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Unknown Location, 1989

I think you know how this story goes.

You and your men are playing a game, one night - just a couple rounds of poker, though everyone - including yourself - knows that you couldn’t beat a goat at poker, or any other type of card game. With all these faceless, bootlicking goons around you, you’re not very good at reading expressions; and you still rely too much on your XOs, their instructions and spoonfed intel when it comes to strategic planning, rather than your own instincts.

But it doesn’t matter, even with you knowing how it will end - everyone’s having one hell of a time anyway, getting buzzed on their monthly day off, swapping the latest rumors and ribbing on each other. You’re one of them during these nights, when they’re not afraid of censoring themselves. A round of five quickly becomes ten, then fifteen, then twenty-something, most of them spectators. You’ve stopped counting after your fifth beer. Soon enough you’re piss-drunk on that, the laughter, and the smoke. Slap random cards down on the table. More willing to take a risk with an uncertain outcome.

No one’s surprised when you’re the first to run out of chips, but no one wants you to leave the table. They adore you, give you a second chance, allow you to cheat. C’mon Boss, they say, something else. You’ve brought nothing with you, not to mention that you don’t have have very many valuable, personal possessions in the first place. Your dog, perhaps, watching the events warily from the corner you’ve banished him to.

No.

You own nothing save for yourself - or do you?

Alright, myself then, you slur, presenting your palms in a gesture of surrender. A confused murmur goes through the suddenly quieted crowd when you pick up your cards again, and explain, winner can do what he wants with me. Punch the living daylight’s outta me with no ramifications. Or whatever. What happens in this room stays in this room.

Anything goes? The man opposite of you asks, disbelieving.

Anything goes, you emphasize, handing over all responsibility. Your right to say no.

With the stakes this high, your men seem to sober up somewhat. You manage to last for another couple minutes, and although you’re not the first one to fold your cards for good, it still comes down to three men who are taking a game that was originally meant to be harmless fun suddenly very seriously. So much that a fight almost breaks out when the next one joins you, accusing another of cheating, using a duplicate king of spades from another set.

You are starting to second-guess your own promise, but it’s too late to go back on it now.

The men are following the game with rapt attention, and when one of the two remaining players all but slams a four of a kind onto the table, the crowd erupts in ecstatic cheers and croons, clapping the winner on shoulder, congratulating him on a job well done - and his prize. Everything else on the table has become unimportant - the spare magazines, the cassette tapes, the pack of smokes. Things other men were willing to part with in exchange for some good fun and stress-relief.

You are on a whole other level when it comes to that, though. You applaud in acknowledgment of the winner and his efforts, and finally, after the noise level decreases, they eye you.

Congratulations, you say.

The winner says nothing, at first. Like he’s expecting you to start laughing, making fun of him for falling for your joke.

So what do you want to do with me? The way you played that game, I guess you already had something in mind.

You were very much not joking, and that dawns on him now, too. Looks at you like he’s won the lottery, then with a hunger that makes something in your stomach drop lower.

A beat of silence passes, and he says, cautiously, a slight tremble in his voice that could be either anxiety or excitement, I want you on your knees.

You’re still not laughing, and you won’t for a while. But you chuckle to yourself when you push your chair back the men in your immediate vicinity jump. You round the table, and the winner leans back, expecting a fist to his face.

You drop to your knees.

I’m a man of my word, you mumble, while the man who owns you for the rest of his evening scrambles to his feet, and hastily unzips his pants to shove his already semi-hard dick into your face. His growing cock isn’t leaving your mouth for the next few minutes, and the remaining spectators aren’t leaving this room for the next few hours.

They adore you, at your best and at your worst. Even at your lowest, because that’s when they can relate to you the most.

And you love being the center of attention. Of course, you’re Big Boss.

You suck his cock willingly, go with the violent thrusts, the rhythm he has in store for you. You revel in the heated stares and lewd comments, pointing out how whorish you look and sound, like you actually enjoy being used like that. Your scalp hurts from the fist pulling at your hair.

It doesn’t take long until other hands pull at other parts of you: your clothes. The winner comes explosively over your face, painting it with streaks of white. Hasn’t received good head in a while, it seems like.

Who would’ve thought that our commander is a fucking whore, he mocks you, let’s make the most of this.

And they do. He’s generous, your winner. Likes to share, and pass you around like a joint, even to the losers. Suddenly they’re all comrades again, no bad blood between any of them - you always manage to inspire such strange, paradoxical harmony between people. They laugh approvingly, strip you naked, and you don’t object. It’s all fair, you played yourself. Going back on your word would be more shameful than your men seeing this side of you. The side you try to keep hidden so desperately from anyone who doesn’t own you.

They push you down, ass up, pants yanked down to your knees. They feel you up; not an inch of your body is off-limits. You give a soft whine when one hand firmly grasps your dick, gauging its size. Another cock goes into your ass raw, a third one pushes against your lips, and you oblige despite the pain jolting your body. Your ass is pounded with all the pent-up arousal you’d expect from a man who’s been following you and pining for you for years. The intensity of it causes you to become sloppy when sucking dick, and you receive a slap to remind you to multitask better.

You take a lot of cocks and their load, one after the other. In your mouth. Your hand, your ass. You become a set of orifices. They swipe the table free of all the crap and pull you up, guide you onto it so they can have you on your back, force your legs apart so much that it hurts and fuck straight down your throat. You gag when a cock pokes into your esophagus, but all the man does is place a hand on your bulging throat so he can feel himself slide in and out.

They laugh heartily at your struggle. They almost never see you struggle. Another prick is rammed into your exposed asshole, and your face burns with dulled shame. Tears induced by the unending gagging are starting to spill.

It’s only going to get worse, and your own dick is only going to grow bigger, because you love this shit. Being treated subhuman, all pretenses of dignity gone.

Gimme a - break, please, you choke out between one cock and the next, because the pressure in your abdomen has become uncomfortable. How much did you drink? Need to use the bathroom -

They’re not gonna let you go for something so trivial, not when they got you like this. You try your best, but the current cock beating your prostate into submission sure doesn’t help. It’s not your climax building, you know, and you don’t have nearly enough energy left to keep holding it in.

So you don’t. Piss starts flowing from your bouncing dick while you’re being fucked on the poker table, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. They howl and jeer, mock you for pissing yourself, for being that much of a drunk slut that you can’t control your bodily functions.

