#jack kenyon oc
behavior modification, part eight
taglist:@darkthingshappen,@oddsconvert,@aut0psy-s,@reflected-pain,@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump,@mylifeisonthebookshelf (let me know if you’d like to be added!)
content warnings for: CSA mention (very veiled, but still), adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, cages, restraints, muzzles, discussions of past abuse, and implied future noncon
This isn’t the whumpiest chapter (although there’s a good bit at the end), but all you Jack + Joe 4EVA people will like it.
part eight,past, present, & future
“Jackie?”
Jack doesn’t answer. He feels like someone’s taken a spoon and scooped out his guts. He’s empty. Hollow. Because he’s dumped it all on Joe.
He shouldn’t have said anything. It was a bad idea. Joe won’t understand. How could he? Jack squeezes his eyes shut. What Bill did to him–what Jack let other people do after–
He doesn’t want to see the way that Joe looks at him now that he knows.
Joe takes a shaky breath. “Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with that, I mean.”
Jesus Christ. Joe isn’t supposed to thank him. Not for this.
Oh damn! Poor sweet Jack and poor sweet Joe. This is so awful. Ivan knew exactly how to pick him, didn’t he. It so cruel to undo all the gains he’s made. I just want to wrap him in blankets and run away with him… back to Joe of course. GUH! My heart breaks for him.
behavior modification, part eleven
content warnings: EXPLICIT NONCON (touch & forced orgasm), adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, muzzles, restraints, stress positions, shock collars, dehumanization, humiliation, emotional manipulation, noncon kissing, implied future noncon
Thanks to @darkthingshappen for letting me run a few things by her!
part eleven, jack’s consequences
“Now, you’ll stay this way until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.”
THE ABSOLUTE AUDACITY TO DO THAT WHILST ON THE PHONE TO THE POLICE?! OH MY BLOOD IS B O I L I N G, I AM RILED
behavior modification, part ten
taglist:@darkthingshappen,@oddsconvert,@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump,@aut0psy-s,@reflected-pain,@mylifeisonthebookshelf (let me know if you’d like to be added!)
content warnings for: adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, muzzles, restraints, stress positions, shock collars, minor burns, dehumanization, emotional manipulation, brief physical violence, a little bit of blood, noncon touch, noncon kissing, implied future noncon
part ten, jack learns his positions
Jack is so good for him.
Ivan sees the scarlet humiliation in the boy’s cheeks, but Jack opens his pretty pink mouth and lets Ivan take care of his teeth. It’s a sight, sweet little Jack with his mouth dropped open, waiting for whatever Ivan might give him. Ivan grips the boy’s stubbled chin–they’ll have to deal with that later–and slips the toothbrush into his mouth, carefully moving the bristles over Jack’s teeth and gums. Jack doesn’t fight him, even when Ivan prods the inside of his cheeks with the head of the brush. Jack’s cheeks stretch beautifully around the intrusion. Perhaps he really was made for this.
behavior modification, part eleven
content warnings: EXPLICIT NONCON (touch & forced orgasm), adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, muzzles, restraints, stress positions, shock collars, dehumanization, humiliation, emotional manipulation, noncon kissing, implied future noncon
Thanks to @darkthingshappen for letting me run a few things by her!
part eleven, jack’s consequences
“Now, you’ll stay this way until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.”
Fuck. Jack tries to shake his head, but the distended heft makes his neck feel like it’s going to snap. He can’t staythis way. He can’t. Jack may not be a doctor, but he’s damn sure that people aren’t supposed to be left upside-down. Ivan has to know that. Doesn’t he? He tries to look at Ivan, but he can’t get his eyes to focus. Too many shocks.
Ivan’s phone rings.
Please!Jack shrieks. The word rockets up his throat, but it doesn’t make it any further, because there’s a fucking metal plate trapping his tongue. The only sound that comes out is an animal’s groan. But they have to hear him! They have to!
Jack tries again to raise his head, but he can’t. It weighs a fucking ton, and with his arms wrenched back the way they are, he has no way to brace himself–his entire body shakes with the effort. Of course, Ivan designed it that way.
The thought traps Jack’s breath.
