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Jul 29

Whole Day Off - The Project

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Reader

Summary: Approaching with an interesting proposal, Jonathan wants to experience a new sexual first with you and asks what you would like in return. Asking for nothing more than to pose him a question he must answer honestly per 'session', you finally have an opportunity to hear the story of the man behind the monster. (10.6k)

(tw for: anal sex, anal plug/ fingering, mentions of violence, discussion of murder, cunnilingus, riding, multiple orgasm, unsafe sex, blowjobs, sub/dom dynamics, mild painplay)

Fic Masterlist /// Link to AO3

Whole Day Off Masterlist

The residual anxiety of the pregnancy scare aside, things between yourself and Jonathan are quick to settle back into what passes for normalcy for you both. His work was his, as is your own, and your time together remains limited to the usual mutual convenience which suits both parties.

It has taken some time, but the small quality of life changes which you have made to his basement set-up are proving to be well worth the time investment and nothing proves that more than the comfort of the thick pillows which lie behind your back as you lounge on his couch. Focusing your attention on a small health and safety work video which has been made mandatory watching as part of your job role, the whole thing is dreadfully boring as you endure every second.

Heat has returned to Gotham with a vengeance and you lounge in the comfort of little more than a dark vest top and thin linen shorts – the worst of the warmth being offset by a large tower fan which Jonathan had so graciously plugged into one of the outlets and is gently oscillating across the space to provide a little relief.

Lost in the various ridiculously unsafe simulations which are playing out on your phone with Buster Keaton levels of stupidity, it’s only when Jonathan speaks that you realise he has shifted from his work bench to come and stand beside you.

“Have you ever had anal sex?”

Startling at his sudden presence, you drop your phone to your chest as a soft noise of shock escapes you. Caught so unaware by both Jonathan’s appearance and the surprise of the question itself, you simply blink up at him for a moment as an unfamiliar heat rises into your cheeks. Taking a solid moment to steady your breath, you fall back into old habits and meet his ask with a sly response.

“I know the thought of a baby scared us both but is this where we’re now at?” You tease him lightly, smiling enough to show teeth. “The sin still counts if it’s up the ass you know, despite what all those weirdo preachers like to say.”

“Don’t be glib with me.” Jonathan replies in an instant, his expression barely refraining from an eyeroll. “I am asking a genuine question. If you want to mock me then I’ll return to my bench.”

“No. I’ve never had anal sex.” Confessing the truth with a curious tone, you tuck your legs up closer to your ass and tilt your head up to his standing position, wondering where this is going. “I’ve experimented with a finger and a very small vibrating bullet before while touching myself but I didn’t get enough out of it to go any further.”

“And no partner has-”

“Only one ever asked and I said no. We were pretty young and he wasn’t,” you pause in an attempt to word what you want to say kindly, “experienced enough for me to think it would end well for either of us.”

“I think I would like to try. If you were willing.” His arms folding across his chest, Jonathan’s face is decidedly neutral as he stares down at you.

“This feels like a negotiation.”

“It is.”

Fair enough.

“And what do you want from me?”

“Three sessions over three nights.” Explaining his plan without blinking, Jonathan lays it all out. “An ongoing project where I examine, test, and push your boundaries until finally claiming that first for us both. It has been a while since we have conducted a true experiment between us and this could prove pleasurable for both parties.”

Holding back a smart comment about your pleasure spot not being firmly located up your ass, you instead consider the offer for a moment before a sudden thought knocks your attempted nonchalance loose.

“I’m not staying here for three days.” You blurt out. “In this heat? You’ve actually lost the plot.”

“Your apartment then?” Jonathan counters easily, almost as though expecting the argument. “My work at the moment is mostly theoretical so I can bring what I need with me.”

“You just want to steal my air con.” You mutter under your breath before raising your voice again. “And what do I get out of this? You get to play mad scientist treating me like a piece of meat and I get what?”

“Well,” he pauses and his fingers clutch the hem of his lab coat as he uses it to wipe his glasses clean, “what do you want?”

And there it was.

The opening you had been waiting for.

“A question. One question after every session that you have to tell the truth about.”

That catches him be surprise and his expression immediately closes off and becomes deeply guarded as his eyes narrow in consideration. His internal debate goes on for a few moments and you sit patiently, content to allow him the privacy of his thoughts.

“Okay, but if it’s a question I cannot answer then I will at least explain why.”

Unable to argue with that as you pick your phone back up, you tilt your head at him and smile at the sudden delight which sits in his wicked expression.

“Stop smiling that like.” You mutter at him, feigning irritation. “When?”

“Tomorrow night can be our first session. If that suits you?”

“Yes.” Making the agreement with ease, a thrill of anticipation rolls through your spine. “I’ll be sure to tidy the place a bit before you arrive and if you let me know what you’d like for dinner then I’ll pick some groceries up.”

x-x-x-x-x

Session #1 (Friday Night)

By the time Jonathan arrives for his first session, you are already well organised enough to host him for the whole weekend – going so far as to have even prepared a special surprise for him upon arrival.

From your position, you hear your apartment door open without a knock as an early message to Jonathan had informed him that you would leave it unlocked for his entrance. Unable to see him, you strain your hearing to listen for his movements. The door closing. Footsteps. Something heavy being dropped to your kitchen table, the sound similar to books, and you realise that he is placing his work stuff on the best available surface as he immediately commandeers your table for the job.

“Are you hiding from me, witty girl?” His voice calls, seeking you out with only the slightest curiosity.

“In the bedroom.”

Soft footfalls head in your direction and Jonathan’s voice rings out from behind the door as he approaches to push it open.

“Eager, are we? Well, I am certainly not one to compla-” Filling the doorway, Jonathan stops at the scene before him and you cannot deny the pure delight which rolls through your veins as you watch his body still.

You picture yourself through his eyes; your body splayed out across the bed, completely nude and freshly cleaned. The soft scent of your body lotion filling the air as your hand moves slowly between your legs, gently teasing your aching core as you watch Jonathan stand there - his mouth slightly agape as he takes in the scene with a sudden flush of pure arousal.

"I'm ready for our session, Doctor." You bat your eyes at him, playing the part with all the theatrics you can muster. “I was so happy you agreed to a personal house call.”

“How could I resist with such a stubborn patient.” Jonathan gathers his wits quickly and his hands move with a deliberately slow pace; undressing himself and placing the discarded items over the back of the chair which sits in front of your vanity table. “You need a firm hand, witty girl, and the Scarecrow is the only one with the proper guidance you require.”

