The Flesh Cartel #5: Wins and Losses

but . . .” But what the fuck exactly am I supposed to be thanking you for right now? Making me squirm? Humiliating me? Hurting me?
“But you still don’t get it, yes? I could’ve left you in misery, you know. I could’ve left you full of unspent seminal fluid, building up and swelling inside you like a tumor.” He pressed especially hard then, sharp pain and sweet relief, and more fluid dribbled from Dougie’s cock. Another rub, and another, and suddenly he gasped, all pain, no pleasure at all, and he really had been wrung dry, no more dribbles, no more feeling like he had to piss, just that awful post-orgasm sensitivity except without the orgasm.
At last, Nikolai pulled his fingers from Dougie’s ass. Rolled him over with a nudge to his hip. Picked up the little steel dish he’d used to collect Dougie’s semen and peered at it closely. There were lines stamped on the inside of it, like a test tube or a beaker.
“Hmm. Just shy of fifteen milliliters. Impressive, but then, you’re young and there was quite a buildup.” He was fucking measuring it? “I think our goal from now on will be a little more conservative. Ten milliliters every day, by my hand or Roger’s if I’m too busy. Ten milliliters milked from you every day until such time as I’ve decided you’ve learned the lesson I intend to teach you. Or perhaps indefinitely, if it turns out that’s the best course of action. It’s not a science, what I’m doing, you understand. More an art. Sometimes I really do have to play it by ear.”
Every day? This humiliating clinical act, this feeling of being squeezed dry, treated like a fucking dog—every day?
“Please, no, sir.” Ugh, begging. The perfect cap to this miserable experience. “Tell me what I have to do to make this stop and I will. I will. I’ll be good, sir. I won’t lie anymore. I’ll suck you off. You can fuck me.” I’ll even pretend to enjoy it.
Pretend to enjoy it? Let’s be honest, Dougie. You’d enjoy it for real. A big cock plugging up your hole properly, and maybe his hand on your cock, letting you come . . .
“Shhh.” The latex gloves snapped, and Nikolai petted Dougie’s head with a bare hand. It seemed all the clinical mirror-world doctor’s office stuff was over. Nikolai was Nikolai again, the man. Dougie hated himself for finding that thought comforting. “That’s enough, Douglas. If I’m lenient with you now, you won’t learn your lesson at all. Maybe tomorrow you can try again.”
Somehow, Dougie couldn’t rouse the energy to beg or panic about that. The fear was dulled along with the pain and the desire. His pride had slunk off into some dark corner to die. He really was a husk of a person now. Waiting for Nikolai to remake him again. Please just do it and get it over with. Maybe then I won’t feel this way anymore. I don’t want to feel anything anymore. If it means letting you win, or even dying, so be it.
Nikolai took him by the arm and pulled him upright, until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Smearing lube all over everything. Disgusting. Wouldn’t that make Nikolai angry?
But Nikolai wasn’t paying any mind to the blanket. He was looking over his shoulder, at the tray on the floor, nothing touched but the orange juice Dougie had spilled. Nikolai turned back, brow furrowed. Frowning.
“You need to eat, Douglas.”
Dougie nodded. He knew that, he did, but . . . “I tried, sir. I’m sorry, I just, I feel so awful and I—”
“No excuses, Douglas. Not here. What we have here is another gratitude problem. I offer you fresh fruit, finely cooked food, and not only do you not thank me for it, you don’t eat it? Perhaps I should do as Madame does and feed you the same bland nutritious slop, meal after meal, day after day, month after month, if you can’t find it in yourself to appreciate my gesture of kindness.”
“No, sir, I . . .” Dougie’s breath hitched, and he felt his throat tighten, his bottom lip begin to tremble. Jesus, crying? Really? All because a man he hated was scolding him for ingratitude? Since when had Nikolai’s opinion mattered worth a fuck to him, anyway? “I’m sorry,” he said, and it came out on a fucking sob, and not at all because he feared the prospect of Nikolai’s threat but because whatever thin sliver of affection Nikolai had shown him this morning was gone now. And that was so fucked up and horrible and wrong that it made him cry harder, and he hated hated hated himself for feeling better when