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Rehearsal dragged on longer than Ignacio’s battered hands could take. Each strike of the drum was a jagged bolt of pain, shooting up his arms, spreading like fire. The raw patches on his fingertips bled into the drumsticks, a dull ache that refused to let up. But he couldn’t stop. Not with Salamanca watching. That gaze—it didn’t just settle on him. It consumed him, peeled him back layer by layer until there was nothing left but a trembling, hollow version of himself. Every flinch, every missed beat felt amplified in the oppressive silence of the nearly empty room. His shame echoed louder than the drums ever could.
Finally, the man raised a hand—a lazy, dismissive gesture—and the rest of the band filed out. Ignacio didn’t dare follow without explicit order. By now he knew better than that. The others didn’t spare him a glance as they passed, their quickened steps betraying their relief at leaving the suffocating atmosphere behind.
“Varga.” Salamanca’s voice was smooth but edged with venom, the kind of voice that made Ignacio’s breath hitch.
Bad feelings twisted in Ignacio’s gut as the final door clicked shut behind the last band member, sealing him in the room with the man who had drilled into his mind that nothing he ever did would be good enough. Frozen in his seat, Ignacio couldn't even bring himself to meet Salamanca’s eyes for the first time today, though he could very well feel his presence that was like a dark, ominous force, that made the space around them feel heavy and suffocating, almost choking off his breath. It was as if the last remnants of his performance still echoed in the empty room, painfully contrasting against the teacher’s silence. He has fucked up today.
“What was that today, Ignacio, hm?” Salamanca’s words were soft, almost gentle, but laced with something sharp and cruel.
Ignacio swallowed against the dryness in his throat, his voice buried beneath a wave of rising dread. Salamanca hasn’t started yet, and he already felt like a child being scolded by their parents after doing something stupid, his blood running cold as he stared at his hands—a pathetic display of his weakness, his desperation, and his failure to live up to Salamanca's expectations. His palms, slick and sticky with blood from the drumsticks biting into his palms, already trembled in his lap.
“Did you actually think that was worth listening to?” Salamanca continued, his voice mocking. “Did you think you’d impress me with that shit? Because all I saw was a pathetic little boy flailing around, bleeding all over his instrument like it’s some kind of badge of honor.”
The cruel words hit him like a fist to the gut, knocking the air out of Ignacio’s lungs. He felt tears burn at the edges of his eyes, shame flooding his chest, suffocating. He wanted to say something, anything, to defend himself, but his throat tightened, his voice strangled beneath the weight of Salamanca’s disrespectful words.
The man stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. "I don’t think you understand, not really,” he continued, his voice thick with disdain. “What you did out there? That wasn’t even music. That was just pathetic. You thought a few bleeding fingers made you a real drummer? Is that it?” He scoffed, his eyes inspecting Ignacio's slouched, defeated form. “Did you think I'd be impressed just because you look like you crawled out of a meat grinder? And you sound even worse.”
Ignacio’s hands tightened around the drumsticks, the slightly roughened wood biting into his open cuts and sending a fresh pulse of pain up his arms. Tears started flowing openly against his will. He winced, trying to mask the shudders that passed through him as his face burned, shame knotting in his chest, tight and raw. He forced his gaze to the floor, unable to meet Salamanca’s cutting stare. You knew this was coming. You knew it, he told himself, swallowing the lump in his throat as he felt the heat of the man’s gaze glaring into him.
"Look at you," Salamanca sneered, disgusted. "Sweating like a pig, with tears and snot running down your face—for this?" His gaze seared into Ignacio, tearing through him, reaching deep into the shame and some fucked up desperation that lay hidden beneath his fears.
