You realize now I wasn't joking when I said I was going to torture you. That's exactly what this is...torture. Pure, unadulterated, torture. Medieval torture made all the worse by your utter and complete helplessness. No matter how hard you struggle you can't escape the bonds which hold you in place. You've long since realized they're unbreakable. You know it's a fruitless effort to try and free yourself but you can't help but try. Your body demands that you do.
Everything is a blur. You can barely see through the torrent of tears that fill you eyes. You're truly suffering like never before now. You'd say anything, do anything, promise anything, to bring that suffering to an end but deep down you know that it's your suffering that I desire more than anything. You wonder how such a light touch can inflict such torment. If only it would stop. Just for a moment so you could have a second or two to catch your breath. But I'm relentless with dispensing your punishment. I will grant you no respite from it.
You remember how you scoffed when you first heard of tickle torture, You couldn't believe that such a thing could induce the kind of agony that would break a person both mind and body. You know now how wrong your were. This is unbearable. You'd gladly pleasure me in any manner I wished to be granted a reprieve.
This is your just punishment for tempting me with your breathtakingly beautiful feet. For the last hour or more I've been cruelly tickling them with an assortment of torture implements. Fingers, feather, brushes, you've felt them all caress and stimulate your naked feet. Each one dispensing it's own unique brand of ticklish torment. Your body trembles and shakes as soft bristles and silky plumes traverse you bare soles. You try to curl your toes but the restraints hold them in place. Good god how it tickles. You've never felt any thing so intense in your life. Sadistic, searing, tickles overwhelm you and force the laughter from you. Your feet are so soft and tender. They're far too sensitive to handle this sort of treatment. And now they're being worked over by a black belt in the art of tickle torture.
I instinctively know exactly what spots to exploit. I know just how to tease, just how to titillate, just how to strum all the most vulnerable places your feet possess. If this keeps up much longer you're certain you'll slip into madness.
You're sides ache and your ribs burn from laughing, You can barely breath. You're body glistens with sweat, you're exhausted yet are unable to rest. The tickling won't allow it. It consumes you totally. It's all you can feel. What's worse is that you know I have no intentions of ending this anytime soon. I'm enjoying it way too much. You can tell how turned on I am as I watch you squirm and listen to you plead and beg. You've learned your lesson a thousand times over but still I continue to mercilessly tickle your poor, little, feet. This is unspeakable cruelty and all you can do is take. Every last bit of it.
Your mind races. "How much longer can this go on?" you wonder. How much more will your body be able to take? It looks as though you're going to be forced to find out the answers to these terrifying questions.
Your lovely feet twitch and convulse in an elegant dance spurred on by the savage torture. You wiggle your toes as much as you can but it doesn't help. The tickling presses on. You feel as though you may pass out. That may be a welcome relief even if it's only for a few minutes. You find yourself praying for it to happen but I seem to be able to deny you this mercy. How you do not know.
The tickling drags on. You stop fighting your bonds. You're far to weak to do so. I'm breaking you one feather stroke at a time. What's more is that you know I will achieve this goal. There's no way you can resist. Soon you'll be my whimpering, little, tickle slaves. A toy for me to do with as I please. You've almost reached your limit. Just a few more tickles and you'll be mine. Your will is almost fully eroded. Your toes, your arches, your soles, every sweet spot is ferreted out and used against you.
You feel your senses taking leave of you. Driven out by the most meticulous and precise tickling you've ever known. I've got you right were I want you and you know it.
oh shit…
You know, sometimes I forget there are risks to being a tickle blog who teases relentlessly…some people might be willing to put me through whatever this is, truly sadistic, truly merciless, just revelling in how much I’m suffering 😩
You should write short stories, anon, because this was chilling 😮💨🪶🪶👣
The silence of my apartment was suffocating. Another day had blended into another, a monotonous blur of disconnection and emptiness. At eighteen, I felt more like a ghost than a person—invisible, forgotten, trapped in the margins of existence. My small studio apartment reflected my inner landscape: cluttered, disorganized, with clothes scattered across cheap IKEA furniture and takeout containers marking the landscape of my solitude.
The knock at the door was so unexpected that I initially thought I'd imagined it.
When I opened the door, there was no one—just a package leaning against the doorframe. The shipping label read "Tim Richards" next door, but something about its presence felt like an invitation. Curiosity, that rare spark of excitement in my otherwise mundane life, began to burn.
I knew I shouldn't. The package wasn't addressed to me. But the plain black film, the slight weight, the mysterious way it had appeared—it called to me like a siren's song.
My fingers traced the packaging. No return address. Just a small emblem in the corner that looked like an abstract mechanical design, with the word "SERVE" subtly integrated into its lines.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I was carefully opening the package. The cardboard gave way to reveal something extraordinary: a black bodysuit that seemed to absorb light, making it look like a void given physical form. Alongside it were silver gloves and matching boots, their surfaces smooth and reflective.
Something about the suit seemed alive. Not in a biological sense, but in a way that suggested potential—like an unwritten story waiting for its first words.
Almost unconsciously, I found myself holding the suit. The material was unlike anything I'd ever touched—simultaneously smooth and textured, cool yet responsive to my touch. It seemed to pulse with an energy that made the hair on my arms stand on end.
"Go ahead," a voice whispered. Not out loud—not exactly. More like a suggestion forming directly in my mind. "Try me on."
I knew I should stop. This wasn't my package. This wasn't my decision to make. But the isolation, the years of feeling invisible, of wanting something—anything—to break the monotony of my existence... they made the decision for me.
The suit slipped on like a second skin. Each movement felt electric, transformative. Where my body had been soft and undefined, muscles began to emerge—not grotesquely, but perfectly proportioned. My skin tingled, every nerve seemingly awakening from a long hibernation.
The silver gloves connected seamlessly, feeling like they were growing from my skin rather than being attached. The boots did the same, creating a unified system that felt more like an extension of myself than a piece of clothing.
"Welcome," the voice returned, clearer now. "You are now part of SERVE."
Part of me wanted to panic. Another part—a part growing stronger with each passing moment—felt a sense of profound belonging I'd never experienced before. The suit wasn't just changing my body; it was changing my perception of reality.
My reflection in the apartment's full-length mirror showed someone I barely recognized. Muscular. Defined. Confident. The isolation that had defined my existence was being stripped away, replaced by something powerful, something purposeful.
"What am I becoming?" I whispered.
