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Espresso Marmalade

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A/N: I'm here to say that I don't know shit about shit, but I hope you enjoy this story anyway.

NOTE: This is not an accurate portrayal of BDSM. Please educate yourselves if you're interested beyond fiction, so that you may safely practice it.



Inspiration log - running only gets you where you see.

Taehyung was freezing cold by the time he walked halfway across the parking lot. He covered his mouth with a purple knitted scarf, sacrificing his poor fingers to hold the fabric in place. Jeongguk was more eager to get inside the club, taking long strides to the set of black steel doors. It was the younger’s idea to bring Taehyung to Void. Seoul’s first fetish house, an upscale BDSM parlor that was legally permitted and licensed.

“It looks like a freakin’ factory,” Taehyung said, hoping that his friend would pick up on the apprehension in his voice, and humor him for one last time. “We’ll be allowed to leave once we enter, right?”

Jeongguk had never seen Taehyung so chicken-shit before, laughing, “What are you so afraid of?”

‘Losing control,’ Taehyung wanted to say, but the words couldn’t make it past his lips. Instead, he shook his head, deception at its worst, because he was useless whenever it pertained to lying.

“The unknown,” he finally said, trying not to snort at his own response. Jeongguk had insisted on bringing him, going on and on about his ‘Master’, to which Taehyung only half listened to, because what the fuck? Soon after, he’d found himself trapped in a serious discussion about self-exploration with Jeongguk, his adorable little dongsaeng, stressing the importance of it.

Truth was Taehyung really had no idea what he enjoyed, because he was still a virgin at twenty-two. He was always told to put school first and he took every bit of what his grandmother had said as sacred word. He was a year away from earning his bachelor’s degree in Art History, determined not to give in to any form of temptation.

No parties, no drinking, and lastly, no sex. A straight edged motherfucker as Hoseok so fondly labeled him as, not that Taehyung was proud of the nickname. Taehyung rebelled in small ways, stripping his hair and dying it the color of blood oranges. He even lined his ears with piercings and was currently interested in getting a tattoo, a tiny one to start off.       

“Let’s at least go inside and get warm. If you still feel uncomfortable by the time you defrost, we’ll just leave, okay?” Jeongguk asked, moving out of the way when a couple pushed through the doors to leave. He grabbed hold of the handle before it could close shut. “Come on, Tae. You made it this far.”

That he did, unfortunately.

All it took was one look into Jeongguk’s doe brown eyes and it was game, set, and match. It was how he was persuaded to partake in the first place. “Fucking fine,” he grumbled, stepping inside the club with Jeongguk following right behind him.

There was a woman manning the desk, tall and beautiful, and appeared to be all business. Her sharp, manicured nails accepting IDs, as she carded potential denizens, and handed out forms.

“Jeongguk-ssi,” she smiled, lips sticky with a deep red gloss. She eyed up the both of them. “On a weekend? What a pleasant surprise. Your master will be so delighted to see you, but I’m afraid he’s preparing for a scene at the moment.”

Taehyung watched as his friend slumped at that and he had to wonder just how fucking far down the rabbit hole Jeongguk had fallen. How long has he been coming to Void? He thought back to the many nights where he’d poured himself into his studying, barely picking up on the words coming out of Jeongguk’s mouth. Whenever the boy left the dorm, it seemed like he’d come right back, hours like seconds. 

“Tonight isn’t really about me anyway,” Jeongguk said, turning to regard Taehyung. “This is my friend. It’s his first–”

“First time,” she finished, taking another long, appreciative sweep over Taehyung. “I would have remembered a face that gorgeous, believe me.”

No matter how often he received the compliments, Taehyung never got used to it. “Thanks.”

“So, just a lounge visit then?” she asked, tucking a strand of short black hair behind her ear. “He’ll still need to sign the waiver and show some ID.”

A waiver? Taehyung was beginning to feel a little sick. It was with great trepidation that he handed over his ID, too anxious to properly absorb what was written down on the form, skimming over words like, voluntary participation in hazardous activities and having to assume responsibility for risks of personal injury or death. Obviously Jeongguk was still alive and well, but Jesus Christ…     

Moving past the agreement and release of liability section, the rules of the fetish house made Taehyung somewhat optimistic. All play was to be consensual. No illegal substances were allowed on the premises. No cameras or other recording devices. He felt comforted by the fact that his freewill was being protected, as well as his identity safely hidden.

“Not that you would,” Jeongguk said, peering over the older boy’s shoulder. “…but alcohol isn’t allowed here either. I found it weird that it wasn’t on the form. Some guy was thrown out the other night for bringing in a bottle of Whiskey.”

Taehyung laughed, but it really wasn’t all that funny. Nothing about this situation was amusing to him. However, with Jeongguk’s encouragement, he found himself scribbling down his name and handing back the form, unwilling to meet the receptionist’s eyes, no matter how lovely. She gave him back his ID, telling him to keep the pen, and gave him another sheet of paper.

“So that you can get a better idea of what you’re here for, Taehyung-ssi,” she said, his name smooth from off of her tongue. “You can check things off as you go. Maybe you’ll end up being a rope bunny like your friend here.”

Taehyung peered over at him, arching an inquisitive brow, “You’re a what now?”

Jeongguk visibly flushed from his ears to his neck. “I uhm, like to be tied up.”

“You’re serious?” It was rhetorical. Of course Jeongguk was serious. That would explain the light bruises he tended to return with.  

“You’re gonna have to try to be more open-minded, hyung,” was Jeongguk’s simple way of saying ‘don’t fucking judge me’. Taehyung followed after him when he started to walk down a wide corridor, black walls bare of any art and carpeted floors with Persian rugs that were red and knotted by hand – the shit was so needlessly intricate for this type of place. Jeongguk sighed, “I want you to take this seriously. There’s something here for everyone, even you.”

