Chapter Text
Previously in The Bunker…
“Downstairs. Now.” Namjoon orders in a low, menacing voice, and drops her back against the door, turning on his heel and walking away into the depths of the house without looking back.
Seokjin doesn't need to be told what will happen next, or where to follow. The front door is right there beside her, waiting—unlocked, even—but she knows where she belongs, and it isn't anywhere she could run to if she tried.
Namjoon leads, and she follows—down the hallway that splits the house in half, down the stairs that lead into the dark. Away from any chance of freedom, if it even existed at all; towards a different door entirely, one that has haunted her every second since the first moment she stepped foot in this godforsaken house.
The hallway that leads down to the basement—the actual basement, not the bunker, nestled a convenient distance behind the house, but beneath the house—is dark, but he follows the passage with confidence, taking the stairs down into the dark without bothering to flip the switch. It’s a bit inconvenient, but he gets a thrill out of hearing her unsteady footsteps behind him, knowing the predicament he has left her in—forced to put one foot in front of the other and plunge herself into the unknown after him—enjoying the torture such a simple change can cause, and feeling it’s definitely worth the trouble.
At the bottom of the stairs, he turns left and heads down a long hallway towards the back of the house, flicking a light switch on the wall at the end to illuminate a solitary doorway that leads into a stark room. He turns in the entrance and looks back into the shadows, finding Seokjin’s terrified face waiting there, hands fisted in her skirt, having followed him in perfect obedience as expected.
“I think it’s time for another treatment, my dear,” he says, not a command, but she knows to take it as one all the same. Seokjin sucks in a deep breath, bows her head, and walks past him into the room to face her fate.
Namjoon shuts the door with a snap and a firm twist of the lock, then follows his wife’s path to the center of the room where an unusual chair has been affixed—one with an adjustable base and footrests attached to the underside, designed to hold its occupant’s legs open wide for a doctor or nurse to have easy access between them. A gynecologist’s chair. One he had to scour far and wide to obtain without arousing suspicion, perhaps his favorite tool out of the extensive collection of toys and devices he has accumulated since his little collection began so many years ago.
While he busies himself with pulling a small metal tray on a stand over to the side of the chair, Seokjin makes quick work of slipping out of her heels and toeing them off to the side, raising her hair off the back of her neck, and turning her back to Namjoon in a silent request for assistance with the zipper of her dress. He gently unfastens the top button and slips the zipper down the length of Seokjin’s spine as though unwrapping a gift, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck that contradicts the suffering she knows is about to be inflicted upon her.
When the dress slips down to the floor in a pile of silk and tulle, it leaves Seokjin in a beautiful display of crimson lace that makes Namjoon’s mouth water. He skims his fingers across her bare shoulders, broad in a way that accentuates the narrowness of her waist—a feature he has taken great care to sculpt further with tighter and tighter corsetry. His fingertips map the hourglass formed by the one she is currently wearing, designed to match her lingerie and stockings so perfectly, admiring the almost impossibly narrow curve he has carved into her.
“Lovely,” Namjoon praises under his breath, and feels her shudder beneath his touch.
“Let’s get these off, shall we?” he asks, louder and rhetorically, and snaps one of the straps of her bra against her shoulder blade. Seokjin flinches but hurries to nod and raises quivering hands to unfasten the hooks holding the piece closed at the center of her back, slipping the bra free of her arms and dropping it to the floor along with her dress. Her long fingers fall to the garter belt affixed under her corset, sending a questioning gaze over her shoulder at her captor for a split second, and he gives an encouraging nod that spurs her into unclipping the straps and slipping both the belt and her silken tights down her long legs. Seokjin has no choice but to bend over to slip the nylons free of her toes—painted a pretty shade of red to match her lips, of course—and it leaves the delicious swell of her ass on display for him. Namjoon steps back and watches her appreciatively as the last of her lingerie is dropped to the floor, leaving her bare except for the boning and lace that maintains her trim figure, made all the more sensual in the absence of any other fabric covering her skin. There are small red lines pressed into her pale skin where the removed straps had once pressed, crisscrossing over the dozens of bruises and scars that decorate her shoulders and thighs, and he has to fight back the urge to run his tongue over every last one of them.
“Up,” he commands instead, and turns his attention away as she immediately begins clambering her way into the seat without assistance. His eyes turn instead to the metal tray on a stand that he keeps positioned next to the chair, its surface covered in the neatly arranged tools he will need to complete his next task, and confirms that he hasn’t forgotten anything in his careful preparations. Namjoon is, above all else, meticulous.
When he returns his attention to his wife, he finds Seokjin correctly positioned in the chair, obedient as ever—legs spread open wide, her pretty feet lifted up to slip into the stirrups that will keep them that way. Namjoon hums in approval, shifting to stand between her thighs and drag his palms across all the delicious skin on display for him. Seokjin’s eyes are cast towards the ceiling, a deep flush across her cheeks at the humiliation of being exposed like this, and he gives a sharp strike to one thigh to bring her nervous gaze back down to him once more.
