CHAPTER 2
The leather-clad finger traced a slow, maddening circle just above the waistband of his suit. Dick’s breath hitched, a ragged sound that was surely picked up by the microphones. The neural stimulant made every sensation a symphony; the rough texture of the gloves felt like sandpaper and velvet all at once, the cool air on his exposed skin was a winter gale, and the heat building low in his abdomen was a furnace threatening to consume him.
Jason—The Cock—chuckled, a low, vibrating hum that seemed to travel straight through Dick’s spine. “The audience is getting restless, Nightwing,” he purred, his voice booming for the camera. “They’ve seen the armor. They’ve seen the skin. But a true showman reveals the engine. The need.”
His gloved hands came up, slowly, deliberately, to rest on the firm plane of Dick’s chest. Dick flinched at the contact, a full-body shudder that was only half-feigned. This is the part, he thought, his mind racing even as his body begged to stop thinking altogether. This is where it really starts.
“Let’s see what makes the hero tick,” Jason announced.
His thumbs found the tight, pebbled nubs of Dick’s nipples. He didn’t just touch them; he rubbed. Small, firm circles that sent electric jolts rocketing through Dick’s system, amplified a thousandfold by the drug. A sharp gasp escaped Dick’s lips before he could stop it.
“Oh, listen to that,” Jason crooned, leaning close to Dick’s chest as if to hear the sound better. “The mighty Nightwing, brought to shuddering gasps by a simple touch. Look at that.” He directed this to the camera, one hand leaving Dick’s chest to gesture. “See how they stiffen under my touch? See how his back arches, just a little, begging for more even as his proud mouth stays shut?”
The description was its own kind of violation, and Dick felt a fresh wave of heat flood his cheeks. He tried to steady his breathing, to reclaim some semblance of control, but it was useless. His body was no longer his own. It was a live wire, and Jason was holding both ends.
Then came the pinch.
It wasn’t cruel, but it was definitive. A precise, rolling pressure between leather-clad thumb and forefinger that made Dick cry out, a short, sharp sound that was all pleasure and no pain. His hips bucked involuntarily against the restraints, a helpless, seeking motion.
“And there it is!” Jason’s voice was triumphant. He released the nipple, and the sudden absence of sensation was its own exquisite torture. “The truth he tries to hide. Look down, viewers. Look at the straining bulge in those pretty blue pants. Our hero isn’t just excited. He’s aching.”
Dick squeezed his eyes shut behind the mask. He could feel it, of course. The thick, heavy weight of his own erection, trapped and straining against the confines of his uniform. It was embarrassingly prominent, a blatant testament to his arousal. God, they can all see it.
“No…” The protest was weak, breathy, a scripted line he no longer had to act. It was the barest whisper. “Stop…”
“Stop?” Jason laughed, a rich, dark sound that promised the exact opposite. “We’re just getting to the main event.”
He leaned down, his masked face hovering over Dick’s chest. The coolness of the domino mask brushed against a fever-hot pectoral. Dick’s eyes flew open. He saw the dark crown of Jason’s head, the way his shoulders shifted. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was a physical blow.
Jason’s mouth, warm and shockingly soft despite the villainous persona, closed over one sensitized nipple.
Oh god.
It wasn’t just a suck. It was a claim. A slow, wet, devastatingly thorough pull that seemed to draw a line of pure, white-hot pleasure straight from his nipple to the very tip of his cock. Dick’s back bowed off the table, a ragged, guttural moan tearing from his throat that was completely, utterly real. His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the metal bonds, his head thrashing from side to side.
“He can’t help himself, can he?” Jason murmured against his skin, his breath a hot ghost over the wetness he’d left behind. He switched to the other nipple, giving it the same torturous, worshipful attention. Dick’s writhing intensified, his breathing reduced to frantic, shallow pants. Every nerve ending was on fire, singing a hymn of desperate, humiliated need.
Jason pulled back, a thin string of saliva connecting his lips to Dick’s glistening skin for a brief, obscene moment before it broke. He looked directly into the camera, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, intimate whisper for the global audience.
“See how he moves? See how he writhes? That is the body of a man unlearning his own control. And look here.” His gaze and a pointed finger drifted down Dick’s torso, past his trembling abdomen, to settle on the unmistakable, thick outline straining against the blue fabric. “The proof is in the pudding, as they say. The Cock is an expert, you see. And I can tell you, from this very professional assessment, that your hero is not only impressively hung…” He paused, letting the word hang in the air, letting the chat no doubt explode with commentary. “…but he is very clearly circumcised. A clean, perfect specimen, just waiting to be unveiled.”
The clinical, yet deeply erotic, announcement sent another jolt through Dick. The humiliation was a tangible thing, a cloak of fire. It was one thing to be exposed. It was another to be appraised. Cataloged. His most intimate anatomy discussed like a piece of meat on a global stream.
