Archive of Our Own

Junko Enoshima is obnoxious. Annoying. The sound of her fingers spreading her slick pierces his peace all too often lately.

It all started when they had first met, really. He could smell her arousal at his indifference to her. She wasn’t used to being undesirable, unfeared, unhated. People always felt at least something towards her, so the absolute absence of reaction to her being sent shivers down her spine and jitters through her legs. An irritating stench that, while unpleasant, was preferable to the dull sterile atmosphere of his prison. Is, now – after the biggest, most awful, most tragic event in all of human history is done and over – a welcome change from the burnt and rotting flesh, from the smog of plastic fumes that is littering the streets. 

The first time she actually confronted him sexually was soon after she made the student council massacre each other. He was heading back to his cell, having seen enough, but Enoshima clung to him with a fleeting look of despair on her face before it changed back to her usual impenetrable act in a blink. How could he possibly not have at least raised an eyebrow to all this? Was her show really so lacking? She’d have to work harder for him, wouldn't she? She clung to him, pressed her boobs against the arm she was holding and rubbed the bare skin of her thighs against his clothed leg.

“You act like a bitch in heat.”, he’d noted, with his usual dull, sterile, perfectly empty matter-of-fact demeanor, and dislodged himself from her in her shock. It took all composure he had to swallow the confusing, useless urge to smirk; his mouth twitching ever so slightly for the first time since he was created.

"I zuuu ru K aaa mu kuu ra, you sly fox.” she called after him, taking a weak step forward. Her sister arrived, mumbling something, probably an apology. Enoshima kicked her down, making her drop all she was holding, then dug her heel between her ass cheeks, making Ikusaba shriek in surprise. “Playing hard to get— just for me? Maybe you learned something from me after all!”
She repeatedly kicked her sister with increasing strength until there was blood on her underwear. Enoshima hit her one last time and squealed in her high schooler voice, “Can you believe it, sis? The Ultimate Hope is making me despair on purpose!”

The sister in question barely responded, a dazed mess on the floor.

“Ugh, you useless pig! Stop being horny and clean up this mess!” Enoshima snapped before putting on glasses and noting something in the notebook she kept in her bra. Her tone shifted to something deep and narrative. “This is the beginning of the cat and mouse chase of the…”, she paused a dramatic second before sighing and returning to her usual cheerful voice before continuing the narration, “ Ever . Does despair chase hope, or is it hope that is chasing despair? Only time will tell, but the beautiful, most intelligent, extraordinary Junko Enoshima already has all her war strategies planned out. Her opponent is none other than the Ultimate Hope, the hopeless lab rat of the academy that is soon to collapse in her perfectly manicured hands.”

She laughed as she put the notebook back where she found it.

Kamukura grimaced at her words behind the corner he took in his leave. For someone unable to experience emotions, he found his internal experience very akin to dislike.

And that was what had compelled him to stay in her orbit. The hint of displeasure , her obnoxiousness making him so annoyed he’d experience the faintest glimmer of rage . Despite the range of emotions sprouting from interactions with her being overwhelmingly negative and ultimately destructive, they were still emotions and he’d take them over the agonizing void his lonely boredom brought anytime.

At least until she became so painfully, predictably boring. The bigger her desperation grew, the more boring she was becoming.

An early attempt at encouraging sexual feelings in him was having him witness herself having sexual intercourse with the clumsy nurse. She sat him down on a laughable folding chair to have him observe her playing with the crying, pleading girl.

What she was doing was orgasm denial, that he knew, but he didn't get the appeal. The nurse's voice was agonizing to listen to, her movements confusing and pointless, her infatuation with Enoshima a mystery. A pathetic creature, so masochistic she was seeking out torture from arguably the worst human being on the planet. However, Enoshima didn't just deny the girl her orgasm, she didn't allow her to touch herself, she also refused to touch her in any way and dodged any attempts of the girl throwing herself onto the object of her desire. Did the absence of pleasure cause despair? If that were true, he'd be in immense despair then— and always.

Enoshima relished in the girl's despair, touching herself to it. “You want this, don't you, you little whore?” she teased while rubbing her slick all over her large chest, kneading her breasts, squishing them together.

“Y-yes Enoshima-sama!” the girl croaked, fighting her urge to lunge forward, drooling helplessly onto herself while attempting to rub her exposed clitoris on the floor beneath her.

“Shut up!” Enoshima slapped her across the face. “Did I allow you to talk? Ugly pigs don't fucking talk, do they?” 

“S-sor-” she spurted out but then bit her lips bloody to shut herself up. She dramatically fell over with a squeal not unlike that of a pig and bounced across the floor directly towards her beloved. Enoshima, of course, stepped aside, letting her launch herself toward Kamukura. However he also easily dodged out of the way, quickly catching her with a nearby curtain in a way she could not make herself fall in her usual overly obnoxious sexual ways. Being denied her pity party was a despair of its own to her, one she couldn’t understand, as she never hoped for it. Until now.

He has that effect on people.

Not keen on hearing Enoshima go on about how he's just like her - savouring the power of making people despair, but just too proud to admit to it - he often left silently. It'd never been true, of course, but he felt himself changing with time passing. And change was a weird uncertainty that he still didn't know how to feel about yet.

That's how he ended up here.  

Neatly sitting on this folding chair in an abandoned hotel room nearby Hope’s Peak Academy once more. He and Enoshima are alone this time. She touches herself, edging in anticipation of a reaction, teasing and encouraging him to join her. No matter what he does, she manages to find pleasure in it, as despair is inevitable.

He wishes he could lose count of the amount of times she's tried to entice him, the many things she's tried so far to get him to do as little as twitch in response to her body, her words, her actions. 

Though he doesn't understand how or why, he always puts all his strength into being unmoving, not granting her an ounce of pleasure through the involuntary actions of his body. Then again, his inaction is what thrills her the most; but despite her hatred for it, in the end, she is so full of hope because of him.
Hope that she would eventually get a reaction out of him. Hope that she will win him over. The ultimate prize: the symbol of hope crushed under her heel and coming in white streaks at her power. Her having this ridiculously powerful god of a person in her possession, like he's her little lap dog that she can order to fuck her, and only her, thoroughly whenever she pleases. His stupid seeds of hope being wasted in her womb that nurtures nothing but despair. 

And it isn't like she hadn’t noticed him straightening up ever since he slipped that day in the hallway. Teasing him about it, about how she knows that he's consciously making an effort to appear disinterested towards her. How she imagines he's secretly jerking off to the thought of her when he's all alone.

Those fantasies of her annoy him, and while they had been mildly entertaining at first (because of how blatantly wrong she is in her assumptions about him), he does find himself bored. So bored, in fact, that he's going through a million alternate timelines in his mind, assessing if somehow there could've been a way to prevent his predicament. It is so exhausting to avoid Enoshima's advances, but he really doesn't feel like giving into her way and letting her do as she pleases with his body. And it's not like he's committed himself to abstinence, he just doesn't see the point in engaging with her. Or himself for that matter. 

The lobotomy left him void of sexual urges, void of attraction, void of desire of any kind. Therefore, it's been interesting to observe a sudden surge of desire since starting the series of experiments with Enoshima. However, the aforementioned desire is one of withdrawal . An unreasonable urge to retreat, to avoid subjecting himself to her, that festers a discomfort in his chest when he doesn't oblige.

He shrugs it off and pushes forward, accepting it as his entertainment for the time being.

At one point Enoshima jumps him with a comically large pair of hedge trimmers when he's trying to urinate in peace. While he's annoyed by his bodily functions (such a chore), they still are a part of him; yet Enoshima doesn't give him any dignity or privacy for even that (of course she doesn't). He knew she was waiting for him in his bathroom and he could've just gone somewhere else, but the back of his mind told him to do something different, to give in to her to see what she would do when she thinks she’s got things going her way for a moment.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Her shriek pierces the fog in his brain. “Izuru, honey, I'm speechless, really.” She dances around him, acting like she's taking snapshots of his genitals, while obviously not carrying any capable device with her.

He finishes and attempts to put his penis back into his underwear, but Enoshima pulls his clothes down with a “Tsktsktsk”.

Despite all his effort a sigh escapes him.

“My dear Mr. Kamukura.”, she starts playfully, “you never told me how fucking average your assets are!” She attempts to flick her fingers at his limp penis but he evades her effortlessly. "Like, for real.” She gestures around his bottom with the trimmers and snips playfully, teasing to trim his aforementioned “asset” and he evades. “That's a nice bush and all, but the ultimate human? Reborn Adonis, god amongst men? Such an unremarkable cock? I kind of expected more.” Enoshima catches herself off guard and holds her mouth. “You fucking bitch !” She takes another swing at his dick with the trimmers, but he moves aside, pulling up his pants finally, then kicking the tool from her hands. "I was so sure of you packing a monster I didn't notice that I ended up hoping for it.” Her breathing gets frantic and she takes mindless jabs at him. “You really know how to make a girl despair!” 

“You can keep putting things in my mouth. You can keep entertaining your delusion of my great master plan.”, he sighs with a monotone voice, still dodging her claws as he attempts to wash his hands. “None of it will change the fact that it is not my intent to lead you on.” He attempts to snatch her arms, to finally make her stop, but she evades his advance. “I've told you very clearly how disinterested I am.”

