Ash nearly screamed, a raw, primal sound that was swallowed by the thick air of the room.
He couldn’t, though, not truly, because of the intense pleasure that shot through his brain, fragmenting his thoughts and dissolving his control.
It wasn’t just pleasure; it was a dizzying fusion of pain and ecstasy, a sensation so overwhelming that his body seized up, every nerve ending firing in a chaotic symphony.
“Ah! Ugh, ungh! Ungh!” he groaned, a choked cry escaping his lips.
His face was buried deep in his master’s thigh, the coarse fabric of the trousers rough against his skin, yet he pressed harder, seeking more, always more, of the impossible sensation.
He couldn’t even think about holding back; the idea was alien, irrelevant.
This was a force far beyond his will, a current pulling him deeper into a tempest of sensation.
It burst forth, a torrent of release.
Water streamed from below, hot and insistent.
He wanted to climax cleanly, to feel the pure, unadulterated rush, but the crushing pressure made it impossible.
His master’s thigh, unyielding and dominant, pressed down, constricting, milking him, twisting the very act of release into something agonizingly protracted.
The sensation of his orgasm being controlled by another, of being denied the simple freedom of his own body’s culmination, was dizzying, tormenting, and yet, utterly, sickeningly euphoric.
It was a contradiction that shattered his understanding of himself.
Ash mumbled, “Please, please,” the words slurring together, indistinguishable from desperate pleas or fevered prayers.
He rubbed his face against his master’s thigh again and again, blindly, instinctively, seeking comfort in the very source of his torment.
He didn’t even know where he was rubbing, his movements frantic and undirected.
He wasn’t conscious of what he was saying, the sounds that tumbled from his lips mere echoes of his shattered mind.
His master, an enigmatic presence above him, gently stroked Ash, whose body was racked with groans, his face still nuzzling against the soft hair of his master’s inner thigh.
The fingers tracing through his hair were slightly cool, a startling contrast to his feverish skin, like the body of a reptile—smooth, ancient, and undeniably powerful.
The touch, light as it was, sent shivers down his spine, a testament to the master’s unsettling influence.
His hand drifted, touching Ash’s flushed ear, tracing the delicate curve, before stroking the nape of his neck.
Fine hairs stood on end all over Ash’s body, a prickling sensation that amplified the chaotic sensory overload.
Ash gasped, the sound caught in his throat.
After finally finishing, almost sobbing through his climax, a pitiful, broken sound that echoed the depths of his humiliation and pleasure, Ash went limp.
His muscles felt like jelly, his bones like water.
He had no energy to move, to even twitch a finger.
The aftermath was a profound, almost dizzying exhaustion, a sensation akin to having run a marathon and then been hit by a truck.
‘I must be crazy,’ he thought, the thought a mere flicker in his dazed mind.
‘It felt too good… too unbelievably, shockingly good.’
The sheer intensity of it terrified him, the way it had stripped him of all his defenses, all his carefully constructed inhibitions.
No matter how many ‘nighttime activities’ Ash had experienced, how many partners he’d had, or how many times he’d sought pleasure, his status never changed.
He was always in control, always the dominant one, always the one dictating the terms.
No one had ever treated him so coercively, forcing him to his knees like this, demanding his submission in such a primal, visceral way.
To even step on his cock with a shod foot, a dirty shoe that had trodden who-knew-where?
The very thought would have been anathema to him just hours before.
Ash would never have allowed it, not in a million years, not under any circumstances.
‘If I had known it felt this good,’ a perverse thought surfaced from the depths of his satiated mind, ‘I would have done it sooner. I would have begged for it.’
The irony was bitter, yet undeniable.
Of course, no one would have suggested such a thing to Ash anyway.
His reputation preceded him; he was known for his unyielding pride, his fiery independence.
The idea of him submitting to anyone, let alone in such a degrading way, was unthinkable.
As Ash let out a contented sigh, a sound of profound relief and surrender, his master chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through Ash’s cheek pressed against his thigh.
“You really are cute,” the master murmured, his voice laced with amusement and something else Ash couldn’t quite decipher – perhaps a touch of genuine affection, or simply a hunter’s satisfaction.
“Then will you grant your cute disciple’s wish?”
Ash managed, his voice still hoarse and breathy from his exertion.
