Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Look who finally arrived,” a soft, condescending voice hummed with sharp enunciation.

“I can’t believe he actually fell for it,” another person commented--a deep and raspy voice coming from a figure that reeked of tobacco, standing directly to his left. 

“Easy for you all to say. He didn’t break into your house.” Mark winced at the spiteful, biting tone. That was someone who held a grudge.

“Hush, you can let out all of your frustrations later, Mr. Kaufmann.” That voice. That was the woman from earlier.

Mark’s hair was grabbed and pulled up, forcing him to look at the wealthy-looking woman from before. He grunted with the strain, grimacing as her acrylic nails dug into his skin as she grabbed his chin. She smirked, moving his head so she could get a good look at him, appraising him like a buyer would when considering a purebred dog. 

“The Lucky Clover,” she hummed. “Or would you prefer I called you Markus? Or maybe Cameron McKnight--you sell art under that name, don’t you? How about Clover34? John C. Smith?” The woman was smug, a little too much, smirking as she recited the list of every alias and username he had ever used in his career with criminality.  

Mark felt her eyes burning into him as she eyed him down.

 “You’ve been a pain in my behind for the past five years, Mr. Reed.”

Mark wrenched his chin from her grip, glaring up at her with as much defiance he could muster being trapped on his knees in front of a woman who looked like she would skin him alive if given the chance. 

“And what the fuck did I steal from you?” he said. It was a bluff, a stall, trying to give himself time to collect his thoughts and formulate a plan. 

The woman’s acrylic-nailed grip on his chin just tightened, enough to make him wince, and her cool facade shifted from smug to annoyed. 

“Don’t let him get to you, sweet,” the milder voice said. A thin, sharp looking man stepped up to her side, hooking an arm around her waist as if to pull her away. His piercing blue eyes bore into Mark, as sharp and dangerous as flecks of ice. “He’s insignificant.” 

“As insignificant as the dent he left on my wallet?!” the tobacco-rough voice snapped. 

Mark barely had a chance to register the next figure, a tall, rotund man, who grabbed a fistful of his hair and wretched his head to one side. Some amber drink sloshed in the glass he carried, and the cigar propped on his bottom lip clouded his head in smoke. 

“Bitch lost me fucking thousands when he made off with my statues,” he barked. 

Mark shifted against the guards’ hold, grunting as his head was yanked in too many different directions. He didn’t even know these fucking people, how was he supposed to keep track of every single house he visited? 

“We’ll all get a chance to air our grievances,” the woman said, letting herself be pulled back by the thin man. “Boys.” 

The guards’ grip on Mark shifted, pulling him up off the table only long enough to slam the heavy tread of a boot into the back of one of his knees, dropping him to the floor. One kept a hold of the collar of his shirt, keeping him from sprawling completely on his face, while the other threaded their fingers through his hair to wrench his head back.

Mark groaned, the strain already settling into his neck as the man with the cigar ambled forward. He was forced to crane his gaze up, staring up at the man from his knees like a peasant addressing royalty. Mark gritted his teeth at the implication, already collecting spit in his mouth for when the man got closer.

“Alright, little boy,” he said, propping the cigar in one corner of his mouth. 

He stopped in front of Mark, cupping one hand against the side of his face and dragging his thumb over a cheekbone. Mark grimaced at the over-familiar touch, wanting to lean away. The pull on his hair was already painful though, and the strain of his neck was just just enough to keep him from thrashing.

“Not so confident now, are you?” 

Mr. Barrett grinned, and Mark shuddered, the distinct feeling of being a butterfly pinned on a board underneath his hand making him all too aware of the situation. 

Without thinking, he twisted, snapping, trying to catch the meat of Mr. Barrett’s palm between his teeth. He felt his hair ripping, the pain bringing tears to his eyes, but he fought through it, eyes squeezed shut, blindly aiming for his target.

He felt something in his mouth and he bit down hard, bracing himself for the copper tang of blood. 

His teeth sunk into the dense, heavy canvas of a glove of one of the guards, and Mr. Barrett was recoiling with a curse of alarm.

The guards immediately shifted their grip, grabbing his hair and face and clothes, restraining him even further. Mark knew he had lost his one chance at fighting back. He didn’t think they would make the same mistake twice.

“Stupid bitch,” he snarled. 

“Is the boy giving you trouble?” the sharp man asked, stepping away from the drink table he had been idling around. He only looked half-interested, like he was only concerned in Mr. Barrett’s looking bad rather than Mark’s actions. 

“Bitch tried to bite me,” Mr. Barrett hissed, glaring at Mark with enough venom to drop him dead.

Mark glared back, trying to spit what he had collected in his mouth. The guards had a grip around his jaw, gripping it so hard the bones ground together, and he only managed to get it all over his chin, snarling at Mr. Barrett with as much resistance as he could manage.

“Get me a fucking gag!” Mr. Barrett snapped, puffing angrily at his cigar as smoke curled out of his nose and mouth. He retreated a couple steps, and Mark relished in the idea that he had actually scared the man.

Mark hadn’t realized there were other people--guards?--in the room, but the heavy thud of their boots across the floor made him rethink the numbers part of this whole shitshow. He was outnumbered, and he would need a fucking miracle if he thought a fair fight was going to get him out of here. 

His eyes widened as the guards continued to jerk him around, their gloves providing them enough protection to pry his mouth open even as he continued to try to bite them. A stiff metal ring was fitted behind his teeth, the corners digging into his gums and pushing his lips back.

Mark shoved at it with his tongue, still trying to spit, thrashing against the guards’ hold as they tightened a strap around his head. 

He blushed when he realized the gag held his mouth open in a wide circle, open and vulnerable. With a ratcheting click, the guards forced it wide, until the stretch made his eyes water, and suddenly Mark didn’t feel so comfortable with his rebellion. 

He squirmed as Mr. Barrett finally stepped close again, apparently trusting the guards and gag to hold him back this time. 

Mark wanted to curse him out. What a big fucking man, having his goons do the dirty work. If Mark wasn’t cuffed and hung between ten different guards, he would have this man out on his ass, preferably needing a trip to the hospital afterwards. Mark snorted, imagining Mr. Barrett’s face bloody and broken beneath his hands.

“That was a big fucking mistake,” Mr. Barrett snarled.

He hooked his fingers inside Mark’s mouth, pinning his tongue to the floor, thumb digging into his cheek. Mark winced at the harsh grip, trying to bite down and failing as Mr. Barrett forced his fingers deeper, twisting inside his mouth and clearly searching for his gag reflex. 

Mark’s eyes watered, and he resisted. He didn’t want to give that sick satisfaction to Mr. Barrett. 

The fat fingers coring out his throat finally pulled away, and while Mark had managed to avoid dry heaving and gagging, a gush of drool spilled out of his mouth, hot and wet as it splattered down his chin, soaking into his shirt. 

Mr. Barrett’s spit-wet fingers slid over his face next, and Mark grimaced as they hooked up his nose. He had no idea if Mr. Barrett did it on purpose, but he used the hold to yank Mark’s head back. 

“Not so full of yourself now, are you?” Mr. Barrett leered, rubbing his thumb against the soft palate, and the strangely intimate gesture had Mark scowling. 

The splash of the cold drink hitting his mouth was a surprise, Mr. Barrett’s face gleeful and sadistic as he upended the glass between the rungs of the gag. Mark coughed, sending the alcohol splattering back out. Some went up the back of his nose, burning and painful and plugged in from Mr. Barrett’s fingers. 

The whiskey had to be expensive, the sort of subtle and smokey that you sipped in front of a fireplace, something you could comment on to show off how sophisticated you were during a tasting. 

Against the sensitive membranes of his nose and pried-open throat, along with Mark’s untrained pallet, it was a burning pain, making his eyes water and his nose run. He gurgled, as Mr. Barrett continued to pour, slowly emptying his glass until the spherical ice cube dangled at the rim, and Mark could see no mercy in his eyes.

He swallowed, left with no other choice, doing his best to awkwardly flex his throat around the ring gag. He had never tried to swallow with an open mouth before, and it was humiliating--audibly, visibly gulping down the liquid in front of everyone. The fact that he was on his knees, far too close to Mr. Barrett’s crotch than what he was comfortable with, made it all so much worse.

Finally, the glass was empty, and Mr. Barrett pulled his fingers his way. The wet squelch of them leaving Mark’s nose was something lewd, and Mark blushed, finally getting the chance to drop his head and breathe.

“Look at that ,” Mr. Barrett spat, wiping his fingers through Mark’s hair to dry them off. “It knows how to swallow. Not like it’s going to get much use, though.” 

Mark’s face went hot at the implication, and he did his best to glare at the man, but he was slowly losing the energy he needed to resist. 

“Aww, you’re going to let one snappy bite ruin the whole mouth for you?” the sharp man taunted from his perch on the woman’s arm, smirking behind the glass of his own drink. 

Mr. Barrett shot him a glare, sucking down the last little bit of his cigar before blowing the last gust of smoke into Mark’s open mouth. Mark choked, grimacing at the burn and acrid taste of a foreign tobacco way too expensive than anything he had ever had himself.

“Shut the fuck up, Harper,” he said. “You didn’t almost lose your finger to it.” 

Mr. Harper just tittered behind his martini glass, apparently relishing in the chance to push Mr. Barrett’s buttons. 

“No, I would have had my cock in there the moment he stepped through the door,” he said. “It’s you lot who always want to do the boring stuff.” 

Mr. Barrett rolled his eyes, crouching in front of Mark, a bit more eye level with him, tapping the ashes off into his lap. “Boring?” he said.