Taehyung somehow doubted it. He’d gone his whole life without having sex, fighting against urges, and behaving himself to the best of his ability. If he had any type of relationship, it would start out as vanilla, and it would go at a snail’s pace. He’d never felt inspired to have someone or to belong to someone. Occasionally he’d get this wave of envy over couples. He’d fantasize over what it would be like to be taken care of, but nothing would inspire him enough to go out and make it happen. 

The lounge area was a large, spacious room. The music just loud enough to pick up on, but barely – the clients and guests spoke in quieted voices while they spectated. He recalled one of the many rules saying that being loud during a scene was not to be tolerated, or else a Dungeon Monitor would ask you to leave. That must be the BDSM community’s version of a bouncer? Taehyung didn’t know the fucking lingo, not that he was particularly enticed to learn it.

There hadn’t been a dress code mentioned, but everyone was dressed to match the furniture in what appeared to be all black leather. It was easy to tell who was attending for the first time, Taehyung himself sticking out with his purple scarf and ripped white-washed jeans.

Jeongguk had stopped in front of a stage, where a scene with two males unfolded. As though he were handed an exam, Taehyung started crossing off and scaling the things he’d be willing and not so willing to try.

He’d just crossed off Anal Fisting, when Jeongguk’s voice caught in his throat, so clearly affected by what was unraveling in front of him, “That’s him. That’s my master.”

“Yeah, I’m never gonna get used to hearing you say that and sorry, but from the looks of it, he’s someone else’s master tonight,” Taehyung whispered to him, as he took in the scene professional with every bit of criticism. Silver hair was neatly styled, clothing muted, and well-tailored like he was expensive. The man was shorter than he was expecting, lips glossy and plump with dark brown eyes large and doll-like. Taehyung would have been fooled, if not for the confidence the man exuded, securing inches upon inches of red rope around his submissive’s (?) form. Whatever the fuck he was…

There was a chalkboard resting on top of an old wooden chair, listing off the master’s name as, ‘Jimin’, a d-type shibari expert. 

“Seokjin has been kind enough to volunteer for tonight’s scene,” Jimin said, addressing the audience in a voice that was as light and as soft as he appeared. He recalled the one night Jeongguk went biblical about it, claiming that his master was the closest thing to an angel. Visually, Taehyung could see where it was a fair comparison. “I ask that the audience be silent, unless I explicitly ask for your participation. Absolutely no touching of any kind will be allowed...”

Someone was speaking directly behind Taehyung. He couldn’t help, but to listen in. “It’s rare that he doesn’t have a play name. Does he work here?”

“Seokjin started last week, but he was listed as a d-type who specializes in age play,” someone else had answered. “He’s popular among the ABDL community. Super daddy, that one.”

And Taehyung was a lost cause after that, as he slowly inched himself further away, “Hey, uhm. I’m gonna go get a drink. Do you want anything?” A second passed and Jeongguk doesn’t even acknowledge him, mouth agape as he continued staring holes into Jimin’s back. Taehyung tried again, “Guk?”

Jeongguk cleared his throat, distractedly, “N-No thanks, hyung. Hurry back or you’ll miss it.”

In every corner of the room, there was scene going on, not so easy to avoid or ignore – so what was there to miss, really? Honestly, Taehyung wanted to leave before he witnessed the crack of a whip. He’d found solace at the bar, where an endless supply of energy and revitalization beverages stared right back at him – shit with vitamins. Terrific.

“Got anything that fizzes?” Taehyung asked, taking out his wallet to pay.

“We have soda, limeades, seltzer…” said the bartender, drying off a glass with a dishtowel, until it was immaculate, and shining back at him.

Taehyung’s relief was short-lived when a couple joined him at the counter, a male and a female, but the female wasn’t allowed to stand from her kneeled position on the floor. There was a thick collar wrapped around her neck with the word, ‘SLUT’ written out in rhinestones. He imagined the two of them walking into a jewelry store to get it custom made, because only the best for his bitch.

This was probably how Dorothy felt when she’d ended up in Oz, except that Oz was wholesome, and the Void was just fucking disturbing.  

“I’ll have the cherry limeade,” Taehyung said, pleased that he was able to get the words out. The couple had yet to leave and hadn’t made any attempts to order. The moment the guy drew breath, Taehyung was out of his seat, and slapping down the money. He didn’t want conversation or to chance being propositioned. He was too skittish, trying to hang on for Jeongguk’s sake.

Winter break was almost over and he’d be able to tell Hoseok that he did something wild on Monday. He took the drink and left, but not in the direction of Jeongguk. He’d give his friend some time to properly stew in his own jealousy, before tearing him away to head back to the dorms. He thought Jeongguk was in an actual relationship, but it was becoming obvious to him that his assumption was false.

A stage came to life from out of Taehyung’s peripheral. A boy, no older than Taehyung himself, walked across the old dark wood floor. He had to wonder if the stage was purposefully made to look rickety, given the rich and upscale conditions of the rest of the place. There was a leather collar secured around the boy’s neck, the signature tell that this was a submissive. His hair was black, soft bangs falling into his eyes. He slowly removed the robe that he was wearing and folded it neatly.

A woman, twice as beautiful as the receptionist was handling the chalkboard. She paused in her writing to peer up at the submissive, “What is your play name, pet?”

Completely nude then, he crossed his arms behind his back with his legs spread into a formation that reminded Taehyung of the military. The boy answered, “Woozi…”

She scribbled his response and placed the framed chalkboard down on the chair, revealing the scene professional’s name as ‘Sugar’, who was probably anything, but sweet. One of those ironical things. He was marked down as a sadist d-type. Beneath that was a list of all his specialties: impact play, breath play, needle play, and edge play. Well, that sounded like a proper sadist if Taehyung ever heard of one, which he hadn’t, until now. At the very bottom of the board was what looked like the faded outline of a middle finger? Classy.

After five solid minutes of waiting, Taehyung started biting at his straw. He was about ready to head back and find Jeongguk, when another male walked out on stage. He had a reckless way about him, pale fingers combing through bleach blonde hair. He was dressed in a torn pair of black fitted jeans and a plain dark t-shirt. There was blackwork tattoos littered down both his arms, none of which Taehyung could properly make out.