With slumped shoulders she twirls her hair. “I know.” She mumbles with the energy of a rotting mushroom. “You are hopelessly and utterly despairingly disinterested in my picture perfect fuckable body.” Though just as quick as her previous expression changed, she preps up with a royal stance. “Buuuut that's how you feel about everything and everyone! And don't you think I don't notice your little twitches and swallowed breaths.” Suddenly she jumps and twirls around him. “I will expose you for the wiar that you awe! Deep down inside you are vewy into something…”, her expression changes once more, “...I jusht need to find out what it ish.” 

Enoshima isn't seeking him out as much anymore, at least for now. She's keeping him on a loose leash, she tells herself. A method in training dogs or fishing fish to give them false security, the illusion of control.
Izuru Kamukura, of course, isn't a fish or a dog. He also isn't the delusional one. He's everything, but also…not really. Only one thing is for sure: he's bored.

Having meandered through the hotel twice over, he’s seen all that could be seen. Scanning it again appears pointless to him, though so is wasting away in this room. He originally chose this arcade for its comforting abundance of stimuli - the flickering colors and the chirped hooks and pentatones of the booths - but not even that can entertain him anymore.
Despite something in his brain kicking and screaming, and his body repulsing at the thought, he briefly considers seeking Enoshima out. It is not, as she puts it, that he seeks despair. Neither hope, for that matter. All he seeks is to feel . That was what she promised she could do to him all this time, but she didn't really succeed. Not in a way that mattered.

With a sigh he leans back on the opulent couch he’s sitting on and considers himself out of options. Begrudgingly he decides to entertain the ridiculous idea of sexuality, opening his pants to look at his penis. He knows that, statistically, it consumes a significant portion of most young people's past time; some even developing an obsessive addiction, like the nurse Enoshima likes to toy with, but he can't see himself being much entertained by rubbing his hand along this…piece of meat.

That's when he meets him .

“Oh.”, the voice exclaims quietly at the sight of Kamukura's exposed bottom. The white-haired man, he remembers Enoshima referring to him as Nagito, did not expect to encounter anyone, let alone the symbol of hope, in a place like this. To see him like this…luck must be involved. It mildly rouses Kamukura's interest to see where this could be going. He doesn't react, other than staring at the other man intently; observing, analyzing.

Nagito stands in the doorway, clutching the handle, his face grimacing in a way that Kamukura can't read. The intruder’s eyes narrow at the flickering lights of the many booths, taking a few seconds to get used to the avalanche of colors and sounds. He seems disgusted, yet ecstatic…? Suddenly his knees give in and he kneels on the ground. 

“Y-you.”, Komaeda stutters, heart racing, desperately collecting his thoughts before they spill out and all over the floor, all over this beautiful man’s body, like guts; (already) staining Kamukura's perfect, untouched beauty with his vile fantasies. This man is capable of killing him so easily. He already tried and would've succeeded if not for Komaeda’s dumb luck.

“Close the door if you come in.”, Kamukura instructs. He still sits unmoving, exposed bottom, eyes fixated on Komaeda.

He looks divine to him. Truly a god amongst insects, throned as he deserves.

“Of- of course. How inattentive of me.”, he mutters, shutting the door by sitting back against it. He's now at eye level with Kamukura's dick and he swallows at the sight, at the temptation. He sits so exposed, inviting. 

His staring doesn't go unnoticed, of course. Kamukura lifts his head up slightly to better look past his hair, shifting the line of sight between them, making him clearly look down on Komaeda like the worthless little worm that he is in his mind.

“Um…”, he starts. “Please excuse my intrusion.” He shifts his weight forward to prop himself up using his arms, arching his back, raising his ass, assuming a position that should squeeze his legs shut and offer the friction he desperately desires if it wasn’t for the gap between his thighs. 

“I remember you.” Kamukura states, calmly, assuringly, and Komaeda swears there's something else in his voice as well. 

He doesn't deserve to be remembered, deserve to look at that miracle before him. With such good luck, he doesn't want to imagine what follows. He fixates on the floor beneath him, finding it wet with drops. He's unknowingly been drooling, how humiliating.

“You're wet.” Kamukura speaks again, the stench from Komaeda's dripping pussy hard to ignore to a higher being like him. The comment makes his walls clutch and release more slick into his damp underwear.
As if his body was moving on his own he starts crawling closer to his personal god. To the deity of hope that watches him with crimson eyes, reticles burned into their line of sight to never miss their target: Komaeda.

“I'm sorry you have to witness me, my Light.” Komaeda's breath wavers, his entire body shakes with anticipation, fear, desire, disgust. “But I can't help but notice how exposed you are.” His hands are sweaty, his body overheats. If he doesn't get rid of his clothes soon he- “Is- is there anything I…”, he gasps as he stops himself, having reached his idol, his master.

Kamukura furrows his brows for a second. The worship of this man irritates him. He's been worshipped before, of course, constantly, but none of it had been like this before. The look in Nagito’s eyes reveal an obsessive black hole - hungry, gluttonous, devouring every inch of him they can. His face creeps ever closer, mouth agape, licking his lips, panting. It’s a desire unlike any other directed towards him, a longing he can’t quite place. It intrigues him.

He grabs his hair, guiding him closer until his breath is warm against his cooled genitals.

“Please me.”, he orders.

“Huh!?”, Komaeda moans into Kamukura’s crotch. He’s being blessed beyond belief. Tears come to his eyes as he fights with himself on where to look, if at all. He can’t possibly show his unsightly face to his Sun, but he can’t keep greedily gawking at his genitals either; even if his eyes are burning from squeezing them shut so hard. 

Kamukura twitches at the warmth of his tears, tenses his grip on the other’s hair - who’s so busy ruminating about the looming catastrophe it makes him hesitate until his liege speaks up. “Please me.”, he repeats in his soothing low tone; with a voice so patient, affirming, gentle, curious, waiting, urging, wanting.

Komaeda follows his call, letting himself be guided towards his Light with firm, strong, gentle hands. The smell is intoxicating, mixing with the saltiness of his pathetic tears. He whines at the thought of his vile fluids mixing with the heavenly odor of hope; a smell of citrus, the ocean, of sunlight kissing your skin; an inescapable merciless bite that you can’t help but chase and expose yourself to, because nothing else could make you feel so, so alive.

His body burns, his heart races, his hands sweat, his cunt aches. His mind explodes with the magnitude of a million big bangs in rapid succession as he puts all his shame aside and extends his tongue to his saviour’s dick. The contact sets off a chain reaction of sparks and fire in him. A supernova in his chest.

Kamukura focuses on all the new and unknown sensations.. The warmth of another person feels so unreasonably comforting on his genitals, his legs. Yet when Nagito moves his ice cold hands to secure what he’s working with, the small jerk slipping out of Kamukura’s control is not one of displeasure. The sensation so novel, so unexpected, so distracted.
Komaeda's tongue is so soft, yet the texture rubs along the scar on the underside of his penis like sandpaper, as if he was mending, softening it, assuring him that it had been there all along, that this is the way he was always supposed to be.
Kamukura doesn’t know where that thought comes from, why his body tenses - doesn’t understand the lost emotional compound to his transness. But he can feel it, and he savours that feeling of comfort, of wholeness, while it lasts. A small sigh escapes him, almost a moan, and he relaxes in his seat as Komaeda takes more and more of his length into his mouth, wrapping him in his warmth, soothing him with the paradoxical softness of his chapped lips.

Kamukura’s reaction to his service has Komaeda lose control over his body as the floodgates open and he laps at the length greedily, sucking with determination, rocking his body to the motion, moving his hips in search for friction. That’s right…he’ll serve hope until the bitter end, if this is what hope requires of him, he’ll do it without wasting a second. There’s no room for his selfishness, for his ever increasing wants. All that matters is that the light of his life, his very own personal sun, is pleased. That is all that was asked of him, it is all that he intends to do.

He sobs, drooling, panting, sucking harder, vigorously, moaning whenever he notices Kamukura falling motionless and silent - he’s intent, determined to relight the small brittle flame in him that keeps him pleased. Komaeda's tears stain his own hands with warm wetness as he pets and squishes and rubs and feels Kamukura’s balls with them. They sit so perfectly in his hands, as if they were made just for him. The scar still feels firm and exposed; all the more reason for Komaeda to feel this ecstatic conflict in his mind. His god is a transsexual faggot, just like him . But he’s not filthy, not pathetic, not ashamed. He trusts Komaeda, of all people, with that secret. He’s trusting him to violate that precious part of him in order to please him all the more. 

He couldn’t be happier, luckier , smiling with his mouth full of cock, finally staring up at his perfect sun with all the love and hope he has to give, savouring the softness in Kamukura's sharp stare as he tastes the faintest trace of pre-come on his tongue.

The door slams open with ear-splintering noise and heels halt on the tile. There is a beat of breathless disbelief.

“What’s this fucking faggot shit about.”

