Sunlight.

Dougie turned his face up, eyes closed, and let the bright light touch his cheeks and warm them for the first time in what felt like months. He knew this place, of course. Hanauma Bay, Hawaii, where they’d gone on a family vacation to celebrate Mat’s graduation. Mat and their dad had spent hours with snorkels on, covering every inch of reef, chasing sea turtles through the bright water while Dougie and Mom sunned on the sand, eating ice cream from the concession stand and enjoying the view.

He was there again. Now. With her. He looked to his left and saw her stretched out on her beach towel with a romance novel and a smear of white sunscreen down her nose. She smiled when she noticed him staring. “All right, Dougie? You need some money for a drink?”

“No, thanks,” he replied, because God, how could he leave her side even for a second, not when she was here, alive and beautiful and happy. Which wasn’t possible because his voice wasn’t a child’s voice, it was . . . it was a man’s voice. How could he be a man and be at Hanauma Bay? He hadn’t been here since he was eleven or ten—no, ten, ten, because that was the year Mat had graduated and Dougie’s birthday, of course, hadn’t been until after.

Mat was waving to him from far out on the water, still wearing his snorkel, hair dripping and plastered to his skull. Seventeen and so grown up and strong and handsome, and Dougie wanted nothing more than to be like him, be grown up and strong and handsome and graduated from school a year early, be out swimming with him, chasing sea turtles with him and their dad. But he’d gone running with Mat on the beach this morning, in the wet sticky sand that sucked at your feet and made everything so much harder, and though they’d had fun playing in the waves, he’d begged out halfway through and was still too sore to swim out as far as they were. And anyway, it was dangerous, what with the spiky coral and the eels and even the blacktip sharks, although maybe that was just something Mat had told him to scare him.

Mat wasn’t scared of anything.

Dougie shifted on his beach towel, unable to quite get comfortable. The beach here was soft sand, but maybe some coral had washed ashore and he was sitting on it or something. He wiggled back and forth, still uncomfortable, and finally turned onto his belly, the sun immediately warming his back.

He should ask his mother to put some sunscreen on him before he got burned. His skin was already burning around the back of his thighs a little, like he’d been stung by hundreds of tiny jellyfish.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” his mother asked. “You look a little pale.”

He shook his head, and then, because he was so impossibly happy to see her again and didn’t want to waste it, not for a second, said, “Maybe a hug?”

She smiled brightly and put her novel aside and opened her arms. Dougie climbed into them and basked there, like she was the sun. He was too big for this now, but she didn’t seem to notice. She petted his hair and kissed the top of his head just like she always had. “Why don’t you go exploring? I’ll be right here.”

He didn’t want to leave her. But then, Dad was in the water, and he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here or why he seemed so out of place, but it all seemed so fragile somehow, like maybe the clouds were going to come and cover the sun any moment. Like it all might wash out with the tide, and he had to see Dad before that happened.

Walking was a little strange—a little stiff, a little sore. He must’ve run harder this morning than he’d realized; his legs were still so short and he wasn’t as strong as Mat and he couldn’t always keep up no matter how hard he tried, even though he was pretty sure Mat would slow down just for him if he asked. He sort of duck-walked into the water, feeling schools of fish darting around his calves, exploring him, touching his skin, and he couldn’t kick them away, knew he’d be punished terribly if he did. And the water was . . . it was cold. Ice cold, and dark black, not blue like it was supposed to be. And when he looked out toward the horizon, Mat was gone, but his father was still there, just further out, silhouetted by a steel gray sky.

“Dad?” he called, suddenly afraid but he didn’t know why. This was Hawaii. They were on vacation. Nothing bad happened on vacation. “Dad?”

His father pushed his goggles up his head, rucking his dark hair. He grinned and waved. Between the mask and the silly smile and the stupid five-for-ten-dollars puca shell necklace he wore, he looked pretty goofy. Handsome and strong, like Mat, but goofy. Dougie forgot to be afraid. He waded out until the water reached his chest and waved back.

His dad swam up to meet him, and Dougie threw his arms around his waist, pressed his cheek to his dad’s broad chest. “Where’s Mat?” he asked.