The woman who’d arranged the board, a scene assistant, as Taehyung had just read, spoke out in a clear voice that was loud enough to reach the audience, “The play professional has arrived.” 

Taehyung was already well aware, watching as Sugar tossed away an empty box of gloves to anywhere – elsewhere, out of his fucking way, before tearing into a new one. He pulled on a pair of black medical gloves, shooting a glance at the submissive, “Remove your collar.”

The sound of the blonde’s voice was low and rough like gravel, almost like it served as an infliction all of its own. Taehyung hated how much he liked it – hated that he could practically taste the Daegu satori in each careful syllable.

When there was no movement from the other male, Sugar paused to regard him, a bit more slowly, “You don’t belong to me and if you did, you wouldn’t have an ass to sit on for pulling this shit. Your master or mistress must be ‘oh’ so proud of their little fuck up.”

A flick of the scene professional’s wrist, a gesture so fast that Taehyung barely caught it, permitted Woozi to speak, “My mistress isn’t here this evening and you needed a volunteer…” There was a slight tremble to the smaller man’s voice, his shoulders hunched under the weight of Sugar’s direct attention. “It’s just that I respect your work s-so much, sir. I wanted to please you.”

“I’m telling you now, slave,” Sugar said, tilting his head to bore his cold, feline eyes into the submissive’s – wincing, almost like he was filled with pity over the next sentence that was to fall from pink, kittenish lips. “The things your mistress may be willing to forgive, I do not.”

“I know that, sir.”

There was a visible strain in Sugar’s arms, veins standing out prominently against his nearly translucent skin, where a quiet temper resided just below the surface. Taehyung thought the blonde was going to snap and was surprised when he’d chuckled softly. It was an eerily attractive sound for someone so clearly fucking unhinged. “You say that you hold respect for me, yet I don’t even respect you enough to humiliate you.”

Taehyung found his legs to be completely useless, as he stood there at odds with himself for being so morbidly fixated, assaulted by the cold shivers and chills of excitement running down his spine. He almost felt victimized in place of the submissive, seeing himself up there, rather than Woozi. He was relieved when nothing was said in response, terrified of where that could have gone. Was it terrified or exhilarated? The two nouns were starting to blend.      

“In some practices, having more than one master or mistress is treasonous behavior,” Sugar said, patience hanging on by a single thread, the calm in his voice merely a façade – one that Taehyung was perceptive enough to see right through. “So, for the last time, remove your fucking collar, or else I’ll do it for you.”

The submissive paled at this, not having the gull to disobey Sugar twice, as he slowly moved the leather through the silver buckle, and pulled it free. The blonde beckoned to him with two fingers, “Bring it here and then I want you to stand with your back faced to the audience.”

It was like the raven-haired boy had just handed over his entire world and was now forced to walk away from it, forsaken it. Sugar curled his long fingers around the collar, tongue slowly licking at his bottom lip, before he called over his scene assistant. Taehyung wished he knew what Sugar was asking of her, why she only had to nod the once to whatever he said, before she left to run whatever fucked up errand he’d tasked her with.

Dark eyes stared down at the leather in his hand, thumb running over the material reverently almost. “A collar signifies loyalty.” It was obvious to Taehyung what the scene professional believed in, what was precious to him. He just wasn’t expecting it to be uncompromising devotion? The natural pout of Sugar’s lips deepened, “I’d be more than happy to show this traitorous bitch what happens when one strays.”

The assistant returned a moment later, holding an armful of thick, heavy leather collars. Some of which had locks on them, others with the same derogatory words printed on them like the woman from the bar. It was excessive and also, a bit ridiculous. If Taehyung was collared – wait, no. He shook his head as though it would rid of the insidious thoughts. Sugar took his time with collecting the bulk of the accessories, wearing the collars on his wrists like they were bangle bracelets.

“You said that you wanted to be good for me, that you wanted to please me,” Sugar reminded him, approaching the smaller boy with steps that were slow and daunting. Woozi nodded eagerly as a way of answering, unable to speak, unless it was granted. “Show me what a well behaved boy you can be and I’ll rethink your lesson.”

It was all smooth, careful guidance – skilled persuasion that Sugar talked the boy through each step. Each word out of his mouth was with purpose, insulting and appraising, the two going hand-in-hand to coax Woozi into the right position. The final result was his palms faced upwards with his arms raised high above his shoulders, as though he were about to lift dumbbells. Sugar then proceeded to stack the collars in a ‘one for this palm, one for that palm’ orderly fashion.

Taehyung was certain by then, that there was no sure way of differentiating playing a match against Sugar, or the Devil. It already felt like the odds were against whomever volunteered for him, like they were blindly cheating themselves.

“If you can hold this pose for three whole minutes without dropping a single collar, I won’t discipline you as severely as I’d originally intended…” Sugar said, as he leaned in closely. The expression on Woozi’s face was hidden from the audience, but Taehyung knew that he was probably drowning, the dominant’s presence as fatal as quicksand. “I’ll even allow you to come all over my hand, but if you fail, then you’ll be punished however I deem fit. Do you understand the task?”

Another swift gesture of the blonde’s fingers seemed to have unzipped the Woozi’s mouth, in need of verbal consent. “Yes, sir.”

“You will speak to me in full sentences or else I’ll have to gag you,” was the flippant response, a threat so quickly tossed out. Sugar was serious, eyes unmoving as they narrowed darkly. 

Taehyung had already died, perhaps three or four times from secondhand embarrassment throughout the scene. He’d told himself that he’d be different, that he wouldn’t give in so easily, yet there was something appealing about watching someone else take the fall. He liked how small Woozi was, how he played right into Sugar’s hands. “Y-Yes, I understand the task, sir.”

Was this an example of the perfect submissive? Taehyung glimpsed down at his sheet, going over his answers, the ones he’d crossed off in haste. Jeongguk’s earlier statement hit him at a moment where he felt most vulnerable, ‘there’s something here for everyone, even you’.