The cherry tip of his cigar burned inches from Mark’s nose, and his mouth suddenly ran dry. He could feel the heat of it, threatening and promising at the same time, and he squirmed, trying to pull away. This wasn’t his fucking fault. Harper was the one who made the comment!

“You just don’t know how to appreciate the finer things in life,” Mr. Barret said, pulling one last time of the cigar to make it flare bright, the embers sucking up the oxygen to burn hotter. 

The gust of smoke had Mark squeezing his eyes shut, and by the time he had them open again, Mr. Barrett was already hovering the end of the cigar over his thigh, using one of the ragged tears that had accumulated in his pants over the years he had owned them. 

“Like watching someone squirm.” 

Mark didn’t even get the chance to beg, eyes going wide, before Mr. Barrett was bringing it down, snuffing the embers on his thigh, grinding it hard through the fabric of his pants and against the skin to make sure it was properly extinguished. 

Mark had been cut before, been bruised, broke bones. He had a rough job and wasn’t a stranger to limping back to his apartment at the end of a job to have his crew dress his wounds and numb the pain with whatever alcohol they had on hand. 

This burn was somehow worse than all of that. 

He thrashed against the guards’ hold for a moment before going limp, shivering as he tried to pull his leg out of the way. Mr. Barret just followed his movements, keeping the cigar pressed against the skin.

The sensitive nerves on the inside of his thigh amplified it by a thousand, and Mark almost convinced himself he could smell the burning hair. Mr. Barrett crushed it in harder, snuffing the embers and dragging the ash through the wound. 

Mark hated that he was crying, unable to hide his hiccupping sobs from behind the gag.

He wished he could wipe away the snot and tears streaming down his face, get back at least that little bit of dignity. He hated that Mr. Harper was fucking giggling like a spoiled child, clapping his hands.

“ Bravo , Mr. Barrett,” he said. “Now take his clothes off and wreck him already.”

Mark froze, his heart skipping a beat as a chunk of ice settled in his stomach. He looked between the two men then, waiting for one of them to laugh or clarify that that had been a joke. Or. . . or another threat--words and hot air tossed around to scare him. 

“You think I’m sticking my dick in that ?” Mr. Barrett said, his lips curling with disgust. He pushed himself to his feet, retreating to the drink cart to drop the smothered remains of his cigar in an ashtray and to refresh his drink. 

Mr. Harper tittered. “You don’t even know what he looks like under those rags,” he said, gesturing with his own drink. “So quick to judge appearances.” He tutted. 

Mr. Barrett just sneered. “If you’re so hot for it, why don’t you put your cock in it?” 

Harper hummed and hawed. “Oh, I suppose I don’t know what he truly looks like either,” he said. 

The woman finally scoffed, waving a hand as she pulled away from Harper to get her own drink. “You boys need hours of foreplay, Christ almighty.” She groaned, holding out her glass as a bodyguard poured her another helping of red wine. “You put your dick in a hole and you fuck it. How hard is that?” 

Harper smirked, still hiding mostly behind his drink. “I mean no offense, but your inexperience is awfully telling, friends,” he said. 

Mr. Barrett just grunted, more invested in pouring himself another drink than Mark. 

“Well, I guess we’ll never know until we see for ourselves, hm?” Harper said. He snapped his fingers, gesturing vaguely at the guards. “Go on. Those rags need to be burned immediately.” His nose wrinkled. “I don’t even want to know where they’ve been.”

And this wasn’t a turn that Mark had planned for. He started struggling again as the guards pulled him up off his knees, but he couldn’t put his full weight on one leg and his arms were still bound behind his back. When one guard snapped open a knife, he froze. He hung between then, the ache setting into his shoulders as they took all his weight.

This wasn’t the police. This was so far off the deep end, nothing that Mark had ever dealt with. These people could make him disappear and no one, no one in the entire fucking world would ever know or care. 

The cold back of the knife pressed against his stomach, and Mark sucked in, pulled away as much as he could. He turned his head to the side, cheeks flushed hot as the blade tore easily through the fabric. The buttons didn’t even break, the knife so sharp that it cut through his shirt like butter. 

The front fell open, and the knife hovered in the hollow of his throat, long enough that Mark swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple bob against the tip. 

The guard was pulled away a moment later, cutting open the sleeves so that the pieces would be ripped away. The cold air of the room immediately made his nipples harden, and Mark shuddered at being so exposed in front of such powerful people. When the guard moved to grab at the waistband of his pants, Mark panicked. 

“-Ease!” he said, fumbling to form words with the gag. “-E-e-ease! Oh! Oh!”

Mr. Harper was gloated, eyes sparkling with sadistic glee. “So that’s what it takes to get him to beg,” he said. “Oh, this is going to be marvelous.”

Mark’s begging was paid no mind, the knife slipping first down one leg and then the other. It was ridiculous how easily he was wrestled out of his socks and shoes, and then all he was left with was his underwear. 

He looked to the guards for help, trying to find some trace of humanity in the black, reflective glass of the masks that covered their faces. 

All he could see was his own, pathetic face staring back at him. He looked debauched , mouth stretched into a wide ‘Oh’ of surprise, like a blow up doll from a cheap sex shop. His eyes were red with tears streaking down his face and snot dribbled over his upper lip. 

The knife was hooking inside the leg of his underwear next, slicing up just as easily as the rest of his clothes, and Mark turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut as if that could remove him from the situation. 

There was a long moment of silence, the only sounds he could hear being ice clinking against glasses and the creak of leather as the guards shifted from foot to foot as they waited for further instructions. That, and Mark’s hiccupping, pathetic sobs.

“Well, well, well.” It was Harper who broke the silence. 

Mark hated that it was him who was speaking, commenting on his body.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” 

Mark’s eyes shot open at the hand dragging across his chest, nails pinching around his nipples. Mr. Harper was standing in front of him, staring openly and hungrily as his body, and Mark flushed. He never felt like an object before, but the way the man looked him up and down, licking his lips and drinking him in, Mark got the distinct sense that this rich man didn’t even see him as a human. 

Mark shook his head with a groan as Mr. Harper’s fingers dipped lower, nails scratching over his stomach and through the mess of hair between his legs. And then he moaned as Harper’s fingers brushed over his clit, finding it easily and then giving it a squeeze. 

“Oh, Mr. Barrett darling, you are going to love this,” he said with a coy grin. “String him up.” 

Mark yelped in alarm as the guards dragged him backwards, positioning him in some arbitrary point in the room. There was a heavy rattling of chains, and then a cold metal hook was threaded under his elbows. Mark’s eyes went wide as he felt the chains tighten, pulling him up and forcing him into a hunched, painful strain. 

He groaned as the pull tightened, the clack of the winch going until he was panting with effort, up on his tiptoes, and struggling to find a position that didn’t feel like his arms were going to get ripped out of their sockets. His vision swam as fresh tears flooded his eyes, and he moaned helplessly. 

His legs were kicked apart, one guard crouched to fasten the spreader bar around his ankles, keeping a heavy boot planted in the middle of the bar to keep Mark stretched. 

“Come now, Mr. Barrett,” Mr. Harper muttered, circling Mark like a shark now that his body was fully on display. “Let’s set aside our differences and have some fun.” 

He stopped behind Mark, groping his ass with one hand before pushing his hips forward, forcing Mark to present his cunt for an only mildly interested Mr. Barrett.

“A hairy cunt,” Mr. Barrett said with a sneer, and Mark blushed as such a succinct description of his body. How easy it was to break him down into the most important parts.

“A hungry cunt,” Harper quipped, using his grip on Mark’s ass to make him wiggle his hips. “Come on. You made him cry so prettily with your cigar before. Come make him cry again. For me?” 

Mark’s mouth was dry with horror as he watched Mr. Barrett turn towards him with renewed interest. He shook his head as the man approached, unable to pull away. With his elbows cranked so high behind his back, he was forced into a hunch, unable to even look Mr. Barrett in the eye as he approached.

Mr. Barrett’s fingers were thicker than Harper’s, blunt and warm as they groped between his thighs. They dug into his cunt mercilessly, twisting and groping inside of him, not even feeling for anything in particular, just testing out the space. 

Mark couldn’t even bite his tongue, moaning like a pornstar as Mr. Barrett crushed his thumb against this clit, crooking his fingers inside of him. It squelched, messy and wet, and Mark was mortified at the sounds his body made, sounds that Mr. Barret got him to make so easily.

“Oh, how lewd ,” Harper swooned. “Listen to the sounds he makes.” 

Mark blushed hot, gritting his teeth, angry that he was taken apart so easily. 

Mr. Barrett dug deeper, and the third finger inside his cunt had Mark writhing, trying to grind down on his hands to get even more pleasure. 

What the fuck was his body doing? Mark felt like he couldn’t control himself. The alcohol burned in the back of his throat, and on the empty stomach he had from the heist, it went straight to his bloodstream, leaving him heady and delirious. 

“A greedy little cunt,” Mr. Barrett said, rubbing smooth, even circles around his clit, keeping it pressed hard to the pubic bone. “As greedy as the rest of you, I’d wager.” 

Mark moaned, shaking his head. He was aware how hot and wet he was, how inappropriate that was for his circumstances, but Mr. Barrett’s fingers twisted inside of him, drawing out pleasure he didn’t want to have. 

“Appropriate that your greed is what got you into this mess,” Mr. Barrett said. “Greed needs to be punished. ” He pulled his fingers back and drove them back in, almost violently, and Mark’s legs would have crumpled if the pain radiating out from his arms and shoulders didn’t make him see white. “Though it’s clear you’re enjoying this. God, you’re so desperate for it. My fingers aren’t nearly enough, are they? Slutty little hole’s desperate to be filled.”

