#fran-writes

"You would be adorable if you weren't so goddamn stubborn, Marc," you tease, pulling on the leash again.

"I'm not adorable," he counters grumpily.

"Well, you would totally not be adorable if you actually let me lead you with the leash."

He slowly turns his head up towards you simply so you can see his unimpressed face. As if some cheap reversed psychology would work on him.

You sigh deeply, shoulders sagging as you look down at him.

"If you really don't want to do this…" you trail off, your teasing bravado exchanged for genuine concern.

Marc curses mentally. He didn't want to worry you. He just-

"Green. I'm good," he answers softly, "I just…need more force if that's ok?"

Your demeanor brightens instantly.

"Absolutely. Want me to manhandle you more?"

He nods quickly, feeling almost a bit too eager to feel your hands on him. With a pleased smile you once again tug at his leash, a lot harder this time. The force makes him stumble forwards, the pull on his collar taking his breath for a second. You laugh quietly and it sounds just close enough to being condescending that it makes his hard cock twitch. With an iron grip on the leash you pull him over to the couch which is suspiciously empty except for one single pillow.

"Up," you order, pointing at the couch. Marc looks at you with a raised eyebrow but instead of getting worried you just watch him expectantly. Slowly he places one hand on the couch while maintaining eye contact with you. When you give no more than an encouraging nod Marc crawls up on the couch, feeling a bit awkward being on his hands and knees on the plush cushions.

Marc stares at you, waiting for you to continue bossing him around or finally manhandling him like he had asked you to earlier. Instead you return his gaze expectantly. After what feels like 10 minutes but might have just been one you sigh dramatically as if disappointed that he can't read your thoughts.

"Silly puppy," you mumble, stepping closer and putting your hands on his hips. With more force than needed you push his hips down against the lone pillow draped on the couch. A groan catches in his throat as his hard cock drags against the soft pillow.

"I don't have to teach you how to hump a pillow, do I?"

Marc swallows hard, slowly rolling his hips against the silk-covered pillow. He chokes on a curse as a tremor runs through his body, the friction against his cock making him start to feel lightheaded.

Apparently unsatisfied with his performance you kneel behind him on the couch, your pelvis pressed against his ass, guiding his movements, steadily increasing speed.

"I can't believe I have to teach you how to hump a pillow. You're truly the dumbest puppy I have ever seen."

A needy whine escapes his throat. There is a fire burning low in his belly, stroked by your delicious cruelty. Marc lets you guide him, his body following your motions mindlessly. Slowly he is losing himself to the simplicity of it, to follow instead of thinking and acting for himself. An obedient dog following its Master.

The tension drains from his shoulders, his head falling back in pleasure, resting on your shoulder, his mind cleared from any stray thoughts. All he feels, all he can focus on, is your body keeping him steady and the delicious drag of his cock against the pillow.

"Feels good, doesn't it?“ you coo in his ear, "But not as good as I do."

Marc's thoughts are immediately turned towards feeling you surround him, the heat and tightness as he pushes into you; memories flooding his mind. A groan spills from his lips.

"Please, fuck," he curses, his mouth hanging open, panting like a dog, "Please, let me come."

Suddenly your movement stops, halting his frantic humping with it. Marc whimpers in desperation.

"No," you answer simply.

His head falls back, resting on your shoulder, giving you a good look down his chest and lower to his hard cock pulsing against the pillow, begging for release.

You step away from him smoothly, "I am going to get something. You are going to stay here and don't move." You pull his face towards you, grabbing his chin and letting your thumb brush against his lower lip, "Understood?"

He gasps wetly and nods. You smile at him reassuringly and pet his head like the good puppy he is.

The second the door falls closed behind you Marc falls forward onto his hands and knees, his hard cock still resting against the pillow, begging for friction. Every second you're gone feels like hours, hours where all Marc can think of is the pulsing of his cock, the tightness of his balls. He is so close. He just needs a few more thrusts. Just a little more.

Without his conscious permission his body moves on his own, slowly grinding his length against the pillow. The softness reminds him of your skin, your thighs, the way your hand wraps around him. It's so easy to get lost in the fantasy, to lose himself to his imagination.

"Naughty pup," you coo into his ear and his heart skips a beat, "I told you not to move, didn't I?"

Marc turns to look at you, eyes glassy and wide, surprised by your sudden return and mortified at being caught.

"Open your mouth," you order softly and Marc instantly obeys. Gently you stuff your recently removed underwear into his mouth as a makeshift gag. He groans through it, his hips rutting into the pillow again, spurred on by the taste and smell of you. You click your tongue disapprovingly. Without applying force you place a hand on his abdomen and his movements stalling, muscles flexing under your touch.

"It seems to me that my little puppy needs a lesson in patience. And I have just the tool to help with that."

The metal glint of the cock cage in your hands catches his attention and for a moment his eyes widen further in alarm. You gently pet him between his puppy ears, distracting him while you remove the pillow with your other hand. Marc leans into your touch and wiggles his hips, the tail affixed to the plug inside him swaying with it. Your soft praises wash over him like a hot shower, his muscles relaxing, his body melting under your touch, his earlier alarm forgotten already.

"Good boy. So good for me," you whisper, petting your loyal lapdog, "Just relax. Once you're calm we can lock up your needy cock and play a little."

At the word "play" he immediately perks up. He leans further down rubbing his cheek against your crotch with intent, happy to show his affection.

"Eager puppy," you hold back a laugh, "Calm down. We'll only play once you've calmed down, baby."

His cheek stays pressed against your abdomen but you can hear him breathe in deeply, steadily through his nose. You let your hand rest on his head as he breathes in your scent, his eyes closed in peaceful bliss. You stay like this for a while, soaking in each other's presence. Marc mumbles something unintelligible, muffled by the makeshift gang, and when you ask him to repeat himself he looks up at you, his gaze full of devotion. Gently you pry your underwear out of his mouth, letting him breathe and talk freely again.

"'m calm now…"

"Show me, puppy."

He leans away from you, turning towards you so he can present his now flaccid cock to you. A pleased smile spreads across your lips and the sight makes his chest feel warm.

"Very good," you purr and slowly sink to your knees, "Hold still while I put the cage on you."

Marc obeys, watching you silently as you lock the cock cage around his length. The metal feels heavier than it looks and yet it lifts a weight off of his shoulders. No pressure to hold himself back. You're in control and he simply has to follow. You'll tell him when to come and until then he can just be, knowing you have him.

"There we go. Safe and secure," you trace the bars of the cage with your fingertips, mesmerized by the sight.

"Thank you, Master."

Your hand closes around his caged cock, your warmth seeping into the metal. The honorific falls from his lips so easily, no awkwardness, no trace of his usual hesitation. It's like he had never called you anything else. Like it's only natural to do so. And undeniable truth of nature.

He is your puppy and you are his Master.

"You're welcome, puppy."

You take back the leash dangling from his collar and give it a soft tug. Without any resistance Marc follows you to the floor.

"Lay down," you order easily and Marc obeys, laying down on his back next to you, presenting his front like a puppy begging for belly rubs. You force back a laugh, his pleading eyes making him look even more adorable, even though Marc would disagree. And yet he can't deny the excitement he feels at being entertaining to you, making you laugh, pleasing you.

"My pretty puppy," you get comfortable on the ground and reach for Marc, letting your hand roam over his chest and abs. Marc curls around you, desperate to be closer to you, to give you more of his body to touch and stroke and pet. With languid strokes you tease him, a whine escaping his throat as he writhes against you, chasing your touch. You rub your thumb over his pebbled nipples, twisting them between your fingers and giving them a small tug when he gasps in response.

