Work Text:
In his darker moments, Dwight sometimes wished that he has just let the groom kill him after their first encounter because a harsh hand around his throat followed by a slow, fatal snap could not have been worse than all the things which had followed. But survival and time had allowed both cowardice and a traitorous hope to settle into his bones and no matter what horrors he found himself subjected to as the days progressed, he could not bring himself to push back and allow his new husband to now offer him up to the sawing table.
And so, kneeling on the filthy floor of Mount Massive Asylum between the legs of Eddie Gluskin, Dwight plastered a meaningless smile across his lips he inhaled softly though his mouth – a skill he had naturally developed to overcome the stench of death which hung heavily in the asylum air. To the floor at his side lay a small shine box, one which Gluskin had produced from his stash of stolen items with a theatrical flourish as he excitedly ushered poor Dwight into another absolutely menial and insane task to prove his devotion to his new role.
In only a few days, he had received an intense course on how exactly the infamous groom - a creature so evil and depraved that even the other monsters of the asylum gave him a wide berth - liked his filthy living space to be cleaned. How he liked his meagre offerings of food to be cooked. How he liked to be addressed. How he liked to make love.
That last lesson was one which Dwight had not truly allowed himself to process yet. It was one which he didn’t think he could allow himself to process without going as mad as the screaming inmates whose cries echoed through the corridors across the long nights. He went through the motions of the act, saying the words he knew would keep him alive as he allowed Gluskin to use his body.
More often than not, he would tilt his head to the side and focus on the streaks of dried blood which stained the filthy walls instead of the traitorous heat in his groin which the physical stimulation forced on him – the scant pleasure worse than any violence in how it fucked with his mind and sparked hollowing guilt.
But endure he did, and every possible moment was dedicated to thinking about escaping this hellhole of a place with both his body and mind as intact as possible.
“Darling?” Gluskin spoke, his melodic voice stretching out the vowels as he called for Dwight’s attention. His dark hair was pushed into a familiar hairstyle atop his scabbed skin, unnatural eyes sparkling their insanity as he ran his fingers through the strands. “Are you lost in one of your little fancies?”
“No, Eddie.” Swallowing down the familiar disgust which burned his throat as he looked up at Gluskin, Dwight smoothed out the front of the stained dress which he had been forced into wearing several days ago – the light fabric utterly ruined by fuck knows what kind of filth and fluids its prior wearers had allowed to accumulate on it. He suspected that it was once white, but in its current state it was almost impossible to say that for certain.
“Then make a start! These shoes won’t clean themselves.” Eddie continued, tapping the very tips of his feet together in a playful, expectant way.
Glancing down at his latest task, Dwight bit the inside of his lip to keep his expression from shifting. The shoes were disgusting. A deep, black leather almost every inch was completely covered in grime and blood, each shoe absolutely wearing the last remnants of their previous owner like a badge of sick pride.
"Spic and span, my darling." Eddie beamed down from his seated position, the toe of his right foot shifting to prod at the rusted shine box. "It's a wife's place to make sure her beloved isn't embarrassing himself with untidy footwear."
Nodding submissively, Dwight’s fingers trembled as they opened the shine box. Inside, lay a small stained rag and a tiny pot of black shine, the wax within utterly dried up and useless for its intended purpose. Unwilling to indicate any issues, Dwight dutifully picked up the rag and made a show of swiping it across the black before dropping his hands to Eddie’s feet.
Rubbing the rag across the shoe with a firm grip, Dwight flinched as Gluskin broke into a jaunty tune, the notes humming free of his throat as his gaze settled on something distant and unseen. His hands kept up their motions though, alternating between trying to scrape off as much of the filth from the shoes as possible while keeping his movements as unobtrusive as possible – not wanting to regain the attention of the monster he was servicing.
He allowed his thoughts to wander. After this, no doubt Gluskin would insist on a dance, something to show off his new shoes, and the ratty old radio which the monster seemed to genuine love would find itself tuned to some old-fashioned show to keep up the delusion which Dwight had found himself forced to play a sordid part in.
Only once, he had messed up the basic box-step which he had been made to learn and before he could issue a quiet apology, he found his jaw almost knocked out of place by a harsh backhand from Gluskin as the groom lost his damned mind over the minor misstep. It was truly frightening and, stunned into submission, Dwight still shivered when he considered it. Gluskin was bigger in every way, his height and strength a very real threat, and as Dwight had fallen to the floor in shock, his head rung with the blow while he found himself subjected to a barrage of verbal abuse.
Words which didn’t even apply to him.
The insults, which seemed to come from an outside source as the criticisms appeared to apply more to the man screaming them than the victim he had just struck to the floor, were shocking. Violent and sexual, the fear which seized Dwight’s chest had rendered him useless – curling his body into as small a ball as possible, instinct guiding his movements.
