A week had blurred into a haze of sweat and torment since Joshua’s recapture. Mornings began with Peter’s hands kneading his aching muscles, the trainer’s fingers digging into knots with practiced cruelty while Marcus traced Levin’s enchanted needles along Joshua’s abs—reactivating their hypersensitivity. He’d bite his lip to stifle moans as the needles pulsed, sending electric shocks radiating from his nipples to his groin. By noon, he was harnessed to the palace’s weighted pulleys, forced through squats and presses until his quads trembled like overstrung bows. The guards mocked his labored breaths, adjusting the weights higher whenever his form wavered.
Afternoons were worse. King James would summon him to the solar, where Levin displayed Joshua’s oiled body like a prized stallion. The king’s bony fingers traced every ridge of his abs, lingering at the divots of his hips while nobles placed bets on how long he could hold a handstand while Levin teased his nipples with ice and candle flames. Nights blurred—sometimes spent pinned beneath James’ emaciated frame, enduring whispered humiliations as the king lapped at his pecs; other times strapped to Levin’s worktable, convulsing as potions forced his cock to spill over and over into crystal vials. He stopped fighting after the fifth day. Resistance only earned his family’s staged whippings outside his cell.
Yet in the fleeting silence between torment, Joshua’s mind still plotted. He memorized guard rotations, noted the rusted hinges on the eastern postern gate. When Levin’s needles plunged deepest, he envisioned his father’s farm—the wheat fields swaying, his siblings laughing—and clung to the fantasy like a lifeline. The king’s spit drying on his skin, Levin’s taunts ringing in his ears, the relentless ache of his muscles—none of it could extinguish that ember of defiance. Not yet.
On the eighth day, as Peter’s calloused palms kneaded Joshua’s pecs and Marcus’s tongue traced the hypersensitive ridge of his left nipple, the cell door groaned open. Levin’s polished boots clicked against stone, followed by the ragged shuffle of chains. Joshua blinked through sweat-streaked lashes—then froze. Gregory, his childhood friend, stood shackled beside Levin, one eye swollen shut, his farmer’s tunic torn at the shoulder. The man’s gasp echoed in the cell. “Joshua? By God’s bones—what have they done to you?”
Joshua’s stomach lurched. He hadn’t seen another free man’s face in weeks. The sight of Gregory’s horror— Peter’s fingers still pinching his nipples—sent shame scalding through him. “Gregory,” he choked out, arms twitching against the chains that kept them semi-flexed at his sides. “Levin, damn you, let him go—!”
The sorcerer tutted, circling Gregory like a wolf circling prey. “Let him go?” His hand traced the stubble along Gregory’s jaw, fingers lingering with mock tenderness. “After he sneaked past the royal guards? After I peeled back his thoughts and found *this*?” Levin’s lips curled as he pressed his palm to Gregory’s forehead—magic pulsed, and Gregory gasped as images shimmered in the air between them: Gregory staring slack-jawed at Joshua shirtless in the fields, Gregory palming himself in a barn loft with Joshua’s name bitten into his knuckles, Gregory lingering near Joshua’s cot at harvest feasts, eyes darting to the sweat-slicked hollow of his throat.
Gregory thrashed against Levin’s grip. “That’s *lies*—Joshua, it’s some trick—!” His voice cracked when Marcus hooked a finger beneath Joshua’s left pec, rolling the nipple with slow precision. Joshua groaned through clenched teeth—his torso arched, abs contracting into sharp relief—and Gregory’s breath hitched. His pupils blew wide despite himself, gaze locked on the way Joshua’s muscles quivered under Marcus’s touch.
Levin’s chuckle was triumphant. He seized Gregory’s tunic, ripping it open—the fabric tore clean down the middle, revealing Gregory’s broad chest—and lower, the undeniable swell of his cock tenting his breeches. Gregory recoiled, but Levin caught his wrist, forcing his palm flat against Joshua’s sweat-slicked abs. “Deny it now,” Levin murmured. His other hand cupped Gregory’s cock through the fabric, squeezing lightly—Gregory’s hips jerked involuntarily, a choked noise escaping him. Levin grinned. “Ah, Gregory. How loyal you are.”