He says nothing as he reaches for the restraints, knowing his wife no longer needs to be instructed to hold still for him. Cuffs are affixed tightly around her ankles first, made of the same leather as the straps he tugs across her stomach and chest, pinning her torso firmly to the back of the chair so she can only move enough to continue sucking in nervous breaths. Her wrists are restrained last, tugged one after another over her head and slipped into cuffs that lock to a strong metal ring behind her headrest. The motion leaves him bent over her with his cock—once again hard and straining in his pants—pressed firmly between her spread legs, and he swallows down her whimper in a hungry, claiming kiss.
“S-Sir—” Seokjin pants when he pulls away, and he silences her again with an icy look. This isn’t the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom; places where her role as his wife includes companionship, conversation—when they are in this room, Namjoon expects nothing short of obedience and silence . By now, Seokjin should know better than to speak unless spoken to.
“I think it’s time to get a closer look at how your body is coming along, hm?” Namjoon asks. His hands move to his wife’s chest, tracing along the faint scars that line the underside of her breasts where her implants were inserted, admiring the way they have healed up nicely. When Namjoon gives her nipples a firm tweak, she hisses and attempts to arch her back against her restraints, and when he squeezes her breasts firmly in his palms, she can’t help but let out a moan. He knows she is sensitive here, especially since the surgery, and an idea immediately springs to mind.
“Do you remember what I told you?” he asks, almost conversationally, as he reaches over with one hand to the metal tray at his side and picks up a small device, “When we first started our journey together?”
Seokjin doesn’t answer, her eyes flickering between his hands and his face. He holds up the device for her to see, letting her take in the cups and tubes of the breast pump he has retrieved before he reaches down to affix one of them around her nipple. She whines again as he turns on the device and watches the cold plastic suction firmly to her breast, following suit on the other side with practiced ease. Her nipples immediately perk up as he increases the suction and sets the device down on her chest, letting it run and massage at her breasts as he moves away again. Seokjin, already trembling, lets her head fall back against the headrest of the chair and begins to pant.
“I told you that you had an extremely important purpose here, didn’t I?” Namjoon carries on, “That you would be my lovely wife, and take care of my home…” He strokes around the rim of one of the cups, appreciating the way her breast strains against the suction. “...and provide for my children, mm?”
When Seokjin still doesn’t answer, Namjoon claps down a hand against her inner thigh once more, and she yelps and whines and strains against her restraints before nodding quickly, forcing her eyes open to look back at him through the haze that has started to take them over.
“Then why…” he drawls, giving a flick to the cup affixed to her breast on the other side, “are you still not producing milk to feed them?”
Seokjin lets out a dry sob. Namjoon taps a button on the milking device to increase its suction, and basks in the pained whine it drives from his wife’s throat.
“Our children need to feed, but you seem determined to deprive them. This is very disappointing, my dear,” he comments, knowing that his words will hurt her more than any strike he could deliver to her skin—and sure enough, Seokjin’s tears finally begin dripping back down her cheeks along the lines her mascara had left earlier. “But…I suppose there is one thing we can try to get you where you need to be…” he muses.
Seokjin bites her lip and curls her brow in confusion, but Namjoon offers no more explanation. Instead, he gives no warning before reaching down for a switch on the side of the chair and flips it upwards, immediately triggering the chair to begin reclining until the back of the seat is parallel with the floor and Seokjin’s torso is spread out flat before him. She opens her mouth again in surprise, a murmur of “Sir—?” leaving her lips before she can think better of it, and Namjoon has had enough.
Scowling, he strolls around the chair-turned-table and rifles through his cabinets behind Seokjin’s head where he left all of the tools he believed he wouldn’t need for her treatment tonight, searching for a moment before withdrawing with a ball gag that matches the leather straps already tightened around her body. It only takes a quick grip and tug on her chin to pry his wife’s mouth open and press the ball behind her teeth, and he reaches down to fasten the straps behind the headrest of the chair to keep her still and silent all at once. Immediately, Seokjin begins sucking in nervous breaths through her nose, no longer able to breathe around the slightly-too-large intrusion in her mouth, and Namjoon presses another sweet kiss to the center of the gag before straightening up again.
“If you can’t remember the rules, dear, you know the consequences…” he tells her in a light tone that betrays none of his anger, as if he was only giving her a gentle reminder and doesn’t currently have her imprisoned beneath him. She hums something that sounds vaguely like an apology around the gag, more tears streaming down her cheeks as shame washes over her.
“I know, dear. Now…where were we?” Namjoon muses out loud as he makes his way back down the length of her body, tracing a finger appraisingly along her side over the curve of her corset and the swell of her hip and thigh. “Ah yes…we needed to complete your inspection.”
Once more without warning, he steps back between her spread legs and pushes on the stirrups where they hold her knees bent at an angle, pushing them further and further apart until Seokjin groans deep in her throat and strains her bound arms against their restraints. When he can’t push them any wider, he reaches for and twists the cranks that will lock their position into place, leaving Seokjin’s body completely on display for him. He strokes his palms along her quaking thighs until he reaches the middle—and perhaps his greatest accomplishment of them all.
Between Seokjin’s legs, a long, straight scar runs from the lowest point of her torso to nearly the furl of her asshole, the only remnants of the offending organ that once hung there. Namjoon still remembers it well, the look on her face when she awoke the day after the surgery, realizing what he had done to her—that she no longer had a penis, the greatest barrier to his plans for her, and that he had removed her useless balls for good measure, leaving the space between her legs beautiful and flat and an empty canvas for Namjoon to work with. The sobs she let out when he first convinced her that this meant she would never be a man again, when he told her that she would be his wife from that point forward— mmm, Namjoon wishes he had recorded that moment to replay it forever, but only his delicious memories remain.
