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Time passes differently when Roman’s not around. Jason tries to keep track of the minutes, but he can’t bring himself to focus. Whenever he starts up a count, something distracts him: the hardness of his cock, or the smell of piss hanging in the air, or Roman’s voice echoing in his head over and over, words overlapping into a symphony of the most calming music Jason’s ever heard. He almost nods off to it, but something inside him tugs him awake and keeps him alert.

He’s never felt anything as intense as this. The desire broiling in the pit of his stomach is so all-encompassing that it very nearly drowns out everything else. If he tries his hardest, he can pin down a different feeling, though. It’s an uneasy one, one that tells him to get up and run as fast as he can. But why? What’s there to run from? He zeroes in on the question, and almost, almost has an answer.

Then the door opens, and it vanishes.

“Alright, you stupid slut,” says a voice, and Jason perks up immediately when he recognizes it as Roman’s. “I’m back. Did you miss me?”

Jason fixes him with a dazed grin. “Yes, Sir.”

“Hn.” Roman scrutinizes him, like he’s looking for something to stand out. Jason stays still, hands on his knees, and lets him stare. “Red, do daddy a favor, will you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Break your trigger finger for me.”

Jason doesn’t hesitate. He grabs his pointer finger and bends it back until it snaps. The pain makes him want to scream, but it comes out as little more than a dull moan. Some conscious awareness flickers inside him, telling him that he needs to break free, but then Roman coos “ Good boy, ” and… Free of what?

Roman turns and jerks his head toward the hallway. “Let’s get your mess from before all cleaned up.”

Jason says “Yes, Sir” and follows after him.


He picks up the broken glass in Roman’s office with his bare hands, finger still jutting out at an angle. The shards cut into the skin of his palms and his knees, but he hardly cares. He bleeds, which seems to make Roman happy, so it makes Jason happy, too. Even when he rakes his hands through the carpet to try and get up all the little pieces, and they dig into him and stick there, he doesn’t think to complain.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Roman says at last. Jason immediately stops with his hands over the trash can beside him. A few big, red drops of blood drip down his palms and into the bag. Such a pretty color…

Roman sneers down at him. “Got blood all over the carpet. Nevermind; can’t have you trying to shampoo it with your hands like that. Come with me.”

Jason follows him again, all the way back to the room with the weapons and chains. Roman directs him to stand in the center of the room near a drain in the floor and hold his hands out.

“You smell disgusting,” he says, unlooping a hose from a stand on the wall. “Stay just like that.”

He turns the water on, and the spray is so harsh that it nearly knocks Jason off his feet when it first hits him. But Roman told him to stay still, so he does, even when the water leaves red marks on his body and nearly chokes him while it washes off his face and hair. His hands, though, those are the worst part. The force of the water pushes at his broken finger so hard that he actually does cry out in pain this time, eyes burning from the sting of tears.

“Don’t be a baby,” Roman says, so Jason shuts his mouth. “Get down on your knees and bend over. Spread your ass for me.”

“Y-yes, S-s-sir.”

He can’t keep the tremble out of his voice no matter how hard he tries. He’s shaking all over from the cold and the pain, his erection long gone. For just a second, bent over like that, he remembers that this is fucked up and he needs to leave, but then an overpowering wave of Roman’s voice hits him and drowns his worries out.

You like this, it says.

You want this.

Be a good boy.

You’re Black Mask’s bitch. You’ve always been his bitch. Your only purpose in life is to please him.

Jason spreads himself open with the fingers he can still move.

The water doesn’t sound so loud anymore. Roman steps up behind him, and Jason realizes when the spray hits his asshole that it’s been turned down. For a second, the cold feels good against his abused hole. Then Roman pushes forward until the metal nozzle presses inside him, and— and— No, that’s not right.


When he looks over his shoulder, the red of Roman’s eyes glint at him.

Masochist. Freak. Slut. You like being hurt. It gets you off. You’re a stupid little pain-slut cumdump bitch.

The only thing that comes out of Jason’s mouth is a shaky moan. The water pumps inside him, slow but steady, until he feels his stomach start to ache. And, because he’s a dumb whore who loves pain, he moans again, fingers digging hard into his spread asscheeks.

Abruptly, Roman pulls the hose out and presses a few fingers up to Jason’s hole. “Hold it.”

Jason whimpers, toes curling with the effort it takes to keep himself still. The water sloshes around in his stomach, making his belly distend just a bit. He feels like he might vomit if he has to hold back for too much longer, but Roman doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps his hand pressed firmly down, instructing Jason with low, sultry words to keep at it whenever it seems like he might waver.

Finally, finally, he moves his hand and says “Go.” Jason exhales with his forehead against the cold concrete floor and does exactly that.

All that water rushing out of him at once is nearly orgasmic. He huffs and puffs, rocking his hips, but his cock is too far above the floor for it to matter. It feels like it goes on forever, like he’s being emptied of all his insides, but then it trickles to a stop.

And Roman brings the hose up to fill him a second time.


Jason loses count of how often it happens, Roman pushing him to his limits and then letting him collapse in on himself. By the end of it, he’s weeping, cock flushed and dripping precum onto the floor.

“Thank you,” he sobs. “Thank you, Sir, thank you, Sir, thank youuuu oh my god…”

Roman only says, “Move your hands.”

Jason does, and Roman rinses off his backside, presumably to get rid of the blood from his hands. His thighs and legs get a good wash as well, limbs shaking when Roman directs him to stand.

He feels so empty now. Too empty.

“Please,” he says, sniffling, as Roman goes to shut off the water. “I n-need your c-cock, Sir. I-I c-c-can’t—”

Can’t live without it? Can’t move? Can’t stop crying like the little bimbo he is? Jason isn’t sure. Roman doesn’t give him time to think about it ( and thank him for that, always freeing Jason of his complicated thoughts ), directing him to another side of the room. Jason leaves clammy wet footprints on the concrete as he goes.

“Hands out,” Roman says. “Let’s get those all bandaged.”

Jason complies, albeit still teary-eyed. “Sir?”

Roman ignores him. He swabs over his cuts with something that smells antiseptic and feels like acid. Jason whimpers long and loud.



Jason shuts his mouth. Roman continues to clean out his wounds, then wrap his hands in bandages. He’s so careful, so precise; the process takes what feels like ten thousand years, Jason leaking from his cock the whole time. Then, slowly, delicately, Roman takes hold of his jagged pointer finger.

“You’re allowed to come, pretty boy.”

Roman snaps it back into place, and Jason howls with the force of his orgasm.