suffering soiree

“GET THE FUCK BACK UP,” Wes was furious. “How fucking DARE YOU try to deny it.” Seven had curled in on himself as best he could, and Wes was having none of it. “Like I didn’t see the way you two were fucking looking at each other—like guilty fucking lovers—“ 

Wes stalked forward and slammed his shoe into Seven’s back once more, causing his body to spasm the opposite direction, his spine arching back sharply as he cried out. Wes wasted no time once he found his opening, swiftly stepping around him to ram the same foot into Seven’s ribs. 

“I'm sorry-! I'm SORRY—“ Seven wailed, but Wes was beyond a state where he could be reasoned with. Too far gone, when he got like this—when he’d already made up his mind about what had happened. But Seven hadn’t done what he’d been accused of. He just wanted Wes to know the truth—

“We just—“ Seven was gasping, trying to recover. “We just cuddled—I swear! That’s all it was! Please you have to liste— aAAGHH!!” Wes stomped down on his ribs this time, before grinding his foot down into the side of his servant’s head. 

God—why the fuck did Seven bother. Wes wasn’t going to fucking listen like this. Why did Seven always hope he would? Why did Seven never fucking learn— There was never any use in trying to reduce his sentence. The jury was already out in Wes’ mind. The gavel had been slammed down. The court dismissed. Seven’s own testimony didn’t fucking matter. It never had, never would. He’d never even been brought to the stand.

Whatever Wes said had happened would always become truth. Wes may as well have been rewriting reality itself in real time with the way he controlled fucking everything within these walls. His word was that of a fucking God here. If Wes spoke it into existence, the rules of the universe would split apart and stitch themselves back together to make it so. 

Seven sobbed in agony, defeated and hopeless, his face crushed between the underside of Wes’ stupidly expensive shoe and the cold unforgiving marble stone. 

“I’m sorry.. Sir...” he whimpered, his fiery urge for truth extinguished. He sounded downright pitiful now—limp as a wilting flower. 

Wes scoffed, the disgust clear in his tone as he stepped off of Seven’s face. It left a nice red shoe print on the boy’s cheek. 

“Whatever,” Wes muttered, voice bitter as a shot of straight Campari. “You’ll fucking learn your lesson tonight, I’m sure.” 

“Wait— What do y—?” Seven was interrupted when he felt another sharp tug on the chain that locked his hands behind him. The motion pulled sharply at the metal cuffs and dug them painfully into his wrists. He tried following the motion as best he could, rising with strain into a kneeling position. But Wes tugged again, harsher this time, and it yanked Seven backwards until his back hit the floor. 

“ARE YOU STUPID?” Wes kicked him hard in the side this time, in the soft tissue just below the rib cage, and Seven fucking sobbed. “GET THE FUCK BACK UP.” Seven felt tears rising beneath his eyelashes but scrambled back up into a kneel—it all took so much more effort without the use of his hands. He stumbled to his feet, panting and bent forward as he tried to stop his head from pounding—the room from spinning. Feet beneath him. Beneath him. Steady... He wavered, but managed to find his footing by some fucking miracle. 

Wes was pulling on the chain again, dragging Seven backwards towards the entrance to the outer terrace. “Come the FUCK ON.” 

Seven stumbled back, trying his best to follow the motion without fucking falling over again, when a pit of ice twisted in his stomach when he realized what was actually happening to him.  

“Wait— WAIT—!” He shouted, panic spiking in his chest. “Don’t— Not outside—“ Seven planted his feet and pulled back against the chain. He cried out—his shoulders screamed in protest, but the sudden tidal wave of dread screamed even louder. “PLEASE— Sir, DON’T—“ 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Wes' voice bellowed off the walls—the pounding of the storm outside a harrowing backtrack to his ire. He yanked the chain harder, and in this game of fucked-up-shoulder-stress-tug-of-war—as with any game they’d ever played—Wes would overpower Seven every time. 