“Let’s get a closer look at that pretty pussy of yours,” he says as he wheels a little stool into place and settles himself between her legs. He slips on a pair of latex gloves from his tray of tools and brings his hands down to the scar, poking and prodding inquisitively at the sensitive skin while taking in Seokjin’s every twitch and tremble. The skin where Seokjin’s balls used to hang is still particularly tender, but he focuses his attention more at the top of the scar where a slight swelling is evident, betraying the location of Seokjin’s urethra where it was left open after the surgery was completed. “It looks like you’ve healed up very nicely…but your labia are still so thin , dear.”
The criticism must land strangely on her ears and Seokjin makes a confused sound behind her gag, straining as if to look down the length of her body to see what has offended Namjoon so much. He pinches at the skin on either side of her scar as if to prove his point, and she lets out another whine that is forced through her nose. “No, no…this won’t do. But I think I have a solution.”
The next device he selects from his tray doesn’t immediately cause her alarm—a large, oval-shaped cup attached to a long tube that ends in a round bulb the perfect size to rest in his palm—looking much the same as the pump still pulsing at her chest. But Seokjin quickly realizes its true purpose once he brings it down between her legs and affixes the cup around her scar, squeezing at the bulb with his free hand and watching the cup suction tightly to her skin. He pumps the device until Seokjin’s skin begins to redden and swell inside the plastic, blood being forced immediately to the area under the pressure, and then a few times more for good measure. He knows it doesn’t hurt —not yet, at least—but she whimpers all the same.
“There we go, sweetheart, isn’t that better?” he asks, tone dripping with condescension. “You just needed a bit of help, didn’t you?” He teases his gloved fingers around the rim of the cup, testing the seal and finding it airtight as it should be. “If we keep up this treatment every day, I’m sure these lips will grow to be just as lovely as the ones on your face.”
“Mmmppphhh — mmmm—!” Seokjin tries to reply, but her protestations fall on deaf ears. Namjoon's eyes, and his attention, are entirely fixed between her quivering thighs, watching eagerly as the minutes tick by and Seokjin’s groin begins to redden and then purple slightly beneath the immense pressure the pump provides, soon so swollen that it fills the cup completely.
“There we go…” he murmurs as he twists at the knob attached to the tube and finally releases the pressure, the cup falling away with a little hiss. What remains is a beautifully swollen mound, bisected in the middle by the thicker skin of Seokjin’s scar—it doesn’t quite look exactly like a real pussy, but seeing the way the little hole of her urethra is nearly swallowed up by the plump lips he has given her, however temporary they may be, satisfies Namjoon enough for now.
“Take a look, baby,” he tells her as he drops the pump back on his tray and replaces it with a small hand-held mirror, which he angles above her body in such a way that he knows she can clearly see what he has done to her even from her reclined position. Seokjin can’t seem to decide whether she wants to look, wants to see the horror he has inflicted upon her body, but morbid curiosity drives her eyes up to the reflection anyway, then down at her body, then back up at the reflection again and again as they struggle to make sense of what they are taking in. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Seokjin’s expression crumples, her eyes slamming shut against the sight. Namjoon chuckles and sets the mirror down again. “Well, now that that’s finished, I think it’s time to move on to the next phase, don’t you?”
And her eyes fly right back open again. Seokjin strains against her gag to catch sight what he reaches for next, giving a desperate shake of her head against her restraints, but Namjoon pays her no mind and calmly reaches over to his tray for the smallest of a series of metal rods that have been laid out there. Before he brings it down to her pussy, he holds the sounding rod up so that she can see it clearly, enjoying the horrified realization that dawns across her face just as he drops his hand back between her legs and teases the tip of the rod against her little hole.
“Our work is only halfway done,” he says over her groan of discomfort as he sinks the first few centimeters inside her body, “Your new pussy is so pretty on the outside, my dear, but you and I both know we didn’t go through so much effort just for aesthetics, hm?”
Behind her gag, Seokjin lets out a noise that might have been a hiss if her teeth weren’t currently forced apart. Namjoon withdraws the sounding rod for just long enough to grab for the bottle of lube he has waiting at the ready, applying just enough to the metal that it slides in more easily when he returns it to its place. Seokjin’s knees buckle against their restraints, but the stirrups hold her legs firmly and immovably spread apart, and within a few strokes of the rod in and out of her little hole, Seokjin’s body has all but swallowed the device down to where Namjoon holds it by his fingertips.
“You’re coming along nicely,” he comments as he pulls it free once more, “your body is opening up more easily than last time already.”
Seokjin’s relieved sigh as the burning stretch ends is cut off halfway out her throat as he grabs the next largest size and slips the new rod back into her body without preamble. While the first size might have been uncomfortable, Seokjin has experienced its stretch before, but this new rod is wider all around and Namjoon can only imagine the way it burns as he fucks her new pussy open with it for the first time.
“That’s it…” he encourages as he manages to fuck the rod inside of her, “you’ve got to learn to tolerate this if we’re ever going to achieve our goals here, sweetheart.”
