6
Confinement continued.
The man who had first bound him in this room returned daily to bring meals. Each tray was meticulously prepared with a variety of side dishes, as if tailored for nutritional balance. The one notable detail was that a small, round pill in a sealed pouch always occupied a corner of the tray. Sungho had no idea what it was, so he never touched it.
After meals, employees would arrive right on schedule. They came to sate their desires, consistently seeking him out. Sometimes it was the same faces, other times unfamiliar ones. Sungho never spoke, no matter how much they taunted him. He had no desire to converse with them.
As time passed, he grew more accustomed to handling them—but that didn’t mean he welcomed it. He spent most of his time sitting blankly inside the room. Aside from meals and the men’s visits, he saw no one. Not even Hyeonjun or Jihun had appeared since the first day. Sungho wondered who had locked him here, who Hyeonjun’s father was, and what connection the man had to Hyeonjun. Lying there, his mind raced, haunted by his son’s resentful gaze.
Why? And how?
Yu-jin wouldn’t have complained about him… How?
His days blurred into a cycle of eating, sleeping, and being used. He lost track of how long he’d been trapped. Just as he could no longer endure it, he finally asked the man bringing his meal:
“Uh…”
“Yes? Speak.”
“Th-that… the pill… what is it for?”
He’d never opened it, leaving the unassuming white pill untouched each time. It looked like a cold medicine. The man answered plainly:
“It reduces pain.”
No further explanation. He took the empty tray and left. Staring at the new tray’s pill, Sungho hesitated. What good was pain relief if it meant they had no intention of stopping? The presence of anal cleanser in the shower alone was humiliating enough.
But he didn’t want to hurt anymore. It was too much. After each encounter, his body ached so badly he’d spend half the day lying down.
Trembling, he tore open the plastic pouch and swallowed the pill with water. Maybe it wouldn’t work—just a placebo like cold medicine. He lowered his expectations, cynically assuming the man who’d imprisoned him wouldn’t show much mercy.
“…Nngh…”
About ten minutes later, an itch spread through his body, even his throat. It was maddening—scratching everywhere but never finding the source. Sungho groaned, writhing on the floor. The itch morphed into heat, a strange, creeping sensation. His entire body burned, his head spun. He rubbed his cheek against the floor, whimpering. As he thrashed, footsteps approached—more men coming for him.
“Hey, old man, you okay?”
They chuckled, exchanging jokes he couldn’t comprehend. His mind felt stuffed with cotton, senses scrambled. When someone grabbed his arm to lift him, Sungho flinched violently, shaking them off. The spot they’d touched burned. The men exchanged knowing glances.
The ones who’d developed the drug weren’t far. They were the same men who visited him daily.
“So you finally took it, huh? You can’t handle this alone—come here.”
They dragged him to the center, forcing him onto all fours, stroking his back, his waist, his chest. When a hand brushed his stomach, Sungho couldn’t suppress a cry.
“Ah, nngh—! N-no, it’s weird—!”
Unlike his usual silence, he reacted sharply, especially as hands neared his groin. Multiple hands groped him, the heat and tingling unbearable. He shuddered violently.
“Nngh, hah—ah—!”
Overwhelmed, he shook his head wildly. He’d rarely experienced true pleasure before—realizing now that his relationship with Hyeonjun had been one of the few exceptions.
“Aah—!”
He came without even being touched, the men’s snickers fading into the background. The room spun, the floor seeming to collapse beneath him. Desperate, he clutched the nearest leg, his palm slick with sweat.
“No need to rush, old man. Here’s what you wanted.”
The man soothed him, guiding a cock into his mouth. The warmth against his tongue sent another wave of tingles through him. Sungho sucked frantically, unable to resist the sensation.
“Hngh, ah—nngh…”
“Missed getting fucked, huh?”
Someone patted his ass approvingly before pressing the tip against his entrance. The slow, deliberate push made Sungho jolt—his muscles stretching around the thick intrusion. Trapped as he was, he could only squirm, the friction sending jolts of pleasure-pain through him. The man thrust in agonizingly slow, even after fully sheathing himself. Sungho’s back arched, sweat dripping down his spine. Each breath pressed the cock deeper, a suffocating fullness. The man pulled out with a wet schlick, his hole clenching around nothing.
The pistoning began. Ah, ah—his body rocked with each thrust, his own cock dripping pre-cum, fully erect.
“Damn, old man, dropping the act now?”
A man chuckled, stroking his flushed cheek. Even as fingers prodded the sensitive flesh inside his mouth, Sungho could only moan, voice thick with lust.
“Ahnnngh—!”
His inner walls clenched around the cock as he came, his entire body trembling, strength draining from him. But the men didn’t stop. Before the aftershocks faded, another wave of pleasure crashed over him. He couldn’t think straight.
The tears streaming down his face were from the overwhelming ecstasy. Though age had diminished his load, he climaxed again and again, the floor slick with his release. Collapsing, his body still twitched with orgasms, his ass raised as he took them one after another—utterly debauched.
“Fuck, just like his son, just as they said.”
“Is lewdness hereditary?”
“God, today’s got me so hard…”
The men, as always, left once they’d had their fill, abandoning him sprawled on the floor. The outcome was the same, but the cause differed. This time, he couldn’t move not from pain, but from pleasure—consumed by it, unable to escape.
***
Sungho lay on the floor for a long while before groaning and pushing himself up. His ass stung, his muscles ached, and nausea surged. Crawling to the toilet on all fours, he retched—only bile came up. A chill ran through him. For the first time, he wished for something to cover himself, even in the glass-walled room where he’d never felt cold before.
Shivering, he heaved again. Fragments of memory flickered—unclear, like shattered glass. His mind was a dumpster, cluttered with broken thoughts. Clutching the toilet, he staggered to the shower, letting scalding water cascade over him. His body felt hollow, his movements sluggish. Half-washed, he dragged himself out and collapsed onto the floor. He knew he might catch a cold, but at this point, he almost welcomed it.
Maybe if I get sick, they’ll let me out.
His head throbbed unbearably. He closed his eyes—and blacked out.
***
When he woke, his body was being rocked violently. Someone had wedged themselves between his legs, thrusting into him.
“Oh, you’re up. After last night’s enthusiasm… tired, old man?”
“Even asleep, your ass clenches like crazy. Must be natural talent.”
Had he slept through meal delivery?
Sungho no longer felt shock at their rough handling. But the realization that he’d passed out without noticing the food delivery unsettled him. He didn’t feel sick—just the opposite. His body ached far worse than yesterday, though he couldn’t recall yesterday’s encounters clearly. Trying to piece it together, all he remembered were blurred bodies and cocks filling his vision. Now, his mind was eerily clear—no headache, no fog, just sharp, vivid reality. He could see the men’s faces, the sweat on their noses, hear their crude laughter with painful clarity.
“Nngh—! Ah, s-slow—ah—!”
This was agony of a different kind. Being fucked while half-delirious had been one thing, but enduring it fully conscious was torture. Only now did he understand what “pain reduction” truly meant. The pill hadn’t just numbed physical pain—it had warped his perception entirely.
As always, his pleading—gentler, stop—was ignored. They forced his mouth open, shoving a cock inside.
“Ugh—! Mmph—!”
His body couldn’t take it, but his mind screamed in protest. The men’s laughter, the press of flesh, the slick sounds of sex—every detail was excruciatingly sharp. Sungho whimpered, his earlier orgasms now a distant memory. The pleasure had vanished, leaving only raw, violating pain.
And yet, his body betrayed him, trembling as another climax tore through him, his ass still lifted, offering itself to the next in line.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