Your hand reaches lower, fingers playing with the coarse hair of his happy trail. His cock leaks through the cage, his excitement and desperation evident. Marc whimpers, needy little sounds falling from his lips with every touch.

He rolls to the side, burying his face into your lap. Small whimpers and moans are muffled against your thighs as a pool of precum gathers on the floor beneath him, a steady drip of sticky fluid flowing from his caged cock.

"How are you feeling, baby?“ you ask gently, expecting a color in response. Instead Marc whines and whimpers like a suffering animal.

"Oh baby. Does it hurt? Do you want me to take the cage off?“ Marc looks up with something like terror in his eyes and growls lowly, shaking his head.

Your hand already hovers over his cock before you flinch at the sound. A realization dawns on you. Just to be sure your assumption is correct, you test the waters.

"Speak!" you order in a clipped tone. Without a second thought Marc lets out a bark, tongue lulling out of his mouth with eager pants. You reward him by stroking his head right between his puppy ears. His panting grows louder, your loyal puppy basking in your easy affection.

You pull a rubber ball out of your pocket, the toy no bigger than a tennis ball. His eyes follow the ball with suspicion as you show it to him, letting it sway back and forth. With one swift flick of the wrist you throw the toy across the room.

"Fetch!"

A jolt goes through his body, instinct taking over. Marc leaps up from his curled up position and on his hands and knees bounds over to where the rubber ball landed. He bends down, taking the ball between his teeth and swiftly turns to return to your side. He sits down on his knees, eagerly presenting the toy in his mouth, eyes shining and eager to please, waiting for you to take it. You hold out your hand, palm up, and he gently places the ball on it, nuzzling against your hand and sighing in pleasure.

You smile, pleased by the sight in front of you: your lover turned obedient dog. His tail switches on the ground behind him with the sway of his hips, wagging it like an eager puppy.

"Who's a good boy?" you ask in a sweet yet teasing tone.

Marc looks at you with big puppy eyes, mouth hanging open and tongue sticking out lewdly. He barks in response, no words needed for your perfect puppy.

"That's right. You're my good boy!"

He barks again, precum dripping from between the bars of his cock cage. Marc pants, eyes dark with lust, like a bitch in heat, squeezing down on the plug inside him making his tail twitch.

"And good boys deserve a reward."

You put the ball away, left and forgotten next to you. His body leans forward, desperate to be close to you again. You look him up and down, his skin beckoning you to touch to your heart's content and his pulsing, caged cock begging for release.

"Does my pretty puppy want to come?"

His eyes widen, dark with lust, a desperate sound between a whimper and a moan escaping his throat. Marc nods eagerly, leaning his upper body backwards, arms behind him to keep him upright, pushing his hips forward. The display is enticing, his muscles flexing to show off his well-toned body, nipples hard and his thick cock straining against its cage. Your fingers wrap around his throat right over his collar, holding, not squeezing. Slowly you drag your hand down between his pectorals, drawing the outline of his abs with your finger tips until your hand reaches its destination. His cock is heavy in your palm, the metal of the cage warm and sticky to the touch, precum still running down the bars.

The silence of the room is broken by the click of your key unlocking the cock cage. Marc groans in relief, his thick cock swelling in your hand.

"Such a good boy. Let your Master give you your reward."

Using the copious amounts of precum that have coated his cock as lubrication you tease his sensitive tip with your thumb. His dick twitches in your hand, his hips jolting forward frantically, fucking into your tight grip. You match his rhythm, moving your hand up and down his length in tandem with his thrusts, your other hand gently squeezing his heavy balls. Marc pants like a bitch in heat, drool dripping down his parted lips, eyes rolled into the back of his head - his mind lost to the pleasure.

It only takes a few thrusts until his rhythm falters and with a guttural groan Marc comes, thick ropes of cum coating his abdomen and the back of your hand. You let him ride out his orgasm as he shallowly thrusts into the ring of your thumb and pointer finger, his upper body leaning forward, forehead resting on your shoulder. Marc whimpers against your skin, his drool soaking into the fabric of your clothes.

"Good boy. So good for me. My precious puppy."

You remove your hand once he stills, his spent cock now resting between his thighs. He breaths heavily, soaking in your praise and basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. You run your fingers through his sweat soaked hair, holding him close and whispering sweet praises into his ear.

You know Marc has regained most of his senses when you hear him curse under his breath. It startles a laugh out of you.

"You good?“

He hums softly in response, nodding against your collarbone.

"Yeah, just…" he trails off, mumbling something unintelligible.

"What was that?"

Marc sighs, burying his face even deeper into your shoulder.

"I came so fucking fast. 's embarrassing…"

You snort, unable to hide your amusement, "Baby, I have been edging you for who knows how long. Doesn't matter how fast you came after that."

Marc's displeased grumbles make your grin even wider.

"Did you enjoy yourself, puppy?“

Marc curses again, moaning softly.

"Shit, keep calling me that and I'm gonna need a round two."

You put your hand on his chest, gently pushing him off of you so you can look into his eyes. You rest your forehead against his, your breath mingling.

"Fuck, I can't even sit down anymore without getting a hard on," you watch Blue squirm, eyes shifting around the place, desperately avoiding your gaze entirely. "Every time something even brushes against the fucking welts you leave behind I get rock hard. How fucked up is that? You fucked me up, Doctor!"

You know he's trying to sound accusing, but he can't hide the embarrassed whine, the desire in his voice. He wants this; he craves the humiliation, the degradation, the pain you give him.

"And yet here you are," you counter with a smug smile.

He's hovering in front of your desk, not sitting down but not standing still either. On some, mainly the patients, this may come across as intimidating. To you this wet blanket of a man couldn't be truly intimidating even if he tried. He has never dared to so far.

You wait a moment for him to talk again but he stays silent, still avoiding your gaze. It's starting to irritate you.

"Talk, you useless mutt!"

He flinches at your stern voice, his head turning down to face the ground like a scolded schoolboy, mumbling something you can't quite catch. You uncross your legs and stand up from your desk chair.

"If you can't speak clearly I should just gag you. At least then I don't have to suffer your pathetic whining."

He whimpers in response and you've half a mind to take out the riding crop you keep in your desk before Blue repeats himself.

"I need you to hurt me again."

Fighting down a smirk you raise your eyebrow instead, "Go on."

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. His earlier outburst had hidden the nervous energy radiating off of him, but with his body practically vibrating it would be difficult not to notice it now. It's a stark contrast to his usual demeanor, especially compared to how he acts in front of the patients. Out there he is the boss, the top dog, the head orderly. In here he is nothing more than a nervous boy getting off on pain and hating himself for it.

Pathetic.

Deliciously pathetic.

"Do you truly need it? Or do you just want to fuck around because you want to avoid work?"

Your accusation is made teasingly, your tone kept light but mocking. He bristles at you.

"All patients are taken care of and there are nurses and orderlies on stand by should anything out of the ordinary happen," he counters seriously, finally daring to look you in the eyes.

You grin like the cat that caught the canary.

"So you're not a slacker, just a simple pervert."

His stern look turns wide, his annoyed frown at being called incompetent falls slack in surprise. You swear you can see his face slowly turn red by the second.

"I- That's- How dare you-"

The sudden smack of your palm connecting with his check reverberates through your office. Blue chokes on a moan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Did I give you permission to talk back to me?"

Blue whimpers softly, his cheek stinging hot where you slapped him. He shakes his head quickly, eyes wet. "No, Doctor. I am sorry, Doctor."

You click your tongue, "You really are a useless little thing, aren't you. A pathetic little worm who gets off on pain."

You walk around your desk, stopping just a few inches away from Blue, leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

"What would your patients think if they saw you like this? Your coworkers? Nobody would ever take you seriously again."