At some point, Seven felt something pop in his left shoulder and shrieked like he was being burned alive. Sickening pain stabbed through his shoulder like he’d just stuck a fork in a live socket—like Wes had just jammed a dagger beneath his shoulder blade and was trying to pry it out of his body. Seven’s will to fight gave out instantly. His vision scattered into blurry shapes, and over the ringing in his ears, all he heard were his own cries and the muffled rushing of the rain. Then, somewhere behind him, he registered that Wes was fucking laughing.  

“You DUMB FUCKING BITCH!” Wes yelled, a terrifying smile on his face. “You didn’t think that would fucking happen?” He looked downright manic with glee now. “That’s what you FUCKING GET for trying to resist me.” 

Seven stumbled and crumpled to the floor, like Wes had cut the strings holding his marionette body in position. He heaved sobs and shuddered against the marble, unable to think at all with the pain turning his whole head into TV static. Then, he felt himself being kicked onto his back—the pain in his shoulder pressing into the floor beneath him made him wail in agony, but he blinked through the tears to see Wes looming over him now, a demonic sneer on his face. Seven’s reddenned eyes widened in horror when he saw it—Wes was fucking palming himself through the fabric of his pants. 

“God, you sound like such a bitch like this,” he said, voice thick with a new breathiness, “I should’a done this to you a long time ago.” 

Wes stared at him a moment, feeling himself get harder at Seven’s muffled sobbing and horrified expression. “Hold still while I make this even better,” Wes said, and stepped back and bent down. Before Seven could draw his legs in towards himself, Wes gripped the fabric of Seven’s joggers at the ankles and gave a fierce tug, pulling them roughly down his hips until they bunched around his knees. Seven tried to kick him away—more of a panicked instinct than a conscious desire to keep struggling—but Wes yanked them down until they came off and threw the thin pair of joggers to the floor behind him. Wes was back on him a moment later, pinning Seven’s hips down with a knee on either side of his servant’s torso. Seven’s vision was blurring again with the pain in his shoulder, but the panic of the situation had muffled his shrieking cries into pathetic little sobs. 

Wes gripped him harshly by the hair and delivered a hard slap to the side of Seven’s face, just for emphasis, and the servant’s head snapped to the side and he cried out in shock. Wes then started in on the matter of his shirt, pulling a switchblade out of his back pocket. Seven’s eyes went wide and he froze when he heard the signature flick and saw the blade appear mere inches from his face. 

“Whores don’t get clothes, you know,” Wes’ voice was low and gruff now, the lust audible in his tone. He grabbed the front of Seven’s t-shirt in one hand while the other slid the blade of the knife through the thin fabric. Seven bit his lip and quivered in place, trying so hard not to move to avoid being cut. The blade made quick work of the shirt—Wes sliced the knife through the sides of the shirt’s sleeves, ripping the torn fabric out from beneath his servant and throwing it to the side. The motion jostled his dislocated shoulder and caused another sharp stab of pain. Seven winced and bit down harder on his lower lip—he did not want to egg Wes on when he had a fucking knife in his hand. 

Seven almost felt a stroke of relief when Wes pocketed the blade, but his panic rose like a tidal wave once again when he felt fists tangle into his hair. Wes dragged Seven up into a kneeling position, and the servant swayed with vertigo once his head was released. Fuuck—everything was spinning. Wes’ form wavered in front of him like a swinging pendulum.

“Tell you what, slut,” Wes was grinning again—Seven could hear it in his voice—and he shrank back with dread as Wes unzipped his pants. “I’m gonna give you a chance to convince me not to leave you out in the rain all fucking night.” A tiny flicker of hope sparked in Seven’s chest at the promise of a reduced sentence, and eager wet eyes snapped up to his Master as if to see if he really meant it. He would do it. He would do anything not to be left there all night. 

“Yes, Sir— Please, Sir,” Seven begged Wes for the chance. “I-I’ll— I’ll be good!” Wes grinned wider and palmed himself through his boxers for a few moments, letting Seven’s breath catch up, before finally pulling himself free and sliding a free hand into his servant’s hair once more. “Then give me your best, whore, since this is all you’re good for.”