He tugs at his cuffs, but the movement burns all the way down to his calves. Jesus. He’s trussed like game, for Ivan’s pleasure. He’s mute, for Ivan’s pleasure. He’s burnt and sick and so fucking tired, for Ivan’s pleasure. And he can’t even scream.
He tries to wrench his mouth open, but the bit stays in place, and the leather of his muzzle glues itself to his sweaty skin. For the millionth time in the last forty-eight hours, his eyes sting with tears–only this time, they run upinstead of down.
The phone rings again, and Ivan glares down at him.
“Don’t. Make. A. Sound. Or I’ll push this button until you have more in common with a potato than a man.”
The thing is, Jack knows he will. He’s already seen the way Ivan’s eyes light up in the split second before the collar throws him to the floor.
But what Jack didn’t realize is that he already thinks it might be a relief. To disappear. To not feeleverything that’s happening to him–or everything that will happen to him.
Jack doesn’t know if he can take it. Not again. And he doesn’t know if it’s better to be good or bad.
He swallows his whimper and lets his body go slack. The blood rushes to his head, but this time, he doesn’t fight it.
Ivan nods at him and taps his screen. “Dr. Ivan Peters?”
For a moment, the only thing Jack hears is the roar of the blood in his ears–and then Ivan’s breath hitches.
“Oh, uh, hello, Sergeant.”
Sergeant.
It’s the police. The police are looking for him. Joeis looking for him and–
“Would you mind holding for just a moment, Sergeant Wade? I’m in the middle of some work, and I’d like to keep my hands free.”
The police sergeant must assent, because Ivan lays his phone down on the floor next to Jack’s chair. He kneels down and cups the back of Jack’s head in his hand, raising it so that Jack can’t help but look into Ivan’s steely blue eyes.
“Are you there, Sergeant?”
Jack knows Ivan’s speaking to the person on the phone, but his gaze is for Jack alone. Don’t make a sound, Ivan mouths again.
“Yes, doctor.” It’s a woman. The sergeant is a woman. Her voice is kind, Jack thinks. She’ll help him. He knows it. “Sorry to interrupt your morning,” she says. “I’m calling in regards to a missing persons report on a Mr. Jack Kenyon.”
Jack’s tears cut a salty path into his hair, but he manages to keep himself still. He squeezes his eyes shut. Joe knows–he knowsJack wouldn’t run off. Joe knows Jack. Joe loves him. Maybe–
“Jack Kenyon?”
Ivan says it like Jack isn’t on display right in front of him.
“Yes, sir. Dr. Prescott–Mr. Kenyon’s partner–indicated that you may be someone with whom Mr. Kenyon might have had recent contact?”
“Did he?”
Ivan kneels down next to Jack’s contorted body, and he drops his mouth to the swell of Jack’s ribs. Jack feels the hard pinch of Ivan’s teeth, then the brutal seal of his lips. Another mark.
Please,Jack thinks. Please don’t. But Ivan doesn’t want to hear him beg now.
Teeth still pulling at Jack’s skin, Ivan seizes Jack’s hair with one hand, and he tugs Jack’s head backward until his shoulders fold like cardboard. He slides his other hand between Jack’s legs.
It’s then that Jack realizes what’s going to happen.
No, no, no–
Ivan slides his tongue into Jack’s navel, scraping his teeth against his belly as he backs out. Jack nearly cracks his back teeth trying to keep still. He feels a whimper rising in his chest, and he wills it to stay put.
Ivan takes Jack’s cock in his hand, running a gentle thumb over what is still soft. But Jack feels heat start to pool in his gut.
“Yes,” the sergeant is saying. “He said that you recently hired Mr. Kenyon to be your research assistant?”
Ivan raises his eyebrows, and wraps Jack in his fist. He squeezes Jack’s cock and slides his warm palm down the shaft.
“I did. I–oh, God. Is Joe okay?”
Jack’s chest feels like it’s going to explode. He can’t hear Joe’s name. Not like this. Not right now. But he feels himself responding. He’s stiff now, and his cock stands up at the center of his arched body.
Ivan smiles, and he begins to move in earnest. Jack’s breath slams from his nostrils. Ivan releases his hair and uses his free hand to pinch Jack’s nipples, one after the other.
The sergeant sighs on the other end of the phone. “He’s understandably very distressed. Dr. Peters, when was the last time you spoke to Mr. Kenyon?”