He swallows hard, his heart beating out of his chest. Your eyes travel downwards towards the very noticeable bulge in his pants. Once again you click your tongue disapprovingly.

"You're hard already? From that little slap?"

Nervously he chews on his lower lip, leaving it raw and bleeding before he replies.

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I can't- I can't help myself," he says, almost choking on his own breath between sobs, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. Blood is blooming from his trembling lip and you have the urge to open up the wound even further, to bite and rip and tear.

"It feels so good when you hurt me," he whines and finally looks at you, his eyes wide and red with tears, "Please, do it again."

Without further ado you slap him across his other cheek. Blue gasps, almost surprised that you let him have what he asked for so easily. He licks his lips, tasting copper, and thanks you like it's a prayer.

You step back and sit down on the edge of your desk.

"Kneel."

Just one word and his knees buckle and give out under him. He hits the floor hard, the carpet doing nothing against the sudden pain shooting up his legs. Blue groans, a sound between pleasure and pain as he looks up at you with pleading eyes. You in turn look at him like he is dirt under your shoe.

"I don't appreciate you waltzing in here like this," you explain calmly, "When I hurt you I like to be prepared. Your impulsiveness and depravity robs me of the time I need to gather the tools to really hurt you."

Blue swallows hard, a look of guilt crossing his face before he turns his head downward.

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm sorry," he babbles towards the ground.

You sigh in annoyance. "You have to learn patience. Good things come to those who wait."

He awkwardly shifts on his knees, continuing to whisper, "I'm sorry." He seems sorry or at least chastised enough to feel bad. But will he actually learn his lesson?

"I should leave you like this as punishment," you ponder out loud, "Or refuse to touch you in any way for the next week or so. Maybe even a month."

You watch him flinch, his head shooting up immediately.

"You can't do that! I-"

"I can do whatever I want. You're the pervert who needs me to cut, beat and bruise you to get off."

His hands shake like an addict's who just heard he was going cold turkey. Blue wants to fight you, force you to give him what he needs but you're right. And he hates it.

"Don't worry," you say, your voice saccharine as you hop off your desk and grab his hair, pulling his head back so he is forced to look at you. "I will hurt you. All I want is that in the future you give me the time to prepare so I can really show you pain."

You tighten the grip on his hair, pulling his head back hard enough to rip out individual hairs.

"You can do that for me, can't you?"

"Yes, Doctor. Yes, I can," he replies breathlessly.

As you release your grip on his hair Blue all but collapses forward like a marionette with its strings cut.

You use your foot to shove him backwards, his back hitting the floor and his legs falling apart. Keeping your balance you step on his chest, applying just enough pressure for him to stay down. His breath catches in his throat, stunned silent for a moment, his eyes begging you to step on his throat and choke him.

"It would be so easy to squish you like the irritating bug you are," you ponder out loud, "And you'd thank me for it, wouldn't you?"

You shift your weight onto the foot currently pressing into his chest and Blue gasps for air. The tears have returned, steadily blocking his vision before they wet his cheeks. "Yes, Doctor," he whimpers, red-faced. You drag your foot down along his torso, down towards the embarrassing tent in his pants. You shift your weight again, slowly increasing the pressure on his hard cock. He's thrashing beneath you, both trying to avoid and move into the press of your shoe. You raise an eyebrow expectantly, waiting. Blue's cries of suffering are betrayed by the pre-cum staining the front of his pants.

"What are you waiting for then?“ you growl, steadily growing more and more irritated. Impatiently you dig your heel into his testicles. He screams out in pain. Reduced to pathetic sobbing Blue keeps repeating thank yous.

Satisfied with his trembling state you lift your foot away from his crotch again and take a step back. His eyes immediately follow you, brows furrowed in confusion and panic. You look down at Blue, pondering what to do with him now. Your gaze wanders over the room, searching for inspiration, for any implement of pain you can find. Your eyes rest on your desk and you remember a small device hidden deep in one of its drawers. Ignoring Blue writhing on the floor you step over him and around your desk. It doesn't take long to find the desired object, a metal cylinder connected to a metal ring and with a lock attached on one end and a small funnel on the other. Thick spikes protrude from the inner walls of the palm-sized cylinder like a miniature iron maiden.

You hold the cock cage tightly in your hand, keeping it out of sight for now. "Get yourself off," you order sharply, fixing Blue with a stern look. He holds your gaze barely, swallowing hard. His right hand hesitantly reaches for the front of his pants, slowly pulling it and his boxers down and letting his hard length spring free. "Don't keep me waiting. I don't have all day since somebody couldn't schedule time with me beforehand." Immediately Blue hurries to wrap his hand around his cock. The already spilled pre-cum helps the smooth slide of his length against the palm of his hand. He bites his lower lip in a fruitless attempt to silence his embarrassing whimpers as he fucks his own hand desperately. "Stop," you order and only once he halts his movements do you walk towards him, your hands behind your back, and lean forward. You gather saliva in your mouth just to spit on his hand and cock. "Continue." Blue can't help but moan at the feeling of your spit mixing with his pre-cum. Compared to your usual methods of pain and pleasure this feels oddly kind, a feeling Blue is not very familiar with. Under your direction Blue quickly strokes his cock to a painful degree. Too fast, too rough, too tight. But the pain only ever adds to his pleasure like salt bringing out the natural sweetness of fruits. When he finally comes, his seed spilling over his hand, face scrunched up in pleasure, you bend down to grab his cheeks, squeezing them together so he instinctually opens his mouth, and spit right into it for good measure. Blue moans and swallows it down without a second thought, keeping his mouth wide open afterwards, panting and still delirious from his orgasm. "You're such a perverted slut, Blue."

You turn your gaze from his face to his cock, his length slowly going limp, and back again. Slowly you reveal the object that you had hidden behind your back and hold it in front of Blue's face. "This is my gift to you until after my shift. If you're good until then I might even let you touch me." The promise of being allowed to put his hands on your skin has his eyes light up with desire again. Seeing Blue lulled into a false sense of security like this makes you feel giddy. The pathetic runt hasn't even seen the inside yet. "Think you can take a few hours in this cock cage?" Blue nods eagerly, desperate to prove himself to you so you will hurt him again in the future. He's an addict, even if he can't admit it to himself yet. You're happy to take advantage of it.

"Of course! That's nothing," Blue announces confidently, his inane posturing returning post orgasm. You chuckle to yourself.

"If you say so."

You kneel down next to his crotch lifting his sticky cock up slightly. Blue flinches, your touch too much for his sensitive member. You shush him when he starts whimpering like a scared dog. "Hold still," you order and place his flaccid cock inside the cage. Blue twitches as he feels the spikes surrounding his length. Once the cage clicks shut, the metal ring gripping his balls tightly and the whole contraption locked, you hear Blue curse under his breath. His face is scrunched together in pain, his bruised lip shiny and red with fresh blood.

"Fuck- You didn't- shit. You didn't tell me there are fucking spikes," he accuses but once again, you see how he avoids your gaze, embarrassed by how much the pain turns him on.

"You didn't ask," you tease, "And you were very confident this is nothing just a moment ago." The spikes clamp down on his cock incessantly, the pain unyielding. A constant reminder of the grasp you have on him. Blue isn't sure if the tears running down his cheeks are from joy or pain. "I should be done in about two hours. I want you to be waiting for me in front of my door on the dot." Blue nods quickly. He can do that, he can pick you up from the office. Maybe even drive you home after. If he's good maybe you'd let him kiss you or touch your thighs or massage your feet.