“Oh, so sensitive,” Harper teased. He kept an even pressure on Mark’s hips, pushing him forward into Mr. Barrett’s hand, preventing him from twisting or squirming away. “I bet if we cleaned you up, you’d make an excellent whore.” 

“He’s certainly eager enough for it,” Mr. Barrett said, pulling his fingers out. A long string of slick connected them until he dragged his hand across Mark’s stomach, leaving a wet mess.

Mark was trembling, and as Mr. Barrett stepped back, he realized he had been about to cum. He had been just about to cum and he hadn’t even noticed. He had been too caught up in his own thoughts, and how his cunt clenched on nothing, empty and hungry, and he couldn’t help but whimper at the loss.

He didn’t want this. He kept telling himself that. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling Mr. Harper’s exploratory hands next, dipping between his legs to explore Mr. Barrett’s work.

“ Mmh , you got him all wet and messy--were you going to cum?” Mr. Harper hummed. 

Mark flushed and shook his head. Mr. Harper’s fingers were thinner, not as filling, but they could reach further into him, reaching spots that Mr. Barrett couldn’t, and it wasn’t long before he was squirming again, whimpering as he was pulled back towards the edge way too quickly. 

He was still sensitive and he hadn’t quite recovered from Mr. Barrett’s assault. He was moaning again, bucking his hips on Mr. Harper’s hand as he drove him forward.

“You’re really just going to leave such a wonderful toy?” he said.

He pulled his fingers out at the last moment, making Mark wail as he missed out on yet another orgasm. He could feel himself squirt down the insides of his thighs, but it wasn’t cumming. He was just that fucking wet.

“You’ve gotten awfully stale in your old age.” 

He was back to pressing Mr. Barrett’s buttons again. The man stiffened, glaring back over his shoulder. It worked though, as he turned back. Mr. Harper was in front of Mark then, gripping the back of his neck. Some unseen signal must have passed between himself and the guards because when he pulled Mark down, the chain rattled free with the extra slack, and his arms weren’t torn away from him. 

Mark gasped as he was bent over at the waist. If Harper’s hand wasn’t pressing down on the back of his neck, he could have straightened and relieved himself from the ache in his shoulders. 

“Come on, Mr. Barrett ,” Harper said, using the back of the ring gag to hoist Mark’s head up. “You know you want this slutty, slutty mouth.” 

He released Mark’s neck, but before he could move, the guards were there, tightening a fucking leather collar around his neck and tying the dangling leash to the spreader bar, keeping him bent over at the waist. With his position adjusted, the chain tightened again, pulling his arms back up, not giving him a moment of rest.

His legs shook from the effort of it, the position devious enough that Mark couldn’t lean on his arms for support. If his legs gave out from his precarious standing position, he was going to yank hard on his elbows and shoulders, and he had a twisted feeling that these people wouldn’t be tripping over themselves to get him medical attention.

Harper sauntered behind Mr. Barrett, reaching a hand around his waist and twirling the tip of one of his fingers along the rim of his whiskey glass, swaying his hips seductively. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he crooned. “I’d love to see your big, fat cock stuffed down his throat. Mmh, I bet he’d choke on it with those pretty little tears running down his face.” 

He hooked a finger in the collar of Mr. Barrett’s tie, tugging it loose. 

“I bet he’s never sucked cock before,” he murmured, hooking his chin over Mr. Barrett’s shoulder, directing both of their attentions to Mark’s hunched, shivering form. “Imagine popping that tricksy little bastard’s cherry. You’d be the biggest thing that’s ever fucked him open. We could make it the only thing that’s fucked him open.” 

His hand trailed down one of Mr. Barrett’s arms, sliding down the curve of his bicep where it bulged against the fabric of his shirt. He cradled his hip, hooking his fingers into one loop of his belt, playing with it idly before dipping lower.

Mark hadn’t sucked cock before. He wasn’t going to tell them that, but he could only watch, horrified, as Mr. Harper seductively gripped something massive just under the fabric of Mr. Barrett’s pants. As he stroked, the bulge only got bigger, pushing down one of Mr. Barrett’s pant legs, like there was an elephant’s trunk in his pants.

“Imagine him as a cocksleeve,” Mr. Harper crooned, speaking directly into Mr. Barrett’s ear as he continued to stroke him through his pants. “Made just for you. The only thing that’s ever been in his throat. He would dream about you. See you anytime he closed his eyes.” 

Mr. Barrett looked much more convinced, eyes half-lidded as he stared at Mark with open lust.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and Mr. Harper withdrew, picking up a freshly-made martini from a nearby guard’s platter.

“I’m just saying,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. 

Harper walked back to Mark’s head, threading his fingers through his hair to yank his face up to look at Mr. Barrett. He dropped to a smooth crouch, pressing his cheek to Mark’s--warm and flawless against coarse and tear-stained.

“There’s no need for restraint, Mr. Barrett,” he said. “You know you want to fuck it.” 

“Fuck you,” Mr. Barret said, setting his drink aside and undoing his belt, striding back to Mark with a scowl. 

And Mark couldn’t tear his eyes away from the cock that he pulled out, the nerves and anxiety twisting in his stomach. 

It was like something you would see in porn, a foot long and as thick as a beer can. Mark didn’t even have toys that were that large, and his cunt clenched at the thought of it coring him open and making him cum. Fuck , he hoped he would get to cum on Mr. Barrett’s cock.

Mr. Barrett was huge . And then he felt embarrassed for thinking that. His mouth watered as he stared at the man, and with the ring gag, it threatened to spill out and over his chin if he wasn’t careful.

Mr. Barrett’s fingers replaced Harper’s in his hair again, both hands cradling either side of his head, pulling his face into his crotch, and Mark moaned at the musk of his stomach pressing against his nose, even as his legs were spread wide to show off just how wet he was for all of this.

“What a debaucherous little slut you are,” Mr. Harper muttered, trailing his hand down Mark’s shoulder and down to his ass. “Your time was utterly wasted as a thief. I have several friends that would pay a pretty penny to have your nasty little cunt at their disposal.” 

Mr. Barrett’s cock was in his mouth before Mark could protest that, smearing precum down his tongue as it pushed inside. The ring gag was barely wide enough to fit him in, and Mark moaned, feeling his lips stretch with it. It wasn’t even halfway in and he was already heady from the taste of it, swallowing the dribbles of precum and saliva that flooded his mouth.

Mr. Barrett gripped his head tighter, fingers digging almost painfully into his skull as he shoved his cock deeper.

Mark groaned, feeling the tip start to dip towards the back of his mouth, and then he was struck with the suddenly very real situation that Mr. Barrett was going to fuck his throat, and he was going to fuck it hard .

“Mmh, you’ve got him fucking dripping for it,” Mr. Harper muttered, his hand swiping between Mark’s thighs and coming away wet and sticky. “Laveaux darling, I thought you said he would be humiliated.” 

Mark was mewling around Mr. Barrett’s cock, shoving at it with his tongue. The combined feeling of having his mouth stretched so full as well as Mr. Harper’s prying, adventurous fingers now circling his cunt had Mark panicking a little. 

He tried to shift in his bonds, managing to tiptoe forward a couple centimeters before he was speared too quickly on Mr. Barrett’s cock. And then a thrust of his hips had him swinging back, taking Mr. Harper’s fingers all too quickly as they pulled him open and pumped deeper. Mark was trapped between them, and he could only cry quietly, his sobs muffled behind Mr. Barrett’s cock.

“I thought he would be,” Ms. Laveaux said, taking her own seat on a couch to watch what was happening, her wine glass almost completely empty. “Perhaps we . . .  misunderstood the type of thief we would be capturing.”

Mark moaned, struggling to shake his head and voice his protest. This wasn’t what he wanted at all. Mr. Harper hit a spot inside of him that made him clench hard, and then his fingers were pulling out. Mark couldn’t even brace himself as the flat of Mr. Harper’s hand came down hard on his cunt with an obscene squelch. 

With a squeal of surprise, he squirted a bit more, thighs trying to twitch closed as his clit throbbed for it, begging for another hit. The spreader bar held him open though, and the cool curve of Harper’s martini glass settled on the curve of his upturned ass, keeping his hips steady.

“Come now Markus, don’t be like that. Open up for me.” Mr. Harper’s voice was a teasing sing-song, devious fingers pressing against his cunt again. 

Mr. Harper wasn’t even paying attention to his clit, too concerned with getting his fingers as deep as he could, and the way they hooked inside of Mark had him spasming violently. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mr. Harper said, pulling back his fingers at the last possible second. 

A sharp flick against his clit had Mark spasming, moaning as he pressed his face harder onto Mr. Barrett’s cock, as if that could save him from the embarrassment of the situation, but only ending up choking himself violently. Any thought of cumming slowly smoldered, leaving Mark gasping for more. 

Mr. Harper tittered, giggling to himself as he rubbed his slick fingers over Mark’s cunt and then over his asshole, teasing it with the wetness.

“My, my, you don’t need three years in prison as the block bitch to set you straight,” he said. “I bet if we gave this naughty cunt a proper spanking, you’d fix all your ways and become the upstanding fuckpet you were always meant to be.”

Mark moaned, both at the thought of himself dropping the soap and becoming the bitch of anyone who wanted him in a prison block, as well as the thought of himself as a fuckpet .

“Oh, I think he likes the idea of that,” Mr. Barrett rasped, one hand cradling the back of Mark’s head to keep his mouth firmly speared on his cock. 

“Hm?” Mr. Harper hummed, teasing his fingers along the outside of Mark’s hole, spreading the lips and letting the cool air of the room flow into him. “Does the thought of you being a fuckpet sound nice? Does this slutty cunt want to be fucked and bred?” 