Left in only his white vest and white boxer shorts, Jonathan makes no effort to hide the shameless way in which his cock presses at the thin material. His hair is as wild as ever, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he approaches the bed and seats himself at the end – his gaze flitting between your flushed expression and the damp mess between your legs.

“And what does the Scarecrow recommend?”

“A slow experiment, just as discussed.” Sliding one hand up your ankle, the firm touch makes you shudder as it sends gooseflesh up your legs. “I am certain that, given your previous perversions, that the natural discomfort of anal sex will be made much more pleasurable for you with some simple training.”

The clinical nature of his speech tickles that little part of you which has an undeniable kink for his medical know-how and you drop a hand back to your inner thigh as you rub two fingers across your slit. Jonathan watches the display with obvious hunger but continues to speak regardless.

“Have you prepared yourself as requested?”

“Yes.” You huff as your pointer fingers catches the tip of your clit. “I looked online and listened to people a hell of a lot more experienced than me on how to clean out.”

"And do you have it?"

Nodding, you slip your other hand high and pull the small, metal butt plug from beneath your pillow. Purchased and sterilised that morning, the metal was cool to the touch as you present it to him like the gift it is.

"I went with a comfortable size." You weren't seeking his approval but something in your tone makes his eyes flick to your own as he regards the sex toy with mild fascination.

"This should be more than sufficient. Remember, the first session is only to establish a baseline, witty girl. The real fun will come after." He pauses, eyes flashing with shameless desire. “Do you want to change to a more comfortable position?”

Nodding, you have an idea what sort of position he is looking for. As you shift onto all fours parallel to the furthest edge of the bed, Jonathan moves enough to adjust himself so that his legs hang off the edge beneath your stomach – leaving you in a position where you are essentially bent across his lap to give him easy access with his hands.

“Discomfort is almost certain.” Jonathan says, his hand immediately circling to cup at your cunt with a possessive familiarity – the tips of his fingers brushing into your pubic hair as his palm instantly dampens with your arousal. “Genuine pain is not.”

Lost in the sensation of his hand, it takes you a moment to realise what he means and you nod at the unspoken implication that you will let him know if something feels wrong. The heat in the room is unbearable, your skin buzzing where it contacts Jonathan’s own, and you focus on the hard length of his cock where it presses into your side.

“Let’s begin.” Clearing his throat to hide the roughness of his tone, Jonathan taps his hand on your cunt. “First, we must lubricate your toy to ensure a seamless entry.” And with that, he pulls his hand away only to replace it with the cool metal of the plus as he runs it across your slit before pressing it firmly inside your fluttering hole.

Already soaked from your previous teasing, the sensation of the plug pressing within your cunt gives barely any delicious friction even as you try to clench around it.

"Your arousal is enough for now but when we move on to bigger things," Jonathan allows the words to hang for a moment as he diligently twists and coats the metal with your mess, "we will focus more on an appropriate lubricant."

“Yes, Dr. Crane.” Your head tilting back enough to give you a decent peripheral on what his face is doing, you watch as he keeps his attention firmly on his own hands. His face is flushed, arms as steady as a surgeon but you can tell that he’s enjoying himself – his own brazen medical kink and love of control on absolute show.

Jonathan’s finger brushes across the cleft of your ass, the digit coated with your own arousal as he slickens the area to allow for an easier entry. Without hesitating, Jonathan pushes the rounded tip of the plug against your asshole, slowly pushing and retracting the toy as he encouraged you wordlessly to relax.

Exhaling, you loosen up as much as possible and your body only jerks slightly as the plug sinks past the tight ring of muscle to begin the stretch.

“Clitoral stimulation only for the moment.” Jonathan announces quietly, his words clinical yet oddly soothing as his free hand traces its nails across your lower back. “Enough for you to begin associating the discomfort with the pleasure.”

As he works your ass open with the growing flare of the plug, every push and pull adding just a little more stretch to the slightly aching muscles, his fingers tease you with a cruel precision. Circling and teasing the hood of your clit with enough pressure that you find yourself gasping, you are pushed to the brink of orgasm in an embarrassingly short length of time.

“Jonathan!” You gasp his name, one hand worming back to clench around the thin bone of his knee. “I’m going to come.”

“Do it, witty girl. There are no restrictions in place.” He pauses, considering his own words. “Yet. Perhaps down the line, but for now come if you can.”

With the magic words uttered, the groan you unleash is buried within your own forearm as you grind your cunt into his fingers and spur him on to keep teasing you even as the waves of pleasure roll across your frame until they begin to fade. Simultaneously, Jonathan uses the distraction to thrust the last of the plug within your ass – the final flared inch adding a delicious ache to the other sensations which drown you.

Still splayed across his lap as you bask in the slight afterglow, you can feel the ache of your ass and the complaint of the stretched muscles there. The plug itself feels odd. Filling in an unnatural way and you roll your lower body on itself as you try to adjust to the sensation.

“I would appreciate patient feedback.” Jonathan’s voice, deadpan, washes over you.

“It feels odd. Not bad. Just,” you pause to push yourself off his lap and stand up between his legs, “kind of weird. Nice, I suppose.”

“The first session is short. More introductory to the concept than anything else and mostly to establish no physical barrier to further progression.”

His voice taking on a hint of excitement as he considered the fun to come, Jonathan’s teeth appeared from between his lips as he looks up you with a borderline wolfish look – his cock stiff and neglected within his underwear.

Dropping a hand to the faint stubble which graced his cheek, you cup his jaw and make sure his gaze is on your own as you give him a shy smile, “Thank you for being so gentle.”

The soft touch seems to catch him off-guard but something shifts in his gaze as he recognises the words for their truth. He had been gentle, and that fact knocks some of the grin from his lips as his thoughts remain his own.

“We have an agreement.” His reply simple.

“Yes, we do. Now, let’s make things a bit fairer.”

Slipping to your knees between his legs, you move with a determination which seems to almost startle Jonathan as you snake your hands within his boxers and release his cock. Bringing it to your mouth with equal enthusiasm, you adjust your knees and play around with how your ass sits to try and find the most comfortable position that does not disturb the plug.

Already amped up and on the edge, it takes less than a few solid bobs of your head to have Jonathan filling your mouth with his release – his head thrown back and his hand wrapping itself in your hair as he grunts and groans out his pleasure. Swallowing everything, you maintain some dignity as you tuck his cock back into the boxers and rise to your feet – making your way over to box of tissues which you keep on your bedside cabinet to wipe away the mess between your legs.