But first he needs to get upright without screaming. He feels like the cage will tear his cock to shreds. He hopes there will be blood or even a scar. A possessive part in the back of his mind grows dizzy with the thought of more of your marks on him.

Slowly Blue sits up, breathing heavily through the pain. You simply watch him as he pulls his underwear and pants back on. When Blue manages to get back on his knees without too much whimpering you get up and rise to your full height. "One last thing before I kick you out," you begin, "What do you say after a session with your favorite Doctor?"

Blue gazes up at you, so pretty on his knees, and licks his lips. "Thank you, Doctor," he pants, "Thank you so much for hurting me like I need. Thank you." He leans down, back bend, and presses his lips to your shoes, kissing your feet in deference. "Thank you so much," he repeats after every kiss until you gently tap your foot against his cheek.

"That's enough." You step away from him and let Blue rise to his feet. His stance is shaky, his gait even more so. If his coworkers knew…

"Two hours, Blue. Until then: enjoy your well-earned punishment."

Blue takes a deep breath, trying to steel himself, to prepare for the outside of this office. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll be on time," he promises, his voice still shaking with pain. He doesn't look back when he leaves your office. He doesn't need to.

You turn the gorgeous wedding bouquet this way and that, trying to keep your focus on the purple blossoms.

"Well, my broth- Frater said not to worry about it. I did hear him grumble as he left though. I don't think he is very pleased either."

V turns to you, nervously worrying his bottom lip. Seeing you so concerned makes his heart sink. He doesn't think he's such a bad catch but if you really didn't want to marry him...

He lays his hands over yours, gently cupping the bouquet with you. "I understand if you don't want to do this. Marrying a nearly perfect stranger? That's scary," he whispers as his delicate metal claws gently scratch the back of your hand, "I won't force you into this. I couldn't. It's not in my nature."

You take a deep breath, his kind words filling you with determination. "No, I- I want this. This- this is good. You, I mean. You're...I think we could be good. Together."

Finally you look at him. He smiles shyly at you, his eyes sparkling behind his silver mask.

"Good. That's good," he replies, his lips spreading into a wider grin, "Do be gentle with me though. It's my first time getting married."

It's like a knot came loose and suddenly it feels so easy to talk with him, to joke like you two had known each other for years.

A sly smirk curls the corners of your lips. "No, I don't think so."

You were ecstatic to be a part of it. When you first heard the music and studied the libretto you could feel that this opera would be a great success. Your intuition was right. Night after night ended in deafening applause, performance after performance with not an empty seat to be seen.

And each time, hidden among the crowd and sat in the very best seats, you saw him. The wild hair, the fogged up glass hiding his left eye, the burn scars - his rugged appearance stood in direct contrast to his elegant and alluring demeanor. A wild animal in court attire.

When he spoke to you Herr Vogelweide was always a gentleman. His first words to you were "You are magnificent," and he never made you feel less than that. He kissed the back of your hand, gifted you flowers and jewelry and never overstepped your boundaries. He made you feel like the only person in the world that mattered and to Anselm this may well have been the truth. If you asked him to he would kiss the ground you walked on and thank you for the honor. His passion for life so easily ignited yours that you couldn't help but fall for him.

And yet every time his lips met your skin something in the back of your mind told you to run. Something instinctive, something primordial inside your body urging you to flee. You felt the presence of a predator even before he revealed himself to you, before he revealed what he truly was.

The sound of the crowd dispersing echos behind the stage as you make your way to your dressing room. You slow your steps, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart. Your instincts tell you once again to stop your arrangement with Herr Vogelweide but both your heart and your loins push you back into his arms.

As you open the door to your dressing room he already sits at your vanity surrounded by a great variety of bouquets in all shades of the rainbow - all of which are from him, you gather.

"My love," he purrs, "You were phenomenal tonight." He rises from his seat and crosses over to you in two steps. His hand finds yours, his head bowed low as he kisses the back of it. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding like it wants to escape your chest. You're certain he can hear it.

You clear your throat, trying to shake off your nerves. "You say that every time, Anselm," you tease and your reply widens the predatory grin on his lips.

"Because it is true every time, mein Schatz."

He turns your hand palm up and slowly pushes up your sleeve, revealing the barely healed gashes, two deep puncture marks parallel to each other with the perfect distance of two canines between them.

"I'm still a little sore from last time," you explain softly as his gaze lingers on his bite mark adorning your wrist. His lips graze over the mark gently before looking up, his eyes meeting yours. His gaze is mesmerizing, leaving you breathless.

"Have you thought about my offer?" he asks, swiftly changing the subject. Even his directness charms you. Since the day you first met you felt drawn towards him, like he had tied an invisible string around your neck to pull on and keep you close.

You turn your gaze away, trying to compose yourself.

Of course you had thought about his offer. A few nights ago he had invited you to dinner at his mansion, a gorgeous place full of strange yet beautiful paintings, sculptures and other pieces of art so unlike anything you had ever seen. That night after you had dined, you on the delicious meal prepared by Herr Vogelweide's hired chef, and he on you. Afterwards you had made love on the dinner table. It was a wonderful night. He had shown you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams that left you boneless and sated.

As you were laid out across the table, he kissed every inch of you reverently like he was worshiping an ancient deity on its altar. He knelt atop of you, brushing his lips against his bite mark left there on your collarbone. Anselm whispered in your ear and made his offer: Become a vampire like him.

Life unending. Forever by his side. A deathless existence.

So of course you had thought about his offer. You hadn't stopped thinking about it since that night. Not an hour went by without your mind repeating his offer again and again.

"I have," you answer softly, "but I am not sure I have an answer for you yet."

Anselm places your hand on his cheek, his well groomed beard tickling your palm. He rubs his face against it like a cat begging to be pet, his eyes closed in silent pleasure.

"Don't rush it, my love. Eternity will wait for you as long as I live."

His words soothe you and yet there is still this nagging unrest at the back of your mind; the pressure to make a decision so momentous it will shape the rest of your life. For better or for worse.

When you look at Anselm your heart tells you that eternity with him would be worth everything. Your mind tells you that love rarely lasts with so many great romances ending in tragedy.

"I still know so little about you. About what you are," you mutter under your breath. He places a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.

"Do not fret, mein Schatz. Ask and I shall answer."

As if your body had waited for his command questions pour out of your mouth like water from a fountain. As you ask question after question he gently guides you towards the chair in front of your vanity. Anselm sits down and pulls you with him. You're careful not to put your weight onto his leg with the brace as you take a seat across his lap.

One by one he answers your questions. He spins a tale of the mystic vampyr so unlike the grim stories you had heard and read, yet still familiar.

First he describes how one becomes a vampire. The bite of a vampire does not immediately transform a human into an undying creature of the night, as you had witnessed personally many times. Moreover the process involves the exchange of blood at the precipice of death.

If they are a virgin or not does not impact the transformation either which Anselm attests to with glee. He drifts off into stories of his sexual exploits as a mortal before he stops himself and returns to your questions. You remember to ask him about the time he had sex on a taxidermy horse on a later date.

The transformation, the kiss of a vampire, binds the newly undead creature to its creator. Not like parent and child but a deeper and more powerful bond tied with blood. This bond leaves the new vampire unable to refuse its creators demands, rendering them subservient to their Master's wishes.

He tells you how the death of the creator does not reverse the transformation of its transformed children like it is told in some folktales. Instead it only cuts their bond, their leash to their Master. You want to ask about Anselm's creator, the elder vampire that granted him immortality but you're too nervous to ask and let the moment pass.

Your fingers dance across the scarred tissue of his face as he explains the ways of how to kill him and his kin: That sun means death, final death and fire brings pain more gruesome than torture. Your fingers twitch against his scarred skin. Sensing your worry he kisses each pad of your fingers individually before changing the subject.