Nagito flinches at the noise, stopping in his tracks as he takes a breath. However, Kamukura is unimpressed, not granting Enoshima any attention and keeping his focus on the man before him.

Enoshima takes fierce, thumping steps towards the acne-inducing insanity unfolding in front of her. Her eyes are wide, twitching, darting between Kamukura's unbothered expression and the ugly-ass mop between his legs.

Kamukura speaks up before she reaches them. “I’m following your advice. I don’t see the issue.” The grip on Komaeda's hair is firm, reassuring, demanding. His frail heart can’t keep up, his chest burns, every muscle in his body tense.

“Uh, duh. ” She twirls her pointer finger, then directs it at Komaeda. “I didn’t tell you to pick up some random slut off the streets. Worst of all, that brain-dead hope babbler of all people.” Her face distorts at the jealousy boiling in her the longer she looks at that man’s lips around her prize. “You were supposed to play with me ! You-”, she chokes on her words. Her knees start getting wobbly, her body shakes, she starts sweating, she can’t stop smiling as her eyes start burning. “You’re making me-”

“Despair.”, Kamukura finishes, gently guiding Komaeda off of his phallus, softly trailing his hand across his face before letting him go and standing up to properly dress again. 

Komaeda loses his balance, the world is spinning, he’s losing his grip on reality, the lighting in this room not helping.
Suddenly he feels pain. He’s somewhere else. There’s the wall. Enoshima is crying and laughing - but mostly laughing. Someone’s holding him by the collar of his shirt. His face is warm, Kamukura's hand was so raw, so firm, so soft . He still smells citrus and the ocean and the sun as Enoshima spits in his hair and throws him to the ground. The softness of Kamukura's dick lingers on his tongue as she kicks him with her heels until he’s numb to the pain.

Enoshima comes close, picking him up by the neck, gobbing her words at Kamukura. “Fiiiine, if that’s how you play, I’ll take your pwueaaacious little boytoy away and use it for myself.” She rubs Komaeda against her breasts and he is overcome with vulgar disgust. The lack of reaction from Kamukura makes her squeal. “You’re invited to watch, you know? I’ll let you get off to seeing your pet in action, I’ll just not let you use it!”

“...” Kamukura stands still, observing, analyzing, dissociating. “Are you asking me for permission? That’s redundant. You do whatever you want.”

Enoshima pets the fluff of Komaeda’s hair while keeping him firmly buried in her boobs. “You silly billy, that shit you pulled almost made me cum in my panties, it was so despairingly disgusting. I’m trying to repay you for what you did today! I’m such a nice friend, aren’t I?” She suddenly slumps and lets Komaeda drop to the floor without warning, but  puts a possessive foot on his throat. “But of course your ultimate highness is above sentimentality like that, my efforts are wasted on a heartless creature like you.” She presses down on Komaeda’s throat, he whines and chokes in pain. Kamukura’s eyes widen against his control. An evil grin creeps across Enoshima’s lips before she speaks again with a ‘tsk’. “Except! You’re not as hard as steel, as cold as ice, as you pretend to be.” She picks Komaeda up off the floor, heaving him onto her shoulder so he can see Kamukura’s face as she leaves with him. “So be a deary and show up for a special show just for you tomorrow, okaaay?”

The dull throbbing in his legs and skull enters a painful dance with the sharp pain where Enoshima's heels have broken his skin. Resisting is impossible, not to speak of trying to get away. She seems to have a laughably easy time carrying him, heels still clicking in their usual rhythm. All he can do is sway against the rhythm of her steps as he’s carried away from his sun. Kamukura’s eyes still promise hope, even when he does nothing to save him from this torture, even when all they do is observe the violence before them, until he’s gone. The only reminders of the earlier encounter are fading, the chirps of the booths get replaced by Enoshima’s heels on marble tiles.

With bone-deep exhaustion sinking in, his mind lolls in and out of consciousness, Enoshima's steady gait providing some sense of relief and simultaneously sending kicks of sharp pain through his head with every step she takes. He doesn't have the awareness to know where she's taking him, his eyes keep falling closed. She says something and he answers, but the words don't register. All that matters to him is Kamukura. 

In the end, Komaeda knows that it is his destiny to serve his hope, and the more despair he endures, the greater his hope will become.

Enoshima throws Komaeda into the ground like a sack of rotten potatoes. “Stay there like a good pet , okay?” She boops his nose and leaves the room, leaving him in absolute darkness.

While the urge to escape is there, his body is so exhausted and beat up he can't move. He can barely roll over on his back to give his aching ribs a break. The gravity of the situation is beginning to sink in, but his exhaustion and pain take him over and he loses consciousness.

When he comes to, Enoshima is touching his neck again, softly, gently, almost lovingly this time. He feels something cold on it, a weight. Something makes a clicking sound. He blinks his eyes open in confusion, her face so close he jerks back in disgust and hits his head on the wall behind him.

“Can't believe you've been such a good boy!”, she chirps at him, going through his hair with her hand, scritching him with her nails. The pleasantry of the sensation gives him immense whiplash after the brutal beating he'd taken from her just earlier. “I need to go but my sister will look after you now, okay? See ya tomorrow! ♡” She boops his nose again, then tugs on some chains and Komaeda gasps as he’s tugged along; only now realizing the heavy cold weight around his neck is a solid metal collar, attached to a chain, which Enoshima is holding triumphantly, handing it to someone else in the darkness. She grins like a yokai, looking back at him one last time, kissing her middle finger and then shoving it in her mouth in a gagged gesture. The lack of light is not helping in making it less terrifying.

“Hey, stupid dog .”, another voice joins in. “Dinner is served.” Ikusaba drops a dog bowl filled with ambiguous slop in front of his feet, the contents almost completely spilling from it, leaving only little of the aforementioned meal.

He doesn't move, doesn't look, just curls up hugging his knees. As he closes his eyes he thinks of his Light; his warmth, his danger, his softness, his…

“Ugh. Not even eating.”, his new guard groans. She yanks on his chain, forcing his face into the bowl. “Junko won't like it if I kill another of her pets again, so eat up.”

Despite the disgust, his stomach growls, signaling little choice in the matter. He laps up the remains of the slop, eyes still closed, thinking back to when he was tasting Kamukura's cock. The thought comforts him and his breath starts creaking as he swallows air, the food long devoured.

“Ewww, no need to be so horny about it.” Ikusaba pulls him away from the bowl and locks the chain to the wall. “Sis wants me to make sure you don't escape because you're an important piece of bait.”, she muses. “So don't do anything stupid.”

He can barely make it out, but she moves to an armchair near the wall opposite to the one he's chained to and sits down. Her army knife shines in the darkness as she plays around with it.

He sighs. It's not like he could leave anyways. Lying back down he imagines strong arms and black locks engulfing him as he drifts back to sleep away his pain.

“Wow! How useless can a guy be?” Enoshima's voice pierces his sleep like nails on a chalkboard. No, she actually runs her nails across a chalkboard she carries for this specific purpose. Then she promptly tosses it aside. “Nagito-chaaaaan, darling , get fucking presentable. You have a visitooor~ ♪!”

His vision is still blurry from his sleep, he could never get enough, especially in times like these. But he'd recognize Kamukura, that silhouette of black silk,  anywhere.

He moves his hand to wipe his eyes and notices they've been tied together. At least his legs are free.
Now that there is light, he finally gets a good look at the room. It seems to be the same hotel, the style of furniture matching what he saw the day before. This particular room seems to be a festive suite of some kind, sporting a bar and mini kitchen, some lounging chairs in a corner and an advanced sound and lighting system. Tracing the chain on his neck he realizes this room is also well equipped for acts of bondage. The walls are covered in satin curtains, yet the one right behind him is exposed and reveals hooks for secure attachment. It makes him question what else might hide behind those curtains, if the room is bigger than it appears.

He shakes his head and diverts his attention back to Kamukura. For a second he considers greeting his Star, but Enoshima cuts him off before he gets the chance. “You're early, you know.” She walks around Kamukura, plays with his hair and then wraps her arms around him from behind.

He doesn't shake her off and Komaeda winces in repulsion.

“The party hasn’t started yet.”, she breathes into his ear. “Mukuro hasn't come back! She's so clumsy and stupid, I knew she'd take a while.”

She strokes Kamukura's beautiful face with her perfect hands. The red nails…they fit so perfectly onto his jaw, between his hair, on his neck, across his shoulders-
Ah - this is where he draws the line. He can't help but sigh in relief when Kamukura picks her hands up and calmly, but firmly, moves them away from his chest.

“I was bored.”, he explains. His eyes never move away from Nagito, observing him like he's the most fascinating specimen on the planet.

His school uniform is ruined, the jacket barely holding together. The chain hanging off his new collar falls unfortunately over his chest, accentuating his breasts. His feet are bare, his shoes removed and on the other side of the room.

Despite knowing the names for the feelings he felt the other day, he struggles to understand. What was it about Nagito that triggered them in him? What was different from all the times Enoshima had attempted with much more effort? Is it his luck? What does that say about his own?