Wes’ heavy length hung in front of his face, and Seven strained up in the kneel to wrap his lips around the tip. It was already slick with pre-cum—nothing made Wes harder than seeing Seven in excruciating pain. The dislocated shoulder was the tipping point—Wes knew he had to use his servant's mouth first to take care of this before he put him out for the night. It was Seven’s fault Wes was like this after all—the little thing sounded so fucking gorgeous in agony. It was only right that Seven be the one to relieve the pressure that was pooling low in his abdomen. 

Seven massaged the tip with his tongue, wetting his lips with its slick surface and beginning to work the length deeper into his mouth. He knew what to do—he’d done this a hundred times before. He applied a bit more suction and Wes’ hips twitched forward involuntarily, drawing a pleased exhale from his Master’s lips as the grip in Seven’s hair squeezed tighter. Suddenly, it dawned on Wes that he didn’t have to let Seven set the pace; he didn’t have to let him go slow and let Wes relish in the feeling the way he usually did when he had Seven beneath his desk. A low growl of impatience rumbled from Wes’ throat. He could have Seven any way he fucking wanted. Without warning, Wes yanked Seven’s head towards him and sharply thrust his hips forward, shoving himself all the way to the back of Seven’s throat.  The motion forced a muffled yelp of surprise from the man on his knees—Wes’ eyes squeezed shut and he groaned at the way the servant’s throat choked around him. 

“God, you just squeeze me so fucking good,” Wes’ voice was low and breathy. Lidded, narrowed eyes looked down at Seven as Wes felt his tip press against the soft wall of muscle at the back of his servant’s throat. 

“Come on, swallow for me,” Wes ordered, and Seven’s eyes snapped up to him with a wordless plea. “Go on, don’t make me ask again—hHHNNg fuuckk—“ He felt himself throb in Seven’s throat as the muscles spasmed and squeezed around him. Wes fucking loved making him do that. 

“Yeahh, there you go,” Wes nearly moaned, taking up a good pace to press his tip against the tight warm muscle again and again. “Fuck— Good boy.” 

Both of his hands were tangled into Seven’s hair now as he picked up the pace, and Wes groaned shamelessly when Seven’s pained whimpering sent vibrations straight to his cock. Seven’s throat was fucking divine. Wes really did have himself to thank—he’d trained him so well over the years. He pulled himself almost all the way out and shoved back in, jabbing his tip into the back of his servant’s throat harder and harder until Seven’s eyes were rolling back and he was choking and spluttering around him with every thrust. God it felt fucking amazing— 

It wasn’t much longer before Wes felt that familiar twinge of electricity sparking low in his groin. Fuck—he was getting so close. Seven could tell too, for he blinked those teary blue eyes open and looked up at Wes through long, wet lashes. His eyes pleaded with him, trying to look as pathetic and wanton as possible—a trick that almost always worked on Wes. 

Wes' hips lurched forward at an uneven pace—he was panting now and groaning above him, shamelessly taking his pleasure from his servant’s throat. There came a final spasm of his hips, and Wes shoved himself all the way in one last time, before yanking himself back out just as suddenly. He took one hand from Seven’s hair and wrapped it around his length, giving it a single squeeze before he erupted hot white cum all over Seven’s panting flushed face. Seven whined in protest, squeezing his eyes shut but unable to turn his head away due to the death grip Wes still had in his hair. His face was dripping in it now—warm spurts of Wes’ seed shot down over his tear streaked cheeks, into his open panting mouth, his quivering wet lips. Seven felt disgusting—so nauseous and used—but that spark of hopeful anticipation that he’d earned back some of Wes’ favor still buzzed inside him. When Seven blinked his eyes back open, Wes was panting above him with a dumb smile on his face. 

“Fuckk..” Wes panted over him, looking beyond pleased. “Yeahh, I’ll never get sick of that.” 

The anticipation bubbled up in his chest. Seven wanted to be good—to show his Master he could earn a way out of his punishment. He blinked up at Wes with dewey, lascivious eyes as he licked the seed from his bottom lip with a sultry slip of his tongue. 

Wes gave a low hum and smiled down at him. At last, Wes released Seven’s hair and he instantly slumped down in the kneeling position. Tears were running down his face again, mixing with the sticky white release. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to at this point. He only prayed, silently—desperately—that he’d done a good enough job. 