His dad hugged him back, picked him up easily and dangled him over his head. “Who’s Mat?” he asked, then gave Dougie a hard heave and sent him flying.

Dougie should’ve laughed—he loved when his dad tossed him around in the water like this—but he landed hard, the icy water knocking the breath out of his lungs. The salt water stung his eyes, ran down his cheeks and into his mouth. Something small and squirmy swam up one leg of his swim trunks and bit him square on the ass. He screamed. Lurched. Planted his feet in the sand and stumbled back until he was in the shallows. His father followed, looking concerned, but Dougie ignored him—he was mad at him, he’d lost Mat—and headed straight for Mom instead.

“Mom. Mom!” he cried, racing up the beach and throwing himself, dripping wet, into her arms. He could feel her book wedged between them in her lap, poking uncomfortably at his crotch. “Mom, where’s Mat? He was in the water and now he’s gone and I don’t—”

“Mat?” She took him by the shoulders, pushed him back so she could meet his eyes, and smiled tentatively. “Who’s Mat? Did you make a friend, honey? Does he need help?” She looked over his shoulder, to his dad. “Craig? Did you see a boy in the water? Should I get a lifeguard?”

His father just shook his head and shrugged, and Dougie wanted to shake them both, scream and rage and make them stop. “Cut it out!” he shouted. “It’s not funny anymore! You’re scaring me!”

He shoved away. Mom tried to hold him, but Mat had taught him ten different ways at least to shake out of someone’s grasp and he wormed right out from under her, ran back toward the water, shouting Mat’s name.

Nobody answered. Nobody was there. The beach was empty. So was the ocean. When had that happened? Where was everyone? When had it gotten so cold out? He had to go to the bathroom. Badly, in fact. Felt so much pressure, suddenly, and then his gut cramped, and he hurt, and he backed away from the water before he could fall in and drown.

He swung around, searching out his parents, because even if they were playing cruel tricks on him, it was better than this horrible emptiness. But when he turned, only one man was standing there: a man wearing a suit—why was he wearing a suit on the beach?—with one hand tucked casually into his pocket.

“Who—who are you?” Dougie asked, even though he felt like . . . he felt like . . . like he should know the answer, or maybe a piece of the answer. “Where’s my father?”

The man reached out, and even though they’d been separated by at least a couple yards just a second ago, now they were toe to toe, and the man’s hand was clasped around Dougie’s upper arm, holding him tight enough to hurt. “Right here, Douglas. I’m your father now, remember?”

No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all. He jerked away, but the man just caught him again, held him tight, and not one of the things Mat had taught him about making people let go of you did a lick of good.

And then suddenly they were in the ocean—far, far out in the ocean, farther than Dougie had ever been and the beach was just a speck in the distance and the waves were so tall and the current was so strong and he was drowning, he was drowning—

“Shhh, it’s all right, Douglas. Hold on to me. I’ll save you.”

“No!” he wailed, and water gushed into his mouth, choking him. “No, this isn’t right, this isn’t right!”

But the arms around him were warm and steady and strong, and the body holding his kept the ocean from swallowing him whole. He was too tired to swim anymore. Too tired to keep fighting. The water was so cold it burned, ate through him like acid, and he didn’t want to hurt anymore, and he didn’t want to die.

“Will you let me help you, Douglas?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Dougie said, almost too weary to form the word. “Yes.”

The man kissed his wet hair and towed him back to the shore. The sun didn’t shine again—might never shine again—and everyone he loved was dead, but at least the man’s body was warm. It was enough. It had to be.

Dougie woke gasping.

Had he even been asleep? Consciousness washed in and out, in and out, in and— Oh, Nikolai was here, wearing his latex gloves again. Milking him. His fingers sliding in and out. How many days had it been now with the plug and the cage and Nikolai’s gloved fingers and eating his own cum? Three? Four? He couldn’t remember. It was all just one blurred wash of agony and humiliation, hopelessness and helplessness, and everyone he loved was gone and he was too tired to keep fighting anymore and he wanted it—needed it—to end.