“Oh, goodness.” Ivan pretends to think, but his hand doesn’t stop; Jack feels his ass cheeks clench against the edge of the chair’s metal seat, and his legs start to cramp. “Maybe a week ago? I’m sorry. I’ve been out of town–I was at the APA conference in New Orleans, and I–”
“With Dr. Prescott?”
“I saw Joe there, yes.”
Ivan’s rhythm builds, and Jack presses himself as hard as he can into the chair, but it’s no use; his hips start to rise, to meet Ivan’s touch. The room blurs through Jack’s tears.
I’m sorry, Joe. I’m so sorry.
“So, you haven’t heard from Mr. Kenyon in the last three days?”
Ivan is quiet, long enough that the police sergeant must think he’s searching his memory. But Ivan is quiet because his mouth is on Jack’s chest, lapping at his nipples, scraping between his pecs, carving a warm path down Jack’s body with the tip of his tongue. His hand doesn’t let up.
“No,” Ivan finally says. Jack can’t see his face–he can’t raise his head, he can’t, he can’t–but he hears the husk in Ivan’s voice. “I’m so sorry.”
He thumbs over Jack’s slit, and the motion is smooth and wet.
Jack used to know how to do this. He used to know how to pretend it wasn’t happening to him. But he doesn’t anymore. Every nerve in his body burns white hot, and he feels like he’s choking on backlogged sobs.
He ruts into Ivan’s hand, and his chains rattle.
Ivan’s stills. He squeezes Jack so hard that Jack is sure he’s going to crush him. But the detective doesn’t notice.
“That’s alright, sir,” she says. “We’re just gathering information. Was there anything about your interaction with Mr. Kenyon that gave you any cause for concern?”
Ivan’s grip relaxes, and he begins to move again. New tears seep from Jack’s eyes, hot and fast. He can’t tell if he’s relieved.
“No, of course not. He’s a very bright young man. Highly motivated. He was very interested in working with me.” He twists his wrist, and Jack stifles a moan. “I think he thought it would be a great opportunity.”
“I see. Did, ah, did Mr. Kenyon say anything to you about his relationship with Dr. Prescott? I understand you’re former medical school colleagues. Was there anything that might have suggested to you that Mr. Kenyon was unhappy?”
No, Jack thinks, even as Ivan’s touch pulls him closer to the edge. No, I was never unhappy with Joe. Never, never, never–
Ivan picks up speed. “Oh, I don’t know about that–”
“Sir, any information would be helpful.”
“The last time I saw him, he did seem frightened.”
Ivan noses into the thatch of hair beneath Jack’s navel, letting his breath settle, hot and wet.
Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Please–
“Of what?”
Ivan sighs and presses a soft kiss to Jack’s pubic bone. Jack prays for his blood to pool in his head, for darkness to swallow him whole.
“Oh, I wouldn’t presume to know that,” Ivan says. “Just that he was a bit skittish.” He pinches Jack’s skin between his teeth and sucks down. His hand does not stop moving.
It’s too close. He’stoo close. Jack can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t–
“I see. And he didn’t say anything about Dr. Prescott?”
Ivan pulls away, and he rubs at the fresh bruise with his thumb. “No. But it isn’t necessarily about him. It’s my understanding that Jack’s had a complicated life. You may want to ask Joe a bit more about that.”
Joe. I love you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–
“Thank you, Doctor. I will,” says the detective.
And if Jack could think, he might think that she sounds less than convinced. But he can’t think. He can only feel. And he hates it. He hates himself.
Papers shuffle on the detective’s side of the phone. “Is there anything else you might–”
“I’m sorry, sergeant,” Ivan says abruptly. He rolls his wrist and slides down Jack’s length. “That’s about the only insight I can provide. But I’ll certainly let you know if I hear from him.”
“Please do.”
“I hope you find him soon. Joe must be losing his mind.”
Ivan smiles at Jack, and his hand beats against him, hard and fast.
“Thank you,” says the sergeant.
Jack arches against the chains, his muscles so hard that he’s sure he’s going to break in two. But he can’t let himself down. He can’t make a sound.
“Good luck, sergeant. Give my best to Joe,” Ivan says.
Distantly, Jack hears the hollow beep of the call’s end. He lets himself crash against the chair, and a broken sob rips at his throat. Still, his hips buck up, and the chains rattle in earnest now.