Mark tried to shake his head no. No, he didn’t want this. His cunt was betraying him. Why was he so wet? 

“Let’s see if all that talk of rehabilitative justice means anything,” Mr. Barrett said. 

He finally pulled away from Mark, giving him a chance to gasp at the fresh air. It also gave Mark’s neck a break from the strain of looking up, and he dropped his head down with a moan of relief. He couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed by the flood of drool that left his mouth. He was left hacking, coughing and straining as he tried to recover.

His eyes burned with tears by the time he managed to look back up at Mr. Barrett. 

He hadn’t even fucked his mouth properly. 

Mark shuddered in fear.

Mr. Harper circled him, saunting in front of him. His playful smile just made Mark squeeze his eyes shut, the idea that someone else was enjoying this a lot more than he was sending a gush of arousal to his pussy, making it leak down his thighs and drip off his cunt.

Mr. Harper’s attention was all over Mr. Bennett again, arms wrapping around his waist as he rutted his crotch against the fabric of Mr. Bennett’s pants, his own hard cock straining against the fabric. He moaned, over exaggerated, pressing a sloppy kiss to Mr. Bennett’s cheek as he pulled the bigger man’s belt free from its loops. 

“Spank him for me,” he crooned. “I want to see him broken.” 

Mr. Bennett just grinned, wrapping the belt around one fist and leaving the buckle dangling free. He seemed to ignore Mr. Harper’s advances or, at least, brush them off, as he accepted the belt, running a hand down Mark’s back as he walked around behind him.

Mark shivered at how eagerly he had accepted. 

He thrashed as Mr. Barrett approached, begging again. The movement tore at the muscles in his shoulders but Mark didn’t care. All he could think about was the spreader bar keeping his legs over and his throbbing, denied pussy. 

That, and the thick, leather belt that now dangled from Mr. Barrett’s hand. 

He caught the glint of the buckle as it passed by his head, seeing his own, panicked, bloodshot eyes reflected in the metal. 

Mr. Barrett’s hand was bigger than Mr. Harper’s, cupping his ass and almost covering the entire cheek to pull it aside. Mark winced, clenching both his holes under the inspection.

The clatter of the buckle had him sobbing again, shaking his head, straining to look over his shoulder and, when that didn’t work, looked to Mr. Harper or Ms. Laveaux, hoping one of them would give him mercy.

Mr. Harper was lounging on the same couch as Ms. Laveaux, legs spread wide as he palmed his crotch, watching Mark with a hungry look in his eyes. Ms. Laveaux wasn’t any better, the wine glass cupped so casually in one hand, the other slipping up the hem of his dress to rub at herself. 

Unlike Mr. Harper, she had a darker look in her eye, not quite like she was enjoying this, but rather she was picturing doing something else to Mark’s twisted, helpless body, and getting off on that . 

Mark was jolted back to his body as Mr. Barrett cupped him roughly. As always, his touch wasn’t as delicate as Mr. Harper’s. He slid his fingers through the slick folds of Mark’s cunt, pulling him open and then pulling the scissor of his fingers down to frame Mark’s clit. 

Mark got the impression Mr. Barrett was examining a product, looking for every weak point that could be exploited under the strict discipline of the belt. 

Mark was even more terrified when Mr. Barrett’s hand fell away. 

He was tense. He knew what was coming next. He braced himself for it.

Mark didn’t even hear the swing. The folded loop snapped across his pussy, and Mark howled.

The hole immediately spasmed, desperately trying to close against the abuse, and he shot up onto his tiptoes, rocking violently forward in the restraints. The chains rattled, snapping taut and catching Mark’s elbows as he crumpled forward. 

And then all the pain collected in a sharp burning fire on his shoulder blades as they took all his weight, letting him drop a few inches before he was swinging backward. 

He was still processing the first hit when the second came, swinging up between his legs and crushing his clit. Mark was howling, scrambling to get his feet underneath him, sobbing at the strain in his arms. 

Mr. Barrett’s hand pressed against the small of his back, bending him down and forcing him into an arch, forcing him to present his cunt for the belting. 

The third hit was just as hard as the first two, sending spittle flying out of Mark’s mouth as he screamed and shook his head. He couldn’t take this he couldn’t take this he couldn’t take this! 

His cunt already felt like it was on fire, swollen fat between his thighs. He could feel his clit too, something he wasn’t used to, sliding between the wet folds of his cunt as it peeked out, showing itself for this punishment. Mark was all too aware of his own body, only able to ground himself with Mr. Barrett’s cool, dry hand resting against his back. 

That, and the sound of laughter ringing out from the sadistic Mr. Harper, who openly stroked his cock as he watched Mark cry, face flushed in arousal. He was slumped back against the couch, next to Ms. Laveaux, both of them watching him like hawks.

Mark was moaning at the fourth hit, knees spasming as they tried to come together, his body’s feeble attempts to protect himself. 

Mr. Barrett could cradle his stomach, give him at least a little support, but Mark had the feeling he was choosing not to. 

The fifth hit didn’t even drive a sound out of him, tongue lolling out from the gag as his eyes rolled back. He keened as Mr. Barrett’s rough, uncaring fingers probed into him, stabbing ruthlessly through the mess of slick and hair to punch into him. 

The stretch was tight, his fingers not only strained but the pain had tightened Mark back up. But he still spasmed, sucking Mr. Barrett’s fingers down just as eagerly as before. 

He groaned when he felt the circling pressure around his clit, shaking his head and rattling the chains. He couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. Not now.

He was too stretched out, aching and uncomfortable, but Mr. Barrett was patient, working him up until Mark was dripping again, moaning again. 

“Got your feet back under you?” he teased, patting Mark’s hip as he pulled his hand away. 

His fingers were stuffed through the ring gag next, and Mark gagged as he tasted himself, hot arousal, mixing with the salty sweat of Mr. Barrett’s skin. He couldn’t help but lather his tongue over them as much as he could, cleaning Mr. Barrett’s fingers, hoping that would get him some mercy.

He slumped again as the fingers pulled away, wiping themselves in his hair and down his cheek. Mark should have grimaced, but he didn’t have the energy to be disgusted.

“Hm?” Mr. Barrett said, slapping his cheek lightly to bring him back to himself. “Maybe Mr. Harper is right. All you needed was a good, stern spanking on that slutty cunt of yours.” 

Mark’s face burned. He would have shaken his head, to disagree, but his cunt was throbbing, twitching for Mr. Barrett’s fingers again, and he arched his back, pushing his hips backwards as Mr. Barrett walked behind him again. 

“Aww, aren’t you just an eager little fuckpet now? Do you want me to finger you again? You wanna cum, you filthy whore?”

Mark mewled, pushing his ass up against Mr. Barrett’s hand, desperate for his soothing touch. 

He sobbed in betrayal as the belt snapped against his cunt for the sixth time, a horrible, wet, lewd squelch as it squirted around the leather. He could feel his heartbeat in his clit, hammering and fast as he throbbed and clenched. He wanted Mr. Barrett’s fingers again. Wanted something to fill himself.

“All that thieving and stealing and running around with the wrong crowd was just you acting out,” Mr. Barrett said, hand still resting on Mark’s ass. “You were looking for someone to come along. And put you in your place.” 

The seventh hit had Mark moaning, guttural and broken. He hung his head, hair falling in front of his face as he took it. Fuck… Was Mr. Barrett right? Was this his place? 

He felt at home underneath the man’s heavy hand, the restraints becoming a counterpoint to the pain in a way that helped him focus. Mark wanted to please Mr. Barrett. Desperately. Maybe, if he was good enough, this horrible, horrible punishment would be over. Mark just had to prove he was a good boy.

He whimpered, pushing his ass back, presenting his pussy for the best. 

Mr. Barrett chuckled. “So you agree,” he said. 

The next hit was harder, like lightning, like Mr. Barrett had been holding himself back as was just now starting to use his strength. Mark had to bite down hard on the ring gag, the metal digging the soft parts of his mouth, his gums and palate, to stop himself from screaming. He managed to keep his legs underneath himself, but only barely. 

“You agree,” Mr. Barrett said, rubbing his fingers through Mark’s cunt again, capturing his clit between two fingers and pulling it down with a firm squeeze. “That this is your place.” 

Mark nodded frantically, trying to pull his hips away from Mr. Barrett’s hand, trying to curl in on himself to protect his soft, vulnerable parts from further torture. He whimpered in relief as Mr. Barrett released him and pulled away, letting him sag as much as he could in his bindings. 

Mr. Barrett’s next, barked order made Mark cringed, squeezing his eyes shut at the humiliation. 

“Present.” 

Mark couldn’t do it. 

He knew what was coming. He knew what would happen if he spread his knees and pushed his ass back to Mr. Barrett. He wouldn’t get fingers. He wouldn’t get the sweet, soft touch from Mr. Harper and not even Mr. Barrett’s rougher, dispassionate groping. 

His clit throbbed, standing tall and proud, and Mark could feel his own wetness dripping from the tip. 

He was going to get the belt. 

Did he agree with Mr. Barrett? Was this his place? Did Mark really, truly believe that? 

His legs were shaking as he straightened his knees, clenching his hands into fists to tighten his resolve. He kept his head down as he shuffled his feet, the soft clink of the spreader bar making him shiver. He could hear the wet slap of someone else’s jerking off. Mr. Harper’s or Ms. Laveaux’s, he couldn't tell. He couldn’t bring himself to check.

Trembling, eyes squeezed shut, he pulled his knees apart. 

Arched his back. 

And presented his pussy for Mr. Barrett. 

