t. It was the kind of pleasure you just couldn’t deny no matter how embarrassing or shameful, or humiliating it had felt to experience it in the moment. But now you almost find yourself wanting to feel that unique rush, the singularly mind numbing sear of penetration again. Knowing you shouldn’t want it isn’t nearly enough to deter you. 

“Oh? That’s quite the reaction from you, pretty girl.” 65 intones, turning his head just ever so slightly to angle the closest glassy eye hole in his mask towards your face, although he remains mindful of the presence of the beak and does not turn fully towards you. “Is that of a particular interest to you, then? Have you had your ass played with very much?” 

Groaning a reluctant sound, you squeeze your eyes shut again and fitfully shake your head. “N - no … only — once, sir.”

“Technically twice.” Zandik mildly corrects you from the opposite chair. “I also wedged your back end open with one of my fingers, although it was not with the intent to be pleasurable.”

Somehow you’d almost forgotten about that. How he’d paused in the middle of spanking you over his knee to slip inside your already stretched and loosened ass to explore the sticky contents of your guts, thinking one of his segments had already taken you in that manner. 

65 gives his head another nudge at that, angling his mask toward your master now. “Is that so? And what did you do to earn yourself having fingers slid up into your ass as a punishment? Don’t tell me Zandik had to give you a suppository?” 

You can tell by the way he proceeds to chuckle another rumbling laugh that he’s joking, teasing you, but you cringe so violently at the suggestion that you can’t help the way you try to curl away from him. 65’s arms are as good as iron around your middle though and, ignoring your flustered whimper, he drags you back into place with a jostle. The thought of someone doing something like that to you is much too potent though, too witheringly humiliating, and you bring both of your hands up to cover your face so neither of them can see your expression. 

“Goodness, and what’s all this for?” The one in the mask croons, giving you another decidedly condescending bounce in his lap. 

“It wasn’t anything like that.” Zandik cuts in, speaking slowly, almost thoughtfully. No doubt watching and observing your reaction with that close attention to detail that made him so very frustrating to deal with at times when he seemed to notice every little twitch in your body, recognizing it for exactly what it was. “Actually, if you want the truth, it was something of a misunderstanding on my part. It was — 25 who truly got to play with her in that way.”

“Admitting to your mistakes? That’s not like you, Zandik.” The way 65 says it is without judgement or accusation. It’s not even a question. Just a simple statement, and then you feel him swing his attention back to you when his long beak gets a bit too close to your bowed head. 

“If that is the case though,” he tells you, not unkindly. “Then perhaps we should take the opportunity to reframe the experience, so you don’t associate having your ass stretched with such an unpleasant memory. Especially if it was 25 who opened you up first. I’m sure he was rather demanding of you, wasn’t he? Poor thing.” 

Softly tsk’ing under his breath, the sound rattling within the mask, he gives your waist one more reassuring squeeze before slowly drawing his hands up your body, dragging them to rumple the uniform. You tremble helplessly at the sensation, thinking you should protest — knowing you should protest this treatment from him before it got any further out of control. It wasn’t right for a man of sixty to talk to you as if you were a child. To croon and coo just as one might at a baby when he was saying such sordid, inappropriate things. 

It successfully mixes your wiring all up, just as you suspect it was meant to, and when 65 ever so carefully nudges his beak close to nuzzle against the back of your wrist with it, your sense of self slips just that little bit more. How could you continue to let this happen to you? 

“Oh, but don’t be so shy, little one. Come, now. Take your hands away and let Zandik look at your face while I tend to you.” 

You almost don’t do it, far too overwhelmed and stretched thin in this hazy, weightless atmosphere that’s inexplicably fallen over the drawing room. But with another encouraging, not demanding nudge from 65, you reluctantly lower your trembling fingers. You aren’t sure what to do with them now, however, and you finally let them drop to the forearms that bracket your waist to clutch at his sleeves. 

This really was a nice suit, you think, far off and dreamy. Distant. 

And when the man behind you murmurs soft words of praise at you for being an obedient, good little doll for him, your cunt gives such an intense, drippy pulse you deliriously start to think you may actually cum without even being touched. 

But then, he leans back against the upholstered cushioning of the sofa to stretch out underneath you while he drags you along until you’re lying out over top of him with your head resting on his shoulder. From this angle you have no way to avoid looking over at Zandik when you can no longer duck your head the same as before, and your attention momentarily fixes upon him again. 

That you find him watching you just as intently as before with a sharply knuckled hand now resting over the center of his pants makes your cunt throb like it’s melting. A subconscious reaction you feel twice over when, seeing your eyes on him, he gives himself a slow squeeze to nearly send you into a full blown swoon. 

“M - Master - -“ 

“Yes. That’s right, little one. Just keep your pretty eyes on him and make sure you put on a good show for us, alright?” 

The long fingers wrapped around your ribcage give you one last encouraging pinch and then they’re sliding higher up, gloved palms dragging over the swell of your breasts. You shudder fiercely at the sensation, back bowing dramatically to jut your tits up into that teasing touch, but they just keep going. Following the curve of your chest until he reaches your sternum where he pauses for but a split second and then starts to direct his hands back down again on another slow, taunting glide. 

“O - oohn!” 

Tossing your head back against him, you sensitively seethe up at the ceiling as you twist in his hold, stiffly writhing. Your nipples, as it turns out, are still quite tender and receptive from the session in the library, and they sensitively stiffen under the broad swipe of his hands to poke through your shirt. That 65 seems to pick up on it immediately, the potency of your response, does not come as a surprise but the way he continues to torment them with the steady drag of his palms does. Given the eager impatience of the other segments, you’d half expected him to rush right in. 

“Be careful with that one.” Zandik murmurs, his voice noticeably pitched down now to make for a rather rumbly, vibrating drawl. “She loves having her tits played with and pinched. You’ll have her making a mess everywhere if you keep that up.” 

When 65 chuckles this time it makes the expanse of his chest swell underneath you to send the masculine reverberation dancing through your body, and you have to close your eyes against it or risk getting pulled under. 

“Well, isn’t that cute, little miss? I wonder if we could make you cum if we just play with your nipples long enough.”

Your hips involuntarily buck at the suggestion, canting your pussy up into the air as if in search of relief even when you know there’s none to be found. “I - is … is that really — possible?” 

“Some exceptionally good girls and boys can, yes. But we’d have to run the experiment first to find out if you’re one of them.” He gives you another nuzzle with his beak, this time rubbing the cool material that you think might be leather against your face. 

You loose a quiet, faltering mewl, feeling a little too intoxicated, a little too caught up in the tender heat of his words to rouse yourself from the shameless sprawl he’s pulled you into. The smell of him and the way it registers in the back of your mind, having a man underneath you like this ... 

At the sound of that sweet, faltering sound, 65 finally — finally! Slides his hands up over your heaving breasts again, stopping this time to carefully pluck at your straining teats through the layers of your top. 

“What do you think, lovely little miss? Would you like me to keep toying with these mouth watering tits of yours until you cum for us? Hm?”

You wheeze, very softly. “Yuh - … yes, sir.” 

A rumbling exhale of approval slips out of him, and he rewards you for your sweet answer by tweaking your nipples with greater fervor. Making sure you can feel every little nudge against tightly coiled flesh, every lingering pinch, every friction inducing squeeze, even when it’s dulled by the fabric of your shirt. It’s enough to have you squirming on top of him though and you bleat a truly mindless sound when, in the midst of your restless fidgeting, you grind down on that hard, hot cock under you in the process.

Gods, it really was almost too much. Too many sensations, too much stimuli, too many sights and smells, and sounds. You felt like you were going to go mad. 

But he’s relentless and patient — far more patient than you are in that moment, and even when you whine for him, for both of them, he just keeps plucking, plucking, plucking at the straining tips of your breasts until you start to think you really might cry from it.

Only then, only when you’re hiccuping rather sadly in your shuddering arousal, does 65 at last take his fingers off your poor tits and direct them inward to start working on your buttons instead. You don’t even have the presence of mind to worry about how you might look from Zandik’s perspective anymore, although you can still feel his sharply focused eyes boring into your skin even from across the short distance that separates you from him. Some small part of you still wants to go back, to return to his side and ask for your master to pet you instead, but you can’t. 

Even if you did not already know that he’d meant for 65 to have you this time, you’re not entirely sure if your body would have cooperated. Your limbs are much too loose and languid, heavy, where they clutch pitifully at the edges of his big black coat, and all you can truly do is watch through the hazy sheen in your eyes while he gradually gets your shirt unbuttoned. 

Straight down to the apron around your waist where he stops, seems to consider it for a moment, and then evidently decides he’ll come back to it later, for he reaches back up again to pull your blouse open around your laboring chest. The rush of cool air feels, admittedly, good on your terribly hot skin, and you just barely turn your head to watch through the haze as he carefully pinches at the silk of your slip. Ever so slowly, gently, he nudges the material down, down, until your bare tits slip out over the top, nipples cutting up in sharp little points. And you once again swivel your hips in search of the stimulation your sadly throbbing cunt so desperately needed, seething an overwrought sound into the static charged room. 

“Oh. These are lovely, aren’t they?” 65 murmurs, to himself as much as for your benefit, slowly bringing his big hands up to mould them around the outer swell of your tits. With exceeding gentleness, he gives them a gradual, palpitating squeeze before pushing them together into a fleshy press. Then, as if to intentionally highlight the size of them, the shape and the weight, he gives them a vigorous jiggle between his fingers to make them bounce for him. 

Whining a quiet sound of pure, unfiltered wanting, you gingerly turn your face away, unable to look at your own defilement just as you are unable to lift your attention to glance over at your master. You know he’s watching and that is plenty to have you squirming atop 65 while he fondles your tits, the leather of his fine gloves sticking slightly to your skin. 

And yet, despite your best attempts to keep your eyes averted, the lifting of his hand from your chest draws your curious gaze and you watch, utterly gobsmacked, as he grabs under the curve of the beak, shoving the mask up only enough to expose his mouth and the bottom portion of his nose. 

You have but a split second of reeling surprise to recognize familiar coarse lips, the shape of that nose, before he’s bending over your chest to capture your closest teat between his lips. 

65 gives it a harsh suck that has your back bowing in a supplicating arch while you whimper and whine at the sensation, head lolling bonelessly on your neck. The sensitive flesh, already a little tender, a little raw, aches gloriously in response to that firm, demanding suction he applies to nearly send you vibrating right up off his lap. 

“Please!” You blurt, half sobbing that one, stricken word in your ratcheting distress. “Please, I - I wanna’ cum … please play with my pussy, sir, please let me cum!” 

Those abrasive lips curl against the swell of your breast even as he pretends not to have heard you for a moment, working his wet mouth around your teat to pull it towards the back of his throat. And then he sets in to vigorously batter it with his tongue, letting you feel the fleshy nudge, the fat, swollen quality of your tit. 

And then he releases you just as abruptly to the sound of a sticky, smacking pop that makes you twitch, nearly going blind from how violently you shake for him. You can’t see straight, can’t think straight, can’t even seem to straighten out your drunkenly bobbing head. Your only choice is to cling to him, desperate and mindless, groaning a wounded little sound when 65 extends his tongue to press down on that delicate bud, flattening it, so he can then proceed to draw tight, nonsensical patterns over it. Just the same way he might grind his tongue down into your — 

“Oouughnn! Please, sir, please! Ahhn!” 

Chuckling a good natured sound at your spiking desperation, 65 gives your teat another vigorous lick before retracting his tongue and replacing it with his lips so he can place a lingering kiss to the tender tip. 

“What do you think, old friend?” He says, straightening up over you and quickly sliding the mask back into place, much to your groaning frustration. “Do you think this good little girl has earned her orgasm or should we try to make her cum with her tits?” 

“Masteeeer …” 

Zandik quietly clears his throat across from you, his voice noticeably pinched when he next speaks. “I think she deserves to cum. She’s always so good for me anyway, but … I have to say her pitiful sounds of pleasure are doing more for my cock than any distressed wailing ever could.” 

“Hah. You are getting soft.” 

With that amused murmur, 65 hums a low, grating sound of consideration as he gives your tits one last sharp squeeze to make your breath hitch before dragging them lower. Over your expanding ribs and your tense stomach, one hand presses into your belly as if to grab at your womb through layers of clothes and flesh, as if to take it squarely in his palm. Your skirt is inched and twisted askew in that unmistakably possessive gesture, giving the other hand access to what was nestled safely between your legs. 

But he doesn’t immediately touch you where you most want him to, instead curving his fingers around the soft, pudgy cushion of your inner thigh. Gloved fingers dip into the malleable skin, just hard enough to pinch and have you groaning a needy mewl. And when he tugs on your leg, spreading it out from the other, you simply writhe in place as your damp panties are shown to the old man sitting across from you. 

And you know the exact moment Zandik gets a good look at them, at the way white cotton is all but plastered to your cunt, moulded to the shape of fat, swollen, puffy lips that must call out to some intrinsically testosterone driven aspect of his psyche, because he pulls in a clipped breath. The sound is hushed and nearly imperceptible but you hear it all the same, and you supplicatingly cant your pelvis up as if inviting him to reach out and touch you. You’re positive just a single, fleeting brush of his fingers would have you immediately convulsing in spasms. 

He is much too far away though, and your pussy just sadly twitches in the air while 65 directs his hand lower down to trace rather lovingly over the tiny metal clasp on your garter belt. You feel downright diminutive against him, the way his palms seem so broad and coarse against your body, his frame sturdy under yours where he reclines in perfect ease. It’s contradictory to the Zandik you were most accustomed to and most familiar with, but somehow you still recognize him even in that difference. 

The build and proportions are the same. One is just stronger than the other, slightly more filled out. That tall tell waver of Zandik’s hands is absent when 65 confidently flicks the first clasp loose but the way he proceeds to grab at the meat of your thigh, kneading and pinching you with devious intention behind the gesture is almost unsettlingly reminiscent to the manner in which your master often touches you. Like you truly belonged to him and his stake on you was absolute, even if he was in no physical condition to defend that territory from younger predators. From his younger selves. 

You’re half convinced that 65 could likely hold his own against them well enough, though, and you tip your head back to look at that horrid bird mask while he reaches for the top of the other stocking. It’s still disconcerting to see that particular visage looming over you but somehow not near as alarming as it had been the first time he’d turned his face towards you. Still, you wished he would take it off. 

As if hearing your thoughts, as if you’d spoken them aloud, he faintly tips his beak in your direction, angling the nearest glassy eye hole at your face. “You do me a great honor by giving me so much of your attention, little one. I wonder what I could have possibly done to deserve it.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. Especially when it’s so hard not to look at him when his mask is this disconcerting, at almost complete and total odds with his otherwise agreeable demeanor. The fact he’s currently fiddling with the other clasp to get it open, promising another rush of euphoria that was soon to come, doesn't help either. 

And when he gets that one undone as well, 65 shifts beneath you as he gathers you up to his chest so he can then slip an arm under your legs. Pulling up on them, he folds your knees in the air while his other hand slips down to expertly tug at the back of your stockings, getting those clasps loosened too. With nothing there to impede their descent anymore, he finds your panties and pinches at the material, nudging them over the swell of your ass. 

Folded up on his lap like that, all you can do is whine a faltering sound, squirming again, even as you send a shy, split second glance at the adjacent chair. Zandik’s hand is still on the front of his pants but you can easily make out the stirring weight behind the material now, and the deft thumb he idly strokes over the stiffening length within. The validation that unexpectedly comes with knowing he was getting excited from watching 65 manhandle you, that he was aroused enough to get hard again despite your dalliance with him earlier in the day, is nearly shocking. 

You wouldn’t have thought you’d find it so very appealing to be watched like this … 

Yet that seems to be exactly what’s happening, and your cunt gives a muted, eager throb when 65 gets your underwear inched over your knees and then quickly pulled off over your shoes. But he still doesn’t let up his hold on you just yet, readjusting his grip under your legs instead to keep them braced up in the air. His unoccupied fingers reach inward to find the fleshy mound of your quim where it’s trapped and pressed between your thighs. You suck in a sharp little breath at the first brush of leather encased digits gliding over your slit where he takes a moment to simply smear copious honeyed arousal with that featherlight touch. 

And then, startling you a great deal, he abruptly points his fingertips further down to swipe them over your ass hole, coating it with your own slick. 

“Y - yeek!” You blurt, jolting hard and trying to angle away from it, but 65 merely croons at you in response. 

“Hush, little one. Hush. I’ve got you.” 

There’s no question that he does. Even when you fidget in his hold, helplessly twitching your hips in a blithe attempt to escape the slow rub of his fingers, you simply have nowhere to go. And he remains undaunted by your restless shuddering as he ever so slowly circles the pucker for a long, drawn out stretch of seconds before just as casually reaching back up to gather more of that eager liquid youth on his glove. 

It strikes you as uniquely insidious for him to go about it this way, to use your own arousal against you. Rather than touch you directly, where you actually want him to touch, he instead attacks that vulnerable wrinkle with slow, patient precision until you can feel the rim starting to raise for him, turning fleshy and soft. And the worst part is, you can’t seem to decide if you’re more excited about that or frustrated. 

He doesn’t ask for your opinion though as he repeats that steady process a few more times before he eventually starts to prod in earnest at the delicate center of your hole. It doesn’t immediately relent to him, too unaccustomed to this sort of stimulation to give in easily, but he continues to work at it until you eventually feel it start to give. Just a tiny dip in pressure at first, only enough for you to feel it, but not enough to penetrate. 

And somehow that long, drawn out teasing, the suggestion of it, the carefully intentional poking at your puckered entrance, just leaves you wanting it, more and more, so desperate to feel that hot sear of being entered again that you could almost sob. 

The urge is so overwhelming, in fact, that you do cry out when 65 finally presses in on the slackening wrinkle with enough pressure for the tip to barely breach you. For a singularly glorious, dizzying moment, you can feel the heat of him in your ass, the weight of his finger wedging you open, but then it’s gone. Retreated back up to your cunt to gather yet more slick for him to lubricate that tight little sleeve with. 

“Oh! Please … please give it to me!” 

“Hmmm. You want it, little one?” 

“Yes!” 

Zandik roughly hisses across from you as if he’d been sucker punched. “Gods, girl!”

Drawling that low, vaguely grating sound that was starting to make your pussy twitch every time he did it, 65 slides his fingers down to your waiting hole and this time when he pushes in with one long digit he does it with enough firmly applied pressure to slip up inside to the first joint. It seems to gut you, trembling so wildly at that mind melting rush of being entered, of being stretched, that your hips pitifully buck in response. Burn everything, you were going to lose your mind if you didn’t cum soon! 

And slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, 65 starts to gently nudge that finger back and forth, barely even moving it within the constricting passage. Just working to loosen you up some more, to get you acquainted with the sensation and give you a chance to relax into it. That was certainly more than 25 had given you. He’d demanded so much from your body, never quite satisfied, but 65 coaxes it out of you, encouraging your ass to accept what he’s offering it, which it does. Gradually, but in no uncertain terms. 

Soon, he’s able to wriggle his way a little deeper inside when your body gives a pulsing throb around him, in time with your erratic heartbeat, and he hums a rumbling sound of approval at the small acquiescence. You can’t help but wonder, distantly, how you must look to Zandik in that moment. Curled up in a lap that was both his and not his at the same time, getting your backend fingered open while your cunt positively weeps in its neglect. 

“What a good little doll you are, taking my finger like this.” 65 murmurs at you, giving you a slight jostle when he readjusts the arm hooked under your bent knees. “I bet you want to take even more for me, don’t you?” 

You bob your chin in a drunken nod, shooting that inhuman mask a pleading look. And when you whimper a tiny little plea at him, for good measure, he tips his head to the side in a rather indulgent manner, as if to say he couldn’t possibly deny you that request and he’s happy to coddle you. To spoil you. 

But his digit starts to withdraw then, moving intentionally slow to ensure you feel the drag at your interior, the way your gripping hole tries to cling to the material of his glove. The sensation pulls another faltering mewl out of you, shuddering when he slips completely out to leave your ass sadly clenching after him. You half expect him to go back up to your cunt again to coat himself in more arousal but, to your surprise, he reaches for your face instead. 

That he expectantly presents this finger to you probably should alarm you far more than it actually does, but you’re feeling a bit too caught up in the rush, the attention, the carnal wanting to truly fight it. Even when your chest tightens and your stomach roils in rejection of this entreaty, you still find yourself hesitantly opening your mouth for him. 

Zandik noises a quiet sound that is both shocked and deeply aroused when you accept 65’s digit into your mouth, shyly closing your lips around it. Your tastebuds are flooded with salt and leather, a hint of oil, the flavor of your own cunt and a distant tinge of copper. You have a very strange thought then, wondering if this was what your ass tasted like, but the notion is quickly washed away by other, far more pressing concerns. 

You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this. 

“Yesss. What a very good girl you are.” 65 all but purrs, clearly quite pleased with your obedience, the total surrender of your autonomy to him. “Get me nice and wet for your ass now, hm? I’m going to help you along, alright?” 

You don’t know what that means but you like when he praises you like this a little too much to truly question it, or any of this, for that matter, as you dutifully swirl your tongue to coat him in saliva. As long as he kept talking to you like that, as long as Master Zandik continued to watch your patient defilement, you were content to be at their mercy. 

At length 65 appears to deem your efforts sufficient, for he carefully withdraws his hand — much more mindful in this action than 22 had been down in the cellar — and he reaches back down to find your ass hole again. Locating the center, he gives it one good, solid push, and you jolt as if you’ve been electrocuted when he rather easily slides up into you again. You’re not sure if it’s just a result of his gentle stretching or if it’s due to the viscous mixture of spit and arousal, but the glide of him is suddenly made smooth. The leather of his glove still drags at your insides slightly, yet even then he’s able to wedge himself over half of the way inside you before he finds too much resistance to keep going. 

You give a wounded little lurch on top of him at suddenly finding yourself well and truly stuffed, effectively impaled on his hand, and you bleat a frazzled groan that seems to bounce off of the walls. 65 offers the back of your thigh a fond pat with his other set of fingers as he gives you a tiny nudge in his lap. 

“Ooh, that’s it. That’s a good girl, opening up your ass for me like that. And how does it feel in your little cunt, eh? Are you getting nice and drippy for me, now?” 

Your head is already weakly bobbing before your mouth even has a chance to catch up, your brain struggling behind even that. “Y - yuh - yes! I’m so … so wet, so drippy, I’m melting, sir, I’m melting! Please, wanna’ cum, wanna’ cum, wanna’ cuh - ahh — oouughn! Please, sir!” 

Some small, semi conscious part of your mind realizes you’re babbling rather incoherently but you can’t seem to stop. Your pussy feels so hot, so terribly sticky where it’s trapped between the press of your thighs, and you’re very aware of the slow ooze gathering along your fleshy slit. You almost don’t even know what to do with yourself in that moment as you twist in his hold and needily swivel your pelvis as if in an instinctive search for the stimulation your poor cunt so badly needs. There is none though, when pleasure is only being given your ass, and that almost breaks you. 

Inhaling a sedate, anticipatory breath, 65 nudges his face towards you just enough to lightly brush the curve of his beak against your hot cheek. “Well, then, if you want to cum so bad, why don’t you show us? Go on, little one. Use your fingers on your pussy. Show your master how you like to be played with.” 

Your mind momentarily goes back to the hallway outside of Zandik’s bedroom. You’d wanted it so badly then — not as bad as this, not even as close to being out of your mind with pure, unadulterated need as you are right now — but it hadn’t felt as good when you touched yourself like that. It was no wonder, then, that you only wanted them to rub you, tease you, to pluck your throbbing little clit until you came, screaming in delight, but he wanted you to do it. He wanted to watch and … for Zandik to watch it too. 

It’s a real struggle to make your limbs cooperate but, at length, you manage to rouse enough to lift your bonelessly lolling head. Looking past your tits where they spill out of your top, the nipples flushed and hard, you peer down at your thighs with plain faced longing. 

No doubt seeing your decision before you can even act on it, 65 carefully eases up his grip under your legs, although he does not pull away entirely at first, just hovering for a moment to make sure you keep your feet skyward.  

“Hold your legs up and wide open for us, doll. We want to make sure to give Zandik a nice show, don’t we?” 

“Yuh - … yes, sir.” 

Crooning his soft approval, 65 slides his hand out from under you, leaving you to have to balance yourself on top of his lap. The instinctive compulsion to close your thighs nearly gets the better of you but he gives the finger in your ass an attention grabbing, slow motion pump into your guts, and you frantically seethe as you curl your knees inward, completely of your own accord now. 

Spread open like that, you know Zandik can see every inch of you, every little hole, every curly hair, every single droplet of glistening slick that’s smeared across your labia and inner thighs. And you shudder with that knowledge as you shyly slide one hand forward to dip between your legs, locating your cunt and nearly startling at the mess you find there. You really are soaked with so much excessive arousal that your fingers simply slip and slide through the obscene coating when you give your clit an experimental, stuttering rub. 

Much like before it doesn’t feel quite right when your fingers are not nearly as broad or coarse, or practiced as Zandik’s, but your own desperation for release compels you to keep going. The rhythm you fall into is sloppy and uncertain, hesitating at the eager throb of warning your cunt gives a moment later before you force yourself to press on. 

You even lean up to get a better look at what you’re doing, mouth dropping open to pant when you see how very swollen you are, how puffy. The gloved hand positioned just under your slit slowly flexes, moving the finger inside your ass again to send fresh shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your taut body. It’s such a shamefully sordid scene, such an indecorous way for you to be comporting yourself, and somehow you just can’t seem to do anything but find it exciting. 

Especially not when 65 brings his newly freed hand up to squeeze one of your tits, slowly pinching around the full swell and then dragging his grip towards the center to close in around the coiled teat. He graces it with an encouraging tug, stretching the bud slightly as if to incentivize you, and you give a full bodied jolt in response when your pussy clenches like a vice. The nerve endings seem to vibrate at a hitherto unknown frequency, making the skin tingle and buzz, and you mindlessly rub your clit faster. So desperate for release that you couldn’t stop working towards that end even if you’d wanted to, and the eager, sticky click that starts up isn’t nearly enough to dissuade you either. 

Between the insistent rubbing and the tweaking on your tit, and the sensation of 65 casually fucking into your ass, you’re already barreling headlong towards the drop off. You can practically taste it, in fact, and your back molars start to ache from how intensely that mind melting, deeply pleasant weight of a long overdue orgasm bears down on you full force. 

But what really sends you over into the void is when you glance up, dizzy and reeling, gasping for air that suddenly seems to be in regretfully short supply, only to find Zandik staring intently at what’s happening between your legs while he strokes himself through his pants. The material is all but moulded to the shape of him, weighty and full, and you can tell he’s fully erect under his clothes. Long and hard, and twitching, given the way the cotton not so subtly flexes from below. 

And somehow, even with everything else going on, it is the thought of him taking that stiff cock out and putting it inside of you that sends you careening into the pit of oblivion. You cum hard, wailing some stricken animal noise while your feet stiffly twitch in the air, letting those terrible waves of crashing pleasure wash over you, sweeping you up and carrying you out into an endless, bobbing sea of absolution. Your cunt absolutely floods with warm slick, your ass throbs and spasms around 65’s still thrusting finger while your poor little teat screams in protest when he gives it a sharp tug as if in reward. 

And you just watch Zandik the whole time you judder away, crying out for him — for them with shameless abandon. 

It’s such an all consuming rush that you aren’t even really sure how long it takes for you to start coming down, but you do know you’re still thrumming with it, floating somewhere far outside your own body when you finally go boneless on top of 65 a long moment later. Your head rolls back against his shoulder as you wheeze, so pleasantly warm and comfortable in your post orgasm haze that you don’t even think to question it when his finger is carefully removed from your back entrance. 

You also don’t think to question why 65 then reaches under you, gathering your weakly drooping legs so he can fold you up again and angle your bottom up from his lap. 

Even when he uses his other hand to fiddle with his slacks, the gesture quick and full of some unnamable tension you might later linger on, in the secluded safety of your bed, but which you don’t give much thought to in the moment, you simply lie there while you try to catch your breath. 

It’s only when he shifts underneath you in a particularly intentional way do you start to stir from your inebriated stupor. 

And at the feeling of something hot and fleshy, silken smooth yet unrelentingly rigid, slotting over the seam of your meaty lips, you finally pull your head up to look.  

The cock you find lined up with your cunt where it juts between your legs from below nearly startles you but you don’t even seem to have the wherewithal needed to gasp at it. You feel too good, your mind far too pleasantly numbed for you to have any real alarm at this development, and all you can seem to do in response is whine an overwrought sound even as you nudge your pussy against that straining length. Was he going to fuck your thighs like 25? 

“Goodness,” 65 seethes, very softly, as he takes hold of his shaft to give it a tight squeeze, making the flesh swell slightly before angling it to smack against your bare cunt. And you jolt at that, both at the wet, fleshy sound that it produces as much as the sharp little sting. “Zandik was right. You really are a messy thing. Just look at how very wet you’ve gotten for me, little doll. Between you and me, though, I rather like messy girls. They’re always fun to play with. You’d be shocked at how well equipped they are for taking cock.” 

An intense zap of static electricity shoots through your body when you realize what he’s saying. What he’s suggesting. 

But this, too, is something you just can’t seem to bring yourself to fight, and you simply watch in slackjawed disbelief as he flicks his wrist to lightly slap your pussy again. Smack. Smack. Sedate. Almost thoughtful. 

Then, without so much as a word of warning, he gives it a sharp nudge down, dragging the fleshy glans through your sopping wet folds to find your creamy entrance. And he does it much too fast for you to protest or ask for a short break, which you think your pussy is sorely in need of, because the sudden friction of him sliding up into your cunt very nearly ruins you. It was either too soon after your last orgasm or too soon after being deflowered by Zandik earlier that morning, the fingering that had followed. Your inner sleeve is overly sensitive and puffy, and you feel every single millimeter of that jabbing cock as it invades your body. 

It comes as such a shock to your system that you go momentarily crosseyed, seeing double and then triple for a harrowing stretch of seconds while 65 grunts a low sound at the tight heat of your guts. But you still take him, almost beautifully so, swaying unsteadily on top of him when he finally halts, buried half of the way inside you. 

“Oohn, yes. Very good at taking cock.” He rattles behind you. Over you. Within you, nearly suffocating you in his all encompassing presence. The crushing weight of his gravelly voice as it washes over your drunkenly nodding head. “What a perfect little girl you are. So sweet and obedient, so eager. Something tells me you were made just for servicing old men, you know that?” 

You mewl some utterly incomprehensible noise at that, half slurred words and half mindless bleating. 

Both of his hands come up then to anchor around your waist where he carefully nudges your pelvis down to meet the slow flex of his hips. He sinks a little farther into you with the motion, stuffing you and stretching you a little more, and you groan a truly dire sound in response. Gods, it felt so good even as it makes you ache terribly.   

“There. Isn’t that a nice cock for you to sit on, hm? Come, now, let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?” 

At his gentle yet insistent prodding, you woozily push yourself upright to sit upon him. But the settling of your weight just makes you sink even lower, forcing your sadly stretched cunt to take more of him, and you whine a faltering plea into the heavy tension that blankets the room. 

But you can do nothing at all to extricate yourself from his lap when he’s got you so thoroughly impaled on him like this, so you just perch there, trembling, while he makes quick work of loosening your apron so he can toss it next to him on the couch. Shifting slightly underneath you, increasing the pressure on your guts, 65 then reaches up from behind to tug the rest of your buttons open. With a soft, coaxing word from him, you lift your arms up so he can pull the dress over your head, soon followed by your slip. 

You abruptly find yourself naked, save for the unfastened garter belt around your waist, the stockings on your legs and the buckled shoes on your feet. It’s a decidedly strange state of undress to be in and you fidget in place as you glance down at yourself, noting the wide spread of your thighs and the pinstriped pattern on his dark slacks underneath them. 

His lap is so big, you suddenly realize, even as you take in the soft pudge of your lower belly and the full, fertile swell of your tits. You look unexpectedly luscious even from your own perspective, and you send a shy glance towards Zandik to gauge what he thinks. 

The plainly stricken look on his wizened face speaks for itself and a warm tremor works through you in response. He’s no longer stroking himself but still holding the outline of it through his pants while he drinks in the sight of you sitting on 65’s cock. He likes this. He likes it a lot. 

“M - Master …” 

Slowly blinking at the warbling sound of your voice, he rather pointedly tips his head at you. “What’s wrong, girl? Aren’t you enjoying that cock you’ve been all but begging me for this entire time?” 

You nod your head with a softly hissed seethe, shuddering and squirming where you’re sat while 65 carefully closes his hands around your heaving ribcage. “Yes, Master. I - I am, but … what about you?” 

Zandik clicks his tongue at that, his expression turning rather fond as 65 chuckles at your back, giving your sides a brief squeeze. 

“That’s a very good girl to worry about your master's pleasure in a situation like this. You trained her well, Zandik.” 

“No training needed.” The old man murmurs. “She came to me like that.” 

You can’t seem to suppress the way you beam, all but preening at the tender praise even as 65 proceeds to pull you back against his chest again. The shift in position makes the angle at which he’s wedged inside you change oncemore, making him feel even bigger, thicker, and your tittering smile is quickly replaced by a wounded little ‘o’ as your already soaked cunt floods around him anew. 

Once he’s got you laid out on top of him, much like before, he reaches back down to grab under both of your knees so he can pull them up and out to the sides in a wide, lurid stretch. A small squeak of surprise slips out of you as you're pulled, rather effortlessly, into position with your feet somewhere above your head and your stuffed cunt on full display — but even when you know you probably should feel much more ashamed about this than you do, you just can’t seem to find any of your common sense in this situation. 

It feels too good, too validating, to have both of them focusing all of their attention on you like this, even when your inner sleeve gives a muted throb at the pressure, the girth it’s been made to fit around. Your master had been right about that, after all. You were starting to creep, finally, into overstimulation, overuse, and you aren’t sure how much more your pussy could conceivably take. 

But it is clearly of no concern to 65 who proceeds to flex his hips, angling down at first to slide his cock partially out before then thrusting upward with the force of his pelvis to send himself diving back up into your squelching cunt. That demanding, uncompromising stroke has you wheezing a distraught sound as you toss your head back, blindly clutching at his coat, his arms, whatever you can grab ahold of. All he’s concerned about, though, is that you are taking him, and quite nicely at that, grunting a rumbling sound just next to your ear when he falls into a steadily paced rhythm of up, down, up and back down again to lightly bounce you in his lap. Contenting himself for the time being with merely testing the give of your pussy, encouraging it to open more for him and take him in even deeper. 

“Mmmnghnn. That’s a good little cunt. Yes, I’d say you were made just for this purpose, doll. Arch your back for me. There. That’s it. Let Zandik watch those beautiful tits bounce.” 

You groan a disoriented sound in response, stiffly juddering through the next handful of long, drawn out thrusts that leave you feeling like you’re drowning in quicksand. It’s slow paced enough to give you time to acclimate, to familiarize yourself with being taken this way, in that position. But at the same time it drags at your insides and gives you a chance to process every single inch of him that takes up space within you. 

And all you can do is desperately hold on when he gradually starts to speed up over the next some odd minutes, working into a faster, snappier rhythm. The mess coming out of you is so excessive your cunt slurps at him and clicks with every single push and pull of his length, coating both of you in it and wetting everything it touches. You can hear the dull, fleshy impact of his pelvis meeting your ass, too, but you’re a little too overwhelmed to fully process the discomfort on recently bruised skin. All you really know with any certainty is that this cock was going to break you. 

If not physically than certainly mentally. The way it spears up into your guts is more intense than you could have ever imagined it to be, and some small part of you even starts to wonder if perhaps you just didn’t like being on top. It was too much pressure on your organs, your womb, your pussy, to have so much of your weight settled squarely on top of a pistoning cock like this. It gives you no way to escape it or to ease up, no option to take away some of the strain on your most delicate body parts.  

And your poor cunt lips take the brunt of the punishment in this position without even the buffer of your thighs to help soften the blow. Jabbing up at you from below, and with your legs held up in a shameless spread, 65 has what is essentially a straight shot access to your sore pussy. It takes a much harder pounding now than it did earlier in the library as a result, and the tingling, buzzing, spreading warmth quickly starts up again. 

That your arousal can still somehow spike and swell after everything you’ve already been put through is, in a way, astounding. 

You might have even laughed at yourself for it, if you’d had the extra oxygen to do so. 

But you’re having a hard enough time trying to get any air at all to give it more than a passing thought. 

“O - ohhn! Please! Nghn! Sir - ahhhn!” 

“Oh, but don’t run away from it.” 65 chuckles in that good natured, almost grandfatherly way he does, jostling you right back into place with a nudge under your knees. “You want to be a good little girl for me, don’t you?”

“B - but! It’s — it’s too — ooughh! Too much, sir!” 

“Is it now?” He says, sounding amused. “We’ll have to work on your stamina then, if you want to please us. Good dolls learn how to take what they’re given, hm?” 

“It’s not that.” Zandik says, suddenly much closer than he was the last time he’d spoken, and you snap your head up with a jolt to find the old man standing over you. You have no idea when he got up from his chair and shuffled over to the sofa, but he’s leaning on his cane with one hand while the other rests inside his coat pocket. Perfectly casual, had it not been for the very obvious tent in his pants. 

Ignoring your needy little whine for the moment, he speaks to 65 even as his pale eyes linger on the heavy bounce of your tits. “She was still a virgin this morning. Strictly speaking, of course. I only deflowered her just today.” 

“Oh?” A notable tinge of interest colors that one word as the masked man underneath you finally slows the snap of his hips to an almost thoughtfully slow grind that has him exerting far too much pressure on your innards. 

“Yes. I imagine she might be a bit sore right now. Especially since she begged me so prettily to play with her cunt afterward.” His gaze sliding up to your face, Zandik pins you with a rogushily cocked smirk as he pulls the hand from his pocket, reaching out with it to lightly brush fingertips over one of your stiff nipples. “Isn’t that right, girl? Never satisfied, are we? I just bet you wish you’d left well enough alone in the library.” 

You whimper at his touch, basking in it even as you shake your head. “N - not if it’s … you, Master Zandik. I — I want to be good for y - you …”

65 rumbles a quiet sound of approval at that, halting the motion of his hips entirely now as he gently lowers your legs to rest atop his thighs. “You really are such a splendid little thing. Then, in that case we should give you the opportunity to do just that, shouldn’t we?” 

You noise a small sound of confusion when he nudges you forward, indicating he wants you to sit up, which you gingerly do with no shortage of effort on your part. Your overtaxed body almost refuses to cooperate but you at last manage to settle on top of him again. And you’re once more struck by how very deep he feels inside you with all of your weight centered on his cock. 

Panting softly, you bring your eyes up to look at Zandik where he stands well within arms reach as you palm at 65’s thighs to steady yourself. Although you hadn’t expected the two of them to turn the tables on you quite like this, there were certainly a few things you could think of that you’d like to do with the old man standing in front of you. Even if you were already sore and tender, impaled on another cock, and you eagerly squeeze your thighs together at the prospect. 

“May I … Master?” 

For a stretch of a single heartbeat he doesn’t move to speak. He just peers down at you with that perpetually grumpy furrow in his brow, the half cocked tug of his mouth. Even now you can’t quite seem to get over how very handsome he is, and it just makes you wish even more to see what was under 65’s mask as a result. You’re sure he was devastatingly handsome, too. 

Then, at length, he breathes out a tense breath through his nose. “What do you want, girl? Tell me.” 

“Mm … come closer? Please?” 

Stepping forward with the help of his cane, Zandik shuffles into the wide spread of his marginally younger counterparts' legs to stand right over you. The gloved hands anchored around your waist stop you from getting up off the cock you’re currently being made to warm, but you carefully swing your legs down and get the toes of your shoes braced on the floor so you can lean forward. 

And Zandik silently watches you, neither reaching for you or uttering so much as a single word on the matter as you grab at his belt with both hands. Your fingers seem to tremble as you work to get it unfastened, some small part of you wondering why you were doing this — as if you didn’t already have your hands full, so to speak — but you perfectly knew why. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel left out or like his waning physical condition meant he had no place taking part in these kinds of games with you. 

Evidently pleased, 65 rewards you for it with an approving squeeze around your middle but says nothing while you fumble to get the button and zipper opened. You can tell that Zandik’s breathing has deepened slightly in the way his soft stomach expands slowly, freezes for a few seconds and then gradually deflates. You can even see his cock give an interested twitch behind his pants when the fabric loosens around his hips, giving you the freedom to tug the front down into a slouch of material. 

You quickly find the top edge of his underwear then, inching them down just enough to free his length which slowly unfurls, bobbing in the air as it rises in front of your face. Just the sight of it alone is enough to have you squirming on top of 65, your pussy clamping down around him in a sensitive squeeze as you gently take Zandik in your fist to point him at you. 

He’s hard enough that the foreskin is already partially peeled back, revealing the ruddy pink glans within which seems to wink at you when you give him a purposeful upward tug to make the fleshy hood gather over the tip. You earn yourself a wet little click for your troubles, the sound of his pre cum smearing and slicking inside that protective sheath which you carefully ease further back to expose more of the sensitive flesh. But, still, you hesitate at the last moment before going any further than that. 

“Don’t be scared, girl.” He murmurs at you, not unkindly. “You can do it. Go on.”

You shoot him a quick look from under your lashes, squirming again to feel the cock wedged inside your guts. “I don’t want to — accidentally hurt you, Master.” 

Zandik snorts a brief laugh at that. “You won’t. Silly thing.” 

The hand that had retreated back into his pocket now slips out again and he reaches around to carefully cover your gentle fist in his palm, tightening your grip on him just ever so slightly before guiding your knuckles down the shaft. Under his watchful eye, you successfully pull the foreskin back to tuck behind the ridged glans, delighting you to no end. Seamless and as smooth as butter. It was the first time you’d gotten to do that and somehow it felt just as satisfying as it looked. 

Smiling eagerly now, emboldened, you lean in close to give the flushed head a sweet, shy little kitten lick to get a taste of him, and he exhales a tight, anticipatory breath in response. It seems much less intimidating this time when you don’t have someone standing over you, forcing your head down, and you take a moment to just mouth at him and press kisses into his skin. Rattling a faltering groan, Zandik lets his hand hover for an uncertain pause before he ever so gently places it atop your head. But he neither pushes or shoves at you, nor does he get huffy with impatience, letting you go at your own pace this time. 

And you’re immensely glad for that, happy to reacquaint yourself with the cock you’d given up your innocence to. Even if you had been tainted in other ways leading into that decision, there’s something incredibly intimate about holding him in your hand now, pressing your lips to him, while knowing this same galvanized length had been deep inside your guts only hours before. 

Much like the one currently sitting hot and heavy inside of you — the same cock, the same shape and size, just slightly more steeled, stronger — a constant presence that twitches faintly when you pulse around it, your insides throbbing to the tune of your own heartbeat. You feel full and dizzyingly warm, drunk on something far more potent than any wine or spirits could ever hope to compete with. Irrevocably trapped between them and yet so completely, utterly at peace with your fate. Your — destiny if what 65 had said was indeed true and not just more teasing. 

If your future dalliances were more like this and less like the horrors you’ve encountered in the cellar, then things weren’t looking too bad. 

You feel almost giddy, in fact, as you finally open your mouth to take the exposed glans past your lips where you allow yourself an indulgent moment of just suckling at him, running your tongue over that velvety soft flesh. Zandik rattles a quiet sound of pleasure above you while his hand gently curls against your skull, deft thumb brushing a feather light stroke over your hair. He murmurs a very soft ‘good girl’ that has your toes curling and, as if to reward you in your master’s stead, 65 reaches up to fondle your tits for you. 

Petting, kneading, squeezing to make the nipples swell up from your body, encouraging them into tight little points that he can then pluck and pinch, and tweak for you. Groaning a heady, muffled sound, you take Zandik a little further, mouthing at the shaft now, even as you simultaneously swivel your hips in a stiff half circle to grind on the cock that spears you straight up the middle. You’d never experienced anything quite like this in your entire life. 

“Heh. I take it you’re starting to feel good again, eh?” The sixty-five year old segment croons behind you while he lifts your breasts in the palms of his hands to make them squish together in a hot press. 

The tightness of your nipples coupled with everything else, every other rush of sensation, has your head spinning as if you were caught up in some unimaginable fever. To be presented with two cocks like this, two sets of hands, two doting, rumbling voices that softly praise you and tease you even as they take their pleasure from you … it’s something you never could have imagined prior to this. Even knowing it should be considered shameful for you to act this way, you just can’t seem to stop yourself. 

Wriggling your hips again, delighting in the pressure of 65 taking up so much space within your cunt, you hold Zandik around the base of his shaft to keep him steady when you start to bob your head. The motion is tentative and not quite as smooth as it had looked when Pantalone was the one doing it, but it still earns you a stilted hiss from the old man, whose fingers tighten slightly on your skull. Still not pushing, still not grabbing you in earnest. Just holding on. Cradling you to his pelvis. 

“Mmnnghn. You remembered what Feofan taught you, I see.” Zandik murmurs, leaning a bit more of his weight into the cane to steady his balance and give himself the leverage with which to subtly nudge his pelvis into the wet warmth of your mouth. “That’s a good girl, sweetness. You really are a remarkably adept student, you know that?”

Noising a pleased sound at his praise, you start to lean into it a little more, gradually finding your confidence. It certainly helps that he feels so good against your tongue and you have full control over the pace and the depth now to truly appreciate that, to bask in the sensation as much as the knowledge that this was the cock that took you. Deflowered you. That it was his seed coating your inner sleeve, and you’d already felt him flexing deep inside your body as he shot off a searingly hot load into you. 

It’s an unexpectedly potent aphrodisiac and your fidgeting in 65’s lap quickly starts to intensify. You just can’t seem to sit still, using your feet braced on the floor between the wide spread of the masked man’s dress shoes to grind yourself on him while you serve your master with your mouth. And it doesn’t take 65 long to notice what you’re doing — in all likelihood unable to miss it even if he’d wanted to pretend he was unaware. 

“Yessss. That’s a good little cock doll, indeed. You’re so eager to please us, aren’t you?” Drawling that low, rumbling laugh again, he drags his hands down off your tits, over the swelling contraction of your ribs, past your stuttering stomach and he latches onto the curve of your hips again. Giving you a tight, pinching squeeze, he guides your pelvis forward and then back to pull you into a somewhat more concentrated rhythm on top of him. “It takes a very special girl to please two old men at once. I’d say you’ve more than earned your reward.”

Zandik hums a low sound of agreement as he pets over your hair again. So soft and so doting in the way he touches you. “How’s that sound, pretty girl? Do you think you’d like that if both of us filled up your sweet little holes for you?” 

You nod your head, groaning around him as you desperately clutch at 65’s pant leg with the other hand. The not so distant memory of your master squirting hot, salty discharge down your throat, the way you’d briefly gagged, right inside this very room in fact, is almost enough to make you pause and reconsider it. But you’re a little too caught up in the moment to think about much of anything other than how much you wanted them to keep praising you. To that end you probably would have been willing to do anything at all, especially if it earned you Zandik’s approval over anything else, and you make no protests when 65 presses on you with his hands, encouraging you to lean forward a bit more. 

“Look at me, girl. Let me see that lovely face.” 

A warm tremor works down your spine at Zandik’s hushed urging, and you shyly lift your eyes to peer up at him from beneath the fall of your lashes while you continue to drag your mouth over him. He looks unfairly good from this angle, with his chin tucked down and all of his attention focused solely on you, a simmering gleam in his eyes that makes his features look at once tender and intrinsically masculine at the same time. Yes, yes, you would have been willing to sink to any low as long as he kept looking at you like that. 

And you whimper, eyelids fluttering, when you feel 65 flex his hips underneath you, sedately dragging at your pulsating guts again when he angles his cock down. There’s not much room for fully executed thrusts though and he just barely moves inside you before gliding back up, up, up, until it feels like he’s pressing right in on your womb. You squeak a harried little sound at that but he’s already repeating the motion again, nudging back only enough to give himself the space to spear up through the choking grip of your cunt. 

Even as you sway unsteadily where you’re perched, almost immediately inching towards overstimulation again, you force your gaze to stay on Zandik as you subconsciously start to fall into the rhythm set by 65. When his cock pulls back, you also draw your mouth to the tip of Zandik’s cock. And when he shoves up inside you, you take your master down as far as you can go, using the transfer of momentum to propel you forward. And it occurs to you quickly enough that this is a rather easy way for three people to enjoy each other. The way 65 fucks into you is almost lazy, in fact, and much more indulgent than the punishing pace he’d initially set that had left your cunt lips feeling sore and abused. 

Now it is so sedate that you can take it much better this time, giving you ample opportunity to truly appreciate the slide of Zandik in your mouth. It’s strangely harmonic in its own uniquely curious way, euphonious how one body seems to bleed into another between cock and cunt, and hands, and tongue, making it all the more easy for you to move together. 

Even Zandik who, by simple nature of his declining strength, can really only stand there while he hisses softly at the sensation of your mouth on him, actively feeds into the static moment that seems to zap around you with his hushed words of encouragement and tender petting. You can see his bony knuckles turning white from the fervent grip he has on his cane, keeping him upright when he lightly sways in front of you. Assuring you he feels good, that you’re doing a good job, that you look good like that, being passed to and fro between their two cocks. You think you could probably stay like that forever and never wish it to end. 

But you twitch rather suddenly when, dragging one of his hands down off your waist, 65 grabs a palmful of your left ass cheek to spread it out from the other. At first you think he merely wants to get a good look at the way your pussy is wedged open around him, to watch the stilted glide of his length where it works at your guts, and then you feel it. A pointed, deliberate swipe of his gloved thumb over your puckering hole. 

You squeak a tiny sound at the touch but it does nothing to deter him from rubbing over it with a deliberate brush, back and forth, to and fro, just for a moment. Then he pulls it back, shifting under you, and for a prolonged beat you have no idea what’s coming next.

Then, surprising you a fair amount, his thumb returns coated in cool, sticky residue to push in on that center wrinkle again and you realize, distantly, that he must have popped it into his own mouth to lather the digit in saliva. You shudder mindlessly on his cock, gripping Zandik’s harder in anxious anticipation of what was surely to come. 

And when you feel that blocky thumb start to dip inside your ass, the loosened ring of muscle already stretched enough to facilitate a relatively easy insertion, you tremble even more fiercely in response. The added pressure makes your cunt clamp down on him harder, tighter, and it makes him feel that much bigger inside you as a result. 

You woundedly lurch, eyes vibrating in their sockets, at the same time that Zandik rumbles a thready sounding groan over your head. 

“Gods, girl. Look at you, taking both of us so well.”

“He’s right, you know. You’re proving my point beautifully.” 65 adds behind you, giving his seeking thumb an attention grabbing wriggle. “You really were made just for this purpose, little one.”

Eyes starting to roll back in your head, you give another muffled sound of delight, feeling your cunt give a sharp, fluttery throb around the cock leisurely fucking up into you. Between the sensation of being thoroughly impaled on that galvanized length and the constant stream of praise, having your ass and your mouth wedged open at the same time, your head begins to swim in earnest. Your pussy demands more from you though and you hesitantly use your braced feet to lift your weight slightly before rearing back to meet 65’s next stilted thrust. The tiny little plap of skin meeting skin sounds unbearably loud in the still room, but it also sends a sharp rush of ecstasy shooting through your system. So you do it again, nudging up only enough to bounce on it, luxuriating in the way your twitching holes seem to squeeze around the various intrusions with that shift. 

Gods, you really might cum again. 

“That’s it. Good. Ride my cock like a good little girl, now. Lift your hips for me.” 

“Does that feel nice, sweetness? You like when we use your little holes like this?” 

“She must. She just keeps getting tighter and tighter around me.” 

Zandik hums a quiet sound of acknowledgment, shifting his hand down from the top of your head to cup the side of your face instead. “And you look so lovely stretched between us like this. Mmnnghn. Are you going to take his load in that hungry cunt of yours too? Add it to mine?”

You deliriously bob your head, loosening your mouth around his cock so you can groan a heady, faltering sound. Thin and raspy, tinged in pure wanting, and so terribly thick you almost choke on it. 

But you can feel yourself growing uncomfortably close to the edge again, and the way they talk to you certainly isn’t helping to stave it off. It almost hurts, in fact, the way your insides begin to tense up and lock the muscles in your body like an overly taut bowstring. And your mouth, your ass, your pussy are too stuffed, too stretched, too full for you to do anything to stop it. 

Your only choice is to ride that slowly cresting wave between them, treading the surface over the next some odd minutes until it’s hard just to breathe, impossible to think, getting harder and harder to keep moving with them when your legs start to quake at the onset of your release. It’s sharp and debilitating, bringing a flood of prickly tears to your eyes, and you almost don’t even want to cum again. You nearly fear it, what it will do to you. How terribly it’s going to wrack through your body. 

And yet you let it take you anyway, breathing deep, labored sighs that send tingles racing down to your toes. Your slicking pussy clings to 65’s shaft, your mouth and lips, and tongue clinging to Zandik’s. You seem to slip into a trance then, rocking between them, as if you were hypnotized by the push and pull of it all until you just can’t quite stop yourself from tipping over the edge. 

When you cum this time it is shockingly gentle, gradual even, and not quite what you’d expected. It’s as if the spasms had been coaxed out of you through sheer persuasion and nothing more. Mewling a helpless little sound when the shuddering convulsions wash over you, making you pulse from the inside out, you merely screw your eyes shut and tremble through it. Subdued and nearly hollowed out from how slowly, how deeply your quaking guts contract, it is by far the most mind numbing orgasm you’ve had yet. And it seems to stretch on forever, milked down to the very last drop of possible pleasure thanks in part to the dual penetration in both your cunt and your ass. One slow motion pulse begets another, creating a cycle of near constant euphoria as every single one of your sensitive nerve endings vibrates like a lit firecracker. 

You’re still subtly trembling when you catch the sound of 65 groaning a heated rumble as he carefully starts to pull his wedged thumb out. You whimper and whine at the loss, shaking anew when you feel the puffy pucker of your hole reluctantly release him to give another muted throb at the absence. He doesn’t give you a chance to truly lament how empty your back end feels, though, reaching up with both hands now to grab your arms, gently pulling. 