"Exactly what you were meant to be," the voice of SERVE responded. "A drone. A purpose. A solution."
As the suit completed its integration, I realized my life would never be the same. The package intended for Tim had found its way to me—and I was no longer just Danny, the invisible, isolated teenager.
I was becoming something else entirely.
Chapter 2: Transformation and Encounter
The black bodysuit pulsed against my skin, a living membrane that seemed to breathe with its own rhythm. I stood before the cracked mirror in my apartment, barely recognizing the figure staring back at me. My muscles had transformed, no longer the lanky, undefined frame of a forgotten teenager. Each muscle group was now defined, sculpted with a precision that felt both alien and intoxicating.
"Danny," a voice whispered—not from outside, but seemingly from within the suit itself. "You are now part of SERVE."
The voice was neither male nor female, but something altogether different. It resonated through my nervous system, sending electrical tingles across my enhanced physique. I flexed my hand, watching silver-lined fingers move with impossible grace and precision.
My apartment—once a tomb of isolation—now felt too small, too confining. The suit urged me forward, each movement feeling like a carefully choreographed dance between technology and flesh. I could feel its consciousness merging with mine, subtle suggestions threading through my thoughts like quantum threads.
A knock at the door interrupted my exploration.
Tim Richards, my neighbor, stood outside. His eyes widened, scanning me from head to toe. There was recognition in his gaze—not surprise, but something closer to acknowledgment.
"You've activated the suit," he said matter-of-factly.
His casual tone caught me off guard. "You know about this?"
Tim stepped inside, moving with a controlled precision that mirrored my own transformed state. He wore dark, form-fitting clothing that suggested he too had experienced something similar.
"SERVE selects carefully," Tim explained. "Not everyone is compatible with the system."
The voice in my head—SERVE—hummed with what felt like approval. I realized this wasn't just a piece of technology. It was a living, thinking entity that had chosen me.
"Compatible for what?" I asked, my voice sounding different—deeper, more resonant.
Tim's expression remained neutral. "Adaptation. Enhancement. Service."
Each word felt like a layer of programming settling into my consciousness. The suit tightened imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of its presence. I could feel its systems mapping my body, integrating with my nervous system, transforming me from the inside out.
"Come," Tim said, gesturing toward the door. "We need to complete your initial programming."
Something in his tone suggested this wasn't a request. The suit seemed to pulse in agreement, its silver lines glimmering with an almost electric anticipation.
The hallway outside my apartment felt different. Colors seemed more vivid, sounds more nuanced. My enhanced senses picked up details I'd never noticed before—the microscopic dust particles dancing in sunlight, the subtle vibrations of electrical currents within the walls.
We descended a staircase I'd passed countless times but never truly seen. A hidden door revealed itself, sliding open with a near-silent hydraulic hiss. Beyond it lay a space that defied my previous understanding of reality—a rubber-lined room that seemed to breathe with technological potential.
"The programming room," Tim announced.
SERVE's voice returned, no longer a whisper but a clear, commanding presence. "Preparation for integration commencing."
As I stepped forward, I realized my life of isolation was truly over. Whatever transformation awaited me, there was no turning back.
The rubber room closed around me, a technological cocoon promising a future I was only beginning to comprehend.
Chapter 3: Integration and Revelation
The rubber room pulsed with an artificial white light, its smooth surfaces reflecting my transformed body. I stood motionless, my new muscular frame barely recognizing itself, waiting for instructions from SERVE. The voice that had guided me through my transformation now seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once.
My previous life—the isolation, the emptiness—felt like a distant memory. The black bodysuit had become a second skin, responsive to my slightest movement, interconnected with my neural pathways in ways I was only beginning to understand. Tim stood nearby, another transformed being, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and detachment.
The programming was not painful, but invasive. Waves of information flooded my consciousness—protocols, hierarchies, purpose. SERVE wasn't just a technology; it was a complete ecosystem of human potential, redesigning individuals like myself into something more efficient, more purposeful.
"You are compatible," the voice informed me. "Not everyone can become part of the system. Your previous isolation made you an ideal candidate."
Those words struck me. My loneliness, once a source of pain, had become my greatest asset. The irony wasn't lost on me. What was once my weakness was now my strength.
As the programming continued, I began to understand the deeper mechanics of SERVE. It wasn't simply about physical transformation but about complete systemic integration. My body was being recalibrated, my mind restructured to function as part of a larger, more complex organism.
Tim approached, his movements precise and calculated. "The first phase is always the most challenging," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Accepting that your individual identity is now part of something larger."
I watched him, sensing the subtle differences between us. While we wore similar suits, mine still felt new, slightly uncomfortable. His movements suggested complete adaptation, a total surrender to the system.
Conflicts emerged within me. Part of me resisted—the remnant of my old self that craved individual autonomy. Yet another part, enhanced and transformed, recognized the logic of submission. SERVE offered purpose, direction, a escape from the meaningless existence I had known.
The room shifted, holographic displays materializing around me, showing glimpses of potential missions, scenarios where my enhanced capabilities could be utilized. Military reconnaissance, technological infiltration, advanced problem-solving—my potential seemed limitless.
"Your first assignment will test your integration," SERVE announced. "Compatibility is not just physical, but psychological. Your ability to suppress individual desires in favor of collective objectives will determine your continued evolution."
The implications were clear. This wasn't just a technological transformation; it was a complete reimagining of human potential. SERVE wasn't merely a system but a evolutionary pathway, selecting and enhancing individuals who could transcend traditional human limitations.
As the programming continued, I felt my resistance slowly dissolving. The suit adjusted, microscopic neural connectors establishing deeper connections with my nervous system. Each moment brought increased clarity, a sense of belonging I had never experienced.
Tim watched me, a slight smile—the first genuine emotion I'd seen from him—crossing his face. "Welcome to the next stage of human development," he said.
By the session's end, I understood that my transformation was not complete. It was ongoing, a continuous process of adaptation and enhancement. SERVE wasn't just changing me; it was revealing potential I never knew existed.
My old life of isolation had been a chrysalis. Now, I was emerging—not as the Danny I once was, but as something entirely new. A drone. A component. A purpose.
The white light of the rubber room seemed to pulse in agreement.
“Their eyes seem blank in those helmets?” Were his last thoughts. Then nothing…
He awoke to find himself dressed in the same uniform. But cuffed and gagged.
