12
Sungho stared blankly at the scene unfolding before him, unable to believe his eyes. Even as his head was yanked back, his mouth criticized for its slackness, he couldn’t focus. Hyeonjun was watching him—masturbating to the sight of his own father.
It was like a scene straight out of porn, so disgusting it made him want to vomit.
Hyeontae—who seemed to think there was nothing left to destroy—kept dragging people deeper into the abyss. Now, Sungho was afraid to even imagine where the bottom might be. He didn’t want to know.
Tears streamed down Sungho’s face. His body, against his will, came and shuddered with pleasure. He couldn’t tell if the chills running down his spine were from arousal or horror. He squeezed his eyes shut. In the darkness, he heard the wet sounds of flesh slapping, ragged breaths, and murmured conversation.
“Hah… Dad, I want to… finger your ass too…”
“Control yourself. You want to end up like that? So vulgar?”
“Hah… but…”
Even though the glass wall should have muffled their voices, he heard them clearly. Sungho tried to block it out, to focus on anything else, but the words kept seeping in.
I must’ve finally lost my mind, he thought, his lips twitching as if they might curl into a laugh. He wanted to cry, wanted to scream—his heart pounded painfully, a sickening rhythm. The overload of emotions and shock made his brain feel like it was short-circuiting. Maybe the drugs they’d been feeding him had something to do with it.
Either way, he was no longer sane. Hyeontae was right—he was trash. A piece of garbage who only existed to take cock in the gutter.
“Hngh… uhn, ah… ooh… oooh…”
His pleas for forgiveness were cut off by the cocks stuffed in his mouth—two of them, eagerly throbbing as his throat constricted around them.
If only I’d begged for forgiveness when I had the chance.
Sungho regretted it deeply. His throat clenched. Tears and snot streamed down his face as he worked his tongue, but he couldn’t stop.
“Pathetic. Whining while you’re getting fucked so good.”
“Hah… nngh… it just feels too good… I can’t… ah…”
“I guess that makes sense. Should we stop watching? It’s not even fun anymore… just makes me hard.”
Hyeontae whispered into Hyeonjun’s ear, trailing a hand up his thigh. Hyeonjun laughed in response.
“Yes, jagi… I can’t take it anymore.”
Sungho watched helplessly as Hyeontae led Hyeonjun away. He felt discarded. Seeing them leave together—it was like they were truly taking his son away from him.
“Hngh…! Uhn… ahhngh…!”
“You’re really off today, old man. Can’t even focus.”
“It’s fine, he’ll suck harder now that the boss is gone.”
“Hah… what a attention whore. Like he even knows how to play hard to get.”
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed as if it were happening to someone else’s body. The hands spanking his ass, the hot breaths against his skin—it all felt foreign. After the men who had taken their time with him finally left, Sungho was alone again.
He didn’t even have the strength to cry anymore. He just wanted it all to end.
“I’m sorry…”
He muttered weakly, but no one was there to hear him. The loneliness was crushing. He was pathetic. All these years, he’d denied how broken he was. Twenty years of self-deception crumbled in an instant. The truth was, he hadn’t been able to live with the guilt since what he’d done to Yu-jin. Divorcing her had been an escape—running away instead of taking responsibility.
No more tears came. His eyes stung, his head ached.
***
He didn’t look toward the door, even when he heard footsteps. He didn’t have the energy, and he didn’t care if it was just another hallucination.
“You really are beyond saving, hyung.”
“…You…”
His voice carried the unspoken question: Why are you back?
Hyeontae clicked his tongue and helped Sungho into the shower. He washed him thoroughly, not minding that his suit got soaked. Sungho didn’t bother trying to understand why Hyeontae was being kind to him.
He’d stopped trying to figure out Hyeontae’s motives. He was too exhausted to think about anything.
“Hyung, done crying?”
Hyeontae asked as he dried him off with a towel. Sungho’s pale body was marked with handprints—bruises from forced positions. When Sungho didn’t answer, Hyeontae slowly stroked his hair, his voice softer than ever.
