Chapter Text
"I imagine you must be quite bored, stuck up here alone all day."
Ren choked, coughed. Silas let him come up to breathe. Ren hadn't eaten since dinner the previous night, so there was very little danger. He'd have his breakfast when Silas left for the morning.
"Funny," he was breathing hard, drool running from the corner of his mouth. "I don't remember you caring about that before." When he turned his red-rimmed eyes up to Silas, there was a hint of that proud boy of two months ago in the canny resentment festering behind them.
Silas pushed his head back down, and Ren was once again forced to focus all his attention on breathing through his nose and trying to open his throat. His gag reflex had been something of an issue—after all, no one had ever thought to train it out of him before—but they were making progress. He'd stopped heaving like he was going to die the moment the cock slipped an inch past his teeth.
"Perhaps if you went an hour without making a catty retort, I'd be less inclined to put your mouth to better use."
Ren said nothing, as he was busy trying his damndest not to choke on Silas's cock.
"I like you better like this," Silas observed, idly stroking the hair at the nape of Ren's neck. "Stripped of all your pretensions, naked on my floor. I'd almost call you sweet."
A low, indignant sound vibrating in the back of the boy's throat made Silas gasp and grip his hair tighter. "Mm, good boy, Ren, just like that."
He felt himself slip in a little deeper. Wonderful progress. He used Ren's hair to pull him slowly, gently, up and down.
"One day," Silas said, mostly to fill the silence—and in hopes that Ren would make one of those sweet little noises again—"One day, I'll be able to fuck your throat as hard as I want, as deep as I want. You'll be so well-trained, you won't be able to gag even if you want to. Did you know that, Ren? Did you know that you can lose your gag reflex completely if you practice enough? Your body just forgets how to do it."
Ren whimpered. A tear dripped off his nose.
"Aw, sweetheart, don't worry. It'll take time and practice to get there, plenty of time for you to accept what's happening. This wouldn't be any fun if it happened overnight, now would it?"
Ren's throat contracted, threatening to choke again, but he didn't try to pull back. Silas scratched him behind the ear. "Just breathe, my love, through your nose, there you go."
Silas didn't think he'd ever get tired of Ren's warm, soft little mouth, of his adorable, half-furious struggling to take him deeper. The boy needed to learn, would learn eventually whether or not he was actively trained, but if Silas could somehow crystallize him in precisely this moment, just barely experienced enough to finish him off but still with that virginal, artless hesitancy, he would struggle very much to make that choice. Though he was sure his fully-fledged little whore would be a thing of beauty, just as much as the proud, reluctant chick before him.
He pushed himself deeper, right up to the threshold before Ren would start to choke and said, "Swallow, sweetheart. As much as you can."
Ren barely had time to make an adorable little squeaking noise of distress and confusion before Silas came down his throat. Ren made an admirable effort to swallow, even as some of it slipped loose to dribble down his chin.
Silas finally allowed him to lift up, and he did, panting, gasping, his face a mess and his eyes wide and dark, very red at the corners.
"Some day soon, I'm going to start punishing you for failing to swallow."
"It's not my fault when you're trying to choke me to death."
"Did I ask if it was your fault, Ren?"
Ren seemed to realize his mistake. "N— No. No, My Lord."
"Who gets to decide what is and is not your fault?"
"That's not— That isn't how it—"
Silas dragged him up by the hair, standing as he did. Ren cried out, but had learned better than to resist. "You," said Silas, "Do not get to tell me how it works. I decide what is your fault. I decide the criteria for determining that it is your fault, and I decide whether or not you are punished for it. Is that clear?"
"Yes, my lord."
There was something of rote to the way he said it, though. He knew it was the thing to say, but he did not believe it. Not yet.
Silas shoved him towards his vacated chair. "Bend over the arm," he said.
Ren looked at the chair, and back at Silas. Silas thought he could see fresh tears welling in the boy's eyes.
"Now, boy."
Stiffly, like a marionette, his jaw clenched so firmly Silas worried he would crack a tooth, Ren bent over the arm of the chair.
Silas—whose trousers were open but remained on—freed his belt from its loops. He felt Ren twitch more than he actually saw it, the movement was so abortive, kept so desperately in check.
"You will count," Silas said, "You will thank me, and you will ask for another. You will say nothing else unless asked a direct question. You will keep your hands on the seat of the chair. You will keep your head down. We will start with twenty. If you deviate from these instructions in any way, any at all, I will increase the total by five. Is that clear to you?"
"Please," said Ren. "I'm sorry, my lord, you don't have to do this, I'll do better, I—"
Silas swatted him hard on the upper thigh. Ren jolted and fell silent. "Twenty-five," he said. "Are my instructions clear to you?"
"…Yes, my lord."
Silas raised the belt and swung. Ren, the proud little thing, made no noise upon impact, though the sound of the blow itself split the air.
"One." The word was marred by his audibly gritted teeth. "Thank you, my lord. May I have another?"