Someone was laughing. There was a shutter click of a camera. Mark kept his eyes squeezed shut, as if that would help. Someone let out a low whistle. And then Mr. Barrett was patting his ass. 

“Well fuck me,” he said as Mark shuddered but held the position. “It can be trained.” 

Mark whimpered, forcing himself not to push against his touch. He had obeyed! He had been good! Mr. Barrett should reward him, not punish him! Mark wanted to protest. 

He didn’t make a sound.

Mark was expecting the next hit. 

It still caught him off guard. 

The hardest one yet, it felt like Mr. Barrett had put his full weight behind the strike, and instead of a scream or a howl, Mark let out an obscene moan, cumming hard underneath the leather as it tore into his clit.  

He was limp before he could catch himself, slumping in the chains as his legs gave out from underneath him. The pain didn’t even bother him, all he could focus on was the spasming in his cunt as he rode out wave after wave of pleasure. 

He could feel himself squirting onto his thighs, and his face burned at how wet and desperate he must look like. How swollen and red his hole was.

And he was still throbbing for it. Clit still twitching. 

He hadn’t even gotten his legs back underneath him, slick and his own wetness still sliding down his thighs as his shoulders and elbows took all of his weight, when he felt a twinge, and then to his horror, an additional, clinging, warm wetness spilled over his thighs. The splatter as it hit the floor made the entire room go quiet, and Mark kept his eyes firmly on the ground. 

He was all too aware that his cunt was still twitching, but he could no longer revel in the short-lived pleasure. 

Even the wet squelch of Mr. Harper’s and Ms. Laveaux’s own playing had gone quiet, and Mark burned with shame as he realized every eye in the room was on him. 

“Did he just piss himself?” 

It was Mr. Harper’s incredulous, obnoxiously loud observation and barely-contained laughter that did Mark in. 

With a cry, he came again, the warm, wetness from his own piss combined with the humiliation of just cumming from having his pussy whipped too much. It was much less satisfying. He couldn’t get his thighs together and the spasms of his empty hole without any touching just made him needier. 

“Oh my god, he did. He just pissed himself, what a slut,” Mr. Harper said, a smile still obvious in his voice.

He sobbed in relief when he felt Mr. Barrett’s hand scoop under his stomach, pulling his hips up and finally taking some of his weight off of his arms. The metal chain clattered at the hook was pulled out from the crook of his elbows, and Mark’s arms fell limp.

His legs couldn’t hold his weight either, and Mr. Barrett lowered him to the ground in a loose puddle. He set the belt aside, bringing his hand up to comb gently through Mark’s hair, and he got a look at the shiny, wet leather that had just made him cum. 

Mark glared at it, but that was all the hatred he could muster. 

He leaned into Mr. Barrett’s touch instead, moaning as the grip tightened. He was limp, boneless, and when Mr. Barrett shoved him forward, forcing his head down and shoving his nose into the puddle of his own piss and cum, Mark didn’t even get a chance to resist. 

Mr. Barrett ground his nose into the mess, making sure Mark’s open mouth and tongue were right in the middle of it. Rubbing his face in his own mess like you would a disobedient puppy. 

Mark moaned, clenching his stomach to try to push against Mr. Barrett’s grip, but he was too exhausted from hanging from the chains. Resigned, he carefully extended his stomach, grimacing at the taste but forcing himself to lick it up as best he could. Mr. Barrett’s heavy hand on the back of his head was a constant, keeping Mark firmly in place so he had nowhere else to go.

His cunt still clenched weakly between his legs, and the spreader bar meant that Mark still couldn’t get his thighs together to try to rub it for some real relief. His arms were a limp mess, and even if he stretched, he wouldn’t have been able to get his fingers even close to his hole in any meaningful way. 

He was still oozing, his cunt pumping out more and more slick, keeping itself open and ready for the breeding that it thought was coming. 

Mark squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about the wires this was crossing in his brain, the taste of piss on his tongue making his cunt clench. 

Mr. Barrett finally pulled away, and Mark didn’t even have the strength to pull himself up. He just moaned, slumped face first in the remainder of the puddle, tongue still lapping it up weakly. 

He grunted as he felt the huge, blunted toe of a boot shove between his legs, and he arched his back, presenting his holes as best as he could, moaning as the rough leather dragged over the sensitive nerves.

“My turn.” 

The voice was rougher, one that had barely spoken before, and Mark only managed a weak moan of confusion. Another hand fisted his hair, grinding his face into the mess of cum and piss before pulling him off the floor with alarming ease. 

Mark could feel it dripping off his face, tongue hanging out of the ring gag. He could barely bring his eyes to focus on the blurry face in front of him, still limp, and he hung by his hair, unable to even support himself with his hands.  

When Mark’s vision finally cleared enough for him to focus, his cunt quivered and squeezed at the stern, stone face of Mr. Kaufmann. His clean, white beard was trimmed short, the same as his silver hair. He wore his age well, a visage not unlike a strict professor who was now inches from Mark’s face, dark eyes glittering with something dangerous. 

He was wearing a black suit, well dressed like everyone else, driving home just how far Mark was beneath him, naked and shivering and covered in his own juices. 

Mr. Kaufmann didn’t even smirk. He didn’t have Harper’s coy playfulness, or Mr. Barrett’s gruff inexperience. 

He looked angry. Just angry. His rage barely contained behind a flat, cold expression.

And Mark’s cunt was throbbing for it.

“Barked up the wrong tree this time, huh boy?” Mr. Kaufmann asked. 

Mark groaned, wanting the beg for mercy, explain that he was sorry and that he would never do it ever again. Mr. Kaufmann didn’t look like the type to be convinced by pathetic sobbing. 

Mr. Kaufmann sneered and dropped him, letting his face fall back into the puddle. Mark immediately began licking at it, hoping his obedience would earn him a bit of mercy. 

“Get him up,” Mr. Kaufmann said, pushing himself to his feet and sauntering back towards the drink cart. 

Two guards stepped forward, hauling Mark up by his arms. He didn’t have the strength to keep his legs underneath him so he just went limp, letting himself get dragged as they positioned him how Mr. Kaufmann wanted.

He had no choice in the end as they stood him in front of a tall, gilded mirror, undoing the cuffs on his wrists to attach them at the top. He groaned as they stepped away, forced to support himself, and he slumped forward, resting his forehead against the cold glass. 

When he finally looked up, meeting his own gaze for the first time, he almost didn’t recognize himself. 

His eyes were red with tears, streaks of them and snot streamed down his face. His mouth was propped open in a slack ‘oh’ from the gag, but now his lips were red and irritated from the throat fucking. His tongue was limp, hanging out of his mouth, streaked with white that was slowly oozing downwards. 

His hair was a mess, greasy from lack of care already but now sticking up in several directions from being grabbed and manhandled. It stuck out between the straps of the gag, pinched in the leather and buckle, and Mark imagined quite a bit would be yanked out when it was removed.

His arms were shaking, wrists and elbows and shoulders chaffed. Bruises were already starting to darken around the joints, and for a moment, Mark was hypnotized by the involuntary shuddering of his fingers, hanging loosely in their new cuffs, like a newborn calf just learning how to walk. 

He clenched his hands tight, gripping the edge of the mirror to steady himself. 

The insides of his thighs looked the worst, red and swollen and painful from the beating they took from the belt. They were wet too-- soaked , and the hair was matted with it, plastered against his skin. Mark blushed when he realized he could see his clit, poking out of the mess as if it were eager for everything that was happening, and as Mark watched, it twitched and bobbed. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling of his pussy, clenching greedily around nothing, begging to be stuffed full. 

He looked past himself in the mirror then, watching the guards step to the side to give Mr. Kaufmann room. 

They were off to the side, a bit further away from the couches that Mr. Harper, Mr. Barrett, and Ms. Laveaux were all lounging on, a semblance of privacy that would have made Mark laugh if he wasn’t in pain. 

Mr. Kaufmann was closer, undoing the buttons on the front of his jacket and shrugging it off. The white button-down underneath clung to his chest and shoulders, the seams straining as he pulled the jacket off and hung it over the back of a chair. Mark swallowed hard. 

He undid the buttons on his cuffs next, folding them up as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing hard forearms, the veins bulging, strong and intimidating. 

Mark blushed, unable to tear his eyes away. In any other circumstance, he would have been drooling over the show, appreciating the effort that went into Mr. Kaufmann’s appearance. Now, it just filled him with dread, mind racing as if flipped through every possible scenario that was about to happen. 

Mr. Barrett had whipped his cunt until he came, Mark shuddered to think of what Mr. Kaufmann was capable of. 

Mr. Kaufmann hooked a finger in the collar of his tie, tugging it loose until it slipped free. It unraveled into a strip of fabric, and Mark shuddered as Mr. Kaufmann wrapped it around one of his hands.

His cunt, on the other hand, was drooling for this. Mark wanted to kick himself, whimpering and shaking his ass like a needy slut even though he had just cum minutes ago. It was like he couldn’t help it, his body reacting to Mr. Kaufmann, submitting to whatever punishments and discipline the man decided would be appropriate. 

When Mr. Kaufmann finally addressed him again, meeting Mark’s eye in his reflection, Mark’s cunt squeezed, squirting a little in anxious excitement. 

“Look at this,” Mr. Kaufmann said, slowly approaching the mirror. 

His eyes raked over Mark’s body, taking in all the details Mark had picked through himself and more. There was nothing Mark could hide from him, spread open and gaping, and he whimpered, arching his back and presenting his ass. His cheek pressed against the glass of the mirror, and Mark slobbered against his reflection, moaning at the face of a bitch in heat that stared back at him. 

Mr. Kaufmann’s hand cupped his ass, and Mark pushed back against the touch. He could hear the disgust in his voice as he spoke. 