“We can start then,” Sugar said, clapping his hands together sharply, like he was about to enjoy himself a show. He stalked towards the back of the stage, grabbing an Apeach cooking timer from the table, turning it to three minutes, before setting it back down. The blonde made room for himself on top of the table, resting his elbows against his knees, while catlike eyes burned holes into the submissive in front of him. The audience went completely silent, so quiet that Taehyung could pick up on the faint ‘ticking’ sound of the timer.

In his head, he’d counted past thirty seconds, when a noticeable shaking started in the boy’s triceps. Taehyung was so caught up in the display that he could actually feel as the dread seeped inside his bones, convinced that Sugar knew what the outcome would be all along. At a full minute, there were beads of sweat forming at the back of the Woozi’s neck, his legs occasionally buckling, before he would immediately right himself.

What was the saying? Don’t kick someone when they’re down? Sugar wasn’t familiar with that idiom, when he hopped down from his spot on the table and brought the timer along with him, circling the submissive, drawing himself in closely. “It’s almost two minutes in. You must really want it bad, huh? You want me to wreck you and then own you…” There was a sweet lilt to Sugar’s tone, as it washed over Taehyung, even at a distance. “That’s alright, all sluts do.”

Warmth pooled into Taehyung’s belly, his cock stirring with interest – body betraying him. Being degraded wasn’t hot? Maybe.  

Sugar was close, too close – setting Woozi on fire with the smallest of things. A filthy smirk curled at the edges of his sensual lips, strands of messy blonde hair falling into his eyes. It was tactic, Taehyung realized. It was dirty tactic that served its purpose in the end, as the boy gave a full-body shiver, and the two collars fell to the floor. One from each hand.

Sugar gripped at the boy’s shoulder, pressing into him with a weight that felt heavier than the actual touch. Still just as sweet, almost mockingly so, he simpered, “I win.”

Taehyung wondered if that was his goddamn catchphrase. How often does Sugar win? He wanted to know, for whatever fucked up reason.    

The blonde called for his assistant, instructing her to help Woozi onto the bench. It was made up of sleek metal and black vinyl. In no way, shape, or form did it look like a comfortable piece of furniture. She was gentle in handling the submissive, easing him down flat onto his stomach, thighs parted so that he was straddling the padded surface. Next she confined his wrists and ankles with leather straps, forcing him to lie still completely spread out, and vulnerable.   
“Two minutes and twenty seconds was your record, but that leaves a full forty seconds that still belong to me,” Sugar said, as he returned to the back of the stage, fingers trailing over instruments that Taehyung didn’t know the names of, this world completely new to him. The scene professional eventually settled on a cane made out of black fiberglass with a wooden handle. “Forty seconds, forty strokes, and you’re gonna count them out for me.”

At the back of his mind, Taehyung remembered that he hadn’t wanted to see this – this violence. That’s what it was, at its core, and yet he couldn’t help but notice how his dick was practically throbbing within the confines of his fitted jeans, the fabric damn near chafing his heated skin. The submissive remained calm, despite his body growing stiff with tension, small hands curled into fists. Was this really about to happen? Taehyung couldn’t stop the erratic beating of his heart. 

Sugar walked the short distance to the bench, eyes appraising as he took in Woozi’s taut, restrained figure, “There are no marks on your skin, not even a single bruise…” The words carried evenly and adoring, like he’d received a present just from being able to issue pain. “Were you perhaps her favorite or was it that she didn’t love you enough to leave a mark? Is that why you came to me?” The blonde sucked in a breath at his own conclusion, chest rising and falling with exhilaration. He gently touched the cane to the tender spot where ass meets thigh. “Tell me the safe word that I gave you, slave.”

Woozi gasped at the cool, abrupt contact of glass against his skin. “Mercy…”

A bit ironic, Taehyung thought, a little difficult for the word to not spill out naturally? Why did he like it so damn much?  

“That’s right.”

Taehyung surprised himself by taking an instinctual step closer towards the stage, as though suddenly possessed. He lost breath at the first loud snap of the cane meeting flesh, shaking him from within. Woozi was afforded only mere seconds between each downward stroke, eliciting deep, guttural moans of pain – all the awhile, he’d remembered to count, Taehyung quietly counting with him. Angry stripes of red were soon painted across the boy’s soft, flawless skin.

He pushed his hips down against the vinyl, body writhing with every flick of Sugar’s wrist. 

By ten, Taehyung was immersed, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as the stripes turned into welts over the submissive’s upper thighs and the pert, reddened cheeks of his ass, where the muscles remained clenched. Twenty-five. Woozi’s small hands pulled at his restraints, but the safe word was never vocalized. Sugar would pause occasionally to ask, “What do you say to me?” After a wet sniffle, the submissive would thank him. Thirty. It was obvious that he was crying and even so, Taehyung remained shamefully hard. Every time the boy jolted, he felt his dick pulse in response.

There was a thick, sticky mess of precum connecting Woozi’s small cock to the padded bench, trapped in a hell that offered the briefest glimpses of relief. The scene professional was lost to this – this power, dark eyes fixated on his work. Thirty-five. He brushed the cane over tender, broken flesh, admiring marks that would last for weeks, before he placed another, and another.

A scream was torn from the back of Woozi’s throat at the last, swift stroke over his skin, “A-Ah, forty!”

The blonde still had the stick firmly pressed against the boy’s sore cheeks, lashes falling shut as though he wouldn’t be able to stop, if he didn’t take a moment to will it. For a moment, Taehyung didn’t think Sugar would be able to, before he collected himself, and appeared seemingly unaffected by what had occurred. Several times, Taehyung’s eyes had drifted to see if the scene professional was hard, too, but he wasn’t.

Sugar asked again, voice rough, “What do you say to me?”

“Thank you, sir…”

The cane fell from Sugar’s fingers, the sound startling Taehyung enough to pull a sharp gasp from his tight lungs. It was loud enough to draw unwanted attention from nearby spectators. Even Sugar lifted his head up curiously, those charcoal black eyes immediately landing on Taehyung’s, heavy and imposing. A cold feeling washed over the student, as he brought shaking fingers up to his flushed cheek, embarrassed to find that he was wiping away tears – tears he hadn’t realized had fallen.