“Stop,” he whispered, and Nikolai must have heard him, because his fingers stilled.

“What was that, boy?”

“Stop. Stop. Please stop. I give in. I want . . .” I want this suffering to end. “I want to do what you want. I want to be who you want me to be. Please, sir, tell me how. Help me. Please.”

Nikolai’s latex gloves snapped, and then his bare hands were on Dougie’s shoulders, helping him to his feet, turning him until he was crushed against Nikolai’s broad chest. Warm. Solid. Not drowning now, he won’t let me drown. He even smelled good. Dougie sighed, relaxing into Nikolai’s grip. “Of course, Douglas,” Nikolai said to him, indulgent as a father on Christmas. He tilted Dougie’s face up by the chin and planted a soft kiss on his mouth. “Of course I will.”

Dougie realized he was crying when Nikolai swept the tears from one cheek with his thumb.

“No more crying, now. I know you’re still in the most painful part of your transition, but from now on, you must try to be happy to serve, Douglas. Overjoyed, even. And one day soon, you won’t have to try at all. But you must trust me. Do you trust me?”

“I . . .” He won’t let me drown he wants to keep me too much he won’t let me drown. “I want to, sir. But I . . .” He buried his face in Nikolai’s chest, clung to Nikolai’s jacket with both hands. He’d be punished now, he knew that. But he was too raw to lie anymore, and maybe, just maybe, whatever came next would help him get where he needed to be to stop hurting for good. Maybe all this pain served a purpose. Nikolai couldn’t reshape him, after all, without breaking him first. How strange for that thought not to frighten him anymore. It was almost . . .

Relief.

“Shhh,” Nikolai said. “Do you remember why I caged your cock, Douglas?”

A question with an easy answer. Thank God. Dougie could kiss the man for that. “Because you wanted me to learn the value of pleasure, sir.”

“Very good. I think you’re ready for the second part of that lesson now. After all, you cannot truly know gratitude if I don’t give you things to be grateful for. You must never become entitled, of course, and in time you’ll learn that any attention from your master at all—even if he’s only acknowledging you to punish you by his own hand—is a gift worthy of gratitude. But I don’t expect you to understand that yet. Although . . .” He hugged Dougie tightly, kissed the top of his head, and it felt so fucking good to be held, to feel affection, to not be afraid, even for just a moment. “Although you’re clearly grateful to have my attention now. That’s good, Douglas. That’s very good. But I’ve promised to help make this easy for you, so if you’d like the gift of pleasure now, you need only ask. Tell me what you’d like me to do for you, Douglas, and if I can, I will.”

Make the pain stop. “I . . . I don’t know what to ask for, sir. I don’t—I’ve never—”

“Shhh. We could begin with uncaging you, yes?” Oh God yes, please, that. “Ask me for that gift, Douglas, and you shall have it.”

But it couldn’t be that simple, could it? Just like that? Surely Nikolai wanted more than just words after all he’d put him through, all he’d demanded of him, all he’d tried to take. Surely he wanted . . .

Dougie dropped to his knees at Nikolai’s feet and pressed his lips to the top of one well-polished shoe. He could give him this, could give him this to make the pain end, to keep his affection. “Thank you, sir,” he said, surprised and relieved by how easily the words came. How much he meant them. “Please, sir. Would you . . . would you free my cock, sir?”

Silence. No reply. His stomach went cold with dread, and after a moment or two, he looked up, cautiously cracking one eye open, the other still winced shut. Nikolai was smiling. Not just happy or pleased, but . . . amused?

“You didn’t really need to grovel—I’d have taken a sincerely and humbly made request—but I can’t say the effect isn’t charming, Douglas. Up on the bed then. Feet on the floor, but lie back.”

Dougie got to his feet, puffing with relief as he fell back onto the soft mattress. And then, on second thought, he spread his legs nice and wide. Kept his feet planted to the floor. Draped his arms over his head, like an erotic photograph, and took a deep breath. He hoped Nikolai liked it. If he was . . . if he was going to do this, well, he was going to do it. Or he’d lose his nerve. Slide back again. Make Nikolai have to hurt him again.