Joshua stared—Gregory’s fingers trembled against his stomach, his breathing ragged. He could feel the heat radiating off Gregory’s palm, the way his fingertips twitched against the grooves of his abs as if memorizing them. A flush crept up Gregory’s neck—his lips parted—but he shook his head violently. “This isn’t—Joshua, I’d never—!” His voice cracked again when Levin’s nails scraped lightly over his nipple, sending another shudder through him. His cock pulsed visibly.
Gregory had always harbored fantasies—fleeting, shameful things—of Joshua pinned beneath him in the hayloft, muscles straining against ropes while Gregory explored every ridge of his body. But he’d buried those thoughts deep—Joshua was his friend, his confidant, the man who’d helped him rebuild his barn after the storm. Yet now, with Joshua’s sweat-slicked torso arched under Marcus’s ministrations, those buried desires clawed to the surface—Gregory’s cock ached, his pulse hammering—but it was Joshua’s hollowed-out expression that made his gut twist.
Levin leaned in, his lips brushing Gregory’s ear. “You’ve imagined him like this before,” he whispered, pressing Gregory’s palm harder against Joshua’s twitching pec. “Begging.” Gregory’s breath hitched—his fingers curled slightly, nails scraping Joshua’s skin—then he recoiled like he’d been burned. He tore his hand away, shaking his head. “No,” he rasped, stepping back—but Levin’s magic coiled around his ankles, rooting him in place. The sorcerer’s smile turned lethal. “Oh, Gregory,” he sighed. “Liar.”
The guards hauled Joshua forward, his restraints loosening just enough to press his sweat-slicked torso flush against Gregory’s chest. Peter’s tongue swirled lazily around Joshua’s right nipple, his fingers kneading the swollen flesh until it jutted obscenely—Joshua groaned, his abs contracting sharply. Gregory gasped—his cock throbbed against Joshua’s thigh, hot and undeniable—and Joshua flinched. “Gregory,” he choked out, voice breaking. “Don’t—don’t look at me—”
Marcus seized Joshua’s left bicep, squeezing the bulging muscle with slow, deliberate strokes—Joshua’s biceps flexed involuntarily, veins snaking beneath golden skin. Gregory’s resolve shattered. His gaze dropped to Joshua’s heaving pecs, his trembling abs—so close he could feel the heat radiating off them. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips—his hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling as if aching to touch. “Joshua,” he whispered, helpless.
Levin’s laughter coiled through the cell. He traced Joshua’s sweat-drenched spine, then shoved him forward—Joshua’s nipples brushed Gregory’s bare chest. Gregory shuddered violently—his hips jerked—and Joshua’s eyes widened as Gregory’s cock pulsed against his own. Levin’s fingers tangled in Gregory’s hair, forcing him to watch as Marcus pinched Joshua’s nipple sharply.
“Tell me,” Levin murmured into Gregory’s ear, “you’re not aching to run your hands over him.” Gregory clenched his jaw—his knuckles whitened—but Levin’s magic forced his palms flat against Joshua’s abs. Joshua’s stomach rippled under the contact—his breath hitched—and Gregory moaned low in his throat. Levin smirked. “Flex for him,” he ordered Joshua—and when Joshua hesitated, Levin twisted his nipple—Joshua arched with a gasp, his abs contracting into sharp ridges—Gregory’s fingers dug in instinctively.
Joshua’s biceps trembled—Marcus squeezed them, urging the veins to bulge and Levin guided Gregory’s other hand to encircle the swollen muscle. “Feel that?” Levin whispered. Gregory’s thumb stroked the pulsing vein. Joshua’s breath stuttered while Gregory’s cock twitched. Levin’s smile widened. “Now tell me again,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Gregory’s temple, “that you want to leave.”