Enoshima takes Kamukura's hand and guides him past the pompous red armchair that Mukuro was sitting in last night. "Well, lucky you! You've got a first row seat to my newest spectacle.” Stopping at her usual choice of seating for him, the folding chair, she pats down the seat and presses him down on it when he refuses to move. “The main character is none other than your pathetic mutt of a boytoy!” Moving over to Nagito, she claps her hands excitedly. “Since you're here early, let's have this loser give us the most pathetically awful strip tease in history!” Her voice might sound sweet as honey, but it can't save her poisonous smile, nor the rotten bile seeping from those perfect lips.

Komaeda stares in fear as he's being approached, already imagining red claws ripping at his clothes, exposing his unsightly body to-

“I'm so sorry I'm late, that guy kept asking a million weird questions about the dog, it was really hard not to try and kill him.”, Mukuro interrupts them, bursting through the door with a giant black wolfdog, kept on a short leash. Its bark is full and loud and assertive. The animal sniffs around, its red eyes fixate on Nagito like he's nothing but this predator's prey.

Nagito looks terrified. Kamukura raises an eyebrow in intrigue; he's truly surprised by this turn of events, though what happens next is extremely predictable.

Enoshima frolics towards the creature and twirls with a ‘tee-hee’. She takes the leash off of her sister's hands and barks at her. “Wow, still here? Get a hint, you ugly leech! No one wants you here, this is a private show. You're just here to deliver the goods.”

Mukuro blushes and steps away. “Of course, Ju- Enoshima.” She closes the door behind her, but Kamukura can hear that she doesn’t move away from it.

“Nagito-chan...”, Enoshima teases, “I heard you like dogs. Isn't that great?” She slaps the dog on its ass and it whines, snapping at her, but she kicks it away with a glare and it quickly understands not to challenge her. “Told Mukuro to visit your good friend, the Ultimate Breeder~ to go and fetch the biggest fattest breeding bitch available.” Nagito retreats towards the wall as she reaches for his chain. “Your talent is luck, isn't it? Well, I'd say you're one lucky bastard. When does a mutt like you get to fuck a beauty like that?” Nagito presses his legs together at the mention of sex in relation to the animal. Of course she notices it with glee. “Aw shit. This sicko is into that.” She smiles at Kamukura. “Could you have predicted this ? I bet you couldn’t. Doesn’t that excite you?” Her expression glooms and her voice drops. “Don’t you want to find out what happens next?”

“... Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?”, is all Kamukura has to offer to her, and it pisses her off. 

“You’re suuuch a party pooper!” She yanks on Nagito’s chain in frustration, lifting him up by the iron collar. “I hate you so much it makes me sick.” She licks her lips, biting them briefly before moving on. “Thankfully I have this waste of space to vent my frustrations on.” She fully lifts Nagito off the ground and shakes him on the chain like a piece of meat, disregarding the pain it causes to his neck, his choked breath and his wiggling. Laughingly effortlessly she evades his half-hearted kicks, legs still weak and sore from being beaten black and blue the other day.

“Oh, gimme a break! You freak are sooo into it - I bet your useless tiny dick is already hard and aching for that bitch.” Without warning she gropes his groin to squeeze something that isn’t there. “Huh?”

Nagito can’t help but let out a wheezing moan, quickly followed by laughing.

“Huh? Huh? Huh?” She squeezes the empty space repeatedly with every ‘huh’ she lets out. His obnoxious wheezing laugh gnaws at her brain as she loosens her hold of the dog and rips down Nagito’s pants in one fell swoop, exposing his cunt to the audience.

“Sorry to disappoint-”, he croaks out as she drops him to the floor, but she kicks his legs open, stepping on one of them to secure the position. His pussy contracts at the coldness of the air, at the pain jolting through his leg.

“Ahahah, that lucky bastard’s a fucking tranny !” the sound of her laugh stings more than the slur. “Have you ever seen a pussy sloppier and wetter than that? I mean…I’m subjected to Mikan’s miserable cunt all the time and not even she’s that greedy to be filled.” She retracts her hands to herself, remembering she’s holding the dog on the leash. “And what do I have this stupid mutt here for now?” She kicks the dog onto Nagito’s open legs before stomping towards the red chair to take a seat. 

The dog whines in pain. Komaeda feels sorry for it and takes its head into his hands. “There, there…”, he offers quietly as he pats the animal's head. Its face reminds him way too much of Kamukura-sama, who’s sitting just a few steps away, observing. He should’ve been the one to sit on the throne, not Enoshima. He’s so beautiful. Komaeda can’t get the smell out of his mind, the feeling of his soft, gentle cock in his mouth.
However, in the brief moment he looks at the real thing, the dog moves on from being caressed in his hands. The animal's nose nudges into Nagito’s still exposed genitals - and he doesn’t notice until it’s too late. The raw cold tongue already licks across his soaked lips, sending a shiver down his spine, making him shriek in surprise.

The sound makes Enoshima jolt back to life, stopping in her tracks, her depressed demeanor replaced by mischievous evil. “Holy shit .”, she exclaims, coming closer to Nagito once more. The dog growls at her presence, but doesn’t move away from the source of that delicious smell (delicious to the dog, Enoshima wants to gag). She ties its leash to the chain hanging from Nagito’s neck. “Like, shame on me for not checking, I guess.”, she giggles, giving Nagito another pat on his head, much like she did the night before. He’s shaking from the pleasure of the dog’s tongue, from the closeness of Enoshima. “Mukuro really just is that useless... Getting a male instead of a female, like I told her to. But I guess it all turned out this way because it was in your favour…” Nagito whines as she scratches the underside of his chin like he is an actual pet animal. “Isn’t that true, Nagito-chan? You lucky little bitch .”

Komaeda is weak, sinking down on his back. He doesn’t have the willpower to close his legs. He’s exhausted, humiliated. If he squints he can pretend that the one between his legs is his beloved god. Never would he dream of that happening, but right now…it’s okay to just let it happen, to stay inside his mind a little. He feels bad for the animal, of course, but neither he or it had a choice in the matter, really. It is all Enoshima’s doing. She’s the evil one here. She’s making him think disgusting thoughts, she brought the dog that looks like Kamukura-sama.

The dog’s tongue infiltrates his pussy and he lets out a deep sigh of pleasure, of relief. The violation feels so safe when he keeps his eyes closed, it’s driving him insane. His leg is warm. Enoshima shrieks out an “Ewww!” and he realizes the relief he feels is because he hasn’t urinated since yesterday afternoon. The humiliation is too much and he falls back completely, hiding his face with his arms. He tries to be quiet, though the dog doesn’t seem impressed by his vile behaviour and goes on undisturbed. It presses its cold nose on his pussy, inspecting the new smell added to his scent, and makes him moan from the sensation. 

What must Kamukura-sama think of him? He wouldn’t be surprised if his hope abandoned him because of this horrible display. It’s too scary to look, so he stays in his mind, summons back his fantasy from earlier. Shamelessly (shamefully, so, so shamefully) equating his god with the mere animal between his feet.

“Are you seeing this?”, Enoshima asks, tears in her eyes as she’s folding over from laughter. Her legs twitch and Kamukura can smell the slick from her pussy. “This bitch is a riot .”

“I don’t see what’s so…amusing about this display.” He chooses not to reveal that he can smell her wetness.

“Umm... That twink is the single most pathetic human being on the planet? Trust me, I’ve seen the lowest of the low. She’s right outside the door, peeping like the creepy weirdo she is.”

There are two separate gasps from outside the door, one resembling a squeal, the other low and guarded. Someone speaks out, then suddenly the door opens up and Mikan falls into the room. She gets caught up in her own panties and her boobs spill from her way too small and tight dress. Enoshima perfectly catches her in her fall, like the girl is merely a ball in a dodge-ball game. 

“Did you get what I ordered you to?”

Mikan replies with overly enthusiastic nods and hands Enoshima a small plastic bag filled with blue pills. “ Good girl.~ ”, she praises, running her hand across her exposed butt cheeks, teasing getting closer and closer to her aching lips while taking the bag of pills between her teeth. Mikan moans, her eyes rolling back, tongue hanging out of her mouth as she squeezes her own breasts to catch the drool flooding from her mouth. Enoshima promptly throws her back outside through the open door and Mikan falls onto Mukuro, who is still standing there. “You’re sooo gross. Fuck off, this fuck session is ex~clu~sive !”

Mukuro closes the door with a nod, but Mikan's moans are still audible. She wails and sobs, asking for her to be let back in. She’d been such a gooood girl. The sounds get quieter with time until they’re gone.

Kamukura identifies the feeling he’s experiencing as relief. The less people are around him, the better. The irony of his craving for stimulation, but him easily being overstimulated doesn’t go unacknowledged. He registers the insight as “funny”, despite lacking the capacity to feel the joy that is supposed to accompany that feeling. Maybe he misunderstands the expression?

Definitely not, considering the display of Nagito and the animal does not register as funny at all. It is odd, perhaps. Questionable. Unusual. Interesting, if he stretches it.
It’s definitely an odd choice of dog, with the animal resembling his own appearance. With how Nagito seemed to worship him the other day, it makes sense for his luck to arrange such a coincidence. He probably craves that kind of intimacy from him.