“ This is what managed to steal from me?” he said. A sneer curled his lips. “This is just pathetic.” 

Mark whimpered at the words, fresh tears spilling out of his eyes. It didn’t stop him from wagging his hips, tempting Mr. Kaufmann’s hands between his legs. He could feel his heartbeat in his cunt, and he panted, presenting himself as best he could. 

Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, he was such a bad boy. He deserved this. He needed a hard spanking and an even harder fucking. He needed Kaufmann’s cock up his cunt, stabbing against his womb. He wanted the man to make him cum, and then he wanted to be bent over his knee. 

He choked sharply as Mr. Kaufmann looped his tie around his throat, yanking his head back and pinning his chest against the mirror instead. 

Mark watched, gasping, as his face turned red, flushing dark, and the sadistic gleam in Mr. Kaufmann’s eyes as he loomed over his shoulder. 

“You look better with a collar around your throat anyway,” Mr. Kaufmann said, voice low and rough and right in Mark’s ear, sharing the secret between just the two of them. 

Mark guessed that it wasn’t much of a secret. 

He was gagging now, sputtering, trying to beg around the gag and lack of air. His ass was pressed back against Mr. Kaufmann’s hips, pinning him to the mirror, and he could feel the heat pouring off of him. 

The tie loosened a fraction of an inch, and Mark gasped in relief, heaving as blood rushed back to his head. It made the room spin slightly out of focus, dreamy and unreal. Mr. Kaufmann gave him a moment to breathe before the tie tightened again, and Mark was pulled back on his tiptoes, the arch forced into his back making his stomach ache. 

Mr. Kaufmann pressed a soft kiss into his shoulder, and Mark moaned, the fabric of his suit pushed against his throbbing cunt, the flesh still sensitive from Mr. Barrett’s belt. He wished he had enough leverage to rut, hump himself against the massive bulge of Mr. Kaufmann’s thigh. He imagined the disgusted look on the man’s face as Mark clung to him like a needy bitch, ruining the expensive suit with his cum and slick and piss. 

He got another gasp of breath, slumping against the mirror as his legs shook. If he didn’t have the spreader bar locked in between them, Mark would have his thighs together, rubbing to get some sort of satisfying friction on his clit. 

Instead, he was forced to rely on Mr. Kaufmann. 

“Of course you like that,” Mr. Kaufmann said, the tie slipping free of Mark’s neck as dispassionate fingers probed between his legs, finding the clenching, drooling mess of his cunt.  

His fingers plunged into Mark’s mouth next, cleaning themselves off on his tongue before slapping his ass sharply, leaving the wet mark to dry on his skin. 

“How the fuck are we supposed to punish you when you’re so perverted, everything makes you piss yourself,” he spat, and Mark whimpered in shame, ducking his head in a pathetic attempt to hide his face. 

He wanted to apologize, to suggest something better. This had never happened before, he wanted to argue, how was he supposed to know that getting his cunt lashed would make him cum. 

He missed Mr. Kaufmann’s touch already, finding the energy to bring his head back up and look over his shoulder to check what the man was doing. What would be coming next. His cunt clenched, hungry. 

Mr. Kaufmann discarded his tie, undoing the top buttons on his shirt as he tugged the collar open. He tugged it free of his pants, looking down in disgust at the wetness that had soaked through the fabric. Mark whimpered, wishing he could pull his legs together to hide his shame. 

“Disgusting,” Mr. Kauffman said, undoing the buttons to pull it off. 

Again, under any other circumstances, Mark would have been drooling over the man. A firm chest, massive from a strict regimented workout, the type Mark wanted to bury his face in for comfort, and a trail of hair leading from the bottom of his stomach into his pants. It made Mark’s cunt throb excitedly, his clit twitching eagerly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

“Look at this,” Mr. Kaufmann said. His eyes were locked on Mark’s cunt, lips curled in disgust. He shook his shirt, walking back towards him. “Do you have any idea how expensive this was?” He stuffed it up between Mark’s legs, using two, thick fingers to work it into him. 

Mark moaned at finally being filled, throwing his head back as he tried to tighten himself as best he could around the intrusion. Mr. Kauffman wiped him down roughly, stuffing the shirt as deep as he could get inside of him before yanking it out again. 

“Costs more than one of the paintings you stole.” 

Mark was torn between embarrassment and shame and the arousal building between his legs. He was going to cum. He knew it. He was going to cum with a shirt more expensive than his entire life stuffed into his cunt under Mr. Kaufmann’s disapproving glare, with the disgust and shame sinking into his skin. 

He wailed as the shirt was yanked away, moments before he could tip himself over the edge, and all of Mr. Kaufmann’s hard work was undone as he squirted messily down the backs of his thighs. 

Mark wanted to drop his head in shame as he heard the noise of disgust, but then a grip on the leather strap of his gag yanked his head up. The buckle was undone hastily, yanking out hair as Mr. Kaufmann pulled it away, and Mark moaned at the sore ache in his jaw as the metal ring fell out from behind his teeth. 

Before he could work the muscles, get some sort of feeling back after the tingling ache of being held open for so long, the wet, soaked fabric of the shirt was being stuffed into his mouth. 

The taste of himself and his piss along with sweat flooded his mouth, and Mark couldn’t help but drool for it, sucking it down and trying to taste Mr. Kaufmann’s fingers as he felt them shoving it deeper. It was blocked by the fabric though, giving him nothing but his own shame and arousal to linger on his tongue.

“Hold it,” Mr. Kaufmann ordered, and Mark moaned, the dark, threatening tone of the command going straight between his legs. 

He did his best to clench his teeth, bite down on the wad of fabric, but his jaw still ached from the gag, and Mark could tell, with a sob, that it was a losing battle. 

Mr. Kaufmann didn’t seem to care, using both thumbs to pry open Mark’s cunt, letting the cool air of the room hit its fluttering entrance. Mark was in tears, knowing that Mr. Kaufmann was looking at him, at him, and he could do nothing to escape or hide. 

“This just can’t learn its lesson, can it?” he said. He cleared his throat sharply, and Mark felt the wad of spit hit his cunt, adding to the mess of fluids. If he wasn’t held so open, clit bobbing against the empty air with no stimulation, he would have cum.

With a slap to his ass, Mr. Kaufmann let him go, and this time, Mark didn’t have the energy to watch him in the reflection of the mirror. 

He wanted to crawl inside of himself, disappear. The fact that Mr. Harper and Mr. Barrett and Ms. Laveaux were sitting just a little ways away, watching this humiliation, made everything worse. Mark heard the clatter of more metal buckles, another bit of torture, and he groaned, shaking his head.

He wanted to beg but was terrified by the prospect of opening his mouth to speak and accidentally dropping the shirt. He didn’t dare give Mr. Kaufmann another reason to punish him, so he clenched his jaw tight, locking his teeth, and did his best to ignore the sweaty, musky slime that he sucked out of the fabric.

“I think the only thing this cunt knows is taking big fat cocks,” Mr. Kaufmann said. “The only thing it’s good for. What do you think?” 

Mark nodded frantically. Yes, yes, yes! Fuck him. Please fuck him. He needed to be filled. He wanted to cum. He wanted Mr. Kaufmann to make him cum. 

“I thought so,” Mr. Kaufmann said. “You’re like an animal. A dirty, filthy, needy animal that doesn’t even know how to control itself.” 

Mark moaned in agreement, pushing his hips back. Yes, that’s all he was. Just fuck him already, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Someone needs to do something about this filthy, greedy cunt,” Mr. Kaufmann said. 

Fuck, what was taking him so long? Mark pulled his head up, looking over his shoulder in the mirror. His stomach flipped as he watched Mr. Kaufmann wrap the leather loops of a strap-on around his fist and yank them tight around his thighs, making the massive, protruding toy bounce and sway.

His pants were undone, pulled down just enough to fit the harness around his crotch, and Mark caught a glimpse of his own pussy, glistening and wet, his own clit--no, a cock , jutting above it. A gush of drool flooded Mark’s mouth, and he moaned as the harness settled in place over Mr. Kaufmann’s crotch, blocking everything from view. 

Instead, a massive, ribbed dildo jutted up between his legs, a menacing dark blue fading to a dangerous red. A bulge at the base of it made Mark squirm, and he watched Mr. Kaufmann stroke it, rubbing it like his own cock as he approached Mark once again. 

Unlike Mr. Harper or Mr. Barrett, where Mark could see the glint of pleasure in their eyes and smiles as they used his body, Mr. Kaufmann’s eyes were still dark, his stoney expression betraying nothing. 

“Look at you,” Mr. Kaufmann said, grabbing his hips and lifting his ass, hovering Mark’s hole just above the tip of the toy. 

Mark moaned, forced up onto his tiptoes. The arch of his back made him drop his head, and he looked back between his legs, watching as his pussy spasmed, squirting the tip of the silicon with slick as it begged for the intrusion. 

He was then aware he was holding is breath, body buzzing with anticipation, waiting for the moment Mr. Kaufmann dropped him down and fucked him proper.

“You really think you deserve this?” Mr. Kaufmann said with a sneer, teasing the massive tip of the toy up and down Mark’s cunt, spreading the tips to just brush against the hole before pulling away. 

Mark sobbed in desperation, nodding his head and mumbling around the shirt gagging his mouth. 

“Wrong,” Mr. Kaufmann said, slapping his ass sharply and making Mark whimper. “You don’t deserve anything.” 

Mark sobbed, quickly fixing his answer as he shook his head. No, no, no, he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Mr. Kaufmann’s huge, glorious cock or the beautiful cunt behind the harness. 