Crumpling the tissues into the wastepaper bin by the cabinet, you drop back to your own bed and stretch yourself out like a cat – suddenly exhausted from the events of the day and your little session with Jonathan.

Recovered from his unexpected oral delight, Jonathan joins you on the other side of the bed and his body lies as still as ever as he gazes up at the ceiling and brings up arm up to tuck behind his head.

“Will you sleep with it in?”

Not expecting that question as you sniff at the scent of sex in the air, you fix Jonathan with a curious look, “Can I?”

“It’s small enough that no damage should occur, even with the extended wear. Should you feel an unnatural discomfort, or should nature call, then you are under no obligation to keep it there.”

“I’ll try.”

Companionable silence falls, both parties content to enjoy the moments peace after such a heated little encounter, but it is Jonathan who breaks the quiet as he turns his body slightly to pin you with his gaze.

“Your question?”

“My what?” Making a small noise of consideration in your throat, it takes you a moment to realise what he’s asking for.

“A deal is a deal.” Jonathan follows up, his voice slow and measured. “You are allowed one question which I will answer to the best of my ability.”

Having considered a million questions – some stupid, some personal – one of the most pressing ones just so happens to be the one which falls from your mouth in more of a messy blurt than a considered query.

"What was your childhood like?"

Jonathan nods at the question, his face tight but not combative, almost as though already expecting that particular line of inquiry.

"The story is not a pleasant one, little mouse.” He turns to face you more solidly, his thin body on its side as you match his positioning. “Are you sure you want to go down that path?"

Whether you like the answer or not, it really is time to fill in some of the gaps which mar your understanding of the man before you.

"Yes."

"Okay." Jonathan replies simply. "I was born in Georgia to a mother who abandoned me to her own mother, a woman wrapped in the particular sadism that only those who indulge in religious righteousness can manifest. A bastard child, I assume my mother could only handle so much cruelty before disappearing and leaving me in her wake."

His voice painfully even, as though recounting events he witnessed rather than experienced, you know better than to interrupt as you allow him to speak with a blank expression.

"Days were long. A farm rotted from within by decay is not something that can be maintained by a child alone and yet the expectation was set. I cleaned, I worked the fields, I maintained what I could, and what I could not maintain was designated a laziness on my part and punished."

"Punished? She hit you?" Not too surprised, you still blink at the information regardless.

"Sometimes, but she lacked physical strength. Typically, she preferred the use of a birch which I was to personally collect from the yard. However, for the depths of the depravity which she saw within me, corporeal punishment could only go so far. My great granny's preferred punishment of choice was the church."

Confused by that, you fumble your hand against his own and take his fingers within your hand to stroke along the knuckles in a soothing gesture, "She made you go to church?"

"Not for any sermon. We had an old decrepit church close to the outskirts of the land and she would force me into an old suit, my Sunday best she called it, and she would force me to go into that church at night. There, in the darkness, I would be attacked relentlessly by the birds which roosted for the evening."

Thinking of the odd scarring across his back and shoulders, a hollowing weight drops into your stomach as you realise just how deeply those scars must run. Before you can say anything, Jonathan continues and his voice remains steady, as though he were discussing the weather.

"I found out later that the old crone had sprayed a chemical into the suit, one designed to inspire aggression within the crows. Their attacks on me were nothing but a premeditated cruelty to inspire true terror in a god-fearing child."

"Jonathan, I'm not sure what t-"

"I killed her obviously. The first person I ever killed. I dosed her with her own compound and locked her in the church. At her age and with her pre-existing conditions, the attack killed her. I watched from the broken boards which patched up the southern wall. With her dead, the farm fell to me in both name and title. I was 17. I sold the surrounding land and secured my place at college to continue my studies."

The confession of his first kill hits you with less emotion that you are expecting. Always having a soft spot for children, their abuse is something you can never understand and you can’t find the energy to hold this particular crime against him in any way.

“What happened to the farm?” You keep your voice settled, not wanting him to feel you are pitying him in any way as you know he will not take to it kindly.

"I still own that farm. Technically.” Jonathan smirks for the first time since beginning his story. “Outside of her, my school days were almost as miserable. I was a child of neglect and it showed so the other children were not kind. But my schooling was impeccable. Books offered a world different to my own and I drowned myself in them outside of the old witches influence."

Unable to bite your tongue as he revealed more of his misery, you squeeze his thumb within your hand as you meet his gaze without flinching away, "You did not deserve that.” Your gaze is hard, certain. “I don't know if anyone's ever told you that but you should hear it from someone. You were just a kid, you didn't deserve what they did to you."

"No." Jonathan agrees, his lip twitching with amusement as he senses your indignation of his behalf. "However, it helped to shape me into the man I am today. The Scarecrow was not born in that barn but the vague outline of him was crafted within the shadows and his presence remained until it had the opportunity to come forth."

Now that was interesting.

You had assumed that his whole Scarecrow persona was a childhood thing. Like so many other people who had fucked up starts to life, you assumed this story would be what had led them down a darker pathway. Securing that information away for a later time, you breathe deeply to alleviate some of the heaviness which sits in your chest. Your hand gliding across the sheets as you release his hand, you wrap it around Jonathan's forearm and give it a silent squeeze, an unspoken thank you for his truth as you know it couldn't have been easy for him to give it up.

"Sleep well, witty girl.” Jonathan concludes, his tone closing the discussion for tonight. “Our second session begins as soon as you awake tomorrow.”

Shivering with anticipation as you pointedly turn to your opposite side and rub your ass against his hip to allow him to feel the very edge of the flared base of the plug, the darkness which falls as you close your eyes is welcoming and you know sleep will claim you quickly despite the minor discomfort of the toy. The last real thing you feel before falling into sleep is the slight stirring of Jonathan beside you as he slowly wraps his arm around your waist and pulls himself slightly closer.

Session #2 (Saturday Morning)

With the morning light creeping through the slates of your blinds, there is a surprising chill in the air despite the ongoing heatwave and the first thing you do as you awake is pull your sheets closer to your chin as you try to remain sunk deep within the coziness of the bed. Eyes narrow as they glare at the window, you vaguely wonder what time it is as you try to remember where the hell you left your phone.

“Good morning.”

The yelp which snaps free of your throat as your knuckles flinch painfully into the skin below your jaw is jarring and you whip your head to the side to find Jonathan sitting upright, watching you with a vague amusement behind his glassless eyes.

Immediately filling with embarrassment at the outburst, you release the edge of the sheets and press the back of your wrist into your forehead as you exhale and side-eye him.

“I forgot you were here.”

“Clearly.”