You swallow your next load with a face covered in your own stinking piss.

They push you back down onto the floor and on all fours, where you keep pissing, until the stream becomes a weak trickle, a puddle between your thighs. You press your forehead against the ground and groan, out of breath. Out of focus.

Well, if the boss can piss where he wants, so can I, you hear someone say.

His suggestion is met with agreement, and encouragement.

Please don’t, you murmur, but it goes unheard. Your chin is grabbed, and another pair of hands seize your waist. Cocks enter you again, and you feel a warm stream of fluid on your back, catching in your spine, running down between your ass cheeks. Two, three. Four.

You gag violently and try to tear yourself away when the piss flows inside you, too, down your throat and up your rectum, but there are too many men, and enough to keep you down. Soon your belly starts to feel full, warm, like after a can of beer; it’s almost pleasant. You’re drenched in piss, inside and out. You sink deeper inside yourself, flushed with shame. Dehumanized.

Your men are howling and hooting, and you know they get off on your debasement. The only one who doesn’t seem to agree with everything that’s currently happening is your dog, who’s been pacing for a while, and is only now starting to draw attention with his barking. It’s too loud to ignore.

You get a brief break and begin to retch, while a disgusting mix of cum and urine gushes from your asshole.

No, you say, as if you already know what’s coming next. No, no. But you forfeited your right to say no. Anything goes. Anyone goes.

Your men - perhaps incorrectly, it’s inconsequential - deduce that your buddy wants in on the fun, and you hear him being coaxed, led towards you, his paws skidding against the piss-covered floor.

Yeah, like that. I hear dog cock is amazing.

You make a lame attempt at crawling out of reach, but your ass is being lifted, held firmly in position, while someone else steps on your shoulders to pin you on the ground like a caught insect. Someone’s helping your buddy finding the right position, and then his front paws are at your waist -

 


 

 

“Hold on, wait, that’s,” V finally interrupts, barely finding the words. “That’s going too far, leave him out of this.”

“You don’t like my story? I think it’s one of my better ones,” Big Boss says, and although V can’t see Him because of that damned blindfold, His tone is enough to infer a cocked eyebrow. Big Boss pats his thigh soothingly, bound tightly with several columns of rope to its own ankle. Same for the other leg, keeping him completely exposed, immobile and strapped onto this… whatever this is, it’s been fucking him for at least the last thirty minutes in accordance with Big Boss’s amusing little tale of debauchery. One of Ocelot torture devices, for all he knows. It’s left his asshole stretched, returning it to a state of ‘thoroughly used and welcoming of guests’. Master’s favorite.

He only now realizes how numb his arms are starting to feel. Or rather the one, restrained behind his backrest, utterly useless.

“It’s all in good fun. And it’s not like anyone is getting hurt.” He teases the head of V’s stiff, ropebound cock, a deep shade of needy red. Pokes His small finger into his wet pisshole, squeezing out a few drops of urine, and Venom moans with an arched back. Big Boss’s hand travels further up his body.

“Except for — “ V hisses, almost bites down on his own tongue when sharp, twisting pain hits his nipple.

“Except for you,” Big Boss finishes, helpfully. “You like it.”

Obviously - “

“Still mouthy. I think I’m gonna continue my story for a little bit.”

V huffs, shakes his head and mumbles something along the lines of disgusting, then hears the ice in Big Boss’s glass clink. Must be the rest of the brandy bottle He opened earlier that evening. Some of it is poured over his lips, and he opens them reflexively, his dry throat swallowing the liquor down all too greedily. As a result he almost chokes on the cube of ice that plops into his mouth soon after, covered by Big Boss’s palm from there on out. V struggles weakly, trying to spit out the ice, which is all too sudden, too cold, but Big Boss has an easy time keeping it in.

After a moment, he just bites down on it, and waits for it to melt.

A button is pressed, and the machine whirrs back to life, drilling its fake, lubed-up latex dick back into his ass with a mechanical sigh.

“So, where was I?”

 


 

 

Right, your men decided that you are enough of a bitch - one of them, after all - that you should be breeded by a real dog. They support your friend all the way in getting his share, guiding him into the proper position for dogs to mate, standing on two legs, weight resting on your lower back. He’s already dry humping you, you feel how different but still large this cock is, and you retch more, try to maneuver your ass out of the way. They won’t let you, dozens of hands resolute in keeping you exactly where and how you are.

Here boy, here - there’s the hole -

Including sticking his dick into your asshole, and boy, I guess your dog’s liked you much more than you thought, going by the immediate rapid-fire humping action. You really should know how much pets tend like their master’s though, no? Anyway, you shriek and protest again when you’re drilled eagerly by your own dog, panting and drooling onto your piss-covered back while your men are freaking out over the absolute abasement of their commander, a true Diamond Dog, and help your buddy back up every time he slips out of you.

Oh shit, he’s gonna knot -

You slam your fist into the ground, grit your teeth so hard your jaw hurts, and…

 


 

Some excess ice water spills over his his lips and runs down his chin, even while he tries to swallow what he can. But it’s hard to concentrate on anything else with Big Boss’s voice in his head, painting a very elaborate degradation fantasy that keeps him hard, no matter how wrong. No matter how guilty he will feel, to the point where he can no longer look at DD.

You,” he stutters, water and spit flying from his mouth when he attempts to speak. He knows Big Boss is leisurely leaning back in his seat right now, sipping on His drink while V’s being fucked by his toy, all the while struggling with the source of his arousal. He’s leaking so fucking much the rope around his cock is soaked.

“Me?” Big Boss chuckles, and the pace speeds up notably, as does the depth at which the machine penetrates. Level 5. V starts to scream and convulse on his chair, throwing his weight against the restraints, cutting deeper into his sore skin as a result.

“No, me,” he growls, throatily, the beginnings of an incredibly intense prostate orgasm making him shake and tremble.

“I’m sick, I’m, ah… so… I’m soooo fuckinnnng sick I’m, hah, hngh, fucking getting off on - on thisssss!!

“Whoa, hold it right there, now we’re going too far,” says Big Boss, and just a split second before he tumbles over the edge, the machine thrusts into him a last time, then stops abruptly.

And V howls like a dog that’s not only been beaten, but also been denied food for an entire day. Or longer. Way longer. He’s practically starving.