Wes recovered, tucking himself back into his pants again, and Seven’s awareness of the pain in his shoulder was returning rapidly by the second. His face felt disgusting. He wanted to take a shower. He wanted his shoulder back in its socket. He wanted to fucking collapse again. He couldn’t take any more.

Unfortunately, his fate was never so kind. Seven’s chest ached when heard the chain rattle as Wes picked it up again. 

“Now get the fuck up,” Wes ordered.  The stern clarity was back in his voice. “Unless you want two broken shoulders.” 

Hot tears streamed down Seven’s face as he realized this was still happening, that he hadn’t done a good enough job to rid him of his punishment entirely. But he didn’t resist this time—the slightest tug of the chain would now make him scream in agony. He’d do whatever he had to to avoid any more pulling against his dislocated shoulder, and he immediately scrambled to his feet and stumbled to follow Wes’ motion, his legs shaking. 

Wes pushed the sliding glass door open and Seven felt terror grip his chest. The roar of the storm intensified tenfold—the cold wind bit at his exposed skin and his feet stopped moving altogether. 

“No— No no nonono—“ he was panicking again. “Wait— W-wait please—I can’t do this—I wanna be good— Sir please!!” It was a desperate cry for mercy. A soul-baring plea from a doomed man to a god. He’d already dislocated his fucking shoulder—he’d let Wes fuck his throat—how was that not punishment enough?

Wes was done arguing about it. He yanked the chain and Seven shrieked at the pain that stabbed through his shoulder. He had no choice. His feet moved automatically now. 

Smug with the way this injury was working out for him, Wes dragged a now sobbing Seven outside into the pouring rain, letting him stumble along the slick tile of the terrace all the way to the edge of the balcony. Wes fisted a hand into Seven’s now sopping wet hair and shoved him down to his knees. Seven didn’t struggle, but wailed the whole time. Wes then wound the chain around the railing, pulling it tight so that Seven was bound in place, kneeling with his hands behind him—bound with less than a foot of chain between his cuffed wrists and the metal bar of the railing. 

When the heavy padlock snapped into place and Seven’s position was secured, Wes stepped back to inspect his work. At that exact moment, a clap of lightning exploded around them, lighting Wes’ expression like something out of a nightmare. His mouth was twisted into a scowl, yet he squinted down at Seven with a satisfied smugness. His plan in motion—servant finally secured where he would serve his real punishment—Wes towered over Seven like a wrathful deity, relishing in his victory. 

Seven stared up at his Master with desperate, pleading eyes, crying uncontrollably at the pain in his shoulder and the horror of his situation. 

“PLEASE—!” He pleaded over the roar of the thunder. “Please d-don’t leave me out here Sir— ple-h-ease—” 

Wes’ hand was back in Seven’s hair, tugging his head as far back as it would go and leaning over him, his own manic grin inches above Seven’s terrified eyes. 

Rainwater poured from his hair down onto his servant’s face. “You’re gonna have to learn what happens when you decide to be a fucking whore for anyone that isn’t me.”

Wes shoved Seven’s head away and it cracked against the glass panel of the railing. Sparks flashed across his vision and Seven crumpled like a ragdoll into a heap of broken sobs. 

Wes stared down at him for a moment. God he looked fucking pathetic like this. It satisfied him to see Seven reduced to such a state. He looked forward to the sight he’d be greeted with in the morning. 

With a sharp and final kick to the servant’s ribs, Wes turned and walked back across the puddled terrace towards the warmth of the penthouse. He could hear Seven’s desperate pleading the whole time, sobbing and screaming out against the din of the rain. “PLEASE!! Please don’t go Sir, please don’t— don’t leave me— Sir PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME OUT H—“

Wes crossed the threshold back into the warm penthouse and slammed the sliding door shut behind him. He was soaked to the bone. He left puddled footsteps as he made his way up the staircase, on his way to take a hot fucking shower. 

༻✦༺

PART TWO IS UP!!

SEVEN TAGLIST (ask to be added!)