It takes you a moment to realize you have to release Zandik and you do so with no shortage of reluctance, letting 65 guide your hands back behind you. Still reeling, still tripping through the hazy, rose colored delirium of your release, you have no concept of what he’s doing until he has both wrists captured and trapped at such an angle that you’re forced to arch your spine to accommodate the stretch. A vague, distant thought trips through your cotton stuffed mind and then — 

65 snaps his pelvis up into your squelching cunt, jostling you, and you squeak a dire sound. It’s too late to protest or try to scramble away when he’s already got you locked in place, and you can do nothing at all to stop it when he eases himself into an energetic rhythm to fuck into you. And the sound of flesh smacking against flesh is suddenly all you can make out — plap! plap! plap! plap! — vigorous enough to make your ass bounce at the force. 

Your tits, too, are free to shudder and jolt without the use of your arms to keep them from bouncing, and it almost hurts how heavy they feel on your chest like this. But your mouth is still full of Zandik’s cock and you can’t even ask 65 to slow down like this. All you can do is noise a muffled squeal as you’re pounded back and forth, from one cock to the other. Forced to take your master deep on one end and forced to take the masked segment of him just as deep on the other. 

They really were using you like a toy now, a fuck doll for their pleasure, and yet you’re surprised at how much you actually seem to be enjoying this treatment. Even when you’re quite certain you won’t be able to cum again, not for a good while, there's something strangely peaceful about being able to put your own carnal urges aside for once and just focus on theirs. It was the first time you’d felt this glorious, bone deep satiation even in spite of the aches and painful twinges in your body, despite how overused you felt. Like this really was what you’d been made for, and there was only deeply felt gratification to be found in the use of your holes by these two men. 

Zandik is the next to cum, which hardly surprises you even given your earlier dalliance with him to consider. His stamina was limited anyway, and it was obvious that he enjoyed watching you get split in half by his slightly younger counterpart. Likely imagining it was him slamming his hips up into you from below, feeling your cunt slick and squeeze around his cock. And you know when he’s about to shoot off because his wavering hand stiffly slides back to cup the nape of your neck, gripping you tight with cool digits so he can clutch your face to himself. His breathing deepens, turning shallow and uneven, rattling tremulously now, and you dazedly peer up the length of his body to take in his face. 

That you find him wheezing softly, eyes closed and brows drawn in on a deep furrow, sends your heart skipping inside your chest. You make a conscious effort to keep your jaw wide and loose, bracing for the rush of hot, salty release that was about to flood your mouth. 

But nothing can quite seem to prepare you for when it happens, the old man groaning a harsh sound as he twitches, cock flexing eagerly while he shoots off at the back of your throat. You give a startled jolt much like the first time you’d put your mouth on him like this, but rather than Pantalone it is Zandik’s hand that holds you in place this time. Even when you know you could probably wrench free if you really wanted to, you regard his grip on you as an absolute iron that you have no interest in testing. So you force yourself to stay right where you are, grimacing slightly at the salty burst of flavor along your palate while you work to swallow it all down. 

“Mmmnghnn! Yes. That’s it. Good girl. Take it all, now. Don’t spill a drop.” 65 hisses softly behind you, no doubt feeling your guts tighten around him when you try not to choke. 

“Burn it all!” Zandik adds, swaying rather unsteadily. “You really are going to be the death of me at this rate. Ooughn …” 

Evidently unable to take the sensation of your mouth on him anymore, he carefully shuffles back a step to free himself and you watch, dazed and bouncing on the other’s lap, as his glistening, spit lathered cock quickly starts to deflate. Fully spent, by the looks of it. But you would have been lying through your teeth if you’d tried to say looking at it like that didn’t make you hunger for him all over again. There really must have been something wrong with you. Even when you were sore and achy, already tasting the lingering bitterness of cum on your tongue, you still somehow find the energy and the enthusiasm to respond to him. 

“M - Master …!”

Blinking out of his post orgasm daze at that whimpering plea, Zandik lifts his attention to regard you and he promptly barks a thoroughly drained laugh. “Don’t even think about it, girl. I’m quite sure I couldn’t go another round even if I’d wanted to. You won’t be getting your way with me this time.” 

You can’t help the way you pout at that — or try to, anyway, and would have if only you weren’t being pounded within an inch of your life. That’s how it feels, at least. Your legs are tired and your body is coated in a perspiring sheen of sweat from exertion, and all you can do is mewl a sad little sound of wanting while you watch Zandik tiredly angle himself towards the empty spot on the sofa where he takes a much needed seat. Directly next to where you were being yanked and shoved, struggling to brace against the deep, deep plunge of 65’s rigid length. 

But Zandik clearly has no issues observing your unseemly state with another man, even if it was technically himself, and you can feel his eyes on you while he watches you shudder the same way some people might watch the ballet. You have his full attention and that seems to warm you from the inside out. Bolsters your courage, makes you want to do a good job for him, to look nice for your master even when you’re quite sure you look anything but that right now. 

The relentless, constant, gliding pressure on your guts has surely turned you into a veritable mess, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to better arch your back for him. With your arms pulled behind you there’s no way to even reach for him like this yet you still wanted him to enjoy the view. For him to see how heavy, how full your breasts are, and how they bounce in their fertility. The way your stomach creases and jiggles, the recoil of your ass slamming down to meet the next upward plunge. It was for him, all him. 

And 65 seems to notice that extra bit of effort, of course, breathing out a faltering laugh that is thick with unmistakable carnal tension. “Are you certain you haven’t received any proper training? You’re still showing off for your master even with another cock already in your pretty cunt. That’s something that usually requires some work to achieve.” 

You noise a wordless, mindless animal sound in response, much too strung out and stretched thin to formulate a better response. 

But Zandik has had a moment to recover by now, and he chuckles a rumbling sound of amusement even as he shifts beside you, finishing tucking himself back into his pants. “She’s a rare find, isn’t she? I’d say I don’t know how Omega managed to hit the jackpot on the first try, but. Well. I was already familiar with what I liked back then, wasn’t I? It’s probably not so surprising that he’d recognize it immediately.” 

65 grunts a low hum of agreement, almost more of a groan than anything else. He seems to be much too fixated on chasing his pleasure now to verbally respond, which suits you just fine. You were truly starting to creep towards your limit now. 

It was simply just too much all at once for your until-quite-recently-virginal-body to handle, and when you finally feel the gloved hands around your wrists begin tightening you can’t help but send a silent prayer out to the blessed mother. 

As if in direct answer to that plea, his flexing hips start to grow stiff and lose their rhythm, only mildly at first, but it rapidly becomes more noticeable until he can’t seem to keep up the effort any longer. Shuddering stiffly, 65 slams up into you one final time where he stays wedged, releasing your arms so he can grab you around the waist to tug you into a swiveling grind on top of him. You can hear him breathing heavily behind you even as you mewl at the abrupt change in the pressure, the new angles from which he presses in on your walls. 

And when he eventually tips over the edge another moment later, 65 cums so deep inside your throbbing body you’re sure you can feel his spend pooling in your lungs. This part, at least, is not so different from when Zandik filled you up, and you tremble helplessly there while he empties his balls. 

It nearly startles you to realize he hadn’t even asked first but, given the apparent blanket permissions, you supposed he didn’t really need to.

“Mmnnghnn! Burn everything, girl … Zandik was right. This tight little pussy could send an old man straight to his grave.” Still working to catch his breath, 65 gingerly reclines underneath you with a thoroughly satisfied huff to show for it, leaving you to sway unsteadily on his lap. 

You’re not sure what you would have decided to do beyond that point –  to get up and awkwardly get dressed or to seek out the same cuddles Zandik had given you earlier, but luckily you don’t have to choose. Surprisingly gentle, the bird masked segment carefully eases you back to lay against him, which you almost don’t comply with. But you quickly realize how little energy or even desire you have to actually put up a struggle, and with very little fuss he’s able to lay you out on top of him where you can try to recover a bit. It was a lost cause though. You couldn’t even remember a time you’d been so tired, and it was hardly any wonder given how little sleep you’d gotten the last two nights. It felt like you could curl right up and take a nap. 

But his gloved hands are distracting where they caress over your sluggishly overheated body, the way he palms around your ribcage to give you a reassuring squeeze. And if that alone wasn’t enough to keep you regretfully tethered to reality and alert, the sensation of another hand that is bare and gouged with wrinkles sliding over the meat of your thigh to give it a warm caress certainly brings your nodding attention back into focus. 

Turning your head where it rests along 65’s shoulder, you peer over at Zandik to find him fondly observing you. Simply taking in the way you lean back into the body underneath you with little regard for your nudity, the sweat on your skin, the dreamy look on your face. Pleased with the fact that you’d just been pulled ragged between the two men. Two versions of the same man. Gods, at what point was this not going to seem so very difficult to reconcile in your mind. 

“Well, aren’t you just glowing.” He murmurs, giving your leg a rather amicable pat. “That’s the look of a greedy girl who’s gotten more cock than she can stand. I must confess, I quite like how that expression looks on you. It suits you, if you want my opinion. And how does it feel, sweetness? Are you finally satisfied?” 

You slowly blink at that. Was he suggesting —

“Y - … yes, sir. I duh - don’t think I could take any more  … even if I’d wanted to.” 

“I see. And do you wish you could?” 

A tentative shake of your head. “No. I’ve had … plenty for one day. But, Master, is t - that why you encouraged me to …” 

65 offers your love handles a faint pinch to draw your attention back to him. 

“Don’t be shy, dear girl. Say it.” He encourages you as he turns his head just enough to lightly brush the curved beak of his mask against your cheek. “You want to know if he encouraged you to take another old man’s cock just so you could get your fill, don’t you?”  

You’re not entirely sure how it’s possible after all of that but your face indeed grows warm in response. “I was satisfied with you, Master! I didn’t - -“

“Oh, there, there. I know you were.” Zandik lightly coos, reaching up now to chidingly pinch the other hot cheek. “But this way we know what your upper limit is. Currently, at least. I gave you three orgasms in the library. Greedy little thing. And here you’ve just had two. So unless anyone else has been playing with that hungry cunt today, it looks like five is about what you need to tire yourself out. That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” 

Shame cuts through you like a knife and you haltingly try to squirm away from their dual attacks on your person but it’s impossible to escape from 65’s lap when he’s holding onto your waist. You can only wriggle in place for a moment while both of them quietly croon and fuss over you the way only elderly men seemed capable of. You’d certainly not been subjected to this sort of treatment from any of the other segments. 

And you almost hate how tight it makes your chest feel with a strangely fluttery, helium sensation, how your skin prickles and tingles in response to their hushed words nearly as much as the touching of their hands. While 65 carefully tugs on you to adjust the way you’re sat atop him, coming very close to cradling you in the bend of his arm, Zandik ever so gently brushes some of the hair back from your sweaty face. Almost like you were a messy, fussy toddler being handed off between two grandparents. 

It is an extremely infantilizing way to be treated, especially right after taking both of them at the same time, but you just can’t seem to find the strength of mind to protest against it. 

Particularly not when Zandik, in all his learned wisdom, leans down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead as if to soothe and calm the rioting conflict of emotions within you. 

“It’s alright, silly girl. I know perfectly well what it’s like to be young and have all the stamina in the world. I won’t hold it against you.” 

“Just as I will not.” 65 adds in agreement, giving you a light, rocking jostle in his arms. 

Even if you did technically dislike being treated this way, there is simply no denying the incredibly soft response it triggers within you. It almost seems to make everything else about this situation that is so comparatively awful and heartbreaking seem worth it, and you find yourself gratefully leaning into Zandik’s hand when he softly pets over your head again. You felt like a fool for it, but there was no denying you felt a positive response despite the apprehension in your higher functioning mind. 

“T - thank you, Master …”

“Of course. But not another word of that, now. You look like you could use a nap, hm?” 

He’s right, of course, but you force your drooping eyelids to flutter open at the mention of it. “I can’t sleep yet. It is only the middle of the afternoon. Your dinner - -“

“Can wait.” He assures you, putting on that customarily firm tone of voice that brokered no room for argument. At least not from you, anyway. “You’ve had to put up with an awful lot today, haven’t you? Besides, I can’t say I’m feeling particularly hungry right at the moment either way. Get some rest first and then you can worry about dinner.”

You take a purposeful breath with every intention of insisting you’re fine to keep working, but 65 ever so gently nudges you before you can speak. 

“He’s right, you know. All the food in the kitchen will still be waiting for you later, even if you don’t rush off to start cooking right away. I’ll even give you my coat so you can curl up with it and doze in my lap for a while. So get some sleep, little one. I’d say you’ve earned it.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Your uneventful nap bleeds into an uneventful evening in which you share an agreeably pleasant meal with Zandik and, inexplicably, 65 who proves himself every bit the mirrored reflection of your master that he was meant to be. 

It probably shouldn’t but it does manage to surprise you how easily the two of them are able to casually converse about a myriad of complicated topics that seem to fly right over your head while you listen to them talk. But even when they don’t quite seem to see eye to eye on a particular detail their demeanor never truly changes to the same barely concealed contempt you’d often observed in the Doctor, which certainly came as a relief. By all accounts, they seem to get along just fine. A privilege granted by their closeness in age, if you had to guess. And when dinner is finished, you find yourself more convinced than ever that the older Zandik got the more reasonable he’d become, although you still did not know what the catalyst for that might have been. Was it simply accumulated maturity or something else? 

Shortly thereafter, when you’re serving the evening coffee, 25 drops in to give you a small package of ground up powder which he instructs you to sprinkle into your tea as regularly as needed, depending on how often you have sex. That certainly embarrassed you plenty but even that couldn’t quite compare to how very hot your face became when he fixed you with a pointed look and offhandedly mentioned that you’d seemed rather busy the first time he’d ventured up to the main floor so he’d decided to come back later. His expression remains unreadable though and you can’t get a good read on what he might think of it. 

But neither of you seemed to want to say anything else on the matter so he’d directed his attention towards Zandik instead, explaining that, in exchange for the contraceptive, you were going to be assisting him with an experiment the following day. Looking understandably doubtful, the old man sent you a questioning look and you had to admit that you’d in fact agreed to the surgeon's terms, although you don’t mention he’d hardly left you with any choice. Especially after being filled up again by 65, you indeed saw the wisdom in your master’s call to put a stopgap on any potential pregnancies before it was too late. You couldn’t very well continue to do your job if you were uncomfortably round and cumbersome, and things would likely only get more risky from here.

Slowly, everyone filed out of the dining room after that — 25 first, citing that he needed to get back to the lab before 8 and 22 could blow each other up, and then 65 who grumbled something about wanting to spend his evening in the library upstairs. 

And somehow you couldn’t quite seem to hide the relief on your face when Zandik soon announced that he’d like to turn in early tonight as well. You knew he was likely only doing so for your sake, no doubt seeing how little the nap had helped restore your energy, but sadly you were just too tired by that point to truly argue against it. In all honesty, you’d felt glad to help him up the staircase. 

His bath was a quick and straight to the point affair, as were the rest of the nightly bedtime rituals you usually helped him with. In record time you had him tucked into bed, sluggishly moving around the room to turn down the gas lamps and descend everything into darkness so you can shuffle to the next room over. Wishing him a final sleepy goodnight, you’d shut the door behind you and dragged your feet the few steps to yours. 

You’d similarly gone through the motions of your own routine on autopilot, letting habit guide you more than conscious thought. A quick, much needed bath for yourself, your teeth brushed, hair combed out and tucked safely under your night cap and then finally, finally you’d been able to crawl into bed where you fell straight into slumber almost the second your head hit the pillow. 

And it was easily some of the best sleep you’ve ever had. The ever revolving stage of alternating horrors and pleasures was taking its toll on you, both physically and mentally, but there is a certain kind of solace to be found in unconsciousness where nothing else truly mattered. You’re so exhausted, in fact, that you don’t even have the energy to dream that night.

When morning comes around and you start to stir towards wakefulness again, you realize quite immediately just how bad you’d needed that full night's rest. You feel much better and more rejuvenated than you have the last two days, and you almost find yourself reluctant to leave that comforting purgatory between the waking world and sleep. Even as your mind reluctantly creeps towards awareness, you decide to keep your eyes closed for just another moment longer. Five more minutes, and then you would get up. 

But then you hear it. 

A strange noise that registers no immediate explanation or reasoning in the back of your mind, the cause of it as much an unknown as the source. It almost sounds like something sliding, back and forth, back and forth, creating friction. Drag. 

Groaning softly, you have to force your uncooperative eyelids to open and you blearily try to take stock of your bedroom. But your vision doesn’t want to focus at first – not until you catch a softly exhaled, shuddering sigh and then you’re suddenly wide awake and alert, snapping your attention up with a startled jolt. 

Only to be greeted by the sight of 22 hunching over you, one hand braced along the wooden headboard above your pillow while the other furiously fists at his straining cock. He’s got his head bowed, fluffy blue waves hanging over his brow while he groans and quietly heaves over your prone form. Your mouth opens in surprise but for a painfully long stretch of seconds all you can seem to do is stare up at him in complete and utter disbelief. Some foolish little part of you almost wants to believe there’s been some kind of mistake. That he’s not actually doing what you can plainly see he’s doing. 

And when your struggling brain finally recovers from the unexpected shock of it, you simply blurt the first words that form on your tongue. 

“Stop that, you damned jerk!” 

You’re not sure why you would say this over any number of other, more fitting insults you could have chosen instead. But it’s enough to get his attention and 22 gives a faint, jumpy start as he snaps his head up to look into your face. 

“Well, good morning to you too, princess! Did you sleep well?” 

“What,” you intone, shaking in barely contained rage as you slowly push up onto your hands to level him with an incredulous look. “Are you doing in my room?”

He clicks his tongue at that. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting in my time with you while I still can before anyone else claims you for themselves.” 

“Get. Out. Now.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.” Crooning in condescension, 22 tauntingly wags his cock at you with a meaty little flick. “Why don’t you give me a hand first, and then - -“

Your pillow slams into his face with a thick whap! to cut him off. 

“No! I said get out, you - you fiend!” You shriek as you shoot up to stand atop your bed, giving you the advantage of towering over him. “I will find you and tend to you later, but get out of my room! I’m serious!” 

Aggressively throwing the hurled pillow onto the floor, he tips his head back to narrow his eyes up at you through the holes in his mask, lips pulling in a sneer to show off those inexplicably sharp teeth. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that? I’d like to see you behave this way towards Omega or - -“

“Out!” 

22 stubbornly opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else that's just going to make you even angrier, but you impulsively twist around and grab the heavy, full sized lamp up from the bedside table. Wielding it like a bludgeon, you turn back to him and heft it over your shoulder with as much menace as you can muster. 

Luckily that seems to get through to him and he ducks his head to avoid the threatened blow, shoving himself back into his pants as he turns to scamper away. “Okay, okay! Fuck! You’d better keep your word though, or this won’t be the last you hear from me!” 

With that final warning, the door slams behind him hard enough to make the frame shudder and your room once again descends into stillness. Peaceful, quiet stillness. 

Panting heavily in the aftermath of that rude wake up call, you slowly lower the lamp to hold it against your front. Damn him! You didn’t want to start barricading your door at night but it didn’t look like he was going to leave you much of a choice. 

You’re halfway through the motion of putting the lamp back down where it belonged, still faintly shuddering from the adrenaline rush, when a rather polite knock sounds from out in the hall. It rouses your suspicions a great deal though when you have no idea who would possibly bother to announce themselves in this mad house. 

“What is it?” 

At your grumpy bark the knob gives a faint rattle as it’s turned and to your great surprise it is the little face of 8 that appears in your doorway. Impassive and unimpressed as ever, but the curious glint in his eyes belies his curiosity at the state of agitation he’s found you in. 

“Is this a bad time?” 

“Oh. No. No, it’s — it’s alright. I’m fine.” You rush to say, rather self consciously setting the lamp down so you can step off of the bed. Turning towards him, you awkwardly smooth your hands over your flowing nightgown to make sure you’re at least decent. Presentable was asking for a bit too much from yourself right now. “Sorry about that. I thought I saw a - a mouse, that’s all. Was there … something you needed?” 

“I heard yelling so I decided to investigate. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Of course. Don’t even give it another thought.”

But despite your reassurances he just continues to stand there, haunting the doorway like a tiny little ghost. As the seconds creep by it slowly occurs to you that he wants to come in. For some reason. 

Well, at least he’d waited long enough to get permission. 

“Why don’t you come sit with me for a moment?” You say, holding out your hand to him. “I could brush your hair for you, if you’d like.” 

Looking neither pleased nor annoyed by the offer of such childish coddling, 8 slips through the crack and shuts the door behind himself before wandering over. His slippers are nearly silent on the floor as he comes to stand in front of you, although the bulk of his attention is on peering around at the room. 

And it dawns on you that this might be the first time he’s ever stood inside a woman’s space like this before. Although the Doctor hadn’t gone into overly great detail, and you were a little too scared of what the truth might reveal to ask Zandik directly, it had sounded like even his parents might have rejected him too. The thought alone is nearly enough to break your heart. 

For better or worse, though, you’re still hot with your earlier anger at 22’s nonsense and the tears don’t even get the chance to sting your eyes. Without really even giving it much thought, you reach down and decisively pluck 8 up under his arms so you can set him on the edge of your bed. 

“There. Let me grab my hairbrush, okay?” Pretending like you don’t notice the vaguely startled look on his face, you turn to retrieve the item from your tiny attached washroom. You were a bit surprised at yourself too, but in truth you hadn’t even stopped long enough to consider how he might perceive that gesture from you. It was easy to forget that he was not actually an eight year old child sometimes and you find yourself wondering how long it’s been since he was … created. Born didn’t seem like the right term, and yet you didn’t know what else to call it. 

Making your way back over to the bed, you perch next to him and gently nudge his shoulders to indicate that you want him to face the other way, which he hesitantly does. Given his back now, you reach up to lightly run your fingers through a section of those baby soft, downy, half formed curls, coming back almost a little envious. His hair was so thick and full, but somehow not overly coarse. How lucky. 

Settling in behind him, you bring the brush up to gently pull it through those pale blue waves, starting at the base of his neck and working your way up. 

“Thank you for checking on me by the way. That was very sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome.” A pause, and then, “I can brush my hair myself, you know.” 

You can’t quite hold back your laughter at that. “Don’t worry, I know. But I usually take care of Master Zandik’s hair for him too, so I guess it’s becoming something of a habit for me now. Do you dislike it?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

Another giggle. 

Another pause. 

And when 8 speaks next, it is with a mildly curious inflection in his voice. “Did you really see a mouse? When you screamed?” 

Heat stabs at your cheeks with that reminder, but you quickly sweep it into the back of your mind. You could be embarrassed about what you’d woken up to and how you’d reacted to it later. “Honestly? No. It was that gods forsaken 22. That one does not seem to understand the concept of personal space.”

8 hums a rather noncommittal sound while you steadily work your way up the back of his head, letting silence descend over the room for a little while before he eventually deigns to speak again. “If he’s bothering you I can tell 35. I don’t know if there’s anything he can do about it though. No one really likes that guy. Other than maybe Zandik.” 

You can’t help the way you hesitate at that. “What do you mean no one likes him? Don’t you think that’s an odd thing to say when you’re all technically the same person?” 

“In name only.” 8 huffs as if that should have been obvious right from the start. And on some level you guessed it kind of was. “We might share the same origin but we’re all as unique as any other individual. When you think about one of your past selves, don’t you regard them as different people too?” 

Okay, he sort of had you there. It was indeed hard to reconcile yourself at eleven or twelve with the person you currently were today, even if you did logically know that they were still you. Just a different version of you, each with their own unique thought processes considering how little you understood some of their actions now. Even without being segmented into pieces, the past you’s may as well have led completely separate lives. And that sense of disconnect was probably far greater for Zandik considering he’d given his different perspectives their own flesh and blood bodies that he’d then had to look at, day in and day out, for who knows how long now. Forever reminded of his own lost youth, his lost vigor. His hubris and his mistakes. 

“I see your point,” you murmur softly, resuming your brushing to watch his loose curls shimmer in the light streaming in from the window behind you. “But why doesn’t anyone like 22?”

8 gives the kind of listless shrug to that which only children were proficient at executing. “He’s different from the rest of us. He … he was Zandik when he first came to Snezhnaya with old man Pierro. I heard Om — 35 say he’d gotten his first taste of power at that age and it went to his head for a time. The younger segments don’t like him because he’s the exact opposite of us and the older ones don’t like him because they’re embarrassed they ever acted that way.”

You momentarily think back to your last trip down into the cellar and what 22 had said about all the others being boring, too serious to have a real sense of humor. So the feeling was mutual between them, at least, but you hadn’t expected him to be regarded as the black sheep of this dysfunctional family unit. No wonder you’d had such a hard time trying to make any sense of him when he was so far removed from the Zandik you were accustomed to. 

And your heart gives a faintly sympathetic tug for him which you try your best to rebuke in the same breath. No way were you going to start feeling sorry for 22 after the way he’s treated you, but … perhaps the next time you had to deal with him you could make an attempt to reframe the way you approached one another into something that was a bit less frustrating. If what 8 said was true and he was simply on a power trip then maybe you could try to take some of that power away and claim it for yourself. It was worth a shot, at least. 

For now, though, you decide to change the subject. 

“That makes sense. Am I allowed to ask who Pierro is?” 

8 clicks his little tongue at that, making you think it must have been a habit Zandik always had. “Don’t you know anything at all? He’s the director of the Fatui Harbingers.”

“Hey, I told you I was in a little over my head here, didn’t I? But does that mean … he was personally handpicked for the role of The Doctor?” 

“Mm. Something like that, I guess.” 

Finishing the last section of his hair now, you set the brush aside and use your fingers to lightly tousle those enviably soft locks to arrange it the way he seemed to prefer. How curious to think that Zandik had been rejected by his own homeland but intentionally sought out by another nation. You can’t help but wonder if it had been at the behest of the Tsaritsa or if this Pierro had made the decision on his own. 

You got the sense that 8 wasn’t going to divulge much more than that though, either because he wouldn’t or because he simply didn’t know much else about it, and you finally retract your hands upon deeming him ready for the day ahead. Which was certainly more than could be said for you. Oh, what you wouldn’t give to just stay in your room. 

But Zandik would need attending soon and you also had that appointment with 25 to keep. You were almost starting to miss how very quiet and uneventful things used to be around here, before you’d uncovered the secret in the basement. It was your own fault, of course. 

“Well, that should about do it, little man. I’d better start getting myself ready now. You’re welcome to sit here while I get dressed though.” 

“Wait.” He blurts, turning back around to peer up at you. “What about … your lessons?” 

You slowly blink at him. Was that why he’d wanted to come into your room? “You want to do it right now?” 

At his tentatively hopeful nod, you have to remind yourself to keep all of your other obligations in mind instead of immediately folding to his whims on the spot. It’s hard though, so very hard when he looks at you like that. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time for that right now.” You tell him gently. “Besides, I just woke up, didn’t I? I’d say that hardly makes for the best time to start learning mathematics. But how about I come find you this afternoon and we’ll sit down together somewhere, hm?” 

8’s expression remains largely impassive, however, neither showing disappointment or eagerness at the acquiescence as he gives his chin a curt nod. “Okay. I’ll prepare some worksheets for you in the meantime.” 

You aren’t sure if you should laugh or cry about that. Maybe even some confounding amalgamation of the two. He was taking this so seriously, and it's perfectly clear to you that he was looking forward to having the chance to educate and guide someone. You didn’t imagine he had many same age friends to play with instead. And while it was certainly sweet of him, it also reminded you of a passing thought you’d had about Zandik before. He really would have made an excellent professor. 

What must he have done for the Nation of Wisdom of all places to exile him? 

“Alright. You have yourself a deal.” You say, reaching out to give his little head an affectionate ruffle. “Would you like to join us for breakfast this morning?” 

At his murmur of agreement, you tell him to wait for you there and hop up off the bed. Brush still in hand, you take the few steps across the small room and step into the even smaller attached washroom, shutting the door behind you. A quick wash, your teeth brushed, hair combed out and styled simply, you go about your usual morning routine feeling strangely … at peace. Even in spite of 22’s nonsense you just can’t seem to shake the warm flutters in your chest. 8 was making you wish for something you knew you couldn’t have, not with the way things currently were. The situation was too precarious, too impermanent. Temporary. 

But did it really need to be? You recall what 22 said yesterday about the Doctor working on an immortality elixir. For Pantalone. Did that really even make any sense? Why not Zandik? You were well aware how rocky the dynamic between the two of them was, but would Dottore really withhold something like that from his original self? If the old man could extend his life somehow then maybe this didn’t have to be so fleetingly brief. 

You’re well aware how dangerous it is to entertain such thoughts though, and you sullenly kick them to the back of your mind as you finish getting dressed. It wouldn’t do to dwell on what could be when you were still living in the present of right now. Giving yourself one last look in the tall, claw footed mirror standing next to the wash basin, you take a short moment to run your hands over your uniform. It was starting to feel like an extension of yourself from how often you wore the thing, part of your personality now even though you’d never thought you were much the domestic type. And what 65 said in the drawing room about being a homemaker … would you really make a good wife? A good — mother? 

A look of alarm passes over your face at that unexpected notion, reflected back at you in the surface of the mirror, and you quickly turn away from it. What an embarrassing thing to get flustered over. 

Quickly stepping back out into the room so don’t accidentally catch another glimpse of yourself, you find 8 laying out on top of your bed right where you’d left him. Schooling a pleasant smile into place, you offer your hand out to him and you’re admittedly quite pleased when he slides down off the sheets to come right over to you.

Hand in hand, the two of you step out into the hall together and you pull him over to Zandik’s door where you issue a gentle knock before easing it open. And as you step inside with 8 in tow, you’re greeted by the sight of the old man already awake and sitting up in his bed, withered hands clasped in his lap. 

“Oh. You’re already up, Master?” 

He cocks a grumpy brow at that even as he sends his youngest counterpart a curious glance, like he isn’t entirely sure what to make of his presence there with you. 

“It’s a little hard to sleep with all the shouting going on in this place. It used to be quiet around here, you know. I don’t know what happened to my peaceful retirement home. You’re not bothering her are you, boy?” 

“No. I heard the yelling too so I came to check.”

Your face immediately grows hot enough to spark. “D - did that wake you, Master? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to - -“ 

“Yes, yes. It’s alright.” He says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No harm done. I’m just glad to see you’re alright. When I didn’t hear any more carrying on, I figured you were likely fine. What had you so excited first thing in the morning?” 

You internally cringe at that even as you share a quick look with 8 who, despite his placid expression, seems to be silently telling you he’ll answer if you don’t. 

“Well,” you murmur, stepping up next to the bed. “It was — 22, sir. He decided to pay me an unexpected visit, that’s all. But I took care of it already.” 

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Zandik asks, keeping his attention on you even when 8 slips out of your hand to climb up and lay out over his legs. 

“No … he just wanted some time with me. I think.”

The old man scoffs a sharp sound of derision. “I can’t say I blame him for that. It seems like everyone around here wants you all to themselves. I consider myself lucky to have the privilege of monopolizing most of your attention though. Come here for a moment, girl. Let me see you.” 

Zandik holds his arm out to open up the space beside him, indicating where he wanted you to position yourself. Your heart gives a little thump, thump inside your chest but you still heed the summons, carefully getting yourself turned and situated to perch on the edge of the mattress beside him. 

Evidently that’s not enough to satisfy him though, and you squeak a tiny sound when he curls that arm around you and tugs you right up against him, giving you no choice but to lean into his slight frame. You shoot 8 a wide eyed look of self conscious alarm but Zandik does not seem to have any concern for what the boy might think as he dips his face close to press a hard kiss to your forehead. 

And you’re unequivocally struck by how familial and homey this scene actually feels. You earlier thoughts come bubbling right back up to the surface with a vengeance, making you crave it all over again. To have this with him, to share the sort of intimacy with someone that would potentially result in the byproduct of it sitting at your feet with a decidedly unimpressed expression on his face, watching … 

“M - Master?” 

“Hush. I just want to enjoy your company for a little while before the rest of the day takes you away from me.” Zandik mutters into your hair, exhaling a soft sigh. “I’m still surprised you agreed to 25’s terms. I should have known he’d try to barter with you though.” 

“It’s alright.” You say as you try to calm your pounding heartbeat. “I don’t mind, and it’s probably best if I … get to know him a little better. How to handle his eccentricities.”

“That’s a good mindset to have, girl. But don’t let any of them bully you just because they’re bigger than you. I can promise I wasn’t nearly as difficult to deal with as it might seem.” 

“They try to push me around sometimes too.” 8 adds from his spot further down on the bed where he’s got his chin resting atop his folded arms. Just observing. “You could try stepping on their foot if they make you mad. That’s what I do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You giggle, wondering if you actually had the courage to do something like that. 

The three of you sit together like that for what seems like its own blissful eternity, exchanging snippets of conversation and enjoying each other’s presence. You’re especially grateful for the chance to just breathe in the smell of Zandik, the permeating warmth that bleeds off of him and into you. It would have been nice if it never had to end. 

But, eventually, it does come to a close, and at your master’s nudge you climb up to start getting him ready for the day while 8 lounges about on the bed. It almost hurts how peaceful and domesticated that morning feels, and you think you’ll cherish it for a long time to come as the three of you start to make your way down to the library together. 

Likely having some idea what 25 has planned for you, Zandik tells the boy he can stay with him until you return from your appointment down in the cellar and that he can help him with his research. Leaving them to it, the last thing you hear on your way back out into the hall are the two of them discussing something about theorems and chemical bonding that makes absolutely no sense to you. 

It’s so odd to think that, despite being forever stuck in the body of a child, 8 really was capable of understanding such complicated concepts and advanced terminology. He really was Zandik, just in another form, and you can’t help wondering if a true son or daughter sired from the old man would likewise inherit any of that staggering intellect. 

This particular thought occupies your mind while you go about preparing breakfast for them, portioning out a plate for yourself as you go. You make an attempt to replicate the sandwich you’d made for 8 the day before but it’s obvious you’re missing some key ingredients and know-how to truly make a decent Sumerian dish. You’ll likely just have to wait until the next shipment arrives before you can do anything truly worthwhile. Zandik said over dinner last night that he would relay the request to the Doctor who, he’d assured you, wouldn’t possibly deny such a request coming from you. You’re not so sure of that, especially if he ever found out about that impulsive letter you’d sent with the Fatuus yesterday, but you’d wisely kept that thought to yourself. 

Once everything’s ready, you take the food upstairs and serve them at the desk. Zandik gets his piping hot black coffee and 8 is given a glass of orange juice which he seems pleased to accept. He truly appears to have no interest in Snezhnayan foods though, and you notice he makes a conscious decision to stick to only what was at least marginally familiar to him from the perspective of a child. Eggs and potatoes are fine, but the buckwheat kasha is summarily ignored and avoided. You make a mental note of that. 

After ensuring they have everything and they’re both comfortably settled in, you leave them to it so you can catch up on some of your neglected chores for the rest of the morning. A certain sense of apprehension comes over you every time you think about meeting with 25 later on, so you do your best to keep busy and preoccupied, hoping your nerves won’t get the better of you. 

That doesn’t quite work, though, and by the time afternoon finally rolls around you’re feeling increasingly more anxious by the minute. 

Before you head down, you prepare a hearty lunch for them and take it up to the library where you’re mildly surprised to find 8 standing on top of the desk when you open the door. It looks like he’s helping to assemble some sort of contraption with moving bits and babbles, given the gears on the apparatus, and a drip that would feed into a flask at the bottom. 

Understandably bewildered, you hesitantly make your way over to them. “And what’s all this?” 

Dropping his chin from where he’d been looking up at the boy, no doubt directing him from his chair, Zandik pins you with a roguishly half cocked smirk. “Do you think you’d understand if I told you?” 

“Point taken.” You murmur, carefully balancing the tray as you come to a stop next to the corner, head tipping back to peer up at 8. “Please be careful. I don’t want you to fall.” 

“Oh, relax. You’re starting to sound like a mother hen.” Zandik comments offhandedly, making your stomach churn with some confusing mix of guilty shame and eager little flutters. 

If only he knew the half of it. 

“I’m almost done anyway.” 8 adds, as unconcerned as the old man is, while he fiddles with a final screw in the confusing tool. It looked like something out of a whacky science fiction novel. 

“Is this … some sort of chemistry set up or something?” 

Ever so slowly tipping his head to one side, Zandik sends you an unreadable look. “Indeed it is. You’ve seen similar tools in my personal lab downstairs but I’m still surprised you could correlate the two to draw a successful conclusion. As always, your cleverness does nothing but charm me.” 

8 makes an odd sound at that but with his face tipped up you can’t tell whether or not he’s rolling his eyes from this angle. The little brat. 

“And as always, your ability to keep finding new things to research continues to astound me. Now,” you intone, moving behind the desk to start placing the offering of plates and fresh glasses down. “The two of you had better eat the lunch I prepared before you start getting lost in your experiments. I worked hard on this meal and I don’t want you to go hungry.” 

Zandik snorts a plainly amused laugh at that, tracking you with his sharp eyes while you unload your tray. “Yes, dear. The boy and I will make sure to clean our plates if it will make you happy.” 

You can’t help the way you smile at that, realizing it would please you a great deal to know they’d enjoyed the food you’d cooked for them enough to eat it all. Was this the same reason you used to sometimes catch your mother smiling to herself while you and your father sat at the table in your small kitchen together? That was a very long time ago though. You’d almost forgotten about it. 

But when you set down the last bowl of chopped fruit and start to pull away, Zandik reaches up to snag your wrist before you can make it very far. He gives you a gentle yet insistent tug and, helpless to do anything else but oblige when he asks it of you, you lean down to accept the chaste kiss he presses to your mouth. 

He’s been so affectionate with you the last few days. As much as you enjoyed it, happily preening under his attention every time he graced you with it, some tiny part of you almost fears what it might mean for you in the long run. 

“Are you headed off to the cellar now?” 

“Yes.” You grumble, not even trying to hide the fact you weren’t exactly thrilled about it, but Zandik merely chuckles another low laugh at your response. 

“Don’t sound so excited.” He murmurs, lightly brushing the bony jut of your wrist with his wrinkled thumb. “I’m sure 25 will take good care of you. After going two rounds with you yesterday, I think I’m going to need more time to recuperate so you may as well enjoy yourself elsewhere for right now.” 

“Master!” 

Your eyes grow big as saucers as you shoot a surreptitious glance at 8 but, by some small stroke of luck, he seems to be more focused on climbing down off of the desk than in paying attention to what the sickeningly lovey dovey adults were whispering about. Probably tired of watching these nauseatingly mushy scenes by now, if you had to guess. 

“Forgive me.” He laughs, clearly not the least bit sorry about it. “I’m so used to it being just you and I that it seems I forget myself. But don’t fret over it, lovely girl. I don’t think he cares very much.” 

“Even so!” You hiss, withering from the inside out. As if being on the receiving end of such sweet gestures wasn’t already embarrassing enough. 

But, still, you only see Zandik’s usual mean-streaked humor reflected in his face, and you haplessly allow him pull you back down into another lingering kiss. This time, however, he lets his mouth mould to the shape of yours, coaxing you into reluctant compliance as you slowly kiss him back. 

“There. That’s a much better look for you than that sulky pout.” He announces, smirking, when he finally leans back to take in your expression again. “You’d better run along now, hm? Wouldn’t want to keep that bastard 25 waiting too long. Just do keep in mind what I said, girl. It’s alright if you enjoy your time with someone else in this household, even if I am not there to personally watch over the proceedings. Try not to seem so put out, alright?” 

“… yes, Master.” 

“Good girl. Off with you then. I’ll see you for dinner, alright?”

Unable to keep the warbling grin held at bay any longer, you lean back down again to press one final peck to the corner of his wrinkled mouth. “Alright. Have fun with your little experiments.” 

You straighten up and pull away, plopping a hand down on 8’s head to ruffle his fluffy hair as you walk by. Just as Zandik said, though, he couldn’t seem to care less about the rosy atmosphere between the two of you as he proceeds to stretch for a piece of watermelon plucked from the bowl without a second thought given to the matter. 

The innocence of children really was something else, even when the individual in question was only a child by design. 

It almost pains you to leave them, but you were a bit too aware of the fact that 25 would simply come looking for you if you weren’t punctual enough to suit his liking so you grudgingly make your way to the first floor and then the kitchen where you switch out your silver tray for the kerosene lamp. Then it’s back down the hall, through the landing, the careful descent into the dark staircase and, finally, into the subterranean lab. 

You pause in the doorway, however, warily glancing around in search of 22. After the stunt he pulled yesterday coupled with the stunt from this morning, you half expect to see him lurking about, lying in wait for you to make his next move. But just as every other time, you see no one at all. Not even 65 putzing about somewhere in his dramatic bird mask. 

Realizing you haven’t seen him all day, you wonder where he might have holed himself up at as you set your extinguished lamp next to the exit and start to make your way down the center aisle. Your skin prickles from the chill of the basement as much as at the apprehension of possibly being accosted again, and yet nothing comes of it. You successfully navigate back to the operating theater again where, to your mild surprise, you find 25 already waiting for you. 

He's got his attention fixed on the clipboard in his hand though, evidently reading over something, and you can’t help but be reminded of that first fateful encounter when you’d unexpectedly run into him as you shuffle over to stand at attention. Silently waiting for him to acknowledge you. 

A few minutes go by in this still manner before he finally lifts his head to regard you with that customary bland look of his. “Assistant.”

“Sir.” 

The corners of his eyes crease slightly with what you think might be a smile as he shifts in place to set the clipboard on the desk behind him. “You’re looking well. I take it you were able to get plenty of rest after your busy day yesterday?” 

You try very hard not to flush at that only to fail miserably on all accounts. “I did. I’m — sorry you had to make two trips upstairs because of me.”

“Think nothing of it. I admit, I was a bit surprised when I realized you were entertaining both of them inside the drawing room but if anything I find it remarkable how quickly you’ve made yourself at home here. Of the very few people who know of Zandik’s hubristic folly, most are … understandably hesitant to trust his segments at face value.”

You slowly blink at that. Somehow you hadn’t expected him to be in such a talkative mood today. “I can’t say I don’t understand why, but … do you think that makes me a fool?” 

“On the contrary, I think it makes you an interesting wealth of potential. Hence why so many of us are fascinated by you. It’s not every day that someone new is brought into the fold who then acclimates to such admittedly bizarre circumstances with hardly any trouble at all.” 

It's suddenly difficult to process what he’s saying. What he was suggesting. “Does that mean I … I have your approval because I – accept what you are?” 

The surgeon gives a subdued shrug of one shoulder. “Something like that. More to the point, though, I think it’s that you approach us as individuals rather than disposable redundancies. It seems to me like you caught on rather quickly that each of us has his own unique perspectives, likes and dislikes, different interests, despite originating from the same man.” 

“I see. Was it … the same for Lord Regrator, too?” 

25 offers a rather gracious incline of his head. “Indeed. Feofan shows each of us a slightly different face. All of us segments have a unique relationship with the banker, our own personalized dynamics with him. Much like we’re starting to develop with you. I suppose I could say that you feel similarly promising in that sense.” 

You can’t help feeling a bit pleased by that, if they really regarded you with the same potential for meaningful exchange that Pantalone had with them, and you find yourself straightening your back slightly. “Does that mean you’ll start being a bit nicer to me?” 

“We’ll see. Are you ready to begin?” 

At your stilted nod, 25 rises from his confident slouch leaned up against the desk and reaches out to place a gloved hand behind your back, steering you past the steel table in favor of angling towards the dark curtain instead. Your skin nervously prickles at the reminder of what you’d endured back there the last time, but you remind yourself it’s under much different circumstances now. You wouldn’t need saving today. Probably. 

And when he flicks the barrier aside, you’re greeted by the sight of that awful chair he’d previously strapped you to. The metal stirrups are folded back and away, tucked into the sides of the base where you wouldn’t have even noticed them if you didn’t already know they were there, while the backrest is reclined at a ninety degree angle that would no doubt let you rest somewhat comfortably against it. Your heart still leaps into your throat, threatening to choke you, but you bravely stand your ground when he slides his hand away to send you a mild glance, turning to face you now. 

“Get undressed and have a seat, please. And before you ask, yes. Even your shoes. I don’t want to have to stop just to fiddle with a troublesome button or buckle.”

With that command issued, he moves from you over to the rows of cabinets and drawers along the wall, beginning to pull things out so he can line them up in a neat line atop the work space. Confident that you would do as you were told without needing to be coerced, evidently. 

Undeniably a bit nervous, you take a moment to simply breathe in and then out on a slow, calming exhale that only marginally settles your nerves. You know it’s much too late for second thoughts though, and you reach back to untie your apron which you deposit onto a low table just behind you. Your housekeeping dress soon joins it, as does your slip, your stockings and the garterbelt, while your shoes are tucked in front of the shelf on the floor. The chill of the basement is suddenly unbearable, or something close to it, and you valiantly fight back the shudder that tries to sweep over you as you hurry over to the examination chair so you can get your feet up off the icy flagstones. 

You keep your arms folded over your chest while you get settled in, both to protect them from the cold and to preserve some small modicum of your dignity. By chance, you happen to glance up and notice a small mirror situated more or less directly in front of you that shows you your own plainly flustered expression as well as the fertile swell of your naked body. Cheeks growing even warmer, you turn away from it to look over your shoulder so you can watch what 25 is doing instead. From your vantage point you can’t be entirely sure what exactly he’s taking out over there but of all the possibilities running through your mind, the very last thing you expect him to turn towards you with is a length of rope. 

“Be a dear and lie back for me, hm?” 

And it almost startles you, how archaic it actually looks against the backdrop of surgical equipment and tools, the far more advanced technology you would have expected from him.

“W - what are you going to do with that …” You dare to ask, shooting the rope a deeply suspicious look, but the bespectacled man merely cocks a droll brow at you in response. It’s obvious enough in the way he looks at you as much as his body language that he has no intention of forcing you into submission this time, or at least not yet, and you huff a resigned breath. 

Somewhat grudgingly easing yourself down to settle against the backrest, you can’t help noticing that he looks rather pleased by your compliance now as he steps close to stand by your feet. 

“This is just to keep you in position while I’m working.” He says, unraveling the coil with slow, evenly measured tugs of his hands. “I thought you might appreciate having some amount of freedom instead of being strapped in place, but I still need you to be at least relatively still for me. We don’t want you trying to scuttle away, do we? Oh, but don’t look so nervous, my sweet assistant. Do you recall what I said about a safe word?”

You slowly nod your head. “Yes. I remember.” 

“Good. It’s padisarah, by the way. If you start to feel like what I’m doing is toeing a dangerous line for you then just say that one little word and I’ll make everything stop. That only seems fair, doesn’t it?” 

His condescending crooning coupled with that pitying look on his face makes a fresh flood of heat rush into your cheeks, but you give him another nod of understanding all the same. “Padisarah. What is that?” 

“There are plenty of books in the library that will give you the answer. The only hint I’ll give you beyond that is you’ll want to locate a botanical encyclopedia. Lift this leg for me?” 

You fix him with a wry look even as you do as he’d asked of you, curling your foot up into the air. It must not be enough for his liking though, because he pushes under the bend of your knee to fold it further back towards your chest. 

“Excellent. Now, bring the same hand down and grab your ankle.” 

A cold note of uncertainty creeps through you along with a vague curling of understanding. You could probably guess what he was going to do from there and you weren’t so sure you appreciated it much, but you reluctantly oblige him this too. 

Abandoning your chest, you reach down to wrap your fingers around the base of your leg, earning a rather warm hum of approval from him. You have the brief thought that you like how that sounds coming from him but it’s quickly chased away by a spike of anxiety when he proceeds to wind the rope around your two limbs, securing them together. The twine is scratchy and abrasive, and yet you say nothing in protest while he gets it knotted off with quick and simple efficiency. 

Then he shifts to the other side where he pulls a second coil of rope from a pocket in his white coat, indicating for you to do the same thing as before. You don’t exactly like the thought of being bound and helpless, but the safe word he’d given you works as an effective balm to alleviate some of your greater fears as sullenly you do as asked. 

In very short order you find yourself stuck in that awkwardly curled position with both of your wrists fastened to your ankles. It forces you to keep your legs up and spread or risk yanking on your shoulders, and you nervously squirm in place. You're completely at the mercy of the chill like this too, and you whimper a soft sound at how very tight your nipples harden into finely puckered points. 

Looking really quite pleased with you, 25 murmurs a soft sound of approval as he slides one of his hands forward to lightly brush the thumb over your vulnerable slit. Truth be told you’re still a bit sore from yesterday and you instinctively try to shy away from that touch but it’s no use, of course. You’re completely defenseless in this restrained position, which was exactly how he’d wanted you no doubt. 

“Are you tender here?” He gently asks you, although he does not retract his fingers or stop touching you. Just poking and prodding at the fleshy press of your labia for a moment, the gesture almost thoughtful in its execution. 

“A - a little …” 

Noising a soft sound of consideration, 25 bends down to get a better look at your cunt. You give a small squeak when he presses his middle and pointer fingers into your labia, spreading the fleshy lips apart so he can study every last, velvety soft inch of you. The angle of the chair allows you to more or less see what he’s doing, and you watch with bated breath as he inspects you for a prolonged moment. 

You’re not sure what, exactly, he sees, but rather than pulling away he instead brings both hands together to crowd in close, hooking his thumbs into the meaty slit so he can hold you open to his scrutiny. Stomach roiling with uncertainty and embarrassment at being looked at so very closely, you wait for him to say something. Anything. 

“Hmm. You are indeed looking a bit irritated in a few spots. I take it you had a good time, then?” 

Your face grows so hot you start to feel dizzy, but he doesn’t wait for an answer and he doesn’t seem to expect one either. Instead, 25 adjusts the position of his hands so he can hold your cunt lips open with just one while the other reaches a finger inside to lightly feel along your tender opening, making you suck in a sharp breath. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“I — I don’t know if I’d call it painful, exactly. Just sore. It was my … first time taking a cock like … that.” 

“I figured as much. Even though it doesn’t seem like much of a difference on paper, a sixty-five year old man and an eighty-four year old are still at vastly different life stages, aren’t they? Naturally I would have expected one cock to work better than the other.” Slowly letting up his hold on your labia, 25 straightens up to send you a decidedly mocking look over the perfectly white edge of his surgical mask. “Although if you want my opinion on the matter, I must admit to a certain amount of surprise that Zandik can get it up at all at his age. However, I’m sure we can attribute that to this exceptionally tempting body of yours. Certainly even someone with one foot already in the grave will find a way to partake in the pleasures of this inviting little cunt of yours. Lucky for you, though, I’d already intended to focus on other areas of inquiry today.” 

“Wh - … which is?” 

Slowly dragging his attention down to fix on the spot between your legs again, he reaches out to just brush the tips of his fingers over your puckered back entrance and you outright jolt as if he’d electrocuted you. Admittedly you probably should have seen that coming but even so, you can’t quite seem to catch the sensitive shudder that tears through your stiffly held body. 

You’re not completely opposed to it though, you realize with not nearly as much apprehension as you probably should. After 65’s patient stretching of your hole yesterday you find that you’re rather amenable to the idea, in fact. Or at the very least it strikes you as being preferable to having your cunt invaded and claimed again so soon after the last pounding it took. 

And when you neither protest or try to shirk away from his teasing digits, only trembling through another halting shudder in response, 25 scoffs a quiet sound of amusement. He draws his hand back and moves to step behind you, momentarily leaving you to your own devices while he presumably retrieves something along the opposite wall. Even in spite of your lingering soreness and the overstimulation of yesterday, you still find your cunt growing vaguely wet while you sit there, listening to him putz around out of sight. You refused to look up at the mirror you’d spotted earlier and risk seeing yourself naked and spread out like a holiday roast. 

The sound of squeaky wheels and a soft metal clamor soon rises up though, and you glance to the side to see him wheeling a small tray over to the exam chair. Your eyes widen slightly at the strange implements and tools you see laid out on top of it, much like the items he’d neatly arranged on the other counter which he soon goes to fetch, leaving the cart down by the corner at your feet. A litany of questions pop into your head as you curiously study the items he’d evidently prepared for you in advance but you have no idea what half of them could possibly be for. Your one and only consolation is that you do not see that horrid metal contraption he’d used to pry your cunt open last time. 

Coming back to set the additional things down with the rest, 25 then retrieves a small black stool from next to the curtain which he unceremoniously plops directly in front of you before taking a seat. Unable to do much of anything else at the moment, you nervously flex your toes where they’re stuck up in the air. 

“Has anyone else played with your ass besides me?” He asks, abruptly falling into that strict, clinical tone of authority again. The same one he’d used while torturing you the first time. 

You have to forcefully swallow down your fluttering nerves before you can manage to speak. “65 did. In the drawing room.” 

“How?” 

“His … his fingers.” 

He sends you a slow look under the delicately thin lenses of his glasses. “And did you enjoy it?”

You hesitate briefly at that before answering. 

“Yes. I did. It felt — unexpectedly good. Even when I knew I shouldn’t be enjoying it.” 

Chuckling a low sound of mirth, 25 glances down at where you’re spread open so very shamelessly on the adjustable chair. “Why shouldn’t you enjoy something that is only a natural part of your basic biology? Guilt is but a human construct, dear assistant, whereas pleasure is an organic function that stimulates dopamine which is then fed into the reward circuit of your brain. Think of it like … a closed loop, if you would. When something feels good it lights up those neural pathways, rewarding you by releasing a potent cocktail of chemicals to keep you going back for more. The cycle feeds into itself and you’re hardwired to seek out things that trigger this response. So, I’ll ask again. Why do you think you shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy such pleasures of the flesh?” 

“W - well … it's shameful, isn’t it? To be taken like — that.” 

“Like what, exactly?” 

“Mm. Like … an animal. Or something.” 

“Or something.” He echoes you, sounding a bit too much like the Doctor in the way he says it, the inflection of his voice, for your liking. “And what’s wrong with that? Are you aware, dear assistant, that humans are a kind of animal too?” 

25 turns from you then to fiddle with something on the tray at his elbow while you try to labor through that thought process. It’s getting increasingly harder to think straight the longer you sit there like that though. As naked as ever with your legs forced into a wide, awkwardly bent splay without even being touched at all.  