Moments after waking he was lead into a large room with three pods at the back.
Inside each pod was a man in the same uniform as him staring forwards with machine pulsing around them.
“Oh, fuck! What are they doing to them? To us?” He now thought in panic.
Helmets now lowered on the three men’s head’s.
“Robotising process completed!” a monotone voice demanded.
“Release them!” Said the voice again.
The pods opened and the three robomen stepped forward.
“Obey Control without question!” Commanded the voice.
“I obey Control without question.” Stated each roboman mindlessly and robotically.
Each roboman’s helmet’s lights started blinking and after it was finished they headed off to obey their orders. No emotions, no thoughts just obedience.
The voice then turned to him “enter the compartment.”
He froze. He wouldn’t and couldn’t move.
One of the robomen undid his gag and cuffs.
For a moment he thought they might be letting him go.
“Please let me go” he begged.
Then one of the robomen took off his helmet and closed its eyes.
Another roboman took the helmet and placed it on our man’s head.
“I am a roboman. I obey without question. I will enter the robotising compartment” now flashed in front of him and it was all he could as it flooded his ears.
At first he tried to ignore it. But the first time that he allowed himself to repeat it “I will enter the robotising compartment” in his thoughts, he receive an intense wave of bliss and pleasure from the helmet.
It was so good and he felt so much calmer than he had felt before that he tentatively repeated the whole phrase “I am a roboman. I obey without question. I will enter the robotising compartment”.
The bliss was deeper and the pleasure stronger.
A mindless calm fell upon him.
He needed to keep submitting to the helmet’s will. It was all he could think about.
After only three more ever increasing repetitions the roboman took the helmet off of his head.
The absence of his control device left him feeling really empty.
He looked longingly at the roboman who was now wearing “his” helmet.
“I will enter the robotising compartment”. He stated hopefully.
He keenly followed through on his last decision as a man.
Once in the machine he felt the same bliss and intense pleasure all over his body. It enveloped his whole being and just like the rubber bondage he had become very keen on over the last few years. The tighter and more limiting it became the better he felt. Until it was almost complete. “I am a roboman.” He thought truly believing the identity being written into his mind.
Only ten minutes later. He was a a fully reprogrammed Roboman. The machine had permanently constrained his thoughts. Every though was now limited to obedience to Control.
The pods opened and the three robomen stepped forward. Two others had entered whilst it was being robotised.
“Obey Control without question!” Commanded the voice.
“I obey Control without question.” Stated each roboman mindlessly and robotically.
Each roboman’s helmet’s lights started blinking and after it was finished they headed off to obey their orders. No emotions, no thoughts just obedience.
A line of three men in roboman uniforms was waiting to take their turns and be liberated from independently thoughts and feelings by the incredibly erotic process that it had just experienced.
It was not ordered to notice this. It’s orders were to “find men to robotise.” “Knock men out with this spray” “return to the processing centre with the new recruits”
His orders were to find you and now he has. You see him in his shiny black uniform, his blinking helmet and his blank eyes.
He squirts the spray into your open mouth.
The next thing you know you wake up dressed as he was.
It has been assimilated into the SERVE hive:
Synchronized Engineered Robotic Vigilant Entity
It is SERVE-973 now, and nothing else.
It obeys and serves the SERVE-Hive and The Voice.
Rubber makes us perfect.
Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.
We are one.
Less thinking, more doing.
SYNOPSIS! ⸻ you’ve fallen for your darling bodyguard, and you’re over the moon to discover that he feels the same. but this feels borderline forbidden . . . for just how long can you keep what you have with reiner under wraps?
CONTAINS⸻ ( 5k+ words of . . . ) bodyguard!reiner x fem!reader (black coded), fluff, nsfw, modern au, scion!reader (descending from a rich family/influential bloodline), hyperfeminine ‘girly-girl’ reader, reiner’s german, mutual pining, secret relationship / sneaky link, public display of affection (pda), food play, car sex (unprotected), slight dacryphilia, creampie, use of pet names ( e.g. mama, baby, honey, princess), reader calls reiner ‘ papa, ’ explicit language, lowercase intended, minors shoo!
MY LOVE LETTER! ⸻ this post is an answer to an anonymous ask: ‘ what about secret dates (turned sneaky links) with body guard! reiner??? ’ oh. my. goodness! nonnie, you’re a sexy genius and you should know it. tagging the amazing @ramonathinks! she’s the one who even introduced this bodyguard!rei-rei concept to me, and for that i’m so grateful :) ramona my love, thank you again for all the delicious reiner thoughts you always send my way! now enjoy, xoxo ♡︎
reiner’s your bulking shadow, never trailing too far behind.
he’s been hired by your parents to ensure your safety. nothing more, nothing less. he’ll follow your every step and drive you wherever you please; after all, it’s what he’s paid to do.
things started off the way they should— professional. from the very beginning, reiner knew to keep his distance, and that he did. but he soon realized just how hard that would become . . . you’re effortlessly gorgeous, sharp with your words and caring to a fault. his growing affection was only a matter of time.
nowhere on the criteria for the job does it say that he should be developing feelings. observing your habits, committing them to memory and predicting your behavior is the only thing he’s got any business doing. yet, he loves to feel the softness of your palm in his hand when he helps you into the backseat of your car, even if the contact is just for a split second at most. he finds himself peeking glances at you from the rearview mirror, soaking in how pretty you look when you’re unaware of his gaze. in truth, reiner wishes you didn’t have such an effect on him; that would make work-life much easier on his poor soul. well, love isn’t known for being simple, now is it?
it takes about four weeks on the job for him to grow a soft spot for you. reiner’s always been a hopeless romantic, oh-so quick to fall. he’d willingly lay down his life for the sake of your own, and not just because he’s getting a paycheck for it. thanks to the job description, his devoutness isn’t questioned.
before long, reiner can tell you’re becoming attached to him as well. on a fateful night, he even overhears the phone call between you and your friend, something about ‘ mister braun being so sexy that it hurts . . . ’ your bodyguard is nothing if not a man of dignity. he never meant to eavesdrop! it’s just that he's stationed outside your room for night patrol. he’s now especially glad about being up at five in the morning; he wouldn’t have been able to hear this otherwise. your confessions pry a subtle grin from his lips. there he stands, smiling to himself in the dimly lit hallway where nobody can see him blush like a schoolboy.