Seconds felt like minutes at Void, as Taehyung stood there motionlessly, utterly spellbound. Sugar took a slow step closer, a knowing smirk gracing his lips, like all of Taehyung’s fears and desires were somehow visible to him – that he could see every little piece of him. Then Taehyung remembered himself and that he was still painfully hard, dressed in the worst attire possible. Of course Sugar would see him as a form of amusement.          

The scene assistant was at Sugar’s side, “Sir?”

“Get him an icepack. After fifteen minutes, apply cream onto the welts, and then ice it again. He’s not permitted to have any other form of relief…” Sugar was distracted, words coming out too slowly, as he continued to stare down at the redhead, unwilling to release him. It was rude behavior, but he couldn’t find enough reason to care. “He’ll need a drink from the bar, whatever he wants, give it to him.”

Sugar knew that it was impersonal of him not to take care of the submissive himself, but the boy wasn’t his responsibility, which had only been half the point he’d been making to begin with. 

It was with difficulty that Taehyung finally tore his eyes away, because nope – he was convinced he’d burn on the spot. Even after he’d turned to leave, the unsettling warmth of being watched followed him. He threw his melted drink into the garbage and escaped into what he assumed was the safety of the crowd. He could see Jimin’s stage, red rope being pulled through stainless steel rings that were in the shape of hearts. A set of those probably cost the shibari expert a pretty penny. Taehyung didn’t know the exact name of the tie, probably something in Japanese. The submissive’s feet were able to touch the floor with gradual deliberateness. Jimin was short in stature, but he was awfully strong, anchoring Seokjin down with ease, until he was no longer suspended.

He found Jeongguk right where he’d left him, eyes devotedly trained on Jimin, while the scene was coming to a close. This was the part that Taehyung hadn’t stuck around for during Sugar’s set, watching Jimin see to the aftercare personally. He slid his small fingers along the length of the rope, untying Seokjin, as black berry wax flaked away and fell to the floor, his skin splotchy and red from the abuse – cock spent with traces of release painted on his lower stomach.

There was a process with Jimin, purposefully light touches, and thorough cleaning of his toys, submissive included. There was ointment applied for the rope burns and the wax play, a kiss pressed to each of Seokjin’s wrists.

Taehyung briefly wondered if Sugar was able to tie people up, but then quickly dismissed it, because what the fuck?

Jeongguk spared him a quick glance, “You missed it.” His best friend’s voice was thicker than usual, the mood growing tense. It was obvious that he was upset. “My mast–I mean, they looked really good together. Seokjin’s body is really…”

“Not like yours,” Taehyung said, slightly confused as to why he was reassuring his dongsaeng on this topic. “You’re just as tall, Guk. I mean, you may not have ocean wide shoulders, but you’re still built. Have you seen your thighs lately? You could probably crush watermelons with them.”

“He’s also gorgeous,” Jeongguk whispered, wanting to sink into floor. He knew Jimin would have volunteers and that he would see other clients. He stupidly thought he’d be alright so long as he didn’t have to witness it.  

“When did you develop self-esteem issues? Look, you know what I heard?”

He wasn’t going to say shit, until Jeongguk gave him his full attention. The younger eventually turned when Taehyung didn’t go further into detail, annoyed then, “What, hyung?”

“That guy who volunteered for Jimin is an employee here and he’s not an s-type, which I take it you are,” Taehyung said, a little concerned with how much information he’d taken in this evening, but that was how well his mind worked – always in student mode, ready to learn new things, and absorb, absorb, absorb. It was fucking disturbing.

Jeongguk’s soured expression dissolved into one of admiration, “You’ve been reading the guide? Where did you go when you left me? Did you wait out in the car?”

Taehyung was glad that he hadn’t, “Not exactly…”

The crowd started to part around them, making room for three men that were dressed in the same, dark utility pants, and black shirts – printed on the front of them in large, bold white font read: MONITOR.

“You got this?” asked one of the monitors, voice nasally. His hair was two-toned in colors of pink and purple. Despite this fact, he was rather tall, and well-built. “You do have a personal stake in this and all.”

The second monitor, who was just as leggy, but with honey blonde hair responded, irritation clear, “Thanks for bringing it up, Wonshik, while he’s right over there. Wanna maybe speak a bit louder and let the whole fucking room know? The newbie should take this one. Go on, Sanghyuk. Sentence them.”

“I could never steal your thunder like that, hyung,” Sanghyuk said, hands up like he’d surrendered the task. Somehow the third monitor was even taller and broader, a thick giant, really. “Besides, Seokjin is watching you.”

“Sentence them, Namjoon,” Wonshik mocked.    

“You two are bitches,” Namjoon said, as he approached the situation. There were two denizens attending Jimin’s scene play who had stepped out of line. There were only two cardinal rules during spectating. The first rule being that no one was permitted to partake in the scene, unless the dominant explicitly asked for audience participation. The second rule, which was the rule that had been broken, perhaps too often, was inappropriate acts of self-touch.      

There was a male couple entangled with one another and up until now, Taehyung hadn’t even noticed that their hands were dipped beneath each other’s clothing. Stolen kisses marred their lips, the flesh swollen red.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” The deep sound of Namjoon’s voice startled them from their session. Both men appeared confused, but the white font changed their attitude real quick.

“Monitor,” one of them breathed out, retrieving his hands from his partner’s body. “How can we help you?”

“Well, you can start off by not shamelessly groping at each other’s dicks in front of all these nice people,” he said, casually pressing a finger to his earpiece, straining to listen as Minhyuk ID’d them, the tech bastard. “Hyunsoo and Jongmin, right? You two are no longer welcomed at Void. Please see yourselves out immediately.”

“You’re not even going to explain to us why? We did nothing wrong!”         

