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Ray never got used to this. It’s midday, and no one other than himself is around, but he locked the door anyways. He sits down on his bed, feeling himself sigh. He doesn’t take his pants or briefs off yet. It felt better to take it slow.

He felt ashamed and embarrassed, despite the fact that it wasn’t his first time getting off or anything. It was just a sense of shame he could never quite move past.

Ray starts by grinding his hand against his clothed cock. A small gasps comes out of his lips, and he covers his mouth, cheeks reddening. “I’m alone,” He finds himself saying. “I can be as loud as I want.”

Which wasn’t loud at all, it turns out. For now, at least.

He’s hard, for sure. It feels good, rubbing against his hand. He didn’t get off often, and touching himself directly still very quickly got overwhelming. Which makes Ray wonder why, exactly, he’d decided to take things a step further tonight.

He glances at the bottle of liquid on his bed and almost immediately looks away. “I… won’t worry about that for now, I guess.”

He’d already… prepared himself, which made Ray so incredibly grateful none of his siblings, or any of the people he’d come to consider family, hell, anyone in general, were around. It’s embarrassing enough to exit the bathroom thirty minutes after you’ve entered it, even more so if it was preparation because you were planning on going to town on yourself later. 

Ray thinks back to things he’s read about the concept of masturbation. He wonders if Mama--Isabella--had her own selection of books in the library, or if it was the farm’s decision. Thinking about it like that made it kind of weird, Ray thinks. There were normal anatomy books, biology and physiology. 

Of course, they covered the development of the human body. When Ray was younger, he devoured every book he could find regardless of the content. As he grew older, though, he managed to admit to himself that reading the sexual organs of the anatomy books embarrassed him to no end. 

Despite his calm, mature straight faced demeanor, he was actually quite shy, wasn’t he?

It’s almost ironic that Ray’s thinking this as he unzips his pants, running his hands down his thighs as he grinds against his hand once again. 

But there were other books in the library. Ones that were less than appropriate for an orphanage to have. Sex wasn’t the main point of the book, no, it was one of the many romances within their library--but sex was a reoccurring action within many, many chapters of the book. 

Ray had read it first, tearing through it with a fervour he wishes he had now, as he pulls down his pants but can’t (yet) work up the courage to pull off his briefs. Eventually, it got confiscated when one of his many siblings asked Mama about the actions within the book.

But Ray had already read it, and his disgustingly good memory kept each line imprinted within his brain. It didn’t particularly do anything for him, really. It embarrassed him in the same way any affection did. It made him shift in his seat and look away, drowning in the urge to run.

“Ah,” A moan slips out of his mouth and he bites his lip so hard he worries there’s blood. “Fuck.” He ruts against his hand, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes from overstimulation. He musters up his courage, and reaches into his briefs, leaning back into his pillow.

Right. What was he thinking about?

Ray never really knew what to think about when he was touching himself. He tried to empty his brain, because thinking about anything made him feel guilty, eventually. And there were no real fantasies that appealed to him while also not making him feel terrible.

Sometimes it helped to pretend he was someone else. Sometimes, he tried to imagine himself as the guy in those dumb romance novels, kissing the neck of some woman he was in love with, who loved him back, but they couldn’t date because they were on the opposite side of a newspaper thing, or whatever. No, it was that he took her article, or something like that. Something about a bunch of stray cats, eventually? Anyways, it would always end with them sharing a bed because there were no other options despite it being an unpopular hotel that no one went to. So there should be vacant rooms! But there wasn't! Ever!

Which was dumb, but whatever.

One of them would shower, and of course, there was only one bed--which also was stupid. One of them could sleep on the floor but they didn’t for some godforsaken reason. In the novel, the second they saw bare skin one of them would pounce. The man would end up plowing the woman in a way that sounded so very unsexy. Ray wondered if the book just sucked or if sex was really like that.

Wow, thank god he hadn’t had sex before, because with the shit going on in his brain as he tried to get himself off--it’d turn anyone flaccid in seconds. 

Ray, however, has grown used to his own absolute bullshit brain.

He takes his cock in hand, breathing out a sigh as he grabs onto the pillow for support. When he was feeling particularly ready to sit in the shower for twenty minutes, washing off his shame, instead of imagining himself as the man in the situation, he’d--

“Fuck--fuck, fuck…” Ray feels his leg twitch and feels a choked moan come out of his throat like vomit. There’s electricity in his veins and it’s driving him absolutely fucking insane. 