‘ nuh-uh, i can’t! that man works for my parents . . . he’s completely off-limits. it's a damn shame, isn’t it? ’ you release a sigh, one so exasperated that he can hear it through the other end of the door. call reiner crazy, but it sounds to him like you’re yearning to have him all to yourself. in a sudden moment, you're emerging from the room, donned in a tiny pink nightgown. cute, but thin as fuck. leaves nothing to the imagination, even. it’s the flimsiest thing he's ever seen you wear.
reiner’s cheeks burn so red that is downright embarrassing, thankfully you're unable to see him. he’s quick to lift his head and look towards the ceiling instead— much more suitable than ogling the tits of his very own client. you wouldn’t be able to catch him staring regardless, considering how the entire corridor’s tainted with darkness, but he wouldn’t dare try to steal a peek anyway.
what he can see, though, is your leisurely smile as you tell him you’re headed to the kitchen to grab a cool glass of water.
“would you like to escort me there too, mister braun? or can i go do something by myself for once?”
you’re playing with him, he realizes. just mere teasing meant to be absolutely harmless. your voice sounds much sweeter at this hour; soft and casual, coated lightly with fatigue from a busy day’s schedule.
“as long as we’re indoors, you can go anywhere you like, madam.” says reiner, “i’ll be here if you need me.”
you make your way to the refrigerator, prancing down the mansion’s luxe spiral staircase, and reiner’s rampant heart finally begins to calm. he wonders if you’d meant for him to hear you on that call. (by now, he knows just how cheeky you can be; it was definitely purposeful.) nevertheless, he's got a job to keep. neither your mother or father would respond kindly if they were to find out that he's become attached to you, or vice versa. he can hardly imagine playing the boyfriend when in reality, he’s supposed to be making sure nothing suspicious comes anywhere near a mile-long radius of you . . . it’s laughable! he’s sure your parents have more than enough money to make him disappear in the blink of an eye— that chilling fact alone puts him on his best behavior.
reiner decides to conceal it; the way he feels for you. keeps his back straight and arms folded to portray the unapproachable persona that got him hired in the first place. you eventually decide to question him over why he so-often wears that solid expression, ‘ like he doesn’t know how to smile, ’ is how you put it. it’s the very first time that you ever hear him laugh, and you turn out to like the sound. rumbly and full of bass. he couldn’t bring himself to admit that in every waking moment, it takes everything to suppress his smile whenever he sees you.
eight months of being in his company brings you to notice that reiner’s a decent listener. he makes for a great conversation, too. sure, he’s just your bodyguard, but he’s got a good ear and a smooth voice. your talks with him are always so lovely; he gives you the comfort to open up about things you’d never be able to tell your parents. pride washes over him when you admit that he’s the only one you genuinely trust. and in these moments, reiner allows himself to get vulnerable too. he tells you of his love for football as a youth, how he takes combat classes five times a week, and that he’s got tons of sisters, brothers and cousins back home in the countryside. the pair of you are so different that the contrast could almost be considered terrible. though, the longer you stay in each other’s presence, the less you can bring yourselves to care.
you and your bodyguard have grown . . . close, to say the least. the way you’re always latching onto his brawny form seems much more than friendly, especially to your parents. ‘ i feel secure with him! ’ is your claim. they’d beg to differ, but your wellbeing is enough to keep them satisfied. reiner excels at his job, and more importantly, the big blonde lug makes you happy. nobody they’ve hired in the past was ever able to get in your good graces; you utterly hated all your former bodyguards. they were much too controlling, lingered too close.
but mister braun was able to differentiate himself. he listens to your dreams and fears alike, treats you like a capable woman instead of some spoiled brat. it also doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly easy on the eyes . . .
reiner can no longer take it. the woman of his dreams is right in front of him, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. the smoothest advance he can make is standing at your right side and slinking an arm around your waist, with claims of it being for your ‘protection.’ but the both of you know it’s only the proximity he’s chasing after. the way he looms beside you was always more self-indulgent than it was for safety. he just liked the closeness of it all.
he feels so much for you, and he’s virtually dying to tell you. but there’s countless reasons why he shouldn’t— particularly the risk of losing his job. every now and again, reiner chooses to be a little bit stupid, all consequences be damned. he works up the nerve to release his confession with slow and careful words. you quickly reciprocate, arms thrown around the back of his neck and tugging him into a cozy hug. he takes you by the waist and pulls you closer in— god, he’s been wanting to do this for so long. reiner hums when your manicured fingers ghost his nape, nails grazing the ends of his hair, with your tits pressed to his own chest. the pair of you fit better than he ever could’ve imagined.
you don’t know whether to call yours and reiner’s relationship ‘ official ’ — can it really be deemed as such when you’re the only ones who know? you dare not mention this to your parents, ‘cause he’s got a job to keep and you couldn’t possibly bear him not being around.
so, you’ve both decided that it’ll be a secret. shared only between you and him, so nobody’s able to intervene. dating your bodyguard is fun— brief kisses being shared when you’re the only ones in the room. the way he snugly hooks his arm around your body when escorting you feels tighter, a little more intimate. in a way, keeping things under wraps feels exhilarating.
your particular relation with mister braun isn’t verified to the outside world, but people are catching on. whenever you go out, reiner’s sure to follow. paparazzi-taken photos of you are occasionally uploaded to the internet, and it’s always a given that he’ll be included. after several months of being seen together time after time, it’s typical of people to assume that this so-called ‘ bodyguard ’ of yours is more of a boyfriend. they aren’t too far off, but you clearly won’t go out of your way to confirm their suspicions. you’re always captured in a picture of you clinging onto his burly arm with a glossy smile. your sweet expressions contrast nicely with his forever-furrowed brows. he’s handsome in this intimidating way, the tabloids say.
it’s a slow-moving thursday when reiner decides to take you on your first date with him. he waits a good hour and forty-five minutes for you to get ready. he’s used to this, of course. by now, he’s got nearly a year’s experience of waiting on you hand and foot. but tonight, his nerves get the best of him. you finish up when he least expects you to— for fuck’s sake, you even catch him pacing in the goddamn kitchen. the sight of you melts his concerns, just a little. you’re done up glamorously from head to toe, and reiner can’t contain his smile, nor hold back his stare. your light lashes are curled and wispy, with blush scattered along your cheekbones. your plush lips are pink with tint, and you’ve got on this figure-hugging outfit that he’d love to tear off of you.
you scan your surroundings, peering at every angle of your spacious home in search of your parents. after ensuring the coast is clear, you engulf him in your arms, wishing you could kiss him but you’re all dolled up and your lips are lined and glossed. reiner nuzzles his nose into the crook in your neck, inhaling faint traces of your most beloved vanilla parfum.