Gregory’s cock was fully hard then—throbbing against Joshua’s thigh—but his fists clenched at his sides. “No,” he choked. Levin sighed. With a snap of his fingers, a guard stepped forward—the whip cracked across Gregory’s back. The farmer screamed, arching into Joshua’s chest, his sweat mingling with Joshua’s. The whip struck again—Gregory’s knees buckled—Joshua lunged against his restraints, his abs flexing violently. “Levin, stop!” Joshua roared, his voice raw. “He’s innocent—torture *me* instead!”
Levin chuckled, circling them. “Oh, Joshua,” he mused, tracing a needle along Gregory’s collarbone. “I’ll stop when he *obeys*.” The needle plunged deep—Gregory howled—Joshua’s muscles locked as Levin twisted the needle, dragging Gregory’s skin taut. Tears streaked Gregory’s dust-streaked cheeks. Joshua gritted his teeth—then exhaled sharply. “Gregory,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Just… do it.” The words tasted like ash. Gregory sobbed once—nodded—then lifted shaking hands to Joshua’s abs. His fingers trembled against the ridges, tracing them hesitantly.
Levin grinned. “There you go,” he crooned, stroking Gregory’s sweat-damp hair. Gregory’s breath hitched—his thumbs brushed Joshua’s lower ribs—and Joshua flinched. “I’m sorry,” Gregory whispered, his voice cracking. “God, Joshua—I’m so sorry—” His palms slid upward, mapping the valleys between Joshua’s pecs, his touch feather-light yet searing. Joshua squeezed his eyes shut—his biceps flexed under Gregory’s hesitant fingers—and he forced his breathing steady. *He doesn’t want this*, Joshua told himself. *It’s the whip. The needles. Not him. Not Gregory.*
Gregory’s hands grew bolder. Levin’s smirk widened and Joshua’s stomach twisted as Gregory’s thumbs circled his nipples. “Good boy,” Levin purred, pressing close behind Gregory. His hands guided Gregory’s grip to Joshua’s biceps, squeezing until the veins popped and Gregory moaned softly. Joshua’s pulse hammered. Gregory’s touch burned hotter than any brand—but worse was the wet heat of Gregory’s cock nudging his thigh. *Forced*, Joshua repeated inwardly. Yet Gregory’s fingers lingered—his breath quickened—and when Levin twisted Joshua’s nipple again, Gregory’s hips jerked forward instinctively. Joshua’s eyes flew open—Gregory’s pupils were blown wide, his lips parted—and the realization struck like a dagger: Gregory wasn’t just obeying. He was *enjoying* it.
Levin’s fingers tangled in Gregory’s hair, wrenching his head down. “Suck,” he ordered, pressing Gregory’s mouth to Joshua’s left nipple. Gregory hesitated. Joshua braced then Gregory’s lips closed around the stiff peak. A hot, wet suction. Joshua gasped, his back arching—Gregory’s tongue swirled and Joshua’s abs contracted violently. Gregory groaned against his skin, his fingers digging into Joshua’s biceps as the muscle flexed beneath his palms. Levin chuckled. “That’s it,” he murmured, stroking Gregory’s nape. “Feel him shudder for you.” Gregory’s hips ground forward—his cock twitched—and Joshua’s gut clenched. The betrayal stung sharper than the needles ever had.
A sudden pressure against Joshua’s back—Marcus’s chest pressed flush against his spine, the guards’ hands pinning his hips. Joshua tensed then cried out as Marcus’s cock breached him in one brutal thrust. His pecs jutted obscenely, nipples jolting against Gregory’s lips. Gregory moaned, sucking harder, his fingers kneading Joshua’s flexing biceps. The stretch burned—Joshua’s thighs trembled—but worse was the way Gregory’s hips jerked in response, rutting against his thigh. Marcus’s thrusts grew deeper, each one wrenching Joshua’s torso forward—forcing his pecs into Gregory’s mouth, his abs rippling under Gregory’s roaming hands. Levin’s laughter curled around them. “See?” he murmured, pressing Gregory’s face into Joshua’s heaving chest. “This is what you’ve always wanted.” Gregory whimpered—his cock pulsed—and Joshua squeezed his eyes shut. *God*, he prayed, *let this end.*
But it didn’t. Marcus’s pace quickened. Joshua’s groans grew ragged and Gregory’s hands grew desperate, mapping every twitch of Joshua’s body as if memorizing it. Levin’s fingers traced Joshua’s sweat-slicked spine. “Look at him,” he crooned to Gregory. “This is *yours* now.” .
