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Lies that Bind Us

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The boy writhed uncontrollably.

His mouth was open but no sound dared escape as his emotions ran the whole spectrum through and back again. Scared, intrigued, excited, stimulated… frustrated, helpless, exhausted and unable to switch off. There was no way he could possibly turn away from the sensory overload he was being subjected to.

“Having fun yet?”

The velvet voice slowly drawled in his ear, casual… only mildly amused about something as mundane and everyday like the weather.

One hand played with the teenager’s sac, completely hairless and hot silk to touch. Getting hotter and heavier as it lay entrapped in the tightest cock ring this side of the galaxy. If only the ring stopped all the blood in his body from rushing down to his groin. Another reason why the boy whimpered and struggled, rapidly losing his mental faculties.

“Please… please…”

But the hand was hellbent on his scrotum, refusing to leave its mark no matter how much the boy willed it to move… play with his painfully erect member instead. Two fingers continued to probe inside his tight wet entrance and he squirmed… the need to arch upwards right into the sinful intrusion almost as strong as his urge to pull away. His legs thrown apart in abandon to make space for the older man as he scoured the boy’s insides and quickly found the little button he just had to push. And rub and stroke… and stroke. Again and again.


It was the moan that made Erik Lensherr look up from the task he’d so arduously undertaken, up to the boy’s flushed face. His eyes twinkled at the sight so beautiful… so breathtakingly uplifting, literally. The conflict of pain and pleasure made cruelly evident in the head thrown back, droplets of sweat glistening like finishing touches on the masterpiece… Erik’s masterpiece.

“Someone’s been a very…”

A third finger wormed its way in…

“…very bad boy.”

Waiting was always hell. But it was worse when the pistoning finally began. Toes curled and soles flattened on the black satin bedspread as the boy tried to push himself against the fingers… something, anything to quicken the maddeningly slow finger fucking his mentor loved tormenting him with. His prostate was being punished with every single stroke, and yet damnit nearly not enough. He wanted it hard and fast and instantly gratifying, or nothing at all. But knowing Magneto… he was in for a very long, excruciatingly frustrating night.

Erik casually pressed down on the boy’s hips, straddling the naked thighs with his own heavily leathered ones so he couldn’t even push up against the assaulting fingers.

“Aah… damn you… sonofa… ugh!”

Erik took pity on the boy at last, lowering his mouth on the angry red head if only to lick it for a short two seconds. When he withdrew the boy almost screamed the roof down on their heads. Erik smiled and did it again. The boy’s erection was downright painful after all the teasing and not being allowed to come for days. Erik sucked in a mouthful and ran his tongue down the underside, driving the teenager out of his mind. Just as he was getting used to this treatment, Erik withdrew and started to place little nips and bites all over the stiff organ. All this while the boy felt the ring around the base tighten and tighten some more until he was in so much pain he couldn’t even scream. Coupled with the finger fucking, Erik had expertly demonstrated his absolute control on the boy’s body and mind. Hell, his very life.

“Please… uhh, stop. No… don’t… don’t stop. No…!”

How long he’d been torturing the boy no one knew. What the boy did know, sadistic bastard that he was, Erik could do it all damn night.

Mystique’s voice rang out over the intercom. “Erik… we have a situation.”

Or not.

“Erik, pl…please…”

Erik wiped his hands off on the kid’s clothes nearby and donned his deep blue overcoat. He glanced at the boy perfunctorily.

“Sorry my boy. Duty calls.”

The teenager could only throw his head back, ramming it against the headboard and groan. He closed his eyes and swallowed the angry sobs threatening to break free. What use would they be anyway?

Erik approached the bed again, this time sitting next to the boy’s head and almost lovingly brushed the auburn hair back from his forehead.

“Promise me you’ll wait for me?”


The boy bit his lip, he was so enraged he wanted to spit in the mighty Magneto’s face. That voice dripping with such brutal sarcasm and yet… God those words! How he wished Erik truly meant them. He might be only eighteen, but in his young life he’d had the misfortune to get to know Magneto very very well. He now knew there was very little honesty that came out of Erik Lensherr’s mouth when the subject was not absolute mutant domination of the world.

Erik smirked, his eyes squinted in satisfaction as they roved up and down the lithe young naked body laid out on his bed… handcuffed to the headboard.

He stood back up and pulled something from beneath the bed. Shackles. The boy didn’t even bother to flinch anymore.

Erik tugged at each ankle and clicked the cuffs into place till the youth’s legs were stretched taut and wide apart. Then patted the nearest knee twice.

“Come on pet, say you’ll stay? You won’t try to run away from me again will you?”

