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Quiet cries were trying to escape Charles' throat as he was desperately holding them back. His palm was pressed to his lips in the last act of despair, but his last hope was the ever-flowing water from showers and the loud noise of skin hitting against skin. Someone's pelvis hitting against his skin. Against his lower back.
No whine, even the quietest one, was supposed to be let out, but it didn't belong to the simplest tasks. Not when someone actively was trying to push Charles to the edge and get more and more of them from him.
Charles was stubborn; he wasn't going to give up any time soon, he believed. He planned to endure the shame and pain and last until his legs would finally give up from exhaustion. Just like on every previous occasion.
Every small noise that dared to be revealed was a threat that the next one would break his pose and force him to shatter into pieces. He knew it would eventually happen, but he wanted to postpone that moment for as long as he could stand, foolishly thinking it was going to spare him some humiliation. It was truly desperation; like a drowning man clutching at a straw.
But instead, the hums and groans of appreciation were breaking through the rattling of showers in common baths. Light laughter spread, and a few comments were thrown just as if they were watching a floor show. Or maybe it was exactly the case.
Who wouldn't be entertained by such a view? The weakest one from the whole unit bent in half and simply getting fucked by one of his fellows without a shred of mercy. It was one of the most common pastimes during shared baths lately.
Just like that, Charles, every single evening, was forced to lean against the cold wall and held in place, being used until everyone was content.
There was no point in calling for help—every single man in the bath would rather make a contribution to the misery of Charles than stand up for him, and complaining to any officer would just bring him more shame, so the thought didn't even appear. He was on his own.
"A—agh!"
Charles' will broke when another forceful blow was delivered, and he just couldn't hold it anymore. The hit aimed for his prostate, making his whole body shudder; his hips jerked forward, trying to escape, looking for some peace, but he was held in place firmly by strong hands gripping his hips.
"E—erik, please—."
It was hard to admit, and it made the self-hatred rise in his chest, but Charles believed it could be worse than that. Once Charles was broken, and there was nothing else but a slide leading to his downfall, he let himself think he could be in a much more awful situation if not for the said Erik. The moment he stepped on the training base as a fresh recruit, he could feel the eyes of everyone on him. It was just a matter of time before someone would catch him in the corner like a predator hunting its prey.
What he didn't expect was that he would soon become not helpless prey for everyone to use as they wished, but some kind of unreachable gem. The looks never went away, but nobody dared to touch him or even speak badly about him. Except one person whose name was Erik, and he freely played the game on his own rules.
To that day Charles wasn't sure why exactly it was Erik who was claiming rights to him; he supposed it was about hierarchy, a bet, or bribery. Whatever it was, it kept him safe in its own ridiculous way.
When he was standing like that—desperately gripping the leftovers of his pride while Erik was taking him from behind—the images of what would be if not Erik flashed before his eyes. Just the imagination was making his guts clench unpleasantly. But between imagination and reality was a very thin line that better not be crossed, even if the current side wasn't entirely good.
I should be grateful, he thought, even if any words of gratitude would never leave his mouth, I really should be.
"Stop? Why stop if we're having plenty of fun, Charles?" The answer was nonchalant; Erik was completely indifferent, as always, to the squirms of Charles, his attempts at running away.
Charles only shook his head, suppressing a cry. He wished he had been able to put on his mask again, but it fell off and shattered into pieces. He was vulnerable, exposed for all the attacks and unable to defend himself in any way.
As always, Erik knew when Charles was at his weakest point and exactly where to punch to rip more and more of him. Sounds, squirms, pleas. Anything that would burn Charles' pride to ashes.
Charles felt his hair being gripped and pulled back until he whined in pain. His back was slightly arched, and like that, instinctively, he impaled himself more on Erik's cock. More important was that he couldn't hide his face in his arms anymore. Pulled away from his safe hideout, he was forced to meet the faces of his little crowd cheering for him. Charles wanted to close his eyes and just forget, but Erik didn't let him, pulling his hair one more time.