“I think I’ve … heard that before. Or maybe I read it in a book. But my mother always said I should act with self respect and decorum. That means I shouldn’t … behave like an animal, right? Even if I am — technically one.” 

“Oh, there’s nothing technical about it, my dear. You are. But let's put aside what your mother has said for a moment,” turning forward again, 25 brings one of his hands close to softly drag sticky fingertips over your tight back hole, making it twitch under the caress. You realize, belatedly, that he’d squirted out a healthy dollop of lubricant onto a square piece of gauze on the table for easy access that you can now glimpse without his arm in the way to block it. 

“Did it make you feel good when he played with your ass? A simple yes or no will suffice.” 

You hesitate only briefly, distracted by the sensation of him touching you like that as much as by the way your puckering rim seems to readily soften under his ministrations. “Yes.” 

“Would you like to feel it again?” 

“Y - yes, sir. I liked it.” No caveat this time. You don’t have the extra oxygen for it when he’s carefully poking at the center wrinkle to taunt you with the promise of penetration. Gods, you really did want it. 

“And what about when I was the one doing it? Did you enjoy it then?” 

“… yes.” 

A small sound of approval slips out of him and 25 rewards you with a single finger pressed slowly up into your ass. It catches you wholly off guard how easily he breaches your body and you know quite immediately that it must be the lubricant. It’s much more effective than spit, as it turns out, in that it allows him to slip and slide along your passage with hardly any resistance at all to show for it. 

But that doesn’t even begin to lessen how deeply you feel it in your guts, making you shake uncontrollably for a drawn out moment while he reaches in you straight down to the knuckle. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust though and you whine a thready sound when he drags it right back out again to escape the clinging grip of you with a tiny little pop from your pucker. Groaning a mildly delirious sound, you helplessly rock in your awkward position, pulling first on your arms when you try to straighten out your legs and then the opposite when you have to force your knees back up. 

“You’re a very good girl, aren’t you? As for the matter of today’s business,” 25 intones with a scholarly inflection coloring his voice now. “What I would like to test is how receptive your ass really is. I noticed the last time that you seemed to respond to this particular stimuli with overwhelmingly positive results but I am curious to see how far that actually goes. Oftentimes this sort of thing is more of an … acquired taste than it is anything else. And yet you took right to it with little need for persuasion on my part. I find that very interesting, you know.” 

His fingertip is suddenly pressing in on your puffy little hole again, without any warning or buildup to help you brace against it, and you hiss a wounded sound when he slides back up into you again. It really does seem to drive you crazy how seamless the penetration is, how sinfully, buttery smooth it somehow manages to be even though your rear end was very close to being untested yet. Maybe it was the repeated violations of the last few days, or perhaps the lubricant really was just that effective. But either way you find yourself throbbing around the intrusion. 

Once more, he doesn’t give you a chance to truly enjoy the searing hot sensation of having his finger wedged inside your ass and 25 quickly pulls back out to another wet little pop. You barely have enough time to twitch at the unseemly sound before he’s pressing in again to the click of a tiny slurp, letting your ass swallow him straight down to the base. And you realize then, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, that he’s pushing the lube inside to thoroughly coat your inner sleeve with it.

“First,” he goes on, repeating the process yet again. In up to the knuckle. Straight back out to make your slackening hole squelch. “I’d like to see if you can cum just from anal penetration. Something tells me you can, but I don’t like to operate on assumptions. You understand.” 

Groaning a low sound at what he’s telling you, understanding the unspoken implication that he had no intention of touching you anywhere else, not even your stiffly coiled nipples, you wonder if you can actually do it. 65 had given in easily enough to your pitiful pleas and dotingly obliged you instead of forcing you to cum with your nipples or not at all. Something told you 25 would not be half as open to persuasion though, and that doesn’t exactly bode well for how this experiment would pan out. Especially after you came so many times just yesterday and your body felt like it was still recovering from that … 

You were willing to try though, closing your eyes so you can focus only on the feeling of him inside you, the soft noises when he pulls out or pushes in. Your ass feels hot and gummy where 25 has it wedged open, and you’re aware of a vague reflection of that mirrored in your slowly slicking pussy, but you’re not sure if it’s enough. The slippery smooth glide of him is undeniably arousing, however, encouraging you to lean into it and let it sweep you up, which you gladly do. 

“How is it?” He asks at length, when your puffy rim is so soft and slack in the middle that it now readily welcomes him back in every time. 

“Mmnh. Feels good …” 

His finger drags out of you, slow and stilted, to another faint pop. 

“And this?” 

He’s suddenly sliding into you with two fingers this time and you tremble so hard the chair seems to rattle underneath you, eyes rolling back in budding ecstasy. Even more than the glide itself, it seems to be the stretch to your guts that really stokes your arousal, turning your insides to molten gold. Maybe if he stuffed you full enough you really could cum like this. 

“Ooughn. Better. M - more?” 

25 noises a quiet sound of consideration, drawing his hand back to remove both digits from your weakly clenching grip. As foolish and naive it might be, your hole feels so loosened now that you’re fairly sure you could take almost anything he tried to feed into you. 

But he seems to have other plans in mind as he takes a moment to slather his gloved fingers in more lubricant before coming back up to squeeze into you once more, making you choke on your budding delight. 

“Rather than more,” he says, perfectly calm and casual about it as he sets in to pump those spearing digits deep into your innards at a moderately tempoed pace. “Let’s try faster first. Then we can try harder. If you still cannot cum by then, I will add another finger at that point.” 

A needy mewl tumbles out of your mouth at that proclamation, knowing with certainty now that he was willing to keep at it for as long as it took until he saw the results he wanted. The only good thing is you’re fairly certain your ass can take it, much more than your pussy could right now, at least, but … what if you never found your release? Would he really keep you tied up down here for the foreseeable future? 

Squirming in place now, you stiffly flex your legs up as much as you can, absolutely hating the position he’s got you stuck in. It makes your limbs feel numb and heavy, and all you can really do like this is uselessly clench your fingers into tight fists where they’re trapped over your ankles, rocking into the stilted motion of his hand. Your pussy was starting to drool in earnest, and you can feel it growing damp along the seam. His lack of interest in touching you there almost seems to make you want it more than you otherwise would have, craving it more than nearly anything else in that moment. 

You dazedly think this must be some strange form of reverse psychology, squeezing down on his fingers to better feel the way they press in on you from the inside and how they stretch your inner sleeve. The fleshy grip of your raised entrance clings to him each time he pulls half of the way out just to plunge back in, dragging against the latex of his glove. It feels good, yes, but was it enough?

“O - oohnn … faster. Please. Nghn! Do it faster, sir.”

Scoffing, 25 lifts his attention to peer up at you. “Are you presuming to give me orders now, assistant?” 

An unsteady shake of your head. “N - no. Just … a request, sir. I’d like to — mmngh! To cum for you …”

“Well, that’s certainly a pretty answer, isn’t it? I suppose I could permit you that much.” Pausing, he gives his wrist a particularly insidious twist that has him jabbing up at an angle that instantly makes your toes curl, groaning another wounded sound when he picks up the pace. In and out, in and out, a continuous back and forth motion that somehow bleeds into a constant, aching burn that lights your guts up. 

“Is that more to your liking? Do you think you might cum?” 

“Oh! Gods! M - maybe … nnghnn! It feels … tight. And hot.” 

An interested hum is the only response you get and the sound of his fingers delving up into your ass quickly dominates the small space, interspersed only by your breathless moans. The pressure in you rapidly swells, becoming almost mind numbingly unbearable, especially when your wedged open sphincter hollowly contracts around the intrusion. It feels like your body is instinctively trying to milk his fingers of something they simply don’t have to give, the thought of taking his cock like this making you seethe. You’re sure he’d really stretch you out then. 

But you have to make do with this for now, focusing all of your attention on the continuous attack of his hand which, to his credit, does not seem to tire while you stiffly balance there on the precipice. It’s like you’re hot enough to catch fire but you just can’t seem to tip over the edge even when you’re close enough to taste it on the back of your tongue. 

And then your innards suddenly give another sharp, hollowed out contraction that leaves you reeling, seeing stars dance in front of your eyes. Lurching in place, you focus everything on that pinprick pulse deep inside your ass while you gasp and heave, whining a desperate sound. Your cunt floods in its neglect now, excited and eager for attention too, but it is only your back end that 25 graces with his touch. In all of your sexual encounters thus far, both the good and the bad, you’d never had one of them ignore your pussy quite so proficiently. Even the way 22 had toyed with you by using only your thighs to get off hadn’t been as frustrating as this. 

“You look like you’re getting close, dear assistant. I take it that must mean you’re enjoying having me in your ass like this?” 

You heave some terribly gutted sound, practically suffocating on it, as you bob your head in near frantic agreement. If he stopped now you were sure it would drive you mad. Well and truly. You just needed him to keep fucking you with his fingers for another moment longer and then — 

Your inner sleeve gives an abrupt, pulsing squeeze around him, contracting again, but this time it stays like that as if the internal muscle was locking up. It fully steals your breath away and you outright sob, shuddering hard at that bone deep, brain melting throb. Instinctively flexing your legs further up, you dizzyingly bear down on the demanding glide of his fingers, in and out, in and out, in and out. 

And just like that, the vibrating thread of tension snaps.  

This is unlike any other orgasm you’ve had before though, and your entire body seems to spasm around your stuffed ass. Your pussy sympathetically flutters in response, weeping more sticky arousal, but the epicenter of it is firmly rooted in your back end. That tight inner passage squeezes down hard enough to strangle as you wail a terribly stricken sound, gasping for air while you plaintively tremble through it. 

On one hand it seems to be done much sooner than you’re accustomed to, but on the other … goodness, the way it feels like it drains you of every last bit of energy you have! The satiation is so deep, so all encompassing that you can’t even see straight for a good long minute, and when you finally start to come back into your body some moments later you can only wheeze up at the ceiling. Yes, yes, you’re quite sure you’d enjoyed it. Even in its stark difference from the orgasms you were used to, there’s something undeniably exciting about cumming this way. 

“I guess that settles that.” 25 murmurs, more to himself than to you, it seems, as he slowly pulls his hand back to slip out of you again. “By the way, has anyone ever told you that when you cum you make the most adorable scrunched up face?” 

Trying and failing to blink out of your daze, you glance down at him in confusion, still trying to catch your breath. “N - no … but — thank you?”

Nodding once in acknowledgment, he turns to look over his tray of goodies. “For the next phase - -“

“There’s more?” 

“I think I’d like to test what sort of shapes and textures you respond best to. You seem to like my fingers well enough, so … hm. Let’s see how you feel about this.” 

Picking up something from the cart, 25 holds up a small, decidedly phallic shaped object with a narrow tip that flares out into a wider base on the bottom. You have no idea what to make of it at first, having never seen anything like this before, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to ask questions before he decisively angles his hand towards you. 

You snap your head down when he reaches out, watching from your vantage point as he finds your sticky ass with the petite end of the toy. Only a small bit of pressure is needed for it to sink into the center of that puffy wrinkle and you stare, slackjawed, as it gradually disappears inside of you. Not only do you take the whole thing with relative ease, your insides so comfortably stretched and coated in lube, but your ass even seems to welcome it in for how little resistance it actually puts up. It’s too soon after your first orgasm though, and it almost seems to burn as the internal sleeve sensitively twitches around it. 

“Oh - oooohhhnn.”

“And how does that feel?” 

“It feels … strange. I - I think I like your fingers better.” 

“Strange how?” 

Seething softly, you give your legs another useless flex in an attempt to lessen some of the strain. “I don’t know! Unghn! It’s just … not the same. Cool instead of warm. Too small. I think it — it needs to be bigger.” 

Tipping his face up again, 25 sends you a plainly amused look. “Don’t tell me you’re turning into a size queen. This little ass of yours can only handle so much at a time, you know. But if it’s bigger you want …” 

He gently eases the offering out to the sound of another sticky slurp before setting it aside and then consulting the tray again. To your surprise he picks up a string of beads that start small on one end and then gradually work up to rather large on the other. Your ass weakly flexes at the sight of it but you make no attempt to protest as he brings the most petite bead close to your waiting hole. 

At the faintest bit of pressure the first one seems to pop right past the raised pucker to wedge inside you, startling you slightly. You’d expected to feel at least some resistance while your body naturally tried to reject the foreign object but that had not been the case. The center of your wrinkled entrance is too slack, too loosened to reject something so small, and you quietly hiss when he feeds the second size up into you almost just as easily. 

The third bead, however, actually puts a certain amount of strain on your poor little sphincter as it passes through. Still not enough for your body to truly fight it but you can tell the next one is going to be more of a challenge. 

Sure enough the fourth ball can’t quite make it past your puckering entrance on the first try and 25 has to patiently press down, gradually forcing you to open up to the intrusion. Which your ass does, with no shortage of reluctance, but you do indeed take it, whimpering when it finally sinks inside you to disappear. 

You can feel your rim trying to close behind it but the muscle just can’t seem to manage it. A little too stretched. A bit too sticky. Seething in earnest now, you tip your chin down to look at the remainder of the string you have yet to take and a cold note of uncertainty curls through you when you realize there are still two more to go. You don’t know if you can take them.  

“W - wait - -“

“But you asked for bigger, my dear assistant. And I’m giving it to you, aren’t I?” 

You suck in a sharp breath to protest, or at least to ask for a moment to get yourself situated, but he doesn’t stop long enough for you to get the words out. Using his thumb, he guides the next ball right up to your entrance where he presses firmly into the center. In truth, you might have expected that the ring has been so stretched out by now that you could take just about anything with ease. But the reality is a bit different and your ass tries very hard to reject it, refusing to relent under the pressure he exerts. 

“Relax into it. You’re clenching.”

“It’s a l - little hard not to …” 

But you still try to do as he’d said, first and foremost because you knew he was right. You feel so stuffed now that your body instinctively tries to keep anything else out, tensing against the next ball even when you will it not to. 

Drawing a deep breath, you give a stilted little push with the muscles in your pelvic floor only to give a full bodied twitch when the firm sphere starts to sink in. The stretch is suddenly intense now and you blubber a breathless, disoriented sound even as 25 softly coos at you, talking you through another push that soon has you accepting another millimeter of the ball. 

And with your ass finally widened around the thickest part of it, all he has to do now is guide it the rest of the way in with a simple push. You’re so full now it almost makes it difficult to breathe, shuddering helplessly from the top of your head straight down to your stiffly flexing toes. 

“How cute. Your little hole can’t even close now. I can still see the bead where it’s sitting just inside of you.” Chuckling a low sound, 25 leans back as if to admire you, scoffing another quiet laugh while he does it. “And you had the audacity to ask me for bigger. My dear assistant, I don’t think you’re ready for bigger yet.” 

You’d probably agree with that but you can’t seem to find the oxygen to speak. It really is too much. Your ass feels like it’s splitting open and the muscle is so terribly loosened now you can’t even seem to keep the largest ball held in place. 

Slowly but surely it starts to slip out, pressing back on the interior of your rim as it’s forced out by your quivering guts. But, cruel bastard that he is, 25 merely reaches up to push it in again where he keeps his hand poised for a prolonged moment while you struggle with it. And by far the worst of it is how sadly your forgotten cunt weeps in sympathy. 

A fact that does not escape his notice in the slightest, and you judder when he huffs another rumbling sound of amusement. “You really are a fascinating specimen. Even when you look like you’re about to cry, your pussy just keeps leaking. Shall I give it some of the attention it seems to want so much?” 

You blithely nod your head, latching onto that immediately even when your ass gives a dull throb at the prospect. “Please, sir. Please. Ohnn! Touch my cunt.”

“And you are so proficient at begging. Do you think that will make you feel better?” 

“Y - yes. It will. Please.” 

Drawing a stilted breath, 25 abandons your stretched back end in favor of reaching up to lightly thumb over your slit. From the bottom straight up to the top, he merely smears the excess of honeyed arousal with his glove to make you seethe before at last focusing in on the dimpled apex a long moment later. 

Pressing down, his thumb sinks between the fleshy clutch of your labia where he finds your clit quite immediately, setting in to caress over it. You shudder fiercely in response, surprising yourself at how readily your cunt responds despite the work out it got just the day before. And when your muscles slacken at the immediate rush of blissful sensation, the ball in your ass starts to slide out in earnest now. 

It shocks a gasp out of you as you quickly try to reinforce the clench of your sphincter again but it’s already too late. The bead pops out with a sticky squelch, leaving you to woundedly groan in the aftermath. And worse still, the stretched wide gape of your ass hole that it leaves behind allows the next sphere to chase after it, the smaller size barely even catching at your entrance. The rest quickly follow, expelled from your guts in a rush of hot, goopy lube while you sob a hysterical wail at the sudden emptiness. 

“Oh. That is quite intriguing, isn’t it? I can feel your pussy flexing under my hand. You must like how that feels too.” 

“N - nooooo …”

Giving his head a slow shake, 25 graces your tingling clit another few passes of his thumb before sedately pulling away, leaving you to seethe a broken sound of despair. He’s as implacable as ever though as he turns to the tray again where he drops the sticky string of beads which you could only assume he must have caught in his other hand. Blinking through the hazy delirium, you watch him pick up a long syringe that he uncaps, revealing not a needle but a narrow, open ended applicator. A certain amount of confusion marches through your cotton stuffed head but it’s quickly replaced by alarm when he directs the tip of it towards your twitching ass hole. 

“Wait!” You squawk, going ramrod stiff with a little jerk. 

It’s too late, though, and the loosened center of the puffed up, fleshy rim puts up no resistance whatsoever when he eases the petite end of it straight through to wedge just inside you. With practiced efficiency, 25 thumbs the plunger to make it gradually descend, cooing soft nothings at you while he does it, and you go immediately still at the sensation of — something filling you up.

Cool and almost unbearably goopy, it takes you a very long moment to connect the pieces together and realize its lube. He’s depositing it directly into your ass just the same as a cock might shoot off its sticky load, and the thought alone is enough to have you blubbering almost hysterically. Your cunt throbs and squeezes around nothing in response, mirroring the undeniable excitement in your body twice over as you wildly shudder in place. 

And 25 seems to be picking up on your sickeningly intense arousal too, for he breathes a stuttering groan while he finishes injecting the staggering excess of lubricant up into your guts, squeezing out every last drop until there’s nothing left in the syringe. Carefully easing it back to slip free of your meaty pucker, he quickly sets the tool aside as his other hand replaces it to brush over your twitching entrance where it struggles to keep the gooey offering inside. 

“Look at you, my dear assistant. You’re taking this so very well. If we keep at it much longer, your ass is going to resemble a second cunt soon.”

You hiss a wounded sound at that, screwing your eyes shut as you turn your head against the backrest. “D - don’t say that!”

“But it’s true,” he gently insists, directing his finger tips to attack the fleshy dip in your body with deliberate precision. Taunting you with the suggestion of being penetrated again. “It will be the same ease with which I can slide into your cunt if we stretch it out enough. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Having two holes for us to play with. You could even take multiple cocks at the same time if you wanted.” 

A shrill, rattling wail slips out of you when he proceeds to follow through on the threat, decisively sliding his first two fingers past the ring of muscle to wedge deep inside your ass again. That he’s able to do so with next to no resistance, your back end simply taking him just as readily as your pussy accepted fingers and cocks, and just as dripping with slick too, strikes a particular chord in you that makes you feel truly mindless. 

Even in your lolling stupor, while he takes a moment to sedately fuck up into you again, pushing the lube deeper to ensure your guts are saturated in the clinging mess, you wonder if that’s really possible. Could you truly take two of them at once? One segment drilling deep into your ass while the other pounded your cunt. 

At that unexpectedly arousing thought you feel a zap of static shoot down your spine, trembling when it settles deep inside your loins to make you feel like you’re burning from the inside out. It causes your inner sleeve to clench and squeeze around the intrusion but you’re so sticky, so loosened, that his fingers just keep pumping even in spite of it. 

“Ooh, you like that, do you? Something told me you would. It seems to me, dear assistant, that you have a particular talent for such endeavors. I believe the common rabble would likely refer to you as being something of a ‘slut’’. And I can’t say I’d feel inclined to disagree with that estimation.” 

Feeling the stab of that word deep inside your chest, you mewl a tender little sound of budding distress. “I’m not … a - a slut.”

“Hm. I think anyone with a working pair of eyes who saw you like this would beg to differ. After all, you’ve got your legs up in the air for me while I stretch out this cute little hole of yours. I’d say the title fits. And that’s not even mentioning the fact you allowed two old men to have their way with you just yesterday. What does that sound like to you, my sweet assistant?” 

You make every attempt not to pay any attention to 25’s soft, coaxing murmurs while he tries to get you to say it, encouraging you with words as much as the continuous glide of his thrusting fingers where they spear up into your ass. Again and again, and again, slipping and sliding, jabbing at your guts in a way that makes you feel unbearably tight inside. Gods, were you going to empty your bladder everywhere or cum again? 

“It’s —“ you sniffle, sounding rather sad even to your own ears as you valiantly try to reject his entreaty of you, futilely squirming now. “It’s not like that!” 

“Then what is it like? Tell me.”

Biting down on your lip in an attempt to keep it held back, you fitfully shake your head against the backrest of the chair. You wouldn’t say it. You couldn’t. Even if some tiny part of you, deep down inside, knew it was true and most people would accurately label you a slut for how you’ve behaved here, speaking it aloud felt like it would be the final nail in your coffin. Haven’t you already been debased and belittled enough for one lifetime? 

But then, startling a surprised squawk out of you, 25 reaches up with his unoccupied hand to press his thumb into your slit, setting in to rub over that delicate pearl nestled inside again. You can’t help the way you violently jolt in response, limbs yanking on limbs when you try to twist away from him but there’s nowhere for you to go like this. All you can do is sit there and take it while he tortures you from both ends. 

“Say it.” 

“Suh - uggghhhn! Ooughn … s - slut! I’m a slut, sir! Please!”

“Please what? Use your words.” 

You practically choke on it, so overwhelmed by the dual sensations in your cunt and your ass that your vision seems to white out for a prolonged stretch of seconds. It’s too much. Like he’s forcing it out of you, giving your body no choice but to surrender to his ministrations with little to no conscious input from your brain. You really were going to cum again, gods! 

“Aghhn! Ahh! P - please … ohhh, please keep playing with my sluh - slutty pussy, sir!” 

“Mmmm. That’s a very good girl, dear assistant.” 

And he obliges you. Quite enthusiastically, in fact. 

While he continues to thumb over your clit, batting the poor little bud back and forth, back and forth, up and down, the fingers in your ass piston even harder, faster. That mind melting burn in your guts doubles and triples, the tension swelling to a truly sickening degree. You can feel yourself balancing right on the edge, teetering over the now familiar maw of oblivion as you wail your pleasure without shame. 

That dire tinged sound of delight quickly morphs into one of despair, however, when he abruptly slides his fingers completely out to another wet slurp from your hole, leaving the abused ring of muscle to sadly clench in the aftermath. For a harrowing moment it feels like he’s mercilessly ripped that blissful pinprick of euphoria away from you. But then, just as suddenly, 25 comes right back up, bullying his way into your ass again with three long digits this time, and the added stretch sends you careening right over the edge before you can even comprehend its happening. 

Bucking atop the chair, you wildly spasm through the onslaught of your release, eyes rolling back into your head now. You hiss and groan, sobbing frantically as your pussy achingly contracts around nothing so tight it almost hurts. That same hollow pulse in your ass as before milks at his fingers with that deep, drawn out squeezing but, still, they have nothing to give you. All you can do is quake through it with no end in sight, no reprieve waiting for you on the other side. It's like some insidious, never ending cycle of pleasure and pain, euphoria bleeding into torture and right back into the soaring heights of ecstasy again. 

And you’re still dizzily reeling when, at length, you feel him remove his hands from your person, coming back into your own head enough to realize the orgasm has run its course without you even realizing it. Wondering if you’d actually blacked out for a second there, you weakly tilt your face to watch him reach for something on the tray. 

“No.” You blubber sadly when you see him pick up the string of beads again. “No more. Too soon.” 

“Oh? But I’m curious if you can take the whole thing now that I’ve loosened you up even more. Just be good for me, assistant. I’m already quite pleased with these results, so don’t go ruining it now.” 

Struggling to get enough oxygen when every breath seems to catch in your throat, you forlornly track the motion of 25’s hands when he guides the smallest bead to your protruding pucker. He takes a moment to trace the little ball over the raised rim of your entrance, taunting you with the glide of it through the sticky, excessive mess of lubricant that leaks out of you. Then, without even warning you first, he presses it right in on the center wrinkle where it pops past the weakened barrier, just as easily as before. 

You take the second, the third and, to your mild pang of surprise, even the fourth ball with the same relative lack of resistance. The fifth was the one you’d struggled so much to accommodate the first time but it only registers as a slightly fuller feeling now as it forces your ass wide to accept its girth. Between the sensation as much as the underlying truth that your body was being invariably altered to suit their needs, you almost feel a tiny part of your start to psyche crack. What were they doing to you? This wasn’t natural. You weren’t supposed to have something that big inserted in your rectum. 

But even when you sob a broken little sound, helplessly rocking in a futile attempt to escape the inevitable, 25 merely murmurs soft reassurances at you as he presses the sixth and final ball to your throbbing hole. 

“Please, please, don’t! I - I can’t! I can’t take it, please, oh gods, please - -“

“Hush, dear assistant. Hush. I think you can … in fact, I’m quite sure of it.” 

Watching his svelte frame brace to act, you blubber a mindless sound as terror gallops through your empty head. But then you remember it. So suddenly it almost catches you off guard. Your safeword. 

You suck in a sharply raking breath. “Padi - - “

“Don’t,” he cuts across you, snapping that crimson attention up at your pinched face. “Waste it on this. I can assure you, you’re fine. See? It's already starting to slide in. You just need to relax.”

Feverishly whimpering, you hesitantly close your mouth and drop your gaze to glance between your legs again.  

And 25, seeing your compliance, pushes on it with his fingers to apply just enough pressure to make your loose entrance start to give. It’s too wide though, too thick, and you desperately force yourself to bear down, trying to make the ring of muscle wide enough to accept the intrusion. It doesn’t work though. The bead is simply too large for your ass to adequately stretch around it and as a result you spend the next mind numbing stretch of moments with your back end nauseatingly wedged open, seething a vicious sound. 

“Nnghnnnn! Pluh - please!” 

“That’s it, darling. Take a deep breath for me, now.” 

Your lungs almost don’t want to cooperate, so tight and stretched thin, almost as much as your ass is, but you reluctantly suck in a hitching gasp. 

He gives the ball a firm push in the same moment, and that hard won breath you’d struggled to pull in bursts out of you on a wounded, lurching groan when the thickest part sinks inside you. 

With your chin tucked down like that, you watch, wide eyed and mouth agape, as his gloved hand steadily eases that fat bead the rest of the way past your swollen rim. The sensation of your ass slowly closing around it, accepting it deeper, comes very close to destroying you. You couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t even begin to rationalize it in your spinning head. 

But 25 follows right after it with his fingers, feeding them into your body as he forces the string of beads even further into you to truly plug you up. And when he finally retracts his hand, a fresh wave of shock gradually washes over you when you feel your twitching hole slowly start to close around the remaining bit of hard rubber that still sticks out. Sealing around the intrusion to, from your perspective at least, lock it in place within you. Holding the beads deep inside your guts. 

And somehow that triggers your panic response, thinking — perhaps illogically — that he wasn’t going to be able to get them out. That you were stuck like this, stuffed so uncomfortably full and cramping from the intense pressure that pushes in on your organs. You start to hyperventilate, gasping and choking for air that suddenly seems to be in alarmingly short supply as you writhe in as much as you can in this awkwardly bound position. 

Flicking his eyes back up at the panicked sounds, 25 softly clicks his tongue at you as he reaches out to consolingly pet over your drenched cunt. “There, there. Calm down. There isn’t anything to get so upset about. These beads are on a string for a reason, you know.” 

You numbly shake your head, even though you’re not entirely what you’re saying ‘no’ to. It’s just too much. Your ass is far too stretched, too full, too stuffed to bursting, and it drives you out of your mind to even think that he wouldn’t be able to easily remove them when they seem so invariably wedged inside your shuddering body. Even his reasonable tone isn’t enough to get through to your overstimulated brain. 

Rather passively, 25 quietly watches you for the single span of another heartbeat and then he rises up to stand over you, briskly turning away to step from the chair. You’re distantly aware of him opening a drawer along the wall but you’re a little too caught up in this unexpected surge of emotion to pay him much mind. All you really know in that moment is how overwhelmed you are. 

But he soon shuffles back to where you’re seated, moving to stand by your shoulder now, and you squeak a frightened sound when he reaches for your face. You have no idea what he’s doing or what to expect, and then — your vision suddenly goes dark when he presses something over your eyes. 

“Wh - what - -“

“Just relax.” He tells you, unexpectedly gentle in the way he coos at you. “You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing, aren’t you? Let’s take away your sight for a moment until you can calm down.” 

You might have barked a humorless laugh at that, if you’d had the extra oxygen for it, but you settle instead on a faint whimper while he carefully winds that cool material around your head. It occurs to you, somewhat belatedly, that he was wrapping a strip of bandaging over your face to block out any input from your eyes, and you somewhat listlessly wonder what he thought that was going to accomplish. 

To your slow dawning surprise, though, the inability to see anything does indeed force your panicky mind to slow down a little bit. It’s not an immediate fix, or even a very quick one, but … gradually, your brain starts to relax into the comforting darkness. Even when you’re still hyper aware of your nudity, the tight ache of your nipples brought about the cold air, every little ache and twinge in your body, the uncomfortably full sensation in your ass — you don’t feel quite so overwhelmed anymore. Almost as if it’s forced your psyche to recompartmentalize what it’s processing. And in that restructuring, you’re able to fully comprehend what he’d said to you a moment ago. 

It was on a string for a reason. The beads weren’t going to get lost within you. He just needed to pull them out. A relief, even if you dreaded that coming to pass almost as much as the alternative. Was your ass ever going to recover from this? 

“There. That’s much better, isn’t it? Poor thing.” Clicking his tongue again, 25 gives the bandages over your eyes an almost condescending nudge to ensure they’re firmly in place. His hand falls away from your face then and you strain your ears to follow the movement, unable to tell what he’s doing now. 

Only to feel his gloved fingers descend upon one of your tightly coiled nipples to give it a casual tweak. 

“O - oh!” 

“Heh. As expected … even now, you’re still so terribly receptive to my slightest touch. I don’t even have to put a single finger on your pretty little pussy to know it’s soaking wet, darling. I can see it glistening from right here. Now that you’re returning to your senses, how does it feel to have those beads in your ass?” 

You swallow hard and open your mouth to respond, but nothing immediately comes out. You’re a bit too distracted by the way he pinches at your teat to lightly tug on it, plucking the straining bud with idle thought. And the responding twitch in your throbbing rear end … may the Cryo Archon help you. 

“It’s — a lot. Too big.”

“Does it hurt?”

You have to think about that for a moment. “N - no. Just … heavy. I feel a lot of pressure in my middle. Like I might — burst.” 

Humming a noncommittal sound, 25 abandons your tit in favor of sliding his searching fingers down your stomach, over the band of pudge where your curled legs makes your tummy crease, to dip between your legs. He quickly locates your clit and you hiss a sensitive sound, juddering for him, when he traces lazy circles over the swollen pearl. 

“I’m sure you could cum again,” he remarks offhandedly, an almost thoughtful inflection in his voice now. “And even if you didn’t want to, I’m sure I could coax it out of you. I know all the right buttons to push, after all. But I think it’s my turn to finish what I started to do the last time we were together like this. Don’t you?” 

Trembling anew at the borderline sultry tone in that whispered question, you mewl a soft sound at the loss of his hand on your cunt when he pulls away. You can hear him shuffling about there next to you, doing something, fiddling with something. 

In truth you half expect him to move back down to the foot of the chair and position himself between your legs. To take his cock out and slide it into you in a single, gliding plunge that would see you truly stretched to your limit. 

But, at length, he seems to turn towards your face again. 

“Open your mouth, darling.” 

You blink behind the makeshift blindfold. He’d rather have you suck him off? Even though your cunt was right there, ready and waiting, and so very, very drenched in slick arousal that you were sure he’d be able to fit inside without any trouble at all in spite of how tender you still felt from your last pounding. 

And you briefly hesitate at that notion, because … you’d never put your mouth on anyone other than Zandik. You’d also never seen 25’s before. Was it as aggressively excitable as 22’s? Even though they were all technically derivatives of the same original, their varying ages seemed to make all the difference in the world. 

Yet you’re hardly in any position right now to barter your way out of this, awkwardly bound and with your ass stuffed full of beads, and you knew that. Your only option was to go along with whatever he wanted while you hoped, prayed, that he was more tempered when it came to his amorous advances than that knuckleheaded 22. 

So you slowly open your mouth for him, hinging your jaw wide to accept the offering on your tongue. You earn yourself a murmur of praise for it, pleasing you a fair amount even as you brace for what was coming, fully expecting to feel a fleshy glans slide between your lips. 

But what you feel instead is something — two something’s on either side of your mouth passing between your top and bottom teeth to hook in the meat of your cheeks. Cool to the touch and unrelentingly solid, you realize quite immediately that it’s steel. Metal. Titanium or alloy, or — or something that stops you from closing your jaw when you instinctively try to rear back from it. A startled, highly confused noise bursts out of you but 25 seems to pay it little mind as he reaches behind your head, feeding the connecting strap around your skull, so he can fasten it into place. 

You almost start to panic again. Between being unable to see and now not even having use of your mouth, effectively rendering the safe word he’d given you useless, you feel your heartrate slam into a violent staccato. But when you try again to bring your teeth together only for them to clack against the metal keeping your lips wedged open, you force yourself to suck in a faltering breath through your nose. It was clearly too late for protests. 

“My,” he croons, finally taking half a step back to admire his handiwork as you helplessly mewl a sad little sound that seems to reverberate around you. “Don’t you just paint the loveliest picture? You’ll have to forgive me for not giving you some warning though. I was worried you might start gasping again if you knew what was coming.”

Reaching out again, 25 rather tenderly brushes his fingers over your temple to sweep some of the hair back from your face. You feel like a blithe idiot for it but you reluctantly lean into that unexpectedly gentle touch, seeking its comforts. The worst part was you couldn’t even fault him for his reasoning. Just thinking about how you must look in that moment is nearly enough to send you spiraling. 

And he rumbles a low sound of approval at the gesture, clearly pleased with you. He’s quick to withdraw his hand though, leaving you with no choice but to sit there with your mouth wide open while he fumbles with what you think must be his clothes. The ensuing shuffle seems unmistakably that and you whine another threadbare sound as you try to figure out what he plans to do next. It was astounding how vulnerable you felt without the use of your eyes. 

You get your answer soon enough, however, when he steps back up into your space again. A heavy gloved hand finds the top of your head and manually adjusts it at a particular angle, holding you there. And then something thick and decidedly fleshy slips into the space between your teeth in a slow moving glide that drags over your tongue. 

The bitter taste of salt sparks immediate recognition and you sputteringly choke on it but there’s nothing you can do to stop it like this. His cock just keeps feeding into your mouth even when you tense and try to turn away, the fingers on your skull tightening slightly. Straight to the back of your throat where you briefly gag on it before it starts to gradually retreat at that same, savory pace. 

A soft, faltering groan of masculine satisfaction filters out above you as 25 pulls his length out until only the tip remains. With a stilted little push he starts to push back in, the metal contraption hooked in your cheeks giving you no choice but to take whatever he decides to give you at any given time. You’re completely at his mercy like that. 

“Mmmnghn. Yes, that’s quite good, isn’t it? Your mouth feels delightful, my dear. Have you taken many cocks this way yet?” 

A muffled sound of protest slips out around him as you shake your head as much as you can, which only amounts to the slightest nudge of your neck. His hold on you was as good as the steel keeping your jaw wedged open. 

“I figured as much. Your pussy seems to be the more popular choice, and rightfully so. But I have to admit to having a certain affinity for these kinds of bondage games. You look breathtaking all tied up, blindfolded and gagged. Oh, and we can’t forget your stuffed ass, too.” 

He issues a low, vibrating chuckle that makes you uncontrollably shake, nosing a huffy sound when he slowly pushes in on the back of your throat again. You can feel excess saliva starting to pool around the base of your tongue and as he proceeds to draw himself out, the drag of his length smearing the mess around inside your mouth. Gradually drawing it up towards your teeth and your lips. 

You make a valiant attempt to swallow it down but it’s a nearly impossible, awkward task when you can’t close your jaw. All you can do is try not to choke on it while he fucks into you at that tortuously slow, steady pace. In. And out. In and back out again, until you can feel the drool starting to escape to run down your chin in sticky rivulets. It almost makes you glad for the blindfold, thankful you don’t have to watch what’s going on around you. This way you can just focus on your breathing, on not choking, while your ass sadly clenches around the beads plugging it up. And your poor cunt … 

So neglected now, it can only sadly weep while 25 gradually works his way up to a slightly quicker tempo. He doesn’t quite put the same amount of force into it that 65 had while drilling up into your body, but it’s enough to have you gurgling and making unseemly sounds that seem to fill up the space around you more than they should. 

He doesn’t even try to hide how much he’s enjoying this, grunting softly while he alternates between gripping your head tightly and caressing over it in encouraging pets. You almost find yourself slipping into a trance as you’re nudged back and forth, stiffly rocking into the motion while he uses your mouth for his pleasure. Hot and thick between your lips, it’s not exactly hard to imagine that same cock churning up your guts in a similar fashion. You’re certain this strictly tempered pace would have you unraveling in humiliatingly short order, if he’d just stick it in where you really wanted it. 

But he clearly has no intention of doing that, evidently content with letting your tongue bathe the underside of his rigid length in copious sheets of spit that then bubble out around him. Even when he reaches down with one hand to idly tweak one of your nipples, making you squeak a harried sound, it seems to be more for his benefit than yours. 

“You do like to have these played with, don’t you?” He drawls, amusement lacing his thickened voice. “Honestly, if it were just me, I think I could keep you caged up down here indefinitely. You have no idea what else I could introduce you to, if I had the time and the freedom to move independently. Just helping myself to your body whenever the mood struck. Mmmnghnn. Unfortunately, the restrictions in place are absolute. I have to be mindful of what I do to you, lest I invoke a certain someone’s ire.” 

You can’t help but squeak a half choked sound at that. Was this really his idea of being mindful with you? 

“Oh, don’t be like that, dear. You know how it is. By the way, you still have those lovely beads in your ass if I’m not mistaken. You haven’t lost them, have you?” 

Twitching at the question, you give your head a hesitant shake. 

“Good. I want you to bear down on them while you’re servicing my cock. Go on. Try to push them out.” 

A squawk of real affront rattles around inside your chest. You’re appalled at what he’s suggesting, what he’s asking of you, but when you try to turn your head again he just jerks you right back into place with his hand. 

Pushing down a little harder, 25 starts to snap his hips with greater fervor to have his cock jabbing at the back of your mouth. You cough and sputter, almost wretching on it, but the awful gurgling sounds coming out of you don’t even give him a moment's pause. And it occurs to you, belatedly, that he was punishing you for not doing as he’d said. For trying to think for yourself instead of letting him make all of your decisions for you. 

The warm sting of tears prickle your eyes while you heave on his cock, struggling to keep the contents of your stomach down. But between the added tension in your body, the lurching, choking sobs, the pressure in your guts seems to only intensify and you can feel the last bead starting to push down on your sphincter. Your puffed up rim doesn’t want to relent though, not after it’s been so stretched and forced open today. It’s tender and a little sore, weakened in the aftermath of everything it’s already been through. 

You know 25 won’t give up easily though, and you pull a shuddering breath in through your nose before reluctantly bearing down as he’d instructed. The ball barely moves at all, however, only applying more pressure to the sticky clench of your hole, making you wail a muffled cry of frustration. 

“Oouughn. That’s it. Push again, darling. Let me watch you struggle to get it out.”

For a brief moment you feel nothing but confusion, wondering how he could possibly see what was happening between your legs from that angle, but then you remember the mirror. He must have been watching you in its reflection, so he could enjoy both ends of you at once. How deviously cruel. 

Sniveling rather sadly, you do what he’s asked of you and stiffly work your muscles to inch the wide girth further down until the ruined ring of muscle has no choice but to split apart again. You can feel it starting to breach your body, just barely, and you hang there in some horrible balancing act for a long stretch of seconds while he continues to fuck into you mouth. 

At length, once you’ve managed to find some semblance of your bearings again, you give another weak flex of the muscle. The bead nudges forward, just barely, only to sink back in when your hole simply won’t open wide enough. You give a tiny little shriek, earning another shuddering moan from 25, his fingers digging into your scalp to indicate his growing excitement. So he liked watching you struggle like this. The bastard. 

You almost catch yourself starting to panic again, thinking the beads were really stuck after all. But some potent combination of adrenaline and blind desperation urges you on. Compelling you to try again. 

When you push this time, you put everything you have into it even when your body twinges in protest. You ignore it, though, pushing, pushing, pushing, and a violent jolt tears through you when the rubber ball finally slips out to the widest point in its circumference. It hovers there for a long, breath stealing moment that seems to stretch on forever and then, with one last weakening flex of the muscle, it slowly pinches the rest of the way loose until gravity takes over and drops it to dangle heavily from your abused hole. 

25 grunts a terribly heated sound at the sight of it, shuddering faintly above you, while your eyes roll back in your head beneath the blindfold. 

“Ooughn. Fuck! You really should see yourself right now. That tight little hole of yours is starting to gape. I bet you’ll be perfectly ready for a cock by the time we’re through. Would you like that, my darling assistant? Want me to fuck your ass next? Huh?” 

He gives the side of your face a sharp pat, pat, pat with his slapping fingers to pull your attention back to him, making you seethe. But when you still don’t give him the answer he wants, 25 uses his pinching hold on your head to pull you into a nodding motion that makes you take him straight to the back of your throat, battering your tonsils. 

“Mmnnghnn! Yessss. That’s it. Keep pushing, dear. Can you get the next one out? That should be easier than the first.”

Stiffly lurching on his cock, you screw your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the rough treatment while you weakly bear down again. At first the muscles in your pelvic floor don’t want to cooperate, so overused and sore they just stay in half locked suspension for a horrifying beat of stillness. 

Then you feel the second biggest bead start to move with the loosening of your sphincter, perhaps pulled by the one hanging outside of you. It drops right down to your entrance which instinctively clenches at the pressure, briefly holding it in place, before you can manage to relax the tension in your shuddering frame. It slowly starts to breach, one agonizing inch at a time, only to almost suck back in when your poor ass twitches under the force it exerts. 

You frantically rally your resolve, clenching down so hard the bead abruptly pops right out with a messy slurp. 

That’s not all that comes out though. 

In a sudden rush of excessive, sticky slick, the mess of lubricant he’d injected into your guts splurts out too, as do the rest of the beads when your loosened ass doesn’t have the strength to grip them anymore. One right after another in descending sizes until the last one finally comes loose to drop to the floor underneath you. 

And you give a horrified, full bodied jerk when, in bearing down so forcefully, your bladder gives way too. You’re just suddenly pissing all over yourself, unable to stop it when there was simply too much pressure on your guts. It warmly squirts out of you and dribbles down your pulsing cunt to coat you as well as the chair in it.

You’re so caught up in your own anguished blubbering that you almost miss the way 25 hisses a truly bestial sound until his cock eagerly flexes inside your mouth, signaling his fast approaching end. You have only a split second to feel the shock of it wash over you, startled that it would be the sight of you wetting yourself that sent him over the edge, and then your throat is suddenly being flooded with hot, salty spend. 

Immediately choking on it, you try to yank your head back but he holds you right where you are, gloved fingers lightly twitching in your hair while he groans his pleasure. You have no choice but to accept it all, squirming in place as you try in vain to swallow it down, but it seems a man in his youth has a lot to give. And you don’t doubt for one second it’s potently virile too. 

“Good girl!” He seethes at last, sounding almost vicious in the way he all but snarls it at you. It’s the first time you’ve heard him come even close to losing his cool, the first time he’s ever emoted anything other than reasonable, levelheaded calm around you, and you’re quite certain you can hear a hint of 22 in that aggressively growled praise. 

Feeling faint and lightheaded, you suck in a raggedly thick mouthful of air when he suddenly yanks his cock back, leaving you to obscenely gape around the lingering semen in your mouth. You start to turn your head away, mewling sadly in the back of your throat, but both of his hands slide over your cheeks to tilt your face back up. 

You’re aware of him leaning in close then but with the bandages in the way you have no way of knowing what he’ll do next, so it comes as something of a shock when you feel coarse lips press a hard, lingering kiss into your forehead. 

Lips. 

Not the surgical mask. 

He’d pulled it down?

It lasts for only a fleetingly brief moment though before he nudges you back, presumably to peer down into your ruined face. You feel the urge to cringe away from him, knowing you probably look a frightful mess after all of that especially when your mouth is still wedged wide open, but the palms on either cheek keep you firmly in place. 

“That’s a very good girl, you know that?” 25 growls, giving you a rough, jostling shake before pressing his forehead tight to yours, as evidenced by the softly curling hair you suddenly find clinging to your skin. “You never disappoint, do you? I really could just keep you all to myself if given half a chance. What do you say? Do you want to come stay with me when that old fool dies? I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart. I promise I will.” 

⭐

I … 

I simply do not know what to say here anymore. 

I’m sure it would be in my best interests to drop off another letter for Lord Dottore to ‘deliver’ on my behalf, just as I normally would, so that he does not start to suspect me of anything. But I am truly at a loss as to what to even write at this point. 

Perhaps, then, this letter should be just for me, meant for my eyes only. I could go so far as to burn it afterwards to ensure it’s never found and read by anyone else, but I almost fail to see the point in it. So much has happened here that I just wouldn’t even know where to begin, if I thought I could speak of it at all. Between the restrictions placed upon me and the exact sensitivity of the subject matter, I’m quite certain that what I really want to talk about would all too quickly land me in hot water regardless of who happened to stumble upon it. I suppose, then, it might just be better not to write anything at all.

Oh, I just miss you so very much, mama. I want to come home more than anything else. And I know I should not feel this stupid for saying that but I do feel that way, especially when I consider that you will never read these words as I’ve written them. I’ll have to dispose of this note as soon as I’m done or I really will be tempting fate more than I already have. But even if I only speak it into the void, I simply must say these words to you: 

Please be all right. 

Even if it is the very last thing I ever do in this world, I hope to hear your voice one last time before either my own untimely demise or yours. I’m truly not sure which prospect seems more pressing given the current circumstances. Perhaps it could even be a funny twist of fate, and both of us are living on the same borrowed time. 

But I beg of you. Just wait for me, mama. I swear I’ll find some way to get to you soon. 

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“And what’s this?” Zandik asks when you step into the library with the delivered package in your hands some odd minutes later. 

You try very hard not to look too guilty about it as you make your way back over to his desk, feeling incredibly self conscious and suspect even after taking a moment to calm your wildly pounding heartbeat down on the first floor. A very real part of you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact you’d just done that. Particularly not when the sting of your most recent spanking was still warming your bottom with the occasional muted throb. 

Luckily, though, it is laughably easy to write your fluster off as having to do with the fact that you were only wearing a slip and his coat, which you were happy to play into if it meant concealing your misbehavior from him. Although Zandik didn’t truly seem to care all that much about the letters you wrote to your mother, you still didn’t want him to be displeased with you for doing something so impulsive and foolish this soon after your other most recent impulsively foolish decision.  

But if anything about your demeanor rouses his suspicions he doesn’t show it, and you’re immensely grateful for that as you hurry back to the sanctuary of his lap. You were freezing! 

“I’m not sure, Master.” You murmur, stepping around the corner of the desk to come up beside him. “One of the Fatuus who just dropped off our supplies gave it to me. She said it was from Lord Regrator.” 

Zandik cocks a brow at that as you carefully ease yourself down to perch on his knee. “Feofan? Let me see it for a moment.” 

You hand it over without fuss, watching as the old man curiously inspects the exterior from every conceivable angle. Almost like he thought it might be a bomb. Which admittedly does not make you feel overly pleased to have received it. 

But, at length, he seems to ultimately deem it safe, because he hands it back to you with a rather curt exhale. “Well, don’t I look like the jilted one now? I wonder where my present is.” 

Frowning slightly, you glance from the paper wrapped parcel to him. “But how can you tell it’s actually from Lord Regrator? I don’t see any writing or insignia on it.” 

“Can’t you smell it?” He asks, reaching over to tap a pointed finger against the decidedly box shaped package. “It’s got the smell of tobacco clinging to it, just like everything else that idiot chain smoker touches, and that’s his favorite scented ink wafting out of it too. I’d guess he has a nice little handwritten note waiting for you in there.” 

Despite everything else that’s left you debauched and terrorized, you still somehow find the wherewithal to flush over that. And rather profusely too. It really was like something out of a cheesy romance drama from Fontaine. A lord and a lady … no, a lord and a street urchin, as he’d so aptly put it. He hadn’t even necessarily been wrong to call you that, but then why go to all this trouble for someone who was clearly far, far beneath him? 

You can feel Zandik silently watching you as your mouth tugs into a small frown, contemplating this conundrum quite deeply, until he brings his hand down off the armrest at your back to lightly pinch at your side, getting your attention. 

“Go on and open it. I very much doubt he’s sent you anything that would warrant all this fretting. Although I must admit that you look very cute with your brows drawn together like that.”

“Master …” 

Trying not to pout at his teasing, you somewhat listlessly turn your gaze back to the package. 

Upon giving it another moment of thought, you hesitantly start to tug at a corner of the paper, carefully opening it along the seam. And you’re surprised to find that Zandik had been quite right when, in unsealing the thing, you get a strong whiff of a decidedly floral perfume. It almost throws you off at first when it initially strikes you as being something you might expect from a woman, but … the more you sit with it the more you start to pick up on the headier notes, the vaguely masculine edge lurking just below the surface. Like a drop of poison dripped into a rich and fragrant cup of wine. 

A faint shudder works up your spine, but you keep pulling at the paper until you’re finally left holding a fancy, black velvet gift box in your hands. There’s a set of initials stitched in vibrant purple thread in the center, and a dainty little note tucked in against the upper right corner underneath a stylishly slim violet bow. 

You nearly catch yourself throwing the thing away from you as if it’s scalded your fingers. Just the box alone was nicer than anything you’d ever owned in your entire life and you don’t know what to make of it. Not the gift itself or the gesture. Why would he possibly send something like this to you? It just didn’t make any sense. 

But of course Zandik picks up on the mood you’ve slipped into, though, and he gives your waist a slightly more encouraging nudge now. “What’s wrong, girl? That’s a strange face for you to make. Haven’t you ever received a present before?” 

Your cheeks grow uncomfortably warm while you valiantly fight down the urge to wilt. You can feel the sting of that deep in your chest even when you know he isn’t seriously mocking you or looking down on the circumstances your upbringing. It’s just hard not to feel so out of place in this situation and a velvet lined gift box only seems to further highlight that fact. 

“Of course I have. My mother and father certainly used to gift me presents on my birthday and for solstice. It’s just … this is much too nice for Lord Regrator to give me. I don’t know how I can possibly accept this from him.”

“You don’t even know what’s inside yet.” He reasonably points out, much to your growing consternation. 

“Yes, but … it already looks so expensive and nice. Doesn’t it? So whatever’s inside must be even nicer than that to justify the packaging. But even if it’s empty, I’ve still never had anything this — valuable before.” 

“Ah.” He says, as if that explained everything. “I see, now. You’re embarrassed to have received something that feels, from your perspective, at least, like it’s far above your lot in life. You don’t think you deserve it, do you?”

Unfortunately you can’t seem to help the way you cringe at that. Damn him for being so very astute. “I … I guess that’s not an entirely inaccurate statement.” 

Humming a brief sound of acknowledgement, Zandik reaches over and plucks the little note from the decorative ribbon, flipping it over in his hand to look at what’s written on it. 

“Well, this may not amount to a whole lot or make you feel any better, but I can at least say this much; Feofan is exceptionally good at judging the true worth of things and he isn’t the type to waste his mora on empty platitudes or performative gestures. Whatever is in that box, he’s deemed it’s worth to be equivalent to whatever estimation you’ve earned from him. If you want my opinion, I’d say he’s rather pleased with you. Here.”

He passes you the diminutive card which you take in a numb hand. One side is printed with the insignia of the Northland Bank, which hardly comes as a surprise, and when you flip it over …

Dearest poppet, 

I do hope you won’t mind the suddenness of this gesture, but I couldn’t help thinking of you when I spotted this little treasure at a particular sort of merchant's stall on my way back through Snezhnograd, and I simply had to act on the opportunity to purchase it for you. 

I’m well aware, just as I am sure you are, that we do not yet have the sort of rapport that would generally facilitate the gifting of such items to someone of our acquaintanceship, but please don’t hold it against me. 

I must admit to a certain fondness for you after seeing how very sweet you were with my much beloved old friend, and even getting the chance to help you strengthen that bond with him myself. As such, I am rather more amenable to the idea of playing with you again sometime soon, and I pray that this small gift will stand as testament to my sincerity in saying that. 

Even putting that aside, though, please don’t hesitate to use it with your highly regarded master in my stead if you simply cannot contain your curiosity long enough to wait. I promise I won’t hold it against either of you, but I will ask to hear all about it the next time I stop by for a visit. 

Best regards, 

You slowly blink down at the letter, trying to make any sense of it at all. The words themselves seem simple enough to understand, and yet … 

Turning your head, you shoot a helpless little look at Zandik. “Is he trying to say … he wants you to share me with him?” 

“Is it really that surprising? After all, the two of you are already sharing me, in a sense.” He’s oblivious to the way your heart wrenches inside your chest when he takes the note back from you again to set it aside. “That isn’t to say that there are any expectations for you to do anything you do not wish to do, though. The decision is yours in the end. But, if nothing else, it would at least make Feofan’s comings and goings easier to navigate if the three of us are somewhat — mutual with each other.” 