He imagines himself in a bed with someone else. Someone--doesn’t matter who, doesn’t matter what they looked like, has just got out of the shower, and damn, are they irresistibly good looking. Ray hasn’t ever stopped to think about what he finds attractive because it’s never been all that relevant. He tells himself fiery orange hair or bright blue eyes were just coincidences in the people who’d hover over him in his imagination. 

It’s too weird to imagine himself with something other than a dick so he doesn’t. He knows that you can insert anything anywhere with enough lube, because some of those romance novels did not spare anyone’s imagination no matter how much they probably should have. 

Precum is spilling out of the tip of his cock and--wow, it’s embarrassing to see even though he’s alone so he doesn’t look. But he imagines that someone looking over him, grinning at him. 

“Are you embarrassed?” They’d ask, tilting up his chin. “You’re so cute, Ray.”

He tries not to think about why, exactly, the faceless people in his fantasies are complimenting him, calling him cute, touching him gently and sweetly like he deserved it. He tries not to think just why the voices speaking to him are so familiar. 

It’s two people now, instead of one. Ray’s just that greedy, isn’t he? 

He feels himself laugh, self deprecating and slightly disgusted with himself. But realizing how greedy, how selfish, how desperate he was made something swirl around in his stomach so fiercely he nearly cums then and there. 

Ray tries to break himself out of his fantasy and fails miserably. Fuck. He just needs to prepare himself for a very long shame shower after this, and the inability to look at just about everyone in the eye for the next week or longer. Probably longer.

With a shaking hand he reaches out for the bottle of lube. Purchasing that was probably the most embarrassing experience of his life, and he spent several years thinking he was the cause for Norman’s shipment, all those years ago. He's alive, of course, but the guilt never really went away. 

Wow. Boner killer. Also, he needs to not think about Norman when he’s getting off. Or Emma. Or anyone. Ever.

“God, I wish I knew how to shut myself up.” 

Just like that, his fantasy takes another turn and he feels himself swallowing his spit in anticipation. One of them is kneeling at Ray’s chest, practically sitting on him. Ray curses his imagination for being so vivid, because he can practically see a cock in front of his face, feel the heat of it, feel the way he starts to salivate. 

He imagines the person--the man, because there’s two people in his fantasy now and he needs a way to differentiate them. Man and woman. Because that was the easiest way to do it. There wasn’t any particular reason for his choices--anyways, he imagines the man running his hands through Ray’s hair, tugging, maybe. Not too rough, because Ray has never really enjoyed being treated roughly. 

Hell, he’s spent so much of his time trying to get used to being touched lovingly, and even now he felt like he wasn’t doing it right.

Childhood trauma aside, Ray shuts his eyes and pretends his own fingers are something larger, something hotter and wetter inside of his mouth. He’s never really had a gag reflex, something he learned when he once tried to try and force himself to throw up. It didn’t work very well, and Ray later found out--again, thanks to those stupid shitty romance novels--that not having a gag reflex could be a good thing. 

He tries and somewhat fails to swallow around his fingers, and drool pools against his fingers and down the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin.

The man thrusts into Ray's throat, hands still in his hair, this time like a lifeline. His cock hits the back of Ray's throat and he whines again. He wonders what an actual cock would feel like in his mouth, warm and wet--god, he wishes there was an actual cock in his mouth instead of his fingers because his fingers are thin and dainty like a pianist's. 

He gives his cock a gentle tug, stroking it, swirling his finger around the tip. A moan falls out of his lips and he's embarrassed. There's definitely still spit on his face.

“Messy, aren’t you?” The woman asks, leaning over to press a kiss onto Ray’s forehead and wow--that’s some baggage he hasn’t thought to deal with until just now, huh. “That’s cute, Ray.”

Cute?

That gets a reaction out of himself. He curses and his hips twitch again. “Don’t… call me cute.” That’s right. He’s alone. He can be as loud as he wants. He can say anything he wants.

He’d be speaking around a cock in his mouth, so he imagines a smirk on his fantasies faces. A hand runs through Ray’s hair, gentle and loving. “But it’s true. You’re so cute, Ray. You’re so cute when you’re desperate for it. Because you are, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.” He mumbles back, pulling his fingers out of his mouth. They’re so coated with his spit that Ray briefly wonders if there was even a point in buying lube. But he knew there was, especially since he’s never done this before.

Feeling his cheeks burn, he pulls off his briefs, and kicking them off his ankles. His cock sits up against his stomach, wet and leaking. It’s humiliating. Absolutely humiliating, especially since his fantasies expressions change to something mischievous. 