Big Boss laughs, darkly, melodically. It makes V shiver pleasantly, and he breathes, “Why are you like this.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Big Boss replies, and pulls the blindfold off V’s head. “Could ask you the same question. But I know what I like. Watching you struggle and become unhinged like that is very… stimulating, for me.”

“You know they call people like that sadists, right,” V wheezes, finally opening his eyes to look at his Boss in the half-light of the basement they had to themselves, for a little while. His cock jumps at the sight, because - fuck him and his fucking jacket. Big Boss cants his head, contemplating that.

“I guess so. Then what does that make you?”

“A masochist,” V says, after a moment. His gaze drifts, looking at his own bound body, sweaty and flushed. Helpless. At the mercy of the Master he’s handed his life to. “Your match.” Said with with a hint of pride, that one.

“Yeah, but I don’t think you enjoy everything I do. In fact, I’d go so far as to say you don’t enjoy most things, aside from the sexual stuff,” Big Boss goes on. He fishes for a pair of safety scissors he’s always got in reach, and V thinks He’s gonna cut all of the rope, but He only goes for the one restraining his cock. He winces when he’s freed.

“It’s just the thought of me getting a boner that’s giving you a boner.”

That ’s a very simple and crass way of putting it.

V purses his lips, tries to come up with a reply, and then Big Boss puts His lips on his oversensitive cock.

He howls, again. Not for the last time, at this rate.

“Ffffucking, Sir,” V whines, unable to tear his eyes away from Big Boss, who’s begun to go down on his cock like He’s never done anything else, giving him the best most obscene show. Licks all the way up from his balls to the tip, poking His tongue repeatedly into the slit like He’s earnestly trying to fuck it, eliciting a stifled whimper, and an upwards jerk of his hips. Then His mouth wraps around his head, sliding all the way down to his pelvis while the dick slides all the way into His throat, with ease. Deepthroats him while gathering the fluids in His mouth to coat his cock with it, making it warm and wet and slippery.

V grimaces, overwhelmed. His cock can’t take this for more than a minute.

“Please,” he cries. “Please, let me - “

His cock suddenly pops out of Big Boss’s mouth, “What did I tell you about begging?”

He’s giving him that look. The look he never ever wants to get. V holds his breath, stills.

“I’m… not allowed to beg,” he says, gnaws on his bottom lip. “I’m not allowed to be selfish.”

“This is for my enjoyment, not yours. Get that into your head. And tell me when you’re about to cum.”

“Yes Sir—fffuck,” V trails off, because Big Boss has His lips faster around his cock again than he can give confirmation. V reclines his head on the uncomfortable seat, gasping towards the ceiling as Big Boss continues to milk his cock with His warm mouth and tight throat, swallowing all the precum and whatever else. Feels Him grin and hum around the sensitive flesh, sending vibrations up his spine.

enjoying my broken body

His cock throbs. It takes all of his willpower to give Big Boss the warning He had demanded, “I’m close.”

“Your stamina used to be better than this,” Big Boss sighs, emerging. The sight of His wet beard is enough to make V’s cock throb again, more painfully, acutely aware of how badly he wants Him. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

No, no. Crap. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, exhaling through his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. “But really, what did you expect after—what the fuck!!!

An offended cry prompted by something very cold against his cock - another ice cube, to be precise.

“Gonna ice that motherfucker down.”

Ihateyousofuckingmuch,” V reflexively hisses out between gritted teeth, his entire body quivering violently with the sensation of the cube sliding up and down his bloodfilled cock, so engorged and sensitive that it feels like it might burst out of the foreskin at any second.

“I call bullshit on that,” Big Boss replies nonchalantly, watching his erection shrink gradually, but He stops before he’s completely flaccid. What remains of the cube is instead inserted into his asshole, despite V’s squirming, pushed all the way up to the prostate where it’s left to melt.

“And I still don’t have you where I want you to be. Brat. I see that part’s coming back to you. Bad for you, more fun for me. N'est-ce pas?”

He was right. He really does not enjoy this at all.

But Big Boss does, and that’s what counts.

Shivering from the cold and out of breath, the scissor finally makes quick work of all the remaining rope. Even with his arms and legs freed, V can’t be bothered to try and move them much. They’re numb, and it’ll take him a while to get them functioning properly again. If Big Boss orders him to make lunch now, he’s not gonna have an easy time.

He just lies there, eyes closed, heaving, trying to get a little bit of rest before — whatever’s coming next.

A palm against his cheek, and a tongue tasting of cum and faint traces of piss in his mouth. He almost gags as Big Boss kisses him, shoves the vile flavor down his throat, and hooks his finger underneath the collar around it. Tugging. Staring him down with subdued bloodlust like the wolf He is underneath all that human skin. By the tone of his voice and the crinkle in his eye V can tell the remotely pleasant part of this session is now over.

“On the ground. On all fours.”

Easy. Not like he can stand anyway, right now. Big Boss made sure of that.

“Yes, Master,” he rasps, half-lidded eye mirroring His.

Chapter Text

He feels cornered like unprotected game, when Big Boss looks at him like this, sounds like his voice slipped an octave lower. V knows Him and his patterns better than anyone else. He likes to play a bit in the beginning, take it easy, mess around - but that alone is not satisfying, doesn’t quench His thirst. He needs something more. Something as shared and intense as one animal being devoured alive by another.

It both excites and terrifies him, whenever they embark on another experience. To see where He takes him this time, how far, how much, how deep.

V slides from the machine onto the ground with another tug at his collar, limbs feeling like jelly. Grunts when his knees hit the grubby floor.

“Can I use the bathroom?” He asks, just to get that sorted out preemptively. The answer doesn’t surprise him in the least.

“No. You will wait right here.” Big Boss points to a specific spot on the ground about a feet away, and V moves accordingly. Straightens his back somewhat, sitting on his heels. Spreads his thighs, knuckles braced against the ground between them, imitating the typical dog-sitting posture as much as his physique allows.

“Okay, Sir.” It’s possible he will be waiting for a while, and that in itself would count as a punishment. At least it’s not corner time - nothing duller than staring at a wall for hours without being able to move an inch.

Big Boss leaves the room, then, without telling him when He’ll be back. V doesn’t think He’ll be going too far - they’re spending the little time they have together at undisclosed, remote locations with usually little to no human activity in the area. No interruptions or distractions during their designated periods of self-indulgence, which also serve as mental stabilizers for V. They both know what’ll happen if he’s without a firm, tangible presence to ground him for too long: his train of thoughts literally goes off the rails and crashes, hard. He needs not to be Big Boss sometimes, needs that relief, or the phantoms start coming back, slowly wrestling control from him.