“That also explains this weird feeling in my ass.” The comment falls from you without thought as the plug makes itself known with its curious fullness, your body only now properly shifting in place.

“Any pain?”

“No. A little discomfort maybe. But it’s not a bad feeling.”

Glancing between the shock of wild hair which sits atop his narrow features and the visible tent in your sheets where they fall across Jonathan’s lap, you tap a finger to his inner thigh as you draw his attention lower. Something about how easily he seems to get morning wood amuses you as he once again proves himself as basic as any other man.

“Is that a problem, Dr. Crane?” You ask, voice sweet and teasing as heat floods your gut, the promise of a morning quickie immediately tempting you into action.

“Watching you sleep was a larger problem.” Jonathan meets your tease with a crawling hand, the fingers quick to stroke along your exposed collarbone as he speaks. “The restraint it took for me to not flip you over and continue playing with the sweet little toy which is still buried within you was rather intense.”

Jonathan’s voice dropping lower as his explanation presents itself, the air between you grows steadily more charged and you shift your ass to feel the plug jostle in place. Barely noticeable, the slight ache of its presence is easy enough to ignore but you know that isn’t how this morning is going to go.

“Wow. Would you really take advantage of an innocent, sleeping woman?” Matching his groping hand with one of your own, you move the fingers which are on his lap and instead squeeze at his inner thighs with a gentle pressure.

“Innocent,” Jonathan quotes with a familiar scoff, “but I suspect that’s something the woman in question would quite enjoy.” Sidling his body closer, Jonathan pulls the sheets from you both to expose your naked frame as he moves to position himself lower on the bed with his stomach flat and your legs pushed up and spread. “In fact, it’s my professional opinion that a certain witty girl would bask in the idea of a creature as terrible as the Scarecrow finding her so irresistible that he couldn’t help but take her in her sleep. Her body slowly waking up to find itself being ravaged.”

“Christ…” You allow the word to tail off, your head propping up on the pillows as you listen to Jonathan’s filthy words and the truth within them. Maybe you would allow him to tease and fuck you as you slept, the appeal is certainly enough to have your cunt throbbing as Jonathan adjusts to give himself free access to both of your holes.

“Session two can begin now, witty girl. No point wasting a good overnight stretch.” Voice husky, Jonathan’s fingers lock around the flared base of the plug as he plays with it gently – tugging and twisting in a way which makes you shift your lower back further to give him a better angle. “Pass me the lubricant.”

Glancing over to where Jonathan is pointing, you realise that at some point since last night he has retrieved a small bottle of lube and left it on the cabinet by his side of the bed. Reaching over, it takes some manoeuvring but you manage to secure the bottle as you pass it to him with a curious silence.

Jonathan returns his attention to your ass, his fingers slowly pulling free the small plug with a careful precision. It feels odd leaving your body, having been there so long, and you inhale and exhale slowly, savouring the sensation as your ass finally has the opportunity to close around nothing. It was not a peace to last though as Jonathan gently deposited the plug to the side and instead coated two of his long fingers with the lube.

“This will be more intense, witty girl. The plug will have loosened the muscle slightly but not to this extent.”

Nodding as you watch Jonathan’s face and the heat which sits in his features, you nod wordlessly and relax your body as he presses one finger to your ass – the digit sliding within without too much resistance. It feels different to the plug, less rigid and more organic as the tip of Jonathan’s finger rubs along your walls, curling and teasing as he slowly pumps the digit in and out while watching your body give way to him.

As though unable to resist, Jonathan’s head drops to your inner thigh as his free hand wraps around the outside of your gathered leg. Lips, warm and chapped, press into the skin before being replaced by a mixture of teeth and tongue as Jonathan continues to focus his attention on what his other hand is doing.

A second finger joins the first and the additional stretch makes you groan, arousal beating within your veins so roughly that you swear you can hear your heart in your ears. Jonathan takes a moment to allow you to adjust to the second finger before scissoring them as far as possible, forcing a greater spread than you were expecting as your breath hitches and your cunt clenches around nothing.

Now inserting both fingers with greater confidence, your acceptance clear, the stretch slowly grows more bearable and pleasant as most of your focus stays on the deliriously wicked things which Jonathan is doing to your other, just as sensitive, parts. His mouth is warm against your inner thigh as he bites at the skin there, teasing a slow pathway towards your neglected cunt.

“Jonathan, please!” You whine his name, knowing how much he enjoys it. “You’re being cruel, Dr. Crane. Please-”

Responding to the plea with a slight growl, Jonathan chooses to ramp things up as he shifts his face towards your cunt; finally giving you the attention you so desperately crave as his nose bumps messily between your slit while he adds a third finger to the two already pistoning gently within your ass.

With three fingers now maintaining a wicked stretch, the flashes of discomfort which curl your toes only add to the sudden pleasure of his tongue as it swipes across your cunt to greedily taste everything which you have to offer. Dropping your hands to your chest, you pinch at your own nipples and savour the additional sensation as you feel your release approaching quickly.

Jonathan’s free hand tightens against your outer thigh, pinning you into place, and you know he’s planning something mean by the sheer virtue of wanting you kept still. Before you can ask, his lips shift to wrap around the hood of your clit and he sucks at the sensitive bud with a terrible pressure – his tongue flat against the very tip.

Your release hits like a freight train, whole body spasming as the tight band of arousal snaps and your nerves are overwhelmed by the sudden pleasure which drowns you. It’s all too much. The suckling at your clit. The fingers in your ass. Fingers which take the opportunity of the distraction to pump themselves harshly within your hole, twisting and stretching you in a way which only adds to the thrill of your sensitive body.

The come down from your orgasm rides out just as quickly, Jonathan’s face pulling away from your twitching cunt as his fingers slowly pull themselves from your ass – the digits glistening with residual lube. Spent and totally pleased with his performance, you drop your legs back to the sheets as Jonathan crawls his way back up the bed to lie by your side. His mouth is visibly damp, stained by your arousal and you watch as he wipes it off with the back of one spindly hand.

Glancing down at his boxers, you notice an equally damp spot staining the front of the fabric where the head of his cock is pressing against it. Not enough for him to have came, but enough that you can practically feel how excited and close he must be.

“How do you want me to take care of that?” You ask, voice husky with sated arousal and the residual early morning.

“Patients choice.” Jonathan fires back, trying to appear nonchalant even as his hand falls to wrap around his cock with a shocking speed. “For such good cooperation in her trial.”

“You grew up in Georgia, yeah?” Twisting your body, you kneel on the sheets and straighten your back as you tilt your head at him. “Did you ever learn how to ride a horse?”