His throat was parched, and he swallowed empty air… his young Adam’s apple expressing a misery far beyond words.

“No. Master.”

As reward Erik gave a sharp squeeze and a twist to the boy’s balls, separating them to get to his perineum. The tickling sent the boy’s eyes rolling up in his head again and just as abruptly, it was over.

“Good boy. And no playing with your lighter you hear me?”

Funny. St. John could have laughed if he wasn’t so furious.

Erik stood up and walked out the door, without sparing a second glance at the boy.

John hated those shackles. Specially now when they pinned his scorched buttocks down into the bed painfully. Even the satin grazed against the red blisters from his latest encounter with Magneto’s collection of whips and a nine-tail. Erik had been especially brutal, breaking out a few new instruments just for the benefit of the ‘fiery brat who deserves a butt-torching for setting my glasshouse on fire’ - if John remembered correctly.

The boy tried to lift up his hips to offer some relief to his ass but couldn’t. His arms ached from being wrenched up over his head and throat felt parched from all the day’s screaming. It hurt to think of how shameful and how complete his submission was – mind, body and… and heart. And yet how little he meant to that fucking mega-bastard, to anyone in the whole fucking universe.

But John’s eyes stayed dry. Next time he escaped, John was going to make damn fucking sure he didn’t get caught alive.




Pyro never did like Cyclops much. Hated him with all his guts. Field leader, math teacher and school administrator later, he was a major pain in the ass first. Always telling him what to do, what not to do… taking away his lighters in class. Didn’t he know he felt useless without his lighter? Sonofabitch probably wished that everyone was just like him – a fucking invalid.

He knocked.

Scott Summers knew he wasn’t exactly St. John’s favorite teacher. Hell no one could possibly be his favorite teacher – the boy was always so… so angry all the time. And after coming back to the school, even more so. Besides counseling wasn’t exactly Scott’s forte either. Jean is… used to be the perfect choice for jobs like this. Scott sighed, and despite his inhibitions, resolved to give it his best shot. Subtly tucked his longish brown hair behind his right ear. Was time for a haircut he vaguely mused. But much to his mild annoyance (or amusement), Logan liked it that way.

“Come in.”

The session was bound to be a failure from the get go. Not that either of the two expected much from it. Scott pretended he only wanted to give John his new schedule and John pretended to believe him.

“Since you’ve missed more than a year, I recommend you start afresh…”

John scoffed as not-silently as he could. Junior year all over again when all his… no, not friends… former peers moved on to senior grade. Perfect. Just what he needed.

“Bobby will help you with the curriculum. If you work hard John I’m sure you could catch up with your…”

The thought of having to depend on Bobby, again, was enough to snap his already weakly held temper.

John stood up. “Are we done?”

Scott didn’t like the kid’s attitude, then again he wasn’t a very patient man especially with teenage rebels suffering from hormonal imbalances anyway.

“You have one week to choose your subjects after which no changes will be entertained.”

John slung his bag over a shoulder and glared.

“You suck at counseling Mr. Summers, you really should let Dr. Grey handle this. Oh wait, I forgot. She’s dead.”

All Scott wanted in that moment was to pull off his glasses and drill a hole into the boy’s head. But he also realized John was baiting him. And one of them needed to be an adult in this conversation. He took a deep breath and tried again, in a calmer voice.

“Look, John. I can understand what you’re going through but…”

“Don’t fucking tell me you understand you arrogant sonofabitch. You understand nothing!”

Pyro didn’t wait for a response, he whipped around and headed for the door, eager to go someplace he could burn to the ground.


But it was too late, all he got in response was a door slammed ruthlessly. Scott let himself slump back against the back of his chair then. Swiveled around and opened the Venetian blinds to the nearest window. When Ororo entered the office half an hour later, he was still sitting in that same position, staring incessantly at absolutely nothing. Ro knew better than to bother him right then, and quietly left.

Mr. Summers was not seen again for the rest of the day.




It started when he was seventeen. A slow seduction complete with courting, unbridled displays of magnanimous powers, and genuine adult conversations. Oh and the champagne which, for a seventeen-year old from the streets of Brooklyn, was a really big deal. Seriously.

How it eventually progressed to seriously kinky, triple x-rated sex, only Magneto could tell. After all, that’s how he probably planned it from the very beginning.

So here he was, buck naked and blindfolded and bent over Erik’s giant oak desk in his office in the middle of the night. The desk was high so his feet dangled almost a feet above the ground with a two feet wide steel spreader strapped between his ankles. Two feet’s a lot when your legs are spread that much for almost an hour. Hell he wouldn’t put it past Magneto if he was actually making the rod longer with every passing minute. His wrists were bound together with more metal cuffs which in turn were attached to a short chain running across the other side to the floor, consequently holding him in place over the desk tight – nowhere to go.