And Big Boss had answered his needs, created a protocol for him to follow that stripped him off his status as an equal and demoted him to little more than a slave to serve his Master’s whims - his vices.

It’s like therapy, in a way, if therapy commonly involved physical torture and sex. After about a minute of staring at the ground, V moves just a little to prevent his neck from going stiff - and his limbs number. Eyes the leftovers of the rope and finally the device Big Boss had subjected him to, and from this angle it does look like something straight out of Room 101 - or a horror movie. A terrifying cross between a medical examination chair and a jackhammer with a dildo strapped onto the chisel.

It had done a good job of drilling his asshole open, as he’s reminded by the weak trickle of cold water running out of it and along his inner thighs. The sensation makes him shiver, feeling exposed, violated by a machine. Chipping away at his dignity one thrust at a time, together with the vivid image of being gangbanged and dogfucked.

He knows that as the night progresses, Big Boss will take away what’s left of his self-respect and individual will until he’s nothing more than a hollow, obedient toy. Unencumbered by pre-conceived notions of wrong, disgusting or immoral. Free, like the unborn.

He rolls his shoulders. Five minutes pass.

- may rest your whole body on the ground if I am not present -

Remembering that, he eases himself onto his stomach, stretching his legs and arms. His erection is completely gone at this point, and although the ground is grimy and cold, it’s pleasant to just lie there for a bit, not restricted to one particular position. He quietly wonders if he’ll be allowed an orgasm this time, but chides himself for thinking that way immediately. It’s not primarily about sex what they are doing, here, it’s about finding and pushing limits. About re-discovering what he’s willing - and able - to do for his Boss, no matter how meaningless it may seem.

About letting Him enjoy himself, unbridled. V’s had plenty of sex, but he can’t remember any of those nights in detail, or even all of them. With Big Boss though, it always becomes an experience that leaves deep scars in his psyche and on his body. It’s an honor, he thinks, to be an outlet for Him, to be as cruel and depraved as He wants. To be entrusted with these vile desires deemed abnormal by society, something Big Boss can only do with someone who is His equal, counterpart and slave all in one.

He rolls onto his back. Rests his hand on his stomach and rubs along it, wrist touching his cockhead lightly.

Still, given his adoration for his Master, it’s hard to prevent his thoughts from drifting. He knows what it feels like to have His cock penetrate him deeply, and he positively craves to have it again. To listen to Big Boss’s stifled grunts as he thrusts His ten rock-hard inches into his avid hole.

He’s getting carried away, and opens his eyes when he hears some distant, unintelligible voices, just in time to catch some shadows moving in the corner of his vision. Bad sign.

How long has Big Boss been gone?

Finally, footsteps. V hurriedly returns to his initial position, the one Big Boss had left him in. Fortunately, it’s really just Big Boss returning to him, just in time to chase the hallucinations away that have made it a habit to accompany him in their very persistent attempts at driving him insane, again. No, he feels safe and secure now. This is the real Big Boss.

And He’s carrying a food bowl with him. Big Boss places it down on the ground in front of him. Looks and smells like… dog food.

“Your dinner.”

“Are you serious?” It slips out of him, unbidden and decidedly disgusted. He promptly receives a kick in the ribs that makes the dull pain in his chest flare up.

Of course He is serious. When it comes to these things, He never jokes, but V’s taken aback by this new low He’s imposing - they had established that V would only eat Big Boss’s leftovers, and that he would usually do so sitting on the ground rather than at the same table as Him. Making him eat actual dog food from a bowl is taking it a step further.

“Eat. All of it,” Big Boss commands, from above.

“Okay, okay…”

He can do this. If it’s digestible for dogs, the same probably goes for humans, and he’s eaten worse things when in a pinch. He forms a shovel with his hand in lieu of a spoon, reaching for the brown glop; he’ll try to pick out the pieces of meat first -

“I don’t remember saying you could use your hands. Do you?”

And freezes before his fingers touch anything. Of course. From cutlery, to hands, to nothing. He doesn’t dare to open his mouth or look up at him now, his gaze abjectly fixed on the bowl, his current task.

“No Sir,” V asserts, and moves backwards just enough so he can sink down, support the majority of his own body weight on his elbows, bringing his face close to the bowl. It smells awful, but nowhere near gag-inducing, so he has no reason to suspect it’s anything but dog food.

Big Boss gives a satisfied hum when V buries his face in his dinner, tasting the mush with his tongue first by licking through it. It tastes distinctly like beef, and not unlike some of the crap he’s been served in mess hall before (which makes him wonder, now). Yeah, he can do this. Provided Big Boss doesn’t offer him a second serving.

He eats deliberately slowly, sucking the meat cubes into his mouth. Chewing. Feels Big Boss’s judgmental gaze.

“Good,” He says, turning around. V feels his cock throb once and gives disgusting, slobbery noises when he begins to down his food more eagerly, with real hunger. He hears the click of a zippo and seconds later he smells the faint smoke of a cigar, but he focuses on his meal until he’s finished. Licks the bowl clean meticulously to show his gratitude for being given that much.

When he finally looks up - his face a mess, some small pieces of meat still sticking to his beard - he sees Big Boss sitting on a chair, legs crossed, cigar between His fingers.

“Can I have some water?” V asks, mostly to clean himself but also to get the lingering taste out of his mouth.

“No.”

Of course not. Doesn’t hurt to ask politely - most of the time, anyway. It’s really getting into micromanagement territory, and V has to learn how entrust even his most basic needs to Big Boss.

“You know what’s next,” says Big Boss, pointing at one of His boots. V’s furrows his brow. They’re pretty clean, mostly because he’s already been made to lick them clean once, today. For a whole hour. But he’s not going to argue - maybe he didn’t do a good enough job before, so he should be thankful to get another chance.

He crawls towards Big Boss. Wipes his face clean with the back of his hand, then attempts to press his lips against the leather of the boot currently on the ground, but again he’s stopped midway.

“You misunderstand. Was that the one I was pointing at?”

V blinks, sits up. Looks reluctantly at Big Boss, pointing at the other boot. The leg resting on his knee. The sole.

The grimy, filthy, muddy sole, right in his face, reeking of shit and gasoline.

Big Boss notices V’s expression changing into one of disbelief, and responds with a cold-hearted, “Do you understand? Or are you a bit slow today?”