“What?” Totally thrown by the bizarre question, a flash of unfamiliar certainty crosses Jonathan’s face. “Well, I- I mean, yes. We didn’t have horses for long, but I learned how to ride.”

“Teach me?” Locking eyes with him, you give him a small wink as you to climb atop his thin frame. Making no effort to hide his amusement at the stupid segue as your intentions for him land, the predatory arousal in Jonathan’s face wins out as he allows you to position yourself carefully – the leaking tip of his cock only grazing your hole as you straddle his lap and face him.

Jonathan’s mouth falls open slightly and you hold back a giggle as you realise that it’s a face he only tends to make when confronted with your bolder sexual advances.

“You never fail to surprise me, witty girl.”

Your cunt already soaked and ready to accept him, Jonathan can only grunt as he sinks his cock deep with one, forceful thrust and your hand clenches atop his when he squeezes at your right tit with a terrible pressure.

“I won’t last long.” Jonathan hisses, his thrusts sloppy and uncoordinated as he snaps his hips up and chases his release with a desperation you don’t get to see very often.

“You don’t have to,” you gasp in return, “fuck- I mean- I’m almost there again. This is what you do to me, Dr. Crane.”

And it was true, your cunt already sensitive from your last release, the actual feeling of being properly filled is enough to push you back to the edge without much effort. The sounds of the outside world only really now beginning to come to life in the early morning, your second orgasm hits only a moment before Jonathan’s own; your spasming cunt dragging him over the edge with you as you both remain silent and allow for the frantic fuck to speak for itself.

Sated and delighted to have no major plans that day that would force you to move, you relax your knees as you remain impaled on his cock and feel the heat of his release where it burns deep within you – your updated birth control hopefully doing its part to keep the worst at bay.

“Did you enjoy that?”

Schooling his expression into something much more controlled, Jonathan quirks one brow and settles his hips so that your ass is flush to his groin, “I’ve had worse mornings.”

Feeling bold, you recline slightly as Jonathan raises his legs to give you something more comfortable to lean on, “Do I get my second question now?”

“Like this?” Jonathan asks, his voice tilting in surprise. However, he makes no effort to move and his eyes are sharp as they meet your own. “If you wish.”

"When was the Scarecrow born?" Realising the question was maybe a bit open-ended as you ask it in a rush, you take a moment to quickly clarify your meaning. "Last night, you said that your childhood didn't make the Scarecrow. So, what did?"

“I lost my job.”

The answer is so simple, so dull, and so unexpected that you can’t stop the sharp bark of laughter which slips free of your lips. Shame rises just as quickly as you realise how rude that must have come across and you put your hand to your mouth as you apologise.

“Oh, god. I’m sorry. I just-” you flounder, “I just wasn’t expecting that. God, Jonathan, I didn’t mean to lau-”

“I’m glad you find such joy in my misery, witty girl.” Jonathan inclines his head slightly, no anger on his features as he watches you scramble. “You are lucky I have no feelings left to harm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t me-”

“Don’t worry about it.” His hands squeeze at your ass and you relax into his touch as he continues. “My story remains the same regardless. After graduating Gotham University, my achievements were good enough to secure me consistent work within Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist. Work which I continued for many years while maintaining personal projects where funding was available.”

You pause before asking, “Nice projects?”

“Legally sanctioned projects.” Jonathan counters with a sly smile turning his thin lips. “Fear was my interest, my specialty, and my wheelhouse. Any paper which touched on fear would cross my path either for my approval or because I was asked for input from my own publications. Humanity is obsessed with fear, whether it wants to admit to it or not, and the funding proved lucrative at points, if a little inconsistent.”

As he spoke, Jonathan allowed his hands to travel along your body. His touch is surprisingly non-sexual, more investigative than anything as his fingertips brush every small imperfection which litters your skin while his digits measure themselves against the flesh.

“Eventually, my collaborations with Gotham University resulted in a job offer. Professor of Psychology.” Even now, pride clouds his tone as he recounts his achievements. “It was everything I wanted, despite the hours. Decent pay. Prestige. Opportunity. Respect. Things I had been denied for so long. A return to the place which helped to shape the man I was.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“The teaching? Yes. My course was known for being difficult, my expectations high but reasonable for those who wanted to enter such a demanding field. Some of the minds I encountered were brilliant, some real and budding greatness among them. Pupils who understood the basics and were eager to learn more.”

As he speaks, you find yourself entranced by his expression. Still filled with pride, there is something peaceful which sits in his features and, just for a moment, you swear you can see the ghost of the man whom Jonathan could have become as the smallest, genuine smile flits on the corner of his lips.

“What happened?” Placing your hands on his forearms as he continues to rub his palms across your body, you can feel him still slightly before his story continues.

“I shot a gun in class.” Tone clouding with a hint of frustration; you allow him to speak without interrupting. “A practical and experimental lesson designed to show the sudden impact which fear can invoke in an unsuspecting body. Obviously, there were complaints but what I had not anticipated was the university using the incident to discredit my name and remove me from my position.”

“Why?”

“I was not a popular man. I did not play at their politics and one of the largest donors to the university had a nephew who recently graduated from a much more prestigious university than my own and was in need of a job.”

Feeling the familiar injustice of that needle at your own chest, your lips tilt in disapproval.

“That’s awful. They fired you just for that?”

“Yes, and with it my position at Arkham also grew untenable. From everything to nothing in the blink of an eye. My response to such an insult was a very understandable despair. A life shattered, my despair quickly morphed into rage before settling into the delicious chill of vengeance to come.”

“So that’s when you-”

“Their callous disregard killed Jonathan Crane, the professor and respected doctor who was willing to play their games and challenge the lines of their ethics. What rose from the shadows of his grave was the Scarecrow,” Jonathan pauses, “and the Scarecrow went on to claim back all that was his while satiating that need for revenge.”

Too afraid to ask more detail on that, knowing that whatever he had done to get even would no doubt be terrible, you choose the peace of ignorance and instead shift the conversation back slightly.

“I think you would have been a great professor.”

“I was.”

Humming at the simplicity of his answer, you can feel the discussion drifting towards a subtle closure and you accept it for what it is as you place your hands on his thin chest and gently squeeze at his cock where it sits within you. Not to entice him, but as a bookend to your intimate positioning as you finally pull yourself up on your knees and slide free of his lap – his cock slipping free to sit heavily on his upper thigh.

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes. Recent events have sapped my strength.”