Erik loved him like that. Spread out, helpless, and waiting for his mentor to take him mercilessly. The boy wondered every single day when and how was it that he consented to being treated like some… emotionless plaything. Hell he wondered when and how part of him began to crave this perverse form of affection from the enigmatic man he’d been absolutely smitten with ever since the day they met. All his thoughts quickly evaporated at the first touch of a cold gelled finger on his quivering anus.

“You like this don’t you?”

The finger teased at the little red opening, circling it over and over again.

“Yes, yes please…”

“All you had to do was ask.”

Erik used a sing-song voice whenever he was in the mood to play and it irked him to distraction while at the same time madly turning him on. The finger slipped in, gently pushing past the ring of muscle and now sliding through the silken walls of his teenaged ass. Oh how Erik loved to finger fuck his ass. Slow, languorous wiggling inside of him elicited the sweetest moans that were music to Erik’s ears. A second finger and a third and together they twisted in and out again and again each time rubbing into his prostate gland with deathly precision. But the damn cock ring, always the freaking cock ring that wouldn’t let him have the desperate release no teenaged boy is strong-willed enough to renounce.

“I know, my boy, I know. But kids these days need a firm lesson in self-control, it's for your own good!”

Erik said so matter-of-factly like he was discussing the weather. One large hand stroked the length of his heaving back in a firm loving gesture the boy had fallen so hopelessly in love with. But it didn’t distract him from the torturous plowing beneath.

“Uhh! Erik, please…”

At last the older man took pity on him and withdrew the fingers, only to replace with his giant rock-hard erection. The plunge was made in one smooth move and gave the boy no time whatsoever to adjust. He gasped, partly in pain and partly in shock. Erik had never been so cavalier with him before. When the pain subsided... profound, slow-burning pleasure overcame all his senses. Light exploded behind his blindfolded eyes and his breath caught in his throat as Erik started to leisurely fuck his tight slick hole. Every time the spot was hit, the boy whimpered begging to be allowed to come. Every time Erik slipped out past the tight entrance and paused, he pleaded to be breached again. Damn mega mutants and their mega staying powers. The boy’s own erection was clearly painful and getting crushed against the hard wood of the desk with every thrust to no avail. Eventually Magneto conceded and the cock ring loosened by degrees, enough to allow the teenager to come with a huge scream.

“Shhhh… keep it down boy. Or your father might hear you all the way from Tanzania.”

No really, he could. The mention of Xavier at this time was the worst thing Erik could have possibly done to the young boy. He was filled with irrepressible guilt as he continued to spasm over and over again. The powerful thrusts into his anus and the delicious pain in his limbs from being stretched and restrained so long only propelled his multiple ejaculations until he groaned in sheer bliss and exhaustion and misery.

“Now now, Scott. Don’t be so selfish, I’m not done with you yet.”

Erik pulled him back from his potpourri of thoughts though not completely, and continued to pound into him. Several minutes passed and Scott’s erection started to revive again against his wishes but there was nothing he could do. Finally, much to Scott’s relief, Erik stilled… his back arched and he came inside the boy with a soft moan. Panting, he bent over the teenager and pressed kisses down the length of the protruding spine. Then with a soft plop slipped out and zipped himself up. For Scott the fun was long over, all he wanted to do was sink into his bed and sleep it off. Sleep off the guilt, the pain, the pleasure that just brought more guilt and the grave concerns about his complete lack of control when it came to Erik.

//What the hell is wrong with me??//

Erik patted his glistening butt cheeks with passion and with a quick flick of a finger, tightened the cock ring again over Scott’s new erection.

“Now you be still okay? Pretend you’re sitting down for a portrait.”

Erik pulled his chair to the desk and eased into it, pulling out blueprints and other papers from a drawer and laid them out on the rest of the desk not occupied by the slender boy’s bound form.

“Uhh… Erik?”

“Shhh. I’ve got work to do Scott. We’re building a wondrous telepathic machine Charles and I.”

Yeah yeah, Cerebrum whatever. But what Scott wanted to know was why Erik wasn’t uncuffing him from the desk? Semen dribbled down the inside of his thighs making him desperately wish he could push his legs together, if only for a little while.

“But what about…”

“You just don’t listen do you?”

Erik sighed with dramatic effect and stood up. He was gone for awhile, long enough to make the boy squirm. When he came back Scott knew why. Much to his chagrin, the stuffing of the silver ball gag into his mouth and Erik’s gentle caressing of his hair went straight down to his groin again. Erik sat back down to resume his work.