“He’s looking for you, sweet boy,” Ivan murmurs. “Your Joe is looking for you.”
And then, wet heat surrounds Jack’s cock, and he screams–or at least, he tries to. This can’t he happening. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t. And yet–
Ivan pops off of him with a wet smack, and his hand is back, running over Jack’s slick length and drawing him closer and closer to the edge.
“I’ll let him find you, you know?”
Jack’s chest is so tight that he’s not sure he’s even breathing. His head is full and dizzy, and he thinks he might be breaking apart. All he wants is Joe, but he doesn’t want Joe to find him. His body is a knot of paradox.
Ivan strokes him harder. Jack is close, and this time, he knows that Ivan won’t spare him.
“I’ll let him find you when you’re a good little toy. I’ll let him see you like you are now.”
Jack’s throat aches so deeply that he thinks he might choke. His forehead burns under the salt of his tears, and he can feel slick sweat coating every inch of his skin.
Joe–Joe can’t–he can’t–Jack doesn’t–no, no, NO–oh,God–
“And I’ll let him see this, too,” Ivan whispers.
And then, Jack falls. His vision burns white, and his body seizes against his chains as he spills over Ivan’s hand.
“Yes, sweet boy. That’s it.”
Jack waits for Ivan to punish him, for his touch to keep on, but he doesn’t. Instead, Ivan’s hand slips into the mess Jack’s made of himself and spreads it over Jack’s belly and up to his chest.
“Goodness, you must have been holding onto that for a while,” Ivan chuckles.
I didn’t want to, Jack tells himself. I’ll never want to. I didn’t–oh, Joe. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Ivan stands, and distantly, Jack is aware that he’s gone to the sink to wash his hands.
Jack wants to wash. He wants to scrub at every inch of himself until he’s raw; he wants to grow new skin.
He wants to go home.
He sobs, and Ivan stands over him again, cell phone in hand. Jack hears the artificial snap of the phone’s camera.
“Perhaps we’ll send this to him sometime, huh?”
Ivan leans down and presses a kiss to Jack’s soaked forehead. Jack wonders if he can taste the salt. Ivan angles the camera again, and he yanks Jack’s head up by his hair.
“Smile, darling. If we do send these, I want Joe to know just how happy we are together.”
Jack does not smile. Not that anyone would be able to tell. But when Ivan shows him the photos, Jack feels the tiniest spark of satisfaction that there is still blood on Ivan’s lips.
“Now,” Ivan says, stuffing his phone in his back pocket. “I have some case notes to update, and you have some thinking to do.”
Jack doesn’t even have the energy to shake his head.
“You were very naughty today, Jackie,” Ivan says seriously. “And I told you–there are consequences for your actions. I hope you know that now. You’re mine, sweet boy. The sooner you learn that, the easier it will be.”
Ivan ruffles Jack’s hair and then pulls his hand away in distaste.
“You’re filthy. As you should be. A filthy little whore, aren’t you?”
He is. He’s always been. But Joe’s voice breaks through the rush in Jack’s ears.
You are more than what’s happened to you.
“You can sit in that filth until I come back for you. Think about what you’ve learned, Jackie.”
Ivan leaves him then. And even though he’s humiliated, Jack is blessedly alone. His limbs are starting to come down from his ordeal, and as they settle back into the stress position, they burn, and then, go numb. It’s a kind of relief.
I am more than what’s happened to me, Jack reminds himself. He even tries to believe it. He’ll try as long as he can. He hopes it’ll be enough.
taglist:@darkthingshappen,@oddsconvert,@aut0psy-s,@mylifeisonthebookshelf,@reflected-pain,@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump,@the-non-binary-cowboy,@no-terms-and-conditions-apply (let me know if you’d like to be added, and please let me know if I’ve missed you!)
behavior modification, part ten
taglist:@darkthingshappen,@oddsconvert,@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump,@aut0psy-s,@reflected-pain,@mylifeisonthebookshelf (let me know if you’d like to be added!)
content warnings for: adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, muzzles, restraints, stress positions, shock collars, minor burns, dehumanization, emotional manipulation, brief physical violence, a little bit of blood, noncon touch, noncon kissing, implied future noncon
part ten, jack learns his positions
Jack is so good for him.