“That’s better,” Mr. Kaufmann said, lining up the toy again. “What do you think this slutty, filthy cunt actually deserves, hm?” 

Mark was babbling desperately around the shirt, the heady mix of wanting Mr. Kaufmann’s approval and the taste of his own cunt on his tongue making his head spin in a way he wasn’t used to. 

Nothing. He deserved nothing. That was the answer! He should be grateful for Mr. Kaufmann and Mr. Barrett and Mr. Harper even looking at him, letting him be in the same room as them. He sobbed, trying to talk around the shirt and only drooling even more onto the fabric. Ruining it . 

“That’s right,” Mr. Kauffman said, nudging the tip of the toy in a bit deeper, spreading him open centimeters at a time. “What a good cunt, finally knowing its place.” 

Mark sobbed as the toy speared into him, wider than anything he had taken before and filling him up exactly how he wanted. He shook his head, thighs spasming, rocking his hips as Mr. Kaufmann pulled him back. 

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t want this. 

With a grunt of effort, Mr. Kaufmann fucked the toy deeper, thrusting his hips and forcing Mark’s face against the mirror. The wet squelch of his cunt around the silicone just made Mark blush more, ashamed that his body craved this so much. 

He wailed as Mr. Kaufmann pulled back, trying to cling to the toy to keep it inside of himself, feeling the aching emptiness already setting in. 

“Insatiable,” Mr. Kaufmann spat. Mark managed to mumble an apology before the next thrust of the toy had him moaning and seeing stars.

It punched deeper inside of him, sinking into the wetness, and as he felt himself just starting to stretch around the fat knot at the base, Mark realized in horror that this was far from over. 

Mr. Kaufmann set up a brutal pace, bouncing him on his cock, slapping his ass every couple thrusts whenever Mark seemed a bit too enthusiastic, reminding him that he didn’t deserve this. He was a slut, a whore, for getting this pleasure. 

Mark was in tears, unable to tear his eyes away from his reflection. 

The white fabric of Mr. Kaufmann’s expensive shirt dangled from his mouth, tears streaking down his face as he made it even messier with his snot and drool. His hair was plastered to his forehead from the sweat, and as he looked over his shoulder, he could see Mr. Kaufmann’s stern, impassive gaze, eyes locked on his ass, watching his cunt swallow up every inch of the toy with each thrust in and spit it back up with every pull out. 

He clung to the mirror for support anyway, incapable of looking away.

He could feel the urge to cum building slowly, and Mark was panicking, not sure if he was allowed to and squirming at the thought of Mr. Kaufmann’s disgust if he did. His pulling out, leaving his cunt empty and gaping, muttering in disgust at the wetness coating the toy and then cleaning it off on his skin.

Mark tried to hold himself back, but the spreader bar left him defenseless, and Mr. Kaufman somehow knew every small spot inside of him, every perfect place to hit that had Mark moaning like a whore.

He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve this. Mark chanted the mantra in his head. He should be grateful, Mr. Kaufmann deigning him worthy of his cock, this fuck. And Mark was so focused on his own pleasure, his own wanting to cum. How selfish. How rude. 

Mr. Kaufmann tightened his grip on Mark’s hips, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise as he yanked Mark back in time with each thrust. The full length still wasn’t inside of him, Mark could feel himself bouncing on the knot. He got lower and lower each time, stretching wider and wider as his body prepared to take it.

It seemed impossible. He was already so full, stretched so wide around the toy, the knot popping inside of him would break him. 

He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve this. Mark’s eyes rolled back in his head as Mr. Kaufmann thrust forward, shifting his feet in a wider stance to plunge deeper inside of Mark. 

There was a moment of resistance, the firm pressure of the knot pushing against his insides, demanding entrance, and Mark was sobbing, shaking his head. It wouldn’t fit, it wouldn’t fit, it couldn’t fit. 

And then Mr. Kaufman was reaching between his thighs, feeling along the stretched flesh of Mark’s cunt, tracing the strain all the way to the top and then trapping his clit in a cruel pinch. 

With a squeal and a moan, Mark was cumming, unable to hold himself back any longer as the knot sank inside him, settling into place and filling him to the brim. Mark was no longer aware of anything outside his spasming cunt, body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure took his body. 

He didn’t even remember passing out, the next thing he was aware of was white, sharp pain as his head snapped to the side, the crack of Mr. Kaufmann’s hand hitting his face echoing in the room. 

Mark gasped, eyes flying open. 

He had been flipped around, his back now to the mirror as he hung from the frame. His legs were jelly, his cunt still spasming emptily in a way that was the furthest thing from satisfying. 

Mr. Kaufmann was looming over him, the cold, impassive stone of his face now a dark thunderstorm of anger. He slapped Mark again, with the opposite hand, snapping his face in the other direction. 

“Sow,” he said, wrapping his hands around Mark’s throat and squeezing. “Filthy, greedy, disgusting sow .”

Mark was gasping, confused and disoriented. The pleasure of the orgasm so quickly eclipsed by the pain. He forgot where he was. What was happening. Mr. Kaufmann squeezed harder, and Mark gasped, hanging limp in his hands, unable to find the strength to get his feet underneath him. 

The knotted dildo must’ve been yanked out of his cunt at some point because the hole was limp and gaping, only a quiver every couple seconds marking its unsuccessful attempts to close back up. The wet toy was still jutting up from Mr. Kaufmann’s crotch, resting on Mark’s stomach as the man leered over him to slap his face. 

The tip of it reached all the way to Mark’s belly button, leaving a messy smear of his own juices as his cunt squeezed weakly below it. 

The shirt had also dropped out of his mouth, and as Mark shifted, trying to get his feet back underneath him, he could feel himself kick it. Another failure. Another reason for punishment. He deserved this.

“A fucking pig,” Mr. Kaufmann growled, slapping his face again.

The dildo slid down Mark’s stomach, and he whimpered as the tip dragged over his clit, hypersensitive after cumming so hard. He squirmed, trying to pull away, terrified at the prospect of Mr. Kaufmann fucking him again so soon.  

“The only thing this cunt knows is pleasure,” Mr. Kaufmann said, bringing his hand down hard on Mark’s cunt, slapping it with a wet squelch. 

Mark keened, most of the hit coming down hard on his clit, and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Are you just going to cum no matter what we do to you?” 

Mark shook his head, face burning hot not only from the slapping but also the embarrassment of it all. He could only watch as Mr. Kaufmann stepped away, signaling to a guard that quickly stepped over with a platter. They lifted the dome, presenting a violently pink, corkscrew dildo that he offered to Mr. Kaufmann, head bowed slightly out of respect. 

Mr. Kaufmann accepted it without a word, looking it over and stroking its full, twelve inch length. He then nodded approvingly, undoing a buckle on his harness and pulling it away just enough that he could switch the toys. 

The first dildo hit the platter with a wet slap, and Mark squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to watch the guard cover it with the dome and walk away. 

Instead, all he could focus on was Mr. Kaufmann, his dexterous, careful fingers fitting the new dildo into place. Mark got a glimpse between his thighs again, the thick hair matted and swirled with his own wetness. Mark’s mouth watered, and he wanted nothing more than to be between those thighs, sucking him down and tasting him. 

The taste of his own cunt still lingered in his mouth, and it made Mark squirm in disgust.

Satisfied it was secured, Mr. Kaufmann tightened the straps, fitting the dildo into place and once again turning to address Mark. The other cock had been at least vaguely human, the fat knot at the base the only thing Mark had never taken before. 

There was no way to ignore this cock though, the corkscrew, swirled ribs around the outside so far from human, and Mark squirmed as he remembered where he recognized it from.

“A pig,” Mr. Kaufmann said with a sneer as he approached Mark again. 

He plunged two fingers into the limp mess that was Mark’s cunt, hooking and probing the walls in a cursory, dispassionate way, positioning the toy between his legs to catch the slick dripping out of him, lubing up its length. 

Mark sobbed at the overstimulation, shaking his head as he tried to pull away. His muscles ached, and he was still recovering from his other orgasm. As Mr. Kaufmann lined up the new toy, jabbing the pointed tip roughly around his cunt while he tried to find the entrance, stabbing the underside of Mark’s clit before it dipped low enough. 

The first few inches that slid easily into him were a burning, aching hell. Mark was panting through gritted teeth, spreading his legs to accommodate Mr. Kaufmann’s massive frame. He slumped back against the mirror, the stance already a strain on his overworked muscles. His thighs shivered, spasming, as Mr. Kaufmann pulled out, teasing the entrance again. 

“Clench,” he ordered, keeping his eyes locked on the space between Mark’s legs. 

Mark moaned, struggling to obey.

The tip of the toy brushed against his cunt again, teasing inside, and Mark did his best to clench around it. The muscles were so weak, limp from all of the abuse so far, and Mr. Kaufmann’s lips curled in disgusted contempt. 

“ Please .” 

The word was barely a whisper, Mark’s voice too cracked and quiet, throat rough from use.

He wasn’t looking at Mr. Kaufmann’s face, knowing he’d find no mercy in his eyes. Instead, Mark was looking between his legs, watching his clit, swollen and red and throbbing, twitch on top of the pink toy. It was so much smaller, tiny and abused, the silicone glistening and wet from his own juices. 

Mark wanted it back inside of him. Those few inches weren’t enough. He wanted Mr. Kaufmann to fuck him again, he wanted him deep inside of him. The corkscrew cock wasn’t nearly as thick as the first one, but Mark didn’t care anymore. 

“Please, fuck me,” he begged, resting his back against the mirror to push his hips forward, trying to take the toy inside of him. 

Mr. Kaufmann pulled back with a sneer, bracing a hand on Mark’s lower stomach to push him away. Mark whimpered but obediently fell back. 