“Ì understand,” V says, cautiously raises his hands to see if he can use them this time - no objections from Big Boss’s side when he takes His foot to keep it steady.

This one’s not quite as easy as the bowl of dog food, and V has to wrestle with his own disgust and urge to vomit when he sticks out his tongue to press it to Big Boss’s heel. Licks over it. The mud is old and crusted and tastes horrible. He squeezes his eyes shut and stubbornly, quickly licks over the whole sole, but his mouth his dry and he can’t even get it wet -

“Do it properly,” Big Boss warns, and V huffs. Mumbles.

“This would be so much easier if I could use a sponge or a toothbrush or something - “

He yelps when the sole he was working on is slammed into his face, and then a thin trail of blood runs over his upper lip and into his mouth.

“You had something on your face,” Big Boss scoffs.

“…Thank you,” V groans, and grudgingly gets back to work. But despite his best efforts, he can’t even get the worst of the grime off his sole, no matter with how much pressure he drags his tongue over it. He just coughs and gags weakly when Big Boss suddenly switches legs, presenting His other sole which is only marginally cleaner.

No, he doesn’t enjoy this at all - but during those seconds he licks upwards and catches a brief glance of Big Boss, he sees Him idly palming the bulge beneath His belt, and that’s all the incentive he needs to carry on. The prospect of Big Boss’s cock standing at attention because of his treatment.

But his tongue is as raw and dirty as sandpaper after a while, and when he pauses he asks again, “Please, can I have some water? I promise I’ll get rid of every speck of dirt -“

He expects a no or another kick to his face, and is suitably confused when Big Boss gives a different answer this time: “Your bowl is over there.”

“Sir?”

Did He put down another one with water? Maybe while he was eating? He checks, but there’s still just one.

“You can fill it up yourself. Let’s not waste resources.”

He knows Big Boss isn’t implying that he can go to the kitchen and get some tapwater. He immediately regrets asking and heaves a shaky sigh, remembering how full his bladder feels. Big Boss knows how much he hates drinking piss.

“Boss, please,” he tries, futilely. “Water is all I want - “

“Your wants are irrelevant. Go and fill up the bowl.”

And then he receives another kick, harder this time, to get him moving. No choice.

“Okay,” he mumbles, trying to comfort himself as he crawls back over to the bowl. “Okay, okay…”

“Why is your back turned to me?” Big Boss complains, just when V is about to get into position. Right. Never turn your back on me, even when leaving the room. I want to see you. He corrects himself, moves over to the other side, sitting on his haunches right above the bowl, limb dick hanging into it. He takes a deep breath and lets it flow, listening to the slow but steady stream of urine filling up the bowl. Big Boss’ll want it to be full to the brim, so he doesn’t stop until it almost overflows. He emptied not even half of his bladder.

V looks up. Big Boss is still watching, expectantly. Resolute. He really wants this. V can see His arousal, still in the confines of his pants.

Then he sinks back down onto his elbows, as before. Face into the bowl, pursing his lips to drink his stinking piss. It’s one thing when Big Boss suddenly forces it into him while getting sucked off - it happens despite his resistance. Right now he has to overcome his own aversion and do it himself, willingly.

And it’s hard, so hard. It takes him forever - he has to come up every few seconds, sucking in air greedily and fighting down the urge to gag, before being prompted by a subtle eyebrow arch to push down again, continue. Empty it.

Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. Humans do not drink their own waste.

He fights through it, tries to get it over as fast as possible. Struggles to keep it down, heaving.

But eventually the bowl is empty. Piss drops from his chin to the ground as he raises his head.

And Big Boss just says, “Fill it up again.”

V whimpers.

“Please…”

“Fill. It. Up.”

He fills it up again, and after that his bladder is still not completely emptied. He could go for a third, maybe even a fourth time, and Big Boss will make him drink it all. Back on his elbows. Face submerged in his own piss again, Big Boss’s hard eye drilling into him.

He swallows, once, twice, and then he just can’t take it anymore. Comes up and begins to gag, vomiting up the dog food next to the bowl, shaking his head violently.

“I can’t fucking do this,” V growls, bristling, unable to keep his mounting anger inside. “I don’t want to do this. Do you know how fucking disgusting this is?! Why don’t you swallow piss for a change!”

He glares at Big Boss, but his expression melts into one of regret almost instantly when he sees His - no visible anger, just cold, stony indifference and disappointment at his outburst. His inability to do as told.

It’s the kind of look no slave wants to get from his Master, and hurts worse than any punishment He will dole out from here on out.

I’ve disappointed him.

Now that - that’s an entirely different kind of shame, incomparable. It makes it hard to breathe.

“Boss,” he whines, knows that he doesn’t have to ask for a punishment. He’s going to get it. Big Boss takes a last drag from His cigar, then stands.

“You can’t?” He asks. V presses himself against the ground, hears supple leather creak as Big Boss approaches. Flinches when he hears and feels a sharp crack right next to his head.

Dragon Tail

His Boss picks up the bowl, empties the piss over his head, and rams the heel of His boot into his side. The bowl clatters to the ground together with V, hitting the floor so hard - on his back - that it forces the air out of him.

“My lieutenant, who gave an oath to dedicate his existence to me, gives up and blames me when faced with the insurmountable task of swallowing piss,” Big Boss sums it up, sounding remarkably calm despite His intimidating gait. The whip in His hands.

V focuses on the glowing ember of the cigar hanging from His lips. The fear threatens to overwhelm him, make him lose his focus.

“I know,” he squeezes out. Trembling with anger - not at Big Boss, but at himself. “I know.”

i’m still too weak i need your guidance your hand forcing mine pushing me beyond my own limits

He rolls over onto his stomach, then pushes himself up to his knees. Braces himself against the wall, presenting his backside. And the instant he does, acting in perfect synchrony, the Dragon’s Tail comes down on his shoulder blades, making him grunt. Then again, and again in quicker succession, until Big Boss has established a hard rhythm that breaks his skin almost immediately, insufficiently prepared for a tool like this. Snaps it against his shoulders until they’re bloody, against his ass until he starts to scream and can hardly fight the instinct to curl up on himself and protect his body.

“You’re useless. A liar,” Big Boss growls, ignoring V’s cries, flicking his wrist harder, faster. “You want all of the pleasure and none of the pain. The only thing that’s disgusting here is you.”

that’s right

i’m disgusting

“You are …”

CRACK

“ … a stinking, hopeless … “

CRACK

“ …disgusting piece of shit.”