You’re admittedly a bit scandalized by what he’s suggesting and you don’t know if you like it, per se, but you do understand what he’s getting at. Just because Zandik had taken you as his lover that didn’t mean he was going to stop being Pantalone’s lover too. Or vice versa. And it wasn’t even that you were opposed to the idea, exactly, given how very handsome and lovely the banker was, but you were still somewhat apprehensive about it. How would that even work for the three of you to have each other in that way? 

And that was to say absolutely nothing of how the segments seemed to share the old man’s affinity for you as well. Certainly this was far too much for any one person to have? 

But before you can truly get caught up in your own worrying, the sensation of cool, bony fingers slipping under your chin snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts and your eyes grow wide when Zandik manually turns you around to look at him again. 

“Don’t think about it too hard, sweet girl. It isn’t lost on me that you already have … a lot on your plate, so to speak. Even as much as that might be an understatement. There’s no rush though. I’m not dying just yet, you know. So we have time to figure it out.” Pausing to pull in a patient breath, exhaling it through his nose, he gives your chin an encouraging tap with his fingertips. “For now, you should probably open up your gift and see what it is he’s even sent you. I’m fairly curious to know myself.”

A tentative yet no less delighted smile pulls at your mouth now to match the warm flutter within your chest. It truly is embarrassing how you find yourself so utterly soothed into complacency by his doting pats and fond words. And nearly inconceivable, too, how very much you liked him. How soft and fuzzy around the edges your brain got whenever he talked to you in this manner. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected to ever feel this way about anyone at all. Certainly not someone your own age, even less a man who had decades on you, and yet here you were. So tempered and coddled. 

Sending him a mildly playful look, you start to work on pulling the decorative ribbon off of the box in your hands. “Is Lord Regrator a very good gift giver then?”

“You could say that. Depending on your definition.” He scoffs, giving your side another squeeze of encouraging approval, clearly pleased by your coming around. “If nothing else, I can tell you he has a somewhat — eclectic taste, at times. But I’m eager to see which way his interest in you has decided to manifest.” 

You don’t know what that means in this context but you’re a bit too caught up in the eagerness of unwrapping your present to really question it any further, especially after denying yourself that simple joy initially. You’d find out soon enough anyway, and you can’t seem to stop the excited giggle that escapes your mouth when you at last get the ribbon completely off and start to open the top. 

Smooth as butter, the velvet lid hinges back to reveal a sinuously sleek, sumptuous purple cloth of the finest silk, so glossy it looked like it would be faintly wet to the touch. Your fingers slip and slide against it when you reach in to tug it away, revealing what you naturally assume to be a piece of jewelry at first glance. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before though, and you spend a long moment just taking it in. 

Nestled at the top of the box rests a band of black leather that looks as if it might be intended to wear as a necklace. But as if in contrast to the simplicity of the material, it’s inlaid with finely cut, white little jewels that make it glitter and gleam in the light, sparkling in a rather arresting way. It’s attention grabbing and flashy, that’s for certain. And that all seems fairly unremarkable to you in the grand scheme of things, even for as arguably pretty you may find it to be. You were not overly familiar with what was in style or popular amongst the upperclasses, after all. 

But then there’s a dainty silver chain that trails down the front of it from where it hooks to a simple ring for you to consider. It’s long, pooling towards the bottom of the box wherein it eventually ends at a small metal apparatus that looks like a fastener of some sort. Towards the middle of that lightweight chain are two branch offs that delicately curl out to the sides and end in the same kind of steel contraption as the lower one to form a matching set. And you’re suddenly not so sure it’s jewelry anymore as you try to figure out how one could possibly wear this or what it might look like when on. Try as you might, though, it doesn’t really make any logical sense to you. 

“Oh, my.” Zandik murmurs, a strange little inflection in his voice when he reaches across to slip one long finger under part of the chain which shudders faintly, glinting in the light. 

You turn your head to look at him, undeniably perplexed. “… what is it, Master? Do you know?” 

“I have a few guesses.” He admits, letting his mouth tug into an amused, half cocked smirk now. Letting the chain slip back down to rest along the interior velvet lining again, he then reaches up to give the leather a pointed tap. “I do believe this is meant to go around your neck, little girl. Personally I might have gone with something a bit more utilitarian, but I have to give Feofan his credit. He has a fine eye for this sort of thing. You’ll look breathtaking wearing this.”

You can’t help the way you squirm at that, feeling really quite pleased and warm with the interested curling that immediately starts up in your gut. As expected, then. Even after two orgasms you still weren’t yet satisfied. You could have his attentions on you at all hours of the day and it probably wouldn’t be enough to accomplish anything except leaving you dreamy and drunk on that potent rush. 

“… and the chains, sir?”

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” He says, tracing down the longest center piece with a wavering finger. You watch, utterly transfixed, imagining he was touching something else like that, as he follows the path out to one of the middle apparatuses which he takes a moment to thoughtfully stroke. 

“This part goes on one of your nipples.”

A cold note of uncertainty manages to pierce through the hazy fog, and you send him a slow look. 

“On my … chest, Master?” 

Zandik flicks his gaze up from the gift box to find your suddenly nervous eyes. “That’s right. They clamp right into place on those sensitive tits of yours to squeeze and pinch them. And they’re tight, too, so they’ll stay exactly where they are until someone is nice enough to remove them for you. Insidious sounding little things, aren’t they?”  

You shudder so hard at the imagined pain of it that you have to close your eyes, trying to brace against the mental image which comes to mind at the thought of such tortures. “Oh. I - I see. That sounds like it … hurts.” 

“Certainly it does. But this sort of thing is usually reserved for girls who like a bit of pain with their pleasure. And given how much you seem to like having your pretty tits toyed with, I have good reason to suspect you might find that you like this too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how fast you cum when I give your nipples a nice tweak for you.” 

A deeply flustered whimper bubbles up in your throat, and you quickly turn away from him. 

But Zandik is having none of it, evidently, and he reaches out to rather nonchalantly delve his hand straight down the front of the coat you’d borrowed from him, making you yelp in surprise. He finds the top of your slip much too fast for you to do anything about it though, and your shoulders defensively hunch up when he slides down the front of that too. 

The bony jut of long fingers quickly finds the fleshy swell of one breast, pausing only long enough to give it a few tight, palpitating squeezes that make the nipple start to coil at the indelicate ministration. Then he brings thumb and forefinger together over that stiffening bud to give it a rather tight pinch. It sends such an intense tremor down your spine that you immediately find yourself sitting up straighter on his lap with a subconscious, supplicating arch of your body, noising a stuttering moan entirely against your will. 

“Eeh - ooughnn!” 

“Thank you for demonstrating my point so beautifully for me, girl. You make a very good assistant, you know that?” 

Whimpering faintly, you glance down at your chest to look at the rumpled front of the coat where his arm disappears into it. And you find yourself not so subtly grinding yourself on his thigh while you fidget in place, seething softly under your breath. 

“But … but, Master. Your fingers are a bit different from s - steel toys … aren’t they?” 

Zandik hums a brief sound of consideration, easing up his hold on your aching teat so he can casually pluck at it instead. Encouraging it to harden into an even tighter, finer point, making delicate flesh ache with the friction. 

“Hm. It is a bit different, I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I can’t also pinch your little tits until they’re throbbing and sore just as well.” 

That’s the only warning you get before he catches the bud again, this time trapping it under the coarse pads between his thumb and forefinger. And this time he squeezes down hard, tighter and tighter until reflexive tears spring up in your eyes and you give a wounded jolt against his hand. 

But even then your pussy is somehow still not deterred in the slightest, shocking you a great deal even as you squirm so fitfully you almost go up on your toes where they press into the floor. His arm remains unbudging though, no matter how wildly you shake and try to shy away from that sharp, blinding starburst of pain, holding you in place with nothing more than the screaming tip of your breast. He leaves you no choice but to be still for him, or risk pulling at your teat even more, and you finally have to force yourself to relax into it as much as you can. 

Worst of all, it does feel good, even through the intense sting of discomfort. 

And you can’t quite hide that from him as you bring your legs together in a tight, rubbing press while you moan a needy sound of wanting into the air. 

“My, what a very good girl you are. Do you enjoy having your pretty tits hurt like this?” 

For a moment you can’t seem to find your voice, so very overwhelmed with what’s happening that you just sway unsteadily there on his knee. But then, as if coaxing it out of you, he starts to lightly pull on your captured nipple to stretch the skin slightly, and you outright choke on some mindless animal noise. 

“It - it’s too much, Master, please! It hurts, it hurts —“

“That’s not what I asked you, is it? I want to know if you like it.” 

You turn your head away with a blubbering little sob. “Y - yes … my body is getting — unghnn! Ex - excited again, but it’s … it’s too much, sir! Really!” 

And just like that he releases the now throbbing tit, setting in to consolingly pet over it and rub away the hurt while you heave a terribly gutted sound. 

“Very good. I like when you use your words to tell me how you’re feeling. I noticed that’s something you seem to struggle with quite a bit, but we’ll continue to work on it.” Exhaling an almost chiding breath, Zandik gives your teat another soft pinch to work out more of the sting. “Really, though, I can’t even say I’m particularly surprised. At this point I almost have to wonder what doesn’t excite you. I wasn’t expecting you to still have all this energy after I already took care of you twice now.”

You press your lips into a warbling line, biting back the impulse to apologize for it. But he’d said he found it endearing, that this aspect of you wasn’t troublesome even despite the fact that he couldn’t keep up with you in his old age. That was probably to be expected, though. You were practically thrumming in your fertility, your body so eager to respond to the slightest touch when it had never known any before this. And even now you feel incredibly plump and full sitting against the comparatively frail, narrow planes of his body. 

As illogical as it is, something about that sharp contrast seems to drive you invariably wild and you can feel your hot cunt starting to slick again even when you were still hyper aware of the warm ooze of his spend gathering at your entrance. You’re already a complete mess but you wouldn’t complain if he decided to make another in you. Or another after that. Or —- 

“So fidgety.” He murmurs at your continued wriggling the more he pets over your stiff nipple and nowhere else, least of all where you wanted him the most.

Gods, you just couldn’t stand it!

“Please, Master. Will you … play with me again?” 

He huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Already? You’re going to end up sore and overused if you keep going like this. But, well. Maybe that’s just what greedy little girls need to be happy, hm?” 

Sedately pulling his arm back, Zandik abandons your breast and slips out from the inside of the jacket before reaching down to give your thigh a rather doting pat. 

“Don’t forget about your gift. You’d better put it somewhere safe for the next time Feofan comes by to see you. I’m sure you’ll want to try it out with him.”

Your cunt gives a muted little throb at the thought as you turn your hazy attention back towards the box in your lap again, wondering if Lord Regrator would actually have you that way. And this present … you weren’t completely opposed to trying it, you supposed, even though it still scared you a fair amount. It was hard not to be with those punishing metal clamps. 

“But Master,” you say, abruptly realizing that you only have two nipples. “What is the third one for? Does it — clamp onto something as well?” 

“Hm? Ah, that’s right.” Chuckling a vaguely ominous sound, Zandik reaches out to lift the bottom half of the petite chain, making it delicately shiver. “This attaches to your receptive little clit, sweetness.”

You go ramrod stiff, so shocked by what he’s just said that it feels as if the room is slowly tipping to one side around you. “My … my — cunt, sir?”

“Indeed. It’s nothing to look so frightened over, is it? I’m sure it will be rather uncomfortable at first, yes. But I strongly suspect you’ll quickly come to like the way it pulls at your clitoris and shifts with you every time you move. Judging by that look you’re giving me, I can tell you aren’t quite convinced though. In that case would you like me to share something else of interest with you?” 

At your stilted little nod, he goes on. 

“There’s a good girl. That unceasing curiosity of yours wins me over every time, you know. And I must confess that I love the way you hang off my every word, even when your insatiable cunt is trying to do all of your thinking for you. But, in the name of educating you, not to scare you, I’ll tell you that some people will even go so far as to piece through their clitorial hood and wear jewelry in it. Pretty hoops or rings that provide constant stimulation in their day to day activities. I’ve heard some say it’s a unique form of glorious torture for the wearer. Not nearly enough to reach orgasm but always a little wet, a little wanting. Men can have similar piercings too, of course, but I’m inclined to think it’s more about the aesthetics of the look than in any real benefit. So, you see, a bit of clamping doesn’t really sound all that bad in comparison, does it?” 

You can feel the blood draining from your face as you stare at him, utterly gobsmacked by this information. “P - piercings? With … needles, sir?”

Zandik nods, watching your reaction closely. “That’s right. To my knowledge such practices were popular mostly in Natlan and in certain parts of Sumeru’s vast deserts. I don’t believe it ever caught on much in the rainforest or anywhere beyond that though.” 

“Does that … interest you much, Master?”

He gives a vague shrug of his narrow shoulders at that. “Not particularly. Once healed, the look of it can be quite nice. But as much as I do enjoy the thought of you always being in a constant state of mild arousal, I have little interest in keeping my hands and my tongue off of that pretty clit of yours while it mends itself afterward. In that sense, temporary tortures are much preferred for both of us. Wouldn’t you agree? Besides, I don’t think you need much help on the arousal front, if you want my opinion.”

With that, he plucks the box from your slack hands and sets it aside on his cluttered desk with a rather curt sigh. Then he brings his hands together to grab you around the middle, insistently nudging you further back until you’re sitting with your shoulders pressed to his front, facing out at the rest of the library in a way that almost makes you feel strangely infantile. You could have just easily been sitting on your fathers knee when you were little, begging him to bounce you. 

Unfortunately you can only think about Zandik bouncing you on something other than his knee in that moment, which hardly helps with your shameful fluster over having him hold you in his lap like that. 

“Now,” he intones as one of his arms wraps around your middle, stretching up and across to latch onto a tit where he proceeds to give it a kneading squeeze, while the other trails down to possessively grab at your lower belly. Clutching you to him and fondling you at the same time, further cementing those less than decent thoughts in the back of your mind. “I’ll tend to your cunt one more time but listen to me well, girl. No more after this for today. You need to give your body a chance to rest and recover from what’s already been done to it. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, sir. I understand.” You rush to respond, unable to keep the trembling excitement out of your voice as you look down at yourself in quick simmering anticipation. 

It’s almost astounding just how fast your arousal comes crashing back to the forefront of your mind now that you know you’re about to feel the rush of him playing in your cunt again. Even though he’s right and you can feel a distant twinge of soreness, both in your pussy and along the swell of your still tender ass, neither really seems to stop you from jumping at the chance for more pets, more rubs, more shuddering pleasure at Zandik’s hands. 

And you readily spread your legs wide for him, slouching down against his front just enough for you to nudge your pelvic mound up in a supplicating manner. Letting your head rest back against his shoulder while you do it, you offer your cunt to him just as a cat might present its hind quarters for scritches. Silently begging him to follow through and touch you there again. Finding yourself willing to do almost anything just to get it. 

But Zandik merely scoffs a rueful sound at the eager display, turning his face inward to press an unexpectedly tender kiss into your hair. He simply lingers there for a long moment, just breathing in the scent of you, while the hand on your belly stays immobile, holding onto you. But the fingers on your chest give you one last squeeze through the borrowed coat before sliding away to work on loosening the buttons on it, much to your fidgeting delight. 

He only unfastens them half of the way down though, deciding to leave the bottom portion rumpled around your middle when the jacket was a bit too big on you, making it easy to simply nudge it out of the way. You give a sensitive little shudder at the cool air that immediately rushes in to assault your body when he gets it open, spine arching so enthusiastically it almost hurts as his hand delves inside again. Finding the top of your slip easily enough, he gives the thin silk a demanding tug, inching it down far enough for your left breast to slip out where he leaves the fabric bunched and twisted under that fleshy swell. Reaching over with a sedate motion, he casually does the same on the other side and you soon hiss a heated sound when both of your tightly coiled nipples cut up through the air, utterly unhindered. 

They seem especially tender after the attention he’d already shown then earlier, especially the one he’d pinched and pulled, and you tremble so hard it feels like you’re going to levitate right up off his lap when he pinches it again. Eyes screwing shut as your mouth drops open to heave, you tip your head back against his shoulder to blearily blink up at the ceiling. 

“Oouughnnn …”

“Such pretty sounds for a pretty girl. If not your little clit then perhaps you’d enjoy having these pierced instead?” 

He gives your teat a slow motion, taunting tug to pull at the skin, making you hiss, only to slowly let it slip through his fingers a mere moment later. That rush of friction has you all but flooding your already damp and compromised panties, sniffling sadly as you force your chin back down so you can look at the state of your poor nipple. Flushed and aching in its fleshy stretch up off your body.

“O - oh. Please, Master. Don’t even joke about that …”

Zandik chuckles a low sound of knowing behind you, inspiring another slow motion wave of gooseflesh to prickle down your body. “Yes, yes. These are already sensitive enough as it is, hm? You don’t need any help there either, I suppose. But you might be surprised to find how much the thought actually intrigues you. Just think about these pretty tits of yours, always half hard and in need of my attention.”

Sliding his hand off of the first breast, he slowly reaches to the other side to lightly pinch and tweak the second. 

“Or you might even find the added weight on them enjoyable. I’m sure you’d like to have these little nipples in a constantly raised state, fat and puffy for me. Ready for pinching at any given moment. Wouldn’t you?” 

Shuddering intensely at the mental image as much as the sensation of him toying with your breast, you weakly let your head tip back against his shoulder once again while your hands reach out to stiffly grab at the armrests. Not for the first time you find yourself idly wondering how this place had started to turn you into such a masochist, and one of the highest order at that, even as you gladly let the rush of it swallow you up. You’d never even thought to entertain such perverted notions before this, but now —- 

“Mmm … ahh! Master! Please!” 

“And just think of all the lovely jewelry you could wear in them too.” He goes on, lightly nuzzling at your hair while he speaks. “There are many different choices and styles for good girls such as yourself. Cute and dainty barbells that are perfect for nibbling on.”

He punctuates this with a grinding knead at the stiffened bud between his fingers, rolling the sensitive flesh back and forth, back and forth. Ever so slowly, back and forth. 

“Or you could wear pretty little rings in them instead. I must admit that I’m a bit more partial to this option, if I had to choose one. I could tie tiny bells on them so that I would always hear you coming or going, and never lose track of where you are.” 

You suck in a half strangled breath at the thought, making him laugh a vaguely sly sound. 

“Would you like that, girl? Being my little house kitten instead of my maid?” 

Whimpering softly, you turn your head to blindly stare at one of the many crammed bookshelves in the library. What he was saying as much as what he was doing is almost too much for you to take. “I … I think I’d like almost anything, as long as you were the one doing it, Master.” 

“Oh, and what a good answer that is. But you’re already such a sweet pet for me, and I have no interest in becoming some cruel tyrant of a master where you are concerned. I’m mostly just teasing you a bit, as I am so often finding myself inclined as of late. And it looks to me like you at least enjoy the fantasy of it, isn’t that right?” 

You hesitate, mildly scared of what admitting the truth might mean for you. This wasn’t how you were raised, for starters. To be so very lacking in decorum or self respect, a mere beast that gives into every single one of her hedonistic urges. But you also feared the pain, especially after having already endured so much physical discomfort in such a short period of time. Your poor bottom was still sore in a way that was not nearly as offputting as you wished it was. 

What you’d told him was true, though. As long as it was Master Zandik, it doesn’t seem so bad and something about the thought of getting to wear his jewelry like that makes your pussy weep excessively in response. 

“Y - yes, sir,” you bashfully murmur, letting your head loll back around to peer up at him through the thicket of your lashes. “It’s — exciting to think about wearing your marks on my body like that. Having such … tangible proof that I belong to you and nobody else sounds nice.” 

Zandik pulls in a painfully slow breath at that, looking momentarily stricken even as he shifts underneath you. With the repetition of these sordid scenes you were very quickly starting to pick up on his tells, recognizing the signs of his arousal for what they were, and your pulse eagerly quickens another notch. You were relatively certain that if he were even just a few decades younger you very likely would have felt the poke of his stirring erection by now. The impulse was there, the mental response to you and what you were telling him, but his body just hasn’t had enough time to recoup yet. 

And you can see that this bothers him at least a little bit in the way his brows draw in on a vaguely grumpy line to match the tug of his mouth. He wishes he could act on it the way he used to, that much is obvious. But luckily he doesn’t take his frustrations out on you despite what he’d said to the contrary about still struggling with this aspect of himself somewhat. 

Instead, he rumbles a soft, vibrating groan that makes his chest swell against your back, tweaking your poor little tit harder as if in reward for pleasing him. 

“Is that so?” Zandik murmurs at you, the masculine edge in his voice exciting you almost as much as his fingers do. “You should be more careful with what you say to old men, you silly girl. I might start to get full of myself again.” 

“I don’t think that’s such a bad thing, Master.” You whisper back even as you nudge your hips down, seeking out more stimulation from him, but he only gives your lower stomach a possessive squeeze for your troubles. Still holding off on giving you what you really want just yet, and somehow or another you’re just fine with it.  

“Hah. You say that now with all the confident folly of your youth, but something tells me you’ll be singing a much different tune if I really were to decide to leave my mark on you. And you know, darling girl … there’s another thing about pretty little rings that I enjoy. Would you like to hear what it is?” 

You bob your head in a slow, inebriated nod. So utterly caught up in him that you can think of nothing else. “Yes, sir. Please tell me.”

Breathing out a terse, faintly stuttering breath, Zandik turns his attention from your face to glance down at what his hand is doing. You follow his line of sight, distant and dreamy, and together the two of you watch as he turns his wrist, catching the flushed teat precisely between thumb and forefinger. His grip is firm, just tight enough to make you start to squirm, but he doesn’t do anything beyond that just yet. Merely holding it, as if to make sure you were paying attention and hyper focused on that one single spot on your body. 

“If you were wearing a hoop in this sensitive nipple, I could very easily attach a lead to it. Not at all unlike the chain on Feofan’s gift. Just something small and delicate, but you don’t really need more than that. Believe me, the difference between a clamp and a piercing is a stark one. I do believe you’d feel quite inclined to totter along wherever I decided to steer you with the added incentive that it would provide.”

He slowly pulls on your tit then, stretching the delicate flesh out from your body, and you seethe so hard it gets caught in your throat, nearly choking you on it. You can’t help the way you proceed to swivel your hips down in a blind, desperate search for friction on your melting cunt even when you know there is currently none to be found. It’s truly overwhelming, though, how much your body thrums at the thought of what he’s telling you, the images it inspires in your mind. 

To be tugged around and walked about by your nipples … and he was right that you wouldn’t feel overly inclined to pull back on that cruel leash or try to fight it. He could make you go anywhere at all, even if it was straight into a room full of strangers who would then look upon your naked body indecently, or even down the very streets of Snezhnograd if he so wished it. 

Of course you would quickly catch hypothermia and freeze to death in such a state of undress in Snezhnaya, but the logic of it doesn’t stop your cunt from squeezing eagerly at the thought. Reality didn’t seem to matter much at all, however, there in the safe seclusion of that drafty old manor house, especially not when you were curled up on his lap like this. If someone had even suggested the notion of being pet to another person in that manner you would have felt rightfully scandalized and terrified at what they were saying. To even think something like that in the first place was undeniably abhorrent. And yet, sitting there in the safety of Zandik’s embrace in the otherwise still and quiet library, the fire in the hearth softly crackling in the muted near-distance, you almost find yourself actually wanting it. 

And gods, you couldn’t even begin to fathom anything more craven or deviant! 

“O - ooughhn! Master …!” 

“Do you want it, little girl?” 

Yes, yes, yes, yes!

“Noh - noooo …” 

He gives his tongue a soft, doting click as he tugs on your poor aching nipple a few more times before finally letting go to pluck at it instead. “Fussy little thing. But don’t worry. Your pretty tits are safe with me. I’m just having a bit of fun with you, that’s all. And do you see now why I said the less permanent option has its merits, too? Sometimes it’s nice to be able to play with the fantasy of something without actually committing to it.”

You bob your head in another faltering nod, hissing softly under your breath. “Y - yes, sir. I do. Will — will you touch my cunt now?”

He hums a very pleased sound at that, cupping over your breast with a low rumble of approval so you can feel how stiffly that tight little bud pushes up into his skin. “What a very good girl you are, asking me so nicely to play with your pussy like that. Of course I will.” 

The hand on your belly gives the band of soft pudge there one last, lingering squeeze before sliding down to nudge the bottom hem of the coat out of the way. Then he slips between your legs to find the top edge of your panties which he gives a light tug to draw your swimming attention to what he’s saying. 

“Slide these off for me and then spread your legs as wide as you can, sweet girl.”

You hasten to heed his command, trembling so fitfully your eyes seem to vibrate in their sockets as you reach to slide your thumbs into the waistband. Quickly shoving your underwear down without much concern at all for anything else, you wriggle around on his lap to get them pulled over the swell of your hips, past the bends of your knees and then finally off your kicking feet. Happily easing back into his chest again, you quickly gather his coat up around your middle to leave your lower half completely exposed as you finally drop your legs open into a wide, inviting v. 

Looking down at your own cunt like that, you can clearly see the evidence of your earlier carrying on in the form of sticky curls, flushed skin and a faint glisten of arousal that your panties hadn’t been able to absorb quickly enough. And you feel so very soft and goopy between the thighs that you feel well and truly out of your mind with it while you watch Zandik’s wrinkled hand slip into the space you’ve opened up for him. 

You’re once again struck by the stark contrast between his skin and yours, how very plump and full your legs look bracketing his thin, bony wrist. Especially when he finds your clit with the broad pad of his thumb, curling his other fingers further back to caress over your slit. Smearing liquid arousal and just teasing over your hot, creamy entrance with featherlight strokes. The positioning makes the skeletal structure in his hand stand out even more than usual, the jut of sharp knuckles under papery skin and the flex of tendons obvious in the light. 

But even when his fingers lightly shake he’s still insidiously dexterous with those long, crafty digits, a skill he’d no doubt honed over many, many long years and which his old age hasn’t quite managed to diminish yet. He spends a long stretch of moments simply plucking at you like that, taunting you with the suggestion of real stimulation even when you already want it this bad. Even after you’d asked so very sweetly. 

And it has its no doubt intended effect of making you fidget in place, supplicatingly canting your pelvis up at his hand in search of what you really want. 

“Needy girl. Be patient.” He chides you softly, affectionately. 

Despite this he still deigns to give you what you want, though, and you watch in slackjawed delight when he finally angles his first and middle finger down on a purposeful plunge to sink deep inside your cunt. A sucker punched groan slips out of you as you twitch at the sear of penetration, realizing in some far off, inebriated way, that he’d been right about your pussy starting to feel overused. Like you were a bit raw, perhaps even bruised inside. But somehow that only seems to heighten your sensitivity, making you want it even more, as his fingers steadily disappear inside of you. It’s a good kind of discomfort, you quickly decide 

Especially when your inner walls are this puffy and coated in so much excitable slick that he just slides right home without much to show for it other than a tiny, wet little click. You suddenly feel full again, stuffed and stretched the way you wanted, and you deliriously bask in the sensation of being taken and claimed by him again. Even though it was not his cock, his fingers do just as well when the sharp juts and angles of those spindly digits seem to push in on your nerves just right. And the way he keeps his thumb busy at your clit soon has you juddering helplessly for him, creeping steadily towards overstimulation but still unable to stop demanding more, more, more from him. 

But when he firmly presses his pointer and index fingers up to jab at your top wall, finding the exact same spot that the surgeon found yesterday, you nearly jolt right up off his lap with a startled squawk of surprise. 

“Oh! Master, th - that’s …” 

“It’s your g-spot, girl. You can feel all that extra pressure when I touch you here, can’t you? It’s nothing to shy away from.”

“But,” you gasp, trying not to squirm and failing rather miserably at it when he gives that spot another pointed nudge that nearly sends you scrambling. “But, Master! It - it feels like I’m gonna’ pee!” 

Zandik barks an amused laugh at how very scandalized you sound at this prospect. “Well, that’s not really so bad, is it? Ah, but I suppose I would hate to make you have to clean up a mess off the floor just because I couldn’t leave well enough alone.” 

A cold note of horror washes over you with that unintentional reminder of what the Doctor forced you do in the office, and you whine a small sound of distress. The terrible way your pussy tightens at the thought, excited rather than deterred by it, no doubt confused by the contradictory feelings that kick up inside of you, is almost enough to have you sobbing a hysterical sound. What was wrong with you? 

But Zandik remains oblivious to the true cause of your reaction, only understanding that you’ve gotten tighter around his fingers, which he mercifully straightens out to abandon that treacherous spot within you. He contents himself as much as you, instead, with pumping them in and out of your clinging cunt at such a slow and steady pace that it almost instantly has your toes curling painfully tight. 

You gladly latch onto this rather than the memory of the Doctor forcing your face down to the floor, hissing a wounded little sound while you watch the sedate motion of his hand. Up. And down. Up. And back down again. One moment his long digits are buried in you straight down to the knuckle and the next they’re reappearing coated in a shimmering sheen of gossamer slick. It’s — unexpectedly arousing to watch him fuck your cunt like that, and you stare in transfixed wonder at how he plays with you so expertly, so confidently, even while you rock your pelvis after him to chase after his hand. 

This. This was exactly what you’d been missing when you thought about seeking out your own pleasure there in front of his door the other day. Your hands weren’t nearly big enough, not keen enough, and they lacked the same sharp, bony precision too. It’s something truly only Master Zandik could provide to your insatiable, greedy body with any hope at all of making it feel good for you. 

Somewhat alarming, however, was how much it’s starting to feel like you really just might die if you didn’t get this from him with some amount of regularity from here on out. 

“Goodness. Look at how well you’re taking me now.” He says, a fond note of approval coloring his voice to make your chest swell with helium. “So soft and warm for me. If I didn’t know any better, I might start to think you were made just for this and no other purpose. Just for me.”

You groan a low sound of wanting at that, beginning to pant as your breathing comes a little faster, a little harder. You’d had an inkling of the same thought, somewhere far back in the darkest recesses of your cotton stuffed mind, but you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. Not yet. Not when you logically knew how impermanent this was, that it could only ever be a temporary thing. 

It’s almost enough to make you cry your sore eyes out again, and you carefully turn your head where it rests against his shoulder to look up at him, only to be struck yet again by how handsome he actually is. Neither the wrinkles nor the thinning hair could truly detract from that, and neither could the perpetually grumpy set of his brow. The wizened tug of his mouth. Eyes paling with age but still so sharp with intellect, still shining with an undiminishable mean streak. 

But yet when you mewl a needy little sound at him, getting his attention, pulling his gaze up from your wetly clicking cunt where it sucks noisily at his fingers, what you see looking back at you is anything but mean. At least not at that particular moment in time. 

And when you supplicatingly nudge your chin up, Zandik bends his head close to catch your mouth in a heated yet tender kiss. The way he claims your lips as if it was his birth right, his privilege and his alone, even when he knew he was in no physical condition to defend that stake, makes you judder helplessly for him. 

Throbbing and gushing, your pussy enthusiastically twitches around his fingers as if to milk them of something they don’t have to give while they continue to sedately fuck into you, that deft thumb flicking back and forth over your aching clit as if he could spend all day knuckles deep in you. Softly schluck, schlucking for him while he winds you up tighter and tighter. Gradually yet persistently working your cunt over the next some odd minutes until you’re a vibrating ball of kinetic energy that just can’t seem to sit still in his lap. 

You’re still kissing him deeply, longingly, when you feel the building tension in you start to reach its boiling point, desperately clinging to his coarse lips with your own even when you shudderingly gasp. The need for air is not the imperative though and you cling to him as you writhe against his thin frame, unsteadily grinding your cunt down on the singular source of your pleasure. Even when your cunt pulses hotly, tightening with a warning tremor so intense it has your eyes rolling back in your head, you just keep kissing him. Basking in the warmth, the touch, the smell of your master while he steadily plucks your weeping quim to a trembling fever pitch. 

It leaves you delirious and lightheaded, panting so hard you finally can’t keep your mouth connected to his anymore, and you stiffly let your head roll back against his shoulder. You were so close now it was making tears spring up in the backs of your eyes and you blink dizzily, wetly up at the ceiling. How was it that each time he did this to you it felt somehow even better than the last? It didn’t make any sense. 

“M - Masteeer! Ooughn! I’m — ooohhn!“

Shushing you, Zandik hunches somehow even closer to press his mouth to the corner of your warbling lips where he lingers for a drawn out moment before pulling back only far enough to speak. “It’s alright, girl. Just let it go. I’ve got you.”

Wheezing almost frantically, you dig your nails into the armrests so hard it hurts as you stiffly arch your back, drawing your body into a tense, long line. The dramatic shift in position juts your tits up into the air, reminding you how very full and sensitive they feel after all of his pinching and pulling, and it also angles your pelvis down just right to have his fingers jabbing into your guts at the perfect angle. You’re once again struck by the strange sensation of needing to pee but you’re a little too close to the drop off to care much about that. Rather, you give yourself over to that feeling happily, gladly. Without even once looking back. 

And an immense flood of relief immediately slams into you when, with a final, twitching swivel of your hips, you shatter to pieces there on top of him. You wail a terribly stricken sound of pure delight as you devolve into a mindless fit of spasms, rocking with wild abandon for him. Zandik stays true to his word though, and he clutches you securely against the front of him with one arm wrapped tight around your middle while the other hand keeps toying with your pulsing cunt, guiding you through the throes of release until you aren’t sure how much more of it you can possibly take. 

Once everything is finally said and done, and the wild tremors have started to subside, you’re not even entirely sure how long it takes you to finally come down from that nearly nauseating high when every second with him seems like its own blissful eternity. But you at last go slack against him while you try to catch your breath, feeling well and truly drunk on that carnal rush now even as you weakly turn your face towards him again. Seeking out more of his kisses, more of his attention, and Zandik obliges you with a hard, lingering peck pressed to your brow. 

“Thank you, sir.” You whisper at length, when you’re able to and your breathing isn’t coming out quite so hard anymore. “Thank you for taking care of me like this.”

“Mmm. It’s only fair, isn’t it? After all, you take such excellent care of me too.” 

Sighing a clipped exhale, he slowly, carefully slides his fingers out from the clinging grip of your cunt, and you can’t help but grimace at the sticky slurp that sounds between your legs when he slips free of your hold on him. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest as he rather possessively curls that palm over your thrumming pubic mound, just holding you in the middle of his hand for a prolonged moment. 

“You’re quite the messy little girl, aren’t you? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more eager cunt.” He tells you rather candidly. “I’d guess that’s at least partially what makes you so popular around here. I must confess that I can’t even hold Feofan’s interest in you against him, especially knowing you as I do.”

Rousing slightly from your satiated slump, you give your hips a pleased little wriggle against his hand, basking in the warmth of that touch, but he reproachfully clicks his tongue in response. 

“None of that now, girl. Learn to quit while you’re ahead. I already told you no more for today, didn’t I?” He says, giving your cunt a mindful pat, pat. 

Despite the words themselves being reprimanding in nature, his voice lacks any and all bite to really drive the scolding home, and you instead find yourself feeling rather pleased. Bringing a hand up, you set in to lightly play with the tie around his neck while you lounge in the remaining haze of your afterglow, so very cozy and comfortable. Content. 

“I’m sorry, Master. I just can’t seem to help myself when it’s with you.” You murmur, practically swimming in your rosy intoxication and so very, very at peace there on his lap. “But … I have to ask, sir. Please forgive me for bringing up something so unpleasant right now, its just – do you really not mind sharing me with anyone else?” 

Zandik hums a vague sound of acknowledgement then falls into silence for a time, seemingly thinking on that. 

Then he finally draws a mild breath. “I do not believe it’s a simple matter of liking it or not, girl. As I told you earlier, there just isn’t much I can do at this point in my life to keep you tightly guarded and locked up as if I were a dragon king with its most coveted treasure. Even when some part of me may want to do just that, I’m afraid it just isn’t feasible. Feofan is a different topic altogether though, and not what I suspect you’re really asking about. But, if it’s him, then no. I do not have any problem whatsoever if the two of you decide to carry on together. With or without me.” 

Turning his head, the old man sends you a rueful look that makes your stomach silently tie itself up into knots. So handsome … 

“He is, after all, in a much younger physical state than I am. I’m sure he can keep up with you a fair bit more than I’m able to.” He says this with a teasing pinch to your side that makes you fidget against him. “And, if you want the truth, I must admit he’s an exceptionally good lover. He’ll take care of you. That much, at the very least, I can promise.” 

Dropping his gaze, you fix your attention upon the tie you’re idly fiddling with. “I understand, sir. And … the others?” 

“Well, that is a curious conundrum, isn’t it? On one hand there is undeniably a certain sense of competition between myself and the different parts of me. I think this is likely a common phenomenon in one’s old age. As humans we have to wrestle with and come to terms with the aspects of ourselves that we used to be. Reconcile that we are no longer the young man in the prime of his life that we once were. It’s just not usually quite as tangible as all this, is it? But on the other hand, my segments are still me. It’s a little silly to be jealous of my younger selves as if we are not technically the same person.”

You blink at that. “Are you really jealous of them, Master?” 

“I’d say it’s a little hard not to be. After all, I am reaching the end of my life but they are forever unchanging no matter how much time passes. They’ll be various stages of young forever while I grow old and weak, and frail. Even long after I am dead they’ll stay exactly the same as they are now. For all of my intellect, I didn’t realize what it would be like to have that particular mirror pointed back at me, reminding me of my own mortality right up until my final days.” 

“Master Zandik —“ 

“Oh, don’t sound so sad, girl. It’ll be alright.” He says, lifting the hand from your waist to softly pet over the top of your head, gently comforting you. “Besides, it’s not exactly a walk in the park for them either. Although some of them might look down on me for succumbing to the limitations of my human lifespan, they’ll never be able to outgrow the mindset they were in when I created them. For as much of a jackass I was at thirty-five, I can’t help but pity Omega for that. He’ll never outgrow that selfish, egotistical attitude of his. He won’t mature out of that mindset of being on top of the world. Powerful and accomplished. Unstoppable. He … he won’t ever fully comprehend that there’s something at least marginally better waiting on the other side. I’d say that’s one thing I have over him. Wouldn’t you?”

He gives you an encouraging nudge, prompting you to somewhat listlessly sit up in his lap so you can turn to face him. You hadn’t meant to open this particular can of worms with that question, but it was already much too late to backpedal now. And for once, Zandik was being almost painfully honest and upfront with you. It would be foolish to squander this opportunity while you had it, even if it does hurt your heart to think about these things. 

And you certainly didn’t like to find yourself sympathizing with that blasted Doctor, especially not after everything he’d already put you through. But somehow that seems to be exactly what’s happening, given the dull twist in your chest. 

“You’re right. I guess I didn’t really think of it like that before.” You quietly admit to him. “Even from my perspective, I can see the worth in living a full life with all of its ups and downs. The way it changes you, just like … I myself have changed since coming here. It’s sad to think that they’re incapable of growing. That they’ll always be — frozen in time like that.” 

Your callback to what the Doctor had told you in the office appears to spark some recognition in Zandik’s eyes, and his expression softens slightly in response. 

“That’s right. Such a clever girl you are. They cannot mature any further than their current mental ages the same way you or even I still could, because I created them for the express purpose of being static fixtures. They’re me as much as I am ‘me’. But at the same time, if they’re all ‘me’ then there is no true me left in this world.”

A cold note of uncertainty curls through your gut then, and you abruptly realize he’s referring to a loss of self. That even Zandik himself isn’t sure who the real Zandik is anymore. And in his old age, no longer the man he once was, did that mean he … considers the segments to be more him than he was? 

It very nearly breaks your heart, and you impulsively reach up to slide your hands into place along his sallow cheeks. He lets you do it with a sober expression that neither flinches or shies away from you, not even when you make him look you in the face. You just couldn’t bear it though. For him to think such a thing, even if only in passing —

“I don’t mean to speak out of turn, Master, but I just cannot ignore what you’re suggesting. Please do not say things like that. Although it is true that I don’t understand many of the finer details in this situation, I know for a fact that you are the real Zandik. You’re whole and human, and the imperfections you notice in yourself are actually what make you so perfect in my eyes. I … I hope you will not be displeased with me for it, but I admitted to Lord Dottore today that I prefer you over him and all the rest. I don’t want it to cause you any troubles with them but I really meant it, sir. You are the only one I truly want. Even more than Lord Regrator, although I won’t deny he’s exceptionally handsome too.”

A brief flash of surprise crosses his face but it’s quickly concealed when he scoffs a quiet sound, giving his head a slow shake now. “You haven’t even met most of the others yet, you silly girl. For all you know, you might like one of them enough to change your mind.”

“I don’t think I will.” You insist, standing firm even when confronted with this self deprecating steak of his. 

“Well, I can’t say I don’t hope that’s true.” Looking slightly uncomfortable now, Zandik lifts a hand to grab one of your wrists to gently pry your fingers from his cheek. “However, as much as I am enjoying this rather somber discussion with you, I’m afraid I will have to relieve myself soon, and you should probably get yourself cleaned up as well. Why don’t you start getting dressed, hm?” 

Feeling ever so slightly cowed, you start to pull back to get up but he holds your wrist tight, stopping you, so that you have to look into his face again. 

“I do not mean to rebuke you so don’t take it that way, girl. I am just not very well equipped for these kinds of talks with others. Even Feofan could not truly break that bad habit of mine. But just know that I meant what I said to you a moment ago. The segments are as much ‘me’ as they aren’t, so I do understand where their interest in you stems from. Even if our perspectives are varied by the differences in our mental ages, our lived experiences, we’re still of the same mind, aren’t we? Honestly, I’d be more surprised if they didn’t feel so intrinsically compelled towards you the same way I am.” 

You can’t help the way you flush at that, admittedly charmed to know he was as taken with you as you inexplicably were with him. It’s vindicating, in some strange way. To hear him admit that you were not the only one helplessly floundering in their attraction for the other.  

And seeing the tentative smile that creeps across your mouth, Zandik gives your captured arm an tender squeeze. “I won’t hold it against you if you do decide to dally with them, not any more than I would if you ultimately choose to go to bed with Feofan. And frankly, I think you should. He’ll pamper you well, even while giving you that strict touch you seem to like so much. But least of all will I be upset if they give you no choice in the matter like it seems — oh, what did you decide to call him?” 

“25, sir?” You say, giggling. 

“Yes, yes. That seems very like you, you know. To come up with such an easy way of differentiating them. It’s rather cute, in fact. But, listen to me, girl. My point is simply this; you are not my prisoner. I want you to come to me because you feel so inclined, not out of any sense of obligation or duty. If you do eventually decide that this old man isn’t worthy of your time anymore, I’d understand it. More than anything, though, I want you to be as safe as you can be here. If that means capitulating to one of their demands to keep them happy, you don’t have to fight tooth and nail on my account. I promise I won’t react the way I did down in the dining room again, alright? I was just worried about you, and … perhaps even a little jealous, yes. But keeping you alive is more important than some territorial male nonsense.”  

You further soften for him until you’re trying to blink back the filmy sheen of tears that has risen into your eyes, entirely unbidden. Everything about this situation really was just so thoroughly saturated in melancholy and grief, but somehow even that was not quite enough to take away from the warm, fluttery feeling in your chest. It truly was inconceivable. 

“Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you for — having me like this.”

Zandik snorts a not entirely mirthless laugh at that. “I think that should be my line to you. But enough of such solemn talk. Come here for a moment, girl. Let me see you.” 

At the gentle tug on your arm, you all too happily lean in close to accept the chaste kiss he presses to your mouth. It’s sweet and soft, a promise sealed between you and him, and you positively light up from the inside out at the affectionate gesture. 

Was this what it was like to love someone? You’re not so sure you’re ready to fully examine that thought just yet, but you tuck it safely away for later as you lean back to smile at him. 

“Thank you, Master Zandik.”

“Alright, alright. That’ll do. Now give me back my jacket and get yourself straightened out. I think I’d like to move down to the drawing room so I can sit by the windows for a while. After I empty my bladder first, of course.” 

Quickly hopping up from his lap, you tug at the few remaining buttons on his coat even as you struggle to put this warm, fuzzy atmosphere between the two of you aside and slip back into housekeeping mode. It’s exceptionally difficult though, even when you realize you really haven’t gotten much of anything done yet this morning. The one good thing was that, despite the unaccounted for presence of the segments, you don’t have a full house to tend to, otherwise you might have found yourself in a bit of a jam. Looking after the needs of two was much easier than the seven the Doctor had mentioned earlier. 

“Oh, and one more thing.” Zandik says when you hand him his coat a moment later. “Once you have me settled in downstairs, I want you to go find that knuckleheaded 25 and ask him to give you a contraceptive of some sort. You can tell him I said to make himself useful for once.” 

You go very still at that, sending him a cautiously slow look. “But is that really necessary, Master? I don’t know if - -“

“It is.” He cuts across you firmly enough that you close your mouth, knowing you won’t argue with him any further than that. “Unfortunately for you, dear girl, men continue to make viable sperm throughout their whole lives and I’d rather not saddle you with yet another burden once I’m gone. Oh, don’t look so horrified. It’s the truth, isn’t it? Trust me, you’ll be thankful for my foresight later on.” 

Somehow you feel a bit queasy when you lift a hand to your forehead, trying to steady your swirling thoughts. You really hated when he talked about his own death like that. So casual and blithe, as if it didn’t even matter. And maybe it didn’t to him, but it certainly did to you. 

“I won’t deny the wisdom in that, sir, it’s just … I don’t know if I really hit it off with 25 to go knocking at his door like that.” 

“It is regrettable.” He admits with a relenting sigh. “But sadly I cannot do it for you when he so rarely leaves the cellar these days, and I very much doubt I could manage all those stairs on my own. You’ll have to be brave. But don’t worry your pretty little head too much. Omega told you, didn’t he? They’ll have to get my permission if they want to borrow you from me.” 

Well, that was true. You weren’t so sure how many of the segments, if any, would actually respect that agreement, but you were willing to give it a shot if it would so please him. 

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Standing at the top of the staircase looking down into the inky black void of the cellar, you start to have some second, third and even fourth thoughts about this. 

You weren’t all that brave, as it turns out. Or at least not as brave as you had been the first time you’d foolishly descended these steps into the dark unknown, not realizing what you would find down at the bottom. But now that you’re well aware what lies beyond the threshold that separates the top, semi reasonable and sane half of the house from the madness in the basement, you’re just not so sure you have the gumption to tread this path again. Maybe if it had not been so soon after your first foray down into the subterranean level, but … 

But you’d left Zandik sitting in the drawing room with a fresh pot of coffee and a late morning sandwich you’d prepared for him before tottering off in search of that elusive 25. He’d gone so far as to make you promise him you would heed his wishes of fetching a contraceptive from the surgeon to ensure his seed didn’t take root in your belly, even for as unlikely as he expected that to be, and as always you’d been unable to deny him anything he asked of you. So you’d given him your word and now you simply had no choice but to follow through. 

Taking a moment to just breathe in the dusty air that hangs over the landing, you tip your head back to send a silent prayer up at the ceiling. Who even knew what sort of horror show awaited you in the depths of the cellar today. After that very unpleasant run in with the Doctor earlier in the morning, you really weren’t so sure you had the stomach for this. 

But you stubbornly gather your resolve and, with the small lantern dangling from your fist, you begin to pick your way down the staircase, one creaking step at a time. This lamp does a much better job at piercing through and illuminating the darkness than that measly little stub of a candle had, and you’re now able to better see the brick walls that close in on you from both sides. No wonder it was so chilly down here when stone seems to be the only thing insulating the foundation from the frozen ground it was built into. 

Finally reaching the bottom a long stretch of moments later, you nervously turn to the right and face the door that would lead into the laboratory. You hesitate though, unsure what the polite protocol should be. Did you knock first and wait for someone to answer? Should you just barge in? Were you even sure that anyone was still home? The Doctor did tell you that he and the other segments were free to come and go now, and without any concern to whether or not they were spotted. 

Wouldn’t that be funny if you’d just missed him, and 25 was now somewhere upstairs looking for you? 

Quickly deciding that there was nothing about that scenario to laugh at, you take a deep breath and grab the doorknob. 

You’re once again blinded by the glaring series of lights overhead when you pull it open, but being prepared for it this time helps immensely. Gingerly blinking away the stars from your eyes, you soon glance up only to find the immense space just as empty as it had been yesterday. Some small part of you had almost expected to see a congregation of same-faced men turning as one to stare at you in silent, critical assessment, like something straight out of a horror novel. Yet all that greets you is the quiet, nearly imperceptible hum of electricity. 

Heaving a mildly bothered sigh, you turn the little crank on the side of your lantern to extinguish the flame and then set it down next to the doorway. Then you wander deeper into the lab where you’re surprised to find yourself just as curious as you had been the first time you’d wandered through this playground for mad scientists. It’s a bit hard not to be, though, when everything you see around you is so very impressive and complicated in equal measure, decidedly intriguing at just a glance. Even now you can’t help but wonder what some of these miraculous inventions even do, but you make sure not to touch anything for fear of tempting fate any further than you already were. 

Straight towards the back where you’d last run into him, you weave your way around desks and computer monitor banks, stepping over heavy metal plated cables, dancing around a suspicious looking pod filled only with bubbling pale green fluid and, finally, past a half disassembled musket that looked like it was being outfitted for powerful upgrades. At last you catch sight of that ominous looking operating theater in the far back corner, and you anxiously shuffle over to it with your hands submissively clasped behind your back, just in case anyone was watching from the shadows. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” You call out softly, thinking you wouldn’t be the least bit disappointed if there was no answer. 

Unfortunately that dark curtain on the other side of the metal gurney table draws back with a sharp flick and you flinch at the sight of the surgeon peering out at you. 

Inclining his head as if he were sizing you up, he lifts a hand to adjust the set of his thin glasses. “Ah, it’s you. I thought I heard a little mouse creeping about.” 

“Oh, come on. You’re not going to start calling me that too, are you?” You offer up a nervous little laugh, hoping to dispel some of the tension with levity, but sadly 25 does not seem to know what a joke is. 

“Not at all. Omega can call you whatever he wants but in my eyes you are my assistant, so that is what I will refer to you as. Nothing more and nothing less.” Giving you a slow, calculated blink, he then proceeds to tip his head to one side. “What brings you down here today? I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

“That makes two of us.” You murmur as you reluctantly shuffle across the floor to come up to him where you force yourself to stand with as much dignity as you can muster. “Honestly, I would have been happy to stay away but Master Zandik instructed me to come find you. He wants me to ask you for something.” 

“Which is?” 

You’d been dreading this part almost as much as having to come down here to talk to this sadistic surgeon again. What a humiliating thing to have to ask for!

“W - well, he told me to get a — a contraceptive from you.”

A long, decidedly very awkward pause follows that shyly admitted statement in which the two of you just silently look at one another. 

“I see.” He says at length, knitting his brows slightly. “So, what Omega said about you was true. You really do have a sexual preference for that old coot.”

Your face positively lights up like a firework, but you know better than to try and deny it by now. “I thought Master Zandik told you about — us. Last night. Upstairs?” 

25 sends you an odd look that is somehow both disinterested and curious at the same time. “He did, but I’d wanted to believe it was nothing more than the senile ravings of a geriatric patient. It doesn’t exactly make much sense, does it? And really, my dear, isn’t he old enough to be your grandfather?”

You absolutely wither under that scathingly droll expression of his. “Look, I get it, okay? Do you have what he wants or not?”

This time he lifts both his brows in a slow motion quirk. Evidently he was content to let them do all the heavy lifting for his facial expressions while the bottom half of his face remains covered by the white surgical mask, which doesn’t help you much in reading his moods. If you had to guess, though, you might choose to interpret that reaction from him as being mildly surprised.

“My, you certainly sound brave today. Much more than you did the last time I saw you, that’s for sure. I suppose, then, that the end results of Zandik’s bargaining for you has left you feeling emboldened? Safe?”

Softly tut tutting behind his mask, 25 crosses his arms over his narrowly svelte chest with a soft creak of the latex gloves. Still keeping his eyes on you, he sets in to slowly pace around your ramrod stiff body. Just like the Doctor in the bank. 

Yes, there certainly was no mistaking their closeness in age and mental states. Only fifteen years separated them, after all. 

“I have to admit I’m in agreement with Omega on this confounding quandary. It is rather frustrating to see you naively picking someone who can barely walk on his own even when you have the choice of his younger, fitter and far more aesthetically pleasing selves to choose from instead. Ah, but it really is of no concern to me who you decide to spread your legs for. After all, I’ve already gotten to see every little nook and cranny inside of your body. Haven’t I, sweet assistant?” 

A violent tremor tears down your spine, making you noise an involuntary whimper. He certainly had violated you in ways you could have only ever imagined prior to this, but that was exactly why you’d wanted to give yourself over fully to Zandik before any of the others could take you in his stead. Even if you were tainted, corrupted, nowhere near as innocent as you’d been when you first arrived here, at least you’d freely invited your own end at his hands. And it was his seed sitting in a hot, heavy clump in your guts right now, not theirs.  

“I understand why it bothers you so much,” you warble, fighting to keep your voice even to no avail. “And I can’t even say I blame you for that. I’d probably feel a little sore about it too. But you don’t need to keep taking jabs at me. Or Master Zandik for that matter. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

Coming up next to you along the other side now, 25 pauses there to peer down at you. “Are you so sure of that? I find it hard to believe you know every little facet about us just yet for you to be making such a bold and confident claim.” 

Gods, he was so annoying! 

“I don’t care about anything else.” You insist. “All that matters from my perspective is that Master Zandik has been nothing but kind to me so far. R - relatively speaking, of course. Which is certainly more than can be said for any of you.” 

He gives his chin an odd little nudge at that, almost as if to purse his lips at you. “Oh, there’s no need to get so snippy, is there? I’m only making conversation with you.” 

With a pointed, almost condescending quirk of his left brow, he turns on his heel to slowly, almost thoughtfully saunter over to the small utility desk you’d explored on your last trek down here. Not sure what else to do, you hesitantly trail after him. 

“A contraceptive, huh?” He muses to himself. “When was the last time you two copulated?” 

You give a small, horrified jolt at that question. “I don’t really see how that’s any of your business - -“

“It is very much my business, dear assistant.” He cuts across you like a whip, the tone of his voice completely at odds with the mild glance he sends your way. “I need to know what time frame we’re looking at so that I can figure out what kind of contraceptive to give you. And I do suggest you’re truthful with me. Your answer will determine what I need to mix up for it to be effective, so it could very well make you much sicker than necessary if I don’t have the correct information.” 

