The Flesh Cartel #9: Trials and Errors

semblance of proper position, ass to heels, thighs spread wide, hands resting atop them. He couldn’t quite manage the straight back and squared shoulders, but Nikolai wasn’t paying any attention to him anyway. He was opening the case, rummaging around inside, up on the table where Mat couldn’t see it.
    He heard the click of lube, and then Nikolai handed him the opened tube with one hand and a giant black and silver butt plug with the other. Fucking huge . Like, size-of-his-fist huge at least, and heavy too, and there was no question about what Nikolai expected him to do with it.
    He almost, almost said “I can’t.” Because, seriously, it kind of didn’t even look physically possible. But he knew it was—he’d taken that expanding plug at Madame’s, after all—and he wouldn’t fuck this up before it’d even begun.
    Even though he hadn’t spoken, Nikolai must have seen the protest on his face, because he said, “You can and you will, Mathias. Your brother regularly plugs himself without complaint.”
    No, please, don’t say shit like that to me. I don’t want to hear it. It’s not true.
    God, maybe Nikolai was going to let him see Dougie, but when he did, would Dougie even be Dougie anymore?
    It didn’t matter. Mat would love him just the same. Always. Forever. And one day, when they got out of here somehow, Mat would help him heal. That was who he was. The big brother, no matter what. He just needed to hang on to that. Through whatever was coming.
    So let’s get through this thing.
    “Yes, sir,” he said, surprised to find himself swallowing back tears, and where the fuck had those come from? It was just exhaustion, that was all. It would pass.
    He placed the huge plug on the floor and drizzled lube down onto the top of it, squeezing the bottle with both shaking hands, nearly emptying it. It was . . . different than the usual lube. Thicker.
    You can do this. You should be thankful he’s letting you do it to yourself, because you can take it slow. Take it slow and easy, deep breaths, just relax and let it happen.
    He rose up onto his knees, spread his legs a little. Scooted forward until he was straddling the plug. No way to do this without spreading himself first, so he reached around with both hands to do just that. He hadn’t been fucked in so long he wasn’t quite used to the sensation anymore. It made his skin crawl. He closed his eyes.
    “No,” Nikolai said. “Eyes on your master. You’re putting on a show for me . Never forget that.”
    So much for trying to pretend Nikolai wasn’t here.
    He met the man’s eyes, let his mouth fall open a little and licked his lips, nice and slow. Remembered a far-off place and a far-off time when he’d pick up a fan after a match and kiss him hard, pinch his nipples, and squeeze his balls, then lick his lips just like this, just before kneeling and giving the guy the blowjob of his life, so hungry to make someone feel good after an evening spent trying to smash people’s faces in.
    His performance now was just a hollow imitation, almost a caricature of lust, but whatever, it seemed to make Nikolai happy. He stared right through Nikolai, held the image of the post-match blowjob in his head, spread himself as wide as he could, and lowered himself onto the plug.
    The tip, slick and dripping, breached him easily, and he gasped a little at the sensation, no pain yet, not even pressure or fullness, just that first lick of once delicious pleasure, irrevocably tainted now, as twisted and disgusting as everything else here. He had to let go of his ass then and brace his hands on the floor, legs too weak to hold him suspended for long, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to sit on the plug, drive it into himself too far too fast with his body weight. Instead he wiggled his hips a little, reminded himself he was supposed to be putting on a show and gasped again, let his eyes flutter briefly closed before returning his gaze to Nikolai’s face. He remembered the lesson Nikolai had taught him earlier about lying, about faking it, about convincing the master that Mat’s pleasure was his pleasure too. Maybe, just maybe, if he did that well enough now, Nikolai wouldn’t force him to hurt himself too badly.
    Except Nikolai seemed utterly unmoved by Mat’s show. No hard-on. No dilated pupils. No parted lips or speeding breaths or anything but mild interest and maybe boredom. “Faster,” Nikolai said. “This is supposed to hurt, remember?”
    Sick