You keep momentum as you roll yourself off the bed and stand on both feet, arms coming overhead as you stretch like a cat and turn back to face him. You take in the feelings across your naked body for a moment before padding over and grabbing Jonathan’s shirt from the back of your chair. Pulling it across your upper half without thought, you recount what you have to offer, listing them off on your fingers as you speak.

“I have eggs, tomatoes, fruit, and some bread for making toast if you want that?”

“Any bacon?” Jonathan asks, hopeful.

“Did I say bacon?”

A frown.

“No.”

“Then no.” You turn back to him, securing the last few buttons only enough to keep the fabric from flying messily around your lower half. However, as you turn, you see Jonathan staring at you with a strange look, one which is difficult to interpret but fills you with a shy, observed warmth. “What?”

“Nothing.” Jonathan replied quickly, his lap once again covered by the sheets as he reclines with his back pressing into your headboard. “Whatever you make will be fine.”

Muttering something under your breath about how that’ll be damned right, you choose not to think too much about the odd expression which had flashed across his features in favour of making something tasty to set you up for your day. With no plans to leave the apartment and Jonathan’s new makeshift office being set up at your kitchen table, you have no doubt that it will prove to be an interesting day.

Session #3 (Saturday Evening)

“We will need to cut this arrangement short.”

The words taking a moment to register, you glance from your laptop over to the kitchen table with a mixed look of disappointment and surprise as the vague scent of someone else’s late dinner floats in from your opened windows.

“What?”

The day itself had been…nice.

Breakfast, without bacon, had been served in bed with casual discussion of how you both planned to spend the day since neither of you had anywhere else to be. With mutual work projects to power through, it was decided that Jonathan could keep command of the kitchen table and that it would be easier for you to work from the couch since all you needed was a laptop and your mobile.

The day progressed quickly, casual conversation flowing between the long periods of focused silence, and you found your eyes drifting over to Jonathan again and again to soak in the mundane view of him. Whether writing in his notebooks or rubbing at his temple with the pad of one finger, his focus was absolute and the intensity of it ignited a fondness that couldn’t be ignored.

At one point, Jonathan had brewed coffee and, without asking, had brought you a cup which was perfectly crafted to your personal tastes. Following that, dinner had been delicious and you were particularly pleased with how well your chicken had come out as you fried it off in breadcrumbs. Perfectly tender and served with a tasty pasta on the side, Jonathan complimented the meal with ease as he polished off his own generous portion before subtly waiting his turn to clear off the remnants of your plate too.

The domesticity of it all did not go unnoticed, even if neither of you were willing to put any attention to it, as Jonathan handed you every dish which he dried so that you could return it to its correct place within your cupboards. The return to finish off your work projects had commenced with a similar fluidity, Jonathan spreading out his documents once more as you returned to the couch with your laptop to finish off the report which you were proofreading for a colleague.

So, all in all, a nice day.

Looking up from his wide spread of notebooks, Jonathan at least has the dignity to look a little sheepish as he points a sharp finger at his discarded phone and explains himself, “Something has come up for tomorrow. A meeting I cannot reschedule so I will need to leave tonight instead of tomorrow. I apologise for the inconvenience and for changing our plans.

Almost ready to be finished with your laptop work anyway, you glance at the clock and back at Jonathan with a subtle determination lining your features. There wasn’t much light left in the day and, with your final question already set within your mind, you did not want to pass up the opportunity to ask it.

“I don’t mind fitting in time for our final session right now.” You offer, giving Jonathan a lopsided grin as you attempt to sway him into a little fun. “I’m just about ready to wrap up so if the doctor can fit me into his busy schedule, then I’m sure we could go and finish off this little project of his.”

Dropping his elbow to the table, Jonathan steeples his fingers under his chin as he tilts his head over at you, “You want to finish now?”

“Yeah,” you nod before adding, “and I also want my question.”

Jonathan smirks at that, the little hint of selfishness amusing him.

“Fair enough.”

Standing from the couch, you beckon him playfully with a crooked finger as you walk over to your bedroom and quickly strip off the loungewear which you had swapped into after breakfast. Having once again cleaned yourself out during your post-dinner shower to freshen up, you are thankful for that at least as you lower yourself to the bed and wait for Jonathan to join you.

He appears before a minute has passed, his hands already removing his clothing with a forced casualness which could almost fool you if it wasn’t for the slight tremble you can see in his chest as his excitement at finally claiming his prize builds.

Meeting his gaze, you give him a small, shy smile as you spread your legs at the knee and speak with total confidence.

“I’m ready, Dr. Crane. You’ve been so patient and worked so hard on this little project you have created, now it’s time to claim what’s yours.”

Jonathan wastes no time in dropping to the bed and slotting himself up between your spread legs. His cock is already hard and you run a teasing finger up the jutting length as Jonathan cracks open the bottle of lube and squeezes some onto his hand.

Pressing two of his lubed fingers within your ass, he gently twists them to ensure a good coverage of the cool lube even as the digits steal a deep gasp from your lips. Your ass already feels sensitive to the touch, its earlier play maybe not having worn off as much you thought it had, and you curl one hand into the pillow behind your head as you watch him coat the tip of his cock in the leftover lubricant.

“Sensitive?” Jonathan asks, almost vibrating with tension.

“Yeah. Not painful, just a little more tender than I thought.”

“Imagine how it will feel soon, stretched and filled beyond anything you’ve felt before.” Jonathan’s voice is low and husky as he continues to tease you. “A small plug and fingers are no match for what I already know you can take.”

“Then let me take it.”

Needing no more encouragement, Jonathan lines the head of his cock up with your ass – teasing the tight ring of muscle with his blunted cockhead as he allows you to wrap your legs around his ass and make yourself comfortable against the sheets. He enters you with a slow press of his cock until the head slips within with a ‘popping’ sensation, the sudden fullness forces you to drag your hands from the sheets, instead placing them on Jonathan’s shoulders to centre yourself as he continues to press his cock deeper.

Despite the help of the lubricant, the friction is there and the pain is sharp but not unbearable, more of a deep sting that anything else, and you dig the edges of your nails into Jonathan’s shoulder as he pauses to allow you to acclimatise to his size and feel how full he has left you.

Pinned beneath him, you know that he plans on taking what he wants and the sheer pressure of his body pressing into your own paired with the sharp, piercing nature of his gaze is enough to steal your breath; anticipation for being used like the innocent victim you claim to be making your head swim.

As though reading your thoughts, Jonathan begins to move his hips in a sharp, fast motions – the rhythm relentless and fierce as he pulls his cock back enough that only his head sits within your ass before snapping forward to bury his length. His groin hits your skin with every thrust, the lurid sound of skin-on-skin filling the empty space between your mixed gasps and whines.