Seokjin groans something he cannot hear through her gag, and he answers her with a condescending smile. “What’s that?” he asks, tugging the larger rod free and reaching for the lube again, “I can’t hear you, dear…”
Seokjin’s eyes squeeze closed against another round of tears, her chest heaving beneath the pumps that continue to suck at her sensitive nipples. Namjoon takes a second to appreciate the view, a sight he never gets tired of, bringing his empty hand down against her swollen pussy in a sharp slap in a moment of self indulgence. The latex gloves stretched over his palms make the sound of the impact twice as loud in the small room. He ignores the way she chokes and her body goes rigid at the sudden pain, focusing instead on the way his fingers come away damp when they leave her skin.
“What’s this?” he asks himself, bringing his gloved fingers up to his lips to taste the salty liquid he finds there. “Oh, sweetheart…getting wet for me already, are you?”
Sure enough, when Namjoon brings the next sounding rod—even larger than the last—down to his wife’s reddened pussy, he finds a small stream of fluid leaking from her urethra that wasn’t there before. He drips more lube onto her hole before pressing the larger rod inside, this time curving the tip a little to better stimulate Seokjin’s prostate from the inside out, pleased when another stream of fluid leaks out around the metal.
“That’s it, that’s a good girl…” he praises, and this time when Seokjin moans, he can tell that the sound is borne out of slightly more pleasure than pain.
Namjoon presses the rod deeper and deeper inside of her, thrusting it gently in and out of her urethra until he feels like she has been stretched enough to move up to the next size, and then the next. Seokjin, all the while, pants and groans and begins to drool around her gag, her body twisting this way and that beneath the restraints, completely taken over by the flood of sensations between her legs.
Eventually, he reaches the end of his set of sounds, her little hole now stretched wide around a rod nearly as thick as one of his fingers, and Namjoon decides to move to the next stage of his preparations. He tugs the final sound free and drops it into the pile with the rest, off to the side to be cleaned later, and grabs for the lube for the last time.
“Remember that one thing I mentioned?” he asks. Seokjin quivers and blinks blurry eyes at him down the length of her body, but he knows she’s too far away to catch the way his free hand undoes his pants again, pulling out and slicking up his aching cock just below the edge of her seat. “The one thing that could help you get to where you need to be? So you can finally feed our babies the way you’re supposed to…?”
Seokjin clearly attempts to nod against her gag. Namjoon grins and brings the head of his cock to her hole—not her pussy, he isn’t insane— but to the other tight hole peeking out from between her cheeks just below it. She freezes at the unexpected pressure, then begins to kick her legs wildly against the cuffs holding them down. Namjoon grips her knees on either side and pushes his hips forward until his cock breaches her tightly furled muscle, forcing his way inside her body once more.
“I guess…our only choice…is to impregnate you again, dear…” he manages as he bottoms out, her ass clenching impossibly tight around him despite the many times he has forced his way inside before.
There’s nowhere for Seokjin to go, but it doesn’t stop his wife from trying to scramble away, her restrained hands and feet beating helplessly against their restraints as he uses her body as he wishes. She’s been here a thousand times before—raping her is a daily practice, has been since day one—but Namjoon imagines it never gets any easier, and he hopes it never does.
With only the barest amount of lube, every thrust takes a bit of effort, but he manages to work up a rhythm that is pleasurable to him—and eventually, to them both. Seokjin’s prostate is far more sensitive than it used to be, now that it is her only source of pleasure, and as he angles his cock up to brush against it with practiced precision, her legs begin to tremble for an entirely different reason than before.
Nothing brings him more joy than when they give in, when his captives start to beg and plead for more of whatever he chooses to inflict on them that day, the sounds of their submission more sustaining than any food or drink could ever be. Some days they make love, it’s true, with tender kisses and gentle touches—sometimes he rewards her, and really, she wouldn’t be much of a wife if he couldn’t—but Namjoon enjoys these moments the most.
With that thought in mind, he reaches along the length of Seokjin’s body and tugs the gag free of her lips, letting it fall around her neck as his hand takes its place, prying her plush lips open with a press of his thumb. “You know what I want to hear,” he tells her, and Seokjin nods her head openly against his palm.
“…p-please—” she begs immediately, voice a bit raspy as it is forced from her throat. He gives another sharp thrust of his hips, forcing his cock all the way back inside of her, and Seokjin’s next words die on her tongue as the breath is knocked from her lungs.
“Please… what, my dear?” Namjoon encourages.
“P—lease—” Seokjin whines best as she can around his thumb, drool flowing down his wrist from the lip he holds open. Her lipstick smears so prettily beneath his grip, and his eyes fixate on the mess of red as she struggles to force out the words she knows he’s waiting for.. “—pl—please fu—…r-rape me—”
There it is. Those most precious words, his favorite submission.
Namjoon grins down at her, gloved fingers smearing her lipstick all the way down her throat as he moves his hand to hold her there. Her body still resists but he picks up the rhythm of his hips, forcing his cock inside her at a faster and faster pace. It must hurt, the dry stretch, he can see it in the twist of her brow—but the way her jaw falls slack above his hand, he knows he’s caught her prostate just right.