The assault stops when V no longer has the strength to keep himself exposed to Big Boss, and collapses into a bloody heap. Big Boss leans down, grabs a fistful of his hair and violently drags him up by it. The whip is gone, instead there’s the cigar again. The smoke makes his eye water up more, and he feels the heat on his skin when Big Boss brings it close to his eyeball. He doesn’t resist, if that’s what he deserves.

“Tongue,” Big Boss says. V opens his mouth wide, sticks out his tongue, and reflexively tries to tear himself away when He grinds it out on his tongue, like it’s an ashtray. Then He forces his jaw shut and makes him swallow the stub. Hits him in the face when he doesn’t do so immediately, then tosses him back onto the ground. Disgusted.

“Maybe I’ll make you eat your own shit next,” Big Boss says. “Until you finally get it into your skull - ”

He continues, but His voice barely reaches V, cowering fearfully on the ground, pressing himself onto it as hard as he can, forehead against the ground to Big Boss’s feet. He steps onto his head, grinds his shrapnel into the hard surface, until he bleeds there, too.

Until everything starts to blur, and the weight becomes lighter.

He’s started to cry and sob, quietly, unable to hold it back anymore. He’s dimly aware that he’s on the verge of escaping, into himself, to run away from it all, the pressure, the demands, the accusations. Retreat. It would be so easy.

But he needs to face the reality, and his own promise. And the reality is not always pretty or pleasant. He needs to do this consciously and remember it.

be anything he wants you to be. forget yourself. throw away all of your desires and boundaries and make room for his. let go

let him take care of you

Okay.

He stills. The tears stop, and V breathes out, deeply. His mind is floating when Big Boss finally removes His boot, and V trembles and sways when he sits up, back to his dog position. His back and throat burn, but he barely feels it.

“Your phantom would do so with with pleasure,” he murmurs, squints up at Big Boss. “It’s an appropriate punishment for his shortcomings.”

“Oh boy,” Big Boss says knowingly, barks a laugh. “You’ve left the planet this time. Let’s see.”

Big Boss makes quick work of His belt, and His fly. Pulls out his semi-erect cock, grabs V by the hair, and pulls him onto it, all the way down to the balls.

No resistance. Not the faintest hint of gagging. He breathes a deep, satisfied sigh, moving V’s head back and forth, watching His own dick slide unobstructed into his throat and out again.

“There’s my slut,” He says fondly, and V makes a noise of utter delight. Big Boss fucks his face with a few violent thrusts before He pulls back, gripping his cock and placing it on V’s burnt tongue. A second later piss starts flowing from the tip and straight down V’s throat, and he moans with abandon, swallowing greedily.

Big Boss laughs, loosens His grip somewhat, and watches as V starts to suck and lick His cock like it’s candy. Worshipping it lavishly. Moaning, drooling, in a state of heavenly bliss. Deepthroats without an ounce of hesitation. Looking up at Big Boss now and again, wantonly, firmly fisting the fabric of His trousers.

When the stream of urine stops, he gives a low, rather displeased noise.

“My slut loves piss,” Big Boss drawls, pulling V off His cock.

“Yes,” V slurs, his tongue still swirling over the glans in front, barely in reach. He weakly attempts to push into His crotch again, to swallow Him again, but he’s kept where he is.

“Master’s wastes are the best. So good…” V says, entranced.

Big Boss sharply sucks in some air through his teeth, then exhales low and shakily. A sudden, thick spurt of precum hits V’s lips, and he luxuriously runs his tongue over them to lap it up.

Big Boss makes a vague, two fingered gesture, but V understands perfectly. He turns around, rests his upper body on the ground while he lifts his ass up in the air, for Big Boss to take possession of. Reaches behind himself to pull his ass cheeks apart with both hands as Big Boss runs His hands over his bruised, bloody back, the deep gashes His whip has left.

“Fuck,” Big Boss grunts, impaling V’s ass harshly on His own cock, which hasn’t been this hard in quite a while. V all but screams when he finally feels his Boss’s girthy cock enter him, fucking him with a rough, grueling pace. Slapslapslap. Big Boss heavy balls crashing into his with each needy thrust.

“Booooss…” V wails, clawing at the ground. He gives a pleased gasp when Big Boss smacks his ass.

“Good slut,” He laughs, pumps into him faster. V’s cock is fully erect again, dripping its juices onto its ground, but remains unattended. “Don’t come. I know you like to sneak dry orgasms by me, lately.”

Right, the prostate orgasms… not like he can help it…

“Hah…”

This is not about his own pleasure, though. If Master wants him to refrain and be nothing but an orifice, that’s what he will be. He’ll endure it, he’ll -

He has a really hard time to keep his climax at bay when he feels Big Boss’s cum spilling into him with those last few stuttering thrusts, though.

“Mmmmm,” Big Boss groans, behind him, leisurely pulling His cock out and shoving it back in again, a couple drops of the ample cum being squeezed out. He rides His orgasm out for some moments, and then He slams His cock right back in.

V gives a surprised yelp when he suddenly feels the brunt of Big Boss’s weight bearing down on his shoulders, figuratively nailing him to the floor. His breath sweeps over V’s cheek when he laughs softly into his ear. V can feel His muscles tense up, His posture becoming rigid. Inseparable, immovable.

Like a dog knotting.

“What - “

He feels something else, some warm fluid spilling into his rectum, flowing through his insides and into his belly. Big Boss sighs, relieved.

“Ah, hah… !”

He’s pissing into him, He’s filling him up with his piss - his face burns and he moans.

“Like I’m breeding a bitch with my waste,” Big Boss says huskily, and licks over V’s cheek, tasting the tears, the piss, the dog food.

“Take all of my piss. I bet it feels good.”

The stream doesn’t stop, and V can feel his stomach starting to bloat, filling up more and more. Feels the piss slosh around when he moves even slightly, warm and heavy.

He looks at Big Boss’s face when His fingers touch his belly, feeling him out, how his skin stretches to accommodate. Curls them around V’s curved, engorged cock next, squeezing it.

“This turns me on so much,” He muses, with an expression that says as much. His cock is still leaking, still hard and hot and pulsing.

“Boss…” V whispers, face flushed and lips parted. The trickle inside him becomes weaker, stopping finally.

