Author's Note: Warning! Bondage, toys, non-consent, and exhibitionism.
***
Arthur's struggling had his restraints stretching and clanging. "You put him behind the mirror in that red and white room!"
Vince was getting some latex gloves, his face quite peaceful, as if he was about to cook an easy but delicious meal. "Yeah, but you weren't being recorded, and I'm not recording you now." A glove was stretched over his hand and then snapped into place. "Don't worry. This is a totally private thing."
"Private my ass!" Arthur took a breath through his nose and switched to his sweeter voice. "Come on. Let's go do something else. I don't want this."
His eyebrows rising for a moment as he very clearly pretended to care, Vince made a light hum between his lips. Then he blinked and smiled down at Arthur. "Nope." He touched Arthur's cheek with his gloveless hand. "My Artie usually gets what he wants, but I have to get what I want too." His hand slid away as he walked down the exam table's length, holding the bottle of lubrication. "And I want to emphasize my point to this amateur stalker." He faced one of Arthur's bent knees, and he kissed it.
Vince's eyes held new shadows, a cruel darkness, as most of his teeth were shown in a fiendish grin.
He said, "There's always a bigger fish."
"God damn it, Vince!! You're sick!" It was the nicest thing Arthur could think of to say, a hopeless attempt at keeping Vince at bay. "You're sick in the head and you need help! Don't do this!"
Clearly, that didn't matter to Vince, because his gloveless hand went between Arthur's thighs and right on his bare dick.
Bashfulness, humiliation, a mild ache in the heart, these were the things that were bundled and coated with pleasure. Arthur hated it. His eyes tightly closed. His thighs and buttocks tingled. He tried to beg again. "Please don't do this. Please stop." He was beginning to sound like a child.
Vince might as well have been deaf then. He did remove his bare hand, but only to put a line of lubrication up Arthur's dick and then put the gloved hand there. The repeating motion returned, and Vince gave him his own little words. "You're such a handsome guy. Look how big you're getting! Does it feel good?"
Arthur imagined that if he was looking at Jake, he'd see his eyes shooting invisible lasers of hatred. Sadly, Arthur didn't know what to do about it. What could be done? Vince couldn't be convinced to drop this game, it seemed.
A more rushed pace. A squishy, loud noise. A noise Arthur only wanted to be hidden, no audience except for his husband. But his husband was betraying him, or that's how Arthur viewed it. His husband was taking something precious, almost sacred, and putting it before another's eyes.
The muscles in his limbs felt confined. The blood vessels in his inflamed cock felt free and full. Vince's fiery words only grew more and more excited. "Damn, Honey! Ohhhhh fuck!" He pretty much growled. "You're so hard!"
Shut up! Shut up and stop! That's what Arthur wanted to scream out, but it wouldn't work.
He thought he might cum soon, but Vince surprised him by actually stopping. Yet Arthur knew this wasn't over. He definitely didn't want to open his eyes.
Vince was walking back to the cart. Arthur could hear his steps in the carpet and smell his cologne floating around. Arthur turned his head in the proper direction and let one eye open so he could see what Vince was doing. His husband opened up a case, and he pulled out a damn butt plug.
Arthur crossed his toes and he shut his eye as he tried to think of random things, like how rolling printing machines color images into wallpapers.
More heavy footsteps. Vince was fucking humming!
Arthur wondered how glass marbles with swirling colors in the center were made.
"I had you cleaned out while you were drugged, Artie. Don't worry."
What a fucking piece of shit husband!!
Arthur whined in his throat and tried to think about the history of bento style lunchboxes.
More air and lube was squeezed out of its bottle.
So ... 1970s bento had some really fucking kawaii designs ...? Eh? That was kind of interesting, right?
One of Vince's gloved fingers, covered in lube, sunk into Arthur's asshole, pressing up to the prostate.
Several deep breaths, and Arthur was trying to figure out if he should buy a bento style lunchbox and try making a pretty little lunch for it, all in the name of harmless fun.
But he couldn't keep his breaths deep for very long. They became harsh, short, and Arthur almost tried to rock his hips as his prostate was massaged. Vince's voice broke through his banal thoughts. "Hm? Don't you like it, Honey? I feels good, right? I know it does. I'd never do anything between your legs that wouldn't feel good. That's just not what you're here for." He started spreading Arthur's asshole with his fingers. It felt ... pretty much what Vince had described, good, but Arthur would be damned if he admitted it. "You're here for fun."
Vince seemed to brace Arthur's nervous ass with his fingers as something firm but smooth, likely the butt plug, was put there. "So, let's keep having our fun," Vince said very heavily.
It was slowly, gently put in, a tiny bit at a time. Arthur tried to keep silent. He thought if he said any word, he'd somehow validate Vince. That logic wasn't the best, but it was what he had at the time.