She begins to lose herself to the pleasure at last, and Namjoon can no longer contain his accomplished grin as he watches it happen. After so many successes in one day, with his children one after another, and now this? Namjoon has so very much to celebrate—but his work with his wife is still far from finished.
“You like that, sweetheart?” he asks as he rocks his hips back until only the tip of his cock remains inside the tight clench of her body. Seokjin whines at the loss, bound hands jerking against their restraints as if instinctively wanting to pull him closer again, and Namjoon can’t help but think back to the first time he forced his way inside her—the way she screamed and cried the entire way through, begging him for her release, to have mercy on her, back before he perfected her body, and long before he perfected her mind. Some days he wishes he had drawn out the process of breaking her, or that he could go back and start all over again, perhaps with someone new, really savor every step of the journey—
“—I—I …like it—s-sir—! P—Please— please… r-rape me, I w—want it—”
—but as he pushes his cock back inside of her and watches the way her body swallows him so easily in spite of the pain, the way she moans wantonly as her prostate is stimulated by the motion, hips pressing up eagerly for more, more, more—Namjoon knows he will likely never have a success like the one lying before him ever again.
It doesn’t take long to reduce his wife’s pleas to nothing more than incomprehensible sounds as Namjoon keeps his aim steady, each thrust striking Seokjin’s prostate until she is all but frozen in place, back arched and muscles tense as can be against their restraints. Namjoon is relentless, pushing away any desire to chase his own pleasure in favor of pursuing hers; selfless, one might think, if they didn’t know him very well.
When Seokjin’s orgasm crashes through her, there’s no outward indication save for the almost inhuman sound that is forced from her throat, but he can feel her body clenching deliciously around him with the force of it. Looking more closely at her pussy where he had previously stretched her open, he can see the way she has leaked seminal fluid all over herself, the only release her body is still capable of after all his hard work. Finally satisfied, he relaxes enough to allow his own release as well, spilling his hot seed inside her as his wife’s body falls bonelessly back against the table, limbs twisting strangely in their restraints.
“There,” Namjoon squares his shoulders and leans back to look down at his wife with narrow eyes. It gives him a familiar thrill to see the way she flinches when she finally pries her eyes open to look back at him, mascara an utter mess around their dark depths. He could provide her with waterproof cosmetics, of course, but why would he give up moments like this? “Let’s see how we did, hm?”
“S—Sir—”
“Ah-ah-ah,” Namjoon chastises her as he steps back, finally pulling his cock free of her body. “Did I say you could speak?” She whimpers but snaps her mouth shut, knowing she can’t win his game.
“Hold still, dear…” With one hand, he tucks his softening cock back into his pants and fastens them, and with the other he reaches towards the tray and selects a large plug from among his assembled supplies. Seokjin bites her lip and drops her head back at the sight of it, bracing just before he brings it down between her spread legs and presses the blunt end into her hole to catch the come leaking out of it. “Wouldn’t want to waste a drop, hm?”
She knows enough to give a slight shake of her head even as she grimaces from the stretch, toes curling as the plug squeezes snug right against her prostate. Namjoon gives the flared end a little tap for good measure and indulges in the sounds of her whimpers as he turns away.
“There’s only one way to know if it took,” he explains as he reaches for a box on the tray. It’s a bit more difficult to open the perforated edge with his gloved hands, but Namjoon works his way inside within seconds and triumphantly holds up the thin plastic stick he has obtained.
“What do you think, dear?” he asks as he shakes the box in Seokjin’s direction, forcing her to crack one eye open to squint at the letters displayed across its label: GOOD NEWS - Early Check Pregnancy Test Kit. “Did I pick a good brand?”
When her expression crumples, he knows exactly what terrible realization has crossed her mind.
“You know how this works, right my love?” he coos at her as he uncaps the test stick, giving it a playful little wiggle before bringing it down between her legs. “Go on.”
Seokjin whines and gives her head a little shake. Namjoon tuts disapprovingly and reaches down with his free hand to press gloved fingers to the lowest point of Seokjin’s stomach, just above the top of the lovely scar he has given her. He can feel the swell of her bladder beneath his palm as he bares down, and Seokjin’s entire body convulses at the uncomfortable pressure. One of the unfortunate side effects of his work on her is a loss of bladder control, something he anticipates needing to solve with a constant plug in the future—but for now, her body releases easily, and the pressure is all it takes for her to lose control. A hot rush of piss flows immediately from her little hole, splattering more on the concrete floor than on the test itself, but he catches enough for his purposes and lets the rest fall freely down the chair and his wife’s quaking thighs as she shudders from the humiliation.
“Good girl…” Namjoon praises, rubbing at her abdomen until he’s sure she’s released every drop. “Now…we wait.” He sets the test down on the tray to process, and makes a show of pondering his next move. “What should we do to fill the time, hm?”
Seokjin’s eyes, now puffy and reddened from so many tears, flicker nervously back and forth between his face and the tray as Namjoon pulls his stool back into place and takes a seat between her thighs once more. His shoes squelch in the piss now covering the floor below, but he ignores it easily, having every intention of making her clean up after herself later. After so much exposure, even the smell is easy to inhale, nothing more than another indication of his successful torment, a common thread that stretches between so many of his endeavors over the past night.