Ivan sees the scarlet humiliation in the boy’s cheeks, but Jack opens his pretty pink mouth and lets Ivan take care of his teeth. It’s a sight, sweet little Jack with his mouth dropped open, waiting for whatever Ivan might give him. Ivan grips the boy’s stubbled chin–they’ll have to deal with that later–and slips the toothbrush into his mouth, carefully moving the bristles over Jack’s teeth and gums. Jack doesn’t fight him, even when Ivan prods the inside of his cheeks with the head of the brush. Jack’s cheeks stretch beautifully around the intrusion. Perhaps he really was made for this.
behavior modification, part ten
taglist:@darkthingshappen,@oddsconvert,@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump,@aut0psy-s,@reflected-pain,@mylifeisonthebookshelf (let me know if you’d like to be added!)
content warnings for: adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, muzzles, restraints, stress positions, shock collars, minor burns, dehumanization, emotional manipulation, brief physical violence, a little bit of blood, noncon touch, noncon kissing, implied future noncon
part ten, jack learns his positions
Jack is so good for him.
Ivan sees the scarlet humiliation in the boy’s cheeks, but Jack opens his pretty pink mouth and lets Ivan take care of his teeth. It’s a sight, sweet little Jack with his mouth dropped open, waiting for whatever Ivan might give him. Ivan grips the boy’s stubbled chin–they’ll have to deal with that later–and slips the toothbrush into his mouth, carefully moving the bristles over Jack’s teeth and gums. Jack doesn’t fight him, even when Ivan prods the inside of his cheeks with the head of the brush. Jack’s cheeks stretch beautifully around the intrusion. Perhaps he really was made for this.
“Spit, darling,” Ivan says. “It’s something you won’t get to do very often.”
Jack pales, but he leans over the sink and does as he’s told.
“Now, rinse.”
Ivan fills a paper cup and tips it to Jack’s lips. Jack still can’t close his mouth all the way, and some of the water dribbles down his chin. This time, Ivan pinches the boy’s nose shut, and Jack retches into the basin of the sink.
“What the fuck?” Jack coughs.
“Language, Jackie,” Ivan warns. “I was only trying to help. Your poor jaw is so sore.”
He rubs the soft skin between Jack’s shoulder blades. The flesh there is pale and well-muscled. He wonders if he should keep little Jack on a fitness regimen, so that he doesn’t lose his definition. Ivan wouldn’t want to compromise the aesthetics of their operation. Romantics should be alluring, and sweet little Jack is certainly that. It would be a shame to let his body wither the way his mind will.
Jack’s skin pimples with gooseflesh beneath Ivan’s touch. He buttons his pretty blue eyes as Ivan’s hand roves lower, curving over his hip and palming the pad of flesh over his pubic bone. Jack’s hands, still fettered behind his back, tense against Ivan.
“I did what you asked,” Jack whispers, eyes still squeezed shut. “You said you wouldn’t–”
“I said I would stop what I was doing before,” Ivan says. “Not that I wouldn’t do it again. You’ll have to get used to me touching you, sweet boy.”
Jack winces, but, without his arms, he can’t brace himself. “Don’t–don’t call me that. Please.”
Ivan laughs and pulls his hand away, opting instead to brush Jack’s hair away from his forehead. Their eyes meet in the bathroom mirror.
“It’s what Bill Chester called you, isn’t it?”
“How–”
“WRU has a long memory, sweet boy.” They do. Jack’s file began the day Bill Chester escorted him to that intake center; if the boy hadn’t stabbed Chester, he likely would have been sold to WRU within a year or two. “And I’ll call you what I want. Remember, please is for begging, and nothing else.”
Jack whirls away from the mirror, his face suddenly pinched in what Ivan assumes is anger. It’s cute, really; Ivan only smiles and reaches into his pocket to punch the remote to the boy’s collar. Immediately, Jack falls to the floor, a jolting, foaming mess.
“Oops.” Ivan toes Jack’s ribs. “My finger slipped.”
Jack can’t answer, of course. His lean, beautiful body twitches with aftershocks, and Ivan is only too happy to watch. He knows he should be more cautious with the collar–he can already smell the sick-sweet stink of the electrical burns working their way into Jack’s skin, and it’s only been a few days–but it really is too delightful to watch the boy wriggle like bait.