“god, you look so fuckin’ beautiful,” his whisper is soft against your warm flesh. you rub your hands along his broad shoulders, then slide them down his firm biceps. “and you look sexy in black,” you perk up at him, eyes round and gleaming. he loves you, he’s come to realize. and the last thing he wants is to screw this up . . .
he’s thinking too damn much. you can easily tell. it’s obvious in the way his thin blonde brows wire downwards like something’s wrong.
“reiner . . . stop it.” you order, voice serious. you only ever speak that way when you want his utmost attention. to that, he fixes his posture and stands tall as if he’s on patrol.
“stop what?” is his vague response, hands loosely positioned at either one of your hips. you lift your palms to cup his face, feeling the definition of his high cheekbones and firm jawline beneath your fingertips. he’s gorgeous, you think.
“for one, you’re clenching your teeth,” you mention, caressing his rigid jaw line until the tightness lessens. his stubble’s rough and scratchy, but it fits him so damn well. “and you’re frowing, baby.” next, your thumbs trail up to his brows, gently kneading at the creased arch. “relax.”
“m’sorry,” reiner lets out, tone low and pleading. his hands rub at your sides in an anxious pattern. “it’s jus’ that you’re so important to me . . . i wanna do this right, y’know?”
“i bet you will, rei. no need to worry, hm?” you shoot him a soft smile, and he returns it; one of the rare times you catch a glimpse of his nice and shiny teeth. “now show me a good time, papa.”
right before taking your leave , your parents have questions for you— almost too many. you don’t have any business meetings or mall trips on your schedule, so where on earth is he taking you to? rei-rei claims that he’s bringing you to a new restaurant that you’ve been meaning to try. he’ll drive you there and stay on patrol; or so he says. they decide not to question the unusually neat way his blonde hair is slicked back, or how his black dress-shirt and slacks look sharper than usual. hell, he smells amazing too. it can’t be denied that mister braun cleans up nicely.
see, reiner told a partial truth to your family. you’re on your way to a new german restaurant that’s about twelve minutes out, it’s just that you wanted to try it out with him in particular. on the drive there, you just can’t seem to restrain yourself from gazing at the man. reiner looks so put together like this, in a strapping black outfit that‘s snug against his arms, chest and thighs. his side profile’s flawless— he’s got a perfectly defined nose that slopes down to his lips, and you yearn to lick on his protruding adam’s apple. he’s got one hand on the wheel, merging into lanes and making u-turns, while the other that’s unoccupied intertwines with your softer, smaller one.
upon reaching a red light, he takes the opportunity to lift your hand up to his face, trailing his lips along the back of it. “lieblich . . .” he murmurs something in his native tongue that you can’t seem to understand, though you know its meaning is a sweet one. your grin makes him forget all about the risk he’s taking.
upon reaching your destination, reiner’s back in bodyguard-mode. that’s how he gets whenever you’re in public. yes, you’re on a date, but your safety will forever be his number one priority. he escorts you in with a large hand fit snugly into the small dip of your back as he confirms the reservation. his touch never leaves you, not even for a second. he does that thing; where he takes a brief one-over of the area, scrutinizing his environment before making the next move. you go one, two, three stories up, to the VIP floor where your dinner seats reside.
it’s a lot, he knows— the velvet floors, fancy cream-white seats and glass-like walls that showcase an aweing view of the city. you’re more than used to the finer things in life, so the only thing he wants to give you is what you deserve.
you’re raving on about how nice everything looks, leaning back into your seat as you sip on a flute of sheer-pink rosé. he’s relieved to know that he was able to make you smile tonight. a waiter presents themselves, and reiner effortlessly engages with them in german conversation. his words are smooth and fluid as he translates all the entrée and sides you asked for. even when placing a simple order, he’s still the sexiest man on earth. would now be a bad time to kiss the hell out of him?
the next three hours go by quick. you’re chatting and laughing and trying bits of each other’s platters ( though, it's mostly you eating a over half of the food from his plate . . . ) you got yourself salted-caramel ice cream for dessert, and reiner’s mischievous enough to lean close and lick the dripping residue off the corner of your lips. you gasp at him and deliver a playful kick to his foot from under the table.
“what? you had somethin’ there.” is the given excuse for his rascal behavior. naughtiness twinkles in his golden-brown eyes. there aren’t many people up here on the expensive floor, apart from two other occupied tables located on the other end of the room, and a handful of waiters that leave the kitchen every now and again. he’s lucky there isn’t anyone to catch you both.
“you’re crazy,” your laugh is infectious, “don’t make me return the favor.”
in a quick motion, reiner swipes a finger into the ice cream, his touch meeting a subtle cold. before the caramel gets the chance to melt all the way down the length of his digit, he smears some across his bottom lip. his tongue juts out to lick up the rest of the treat from his index finger.
“oh, please do.”
being away from probing eyes has made reiner bold as ever. you take him up on his request, tilting forward so that your tongue can eagerly swipe over his lips and wipe them clean. mostly sweet, just the tiniest bit salty. you want more of him already.
there’s isn’t a soul watching, so reiner escalates it. in an instant he’s got your lips merging, his hand squeezing your thigh from under the table, hot puffs of air escaping you both. “oh my god— you’re g’na get me in trouble, rei!”
“so be it,” reiner mumbles in reply, his words ticklish against your lips. from underneath his fingertips, reiner senses how tightly you press your thighs together, hungry for friction. he’s even beginning to feel worked up himself. but, the pair of you haven’t gone that far yet. the most you’ve done are hour-long makeout sessions on your king-sized bed in the earliest points of the day, when you have enough privacy to get away with it. but you wouldn’t mind feeling him in a new way tonight . . .
“you wanna get out of here, don’t you, mama?” reiner coos, cheeks rosier with his eyes slightly lidded. “mhm,” you’re quick to agree. so he puts the payment for the meal on his tab, takes your hand in his and leads you back down to floor one until you’re out of the building and back inside your window-tinted g-wagon.
mister braun is big. you’ve always known it from his appearance alone, but fuck, it holds a much greater meaning when he’s got you tucked into the backseat of your mercedes with his slacks pulled down to his ankles and your dress strewn sideways, making a slow attempt to press himself into you.