@oddsconvert @blood-is-compulsory @lonesome--hunter @silversanimewhump @whatwasmyprevioususername 

@suspicious-whumping-egg @theonewithallthefixations @saltyemrys @writing-and-trying @veyroswin 

@whumpdreamz @kitstorm @amazingmagda @honeycollectswhump @ijustwannareadsomestuff 

@fleshand-blood @cryptobiolliegy @whumper-whimsy @electrons2006  @abmwrites 

@ichortwine @pumpkin-spice-whump @jumpywhumpywriter @angstandwhumplover @morning-star-whump 

@softvampirewhump @technicallydeliciousdeer  @scoundrelwithboba  @whumpsday @hellodecisionparalysis

@lolrpop @hiddencowboybarbarian @wolfolkstar @elfwhump @andithewhumper @hueningplushie 

@theloveofwhump @light-me-on-pyre  @hihi24

He anxiously looked around, trying to make sense of the situation. He remembered walking home from work in the rain, he remembered feeling anxious, feeling like he was being watched, and then… he remembered Warren. One of his professors, Warren Calloway, a nice man he’d always felt comfortable around. He remembered Warren offering him a ride, insisting it was unsafe to walk alone, only to take him somewhere secluded, drag him back to the car when he tried to run, and drug him so he fell unconscious. Warren had done this to him, judging by the look of things, Warren had been planning this for some time, and now, he would have to wait on him if he wanted any answers. As badly as he wanted to know what was going on, he also dreaded seeing that man again.

He tried to think of another way out, he pulled open the drawer in the nightstand hoping to find something he could attempt to pick the lock or break the chain with, but he wasn’t that lucky. All he found were condoms, lube, and a pair of handcuffs. His stomach turned, any hope he had of this being something other than the worst case scenario was shattered instantly. He was all the more desperate to escape, he started inspecting the cuff again, looking for a weak point in the chain, anything. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding, he was so focused on finding a way out that when the door across the room finally opened, it startled him. He gasped, his head shot up to see Warren, walking casually into the room.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake.” He said it like this was… nothing. Like there was nothing odd about the situation, as if he’d just let Aster crash on his couch after a rough night. He was calm, friendly even, nothing like the cold, scary man Aster had seen before he’d passed out. This just scared him even more.

“W-Warren…?” He stammered, looking around anxiously. “What- what is all this?”

“Do you like it?” Warren asked, he sat down on the edge of the bed, which prompted Aster to push himself further into the corner. “I tried my best to get it as close as possible to your bedroom, I wanted you to feel at home.”

“Like it?” Aster asked, his eyebrows raised. “What are you- what do you mean like it?!” He cried, hugging one of the leaf shaped pillows close to his chest. “How did you even do this- have you been in my fucking room?!”

“Of course not.” Warren said, he was giving Aster a look as if he were odd for even thinking that. He took his phone from his pocket, Aster watched as he swiped across the screen before showing him one of his own social media accounts, the last post he’d made was yesterday, showing off his outfit in the mirror. In the background, his bed was clearly visible, as were the lamp on his nightstand, and the dragonfly lights above his bed. He knew very well that he had even more pictures up that would’ve shown more angles of his room. “You share quite a bit online. I was able to piece it all together from your posts alone.”

“How… How long have you been planning this…?” He asked, his voice wavering, and Warren smiled at him, kind, affectionate even, and very unnerving in these circumstances.

“Since the first time I laid eyes on you.” He said, setting his phone down on the nightstand. Aster felt a chill run up his spine. “Back in September, the first time I saw you in my class, I knew I had to have you to myself.” He moved closer to him, and again Aster tried to push himself back, but he was already as far into the corner as he could get. “You were so beautiful, and then when I saw you again at the start of this semester, I knew you must’ve felt the same way.” At this point he had Aster trapped against the wall, Aster flinched when he raised his hand but he only placed it against his face, his thumb caressing his cheek.

“I didn’t!” Aster cried, his heart racing. “I just- I just needed the fucking class, and I thought you were a nice professor, not- not a goddamn freak!” He swore he saw the corner of Warren’s mouth twitch, that smile threatening to fall.