The discomfort is brutal, your eyes watering as his cock feels like it’s going so deep that it will end up puncturing something; a hollow, dulling ache mostly filling the space where his cock stretches out muscles which have never known anything of the sort.

“Does it hurt?” Jonathan asks, his eyes sharp and unblinking as he drinks in your mild misery like the finest whisky.

“Yes.” The word comes out as a whine, your hand pulling free of his shoulder long enough to wipe at your watery eyes.

“Then tell me to stop.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Jonathan demands, his tone rough and movements bestial as he takes everything he wants. “Why allow a monster to use you like this, witty girl?” As he speaks, he bends his body further and brings his head to your own – his words brushing your lips as his eyes hold your gaze with a magnetic, almost hypnotic, pull. “Are you really so desperate to be devoured?”

“I like it.” You whisper the confession into his mouth, “I like all of it. I like when you hold me like this, when you hurt me like this. How could I not?”

Jonathan pulls back at the soft confession and his expression is wild, pupils dilated and almost desperate with some unspoken need.

“My little mouse. My reluctant mistress of fear. My witty girl.”

He snarls the words like an animal, his cock punctuating each claim like he could brand it within your very flesh through sheer will. His thumb, wet with your arousal as he slides it across your cunt, drags itself over your clit and your body bucks in place – the sensation sharp, sudden, and terrible in its intensity as it threatens to throw you over the edge. Every fresh slam of his hips is enough to pull a groan from your lips, pain and pleasure wrapping up in the other as Jonathan’s cock and hand work in tandem to push your limits.

You come with a high-pitched squeal, Jonathan’s punishing treatment of your clit and ass throwing you into a violent orgasm as you buck against his body and only serve to impale yourself deeper on his cock. Toes curling into his exposed back, you dig your nails deep within the skin of his shoulders as you ride your orgasm out and, somewhere between the waves of pleasure, you hear your own voice.

“My doctor. My Scarecrow. Jonathan.”

The claim, made with equal determination to his own despite your much more desperate tones, is enough to push Jonathan over the edge and he slams his cock deep as his arms wrap around your body to pull you close – your skin flush to his own.

Jonathan’s release fills your ass, hot and pulsing against the sensitive inner walls and you can’t help but tense your body around him as he buries his head into your neck. Muffling his groans with your skin, you can feel his teeth and tongue as he takes out his pleasures on the sensitive flesh even as your hand tugs at the hair which sits on the nape of his neck.

In the aftermath, your frantic breaths take a while to mellow out into something more controlled as Jonathan pulls back from your neck. The lines of his forehead are slicked with sweat, high points of his cheeks flushing with colour and yet his eyes are back to their calm, clinical harshness; the very edges only softening as he holds your gaze and watches you analyse him.

Pulling free of your ass with a gentle tug of his wilting cock, Jonathan rolls to his back and his exhale is deep and personal – coming more from the depths of his chest than his throat as he tilts his head enough to watch you lean over to your bedside cabinet and hand him a box of tissues. The slight motion makes you gasp as your lower half screams its dissatisfaction with its hard use and you are careful to keep the mess at your ass from the sheets as much as possible.

Watching as Jonathan wipes off his cock with the handful of tissues, you take the soiled mess from him as you slide from the bed and disappear into the bathroom to clean yourself up. The movement sparks discomfort across your lower body, specifically your ass, and you wince at the residual tenderness as you snatch an opened packet of baby wipes from the lower cabinet and use them to clean away the mess.

You return to the bed with a satisfied sigh, falling to the sheets with a small stretch as you adjust and turn to face Jonathan where he lays beside you.

“Was it what you wanted it to be?”

“You are always enough, witty girl, but I am glad it was something we shared.” Jonathan answers with a hint of pride. “Did you find it satisfying?”

“It hurt a little, not terrible, and it definitely felt better towards the end. Nowhere near as good as what you can do with the rest of me, but I didn’t hate it.”

“Honest to a fault.” Returning his wire-rimmed glasses to his face as he snatched them up from the bedside cabinet, Jonathan turns back to meet your gaze as he swiftly moves on to the closing part of your arrangement. “Now ask your final question, little mouse. You’ve more than earned it.”

Sitting upright, you bring your legs into a basket and turn your body so that you can face Jonathan fully – the ache in your body ignored in the face of getting what you want. The first two questions had been focused on him, on his past and his history. However, for tonight, you plan on something much more selfish and self-indulgent – even if the answer is not what you want to hear.

“Do you have any regrets between us?” Unlike the first two questions, you ask this with a willing vulnerability, wanting him to know that the question has some meaning. “Since our first meeting in Arkham, do you regret any of it?”

Jonathan’s eyes widen for a moment, his mouth tilting as the question catches him by surprise, but he is quick to bury any further reaction as he brings his spindly hands to his chest and sits them there quietly.

“I have spoken on it before, but I will always have some regrets over that business with Sionis.”

The confession is a soothing balm, his continuing admittance that he had done you wrong in that moment comforting. You are over it, mostly, but there is always a power in a way that the shadowy memories of Sionis’ hands on your body still rankle you in darker moments.

“I do not regret accepting the money which was offered,” Jonathan clarifies as he maintains his position with a stubborn edge, “but I do regret that doing so took from you something that you would have given. I also regret the disrespect which preceded the choice.”

“There is a part of me that’s still sore about it. Not so much the assault,” Jonathan’s lip twitches at the word but you push past it, “but knowing that my first real experience with your toxin could have been something special. I would have come willingly, allowed you to inject me with it. The real stuff, not that pheromone blend, and I would have let you have your fun because I knew it would have meant something – been something special in that moment.”

“I am angry to have robbed myself of that opportunity.” A hint of frustration tweaks at Jonathan’s expression, the self-irritation evident in how his jaw tightens.

“It’s a first we can’t get back.” You shrug. “No point dwelling on it when we can’t change it.”

“No.” He agrees. “We play with the hand we are given, little mouse.”

Another question bubbles within your chest and it rises to fall from your lips before you can stop it, “Do you think, if things were different, we could have had a chance at something normal?”

Jonathan is silent, allowing the question time to marinate as he considers his thoughts and how to respond. Eventually, he settles on something simple.

“No point dwelling on it when we can’t change it.”

His reply parrots your own but there’s a gentle weariness in them which speaks more than any other answer could and you have to accept it for what it is as comfortable silence falls between you.