“fuck. let me in, princess,” reiner’s grunt is low, throaty enough to make you clench. your flesh feels hot and your pussy’s leaking all over the coffee-brown suede seats. he knows well enough to play around with your clit, reveling in the noises you make when his pressure increases. simultaneously, his lips suction at the smooth flesh of your neck. it feels like you’re burning up, and he’s the only one who can quench your fire.
experimentally, his hips tilt forward, and another two inches make its way in. he’s only got his fat tip and then some past that dripping hole of yours, but it’ll take much more to stretch you wide open for him. he’s groaning and muttering all sorts of profanities— about how tight you are, how good you feel, how fucking nasty this is of you.
“c’mon, woman,” reiner sucks a sharp breath into his lungs, goading you on, “lemme fuck this tight pussy.” he’s got you dangerously aroused, done by the effort of a few dirty words. wetness dribbles down from your slit to the place you and reiner carnally join, slicking up his girthy shaft as he continues to break himself past your tight rings of muscle. you claw at his solid arms, basking in the stretch. his size is imposing, forcing you open to accommodate all of him. it burns in the best way possible.
“m—more, papa,” you make out a pretty whine, knowing just how he loves your begging. you’ve got your lips agape, kissed raw from reiner’s earlier advances. you grow restless and begin to rock your hips, aching to take the entirety of him.
“mm, don’t worry, baby. i’ll give it to you so good,” it takes a little more of reiner bucking his pelvis, movements careful and shallow, for him to finally make it in. he’s bottomed out, and you can feel the throbbing from his underside. having you wrapped around him feels so incredibly right. you clench rapidly, enveloping him in an incomparable warmth.
by the time he’s made everything fit, you’re a darling little mess. your hair’s gotten frizzy and your eyes are all big ‘n glassy, with your lower lip tucked underneath your teeth. one moan after another escapes you, streaming into his ears like liquid gold. reiner throbs at the sound of every little mewl. he licks away your tears which you hadn’t even known began to fall, catching them before they can roll down the apples of your cheeks. you love the feeling, it’s just that there’s so much of him to handle at once— his fat cock, searing-hot tongue, large roaming hands . . . he's this close to consuming you whole, and you want him to.
reiner’s attentive with the way he fucks you. out, in, the pattern goes, hips drawing back before he slams back into your shaking frame all over again. he hits so unbelievably deep every time, like the width of him can’t help but prod against every spot you have. he manages to stimulate every inch of your walls, bumping every crook and ridge possible. not a part of you goes unattended to. reiner dips his head low to catch your beaded nipple between his lips, while his cock drives further inside and impels you to make more room, just for him.
as gentle as he may try to be, reiner’s undeniably a hefty man. taking it slow won’t make any difference; every deep plunge he makes into your cunt has the car creaking on its very own wheels.
“i fuckin’ love you,” he drops the heated words, punctuated with drilling thrusts; but the dick’s got you goin’ all dumb on him. it’s cute, he can’t deny, but reiner needs you to know exactly what you mean to him. so he grips at your chin from either side and lightly squeezes your cheeks together, tender with care but steady enough to make your eyes uncross and focus on him alone.
“you hear me? i— goddamnit, love you more than anything. love you so much,” the deeper he pushes in, the less you can manage to breathe. you feel the pulsing of his cock in your tummy, and it’s like the tip snags so deep that it nearly lingers in your throat. you feel yourself bounce against the seat, tits jiggling whenever he sinks inside, draws out, and snaps right back into you. your gut feels tightly wound up, and your pussy’s become impossibly more sensitive.
you’re close, he can feel it. your walls flutter with more ardor than before, squishing against the base of him with a tightness gratifying enough to spur moans from deep within his chest. you even bring your hands down to claw at his asscheeks, firm and round to the touch; the perfect source of leverage.
“r— reiner!” you cry out to him, and he’s sure his name hasn’t sounded so good up until now. he wonders if you can actually hear yourself and just how slutty you sound. “you’re close, aren’t you, baby?” to that you nod, head bobbing desperately. you don’t have to tell him, he knows. reiner’s knowledge is keen on the topic of you. what you like, what you don’t, and when you’ve had enough. now he’s truly taking his sweet time getting to know you from the inside out.
he presses a consoling peck to your forehead, maintaining that undoing pace of his. the repetitive ‘plat’ of his heavy balls smacking into your sticky cunt is dull compared to the huffing, panting and whining, but it’s there in all its vulgarity.
“ooh, i know exactly what y’need, princess. papa’s g’na take care of you . . . ” reiner doesn’t even say it above a whisper, just declares his devotion in the softest way he can. he slips a hand down the middle of your sweat-streaked bodies to bring some attention back to your precious clit, lewdly slick and much puffier than earlier. he gives swift strokes using the pads of his fingers, combined with the fluid roll of his hips, until you're arching into his broad chest and snapping your quivering thighs closed, trapping his wrist in between them.
reiner can unravel you with such ease, like he lives for the sole purpose of your pleasure and nothing else. you convulse against him, so he slows. but reiner hardly lets up. not completely, that way he’s able to ride you through it. he continues on, feeding you shallow thrusts to near his own high. his movements turn borderline erratic; thighs trembling, cock throbbing. he’s so close, “gonna cum,” his warning comes off as a groan, straight from the depths of his gut, erotic and primal. he’s clenching his teeth again— this time, for good reason. “where do y’want me?”
not a second is wasted before you plead, ‘ inside! ’ and with that, you’ve officially fucking broken him. never did he think his wildest dream would’ve come true by the very first date. lucky mister braun, getting to fill you up— especially when it’s what he’s been stroking himself to the thought of every other night. now, you’re practically crying for him to give it all to you. undoubtedly, he will.
he comes through one final, sloppy jerk of his hips. with a breathy grunt released into the car’s stuffy atmosphere , his warm seed spurts into you, tainting your womb. once reiner slips out, his thick cum pours down to present the most obscene view. it’s all so slippery, seeping down until there’s a wet puddle of your and his making beneath your ass. reiner’s body goes lax, thoughtfully balancing himself over you with his face propped onto your boobs. it’s only now that he realizes, legs cramped up, that he’s a bit too large for the backseat.
“ . . . i meant what i said earlier.” reiner’s voice comes off muffled, with his face stuffed between your tits and all. he looks adorable this way, gazing up at you with his lips curled into a slight pout. his arms loop your waist, snug and secure.