“Didn’t you say you weren’t desperate, Ray?”

“I’m--” His shaking hands fumble with the lube. He isn’t sure how much to use. Better too much than too little, he guesses. Thank god he had to foresight to sit on a towel, because it spills down his fingers. Right, wasn’t he in the middle of a sentence? “--I’m not desperate.”

“You’ve always been bad at lying, Ray.” 

Oh--that hurts. That hurts. His subconscious is mean, it’s so fucking cruel sometimes that it actually stings to hear. He knows that, objectively, he’s fantastic at lying--it’s just that Mama knew him better than he knew himself, sometimes, and--okay, really, he needs to stop having his trauma come up when he’s trying to get off.

“Do you want to be fucked by us, Ray?” And his fantasy places her hand on him, spreading his legs in a way that makes him feel so exposed, so embarrassed, so on display. He was raised to be cattle, but he wasn’t raised to be this kind of meat. 

Those words echo in his head and Ray realizes that it did something to him, because the pressure in his groin has turned into more of a dull ache. It’s absolutely aggravating, he can’t seem to sit without shifting because the pressure is far too much for him to handle. 

“I--” He’s alone, he reminds himself. He’s alone. There’s no one here but him and his fantasies, and they weren’t real. They couldn’t hurt him. He could be honest, even though he was never honest even in his own head, maybe he could be honest to the imaginary man and woman that hovered over him. “I do. Please. Please, fuck--fuck me.” His voice catches in his throat because he’s embarrassed saying such things.

His stomach twists violently and his hips twitch as he presses the first finger into himself. It feels… weird, for sure. Weird and not good at all yet. But imagining it as someone else’s finger makes it easier, and infinitely hotter. He takes his cock in hand and can’t hold back a wanton moan. 

After a couple of seconds of gently pushing his finger in, Ray pauses to breathe deeply. He was in at least to the knuckle. He feels his hips twitch as he goes deeper.

Ray’s gotten used to the intrusion. It’s slippery for sure, and there’s practically no resistance when he slips another finger in. He feels himself whine. Okay, he wants more. He really wants more.

He loses himself to the feeling for a bit, fingering himself slowly. He doesn’t want to go too fast because he’s already tipping over the edge. So he pauses and breathes but doesn’t take his fingers out. There’s tears in his eyes and he leans back against the pillow. 

...A third finger, maybe…

They all fit. Somehow, but the position has begun to be incredibly inconvenient and Ray begins to wonder how much shame he can lose in one day. A lot, apparently. It’d be easier if he was on his stomach, but then there was his dick. Laying on his stomach was never comfortable and Ray imagined it’d only be worse if he was hard. So, the option after that was to raise his hips, right?

Thinking about this in his head was embarrassing enough. He had no idea how, exactly, he was going to actually do it. It takes a couple of minutes to weigh the pros and cons. He was already incredibly embarrassed and ashamed, and that shower was likely to take about an hour. Maybe longer. Gotta wash off all of that shame.

And, well, he’s already gotten this far, hasn’t he? 

“Okay. Alright. Okay. Let’s… do this, I guess. I didn’t need dignity anyways.” It’s hard to flip over because his legs are shaking just as badly as his hands are. Ray buries his face in his pillow. Well, at least like this his face is hidden. He didn’t like being seen. 

Especially like this.

“You’re hiding your face again. Are you embarrassed to be seen like this?”

He shakes his head into his pillow. “Don’t look at me. Please.” He imagines them turning his head, gently, with their hands on his face to carefully see his expression, to etch it into their memories. They weren't like Ray, they had to try harder to remember. He tries to turn his head away, embarrassed at the prospect of someone watching as he fucked himself.

At the same time, he wanted his fantasies to look. He wanted it. He wanted it so goddamn bad . He had denied it earlier, but he was desperate for it, wasn’t he? “Fuck. Shit-- fuck--

Ray speeds his fingers up, feeling as he thrusted in and out of himself. The obscene slick sounds of the lube filled the room. Ray’s moans joined the mix. Fuck, it felt so good. It felt so good. 

He scissors his fingers inside of himself, opening his hole wider. He curls his fingers, twitches and moans at the sudden sensation. It felt good, so he does it again.

He lowers his hips just a little bit to rut against the towel. It’s rough against his cock but his length is already soaked with precum, spit and lube, so it’s not as uncomfortable as Ray feared it would be. 