“And you look like you’ve just reached heaven. Long trek, I’m sure.”

“Mmmn…”

Big Boss swipes His tongue over his lips, luring his out and playing with it, for a bit, before finally moving to part.

“Keep it in. I’m not done yet.”

“Yes Sir…”

V doesn’t move, but gives a soft whine when Big Boss pulls His cock out, leaving him feeling bereft of his presence - but not empty. His stomach’s full with the entire contents of Big Boss’s bladder. How long has He been holding that in? Only so he could give it to him later?

His adoration and love for Him only amplifies.

He stays where he is. Big Boss is moving around behind him, getting the food bowl from earlier. He places it between his legs, then wraps an arm around his stomach to help him into an upright position. So much sloshing. V’s head flops backwards and he rests his head on His shoulder, brushing his lips over his Master’s neck.

“Now push it out. Slowly.”

“Yes,” V breathes, closing his eyes. Feels like he’s run ten marathons, but he’ll run a hundred if he must. He relaxes the muscles in his lower body until the piss and cum starts squirting out of his asshole. Not all of it hits the bowl, as Big Boss undoubtedly intended, but He apparently sees no reason to scold him for it. There’s more than enough.

“Good,” Big Boss says, running knuckles along his cheek, before gripping his chin firmly as He stands. Nudges the bowl forward a few inches with his foot.

“Jerk yourself off,” is His next instruction, and He pulls V’s face onto his softening cock, allowing him to enjoy his Master’s taste while carrying out his task. V does as he’s told with no delay, moaning around Big Boss’s cock when he takes it into his mouth, savoring the taste of His cum and urine.

His own orgasm is merely an afterthought, pleasant, but not earth-shattering - at least compared to everything else Big Boss has done this evening. He sucks idly on one of His balls when he comes into the bowl, ribbons of white floating in the piss when he’s done. Some weak spurts of his own piss follow, unable to control it, letting go of all the tension.

He knows what’s coming next. He’s not repulsed by it. Big Boss tips his chin up and looks him in the eyes.

“V,” He says, so gently. “I want you to eat what’s in that bowl.”

V easily manages to smile at Him.

“Yes, Boss.”

And then he’s back down on the floor, shoving his face right into the bowl filled with a disgusting cocktail of piss that’s been in his ass, cum, and more piss. He slurps it down hungrily, all in one go, licks the bowl clean until not a drop is left.

It’s delicious.

He whines when he’s done, as if he wants seconds, staring at Big Boss’s astonished expression when he comes back up. He’s crouching in front of him, considering him.

“Wow,” He says, with underlying awe in his voice. “That was easily the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. I need to come up with a really good battle plan for next time if we want to top that.”

V blinks owlishly, and gives a self-deprecating chuckle. He almost crashes back down onto the ground, but Big Boss catches him just in time. Everything's fucking spinning.

“Your phantom…he…no, I mean… I will take whatever you throw at me,” he mutters, as he’s being pulled into Big Boss’s arms, laughs, “Even a… bomb or a knife, I’ll swallow it if that’s what you want…”

The scar in his chest throbs as he says that.

“I’m sure you would,” Big Boss replies, and strokes over his hair. “For now, though, let’s work on pulling you out of space without making it a crashlanding.”

Big Boss takes V’s arms, wraps them around His own shoulders so he can hang onto Him. Finds his mouth and kisses him on the lips, open mouthed, tongue thoroughly exploring rows of teeth. No disgust when He shares the taste of their combined wastes.

Why don’t you swallow piss for a change!

V knows He wouldn’t struggle with that. He’d do it in a heartbeat for the right person.

And He probably has, a long time ago.

Chapter Text

The cleaned bowl clinks against Big Boss’s brandy glass when V places it down in the sink, switching off the tap after thoroughly rinsing his own hands. He checks the pot on the stove, stirs the bubbling content once and turns it down to a simmer. The empty can is crushed between his bionic fingers, and tossed into a plastic bag with other garbage.

Nothing to do but wait, now, until dinner is ready. V himself isn’t going to eat anytime soon; hasn’t eaten the entire day except for the muck Big Boss had force-fed him. Ultimately he’d had to clean it from the ground with the rest of his vomit. He’s thankful that his bowels had been otherwise empty, and he needs to fight down the latent nausea that comes with contemplating what the next logical step would be, in order to ‘top that’.

No use thinking about that, though. It’s much more comforting to think about the aftermath of their session, the way Big Boss had caught him, helped him back up to his feet. Helped him find his center of gravity, slowly but firmly, so he could grow back into a human being able to walk rather than condemned to crawling on the ground. He’d given him water to drink and water to clean, dragging him over to the shower. Held him up and stroked over his sore backside, His grip tensing whenever V had flinched.

He’d talked the whole way through, a constant murmur in V’s ear, and His broad chest in his back to lean against. Hands around his waist, gliding over his abs, and then teeth in his shoulder. He moaned softly, becoming aware of the hardness digging into his thigh.

“You did so well,” Big Boss said, decorating his shoulder with bites. “Downed that crap like fine wine… just thinking about it makes my cock hard again.”

He could tell as much. Big Boss shifted his weight forward - no qualms at all about taking what He wanted, again, even during the short time that was typically dedicated to building him back up again, but His unabashed egoism just inspired the blood in V ’s body to flow downwards, too. He flopped against the slippery tiles, heard Big Boss give a guttural sigh as He planted a palm of each of V’s ass cheeks, pulling them apart to shove His cock into the used hole.

“Boss - “ V breathed, wet hair hanging wildly into his face, his body immediately responding positively to the sex he was receiving - Big Boss smacked His hips against his ass rhythmically, almost sensually, pulling him into each thrust. He can’t remember when He had last - no, had He ever fucked him that slowly, gently?

He closed his eyes, a soft cry spilling over his lips when the penetration angle changed, and Big Boss locked onto it. Fucked him harder, and V almost slipped - again, Big Boss kept him where he was.

So good. His cock fit his ass so well, hitting all the pleasurable spots with just the right pressure. So fucking perfect, like they were made for each other.

“You wanna come?” Big Boss asked, sensing his approaching climax.

“Mmm,” V hummed, struggling for words. And purchase. “Like… you’re giving me a choice…”

“Hm, that’s right. I’m gonna make you come.

