Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4866188.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      블랙_헤이즈_|_Black_Haze_(Webcomic)
  Character:
      Kielnode_Chrishi, Kiel_Chrishi, Master_of_Opion
  Additional Tags:
      Sexual_Abuse, Forced_Ejaculation, Hand_Jobs, Humiliation, Sexual
      Violence, Violence, Verbal_Abuse, Half-Sibling_Incest, Forced
      Feminization, Forced_Crossdressing, Femdom, Sadistic_Thoughts, Whump,
      Threesome_-_F/M/M, Forced_Work, Verbal_Humiliation, Bullying, Depression,
      Angst, Cruelty, forced_stripping, Groping, Non-Consensual_Groping,
      Spoilers, Chapter_125
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-24 Words: 3632
****** Quandary ******
by pr0nz69
Summary
     [chapter 125 spoilers] They like to tell him he deserves this,
     because he's a dirty child and he doesn't deserve to be here, or
     alive, and it probably makes them feel better about torturing him,
     their half-brother. [Kiel-centric] [mature content]
Notes
     Written by pr0nz69's little sister (don't we have the classiest
     username?). Originally published on FanFiction.net.
     There is officially not enough love for this webtoon, which means
     there is officially not enough porn for it. So I thought I'd try to
     fix that. Actually, this was also a self-imposed challenge to try
     writing a scenario in which a person with actively sadistic thoughts
     and fantasies is forced into a position of extreme submission (since
     those were definitely the vibes I was getting from the relevant
     chapters). Plus, I've learned that there's never enough Kiel whump.
     The siblings and step-mother are unnamed because Kiel is dissociating
     himself from them (that's my excuse).
     Spoilers for: Black Haze (up to chapter 125)
"Hey, put him in one of your old dresses!" the boy suggests. "Oh"–with a
snicker–"and panties – give him a pair you don't want anymore!"
"You're crazy!" the girl says, laughing. "This ugly bastard in my clothes?"
"It's for charity!" the boy returns. "'Cause the bastard doesn't have anything
even half as decent as your rattiest dress!"
"You're so gross!" the girl exclaims, still giggling. "You want to see him in a
dress?"
"It suits him, doesn't it?" the boy points out. "He's already got long hair
like a girl!"
"True, true!" the girl concedes, and then: "Fine. I'll go get one – don't let
him go!"
She's so free she skips when she leaves. Kiel watches her go, not with envy
because he won't give them that, but with disdain, mostly, and a little bit of
yearning – because he's trying to hold that back, too. His legs are shaking too
much to run anyway, even before the boy comes to sit on them to make sure he
can't get up. They're sixteen, the two of them, but this boy's still doing
things like this, like a child.
He's on his stomach, stretched over the cool stone of the basement floor,
pressed against it now by the boy's extra weight on him. He's already been
locked up for a few hours, as "punishment" for something he did – they were
vague about it, like always – but not five minutes ago, the boy and girl were
driven down here by their boredom, and both he and she took their turns beating
him. First, the boy held his arms while the girl slapped and pinched his face.
Then they laid him out on the floor, and the girl sat on the small of his back
while the boy kicked his head and sides and stomped on his fingers. And when
they tired of that game, they discarded him for the moment, like she always
used to do as a little kid with her beaten up dolls, and fought each other
trying to decide what to do to him next.
When the girl comes back, she's holding a dress Kiel recognizes from not even a
month ago. It's white and red and layered like a cake, with lace at the cuffs
and ribbon at the neck and frills and bows all along the bodice and skirt. She
drops it in front of him and then kneels so she can start tugging off his
shirt. He puts up a small fight, but nothing will come of it, and he knows he
should just let it happen and be done with it. They might even let him back
upstairs after this. It's cold in the basement, and he's hungry and has to pee.
The girl is fourteen and slender, and though Kiel is tall and slight himself,
he won't fit comfortably into that dress. She fusses with it, trying to tug it
down around his broadening shoulders, but even once she manages that, it's
still tight and stiff around his armpits. She likes short dresses, too, and
this one barely covers his bottom once she's got it all the way on.