Your face is so hot you feel dangerously close to fainting dead away as you struggle to come to terms with what he’s telling you. Zandik should have at least warned you about such a humiliating line of questioning ahead of time so you could better prepare yourself to be put under the spotlight like this! 

“I … we had sex about an hour ago now.” 

25 nods once in understanding. “And any time before that?” 

“No. N - not where he, um, put it inside of me, anyway.” 

At this, the surgeon fixes you with a plainly amused look. “How adorable. You’re even too shy to speak about it without stammering, but yet your body still responds so beautifully to every single stimulation it’s presented with. Even the ones that most women shy away from. It’s a rather charming contradiction, if you want my opinion.” 

“T - thank you. I think. So, can you make it?” 

Humming a soft sound of consideration, 25 lifts a hand to stroke at his jaw over the surgical mask. “I should be able to. When was your last menses?” 

You can’t help the way you flinch as if he’d just reached out and slapped you. “Is that really important? Ugh, never mind. I’m sure I already know what you’ll say. I think it was … a - about a week ago now.” 

“Alright. Your next egg likely hasn’t even had a chance to descend into the uterus yet, so you should be in the safe zone. You’d probably be fine even if I didn’t give you anything but it’s better to be safe than sorry, wouldn’t you agree? After all, it would be such a shame to make Zandik a father at his old age.” 

Something about that stabs at a peculiar little spot in your gut, making you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. 

“Thank you, sir. I … I appreciate your help.” 

“Don’t thank me just yet, my dear assistant. We haven’t discussed what you’re going to do for me in return yet.” 

You slowly blink at him, trying desperately to process what he’d just said. “I’m — I’m sorry?” 

The bottom corners of his eyes turn up slightly, as if he were smirking a sharp little smile at you, and you numbly watch as he cock his hip out to lean into the utility desk. “Don’t look so surprised. I just hate to do anything not of my own accord for free, and that is even aside from the fact that I will have to waste certain resources on this. I’m not a midwife, you know. I don’t just keep these things stocked up and on hand. Luckily for you, though, I think I’ll have what I need to make it work. So what are you going to do for me? You believe in equivalent exchange and fair trade, don’t you, assistant?” 

For a long stretch of seconds you simply have no idea what to say to any of that. You’re completely, utterly gobsmacked by his audacity, his arrogance. He and the Doctor really were two peas in a pod! 

“What do you want?” You finally manage to ask, once you can locate your voice again. 

He just offers up a rather lackadaisical shrug though. “I can think of a few things. First and foremost, however, I’d like to conduct a little experiment with you. I only want to further test the reactions of your body, you see, if you and the old man are willing to permit it. You were just so interesting to observe, after all.” 

You can’t help blanching at that. “Forgive me, but I don’t want that metal contraption anywhere near me again.”

“If that’s the deal breaker for you, then I’ll promise not to use the speculum on your pretty little pussy again. How’s that sound?” 

“… you will? Do you really mean that?” 

“Certainly. I’ve gotten a perfectly good look at it already, haven’t I? I don’t imagine there’s much more left to see.” 

Your cheeks blaze hot enough to light fire, and yet you still weren’t so sure about this. He had to be up to something, of that you were relatively certain, but you just couldn’t even begin to guess what. 25 was certainly a sneaky one though, so you’d have to make sure you were careful around him. You simply couldn’t afford to jump the gun too fast or risk taking his word at face value, and you find yourself slowly narrowing your eyes at him in wary, unconcealed suspicion. 

“What sort of experiment do you want to do then?”

“Just a run through of some basic physiologic reactions, that’s all. My conjectures based on our last findings were regretfully only half formed thanks to the interruption, but what I’ve already gleaned is rather interesting indeed. I’m just curious to see where the cut off point between pleasure and pain is for you.”

A not entirely disinterested thread curls through your chest then. You were admittedly a bit interested in finding that out too. The way you’d gotten so excited even when Master Zandik pinched and pulled on your nipples while talking about piercing them. While talking about leading you around by a chain attached to your poor teats. Even the thought of you being steered down the street by your tits had not been enough to deter you, and your cunt had just continued to excessively slick for him. Even if there was a difference between fantasizing about something and actually doing it, those were still worrisome thoughts to be having, weren’t they? Your mother certainly would have been beyond horrified if she ever found out you’d so much as entertained the notion as you had. 

But where was your cut off point on what was very clearly a hitherto untapped masochistic streak? How much was too much? Was there something you didn’t like? 

“You’re giving this an awful lot of thought, assistant.” 

You snap out of it at the sound of his voice, sending him a bashful look. “Of course I am. You haven’t exactly given me much of a reason to trust you, and you’re essentially blackmailing me to go along with this. Can’t I at least have a chance to think it over first?” 

“You can take as much time as you’d like to fret and worry over the superfluous details you’re likely imagining. However, let me preemptively dissuade your concerns by reminding you again that you are in no mortal danger with me. I’m not going to cut you up or inject you with anything, nor will I leave behind any permanent lasting marks. If it makes you feel any better, you could always think of it like … playing doctor, but with a sexual twist.” 

And you give a surprised little jolt at that, suddenly remembering what Dottore told you in the office. He’d said 25 had only wanted to play with you. Did that mean he was simply angling to try his luck with you again? Ultimately harmless, even though he was going about it in the most confounding, roundabout way possible. Gods, this man and all the individual parts of him were going to be the death of you at this rate. 

Unfortunately for your willpower you were feeling just a pinch too warm to truly fight it now as you send a slow, appraising look down the surgeon's lithe body. He didn’t look to be quite as filled out or solid as the Doctor was, but still undeniably stronger than Zandik despite them sharing a similar build. It probably wouldn’t hurt anything to let him examine your body some more. After all, your master already gave you his blanket permission to appease the segments in this manner and it looked like this was the only way you’d be getting that contraceptive. Plus, if you could safely explore the extent of your masochistic tendencies in the controlled environment curated by the seemingly strict and tempered surgeon … 

Gods, you couldn’t believe you were actually considering this. 

“Fine. I’ll do it, but I want you to promise me you’ll listen if I tell you to stop this time. I mean it!”

25 chuckles at that, the unnatural red in his eyes dancing with mirth. “And what will you do if I don’t abide by your little rules?” 

“I’ll … I’ll go running straight to Lord Dottore and I’ll tell him you broke the agreement!” 

“Hah. He doesn’t scare me in the slightest. But alright, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll even come up with a safe word for you to use between now and then if it will make you happy. Does that sound agreeable to you?” 

“Really?” Prickling all over as if you’d just stepped into a fine, warm mist, you slowly straighten the defensive hunch of your shoulders. You hadn’t exactly expected him to capitulate to you that easily, but you were immensely pleased by it all the same. He was even going to let you use a safe word in case things got out of hand. Surely nothing could go wrong then, with such cut and dry parameters in place? “… o - okay. Deal.” 

Nodding once, the surgeon straightens up and turns to face the desk, already moving to dig around in the various cabinets over it to an ensuing series of bangs and rattling bottles. “Excellent. Then meet me here tomorrow afternoon. And make sure to tell Zandik where you’ll be so he doesn’t think I took off with you. I’ll have your contraceptive ready in about an hour or so, and I’ll even be nice and bring it up to you as a courtesy for your cooperation. I’ll talk to him myself when I drop it off, even though I think having to get his permission like this is a performative gesture at best.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong about that, especially considering you’d had similar thoughts about this tentative arrangement. But that doesn’t seem to stop you from feeling really rather pleased at how well that actually went, thinking that you must have done a good job at negotiating out the terms with him to net such results. Maybe Zandik would have even been proud of you for navigating it so well all on your own. 

Telling him another word of thanks, you turn and start to make your way back through the cellar towards the stairwell, feeling quite accomplished for how you’d handled that. In some strange way it almost leaves you with the impression that you were starting to get the hang of things around here, and not every encounter with one of the segments needed to be a massively inconvenient ordeal. If you just kept your head on straight, really thought about what was going on around you and chose your words carefully before speaking, everything would go much smoother. Or so it briefly seems. 

Sadly, though, you don’t quite make it all the way to the door before what is unmistakably a hand reaches out from some dark, crammed recess between computer banks and yanks you off the path you’d been meandering. You’d been so caught up in your quaint little thoughts that it takes you completely by surprise, and all you manage is a startled yelp as you’re pulled halfway into the tight crevice against your will. 

And when you snap your disoriented attention up, you come face to face with a man wearing a half-mask. 

“Hello.” He says rather giddily, grinning oddly sharp teeth at you. 

You jerk in outright terror, already pulling a harsh, stuttering breath to scream at the top of your lungs, but he’s quick to slap a white gloved hand over your mouth with enough force to slam your head back. Using the momentum, he yanks on your arm and pivots, ramming you against the side of the computer bank where he pins you, leaving you no way to squirm out from under his hold. That doesn’t stop you from trying though, and you wildly thrash against him even as you shriek into the palm trying to smother you. 

This couldn’t be happening! Not again! Not right after you’d earned that small victory for yourself with 25! 

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay!” He’s crooning at you, his strangely lilting voice as much as his sporadic movements doing the exact opposite of making you calm down. It also isn’t helping that he’s got you pressed up so tight against the side of the computer bank that it’s hard just to get a full lungful of air but he doesn’t even seem to notice the way you desperately shove at his narrow chest. For as slight as he is, he’s shockingly solid. 

He pauses then to somewhat surreptitiously glance over his shoulder, the rich crimson in his eyes darting shiftily from side to side, as if he feared someone was going to catch him like this. That does manage to surprise you slightly, when every other version of Zandik you’d met thus far has been nothing short of conceitedly self assured, confident and almost obnoxiously arrogant. Was this really your master at twenty-two? 

Swinging his attention back around, he offers you a grimace of a smile. “I’m not going to hurt you. Promise. Just calm down, okay? I could break your neck right now if I really wanted to so obviously I have no intention of doing that, right?” 

You squawk a horrified sound into his palm, sending him a deeply troubled look. But he just chuckles a briefly tittering sound before cutting himself off with a self conscious cough. 

To say you have no idea what to make of this one would be a massive understatement, and you have to actively force yourself to grow still against him while your fight or flight goes absolutely haywire inside your body. You didn’t really want him touching you, especially not after that disgusting mess he’d left in your slipper. But a small voice of reason in the back of your mind helpfully points out that he was right. He’d caught you so completely unawares that if killing you had been his intention he could have already done that by now. And, well, the Doctor did say that none of them would jeopardize your role here even if only so they wouldn’t have to take care of Zandik themselves. 

Chest heaving wildly, you at last manage to go slack under his weight, panting, as you look up at him in question. Your acquiescence seems to please him a great deal and his toothy grin comes right back at full force to nearly blind you. 

It’s incredibly disconcerting to have that particular expression leveled on you. You hadn’t even realized your master could smile like that. 

“There, that’s much better isn’t it? And oh, aren’t you pretty up close like this? I didn’t mean to scare you, by the way. I just figured. You know. After our last run in, I probably wasn’t exactly going to be a sight for sore eyes or anything, but I wanted to talk to you. To introduce myself to you. Will you promise me you won’t scream when I take my hand away?” 

At your stilted nod, he eagerly shifts his weight from one foot to the next, almost as if he were anticipating more struggle from you. But when he finally slides his suffocating palm away, you only suck in a much needed gasp of air, wheezing softly while you work to calm your erratic heartbeat. If one of the segments didn’t end up killing you with their own two hands, their antics were going to indirectly do it for them. 

“Ooh, you look good enough to eat with your mouth hanging open like that.” He purrs, reaching up to brush his gloved fingertips over your throat. Almost as if he was thinking about choking you in earnest now. 

But you’re a little too strung out to worry about polite niceties as you irritably slap his hand away and slowly lift your glowering attention to his masked face. “It’s nice - to meet you … I guess. What do you - want?” 

“Just to say hi.” He tells you, completely unperturbed, directing his fingers a little higher now to fuss with your hair for a moment. “Well, that and I wanted to show you something. I thought you might find it interesting. Oh, and I suppose I should probably apologize about your slippers too while I’m at it. Not that I’m actually sorry, though.” 

For a drawn out moment, all you can seem to do is stare at him. Was he on drugs or something? Maybe drunk, perhaps? 

“What is wrong with you? Are you — really supposed to be Master Zandik?” 

A flash of sneering contempt crosses his face and camps there, twisting his sharp toothed grin upside down and thoroughly frightening you in the process. It suddenly feels like your veins have turned to pure ice as you shudderingly straighten up, realizing in a dull, distant sort of way that this was the same kind of flip of the switch you’d observed in the Doctor before, just … somehow more extreme. Like he simply had no real control over his emotions and he lets them swing from one far end of the spectrum to the next however his mood dictates. It was horrifying to see that abrupt change in demeanor up close and personal like this, particularly when you could see half of his face through the mask. 

“Do not liken me to that old wretch ever again!” He snaps at you so aggressively you jump. 

“I … I’m sorry. You just — surprised me, that’s all. You don’t really seem like the others I’ve met so far.”

Scoffing a harsh sound, he drops his attention to longingly glance at your neck again. “And have you met many of them yet?” 

“No. O - only a few.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway.” He says with a careless shrug, relaxing into something closer to neutral now. Or as close to neutral as he seemed to be capable of, but even then he was still a bit too sporadic and shifty for your liking. 

“I’m the only one who’s really any fun.” He goes on. “Even that little brat is too serious to have a real sense of humor, just like the rest of them. You’ll have a much better time with me, you know.”

You’re not so sure of that but you nervously swallow down your nerves, trying to keep your tone light and even when you next speak. “I’ll take your word for it. You - you said you have something to show me, didn’t you? What was it?” 

He perks right back up at that reminder, just as you’d hoped he would. “Yes, indeed! I certainly do! Say, do you like mecha automatrons?” 

“… I’m sorry?” 

“Ruin machines. Ancient tech!” He snaps, as if the answer should have been obvious. 

But at your continued stare of incomprehension, he irritably clicks his tongue and finally drops his hand down to snag at yours. Stepping out from between the massive computer banks, he gives you a rough yank to drag you after him, leading you down the aisle formed between the different project stations.  

“And this is exactly why you humans always do nothing but bore me. You have no real sense of wonder, do you? But Omega said you were smarter than you looked, so I suppose I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you just don’t know what I’m talking about yet. I’ll show you instead of trying to explain it.” 

Stumbling after him, you twist your head around to glance behind you. No sign of 25 anywhere and you were much too far from the operating theater for you to risk screaming out. Not while this lunatic had his hands on you. Besides, you’re not even really sure if the surgeon would come and save you from him anyway. 

Oh, this wasn’t good. You had no idea how to deal with this one yet and he was much too unpredictable for you to figure it out quickly. You’d just have to be exceedingly cautious, then. 

Whipping your attention back around, you glance from side to side in an attempt to memorize the path he’s taking in case you had to make a run for it. But there are just too many different little sections that don’t make much sense to you, rendering it impossible to use any of it as a recognizable landmarker. Should you try to remember that strangely glowing ball of energy trapped inside a stoppered flask or was the electrical panel with a mess of wires exploding out from it a better option? You just didn’t know. 

He’s still ranting and raving about something — as much a fan of his own voice as the others are, you see — when he finally drags you around a support beam near the far corner of the house and you suddenly find yourself standing before a massive, lumpy brown tarp. You can’t even begin to fathom what might be underneath and you’re also not so sure you want to find out, but he doesn’t give you much of a choice in the matter when he drags you over to stand directly in front of it. 

Dropping your hand with a noted air of disgust, 22 shuffles up to the sizable mass, grabs two fistfuls of the cover and rather aggressively tears it away. It takes him a few good tugs to get it fully pulled back, and as it crumples to the floor you abruptly realize you’re staring up at a … a vaguely humanoid machine? Some kind of robot, if you had to guess. Like the Gardemeks in Fontaine you’ve heard about, except — this one was huge! Even when it was partially scrapped by the looks of the missing pieces and components, the frame of the thing still looms a good few feet above you. 

So this was what he’d been so eager to show you. A giant robot. Like a little boy with his favorite toy. It was just as the Doctor had said. 

I’m not sure when you might have seen him considering he often locks himself up for days at a time to play with his little toys.

You were starting to get awfully tired of him always being right about everything. 

“Wow.” You say at length, and somehow you really mean it. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s … certainly big, isn’t it?” 

“Heh. The best ones always are!” He says, giving the exterior a pleased pat, pat to make a metallic, hollow echo reverberate. “I knew you’d start to understand just how amazing this thing is once you saw it. You simply didn’t understand what I was talking about. And, eh. Who could really blame you? Old beauties like this one aren’t exactly common public knowledge, after all. This is something we call a Ruin Guard by the way. It’s ancient tech from a lost civilization.”

You can’t help but wonder if that was something he should have been telling you so casually, but your curiosity was admittedly starting to win out and you take a shuffling step closer to it. A little too nervous to touch, especially not without his go ahead first, since this was clearly something of great importance to him, but you did want to get a better look at it. 

And you quickly realize, upon second inspection, that it was only the top half of what should have been a much larger final product. Just the domed head piece and a portion of the carapace it connects to, if you weren’t mistaken, but even that only appears to go about half way down into what would have been the supportive trunk of the mechanical body. There was no means of locomotion that you could make out.  

“I admit, it is rather impressive. Are you … scrapping it for parts?” 

“Not at all! The exact opposite, in fact. I’m working on reverse engineering it.” He tells you quite proudly, looking like he’d give himself a good pat on the back if he wouldn’t have felt like a fool afterwards. 

Far be it that you were going to let him win you over and charm you with something so simple as that, but you could see now that he was just a little — intense with his approach to things. Passionate to the point of zealotry. Zandik must have tempered himself quite a lot to become the somewhat mild mannered surgeon just a couple of years later. The intensity was still there, to be sure, but it was far more honed. Less scattered. And you recalled, too, the Doctor saying something about how Zandik had finally found a sufficient outlet for his staggering intellect in the form of medical research at twenty-five as well. You could only assume, then, that playing with machines either hadn’t been challenging or rewarding enough for him. 

Wait a minute. 

You slowly blink up at the big, hulking thing. 

A machine. Made of metal. That he’s been tinkering with down here. 

That strange noise you’d been hearing. 

Slowly turning your head, you once again fix your attention on 22 with nothing short of numb disbelief. Had that really been him making all that racket this entire time? 

“You’re right. I do find this quite interesting.” You blurt before you can think better of tempting the danger he so obviously presented. Even though that was a lie and you truly didn’t find machinery all that exciting, you knew you’d regret it if you didn’t squeeze a bit more information out of him first. “Thank you for showing this to me. Can you — tell me what you’re working on right now with it? I - if it’s not too much trouble, that is.” 

To his credit, he seems very pleased to have been asked, and he immediately flies off into some fervently impassioned yet utterly incomprehensible explanation about circuitry and specialized bolts, as well as something about power sources. It’s all very hard to keep up with from a layman’s perspective, especially when he seems to have a habit of talking rather animatedly, but you try your best to glean what you can from him. 

You’re not sure how much you actually succeed in that endeavor though, and you feel more than a bit dizzy when he finally comes over to grab your elbow to steer you towards what looks to be a large assembly and production table made out of steel that sits just off to the left of the thing. On one end is a somewhat disorganized shelf of various tools and individual parts, like he just didn’t have the patience to put things back properly, although he could probably find whatever he needed without even glancing up. On the other end is a deadly looking table saw that at just a quick glance gives the impression that it could indeed cut through metal, and just about anything else that was thrown in its path too. 

Yes, you were starting to connect the dots now. It wasn’t quite what you would call benign, but the notion that this would explain away what you’d been half convinced was a mysterious haunting still chagrins you a fair amount.

“— and with all of that done, I can finally start working on the next step of fitting the armor plating around its internal structures. That probably sounds easy enough, I know. But I have to be careful about leaving too many weak spots in the joints or not lining up the edges properly, which as I’m sure you can imagine makes for a very time consuming process indeed. These things need to be as close to airtight as they can get where it really counts or water damage could render the entire system useless, among other complications. You have no idea how fast these things start to rust if you don’t pay attention.” 

You bob your head in dull understanding. Even if you didn’t get many of the finer points of what he was saying, this at least you could easily grasp. “That makes sense. It sounds like the inside is a lot of complicated machinery, so the armor needs to be strong enough to protect it all while being lightweight enough not to hinder its movements … right?” 

22 somewhat owlishly blinks his big round eyes over at you. “That’s right. I guess you really are a bit clever.”

“I try.” Sending him a tight smile, you nudge your chin towards the saw. “Do the others ever help you with this stuff? This seems like a lot of work for one person to do alone.” 

“Tch. Sometimes. If they have the free time and I have the patience to deal with them. Machines are fairly easy to understand once you’ve taken them apart, as a general rule, so really anyone could manage this much. Even you could probably do it.” 

Well, wasn’t that just a shining endorsement of confidence?

You don’t say that, though, settling instead on, “I don’t think Lord Dottore would be very happy to find out I’ve been touching anything down here, so I’d better not. But thank you.” 

Scoffing a gruff sound at that, 22 crosses his arms and pins you with a grumpy scowl that tells you everything you need to know regarding his feelings on the matter before he even opens his mouth. “Omega really is so short sighted sometimes. You’re already here and you know about all of us now. You’ve even seen the stuff in our joint lab. What harm could it possibly do at this juncture? It’s already too late for you to back out anyway.”

A cold note of uncertainty curls down your spine. You’d had the exact same thought, of course, but why did he think that? 

“What do you mean? Lord Dottore hasn’t told me much of anything other than the very basics yet.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t know!” He crows, grinning another toothy half smile to stretch his coarse lips wide. “Surely you must have realized it too? You’re stuck here now. You’ve seen and heard far too much for you to be let loose back into society. Not without some sort of insurance, at least. Even if you promised not to talk to anyone, I don’t imagine he’d be willing to simply take your word for it.” 

Exhaling a somewhat wistful breath, 22 reaches out to touch his fingertips to your wrist where he lightly, almost tauntingly traces up the length of your arm. The contact makes gooseflesh erupt across your body and you shudder even as you force yourself to stand your ground. You refused to back down or shy away from him, giving 22 the satisfaction of seeing you squirm in the process. 

“I’d guess your options are fairly limited at this point. You could probably stay on even after that old dog kicks the bucket and serve the rest of us until your pitiful human lifespan eventually puts you out of your misery too. I know I’d like that. We’ve hardly even gotten to play yet, have we? And I could show you even more interesting things than this. Show you what real genius, real intellect, what real innovation looks like. The others are too constrained by their limited way of thinking to really be any fun. They can’t entertain you like I can.”

His expression pinches then, taking on a look of feigned lament as he reaches your shoulder and traces over to fiddle with the shirt collar around your neck. You really did not like his unconcealed fascination with your throat. 

“But if you’d rather not stay then I suppose Omega might just have to kill you and get it over with. He may even decide to use you as a test subject first, but I’m not sure how likely that is. He’s been rather more preoccupied with puzzling out the specifications of an immortality elixir than in anything else as of late, so he might not have the time for you. Or … hm.”

Noising a brief sound of consideration, 22 nudges his fingers up a little higher to slip them under your chin, tilting your face at a particular angle. His blocky thumb descends on the spot just beneath your lower lip where he presses, pulling at the skin just enough to make your mouth part. His eyes seem to dance with a wild, erratic heat that reminds you of your first impression of him, when you’d seen him on the landing. A demon. A finicky little monster, evidently high off the rush of his own power. 

“I guess he could always just wipe your memories clean and send you on your way instead.”

You give a tiny start at that, entirely against your will. “Is … is that really possible?” 

“Of course it is.” He scoffs, shaking his head to make those fluffy waves of pale blue bounce and shimmer in the overhead light. To think that was how Zandik’s hair had once looked … “It’s not exactly difficult. Neurological studies aren’t really my area of expertise but even I know how fragile the human brain is. You’d be shocked at how even just a small hit to the right spot on the head can have disastrous consequences that far eclipse the initial impact itself. If, for example, you were to take enough damage to your frontal lobe,” 

His hand shifts higher to poke at a spot on your forehead, making you wince. 

“You could be rendered a vegetable for the rest of your life. Loss of motor functions, loss of speech, loss of emotional regulation. You probably wouldn’t even be you anymore. And if your skull took a hard enough blow … hmm, here?” He jabs at a point just over your temple, slightly off to the side. “It could lead to seizures or even blindness. There really isn’t anything in this world that’s more complex or weak than the brains of vertebrates. Even the circuitry of machines pales in comparison but, well. It is the central hub of your nervous system for a reason, you know. So, as I’m sure you can imagine, although the exact region of memory storage is still up for debate, there are any number of ways one could render you incapable of effectively communicating with someone on the outside. We could even …” 

Humming a thoughtful sound of consideration, 22 shifts to the side and shuffles to stand half of the way behind you, keeping his body angled so close that you feel invariably trapped standing there with him like that. But you’re a little too queasy with fear and suffocating, sinking dread to even think about trying to pull away, frozen in place like a granite statue. You’d started to suspect how dire your situation truly was, of course, and even Zandik had acknowledged it too, but the way he talks about it so casually — almost gleefully is enough to damn near make you sick. Like you really were nothing more than an interesting specimen for him to poke and prod, and tear apart before leaving the broken pieces of you to rot. 

Even the flimsy safety net of your agreement with the Doctor is not nearly enough to quell your uncertainty where this one was concerned. He seemed to be somehow even less scrupulous than the surgeon, certainly more unpredictable than any of the others combined, and somehow that much more sadistic as a result. His cruel glee was almost childlike, in a way. 

And when his hand comes up to touch the back of your neck, pressing right in on the delicate spot where your skull connects to the stem of your spinal column, you tremble so hard the edges of your vision start to blur. 

“Severing the neurological connection here would be laughably easy. It happens all the time in accidents. They call it internal decapitation.” He tells you, all but purring now, while he softly strokes over that delicate ridge. “It sounds scary, doesn’t it? But it’s not necessarily an automatic death sentence. This sort of injury just leaves you paralyzed from the neck down. Forever trapped in your own body. Unable to move on your own or even feed yourself. For the rest of your sad little life you’d spend every day, every waking hour, every minute, lying in a bed, helpless to do anything but piss and shit all over yourself. You’d probably wish for death. You might even beg for it. But, with no way to take matters into your own hands and do it yourself, you’d just have to wait. Either for someone else to show you mercy and do it for you, or until you finally die on your own. Little more than a sad, forgotten, broken toy that’s been rightfully discarded.” 

Settling back on his heels, that half-masked fiend peers down at you with an eager, toothy grin. “Doesn’t that just sound delightful?” 

You’re far too busy trying not to regurgitate every single thing in your stomach to respond verbally, but you at least manage to give your head a stiff little shake. 

“Oh, don’t look so sad. I told you this wasn’t my area of expertise, didn’t I?” Condescendingly crooning now, 22 brings his other hand close to your face and you simply let him swipe at the wet corner of your eye with a rough drag of his gloved thumb. “I’m not going to be the one who does anything of the sort to you, so there’s nothing to fear. Besides … Omega might just decide to keep you. I must admit I rather like that option most of all.” 

He issues a soft, almost dreamy sigh at that prospect, and you carefully rouse yourself enough to peer up at him. He isn’t that much taller than you — in fact, you have a strong suspicion that Pantalone had the greater stature between them. But standing in the cellar there with him, shuddering in fright, even that small difference is enough to make you feel so terribly tiny and defenseless. 

Through that mind numbing terror, however, you still understand what he’s saying, what he’s getting at. If you were useful enough, you might live. If you endear yourself to them, you just may have the luxury of looking forward to a life of indentured servitude rather than the horrors they could choose to inflict upon you. And it was becoming more and more clear to you that they wouldn’t be the slightest bit bothered about it one way or another. The segments would continue to live even long after you and Zandik have both returned to the earth. It was so unnatural, so perverse, that it almost shatters something in your psyche to look upon him like this. What an affront to the gods. 

Did Her Majesty really know about this aspect of one of her Harbingers? 

“You’re so quiet now. Don’t tell me I’ve broken you already?” Cooing at you rather saccharinely, 22 readjusts his weight to the front facing foot and settles before you again while he ever so gently cups the side of your face in some facsimile of a tender gesture. “You were supposed to be more resilient than that, sweetheart.” 

“You can keep trying to scare me all you want,” you tell him, silently cursing the waver in your own voice. “But I very much doubt you’ll ever frighten me more than Lord Dottore does.” 

“Oh? Is that so?”

Giving your cheek a belittling tap with his fingertips, he lets his hand drop to your waist where he grabs at the swell of your hip, squeezing it tight enough to make you wince.

“Would you like to play a little game with me, then?” 

“I - I’d rather not, if it’s alright with you.” 

Snorting an unbecoming sound of mirth, 22 eases himself into a shuffling step that has him moving behind you again, hand dragging across your hip and over your stomach now to bunch the bulk of your skirt. “There’s nothing to fret about. I won’t hurt you. Not yet. Unless you want me to, of course.” 

With that ominous remark, he slips fully out of your line of sight to stand at your back. Not being able to see him hardly sets your nerves at ease though, especially when you can feel the way his presence looms up over your shoulder. And the palm pressing in on your womb slides the rest of the way over to come to a rest along the opposite hip where it stays. His other hand comes up then to mimic its twin, firmly latching onto the curves of your body and effectively trapping you there in front of him. 

“I don’t want you to hurt me.” You murmur into the open space where he’d once stood, sounding so small and frayed that you half expect him to laugh at you again. 

“Then I won’t.” He tells you simply. “But that just means you’ll have to be a good little maid and cooperate with me, right? After all, it’s only fair that I get to enjoy your company too if everyone else does and I’m afraid your slippers just aren’t cutting it anymore. It’s your job to take care of the masters of the house, isn’t that right?”

You grimace at the unpleasant reminder as much as at the suggestion that he was your master the same way Zandik was. But you have no way of knowing what the Doctor even told him and the other segments regarding you, and you’re much too aware of how precarious this situation already is for you to argue with him. You’d just have to go along with it for now and hope for the best. As long as it got you out of the cellar, you would endure any number of indignities he might choose to subject you to. 

“I … I’m willing to tend to you, if that is what it takes for me to leave this place and return to Master Zandik’s side. What would you like me to do?” 

His hands slowly tighten around your hips, pinching the meat of you so hard you can’t help but nervously fidget in place. “So, you really do have a soft spot for that ancient old wretch, I see. Can he even still get it up anymore at that age? I don’t imagine he makes for a very good bed fellow anymore.” 

A flood of indignant heat rushes into your cheeks, and you frantically cling to it to bolster your courage, even if only a little bit. 

“You’d be surprised.” You snap at him. “But I suppose that is the sort of arrogance one would expect from a young man such as yourself. You’re so caught up in your own ego that you can’t even fathom being anything less than … and judging by what Lord Dottore told me, you never will. How sad for you.” 

He grows unexpectedly quiet for a long, drawn out stretch of moments that seems to go on forever while your heart pounds a deafening staccato against your ribcage. It had felt undeniably good to say it but now you aren’t really sure why you’d said it. Even if that had been the plain and simple truth, your honest feelings on the matter, you belatedly realize that you probably should have held your tongue instead of letting him antagonize you. 

And that impression is only further solidified when he finally rattles out a thin, shuddering laugh that lacks even the slightest hint of real humor. 

“Are you trying to irritate me? That’s not a very wise decision, sweetheart.” 

You stubbornly nudge your chin up even when your lower lip starts to warble, quite glad now that he was standing behind you and he couldn’t see your facial expression. “I am not trying to do anything, sir. I would simply like to get this over with so that I can go get started on the Master’s dinner. It’s going to start getting late soon.” 

22 gives his teeth a sharp suck. You can feel the tremor of his anger where it works down his arms, feeds into the hands wrapped around your hips and then bleeds into you but, still, you simply refused to cower from him. Even knowing he could really hurt you or kill you if you made him mad enough isn’t sufficient reason for you to pretend like you didn’t hate everything about him. And you do. As much for the way he’s treated you as for how he talks about Zandik. You might have thought that being derivatives of him, they would at least respect the old man insofar as recognizing that he was the original but that clearly wasn’t the case. 

Finally growling some low, bestial sound, the man in the half-mask roughly drags his hands back to yank on your skirt, rudely hiking it up around your thighs. “We’ll see about that. Hold this up for me. Now.” 

Forcing your suddenly parched throat to work around a thick swallow, you reach down to gather the bulk of the fabric in your hands and lift it. A fresh shudder works through your body at the cool air that brushes over your legs, but you don’t shy away from it or cringe. It was indeed getting easier and easier to expose yourself like this, which comes as something of a strange relief in this particular situation. 22 of all people didn’t deserve to see you squirm like the others had. 

And at your easy acquiescence, he grunts a harsh sound, almost as if he’d expected you to put up more of a fight about it, before pulling his hands back to fumble with the front of his pants. You know that’s what he’s doing by the tall tell rattle of his belt when he flicks the catch open and spreads the leather out wide with a faint slither against the cotton of his slacks. 

Slowly closing your eyes while you stand there listening to the unmistakable sounds of undressing, you make every effort to brace yourself for what was to come. There’s no telling what he might decide to do to you or in what ways he might choose to use your body — the same way you’d caught him using your slipper, if you had to take a guess — but you were determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg or cry, or plead for mercy. You already knew it would only fall on deaf ears, anyway. 

At length and with one final shuffle that seems to brace his feet wide apart, he nudges himself right up into the space behind you. His narrow hips press flush against your backside where he takes a brief moment to indulge himself in just grinding against the swell of your ass, ensuring you feel the galvanized length that digs into you rather insistently. Aggressively poking and prodding at your behind, jabbing into you with mean spirited intent. 

And your eyebrows shoot up in staggering surprise when, in the act of dry humping you, it abruptly occurs to you that his cock feels much harder than Master Zandik’s did. Even at the height of his arousal, the old man always seemed to retain at least some amount of malleability. 

But this one is truly rigid and unrelenting, the poke of it sharp where it seems to eagerly seek out access to your body, and that manages to throw you for a bit of a loop. The thought that a young man might be able to get physically harder than someone older than him had never even crossed your mind until now. 

“Spread your legs for me.” He finally barks at you as one hand finds the skirt bunched around your waist to give it another upward yank. “And keep this held high. Don’t make me tell you again.” 

Slowly releasing the oxygen you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in your lungs, you heed his command and inch your heels a little further apart to stand with the space between your thighs open. Your skirt is obediently lifted and you take that chance to peer down at yourself, uncertain what he was going to do when you were like this. 

And then something truly unexpected happens. 

You feel 22 shuffle his feet wide as much as you hear it in the scrape of his shoes on the floor, and he seems to drop his pelvis into a vaguely crouched stance behind you. To your reeling shock he then proceeds to guide his stiff length between your thighs where, glancing down like that, you can see the exact moment it pokes through to the other side where it pauses. Hovering just beneath your clothed cunt and so very, very rigid, straining for you, that you subconsciously gasp at the sight of it. 

You’re not sure what it is, exactly, but there’s something about a young man’s cock that strikes you as intimidating, almost threatening in the way it eagerly flexes up as if in search of you. Like it was little more than a starving beast catching the whiff of fresh blood and following its nose straight to the source. And it terrifies you, so much so that you impulsively try to shy away from it, but 22 is quick to wind his arms around you before you can get very far, all but crushing you to the front of him. 

“Ah, ah. What did I say, huh? You’d better behave and act like a good little maid before I change my mind. I don’t have to be so nice about it. I suggest you remember that.” He hisses, practically snarling against the side of your head where he roughly nuzzles at you. Nearly suffocating you in his arms while he gives his hips a slow motion grind against your ass to nudge your pelvis further out in what would otherwise be a supplicating arch if only you weren’t trembling so terribly in your apprehension. 

“Maybe I’ll even decide to do it anyway, since you hate me so much. I’m sure Omega would just love to know where you were sneaking around when you saw me.” 

Your stomach gives a sharp little twist in response. “You … you really didn’t tell him?” 

Did that mean he’d truly figured out your deceit on his own? 

A harsh, condescending laugh barked directly into your neck. “Not yet. I could have, though. He even asked me about it when I was on my way back down to the cellar last night. Your bedroom smells very nice, by the way. But he did it in that vaguely leading way he always does when he won’t give you the answer because he’d rather hear you say it, so I didn’t tell him anything. Hah! That old bastard really thinks far too highly of himself if you ask me.” 

You’re more than just slightly surprised to hear him talking about the Doctor like that. But maybe you shouldn’t have been, considering the way they likewise tended to talk about Zandik. It must have just been in the nature of young men to think less of their older counterparts, you supposed. An unspoken contest of masculinity. 

“Do you — not like him either?” 

“And what’s there to like, hm? He lost sight of what really matters somewhere along the way.” He tells you between heated, nipping kisses pressed into the column of your throat, your jaw, the edge of his mask scraping your skin. “If you want my opinion, I think we should be focusing on exacting a little payback on the society that chased us away, turned its nose up at us and left us for dead. But instead he’d rather devote all of his energy to making an elixir to extend the life of that damned foppish banker! It’s a fool's errand and a waste of time that could be better spent elsewhere instead of on some silly mortal.” 

Your heart seems to plummet straight into the ground at your feet, and for the span of a single, wrenching moment it feels like everything is freezing and icing over around you. It was for Lord Regrator? 

But then he’s nudging at you with his hips again, all but growling into the side of your throat just as a mindless, rabid animal might to drag you back into the moment.

“Enough of that. Close your legs for me. Make it as nice and tight as you can.” 

He’s a thrumming ball of pent up energy behind you, too belligerent about it for you to argue, and you shyly bring your thighs together around his bobbing cock. Whimpering softly at the hot, hard press of him just under your cunt, you tip your chin down to try and get a good look at the way he’s now trapped between the soft pudgy press, but thanks to the angle as much as the bulk of your skirt you can’t make out much of anything at all. 

And yet you certainly feel it when he rumbles a low, deeply masculine sound and starts to earnestly grind his pelvis into your ass. The gesture shoves his stiff length deeper into the fleshy clutch of your thighs, rubbing himself against you, before then easing back to start up what he’d clearly envisioned would be a satisfying glide. There’s too much friction though, and it’s difficult for him to move like this, making him quickly hiss a sound of annoyance. 

One of his hands soon retreats from your waist, disappearing behind you for a moment, and when it reappears it is without his glove, leaving the palm he holds up towards your face utterly and unexpectedly naked. 

“Spit.” He commands, making you blanch. 

But you hesitantly comply with this too, working your tongue to gather more saliva in your mouth and then somewhat awkwardly depositing it into his waiting hand. 22 immediately retracts his arm at the same time that he slides his cock out from between your legs, reaching down into that scant space, and you abruptly realize he’s smearing himself with it as a form of impromptu lubricant. 

You’re not so sure that’s going to work, nor do you really want to have saliva all over your skin, but you say nothing when he adjusts his stance, starting to slide back in now. 

And you outright squeak at the sensation of cool, sticky flesh bullying its way in between your thighs, understandably appalled at the messiness of it. He seems to find it agreeable enough though, heaving another breathy grunt as his length slowly settles into place along the hot embrace of your skin with only a brief amount of effort to show for it. You sway unsteadily there on your feet even while you force yourself to maintain that awkward posture for him, breath coming a little quicker now. 

It gets more and more difficult to manage that obedience, however, when he starts up a stuttering push and pull of his narrow hips to send his steel lined cock skittering along the meat of your legs. The spit does help marginally, at least enough for him to find the leverage with which to thrust, and his rhythm gradually starts to pick up into harder, almost fully executed jabs that jostle you back and forth in his hold. 

The most surprising part isn’t that he’s engineered a way to fuck you in this manner, or even that he would want to go about it this way in the first place. Rather, it’s how your pussy sympathetically flutters in response to the vigorous stabbing of his manhood, the way your brain can’t help but imagine how he would feel slipping and sliding inside your guts like that. He was just so very close to the heated core of your body, taunting you with the suggestion of it when there were no pleasure inducing nerves to be found between the press of your thighs to leave you regretfully high and dry while he got off. 

And how could you not respond to it when the memory of Zandik taking you on the desk in the library was still so potently fresh in your mind? You were still very much aware of not only the lingering ache in your recently stretched cunt but also the thick ooze of him slowly dripping out of you …

It’s especially staggering to think that this was how he might have fucked you in his youth. That this was how he wished he could fuck you now, if only his body would cooperate and rise to the challenge your fertile body presented to him. You’re not so sure you like it, being pounded so hard and so fast, without any concern for your pleasure or comfort, but there’s not much else you can do in this situation except take it. 

Yet even so, what Zandik said to you earlier is not lost on you in this situation. His segments were him as much as the reverse was also true. A little different, but still him. Trying to look the other way wouldn’t change that. As much as you may want to pretend like they were fundamentally different people, you knew you would only be deluding yourself, and the same man who’d taken you so carefully, so patiently, was now brutalizing you with the aggressive jab of his cock. How were you possibly supposed to reconcile this in your mind? 

This conundrum leaves you thoroughly and resoundingly confused, torn between two equally compelling impulses while 22 energetically uses you towards his own end. On one hand you would have liked to maintain your impartiality, to treat this as nothing more than an obligation, a duty for you to endure and fulfill. On the other hand, though, the thought that this was Zandik’s cock driving into the hot press of your legs, the same cock that had bullied you open and pumped you full of seed barely even two hours ago, just harder, firmer, stronger, has your cunt subconsciously responding to him in kind even when you sorely wished it wouldn’t.

You were starting to get wet again. Dammit. 

It’s particularly frustrating after you’d already changed your panties once today, before you’d made the slow trek with him down the stairs, but that seems to have been for naught now as you feel your pussy start to ooze honeyed arousal. Mewling a helpless, heady little sound, you not so subtly squeeze your legs tighter together for your benefit as much as his, even as you rebuke it in the same breath. 

And that earns you a seething growl of approval while 22 snarls through the effort of pounding at your shuddering thighs, roughly jostling you with each snappy thrust. “Yes! Fuck, that’s good … hold them just like that, sweetheart. God, this body of yours is absurd!” 

He punctuates this with a sharp, stinging swat to the meaty side of your hip to make you yelp at the stinging starburst. The swell of your ass hurts, too, where he’s rubbing against the lingering bruises and handprints, smacking the flat plane of his pelvis into globular cheeks with enough force to make the flesh jiggle and bounce for him. But somehow that just seems to ratchet your excitement up another notch even while you desperately wrestle with these confounding and contradictory feelings swelling in your chest. That simmering, lingering pain does feel good …

Once again you find that you’re almost startled by this masochistic streak you’ve started to develop. Or maybe it’s always been there, lurking just below the surface and lying in wait for an opportunity to rear its ugly head, but you don’t truly have the time to unpack that right now. The thought is gone almost as soon as it appeared, and then you’re right back to thinking about the cock between your legs. 

Shuddering for the cock between your legs. 

Whining a low sound at the hard, hot press of the cock between your legs. 

Practically drooling in your reluctant, lolling stupor because of the cock between your legs. 

And that is in all likelihood a good thing, because 22 seems to quickly deplete the meager offering of spit now smeared along your inner thighs. He heaves a faltering groan of frustration as he slides his gloveless hand forward again and offers it palm up to your face. 

“More. Spit again. Quickly!” 

You wince at that sharp command, even as you roll your tongue around inside your mouth to gather as much saliva as you can. He barely even gives you enough time to hock it into his hand before yanking it back around, pulling completely out from between your legs then. This gives you a brief chance to adjust the positioning of your feet but it doesn’t do you much in the way of good, and he nearly tips you straight over when he starts to forcefully shove his way back inside the tight, fleshy grip of the makeshift cunt he’s made for himself. 

“Shit!” He rattles out, still finding more resistance than he’d wanted. “I need more. Come on, don’t you at least know how to do this much? You should be able to do this much” 

His bare hand snakes around again, angling up towards your face, but he manages to catch you wholly by surprise when, instead of waiting for you to spit, he rudely shoves two of his fingers into your mouth before you can even think to pull away. 

You jolt, going ramrod stiff against him with a muffled squawk of protest that he doesn’t even seem to hear. The blunt pads of his coarse fingers simply find your tongue and press down on it, nearly making you choke as your mouth starts to flood with the trigger of your salivary glands. Whining a thready sound from the back of your throat, you struggle to get control of your gag reflex before you can humiliate yourself any further than you already have, but he’s utterly ruthless with it. Pinning that squirming organ to your bottom jaw, he sets in to rub over it and further stimulate your saliva production, entirely unperturbed by the way you weakly wretch around his fingers.  

Finally letting up on your tongue after a long, drawn out pause, 22 takes a moment to swirl his digits around inside your mouth to gather up as much spit as he can before dragging it out past your lips. To the surprise of absolutely no one, he loses more of it than he keeps, and your stomach roils at the sensation of sticky threads of drool dripping down your chest and your chin. You were going to have to clean up again thanks to this empty headed idiot! 

“Oohhn. Yeah! That’s good.” He mutters under his breath, no doubt smearing the mess over his pulsing cock with a tight fist. 

And this time when he starts to shove his way back into the heat of your thighs, it’s on a much smoother, wetter glide now, and he’s able to slide home almost completely unhindered. Somehow he’s still not quite satisfied though and, dropping both of his hands — one gloved and one coated in spit — to grab at the pudge of your inner thighs, he roughly forces them apart. Using this opportunity to nudge his pelvis right up against your ass, so tight you’re sure you would have been knocked right over if he didn’t have such a painful death grip on you, he makes sure he’s fitted nice and snug before pushing your legs inward again. 

“That’s it, that’s it, close them for me, there! Just like that! Now, cross your ankles. And. Don’t. You. Move.” 

Seething softly when your balance nearly topples over in that awkward position, one foot crossed in front of the other, you dizzily let him grab hold of your hips and yank you back against him. His hips slam forward at the same time, and the resulting, fleshy smack! of skin colliding with skin very nearly steals your breath away. 

He suddenly appears to have full range of movement now, and you can only jostle to and fro while he vigorously slams himself into you, again and again, snarling a vicious sound of victory while he does it. And even as you internally cringe at the mess he’s made of you, the way his fingers dig in so hard you’re sure to find bruises marking your skin later, your pussy just continues to grow hotter and hotter for him. It’s a little hard not to find this exciting, though, especially when he’s driving into you so hard and so fast that you can only imagine what it would be like to have him jabbing up at your womb like that. 

So, this was what it would be like to get well and truly fucked. 

And you can’t help but think, somewhere far within the darkest corners of your reeling mind, that you’d been right to avoid the boy’s your age this entire time. This was too much. You knew it would only leave you sore and unsatisfied where Zandik’s steadily measured thrusts had left you basking in it, pampered and ready for more. Even if your pussy thought it wanted this, your higher functioning brain knew better. If 22 had taken you the same way your master had, forcing his way into your cunt and then pounding it senseless, once would have been more than enough for a good long while. You may not have ever wanted to have sex again if this was all you knew to expect from it. 

He seems to be enjoying himself though, given the way he grunts and groans, hissing behind you while he clutches at you so fervently you nearly find yourself shocked that he hasn’t taken both of you to the ground yet. But he’s tireless and relentless in his pursuit of pleasure — his, and nobody else’s while he uses your body for his own satisfaction without any concern for yours. Another point against him and in Zandik’s favor. The old man never would have treated you like this. 

That thought clicks right into place like a missing puzzle piece finding its preordained spot, and you suddenly realize why he was going about it this way. He didn’t see you as your own individual, autonomous person with thoughts or feelings, needs or wants. Or, at the very least, he had no intention of treating you like one. This was for his own selfish desires and nothing more. He was just using you like a masturbatory toy the exact same way he’d used your slipper. Simply put, 22 had no interest in making this good for you because the concerns of mere objects were inconsequential to him. 

Your cheeks absolutely burn with indignation. 

What a self absorbed prick! 

You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from cursing him out loud as you stiffly turn your head away, preferring to stare at the far wall while he finishes up and you can only pray that it would be quick. Luckily it looks like that’s going to be the case when he was over exerting himself without any thought to pacing or stamina, which he seems to have plenty of. But even at the peak of his youth as a twenty-two year old man it’s still not limitless, and you feel a mean little barb of petty joy light up in your chest when his rhythm soon starts to falter, turning uneven and sharp. 

Zandik had lasted longer than that. Even putting aside the fact that he had no choice but to pace himself, and his cock wasn’t nearly as excitable as this, you still recognize the greater sexual prowess he’d shown you. 22 was simply too lacking in experience, untempered, too eager to get his rocks off to give any thought to the idea of being an inadequate lover. Some childish part of you badly wants to rub it in his face, wishing you could humiliate and degrade him the same way he’s done to you. 

But you have the good sense to refrain as he wheezes a stuttering sound of deeply felt pleasure, dragging you somehow even tighter against him, crushing you, while his cock pulses hotly between your thighs. And his thrusts just keep getting tighter and tighter when his tensing thighs start to lock up in trembling ecstasy until he seems to have no choice but to let go of your hips in a sudden, scrambling rush, reaching up to lock his arms around your middle instead. 

Shoving his face into the crook of your neck with a frazzled moan that lilts and rises in pitch at the tail end, the stiff motion of his punishing thrusts abruptly switches to grinding, grinding, grinding into you from behind. Like he just couldn’t bring himself to keep up that jackhammering effort any longer but he needed to keep moving somehow. 

And when he finally cums it is with a long, drawn out groan of pure and utter delight, sensitively twitching against your back while his cock eagerly throbs with his orgasm. A split second later you catch the tiny little plap, plap of his seed hitting the floor between your feet, giving you the sense of victory now. Misplaced or not, it’s hard not to feel at least a bit emboldened at the unrestrained fervor he’s shown your thighs, how hard his release rocked through him with so little effort on your part. If only you were brave enough, you might have felt so inclined to mock him for being such an easy to please boy. 

Just like Zandik enjoyed teasing you for being such an easy to please girl. 

Perhaps, then, this was simply the curse of your shared youth with 22. 

“Fuck, that was good.” He hisses at length, once his breathing has started to even out some, but his head remains where it rests on your shoulder. Like he was still trying to recover and orient his sense of self in the wake of such an explosive release. 

As much as you could sympathize with that, you’re beyond ready to get the hell out of the cellar and you lift your chin with a prim little sniff to help steel your resolve. You had to put your foot down now or you’d never escape his clutches. “I trust you are satisfied with this then. Will that be all, sir?” 

Grumbling something incomprehensible under his breath, 22 lifts his face enough to speak into your neck. “Don’t be like that. I can go again. Just give me fifteen minutes or so. Maybe I’ll even do you a favor and play with your tits for a while, hm?”

“I do not want you to go again.” You insist, outright grimacing at the thought. There was no question as to how many times he could go, and in relatively quick succession according to the evidence you’d found inside your slipper, but you couldn’t stand to endure another moment more of his rough attentions. 

Carefully, you start to ease your body forward with every intention of escaping the confines of his arms and, to your mild pang of surprise, he actually lets you go. Being mindful not to step in his spend, you get yourself turned around to face him, noting the satiated slump of his body as much as the grumpy scowl tugging at his mouth. 

And, with an unimpressed quirk of your brow, you blatantly take stock of the softened cock shamelessly hanging out of his pants too. 

“As much as I’m sure a young man such as yourself has all the energy in the world to keep mindlessly rutting,” you tell him in a rather lofty tone of voice that almost manages to surprise even you. “I’m afraid that I have other duties to see to and I must take my leave back to the Masters side now. Although it may arouse your ire, you are not yet the master of this house or me for that matter.” 

And hopefully he never would be, if you had anything to say about it. 

But even though everything you’d said was the truth, your sass still has the unintended effect of making him guffaw in affront and he slowly straightens up from his carnal slouch like a predator rising from a fresh kill. “That’s a big mouth you’ve got all of a sudden. I bet you wouldn’t talk to Omega like that.”

“And you’re right. But you are not him, are you?” 

He sputters at that, struggling to get the words out when he seems to be trying to say five different things all at once, before finally settling on, “I’m still above you, you know! Even if I’m not Omega or that dying old fogey, I outrank you! That means you have to listen to me!” 

You gnash your teeth in response to that jab at Zandik, wanting nothing more than to spit poison and vulgarities at him, but the helpfully reasonable voice in the back of your mind assures you that wouldn’t be a good idea. 22 was clearly the most dangerous segment you’ve met so far, thanks in no small part to his unpredictably extreme mood swings, and you weren’t sure to what extent your agreement with the Doctor would save you.

Forcing your tight lungs to expand on a slow breath meant to calm and ground your flaring nerves, you neatly fold your hands together in front of your apron and level him with a deliberately even look. “And I will show you the respect that is due to you with your position in mind, sir. But unless I’m mistaken, both Master Zandik and Lord Dottore in turn outrank you which means your orders do not supersede theirs. I am happy to tend to your needs when I am able, but that cannot take me away from my other responsibilities.” 

He shoots you a truly spiteful and malevolent glare then as he sets about shoving himself back into his pants with aggressive, jerky movements. “Fine! Have it your way, but don’t start crying about how it isn’t fair later on! You’ll get no sympathy from me!” 

Somehow you got the feeling that he wouldn’t have had much to spare anyway, even if you’d been willing to let him use you indefinitely like an object for his pleasure. Clearly Zandik had still been much too selfish and caught up in his own pride at this age to realize how obtrusive his behavior came off when he acted like that. Thank the gods he’d eventually outgrown this! 

But you were free to go now, and that was really all that mattered. Stopping just long enough to send the puddle of clumpy white spend on the floor a distasteful look, you nudge your chin up and move to step around him, leaving 22 with his mechanical toys. That he doesn’t try to stop you almost comes as a surprise, but it was a very welcome one indeed. Your heart felt like it was going to burst right out of your chest from how terribly it slams against your ribcage. Some very real part of you couldn’t quite believe you’d just mouthed off at him like that. It wasn’t really like you, truth be told. 

And yet, in addition to turning you into something of a masochist, this place also seemed to be forcing you to grow a backbone. You hadn’t really needed one before now, when the average civilian in Snezhnograd was usually at least passingly polite and you knew enough from growing up in such humble surroundings to recognize when someone was trying to cheat you. The games played between the Fatui Harbingers were on a completely different level though. It wasn’t even that they were simply cheating or stacking the odds in their favor. They were playing by a different rule book altogether, one that you didn’t even have access to. Chess to checkers. 