No.

Never.

From here on out, he’d be perfect. Give Nikolai no reason to punish him and as many reasons to be happy with him as he was capable of.

Nikolai’s expression was soft, unhurried, blessedly patient and calming as he produced a ring of keys from his pocket, selected a small gold one, and slotted it into the miniature padlock that fastened the cage. His other hand rubbed slow, easy circles on Dougie’s belly, which had cramped so hard for so long under the onslaught of plug and cage that the muscles there burned and quivered, but oh, that touch felt good. Then the lock clicked open and the cage fell away and God, God thank you thank you thank you his cock was free.

And he must have said so aloud, because Nikolai stroked his brow and said, “You’re welcome.”

For a while after that, Dougie just lay back, panting, so overcome with relief he had no idea what to do with himself. But then Nikolai reached for him, wrapping a gentle but insistent hand around his shaft.

Get hard, he willed himself. Get hard for him. His balls throbbed and his ass hurt something fierce and he felt weird and empty and too full all at the same time, still terribly oversensitive and tender and yet desperately needy, so why wasn’t he responding to Nikolai’s gift? Come on, come on come on . . . If he screwed this up, Nikolai would be disappointed again, and he’d put him back in the cage and plug him back up and leave him here to drown in his suffering . . .

“Before you came here, what did you like?” Nikolai asked, pumping him with slow strokes.

Serena Chang. How many times had he fantasized about burying his face in those gorgeous tits and . . . And what? Somehow, he’d never really gotten further than that, never lasted long enough to draw out the fantasy. Honestly, he’d never really had great sex to draw from. That one time in high school had been an awkward, fumbling disaster; he’d had no idea what to do or that women were so complicated and he’d come in like four seconds and couldn’t even bear to look at her again. And he’d only ever had one girlfriend in college, and frankly he hadn’t felt very good at the whole being-a-boyfriend thing, and they’d slept together exactly twice before she’d kissed him on the cheek and called him sweet, for fuck’s sake, and wished him luck and left him. Maybe he should have just been a passive gay guy from the get-go. Let himself be pursued and petted and bent over furniture and posed just so.

God, this was so much fucking easier.

“I know,” Nikolai replied. Had Dougie seriously spoken aloud again? How much? All of it? Serena Chang? Had he said her name?

But at least he was hard now, although it was more than a little troubling that he couldn’t remember if it was Serena Chang’s tits or the thought of being posed and petted that had made the difference. Or maybe just the simple absence of pain. It’d been so long . . . so long he scarcely remembered a time before it, a time when life hadn’t been all misery and humiliation and suffering.

Nikolai stroked the worry away with deft fingers, and Dougie moaned. No artifice there, though he’d have faked it for Nikolai if it hadn’t come naturally. After God knew how many days of relentless stimulation, terrible hunger never quite quelled by the pain of his cock trying to swell in a tiny plastic cage, being free and being touched and being hard felt so damn good. Like he was human again. Like all the agony and humiliation and terror of the past weeks had never even happened, like he mattered to someone who wanted to make him feel good. Like being with a lover, almost, so natural and easy and right and he needed this, needed it desperately, threw his head back and splayed his legs and fisted the sheets and let words tumble from his lips as they may, to hell with what he was saying or who he was saying it to or where he was or what he was doing or—

The hand stopped. Two hands, he realized now—one curled loose around his throbbing cock, and two or three fingers of the other nestled in his ass, filling that strange aching emptiness left by the absence of the plug. After days of suffering such abject misery with the plugs, it amazed him now to want anything inside him, to realize how fantastic those fingers felt. And though it shamed him, he squirmed a little, tried to get them to move again, to press where he needed them.

Nikolai tsked. “You’re becoming complacent, Douglas. I enjoy the sight of your pleasure and knowing I control it, but you mustn’t bask too deeply. Pleasure is a gift from your master to be enjoyed, but your job is always to remember that he is to be the center of your universe, even at those times he lets you believe you’re at the center of his.”