Despite this form of interaction being frowned upon by society, Nagito seems to be unable to control his hips buckling from pleasure, rolling with the rhythm of the animal’s tongue. As the dog paws at his thigh, briefly, he lets out a moan so slurred it sounds like he tries to say something. He rolls onto the side to escape the claws, but with the help of Enoshima’s kick to his hip he falls over onto his stomach. She cheers for him to, “get that twink ass up into the air”, if he, “really craves cock that badly”.

And truly, the dog is fully prepared and ready, his rod hard and unsheathed. “Mount!”, Enoshima orders with the backing of excited claps and the dog jumps onto Nagito’s behind, easily slipping into his exposed hole. Nagito chokes back something and bites his lip, probably avoiding spilling words. Though Kamukura doesn’t really understand. Objectively, the worst has already been witnessed. Any repulsive comments would’ve been a perfectly reasonable, acceptable, predictable reaction for such a situation.

Then again, Nagito doesn't exactly seem like a reasonable, acceptable, predictable person. Perhaps this is what compells Kamukura to use him for entertainment, to seek him out again.

Enoshima makes multiple gagging gestures while snapping pictures. She loves blackmail. Such an easy, but powerful manipulation tactic. When she’s seen enough, she walks up to Kamukura again, embracing him from behind, cam still in hand and shooting a selfie with him. “Are you entertained? You’re being awfully still, which usually means you’re having fun analyzing.” She runs her hand down his arm towards his own hand that rests on his leg.

“I’m indeed deep in thought.”, he admits. “But it is not because of pleasure, like you think- like you want it to be.”

She digs her nails into his pants and pulls them down. “You’re no fun!”

“Now I’m cold.”

“You’re soooo not fun!!!!!”

“I know.”, he shrugs. 

“Ugghh!!”, she pulls on her hair, “I put on this show for you and you don’t even care. Or, well, you pretend you don’t.“ She quickly catches her breath. ”Because we’ve been playing this game for a while now, and something’s different.”, her eyes dart towards his limp dick, then back into his eyes, “And I’m going to win this time.” 

Kamukura stares at his pants lying at his feet. He lacks the incentive to pick them back up.

“Eat this.” She holds up one of the blue pills Mikan brought in.

“...” He takes the pill into his hand. It might as well be a productive experiment, if he got a new and unknown experience out of it. He swallows it dry.

Enoshima sighs and falls onto her armchair. “Now we just need to wait a few minutes. You might as well enjoy your appetizer and learn a thing or two from the dog, given you’re absolutely clueless.”, she cackles.

The dog fucks rigorously into Nagito’s cunt. He’s adjusted his position to give the animal perfect access to his hole. He’s dripping slick mixed with saliva. Despite biting his lip bloody, small “Kamu-” and “sama” and “hope”s still escape his breaths every now and then. He’s definitely thinking about him. 

His thoughts are interrupted by Enoshima noisily pulling her chair closer to Nagito. Once close enough, she sits back down, using Nagito’s back as a foot rest. He’s way too dazed and distracted to do anything about it, if not even relishing the humiliation in his sex drunk state, imagining it was his Kamukura-sama who is using him.

After some consideration Kamukura moves his own chair closer to the action as well. He also properly removes his pants and puts them down on the table where the pills are resting. Usually viagra takes 30-60 minutes to kick in, amplifying the bloodstream in the groin area. In a normal human the effects last 4-6 hours. It is intended to be used as a performance enhancer, not a cure to asexuality. How would it affect his artificial body? Could it affect him at all? The lack of sexual response so far…Could it be he just lacks the incentive, like with everything else? Sexuality is a more deeply rooted, animalistic, instinctive drive. Did the lobotomy cut it out together with his emotions?

He’s ripped from his trail of thought at the noises of the other two people present in this room.

Nagito moans loudly as the knot is fucked into him, the animal rutting relentlessly, spasming in release. “Fill…with hope…”, he mutters, drooling on the floor. “Breed hope…”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” Enoshima kicks him in the head. “It's sooooo unsexy it makes my pussy shrivel up and dry out so hard it makes cardboard jealous.” She kicks him again. “Seriously, how is Kamukura supposed to get hard with your stupid babbling.” She glances at the still flaccid penis in his lap. His position is unchanged from earlier, his hands neatly folded on his legs as he stares straight ahead of himself.

Nagito lies on the floor, stained in his drool, his slick and his urine. The dog's knot is still firmly locked in his pulsing hole, pumping away.

“You think that freak will get pregnant with a litter of disfigured bastards?”, Enoshima jabs at an attempt of entertaining herself, because nothing is going her way right now and she's furious about it.

“Nagito is dehydrated.”, Kamukura notes dryly. Illogical concepts like these do not amuse him in the slightest.
Nagito lets out a whimper at the mention of his first name in the soothing, wonderful voice of his Kamukura-same.

Enoshima throws her hands up and falls back in the chair, letting it fall over. “ The fucking faggot is dehydrated. ”

Kamukura gets up and leaves the room.

Komaeda barely comprehends anything, his head hurts, his pussy hurts, his everything hurts. That dog really is inside him… The post-sex shame kicks in full-force as he processes Enoshima's earlier comment severely delayed. He decides to trust his luck. Something horrible happens to Enoshima today; that's an adequate exchange.

Suddenly the door opens again, Kamukura returns, bottom still fully exposed - did he walk around like that?

He gently dislodges the dog from him, removes the leash from his chain and ties it to Enoshima's chair instead, where it sits down to lick itself clean. Then he squats down in front of Komaeda and hands him a bottle of water. 

“Drink.”

Tears swell in his eyes. “You really don't need to take care of such an unworthy piece of trash like me.”

“You aren't trash.” He says in a matter of fact way, but the words crash into Komaeda like a tidal wave. They break him, erode him, wash him clean. “You're a person.”

“As if!”, Enoshima groans from behind the toppled over armchair. “That mutt doesn't even have a functional brain. Ask it, it'll agree.” She gets up with a sigh and walks over to the bar. Kamukura's pants still lie there, properly folded. She swipes them off, onto the ground next to the dog, just ‘cos, and shrugs satisfied. As soon as she spots the bag of viagra pills, however, her rage starts to boil again. 

She reaches under her skirt to grope herself, nails digging into the fabric of her lace underwear. She takes a glance over her shoulder to look at Kamukura, whose dick is still just a pathetic limp little worm hanging on to a hairy pillow. He's making her despair so hard today. The anger, the jealousy, the boredom, the disgust, the impatience, the desire…It's delicious and she's motivated to go all out. She's so desperate to fuck this man, she almost doesn't care about how hopeful it's making her.

Shaking her head, she takes the dog bowl Nagito ate from last night and empties the entire bag of viagra in it. She sticks a random spoon from a drawer in it and makes her way back.

“Izuru Kamukura.” Her tone is assertive and demanding, not that it matters to him. He notices her eye twitching again, accompanied by the crook of her mouth. Something must really be ticking her off. For some reason it fills him with a hint of pride. “Eat up.”, she spits as she holds the dog bowl with the spoon up to his face as if it was a bowl of cereal.

“You know this isn't how it works.”, he counters, but still takes it in his hands as he stands back up. He notices Nagito’s stare lingering, but ignores it. “But it might as well be an experiment to pass the time.” With a sigh he takes the first spoonful into his mouth and walks towards the fallen over arm chair. He recovers it to a proper position using his legs and sits down on it, eating the next spoonful.

Enoshima looks offended at her seat being taken from her. Her gritted teeth make an uncomfortable sound as she digs into her cunt through her underwear again.

Komaeda is still a little out of it from what happened earlier, his head throbbing like it’s trying to violently beat the filth out of it. Kamukura-sama helped him sit up against the wall and held the bottle so he could drink. He didn't even realize how thirsty he was until he greedily emptied the water bottle from his saviour's caring hand.

Though he's grateful for the care, he doesn't feel like he properly deserves it. There's so much more he can do for hope. The rewards he's experiencing are disproportionate to his efforts, to his inherent worth as some talentless nobody. If there's one thing he wants more than anything, it's to be a stepping stone for those that actually matter. For Kamukura, the warm light, the sun shining bright, the god amongst the godless. True and pure hope; personified, materialistic, graspable, savourable, devourable.

He hates himself for the selfish intrusive thoughts in his diseased brain.

Kamukura sets the empty bowl aside. He feels slightly sick from it, but that is the most exciting thing to happen so far, so he calls this absurd action, that he performed on a whim, a success. It seems like forcing himself to do the opposite of what is considered a good, reasonable action can lead to certain sensations. Whether or not he prefers dis pleasure over numbness is yet to be decided. Especially when Enoshima promises him pleasure ; though he is certain he can't get any from her in particular. She is becoming painfully predictable. Her one track mind obsession with despair has nothing but flaws to it. Those contradictions beg for him to be evened out and he can't help wanting to prove her wrong. Not for selfish reasons, really, he just needs to set things right, because he's always right. And yet…

“Hey, dog.”, Enoshima barks and snaps Kamukura out of his thoughts. The actual dog tied to the armchair looks up, but lies back down to doze when he sees who the voice belongs to. “Are you deaf, stupid mutt?” She steps forward to kick Nagito but almost trips over his chain. “Hhnngng fuck you and your luck! Make yourself useful and get that shitbag of hope dick hard for me.” She kicks the chain against Nagito instead and points at Kamukura.