He made good on His promise, and V went into overdrive within a minute of being subjected to Big Boss ’s unyielding assault, tremors seizing his body when intense release washed over him, originating from his prostate. He clenched down hard and fell back, impaling himself more, pushing back. Big Boss caught him again, grounded, and kept fucking him until His own cock began to pulse and spill.

V kissed His jaw, and sucked on a patch of skin at His neck when his climax ebbed away.

“I adore you,” he said, grinding his ass deeper into Big Boss’s crotch. “I feel like the luckiest person in the world.”

Big Boss chuckle vibrated in His throat, and He ran a hand over V ’s exposed one - traveling along his collar bone and over his chest.

“Sounds like you’re back on earth.”

“Made a soft landing in your arms.”

Big Boss made a distinct gagging noise.

“Now that’s disgusting. Keep your slush to yourself,” He said, facetiously.

V smiled.

“I’ll try, Sir.

 

 

He shovels the stew onto a soup plate, balancing it in one hand. He can hear Big Boss talking to someone in the other room, though he doubts that there’s actually a third person present. Probably on the phone. His suspicions are confirmed when he joins Him and places the plate down on the table He’s sitting at.

Big Boss doesn’t look particularly happy, and shoves a cassette tape over the table in V’s direction, side B up. He takes it, puts it away.

“And of course you don’t have anything to do with that,” Big Boss says, to whoever’s on the phone. V can make an educated guess as to who the other person is. He tops off Big Boss’s glass with some water.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I appreciate you keeping me up to date. I gotta get back to work myself now, though. Don’t keep the boys waiting.”

Big Boss hangs up, heaving an exasperated sigh. Dips the spoon into the stew and stirs it idly.

“Kaz wanted me to tell you that you can rot in hell,” He says, deadpan. Venom frowns.

“Did he really say that?”

“No, but he might as well have. I wonder where he gets the energy to hold a grudge for that long. After I got him another job and everything. Solid upwards career trajectory. Gonna look so damn good on his resume, too.”

“You expect him to be grateful to you,” V concludes. He took Diamond Dogs away from him and delegated him to FOXHOUND instead to serve as His glorified secretary.

“Where would he be without me?”

V doesn’t have a good answer to that. Kaz is… no longer a part of his sphere. Distant. Irrelevant, much like his own opinions. He sits down on the ground, listens to Big Boss eat in silence. For a while.

“Either way, something came up. They preponed the reinstatement ceremony. There’s gonna be a big fancy party where I get to shake a lot of hands and struggle with the urge to kill myself. I have to leave earlier.”

V’s heart sinks. “When?”

“Right now, ideally.”

“I see.”

Weeks. Months. Years, in the worst case. Big Boss would go back to America to assume command of FOXHOUND while V supervises the relocation of Diamond Dogs and their resources to South Africa. The group was in the process of being restructured completely, joining forces with a smaller, off-the-radar outfit that Big Boss had gathered under His own banner in the meantime.

After the incident, it had been easy to disband Diamond Dogs - with tensions running high, trust in their comrades and commanders had been at an all time low. Kaz left and took a good number of men with him, spawning rumors that he himself was a spy. Others were discharged or retired. That was the official story as fabricated by Ocelot, anyway.

V was to keep only the most loyal of men that trusted him and his judgment implicitly. Those that wouldn’t ask questions or wonder about the sudden shift in business practices and moral paradigms. Why he’d changed his stance on executing some of his own men for inexcusable crimes against their organization. Why they were commissioning an architect to design and build a completely new military compound north of Johannesburg. Why they were taking in more child soldiers and giving them guns.

Why they were suddenly no longer being led by the legendary Big Boss, but by a shadow who merely resembled Him, codenamed ‘Venom’.

V for short. Vic Boss.

Everything’s going just according to plan, despite the complications. They’d somehow managed to spin events in their favor and find another use for V - now it’s up to him not to fuck up again.

That’s just what he’s worried about, though. The pressure that comes with playing his modified role; being Big Boss but not being Him at the same time, because He’s somewhere else, back with Cipher. Big Boss had entrusted him with His life’s work. His grand scheme of creating a new world unified through one overarching threat. Conflict is in man’s blood - always at war with himself.

This is what’s most important to Him. He swallows down the dread, pushes himself to his feet to go and pack Big Boss’s things. Feels so overwhelmed dark blotches are dancing at the edges of his vision, his mind racing.

This is what it’s like to face reality.

“I will take care of everything,” he mumbles, and the spoon stops clattering against the plate when Big Boss’s gaze follows him.

“Are you alright?”

I will disappoint him. I disappointed him before. I disappointed him today.

I’m not worthy

He moves about stoically, picking up the toys, that tools. The clothes. One pile here, another there. Get the bag.

“Hey.”

A hand seizes him by the back of his neck, drags him over to a seat, where Big Boss sits down, and forces him to his knees, to still. He rests his chin on one of Big Boss’s knees and takes a deep breath. Big Boss’s fingers at his temples, exerting pressure.

He says nothing, for a while. The silence is so important sometimes.

“I’ll adjust my schedule and come back as soon as possible. Six months tops,” He says. “Unless Kaz comes up with some other shit.”

V chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.

“I can’t bear the way you look at me,” V sighs. “When I let you down…”

“You won’t let me down.” Said with such utter conviction. He cups V’s face with both of His hands and prompts him to look up, into His eyes. The clarity in them.

“I believe in you. I trust you completely. Hell, after what you’ve endured today, you seriously still doubt yourself? There’s nothing you cannot do. I have your back. And you know what Big Boss wants better than anyone else.”

Unconditional trust, despite all his shortcomings - and it inspires a nostalgic feeling in him. That he has a purpose, a meaning as long as he follows this man. I will do anything for you. Become someone else if I must - someone useful to you. Someone different from all the people in your life. Someone who will never let you down or disappoint you.

Big Boss had never disappointed him.

He rises, feeling calmer. Re-centered.

“Thank you,” V says evenly, towering above him. Big Boss pulls him down into a kiss, long and passionate.

 


 

Shielding his eyes from the parching sun, he stares after Big Boss’s motorbike for a long while, until only the trail of sand dust it’s left behind remains. His own bike is parked on the other side of the decommissioned cobalt mine. Airport for Big Boss, Outer Heaven for him. An entire ocean between them.

There’s nothing you cannot do.

Venom turns and Skull Face opens his mouth to say something, but he’s faster: “One word, and I will feed you your own shit.”

And there’s silence, for once.

 

Chapter Text

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