“You know, crying doesn’t solve anything. You didn’t even do this in your twenties. Well… did you? Either way. You and Hyeonjun can still fix things.”
He spoke as if effort alone could overcome everything. Of course, Hyeontae himself was the one who had orchestrated all of this. Sungho stayed silent, staring blankly at the floor.
“You’re not logical, not exceptional. But there must be something you’re good at. Right?… I’m rambling. You must be tired. Alright, I’ll just ask simply.”
Hyeontae pulled a plastic bag from his pocket—the same pills Sungho had been taking all along.
“Hyung. Want to forget everything? You hate pain, don’t you? It must’ve been hard, enduring all that when you can’t even handle a little discomfort. You can tell me if it hurts. I’ll ask again. So? Do you want to forget?”
Sungho kept his lips sealed. Hyeontae added, as if he’d forgotten something:
“Just nod if you want to.”
He felt Hyeontae’s fingers running through his hair. Sungho nodded.
Hyeontae was certain of his victory, but he didn’t assume—he asked again.
“You don’t want to hurt anymore, right?”
Sungho nodded again. Hyeontae personally tore open the pill and placed it in his mouth, making sure he swallowed. Then he pulled out a vial of hypnotic incense.
“Now… take a slow, deep breath.”
As Sungho’s eyes glazed over, Hyeontae patted his back approvingly. His clouded gaze somehow looked more alive than before. Hyeontae smirked and took Sungho’s limp hand, shaking it like a deal had been struck.
“Good boy. Smart choice… Welcome to my world, Sungho hyung.”
He exhaled deeply, as if a long journey had ended. Supporting Sungho’s weight, he led him out of the glass-walled room. Sungho looked around in disbelief—he couldn’t process that he was finally out. Soon, he’d be consumed by lust again. Hyeontae’s own desire stirred as he gripped Sungho’s ass hard enough to bruise, whispering so only he could hear:
“You’ll probably never know why I did this to you. And soon… you won’t even care to ask.”
Having Sungho in his grasp didn’t bring the euphoria he’d imagined, but it was still satisfying. Maybe because he’d already gotten off on watching Sungho’s breakdown—finally acting out the fantasies he’d only dared imagine. Now, all that was left was the dramatic father-son reunion.
***
- The Abyss
Sungho’s body couldn’t stay still on the sofa—his legs twitched, his torso writhed restlessly.
“Hyung, why are you so fidgety? I’m on a call.”
Hyeontae pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
“Hngh… uhn… ah…”
Sungho moaned, shaking his head. Hyeontae acted as if he didn’t notice his suffering, sitting at his desk and speaking calmly into the phone.
“Yes, that evening will work for your visit.”
His serious voice filled the office, but Sungho’s tremors grew worse. The drug was at its peak—his body ached for release. Hyeontae knew it and deliberately left him like this.
Finally, the call ended. Sungho looked at him with pleading eyes. As if rewarding his patience, Hyeontae stood up.
Back in school, Sungho had never once found Hyeontae intimidating. But now, the way Hyeontae looked down at him—expressionless, cold—sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t just fear of the violence he’d endured. It was something deeper.
“Hyeontae… I was wrong… I’m sorry, I—”
“Where’s that pride of yours? I haven’t even said anything yet. Stop crying and tell me slowly.”
Hyeontae sat across from him, locking eyes. His gaze was still terrifyingly empty. Sungho was afraid of those black eyes—he could never tell what Hyeontae was thinking. They were the same eyes from their university days.
“Your body… it’s so hot…”
The words Hyeontae had spoken when he brought Sungho into the office now felt like shackles. This is the president’s office, so don’t act vulgar. Sit still on the sofa. The moment he heard that, Sungho had been unable to move. His ass burned with need, but he couldn’t even touch himself, twisting his body in agony. His cock was painfully hard, leaking, yet his hands felt weighted down, as if shackled. All he could do was squirm, desperately trying to create even the slightest friction against his ass.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