“ Ple-e-e-e-ase, ” Mark said, rattling the cuffs on his wrists. He wanted this all to be over. He was tired. He was fucked out. He had cum too many times and he just wanted to lay down and close his eyes and sleep. “Please . . . . please, Sir , I . . . .” 

“What do you deserve?” Mr. Kaufmann asked, cutting him off with a sharp look. 

Mark hung his head, limp and defeated. He could feel the stiff silicone against his thigh, spreading the lips of his cunt, pushing back to tease over his asshole. He cringed, trembling, using every last bit of his strength to resist the urge to grind down against it, chase the empty pleasure. 

“Nothing.” The word was a croak, as broken and as empty as the rest of him. Fresh tears had flooded Mark’s eyes and spilled over, salty and wet on his lips and tongue. He kept his head down, bowing respectfully to Mr. Kaufmann.

“Exactly,” Mr. Kaufmann said. 

The full length of the toy punched into Mark’s cunt in one stroke, and his body seized in shock. 

Every twist and curve of the corkscrew was carved out in his mind in high definition, jabbing to the back of his cunt in a way that mixed the pain and pleasure. Mr. Kaufmann had put so much power behind the thrust, that Mark was lifted off his feet, gravity pulling him all the way down until his clit was trapped between his pelvis and Mr. Kaufmann’s, forced down on the hard silicone. 

Mark’s eyes rolled, head dropping back, and with a strangled wail, he was cumming. The wet splatter hit the base of Mr. Kaufmann’s strap on, soaking into his pants and drenching both their thighs, and with a growl, Mr. Kaufmann shoved deeper. 

He reached over Mark’s head, grabbing the frame of the mirror and using it as leverage, widening his stance and forcing himself inside with an animalistic grunt. Mark didn’t, couldn’t understand how there was any room left inside of him, and somehow the toy dug deeper. 

For a moment, Mark just sat there, perched on top of Mr. Kaufmann’s cock, cunt spasming through the afterwaves of the orgasm, tongue hanging out of his mouth as his eyes rolled wildly, unfocused and limp as the rest of him. 

One of Mr. Kaufmann’s hands wrapped around his chin, gripping his jaw and forcing his face up. Mark struggled to focus on his face, eyes half-lidded, and he moaned at Mr. Kaufmann’s disapproving expression. 

He hadn’t even broken a sweat. 

With a cry of defeat, Mark came again, hips twitching as he tried to grind his clit through the weak spasms of an orgasm that wasn’t even satisfying anymore. His body was just going through the motions, obeying Mr. Kaufmann even when whatever was left of his mind resisted. 

“Disgusting,” Mr. Kaufmann said and spat in Mark’s face. 

The glob of spit hit his forehead, immediately sliding down over his eyes. Mark squeezed them shut in humiliation, feeling his cunt throb hungrily for the degradation. 

Mr. Kaufmann’s hand left his face, and there was a tug on his arms as the chains were undone. With his hands wrapped around his ribs, Mr. Kauffmann stepped away from the mirror. Without the support of the cool glass, Mark sank down further, a choked sob leaving his mouth as he finally returned to his tiptoes. 

The corkscrew of the dildo dug into the top of his cunt, digging into the sensitive walls in a way that was more uncomfortable than pleasurable, especially now, when he was nearly wrung dry. 

Mark wanted to lean forward, wrap his arms around Mr. Kaufmann for support, bury his face in his chest and hide himself away from the world. But he was hyper aware of how disgusting he was, his face coated in tears and drool and snot, sweat starting to drip down his chest, and the absolute mess between his legs, thighs soaked and cunt limp. He didn’t want to get Mr. Kaufmann dirty. 

“Pathetic,” Mr. Kaufmann said. 

With a yank, he pulled Mark off his cock, tossing him to the side. Mark barely managed to get his hands in front of him, bracing his fall right before he hit the floor. He didn’t have the strength to do much after that, slumped in a puddle of his own juices as his empty cunt fluttered weakly between his legs. 

Out of the corner of one eye, on the edge of his blurry vision, Mark watched Mr. Kaufmann undo the buckles of the harness. He pulled the straps away, tossing it after Mark, and the wet toy hit his face with a slap before sliding to the floor next to him.

Two discarded toys. 

The offensive pink silicone took up most of his vision, and Mark could only stare, watching his own slick slide off it, oozing onto the floor.

Mr. Kaufmann stared down at him, combing his fingers through his hair even though not a strand was out of place, kicking his legs out of the way as he returned to the others--barely visible from Mark’s angle on the floor and his blurry, tear-stained vision. 

“Mr. Kaufmann, I’m beyond impressed.” Mr. Harper hummed in a low, sultry tone. 

It was hard for Mark to see anyone from his crumpled position on the floor, most of his vision blocked by the dildo, the rest obscured by the arm of the gilded couch, but he could vaguely see that Mr. Harper was sitting higher than the rest, and was very close to Mr. Barrett.

Kaufmann only huffed in response, and gestured for one of the several concealed bodyguards lining the room to bring him his drink. 

“Poor thing has a long day ahead of him.” Mr. Harper hummed, halfway into Mr. Barrett’s lap, visibly and nonchalantly jerking him off. “I do hope his injuries don’t interfere with your plans, Ms. Laveaux.” 

“Few things will, I assure you,” she stated, sitting out of Mark’s line of sight. “I’ve just been informed that preparations are complete, and they’re simply waiting for my signal.” The excited, self-assured nature of Ms. Laveaux’s tone was far from a good sign.

“So--” The word cut off in a groan, and Mr. Barrett grunted, panting when he continued. “What do we do with the bitch now?” 

Mr. Harper slid to his feet, stepping carefully around the mess of discarded toys and puddles. He cradled his drink in one hand, his other cupped in front of him. His eyes held that same predatory gleam as he sauntered over to Mark, hips swaying in an over-exaggerated confident swagger. 

“Here, baby,” he crooned, crouching down next to Mark’s head. 

He tipped his hand, drizzling Mr. Barrett’s cum over the corkscrew toy, and Mark hated that his mouth watered as he watched it drip down the length of it. Mr. Harper just smirked, wiping his hand on Mark’s cheek and then patting the top of his head. 

“Good boy,” Mr. Harper said. 

Mark just moaned, pushing himself up just enough so he could wrap his mouth around the tip, sucking it down to get as much of the slick and cum inside of him. He gagged as it hit the back of his throat, the shape not something he was used to, a bit awkward and foreign on his tongue.

But he couldn’t deny that it tasted even better than the first time, mixed with the taste of his own cunt. 

“That should keep him occupied while we talk,” Mr. Harper said, refreshing his drink at the cart before moving back to his seat. “Ms. Laveaux, why don’t you tell our dear friends what this is all about?”

Ms. Laveaux hummed around her glass of wine, tracing a finger around the rim as she stared down at Mark’s slumped form. She didn’t have the same angry dispassion that Mr. Kaufmann did, the raw animalistic lust of Mr. Barrett, nor the excited, sadistic gleam of Mr. Harper. 

Ms. Laveaux was calculated, not quite cold, just picking apart Mark’s entire existence, turning him into a list of numbers and products and uses that all added to a bottom line.

“Oh, I would hate to ruin the moment with boring talk of genetics and manipulation and CRISPRs,” she said with a wave of her hand. “That’s all stuff for the dusty books. What you need to know is the next push in innovation, food science, sustainability .” 

She raised her glass in Mark’s direction, and he moaned, getting another inch of the toy down his throat and finding another spot of Mr. Barrett’s cum he hadn’t reached before.

“Eco-freaks and green-conscious hipsters are always looking for the next thing to throw their money at. We’re looking at a cash cow, gentlemen, one that no one is going to miss if he disappears.” 

Mr. Barrett snorted, his cock still flopped out of his pants, resting limply across one clothed thigh. “Cow? You’re going to milk him?” 

Ms. Laveaux smiled. “Don’t doubt what science can do, Mr. Barrett. Once my work is done, his tits may as well be leaking liquid gold.” 

Mr. Harper was giggling to himself again, a bit further into his cups. “How big do you think they’ll grow?” he asked, gesturing in front of his own chest, going bigger and bigger and bigger. 

Ms. Laveaux just swirled her wine. “As big as you want,” she said.

“So, he’s going to have the brain of a cow too?” Mr. Barrett asked. His cock was twitching again, and he was eyeing Mark with renewed interest. 

“I don’t see why not,” Ms. Laveaux said with a shrug. “Give him a nose ring, put him out in a barn for all I care. As long as I get my product, I’m happy.” 

Mr. Kaufmann was stroking his beard thoughtfully, looking Mark over with a different sort of hunger. Perhaps he had gotten all his anger out, and now he was picking through the possibilities as well. 

“I’d like to see him as an animal,” he said. “On all fours.” 

“I imagine we’ll need a powerful fucking machine if we want to satisfy that hungry cunt he has between his legs,” Mr. Harper said.  

With a pop and a hiss, someone opened a bottle of champagne, and Mark could only listen to the clink of glasses as they all served one another. Ms. Laveaux was the first to raise her glass, gesturing to Mark’s body where it still lay discarded. 

“To the future,” she said. 

Mr. Barrett added his own glass. “To the money.” 

“To our fun,” Mr. Harper said, resting a hand on Mr. Barrett’s thigh, overly friendly and just brushing against his cock. 

Mr. Kaufmann raised his own glass and for the first time, smiled, looking smugly down at Mark as he choked himself on the corkscrew dildo. “To the end of the Lucky Clover,” he said. 

Mark shuddered, and if he wasn’t completely wrung dry, he would have cum again.