“Why not do it yourself if you want it?”, Kamukura inquires.

“Because you don't fucking let me.” She rolls her eyes. “Plus, have you seen my nails? I'm not ruining that piece of art with some sloppy dong.”

“How noble.”, Komaeda blurts out with a scoff. Normally he feels unworthy in the presence of great talent, especially near Kamukura, but Enoshima isn’t worth that usual admiration. If he’s a worthless worm worshipping hope, Enoshima is the despair ridden dirt that he feeds on.

The adrenaline has worn off, the shame evened out into his usual self-loathing. He can think more clearly now. He’s calmed down. The headache he experienced is reduced to an almost comforting background noise. Everything will turn out fine. All he has to do is trust in his luck and his shining sun; bright red giants calling to him with crushing gravity, radiating firm, but gentle, coldness. "Kamukura-sama.", he takes a deep breath, “I’m willing to serve you unconditionally. I’ll do what you ask - my useless talent is at your disposal. For hope’s sake, I’ll be your stepping stone.”

Enoshima snorts. “Servant.”, she laughs, “Sounds about right. Not much of another use for your pathetic existence anyways.” With much clattering, to the displeasure of Kamukura, she picks up the chain and yanks Komaeda over between Kamukura’s legs. “Now get fucking busy, suck his cock, you disgusting fag.” She kicks him in the ass to further nudge him towards Kamukura’s most precious parts. “It better make you stop babbling about hope.”

“I can’t help it, Enoshima- san . Kamukura- sama is the Ultimate Hope, isn’t he? How can I not be excited in his presence? How can I not yearn to-”, he’s interrupted by Kamukura suddenly grabbing ahold of his head, gently turning it to make him look at him and away from Enoshima. “You talk too much.”, he says. Komaeda flushes in embarrassment, Enoshima doesn’t feel addressed to, but her cackling stops when Kamukura adds, “Both of you.”

He opens his legs further, making way for Nagito to better reach him. The reason for it eludes him. It can’t be the pills he swallowed, as they don’t actually cause sexual arousal, but he wants to continue what was interrupted the other day. He wants Komaeda’s warmth on his penis, no matter how stupid that thought sounds put into words. So when he notices the other still hesitate, he guides his head closer to assure him. “ Go on. ”, he unintentionally teases, “ eat it. ”, and Nagito nods quickly, not wasting any time to please his superior, his master, his god, his hope .

The sensation of Nagito’s tongue sliding across the length of his scar, even though not unexpected, not new, still feels novel. He savours it, takes notes in his mind. The teeth brushing over the top side of his phallus distract him - the sucking sensation is unlike anything he’s experienced before, causing Nagito to smack and slurp obnoxiously, but even that is welcome. He’s very quickly overwhelmed by all the new sensations, trying to keep up with categorizing them, evaluating them, rating them. Enoshima stands by closely, leaning onto the backrest to hover above him as he receives oral service.
Her smirk is devious and he supposes she feels triumphant and wants to signal him ‘I told you’, though to him all this has nothing to do with her. At the most she is a means to an end, a toy he was given but never wanted; an annoying forced-on tutorial guide to show him the ropes of the world.

He won’t need her anymore after this.

Komaeda is licking and sucking and slurping away at the soft warmth of Kamukura’s heavenly cock. He loves to bury his tongue under the foreskin to lick at the head. His hands caress his balls and the base of the shaft. The selfish goal of overstimulating him keeps urging him to do more, to be more. It could all be justified like that, right? He’s doing this for his beloved Kamukura-sama. Every one of his actions is an act of worship. He’s simply using Kamukura’s reactions to gauge if he’s doing enough, and if he could be doing more. And he can always do more for the sake of hope, can’t he? 

With every slightest twitch, with the smallest taste of foreign fluid, he picks up the pace, he rubs harder, he squeezes tighter. Once he feels the cock in his mouth stiffening, swelling, he knows he’s done well.

Nagito’s eagerness tests the limits of Kamukura’s mind. The amount of sensations is abnormally high, always switching and changing. Despite the repetitive movement, with every back and forth of the lips over his penis, the sensations slightly change, none of it truly predictable at all. The overstimulation hinges on excitement as he notices his heart rate increase and his breath destabilize ever so slightly. He tries his best not to show it, to not give Enoshima anything that she can use to satisfy herself. 

However, it’s hard to control his body all of a sudden. 

He still holds Nagito’s head in his hand, lightly, just to hold it, but has his hair always been so soft ? Looking down at him he’s overcome with inexplicable thoughts. Thoughts about other things Nagito could use his mouth for, thoughts about what other sounds he could possibly make, thoughts about what Nagito’s other body openings might feel like on his penis. The absurdity does not deter his body from involuntarily flashing hot and tense, all energy concentrating in his groin as he feels a shift. Muscles tense against his will and there’s no way to control it, nothing to do but over analyze every stimulus coursing through as his length stiffens, shifts, grows, fills out Nagito’s mouth until he has to release it in a burst of saliva and big wide eyes. It would not be exaggeration to describe this sensation as pleasurable. 

He wants more.

Nagito has come to a halt, his warm and gentle tongue isn't trailing his scar, his lips are no longer kissing his length. He still feels Nagito's hand around the base, but…almost greedily, he tightens his grip in Nagito's hair and pushes him closer to his dick again. “Continue.”, he demands. 

That word seems to do the trick as Nagito opens his mouth to devour him again. He sighs in relief at his warmth and only now realizes how much he's sweating for no reason. He feels hot, feverish even, when he touches himself his hand is cold.

Everything happens at once then.

He's suddenly nauseated, his stomach twists at the realization that something is wrong . His head pulsates similarly to the throbbing of his dick. It is so violent it almost burns him from the inside, yet he inexplicably craves more. Nagito's mouth, his throat, as warm and soft as it is, doesn't do it. He outgrows that space; literally. The boy in his lap gags and retches with tears in his eyes, apologizing over and over, lapping up his own bile to clean Kamukura from his, in his perspective, sacrilege. 

Suddenly Nagito is across the room, against the wall. He cries out. Enoshima. Enoshima is now on his lap, her panties shoved aside, her vagina dripping with foul slick.

The sight snaps Kamukura back into reality, into proper consciousness - albeit still a little dazed from the throbbing of his new erection.

“The despair of witnessing this cockroach suck you off and finally getting you hard was the worst.”, she moans as she attempts to straddle his lap, relishing in the fact he isn't resisting. “Y'know I already knew you HAD to be a grower, but that ?”, she huffs as she tries to angle her pussy for insertion. “That's just too much. That's a comically huge porn star cock, right out of some low tier hentai!” Her legs shake from anticipation, she licks her lips and rubs her clit with one hand.  Somehow (obviously) she still has the clarity to whip out her glasses for an analytical comment. “I wonder who it was that made this happen. Was it Hope's Peak that ordered this perversion, or was it you ?”

Kamukura looks down. She's right. That is very much above average in terms of length and girth for Japanese men. He can also feel something else, something primal within, but the sight of this woman kills it off rapidly. He has to get rid of her. Fast. 

Before her vagina can make contact with him he stands up and leaves her to fall to the ground. She anticipates that, however, and holds on to his hair, yanking it, swiftly turning around and inserting herself onto him backwards. Kamukura is dizzy from the pain, the sudden movement, the sudden warmth. His head is spinning and his legs are close to giving in. Her walls feel like sweet honey poison around his dick and he lets out a disgruntled growl at her forced intrusion. Nagito lets out a distressed noise, and some animalistic part inside Kamukura interprets this as urgency. Quickly he grabs her hips, to which she jerks and humps and squeals, walls clenching as she picks up the pace on her clit. She's already close.

His vision is blurry, but he remembers the layout of the room perfectly. He removes her from his penis in one unforgiving scoop and places her backwards on the folding chair.

“What the hell, Izuru ?”

He pays her no mind, the temporarily increased blood flow enhances his already superior speed even further, making short process of tying Enoshima to her chair, using a curtain he rips from the wall and into strips, just in the perfect way for her to be able to move enough to try to get off, but not be able to really achieve much friction at all. She screams and spits at him, so he takes her panties and shoves them in her mouth. He also uses her own skirt to blindfold her, making sure she has to rely on her imagination to figure out what unfolds right in front of her nose, within her grasp, but still so far removed from herself. Her screams muffle and turn into sobs, followed by damped laughter. This is the torture she never knew she hoped for.

“Nagito.”, he calls for the one calling himself a servant. His mind is still foggy but he knows what that word means. Someone that services a master. Right now all his thoughts are consumed by heat, by tension, the need for friction. All of those desires result in messy thoughts of Nagito's various holes and his dick inside them, hard and throbbing, his hips buckling, moving rhythmically.

When he attempts to move closer, the thoughts in his mind become slurred and muddy. His vision is blotchy and his nose is hot, yet cold. His lips are wet. Nagito doesn't approach, what's holding him back? His holes are needed right now. Kamukura has to continue his experiment.