Not for the first time you find yourself thinking how insidious it was that you’d been dropped into this world with so very little preparation or warning, lamenting the choices that landed you here even when you knew you wouldn’t have made any other choice back then. 

You try not to think about that too hard, though, as you look around in search of your bearings again. It takes you a long moment to get your sense of direction straight in the labyrinthine cellar where one work station seemed to bleed into the next, but at last you spot something you recognize. That curiously trapped ball of pulsing energy inside a corked flask. You hadn’t been sure if you’d actually recognize it again after the fact but indeed you do, and you quickly retrace your steps back to what constituted for a center aisle. The one good thing is that, even for as chaotic as some of the staging setups are, it’s all so distinctly separated into clear sections that it’s relatively easy to find your way back from there. 

Finally reaching the door a few minutes later, you find your little hand lamp right where you’d left it and you quickly work to get it lit. Back up the stairs you go, through the landing where you make sure to securely shut the hall door behind you and then down towards the kitchen. You couldn’t wait to freshen up. Again. 

Burn it all, you really were going to have to start laundering your panties every single night. And that was to say nothing of the wet spots staining your shirt or the uncomfortable residue of spit on your chin which you fuss and swipe at with a clammy hand. 

Finally stepping back into the kitchen again with a very tired sigh, you make a beeline straight over to the long table you usually sat at while peeling potatoes and other time consuming tasks, where you place the lamp down to a small metallic clatter. You tell yourself you’ll refill the kerosene later and start to turn, thinking you’ll check on Zandik before going upstairs. 

But you only make it half a step before you freeze in place. 

There’s a child. 

Sitting at the smaller servants table off to the side in the corner. 

And he’s staring right at you with big, winsome red eyes that slowly blink as if in acknowledgment of having your attention on him. 

He doesn’t say anything, though, and you somewhat surreptitiously glance around at the rest of the kitchen even as you bring a hand up to straighten your hair. Or try to, anyway. Goodness, what sort of mess did you even look like after all that damned pawing from 22? 

The suddenness of it leaves you momentarily too disoriented to think straight, but there isn’t really any question as to who this child is though. If the red eyes were not enough to give it away then certainly the pale blue curls on his head did, and you try to put on your very best smile for him as you start to make your way over to the table, forcibly shoving all of that unpleasant business in the cellar out of your mind. 

“Hello, there. I was wondering when I’d get to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Lord Dottore.” 

He only gives one of his brows a nearly imperceptible quirk, as if he didn’t believe that for even a second and, furthermore, he isn’t quite sure why you would say that. 

Fixed with that look, you can’t help but wonder why you would say that too. 

In retrospect you probably should have known better. The Doctor already told you he was not well liked as a child and, if what he’d said to you was true, he’d even been rejected by the adults around him. He didn’t need your coddling or empty platitudes, and he certainly didn’t need your softhearted empathy either. No, he needed to be met on equal footing and shown the respect that was always due to him as another person. The same respect you would have liked to be on the receiving end from other members of the household some days. 

Coming to a halt in front of the boy, you give him a real smile now. “You must be Master Zandik when he was eight, isn’t that right? It’s nice to meet you.” 

He still doesn’t seem to be overly charmed by you, but he does give you a brief nod. “A pleasure, I’m sure.” 

You’re almost a little thrown off by that high and mighty response spoken in such a small, guileless voice, but you quickly decide to just press on. “Have you been sitting here long? Were you … waiting for me, by any chance?” 

Another slow nod. “Zandik asked me to find you and introduce myself. He said he didn’t want you to be startled by our guests. Which doesn’t really make a lot of sense to me, considering we live here sometimes too. But I guess from your perspective we probably look like the outsiders, huh?”

You start to tilt your head at that before catching yourself and quickly straightening back up again. No way were you going to start picking up on that bird masked fiends bad habits. 

“Who — who is we?” 

“Me, and …” A sudden look of consternation crosses his round face. “Zandik said you want to call us by our ages. Doesn’t that seem silly to you? Are you really that dumb?” 

Jolting like he’d reached out and smacked you, you give him a plainly startled look. Alright, so, maybe you were starting to see why the adults in his immediate vicinity may not have appreciated having him around if this was how he always acted but, dammit, you weren’t about to let a little boy get under your skin like that. Besides, you’d gladly take being called dumb over some of the things the Doctor has said to you any day. 

“I’m afraid so.” You tell him earnestly and with feeling. “You’ll have to spell everything out for me in simple and easy to understand language. I’m a bit in over my head here, so cut me some slack.” 

He noises a tiny (and frankly, adorable) little harrumph as he crosses his arms, letting his mouth tug into a small frown. “That’s understandable then. I’ll teach you while we’re here, and then you’ll know how to refer to us properly.” 

So serious for such a little man. Yes, you could certainly see Zandik reflected in that tiny face of his even if they were firmly at two opposite ends of the spectrum. Even the set of his brow … good lord, was this what Zandik’s son would have looked like? A real son, and not the one you’d made up to explain away the presence of that blasted surgeon. 

Trying very hard to ignore the almost painful twist in your chest, you offer him a pleased smile that you hope reaches your eyes. “Thank you very much. I appreciate that. I’ll be counting on you then. Now, as for the identity of ‘we’ …?” 

“Oh. It’s me and 65, to put it in a way you’ll understand. We just got back from Liyue.”

An intense shudder zaps down your spine to make you stand up just a pinch straighter. The sixty-five year old Zandik was here too? You’d been particularly curious about this segment seeing as he was closest in age to the real one, wondering if he would show any of the same inclination for doting or if he’d still been mean at that age. Some strange little part of you wanted him to like you just as the old man did but … what would you even say to him? Were you actually ready to meet him so soon? Oh, you needed to freshen up first, certainly. 

“Liyue, huh?” You stammer, biding for time. You needed a chance to think. And gods, you felt like an absolute twit suddenly getting so shy and fidgety at the prospect of meeting a sixty-five year old man of all things, but you couldn’t help it! 

This was Master Zandik you were talking about, and you already found him so very attractive at eighty-five. Somehow sixty-five seemed all the more dangerous in your mind. Forbidden territory, somehow.  

“Yes. We were researching something in The Chasm there. I don’t think you’ll get it even if I tried to explain it though.” 8 tells you rather matter of factly, and well. You can’t really argue with that, now can you? 

Sighing a rather clipped exhale, he slides down off the chair and reaches out to take your hand, startling you out of your spiraling thoughts. 

“Come. Let’s go sit with the others in the drawing room.”

“But — but - -“ You try to protest but when he gently tugs you into motion with him, you don’t even try to fight it. You can’t. His tiny hand feels so fragile in yours. Had someone really chased this poor boy off and left him for dead? 

“I usually go with … 18 when I need to travel somewhere for research.” He’s telling you very patiently, as if he were speaking to an invalid. “It tends to draw less attention, you know. We look like brothers. But 65 had something he wanted to look into in Liyue as well, so we went together this time. Most people naturally assume he’s my father, but … others are too nosy for their own good. They see the way he looks and think he’s up to something. Sometimes they even accuse him of kidnapping me.” 

It’s obvious in the tiny quirk of his mouth that he finds this funny, amusing even, but you really don’t think there’s anything to laugh about right now. 

“Wh - … what does he look like to rouse those kinds of suspicions?” 

“You’ll see.” He says rather vaguely, ominously, as he pulls you down the hallway. “He’s looking forward to meeting you. Zandik speaks highly of your work and even Ome — 35 has said nice things about you too. He’s hard to impress, so you must be good.” 

“I certainly try … wait, what has Lord Dottore said about me?”

8 just hums a noncommittal sound though, and you give a small jolt when he reaches up for the door handle to the drawing room, giving it a subdued turn to nudge it open. You hadn’t even realized the two of you had made such quick work of the corridor, and you nervously rear back on his little hand. There were still drying spots of saliva on your shirt, dammit! But it’s too late. 

The door is already swinging wide and you simply don’t have the heart to truly pull out of his hold, not in earnest. It would feel too much like rejection from your standpoint, even if he didn’t feel the same way about it, and all you can do now is put on a brave face, praying you don’t look too frumpy and out of sorts. Rather self consciously, you swipe a quick hand down the front of your skirt to ensure it’s as straightened as it can be when he unhesitatingly steers you inside. 

Zandik glances up at the sound of your arrival, a surprisingly easy smile in place, and the one sitting across from him brings his attention up too. But there is no mouth present with which to smile, and you can’t seem to catch the frightened jolt you give at the sight of the full faced, dramatically hooked beak mask that eerily turns towards you. You’d thought the Doctor’s was unsettling and bird-like enough, but 65’s puts even him to shame. It looks like something straight out of a nightmare and for a harrowing stretch of seconds you feel immensely foolish for being excited to meet him. Clearly this place only had an ever revolving door of horrors to show you. 

But then, startling you a great deal, a rumbling, unexpectedly good natured laugh drags out of the figure sitting on the Fontainian imported sofa to wash over your prickling skin like a velveteen, spectral caress. 

“Don’t be frightened, little one. It’s only a mask. Nothing more and nothing less. I’d think you would have gotten used to seeing these by now.”

“I - I’m so sorry.” You quickly blurt, flushing red hot at your own carelessness. “I d - didn’t mean - -“

“It’s alright, girl. He gets that kind of reaction all the time. There isn’t anything for you to apologize for.” Zandik informs you not unkindly before turning a rueful look on his counterpart where he sits across from him in one of the highbacked chairs. The very same one he’d been sitting in when you’d put your mouth on his cock, you can’t help but notice. “You’ll have to forgive me for turning into something of a reticent hermit in my later years. Even old men get shy sometimes, too.” 

Another low, reverberating chuckle creaks out of that alarming looking mask, sounding unmistakably rich and heavy with a gravelly quality to it that even the unsettling barrier cannot truly conceal. It’s an odd, confusing contradiction which only leaves you even more unsure how to navigate this new situation you’ve been dropped into. 

But then 8 turns to glance up at you, giving your fingers what you think is supposed to be an encouraging squeeze. “See what I mean?” 

At the numb bob of your head, the little boy releases you and calmly makes his way over to Zandik. Your surprise at this gesture is quickly and irreversibly eclipsed by an even greater sense of shock when your master reaches out to affectionately pat that full head of curls, taking you aback by no small margin. Something delicate in you almost seems to shatter, in fact. 

So, he didn’t have a strained relationship with all of his segments then. That admittedly comes as a great relief to you, somehow. 

“Little one.” 

Your head comes up to find 65 crooking a black gloved finger at you and nothing more. Not sure what else to do, you somewhat anxiously drag your hands over your uniform to smooth it out some more as you shuffle over to him with your chin shyly tucked down. Even if you’d wanted to look at him, you’re not quite sure where to look on that mask. 

“I - it’s nice to meet you, sir. I’m sorry if I look a mess right now. I wasn’t quite expecting - -“

“Nonsense. You’re a vision. Just as Zandik described you. In fact, I might even go so far as to say he skimped out on some of the finer details now that I’m getting a good look at you. I’m almost jealous that he’s found such a sweet young thing to keep him company.”

The way your cheeks seem to grow warmer and your pulse starts to quicken only succeeds in making you feel even more embarrassed to have such charming praise directed at you. To say you hadn’t expected 65 to have the charisma of a well established, powerful gentleman would have been a massive understatement. 

But when he holds his hand out to you, palm up, you don’t hesitate to place your fingers in his. Your own eagerness almost startles you, in truth, but you don’t even try to fight it when he gently pulls you forward to stand between the confident spread of his knees. Resting against the inside of his leg is a cane not unlike Zandik’s, although this one looks to be much fancier. More decorative. 

And you realize quite suddenly how dapperly he’s dressed now that you’re positioned directly in front of him like that. A bespoke suit with a fancy, patterned blue silk tie around the collar of his shirt, a big, black overcoat outfitted with a somewhat dramatic explosion of fur that drapes halfway down the shoulders, and on top of that he even has a matching hat perched atop his head. He is by and far the most well dressed of the segments you’ve met yet. 

Abruptly, you find yourself that much more nervous around him when his clothing only seems to highlight the stark difference in your stations even when it is so very at odds with the unnerving style of his mask. It’s like meeting Pantalone all over again, in some deeply confounding way. 

But, to his credit, 65 doesn’t even seem to give it another thought as he interestingly tilts his head to the side, presumably to get a better look at you through the curious glass eye holes, although you can make out nothing at all of what might be within through them. 

“Hmmm. Yes, yes indeed. What a lovely little thing you are, my girl. Zandik is rather lucky to have you taking care of him, isn’t he? I would only be so lucky if I were to find myself being tended to by a nurse half as pretty as you are some day.” 

“O - oh. I’m not sure I deserve such a high estimation from you, sir. But thank you.”

“My, and so modest too. I do have to wonder where that fool Omega possibly managed to find you though. I might like one for myself. You wouldn’t happen to have a sister, now, would you?” 

Bashfully turning your face away, you valiantly try to stop yourself from getting caught up in the alluring seduction of his low voice made only all the more deep thanks to his long pointed beak. But it’s hard, nearly impossible, when you were coming in straight off the brutish pawing and rutting of that damned 22. This seems like a dream come to in comparison despite your initial disquiet towards him. 

No, that wasn’t quite right. You would have been regretfully susceptible to this man’s charms even if 22 hadn’t touched you at all. Maybe you simply just had a thing for older men. 

“No, sir … I’m an only child. B - but thank you for the compliment.” 

“What a lucky girl you are, to have no siblings. I have a few too many, if you want the truth. Ah, but then you must be used to being spoiled, I take it?” He gives your captured hand a coaxing tug then, encouraging you to get closer to him. “Come down to my level, won’t you? Let me get a better look at you.” 

Swallowing down the fluttery butterflies dancing around in your throat, you heed his request and nudge yourself further into the space between his legs. And when you lean down slightly to bring your face about even with the curved beak, you get your first real good whiff of him only to realize he smells divine. Rich and heady, like expensive, dark cologne. Not dissimilar to the scent that was on Pantalone’s letter to you, but his had been considerably more gentle. Suggestive, almost. Like a flirtatious brush of fingertips against bare skin. This is hard and undeniably masculine. 

Blinking through the haze that starts to descend over your fogging brain, you force yourself to look into those empty eye holes even when you don’t see anything peering back at you from within. It was only the polite thing to do, wasn’t it? 

“Is this better, si - -“ 

You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp, eyes growing so wide you can see the reflection of your own alarm reflected back at you on that round, glassy surface in the mask. You’re too stunned to react beyond that. Too shocked to even consider pulling away. 

The pointed, deliberate nudge between your legs has effectively robbed you of any and all wherewithal to do much of anything else except blithely stand there while he rubs the grip of his cane into your pantied cunt. Slow and stilted, applying just enough pressure for you to know beyond any shadow of a doubt that he was doing it on purpose. Intentionally. Even knowing full and well that Zandik and 8 were right behind you. 

Had they noticed what was happening on the other side of the room? Were they watching you, wondering why you’d suddenly gone stock still? 

Panic quickly starts to swell in the back of your mind. How were you possibly supposed to react in this situation? What did you say? What should you do? You were terrified of drawing any unwanted attention to yourself right now, just in case that made it even more obvious that something was not right, and so you just stand there instead. Utterly frozen in place, while thoughts of sparing the child from any obscene sights swirl within your head at a truly sickening speed. You couldn’t respond with your knee jerk reactions as long as he was in the room, but … what options did that even leave you?

And 65 is of absolutely no help to you at all as he just keeps silently peering into your face while the blunt handle of his cane continues rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. 

⭐

Please forgive me for the haste in which I have written this letter, but I do not know how much longer the person I’m about to entrust it to will wait for me to get my thoughts in order. 

Between everything going on here with Master Zandik and the man in the mask, the mysterious “son” I recently met, even Lord Regrator’s house call, and the lack of any correspondence from you on top of it all … I just don’t know anymore, mama. I don’t know what I’m doing here some days. It is clear to me that I don’t really belong in this household, keeping this particular company, and I badly wish to return home to be at your side. For a number of reasons I can’t do that, though, so it seems that I am truly stuck in this situation for the foreseeable future. I can’t help but shudder to think what will happen when my role here is made redundant. 

Even more than that, though, I find myself nearly sick with worry over you. Is the treatment at the hospital not going well and that’s why you haven’t replied to any of my letters? Do you not wish to frighten me with the truth? Are they even reaching you at all? 

I’m scared, mama. For myself and for you. The situation here seems to be fast unraveling before my very eyes. I do not know how much time Master Zandik still has left in this world, but it’s starting to feel more and more like my own end is intrinsically tied with his. I can’t go into too many details in case this letter is intercepted but I have made the decision to do something truly foolish. Yes, even more foolish than venturing down into the cellar. 

Even knowing the risks involved and the danger it might invite, I have to try to get in contact with you somehow. You are my only lifeline to the outside world, mama. If this letter manages to reach you, please give your reply to the woman who delivered it and insist that she hand your correspondence off to me personally.  

Please, mama. I desperately need your help!

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Breakfast the next morning is an exceedingly awkward affair. 

After crying yourself to exhaustion the night before, it hardly comes as a surprise that you wake up just as tired as you’d gone to sleep. The early morning light that streams in through the single solitary window over your bed makes your swollen eyes hurt and for a long while you just can’t seem to find the energy to get up. 

But, eventually, you decide that you need to make every effort to put that awful experience in the cellar and all of the terrible consequences that had come with it behind you. Lingering on it or stewing in the still present ache across your bruised bottom wouldn’t serve any purpose beyond making you miserable. Maybe if you put in the effort to look nice and presentable for Master Zandik he would find it in himself to forgive you. Or at the very least he might pet and dote on you again, even if he was still a little upset at what you’ve done … 

You have to force your limbs to cooperate and with no shortage of effort but, somehow, you manage to rise to your feet. After spending a bit more time than you usually would on your appearance — taking extra care to brush out your hair and style it, making sure every ribbon on the flouncy uniform is tied off into a perfect bow, and even going so far as to crack your window open to scoop some of the snow off the sill so you can pat it on your face in an attempt to combat the puffiness — you deem yourself ready. 

Or as ready as you think you can be. Although you’re not so sure any of it will work, you still put on your best smile for him, hoping to leave that regretful business behind you where it belonged. 

Unfortunately when you open the door to his room you find Zandik already up and stubbornly trying to dress himself. Horrified, you forget about your silly idea to win him over through appeal and quickly rush to his aid. 

But he refuses to say much of anything to you even when you implore him to take a seat on the edge of the bed, so that you might help him. He finally relents though, much to your great sigh of relief as he lowers himself down to the mattress with his slacks awkwardly tangled around the knobby bends of his knees. Heart in your throat, you start on the top half where his shirt is only partially buttoned up and slightly twisted where he’d been wrestling with it. Your heart silently breaks not only to see him like this but also because of the way he won’t even seem to look at you while you work to get him dressed. 

You can’t quite decide if his expression is one of anger and disappointment, or of — remorse? Guilt?  It’s hard to tell when it was so rare to see him looking anything but arrogant and self assured. Even in his softest moments with you his brow always seemed to rest at an angle that would suggest he was thinking of complicated things that far surpassed what his current physical condition could easily accomplish. That was never enough to truly stop him though, not when he was so confident in his own abilities, his own genius. Now, though … 

Now he almost resembles a man defeated, the way his thin shoulders slump and the slight hunch in his spine has deepened. This posture leaves his head solemnly hanging even when you gently, carefully brush out his hair for him. But, to his credit, he does not snap at you for fussing over him nor does he try to slap you away. He simply lets you do whatever it is you’re going to do without so much as a glance or even a single word uttered in your direction. It’s not at all dissimilar to how he’d acted when you first arrived here, and yet it’s somehow that much worse after the progress you’d made. For a horrible moment, you think this stonewalling from him might actually kill you. 

And then, at last, he mutters a brisk ‘thank you’ and then an equally clipped ‘let’s be off’ when he takes his cane from your outstretched fingers with a surprisingly gentle hand. Wondering if you should throw yourself at his feet, beg and cry, and plead for his forgiveness, you listlessly follow after him towards the door. 

“I’ll take my breakfast in the library today.” He tells you as you shuffle out into the hall together. 

“Yes, Master …”

Once inside, you hurry to get a fire going in the hearth while he takes his usual spot at the long desk situated near the center of the room. It seemed he hadn’t yet given up on whatever he’d been working over the other day even in spite of all the interruptions that have occurred since, but you still weren’t quite sure what had so much of his attention lately. The few glimpses you’d caught in glancing over his shoulder had only revealed long, tedious formulaic equations that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to you. Although you could read, maths hadn’t exactly been a priority in your curriculum growing up and whatever he was doing was well beyond your level of comprehension. 

He must be well aware of that, too, because he doesn’t even make an attempt to conceal the sheets of scrawled notes he’s looking over when you come up next to him with a folded blanket in hand. In fact, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence there at his elbow at all. It’s like you may as well have been a ghost haunting his periphery. 

Finally having no other choice, you softly speak up. “Are you comfortable, Master? Would you like this on your lap?” 

“No. That will be all for now.”

It probably would have hurt less if he’d just stabbed you in the chest with his pen and gotten it over with. 

“But it’s such a chilly morning, sir.” You try again, struggling to keep your voice even and light as you shift behind him to drape the blanket over his shoulders. “At least let me - -“

“Dammit, girl! I said that’s enough!” He abruptly snaps, making you jolt so hard you nearly drop the blanket to the floor. “We’re in Snezhnaya, you daft idiot. Every morning is chilly. Just leave me to my work and go start on breakfast.”

“… y - yes, Master. Right away.” 

Valiantly fighting back a fresh sting of tears, you leave the well intentioned blanket hanging over the back of the chair in case he changes his mind, and sadly make your way over to the door. Not for the first time you ask yourself if you should throw all dignity and self respect aside in favor of pleading with him for a second chance. Even if it meant debasing your sense of self, surely anything would have been preferable to this. Maybe if the atmosphere between the two of you had not been so warm just the previous day it would not have hurt so bad but this change in his demeanor was proving to be an unexpectedly devastating blow to your heart. No playful pinches. No light exchange of conversation. No flirting, no touching. You weren’t sure how you were going to survive this. 

But, you try desperately to reason with yourself, it did make sense that he would still be displeased with you so soon after the incident. You had, after all, broken one of the few rules he’d set in place for you and the sting of his rejection, the withdrawing of his doting pats and ruefully fond glances, is sorely felt. Certainly you would not be going against his wishes ever again if it meant more of this. 

You quickly make up your mind, deciding that you must win your way back into his good graces somehow. 

Down in the kitchen, you get to work making his favorite breakfast and brewing his much loved coffee with extra care and attention. You even take the time to juice a few oranges for him, rather than using what was already in a pitcher in the icebox, so that he could have it as fresh as Snezhnaya could possibly offer. And it’s certainly too much for the old man to eat by himself, once everything is said and done, but you don’t know what else to do other than to show him how much you care through this act of service. Even as misguided as it might be, you at least had to try. 

Carting it all upstairs on a big silver tray takes you longer than usual, especially when your spanked bottom is still sore and the nerves twinge with pain at every little shift. But you finally make it back to the library, making sure to keep your expression in check while you proudly set out everything next to Zandik on the table. Everything you’d prepared, juiced and sliced, and brewed for him sits in a welcoming heap next to his open book. 

Dread twists your stomach into even tighter knots, however, when he just somberly looks over it all as if the sight of it only saddened him. You truly start to panic then, swelling with anxiety and nervous jitters. You couldn’t understand it. Why was he behaving this way? It was almost as if you were someone about to be sent to the gallows and he simply couldn’t bear to say another word to you in his grief. 

And you realize quite suddenly that that’s exactly what it is. He really doesn’t even look mad at you anymore, just … resigned. As if he knew your time there with him was running out. 

It feels very much like someone has just dumped a bucket of ice water over your head. 

“M - Master? Are you sure everything is — alright? Do you not like what I’ve cooked for you? Would you like something else?” 

Slowly closing his eyes as if it physically pained him, Zandik breathes out a long suffering, world weary sigh. “I’m so sorry, girl. I shouldn’t have acted in such haste last night.”

“I’m … I’m sorry?” 

He gives his head a resoundingly sad shake. “There isn’t much I can do to protect you, as much as I may wish I could. I simply no longer have the strength or the ability that I once did, and one of my greatest accomplishments in life will also very likely be the making of my own downfall. I hope you can at least forgive me.”

It takes you a long moment to find your voice, and another after that to figure out what you even want to say. “Forgive you for what, Master? If … if this is about what happened in the dining room - -“

Cutting you off when he reaches out to snag your nearest hand in a shaking death grip, Zandik yanks your arm towards himself in a way that almost frightens you. It’s a little too similar to the way he’d grabbed you and pulled you over his lap for it not to. 

But all he does is peer up at you imploringly, his pale eyes dancing with a sporadic energy that only makes you more nervous. “I don’t know how much time we still have. Just listen to me, girl. Listen well, and don’t be afraid. When he comes for you, just stay calm and don’t make it any worse for yourself. As long as you’re good and obedient, you’ll be fine. Do you hear me?” 

“Wh - … when who comes for me?” 

Before he can answer the distant click of the door handle on the other side of the library sends freezing shards of hoarfrost racing through your veins. You suddenly can’t breathe as you straighten up in a prickling jolt and Zandik, likewise, is quick to drop your hand which falls useless to your side. 

And you watch, shuddering, when the door abruptly swings open to admit the Doctor inside, as if right on cue. 

You can’t help the way you stare at him in terrified silence. He was still here? You’d thought for sure he would have disappeared back to wherever he retreated to until his next unexpected appearance by now.  

“Good morning, little mouse. Old man.” He purrs, inclining his chin towards Zandik who only grunts a quiet, noncommittal sound in response. Then his attention is right back on you again. “I must say, that smells rather nice. Perhaps I will have to try some of your cooking one day, after all.” 

You give a tiny start at that. Trying and failing to kickstart your tripping brain back into gear. “Oh. W - would you like some right now, my … my lord? I could fetch you - -“

But he’s already waving it off with a gloved hand. “That won’t be necessary. I have other matters to attend to later so I can’t dally here for very long. I’d like to talk to you, though, if you can spare a few minutes of your time.” 

Brows lifting in abject shock, you turn from him to look at Zandik in search of some sort of explanation or reassurance, or even just a silent indication as to what was going on. He’s back to refusing to look at you though, focused instead on the cup of coffee he sips from, and you have no choice but to swallow down the nervous lump you suddenly find in your throat. Yes, you could probably guess what the Doctor wanted to talk about. 

Was this really what Zandik had just tried to warn you about though? He must have known the Doctor would come for you then, and he was right. There was nothing an eighty year old man could do to stop his younger counterpart from taking you, or doing whatever else he wanted. You would just have to meet your fate with a brave face. 

Straightening up, you fold your hands in front of you over the apron and give the old man a stiffly executed bow. “Then I will return shortly to clear away your dishes, Master. Please don’t hesitate to ring the bell if you need anything at all.” 

He noises a brief sound of acknowledgement and nothing more, so you turn to make your way over to the Doctor with as much dignity as you can muster. His mouth has pulled into a sharp little smirk underneath the hooked beak of his mask, however, and that does absolutely nothing to quell the disquiet kicking up in your stomach. 

“There’s a dear. Come now, let us step out and talk in private. I don’t imagine this should take very long.” 

You very much don’t like the sound of that, but you obediently trail after him even while a whirlwind of panicked thoughts swirls around inside your head. Was he going to dismiss you after all? Even after you’d said you would stay on despite everything you’ve learned in the last twenty-four hours? Your trembling hands helplessly ball into your apron, making a wrinkled mess of the white material. That didn’t seem fair to you. To punish someone who was willing to sacrifice themselves mentally, perhaps even physically, by continuing to work under his employ, even knowing their big secret … surely it just wasn’t right. 

But you choke back those thoughts, keeping them tightly locked away, as you follow the Doctor down the corridor until he eventually comes up to the one locked room in the entire manor. Zandik had said it was his seldom used office although, in light of recent revelations, you supposed it was also the Doctor’s office too. It was just as the surgeon had said yesterday. 

‘We’re something of a package deal.’ 

So, whatever was Zandik’s was also theirs too. No wonder every single one of them you’d met so far seemed so inclined to help themselves to your person. As if the consent of one was a blanket consent to all. How … fiendish. 

Trying and failing to calm your fluttering nerves, you stand there and watch as Dottore fishes a key out of his pocket, inserts it into the lock with a heavy click and then shoves the door open to step inside. You follow in his wake, nervously glancing around while he shuts and — you can’t help but notice with another ratcheting spike of anxiety — locks the door behind you. Trying to pretend like you hadn’t noticed that, you allow yourself a moment to anxiously look around.  

You’d never been inside this room before but it looks very standard to what you might have expected a powerful and brilliant man to call his office. There’s a stately desk situated along the opposite wall, facing the door, with a single window watching over the empty highbacked chair. It is not dissimilar to the one in Pantalone’s office, and you can’t help but wonder if he wasn’t the one who’d furnished this place as you take in the shelves crammed with yet more books (this house truly was inundated with them, even more so than you’d initially thought), the sparse art hanging on the walls for a flare of decoration, the mahogany, low set coffee table and what appears to be a matching sofa with delicately carved legs. Altogether it looks respectable, professional even, and you feel very out of place standing in it. Just like back in the bank. 

“Don’t look so nervous, little mouse. It’s not as if I brought you here to do experiments on you or anything.” The Doctor croons at you, sauntering over now to the finely upholstered sofa where he plops down, seemingly at perfect ease. 

You can’t say you feel much the same way as you draw a stuttering breath to calm yourself, just as Zandik had instructed you to, before moving to stand at attention in front of the low table, bracing for the worst. If it really came down to it you could always prostrate before him on hand and knee, and beg for a second chance, an opportunity to prove your loyalty and willingness to obey. Appealing to his ego enough just might do the trick. 

But all he does is study you for a long, drawn out moment from behind the barrier of his mask. Not for the first time you can’t help but wonder how he can see anything at all through that thing, and yet he never seems to find it difficult to get around or bothersome to wear. It was all very strange, just like everything else in this sprawling old manor. 

And then, drawing an almost eager breath, he sits forward to brace his elbows on his knees, hands coming together between them in a loose clasp. 

“You’re curious, aren’t you?” 

You slowly blink. That was not what you’d expected him to say to you. 

But even when it feels as if your stomach is falling into a bottomless pit you still lightly clear your throat, nudging your chin up in what you hoped was a respectful manner. “I would be lying … sir, if I said I don’t have any questions. Rather pressing ones, in fact. However, I am well aware that the details aren’t really any of my business and I should respect the confidentiality between employer and employee. I’d planned to do just that.” 

He chuckles in response, a low, drawling sound that soon morphs into a full on bellow that tips his head back, laughing up at the ceiling. Your nervous disquiet is soon replaced by confusion as you stare at him, trying to make any sense of what’s happening. And then he shifts atop the sofa again, changing positions almost as quickly as he changes moods, to recline back against the jade green cushions in a confident sprawl. 

“Oh, you are a clever one, aren’t you? That’s a very good answer. In fact, I might even go so far as to say that it is the correct answer for you to give me in this situation, darling mouse.”

You can tell he’s mocking you and a hot wash of affront crosses your face, yet he doesn’t even seem to notice it as he continues with just a smattering of irony to color his voice now. 

“Did Zandik give you that pretty answer? He really should know better. Something you need to understand about me — about us — is that we so rarely concern ourselves with what is right or proper, or polite, and that sort of lip service doesn’t exactly mean a whole lot from our collective perspective. As a whole, we are much more interested in and intrigued by the truth. How we choose to interpret that might differ slightly between one or the other, depending on what our individual mindset was during that period of our life, and yet it always comes down to the same bottom line regardless.” 

Pausing briefly, he brings his head up about a centimeter as if to look you straight in the eye. “So, then. Tell me what you really think, and we’ll go from there.” 

For some reason you don’t hesitate to respond, and the words are out before you even have the conscious thought to give them voice. Anger replacing confusion now.  

“As a matter of fact, I think this place is starting to feel like a circus.” And then a hastily tacked on, “My lord.” 

The Doctor hums a vaguely amused sound, nodding once as if in agreement with that sentiment. “I can understand why you would start to feel that way. Goodness knows how this probably looks to an outsider, but you will have to forgive us that unfortunate lack of self awareness. You see, I’m afraid we’ve long since lost any insight into the perception of what unrelated parties might think. Pantalone is quite accustomed to our comings and goings at this point in time, so he doesn’t exactly offer an enlightening perspective. He already knows what we’re like. All of us.” 

But yet he’d still sent you straight into the den of the wolf. 

“And he’s fine with it?” You say, instead of that first impulsive thought. The Doctor seemed to be in a largely agreeable mood despite all that had happened yesterday, but you didn’t know how long that would last and you were keen to get some answers if he was willing to give them. 

He just exhales a slow, almost wistful sigh though. “More than fine with it, I’d say. We are long term partners and collaborators, after all. You can’t very well have that kind of history with someone and not see them for what they truly are. And as for you, sweet mouse? Do you think you’re starting to see that same truth now?” 

You drop his gaze — or whatever constituted for it with that featureless mask in the way — as you continue to wrinkle the ruffled hem of your apron. If he was really planning on sending you away, and he’d said nothing to make you believe otherwise yet, then honesty couldn’t do any real harm. Especially not if he planned to kill you before he would ever allow you to escape back into the outside world again. 

“Yes, sir. I believe I am.”

“Good. And what is your take on it, hm?”

“Well … if you want the truth, I’d heard the rumors before coming here. That some of Her Majesty’s Harbingers were cruel and dangerous. Some even — maniacal. But as long as it was all in the name of the Tsaritsa and the motherland then most of the peasantry was willing to look the other way. Frankly, I’m not quite sure what I’d even envisioned when I heard those whisperings. Surely it was nowhere near the scale of this, though … forgive me, my lord, but this place is looking more and more like a house of horrors everyday. I just — I don’t understand why you would subject me to this sort of treatment. Did I do something to deserve it?”

“What do you mean?” He says, giving his head that curious carrion bird tip again. “You were the one who came to the Northland Bank that day seeking help and I gave it to you, did I not? So what is the problem exactly?” 

“Yes — I was there that day to seek out Lord Regrator’s help. Not yours.”

Dottore scoffs a mirthless laugh to that. “I’m afraid I fail to see what the difference is. Pantalone and I aren’t really all that dissimilar, are we?” 

You give your head a slow shake now. “It’s not wrong to say you share similar traits with one another. But it also stands to reason that I chose to implore Lord Regrator over any of Her Majesty’s other Harbingers for a reason. Doesn’t it? I thought … since he’s only a banker and not much someone would expect to see on the front lines, if what they say about him is true, then that had to mean I would be relatively safe with him.”

The Doctor barks a not entirely mirthless laugh. 

“Ah, yes. That poor, helpless banker always seems like the safer choice, doesn’t he? But as much as it does pain me to be the bearer of bad news, I’m afraid I must inform you that Pantalone has his own bad personality traits too. I wouldn’t recommend underestimating him simply because he looks so lovely and fair. He wears a mask just as I do, even if it’s not one you can see outright on his person.” 

A hot pulse of surprise curls through your chest then, and not only because you’d had similar thoughts about Pantalone’s invisible mask. The way he talks about the Lord Harbinger carries with it an unmistakably fond note, a hint of familiarity that takes you back to the drawing room. Was it possible that he was also …

But Dottore goes on before you can truly examine that thought, so you have to quickly tuck it away for later. 

“With that being said let me remind you, little mouse, that you are perfectly safe here with us. Even if it may not always seem that way, none in our ranks would ever actually do something to jeopardize your role here. I told you before, didn’t I? We don’t want to do it ourselves. It will have been a waste of my time and energy to secure your cooperation and bring you here just to then turn around and kill you. Which is precisely why I was so very pleased that you made the right decision yesterday.”

You stand up a little straighter with the chilly tremor that runs up your spine at that reminder. Yes, you recalled quite well the sense of impending danger that had come over you when he’d posed that million mora question. Would you stay or would you go? Even if he asked again, you’re quite sure your answer would still be the same. As much as you wanted to check in on your mother yourself, you knew you couldn’t leave Zandik alone with this jackal. 

“But, my lord,” you stammer at last, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t even understand why you would go to such lengths in the first place if you care so little for Master Zandik. That’s what it is, isn’t it? You despise him. Even though he’s …”

“Me?” He helpfully supplies. Mouth tugging into a crooked grin, Dottore sits up once again but this time he crosses his arms over his chest, one finger tapping at his bicep as if in thought. “That’s right. He is ‘I’ and ‘I’ am him. And yet you are undeniably correct. I don’t particularly care for the old fool. Would you like to take a guess as to why?”

You give a numb shake of your head. 

“It is because he is inferior and soon to be obsolete. Oh, but don’t look so surprised, my dear. It’s true, isn’t it? His physical and even mental acuity are on a sharp decline, and have been for some time now. As I said before, I simply can’t imagine he has that many more years left in him at this point. Or so I could only hope. Meanwhile, I am Zandik when he was at his peak. Physically. Intellectually. Every aspect of my condition is perfectly honed and sharpened.”

“The Prime.” You murmur, echoing the surgeon’s words and earning yourself a rather gracious incline of his head. 

“Very good. You are paying attention. I do so like to know that what I am telling you isn’t just going in one ear and out the other.”

You can’t help but shudder at that uncomfortably familiar phrase. You’d heard the exact same thing down in the cellar. “Well, I can certainly see the — similarities between you and the other one. But, my lord, if you really feel that way about Master Zandik then why even concern yourself with his care? Why bring me here?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He volleys back in a way that would seem to suggest he was lifting his eyebrows at you. “It’s really only another form of self preservation once you get right down to it. Even in a perpetual state of self loathing, sympathy for oneself is just part of the human condition, is it not? Even when you have none to spare for anyone else. Besides, the old fool wouldn’t be such bad company if he were not so feeble now. I dare say, I even used to rather enjoy our discussions.” 

Thinking that probably went without saying, given how much he clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice, you nervously shift there in front of him. “I see. So, even though you look down on him for what he’s become in his old age you still recognize that he’s one part of yourself. Then … may I ask how many of you there are?” 

“Hm. Give or take, I’d say there are about seven of us now.”

“… give or take, sir?” 

“Why, yes. Zandik created quite a few segments of himself throughout his life, and not simply out of pure vanity. As I’m sure you can imagine, it is quite efficient to be able to split one’s time and energy across multiple consciouses, each with their own unique perspective shaped by what stage of life they were in at the moment of their freezing. Let’s think of it as … a snapshot in time, shall we? An eighteen year old, for example, is going to have a much different take on a conundrum than a sixty-five year old. We’ve made some very worthwhile breakthroughs simply by utilizing ourselves as a springboard, so to speak. But of course we’ve had to sacrifice one or two over the years, for the greater good and in the name of progress. You understand.” 

Despite your best efforts to remain calm in the face of this information, you just can’t seem to keep the shock out of your expression. Seven? And you’d only met two of them so far. Three, if you were generous enough to include that little pervert in your room last night. But you were hesitant to bring him up or mention that alarming encounter with him in the bedroom, for fear that you might accidentally stick your foot in your mouth and let it slip that you had not been entirely truthful about when and how you’d first seen him. As much as you wanted to file a formal complaint about your slippers, one missing, one ruined beyond salvation, you knew it was probably better to keep your mouth shut about it. 

Still, seven was — a lot. More than you’d expected. 

“I see … and are all of these ‘segments’ living down in the basement, then?” 

“No, no. You don’t need to fret about that, dear. We all freely come and go as dictated by our whims and research. You might meet them, you might not. I suppose it depends on if they decide to show themselves to you.”

“But who are they? What do they go by? Surely you can’t all be Zandik.”

A thoughtful little hum. “Well, of course it goes without saying that there’s me. Omega. And then there’s Beta  - -“

“Wait.” You lift a hand, cutting him off. A little too frazzled and worn thin to worry about being rude. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep track of who’s who just by those designations. There must be another way to tell them apart … you said they’re all Zandik at different life stages, right? Then what ages are they?”  

Chuckling a low, drawling sound, the Doctor drops his hands to his lap where he idly clasps them together. “Interesting. I don’t believe I ever thought to use such a simple method of differentiation before. It’s — quaint. But to answer the question, between us there is eight, eighteen, twenty-two, twenty-five, thirty-five — yours truly, by the way — forty-five and sixty-five. And Zandik, of course, is currently eighty-four years old, as you already know.”

Your head starts to spin so fast you feel like you just might pass out on the spot. That was a lot to swallow, a lot to take in and process anyway, but … 

“Eight? There’s a — a child running around here?” You can’t seem to keep the horror out of your voice, but that only makes his grin widen. 

“I don’t believe he’s here right now, but yes. Don’t worry though, little mouse. Even at that age, ‘I’ was rather precocious and far more intellectually gifted than my peers. My eight year old self doesn’t need to be coddled anymore than I do. In fact, if you are anything like the adults who were around ‘me’ at that age, you might even find yourself thinking of him as rather unsettling.” 

You flinch as if he’d just reached out and slapped you. “I wouldn’t think that of a child, my lord.” 

“Oh, but it’s alright if you do. It won’t bother him or the rest of us. I’d even go so far as to say he’s quite used to it by now.”

“… that’s terrible.”

“No. It is simply the way of things.” Exhaling a curt breath, the Doctor sedately spreads his hands out to either side in a persuasive manner. 

“A fear of the unknown and mysterious is just another facet of the human experience, is it not? As such, most people are perfectly content not to ask too many questions or wonder outside of the simple, easy to comprehend boundaries already dictated by popular understanding. They don’t want to know any more than that. They cower at the thought of what real truths might be uncovered by digging any further than what is considered to be the norm. And when those same, small minded individuals see someone — a child, no less — asking too many questions and digging much deeper than what is necessary, that has a tendency to put them ill at ease. They don’t want to know what lies beyond the pale of human consciousness and they don’t want anyone else to know either. It’s safer that way for the collective. Less chance of something disastrous coming of it.” 

A cold, hard lump starts to settle in the pit of your stomach as you stand there, listening to him talk. Is that what Lord Regrator meant when he’d said Zandik hadn’t been shown much kindness in his life, or at least some small part of it? He was … rejected as a child by those around him for being too smart, too precocious, too strange in his single-minded pursuit of knowledge. Even that which was forbidden, by the sounds of it. Even that which was dangerous or blasphemous to the gods. That probably explained why he’d questioned you as he had in the bedroom yesterday, before you’d snuck off on your own. 

If what the Doctor is telling you was really true then that would also seem to account for Zandik’s prickly, tightly guarded demeanor as well. And why it had taken you so long to earn even a small sliver of his trust. No wonder it was as difficult as pulling teeth to get him to lower his walls — and why the few, fleeting moments when he did let them down, it always felt so overwhelmingly meaningful. You couldn’t believe he’d lived a life like that. 

“Oh, my. How curious. Does that make you sad, darling mouse?” The Doctor croons, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“A - a little, my lord. But I can promise you this won’t change anything for me. Not where this child is concerned, and … not Master Zandik either.” 

“Frankly, it wouldn’t matter much to me if it did. All I really care about where it involves you is that the job I have tasked you with is seen to and taken care of as our terms dictated it would be. It’s a bit off of the current topic — we’re here to discuss your rule breaking and reestablish expectations, after all. But if you don’t mind me saying so I think you’ve done exceptionally well at this task thus far. Even taking into consideration the extra liberties you’ve engaged in and the flagrant disobedience yesterday, I really do have to commend you for all your effort in seeing to that old fool’s care. He seems to be doing quite well and you certainly have more patience than any of us do. That is why I wanted to have this discussion, to clear things up and make sure we’re on the same page. Now that you know the truth I don’t mind being transparent with you on the one condition that your cooperation remains assured. I do not have the time or the desire to track down another maid.”

You swallow hard, dropping your gaze deferentially as a potent flood of relief suddenly washes over you to nearly drop you on your ass. Did that mean he really didn’t plan on getting rid of you then? It was a little hard to believe given the circumstances, but it did make a certain amount of sense. You were already here, already committed to the task. Knowing him as well as you were starting to know him, you’re not particularly surprised that he wouldn’t want to go through all the trouble of finding someone else. It was probably you or nothing. 

“I understand, my lord, and I’m happy to oblige your request of me. B - but, if I may … there is one other thing I have to say while I have the chance.”

“Go on.”

Determined to say your peace, you stubbornly bring your attention back up to scowl at him. “How can you possibly say that I am safe here when the one from yesterday terrorized me for so long? I thought for sure I was going to die multiple times throughout that ordeal and I'm certain the only thing that saved me from an even worse fate was your unexpected appearance. You … you said he was you at twenty-five, didn’t you? I must admit it — frightens me more than I’d like, to think that you might share those same tastes. Especially when I consider that there are more than just the two of you.” 

Chuckling under his breath, Dottore once again shifts atop the sofa seat to cross his legs now, giving his propped up foot a casual, slow motion flex. “That’s right. Zandik was just starting to settle fully into adulthood at twenty-five. More comfortable in his own skin than ever before, confident. Physically capable and powerful. His genius at long last found a sufficient outlet in the form of medical research. You didn’t like him, little mouse?” 

“We didn’t really get a chance to chat.” You grumble, saying it as politely as you can bring yourself. 

“A pity. Perhaps next time the two of you will find the opportunity to get to know each other better.”

At your sharp, glowering look, he issues another drawling laugh that makes his shoulders tremble even as he brings a hand up to thoughtfully stroke his jaw. 

“Oh, don’t sulk. I’m only joking. Although I won’t pretend your lingering reservations are completely unfounded, I must confess that I fail to see the problem.”

Pausing, he puts his head to one side, the gesture decidedly inquisitive, before going on. Like he truly couldn’t understand what would have you so out of sorts about what happened. 

“He didn’t kill you or maim you, and I’m quite certain he didn’t do any long lasting damage to your body either. Based on what I observed and my own understanding of ‘myself’, I have no reason to believe he was doing anything other than playing with you. Did that truly upset you so much?” 

“Well … yes. I have to admit it did. He didn’t even ask me first and I told him to stop more than once, but he wouldn’t listen to anything I said. I didn’t really want him touching me like that.”

“And yet, you seem to have no problem with letting Zandik touch you?”

Your cheeks flood with embarrassed heat at having that thrown back at you. And the worst part was you couldn’t even deny it. Yes, not only did you seem to not have any issue at all with that but you’d even invited it, craved it almost to the point of madness. But how did he know anything about it when he was, at least to your knowledge, so rarely ever present in the house? 

“D - did Master Zandik tell you that?” 

Smirking at that shyly stammered question, the Doctor gives his head a curt nod. “Indeed he did. We had quite a long discussion last night, after you left us. Him and I, and … hm. I suppose for the sake of simplicity, you’ll probably want to refer to him as 25, won’t you? The three of us talked through what happened, both the cause and the consequence, and I do believe we came to a mutual agreement between us.” 

You all but wither there on your feet, silently begging a black hole to open in the floor and swallow you up. There is no running away from this conversation though, or the truths he’s imparting to you, and you have no choice but to gather your courage enough to stand tall under the burning spotlight of his attention. 

“And I suppose you’re going to let me in on what you decided without me there to even defend myself?”

“But of course. You first though.” 

“Alright.” You breathe out, struggling to get your thoughts in order. “Then I guess I’ll just say it. Yes, I have found myself very — taken with Master Zandik. I admit I'm … fond of him. More than I ever expected to be with anyone. But, my lord, even if I choose to invite one into my bed that is not an invitation for all. I don’t even know you or - or 25 hardly at all yet. Or Lord Regrator for that matter. And that’s aside from the fact that my body was never part of our original agreement. As much as I don’t expect you to understand this, I have to be honest when I say that the incident down in the cellar left me feeling … violated. And not very safe, if you want the truth.” 

The Doctor’s smile is gone now, and his voice holds a tight edge to it when he speaks next. “Are you really suggesting that you would prefer an old man with one foot already in the grave over one of his younger selves? Even the version of him that was in the prime of his life?” 

You almost find yourself cowering back from the bite in that question, but you stubbornly stand your ground. It was now or never. “Yes, my lord. As of this moment I do like him better than you, and certainly more than 25. And is it really any wonder why? Y - you accosted me in the library the other day, you made me take your fingers even when - -“ 

“And if you’ll also recall the verbal exchange between us in the library,” he cuts you off, letting a faint growl color his words now. “I told you that I could do anything that fossil can do for you, and I could do it so much better. Do you not think you are selling yourself a little short by choosing an old man at the end of his life over any other option available to you? After all, you are still so young and aesthetically pleasing to look at. I might even go so far as to call you beautiful. Even if we remove the factor of one of the hypothetical ‘me’s, I’d still wager that you’d look much better on Pantalone’s arm than on his.” 

Somehow you just can’t seem to keep the shock off your face while you try and fail to wrap your head around that. This place really was going to drive you mad. 

“Do you mean to say … you would rather even see me with Lord Regrator than Master Zandik?”

“I would like nothing more than to see you helpless and folded up underneath me, little mouse.” He snaps, sneering at you now. “What you do beyond that and with whom doesn’t really concern me. I simply wish to highlight the difference for you, so that you fully understand just how naive your current position really is. If you want my honesty so bad then I’ll admit my interest in you only goes so far as making you realize that I am the better Zandik in every possible way. Is that clear enough for you?” 

You flinch back, recoiling at the barbed wire sting of his words as much as your own reeling disbelief. Ever so slowly, the pieces were starting to fall into place now. The Doctor didn’t actually want you. He never did. His one and only objective was to assert himself as the dominant male, bask in the validation of reasserting himself as the prime consciousness. It was just typical masculine grandstanding you might expect from any other man still young enough to have not tempered his ego yet. You’d been right to give him a wide berth of space. Although Zandik still had his pride, certainly, at least he was not so caught up in his own testosterone fueled power trip. 

“Well, dear? I’m waiting.” 

“… yes, sir. I understand perfectly.” 

And just like the switch is flipped. 

“Good. Then, do you have any other questions for me? Are you still prepared to uphold your end of our agreement now that you know everything?” 

Your hands fist into the front of your apron, balling the material so hard they shake. “Yes, sir. It will be my honor to stay on and continue seeing to Master Zandik’s care.” 

The Doctor’s body language reads as being really quite pleased now as he straightens up, unfolding his legs to brace both feet on the floor again. Almost as if he were readying himself to start a laborious, information dense lecture. 

“Excellent decision, my dear. I do hope you understand just how much I appreciate that willingness to cooperate. Then, with that settled, let me share with you our conclusions from last night. First;” he intones, holding up a single finger. “So long as you agreed to stay here and take care of that old wretch as you have been, we decided that it would only be fair if the segments are likewise free to come and go as they please. 25 made it quite clear how troublesome it is to have to sneak around in what is essentially one’s own home, and I wasn’t inclined to say he was wrong about that.”

Your mouth flies open to protest but the Doctor is quick to cut across you. 

“Ah, ah. On the one condition that there is no more skulking about in the shadows to draw the attention of curious little mice who don’t realize how close to the spring trap they wander. Any new, let’s say, arrivals will be properly announced so that there are no more unexpected surprises. You can thank Zandik for that concession.”

An icy chill creeps through your numb body. Did he mean … 

“You - you told him, then? About why I went into the cellar yesterday?” 

“Of course. We couldn’t very well have a productive discussion without all of the facts, now could we?” 

Drawling a low, rumbling chuckle at the floored look on your face, he gives his head a solemn shake. “Poor little mouse. How transparent and easy to read you are. I can tell you’re displeased with me for not speaking up about it sooner, but what can I say? I was curious to find out how Zandik would choose to punish you and I can’t say I was disappointed in his methods. I rather liked watching you get pulled over his lap and having your skirt flipped up, if you want the truth. I think it suited you. But unfortunately for your sore bottom, your penance isn’t quite finished just yet.”

“… w - what do you mean?” 

“Two;” he goes on, lifting a second finger. “At my behest as your employer and the one who is paying your salary, Zandik agreed to let me punish you in whatever way I see fit. Oh, but don’t look so shocked, dear. Although you did look appropriately chastised when you sulked out of the room with your sad little head hanging down, I just don’t think that old fool’s efforts were enough to truly get the message across. I want to make absolutely certain that there will not be another incident like the one yesterday.” 

The still tender skin across your ass prickles warmly at the remembered pain as much as the imagined discomfort that was sure to come if he really decided to spank you again. And most horrifying of all is how your pussy gives a muted little throb of interest in response, stirring entirely against your will. You wouldn’t have ever thought yourself a masochist prior to this, and yet that seemed to be exactly what this place was turning you into. It really was mortifying and shameful. 

And as if that wasn’t bad enough you also knew he was right. Although it had certainly hurt in the moment, you were well aware that this was likely due more to the length at which you were spanked and not so much the force behind it. The waning strength in Zandik’s body meant he needed to pace himself, to drag it out long enough to make the sting settle through repetition rather than sheer power. The Doctor though … he was physically fit and more than capable of giving you a good beating. Even putting aside the humiliation, you were quite certain being spanked by him would be so, so much worse than what you’d already experienced once. 

No way could you just blithely go along with this. 

“I - is that really necessary?” You finally manage to say, wrestling to get the words out around your own thrumming, fidgety nerves now. “I swear I won’t do anything like that ever again, my lord. Even if you don’t punish me any further. I promise I learned my lesson. B - but if you must do it, does it have to be that? Can’t you choose a different method?”

The Doctor clicks his tongue, tut tutting at you. “Really now, trying to bargain your way out of a much deserved spanking isn’t going to do you any good, I’m afraid. I saw exactly what sort of physiological effect it had on you last night. The way you wilted and withered, cringing even when he was not striking you. And let’s not beat around the bush, shall we? If you’ll excuse the turn of phrase, that is.”

You make a face at that but he just goes on, unperturbed. 

“You’ve more than earned at least this much. What do you think the punishment would have been if you’d broken something important while you were off traipsing around in the cellar, hm? You have no comprehension of how important, how much time and energy, and not to mention how much of Pantalone’s mora, has been poured into some of the experiments and the equipment down there. I’m not here to threaten you, little mouse, but do understand that I would have been even less pleased with your behavior than I was, and the consequences would have been even more unpleasant for you as a result. The only thing that seems to have saved you from being thoroughly trussed up by my hands is the fact that 25 found you before you could do any real damage to anything.” 