He turned his head halfway, straining his neck, looking up at his master, his eyes still heavy-lidded but gleaming with a desperate hope.
With his cheek still pressed against his master’s thigh and his eyes sparkling with a mixture of exhaustion and childlike pleading, his master chuckled again, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room.
“No.”
The single word was delivered with an almost playful bluntness, shattering Ash’s fragile hope.
“Oh, come on,” Ash whined, pushing himself up slightly, annoyance flickering in his eyes.
“What are you doing for me, then? You always say no! It’s not fair.”
“I came to see you again, didn’t I?” his master replied, a hint of mock exasperation in his tone.
“Isn’t that enough?”
“That’s because you wanted to see me, Master,” Ash retorted, a familiar pout forming on his lips.
“It’s not for my sake at all. Didn’t you feel any pity for your poor disciple, trapped like this, suffering under your tyranny?”
Ash acted shamelessly, throwing off all pretense of dignity, willing to use any tactic to get his way.
“Of course, I did. Poor Ash,” his master echoed, his voice surprisingly tender, playing along with Ash’s histrionics.
Ash felt a surge of pleasure, a warmth spreading through his chest, even knowing it was just words, a performance.
The acknowledgment, however feigned, was a balm to his bruised ego.
“But not today. Again, I was the one who pleased you, not the other way around. My turn will come later.”
“What are you talking about? That’s cheating! That’s a ridiculous argument!”
Ash exclaimed, his eyes wide with indignation.
“You laid hands on me before I even did anything! You sprung it on me!”
“Was there a rule against that?” his master asked languidly, his voice a smooth, silken murmur that seemed to wrap around Ash and lull him into a state of contented drowsiness.
His continuous stroking of Ash’s hair, a rhythmic, soothing motion, made Ash’s eyelids heavy, threatening to drag him down into sleep.
Despite having just showered, his hair was already dry and soft, surprisingly light against his master’s cool fingers.
Every time his master touched him, a gentle breeze seemed to blow from somewhere, carrying the scent of something subtly floral and deeply masculine, drying Ash’s hair with an almost supernatural speed.
His body, relaxed by the perfectly warm bathwater, was now utterly fatigued from the aftermath of his intense climax.
Amidst all this, his master’s whispered voice, sounding as if he could fall asleep himself any moment, tickled his ears, a soft, seductive hum.
Ash yawned too, unable to fight the sudden onset of weariness.
“That darn rule,” Ash grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
“Is that how you always get away with things? By invoking some obscure, self-serving rule?”
“You don’t understand, Ash. The world is all about rules,” his master replied, his voice taking on a slightly more serious, almost philosophical tone.
“Everything operates within them, even the chaos you perceive.”
“What do I care about that?”
Ash mumbled, more to himself than to his master, his mind already drifting.
His personal universe was a chaotic mess, and rules seemed like an abstract, distant concept.
“Rules created by humans include laws. If you don’t abide by them, you’re punished. So, wouldn’t that prevent the strong from doing whatever they want to the weak? Wouldn’t it protect the vulnerable?” his master continued, as if lecturing a particularly dense student.
What is he talking about?
Ash didn’t agree with that at all.
It sounded like something a privileged person would say.
“Owen is doing whatever he wants to me! He’s always finding ways to exploit me!”
Ash blurted out, a sudden flare of anger cutting through his drowsiness.
“Is that so? It doesn’t seem that way to me. You are being protected, Ash. From Owen Mills, and from me.”
The last part of the sentence was delivered with a subtle shift in tone, a hint of something deeper, more significant, that Ash couldn’t quite grasp.
Ash couldn’t understand what he meant.
Protection from his master?
The very notion seemed absurd.
How could the source of his current torment be his protector?
“Why do I need protection from you, Master?”
Ash asked, genuinely confused, his sleepiness temporarily forgotten.
His master’s hand stilled in Ash’s hair.
Ash looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he saw his master’s eyes wide with surprise, almost as if he hadn’t expected Ash to point that out, to articulate the obvious paradox.
Ash became exasperated.
His master had a consistent tendency to treat him as incredibly dim-witted, as if Ash couldn’t connect two and two.
He just said it, and now he’s surprised by Ash’s question?
The sheer audacity.
“That’s a secret.”
His master replied, his lips curving into a maddeningly cryptic smile.