Ivan leans down and grabs Jack by the hair, wiggling the remote in front of his eyes.
“Now would be an appropriate time to beg, darling.”
Jack stares up at him, eyes bleary and unfocused. The taut muscles of his neck still clench beneath his collar; his head bobbles above. A sweet little doll.
Ivan’s thumb ghosts over the remote button. “Beg, Jackie. Do it now.”
Still shaking, Jack tries to grit his teeth, but his jaw stays slack; Ivan can see the tears of frustration in his eyes.
He leans close to Jack’s ear. “Beg me not to hurt you, sweet boy, or it won’t be a toothbrush I put in your mouth.”
One tear breaks free, and then another, and another. Sweet little Jack manages to shake his head. “No, please–pleasedon’t–”
“Well, now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Ivan smiles and tucks the remote into his pants pocket. “We’ll have to eliminate ‘don’t’ from your vocabulary at some point, but it seems you have the general idea. And since I’m not going to hurt you anymore, what should you say, sweet boy?”
Jack’s voice is barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
Ivan raises his eyebrows and twitches his fingers toward his pocket. He can hear Jack swallow.
“Sir.”
Ivan scratches behind Jack’s ear. “That’s right. You’re learning, aren’t you? But I think we’ve heard enough from you for today.”
He hauls Jack up from the floor and forces him to face the bathroom mirror. Jack’s legs tremble, and Ivan presses close to the boy’s naked backside, bracing him against the counter with his own weight. The leash slips down between Jack’s pectorals, glinting in the bathroom light. It’s beautiful. Ivan can’t help himself; he drops an open-mouthed kiss to Jack’s neck, just above his collar.
“Don’t close your eyes, now,” Ivan murmurs into Jack’s shoulder.
He holds Jack’s eyes in the mirror and reaches into his pocket for the muzzle.
“Please,” Jack says, pretty blue eyes wide in fear. “Please.”
“There’s nothing to beg for just now, sweet boy. That’s why we’re going to help you keep quiet. We wouldn’t want you speaking out of turn.”
Jack groans as the bit presses down against his tongue again. Tears slip over the black leather as Ivan locks the muzzle into place, and the boy’s knees buckle. Ivan catches him and clucks sympathetically.
Sweet little Jack just watched himself disappear. He’ll get used to it, in time. He doesn’t have a choice. And Ivan will enjoy every minute.
“Oh, darling. Don’t be so sad. It’s easier this way, isn’t it? You don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing.”
Jack closes his eyes, drawing hard breaths through his nose.
“Besides, you still get your reward for being good during breakfast,” Ivan reminds him.
He moves away from Jack, who slumps forward onto the counter like a ragdoll, and he digs into the linen cabinet. He’d told Seligman to find Jack’s size when he stripped him and to stock up on a few essentials. Sure enough, there are tidy piles of underwear, shorts, and white tee-shirts waiting on the shelf. Ivan draws out a pair of black basketball shorts, not unlike the ones precious Jack soiled the day before.
He kneels next to Jack, stretching the waistband of the shorts. “Step in, darling.” He turns his face and bites the crest of Jack’s hip; the boy moans behind his muzzle. “And don’t try anything. Remember that I’m doing you a favor. If you cross me, there won’t be any more.”
Jack steps into the shorts with shaking legs, and he lets Ivan pull them up and over his hips.
“There,” Ivan says, snapping the elastic against Jack’s belly. “All cleaned up and ready to go. On your knees now, Jackie.”
Jack doesn’t kneel so much as collapse. The leash clanks to the tile beneath him. He covers his head with his hands, grinding his forehead into the bathroom floor and keening like a hired mourner. Ivan supposes the boy ismourning. He’s mourning the dreams he had for himself. Perhaps he’s mourning old Joe. Either way, the unbridled pain is beautiful. Ivan can see how WRU stays in business.
“It’s interesting,” Ivan says, drawing a soft line down Jack’s spine with the pad of his finger, “how you can vacillate so quickly between emotions. It must be exhausting.”
He can feel Jack stubbornly try to quiet himself, but the boy’s back still hiccoughs beneath Ivan’s touch.
“Let’s go back to the table, sweet boy,” Ivan murmurs.
He stands and pulls on the leash; Jack obediently crawls forward.