He feels a little bit like a horny preteen as he grinds against the towel but that feeling dissolves into nothing but pure white as he fucks himself with his fingers harder, harder, and harder. Ray squeezes his eyes shut and there’s electricity behind his eyelids, thunder and lighting, it’s so bright that it burns. He ruts against the towel like he's in heat.

His fantasy from behind him lifts his head and kisses him deeply. Their tongues press together and spit dribbles down Ray’s chin again and, huh, maybe he has a thing for that. Maybe he likes it a little bit messy which is ironic considering everything. 

The other kisses him, this time, and all of their spit mixes together. He imagines the man biting down on his shoulder, on his neck, kissing the shell of Ray’s sensitive ears as he grabs Ray’s hips, and fuck, the idea of that is hot.

Maybe he’s also into being bitten, being marked, which is especially ironic. Would a dark red and purple hickey on his neck conceal the numbers on his neck? 

Ray knows he wants to be treated gently but a little bit of harshness, a little bit of violence like this wouldn’t be unwanted. This time, the woman kisses his cheek and then her lips move down to bite violently at his neck and Ray gasps.

It’s not actually happening, he knows, but he can almost feel the teeth gnawing at his neck, marking him as someone else’s, someone other than Isabella’s, the demon’s, making him something other than cattle. Making him human, maybe. 

“Please,” He whines into the pillow. His tears have begun to wet the pillow and he knows he’s going to cum soon. “Please, fuck me, please--harder, harder, harder--”

Ray thanks any God out there that no one’s home because there’s no fucking way he could quiet himself down because he feels so good. It feels so good that he can’t even believe how long it took him to do this. His voice echoes against the walls and he's so sure that if anyone was here they'd be able to hear him, even if they were far down the hall. He had completely lost all sense of volume control.

"Do you want others to hear you? To see you like this? That's really erotic, Ray. You look so cute like this. It's such a beautiful sight. But we really wouldn't want anyone else to see you like this. You're too cute, Ray. Too cute for anyone but us to see."

"S-shut up," He gasps, fucking himself hard and fast like he was going to die without it. "I'm not cute, idiots…" Wasn't he going to be honest? Well, old habits die hard.

Still. Too cute for anyone but them to see? Maybe he had a thing for that, too. Wow. He’s learning all new things about himself today. If he had a thing for people being possessive over him, then, well, that’s not all that surprising, is it?

The woman runs her fingers across his back. The man does the same, and their touches are like magic that light a flame inside of his body that burns so bright it can be seen for thousands of miles. Maybe they'd press their fingers inside of him, maybe they'd fuck him, or maybe they'd make him wait for a little bit longer. Maybe he'd like that.

But right now Ray can't stop his fingers because his climax is building up. There's so much tension in his body that it hurts and, fuck, he needs to cum now. 

"Are you coming, Ray?" 

He furiously nods his head, feeling his ears burn with shame. Words pour out of Ray's mouth that he can't control. "I am--I'm coming, I'm going to cum, please don't look at me, I'm embarrassed, I don't want you to see me like this--" He gasps, hips bucking as he reaches orgasm. "Nnn, fuck--"

"Cum for us, Ray. It's okay. We've got you." And he's in their arms now. They kiss him tenderly and for a second it's like his fingers aren't inches deep into his ass. "You're doing good."

That makes flame swirl around in his stomach and his moans are pouring out his mouth, mixed with expletives and embarrassing begging.

"You're so cute like this, Ray."

That's the final tipping point.

He cries out as he cums, and the fantasies faces suddenly become clear. The woman has green eyes that seemed almost transparent like glass, her intentions were as transparent as glass and she could do anything, even make the impossible possible. 

Blue eyes like the morning sky--hair white like clouds on the man, his lips curl up into a grin that Ray will never admit makes his heart leap in his chest, the woman’s orange hair that curled wildly in every direction seems to bounce as she leans in to get a better view.

Even though he’s already covered the towel with his cum, his fingers don’t stop. Ray’s overstimulating himself because he doesn’t want to just feel good, he wants to lose himself to it so he doesn’t have to think about--so he doesn’t have to face the guilt of what he just did.

His brain is spinning and even though he doesn’t want them there now, the guilt is too much to bear, his fantasies hold him in their arms and whisper sweet nothings, they tell them they love him, they say how much he means to them, and their quiet, loving, sugary-sweet voices whisper some of the dirtiest things Ray has ever heard. It easily surpasses every filthy quote in every shitty romance novel he's read.