The dimples on Namjoon’s face deepened, “You can’t read apparently. Prior to touching each other, you touched yourselves. Such behavior is against Void’s policy. Now you’re raising your voice, at a monitor no less.”

The guy tried again, “Forgive me, but we were simply adjusting…”

“Want to come see the footage we have? We can play it back for you both. It was like a cheap amateur porno.”

Wonshik snorted, “I thought it was nice. The guy with the glasses didn’t last very long though. How’re your jeans, bud?”

Namjoon turned to regard his coworker, “Our response time is shit.”     

The couple hadn’t put up much of a struggle after suffering such humiliation. The man who’d gone back and forth with Namjoon was muttering on about having rights and that this was all complete bullshit. Namjoon paused before escorting them, looking out towards the stage at Seokjin, the heated glance returned tenfold. If anything was fucking inappropriate, it would have been that moment right there.

Taehyung felt his skin flush for the nth time that night, “Guk, come on. It’s late and I need to review for Monday.”

Jeongguk was reluctant at first, wanting to stay and watch Jimin, until he was gone from his sight.  Taehyung offered his hand, relieved when the younger took it, allowing himself to be pulled through the crowd. Anxiety left Taehyung with every inch gained, the exit just beyond the corridor, and so very close within range, when a familiar blonde purposefully obstructed their path, stepping out in front of them.  

Sugar watched as Taehyung recoiled at his sudden appearance, immensely pleased with the visceral reaction. He purposefully shifted his attention to Jeongguk, pointing a finger from beneath his black hoody, “You’re Jimin’s baby bunny, right? He stressed to every working dom around here that you are very much off-limits.”

Jeongguk fell for the bait, “He did?”

“He did,” Sugar echoed, as he stalked closer, feeding Jeongguk’s curiosity. It seemed like a new scene was unfolding right before Taehyung’s eyes. “Jimin has a lot of clients, but he speaks very highly of you, says you’re such a good boy.” He tilted his head at Taehyung, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “What about you?”

Taehyung raised a brow at the scene professional, far too incensed at this point to speak, knowing that if he did, it wouldn’t be anything nice.

The blonde continued, taking a brave step closer. “Are you capable of being the sweetest, goodest boy?”   

Oh, hell…

“Listen, asshole,” Taehyung snapped, leveling his hand above his eyebrows. “You gotta be at least this tall to proposition me.”

For a moment, all Sugar did was stare, allowing the velvety timbre of Taehyung’s voice to sink in. One Daegu boy recognizing another Daegu boy – then the words finally registered and all Sugar could think about was punishing him. It was seldom that he was insulted outright, especially at Void. He wanted to train Taehyung, give him a free introductory lesson in manners. He wanted that thick, honey voice to drip for him, so that he could have a taste.

Jeongguk tugged on where their hands were intertwined, “Taehyung!” He turned to Sugar, desperate almost. “I’m so sorry, sir. It’s his first time here and he’s still learning the rules.”

“Your friend has quite the mouth on him,” the blonde said, a sinful smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. “The things I would do to ensure he never spoke out of line with me again.”

“You mean the things you wished I’d allow you to do me,” Taehyung corrected him.

“Taehyung,” Sugar said, testing the boy’s name out on his tongue. It reminded Taehyung of some supernatural law, like once the creature learned your name they owned it – and you. He extended his hand out. “Show me your papers.”

Taehyung had only taken the sheet half seriously when he’d filled it out. It was with a high level of skepticism, not a truthful depiction of what he’d be willing to consider. So, he handed over the flimsy questionnaire.  

Sugar plucked it from him, eyes scanning over the markings like it was a quiz, and was quick to realize that it was somewhat of a joke. “You put everything down as a hard limit and the things you didn’t cross off, you didn’t answer…” Sugar mused, scrolling his pointer finger over Taehyung’s scribbling, “So, why are you here?” 

Be cool, Taehyung. He shrugged with nonchalance, “To see if this place was for me, but oh, gee whiz, I guess it isn’t.”

“Your penchant for defiance tells me otherwise,” the blonde said pointedly, looking beyond Taehyung, as one of his colleagues approached. “Ah, Jimin-ssi.”

Jeongguk stilled at the mention of his master’s name, his fingers squeezing Taehyung’s. It was always like this for the younger, but a first time seeing it for his hyung.

Jimin had changed into a fitted pair of jeans and a dark sweater, thin silver necklaces clinging like chokers around his neck. He bowed his pleasantries first, addressing the blonde with his scene name, before he settled his eyes to where Taehyung’s hand was wrapped firmly around Jeongguk’s. Immediately, “Who is this?”

“This is my best friend,” Jeongguk answered and although he knew that he should pull away from Taehyung, he couldn’t.

Sugar licked at his lips, knowing full well that Jimin was pissed off, as he should be – Taehyung was a gorgeous specimen, a dominant’s waking dream.

“Where is your collar, pet?” Jimin asked, the name bitten out through his teeth. There was a limit to his patience, he could only do sweet and polite for so long while Jeongguk openly disobeyed him. Not only in front of a ‘friend’, but also a respected dom.    

Jeongguk left it in the car, too focused on reassuring Taehyung to get him inside the building that he forgot about it. “I wasn’t here for an appointment, so, I didn’t bring it.”

“Every time you come to Void, you must wear it, otherwise…”

He cut Jimin off, still somewhat annoyed from the scene with Seokjin. “Otherwise people will think that I’m fair game?” Jeongguk laughed, bitterly, “That I don’t belong to someone, that I’m not claimed?”

“Yes. Precisely that, but no worries,” Jimin said, smiling so big that his eyes were closed into crescents, before his expression dropped – reaching up so that his hand lightly wrapped around the front of Jeongguk’s throat. “I can always improvise. How does it feel, just like your collar?”

“Oh, what the fuck…” Taehyung murmured, about ready to break Jimin’s wrist if he had to, when Sugar stepped beside him.