“Isn’t it so much easier when you do as you’re told?” Ivan asks.
Jack doesn’t look up. He just lets Ivan lead him to the steel table.
“Kneel, Jackie.”
He does. Without hesitation. His chest still heaves, and his cheeks are red beneath the muzzle, but little Jack sits back on his ankles just the way he should. He keeps his blue eyes on the cement floor. Submissive. Gorgeous. And such a fast learner.
“Well done!” Ivan purrs, and perhaps sweet little Jack flinches. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering how your training will proceed. This morning should have provided a decent snapshot of my expectations. If you do as you’re told, things will proceed without incident. You’ll be rewarded when you are good. If you are not, there will be immediate consequences.” He presses his fingers into the bruise he left on Jack’s pale shoulder and then flicks his fingers to the underside of Jack’s collar. “You understand that, don’t you?”
There’s a bleat beneath the muzzle, and Jack nods frantically. Ivan withdraws his hand.
“Good.” He claps his hands together, the sound echoing around the basement. “We’ll start with something simple. Every WRU trainee must learn their designated positions.”
Jack whines, and Ivan laughs. He moves his fingers through Jack’s sweaty hair; they’ll have to wash it again tonight.
“Not those kinds of positions, sweet boy, although some of them will facilitate that kind of activity, certainly.”
Jack sags in visible relief.
“There are 40 positions, give or take. Learning them will help prepare you to respond quickly when you receive a command. It should become automatic. When you hear the number, you assume the position without thinking.” He caresses Jack’s cheek and cups it gently in his hand, forcing Jack’s wrecked eyes to meet his own. “Eventually, you won’t, you know. Think. It will be such a relief for you, won’t it?”
He can see the infinitesimal shift of Jack’s jaw beneath the leather–the tiniest spark of defiance– but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears. Jack jerks his head away and stares at the floor.
“Careful now, Jackie,” Ivan warns. “You wouldn’t want me to get the wrong idea.”
He bends to unclip Jack’s leash and throws it on the tabletop with a clatter. Jack nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Let’s start with position one. Stand up straight, sweet boy.” Jack complies, raising his taut chin. Ivan slips behind him to unfasten his wrists. He presses his pubic bone into Jack’s backside and smooths the boy’s arms at his side. “Good. Keep your arms like this. Like you’re at attention. Simple, isn’t it?”
The slightest nod.
“Good. Now, we’ll shift to position two. When I say position two, I want you to drop your head. Just let it fall forward and look at the ground.” Ivan steps back to watch. “Position two.”
Jack’s head bows immediately forward like there’s a weight around his neck.
“Good boy, Jackie. Position one.”
The change is slower, but Jack raises his head again. His eyes stay on the floor.
“Yes. Simple, isn’t it?” Ivan leans back against the table. “Position three is more challenging, but I think you’re ready. When you hear three, you’re going to kneel down, and sit that sweet little ass right on top of your ankles.” Jack closes his eyes, and Ivan can see he’s shaking. “Three.”
Jack doesn’t move. Not until he hears Ivan fumble in his pocket for the remote. Then, Jack breaks to his knees, breath coming fast and hard from his nose.
“Oh, you’ll need to be faster than that my boy,” Ivan says. He snaps his fingers. “Two.” Jack rises on shaking legs. “Good.” Another snap. “Three.” Jack drops, chest beating beneath pale skin. “One.” Jack scrambles up. “Two.” His head drops. “Three.”
Sweet little Jackie looks so good on his knees.
Ivan takes a step closer and cups his chin. “You’re a natural. I knew you would be.”
His thumb grazes the border of Jack’s muzzle, and the boy just barely stifles a whimper.
“Four is simple. Raise yourself up on your knees and hold your hands out, palms up.” Ivan guides Jack up by his chin, and Jack uncurls his fists. “Good boy.”
He kisses Jack’s forehead, and the boy’s breath slices the basement air.
“Three.”
Jack sinks backward on his heels.
“Well done, Jackie. Last one for today, and then we’ll practice some more.”
He slips behind Jack and lays his hand against the top of the boy’s spine. “Position five is still on your knees. Lean forward until your pretty face touches the floor–” he forces Jack down by the neck, slowly, until his forehead is flush against the cement, “–and lay your palms flat, next to your head.”