He was panting openly now, his chest heaving. The protests were weaker, fragmented, lost between gasped breaths. “Don’t… please… the camera…”
Jason ignored the pathetic pleas, placing a firm, possessive hand flat on Dick’s lower stomach, just above the frantic pulse of his trapped erection. The pressure was grounding and unbearable all at once.
“The audience wants more, Nightwing,” Jason said, his voice slipping back into that intimate, real space just for the two of them. His thumb stroked a gentle, hypnotic rhythm on Dick’s heated skin. “I want more. You want more. Why keep them waiting?”
His other hand moved, the gloved fingers slowly, inexorably, trailing down. They skimmed over the desperate bulge, not touching directly, but tracing the angry, swollen shape of him through the fabric.
Dick’s whole world narrowed to that point of near-contact. He held his breath, every muscle tensed, waiting…
“Show them,” Jason whispered, his voice a dark promise. “Show them the real Nightwing.”
CHAPTER 3
The soft, deliberate stroke of Jason’s thumb was a paradox—a comforting anchor in a sea of dizzying sensation. Dick’s breath hitched, a ragged sound that was swallowed by the low hum of the streaming equipment. His body was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming for the contact it was being denied.
“Show them,” Jason had whispered, and the command echoed in the hollows of Dick’s mind.
But Jason didn’t press down. Instead, the pressure vanished. The absence was a shock, a fresh wave of humiliation. A soft, frustrated groan escaped Dick’s lips before he could stop it. The chat on the monitor to his right exploded in a frenzy of new comments, a waterfall of digital desire he couldn’t look away from.
A low, dark chuckle vibrated against his stomach. Jason’s head descended, his masked face a shadow moving over Dick’s flushed skin. The cool air of the warehouse was a stark contrast to the searing heat of Jason’s mouth as it traveled south. His tongue, slick and unbearably hot, traced the defined line of Dick’s abs. It was a slow, torturous exploration, mapping every ridge and dip, slicking a path through a faint sheen of sweat.
Each lick was a brand. Each one sent a jolt straight to his core, his hips giving an involuntary, tiny thrust against the empty air, a silent plea for more. Jason’s hands, still clad in that infuriatingly soft leather, splayed across Dick’s hips, holding him down with an effortless strength that made Dick feel utterly, completely powerless.
The mouth traveled lower, past his navel, the heat hovering just above the straining fabric of his briefs. Dick held his breath, his entire being focused on that point of impending contact.
It never came.
Jason shifted his weight with a predator’s grace, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as if savoring every second of Dick’s vulnerability. He knelt at the edge of the table, his gloved hands sliding down the length of Dick’s leg to grip the first boot. The leather creaked softly as Jason’s fingers worked the laces with a practiced efficiency that spoke of years of experience—both as Red Hood and as someone who knew Dick’s gear intimately. The lace slipped free, and Jason tugged the boot off with a slow, almost ceremonial motion, letting it drop to the concrete floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoed in the cavernous space, making Dick flinch, his pulse quickening at the stark finality of it.
The second boot followed suit, Jason’s hands lingering just a moment too long on Dick’s ankle before the leather slid away entirely. The cool air of the warehouse brushed against Dick’s bare feet, an unexpected and oddly intimate exposure that sent a shiver racing up his spine. Jason didn’t miss a beat. He grasped one of Dick’s ankles firmly, his grip both possessive and unyielding, and lifted it toward the camera with a flourish. The pale sole of Dick’s foot was now fully on display, every arch and curve illuminated by the harsh studio lights.
“Look at this,” Jason purred, his voice dripping with a mix of mockery and dark admiration. “A hero’s foundation. So often overlooked, so vulnerable.” He turned Dick’s foot slightly, angling it for the camera, as if inspecting a prized possession. The lenses zoomed in, capturing every detail—the faint scar along the heel, the faint dusting of hair, the way Dick’s toes twitched involuntarily under the scrutiny. The chat exploded with reactions, a rapid-fire cascade of comments flooding the screen.
Jason’s other hand rose, a single gloved finger tracing the sensitive sole of Dick’s foot in a slow, deliberate line. Dick jerked instinctively, a choked laugh escaping him despite his best efforts to remain stoic. It was ticklish, absurdly so, and yet the sensation cut straight through the haze of humiliation and arousal that had already taken hold. Jason tightened his grip, preventing Dick from pulling away, and leaned in closer, his breath warm against the arch of Dick’s foot.
For a moment, it seemed as though Jason might say something, but instead, he acted. His tongue darted out, swiping a slow, wet stripe along the pad of Dick’s big toe. Dick gasped, his back arching off the table as a mix of embarrassment and pleasure surged through him. The neural stimulant amplified the sensation, blurring the lines between degradation and desire until Dick could barely think straight. Jason chuckled darkly, his masked face tilted up to meet Dick’s gaze for just a moment before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the arch of Dick’s foot.
