A harsh, grating sound, like metal scraping against metal, rang out somewhere in the distance—but Blaine’s eyelids felt glued shut. His body was heavy, as if someone had placed a stone slab on top of him. He couldn’t even twitch a finger. He struggled, desperately trying to shake it off and rise, but it was useless.
“Blaine.”
A voice called out—soft, beautiful, familiar. A voice that always filled his heart with warmth. Like silver beads rolling over glass. A sound that soothed the mind and body, as gentle as a lullaby. Just hearing it felt like a blessing.
It was the Queen’s voice.
“Blaine, come on now. Wake up.”
He had to answer. It was his duty, as a loyal worker of the Queen. But his body wouldn’t move. He tried to open his mouth and beg for forgiveness, but even that was impossible. All he could do was breathe.
“Blaine.”
Her voice turned cold, a chill threading through it. She was displeased. That scared him. Blaine pushed harder, trying to lift his body. No matter how much he thrashed, it was no use. Why isn’t my body listening to me? He was starting to get frustrated.
“Bee-Bee.”
Bee-Bee? Who’s that? He couldn’t think of any comrade with such a cutesy name. A butterfly, maybe? He searched his mind, but nothing came up. Still… it felt oddly familiar. Why did those two syllables calm him so completely? That desperate, anxious feeling eased, and he felt reassured.
“Shh, now. Don’t struggle.”
This time, a warm, ticklish breath brushed against his ear like downy feathers. The voice was completely different from the Queen’s—it was husky, languid. Almost sultry.
And just like that, the crushing weight pinning his body turned into something softer, as though he were wrapped in someone’s gentle embrace.
“Blaine, come here.”
The Queen called again, but his body was bound, as if wrapped in spider silk—he couldn’t obey, even if he wanted to. Blaine wanted to explain that, to apologize, but no words came out. He tried to force his eyes open, straining his brow, but all that came of it was a soft tsking noise from behind him, as if someone disapproved. Even that sound felt pleasant.
“Blaine! Hurry! Please help!”
The Queen’s voice turned urgent. Something was wrong. He should be worried. And yet… he didn’t want to leave this warm place. Or rather, he couldn’t. He was trapped. He should be afraid. But those fingers—tracing his jawline, his neck, his collarbone and cheek with feather-light touches—felt unbelievably good.
“……!”
The fingers slid down to his chest and pinched at the soft skin there. Don’t touch me, he screamed silently—but of course, no one heard. The fingers toyed with the sensitive areola, then rolled over the hardened nub and gave it a teasing tug. When they flicked it with a curled motion, Blaine let out a whining sound like a puppy begging for affection.
“Help me, Blaine! Please!”
“Stay still, Bee-Bee.”
No… the Queen’s in danger. I have to save her. I have to—
“Nngh, hngh, ngh…”
“Hehe, it feels good, doesn’t it? You’re so cute.”
Now there were four fingers—two pinching the right areola gently but firmly, and two others tugging up at the left nipple. They never stopped—pressing, rolling, squeezing—sending jolts of overwhelming pleasure through Blaine’s trembling body.
“Ahh, mngh, hngh…”
“You’re so pretty right now. Look how hard they are.”
When an index finger brushed the tip of the erect nipple, Blaine shivered. A maddening tingling filled his belly, and his inner thighs ached. A dazed, short moan escaped his lips. And for some reason, hearing that voice made him feel happy. Warm affection bloomed inside him.
“Did you get hard because you wanted me to touch you? How cute. Still, I’m not going to touch you there.”
Blaine whimpered like a child, sniffling from the unfairness of it all. He didn’t know what was happening anymore, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he wanted was for those hands to never stop. His cock ached painfully. Touch me. Make it stop hurting. Make it feel good. Please, touch me…!
“Why are you whining? Hm? You can finish just from your chest, can’t you, Bee-Bee? You like this more anyway.”
“Mmmh, ngh…”
“Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t even touch your chest anymore.”
The words hit like a thunderclap. If he could move, he would’ve jolted upright from the shock. But he was frozen, and the fingers abruptly let go.
Blaine sniffled, crying like a child. His chest heaved with pitiful sobs.
As if to soothe him, a hand began lightly patting the sensitive space between his spread buttocks. Gentle, like comforting a toddler. The teasing rhythm made Blaine gasp and moan uncontrollably.
“Ah, ngh… ugh!”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Tap-tap-tap—regular, rhythmic taps directly against the entrance. Soft lips kissed his cheek, cool air blew against his hardened nipples. He wanted to twist and writhe, but couldn’t. It felt like feathers tumbling inside his guts. His toes curled.
“Blaine… save me…”
“Bee-Bee, once I’m done with all that, I’ll give you exactly what you want. I’ll suck on those desperate nipples, bite down until you cry, pound into you until that greedy little hole is raw and twitching. I’ll scratch every itch deep inside. Sounds good, right?”
Just thinking about it was blissful. Blaine let out a high, needy moan, his lashes fluttering.
“Of course, I still won’t touch your cock. That’s okay, right? Our sweet little bee now comes just from having a cock shoved into his hole. He sprays like he’s pissing—so proud of him.”
And even as Blaine felt humiliated by those filthy words, a twisted part of him wanted more. Say more. I love it. It hurts from my head to my toes. I love it. I’m so embarrassed but it feels so good—
“Please… stop… save me…!”
“Now, now. Keep those legs pretty and open, okay? I’ll be back in a flash.”
Smack! Smack! The gentle pats on his hole turned into sharp little slaps. Blaine jerked violently and cried out in a high-pitched yelp.
“Ugh? Ngh—nngh…”
The warmth vanished. The pleasure vanished. Only the binding silk remained. He was terrified—his chest tight with sadness. And yet, his body was burning. He needed to be touched again, right now.
“Don’t fuss so much. You’re a good little bee, aren’t you?”
The voice, now walking away, soothed him with tender words—as if feeling sorry for him. And then came the screams. Bone-chilling. Horrific. Not just one voice—multiple. Shrieks of agony tangled with the sound of something shattering, explosions, the crackle of spreading fire, the wet crunch of bone and flesh colliding.
It sounded like hell itself.
Trembling, Blaine wished with all his heart—please, that creature from before—come back and touch me again.
“Gah…!”
And then—his eyes opened.
The lids that wouldn’t budge no matter what, suddenly fluttered apart. Light stabbed into his pupils, making his face scrunch reflexively.
He blinked slowly, like a stunned fool. The ceiling above him gleamed white, reflecting the light so intensely it was almost blinding.
Where… am I? What was I doing? His memory was a blur. His head pounded. Had he had a nightmare? Something horrible? Or… was it a sweet dream?
His temples throbbed, and he pressed a hand to his forehead—but even lifting his arm felt like it was weighed down with sandbags.
Just holding it up for a moment exhausted him, and it flopped down.
Something soft brushed his fingertips.
A silky thread, delicate and smooth, coiled around his finger. The sensation was oddly pleasant.
Rolling his eyes sideways, he managed to tilt his head slightly—and saw a pale, round head nestled snugly against his waist.
A man was sitting in a chair, leaning over the bed, resting his head right up against Blaine’s side.