You're already aware that the diet of a vampire consists solely of blood. What you did not expect is that there are some that need to consume pounds of human flesh instead. Other vampires gain the ability to eat human food with age though it does not sustain them in any way. A skill for fitting in, not survival, or so Anselm explains.

With every answer came more questions like a hydra sprouting more heads after one is cut off. But Anselm did not seem irritated by your questions. On the contrary, he looked delighted, having told you everything you wished to know with passion and sincerity.

"Was I able to satisfy you with my ramblings?“

You can't help but smile at his teasing tone. He smiles in turn, his eyes glinting in the low light. You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his. "You always satisfy me," you whisper before kissing him. Anselm returns your kiss eagerly, his hands grabbing your hips, pulling you closer. You gasp into his mouth as you feel his cock harden beneath you.

You place your hand on his chest, pushing yourself away just enough to break the kiss, gasping for air. You feel no heartbeat under your palm, no rising and falling of his chest. It should scare you but it doesn't.

"If you turn me," you start, worry creeping into your voice, "You said a vampire cannot defy their creator. Does that mean-"

"I would never tie you to myself without having your explicit consent before and after, my love. I value your mind and spirit too much for that," he whispers, kissing your neck just below your ear, "I want you as my partner, not as my child or servant. My equal in everything." His cold hands roam your body, warming against your heated skin. They explore every inch of you, teasing and prodding all the places he knows entice you.

You gasp, his touches fanning the flames of your desire. "But you said that this bond is unbreakable unless the elder vampire meets their end," you argue, your voice struggling not to show your obvious arousal.

"Don't worry about that. I have already planned for everything. All I need is your agreement. All I need is for you to say yes."

The word reverberates inside your head, his hands and lips on you making your heart pound. It's getting harder and harder to think. Your heart knows your answer and your mind is slowly convinced by his touches. Your answer spills from your lips before you can think it.

"Yes."

With a roar Anselm is on you, his chest pressed to yours, teeth grazing against your soft skin, his hands massaging your thighs. "Let me taste you again, mein Schatz. I beg you," he groans, nibbling on your neck.

"Yes. Yes."

The sharp pain of his teeth piercing your skin quickly flows into white hot pleasure. Your moans mix with the sound of Anselm sucking on the wound his fangs created, greedily and messily drinking your blood like a man possessed.

"You taste divine," he moans, his breath hot against the wound, before continuing to feast on your life essence. Instinctively you grind against his clothed erection, desperate for release.

"I need you inside me," you moan, clenching around nothing, "Please, Anselm."

He pulls away from your neck, his beard stained red with your blood as he licks his lips.

"Then you will have me."

Anselm undresses just enough to free his straining cock while you undress in kind, settling above him, preparing yourself to take his massive length.

"You're so beautiful," Anselm groans as you slowly sink down on his cock, straddling his thighs, "So perfect."

Every inch of him spreads you wider to accommodate his size. You curse under your breath, already overwhelmed by the way he fills you completely once he's fully inside you. You know you won't last long tonight.

"Let me show you how much I need you," Anselm purrs into your ear and cants his hips upwards, helping you grind down on him. You hold tightly onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as he proceeds to fuck into your willing entrance. His hands travel across your body, one hand resting at the back of your neck pulling you in once again. His lips find the space where your shoulder meets your neck, his sharp teeth sinking into your veins. Your blood gushes into his eager mouth anew as he drinks down the red liquid, his other hand resting on your hips.

You move together frantically, skin meeting skin, his cock driving into you hard and fast. Both the pleasure combined with the blood loss make your head dizzy, keeping you struggling to speak. You communicate in moans and whimpers, chasing your bliss, teetering on the edge of orgasm.

"Come for me," Anselm pleads, his lips and beard painted with your blood, "Please, I need to feel you come on my cock."

You let yourself sink down on his throbbing length one final time, hitting that spot deep inside that has you see stars, and reach your peak. Your walls contract around his cock, milking him as he spills his seed inside of you.

You collapse on top of Anselm, feeling drained both of blood and energy, yet so very satisfied, unable and unwilling to move. You feel Anselm chuckle as you curl into him, your face hidden in the crook of his neck and your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You could stay like this forever, holding and being held by Anselm with his cock softening inside of you.

Before you can drift off to sleep, the position too comfortable not to, Anselm gets you off of his lap. You make yourself presentable again and already dread watching Anselm leave again. Before he does he turns to you and places a soft kiss to your lips.

"I will visit you again when I have arranged everything for your transformation," his voice rumbles through his chest, "Wait for me, mein Schatz."

And so you wait.

Your days feel gray and monotonous without Anselm. You eat, sleep, practice and perform on stage but you feel listless. The time apart makes your decision clearer each day. You want to be with Anselm, not just until the end of your mortal life but forever. It's difficult even imagining your life without him now.

The days go by and with every performance you look for the familiar figure of your lover in the crowd. Day by day, night by night you are disappointed until one evening a stagehand slips you a note during the final act of the opera. You recognize Anselm's handwriting immediately.

Mein Schatz, Wait for me in your dressing room tonight. Eternity awaits. -A

Your heart pounds heavily in your chest but there is no time for anxiety or anticipation. You have a show to finish.

When the opera has ended you wait anxiously in your dressing room. You pace back and forth, your stomach tied into a knot, until you hear a knock on your door.

“Enter," you call out and the door opens.

You're surprised when Anselm doesn't enter alone. Behind him walks in a stranger, his eyes shifting around the room as if he expects somebody to jump out of the shadows and stab a dagger through his heart at any moment.

You look at Anselm in confusion, tilting your head in a silent question. He simply smiles calmly at you. The stranger meets your gaze and quickly turns his attention back to Anselm.

"Is this-"

"Indeed," Anselm interrupts him sharply, "this is the one you will turn. And afterwards your debt is paid. A simple matter, yes?"

The stranger shifts nervously in place before slowly approaching you. You take a step back from him.

"Anselm, who is this?“

Anselm steps forward, catching your hand and rubbing soothing circles on the back of it.

"Do not fret, mein Schatz. I told you I had everything planned out, didn't I?" he replies in hushed tones, "This man owes me quite a lot of money and is of a rather high pedigree for my kind. I decided he will get the honor of turning you in exchange for his debt being paid."

There is a glint in his eyes that you can't quite place but you're sure Anselm is only telling you half the truth. He leans forward, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"You will stand as my equal. I will not have you share eternity with me because you are bound to me by blood but of your own free will," he whispers, making the hair at the back of your neck stand up, "I will always be your most devoted lover." You shudder, anxiety and arousal fighting for dominance. He squeezes your hand, trying to soothe your fraying nerves. "Trust me," he urges you in a low voice.

When he holds you like this, imploring you to follow his plan in such gentle tones, fear has a hard time keeping hold of your heart. His words coat your worries like a soothing balm, his mere presence compelling you to follow his directions without much resistance. Taking a few deep breaths you nod your head and give him a shaky smile. "I trust you," you reply, squeezing his hand gently in return.

Anselm's gaze turns to the stranger he has brought with him, the softness he regards you with turning to ice.

"Be gentle. And if I see your hands roaming where they shouldn't I'll shoot you before you can even think of running," he threatens him, "You're not the only one indebted to me."

The stranger nods vehemently, clearly intimidated. This is a new side to Anselm that you hadn't witnessed before. He has always been so sweet to you, a gentleman focused solely on your comfort and desires. To see him so frightening for your sake sends a pleasant thrill down your spine.