Please don’t be mad please don’t be mad I can’t go back to that plug and that cage and the milking I can’t . . . “Yes sir, I’m sorry sir,” Dougie stuttered. Yet despite the worry and the fear, he couldn’t fight the rolling of his hips, trying to urge Nikolai’s fingers deeper. “Please, tell me how . . . What do I . . . to make you . . .?”

“Remind me of my power, Douglas. Beg me. Ask me for my gifts. Be specific. For example: would you like me to touch your prostate now?” He did, just a little brush, but God, it filled Dougie’s head with fireworks. And then it was gone again, fingers still inside him but no longer pressing where he needed them. “Or would you like me to touch your nipples? Your balls? Would you like me to suck you?”

Oh. God, Dougie would never have thought—

“Would you, sir? Would you suck me?” God, a second ago he’d been so afraid Nikolai would punish him again; how could he have been so wrong? “I thought because . . . well, I thought since I’m a . . . since I’m . . .” Say it. Say it for him, he wants to hear it. Make him happy. Give in. “Since I’m your slave, sir, I thought I’d only be sucking you.”

“And most of the time, you’d be right. But some masters enjoy pleasuring their slaves. Some masters derive their own pleasure from sucking cock or eating ass or being penetrated. For you, these acts are subservient. For me, they are just one more way for me to take my pleasure from my property, just one more way for your body to be mine.”

Amazing how little those words hurt, amazing how little they angered him. He’d expected . . . fury, hatred, humiliation. But all he felt now was tired, and resigned, and oddly hopeful, and buzzing with a desire to listen and learn that should have terrified him but didn’t. He could do this, he realized. He could be what Nikolai wanted. He could choose to be. Wasn’t that its own kind of power?

The thought swelled inside him, nestling neatly between his fear and his need.

“I don’t particularly like sucking cock, but I do very much like hearing a pretty little slave beg me for it. And I won’t lie; part of that enjoyment comes from saying ‘no’—the power to deny is like a drug—but I also enjoy saying ‘yes,’ especially when it’s deserved. So ask.”

It was so easy to beg. So very, very easy. He didn’t know why it had taken him so long to just fucking try. “Please, sir. I know you don’t owe me anything and I probably don’t deserve it but please, will you suck my cock?”

Nikolai took him by the chin. Turned his head until they were eye to eye. “Yes, Douglas. For you, I will.” Because you’re so very special and precious to me, more precious than any of the others. He didn’t say it, but Dougie felt it, an intense bond between them, made up of chains and locks and pain and fear, but did that matter anymore? Was it any worse than what had bound him to Mat: loneliness and grief and blood?

No don’t think about Mat don’t think about him here. From here on out it had to be like the dream, where Mat didn’t even exist, where Dougie was all alone with no one but Nikolai—no one to save him but Nikolai, which was so frightening and awful, but there was also no one to see his shame but Nikolai, and that was a sweet welcome relief.

“Douglas.” He blinked, washing back to shore again. “Douglas, you mustn’t come without my permission this time, do you understand? And you mustn’t move your hips. You must never fuck my mouth. I am not a hole to be used, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Not a hole to be used.” No, because that’s me, just me, I’m the hole to be used and I’d better never forget it again or he’ll hurt me, he’ll hurt me and it’ll all be for nothing in the end anyway because I’m not strong enough. “It’s you that’s using my cock.”

Nikolai smiled. “That’s right.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just dipped his head with a grin.

Then Dougie was swallowed up into a black hole of pleasure and pain, sweet delirious torture and Nikolai’s tongue bathing the head of his cock until it stung. But God, even if it hurt, he’d never ask his master to stop, never never, because it was so good, such a long time coming, pleasure, pleasure, even in this place pleasure, and Nikolai’s hand was on his hip, pinning him to the bed, helping him to obey.

Nikolai didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want to hurt him, he never wanted to hurt him, he just wanted—just wanted so badly for Dougie to be good, to do what he was told, and now it would all be so much better. His cock pulsed and twitched and his poor swollen balls drew up tight, a terrible wash of pain beneath the much headier pleasure, and Dougie fisted the sheets, trying not to come, just wanting to make Nikolai happy, the way Nikolai was making Dougie happy with his kindness and his consideration, with his powerful relentless suction and the motion of his throat that was all so good, so so so— “Sir!” he shouted, because he couldn’t stop it now—not even the cramping and the hypersensitivity and the powerful ache in his balls and ass could stop the cresting wave of pleasure—and he didn’t want to be punished, he wanted to make Nikolai happy, damn it, why couldn’t he do this one small thing?