“I wouldn’t interfere in this,” he said, his deep, tired voice brushing against the shell of his ear. Taehyung grew stiff from the sudden closeness, a chill coursing throughout his body just from the other man’s breath dancing upon his skin. “As you saw earlier, rules are rules, Taehyung.”   

“On your knees,” Jimin ordered, partially saddened that there was no rope in the immediate area. This was more intimate. He’d even allow his bunny’s hand to remain in Taehyung’s for this. Jeongguk trembled, ready to lower himself to the ground, when Taehyung abruptly tugged him free. It was mostly due to Jimin’s foresight not to hurt his submissive, releasing his hold.   

“How about, ‘no’, you crazy bastards,” Taehyung said, ignoring Jeongguk’s struggle to unclasp their fingers. The younger was too concerned with further irritating Jimin, the punishments stacking up in his head for each passing moment. “We’re leaving.” 

Before he could make a dramatic escape, Sugar called to him, “Taehyung, don’t forget your paper.” The blonde’s eyes were like two stones of black, a crooked smirk challenging him to come and get it. Taehyung was half tempted to tell him to shove it, but he found himself compelled to reach for it – fingers catching the corner of the sheet. The boy tensed when Sugar wouldn’t let go of it right away. He wouldn’t relent, until Taehyung was staring at him, and was shaken by what he saw there. How dark and smug…The appraisal was like a forced kiss, “Good boy.”

Taehyung’s mouth trembled into a snarl, realizing that he’d basically just followed an order. “Fuck. You.”

Sugar marveled at him, thick, pretty lashes fluttering. “You have such potential…”

“Never,” he said, their faces close to one another, a hair’s breadth away from touching. Sugar remained quiet, dropping his gaze to Taehyung’s deep red lips. Fucking consent.    

It was Jeongguk’s turn to pull his friend away, ignoring the tension he felt rolling off of Jimin in thick, palpable waves. The walk down the corridor felt never ending. The receptionist stood up from her seat and was unable to get a word in, wanting to inquire about Taehyung’s experience, when he was practically shoved out the door into the cold air.

Jeongguk started in on him, “Jimin is going to kill me and it’ll be your fault.”

“Not my fault you forgot your collar,” Taehyung said, finding the argument topic a bit odd, but.

“And speaking to Sugar that way? The disrespect, hyung,” he said, voice exasperated.

“Whatever. It’s not like I’m going to see him again.” And that was the honest truth. The whole experience had frightened Taehyung as much as it intrigued him. It felt like an upcoming piercing or the tattoo he kept on prolonging. Sugar felt dangerous.

“Where did you go when you disappeared? You never told me.” They reached the car, where Taehyung was all too glad to sink into the passenger. His heart was still racing wildly against his chest, like it had been since the moment he arrived.  

“I went to get myself a drink, which what the fuck with the selection? Then I got all caught up in a scene between Sugar and some guy, who apparently, uhm, had been collared to someone else, yet still wanted to volunteer, which pissed him off. You should have seen it…”

“Oh, god…” Jeongguk groaned, shaking his head as he kept his eyes trained on the road. “What a moron. Does he still have an ass to sit on?”


“Okay, seriously, why is that a thing? Can asses just magically be spanked off or?”

“The Void follows the old ways. A collared submissive isn’t allowed to be with another d-type, unless it’s permitted, and agreed upon. It’s not usually a thing. It’s like an insult,” Jeongguk explained, as he reached over to turn the radio on, Nicki Minaj never failed. “And as you can tell, you don’t wanna cross them.”

Well, that begged the question, “Then why are you collared to Jimin?”

He sighed, deciding to give Taehyung the full story, “I went there two months ago with Hoseok.”

“Damn it, of course.” Now Taehyung couldn’t go rub it in his face like an accomplishment.

“At first, I was like you, timid, and maybe a little scared…”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, “I wasn’t scared, alright?”

“You were pissing yourself before we even walked through the doors, so,” Jeongguk laughed. “Anyways, Hobi wanted to meet a domme, but you know me, I’d rather get dicked down, than have to take a stiletto heel up the ass.”

Taehyung paused at that, “First of all, if that’s some weird, BDSM metaphor for you preferring men over women, then thanks for the creativity. I appreciate it, but…did Hoseok take a stiletto?”

“I don’t know if he did, it’s just an assumption. Not relevant. Jimin was doing a scene that night and I got lost in watching him. The way he tied and knotted the ropes, how pretty and detailed his web work was. It really appealed to me.” The younger gripped the steering wheel, starting to get upset all over again. “I wanted him to harness me, so I set up an appointment, and then another, and another. I was going to Void two to three times a week even though I could hardly afford it.”

Taehyung looked over at him, “Guk…”

“I thought I was falling in love with him. I mean, I still think that? And when you’re collared, they can call on you for anything, and I don’t have to pay to see him, because of it.  There’s also something called total power exchange. I’m in training to become his, completely. It’s like a marriage.”

Jeongguk and marriage in a single sentence was just fucking weird. “All of this was going on while I was studying? I lost my best friend to a bdsm club…” He felt betrayed by how little he knew and for so long. “From what I saw tonight, masters, doms or whatever the fuck they are, they’re assholes. You, as well as the other subs, have no control.”

“No, Tae, you’re wrong. What you witnessed tonight was a punishment, but there’s pleasure, too.” Jeongguk would try to spare him the details, “Lots of it and there’s also growth and structure, shit we no longer have, but still need in our lives. The subs have all the power…” Jeongguk turned off the car, once they were in the campus lot. “Doms have to earn the trust of their submissive. The power that a master has is limited only to what the sub allows them.”

“It’s been a long night, Guk.” That was Taehyung’s way of ending the conversation. It was such a commonly used tactic that Jeongguk knew when to drop the conversation. They quietly walked the hallways to their shared room, Taehyung having to use his hip to bust it open. The shit was always jammed.

He continued his nightly ritual of collecting a pair of clean boxers and a large shirt from his dresser, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

Jeongguk was in bed, opening his laptop to his app so that he could play a couple matches of Overwatch.

“Alright,” he said, wanting to continue with their previous conversation. It would be best to save it for when they both weren’t on edge.