He grabs him by the chain and pulls him closer. Now he's wet on his arm. He scrunches his nose in disgust and another hot-cold rush passes his lips. “Pay it no mind, I'm fine. It's the pills.”, he deducts to reassure…his servant? Toy? That's what Enoshima said he is. Though to Kamukura he's just a…Nagito.

Komaeda gasps at the events unfolding before him. How dare Enoshima defile the temple of hope with her vile genitals? To selfishly clench her walls around an erection so phenomenal…a man so beautiful. A light so bright, so hot from within.

He pinches himself. No good. Being a hypocrite about this… Ah, it fits him so well. He really is utter trash; can't control his unsightly, selfish thoughts.

But before he can punish himself for it, Kamukura removes the parasite from himself, grunting deeply. Komaeda's heart skips a beat, it feels criminal to witness such a powerful being, to have touched, to have tasted him before. To have the dire desire to be violently rutted into by that inhuman cock, held by those strong arms, enveloped by silk-like hair that resembles the ever beautiful despair-inducing night sky. Everything in him is conflicted yet so united. His love for Kamukura-sama transcends his shame and guilt, transforming it into a language of worship itself. 

Kamukura’s bloodshot glowing eyes, the way too saturated blood coming from his nose, his heavy breathing, his slurred movements. They plant fear into Komaeda's mind, a primal fear that renders him prey and he needs to leave, now. It makes him want to stay all the more. He stares, a deer in headlights, mesmerized, mouth agape in awe. 

The lack of movement, however, seems to displease his beloved. He forcefully yanks him by the collar, closing the gap between them. Kamukura's blood trickles from his beautiful lips and onto his legs. It sends a shiver down his spine and a pulse to his violated pussy.

Kamukura groans as he loses focus for a second and almost trips over. The pain throbbing through his head is a direct mirror to the pain in his penis. It is well erect and twitching, begging for release against the better judgement of his mind. His eyes defocus and refocus as he stares at the boy before him. Nagito's hole is well lubricated. Despite being a boring and obvious choice, he decides to go along with this newfound desire and kneels down. 

As he comes closer to Nagito's pussy, he's overwhelmed with thoughts. How does it smell up close? How does it taste ?

Overcome with an unbearable thirst, a hunger, his body moves on his own. The entire world is drowned out, all there is is Nagito and the pounding of his own heart. He grabs Nagito's hips firmly, lifting him towards his face. 

For one short moment he hesitates, questions his actions, they aren't logical after all, but another pulse in his groin tells him to go on, to indulge in the absurd experiment, to let go of expectation, of foresight, and just exist in the present moment. His tongue on Nagito's clit. Around it. Poking inside between the foreskin of his clit, like the other had done to his own penis. He licks across his vagina. Into his vagina. The taste of his slick, acidic, tangy yet somehow sweet and savory at the same time. It mixes with the stinging iron of his own blood that's running from his nose and onto the other boy. The fluids smell equally putrid as they do delicious. The textures overwhelm him just as much. There are so many bumps and folds that feel so intense on his tongue, he doesn't know where to lick next. Not to mention the sounds. The slick and the friction and the suction and Nagito; the sounds coming from his mouth ranging from croaked moans to hysterical blabber. As much as he'd want to find a pattern in his noises, they are as unpredictable as his own actions are to his overloaded brain.

For a brief moment he's reminded of the dog and how it had worked his vulva before him. Simple animalistic instinct. No thoughts. Pure desire. How primitive, so primal.

He can't get enough of it.

Komaeda is taken off guard when Kamukura digs further into his cunt. His blood is hot on his clit and every lick courses through his body like earthquakes. Those perfect hands are holding the bony structure that's keeping together his sorry excuse of a body, gripping tightly, possessively. He bites his tongue but can't help but moan at the incredible feeling of his blood and his tongue and his lips and his breath and his hands and his hair and-

“Aahh…Kamukura-sama, I don't deserve…”, he moans, despite the sting of iron in his mouth. “I need your…hope. I need to see it…shine bright. There's nothing else that matters...!”

Muffled whines and groans and agonized screams find their way to Kamukura’s ears, accompanied by the creaking of her shifting on the chair. He’s already forgotten about Enoshima, or at least he manages to be so preoccupied that she got successfully ignored for a while. A narrowing of the senses…how pleasant.

He shoots up for air and wipes his face. Slick and blood coat his arm and he stares at the pattern the resulting sludge makes in his hair. Then he stares at the one in Nagito’s bodyhair. Ah…distracted again. He needs to find another way to enter the state of tunnel vision from earlier.
That’s when he thinks back to the dog again. Laughable how those simple things are too complicated for him, so much so he needs to reference an animal for his own actions.

Alright. Penetration. He stares at the boy in front of him and wonders how to go about it. His vision blurs again, his penis throbs painfully. No amount of holding it firmly in his hand can alleviate the agony. Nagito’s hungry look at it makes him unreasonably eager to proceed. As he leans in, Nagito spreads his legs excitedly, so much he can’t stop twitching and rocking in anticipation. “Please, Kamukura-sama. You are free to use me as a stepping stone. Show me the hope inside of you.” His eyes narrow with bliss. “And deliver your hope inside of me.”

Enoshima wails frantically on the floor, trying to remove the gag and blindfolds, or any restraints keeping her on that chair. To no avail. Her skirt over her eyes is wet from tears of frustration, of utter despair. She laughs. How was he able to beat her so easily? To render her this helpless? Of course he’s a god, a perfect being capable of everything… But wasn’t she essentially the same? Were they not meant to be? Was he not created just for her?
Her picture perfect imagination runs wild. Unable to turn it off, everything is getting worse with every new sound, with every stupid ramble about hope that escapes Nagito’s mouth between his pathetic moans. She’d rather listen to a documentary about saving kittens than that.

Kamukura really knows how to make her despair. Despair so horrible, so terrible that she can’t decide whether she’s wiggling and resisting in ecstasy, to increase her suffering in a crescendo of despair, riding herself up to the climax of her life, or if she…

Nagito whines impatiently. Kamukura holds his ass with shaky arms and slowly rocks his hips back and forth, trying to hit the hole. Any hole. His dick is big and hard, it shouldn't be hard to miss. However, he does. Mostly rubbing his length across Nagito’s labia, against his puffed up clitoris. It sends shivers down his spine.
While the other patiently accepts whatever pace Kamukura goes at, he can’t help but be disappointed in himself. It’s taking him way too long to perform such an easy task. On top of it all his headache worsens and the dizziness spikes again. The room is spilling and he absentmindedly thrusts into Nagito’s leg, his ass cheeks, or even just the air. He feels his chest burn, his stomach twist and his legs start to ache as well. For a moment he leans on Nagito’s ass for support, then falls down on top of him.

Komaeda yelps in response at the weight and shakes at the strain. There’s no way he can keep this position up. Maybe if he turns around he can also help Kamukura-sama. He seems to have trouble finding his holes.
Carefully, he rolls to his side and lifts Kamukura just enough to be able to shift onto his back before letting the heavier man fall onto his chest. The weight significantly hinders his breathing, but that’s okay. Anything for his shining light. He spreads his legs wide and wraps them around his beloved.

Kamukura squeezes his eyes shut tight, the lack of vision helps him ease some of his irritations. Noticing Nagito’s shift in position, he collects himself to get back up off of him, and to finally get to copulate with him, like intended. Despite the closed eyes he now finds his hole and thrusts in sloppily. Nagito’s walls are hot and the slick makes him glide so easily, despite his size. With every thrust he lets out small moans and babbles of Enoshima’s despair having bred the greatest hope of his life. An interesting choice of words.
Not long after the first impact, Kamukura thrusts harder, deeper, faster. Nagito’s walls clenching around his dick feel different every single time he does it, yet it’s equally pleasurable without fail. He opens his eyes again to assess his progress, to analyze what’s happening. His balls slap against the wetness of Nagito’s tush with every thrust in a comforting rhythm of unpredictable sounds. Every sound is slightly different from the one before. Enoshima always tried to sell him sex as something boring to partake in, at least the way she made it sound, but like this? At least for now, it’s adequate entertainment. 

His thrusts are relentless, the ache in his dick like a pulse whenever he hits Nagito’s cervix. The spasms, the wiggling, how Nagito arches his back and lets out a high moan. Every sensation makes him rut harder, chasing newer, stronger feelings. The high he gets from the pulse in his dick is confusing, indescribable, irresistible.

His legs shake, his chest burns hot, he groans, his hair drapes over his face, his eyes sting. A pressure builds in his bottom that spreads tingles across his spine and legs. This unknown sensation alarms him. His genitals are artificial, yet he’s experiencing all the symptoms of an oncoming phallic orgasm. Since it never mattered to him, he hadn’t spared a thought on it, but now he’s intrigued by the surgical finesse involved in this function. However his brain short circuits as he hits an especially sensitive spot and his balls contract and all he can feel is relief as numbness crawls through his limbs, carrying him into a world of slow motion.