But then the apologies had been quick to follow. Sweet, sickly, honeyed words whispered into his ear as Gluskin pulled him close and showed him how sorry he was. Touched him in ways which were worse than any blow that his hands or feet could have delivered. Told him he was loved as he forced his cock between his legs and pushed past the dry discomfort as he sheathed himself with no care for how it made Dwight bite back his whimpers.
“Sweetheart!”
Jerking back to the task at hand as his thoughts were once more snatched by Gluskin’s booming voice, Dwight looked up at him with empty eyes.
“I lost myself in thoughts there, love. I don’t want you to feel forgotten as you do such lovely work. So, I have had an idea, a wicked idea! Allow me something naughty to make up for my little neglect.”
Gluskin's foot snaked its way beneath Dwight's dress and Dwight focused on steadying his breath as he felt the soft leather press teasingly against the panties which were forcibly pulled on his body to cover what little decency he had left. He hated the panties, hated the off-colour material flecked heavily with red, and the enthusiasm and gratitude he had been obligated to fake upon their gifting had made his throat ache with repressed bile.
"Eddie-" Dwight hissed despite his desire to ignore the teasing, the shoe grazing his enlarged clit in a way that made his stomach lurch with discomfort and, shamefully, arousal. Despite the horror, his body still reacted in a physical way to much of Gluskin’s touch – his nerves not quite on board with his mind when it came to how to respond to the various stimulations.
"I know, I know!" Gluskin interrupted, running his hand through his shortened hair. "It seems improper- almost perverted! But a man is allowed to tease isn't he? What wife wouldn't love her velvety mound receiving some attention?"
Hiding a grimace at the term, Dwight forced a smile to his lips - one which he hoped was close to a wry, satisfying smirk but definitely fell short of his vaguely repulsed gaze. Gluskin met his eyes and Dwight saw it, that spark of madness which shone from behind the veneer of infatuation.
Sometimes, when night fell on the asylum and Dwight found himself pulled into the marital bed, that spark was missing - replaced by a calculating, almost sadistic look.
It was a look which frightened him more than anything as it was the only true glance which he received of the man behind the groom. A man who deluded himself into acts so horrific that Dwight doubted, even if he somehow escaped this living hell, that he could ever share his experiences with another living soul. A man who mutilated men without hesitation and only spared him due to his own physicality.
"Sweetheart!" Gluskin had exclaimed with genuine joy as he tore the denims from Dwight’s restrained body and discovered his lack of unsightly bits. "You're perfect! A vision! Beautiful! No need for any nasty corrections…"
And Dwight has been thankful. The floor to his side still covered in the vomit he had been unable to hold back as he watched the last potential wife be carved up by the saw. The sight of the blood and flesh as it were torn and spat in several directions was somehow less traumatic than the noise of the poor inmate as their screams and pleading for mercy dissolved into guttural noises; inhumane and filled with a primal distress which pulled the contents of Dwights stomach swiftly to the floor.
"Are you paying attention to me, sweetheart?" Gluksin interrupted Dwight's scattered thoughts with a sharp, insistent tone. "I hope you're not thinking of someone else while I'm pleasuring you. A good girl must think only of her love, lest she be accused of being a filthy slut. No one wants a whore for a wife." His words growing steadily more agitated as he spoke, Gluskin's foot moved with increased aggression, pressing the top of his shoe into Dwight's cunt with such pressure that Dwight couldn’t help but shift around to avoid the worst of it.
"Just you, Eddie." Dwight bit out from behind a placating smile.
Bringing his hand up, he laced it around the back of Gluskin's leg and gave it an encouraging squeeze, hoping that the offer of some physical affection would be enough to calm his mood. The foot moved in a slow rhythm, brushing along his concealed cunt like a lover’s palm and Dwight hated how his body accepted the touch, a slight dampness pressing at the fabric which would no doubt result in Gluskin discovering just how much he enjoyed his little torment.
“Good! Good, good, good. Just what I thought. Now, stand up and let me see you.”
Thankful for the removal of his foot, Dwight stood on shaking legs as quickly as he could while allowing the pleasure to dissipate. Even seated, Gluskin’s height was impressive and his head came up to Dwight’s chest as he straightened up fully.
“My beautiful wife.” Gluskin crooned, mad eyes washing across every inch of your dress covered frame. “So lovely, and almost perfect.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Dwight took the words with a grim smile as he tucked his head slightly to hide the disgust in his eyes.
"I do wish there was more here." Grumbling, Gluskin placed his hands over Dwight’s chest.
Surgery scars long since healed, the slight bulge of his tits was only due to residual fat distribution and nothing more and he was thankful for it as Gluskin tended to leave his chest alone due to the lack of a voluptuous base to work with.
"Perhaps something you could work on, my love. After all, a successful marriage is all about trying our best for the one we love. Don’t you agree?” Gluskin continued.
Enhancing the grim smile into one which was almost manic as he fell into his role, a need to survive stripping him of every last dignity, Dwight nodded in full agreement as he catered to his own personal monster.
“Yes, Eddie. You’re absolutely right.”