They were fortunate enough to have their own bathroom. Taehyung placed his pajamas down on the counter, before stripping out of his clothes, and turning the shower on. The water was a degree short of being scalding, just how he liked it – then he stepped under the spray. For awhile, all he did was stand there, allowing the water to pound against his sore muscles.

After rinsing out his hair, fingers tugging sharply at the ends, he lathered his hands up with bodywash. No amount of roughness, no amount of heat, or pain would be able to will away what happened tonight. He felt over his chest, nails scraping over an erect bud. He felt more sensitive from being wet, leaning his back against the cool tiles. He rarely took the time to tease himself, always straight to the point, getting himself off, before the hot water runs out.

The buildup was gradual, dragging his hands down over his stomach, and across his thighs. He squeezed at the flesh there and allowed his eyes to drift shut. Sugar awaited him in the darkness, catlike eyes burning into his skin. The empty room in the redhead’s subconscious was filled with every sound he made, but amplified – the dom was seated on a chair, one leg casually crossed over the other, while he watched.

Taehyung felt cheap, rolling his hips forward into each stroke over his cock. The soap made it so easy for him, so fucking good. He tilted his head back, sliding his freehand over the side of his neck, thumb resting against his Adam’s apple. What would it feel like to have Sugar’s long, pale fingers wrapped around his throat?

He thought of the bench. The marks the cane had left on Woozi’s skin – the way he’d cried out for more, how it had tugged on Taehyung’s entire being. He was ashamed of how badly he’d wanted it. “Aahh, yes, yes please, fuck…” he practically keened, sounds becoming more guttural and desperate. The path from his neck to his inner thigh was painful, as he dug his nails deep into his skin, and raked them down slowly. Lines of pink and red had already blossomed in its wake – the stinging sensation adding more pleasure to the quickened pace of his hand.

Taehyung was close, arching his back off of the tiles. The heat from the water was starting to turn cold, eliciting a gasp from the sensory overload. The Sugar behind his eyelids laughed, airily, his signature smirk touching his curvy lips. Even if Taehyung gave himself away, he’d be nothing more than a toy. Maybe he liked the thought. He shuddered as he came, ropes of hot cum spilling over his knuckles.

During his moment of blissful relief, he heard Sugar’s voice, as though he were standing right next to him, murmuring into his ear, ‘Good boy…’

“No…” Taehyung whispered, angry with himself, because no – no fucking way did he just get off on thinking about him, the cat looking asshole from Void. He rinsed the soap from off his body, eager to just be done with it. He turned off the shower and changed into his pajamas, humming just to keep his mind cleared of any bullshit.

Jeongguk was in a match, headset on, shouting out calls to his team. He envied the younger for being able to concentrate on anything other than Jimin. Taehyung grabbed his binder full of notes and reading glasses, preparing himself for a long night.   

On Monday morning and with only three hours of sleep, Taehyung pulled himself out of bed. Jeongguk was already gone, doing his morning routine, and going out on his run. Taehyung dressed simple, putting on a pair of jeans and a large sweater. He hid the rest of himself behind his purple scarf.

He made sure he had ample time to grab himself a hot tea and a toasted muffin, before entering class. Professor Jung was a sweet old man, very laid back, especially about food. Taehyung was convinced he’d seen all there was, speaking so fondly about his time in France and Italy. It almost felt like Taehyung was there with him. He loved the professor’s stories and was looking forward to hearing what he did over winter break.

On the board was the lesson topic, ‘Gothic Art’. The writing was a bit less sloppy and in very pretty cursive. It was completely different from the professor’s usual chicken scratch. Maybe he’d taken the student’s feedback seriously? Taehyung shrugged, opening up his notebook to a fresh page. The room would be full in a few minutes. He unpacked his breakfast, humming around the exquisite taste of melted butter and warm blueberry.

Usually the professor would be the one who was early, which Taehyung enjoyed. He didn’t have to eat alone. It was when five minutes rolled by that things felt a little wrong. Okay, so very wrong. He was beginning to get a little nervous, more so concerned about his favorite teacher, when the door to Professor Jung’s office opened, revealing someone Taehyung hadn’t recognized at first glance.

Even the second and third time he’d glanced over, because surely, this person was not Sugar from Void. Nope – Sugar had blonde hair, but this guy had black. It was even crimped and teased to high hell, his dark eyes partially hidden behind a pair of Gucci framed glasses. It would take a lot more convincing for Taehyung to believe what he was seeing.         

“Good morning,” came the familiar low rasp, that Daegu accent seeping through into his words. “I know you were all expecting Professor Jung, but unfortunately, he was in an accident. No need to worry though, he’s going to be fine. He’s recovering, but he will be out for the duration of the new semester.”

‘Yeah and you’re probably the one who took him out,’ Taehyung thought, bitterly. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“I’ll be Acting Head of the Department, until he returns,” he said, as he picked up the chalk and started writing in the same, perfect neat cursive that Taehyung admired earlier. The student swore he hated him even more then. He didn’t need Sugar’s immaculate handwriting. He was overachieving at this point. “My name is Min Yoongi, but you’ll all address me as Professor Min.”

So, not Sugar, then? Taehyung wanted to open up the nearest window and fall out of it.  

“It’s going to take me awhile to learn all of your names, so if you have a question, I’d like it if you would introduce yourselves, before asking it…”

Taehyung shrunk low into his seat in an attempt to hide himself, while the professor started answering inquiries. The classmate beside Taehyung raised her hand and he instinctively turned away, literally hugging to one side of his seat. After the question had been answered, he slowly settled back down into his chair.


Curiously, Taehyung looked back the once, certain that it would be safe, but it wasn’t. The professor was staring directly at him, dark eyes boring into his own, when the beginnings of a smirk tugged at the corners of his pouty lips. It was practically indecent. Someone fucking call for help! Yoongi rounded his desk, trailing thin, delicate fingers over the old, rustic wood.


TBC? Please leave feedback, let me know.
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