“Do you want us to fuck you, Ray?” “Do you want my cock in your mouth again, Ray?” “You’re so cute like that, so desperate for us.” “You like being seen like this, don’t you, Ray?” “You’re taking all those fingers in so easily. Do you want us both inside of you? Do you want us to fuck you at the same time, Ray? Do you want to be split open by us?” 

He finds himself moaning into his pillow again, whining out affirmations. “Yes--yes, thank you, yes--I do, I love it, I love you both--please fuck me, please, harder-- please --”

Ray realizes he's at his most polite when he's being fucked by his fantasies and part of him regrets discarding all of his dignity in one day because maybe if he didn’t do that, he wouldn’t be saying or thinking such obscene things. Part of him is overjoyed he did because, fuck, it feels good. It feels so fucking good. 

Ray actually screams when a second orgasm hits him. He bites down on his pillow to muffle it and his legs collapse under him. It takes a couple minutes for him to regain feeling in any part of his lower half to flip over on his back. Which turns out to be a huge mistake, because there’s still cum on the surface below him. Fuck.

He wipes his hand on the towel, and then brushes his bangs out of his eyes. There’s sweat dripping down on his face that mixes with the tears, still wet on his cheeks, and he wipes that away with the back of his hand. He’s definitely flushed from the physical activity, but combined with that was for sure a blush. Probably something bright red and embarrassing to look at. His ears burn, too. And his neck.

Ray rubs his shoulders, trying to ease out the knots. Doing that relieved some tension and pressure, but--god, his shoulder hurt. His brain, oh, his traitorous brain, reminds him of his fantasy. Ray wonders what being bitten would be like. Not in the...being eaten way, obviously. But in the sexual way.

He pinches his skin, pauses, and sighs. “What am I doing?” 

But he turns his wrist around and bites down. It hurt. It was like tickling yourself, probably. You couldn’t do it to yourself. If he wanted to know, he’d probably need to actually ask someone. Or have them do it on their own without him asking. Because asking would probably be more embarrassing than what he’d just done, which was a pretty high bar. 

Ray runs his fingers against his neck, and he shivers, still oversensitive. The numbers on his neck aren’t raised. They’re smooth, feeling exactly like his skin. It’d be such a funny thing for them to be colored with a bruise. Again, a childish retaliation from Ray. He wanted to color over his childhood with purple and red crayon, scribble out the numbers until they were indecipherable.

Another fantasy starts up in his mind. Him being pushed up against a wall. A pair of lips against his, parting his lips open as a tongue enters his mouth. And there’s another person brushing his hair back, tucking his hair behind his ear as Ray shudders, because his ears have always been sensitive, an extra reason to hate when Mama would check the tracker on his ear. 

A kiss pressed to his ear, and then a tongue gliding up the shell of his ear. It’d probably feel good, Ray muses to himself as he drags his pinky up his ear. Unlike trying to bite or tickle himself, this elicited a reaction. His hair stood on end and his cock twitched. 

“Really.” He wonders, out loud to himself. His physical stamina was good, wasn’t it? Better than others, not as good as Emma’s. But… what about his sexual stamina, his sex drive? He could probably get off again, but if he was gonna spend an hour in the shower, he was running low on time. 

Maybe sometime he could try again. 

But, for now? He should shower.

Ray finds that standing up proves difficult, because his arms and legs are very, very shaky. He sighs and realizes he can’t get dressed again until after he showers because that would get his clothes dirty, because even though he'd wiped the cum off his cock, there was still the lube on his skin. He wraps the used towel around his waist, instead. 

God, he’d probably burn it later and hope no one missed one singular towel. 

He catches his face in the mirror and gets the pleasure of watching his splotchy blush cover his entire face, ears and neck. He covers his face with his hand, muttering muffled curses for no one but himself to hear. 

As Ray turns the shower on, he sees himself in the mirror again and is forced to admit to himself that he does seem to be glowing, just a little bit. He had a good time. He showed himself a good time. He reaches into the shower, testing the temperature and trying to ignore the fact that those were the same fingers that were shoved deep into himself mere moments ago. It doesn’t go all that well, and he’s kind of horny again, but at least he knows he likes this. A lot.

“It felt good, for sure.” 

He steps into the shower, the burning hot water stinging at his skin. He closes his eyes, letting his whole body get soaked. Ray pushes his hair back with his hands and sighs. His voice echoes in the empty bathroom.

“...I’ll probably do it again.” And then he shuts his eyes as he squirts some shampoo into his hand, choosing to empty his brain and wash away the shame. 

All in all? It was a damn good time.