Ignacio’s heart pounded in his chest, each word the man was spitting in his direction destroying his determination more and more. But underneath the sting of humiliation, something darker stirred in him, trying to claw its way to the surface—a nauseating feeling that he needed to hear more, to be broken down by him and remade in whatever image the man wanted him to become. It was sick and wrong, but he couldn’t help it. There was something addictive in his disgusted gaze even now, in the way he seemed to take pleasure in Ignacio’s suffering, insulting him in every way possible. The feeling twisted inside him, making shame burn even brighter.
“I… I’m sorry,” Ignacio choked out, his voice barely a whisper, his words coming out broken and small. His face was visibly flushed; humiliation and a terrible, somewhat depraved excitement mingling in a way that made him hate himself, that left him feeling raw and hollow, aching for more.
“Oh, you’re sorry?” Salamanca let out a mocking laugh, his voice cutting through the silence. "Tell me, Ignacio, are you sorry for wasting my time? Sorry for embarrassing yourself in front of everyone? Or are you just sorry that you’re not good enough?"
Ignacio’s heart pounded, each beat louder than the last, drowning out the man’s voice for a second. But he couldn’t drown out the meaning, the truth behind the words. He wasn’t good enough. He would never be good enough. He knew he didn’t deserve to be here and Salamanca had made that absolutely clear every time he came to play in those rehearsals, or every time he overheard him play alone, staying after hours to practice. But the thought of going back—of leaving this place, of losing this man’s attention, even if it came with disrespect and degradation—was unbearable.He needed to do something.
But he could barely lift his head, his vision blurred with tears as he stared down at his bloodied, trembling hands—a sharp reminder of every mistake. The shame of wanting this, of secretly liking what he was hearing, was overwhelming him slowly – it was a suffocating weight that pressed down on ribcage. He wanted to respond, to prove himself, to somehow redeem whatever small piece of pride he had left. But his voice was caught, stifled by the desperation clawing its way up his throat.
Salamanca leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper. “Do you really think you deserve to be here?” His face hovered inches away, his words a taunt that stripped Ignacio of any lingering pretense of strength. “Because all I see is a sniveling little boy who should have stayed with his amateur band. Tell me, Ignacio, is that where you belong? Playing for nobodies? Maybe I should send you there right now?”
Ignacio’s heart thundered in his chest. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees, desperation plain visible on his face as he finally looked up at Salamanca, his voice breaking. "No," he gasped, voice quivering. "No, I—I want to be here. Please, Mr. Salamanca, just… give me another chance. I’ll prove myself, really prove myself." His voice cracked as he begged, his shoulders trembling. He sat there, exposed and raw in front of this man, his face hot with shame, his breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps as he waited, heart pounding, for the response.
But the man’s lips twisted in a sneer, eyes gleaming with a dark, amused glint that made Ignacio’s stomach twist. “Oh, I see. You want to show me that you’re worth the blood you’re dripping all over my drums?”
“Yes.” The word fell from him, barely audible over the ragged sound of his breathing. All shame had left Ignacio in that moment, all pride dissolved, leaving only a raw, desperate need for his approval. He knew he was pathetic, kneeling there like this, but he didn’t care. He needed Salamanca’s acceptance, even if it came with cruelty. He’d take whatever scraps he chose to throw him.
Ignacio’s fists clenched, a wave of adrenaline rushing through him, his hands clenching into fists against the urge to shake. His whole body was trembling, his pulse racing as he swallowed hard. He knew he should feel repulsed, that he should hate the guy for all the humiliation and the pain he endured these past few weeks. But as he knelt there, his heart pounding in his chest, all he felt was a desperate, twisted need. The tension in Ignacio’s stomach twisted; he could barely recognize himself.
It was more than just a desire to please – it was like a hidden need that's eating at him from the inside, reaching deeper than he’d like to admit. Because he should have left this place long ago, but the moment he caught Salamanca’s steely gaze, any thought of leaving disappeared. And now he felt rooted in place, a prisoner of his own mind, his own desires—humiliation creeping up beneath his skin, urging him to remain on his knees, expose himself for Salamanca’s unyielding eyes.