Joshua’s breath hitched—his hips jerked—then he stiffened with a choked cry as the pressure crested. Levin’s hand clamped around the base of his cock, denying release. Joshua convulsed, his abs twitching violently—Gregory gasped, watching Joshua’s ruined orgasm twist his face into agony while his cock throbbed untouched. The sight undid Gregory. His hips stuttered—his grip tightened—then he came with a broken groan, hot stripes of cum splattering across Joshua’s trembling abs, pooling in the valleys between his muscles. The contrast was obscene: Joshua, denied and shuddering; Gregory, spent and panting. Levin’s laughter curled around them.
With a cruel smile, Levin guided Gregory’s trembling fingers to scoop up the sticky mess from Joshua’s stomach. “Feed him,” Levin murmured. Joshua recoiled—his lips clamped shut—but Levin seized his jaw, forcing his mouth open. Gregory’s fingers, slick with his own release, pressed against Joshua’s tongue. The salt-bitter taste flooded Joshua’s mouth—his stomach lurched—but Levin held him fast. “Swallow,” he ordered. Joshua’s throat worked—Gregory’s cum slid down—and Levin released him with a satisfied hum. “Perfect,” he murmured, stroking Joshua’s tear-streaked cheek. “You wear his shame well.”
Gregory’s breath shuddered—his fingers lingered near Joshua’s lips—but Levin shoved him back with a chuckle. “Now you understand,” he said, watching Joshua’s abs twitch with residual tension. “This is what he’s for.” Gregory’s gaze dropped to Joshua’s trembling form—the sweat, the cum, the humiliation—and something fractured behind his eyes. Levin smirked. “And you’ll help us break him.”
With a flick of his wrist, Levin seized Gregory’s jaw—his magic pulsed—and Gregory gasped as Levin rifled through his mind like pages in a ledger. The sorcerer’s grin widened at every lurid detail: Gregory’s fantasy of Joshua pinned beneath him in the wheat fields, wrists bound with rope while Gregory teased his nipples with slow, torturous strokes; Joshua’s muscles straining as Gregory milked him dry, his cum splattering across his own flexing abs; Joshua’s hoarse pleas echoing through the barn loft as Gregory edged him mercilessly—Levin’s chuckle deepened as he withdrew, ink and parchment materializing in his hands. “Perfect,” he murmured, scribbling down every depraved thought with unnerving speed.
Peter snatched the parchment, scanning it with a raised brow—Marcus leaned over his shoulder, his grin widening at the explicit illustrations Levin’s magic had conjured. “You’ll start tomorrow,” Levin told Gregory, tucking the parchment into his coat. “Be grateful—most men beg for this privilege.” He strode toward the cell door, pausing only to glance back at Joshua’s hunched form. “Oh, and Joshua?” His smile turned icy. “Gregory will be the one milking you next time.” The door clanged shut behind him.
Joshua’s shoulders stiffened—Gregory’s fingers twitched toward him—but Joshua turned his face away. The silence stretched, thick with betrayal—until Peter’s laughter shattered it. He clapped Gregory on the back. “Welcome to the fun,” he said, thrusting the parchment into Gregory’s shaking hands. Gregory stared at it—his own fantasies, rendered in Levin’s elegant script—then crumpled it with a choked noise. Joshua didn’t look up. His abs still glistened with Gregory’s cum.
Marcus snatched the crumpled parchment, smoothing it against Joshua’s flexing thigh. “Ah,” he murmured, tapping one illustration—Joshua pinned face-down in the dirt, Gregory straddling his hips while his hands roamed Joshua’s trembling back. Marcus chuckled. “We can start with this.” His finger traced the next panel—Joshua’s arms straining in push-up position, Gregory’s thumbs digging into the valleys between his shoulder blades. “Push-ups,” Marcus announced to the guards, “until our farm boy collapses.” His grin widened. “Gregory here gets to *motivate* him.”