“Be a good boy now or I’ll have to warm up this pretty little rump for you again.”

He pinched the said rump lovingly to illustrate his point and that was that.

Scott could have struggled but what was the point? He resigned himself to his fate of a long helpless night. This wasn’t the first time that Erik was playing this game and Scott had really really hoped he wouldn’t ever again. His legs were cramped and his wrists felt chaffed by the handcuffs and the oak was hard and unyielding under his stomach. But most of all he just wanted to be alone, and free.

To be in control again.

//And all you had to do was say no, you fucking bitch. Next time, just say no!//

Scott resolved to end it, this was the last time he was letting himself be seduced. This was the last time he was sleeping with his… his adopted father’s very persuasive friend. No more, he told himself. Just like he’d been telling himself for the last nine months.

He felt Erik’s index finger idly drawing circles on the sensitive sac between his legs, and meekly moaned into the ball gag.




After dinner most kids gathered in the tv room or the billiards room and viled away a couple of hours or so before going to bed. But not St. John. He slipped out of the back door like he had every night since getting back… sat down on the stone step and pulled his knees up against his chest. Lit up a cigarette hoping Bobby would not come looking for him again, least not for another ten minutes. What was up with that kid anyway? Seemed like the golden boy had chosen John to be his new pet project or something. Couldn’t say he minded too much.

The door opened behind him and John started. Damn you Bobby Drake, he thought. At this rate, the Iceman would have a greater stash of smokes than he did.

“Mind if I borrow one?”

What were the chances of Bobby ever saying that? And more importantly, that wasn’t Bobby’s voice?

John turned just as Scott sat down beside him on the step. The boy hadn’t forgotten the altercation earlier that morning and was in absolutely no mood to chit-chat (like he ever was). But hell if he’d miss out on the opportunity to see the stoic Mr. Summers dragging on a pimp stick and using it as leverage later.

It was cold enough to blow out steam rings even without the smoking but then again rings were hardly the point. They sat in amicable silence for awhile, until Scott threw away the stub and pulled something out of his pocket. It was the class schedule sheet, and John snorted.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

John started to get up…


… but didn’t. He sensed Scott’s eyes on him through his rose glasses. It was the first time Scott had used his… fieldname. Sounded, strange. Somewhat, almost… important… the way he had said it.

“I do understand.”

John shook his head and looked away.

//Here we go again.//

“I understand more than anyone else ever will. More than the Professor ever will, even if you let him in.”

Scott knew John had bluntly prohibited Xavier from snooping around in his head after he came back to the X-mansion.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? To be so completely possessed by him one moment, and so utterly discarded the next.”

John froze, almost frightened at what he’d just heard. How could he…? No he couldn’t. No fucking way!


John slowly, painfully turned toward the older man. Scott was staring out at the lake shimmering in the moonlight. His face, blank… devoid of all emotion like it always was. When Scott spoke again, his voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“The worst were the lies. How he'd make you feel like the center of his universe, until you realize you're nothing more than a plaything for his amusement. I fell for them too, was just a kid, like you.”

He looked at John, willing his voice not to shake.

“No one blames you. You shouldn’t either.”

John’s face was pale and his heart thumped so hard he thought it would explode. Wasn’t disturbed in the least by how easily he could still lie.

“I don’t.”

Scott nodded, reading the response for what was not being said, looking away again.

“It gets easier. With time. Helps to have a purpose.”

The teenager managed to smirk his cynical best. “And what’s that?”

Fight the good fight? Protect the pathetic ungrateful humans? Be a fucking X-Man?

Scott dug his hands tight into his jacket pockets.


St. John Allerdyce took his time looking… really looking at his teacher for perhaps the very first time in four years. They stayed like that, deathly still for who knew how long… wondering if they’d made a mistake by admitting, through not words but silence, their darkest secret to the other. Wondering if they could trust… each other. Given his track record so far, John couldn’t imagine a single reason why Mr. Summers would even try. So he asked.


He noticed Scott swallow not so subtly and then just… shrug.

John waited until he realized Mr. Summers didn’t really have an answer himself, and he was right. It was just something Scott had to do. It's just who he was, a leader who put his team’s well-being way before his. Even if it meant giving a good-again-bad-again juvenile delinquent leverage to hold over the mighty Cyclops' head for the rest of his mutant life.

John picked up the schedule for junior year, looked at it briefly before making his bored-now face and stuffing it into his pocket.

“I hate trig.”

Scott smiled, remembering the class in which John set fire to the whiteboard in his frustration over tangents and their application to projectile motion.

“I know.”

Then stood up and walked away. “Don’t bring your lighter to class.”

John smirked.

//Smoking bastard.//

**** END ****