Ash, thoroughly annoyed by the evasion and the dismissive tone, bit down hard on his master’s cock, a sharp, angry clamp of his teeth.
As his teeth scraped against the shaft, a monotonous, almost bored voice was heard.
“Ah.”
The reaction wasn’t satisfying.
It wasn’t the yelp of pain, the sudden flinch, the gasp of surprise Ash had hoped for.
Ash frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows. This was utterly frustrating.
“Be honest with me, Master. Are you infertile? Is that it? Is that why you’re always so… unreactive?”
Ash pressed, a mix of genuine curiosity and perverse amusement coloring his voice.
Shouldn’t he at least be in agony?
He had said he wasn’t impotent, so there was only one conclusion left.
This person had a problem with his nerves, a fundamental disconnect between sensation and reaction.
Ash wasn’t sure if ‘infertile’ was the right word to describe it, but it was the closest he could come up with, a catch-all term for what seemed like a significant reproductive or sexual dysfunction.
Regardless, Ash felt a pang of unexpected sympathy, a strange wave of concern for his master’s supposed plight.
He decided to comfort him, offering the first thoughts that came to mind, however blunt.
“You can be honest with me, Master. Really. No one would have guessed you were an Alpha with this kind of… problem. It means you didn’t need a mate during your rut, right? That you were free from those inconvenient biological urges? I can understand any kind of sexual perversion, you know. I’ve seen it all. Having a slight sexual problem, a little dysfunction, is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. We all have our quirks.”
But his master’s reaction was strange, completely unlike the typical response to such a suggestion.
The hand that had been stroking his hair stopped again, freezing in place.
A tense silence descended upon the room, broken only by Ash’s slightly labored breathing.
“Do you always provoke your partners like this, Ash?” his master asked, his voice suddenly very quiet, almost dangerous.
“You really have a talent for it… a truly remarkable talent for pushing boundaries.”
“What are you talking about? I’m just trying to be understanding! Ah! …!”
Ash began to protest, bewildered by the shift in tone, but his words were cut short.
Before he could finish his sentence, his master stomped on Ash’s lower body again, a sudden, brutal pressure that sent a jolt of pain and pleasure through him.
Ash, still bewildered by the abrupt change in his master’s demeanor, curled up instantly, like a shrimp, his body folding in on itself, a silent groan caught in his throat.
***
I definitely pulled it out once.
There’s no way it should be this sensitive.
My limp cock, still reeling from the earlier assault, was reacting again, a faint throb, a reluctant stiffening. It was both infuriating and undeniably exciting.
The Master’s shoe, that omnipresent, almost sentient piece of footwear, subtly pressed against his crotch.
He was being trampled by something dirty—a shoe that hadn’t even been taken off, a shoe that had likely walked on grimy city sidewalks, perhaps even stepped in unseen filth.
Who knows what streets it had walked on, what disgusting things it had encountered?
The sheer audacity of it, the deliberate debasement, was astounding.
The shame, the raw physical pain from the pressure, and the undeniable, sickening arousal from that fact intertwined, creating a complex knot of emotions and sensations in Ash’s gut.
“Ah, ah, it hurts!” Ash cried out, the words ripped from him, a genuine plea mixed with a thrill he despised himself for feeling.
“You like it when it hurts, don’t you?” the Master’s voice was a low purr, amused and knowing, completely unmoved by Ash’s supposed distress.
“Nngh, no……”
Ash mumbled, the protest weak, unconvincing even to his own ears.
His body betrayed him, a traitor in his own skin.
This was strange.
Terribly, utterly strange. It shouldn’t be like this.
Ash’s mind screamed in protest, desperately trying to rationalize the situation, to find a logical explanation for the illogical pleasure.
In this humiliating position—his face buried between the Master’s legs, his mouth wrapped around his cock, performing an act he would have once deemed impossible—there was no way it should feel this good.
Yet, it did. Alarmingly, exquisitely good.
Throb, throb……
The pulsing sensation in his lower abdomen intensified, a rhythmic beat against the Master’s heel.
The subtle pressure made his stomach tighten, a nervous clenching deep within his core.
His lower abdomen burned as if he’d swallowed fire, a searing heat that spread through his veins, making his entire body feel flushed and alive.
It was a premonition, a warning of what was to come, and a promise of further torment.