Gregory’s breath hitched—his gaze flicked to Joshua but Joshua kept his eyes fixed on the straw-strewn floor. His jaw clenched—*It’s forced*, he told himself—yet Gregory’s hands had lingered. His hips had jerked. His cock had twitched. The guards hauled Joshua upright, his restraints loosening just enough to force him onto his hands and knees. Gregory hesitated—Marcus shoved him forward—Gregory’s palms landed on Joshua’s sweat-slicked back. The muscle tensed beneath his touch. “Joshua,” Gregory whispered—his thumbs brushed the knotted ridge of Joshua’s spine—but Joshua flinched away.
Marcus’s whip cracked and Joshua’s arms buckled—Gregory’s hands dug into his shoulders as Joshua caught himself. “Begin,” Marcus ordered. Joshua inhaled sharply—his biceps bulged—Gregory’s fingers traced the trembling sinew. The first push-up was slow, deliberate and Joshua’s pecs tightened whe
Gregory’s hands hesitantly caressed his skin.
Joshua tried to ignore Gregory's hand on his bodt and pushed on. As he reached eighty reps, Joshua’s arms trembled violently. Gregory’s thumbs pressed into the dip of his lower back and Joshua squeezed his eyes shut. *Not him*, he thought, trying to convince himself.
The whip cracked again and Joshua collapsed. Gregory, already aroused, stopped his advances and tried to comfort his friend. He asked Marcus to stop.
Marcus leaned down, grabbing Gregory by the hair, and sneered, "Do you really want me to stop? Or do you just want to play the hero?" He shoved the crumpled parchment into Gregory's face, ink smearing against his cheek. "It says right here—'I want to hear him scream.'" Gregory's throat tightened—he hadn’t meant it like *this*—but the whip lashed across Joshua’s thighs and Joshua gasped, pushing himself back up. Gregory’s fists clenched, but he stayed silent.
Marcus grinned. "Better," he purred. Then, with a snap of his fingers, Peter forced Gregory onto his back beneath Joshua. "New rule," Marcus announced.
Now Joshua had to lower himself until his left nipple brushed Gregory's lips—and hold, trembling, while Gregory's tongue swirled. The moment Joshua's arms faltered, Marcus yanked his head back by the hair, exposing the sweat-slick column of his throat. "Slow," Marcus reminded, pressing the whip's tip to Joshua's twitching abs. "Or I'll carve tally marks into these pretty ridges." Joshua groaned—his biceps quivered—and as he descended again, Gregory's mouth closed over his right nipple with a wet, sucking pull that sent lightning down his spine.
Gregory's hands, trembling with shame, mapped the valleys between Joshua's flexed abs. His thumbs dug in—hesitant at first—then firmer as Marcus snarled, "Put some *feeling* into it, farm boy." Gregory's fingers splayed across Joshua's lower back, kneading the clenched muscle there while his tongue lapped at Joshua's swollen nipple. Joshua's breath came in ragged gasps—his cock throbbed—and when Marcus ordered him to hold the position, he nearly sobbed. The strain burned through his shoulders, his pecs jutting obscenely into Gregory's face.
Worse was the slick heat of Gregory's tongue tracing circles around his nipple—the way his hands, once calloused from honest labor, now slid greedily over Joshua's sweat-slicked skin. And when Joshua finally pushed back up, arms shaking, Marcus merely chuckled. "Again," he , tapping the whip against Joshua's twitching thigh.
Joshua's vision blurred—his forearms burned—and through the haze, he imagined his father's hands wrapping around a plow instead of chains. His little sister's laughter ringing across the fields, not stifled sobs in a dungeon. The images anchored him—until Gregory's lips closed over his nipple again with a wet, sucking pull that shattered his focus. His biceps trembled violently—Gregory's fingers dug into his hips—and Joshua gasped, his muscles spasming from the dual torment of strain and unwanted pleasure.