The stranger approaches you slowly, his eyes flickering towards Anselm every so often, terrified of making a wrong move. Anselm doesn't remove his hand from yours, determined to be by your side through your transformation. The stranger reaches out to free your neck but his hand freezes in place when Anselm makes a displeased noise. Instead he reaches for your other hand and when Anselm doesn't comment, takes it. He rolls up your sleeve to free your wrist.

"I am sure Herr Vogelweide has already explained this process to you," he starts nervously, "But I will drain you of your blood until you are in the process of dying and then feed you my own." He slowly raises your wrist up to his lips.

"The transformation will be painful-," he warns before Anselm cuts him off.

"I will be with you the whole time. You are not alone, mein Schatz. The pain will subside and you will be born anew as a creature of the night. Like you were always meant to be."

You're glad for Anselm's confidence in this matter. From the very first moment you met Anselm saw something in you that you never quite understood. Maybe after tonight you would.

The stranger gives you another quick warning, alerting you that he will begin now and bites the inside of your wrist. The stranger's bite couldn't be more different from Anselm's. Maybe it's the difference in intent,maybe a lack of practice but when the stranger's fangs pierce your skin there is only pain. Where Anselm's bite fills your body with pleasure the stranger's gives you unending torture. You feel your blood leaving your body, bleeding like an animal for slaughter.

Time distorts, your body feeling both heavy and feather light at the same time. The only sound you hear is your rapidly slowing heartbeat. Your legs give out under you but two strong arms catch you. Anselm is whispering soothingly in your ear but you can't make out the words. Your vision swims, shapes and colors dancing in front of your eyes like a fresh painting left in the rain.

Something presses against your lips, coating them in something wet and slick. You instinctively lick your lips, a metallic taste coating your tongue. It presses against your lips harder, forcing more and more of the metallic liquid down your throat.

The torture only worsens. Your body feels like it's being stretched apart, every organ, vein and artery lights up with excruciating pain. You feel every bone inside your body. It's too much. You're throat feels sore and dry from screaming. You feel like you're underwater, drowning in copper liquid until there is only darkness.

You're startled awake by three shots ringing out, followed by a dull thud. You strain your neck following the sounds, your mind still foggy. You see the stranger on the floor slowly turning to dust. Your confusion must read on your face when Anselm quickly answers your unvoiced question.

"I won't have some useless cheat have control over you. This man was already dead the moment he didn't pay his debt on time. He was lucky I allowed him to taste your divine blood and help grant you immortality before I got rid of him."

Anselm's words wash over you, your mind having a hard time grasping them. You feel drained. Your whole body hurts, a deep, gnawing sensation that you can't quite place. The only description that comes close is hunger.

You feel Anselm's eyes on you, a predator watching its newborn.

You clutch at your throat, sharp, claw-like nails scratching your skin. You can't speak, your throat dry as if all the moisture was stripped from you. Your weak body leans against Anselm as he holds you, the wood flooring beneath hard and cold. You try to ask for help but the only sound escaping your throat is a sickening, raspy screech.

You watch as Anselm rolls up the sleeves of his coat and shirt, displaying his naked wrist to you. Your eyes fixate on this single patch of skin before you feel a hand at the back of your neck. Anselm brings your head closer to his outstretched wrist. "Drink, mein Schatz," he asks, holding out his arm to you like a sacred offering, "You'll feel much better."

Your teeth ache to pierce his skin. Hesitantly you wrap your lips around his wrist, sucking on it. The taste of copper rises to the surface and without a second thought you bite down. Blood rushes into your mouth and the taste is like nothing you have ever drank or eaten. You moan against his skin as you gulp down the red liquid like you're dying of thirst. Every drop soothes your aching body, the pain subsiding steadily.

Your mind clears and you realize what you're doing. You struggle to stop gorging yourself on Anselm's blood, your hands pushing his arm away but your fangs refuse to remove themselves from your willing prey. Anselm's hand tightens at the back of your neck, gently pulling you away. You gasp, blood dripping from your open mouth. Your eyes find his and in an instant Anselm kisses you. You cling to him, your hands pulling him closer by his lapel, deepening your kiss. As your tongues meet all you taste is blood. It's delicious.

You feel strange, different, but this is familiar, this is right. You kiss and bite and taste each other like you're committing every inch and every ounce to memory. He drinks your blood and you drink his. His blood is yours and your blood is his.

You feel him swallow hard under your touch, his shallow breath fanning against the back of it. With your other hand you dig your fingers into his dark locks, grabbing his hair tightly and pulling his head back forcefully. Staring straight up his eyes meet yours in the flesh. Without the silver barrier of a mirror he looks almost scared, the dream-like veil gone. Guilt and desperation radiate off of him like static electricity.

You lean forward and press your lips to his forehead, "Not even your intellect can save you. All you create is your own demise," you whisper against his skin, your cruel words hanging in the air as a harsh contrast to your gentle kiss.

"You have nothing to inherit to the next generation. No beauty, no intelligence, nothing," letting go of his chin and hair, your hands fall to his shoulders, "That's why you don't need this pitiful excuse for a cock."

His muscles tense under your touch, his back rigid and straight, his chest pushed forward. His breath quickens with panic and excitement.

"Are you ready to take your punishment?"

This is the point of no return.

You had talked about it at length after the fire, after the creature; discussed the consequences of this irreversible change. While you had tried to persuade him to let another surgeon do the operation Victor was determined to do it himself, that only he could do it. That he must do it himself.

Days and nights spent over anatomy books and drawings. Corpses dissected as practice for his own living flesh. Each cut repeated over and over again to result in the perfect finish: a smooth mound where his genitals once lay.

He could still stop this now and walk away from this self-imposed punishment.

Victor takes a deep breath, his body relaxing, and an almost serene look overtakes him.

"Yes," he accepts his punishment with determination.

"Very well. Begin."

He holds his cock secure in one gloved hand, the scalpel in the other. The laudanum calmed and numbed him just enough for the first cut to be bearable but not as to impact his skills as a surgeon.

This would be neither painless nor easy nonetheless.

With clipped words Victor calls out what he needs, all instruments close by for you to reach and hand to him. When the sound of his grinding teeth become too much you put a cylindrical piece of wood between them. Victor bites down hard and continues his work, red gloves dripping with blood. His cries of pain grow louder even through the bit between his teeth, tears streaming down his face, blurring his vision.

Time stretches like caramel, the metallic scent of blood coating the back of your throat. You watch Victor work meticulously, aiding him where you can to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible.

The goal is to punish, not to sign a death warrant.

With a guttural shout the penile tissue is severed. With shaking hands he holds up his detached penis to you like an offering. You take the limp appendage and place it in a big canister filled with formaldehyde.

Another pained groan echoes from the stone walls as Victor begins to cut away at his testicles. Blood pools under him, his legs slick with the crimson liquid.

His head sways a bit before he refocuses on the task at hand. Victor cuts off his testicles, which you gingerly take from him and place in the same canister as his manhood. With his last bit of awareness he sews up and cauterizes the open wounds left on his groin before the blood loss takes his consciousness.

With a lot of strength and effort you drag and heave Victor's unconscious body onto his bed. You bandage the stitched together wounds while his limp body seems to fight you through the whole process. After checking his pulse and breathing you leave the bed and start to clean and prepare a surprise for Victor.

When Victor wakes hours later pain pulses up his abdomen, his body cold and sticky with sweat and blood. The soft mattress under him aids little against his discomfort. Before he can even open his eyes you're sitting by his side. You push a small bottle of laudanum against his lips, forcing him to drink. He swallows down the liquid obediently, his eyelids blinking open to gaze at you. His eyes are unfocused, the corners caked with dried tears as he looks at you, disoriented.