"Look," he demanded.
Then so, Charles managed to keep his, red from tears, eyes on the audience. A line of men—taller, muscular, bigger in any meaning—was standing just a dozen feet away, gripping their cocks in hands and shamelessly getting off on the scene.
"You like it." Erik stated, gently tightening his fingers around Charles' shaft.
"N-no." Charles was forced to answer with his words, as shaking his head was not an option anymore.
"You like putting on a show. You like when they watch you as I fuck you. In general, you love feeling my cock deep inside you, don't you?" Erik slowed down, but he was rutting against Charles, somehow making himself feel even bigger inside, giving Charles an impression he was full to the brink.
All Charles was answering was a series of pathetic little no's. However, it didn't make Erik stop.
"But you enjoy it way more when someone is here to watch you falling apart."
Charles' cock twitched in Erik's hand.
"I don't." Charles cried out, but in response he only got a smack to his cock that made him tremble involuntarily.
At that point, Charles wasn't sure if he wanted to stand against Erik, or just convince himself it all was just a lie spread by the man to bring him more humiliation.
"As you claim I don't pleasure you, maybe I should give a chance to our companions? They would be more than content to take turns on you..."
"No!"
Charles was barely gripping any thought at that point, with Erik brushing against his prostate with every lazy thrust. With his words muttered with a husky voice. All of that was making a mush of Charles' brain. He didn't like the direction he was heading, feeling how he was losing the ground under his feet, falling where Erik exactly wanted him to be.
The fight was becoming harder with every second. The last thing he registered was that awful threat, and his answer was honest; it was truly what he meant. Every other word he had said was rocking on the edge of lies and truth; Charles himself didn't know when the line was crossed; the burning pain colliding with the somehow pleasing warmth that was spilling in his abdomen.
"No... You... You only, Erik..."
His eyes filled with tears once again, when the primitive realization of his shameful state hit him. He reached that low point when his body didn't want to resist anymore, forcing his brain to surrender as well and endure whatever the man wanted to give him. His cock was twitching at every humbling word, and his brain was dim with thick fog whenever Erik rubbed against his sensitive point.
It was meaningless to keep fighting; thus, he lost his dignity for yet another night. At the end of the day, Erik would reach his goal and have Charles squirming and whining, so when his body was becoming exhausted, giving up was just sane in its own twisted way.
He might have as well just for a moment agreed with Erik, because Lord... That bunch of men being visibly and disgustingly lustful and brazenly jerking off to him being all vulnerable and defenseless and knowing they could do nothing except watching.
Charles was desirable and untouchable at the same time. Which in the purest form was likewise a kind of respected position.
"A—ah, fuck."
A pathetic cry left Charles' throat, cursing himself, Erik, and the whole world for his hell that was bitterly luscious. It was absurd, how such polarized aspects could merge into one and make him feel internally conflicted. And yet, it was compelling.
His body found nothing questionable about it; it had a simple goal at that time and wanted nothing more than to come. Therefore, Charles reached with one hand to his cock to stroke it. It put him at risk, as his legs were weak and losing support in the wall made him wobble. Yet, he needed to come.
Before he even wrapped his fingers around the shaft, Erik grabbed him by the wrist and pinned his arm to his back, at the same time hammering into him. Erik pushed Charles on the wall with that one swift move, completely depriving him of any way out. Not that he ever before had such a possibility, yet now Charles was trapped as never before, meeting a cold wall in front and having Erik behind him, who never stopped thrusting.
"You're gonna come on my cock only, just like a good little bitch you are, Charles."
From that point, crying and moaning were blending. It lasted for long enough for Charles to lose perception of anything happening around him. All he could remember was all the times he was dreaming about reaching his climax; when he was close to it and yet so far away with his neglected cock painfully asking for any kind of notice. All Charles could do was grind against the wall, hoping for any release.
Eventually, he came. It was agonizing almost, but the relief was also there, making his vision go blank. He even almost forgot it made him just what Erik wanted him to be. Almost.