"Hold him up," she orders her brother, and Kiel feels himself lifted under the
arms until he's back on his feet, though unsteady. The girl starts to undo his
pants, and this time, he really does struggle because this is wrong and
indecent, and she's going to see him naked.
"Quit squirming, idiot!" she growls, pinching his bare stomach under the dress.
She manages to get his pants down around his ankles, and then she reaches
underneath the dress again and hooks her fingers into his boxers.
"Stop!" he cries. He kicks out and strikes her kneecap, but she's already got
his underwear down over his thighs, and he's completely exposed.
"Don't touch my sister, dirty bastard!" the boy shouts, kneeing him in the back
as the girl slaps his face.
"You need to learn some manners!" she snaps, finishing what she started and
yanking his boxers down and off. The hem of the dress doesn't fully cover his
front, and he feels his cheeks blaze red. She stares for several moments as if
transfixed by him – it's probably her first time seeing a boy like this,
besides her brother when they were kids – then hastily produces from her dress
pocket a pair of silky, rose-colored panties.
The boy's grip on him tightens, but he doesn't fight it this time because even
girls' underwear, humiliating though it is, will cover his nakedness. He hates
the feeling of the girl's hands as they slide up his legs, settling the panties
around his hips, the silk soft and foreign against his skin.
"They're tight," she muses, pulling back the waistband and letting it snap
against his pelvis. "Because of this ugly thing."
He isn't expecting it and yelps when she fits her hand between his legs and
squeezes him. Even then, she doesn't let go, and he panics when he realizes
he's become aroused against his will.
"Oh my god," she says, part in wonder and part in disgust. "Why's it doing
that?"
The boy leans over his shoulder to look and then gasps when he sees what she's
seen. "You're too young for that!" he cries, letting Kiel go so he can rush to
stand between them.
"He's hard," the girl responds, matter-of-factly, though she looks rather taken
aback herself. "I'm not stupid. I've just never seen it in person before."
Now that his hands are free, Kiel shoves the boy, sending him staggering into
the wall. He doesn't care that he's dressed like this. He doesn't even care
that he's aroused, just so long as he can get away before anyone else can see.
He dashes toward the stairs, bare feet numb and clumsy from the cold, and he
almost makes it to the first step when the girl's hand catches hold of the
skirt of the dress and drags him back. Tears sting at his eyes; he tries to
blink them away as he's slammed back against the wall.
"Disgusting pervert!" the boy sneers, hitting him in the mouth with an open
palm. "Getting hard because you're wearing women's clothes! In front of my
sister, no less!"
No, Kiel thinks, beyond indignant, wired with hot anger; it wasn't the dress
that did this to him. It was the girl groping him that did. It's hardly less
shameful to admit that, so he doesn't, just keeps his mouth shut. He's learned
by now that's the best way to end things quickly.
But even given his present condition, the two don't seem to want to let him go.
"Pull down his panties," the girl says, shamelessly. "I want to see it."
"You're too young!" the boy repeats, lifting one hand to roughly push her so
that she stumbles, nearly toppling over. "I'll jerk him off, so you better
stand over in that corner with your eyes shut!"
"What – no fair!" she cries. "I hate you!" But she stomps and huffs her way to
the directed corner anyway, rolling her eyes several times before finally
closing them.
"Don't touch me!" Kiel growls as the boy moves his hand toward his crotch. The
boy pauses, then grins.
"If you don't let me do it now," he says, disgustingly urbane, "then we can
bring you like this to your mother and do it in front of her. Then she can see
what a perverted whore you are, getting turned on by a little girl's panties
and dressy."
Kiel's face is hot, with anger or humiliation or – probably – both. He lunges
forward, seeing only the stairs ahead of him, but the boy has an even stronger
grip on him than he's expecting, and he drags him back and jams his leg between
both of his.
"Of course," the boy smirks, lifting his knee higher into his crotch to further
aggravate the swelling there, "your mother is already quite familiar with
whores herself, isn't she?"