“Oh,” he says as though an idea has just struck him, “I know…why don’t we pick up where we left off earlier, dear? I think you’ve had enough of a break.”
Seokjin makes a concerned little noise—not quite a word, so her gag will remain free for now, but enough that he can’t help but grin up at her as he brings his gloved hands back to her swollen pussy and strokes across the flushed skin. He presses here and there against the scarring where he knows she is the most sensitive, teasing her indulgently for a moment before aiming for his real target and dipping one latex-covered fingertip back into her stretched urethra where she is still loose from his earlier treatment.
“Hhhhhnnnngggg—” she groans, hips canting away from his hand as though she has anywhere to run from the intrusion.
“There we go, sweetheart,” he coos as his finger pushes further and further into her body, her own piss as the only lubricant, “let daddy in. That’s it.”
He’s never pushed her body quite this far, but god, how she opens up so beautifully for him.
“Look at your little pussy, baby,” Namjoon says as he strokes his finger out and forces it back inside, feeling the way she trembles around every centimeter. “Opening up so easily now, isn’t it? I bet that feels so nice…”
Seokjin immediately shakes her head, harshly biting at her lips to keep from openly disagreeing with him. Namjoon slaps his free hand down against her inner thigh and orders over her pained yelp, “Tell daddy it feels good, go on. You know what I want to hear.”
Seokjin hesitates, considering, then shakes her head again.
“Seokjin…” he warns in a low voice. He doesn’t need to say any more than that, she knows perfectly well all the horrors he could be threatening behind that single word.
It seems to take much more out of her this time to pry her mouth open and answer him, eyes rolling towards the ceiling so she doesn’t have to look at him as she forces out, “…it…f-feels……g— good, s-sir…”
“Oh, does it, baby? You like it when I finger your pretty little pussy like this?” As a reward for her obedience, he pulls his hand back and thrusts his finger inside her again as far as it can go, curling upwards as if seeking a g-spot that isn’t there. She said it feels good, after all, and what sort of husband would he be to deny her?
And there they are again, those beautiful tears of hers.
“Y-… Yes—ah—!” she sobs, and Namjoon redoubles his efforts.
“I’m glad, sweetheart,” he tells her as he works, thrusting the digit in and out of her body faster and faster, tugging at her hole all the while to stretch it further. “One day soon you’ll be all ready for me, and I can finally rape you here too. Would you like that, hmm? Want daddy’s big cock in your tiny new pussy?”
Seokjin’s expression contorts terribly, betraying her sudden horror at the thought—though, really, what did she imagine he had planned for her? “—wh—n-no, no, p-please!”
“No?” he echoes, ire at her disobedience rising once more. “But I thought you just said it feels good, baby…” He pulls his hand free and returns with both of his pointer fingers, tugging at her abused urethra from either side and admiring the way it gapes enough that he can see a little ways into her body now. “And look at how beautifully you open up for me, hm? I think you do want it …I think you’ve wanted it ever since you stumbled across my path all those years ago, hm?”
“N—No, I—”
“Tell me you want me to rape your pussy, Seokjin,” he commands over the sounds of her discomfort. “You know better than this. Be a good girl like you’ve been all night… or the gag goes back in your mouth, and daddy will force every one of his fingers inside until the neighbors can hear you scream through it.”
The fear that takes over his wife is nearly palpable in the air. She opens her mouth dumbly for a few seconds, lips moving in the shape of words that won’t materialize, but eventually she manages to choke out, “...I-......w-want…it…”
Namjoon is on his feet immediately, a scowl decorating his face as he reaches across Seokjin’s body for the gag hanging loose around her throat. Seokjin flinches and sobs and immediately finds her voice again, babbling out a desperate “—pleasepleaseplease I want it—I w-want you t-to r—rape my p-pussy, p-please, I’m s—s-sorry s-sir, I w-want it, I want it—!”
Namjoon’s hand settles gently around her throat. She flinches again as though struck, then pries open one eye to gaze blearily, trepidatiously up at him.
“...please,” she repeats, this time in a desperate whisper, “p-please rape…m-my pussy, sir…”
Namjoon rewards her with a kiss, bending over her to capture her smeared lips in a gesture that would be tender under any other circumstances. The sudden change in his demeanor is enough to stun her, leaving her lips pliant and unmoving beneath his, but the shuddering gasp Seokjin exhales into his mouth as their new position presses his clothed cock right against her tender groin more than makes up for it.
“That’s my good girl…” he purrs against the corner of her lips as he pulls away. He peppers more kisses across her cheek on his way to her ear, and feels her entire body slacken beneath him as relief washes over her. “Thank you for telling me what you want, sweetheart.”
Seokjin whines ever-so-softly, but it seems that the last of the fight has finally bled out of her.
“I promise, we’ll work very hard every day until daddy can rape you like you deserve, hm?” He whispers directly into her ear, gloved hands making their way down her body to press against her stomach through the boning of her corset. “But we have more important things to worry about first, don’t we?”
Her brow curls in confusion as he leans back, and a grin splits Namjoon’s face once more. In her desperation, it seems his wife has forgotten their true purpose here tonight, and he delights at the opportunity to remind her.
