The Flesh Cartel #5: Wins and Losses

walked away, Dougie’s tuned senses following the path of his steps, the weight of his footfalls, the length of his strides. Was he in a rush? Was he angry? Where was he going? Definitely walking with purpose. What was he coming back with?
“You see, it’s considered by some to be potentially unhealthy or dangerous for a man not to come for the rest of his life.” Why did he say it like he was so certain Dougie would be a slave for the rest of his life? Because I will be. I’m going to die a slave. A week from now, twenty years from now, whatever. I’m going to die here. Like this. Naked. Debased. Alone. “But there are ways to release that pressure without granting so much as a moment’s pleasure. Ways that, on top of not being pleasurable, are actively painful for a slave, if only because of the humiliation.”
Nikolai took Dougie by the hips—he’s wearing latex gloves why the fuck is he wearing latex gloves?—and lifted his ass, positioning him like a mannequin. He slid something cold—a metal bowl?—into the space he’d created beneath Dougie’s cock.
“This is not a sex act, Douglas. You’ll receive no affection from me, no warmth or touch or kindness. It’s a medical procedure, about as uncomfortable as getting a tooth pulled, but infinitely more shameful. The cage and plug and pure denial clearly haven’t taught you the value of my tenderness toward you, so maybe this will. In fact, maybe we’ll make this a regular part of your routine.”
Dougie was too scared to appreciate when Nikolai unlocked and unbuckled the belt holding the plug in, perfunctorily letting the straps fall. He didn’t stroke Dougie or touch him or spank him or spread him to admire his handiwork. There was no play or teasing when it came to the plug’s removal, either; Nikolai gripped it by the base and yanked it out.
His only reaction to Dougie’s loud, involuntary moan was a sharp, “Be quiet.”
Dougie clamped his lips shut. With pleasure, you creepy pervert. Sadist. Mad fucking scientist.
A drizzle of ice cold lubricant ran down his ass crack, what felt like an entire tube of it. Messy. Disgusting. Two gloved fingers slid easily into his hole, accompanied by a vile squelch of lube.
Nikolai was true to his word. There was no commentary, no stroking touches, no playful wiggling of his fingers. They honed in straight onto Dougie’s prostate, finding it in one thrust, and began to rub it in hard, merciless little circles.
God fucking damn. Dougie’s hands curled into fists, tugging on the sheets in a pathetic attempt to keep the rest of his body from moving. He pressed his face to the mattress and hummed, because it was either that or scream. Having his prostate touched before had been a contradiction— shame and fear and dazzling pleasure—but it was nothing compared to this pain and searing want and overwhelming self-hatred.
“Do you see now, Douglas? Do you see how terrible this is? How much I want to give you more? Care for you? Respect you? Pleasure and love you?”
Dougie moaned. Couldn’t have found words if he’d tried. The terrible pressure/pain was slowly easing, but the sensitivity was still there, tainting whatever pleasure there might’ve been. Nikolai pushed just so, and for one awful second he felt sure he’d piss himself, wet the bed, and then he did—or rather, wet whatever Nikolai had shoved underneath him—but not with urine, with . . . was that cum? Was he coming in the middle of all this pain and misery? It didn’t feel like coming, not in the way that coming gave him a breathless sense of relief and satisfaction, even here—for a second or two, anyway. Not that sweet blankness of the mind before the shame kicked in.
This was . . . was . . . He moaned at another hard press from Nikolai, ten parts hypersensitive agony to one part pleasure. More fluid dribbled from his cock. He was being wrung out. Drained. Emptied. One more push, and he’d be nothing but dried pulp, like a juiced orange. But God, at least the pressure was easing. He might almost be able to think again. Not that he really wanted to.
“Still so ungrateful,” Nikolai mused, easing up on the pressure a little, right as Dougie was actually starting to feel a glimmer of something good, starting to try to get hard in his cage.
Nikolai didn’t sound angry, but Dougie could tell by the emptiness of the silence that followed that he was waiting for a reply.
“U-ungrateful, sir? I . . . I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be,