“Didn’t I teach you to understand not just the visible phenomenon, but the reason behind it, Ash? To look beyond the surface and grasp the underlying cause?”
The Master’s voice was a low, resonant hum, cutting through Ash’s hazy state.
“But your current state is obvious at a glance, isn’t it? There’s no need for deep analysis. Look, Ash. Look at yourself.”
Ash, surprisingly obedient despite his turmoil, looked down.
His eyes, still bleary from tears and lingering pleasure, focused on his own body.
The moment the Master’s cock slipped from his mouth, a sudden, shocking release, it sprang back with a sickening wet thwack and slapped against his delicate eyelid.
A metallic taste, like old blood, lingered on his tongue, a phantom sensation.
Something wet—his own saliva, maybe, mixed with the Master’s bodily fluids—stuck to his eyelid, a grotesque, sticky film.
He blinked, once, twice.
His eyes stung, a sharp, burning sensation that made him wince.
Reflexive tears, hot and copious, blurred his vision, making everything appear doubled, tripling, a fractured image of reality.
What he saw through the watery haze—
His own trembling thighs, pathetic and weak, knees pressed to the cold ground.
The Master’s foot, still clad in that polished black shoe, leisurely grinding between them, a slow, deliberate pressure that was both agonizing and electrifying.
The sleek, polished black shoe, its heel glinting dully in the ambient light.
And himself—his hips jerking uncontrollably, a frantic, almost desperate movement every time the Master shifted his weight or applied more pressure.
To anyone watching, a casual observer, it would look exactly like he was welcoming the humiliation, actively soliciting the degradation.
The sight of his own body, so willing and responsive despite his inner protests, filled him with a fresh wave of self-loathing.
A choked gasp escaped Ash, his breath catching in his throat.
He was close.
Agonizingly close to another climax, another shattering release.
The moment Ash shuddered, a full-body tremor that ran through him like an electric shock, the Master pressed down with his foot, a sudden, powerful stomp on his lower body.
Simultaneously, with a swift, merciless motion, he grabbed Ash’s jaw, forcing it open, and shoved his cock back into his mouth.
The Master was fully hard, a thick, throbbing column that filled Ash’s mouth completely, stretching his jaws, threatening to gag him.
“It’s unfair for only you to feel good,” the Master murmured, his voice a low, possessive growl, the words vibrating against Ash’s tongue.
“Mmph!”
Ash could only manage a muffled grunt, his mouth full, his throat constricted.
“Make me happy, Ash. Make me feel as good as I just made you feel. Do that, and I’ll give you what you want. Anything.”
The promise hung in the air, tempting and terrifying.
‘No……’
The thought screamed in Ash’s mind, a silent rebellion against the intoxicating lure of the Master’s words.
Ash wanted to cry, to sob, to scream in frustration.
Was it really okay to stop someone else from finishing?
To deny them their release, to hold them captive in this agonizing limbo?
Shouldn’t he take care of his own urgent needs first, finish what had been so cruelly interrupted, and then, only then, let the Master feel good too?
That seemed like the logical, even compassionate, approach.
But no.
As expected, the Master had no human compassion, no empathy, no sense of fairness.
He was a force of nature, driven by his own desires, indifferent to Ash’s torment.
Baring his teeth in a surge of desperate frustration, a purely instinctual act of defiance, Ash scraped them along the Master’s length, a deliberate, rough drag that sent a jarring sensation through the Master’s shaft.
And he got an immediate reaction, a low, guttural sound from the Master.
“Ha……”
The Master’s breath hitched, a faint tremor running through him.
Pheromones.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of them.
They crashed over Ash, thick and heady, suffocating him in a cloud of potent scent.
They were different from any Alpha pheromones he had ever encountered, far more intoxicating, more complex.
‘He likes this?’
Ash thought, a chilling realization.
This, this pain and defiance, this struggle—this was what turned the Master on.
The Master really was a pervert!
Not just inflicting pain on others, but clearly deriving immense pleasure from receiving it himself, from the very act of being tormented.
Ash should’ve realized it sooner—back when he noticed the Master barely slept or ate, back when he seemed to exist outside the normal human needs.
It was a sign of a deeper, unsettling abnormality.
His own cock, still limp and half-erect, was crushed underfoot, blood flow seemingly cut off, a dull ache radiating from the pressure.