“I think it’s been more than long enough, why don’t we see what our test has to say?” He reaches for the little plastic stick he had carefully set aside earlier, not bothering to give it a glance before holding it up so that Seokjin can see it clearly herself. “Go on, darling, tell me the result. I’m sure you’re anxious to know if we’ve managed to conceive this time, hm?”
Seokjin’s eyes open so wide it almost looks painful, pupils darting back and forth between the test and Namjoon’s face so fast they seem to shake as much as her body does. He already knows what the result is, and Seokjin of course couldn’t possibly have expected anything different, but the terror on her face tells a very different story. Namjoon sees her lips form the shape of an answer too quiet for him to hear, and his smile widens into a sinister grin.
“What was that, my dear?”
“......n-...n-...not...pregnant…” Seokjin reads again from the tiny display in a barely audible whisper, her entire body tensing as though trying to curl away from him immediately.
Namjoon takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out in a long sigh, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he shakes his head. Seokjin, fearing retribution, trembles so intensely that it rattles the base of her chair against the concrete floor.
“Disappointing…” he says for the second time that night. He drops the pregnancy test to the floor where it lands in the puddle of his wife’s piss beneath his feet. Seokjin whimpers like he stabbed her straight in the gut. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”
“I-I—I’m s—s-so sorry, s-sir, I—”
“I don’t want to hear any more of your apologies,” Namjoon cuts her off. “In fact—” he pushes his chair back and steps around her spread legs, returning to stand above her head once more. “I don’t want to hear anything from you at all.”
The gag is returned to her mouth with a swift tug, the strap tightened so firmly that it cuts a stark line across both of her full cheeks. A fresh wave of her tears immediately decorate the leather when he pulls away.
“I guess you leave me no choice, Seokjin,” Namjoon says as he turns away towards the cabinets behind her head, reaching for the faucet of a small, utilitarian sink he has installed there for cleaning his tools. The sudden sound of running water startles his wife, his movements too far out of her line of sight. He reaches into a nearby cabinet and pulls out a large rubber bag suspended on a hook and affixes it to the arch of the faucet, aiming the stream of water into its depths before stepping back towards the center of the room.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he tells her with a heavy tone, playing up his disappointment more with every word, “but I just don’t see an alternative…” He gives a seemingly sympathetic pat to her naked thigh as he passes, moving to look over his remaining tools with the appearance of careful consideration before selecting a silver handle from his collection and holding the tool up for his wife to see. “There must be something wrong with you, my dear,” he explains as he squeezes the handle and watches as the two prongs of the small speculum spread themselves apart for him. “I think we need to take a much closer look.”
“Mmmmm—mmmmmnn—!” Seokjin tries to protest, jerking her wrists against their restraints frantically.
“Hold still, dear, or this could hurt,” he warns through a grin, taking his seat again to get a better angle before pressing the cold tip of the tool into her urethra.
“Mmmmnngggg—!!”
“I know, it must be a bit cold,” he acknowledges with feigned sympathy as he works the speculum in and out of her body to prolong the sensation before pushing it all the way inside until the handle lands snugly against her pelvis. With another squeeze of the handle, the prongs of the device spread themselves wide against the resistance of the tight channel, and Seokjin screams so loudly behind her gag that he really does wonder if he should invest in more soundproofing. “Theeeere we go.”
He locks the spread of the prongs into place with a twist of the lock embedded in the handle, leaving him free to release the tool and reach for the remainder of his necessary equipment—specifically, a long coiled tube and a large syringe with a plastic tip designed to fit snugly together. Though he had told Seokjin he didn’t want to have to do this, Namjoon is immensely grateful to himself for the foresight to ask Yoongi for these supplies on his last visit, and makes a mental note to thank the other man in the near future.
“Since conventional methods seem to have failed us,” he explains as he reaches into his pocket, extracting the vial of semen he has been keeping safe and warm since his retreat from the bunker earlier, “I thought ahead.”
Seokjin is so lost to her discomfort and fear that she can’t seem to grasp the meaning of his words, eyes catching the movements of his hands without really seeing them—but no matter, this part of his fantasy doesn’t really require her understanding any longer. Still, he carries on explaining as he works, more for his own benefit than anything, “I paid our children a visit earlier today, remember? And while I was down there, I decided to collect a sample of the very finest seed our pups can offer.”
Uncapping the vial, he places the tip of the syringe inside and carefully extracts every last drop of Taehyung’s semen he can. The empty vial is discarded in favor of the tubing he had picked up prior, fitted carefully around the tip of the syringe to make a secure seal, and the other end of the tube he pinches delicately between his fingers before reaching down to feed it between the blades of the speculum where they hold Seokjin’s quivering urethra open for him.
Seokjin shouts, she whines and bucks her hips, but none of her efforts impede his ability to feed the tube into her body. He presses further and further until he finally meets some sort of resistance, knowing he has reached his target at last—the tenuous barrier that is the opening of her bladder, the last obstacle standing between Namjoon and his goal. He gives the tube a little shove and feels it break through that resistance easily, the tube twisting in his grip as it begins to curl up inside of her in the cavern it has reached.
“See, sweetheart?” he asks, “Isn’t this so much better? Now I can pump this come directly into your womb, so we’re sure to conceive this time.” And with a wicked grin, Namjoon places his thumb over the plunger and empties the entire syringe into his wife’s body in one go.