“That was four questions.” Jonathan challenges after a minute, his tone shedding all heaviness with the ease of a snake.

“It was.” Teasing his side with your elbow, you tilt your head at him with a smile. “Do you want something for the extra ask?” Touched by his willingness to answer said questions and the honesty which he has shown across them, your offer is just as honest and earnest.

“Would you be willing to allow me to spend more time here? Not without notice but-” For once, Jonathan trails off and his face takes on the same uncertainty which sits within his tone as he makes the unexpected ask.

Surprised by the show of nervousness, you think keeping him on tenterhooks is cruel so you slip your hand within his own and give it a soft squeeze.

“Of course. I don’t mind if you want to stay over here a bit more. I hate leaving my car parked in that damn warehouse.” You harden your voice slightly. “No chemicals and no crimes are my only rules. If you can follow that then I can clear out a drawer if you want somewhere to keep your clothes?”

“Thank you.” Jonathan exhales, his chest visibly releasing its tension and you wonder if he was expecting a rejection as his hand remains strong within your own. “With that said, I truly do have to leave soon. As much as I would prefer to stay.”

Accepting that, you make no effort to move as you graze your thumb across the back of his hand and mentally plot out which of your filled drawers would actually be the easiest to donate to his needs.

x-x-x-x-x

It’s only an hour after Jonathan has packed up and removed all his work from your kitchen that you find it.

Returning to your bedroom to make sure that the sheets are clean enough to not require another fresh wash, your eyes scan the room twice before they land on the two items which most definitely had not been there when you had been in bed with Jonathan. There on the nightstand sits a thick stack of what is quite obviously fifty-dollar bills and a small, handwritten note – the latter of which you pick up with a slightly trembling hand. Jonathan’s now-familiar script stares back at you and your mouth forms the words as you read it slowly.

“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”

The money is a long overdue gift. From an old crow to his little mouse. Spend it as you see fit.

Not immediately recognising the first quote, you study the words with curious eyes as you try to work out exactly what Jonathan is trying to say. With so much information having been divulged over such a short period of time, a small part of you is thankful that he had to leave early as it gives you the chance to sort through the revelations with the added puzzle of this little note.

Slipping it within your pocket as you plan to retire to the couch and search up the quote origins, your attention quickly falls to the banded stack of bills which stare up at you with equal intensity. You thumb through them quietly, roughly estimating the total and your breath catches as you realise there’s at least a thousand dollars neatly stacked into fifties.

You exhale with a smile, not at the money, but at the way which Jonathan has attempted to leave it as a romantic surprise and has, inadvertently, served it up to you like he was a John visiting his favourite hooker. Making a mental note to let him know that you are thankful for the gift but also that leaving money on a nightstand like that vaguely gives the impression that he views you as a prostitute being paid for her services, you drop the money into the top drawer and close it gently.

Rent paid up and all bills more than taken care of, the thought of having some extra money to play with is exciting and you can’t keep the smile from your lips as you imagine him slaving over what to get you before settling on the oldest trick in the ‘treat yourself’ book.

#(crowd chanting) butt stuff butt stuff buTT STUFF BUTT STUFF YEAHHHHHH

what-could-it-be-this-time

Jul 26

magicalbats

The Servant of Two Masters (Part 7)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 44,039

Warnings: Afab!reader, fem!reader, not gender neutral, BIG age difference, segment shenanigans;

With Zandik & 65 - bits of infantilization, nipple play, anal fingering, pussy slick as lube, spit as lube, ass to mouth (don't actually do this btw), piv, reverse cowgirl, blowjob, spitroasting, threesome, creampie, unprotected sex, mentions of spanking, implied-ish daddy dom vibes from 65 😩

Webttore - attempted somnophilia

With 25 - rope bondage, anal fingering, lube syringe, butt plug, anal beads, anal gape, slut shaming, degradation, open mouthed gag, blindfold, blowjob, piss, wetting

Part 1 & 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

A/N: As always, let me just remind everyone that no matter what verbiage, no matter what descriptors I use, there are absolutely NO mentions of fecal matter or scat anywhere in any of my fics. It doesn't exist in my little world of make of believe and I do not see it. My goal is not realism (duh) but fantasy fulfillment, which dictates that butts are only for sex and not a damn thing else. Amen.

⭐

Dear mama,

I …

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

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

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

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

May the blessed mother help me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank the blessed mother for that small mercy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Master …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M - Master?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He doesn’t let you call him Fanya?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, no. It’s not that, just …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A vaguely pregnant pause follows that statement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he gives it to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like he was always saying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm … yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M - Master - -“

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

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

“O - oohn!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Masteeeer …”

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

“Hah. You are getting soft.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Please … please give it to me!”

“Hmmm. You want it, little one?”

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuh - … yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M - Master …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I … Master?”

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

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

“Mm … come closer? Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, you really might cum again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M - Master …!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slowly blink at that. Was he suggesting —

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

“I see. And do you wish you could?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“T - thank you, Master …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you hear it.

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

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

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

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

“Stop that, you damned jerk!”

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

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

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

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

“Get. Out. Now.”

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

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

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

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

“Out!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

“Is this a bad time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t say that.”

Another giggle.

Another pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm. Something like that, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. You’re already up, Master?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“M - Master?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only he knew the half of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you headed off to the cellar now?”

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

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

“Master!”

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

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

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

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

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

“… yes, Master.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll see. Are you ready to begin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be a dear and lie back for me, hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A - a little …”

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

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

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

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

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

“Wh - … which is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

“His … his fingers.”

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

You hesitate briefly at that before answering.

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

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

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

“Like what, exactly?”

“Mm. Like … an animal. Or something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like to feel it again?”

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

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

“… yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmnh. Feels good …”

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

“And this?”

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

“Ooughn. Better. M - more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s more?”

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

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

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

“Oh - oooohhhnn.”

“And how does that feel?”

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

“Strange how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W - wait - -“

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

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

“Relax into it. You’re clenching.”

“It’s a l - little hard not to …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y - yes. It will. Please.”

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

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

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

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

“N - nooooo …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what is it like? Tell me.”

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

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

“Say it.”

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

“Please what? Use your words.”

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

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

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

And he obliges you. Quite enthusiastically, in fact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nnghnnnn! Pluh - please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh - what - -“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O - oh!”

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

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

“It’s — a lot. Too big.”

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Open your mouth, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s not all that comes out though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lips.

Not the surgical mask.

He’d pulled it down?

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

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

⭐

Cross posted: here

#YESSSSSS IM SO EXCITED TO READ THIS

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