He chanced a glance at his teacher again after a minute of silence. But Salamanca’s expression was merciless, his eyes as dark and unforgiving as they had always been. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth or sympathy there, even after all that he did. Only disdain, hard and sharp, that felt like a knife pressed to his throat.
"You think praying on your knees is going to earn you a second chance?" Salamanca tilted his head, looking Ignacio up and down, assessing him like he was nothing more than a nuisance. "You're not even close to being worth my time. You’re nothing – desperate and worthless."
Each word felt like a lash, cutting deeper than any blow or punch he has ever taken. Ignacio’s pulse thundered in his ears, his mouth suddenly dry as his throat tightened with something he could only name as fear, mixed with desire. This was fucked up on so many levels. The heat rose to his cheeks, burning like fire, but he couldn’t move. It was as though his knees were locked in place, his body incapable of anything but pleading.
“Get out,” Salamanca suddenly ordered, not even looking in Ignacio's direction, his voice a flat command that brooked no argument. “You’re a waste of space in this band. I have no use for someone so pitiful.”
Ignacio’s chest constricted at the words, and desperation flared up hot and bright. It couldn’t end like this. His voice came out as a broken, choked whisper. “Please… don’t throw me away! I—I’ll get better, I’ll do anything you ask of me. I’ll try harder than ever before! Just… give me another chance. Please, Mr. Salamanca. I beg you.”
The room fell silent then, the words hanging between them. Ignacio’s face burned with humiliation, his skin prickling as he awaited Salamanca’s response. But the man simply looked down at him, one eyebrow raised in barely contained disgust, though a glint of intrigue flickered behind his dark gaze. It was good, Ignacio thought, better than nothing.
“Almost impressive,” Salamanca muttered, though his tone was laced with derision. “Almost. But you’re still a pathetic excuse of a man, willing to degrade yourself at the first sign of disapproval.”
Ignacio felt a cold sweat breaking out along his spine now. He felt like he was shrinking under Salamanca’s gaze, his pride peeling away layer by layer. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Instead, he sank deeper into his own desperation, even deeper on his knees, almost bending to a bow, an urge eating at him to prove his worth in any way Salamanca would allow. Even like that, even by humiliating himself.
“Really, just look at you.” Salamanca’s voice dropped lower, his tone darkly amused now. “On your knees, begging, sniveling like the weak little bitch you are.” The corner of his mouth twisted into a wicked smirk, a ridiculing look that sent Ignacio’s heart racing.
The air between them felt heavy, charged with a tension Ignacio could feel pressing down on him now, as the man got closer to where he was kneeling, bent over with his forehead almost touching the floor. Salamanca leaned in, so close that Ignacio could smell the faint, smoky scent clinging to his clothes. His pulse quickened, fear mixing with a heady feeling he couldn’t quite deny anymore. He wanted anything, anything the man could give him. He’ll do everything to get it.
“You say you want to prove yourself?” Salamanca whispered, his voice low and menacing, yet laced with a seductiveness that sent shivers down his student's spine.
Ignacio’s breath hitched, the words setting his mind spinning. He felt his body respond before he had fully processed Salamanca’s demand, a dark, perverse feeling stirring within him yet again, that he hated but couldn’t control. He felt his dick harden just at hearing the striking tone change in the man’s voice. He nodded, a barely perceptible motion, his face flushed and his eyes still downcast, avoiding Salamanca’s sharp gaze.
“Yes, Mr. Salamanca,” he murmured, his voice trembling. The word fell from his lips like a confession, laden with the desperation that had him locked in place, willing to surrender to every whim. “Whatever you need.”
Salamanca chuckled—a low, derisive sound that sent shame spiraling through Ignacio, twisting deeper into his chest. "Whatever I need, huh?" Salamanca was drawing the words out slowly, deliberately, as if savoring Ignacio’s submission. "You’ve got no pride left, do you?"