On the twentieth rep, Joshua's arms gave out completely. He collapsed onto Gregory with a shuddering exhale, his sweat-drenched chest heaving against Gregory's lips. For a fleeting second, Gregory's arms wrapped around him—his breath warm against Joshua's ear as he whispered, "I'm sorry—" before Peter wrenched them apart. Knees hitting the stone floor, Joshua barely registered Peter forcing him upright until Marcus's fingers gripped his chin, tilting his face toward the torchlight. "Look at that," Marcus mused, thumbing the swollen curve of Joshua's pec. "All pumped up and begging for more."
The whip's lash cracked across Joshua's back—his abs contracted reflexively—and Marcus leaned in, licking a stripe up the sweat-salted valley between his pecs. "Perfect," he murmured against Joshua's skin before pulling back to unfold the parchment with a flourish. "Now, let's see..." His grin widened as he read aloud, "'I want to feel his muscles flexing and suck his nipples as he gets whipped from the behind.'" Gregory flinched, but Marcus merely chuckled, his fingers tracing the illustration of Joshua arched in helpless ecstasy. "Lucky for you," he said, snapping the whip against Joshua's trembling thigh, "we've got all day to make it real."
Not long after, Peter shoved the stool beneath Gregory's knees, forcing him to sit eye-level with Joshua's heaving chest. He pressed a vial of shimmering oil into Gregory's shaking palm—the same sickly-sweet concoction that turned Joshua's skin into a live wire of hypersensitivity. "Go on," Peter taunted and explained to Gregory, gripping Gregory's wrist and guiding his fingers to smear the oil across Joshua's pecs and abs.
Joshua grunted as he felt the oil immediately taking effect. A mere touch anywhere is enough to stir his cock. So when the whip landed again, Joshua's whole body jerked forward, his pec jutting into Gregory's parted lips.
Gregory's resolve wavered—his tongue darted out instinctively, lapping at the swollen bud—and the taste of salt and oil flooded his mouth. Joshua shuddered, his arms curling tighter against his sides as Peter's laughter curled around them. "God," Gregory whispered against Joshua's skin, his voice thick with shame. "I didn't—" But the whip cracked again and Joshua's nipple grazed his lips, slick and hot—Gregory moaned, his hips bucking against the stool, his cock straining against his breeches. His hands trembled as they slid up Joshua's ribs, mapping every twitch and flex—*just like the parchment said*. The realization made Joshua's stomach lurch.
"Stop pretending," Marcus sneered, flicking the whip under Gregory's chin. "We all know you've imagined this." Gregory's fingers dug into Joshua's hips—his thumbs pressing into the V leading to his groin—and Joshua's breath stuttered. The oil's effect intensified with every stroke, his nipples throbbing under Gregory's worship. When the next lash landed, Joshua arched into the touch instead of away, his body betraying him as Gregory's lips sealed around his right nipple with a wet, sucking pull. "There it is," Marcus purred, watching Joshua's cock twitch against his thigh. "Now you see—this is what he *really* wants." Gregory's moan vibrated against Joshua's skin—half protest, half surrender—but his tongue never stopped swirling.
Joshua squeezed his eyes shut, but sensation flooded him: Gregory's calloused palms dragging down his trembling abs, the scrape of teeth against his left nipple, the impossible heat of Gregory's arousal pressing against his thigh. Every strike of the whip sent shockwaves through him—his muscles clenched—Gregory's fingers tightened—and Joshua's hips jerked helplessly as another ruined orgasm ripped through him. Cum painted his stomach in thin, agonizing stripes, his cock pulsing with no relief. Gregory watched, transfixed, his breath ragged. He still felt sympathy but he could sense it being overwhelmed by his natural desires. Joshua was too hard to resist.
Joshua's arms finally gave out—he collapsed forward onto all fours, his sweat-drenched chest heaving. He tried to shield his pecs with his forearms, but the oil made every brush of skin against skin electrifying. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, his body trembling from overstimulation. Across from him, Gregory stood frozen, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. Marcus chuckled, running the whip lazily along Joshua's spine. "Levin said to leave them," he mused, flicking the whip toward Gregory's flushed face. "Let them *talk*."