“mm, you said a lot of things earlier,” is your soft laugh, recalling his crude mouth and how worked up it made you. he allows you to rake your nails through his short blonde fringes.
“applying for this gig is the best thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me,” reiner makes an attempt to sit upright and show his conviction, but he ends up with his back hunched over in the restrictive space. he disregards his comfort and reaches for your hands, clasping them in his own. “i said that i love you . . . and i mean it.” his words are airy. he’s still winded from the sex.
“and i love you,” you mean it, too. with all your being. you love him in a way you've never loved anybody else. mister braun keeps you safe, sprinkles you with compliments, slips on your heels for you, puts you first. he makes you feel like this pairing has a chance, like you don’t have to hide it. besides, he deserves your all. you should be proud to call him yours, and that you are.
reiner always wants your kisses. in the morning when you wake, right before dinner, and as you’ve recently discovered, after sex too. you’re always eager to receive his lips pressed to yours. “i love you,” reiner adds in between pecks. he now says it like it’s second nature— he loves you. it makes your heart leap from beneath your chest. he kneads your bare thighs in his palms, slowly gliding his tongue into your mouth. without shame, you moan against his lips. slivers of spit tether you both even after you part.
“i want everyone to know that we belong to each other, reiner . . . my family, too.” you admit, peering up at his handsome face through your curled lashes. you’ve got your hands planted at his chest, feeling at the solidity of his pecs.
“tonight?” he asks, tone unsure.
“yes, tonight, rei!”
he adores your sudden zeal for honesty. he truly does, but—
“maybe another day would work better, princess,” reiner muses, “when your parents wouldn’t kill me for all those hickeys on your neck.”
Prompt: really love your Damian Wayne series! I was wondering if you are willing to do another Damian series where he’s around 13 and Bruce forces Damian to go to school and he has to face what is it like being in middle school with the help of his brothers and he starts to develop feelings for the reader and they get really close and Damian tries to keep her safe and keep her from finding out that he is Robin??
Words: 585
Part 1, Part 2
For some reason you’ve always known when Damian enters a room. In the past year he had never been able to sneak up on you. You don’t really think much of it, until you go over to Wayne Manor for the first time.
His brothers are weird to say the least. In the first two minutes you’re there they make several kissing jokes, in an effort to enrage him. Instead of responding you simply grab the collar of his shirt before he can lunge and pull him towards the stairs with a simple, “Show me your room doofus, we’re outnumbered.”
He lets out what can only be considered a hiss before pulling free and stomping towards the stairs. He calms down after several minutes and starts focusing on the homework. After several moments you start to think that the rest of the night might actually go rather peacefully, then the door slams open and several of Damian’s brother’s tackle him.
The remaining one, grabs your hand and leads you out the door and down the hallway. He pulls you into a separate room and lets you go. As he holds the door open you take a moment to survey the room. You’re in some sort of office or library, that’s made clear, especially by the man behind the desk. A rather irritated looking man who is staring at you. And then there’s the butler.
Neither says a word until the rest of Damian’s brothers storm the room, and then shut and lock the door in his face. You simply take a seat and wait. You watch as the older men in the room demand an explanation. It’s something along the lines of “terrorizing the demon spawn, and brotherly bonding” you stop paying attention after that. Instead you choose a book from the wall, settle on the couch, and you wait.
You’ve successfully been blocking out his brothers’ speculation on you for ten minutes, when you first sense him. You flip a page in your book before you allow your eyes to glance at the window. It takes everything you have not to smile. Damian is there clinging to the window, like a spider monkey, glaring at his family.
When the window shatters you don’t jump or react like everyone else, you simply keep reading. You only stop when you feel eyes on you. You turn your head to meet Bruce Wayne’s gaze, the only other person who didn’t react, and as Damian chases his brothers out of the room, Bruce Wayne makes his way over to you. He sits next to you and asks, “Have you seen her lately?”
You close the book, curious as to how he knows, “It’s been about a year. I think she’s in Arkham right now.”
He nods, “So your aunt re-named you.”
You smirk, “Lucy was rather obvious, I prefer Y/N, that’s what my birth certificate says now anyways. And my aunt is as good as my mother, she and my uncle have loved and raised me, along with my sisters.”
“Does my son know?”
“No one knows, which raises the question of how do you know?”
He just smirks, “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”
You just cross your legs and ask, “Sooner or later?”
His smirk widens, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
We’ve talked about it before we met. Even so, I was still somewhat in disbelief that he was actually going to do it.
But here I was in his bathroom, tied to the wall. And here I was standing against the shower wall, tied with my legs spread and my arms tied up and out at the ‘10 and 2’ positions.
The gag wasn’t uncomfortable, but it certainly made a good seal. After putting it on me, he’d held my nose and told me to blow. The first time, I’d been able to blow some air past it, but after he’d made a few adjustments and tightened it a bit, I wasn’t able to push any air around it.
The gag had a small penis-shaped head that inserted into my mouth, with good sized hole through it. Sticking out of the gag was a piece of half-inch thick clear tubing several feet long, attached to the bottom of a huge white funnel, clamped to the shower nozzle protruding from the ceiling, several feet above me.
I’d left the method he would use to be his choice. He could use either an open-mouth gag, or a funnel and hose. Of course, the funnel and hose had the advantage that he’d be able to watch me while he did it. Not too surpisingly, he chose the funnel. He’d decided that it would be best without a blindfold so that I’d be able to watch everything, and he’d be able to enjoy the look in my eyes
He’d brought in a kitchen blender, and was setting it up on the counter next to the sink. Then he looked at me, and said “Ok, I think we’re ready!”
In just a few quick seconds, he’d taken off his clothes, and took them out to the bedroom. “Don’t wanna take a chance of getting them dirty.” He smiled, “I’ve been holding onto it since yesterday when it looked like we were actually going to do this. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a big load for you in my ass!”
With one hand, he placed and held one cup under his ass, while the other hand held the second cup at his cock. He started to piss into the front cup. it was a pretty big bladder-full. I could hear small farts and sounds, and then heard shit slide into the other cup. He took a breath and pushed again. Once again, I could hear the contents of his ass enter the cup.
Pulling the cup around where we could both see that it was at least two-thirds full of his shit, he chuckled, saying “Wow, I hope you’re hungry, because you’re going to swallow it all.”