"I've examined your handiwork. There will be scars," you announce nonchalantly, "At least your hands are skillful enough to mold you into what you really are: A potentless wretch."

You watch his glazed over eyes roll into the back of his head as a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure escapes his lips. His hips roll upward uselessly, chasing friction that he will never feel again.

"And still you act like a wanton beast, lusting after any pretty face that comes your way. Luckily those pious maidens won't have to share in your depravity anymore."

Your humiliation is answered by soft whimpers and gloved hands reaching out towards you. You take one hand in yours, the dried blood roughing the texture of the red glove unpleasantly.

"Get up," you order and pull him up by the arm. Victor hisses in pain but follows your command. You rise and he follows suit, slowly and carefully, fully aware of his own weakened state.

You lead him towards the mirror where he had knelt before hours ago. Once again you stand behind him, watching him through the mirror's reflection. He is still naked save for his gloves and the bandages you had applied over his crotch. You reach around him, your hand hovering over the bandages, not touching the smooth mound hidden underneath.

"Look at you, this heartless, cockless thing we have created. Do you like seeing yourself like this? Do you enjoy seeing the work of your own two hands?" you taunt.

Slowly you unravel the bandages, bit by bit revealing angry red flesh, dried blood and deep stitches. Victor turns to look away but you refuse him, forcing him to gaze upon his handiwork.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorr-," he sobs, leaning against you, mindlessly grabbing your hand in search of comfort. His emotions bubble up inside of him like a boy learning that actions have consequences for the first time.

"I asked you a question."

He flinches, your words like a slap to his face. But your hand is warm in his and you let him cradle it like a small child does its comfort blanket.

"No. I'm sorry."

Regret. Not just for the loss of his genitals but for his actions, his failure, his grief. Tears roll down his cheeks, his body shaking like a leaf. He apologizes again and again, begging for forgiveness as if it's the only thing that will keep him alive, like he would perish without it. Victor, stripped of both his manhood and his ego, clings to you in desperation, his eyes wide and glittering with tears, needing you to absolve him of his sins and give him a new purpose.

"A pity, because I do. Do you want to know why?" your dismissive tone makes Victor shiver even more but he nods nonetheless, "Because your hands may have done this but in the end you're my creation now."

Your hands frame his face, your thumbs rubbing at the tear streaks on his cheeks.

"My very own creature," you whisper mockingly, your lips grazing over the shell of his ear. Victor leans back against you, sobbing quietly.

"Do you enjoy being mine?“

He looks into your eyes across the mirror, his lips trembling. When he doesn't immediately respond you step into his view, towering over his kneeling, slumped form. With a sharp thwack you strike him across his face.

"Do. You. Enjoy. It?" you repeat yourself loudly and displeased.

"Yes. Yours. Forever. Always," Victor gasps, clamoring for your approval. Your scowl softens slightly, a pleased smile twitching on your lips.

"Then thank me."

He bows his head low, his sweat soaked hair touching the cold stone flow beneath him. His murmurs turning louder and louder the more he repeats himself.

"Thank you. Thank you. I love you."

He crawls forward, pressing his lips to your shoes in reverence.

"Very well. Are you ready to be a good boy now, Victor?"

He nods eagerly.

"Wonderful. Then I have a very special gift prepared for you."

You step back and vanish behind the folding-screen next to his bed for a short moment, the rustling of cloth keeping Victor's eyes fixed to it. As you step out again you are naked save for a harness made of leather and metal strapped around your hips. An eerie red glow emanates from the vials affixed to it, connecting to the front. Victor's gaze travels down your amatory form and freezes as a familiar sight greets him.

"Waste not, want not," you tease, a predatory grin on your face, "And there is some use still for your work and your pathetic cock."

His own cock stands at attention right in front of his face as you step even closer. His life's work used to reanimate the detached penile tissue, creating what is essentially a living dildo from his detached manhood.

"I know the size is not that impressive, but it will be enough to make you come."

Victor's mouth falls open in disbelief, his own cock staring right at him, so close his eyes almost cross. The dead, ashen hue makes his stomach clench and acid crawl up his throat. He swallows it back down quickly before his gaze rises back to meet yours.

"This, too, is mine now," you declare, canting your hips forward and dragging his cock against his cheek, "And I am going to fuck you with it."

Disgust and excitement coil tightly in his abdomen. One last look at what became of his manhood and Victor crawls back over to his bed. He pulls himself up on the mattress, knees spread and ass up in presentation.

"So eager," you purr, following him slowly. Leisurely you pick a vial of oil from the night stand and pop the cork. You raise the open vial high over his lower back and tip it just enough to slowly poor the liquid between his ass cheeks.

"Be a good boy and prepare yourself. I am not going to dirty my hands on you," you hiss commandingly.

His hands fumble behind his back, his thick fingers trying to scoop up as much oil as he can before slowly pushing a single digit inside himself. Victor gasps, the intrusion pleasurable yet painful, as he, too soon, adds a second finger. More oil drips down into his crack and gets pushed inside his hole with quick, precise strokes.

You smack his ass and his movements stutter.

"That's enough. I want you to feel this after all."

With a groan, Victor removes his fingers from his hole and pulls his arms forward to keep himself balanced. Your hands on his hips help keeping him steady as you nudge his hole with the tip of his cock. Victor whimpers quietly, whispering pleas into the covers.

"Just so you know," you murmur, pushing his cock in to the hilt with one heavy thrust, "I won't stop even if you start bleeding or your stitches open."

Victor shouts, his body trying to flinch away and meet your movement at the same time. The drag of his cock against his prostate has him see stars, while the forceful stretch brings tears to his eyes. Pain and pleasure mix until he can't feel a difference anymore.

"All you're good for is to be a hole to fuck. Any pleasure you gain from it is mine to give."

His back arches, pushing his ass out further, the slight change in position making you hit his prostate in full force. It's sweet agony. He can feel the pleasure burning through him, swears he can feel the phantom sensation, the muscle memory, of his cock hardening and yet there is nothing. The cognitive dissonance has him reeling just until you hit is prostate again, your thrusts coming faster and faster.

"You deserve nothing and you will take what I give you."

You slam into him, the cold metal and leather of the harness warming up with body heat. Small metal plating scratches against his naked flesh and Victor hopes he bleeds, hopes it scars. A reminder of his new status. Each thrust feels like too much and not enough. Victor feels his body reaching its edge, so close to cresting that peak but without his cock, without stimulation to his reproductive organs, he's sure he is unable to climax.

"Please, I can't- I can't come like this. I can't-"

Another slap to his backside has him groan, wrecked, like he was punched in the gut.

"You can and you will, you pathetic excuse of a man."

One hand leaves its place on his hips and grabs a fistful of his curls instead, pulling his head back, his back arching further. It's too much. Too much pain. Too much pleasure. Moans and frantic words of gratitude spill from his lips, his body convulsing as if electrified, as he comes.

You slam his cock into him a few more times, slow and forceful, before you still. You let go of his hair and Victor falls to the mattress like a puppet with cut strings. He breathes heavily, mouth agape and drool pooling under him.

You step back, letting his still throbbing member pull out of him, uncaring.

"Get cleaned up," you order as you turn to remove the harness. Your words are answered by senseless babbling and groaning.

"Be quick. Our carriage should arrive soon."

Before you step back behind the folding-screen to dress you turn towards him, a wolfish grin on your lips.

But you're less inclined to believe either. From what you had learned about him the last two times you found yourself in his cab Jake is just a normal guy who cares a lot about people. He even lets his passengers pay him in little trinkets sometimes when their money is tight. “Some people are too proud to accept a free ride even if there is no way they can pay for it,” he had explained. That's why there is a broken pocket watch in his glove compartment, an old necklace, oxidized in parts, dangling from the rearview mirror and a tarot card stuck to the visor.