Whimpering softly at the reprimand in his voice, you anxiously shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying to blink back the rising sting of tears. You really didn’t want to let him put his hands on you like that, but it was clear enough that you didn’t have much of a choice. It was either this or invite something even worse upon yourself. At least this was even an option though, and they hadn’t decided to just kill you outright and get it over with, but still … 

“Fine. I’ll do it. But I want your word that this will be the end of it, and there will be no more punishments. From any of you.” 

He barks a harsh laugh, sounding amused and maybe just a little impressed with your gall to start making demands. “I cannot and will not promise you that there will never be another reason to punish you. That all depends entirely on you, doesn’t it? But what I can tell you is this; as far as your transgression regarding the cellar is concerned, you will no longer be in any trouble once you leave this office today. That is assuming, of course, that you do not make me have to use force to wrangle you under control as if you were little more than a petulant child.”

Affront creeps across your face, but you bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying what you really want in response to that. He truly was an egoistic jerk on a power trip! No wonder 25 had reminded you so much of him and less of Zandik. 

“I won’t fight you. If it must be done, then so be it. Is that everything, sir?”  

“Ah, yes. One more thing.” Grinning another sharp little smile under his mask, the Doctor rather ominously lifts a third finger to join the first two. 

“The final term we agreed on was that, while Zandik might technically be your master and the person you report directly to, it should be well within the rights of the segments to borrow you from him for a time. It stands to reason, does it not, that you are the singular maid in this household which is generally shared with Pantalone, when he is able to come, as well the other segments. There should be no reason why you can’t assist elsewhere when we have use of you.”

Smirking as if he’s just played the winning checkmate, the Doctor nudges his chin up with a haughty little chuckle, taking the opening of your stunned silence to continue his indictment of you. 

“I’ll even be nice and let you in on a little secret. 25 seems to be rather smitten with the idea of taking you on as an assistant despite your less than confidence inspiring display yesterday. And I’m sure you’ll also be quite pleased to know that the old man certainly didn’t want to give you up very easily, but he did finally relent on the compromise that his permission has to be granted first. I suppose that should also assuage some of your concerns about safety, no? From this point on none of us will be allowed to abscond with you without authorization from your beloved old wretch.” 

Your brows slowly knit in response to that pointed jab at Master Zandik even as a dull flutter of understanding starts up in the back of your mind. So that’s what he was angling for, using the situation created by your own lack of foresight to renegotiate the terms of the initial agreement. This would essentially make you beholden to the whims of all of them by the sounds of it, but … Zandik had very likely realized this as well, and that’s why he’d insisted on a clause to better define the rules of engagement between them and you. 

Somehow that just about breaks your heart. He’d still been looking out for you even when he was displeased with you and mad enough to take you over his lap like a disobedient toddler. Your punishment had in all likelihood come from a place of caring then, even if his methods were a bit questionable. His attempt to warn you in the library was to that end too, you now realize. He’d said he didn’t want you to be scared and he was right. You would have been terrified if you’d known what was coming given the already bruised state of your bottom. 

Still though. Some part of that makes you inexplicably happy. And if they’d truly discussed what happened – what really happened, and not what Zandik had assumed, then that also meant he already knew you weren’t a bad girl. Not in the way he’d chided you for, anyway. He hadn’t been mad at you earlier, just … worried and remorseful. It was unexpectedly sweet in the face of this otherwise terrifying situation. 

Gods, you felt like an absolute twit, but you’re glad for the sense of relief that comes over you all the same. Finally, you could breathe easy again. At least where the old man was concerned. 

“I understand, my lord.” You say, finally lifting your head. “Then I will defer that authority to Master Zandik from here on and obey his judgment without question.”

“Hmph. Another pretty answer. But no matter. I’ll take it.” Exhaling a somewhat terse, anticipatory breath, the Doctor gives his right thigh a sharp pat. “Come, then. To my side, little mouse.”

You give a small jolt at that. “… right now?” 

“But of course. I’ll have to leave soon, and I would hate for any part of this to remain unsettled. Better to just get it done and over with, don’t you think?” 

Your stomach does a nervous flip that makes you feel well and truly sick, but you still frantically cobble together your resolve and move to step around the low table that stands between you and him. In many ways this is even worse than last night. You hadn’t known what was about to happen, for starters, and you’d also been unable to make the decision for yourself. You’d simply been steered into place, handed off between one set of hands to another and then forced into position. 

Now, though, you have to wrestle with your own self preservation instincts and a fight or flight response that goes absolutely haywire to make you feel jittery. Completely under your own compulsion, your own power, you shuffle around to come stand at his elbow even when you know what awaits you. It’s nerve wracking enough to almost make you collapse. 

But you obediently halt next to the couch, keeping your chin tucked down as you nervously fold your hands in front of you. You flick a quick, surreptitious glance at his waiting lap and then back down again, unable to look. Haltingly, you start to fidget. 

“Do I just … should I - -“ 

“Not yet. I’d like you to take your panties down for me first.”

Your head snaps up. “Excuse me?” 

The Doctor chuckles at that, a slow, grinding sound that seems to caress over every inch of your body. “What’s wrong, little mouse? Aren’t you wearing any today? And here I was so ready to pin all the blame for that on 25. I didn’t expect you to be such an exhibitionist. How unexpected.” 

Your cheeks couldn’t possibly get any hotter at this point, but you press your lips into a warbling line to stop yourself from arguing back. He was right. It likely was better just to get this done and over with, and he’d probably always have some smart comeback waiting and at the ready for you anyway. Arguing wouldn’t do you any good. 

So you hesitantly reach underneath your skirt, finding the hem of your panties to slowly tug them down until they hit the tiny metal clasps where the garterbelt connects to your stockings. Unable to push them any lower, your hands anxiously flit for a moment, indecisive, before shyly curling up to hover at about waist level. 

“Would you … like me to step completely out of them, sir?”

“No need. That should do just nicely. Now lift your dress.” 

A small whimper slips out even though you probably should have seen that coming, and on some level you sort of did. Honestly you weren’t sure why you would have ever expected anything less from this man. 

But you do it without complaint and only minimal embarrassment. It seems that in the repeated exposure of your nether region you were slowly — horrifyingly — starting to grow accustomed to these flagrant displays. And it helps that this is not unlike how you’d presented your cunt to Master Zandik in the library, your quim giving an eager little throb at the memory as you gather the hem of your flouncy skirt and lift it up. You immediately shudder at the waft of cool air against your heated skin, trying to pretend like you don’t notice the goosebumps erupting all over you. 

And the Doctor just takes a moment to simply admire you standing there before him like that, evidently drinking in the sight of the soft curls between your legs (you can’t help but wonder if he would find them slightly damp to the touch) and the soft, cushiony pudge where your thighs spill out over the tops of your stockings. He must like what he sees, you can only surmise, because he sedately leans back against the sofa to make room for you across his lap. And you don’t miss the vibrating thrum of tension that seems to curl through him when he does it. 

“Prostrate yourself. I’m not going to make this as easy for you as Zandik did by guiding you into position. I want you to make the decision and choose your fate all on your own, little mouse. This is as much a test as it is a punishment.”

You visibly twitch at that, cursing the heavy weight in your chest that threatens to choke you up and suffocate you. But you make a valiant effort to maintain your dignity in front of him and, with only a prim little sniff, you nudge closer to hesitantly lower yourself across his legs. 

It’s an even more awkward experience than it had been last night, he was certainly right about that, particularly when your butt is already exposed to the room with the lifting of your skirt. Tense and halting, you struggle to find a somewhat comfortable angle at which to lay out over his thighs only to quickly find that there simply isn’t one. It was likely part of the punishment, as small of a thing as it might be, yet another aspect of the humiliation ritual. Finally, having no other choice and with your heart lodged in your throat, you force your body to come to rest on your stomach and you go still, waiting for the pin to drop. 

For a drawn out moment he neither says or does anything at all. The only sounds in the room come from the ticking clock hanging on the far wall, your slightly labored breaths and the deep, steady drags of the Doctor’s lungs. 

Then, surprising you enough to make you jump, one gloved hand slides into place over the back of your neck and gently nudges. 

“Further. I want this round bottom of yours in the air.”

You make a small, unbidden squeak at that but you comply with this too. Lifting your body slightly, you shuffle even closer and then drape yourself over his legs again. You immediately realize why he’d wanted you like this, when the change in position leaves your head dangling almost down to the floor and the pressure on your stomach only increases as your back end is forced into a higher jut. Positioned like this, you have to stretch your legs out behind you and just press the toes of your shoes into the wood grain to maintain some semblance of balance. How insidious. 

“There. That’s much better.” Dottore finally coos, leaving the one hand on the back of your neck to keep you in place while the other finds your lower back and then smooths down one side of your ass. The sensation is enough to have you trembling, breaking out into a fresh wave of prickling gooseflesh, and you mewl a quiet sound at the contact to already sore nerves. 

You really were still aching from your last spanking and this was only going to make it that much worse. Dammit. 

“Don’t fuss now, darling. I know how unpleasant this is but believe me, it hurts me even more than it hurts you to have to subject you to this treatment.” Sighing a rather wistful, put upon exhale, he takes a moment to drag his hand up the other side, slightly lifting one fleshy globe before giving your butt a light, attention grabbing pat. “Spread your legs. Same as before, little mouse. And keep them open.” 

With no shortage of effort, you nudge your feet apart until you’ve got them spread much the same as the last time you’d found yourself in this situation. But the sofa is much lower than the chair in the dining room was, so you have much less space to stretch out in or find any traction with your shoes. The end result is that you’re forced to settle fully on your stomach, your toes barely leveraging balance now, and you quietly seethe when you realize, much like before, he’s made sure you have as little room as possible in which to lurch or absorb the blows. You would be completely at the mercy of his hand and the resulting, skin crawling recoil like this. 

But contrary to what he’d said, he doesn’t seem to be much in a hurry to get this done and over with and you give a tiny jolt when he slips that hand between your thighs, still crooning at you, to cup around your bare cunt. The Doctor gives it a squeeze and a patronizing jostle to make the nerves vibrate slightly. Groaning, you struggle to blink through the rosy haze that starts to descend over you. 

To have this sort of reaction when you were simultaneously queasy with fear … there really must have been something wrong with you. 

“What a good girl you’re being now. I must say, it did surprise me a great deal when I found that grumpy old badger alone and having quite the fit I might add. It didn’t seem like you to go against direct orders like that. But I suppose you would have me believe it was for a good reason, wouldn’t you?” 

You self consciously shift at that but try to play it off as if you were trying to get comfortable, stamping down the urge to squirm. Surely he couldn’t have known you’d stretched the truth to justify your actions … could he? 

“I - it’s true, my lord. What I told you was the truth. I saw - -“

“Yes, yes, I remember what you said. That you witnessed — I suppose you would feel inclined to call him 22, wouldn’t you? — when he was coming or going, and that raised your suspicions. And just like a good little maid should, you ever so bravely faced the horrors in the cellar. Isn’t that right?” 

A stilted nod of your head. “Yes. That’s right, sir.”

Humming a vague sound, the Doctor gives one side of your ass an almost thoughtful squeeze before slowly dragging his hand across to do the same on the other. But this time he digs his gloved fingers deep into already bruised flesh, making you yelp a startled squawk of discomfort. Even then, he just keeps squeezing. 

“It is a bit interesting though.” He says, perfectly casual and offhand despite the pinching force of his fingers on your skin. “That idiot 22 has been rather preoccupied with assembling a proto type mech arm for the last handful of months. He’s been working on it since even before you arrived here. I’m not sure when you might have seen him considering he often locks himself up for days at a time to play with his little toys.” 

A frightened chill races down your spine at the implication that he really did know the truth, and you draw a sharp, half strangled breath — to say what, you do not know. And you never get the chance to find out what you might have said either when the hand on your ass suddenly retreats only to come back down a second later to a resounding CRACK! 

The force behind just that one single hit steals the oxygen from your lungs, making your chest cinch so tight you can’t seem to get any air at all as you stiffly rock forward as much as this position will allow. It’s not very far though and you’re forced to just sit with it as a result, the muscles down your extended legs trembling while you try to process the hurt now radiating out from your ass. 

It’s only then that you understand the full scope of the differences between them, unable to ignore it or look the other way when just a single slap has you reeling in shock. This was why he was considered the prime. He was considerably stronger than Zandik, and limber enough to use the full range of motion in his shoulder, the full extent of the musculature in his arm to put a great deal more power behind the swing of his hand. 

And what a heavy hand it was, sitting on the curve of your ass cheek right where it had landed while heat radiates out from under his palm. Almost without even realizing it there’s suddenly a flood of tears in your eyes but you desperately work to blink them away as you at last manage to suck in a delayed, faltering gasp. 

“Oww …” 

“Heh. It looks like this will not be quite as easy for you as the last spanking you received, darling mouse. You’ll soon find that I am not nearly as soft hearted as that old fool is, and I won’t hold back just because of some sentimental notions of fondness. Zandik is free to try and protect you as much as he wants. But I am not nearly so lenient.” 

With that, his hand slips away and you frantically try to brace yourself for the next strike but nothing can quite prepare you for the way he cracks you across the other side, sending shockwaves rippling up your quaking body. You have a split second, hysterical thought that his glove probably isn’t helping, the way it seems to catch the skin and stick, but you quickly realize it wouldn’t even matter if he’d taken it off. He’s too powerful, too in control of his limbs, his posture, the way he subtly shifts underneath you with the raising of his arm and a soft slither of fabric and then —

CRACK! Back on the first cheek again, to nearly send your skin crawling off of your bones as you helplessly rock with the momentum, gasping woundedly like a drowning animal. It devastates you right down to your very core, and when he reaches across to smack the other side just as hard as the first time you can’t quite seem to stop your legs from futilely kicking out behind you, twisting in agony. 

Evidently unperturbed by all of your wild squirming, the Doctor picks up the pace by a small margin, swatting at the left cheek and then the right again. CRACK! CRACK! In agonizingly quick succession. 

Unable to stopper it any longer, you let loose a harried, high pitched squeal and jerk against his thighs when he smacks the left side again. But on the next slap to the right, he catches the crease where your ass meets your thigh just right and a blinding burst of splinters shoot through you like a million fiery pinpricks. It has you clenching your teeth, seething, so caught up in the agony of it that you almost don’t even notice the tears streaking down your face or the dribble of leaky snot coming from your nose. You just don’t think you can endure this the same way you did Zandik’s spanking and you outright squeal, bringing your legs together in a tight press to protect your naked cunt from the wrath of his hand. That last blow had been more than just a bit too close for comfort. So close you’d felt the aching stab of it in your quim. 

This, however, seems to displease him, and he begins to rain a stinging procession of punishing blows down on your defenseless ass even quicker now. “What did I tell you, little mouse? I said to keep your legs open for me.” 

“I - I caaant — ough! Wh - whaaaa, please, please, it hurts — ahhh!” 

“It is supposed to hurt, my dear. That is the whole point of pulling disobedient little girls over my knee, is it not? Ah, but if you really can’t keep them spread, then … perhaps next time I will have to remember to bring some rope with me, so that I might tie you down on the table and help you obey. Really, now. You’ve always been so well mannered, I didn’t think I needed to take the time to educate you this much.”

“I’m sorry! I’m suh - sorry, sir! I’m — yeeek! I’m s - sorry!” 

All but blinded by the tears, you frantically reach back with your outermost hand in a vain attempt to shield yourself. It’s impulsive and instinctive, but even knowing it’s a foolish decision and one likely to agitate his ire you just can’t seem to think straight or control the motor functions of your heaving frame when he’s lighting your ass up like that. It robs you of your breath, it makes your higher functioning mind short circuit and, if he kept at it this vigorously for much longer, you were sure you’d soon lose your bladder control too. 

But the Doctor just gives his tongue a sharp little click and reaches for your wrist with the hand that had been on your neck. The other is still slapping back and forth between your blistering cheeks, undaunted by the mindless kicking of your feet. 

“Goodness, it does appear to me that you are in need of a proper training regiment. I had no idea your manners were so lacking.” He mutters, perhaps more to himself than to you, as he somewhat ruthlessly pulls your arm into a tight bend and then pins it against your lower back. “Leave it there. You may grab onto the tie of your apron if it will help you.”

The angle is all wrong, pulling on your shoulder and giving you even less wiggle room when your upper half is now twisted in place with that awkward wrench. Whimpering and whining, you shudderingly find the strip of cloth cinched around your waist somewhere in the mess of fabric and slip your fingers underneath it, which earns you a quiet hum of approval. 

“Yes. I do believe some strong ropes to help you stay still and in position will do you plenty of good, sweet mouse. And as for that mouth of yours …”

Humming a soft sound of consideration, he gives your captured arm a tight squeeze of warning before sliding his hand away, reaching up to curl under your jaw and shove those digits into your mouth instead. It’s not at all unlike what he’d done to you in the library, when he’d made you clean his glove of your own arousal, but in the middle of being spanked seems to make it that much more humiliating. You mewl around the intrusion, trying to turn your head away, but then he claps you across your ass again and you freeze. It’s like the pain is sucking out your energy, frying your brain, and you can’t seem to make your body cooperate beyond that. 

And it’s no wonder why he would choose to wedge your mouth open like this. Unable to bite down or clench your teeth anymore allows the heaving groans, the miserably faltering sobs and the rough gasps for air to slip out unhindered. It also quickly starts to make you drool, you realize in a far off, dreamy sort of way as you wetly swallow around his fingers. Just another level to the degradation. 

“Now,” he intones, punctuating this with another hard slap to your throbbing behind. “I want you to listen to me well, little mouse. Because I will not be repeating myself again.” 

SMACK! SMACK!

He goes on, speaking over your wailing moans. “For as long as you are here, you are subject to the will and whims of a Fatui Harbinger. Even if you think of Zandik as your true master, don't forget that I am the one who hired you and you would not be here right now if it were not at my discretion.” 

SMACK! SMACK! 

“And even if only by virtue of my title, I still hold the greater authority over you. That means if I tell you to jump, you should be leaping at the opportunity to ask me how high.” SMACK! “And if I ask you to explain yourself to me, then I expect the truth. I’m afraid you’re more than a few decades too early to think you can pull those sorts of childish tricks over on me.” SMACK! SMACK! “I don’t doubt that you did see that bumbling idiot given your accurate description of his mask,” SMACK! “But something tells me that was because you were wandering somewhere you shouldn’t have been.” SMACK! “Am I wrong?” 

You sadly shake your head, hiccuping a thick sound around his fingers, and he rewards you for your answer with yet another blistering swat. 

“As I thought. Then I hope you’ll excuse me for choosing to punish you like this, but I’m sure you know exactly why I thought it necessary.” SMACK! “Don’t you?” 

This time you force yourself to nod, even as you cough and spit up a bubbling sheet of drool that slowly oozes out to drip down your chin. 

“Then let’s try not to have a repeat of this most unpleasant experience, hm? I don’t mind playing the villain, you know. I’m quite good at it, in fact.” SMACK! SMACK! “So hate me all you wish. Prefer that old wretch over me if it suits you, but don’t test my charitable disposition where you are concerned again.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK! “Considering that I would be well within my right to take you by force or even kill you if I so wished it, I’d say I’ve been very considerate of your autonomy up until now. Which is far more than most people can say of me. Do try to keep that in mind the next you find yourself in my presence, won’t you?” 

Sniveling so violently you snort some awful, unbecoming sound, you stiffly brace for the next strike. But it never comes. 

It takes you a long, drawn out moment to realize the Doctor has grown still above you and his hand is not lighting up your sore cheeks anymore, but that hardly comes as a true relief. It feels like your ass is on fire, somehow even hotter than your face, and it’s nearly impossible to wrap your reeling head around the sheer agony of it. Even if you had not already been spanked by Zandik you were sure it would have hurt just as much, no doubt about that. But to have those heavy handed swings pepper your behind on top of the lingering bruises … oh, it felt like you’d never be able to properly sit down ever again. 

All you can do is lie there, stretched across his lap, trying to catch your breath and failing miserably at it. You felt like you might really throw up and he doesn’t help combat that when the fingers in your mouth twist, hooking into the corner of your cheek to slightly pull you more to the side. A numb squeak of surprised confusion rattles out of you at the shuddering strings of spittle that drip out over your lips, unable to stop it like this. That glistening thread of saliva just keeps stretching lower and lower until it finally snaps, and the wad of spit hits the floor underneath you with a tiny plap.    

“Are we at a mutual understanding now, dear mouse? I trust I won’t have to have this conversation with you again, will I?” 

“N - nrohh shir …”

“Wonderful. I won’t be half as merciful a second time.”

His other hand returns to slide over your ass then, making you jolt so hard you nearly come right up off his lap, squealing. But all he does is smooth that gloved palm over the aching curve of one globular cheek, rubbing the hurt in to make you hiss a wounded groan. 

He does the same to the other side and then, cooing a soft sound of approval, he reaches up to unlatch your aching fingers from around the knotted tie of your apron. It takes longer than it should when your digits seem to be locked in place from how tightly you’d been clutching at it, but at last he manages to pry you loose. And then, surprising you a great deal, he directs your arm lower down to manually curl your trembling fingers into the meat of your own ass. 

“That’s a doll. Spread yourself open for me. Let me get a good look at you.” 

There’s nothing else you’d like to do less but, certain that you did not want to invite any further discipline from him, you hesitantly obey, pressing your fingertips deep into the plushy give and pulling to the side. 

“Good. Now, the other. Go on. Use both of your hands, darling.”

Sucking in a painfully hitching breath, you awkwardly shift atop his thighs, struggling to work your left hand between the press of his body where you’re tucked in against his front. Finally, you manage to extend your reaching fingers far back enough and you grab at the aching flesh even when it hurts to shyly tug your cheeks apart, baring you fully to not only the cool waft in the room but his piercing gaze too. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying desperately to block it all out, but it’s nearly impossible. The self conscious twitch of your puckering hole, the fleshy press where your labia meet to form a pudgy slit. You’re hyper aware of all of it, especially the insistent, throbbing pulse across your ass, only heightened by the grip you have on yourself. 

The Doctor coos at you once more, something quiet and nonsensical, as he slips his hand between your thighs again. It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to let go, not to shield yourself from his probing inspection and go scuttling away, but you force your thrumming body to stay prone and pliant for him. 

Even when he proceeds to slowly drag the pad of his thumb over the wrinkle of your asshole, lightly pulling at the flesh to make it slacken in the middle, you just groan a hissing breath. And yet more drool spills from your mouth, tongue lolling uselessly, to softly pitter patter on the hardwood beneath you. 

“According to 25, you seemed to rather like this sort of stimulation. Is that true?” 

You shake your head, noising a muffled, “Nuhh-uhh.” that makes you sound like you’re drunk. 

Snorting an amused chuckle, as if to say he doesn’t believe that, the Doctor takes a moment to just simply caress over that tight hole until it gradually starts to raise up under his ministrations. Coaxing it to relax, which it does completely against your will. And it becomes harder and harder to stop yourself from squirming, especially when you start to feel an unmistakably eager thrum start up in your lower gut. Was he really going to penetrate you like that? Could you actually take his finger without the excess of lubricant the surgeon had used? 

But then, a drawn out moment later, he abandons your pucker to reach further down and you can’t quite seem to decide if you were disappointed or relieved about that. He doesn’t give you the chance to figure it out, either, because he finds the apex of your pelvic mound where he sets in to lightly rub in slow, persuasive circles, encouraging you to warm up to his touch. 

You’re not sure if it’s because he’s handling you much more gently now, and the contrast between his rough fingering in the library as much as the toe curling spanking you’d just received has left you primed for a soft hand, or if it’s simply a matter of your cunt being just as overeager as Zandik liked to say it was, but you do give into that coaxing gesture. Almost embarrassingly fast. You can’t help it though as you shudderingly cant your hips into the source of your stimulation, much too eager for any amount of comfort or sympathy after everything that’s happened to make a better choice. 

And you positively hate yourself for it as soon as you do it, sobbing a broken, unhindered little sound that rattles and breaks off at the end, punctuated by the drawling laugh he croons at you. 

“Yes, you’re a good girl indeed. I don’t imagine I should have any further problems with you from here on out, will I?” 

You shake your head as much as you’re able to but the fingers hooked in your cheek make that difficult. He was right, though. Never again would you invite this sort of treatment from him, you’re quite sure of that. 

Especially when he then slips those deft fingertips away to press into the center seam of your body, pinching the skin just ever so slightly when he worms them into the meaty grip of your labia where he proceeds to hum a feigned sound of surprise. 

“My, what do we have here? I do believe you’re wet, little mouse. Is this all for me, or did you simply enjoy your spanking that much?”

Noising a tiny sound of protest, you subtly shift against his legs, fighting the urge to squirm. But he remains ever unperturbed, just slowly dragging those digits through the delicate creases and folds, smearing liquid arousal, with an utterly casual swipe of his hand. You’re ashamed at how much it actually makes you want it, to have him touching you like that. But any relief, any amount of gentle care, anything to distract you from the pain radiating out from your sore cheeks was much appreciated, and you reluctantly press back on him in supplication. 

The sharp rush of alleviation that comes when he obliges you, finding your sticky entrance and slowly pushing in, one fraction of an inch at a time, is almost enough to have you shattering to pieces right then and there. You just screw your eyes closed, breathing out a slow, shuddering breath, while that gloved finger slides up inside you on a mortifyingly smooth glide. 

“Oh, isn’t that cute. Your little hole twitches when I enter you like this. I take it you must rather like it, then?” Chuckling at your halfhearted groan of denial, the Doctor turns his wrist so that he can continue to finger your open with his first digit while his thumb comes up to rub slow, patient circles over your pucker again. 

“I think 25 was right and you do rather like being touched like this. If I were more of a tyrant I might choose to take offense at your fibbing, but don’t worry. I can tell this is still new to you, and I imagine your brain just hasn’t had a chance to catch up with the rest of your body yet. I’m quite certain you’ll come to love it in due time though. Who knows? You might even start to crave it. But, well. Given how greedy this little cunt of yours is, I doubt you’ll ever want anything more than to have it stuffed full and leaking. What do you think, hm? You want it all hours of the day, don’t you?” 

Such an intense tremor works through your body at his sultry, purred words that you need to readjust your clammy grip on your ass cheeks, struggling to keep them spread for him. Your neck droops bonelessly to one side, losing all of your strength and the will to keep fighting it the more he keeps touching you like that. 

But the Doctor is quick to tug on the inside of your cheek, using his hooked fingers to pull your head back up at an angle that makes you keen a weak sound. You can’t help feeling like a fish being reeled in, further humiliating you, and with the change in position the cool sheets of drool running down your chin start to dribble a slow path along your straining neck. He was making such a mess of you …

“Yuh - yeshh shir.” You stammer at the jostling nudge he gives you. 

“As I thought. It really is such a shame that I can’t stay and play with you more, but I fear my time for leisure is starting to draw to a close. Perhaps that old fool would like to have his way with you some more in my stead.” Heaving a somewhat dramatic exhale, the Doctor slides the hand between your legs out — much to your groaning frustration and dismay — to leave your quim vibrating after him, always eager for more. More, more, more. 

He was right to say you had a greedy pussy. 

The finger in your mouth also retreats to leave you gingerly working your jaw and swallowing hard to lubricate your dried out throat. Quickly letting go of your ass, you bring a quaking hand up to wipe some of the spit from your face, grimacing at the sticky mess you find. You’d have to stop in your room to freshen up first once you were allowed to leave. 

“You may stand.” He says, and you fumble to do just that even when your legs almost refuse to cooperate. 

But you manage, somehow, unsteadily pushing yourself upright to awkwardly settle into place at his side, standing at attention with no shortage of effort. Your hands tremulously clasp together in front of you, head bowed, and you give the Doctor a stiff bow. “Th - thank you for having this discussion with me today, and also … your correction of my behavior, sir. I swear it will not happen again.” 

At his gracious nod, you start to reach for your panties with every intention of pulling them up so you can beat a hasty retreat, but he stops you with an almost rueful cluck of his tongue. 

“Ah, ah. Not just yet, little mouse. Don’t you still have a mess to clean up?” 

You shoot him a bewildered, tear stained look, but he just nudges his chin down at the small puddle of drool you’d left behind on the flooring. It should be physically impossible for your face to get any hotter than it already is and yet, somehow, you manage to do just that, flushing in indignation. You wished you could snap at him and point out that it was his fault, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself. 

Instead, you snifflingly reach into a pocket in the apron to withdraw your handkerchief, leaving your panties tangled in the garterbelt clasps for the moment while you step forward to kneel down between him and the coffee table. Unfortunately you don’t make it much further than that. 

His hand is suddenly in the back of your hair, gripping only tight enough to stop you from scuttling away. You yelp in surprise, swaying unsteadily where you’re knelt when he forces you forward, making you go down on your hands and knees. He says something to you then but you can’t really hear him over the violent pounding in your ears. You’re almost too shocked, too stunned to properly react to anything that’s going on. 

All you know is that he drags you closer to the puddle by your hair and then, to your roiling revulsion, starts to shove your head down. You try to fight it with frantic urgency, one hand reaching back to grab at the unbudging wrist behind your head while the other abandons the handkerchief completely in favor of shoving at the ground in a blithe attempt to stop this from happening. 

It’s no good though. He’s much too strong, physically bigger than you, and his elevated position sitting on the edge of the sofa gives him far too much leverage when you were under him and on your knees. Despite your best efforts, Dottore finally gets your head nudged down enough to press your cheek into the wood grain next to the puddle. Just as if you were an untrained dog being forced to look at the mess they’ve made in their masters home. 

And was that really all that far from the truth?

“I didn’t say you could use something else to clean it up, did I?” He intones lightly, almost conversationally. But that doesn’t truly detract from the haughty, twisted edge in his voice somehow. “I told you to clean it up. Use your mouth.”

“M - my lord, please!” You warble sadly, sounding nearly hysterical even to your own ears. 

“Do it, little mouse. Or do I need to take you back over my lap again to encourage your obedience?” 

A frantic sob catches in your throat, almost choking you on it. You’re sure you’d rather die but you just can’t risk him spanking you again. You knew it would kill you. Submission was the only choice you really had. 

Even seeing the truth for what it is isn’t nearly enough to stop you from internally cringing so hard you’re half convinced you’ll faint dead away on the spot. But you do relent, even when your wilting pride screams at you not to. 

You have to consciously force yourself to relax, allowing him to pry your cheek up from the floor with a harsh jostle so he can then redirect your face towards the puddle of spit. He doesn’t shove your mouth into it though, simply waiting until you hesitantly part your lips and stick your tongue out. Only then does the Doctor bark a cruel laugh and press on the back of your head, guiding you into place so you can start lapping up the fluid with mortified, recoiling kitten licks. 

“That’s a good pet. And don’t you look lovely like this?” 

The Doctor pushes up to stand then, evidently confident that you would continue to obey, and you do, even as he shuffles behind you a few steps to get a better look. Standing near the corner of the sofa now, he neatly folds his arms behind his back and just watches. Observes. 

And you’re sure you must look a mess at that moment. On your hands and knees, mouth to the floor, with your bare ass up in the air and your panties twisted around your thighs. Pussy out, empty and waiting, but somehow so terribly wet for this monster. 

You can’t bring yourself to conceal your hate for him, glaring back at the Doctor from that awkward angle even as you clean away the spit from the ground with your tongue. He already knew how you felt about him anyway and it clearly doesn’t bother him one little bit as he smirks at you in return, his mouth cutting a sharp line across the lower half of his face. 

Good at playing the villain, indeed. 

“Oh, don’t look so upset. You’re free to hate me as much as you wish,” he purrs, sounding like the thought thrilled him really quite a lot. With a heavy clunk of his boot and a groan from the floor, he takes a perfectly measured step towards you. And then another. “Or you could even try to find some way to kill me, if you think you’re up to the task. Frankly, I’d applaud you for it if you did. Just remember who holds the most power here, little mouse.”

Coming to stand over you now, he gives his head that infuriating tip you were starting to hate so much. 

“It is not that feeble invalid Zandik. And it certainly isn’t you either.” 

His foot comes up then to press down on the back of your head. The pressure sedately forces your mouth to the floor until you’re laying in what remains of your own drool and your cheek squishes against the wood. You let out a tiny sound of protest but it doesn’t do anything at all to deter him. He just holds you there like that for an incomprehensibly long time without ever fully stepping down and crushing your skull even though some small part of you almost wished he would. At least it would be quicker than dragging the inevitable out like this. 

But, at length, he finally removes his boot and you’re able to gingerly pry your face up, wincing when the skin tries to stick. The Doctor is already turning away from you though, pacing back over to the corner of the couch where he peers down at you as if you were a filthy animal that’s wandered in off of the street. His somewhat agreeable mood from earlier is completely gone now. Vanished. Like a magician’s trick. 

“That will be all for today, little mouse. I really must be going soon, so do hurry and pick yourself up. And don’t forget to fix your clothes while you’re at it.”

Weak and shaky, you fumble to get your feet back under you again only to nearly collapse in a heap on the ground. You have to use the side of the sofa to steady yourself enough to get upright where you sway unsteadily for a moment even as you tug your panties into place. The caress of soft cotton over your blistering bottom nearly makes you sob even as you’re made painfully aware of how very wet you are between the legs after his rude probing. It really is like some sick joke. 

“Come, come.” He says, urging you to speed it up. “Do not dawdle, now. I’ll escort you back to the old man on my way out.”

You shoot him a miserable look, very conscious of the tears and residual spit on your face. “B - but, my lord, I need to - -“

“What you need to do is listen.” The Doctor huffs as he reaches out to snag your elbow in a tight, pinching hold which he then uses to drag you, stumbling, closer to him. “Haven’t you learned this lesson yet? I did not bring you here to think, only to obey.”

Pausing, he takes a moment to chidingly tug your much wrinkled apron back into place where it was twisted askew. You try to take that chance to wipe the moisture from your cheeks with the heel of your palm, but in regretfully short order he’s pulling you into motion with him. 

Unlocking the door with a decisive click, Dottore pulls you out and into the hall, just the same as he’d done last night. He neither slows his pace or shortens his strides to give you a chance to keep up, and you’re left simply tripping along after him as you self consciously attempt to get yourself sorted out in time to face Master Zandik. It’s a resounding effort in futility though. Between the hurt in your body as much as the damage to your ego, the mess he’s made of you, it’s nearly impossible to keep your emotions in check. 

So much so that by the time he reaches the library and yanks this door open, you’re rapidly blinking through a swimming sheen of fresh tears that have welled up in your burning eyes, completely unbidden. 

Zandik, still sitting at the studiously crammed desk, lifts his head to glance across the room when you’re rather unceremoniously shoved inside to stand front and center. His expression slackens to deepen the wrinkles that mar his skin when he sees the state you’re in; flushed and wet faced, clothes untidy and rumpled. 

And with a final slam behind you, the Doctor takes his abrupt leave. 

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For a long, drawn out stretch of seconds the two of you just stare at one another from opposite sides of the library in mute silence. 

But then the dam seems to crack and crumble with all the sudden destruction of a crashing maelstrom behind it, and the tears are suddenly coming full force. 

Zandik stiffly moves as if to stand and come to you, but he doesn’t need to do that. You’re already crossing the room in a disoriented, nearly blind rush, unable to stop the blubbering sob that wells up within you from escaping. He only has a split second to realize you were running to him, not away, and he has just enough time to turn in his chair before you make it around the desk where you all but throw yourself into his arms. 

There are no thoughts of decorum or decency in your head as you shudderingly cling to him, pressing your face tight into the knobby curve of his shoulder. For the span of a single heartbeat he almost doesn’t seem to know what to do with this. What to do with you. 

And then his cool, faltering hands slowly come around you to press into your back, holding you against him. 

That alone is enough to have you breaking into pieces, wailing a muffled sound of despair while you soak the fabric of his jacket in your tears. It’s just too much. The pain and the loss of your innocence, the ever present threat of impending doom that seems to lurk around every corner in this old, creaky mansion. And that was to say absolutely nothing of the dreadful situation with your mother. You couldn’t leave this place to check on her yourself and there was no telling when Lord Regrator might grace the sprawling grounds with his presence again. Or even if he would honor your request of him in the first place. It was slowly tearing you down, bit by bit, and you felt hopeless. Lost and vulnerable. 

But Zandik manages to surprise you enough to pierce through the misery by some small margin when he softly tuts at you, wrapping his bony arms more securely around your shoulders so he can gather you tightly to himself. 

“Stupid girl.” He softly murmurs, petting over your bowed head with one hand. “You came back.” 

You nod into his shoulder, much too busy crying your eyes out to speak, and you weren’t sure what you would have said to that anyway. Yes, you’d come back. But what other choice did you even have? Not only did you doubt that the Doctor would ever let you escape this place alive but you also knew you couldn’t leave him here at the mercy of his own demented segments. Who knows how long he’d even last with them in charge of his care. He could be dead for days before they noticed given how infrequently they seemed to check in on him. 

And it just wasn’t fair. Not to him or to you. And gods, what did Pantalone think of all this if he knew how the younger parts of Zandik were as the Doctor had claimed he did? In retrospect it really was no wonder why he would want you here taking care of the old man in his stead. 

You just weren’t sure how much longer you could continue to do it before your sanity chipped away though. 

“There, there.” He’s saying, trying to comfort you. Stroking over your hair. “It’s alright, isn’t it? Calm down. Before you make yourself sick.”

You give your head a stuttering, miserable little shake, clutching at the front of his white jacket hard enough to make your fingers hurt. 

Quietly sighing into the side of your head, Zandik lets you carry on for another moment longer. Consoling you and rubbing your back. But when the tears still won’t stop, and you start to sadly hiccup, struggling to pull in short, gasping breaths, he finally gives his tongue a small click as he gently nudges at you. 

“Come here, girl. Let me see you. You’ve got my shirt soaked straight through, you know.” 

Sniffling very sadly, you let him tug you closer until you have no choice but to take a seat atop his thigh, even when it makes your bottom throb hotly at the pressure. You’re almost too wretched to care in that moment, although you do still catch yourself self consciously fidgeting at both the pain and the worry that you might crush him. He just feels so very thin and frail under your soft, filled out figure. 

It is not so different from when he’d pulled you into — not over — his lap previously though, and you gratefully settle into place against him, keeping your face tucked into the crook of his neck to stubbornly hide from him. But Zandik successfully surprises when he reaches down to somewhat unsteadily grab at your calves, pulling your legs up to drape them over the opposite armrest. A fluttering note of surprise curls through your constricting chest when you realize he’s cradling you to the front of him while the arm behind your shoulders carefully rocks you now. Just like one might an inconsolable child. 

Rather than embarrass you, though, the thought actually makes your heart ache with real affection. He really did care about you on some level despite that unfortunate ordeal in the dining room downstairs. You wouldn’t have thought this tangible proof of what you’d quietly started to suspect would make you feel so indescribably … happy. 

“That’s better, now.” Zandik murmurs at you when the choking sobs and the full bodied shakes start to slowly subside, soothed away by his unexpectedly gentle hands as much as the comforting smell of him as it fully envelopes you. “Just take a moment to breathe. There. You’re alright. You’re still in one piece, aren’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh a thick, half strangled sound at that. “Relatively speaking, I suppose …”

He gives your tense shoulder a doting pat at that. “Sometimes that’s all we can truly ask for, eh?” 

Slowly nodding your head once, you bring a careful hand up to wipe at your face. You’re not quite ready to look at him just yet though, keeping your head ducked down while you try to get yourself a bit more under control first. In some ways you couldn’t really believe you’d just come crashing down like that. But even when you were admittedly a little embarrassed about it, you can’t exactly say that it wasn’t without good reason. The exchange with the Doctor had taken a lot out of you and in the aftermath of your pitiful sobbing you just felt … empty. Barren, just as the mountainous, snowy plains outside were void of much of anything. Just a desolate white wasteland inhospitable to most life. 

And yet, Zandik does a surprisingly excellent job of warming you back up again, of filling in the empty spaces within your fractured mind as he dotingly pets you and rocks you in his lap. It was — nice. Really nice, in fact. You were quite certain you could have simply stayed like that with him forever without any complaint. 

But just as all things must eventually end, so too does this quiet moment between the two of you draw to a close and Zandik finally stirs against you some moments later. 

“Are you able to talk again?”

With one last sniffle, you gather your courage enough to lean up from his shoulder yet you still keep your face turned away for the time being. Somehow you got the feeling that looking at him too soon would just bring the tears right back. “Yes, Master …”

“Good.” He says shifting under you to dig into one of his pockets. A real challenge given how thoroughly curled up on top of him you are. “Allow me to speak first. Here. Blow your nose, silly girl.” 

He holds a handkerchief up to your face, making you belatedly realize you’d left yours on the floor in the office. But you can’t seem to care much about it as you lean into his hand and do as he’d asked of you, feeling really quite awful. 

“There you are. Now, listen to me well. I owe you a real apology, don’t I? The irony is that, even for all of my supposed intellect, I can't seem to figure out what to say to you that might even come close to being enough. I’m not sure how to express just how sorry I am that there wasn’t more I could do to protect you, and for … not listening to you, when you tried to tell me I had it wrong when you came up from the cellar with him. Those two explained everything to me after you left. I’m surprised you even decided to come back like this.”

You have to take a moment to self consciously clear your throat, finding your voice hoarse and thin when you try to speak. “Yes, Lord Dottore said that he and 25 had a long discussion with you. About me, and … us. I’m glad he was telling the truth about that.” 

A spark of genuine confusion cuts through Zandik’s remorse, making his pale brows knit slightly when he glances into your face again. “25? What in Teyvat are you talking about, girl?” 

“O - oh. That.” You offer up a sheepish laugh. “I know that probably sounds a little silly, doesn’t it? I just wasn’t sure if I’d be able to remember names like Omega, Beta … and that wouldn’t really help me keep track of who’s who either. So, Lord Dottore said for the sake of simplicity I could call them by their ages instead. Is that — alright with you, Master?”  

He gives a slow, rather owlish blink to that before stiffly leaning back into the chair with an almost disbelieving huff. “He really told you everything, didn’t he? I have to admit, that does surprise me a fair amount. The only other person who I’ve ever fully divulged the entire scope of my folly to is …” 

“Lord Regrator, sir?” You take a swing, earning yourself a sharply barked laugh. 

“That’s right. Clever little thing.” He starts to send you a rueful yet fond look, wanting to smile at you, but he seems to realize what he’s doing and quickly sobers. Much to the silent aching of your heart. “But you still came back. Why? After everything that’s happened and the way I acted towards you … I was sure you’d decide to go back home to Snezhnograd.”

“Honestly, I might have felt so inclined if I truly believed he would let me leave.” Shyly lifting your gaze, you send him a meaningful glance from under the wet clumps of your eyelashes. “Or if it were not for you, Master.” 

A silent beat passes over the room, and the intangible spark that seems to pass between you and him is only punctuated by the constant ticking of the grandfather clock on the opposite wall. 

Then, ever so slowly, Zandik nudges his chin up to squint at you — though it lacks any of the usual bite or critical assessment you were used to. 

“So, you do realize it then. Quite clever indeed, aren’t you? All that studying and reading your mother made you do has served you incredibly well. I was … I don’t mean this as a jab, girl, but I didn’t know if you would realize it or not. How much danger you’re actually in.” 

Hearing him say it doesn’t exactly feel great, not when it only solidifies what you’d already started to suspect regarding your ultimate fate here, but it does make you feel slightly less crazy. 

“Yes … I realized it yesterday. When we were down in the cellar. It is — unfortunate, of course. That this is the state of things, and the circumstance of our meeting has to be so tinged in melancholy. I must confess to you, Master, that I’m deeply worried about my mothers condition and I wish I could go to her. Even if it was only for one day. Knowing she is at one of the best hospitals Snezhnaya has to offer doesn’t give me much comfort when I have yet to hear any word from her. It’s starting to feel a bit like I’ve been erased from the outside world. Like I only exist here. With you.”

Zandik straightens slightly with the slow breath he pulls in at that, as if he wanted to respond but he doesn’t know what will be of any comfort to you. What wouldn’t just be the same pretty lip service the Doctor had chided you for. Or maybe he simply isn’t sure what he can say that won’t send you spiraling into another fit of anguish again. 

It doesn’t really matter though, not when your choice has already been made. Not today, or yesterday, or even the day before, but back at the Northland Bank, and you carefully bring your hand up to brush your thumb over the deep frown lines on one side of his mouth.  

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out when the time comes though. Perhaps … if he’s feeling generous enough, I suppose it’s possible that Lord Dottore might decide to keep me on as his own personal maid? Or maybe he’ll decide to pass me off to Lord Regrator. They might even want joint custody of me, if they can’t decide who should have responsibility of me after the divorce.” 

That earns you a real laugh, the sound punching out of Zandik’s chest with a vaguely wheezy cough. Almost as if he was unaccustomed to vocalizing such sounds, and it had been a very long time since he last laughed with the sincerity of his whole chest. 

But it pleases you almost as much as it surprises you, making your stomach flip and light up as if a whole fleet of fireworks was erupting inside it. 

Feeling strangely emboldened now, you offer him a far easier smile than you would have thought you were capable of after everything you’ve endured. “I don’t know if I actually believe that. I’m sure it’s just as likely that they will find me not worth the hassle of keeping alive and that will have to be the end of the road for me. But really, Master, I’m glad you’re talking to me like this again. I really do hate to see you upset with me. I’m sorry for disobeying you.”

Zandik holds up a hand to stop you, looking really quite pained at the reminder of his behavior. “Keep it. I don’t deserve your apologies and, frankly, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m afraid the majority of the blame belongs to me. There were any number of things I could have done to better equip you for navigating this situation on your own. Being truthful with you is right at the top of that list.”

Breathing out a terse sigh, he tips his head back against the chair and closes his eyes while he gives the meat of your leg a rather amicable pat. 

“But if he already told you everything then there’s no excuse for me not to be honest with you as well. And now that you know what I have done, the lengths I’ve gone for the sake of progress and in the name of results, I find myself admittedly a bit … amazed, that you still wish to be close with me like this. It’s only natural if you saw me as a monster and yet, you evidently do not. As always I expected the worst.” 

You sit with that for a long moment, turning it over in your head while you fiddle with the loose tie around his collar. “Was it the same for Lord Regrato too?” 

A mild scoff. “His situation was quite different from yours. Ah, but not entirely dissimilar, I suppose. He saw me at my worst when I was still young enough to be a threat to anyone and everyone around me, but somehow he still accepted what I am. Heh. You could probably even argue that he made me worse, in a way.” 

You’re not so sure you believe that when, in light of all that you have learned, it occurs to you that something must have happened at some point in his life to facilitate the changes in him that then culminated into the man sitting before you today. Although there were certainly shared traits and habits between Zandik and his younger selves, there was also no denying that he was noticeably different from them too. He wasn’t so — rigid and unrelenting, so caught up in his own ego that he couldn’t see the forest for the trees. There was a capacity to be soft within him, a desire for closeness even if he didn’t always know the best way to show it or ask for it. Could that really have been Pantalone’s doing? Had he healed some part of Zandik’s soul in his open, unburdened acceptance of who he was as a person? 

The thought makes your mind wander back to what the Doctor told you regarding the other segments, how they represented various age ranges with Dottore himself firmly planted in the middle and two that came after him. Forty-five and sixty-five, respectively, if memory serves. And you find yourself even more interested in them now, wondering if they, too, had been softened in the face of Pantalone’s influence. 

“Will you tell me about it?” You ask when you can’t seem to keep your pressing curiosity held at bay any longer. 

“Hm. Perhaps later. It is, after all, a rather long story, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Rousing himself, Zandik tips his head back down to look at you with a sober expression. “I think I'd rather talk about you for now. Are you sure you’re alright? What did he do to you?” 

Internally withering at the reminder, you tuck your chin down and avert your gaze. “He spanked me …”

The old man gives a tiny jolt at that. “Again? After I already …” Cutting himself off with a sharp click of his tongue, he slides the hand on your back higher up to cup around the curve of your skull, pulling you back down into his shoulder again. And you’re glad for it as you hide your face against him, hating the hot flush that creeps across your cheeks as much as the rising sting of fresh tears. “That damned brute. I knew he wanted to add on to your punishment, but I thought — well, I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? What’s done is done, I suppose. Oh, your poor bottom.” 

The bony hand on your thigh slides higher up to grab at soft pudge, lifting the back of the skirt slightly when he pulls on your hip to rotate your pelvis towards him. You tremble at the waft of cool air on blazing cheeks and squeak a small sound, balled hands clinging to him all the more fervently. 

Zandik just softly coos at you, however, as he leans forward to peer down at what he can see of your ass from this angle. The way he immediately hisses, pulling in a slow breath through his teeth, makes your stomach roil as you start to fidget in his hold. 

“Look at what he’s done to you. And after I tried to tell him I’d already taken care of it too.” Exhaling a terse breath, he carefully reaches up to smooth a soothing hand over the tender flesh of your topmost cheek. 

You whimper quietly at the renewed stabs of discomfort but quickly relax into the touch as much as you can when his cool skin proves an unexpectedly effective balm. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but at least it makes the tanned surface area not feel quite so warm. 

“I don’t know how you can forgive me for treating you that way in front of him. I should’ve known better. It might have been one thing to have Feofan watch while I spanked this cute bottom of yours. We very well could have turned it into a game to play with you, but …” His wizened fingertips find the edge of your panties and slip under the material to rub over a greater expanse of your behind, gooseflesh erupting all over you when you shiver. “I guess I always did enjoy taking out my frustrations on others, and somehow I still haven’t fully moved on from that bad habit yet. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and I most certainly should not have said those terrible things to you either.”

Squirming slightly when the touch of his hand so very close to your neglected cunt makes heat curl low in your stomach, you shift in his lap to turn your face inward. You leave your head resting against his shoulder though, not quite brave enough to look him in the eye just yet. Who knows what you might say or do. 

“You needn’t apologize, Master. I sort of deserved it, didn’t I? Even if you were mistaken about my reasons for doing so, I still broke your trust in me. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Not another word of that now, girl. They told me everything. That you’d claimed to have seen one of them skulking about, and I can’t say I don’t understand why that might concern you.” He murmurs, still petting over your sore ass which faintly twinges at that unintentional reminder of what the Doctor said while he had you over his knee. He’d seemed to know you hadn’t been completely honest about how the one in the half-mask had first come to your attention, but did Zandik? You weren’t so sure you were willing to admit you’d only stumbled into that perverted weirdo because you’d gone off on some foolhardy mission to investigate that strange noise. 

The strange noise you suddenly realize you haven’t heard all day. How curious. 

“Yes, I … I thought I saw someone through the window when we were in the library the other day.” You admit, deciding a tiny half truth couldn’t possibly get you into any more trouble. “That roused my suspicions enough, but then I happened to catch a glimpse of someone in the house when I — got up to fetch a glass of water in the night. I was very thirsty after the lesson in your bed, Master Zandik.” 

He stiffens slightly when you give the soft pudge on his side a playful pinch, emphasizing that reminder. Despite knowing full and well that it was technically wrong to leverage your sexuality like this in hopes of distracting him enough that he won’t think too hard about your story, you just can’t seem to stop putting your hand in the fire. Even if it was not with ideas of your own self preservation in mind, there’s simply no denying that you were still eager to invite his gently tempered attentions upon your body. 

The Doctor had been right about that too, as it turned out. You were so needy, so hungry to feel that carnal rush again that it seemed very little could actually deter you from seeking it out. A strict hand or a doting one. Evidently it didn’t matter. Not even the lingering throb across your ass could dissuade you for very long. 

And the best part is, it seems to work. 

Zandik shifts slightly underneath you, sinking lower into his chair so he can gather you more securely to his front. The hand in your underwear even slips out to grab at the meat of your thigh, using it as leverage to adjust the way you’re sitting in his lap. 

Suddenly you find yourself laying out on your back while he cradles you not unlike a baby to his chest. That almost manages to embarrass you and quell the stirring flame that flickers at your loins, but then his wrinkled hand comes to rest just at the twisted hem of your skirt, his long bony fingers stretching out over your soft thigh to give it an almost possessive squeeze. Much too close to your eager quim for you to think of anything else than him touching you there. 

And yet, Zandik’s attention remains on your face, not on what’s between your legs, keeping his chin tucked down as he looks over your expression. Reading your mood, maybe even your mind, taking you in and drinking up the sight of you curled so sweetly on his lap for him. 

“Were you, now?” He rumbles at length, his tone noticeably dropping an octave. Yes, yes, you were quickly getting the hang of this little sex kitten minx act, weren’t you? “If my memory serves me well, and I haven’t gone completely senile yet, I seem to recall you also had another lesson right here in the library that same day, didn’t you? What a greedy little girl you are, to demand two orgasms from me in such a short period. Do you remember what I taught you the first time I used my fingers on you here?” 

You slowly nod, biting down on your lower lip to chase away some of the hazy fog falling over your mind. It seemed inevitable when he talked to you like that, though. None of the segments made you feel the same way, not even close. 

“Yes, sir … you - you taught me how to ask for my cunt to be played with.” 

“Mmm. Very good. You really are a clever girl. And how do you ask for it, then?” 

Stamping down the urge to fidget and shy away from it, you sedately spread your legs for him so that they fall into a wide v where they’re hooked over the opposite armrest. The shift nudges your flouncy skirt further up with a near silent slither of the fabric, and you shoot a quick glance between your thighs to find that the edge of your panties is now exposed. 

Zandik turns his head to look as well, humming a soft sound of approval, encouraging you to keep going. And you do, reaching down to just pinch at the bulk of the material so you can slowly inch it up, up, exposing another tiny strip of your underwear at a time. Soon enough you can see that the cotton is plastered to the outline of your cunt, moulded to the pudge of fat little lips, and you almost start to have second thoughts about this. Maybe you should have cleaned up first. After all, the Doctor had teased and probed you only enough to get your excitable cunt drooling for him before taking his abrupt leave. Would Master Zandik take offense to that? 

The thought is out of your mind in an instant, dissolved like sugar in warm water, when he doesn’t hesitate to reach down and cup his palm over the puffy mound of your cunt. You shudder intensely at the sensation as much as at the visual, the latter making you feel almost dizzy with want. 