Ignacio swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He didn’t reply—he couldn’t. Words would only twist his shame into knots he couldn’t unravel.
Salamanca took a step forward, looming above him. His voice turned sharper, the amusement laced with cruelty. “You’re lucky I didn't toss you out on the street. Do you even realize how pathetic you are right now, Varga? Offering yourself like this, thinking this will save your position in the band because you’re simply not good enough?”
The words were a knife slicing through Ignacio’s resolve, each insult cutting him open, making him even more and more desperate. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe properly.
“Answer me,” Salamanca barked, his tone sudden and sharp like the crack of a whip. Ignacio’s body jolted, his head snapping up despite the shame pooling in his stomach.
“I—yes, sir,” Ignacio stammered, the words spilling out. His hands trembled at his sides, knuckles white from clutching the air as if trying to grasp for stability.
Salamanca scoffed, shaking his head. “Yes, sir,” he mimicked. “You sound like a whipped dog. That’s what you are, isn’t it? A desperate, sniveling little thing that I have to drag along, step by step, while you slobber all over yourself trying to keep up.”
Ignacio’s face burned, the humiliation washing over him in waves, but underneath it, something twisted and dark stirred—something he couldn’t ignore no matter how much he wanted to. Salamanca knew it, too. He just nodded, slightly whimpering at the words. He couldn’t even stop himself, he was so long gone.
The man chuckled at that, a low, mocking sound that sent another wave of shame crashing over Ignacio. He took a step back and slightly leaned forward, crossing his arms as he watched Ignacio with an expression that slightly amused. “But, we might as well try it. Come on, Varga,” he continued, his voice dropping into a venomous purr. “If you’re so desperate to prove yourself, then prove it. Show me just how far you’re willing to go to stay in my good graces.”
Ignacio’s breath hitched, his pulse hammering in his ears as the words sank in. His body obeyed before his mind could catch up– with a deep, shuddering breath, Ignacio moved forward almost mechanically, the rough surface of the floor scraping against his knees. It was cold and rough beneath him, just another reminder of how low he had sunk. His hands trembled, hesitating for just a moment, but then he reached for Salamanca’s waistband, fingers shaking uncontrollably as he unbuckled and unzipped his pants. His face burned with shame, his pulse pounding in his ears as he hesitated, his head racing with thoughts and emotions he couldn’t control. But there was no stopping now, no backing out.
Salamanca’s stare was unyielding, leaving Ignacio with no room for hesitation. He wanted to stay in the band, no matter what. He will do whatever is needed of him and he will be grateful for being given this chance. So he tugged at the waistband, and finally Salamanca’s pants slid down, and Ignacio’s breath hitched as he exposed the man’s half-hard cock. It jutted forward, and his face burned hotter than ever before. Oh god, it’s happening. His breath hitched, his vision yet again blurring with tears he refused to let fall now, every ounce of his willpower focused on suppressing the humiliation and fear gnawing at him.
“Go on,” Salamanca sneered, his voice sharp. “You’re already down there, Varga. Don’t just sit there like a dumb little puppy. Make yourself useful.”
The insult stung, but Ignacio barely registered it. His mind was focused on the task, his shame and desperation blurring into a single, overwhelming need to prove himself, to earn Salamanca’s approval. He leaned forward, pulse loud in his ears, his mouth dry as he pressed his lips to Salamanca’s cock, the act feeling degrading but strangely satisfying. He was so fucked. In turn, Salamanca watched him, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he let out a quiet hum of approval. The sound sent a spark of twisted pride inside Ignacio that made him push himself further, determined to show the man that he was willing to do whatever it took to earn his favor.
"That’s right,” Salamanca murmured. “Show me what a desperate little slut you are.”
Ignacio whimpered, a sound that he hated himself for making. With a deep breath, he leaned forward, his lips parting as he took the tip of Salamanca’s cock into his mouth. The taste was bitter and salty, overwhelming his senses as he closed his lips around it, swirling his tongue to coax the cock further inside his mouth. Ignacio’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked, trying to remember anything he had learned about pleasing someone like this.