It wasn't a very large plug, really, and Arthur's body accepted it well ... except for his heart.
"Oh, Honey! It went in like it belonged there!" There was a little pinch on Arthur's buttock. "Hey there, Bitch. Did you see it? He has a pretty little asshole, doesn't he?" Vince actually giggled.
Arthur almost wished he could put glue in his eyes and ears.
He heard a belt being unbuckled and slid out of fabric loops, then clothing was ruffled and tossed onto the floor.
Arthur shook his head back and forth, but he knew there was no use.
Again, lubricant being pushed out of its container, but Vince didn't put it on Arthur. He didn't feel it.
But he did hear it, along with Vince laughing at Jake's thick, gagged sounds. "Haha! I like condoms, but uh ... hm! I think I'll just forget about that today. We're both clean. It's fine."
Woosh!!
Weight.
There was weight, and pressure, and the exam table creaked and even bounced a little. Arthur's top half was fine, but he knew what that heat was on his lower half. Still, he was surprised, and he opened his eyes to stupidly blink at Vince crouched over him, winking. No pants, no underwear, Vince was ready to go. Arthur could hardly believe the exam table could support his weight, let alone his and Arthur's combined.
His belly lurching, his nostrils broadening, Arthur looked to his left and tried to focus on the door. It looked like all the other sliding doors in the house, modern and cool.
It was done.
Arthur didn't want it done. It seared him, almost marked him, made him feel like a dildo instead of a man. He knew his nails were making lines in the cushions.
"Hnnnnnnn ... your cock feels so nice, Artie!" Vince gripped the edge of the table while Arthur tried to pretend he didn't smell good, and there were always more things to think about, like 1990s cartoons. Batman: The Animated Series was pretty nice. Good action, good characters, and that's where Harley Quinn came from!
Oh ... god.
Why did this have to feel good? Why couldn't he just ignore it? Why couldn't he turn cold and uncaring? His testicles were drawing in. His poor asshole was pulsing and loving the tightness in it. His prostate was flashing codes of light behind Arthur's eyelids and buzzing signals in his bloodstream. The table was rocking a little. The stirrups were clanging.
Vince was mocking Jake. "This feels sooooooooo nice! Hey Bitch, haven't you ever done this before? Hm? What's wrong? You look like I just pissed in your cornflakes. All I'm doing is fucking the hell out of someone you didn't love enough to stop beating. What's your problem? Can't stand seeing him enjoying a nice fuck?"
Arthur would've loved to scream a response to Vince. It didn't matter how much he hated Jake. He was hating Vince pretty hard too, at least right then.
Don't cum.
Don't cum!
He didn't want to let Vince have that satisfaction.
But right now, even in this house, Arthur wasn't getting what he wanted.
Accidentally biting some of his cheek out, Arthur made a noise like a dying rabbit and shot up into Vince's asshole.
***
When the ordeal was over, most of the mess was wiped up with baby wipes, but a hot shower would be needed soon. Vince unstrapped Arthur's body and put him on his weak feet. Then he tied a bath robe over him, kissed his cheek, and sent him to the hallway. Two beefy guards were there, and they took Arthur's arms. Arthur hardly made his steps as he was led through all sorts of hallways, doors, and staircases, and finally to his bedroom.
Arthur collapsed, almost fainted, falling to his knees and then over, his face planting on the carpet. There was a light meow, and Benny ran up to him. He nuzzled Arthur's hair and purred, but Arthur couldn't find the energy to do anything about it.
He stayed on the floor for perhaps fifteen minutes. Benny eventually gave up and went off to play with one of his toys.
He had to get up eventually. Some ... icky stuff was still in his ass. So, Arthur pushed himself up and went to the bathroom. He was a twitching thing, mostly on autopilot, as he washed himself up. His mind was so much more sore than his ass could ever be. When it was time to dry himself off, he barely made any movements with the towel. Parts of him were still dripping when he walked over to his bed and fell on it.
Huh? His cell phone and keys weren't far from his face. Had they been on the bed all this time? Arthur sat up and took his phone. According to the clock, it was still in the morning.
His stomach grumbled, but he just sat there, playing with his phone, for a few more minutes before he thought to get dressed and make breakfast.
French Toast Crunch. That's a food item.
No milk was poured. Arthur didn't even get a bowl. He roughly tore the box open and nearly destroyed the bag inside. Then, sitting on the floor in front of the pantry, Arthur shoved dry cereal into his mouth like a heathen with no social skills. A few tiny, toast-shaped pieces bounced onto the reflective floor with each scoop. Half the box was empty when he assumed he should stop. He left the cereal on the floor and got up. His shoe crunched down on the stray bits as he put his head under the sink's faucet and ran the water. A few sips later, he was going back to his room.
And he stayed on his bed.