As he feels Kamukura slow down, Komaeda tries hard to catch his breath, to look at the man granting him his hope. Shakily, he props himself up enough to reach for him, to open the dark curtain shielding his beautiful body. As he gently pushes aside the black silk he’s met with red, bloodshot eyes. So bloodshot they’re crying red tears.
Kamukura stares at him, his arms shake, his hips rock back and forth in a harmonious rhythm, with random spasms every now and then as he unloads. To have made him feel like that, to have the privilege of receiving his cum… Ahh~ He can’t help but buck his hips, to help him out. There’s nothing he wants more right now than to squeeze his cock dry.

But even when Kamukura’s calmed down a little, he keeps staring at him with his bloody eyes and shallow breath. He is almost unmoving, save his shaking. His dick is still hard and pulsing inside of him, despite the huge load he’s already planted in Komaeda’s womb. Though, it almost seems like he doesn’t know what to do now. It feels wrong and yet like it’s the only thing he can do now: help him find his relief. Service him through the state he was put in. Worship him fully with all of his body.
There’s no doubt in Komaeda’s mind that it is the work of his luck. He always obtains unimaginable fortune while others around him suffer for it. With Kamukura-sama, he feels like it’s right. He endures it with so much care, with such gentleness. He leans into his misfortune; in the twisted way this world is like, it might as well be his personal good luck.

Nagito gently leans forward and Kamukura’s legs give in. His brain has been turned into mush, all he can do right now is close in all focus on breathing, a function so basic yet his body can’t remember how to do it anymore. His eyes burn and as he sees Nagito blink he remembers to do that, too. Once. After a while he remembers it needs to happen continuously, starts counting seconds for optimal blink times.
It worsens his headache so he opts to simply close his eyes.

The exhaustion he feels is unreal, he’s never felt so…vulnerable and helpless before. The numbness sends a wave of relaxation through his body that he didn’t know possible. Endorphins must’ve been released in response to his orgasm, yet his heart remains racing and his whole body is tense, he can’t move. Not like he needs to, as the boy on his penis takes the lead now.
He tips him over to lie on his back, the cold hardness of the floor a welcome (almost soothing) new sensation. Nagito rearranges himself, sliding off his length just enough to move, but quickly coming back down on him. His chain rattles and cools his stomach, which is twisted in knots.
The nausea and serenity make an interesting, yet unwanted sludge cocktail in his abdomen. He tries to focus on anything else; on the warmth on his length, on the way his hair shifts as he slightly moves his head.

With a gentle brush against his legs Nagito signals that he’s going to start now and he grabs onto his thighs as he slides up and down his persisting erection. First only barely, slowly, shallowly, then experimenting with angle and radius of his thrusts. Kamukura silently observes, more with his penis than his eyes, which have dried shut from the bleeding. The rhythmic rocking calms him down and helps him concentrate through the pounding in his brain that plagues him. The scar on his forehead feels about to burst almost as much as his penis does.

Komaeda is overwhelmed with emotions. His legs tremble and he takes frequent small breaks to simply sit still on Kamukura's dick, instead clenching his muscles as best he can to serve his bright star, his greatest hope, in spite of his frail failure of a body. No exhaustion will be able to deter him from making sure he does at least something of use in his life. Out of any person in this world he wants to be of use to, Kamukura-sama is the one and only that truly deserves it.
Any doubt or selfishness gets cast aside by the affirmation he hears in Kamukura's slightly altered breath; the heavy and fast pace of his heartbeat beneath his hands. Every pulse inside of him reminds him that no matter how selfish his actions are, they are incredibly selfless, really. He's nothing more than a sacrifice, a stepping stone for Kamukura to use in order to nurture hope. If hope consists of white streaks in his womb, so be it. He'll happily accept it.

The squelching of Nagito's moist swamp of a cumdump makes Enoshima boil like nothing ever managed to so far. Her heart hammers like a war drum as she digs her perfect nails into the flesh of her legs. Her pussy aches with lust at the sound of Kamukura's occasional grunt, followed by Nagito's obnoxious moans. This good for nothing lucky bitch…living her dream. The despair is so bitter-sweet.
She can't help but rock her hips to it.

Thankfully these two are the only audience to her pathetic display. The intrusive thought of being walked in on sends another shiver down her spine and she laughs to herself; at least as best she can with her panties shoved into her mouth. She tries to cough them out like a fucked up fur ball, but her violent shaking only slightly loosens her blindfold.
With how much it’s loosened up, she could easily shake it off. But…does she want to see it? Ignorance is bliss, after all. She can imagine that these two are just fucking with her, just pretending to get her worked up. And if Kamukura was really fucking that whore? He better not be feeling anything. With every minute the prospect of her despair rises to new heights, breaching anything she's ever experienced before. Is she in love again?

In love with despair all right!

She shakes off the blindfold for good by toppling herself onto the floor and violently rubbing her head against the expensive floor tiling. The sight of the white mutt in ecstasy with Kamukura deeply buried inside his smelly pussy has her retching so hard she finally spits out the fabric that gags her. The foul smell of her stomach fluids sends another wave of disgust through her body and she whirls around to escape, but the chair tied to her limbs shoves her hair straight into the puddle of shit.
She just can't help but laugh; to wholeheartedly relish in how stupid and pathetic she's acting right now.

The beautiful genius girl Junko Enoshima…chained to a cuck chair .

Kamukura's head is simultaneously a hornets nest buzzing with sensations and a gaping void where his disinterest dominates his mind. The novelty of vaginal walls rubbing on his phallus wears off quickly. The incentive to buck his hips dies down with the realization that Nagito is putting in all the work anyway. It's fine to just let him do whatever, there's no point stopping him. Isn't this an experiment? He's so hot, his nose is wet again, the room is spinning in a way it paints shapes onto the ceiling. Nagito's rocking makes him drift out of consciousness, just as much as every pounding in his head rips him right back into his hypersensitive awareness.

The moment lasts forever. Nagito's walls stroke his length. Again and again and again. Involuntary spasms running through his penis inseminate the other's uterus over and over and over. Until Nagito lies limp on his chest, stomach sticky with slick, their pubes entangled within the white slime that oozes from his vulva - even with Kamukura's calming girth still inside. 

With Nagito's babbling and moaning and rattling gone, the other sounds of the room claw their way back into his consciousness.
Enoshima is making her way to the pair, crawling like a worm. Before he can react, she uses the chair tied to her limbs to hit Kamukura in the head.

When he wakes up Enoshima lies on top of him, chair beat up but still firmly strapped to her arms, but her mouth and legs, and most of all her pussy, are now free. She gnaws on him, shoving herself forward to push Nagito off her prize so she can have free access. The chair behind her hits him in the head every now and then. He briefly ponders brain damage and how that could affect him, but decides not to test those limits right now. Calmly, he pushes himself back and Enoshima off his stomach. 

“Hey!”, she protests in surprise.

“Hey.”, Kamukura replies dryly as he gently sets the other man aside and gets up, penis coated in slick. He glances at Nagito's limp naked body draped across the floor, legs covered with his semen and more slick leaking from his vulva.
His legs shiver. He remembers that he's naked as well, and that it is cold. 

Enoshima stares at him with disdain as well as lust. That meat between his legs is the one big prize she's after. One he won't let her have; so he kicks her away, like she would have done in his stead. “You're in the way.” His mind is now calm, the rush from before can only be described as a blur of the past. He notes substance abuse and intercourse as potential pastime activities for the future.

Ignoring Enoshima's squealing, he grabs his jacket and drapes it over Nagito’s curled up body. Then he strides towards the pair of pants she childishly dropped on the floor.

“Don't tell me you actually care for that stupid mutt!“, she spits at him and Kamukura stares at the aforementioned “mutt” while he straightens his clothes. Does he? Enoshima asked because he covered Nagito when he was freezing. In his mind he simply saw a problem that he knew the solution to. Most of his existence has been just that, solving issues, optimizing, perfecting. He figures that it would be nice if he did care about him, because it would mean he has the capacity to do so.

“Bitch.”, she hisses.

Annoyed, he gets up and turns his attention back to his clothes. “I know you've got something planned, and I won't be a part of it.”, he puts on his pants with a sigh, “I will leave and we won't see each other again.” Enoshima snarls at him, still drooling in her drunken daze, wriggling in her constraints. “Not like this, anyway."
Kamukura looks her down, then he leans in close to her, so close she can feel his breath on her neck. “You'll never experience as much despair as you did today. You will try to prove me wrong, you'll reinvent your personal scale for despair. You'll cause the most unimaginable pain to an unimaginable amount of people, but you'll fail to achieve anything like this.” With that, he backs away again, removing her constraints; freeing her of the chair of shame. Yet she sits silently, staring half at his feet, half at the ground. “I knew you were playing a game, Junko. And we both knew who was going to win, when you challenged me.” He says her name like it's a bug under his shoe. “You know what I was made to be.” She's free. “My parting gift to you…is what you’ve always wanted.”

Enoshima tries to speak, but her voice cracks. Her tears ruin her perfect make-up and she laughs. She can't stop laughing. Her nails dig into her arms as she hugs herself, mimicking the constraints that held her so comfortably, wrapped in her own little world, in her game.

“For the rest of your life you'll do nothing but hold hope in your heart.”