Salamanca growled, his hands gripping Ignacio’s head as he pushed him down further. “You need to work harder for it, Varga. You act like this is the first time you’ve been on your knees for someone. But we both know better, don’t we? Probably sucked off every teacher at this damn school.”
Against his will, Ignacio whimpered loudly as his throat constricted around the man's cock, the pressure almost unbearable as he tried to breathe through it. Tears streamed down his cheeks, a mix of saliva and raw emotions spilling out. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing the chaos he felt in this moment. The humiliation was intense, but so was the thrill of submission, of being at the mercy of someone who held all the power over him. It was addicting.
“Look at you,” Salamanca sneered, relentlessly pushing Ignacio's head down and up on his cock as if it were nothing, the pleasure in his voice unmistakable. “Choking on it like the worthless little thing you are. You think this makes you valuable to me?” He laughed, the sound echoing in Ignacio’s ears.
Ignacio moaned around Salamanca’s length, the sound muffled but full of desperation. He felt like he was drowning, barely able to breathe, the sensations overwhelming his mind but intoxicating all the same. Every push of Salamanca’s hips into his mouth sent waves of heat through his body, igniting his senses. He felt that his own cock was hard, and he tried to take off some of the pressure, palming himself with his hand.
“Such a good little slut,” Salamanca’s grip tightened on Ignacio’s neck as he thrust deeper, forcing Ignacio to take him in fully. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
Tears blurred Ignacio’s vision, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The sting of Salamanca’s words made his throat tighten, but the sick feeling of pleasing him outweighed the humiliation. It all felt so good, so good to be humiliated like this, trying to please this man. And somewhere deep inside, Ignacio clung to the faint, twisted hope that this, somehow, would solidify his worth. He really wanted to please this man, to earn his respect, and each movement felt like a twisted victory.
“You like this, don’t you?” Salamanca taunted, his voice sharper now. “You like being my little toy. My desperate, obedient pet. That’s all you are, Varga—a desperate, pathetic little thing who’ll do anything I tell him to.”
The twisted praises cut through Ignacio, sharp and sweet, and against his better judgment—or perhaps because of it—he found himself pushing back against Salamanca’s relentless thrusts. His mouth worked harder, faster, his tongue pressing against the hot weight in his mouth, shame burning through him and yet fueling his every desperate motion.
It must have paid out, because above him, Salamanca groaned, the low, guttural sound reverberating through Ignacio’s chest. It sent a shiver down his spine, making him press further, ignoring the ache in his jaw, the tears streaming down his cheeks, and the dull pulse of arousal pounding in his own neglected cock. He felt so proud of himself. He loved every second of this.
“Don’t even think about stopping me,” Salamanca growled, his voice dripping with venomous authority. His hips bucked forward sharply, his hand more and more forceful on Ignacio’s head. “I’m close. And you’re going to swallow every last drop. Understand?”
Ignacio nodded, as much as he was allowed, determination flooding through him. He felt the heat building, the urgency in Salamanca’s movements, and he prepared himself, feeling the rush of euphoria that came with submitting to this man in such a way. To Ignacio, the world around them has completely faded, leaving just the two of them, locked in a moment that was so exciting and terrifying at the same time. The pressure built, and with a rough growl, Salamanca’s release came, a sudden, forceful wave that left Ignacio breathless as he struggled to keep up. But the man forcefully held him there, making sure every last bit was swallowed, every trace gone before finally pulling back.
Ignacio’s face was flushed, he felt his cheeks burning, his breaths shallow as he looked up, still on his knees, waiting for some acknowledgment or even a word of praise. But the teacher’s attention had already shifted, his expression hardening, any softness completely erased as he simply looked down at Ignacio. He felt a rush of adrenaline, heart pounding as Salamanca stepped away, putting himself back together, zipping his pants with a casual, almost bored look. The room was thick with silence, leaving Ignacio struggling on his knees. He wanted to hide how much this situation affected him, but the traitorous strain in his pants betrayed him before he could even try.