Yet, even in this constricted state, the Master’s pheromones continued their relentless assault, melting Ash’s body, dissolving his will, turning him into a pliant, yearning mess.
They heightened his sensitivity, pulling his every nerve to a taut, unbearable pitch, making him continuously, exquisitely sensitive.
Ash could feel how soaked he was underneath, a wetness that permeated his clothes, his very essence.
An Alpha’s pheromones were usually understated, a subtle presence, meant to influence, not to overwhelm.
But the Master’s were different.
They were aggressively floral, intensely sweet, intoxicatingly thick, as if he’d been dragged into the heart of a vibrant, suffocating garden.
The scent was so potent, so pervasive, that it made his head spin, a dizzying intoxication that bordered on nausea.
The Master took his time, indulging in Ash’s soft mouth, enjoying every nuance of the forced kiss.
He held Ash’s jaw firmly, exploring every corner of his mouth with his cock, tasting, savoring, before finally pulling out with a slow, deliberate motion.
“Say ‘ah’,” the Master commanded, his voice a low, calm rumble, completely at odds with the chaos he had just unleashed.
“Ah……”
Ash whispered, the sound barely audible, his throat raw.
Ash glared up at him with tear-reddened eyes, brimming with resentment and a deep, burning sense of injustice, slowly parting his lips in resignation.
He had a pretty good idea what this pervert would do next… his sick mind, so twisted, so predictable in its perversion, always found a new way to torment him.
His mind, sharp only in moments like these, when his body was overwhelmed and his defenses were down, predicted exactly what came next.
The Master’s logic, however warped, was clear.
The head of the Master’s cock pressed down on his tongue, a heavy, insistent weight, then twitched, a tell-tale shudder.
The moment the Master came, unleashing his hot, thick release onto Ash’s tongue, Ash squeezed his eyes shut, wishing himself away, wishing for oblivion.
‘He’s insane,’ Ash thought, the words echoing in the void of his mind.
How could anyone be this shameless?
This utterly, outrageously depraved?
It defied all reason, all human decency.
“Good job,” the Master praised, his voice deceptively gentle, almost affectionate.
Yet, even as he praised Ash, the Master didn’t lift his foot.
The crushing pressure remained, a constant reminder of Ash’s subjugation.
Ash understood what he wanted.
He wanted Ash to swallow it.
He wanted him to consume the very evidence of his humiliation.
He wanted a complete, utter surrender.
Ash, his face twisted into a pathetic, tearful mask, forced himself to comply, swallowing the bitter, metallic fluid in his mouth.
Gulp……
The sound was loud in the silence of the room, a final, definitive act of submission.
“Good boy,” the Master purred, a sound of profound satisfaction.
Simultaneously, the pressure below vanished, a sudden, liberating release.
Ash’s body, no longer held captive, responded instantly.
He came helplessly, a raw, desperate gush that soaked the thigh it landed on. His knees buckled, his entire body collapsing.
His collapsing body was caught by the Master’s thigh, a surprisingly tender support.
A deep, bone-wearying exhaustion washed over him, a profound sense of fatigue, of physical and emotional drain.
“Well then, see you later.”
The Master’s voice was casual, almost dismissive, as if they had just completed a mundane chore.
He stroked Ash’s cheek, a light, almost affectionate touch that seemed utterly out of place given what had just transpired.
His fingers lingered for a moment, tracing the tear-streaked skin.
Thanks to his unusual kindness in lifting Ash and placing him gently onto the soft, waiting bed, Ash felt a dizzying wave of relief.
He could pass out in peace, finally succumbing to the exhaustion that threatened to swallow him whole.
But not yet.
Not quite.
Ash had something to say, a final, desperate plea for understanding, a last flicker of defiance.
He forced his stiff, raw lips open, the muscles protesting the effort.
“Master.”
His voice was a mere rasp, cracked and broken, barely audible.
“Hm?”
The Master hummed, a soft, questioning sound.
“Master, you’re not just cruel… you’re not just a sadist….”
Ash began, his voice gaining a fragile strength.
“I appreciate the acknowledgement, Ash. It’s always good to be appreciated,” the Master replied, a hint of genuine amusement in his tone.
“You’re a pervert……”
Ash finally managed to articulate, the word hanging in the air, a definitive judgment.
That was Ash’s last memory of the day.
The world dissolved into a comforting blackness, a blessed oblivion.