The act was so intimate, so deliberately humiliating, that Dick felt his cheeks burn even hotter. But there was no escaping it—not with Jason’s firm grip holding him in place and the camera capturing every second. The audience was eating it up, their comments growing increasingly explicit as they devoured the spectacle. Jason, ever the showman, made sure to angle Dick’s foot just right, ensuring the cameras caught every detail of his submission. And through it all, Dick could feel the heat of Jason’s own arousal pressing against his bare sole, a silent reminder that this was far from one-sided.
Jason’s lips descended again, this time with a slow, deliberate reverence that sent a shiver up Dick’s spine. He pressed a lingering kiss to the arch of his foot, his tongue darting out to trace the sensitive curve with unhurried precision. The warmth of Jason’s breath and the slick heat of his mouth were almost unbearable, and Dick couldn’t suppress the tremor that ran through him.
“Beautiful,” Jason murmured, his voice low and reverent, as if he were worshipping at an altar. His gloved hand cradled Dick’s foot with an odd tenderness, his thumb brushing over the delicate bones as if memorizing their shape. He pressed another kiss, this time to the ball of Dick’s foot, his tongue swirling in a slow, maddening circle that made Dick’s toes curl involuntarily.
The chat exploded with commentary, but Jason paid it no mind. His focus was entirely on Dick, on the way his breath hitched and his body trembled under the relentless attention. He moved lower, his lips grazing the heel, and then his teeth nipped lightly at the sensitive skin there. Dick let out a strangled gasp, his back arching off the table as electricity shot through him.
Jason chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against Dick’s skin. “You’re so sensitive,” he purred, his voice dripping with both mockery and admiration. He dragged his tongue along the length of Dick’s sole, exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that bordered on torture. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of ticklishness and arousal that left Dick squirming helplessly.
“Look at him,” Jason said, his gaze flicking briefly to the camera, his voice laced with amusement. “Our golden boy, brought to his knees by nothing more than a little attention to his feet.” He wrapped his lips around Dick’s big toe and began to gently suck it.
The act was absurd, humiliating, and yet Dick couldn’t deny the heat coiling in his gut, the way his body responded to every touch, his cock growing harder and twitching each time Jason sucked another toe. Jason’s worship was both degrading and intoxicating, a paradox that left Dick teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name.
“That’s it,” Jason murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic purr. “Let them see how much you love this.” He kissed the sole of Dick’s foot one last time, his lips warm and possessive, before moving up to reclaim his place above him.
A strangled sound, half-gasp, half-moan, was torn from Dick’s throat. His back arched off the table. It was absurd. It was degrading. It sent a pulse of white-hot electricity straight up his spine. The neural stimulant amplified it all, blurring the lines between humiliation and arousal until they were the same frantic, throbbing need.
“He’s so responsive,” Jason murmured to the audience, never taking his eyes off Dick’s face. He brought the sole of Dick’s foot to his own face, nuzzling against it for a moment before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the arch. The leather of his pants creaked as he shifted, and then he was guiding Dick’s foot lower, pressing the bare sole firmly against the prominent bulge in his own leather-clad crotch.
The heat there was immense, a hard, demanding pressure. Dick could feel the rigid outline of him, and the reality of Jason’s own arousal, hidden beneath the villain’s facade, sent a new wave of dizzying heat through Dick. He rubbed his foot against Jason slowly, a tentative, experimental movement that was all his own, beyond any staged protest.
The chat scrolled faster. The number of viewers ticked up. Another wave of likes washed across the screen.
Jason groaned, a low, deep, and utterly genuine sound that seemed to surprise even him. His eyes, visible behind the red mask, darkened. The theatrical villainy slipped for a fraction of a second, and Dick saw only Jason—raw, intense, and teetering on the edge of his own control.
“They see it, don’t they, pretty bird?” Jason’s voice was rough, stripped of its performative edge. He moved Dick’s foot away, his grip almost tender for a moment before he released him. He crawled back up the table, his body hovering over Dick’s, caging him in. The scent of leather and Jason’s unique, spicy sweat filled Dick’s senses.
“They see how much you love this. How every touch, every comment, every single pair of eyes on you… it just makes you burn.”
His gloved hand returned to its previous position, but this time it didn’t hover. It settled over the fabric, the heel of his palm applying a firm, perfect pressure directly onto Dick’s erection.
Dick cried out, his head thrashing back against the table. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. The world dissolved into a haze of sensation and the glowing red light of the camera.
“I think,” Jason whispered, his lips brushing the shell of Dick’s ear, his voice for them alone, “it’s time we gave them a real show.”
The Cock turned to the audience and asked. “Don’t you?”