Nikolai pulled off and out of him, rubbing his belly again, bringing him down. “Do you have something you’d like to ask me, Douglas?”

Dougie’s hips rose, then fell again. Not a hole to be used. He’s my master. I’m the hole. He uses me. My dick is just a plaything. Just one more plaything. Just one more thing he owns. I should be grateful he deigns to touch it at all. I am grateful.

“May I come, sir? Please, please—”

“Where would you like to come, Douglas? How? Should I stop sucking you now and milk you to completion?”

No, please, no more humiliating, pleasureless dribbles of cum, especially not now, not when he was so close to coming for real, so close to orgasm for the first time in . . . God, he couldn’t even remember. “Please don’t milk me sir, please . . . please let me come . . . in—in your m-mouth? Sir?”

Nikolai snorted, and Dougie cried, “I’m sorry!” even as Nikolai said, “Shhh, Douglas, that’s all right. I asked you a question. You answered honestly. I respect that. But I’ll not be swallowing your cum, Douglas, now or any other time. Never ask again.”

He didn’t sound angry, didn’t even sound disapproving, really, but his words seemed harsh even if his tone wasn’t, and Dougie trembled beneath them, his urgency fleeing beneath his fear, his cock softening in Nikolai’s hand.

Nikolai gave him an encouraging stroke. “But since today is about rewarding your progress, perhaps I can compromise. I’m a giving man, Douglas, and I want you to remember that always. You can come in my mouth, but I won’t swallow your seed. You will.”

“I will? How?” Please just tell me what you want, sir. Please just tell me how to make you happy. How to keep you from hurting me. Please, I’ll do anything.

Nikolai slapped Dougie’s balls lightly with his free hand, and pain ricocheted down his thighs and into his belly, so stark that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to beg, apologize, throw himself at Nikolai’s feet, but Nikolai had already moved on, was parting his lips to speak again. “Don’t ask questions now. You’ll know what to do when it’s time.”

Dougie nodded, lying back again, trying to let the pleasure override the pain once more. He didn’t have to try very hard, because Nikolai’s warm mouth returned, gentle this time, suckling him in slow pulses, drawing the orgasm nearer inch by inch like reeling in a kite.

Dougie twisted and writhed underneath him, moaning and keening and begging a little, words that didn’t fit together right, didn’t even seem to make sense, like they were in some other language, some primal language he’d known before he was born. Well, if this was meant to be a rebirth, then it made some kind of horrible sense, didn’t it.

And then Nikolai hummed around him, just like he’d taught Dougie to do, and his hand slid back behind Dougie’s balls, fingers nudging easily into his hole, and Dougie was whining and fighting to keep his hips from rising and then just like that he was coming, pleasure so raw and hot and bright he barely noticed the blast of pain beneath it, hard use and denial and need too long caged, coming so fucking hard the whole world crashed to pieces around his ears and the primal voice cried, Yes sir thank you thank you thank you sir thank you for this gift master, thank you . . .

He was still untethered when Nikolai rose and pressed their mouths together, and it was so easy and natural to open his mouth to Nikolai and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him as he emptied a mouthful of salty cum down into Dougie’s throat. So easy to swallow his own cum—he’d done this enough, knew how to now, knew what Nikolai wanted and how to make him happy—to taste himself on Nikolai’s probing tongue, take every gift Nikolai offered with sweet, unquestioning gratitude as the aftershocks of his orgasm rumbled through him, each one as powerful as an orgasm in itself. So easy. Painless. So easy to finally give in, twitching as he was with his pleasure. So, so easy. Beautiful, almost. He felt . . . high. Relaxed. Unafraid.

Loved.

And in that moment, for the first time since he’d been taken, he didn’t miss his old life, not even a little.