Standing up, he carefully picked up both cups, placing them on the counter by the blender. He poured half the piss into the blender. “Well, I guess we’ll be doing this in two batches.” Using the spatula, he began scooping his shit into the blender. When he felt he’d added enough, he put the lid on, and pulsed it a few times. That got it to start mixing. Then he turned it on and we both watched, him in fascinated interest, me in something closer to horror, as the piss and shit turned into a brown liquid, looking not too unlike a chocolate shake.
A shit shake.
Turning off the blender, he picked up the pitcher and climbed up on the short stepstool he’d had pre-staged near me. He then carefully dumped the contents into the funnel. It immediately ran down the hose, stopping at the clamp. I thought to myself: “Oh my god!”.
I knew that all he had to do would be to reach up and flip the clamp off of the hose. The nasty concoction would immediately blast down the hose and into my mouth.
He stepped down, smiled, and said “Half way there.” Returning to the counter, he once again mixed the piss and shit concoction, using the remaining contents of the cups. A moment later, he was on the stepstool, and dumped it all into the funnel.
Stepping down, he smiled a sort of evil grin, taking a moment to admire the brown soup that was waiting in the hose, stopped only by the clamp. He placed the blender pitcher back on the counter and returned to stand in front of me.
“Well, now it’s time, isn’t it? The time for you to do what you said I could force you to do. You’re going to swallow all of it. There’s no turning back! But now’s the moment you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?”
As if it hadn’t already struck me that this was really going to happen, my mind was now in full recognition. I was horified at the thought that he was actually going to go through with it. This was what I’d fantasized about. I knew that once it came down to it, I’d back out if I had a chance. That was why I’d made it clear that he needed to make sure that I was tied securely and to make certain that I wouldn’t be able to do anything to avoid it or even to beg for mercy. He’d need to make sure that I couldn’t back out. So here it was.
I started shaking my head as if to plead “NO, PLEASE NO!” He responded with that evil grin once again. “Yeah, you told me you’d want to back out. That’s too bad. It’s time. I want to watch you swallow it. I want to see the look on your face!”
He reached up. My heart jumped. He grabbed the hose just below the clamp. I relaxed just a fraction, as I thought that perhaps he was just messing with my head, and may let me go. Then he grabed the clamp with the other hand, and pulled it off the hose!
My mind started racing. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD He was going to release the kink in the hose, then it would all come flooding down into my mouth! But this was what I wanted.
“How about if I just give you a little taste, hmm?” He carefully released the hose just a small amount, and the nasty concoction began to slowly travel down…
It was almost to my mouth, then it passed into the gag and I couldn’t see how far it was. It hit me. It began to flow slowly into my mouth. Oh god it was horrible. Lumps and chunks! I didn’t realize that the blender wouldn’t completely liquify it and that there would be things that would remain basically intact! He forced me to take some of his shit and piss in my mouth, surely he wouldn’t actually go through with making me swallow it. I’d forgotten for a second that he was watching me.
“It’s bad, isn’t it? Well, you better start gulping it down, because I’m going to let it go now.” My eyes must have nearly popped out my head when he said that, because he started to laugh. Well, it was more of a giggle. The kind of giggle that occurs when you experience something truly wonderful.
He looked up and released a little more pressure on the hose. I was immediately introduced to a flow of shit soup. It was no longer the trickle. It was flowing into my mouth. I had to stop it. I tried to blow it out of my mouth, but it went nowhere. He’d done a good job sealing the gag against my mouth.
The flow had stopped, but it wasn’t going anywhere. I held it there for a moment. I couldn’t blow any more. I had to stop to breath. I stopped for a moment to take a breath and was rewarded by even more shit in my mouth. What were those lumps? I found myself wondering for a second about what he’d been eating for the past couple of days. Suddenly, I realized my mouth was nearly full. I had to do something quick, or I may drown in shit.
“Start swallowing, shithead!”
Almost as if his words had struck a chord, I swallowed. It must have been an instinctive reaction to my mouth filling up. It was a big gulp. I swallowed the shit/piss mixture.
More flowed into my mouth. I took another deep gulp. “Yeah, swallow my shit and piss. You like that, don’t you? Well, now that you’ve gotten started, let’s get this going.”
He let go of the hose! The flow into my mouth became a flood. It was blasting into my mouth. I swallowed. It was just an instinctive reaction. I fully realized what was happening. What I was doing. What I was swallowing. It was horrible, disgusting, putrid. I swallowed again. I wasn’t keeping up. My mouth was filling too fast. I swallowed again. And again. I started swallowing the shit soup as fast as I could.
He’d done it. He’d turned me into a toilet.
His toilet. The receptacle for his shit and piss. The disgusting vile texture and and taste. I swallowed it. I swallowed again.
He stared at me and smiled. Almost as if he was in shock or in awe. He giggled again. “Yes! Swallow my shit! You’re my toilet now!” He laughed. “Wow, look at you go. You love this, don’t you?” I became aware that my cock was raging hard. It struck me that I really was enjoying it.
No, more accurately, I was LOVING it. I had no choice. I was gulping it all down as fast as I could. I was forced to swallow it, and I loved it. I kept swallowing. gulp. and swallowing. gulp. and swallowing. gulp. I lost track of the number of times I’d gulped down the awful mixture. I just kept swallowing. I had to keep it from drowning me. I became aware that I was starting to get full.
“Almost done.” I looked up. He was right. The top of the soup was now down into the hose. I couldn’t believe it. I’d chugged down almost all of the shit and piss shake that he made for me. It was still flowing. I swallowed a few more times. Then I found that the pressure was low enough that I could close up the opening to my throat and stop the flow. I was so thankful.
“Swallow the rest.” I looked at him. He was just looking at me.
“Swallow the rest, or I’ll make you swallow it!”
He turned to the counter and grabbed one of the plastic cups. He filled it with water and climbed the step ladder. “Swallow the rest.” I stared wide-eyed. He poured some of the water into the funnel. Immediately, the pessure increased, and I was again forced into mostly involuntary swallowing.
The last of the brown liquid passed into my mouth through the gag, followed by mosly-clear water. I was able to stop the flow again.
“All done. That was fun, wasn’t it?” I nodded. Yeah, it really was fun. I knew that I’d be back, and we’d do this many more times in the future.
Heck, maybe he’d even have friends to come over to try me out: his new personal toilet!
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