Ivan can’t help himself. He drapes his body over Jack’s bare back, sliding his hands down Jack’s arms and pressing the boy’s hands into the floor. He nudges his hips against Jack’s ass. It’s tame–sweet little Jackie is covered up, after all–but he knows Jack can feel him through the layers of fabric; every muscle in Jack’s back is tight as a tripwire.
Ivan bucks forward again and drops his nose into Jack’s hair.
“So sweet and submissive, Jackie.”
He presses a bruising kiss to the back of Jack’s neck, winnowing the flesh between his front teeth. He sucks down and thrusts forward. He can feel Jack’s tortured moan in his own chest.
“I’m sure Joe would love you like this.”
He’s so enamored with the trembling flesh beneath him, of what old Joe would think of the way Jack’s flesh disappears beneath Ivan’s body, that he forgets that Jack’s arms are free.
Ivan is a solid man, bigger than Jack, but it doesn’t much matter. Sweet little Jack is coiled like a tiger beneath him. Jack jerks himself away from Ivan’s hold and pushes up on his arms, throwing his weight backward and unseating Ivan from his back. His head crashes back against Ivan’s face, slamming against Ivan’s nose and mouth. The boy screams behind his muzzle, words that Ivan can’t make out, nor does he particularly care about. He can feel warm blood slipping from his nose and over his lips.
“Jesus,” Ivan mutters, drawing the back of his hand over his bloodied face.
Jack is weak on his feet, but he’s making his way to the table; Ivan knows instantly that he’s going after one of the metal chairs. He slips his hand into his pocket and punches the button for Jack’s collar.
Jack’s back arches beautifully as he falls and then slams flat when he hits the cement floor.
Ivan hits the button again.
This time, there are no words hidden in Jack’s scream. He flails like a beached fish.
“That was unfair of me,” Ivan growls. The iron tang of blood is still warm on his tongue. He pulls himself up and stands above Jack’s twitching body. “I baited you. But you should know better than to rise to the occasion.”
Ivan hits the button again, and Jack lets go a mangled howl. The smell of Jack’s singed flesh hangs in the stale air. He’s limp on the floor now, his chest beating frantically.
“Clearly, I overestimated your cooperation. I won’t make that mistake again. We’ll have to save our positions until you can behave. You wanted that chair, didn’t you?”
He scoops Jack up and sets his back over the seat of the metal chair. He yanks Jack’s arms backward by the shoulders and loops them around one of the chair legs, securing his wrists together again. Jack’s head dangles backward, baring his long white throat. Ivan smiles when he sees the purple mark just above Jack’s collar.
“Don’t move now,” Ivan admonishes.
He moves to the cabinets and pulls another length of chain from a drawer. When he goes back to Jack, he pulls the black shorts down and away from Jack’s body, throwing them on the floor behind him.
“You shouldn’t be so touchy about old Joe. He knows what you are. I bet he’d be turned on.”
Ivan spreads meaty fingers over Jack’s belly and dips his head to nip at the boy’s inner thigh. Jack must be coming back to himself, because he groans and tries to move away, but his limbs are still heavy and slow.
“Stay still, darling, or I’ll hit the button again.”
Jack stills.
Ivan spreads Jack’s legs wide and presses Jack’s Achilles tendons back against the chair legs closest to his feet. He connects Jack’s ankle cuffs with the chain, looping it behind the chair legs and then pressing the boy’s feet forward until the chain is taut. Ivan stands back to admire his work. Jack’s naked body is a perfect half-circle.
“I told you there would be consequences if you disobeyed,” Ivan says with mock concern. “And it’s important you take me at my word. We have to trust each other, don’t we? We could have had a nice afternoon, Jackie. You could have earned yourself some more rewards. Now, you’ll stay this way until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.”
Jack is so out of it that Ivan has no idea if he’s heard.
And then, Ivan’s phone rings.
Jack tries to draw his head up, but the weight is too much. He grunts like an animal, tears slipping an upside-down path down his forehead and into his hair.
“Don’t. Make. A. Sound,” Ivan snarls. “Or I’ll push this button until you have more in common with a potato than a man.” He answers the call, eyes still on Jack, voice is calm and professional. “Dr. Ivan Peters?”
“Dr. Peters, hello! This is Sergeant Julia Wade from the Northampton Police Department.”