“That’s fine.” He said calmly. “You can learn. You’ve always been so smart.” He brushed his hair back from his face, and then he leaned in and kissed him. Despite everything in his body telling him to push him away, to bite him, to fight back, Aster simply… froze.

Oh god. Oh god no. This can’t be happening. Not again, please, dear god not again, He silently begged, tears welling up in his eyes. He was too scared too move, too scared of what might happen to him if Warren thought he was resisting, all he could do was sit there and let him kiss him, clutching that pillow to his chest still, the only thing providing him some small sense of comfort in this moment. And even that couldn’t last very long, as Warren pulled back, he pried the pillow from Aster’s hands and tossed it aside.

“Now baby, I don’t want to hurt you…” He said, resting his hand on Aster’s thigh.

“You already hurt me.” He said, his voice shaking. Warren ignored him.

“So I need you to behave for me. It’ll feel good for you too, I promise.” He said, he pulled Aster by the hips so he was laying down, staring up at him in horror.

“Warren- Warren, please, please no…” His voice cracked, he didn’t even care, he was terrified.

“It’s alright, I’m going to take good care of you.” Warren said, he undid the button on his pants, in a panic Aster tried to push his hands away and Warren sighed. He straddled his legs to hold him down and reached for the drawer in the nightstand, Aster’s heart sank. He’d forgotten about the handcuffs.

“Wait- wait please!” He cried as Warren took them out, locking one around one wrist. “Please, I- I’ll have sex with you! I’ll do it, I’ll have sex with you, just please- please don’t restrain me! I swear it, I’ll do- I’ll do whatever you want me to if you jus-just let me go home after.” He begged, and Warren smiled at him, his head tilted slightly, like he’d just said something adorable and amusing.

“Oh, sweetheart. You are home.” He told him, and Aster sobbed. He pulled the chain through the bars of the headboard and then locked the cuff around his other wrist, having to wrestle his arm above his head as Aster desperately tried to push him away. He still yanked against the handcuffs, the metal bit into his skin, he didn’t care, he just wanted out.

“Let me go!” He cried, pulling as if he could somehow break the chain, twisting and thrashing beneath Warren in an attempt to buck him off.

“Hey- hey, look at me,” Warren said, he’d placed his hand on his cheek again, “You need to relax, you’re going to be alright. Take a deep breath now-“

“No!” Aster screamed, he didn’t want to hear a word he had to say, he just wanted this to stop. Warren had run out of patience with him, he drew back and slapped him across the face, doing so a second time when Aster didn’t stop wailing. He roughly grabbed him by the face and leaned down so they were close, his eyes narrowed.

*”Listen to me,”* He warned, “I can make this nice for you, or I can make it very, very painful. I’m sure you know which one you’d prefer, so stop throwing a fucking fit and be good.” He growled. Aster whimpered, his jaw clenched as he struggled to hold back his sobs, and he reluctantly nodded.

Tears continued to stream down his face while Warren got off his legs, only so he could unzip his pants, pulling his pants and boxers off him. Of course they caught on the chain, but that ultimately didn’t matter, they were no longer an obstacle to Warren. He did the same with his shirt, pushing it over his head and arms until it caught at his wrists, leaving him completely exposed. Aster had to squeeze his eyes shut, he couldn’t stand to look at Warren’s face, he was looking over his body hungrily, Aster wasn’t entirely sure if he was about to fuck him or about to take a bite out of him like an animal.

Warren forced his legs apart, though Aster resisted at first, he was scared of what Warren would do if he kept fighting. He choked back a sob when he felt Warren’s hands between his legs, he wasn’t being rough or particularly forceful, just… exploring. It was as if he was learning every inch of his body, fingers teasing over his entrance, brushing over his dick with a featherlight touch and causing him to squirm, whimpering uncomfortably.

“Warren… please stop…” He whined, though he knew it was useless. “I-I don’t want this…”

“Shhh, just relax.” He said softly, focusing more on his cock, rubbing gentle, slow circles that made him nauseous, even as heat pooled in his stomach. He felt like he didn’t have control of his own body, his cock twitched, his hips moved, searching for more stimulation as Warren made slow work of this, which only encouraged the man. “See- baby, you’re wet already. Of course you want this, you just need to let yourself enjoy it.”

