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Agony then, and though he barely had the voice to scream anymore, he certainly tried. His body crumpled, but the supervisors kept him on his feet.

Mr. Foster tossed him a slightly peeved, slightly pitying, very bored look. “You don’t get to say no, remember? We don’t really have to go through all this again, do we, Daniel?”

Daniel sniffed back looming tears, wishing he knew how to give Mr. Foster the answer he wanted.

His silence was met with another shock.

“I do have other things to do today, you know.”

Daniel barely heard him over his panting and the ringing in his ears, but the next words—“Beg me for it, tell me you’re desperate to feel my cock up your ass”—cut deep through his fog of pain.

Mr. Foster barely gave him a breath’s worth of time to reply before the supervisor shocked him again. The scream it ripped from his throat formed into a single word: “Please.”

“Please what?”

Daniel didn’t think please stop would cut it, but he couldn’t, couldn’t go through that again. Not again. Besides, maybe being fucked wasn’t really so bad once you were all grown up. His body was bigger now, could handle bigger things. Right? “Will it—?” Timidity and a cramp that ripped through his middle like another damn jolt cut him short. When the spasm ended, he tried again. “Will it hurt?”

Mr. Foster kicked Daniel’s legs apart, took the prod, and pressed it firmly to the root of Daniel’s cock. “Not nearly as much as this will,” and God, Daniel didn’t think it possible—when thought finally became possible again—that anything could ever hurt more than that.

“The longer you wait,” Mr. Foster said, sliding the tip of the prod behind Daniel’s cock, between his balls, “the more painful I’ll make it. I could’ve made this nice for you if you’d just been a good little appliance right from the start and done as you were told.”

Mr. Foster put the prod down and pressed himself flush to Daniel’s sweaty body in a mockery of a hug, legs to legs and chest to chest. He was several inches taller, and his cock dug into Daniel’s stomach like a hot steel pole. For a moment Daniel was eleven again, terrified and sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe, but the pain ripping through him was all too real, no mere memory, and it grounded him. He knew this wouldn’t be pretty, but he also knew he wasn’t walking out of here until he gave in, and at least it would be over quick.

“Now tell me you want me, Daniel,” Mr. Foster murmured against his ear. “Buried balls deep in your ass. Convince me.”

For one terrifying moment, Daniel feared he wouldn’t be able to make the words come out, but then Mr. Foster stepped back and brought up the prod again, and Daniel blurted, “Please, I want you! Please!”

“You want me what?” Mr. Foster said, and Jesus, Daniel should have seen that coming by now, but it still somehow took him by surprise.

“I want you to fuck me,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush even through the strain of the last many minutes.

“You want to feel me buried balls deep in your ass.”

“Yes.”

“Say it, slave.”

Daniel swallowed hard, lifted his gaze from the floor, and stared directly into Mr. Foster’s eyes. “I want to feel you buried balls deep in my ass.” To end this. Anything to end this.

“Let him go,” Mr. Foster said to the supervisors. And then to Daniel, “Turn around, show me that pretty ass.”

Daniel slumped over the table, laying his chest down flat and clutching hard to the edges. He knew he’d fall if he let go, not just to the floor but right down through it, spinning off into some terrible fucking nightmare from which he doubted he’d ever return.

Mr. Foster slapped him hard across the ass, more heat than pain compared to all he’d endured already; he barely flinched. He heard a condom wrapper tear, the squelch of lube. When a hand settled on each cheek and spread him wide, his fingers curled numb around the table and he whimpered once, soft and sharp, before he could stop it, remind himself that he was supposed to be pretending to like this.

“Say it again,” Mr. Foster said, too many lube-slicked fingers shoving inside him, burning and stretching and scissoring. Daniel gasped, clenched his teeth. The pain coursing through the rest of his body did nothing to mask the new hurt, too full and jagged with awful memories and shameful somehow, raw nerves and the urge to squirm and push him out out out. “I said say it again,” Mr. Foster growled. The fingers yanked free, and the blunt tip of his cock nudged at Daniel’s hole. “All this trembling makes me not believe how much you want me.”

“I want you,” Daniel said, but he could not strip the frightened child’s tone from his words.

Mr. Foster rammed forward, and Daniel screamed again, digging his teeth into the polished wood tabletop hard enough to make dents. Turned out it was no easier now than it had been as a child—agony, torture, like a strapping on the inside.

He didn’t realize he was struggling, but he must have been, because the supervisors were grabbing his arms again, pinning his elbows and shoulders in pressure-point grips that made him beg in a long and desperate string.

Mr. Foster ignored it all, thrusting furiously behind him, driving him hard into the table edge with every ripping stroke, splitting him in two, in ten, in thousands.

God, how could Daniel ever bring himself to submit to this again?

As the minutes passed, that terrible, cleaving pain eased just a little, and Daniel lost both the strength and the will to keep struggling. When it was clear he’d no longer fight them, the supervisors released their punishing grips on his arms. One of them used his newly freed hands to rub his crotch through his pants. Daniel turned his head the other way and closed his eyes.