Obedient, but still tonally off. Silas hit him harder. Ren tried to conceal his gasp. "Two. Thank you, my lord. May I have another?"
By number ten, Ren could not conceal the tears constricting his throat and blocking his sinuses, but still his voice remained admirably steady. His ass was beginning to turn a fetching shade of red, soon to bloom into purple bruises.
Silas paused to palm and squeeze the tender skin, and Ren made a small, muffled squeaking noise.
"Perhaps I'll fuck you after this," he said. "I can spare the time."
He brought the belt down directly over Ren's hole. Ren shrieked a word like "Please," probably angling into please, no, but he didn't actually get the "no" out. Silas tsked.
"That wasn't what I told you to say, silly boy. You have fifteen to go now."
A mumbling from the direction of the seat. Silas leaned forward. "What's that?"
"I said," Ren raised his voice, his shame now making him louder, "I'm sorry, my lord. But please, you don't have to do this."
Silas hit him in the same spot again, hard, for good measure. "Twenty," was all he said.
By the time they were done, they'd reached a grand total of thirty-five, and Ren was hyperventilating into the chair, his thighs trembling, everything from the curve of his hips down to the pits of his knees rendered in shades of sunset.
"Thirty-five," he breathed out, his pain and fear making his voice light as spider silk. "Thank you, my lord. May I have another?"
Just for the sake of it, Silas did plant one more over his reddened, swollen hole. Before Ren could speak again—which he seemed about to do, not even thinking to protest the fact that Silas had kept going—Silas said, "I think that's all for now. But don't move. Stay just as you are."
Whether from exhaustion or fear of repercussion, Ren stayed where he was.
Silas fetched the oil and came back as promptly as he could. Ren's forehead was pressed into the wood, obscured by his fine curls falling over his face. He was shiny with sweat, shaking slightly, his knees on the brink of giving out beneath him, his ruined ass still submissively offered up for use.
He jolted as Silas's oil-slick fingers touched him, but he made no move to resist. All he did was whimper, "Please, it hurts."
"It wouldn't be much of a punishment if it didn't."
"I'm sorry. I—ah—I won't do it again."
"Of course you will. It's in your nature, sweetheart. You can only try your best."
Silas didn't bother preparing him overmuch.
"I can't," Ren was pleading, his voice small and pinched. "Please, please, I can't."
Silas slid in the first little bit, groaning at how tight he was, how feverishly warm. Ren made a noise like a caught rodent, a high, girlish shrieking.
"There's my little mouse." Silas stroked a hand over the nape of his neck, smoothing down damp curls.
Ren was past words now, past anything but plaintive whimpering, as if he had any reason to hope Silas might be moved to sympathy. Silas fucked him slowly, languidly, enjoying the heat, the squeeze, the sound of Ren's pain.
"There you go," Silas cooed. "Just take your punishment, sweetheart." Caving to impulse, he leaned down and licked the soft curve of Ren's spine. He tasted of salt and flesh, and his shudder made his ass spasm pleasantly around Silas's cock.
Ren's knees gave out, and Silas caught him with an arm under his waist, his palm flat to enjoy the trembling muscles in his boy's stomach.
He picked up the pace, drawing rhythmic squeaks and cries from the creature beneath him. Ren made no effort to regain his feet. Silas held him up like a ragdoll and chased his pleasure, each thrust pressing the boy's face into the pool of his own tears.
The beating had made him so hot inside, so tense and tight—he hadn't yet learned that it was in his best interest to relax, and some part of Silas hoped that he never would. Silas lifted Ren up and back—he went easily, limp and pliant—and sank his teeth into his shoulder at the base of his neck, just below the collar. Ren gasped, shock and pain catching in his throat, and he grabbed onto Silas's hand. His grip was strong, his ribs stuttering in time with Silas's thrusting, and it was probably pure instinct, but Silas happily allowed Ren to cling to him as he buried himself to the hilt one last time and finished deep inside him.
He held Ren there for another moment or two, Silas breathing hard, Ren heaving like a drowned person. He thrust lazily back and forth as he went soft, and then pulled out and stepped back. Predictably, Ren crumpled directly to the floor.
Silas knelt to sweep the boy into his arms. That Ren allowed this, too, without even making a face at him, was proof that the lesson was beginning to take. Silas rested Ren's head against his shoulder, which gave him a good view of the sluggishly-bleeding wound on the base of the boy's neck, a series of punctures perfectly the shape of Silas's mouth. It would have to be cleaned and covered, in just a moment. He pet Ren's hair. The strands which fell about his face were wet from the crying. Ren sobbed and shook, sobbed and shook. The redness made his eyes almost preternaturally bright, shining in the light from the window, with high color in his pretty face.
Silas rocked him gently back and forth. "There you are, my darling. It's all over now. You did well." He wiped the tears from Ren's face. "You did well, my good boy."
Ren buried his face in the crook of Silas's neck.