Not again. This can’t be happening again, He felt like he was dreaming, this had to just be a nightmare. He had plenty of nightmares after the first time, he still did, surely this was just another thing his brain had conjured up to torment him with. He’d wake up soon, in his bed, his actual bed, in his cousin’s apartment, his roommate on the other side of the wall.

He kept praying he’d wake up.

He cried out when Warren slipped a finger inside him, he moved slowly, like he was trying not to overwhelm him, but it didn’t make this any better, nothing could. Aster tried to close his legs again so Warren used his other hand to hold his leg down, situating himself in between them.

“Just relax baby, I don’t want to have to tie your legs down too.” He warned him, though Aster could only keep crying in response. It didn’t hurt, but it was unwanted all the same, uncomfortable and intrusive and completely impossible to ignore. After spending some time getting him used to the intrusion, he added a second finger, Aster squirmed in his handcuffs, his head thrown back in discomfort.

“Warren, please.” He begged, tears streaming down his face, soaking the pillow beneath his head.

“I know, I know, you need more.” He said, pumping his fingers in and out, in and out, Aster felt he’d be sick.

“N-no, no, stop!” He cried, his voice pitched up, the sound be made completely contradicting what he said- in Warren’s mind, anyway.

“I can’t do that, not when you’re moaning so pretty for me.” He teased, and Aster groaned in frustration. Warren heard it differently, of course. “See, I told you it would feel good. Just let yourself relax.” He coaxed him, but it wasn’t working, his body was tense with fear and discomfort, his hands balled up into fists above his head, his body trembling as he resisted every urge he had to fight against the man. “What’s the matter, is this your first time?” He asked him, and Aster frantically shook his head.

“No, Warren- I’m scared!” He cried, searching for some mercy, some sympathy that would never come.

“You don’t need to be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He told him again.

You are hurting me. You’re hurting me right now. Please, just let me wake up. I don’t want to be here, let me wake up already.

Warren took his time fingering him, Aster whined and moaned when he rubbed his dick while his fingers were still inside him, as much as he hated it, his body reacted anyway. His face was flushed, he was burning up even in the cold basement air. Warren was still talking to him, but he did his best to tune it out. He shuddered when Warren finally pulled his hand away, taking a deep, shaky breath to try and calm himself down, but of course, it wasn’t over. Warren shifted, he heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone, a zipper pulled down, he bit his lip, his body trembling as he cried.

“Come on pretty boy, open your eyes now.” He told him, holding Aster by the hip to position him the way he wanted. Aster shook his head, he didn’t want to have to see it happen, as long as his eyes were closed he could continue to believe it was all just a bad dream. Warren dug his nails into his skin, and when Aster only squirmed in discomfort he was grabbed by the face, Warren tightly gripping his jaw. “I said open your fucking eyes.” He ordered, and finally, reluctantly, Aster’s teary eyes fluttered open, looking at Warren’s own flushed face. He still had that look on his face, looking at Aster like he wanted to devour him. “That’s better. Keep them open, okay?”

“Please don’t…” He whimpered, a final, weak attempt that he knew wouldn’t get him anywhere. Warren was partially undressed now, he had his cock in his hand. He was already hard, Aster couldn’t keep watching but he was also scared of angering Warren so instead he looked away, up at the ceiling. His breath hitched as Warren pushed inside him, again slow, giving him time to adjust, but no amount of “care” could change what was happening here, what Warren was doing to him. He cried with the first full thrust, and Warren swore under his breath, every sound Aster made only spurred him on. He held his hips tight enough to bruise, Aster could feel him watching him, studying his face. He didn’t know if he was giving him what he wanted, if he was reacting the way he was “meant” to, he didn’t care, he just continued to stare up at the ceiling, at the dragonfly lights, tears rolling down his face.

He couldn’t wake up. It wasn’t a dream.

***

Tag List: @whump-queen @inhurtandincomfort