“MMMMMMNNNNHHHH!!” Seokjin cries out, thrashing against her restraints in a way that guarantees that she’ll be wearing bruises for the next week, at least.
As it was certainly not a small sample of breeding stock he collected from his son that morning, it comes as no surprise when Namjoon can see Seokjin’s belly swelling right before his eyes and straining at the fabric of her corset. He tugs the tube free of her body unceremoniously and drops the contraption to the floor in favor of reaching for a scalpel on his tray. Seokjin shouts when she catches its glinting approach, but he holds her still with a firm hand to the center of her chest, and slices clean through the lacing that lines the front of her last remaining garment until the corset falls away, revealing her deliciously slim figure in its entirety, and the promising bump that has begun to form at her core.
“Look at you…” Namjoon murmurs, in awe of what he has created. He can't help but fling the blade away and run his large palms over every inch of her he can reach, greedy for her soft skin and quaking breaths, hungry for more of those delicious, muffled sobs that echo from deep beneath the swell of her breasts. “You’re nearly perfect.”
Nearly.
Determined, now, to finish what he has started, Namjoon hurries back to the sink he had left running, happy to find the bag now hanging heavy and filled to the brim with warm water, ready to be used. He hefts the bag out of the sink and drags it around the other side of Seokjin’s restrained body, using the hook to suspend the bag high above her head on the nearest wall. He makes quick work of affixing another tube—this one much longer and wider—to the nozzle at the bottom of the bag, and then pressing the other end of the tube into the small hole drilled into the base of a plug not dissimilar to the one currently twisted snugly into his wife’s ass.
“Since your body has decided not to cooperate as it should,” he chastises as he reaches for the plug she is currently wearing, tugging it free as carelessly as he did with the syringe, “I think the final step of your treatment will be to teach it how to behave for me, hm?”
All Seokjin can do any longer is pant and tremble, boneless and unresistant as he replaces one plug with another.
“Your breasts will learn to produce milk for me…” he tells her as he gives the pumps still affixed to her nipples a little tug on his way back to the wall. “Your pussy will learn to stretch for me…” he continues, giving the speculum still dangling between her legs an appreciative glance. “...and your womb will learn to swell nice and round for me—” he finishes as he reaches for the enema bag waiting on its hook, releasing the clamp that holds the water at bay and watching as gravity immediately forces it to rush down the tubing and back up into her body, “ — one way or another.”
And then Namjoon finally, finally steps away from the chair to appreciate the end result of his work.
Seokjin lies limply in her restraints now, utterly powerless to resist the steady flow of water being forced into her ass, almost immediately compounding the existing swell of her belly and forcing her middle to grow in size by the second. Her hair is a tangled mess above her head, previously perfect curls flattened and caught in her restraints, and her makeup has all but melted from her face, smeared across her cheeks and chin and down her throat as drool cascades from the gag wedged behind her teeth.
She is…utterly destroyed, in every way he can imagine her being. She is perfect. Finally perfect.
“I think I’ll leave you to rest for a bit, dear,” he tells her in a now-sweet tone as he rolls the gloves off of his hands and tosses them to the floor with the remainder of his discarded supplies. “You’re going to need it when that baby in your belly starts to grow, hm?”
His wife looks at him blearily, pathetically, with eyes so red and swollen she looks more like a frightened animal than any semblance of the man she once was. He’s not even sure she really hears him as he bids her goodbye—but she’ll come to understand soon, once the door is firmly closed behind him and he leaves her with nothing but the sting and ache and cramping of a body pushed to its limits for company. He has no intention of leaving her down here alone indefinitely, but she couldn’t possibly know that. A half an hour will feel like years in her current state, and will give him plenty of time to properly mull over the new ideas that sprung to mind during her treatment before he has to return to her.
Accomplishment settles pleasantly over Namjoon’s shoulders like a cloak as he locks the room securely and takes the stairs two at a time, arriving on the main floor with a grin stretching his cheeks and a spring in his step.
There are two rooms remaining beneath his feet waiting to be filled, and his family won’t be complete until they are.
He crosses the kitchen so quickly he nearly slips on the tile while reaching for the phone, anticipation getting the better of him.
The line rings four times as he waits for his call to connect, and each one feels like an eternity.
“—mmmphh......hello?” a familiar voice appears in his ear, and Namjoon nearly bounces with excitement like a child.
“Yoongi,” he says in lieu of a greeting, cutting right to the chase as always. “When can you come for another visit?”
“Oh, Namjoon…hey…” the other man grumbles, clearly half asleep still. “Uh…I don’t know, probably not until next week, unless—”
“Make it tomorrow,” he demands, and hears the other man scoff loudly in his ear.
“Tomorrow?! What’s the goddamn hurry?”
Namjoon’s grin is blinding now. From here, his careful soundproofing ensures that he can’t actually hear a single sound from the basement—but his imagination is a powerful, powerful thing, surrounding him with the delicious melody of his wife’s pained moans as her belly swells larger and larger—
“Yoongi…” he confides to his friend in a low, conspiratorial tone, laden with a double meaning he knows the other man will immediately understand. “I’m going to have a baby.”
“ — oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“...Okay,” Yoongi agrees after a beat. “Tomorrow it is.”