His hand just looks so thin and bony, with long spindly fingers that seem to stretch along the whole length of your slit and sharp, jutting knobs for knuckles, especially when framed against the soft, supple curve of your bracketing thighs. His skin wrinkled and worn while yours was smooth and glowing in your youth. Something about that sharp contrast seems to drive you crazy, and you needily buck against his hand, nudging your pelvis up into that territorial touch. 

“Very good.” Zandik croons at you, rewarding your sweet supplication of him with a stilted caress. “What a nice little student you are. I’m glad to see you were paying attention. Sometimes I have to wonder if you’re not doing so much of your thinking with this insatiable cunt that you don’t always hear everything I tell you.”

Whimpering a soft sound at that, you cant your hips again to tentatively grind yourself into the broad palm of his hand, seeking out your pleasure from him. “That’s not true, Master. I — I always listen. I want …” 

You trail off, suddenly overcome by stage fright and innocent bashfulness, but Zandik turns to glance down at you again, even while he continues to slowly rub over you. “What do you want, girl? I can’t know unless you tell me. Go on.”

That was certainly easy for him to say, wasn’t it? 

But you still do your best to be brave, even though you can’t quite bring yourself to look him in the face when you speak it aloud. 

“I want to … be good for you, Master Zandik.” 

What a humiliatingly infantile thing to say to someone who was old enough to be your grandfather!

And yet, it seems to strike a sensitive chord in him, and he shudders faintly with the low groan he breathes out, hand stilling against your cunt while he tries to wrangle his response back under control. 

“Is that so?” 

“Y - yes, sir. I do. I promise.” 

Rumbling a low sound that seems to vibrate through him and into you, Zandik gives your pussy an almost thoughtful pat, pat with his fingers. Then, seemingly making up his mind, he gives your shoulders a light nudge with the opposite hand. 

“That’s a very sweet thing of you to say to me, girl. Thank you for that. Why don’t you stand up for me, hm? If you want to be so good.” 

You aren’t sure what to think of that request but you don’t really stop long enough to question it either. The heated way he looks at you guarantees you don’t have the brain power for much thinking at the moment as you gingerly work to get yourself straightened out and then push up to stand. 

But when you try to turn around to face him, his hands come up to grab hold of your waist and stop you. 

“Stay like that for just a moment.” 

The following sensation of him grabbing the knotted bow of your apron manages to cut through the fog and surprise you enough that you give a little jolt. “M - Master? What are you doing?” 

“Something I probably should have done a long time ago, if you want the truth.” 

Even though you have no idea what to make of that answer you still obediently stand there while he works the bow loose with shuddering old fingers. The sensation of the garment soon falling open to hang from your shoulders makes you shiver slightly but he doesn't tell you to turn around just yet. Instead, Zandik reaches under the back of your skirt to locate the tops of your thigh high stockings where he spends a long stretch of moments simply fumbling with the little clasps holding them up. 

You start to strongly suspect what he’s doing now, but you can’t quite seem to find your voice when he finally reaches up again to grasp around your waist. Giving it a mild squeeze, he indicates for you to spin around. And you do, slowly, keeping your chin tucked down so you won’t have to peer into his face when you were so sure yours was probably pinched in alarm. 

It surprises you a great deal though. He’d never once tried to get you naked, only exposing your cunt to the air and to his machinations, but … even that night in his bedroom, he could have just as easily unbuttoned the top of your housekeeping uniform to pull your tits out and he hadn’t. You probably wouldn’t have even complained about it all that much in the hazy heat of the moment. Instead, he’d simply caressed and pinched, and kneaded your tit straight through your clothes. 

Now, however, something seems to be noticeably different. Zandik just has so much of his sharp attention fixed on you that you can’t help the way you start to feel self conscious or how vague little thoughts of worry begin to flash through your mind. What if he didn’t like your body as much as he currently thought he did? Were your breasts too large? Too small? And the love handles on your sides … 

Suddenly you don’t feel quite so eager with arousal anymore as you stand there, awkwardly fidgeting, while he takes his time ever so carefully pulling the apron from your body. He drops it somewhere down at his feet and then, same as before, he reaches under the dress to fiddle with the front clasps on the garterbelt this time. 

“M - Master?” 

“Hush. There’s no reason to start getting shy with me. I’d just like to see you, that’s all.” 

You don’t have the heart to reject his request, although you do secretly wish he’d at least leave you some small strip of clothing to give you even just a tiny sense of security. Even if it was entirely fake. To be perceived in the nude like that by a man was …

“There. They don’t make these things easy, do they? Lift your foot for me, girl. Put your hands behind you on the desk if you need to.”

Snapping out of your swirling thoughts, you peer down in plain faced uncertainty. But even when your heart pounds a wild, violent rhythm you still obey without question — such a stark difference from your interactions with the Doctor — as you carefully curl your leg up as he’d asked. 

Noising a vague sound of approval, Zandik bends to the task, head bowing, while he works to unlatch the two shiny buckles on your shoes. It’s clearly difficult for him, the tiny eyelets and clasps much too petite for his stiff, arthritic fingers, but he stubbornly keeps at it until he has both of them undone. 

Your shoe is summarily removed and dropped to the floor next to your apron before he goes back in to roll your stocking down the length of your leg. Once that’s gone, he allows himself just a brief moment to cradle your foot, pressing in on sensitive nerves and the chords of ligaments, squeezing the appendage softly, and then letting it go. 

At his instruction, you switch to the other side so he can repeat the process there too, and this time you need to use the desk to brace yourself. Despite how embarrassing this undoubtedly is, it’s still somehow fascinating to watch him work. The concentration along his wrinkled brow is regrettably attractive in a way that makes your chest and your pussy ache for him terribly. That serious set of his mouth, the way his eyes squint down at the small buckles as he grumbles something unkind under his breath about the shoemaker responsible for them. 

And it hits you at full force like a sack of bricks. 

Gods, you’ve never known anyone you found more attractive in all your life. 

In some utterly inexplicable way even his own segmented younger selves couldn’t quite compare with their variously covered faces and the lack of any truly unique identifying traits that you’ve seen thus far. 

You understand, then, why the Doctor hated Zandik so much. As long as he was alive, as long as he was still whole and kicking, he would always be the total sum of their individual parts. They were nothing more than redundancies of him. Even Omega, the one that was supposed to be in the prime of his life, intelligent and powerful, couldn’t truly match up to the whole and completed picture that was Zandik. 

It’s almost enough to bowl you over on the spot, but you say nothing of what you’re thinking when he at last gets that shoe and stocking removed as well. At his behest you lower that foot to the ground to stand before him, about an inch and a half shorter than you normally were. 

But if he notices it he certainly doesn’t seem to care. He’s a man seemingly on a mission now, and you suck in a slow, halting breath when he then reaches up to start fiddling with the first button at your throat. 

“Would you … like me to help you, Master?” You cautiously hedge, earning yourself a light scoff. 

“Impatient girl. That shouldn’t be necessary. I think I can manage this much on my own.” 

Even though he says that it still takes him a moment longer than it should for him to get the little fasten undone before he can move onto the next. Now he has something unkind to say about the garmentmaker, and the Doctor for giving this outfit to you, and you soon find yourself giggling over Zandik’s predicament even when he sends you a sharp look of warning. 

Your girlish titters are quick to subside, though, when he eventually gets the last button loosened and starts to nudge the top half back over your shoulders. It occurs to you then that he’s actually serious about undressing you right there in the middle of the library, regardless of who might walk in. 

A fluttering thrill zaps through your body as you move to oblige him, shrugging out of the top half of the dress and then pulling your arms through the sleeves. Then, with his help, you shimmy it down over your hips and step out of it to leave you standing in only your slip and the garterbelt underneath it, and your decidedly very damp panties. A small fraction of your earlier eagerness returns when you wonder what he planned to do with you, but he gives your fingers a halfhearted swat when you reach for the hem to pull the top half off. 

“Eager little thing.” Zandik softly chides you, slipping his hands underneath the breezy silk slip to find the garterbelt instead. “I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been patiently waiting for soon enough, but you must let me do what I need to do first. Nice things will only come for good girls that can wait. Do you understand?” 

You offer up a stilted nod of your head, torn equally between excitement and insecurity now. It was impossible to say when the last time was that someone saw you naked. Sometime long ago in your childhood, perhaps, but in this context … 

Trembling fitfully at the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your lower stomach while he makes quick work of relieving you of the belt, you abruptly find that it is getting harder and harder to breathe. Your skin aches for his touch so much that even just the faintest sensation of his fingers on your body makes you shudder and quake. It feels very much like you’re a firework set to go off at any moment, especially when he hooks into your panties and tugs those down as well. 

Now the only thing standing in the way is the laughably thin, flimsy barrier of your slip, but in all truth you’ve never felt quite as naked as you do then. Your nipples are tight and hard, seeking where they stick straight up through the silk, and your bare cunt … 

“I’m going to take this off now.” He warns, no doubt noticing the stricken look on your face. At your disoriented glance, confused by your own thoughts, Zandik stretches his arm up to curl a finger under the strap on one side of the garment, inching it down to hang off your shoulder. 

A quickly ratcheting thread of tension settles low in your gut as you nod to him, much too busy focusing on pulling oxygen into your lungs to respond verbally. Eager now to set his eyes upon you, Zandik wastes no time tugging the other side down and then ever so carefully inching the slip down the length of your body, one tortuous fraction at a time. Your tits are the first to spill free and you suck in a sharp little rattling gasp at the sensation of silk being drug over those painfully hard points before they hit the air. Bare and vulnerable.

Then it trails lower and lower, down the length of your stomach to briefly bunch around your hips before he can nudge them the rest of the way down where they finally pool around your ankles. 

And suddenly you’re as naked as the day you were born, standing in front of the old man who unabashedly drags his eyes over every single inch of you. He neither shies away from any one part of your body nor does he skim past anything in a way that would suggest it was unimportant to him. It’s as if all of you inspires some amount of fascination in his mind, even the most benign places you wouldn’t have even thought to give a second glance. 

Yet, Zandik lingers on your arms and your clavicle just as much as he does the full weight of your tits. The grabbable pudge at your sides you’d felt so self conscious about a moment ago he now caresses almost lovingly with his eyes, and the soft swell of your lower tummy gets the same attention too. You’d thought he might expect perfection from you but, on the contrary, it’s almost as if the proof that you were simply human, nothing more and nothing less, is what endears him the most. 

The potent fertility of your young body has never been so starkly obvious as it is when he reaches out with a thin, faltering hand to palm over the side of your hip. You sway unsteadily at the contact of withered fingers on your bare skin, thrumming for him at an intensity that nearly immobilizes you and renders you mute. 

This should feel wrong to you. It should have you shirking away and choking on tears, mourning the loss of your innocence as much as your dignity. 

But it doesn’t. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, dragging the cool pad of his thumb over the faint crease along your waist. “What a lovely little thing you are, girl. I wonder how I got so lucky as to have you at this late stage. The things I would have done to you even just twenty years ago …” 

Breathing out a heavy sigh through his nose, Zandik nudges your hip now to indicate that he wants you to turn. And when you comply it feels like you’re moving through molasses the way your limbs feel so distant and numb, slowly shuffling to the side where his bony hand slides forward to palm across your tummy, holding you in place. 

His other set of fingers come up to lightly trace over the curve of your ass to make you twitch, whining a low sound at the sensation. Your bottom still feels hot to the touch, tender and heavy where it sits on your backside, but the thought of pulling away from him doesn’t even occur to you. He’s perfectly gentle in the way he caresses the sore skin with wrinkled fingertips before then placing his palm across one globular cheek to rub it. Slow and soft, apologetic even. 

Carefully turning your head, you glance back over your shoulder only to feel a tiny little thrill curl through you when you find Zandik peering up at you. Watching your reactions even while he tries to rub the lingering hurt from your bottom. 

“I’m sorry I spanked you without knowing the full story first. I truly mean that.” He tells you quietly, and you’re sure he means it. 

Your mouth starts to move but nothing comes out so you have to pause, swallow down the rock lodged in your throat, and then try again. “It’s alright, Master. I … I understand why you were upset with me.” 

“It’s really not.” He insists, dropping his gaze when he bends close to press a lingering kiss to your hip where he keeps his head bowed for a long moment before coming back up. “I should’ve known better. I knew you weren’t a bad girl, so I’m not sure why I jumped straight to assuming the worst. I said such terrible things to you.” 

Carefully reaching down, you find the crown of his head with your fingers and gently run them through the wavy strands, smoothing it back slightly. As much as it had hurt in the moment, both the smack of his hand and the barbed words he’d spit at you, it still pulls at something in your chest to see him like this. You would have forgiven him even without his apologies, understanding on some level that you’d invited those consequences into your life with your own behaviors. But when he drops his pride enough to show you this much remorse for his actions …

“Please don’t continue to beat yourself up about that, Master. Sometimes it does feel like this place is going to slowly turn me into that, so it may not have been so far from the truth. But if I’m allowed to be a little selfish, I … I’d like to give you all of me before anyone else can take it first. I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

Groaning some quiet, long suffering sound, Zandik bows his head again, pressing the wrinkled line of his brow against your soft hip. He recovers quickly though and the hand on your ass slides up to cup the swell of your cheek, lifting it slightly as he ducks down to press another kiss to the aching flesh. 

You suck in a sharp breath at the sensation of his mouth so very close to your nether regions, but then he straightens in his chair and pulls you around to face him again. At his nudging insistence, you shuffle right up into the space against his legs and watch, wide eyed, as he leans up to catch one stiff nipple between his lips. 

Your mouth drops open in some startled amalgamation of shock and arousal, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes away when he gives the teat a quick suck and then pulls back with a wet little pop to leave it coated in a thin sheen of saliva. Zandik rolls his eyes up towards your face at the sound of your stilted inhale, observing your reaction, watching you as you watch him slip his tongue out to lightly flick at the coiled bud. Just nudging it up and down. Up and down. Slow and steady, deliberate. 

Such an intense shudder tears through your body that you nearly levitate straight up onto your toes, stumbling when your knees nearly give out. But the hand that once rested along your ass now comes up to lock around your back, to hold you in place and stop you from scuttling back. At the same time his other hand slips into the space between your legs, bullying the tight press of your thighs apart where you’d been squeezing them in a blithe attempt to alleviate some of the pressure there. He finds your slit with familiar confidence, using the long press of his fingers to rub over the dimpled apex in casual, knowing circles that only make you crave him so much more than you already do. 

Groaning a wavering sound of fast building pleasure, you tip your head back to bask in the rush of sensation while your hands come up to latch onto his thin shoulders. Zandik gives your back a brief squeeze of acknowledgement, encouraging you to give yourself over to him more, to relent more and to offer more of your body up to his perusal. 

And you do, gladly. Happily. Your mouth drops open on a wounded little mewl when he takes your achingly stiff nipple between his lips again to noisily suckle at the teat, making sure you can hear the way his mouth works around the bud. The way his jaw flexes against the meat of your breast, the heated exhale he breathes out through his nose, the hand dragging over your cunt to smear liquid arousal, encouraging you to make more for him … 

It all culminates to have you very close to the edge by the time he finally pulls back, seemingly with no shortage of effort when he forces himself to disengage from your thrumming body. You can’t help the way you whine a needy sound in response to the loss, but it quickly morphs into an eager, salacious groan when he reaches up to palm at your waist with a possessive pinch. 

“I want you to sit on the desk for me. Right on the edge.” He tells you with a noted hint of urgency. 

You shuffle back half a step, bumping into the table behind you harder than you’d meant to. But you feel well and truly drunk now, intoxicated by the hot urges of your own skin, and you blindly grip at the ledge of the table as you turn to glance down at what’s already on top of it. 

The book he’d been referencing for the last few days is still sitting open, pen set aside as if in wait for him to resume his note scribbling. Zandik quickly leans forward, however, and he shoves everything directly in front of him to the opposite side to nearly send the tome flying. He does knock an orderly stack of papers off in the process though, along with a small screwdriver that goes rolling across the floor, but he doesn’t appear to care about any of that right now. 

At his encouragement, you somewhat awkwardly shift to get your butt lifted up onto the desk, hissing at the hard pressure, and then you use your hands to pull yourself a bit more securely on top of it. Your heart slams out such an incomprehensible rhythm against your ribcage that it seems to make your eyes vibrate as you watch him sit forward in his chair, grabbing at your ankles to direct them out to either side. 

“Brace your feet on the armrests for me. That’s it. Good girl. Don’t be shy.”

A very real part of you can’t believe you’re doing this. Everything feels so surreal, hazy and immaterial around the edges like some sort of fever dream, and yet there’s no mistaking the utterly shameless way you let your legs drop open for him. There’s still a self conscious thread of uncertainty in the back of your mind that just won’t seem to go away when you’d never been looked at in this way by a man before. You’re not sure what to expect from him. 

But Zandik’s reaction is resoundingly enthusiastic when he groans a quiet, rumbling noise of desire when he looks upon you, fully opening yourself up to him in this way. His sharp gaze fixes intently on the spot between your legs where he takes a moment to just drink you in, studying the fleshy press of your slit, the curls framing it and the hint of petal soft folds that peak out at him. 

His attention is so profound, in fact, that you eventually start to squirm, almost painfully aware of how your clit preemptively throbs for him and the way your pussy just keeps weeping for more of his touch. 

And when he finally gives it to you, winding his hands under and then up to latch onto the cushiony grip of your thighs, tugging your pelvis right to the very edge of the desk, you feel like you just might faint dead away. Even when you half expect it, even when you’re silently begging him for it, watching him bend his head over your defenseless cunt still shocks a flustered squeak out of you. 

“M - Master Zandi — eek!” 

The tip of his tongue just nudges your swollen clit but it’s enough to nearly send you jolting right up off the table. His spindly hands dig deep into the pudge around your thighs to hold you in place while he slowly, lazily flicks that pulsing bud back and forth. Back and forth. Teasing it with the suggestion, giving you a much needed chance to process and come to terms with what’s happening. He was really putting his mouth on you. Just like he’d said he would. 

Trembling uncontrollably now, you first twitch back from that strange feeling and he simply follows you, insistent that you would acclimate and let him eat you the way he wants. It’s more than a little overwhelming, not to mention embarrassing to see him bent to your cunt like that. But, to your surprise, you warm up to it quickly, relaxing into the sensitive judders rather than trying to run away from them. 

You hiss a strangled sound and haltingly roll your pelvis towards him now, digging your heels into the armrests to leverage yourself. Zandik hums a quiet sound of approval into your pussy, retracting his tongue for a brief moment to wet it and swallow the taste of you. Then he comes back up to press the flat of his tongue to that receptive pearl, lightly dragging it from side to side. That fleshy bud rolls with the motion, grinding under his attention, and you beautifully heave for him in response as you lean back on your braced hands so you can stretch out for him. Languid and luxuriant in the way you offer your pussy up to his wicked machinations. 

Pulling back a moment later with another low, gravel edged groan, he gives his head an almost disbelieving shake. “Gods, girl. You really are going to be the death of me at this rate.” 

“I … I don’t taste — unpleasant, do I?” You shyly ask, peering down at him over the swell of your tits and the crease of your belly where he sends you a sharp look of warning. 

“Not even a little bit. As expected, you’re just as sweet as you look. And don’t ever utter such nonsense in my presence again, do you understand me? I don’t like to keep repeating myself.”

“Mm … y - yes, sir.” 

Nodding once as if to indicate that this matter was put to rest now, he shifts slightly in his chair to get comfortable or perhaps even to find a better angle from which to attack you. Giving your trapped thighs another bony squeeze, he leans down again. 

But this time instead of going straight for your clit, he takes a long, wet swipe from the bottom of your cunt right up to the top. You give a full bodied twitch when he passes over the delicate button at the top and then huff a vaguely impatient groan when he redirects his mouth back down towards the center of your slit. 

Here, Zandik tips his head slightly to one side so that he can kiss you; big, sloppy, open mouthed smooches that leave behind the sticky residue of saliva and slowly works the puffy press of your lips open. This only seems to highlight how very soaked you are, honeyed and drippy where the byproduct of your own excitable youth gathers in a copious mess along the seam. And he drinks from it as if you were a fountain, greedily lapping up the excess so he can swallow it down his gullet. 

It makes you throb, stiffly squirming there atop the desk when you’re so primed and ready to feel him mouthing at the spot you really want him to focus in on again. But he takes his time with this instead, slowly turning the opening of your body into a viscous, creamy mess, driving you wild in the process. 

And you very nearly sob in relief once he finally — finally! Worms his tongue into the malleable grip of your labia to tongue at your entrance, poking and prodding, and just dipping it into the tight heat of your cunt. It’s an odd sensation but not exactly unpleasant, and you heave a sucker punched noise when you feel your insides try to clamp down on that hot, wet appendage when it slips inside. There’s nothing for you to squeeze or cling to though, and his tongue just seamlessly glides back and forth for a drawn out stretch of seconds, fucking you with it. 

Your toes painfully curl on the armrest as your head lolls back, boneless and stupefied to mewl another helpless moan up at the ceiling. “Master, please! I need you …” 

Scoffing a muffled laugh into your cunt, Zandik gives your gooey hole one last, vigorous suck to make you yelp before pulling back with a faltering yet deeply pleased sigh. “Yes, yes, girl. I’m well aware how needy you are. You’re lucky I feel like spoiling you a little bit today, but be warned. Next time I just might hold you down and make you take whatever I decide to give you.” 

Just the thought of that sends intense, hotly sparking shockwaves through your already thrumming system to leave you shaking on his desk. The old man between your legs chuckles at the reaction, clearly enjoying the way you respond to him almost as much as you love the way he seems to give you no choice but to respond in such a noticeable way. 

You can’t quite manage to stop it or get a hold of yourself as you tip your face down, chin tucking close to your chest, so you can look at him through the hazy fall of your eyelashes. Zandik gives you a sharp little crook of his mouth while he slides one of his hands off your thigh, moving inward, to find the aching bundle of nerves at the top of your slit with his thumb. 

“Is this what you want, darling girl? Do you want me to put my mouth here again?” 

You eagerly nod, not even trying to hide how desperate you are for it. 

But he only hums a brief sound of acknowledgement as he lightly brushes the worn pad of his thumb over your clit. Barely nudging it back and forth. “I know you want it, but how badly? You’ll have to use your words to tell me.” 

The tight knot in your chest seems to swell, nearly choking you up. “I … I want it very much, sir. I want to c - cum for you.” 

“Mmm. Not a bad answer.” Zandik rewards you by increasing the pressure on your clit somewhat, speeding up his ministrations only enough to nudge at it more keenly. It still wasn’t enough though. “But how do you want it? What method shall we use to get you there, hm?” 

You can’t help the way you whimper at that. Even knowing he was taunting you with it, coaxing the words out of you, even when he’s got his face between your thighs, you hesitate to give it voice. You’d never spoken so crassly before. 

“Oh, that is an adorable look on you, but there’s nothing for you to fret over. You can do it. Use your big girl words, now.” 

Trembling so fitfully you have to close your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself in reality, unable to keep looking at him like that, you give your head a numb, slow motion shake. “Nghn! Ooughn … I - oh, blessed mother — I want you to … put your mouth on me again, Master. Please. Please luh - lick me some more until … until …”

“Until what, sweetness?” 

“Mmnghn. Until I — cum on your tongue. Sir.” 

A visible tremor works through Zandik’s body, culminating in a low groan that falters from his mouth. He wants that too, and it makes you feel marginally better about what you’ve just said, what shameful words you’ve spoken to your Master, even when your head seems to spin dizzily fast. 

“Such a good girl you are for me. And how could I possibly ever deny you any request when you ask it of me so nicely?” 

He dips his head then, sliding his thumb away to possessively curve over the soft pudge of your lower belly instead, and you hold the air in your lungs so hard it hurts.  

But that breath instantly punches out of you when he flattens his tongue to that swollen little pearl to drag and grind it in an abrupt rush of wet, fleshy friction. Such an explosive thrill of delight shoots through your thrumming body that you nearly come completely up off the table, the sharp jut of his hands the only thing keeping you pinned in place. 

And yet you quickly recover, using your feet braced on the armrests of his chair to rear against his mouth in a blind, supplicating search for more. Luckily he seems to be perfectly happy to give it to you now that you’ve politely asked for it, and he laps vigorously at your pulsing cunt even when your thighs start to quake around his head. 

It almost shocks you how rapidly the tension in your gut swells, doubling and then tripling, to have you weakly swaying on top of the desk in pure, doped out bliss. As much as you’d loved the friction of his fingers playing in your pussy, his tongue seems to be on another level entirely, and your eyes soon begin to roll back in your head while you inch ever closer towards the edge of oblivion. 

What finally sends you into a convulsing fit of spasms another moment later are his hands, abandoning your thigh and your stomach to slide up the quivering length of your body. Zandik finds the meat of your tits and squeezes them tight before finding the sharply pointed nipples with his fingers. He gives them both a stinging little tweak and a fleshy tug and, just like it did down in the cellar, that seems to send you careening straight into a vertigo-inducing free fall when the thread suddenly snaps. 

The orgasm slams into you full force as if you’ve just been consumed by a tidal wave that crashes over you and swallows you up in an instant. You jolt hard enough that the desk vaguely rattles underneath you, squealing a dire sound of immense pleasure as you dig your toes into the armrests and instinctively lift your pelvis in an attempt to escape his tongue. But it’s no use, he’s got you situated in front of him in such a way that no amount of mindless bucking and shuddering can seem to dislodge him from your cunt, and all you truly succeed in doing is grinding yourself on his mouth even more. 

Your arms quickly grow too tired to hold you up any longer as you judder through the throes of your release, wailing a threadbare, faltering moan as your upper slowly body sinks down lay out across Zandik’s desk. And still, he just continues to hungrily eat at you even when your pussy seems to flood around his tongue to a truly obscene degree. You’d never felt so copiously slick in your entire life, but somehow that helps to ease you down from that heart pounding high over the next long stretch of minutes while you gradually fit yourself back into your own head. 

The rosy aftermath leaves you panting for breath, sweaty and so very, very turned on you almost can’t stand it. Even before he gives your clit one last, lingering suck, starting to straighten up from your sopping wet core, you know you still want him to touch you more. Lick you more. Caress and pinch, and hold and squeeze you more and more, and more. 

It felt like it could never be enough. Not truly. 

“My goodness, girl. You’re certainly a leaky little thing, aren’t you?” He rumbles, snapping you out of your lolling stupor enough to bring your chin down, looking at him along the heaving sprawl of your body. 

You watch, feeling somehow hungrier than ever, as he swipes at his mouth with a shaky hand to rid it of some of the pussy juice coating his skin. It doesn’t really work though, and you can still see it glistening faintly when he takes his fingers away. And something about it stirs a surprised chord in the back of your mind. Had you really cum that much? 

That thought seems to stoke at the simmering heat within you, and you eagerly bring your thighs together in a tight press that, of course, catches his attention and brings his gaze back up. 

“Please, Master … can we — keep going?” 

His grumpy brows lift in unconcealed surprise. “And you don’t know how to quit while you’re ahead, either. You’ll have to make do with my fingers though. I can’t eat needy little girls out all day, you know.” 

“N - noooo.” You whine softly, rubbing your thighs in a tighter press to match your quickly ratcheting excitement. But you couldn’t think of anything else at that moment. You had to have it. “No fingers, sir. I — I want to have your cock …” 

Zandik goes very still at that shy admittance. He just looks at you for a long stretch of moments, watching the way you not so subtly writhe in place there in front of him. Too eager to sit still and so caught up in the low pulse of wanting in your cunt that you don’t even seem to care about how very nude you are. 

Ready and wanting. For him. 

Finally clearing his throat with a thick cough, he sits up a bit straighter while his mouth tugs into a serious, contemplative frown. 

“You don’t mean that.” He murmurs at length. 

“I do, Master. I really do.”

Zandik shoots you a plainly tortured look. “Yes, you certainly think that, don’t you? But as much as I may want to, there’s something that you simply must understand. I am but an old man, you silly girl. I don’t know how good I can actually make it for you in this state.”

You slowly push up on your elbows to get a better look at him, meeting his gaze head on. And you give Zandik a tremulous little smile as you implore him with hopeful eyes, trying not to turn bashful. “I don’t care much about that, sir. I swear. It’s just … I want it to be with you, that’s all. Not somebody else. Even if it only lasts for a moment or two, I’ll be happy as long as you’re the one who — takes me first. That’s all I want.” 

He starts to turn away, screwing his eyes shut as if you’ve just delivered a fatal blow to his heart. “Burn everything, girl! You can’t say things like that to a man who’s old enough to be your father! No, it’s even worse than that! I could be your grandfather!” 

“B - but it’s true - -“ 

“Dammit! I don’t care if it’s true or not!” 

Abruptly shoving his chair back with a scrape of the legs on the floor, Zandik stands up so fast he nearly unbalances and tips over. A quick hand slapped against the desk next to your thigh is the only thing that keeps him upright, and he heavily hunches over you as if he were some kind of heaving, snarling, half starved beast.

It startles you more than a little bit and you peer up at him with widened eyes, yet so utterly, perfectly calm even when his lips pull back to sneer at you that he can’t seem to catch the laugh that barks out of him. 

Hanging his head as if in defeat, he reaches up to remove his monocle which he sets aside with a sharp little click on the desk. He stands there for another moment longer, just letting his head droop between his shoulders, before he finally gives his neck a stiff shake. 

Then, scoffing a harsh sound, he pushes himself upright to loom over you, prone and pliant where you’re spread out in willing, open invitation before him. He barely even looks at you now though, as he sets in to yank rather aggressively at his belt, and it does not escape your notice that his fingers seem to falter more than usual. 

“Damn stupid girl. Look at what you’re doing to me.” He grumbles under his breath, his narrow chest heaving slightly against the front of his shirt. “Look what you’ve asked me to do to you. There must be something wrong with you in the head to want to give yourself over to the likes of me. Do you really think I’m someone who deserves to take your virginity?” 

“I do.” You tell him honestly, sounding distant and dreamy. Unable to hide your excitement at his acquiescence, your victory. 

But he shoots you a brief, no less grumpy look of warning before dropping his attention back down to focus on the unbuttoning of his slacks. “You’re a damned fool. I really hope you know that. You’re supposed to want better for yourself.  You should want to be on top of a comfortable bed right now, not sprawled out on some old man’s desk. You should want it to be with someone — special to you.” 

“You are special.” 

He stills, the set of his brow truly anguished. And yet, he only takes that short moment to collect himself, to relocate his mile wide ego and steel himself with it. 

Grunting a tight, anticipatory sound in the back of his throat, Zandik at last gets his pants unfastened and he shoves them down his hips, along with his underwear, to a quiet rattle of the loose belt. One wrinkled hand comes up then, sliding under his shirt and drawing up his stomach to lift the material, while the other grabs at his bobbing cock to give it a tight squeeze. So tight it makes his knuckles protrude through the paper thin skin over them. A strange detail for you to notice when he points it down at you, right at the messy spot between your legs. 

“Is this what you want?” He grumbles wretchedly. 

You’re almost too fixated on staring at his cock to respond, dumbly nodding your head in a mute affirmative. Eating you out must have been an exciting experience for him, and the final nail in the coffin had likely come when you’d asked him to deflower you. Because he is hot and hard, the ruddy pink glans winking at you when he gives his length a savory pump to make the foreskin momentarily bunch in a noticeably sticky pucker before then drawing it back. Exposing the head and tucking the sheath of extra skin back behind the raised ridge. 

Gods, you could watch him do that a million times and you’re sure you wouldn’t grow tired of seeing it. The sight alone is enough to have your pussy eagerly throbbing for him, clenching around nothing, as you impatiently fidget, and he seethes a pained hiss at the shameless display. 

“Then show me how much you want it. Go on, then. Spread your legs wide for me, girl. Let me have a good look at your little pussy before I take it for myself.” 

You’re vibrating at such a hitherto unknown frequency that you don’t even really stop to consider what you’re doing or who you’re inviting in. You just immediately drop your legs apart into a wide v and present your weeping cunt to him without an ounce of hesitation. He was right. You did want it bad. 

“Gods. Just look at you.” Slowly reaching out, Zandik lightly runs the tip of his fingers down your slit to smear the excess of arousal gathered there, tracing over you a few times before pulling his hand back. 

And you watch, your throat a suddenly bone dry wasteland, as he proceeds to wipe that liquid arousal over the tip of his rigid length, mixing your juices with his own tiny, glistening bead of precum to leave the skin visibly coated in a fine sheen. 

“I’ve never seen a girl want cock like you do. You look like you’re starving for it even after I already made you cum once. Greedy.” 

“I … I’m sorry, Master.”

“Don’t be. It’s unexpectedly endearing. And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also a heady ego boost on top of that. Now …” Releasing a slow, wavering breath, Zandik lifts his unoccupied hand to gently nudge at the back of your nearest thigh. “I want you to grab under your knees and fold them up towards your chest for me. Make sure you don’t let them go until I tell you to, alright? I need enough space to work you open first before you start pawing at me.”

Your chest tightens slightly at the admonishment, but you know he’s right. Already you want to grab him and yank him against you, to rub yourself on him like a cat in heat, and he hadn’t even stuck it in yet. How embarrassing. 

You do as he’d asked though, slipping your hands down to hook behind the bends of your knees so you can hold them up in the air. This position lifts your shoulders from the desk enough that you have a perfect view down your front and you can see the way your puffy cunt lips spread slightly in the stretch. Zandik sees it too, and he groans a rattling sound even as he shuffles right up to the edge of the desk to stand over you. 

Using the one hand to guide himself, he angles his cock close to brush the head against exposed, velvety soft folds. Just acquainting you with the touch of him there, giving you one last chance to make a better decision and allow him a moment to steady himself. Then he presses in a little deeper to sink into the fleshy embrace of your inner labia, letting the fleshy pudge grip around the glans for a moment while he slowly drags it through the sticky mess he’s already made of you. Up and down. Up. And then back down again. Sedate and steady. 

A breathless moan slips out as you watch him, his head bowed in concentration to let the wave of his hair hang down in his face. You’d never seen someone look so good before, and you also hadn’t realized how nerve wracking this would be even when you want it more than anything else. There’s a certain apprehension in the back of your mind, a nervousness that can’t quite be quelled by your arousal. Once you let him do this to you there would be no coming back from it. 

But you were already sinking deep into the pits of hell and had been since the first day you arrived here. No. Even before that. Likely since you stepped foot inside the Northland Bank. That was the true cause of your downfall. This was just the end result of it. 

And you hold your breath tight in your lungs when you realize he’s working his way up to it, ensuring both you and him are adequately lubricated when he carefully flexes his hips to send that galvanized flesh skirting up the length of your slit. Slow at first, but he seems to quickly pick up the pace, letting his own urges take over while he fucks himself within the meaty press of your cunt lips. 

Huffing harder now, faster, Zandik finally angles his narrow hips back to pull away from you. Then, in one shockingly fluid motion, he angles his cock straight out and leans back into the cradle between your thighs, spearing through tender creases and folds on a stilted push to find your entrance. 

He hits it dead center, too, and he immediately starts to sink in. A rough, wheezing gasp catches in your throat, mouth dropping open, but not even a peep comes out as you watch the length of him gradually disappear inside of you. 

The glans is easy to accept, your inner walls so soft and gooey, swollen with the intense need for this, exactly this. But the more of it he feeds into you the more you start to feel the stretch. Even when you're slippery and puffy for him, it’s still the first time you’ve ever taken anything like this. And it doesn’t exactly help how very hot he is, how heavy, how he seems to pulse within you when he lets out a faltering groan of immense pleasure. 

Shuddering intensely there on his desk, you shyly roll your eyes upward to look at him. Zandik is too busy looking down at your cunt spread open around him, watching the way you take him, watching how well you take him, to notice where your attention is at, and you’re free to sear this image of him into your brain. His head cocked slightly to one side, his brow knitted half in concentration and half in stricken agony at the tight heat of you encompassing his cock. The little frown that tugs at his wizened mouth as if he was so absorbed in the experience of you that it was taking all of his focus to fully appreciate it. 

Maybe he was committing this all to memory too. You knew you would certainly never be able to close your eyes without seeing the image of him hunching over you like this for the rest of your life. 

“Ooughn. That’s one hell of a grip you’ve got, girl.” He hisses at last, when he’s forced to come to a halt when he’s wedged only half of the way inside. Pausing to catch his breath. “You need to relax a little bit. It doesn’t hurt, does it?” 

You shake your head, still too stunned to speak. And you do try to relax, but it’s so terribly hard to do when you feel like a livewire set to go off any given second, wound too tight and panting for more of his cock. 

Zandik heaves a stuttering breath, releasing his cock so he can reach out and find your clit in the slippery mess coating your pussy. Softly nudging it with the broad width of his thumb, he uses his other hand to shove the front of his shirt up again, exposing more of his body to your voracious eyes. 

You’re not entirely sure if it’s the added stimulation he provides or if it’s just the sight of his soft, slightly rounded tummy pressing in on your pubic mound like that, the wispy little hairs that lead straight down to the base of his cock, but something about it makes you positively gush around him. You can feel it oozing out of you like warm honey, wetting anything and everything it comes into contact with, and you shake helplessly. 

And when he stiffly pivots his hips back, withdrawing from your tight clutch so far that he nearly slips out of you only to come gliding right back up a split second later, he sinks in even deeper this time. This was likely what he’d meant about needing the space to open you first, you realize, groaning a haggard mewl as you glance down to watch in rapt fascination while he does just that. His thrusts just keep getting smoother and smoother, longer, the more he fucks into you like that, using tiny little jabs of his cock to coax your pussy into relenting to him. Even if it wanted to deny him, and you’re quite sure it didn’t, his cock turns out to be very persuasive. 

Soon enough he’s executing fuller thrusts and you can’t seem to stop the mindless bleating that punches out of your chest. He never quite works his way up to a hard and fast tempo but those long, drawn out, patient strokes are more than enough to drive you well out of your mind. 

“There! That’s it. Mmmnghhn. And doesn’t that feel better, girl? Look at how nice you’re taking me now.” He croons at you, praising you, even while he pants heavily at the exertion. “How do you like that cock in your little cunt, huh? Better than my fingers?” 

You frantically bob your head in a delirious nod, chest hitching as you struggle to find your voice. “Yuh - … yes, sir, yes, I do! I do. I love it, Master! I — ooughn! I love your - your cock! It feels so good …”

He has to close his eyes to brace against what you’re saying, the rhythm of his hips faltering slightly before he can recover. “Fuck. You really have no idea what you’re doing to me. I can’t take it at this age. You’re going to have me shooting off like an over eager schoolboy here in a moment … ughhn! And you feel so good too. Wish I could stay in this needy pussy all day. Ahhn, but I’m sure you’d like that just as much as I would, wouldn’t you?”

A keening sob slips out of you. “Yes, Master! I - I would! I want it …”

Rumbling a deep, uniquely masculine grunt, Zandik lets go of his shirt again and hunches further over you, smacking that palm down on the desk next to your head. You whimper slightly as you peer up at him through the inebriating fog hanging heavy over you and he peers right back, watching your expression closely while his hips continue to sedately fuck into your dripping cunt. For a split second, you wonder how you must look to him in that moment. 

But then he leans down, swooping to catch your mouth in a heated kiss that sends a tingling zap of static electricity racing through your body, right down to the tips of your flexing toes. You’re so pleasantly startled by the sudden gesture that you almost forget yourself, recalling his instructions at the last second, and you stubbornly readjust your hold under your knees. Even as you crane your neck up to meet him, kissing him back with wild abandon, you continue to hold your legs open for him so he can freely jab away at your cunt. 

His thrusts turn a little sharper then, evidently spurned on by the unhesitating way you kiss him, and you groan a heady sound into his mouth when your eyes start to edge back in your skull. Your pussy really feels like it’s melting for him now, so sensitive and thrumming, swelling with a kinetic energy that tells you another orgasm isn’t that far off. And you’re glad for that, so happy you could just weep, especially when Zandik proceeds to snake his tongue into your mouth, claiming every possible inch of you.  

He soon pulls back though, huffing and puffing in the scant space that separates you from him now. The old man takes this chance to study your pinched expression up close, lingering on the way you stare up at him as if in a drunken, dreamy haze. 

Something he sees must strike a chord in him though, because he winces, stricken, and tucks his face in close to press his forehead against yours. For once, his skin is not the perpetually cool balm you were accustomed to it being. 

“Burn it all, girl. I’m about to cum. Where do you want it? Quick.” 

For a delayed moment, you’re not quite sure what he’s even asking. And then it hits you. 

And such an intensely powerful shudder wracks through your sweat coated body that you feel yourself get that much closer to the drop off into oblivion too. 

“Oughnn! In … inside, Master, please! I want it — wanna’ feel it …” 

He seethes a vicious sound, twitching hard against you. “Damned idiot. Aghn! You’re giving me far too much of yourself, you know that?” 

Gasping much like a beached fish, you tip your head back to nudge at his brow and a tiny flutter of pure delight dances through your chest when he cracks his eyes open to look at you. 

“I want you to have it, Master … I want you to have every part of me. Mmnghn, please — please, let me choose who I give this to.”

“Ooh. You don’t need to ask for it so sweetly, girl. You can have whatever you want from me.” Pausing to pull in a raggedly clipped breath, he stiffly pushes himself up just enough to drive his hips into you a little harder, more urgently, tipping his head back with a groan. “Let go of your legs if you want. I’m close. If you’re going to change your mind, you’d better do it fast.” 

In truth you don’t even give it so much as a second thought, but you are quick to release your knees so you can throw your hands up around his neck. The loose tie under his collar lightly sways between the two of you, dragging along the center of your bouncing chest, and your nipples turn into painfully tight puckers at the sensation. Your flooding cunt, too, tightens to an almost incomprehensible degree, squeezing him like a vice, while you watch Zandik start to tremble over top of you. 

His thrusts gradually turn stilted and uneven before devolving into a near frantic bucking of his hips, jostling you against the desk. It’s clearly taking a lot out of him, this level of exertion, and the limited range of movement in his old body seems to frustrate him more than he’d likely ever admit aloud. But he stubbornly keeps fucking into you, even when he suddenly lurches with a wounded groan, needing to use both hands braced on the table to steady himself while he simply relies on his momentum and center of gravity to slam into you once, twice, a painfully tense third time, and then —

He freezes up, grimacing at the sheer force of how hard he cums inside of you. And you know that’s what it is because you can feel it pumping deep into your guts, the way his cock twitches and throbs, contracting to deposit his sticky load so far into your body you can’t help but wonder if it will ever come out. Maybe you don’t even want it to, though. 

It passes quickly however, much faster than your orgasms seem to subside, and Zandik goes completely boneless over you in what seems only a matter of moments. His shoulders hunched and shuddering while he struggles to catch his breath. Your pussy gives a distant little throb of wanting but you decide to ignore it for right now as you reach up with a careful hand to brush away some of the hair sticking to his face. 

That appears to catch his attention enough to have him focusing back in on you again, and his mouth promptly tugs into a halfhearted smirk. The cad. 

“That’s what you do to me.” He says at last, clearly trying for rueful but it doesn’t really work when he’s still softly wheezing. “You’re going to put me in an early grave at this rate. I’m sure that egomaniac will be quite pleased with that end result. Maybe that’s the real reason he brought you here.” 

“Don’t say that, Master.” You murmur, sliding your hand into place to cup his wrinkled cheek now. 

Scoffing, Zandik reaches up to grab at those fingers, giving them a tight, shaky squeeze before lowering them from his face. “Don’t mind me. I never was very good at pillow talk. Perhaps you can ask Feofan about that some time.” 

Groaning a spent sound of complete and utter satiation, he starts to gingerly ease himself back, slipping out of you. Your body gives a sensitive twitch when you feel him slip free of your clinging grip and you can’t help but whine a needy sound at how very empty you are in the aftermath. Even when you can feel the hot, simmering presence of his seed deep within you, it’s still somehow not enough. Never enough where he was concerned, it seemed. 

“Don’t pout.” Zandik exhales a very heavy sigh as he leans over you again, one hand braced on the desk next to your hip while the other — 

His fingers are suddenly in your cunt, spearing up into your guts on a seamlessly unhindered glide to fill you up in place of his cock. You go ramrod stiff, eyes wide and unseeing as you supplicatingly arch your back hard enough to make your tits bounce. And you quickly find yourself twisting in a helpless writhe on those insidiously long digits, squealing a harried sound of delight when he jabs them into your quaking guts. 

“How are you still not tired yet?” He murmurs, giving his tongue a chiding click. “I really can’t keep up with you like this. I guess that must be the reason old men aren’t all that popular with young, pretty girls, hm?” 

You think you should probably respond to that, that you should tell him you didn’t want anyone closer to your age, only him, but you can’t seem to find the oxygen to speak. His fingers are considerably more vigorous than his cock in the way they fuck into you, hare and fast, delving deep into the clutching grip of your pussy to drive you nearly mad with it. He churns your insides up like this, working his own spend into a frothing, bubbly mess that you can feel slowly dripping and oozing out of you. 

Your cunt positively eats it up though, thrumming in rapturous delight as your impending orgasm starts to creep up on you again. It turns your mind melty and empty of anything other than thoughts of him. How good he’d felt with his cock buried deep inside your body, how his fingers seem to pluck you to vibrating fever pitch as if he were a professional musician. How good he smells. How handsome. How devastatingly intelligent. 

How being with him like this seems to make all of your suffering over the last day or so feel totally worth it and that you just might do it all again if it meant this was waiting for you at the end. 

And then he bends his head close, catching one of your stiff teats in that wicked mouth of his to suck and flick, and lick, and you nearly levitate right up off the desk when you cum with a frantic sob. 

This one seems to rock you straight down to your very core, and you wheeze as if your soul is actively trying to leave your body while you mindlessly buck and judder for him. Soaking his fingers even while they continue to work at your squeezing cunt to ride you through it, making sure to eke out every last drop of your release — likely in the hope that it will be enough to tire you out. 

Even when you finally go limp a long stretch of seconds later, gasping raggedly, you’re not so sure if that will work on you, but you certainly appreciate him trying. At least he had not left you waiting and wanting as so many others in this godforsaken place seemed to like doing. 

Giving your throbbing tit one last, lingering suck, Zandik slowly pulls back and straightens up to give you a critical look over. Even in your lolling stupor you can tell he’s taking in all the minute details most people probably wouldn’t even notice, like the amount of perspiration on your skin and the dilation of your pupils, the exact color of your stiffly pointed nipples and even the kind of belly button you had. If the way his gaze hovers over that spot is any indication, at least. 

“Was that enough to sate you for a while?” He says at length when he draws his attention up to your face again. 

You swallow hard, still working to steady your erratic heartbeat. “Maybe … for a little while.” 

Snorting an amused sound, he gingerly straightens up on unsteady legs to get his pants pulled back into place, but he doesn’t even bother to fasten them before plopping back down into his chair. Completely drained, by the looks of it, but satisfied. Pleased, even. 

Rousing yourself, you slowly sit up as well, facing him once again in your nudity. Zandik sends you a slow look from under his brow and something seems to pass between the two of you then as you just look at one another, for he shifts back in his seat to make room for you. 

“Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

The eager flutter you immediately feel in your chest almost seems a little juvenile after everything you just did together, but you can’t seem to keep the smile off your face when you carefully slide down off the desk to take your place in his lap. You almost start to feel a bit shy about your nakedness now that the rosy afterglow is beginning to fade – wondering if your stomach doesn’t look too soft or if your tits sit nicely like this – but he’s quick to gather you close to his chest before you can truly get lost in your own head. And somehow that just makes you even more incomprehensibly happy than you already were. For someone always so grumpy, he was certainly sweet. 

For a long, blissfully peaceful stretch of minutes you and your master simply cuddle up together, sharing each other's body warmth and listening to evened out breaths. It’s almost more than you would have ever dared to hope for after the last harrowing twenty-four hours you’d somehow survived despite such unfairly stacked odds and the sheer absurdity of it all. 

In fact, the quiet lull is nearly enough to have you dozing off on top of him. 

But then you hear the downstairs bell clanging and you’re so startled by the sudden sound that you come very close to bolting right up off his lap. 

“It’s Tuesday.” You blurt the moment that thought slams into you like a wet rag across the face. You’d completely forgotten. 

Zandik stirs against you with a tired grumble, giving your hip an affectionate albeit idle squeeze. “Hm? It’s just the weekly delivery. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about.” 

“No, no. I have to let them in. I always keep the back door locked, especially after I started to suspect that there was some strange intruder in the house.” 

You quickly clamor up off his lap, bending to retrieve your discarded pile of clothes. Unfortunately it occurs to you quite immediately that there are far too many layers for you to get dressed in a hurry, and you frantically try to figure out what you can skip. Oh, you really should’ve known better than to let him get you completely naked like that. 

“Just relax. They’re grunts at best. They can wait. Here.” He says behind you, and you turn in time to catch him stiffly shrugging out of his white outer coat, much to your shock and surprise. “Put your underwear and your slip on, then put this over it. It’ll do to answer the door.” 

A very strong voice in the back of your mind urges you to argue against it — just think of how that would look to them! Grunts or not! — but a second, noticeably more impatient ringing of the bell quickly makes up your mind for you. 

Yanking your panties and slip on, you accept his coat from him with a murmured word of thanks, already making your way towards the door while you button it up lightning fast. And you didn’t even have your slippers to slide into thanks to that perverted little freak! 

As a result the hardwood is nearly freezing under your bare feet as you race down the hall, descend the stairs, trip along the corridor and finally go sliding through the kitchen so fast you nearly trip and break your neck. The stone floor is the absolute worst in here though, and you hiss a seething sound as you fumble to get the door unlocked and throw it open to reveal a group of very cold looking masked Fatuus. 

“I’m so sorry!” You squeak, shivering at the blustery, ice laden wind that blasts into the house and straight up your slip by the feel of it. “I was — getting ready to take a late morning bath. I - I forgot it was delivery day.” 

They don’t look like they particularly care about your excuses as they hasten to get the crates inside, and you quickly retreat to the far corner while they work. Making sure to give them plenty of space as you wrap your arms tight over your chest in an attempt to stop the chilly shudders, but it’s no use. It’s like every last ounce of warmth has been sapped from your body, and your teeth soon start to clatter too. It wouldn’t do to leave the milk and eggs out though, so you force yourself to stand there and wait even when you desperately wish to return to the safety of Zandik’s lap. 

A few minutes later it looks like they’re finishing up, but one of the Fatuus — a young woman, hardly older than yourself — breaks apart from the rest to step over to you. Your brows lift in surprise at that, and understandably so. They hardly even acknowledge your presence most days, so you’re not quite sure what to make of it when she halts in front of you. 

 “Here.” She says, holding out a small, unassuming, utterly benign package. “Lord Regrator asked us to deliver this to you.” 

You’re so startled by what she’s just said that for a delayed moment you aren’t even sure if you’ve heard her correctly. Pantalone? He sent you something? 

Slowly, the masked woman begins to uncomfortably shift at your continued silence and blank staring, so you mechanically reach out to accept it from her. “T - thank you. I appreciate all your hard work.”

Looking mildly relieved to be rid of the thing, she nods once and starts to turn away, but an impulsive thought has you jumping to stop her. 

“Wait just a moment. Please. Can I ask you something?” 

She doesn’t look entirely sure of that but when she doesn’t immediately say yes or no, you decide to press on. 

“I was just wondering … where are you stationed at? I mean — where will you be returning to? After this.”

“We’ll be making the return trip back to Snezhnograd, miss.” 

“Oh.” You send a slow look over her shoulder at the other Fatui operatives who indeed seem to be slowly filing out. 

And they don’t even appear to notice the two of you standing together. Not yet, at least. 

The idea that pops into your head is terrible, awful, stupid, ridiculous and asinine, all rolled into one, given the still sore state of your poor bottom. But you know you can’t afford to hesitate or second guess yourself. You may never get another chance like this ever again, even if it will just be inviting yet more trouble to your doorstep. And yet, you try to reason with yourself, you wouldn’t technically be breaking any rules. Not any that had been stated plainly or outright. A mere loophole, perhaps, but it was one you could exploit.

You decisively snap your attention back to the other woman just when she’s starting to inch away from you as if you were a mangy dog that looked like it might bite. 

“I have a favor to ask of you. Since you’re going back to Snezhnograd anyway, would you be kind enough to deliver a letter for me?” 

Her mouth pulls into a small frown. “I’m not sure if Master Dottore will - -“ 

“He won’t mind.” You insist, almost shocking yourself with that blatant lie. “I — already ran it by him, you see. I’ve been worried about the post running behind all the way out here in the countryside, so he told me I could ask if I thought it would do any good. I just … since you’ve already delivered something from Lord Regrator, I naturally figured it might be within your capabilities to transport a measly little letter back. Considering it’s on your way.”

She seems to hesitate, thinking it over, and then one of the other Fatuus calls after her. “Sileny! Are you coming?”

Giving her teeth a sharp suck, she shakes her head. “I can tell them to wait for five minutes but if you’re not back by then there’s nothing more I can do for you.” 

You nearly drop the package in your hands from the overwhelming flood of relief that washes over you. “Yes! Yes, just one moment. I’ll be right back. Thank you!” 

Spinning on your heel, you go rushing back out into the corridor where, thinking of the nearest room with paper and a pen, you duck into Zandik’s lab at the far end of the hall. This one was much more humble than the one in the cellar but it has what you need, and you’re well acquainted with it enough not to have to go digging for it. 

Quickly locating a loose sheet of parchment in his desk, you toss the gift from Pantalone (was that really what it was?) down on the flat surface and snag a pen from the holder at your elbow. Your hand shakes as you bring the nib close, hesitating at the last moment. 

This really wasn’t a good idea. If the Doctor found out about this … 

You at least have to try though. Clearly your mother wasn’t getting your letters, or you were not receiving any of hers in reply, and you were determined to figure out which it was. If you could just establish this means of communication perhaps she could hand off her own correspondence to the masked woman before she left the hospital, and you would only have to wait until next Tuesday to see the other woman again. That didn’t seem so bad given the resounding silence since you first arrived here. 

Brow knitting in stubborn determination, you hurry to put pen to paper. 

Dear mama,

Please forgive me for the haste in which I have written this letter, but I do not know how much longer the person I’m about to entrust it to will wait for me to get my thoughts in order.

⭐