Despite his unflappable demeanor Jake had shown himself to be a kind soul. A kind soul who cursed like a sailor and flirted like it was breathing but kind-hearted nonetheless. 

“So, where to this time?”

“Surprise me,” you answer without thinking. You don't really know where to go, just that you don't want to be here anymore. But you don't feel like going home either. Jake raises an eyebrow, his lips slowly spreading into a wide grin. “Alright, I can work with that,” he chuckles. With practiced motions he starts the car and drives off. 

You stay silent for a while, watching the world pass by through the window. You feel oddly at peace. For all intents and purposes you're in a car with a stranger (who's slowly becoming an acquaintance) and yet you feel safer than ever. Maybe it’s just Jake’s general demeanor that puts you at ease so easily. Or maybe it’s the comforting sound of rain hitting the car window mixed with Frank Sinatra playing on the radio. 

It’s only then that you notice how truly exhausted you are. You could fall asleep like this, sitting in the back of Jake's car. You could just rest your eyes for a moment, you think as you lean your head against the window. 

.

Your body jolts forward and you wake from your sudden nap as the car stops. Bleary-eyed you look outside the car window but the area is unfamiliar to you. 

“Sleep well?”

You jump a little, surprised by the sudden voice. You turn towards the sound, Jake looking at you over the rearview mirror. You blink at him, confused for a moment, before your brain decides to restart and you remember where you fell asleep.

“Surprisingly well,” you answer, a little perplexed, “Where are we?”

Jake gives you an easy smile. “You told me to surprise you. I hope you're hungry.” As the universe would have it your stomach picks exactly this moment to growl. You can't help but laugh and nod.

Jake steps out of the cab and walks around it to open the door for you. “Didn't know you're a gentleman too,” you quip as you let him help you out of the car. He gives you a cheeky wink. “That's what they call me: The Gentleman Cabbie.” 

You let him lead you into a small 24/7 diner, a cozy place where a cheery waiter welcomes you. Jake picks a booth and you start browsing the menu. 

“So, which one are you: superhero or villain?”

Jake freezes for a moment, his eyes widening for just a second. “What do you mean?”

You give him a sly grin. “You said they call you The Gentleman Cabbie. So is that your superhero name or are you more of a villain?”

You're worried your joke fell completely flat before he starts laughing, his hand clutching his chest. He smirks at you once he calmed down, shaking his head. “You got me there. Uh, I don't know. Not sure either fits.”

You think for a moment before you counter, “Anti-Hero then?” He only shrugs, his smile not fading. “Works for me.”

You each pick out something to eat from the menu and give your order to the charming waiter from earlier. Soon you two are engaged in a conversation about your lives, all while Jake seems to be a bit more reserved in sharing personal things. Which is alright with you. Even with the three times Jake has been your accidental getaway driver, you are still strangers. Even if it doesn't feel like it with how easily conversation flows between you two.

You could get used to this: idle chatter with Jake over cheap coffee and delicious fried food. But all good things must come to an end. You pay for the meal, both his and yours even if Jake is putting up a valiant effort to refuse you, and you make your way back to his cab. 

“I’ll drive you home, free of charge, since you paid for the food,” he states once you’re back in the car, not leaving room for argument. 

The drive home is uneventful and once he parks in front of your building you’re almost disappointed. “Thank you, Jake. For the drive, the food and the company,” you say with a smile, feeling lighter than you did when you got into his car earlier. 

He leans over the gear shift and turns back to you. Jake reaches his arm out to you, a small piece of paper in his hand. “Take this. If you ever need a ride just call me directly,” he says as you take the crumpled paper from him. As you open it you see a phone number written down with a fountain pen. 

A warmth spreads through your chest and you smile at him softly. “Thank you. I will,” you reply, putting the piece of paper in your pocket, “Until next time then?”

“Until next time.”

You step out of his cab and close the car door behind you. Once you're at your front door you hear the car start up again. Only once you're inside does Jake finally drive off.

Before he can stammer out any reason for why he is here you pull him inside. You ignore the wet footprints left on your pristine floor by your uninvited visitor. Steven is stammering your name, visibly shaking from the cold but you shush him. You take the bouquet from his hands and put it to the side. 

“Alright, you,” you start, poking his chest with your finger, “are going to take a hot shower. You look like you are going to die on me any second.”

“But-”

“Shower. Now.”

Like a kicked puppy he casts his gaze downward, shuffling his feet awkwardly for a moment before turning around and walking into your bathroom.

“Bath towels are on the rack next to the heater,” you call into the room right after the door closes behind Steven, “Feel free to use my shower gel and shampoo. Don't touch my expensive conditioner though! It's the purple bottle!”

A muffled “Got it” sounds from behind the door and you decide to leave him to it. 

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the bundle of drenched roses you had set aside. Even though they, just like Steven, are soaked through by the rain outside they are beautiful. As you pick it up you bring one blossom to your nose, inhaling its scent. It’s not overpowering, like anything rose-scented always is, but a delicate, natural perfume that delights your senses. It’s rare to get this quality of flowers in the city, or at least not from just any flower shop. He must have spent a small fortune on these, you think as you take in the whole bouquet. 

Red roses.

It’s a bit cliche but as a romantic gift there is nothing that gets the message across more clear than this. Maybe a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

But who are they for? Did Steven not buy them and got them gifted himself? Or was he on his way to a date and stopped by your place for shelter from the rain? Or-

“They’re for you.”

You didn’t even hear the shower stop or the door open. Like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar you turn to Steven. He stands but a few steps away from you, a towel wrapped tightly around his hips, the rest of his skin bare to the world, his hair still damp and sticking to his forehead. 

“Sorry?”

“The flowers. T-they are for you,” he stammers, now that he has to repeat himself. His cheeks flush and oh that blush travels all the way down. You force yourself to not oggle him, instead fixing your gaze to his face.

“For me? But they are…,” you trail off, feeling a bit flustered yourself. Was he really saying what you think he is? 

“I- You know I had this whole speech planned and then you kinda dragged me into your shower,” he explains, chuckling awkwardly, “N-Not that I mind! The shower, I mean.”

“I have to admit I didn’t expect this,” you reply, your hands still clutching the roses. That’s when you notice that somebody removed the thorns, your fingers safe from any cuts or pricks.

Steven fiddles with his fingers, a nervous tick you’ve observed many times. “I have thought about this a lot,” he admits before his eyes widen. “Not me standing in your living room half naked. I mean that too but that’s not what I meant.” You can’t help but chuckle, his awkwardness always cheering you up in one way or another. “I am doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

He steps towards you, gathering courage from who knows where, and takes your hands in his, the red roses falling unceremoniously to the ground. Your name falls from his lips and suddenly you can’t move your eyes away from him, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

“I am in love with you.”

A soft gasp leaves you and your heart starts pounding a mile a minute.

“You don’t have to reciprocate though I’d be a bloody liar if I said I wouldn’t like that. But here I go being a right plonker telling you how to feel, right? Oh my stars-”

“I love you too.”

Your words make him grind to a halt, his mouth hanging open while his mind catches up with what you said. His eyes start to sparkle and a goofy grin spreads across his lips.

“Really? You mean it?” he asks hopefully. You simply nod, your smile quickly matching his.

“Oh that’s amazing, love! I am so happy! I could-”

He almost reaches out to wrap his arms around you but stops, remembering his half naked state.

“-...put on some clothes.”

Another bout of giggles erupts from your chest and you can feel your cheeks starting to ache. “I’m sure I have something around you can wear. Just stay here, ok? Don’t run away,” you joke.