Salamanca’s gaze flicked down, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer as he caught sight of the evidence. Fuck. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, his tone mocking and obviously amused. He stepped closer, the heel of his polished shoe brushing against Ignacio’s trembling hand before he nudged it aside with a swift, dismissive kick. The tip of Salamanca’s shoe replaced Ignacio’s hand, pressing firmly against the bulge in his pants. Ignacio gasped, a choked moan spilling from his lips at the sudden pressure. His body betrayed him, his hips jerking forward instinctively, chasing the sensation despite the shame burning through him.
“Well, look at you,” Salamanca mocked, his voice low and venomous. “Getting hard from sucking cock like some desperate little whore. You’re a fucking disgrace to this school.”
Tears welled in Ignacio’s eyes again, but he didn’t dare move away. The words cut deep, each one sharper than the last, but the humiliation only seemed to ignite the fiery pleasure inside him. His hips moved again, seeking more of the firm, punishing pressure Salamanca’s shoe provided.
“You get this hard from being used?” Salamanca hissed, leaning down so his breath was hot against Ignacio’s ear. “What a filthy little slut you are. Just a mouth to fuck and a hole to fill, aren’t you?”
A choked whimper escaped Ignacio, his forehead pressing against Salamanca’s hip, his body trembling. Every cruel word stripped him bare, cutting through his defenses until there was nothing left but raw, desperate want. He wanted to come so much, he would give anything for it.
“If only you were half as good at your job as you are at making a mess of yourself,” Salamanca sneered, grinding his shoe harder against Ignacio’s throbbing cock. “Maybe then you’d actually be worth something. But no, you’re just a sniveling little bitch, better suited to crawling on your knees than standing on your own two feet.”
The sharp, degrading words shattered whatever composure Ignacio had left. With a strangled moan, he bucked against Salamanca’s shoe for the last time, the unbearable pressure driving him over the edge. His release came hot and fast, staining his boxers and pants as he shuddered beneath the man’s disdainful gaze.
Without giving him the time to come back from his high, Salamanca stepped back immediately, his polished shoe leaving behind a smear of evidence as Ignacio nearly collapsed to the floor, barely catching himself on trembling arms. He knelt there, defeated and breathless, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson as he struggled to recover. When he finally dared to look up, he was met with Salamanca’s stare, his eyes glinting with amusement as he gave Ignacio a once-over, shaking his head.
“You’re a fucking mess, Varga. Not that it’s surprising,” Salamanca said, his tone sharp and dismissive. He turned on his heel, his indifference to what just happened cutting deeper than any insult, leaving Ignacio kneeling on the floor, humiliated and aching for more. “But maybe, just maybe, I’ll give you another chance,” the man drawled, stepping back and for the last time looking Ignacio over with a disdainful smirk. “Now, clean yourself up. And pack your shit.”
Without another word, Salamanca turned and left the room, leaving Ignacio alone in the silence, his body shaking as he fought to process the brutal intensity of everything that had just happened. The silence lingered in the room long after, leaving Ignacio alone, still kneeling, with his body trembling and his mind overthinking what just happened. He fought to regain his breath, shame filling his chest again, yet something darker and more twisted lingered underneath, filling him with a strange, elated afterglow.
He finally rose after a few moments, shaky on his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him as he straightened up, still tasting the bitterness of Salamanca on his lips. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he caught sight of himself in the reflection in the door, the evidence of his own degradation staining his clothes. A few minutes later, as he zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, he hesitated for a second, a part of him almost daring to hope that Salamanca would reappear any minute now. But the corridor was empty, filled only with the faint echoes of his own footsteps as he left the room behind.