"I-I'll kill you," Kiel spits out, before he can stop himself, and the boy,
still smiling, draws back his fist and smashes him across the jaw.
"We'll see," he says, and then he takes up the waistband of the panties between
two fingers and gingerly pulls them down around his front.
Kiel clenches his fists. He wants to hurt this boy, badly. He wants to kill
him. He thinks he would if he could, if he could get away with it. They would
hang him if he did it, killed a noble, but it would almost be worth it.
But the boy has his hand around his penis now, and it's too precarious to risk
anything. Besides that, he doesn't want to die, not for someone like him. The
boy grips him harder, and he gasps at how sudden it is, and how tender and hot
he is there. He whimpers without wanting to as the boy jerks him, not with any
care given to his comfort, almost even violently. The basest part of him is
thrilled by the rough pleasure the motions bring him, but no part of him enjoys
it – that's what he tells himself, to preserve at least some of his dignity.
Before he realizes it, he's crying – angry, burning tears – and then he
shudders through his release. He doesn't last long, never does – he's not
experienced enough, probably. This time, it's even painful, or at least it
feels like it is – he can't tell anymore what's meant to be pain and what's
meant to be pleasure. It's always embarrassing, though, no matter how many
times he thinks he's gotten over it. He doesn't even touch himself anymore
because he can't enjoy it, and it just feels dirty now anyway.
"Aww, you've stained your nice panties," the boy says with a laugh, pulling
them back up over his wet penis. Kiel slumps in his grip, doesn't even resist
when the boy wipes his seed over his cheek and neck, kneading it in with his
knuckles. "Look what a gross mess you've made!"
There's a giggle, and Kiel blinks to clear his eyes of tears and sees the girl
standing and watching, and he realizes then that she's lied, that she's seen
the whole thing. The boy realizes it, too, and he stomps over to her, yelling
and swearing and pulling her hair while she shrieks and slaps him back.
Kiel slides down the wall, onto his backside. The panties are too small and
bunch up under him, and he tries to ignore it but can't. He feels defiled,
violated, and the tiny spark of resistance he once carried within him has all
but tapered out. Let them do whatever they want to him now, he thinks. He has
no pride left for them to mangle anyway.
"Get up, bastard," the boy says, marching purposefully over. The girl is
trailing behind him looking sullen, hair disheveled, a red mark on her cheek
from where her brother struck her. Ignoring her, the boy crouches over him.
"What, you think you're just going to take a nap now that you've had your fun?
I said, get up! You're going to do our chores!"
He grabs at the collar of the dress, and Kiel scrambles to his feet so he won't
be choked by it. The panties are damp from him; he can feel it when he moves
his legs. He's sure the wetness is showing through the front and that they can
see it, but even when he tugs on the dress, he can't get it to go down any
further, and besides, it's already tight enough on his chest and arms.
"Go on," the boy says, pushing him toward the stairs, and Kiel falters. If the
woman sees him like this – if she sees him in one of the girl's dresses, and in
her panties, and wet – she'll kill him – really kill him. If not that, then she
might have him arrested. Can one be arrested for something like this? Prison
might be better than living here. Or maybe she'll just throw him out. That
would be ideal, though he doesn't know how he'll ever support Mother on his
own. She'd probably resort to prostitution – and maybe he would, too – and he
can't even stand the thought of that.
"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" the boy demands, hitting him in the back of
the head. "Get going! Unless you'd rather I tie you up and drag you?"
Kiel shudders involuntarily; the girl cries, "Do it! Do it!" But he'd rather
die than see her obliged again, so he walks.
The panties are so small that they ride up on him, and at the bottom of the
stairs, he's sure the boy and girl have an optimal view. They wait a few
moments, probably to spectate, before they follow him up, and when the girl
does, she slides right up to him and slips her hand discreetly beneath the
dress, rubbing and pinching his backside with her small fingers while her
brother amusedly pretends not to notice. Kiel would shove her off, if not for
fear of worse retribution. If she ends up at the bottom of the stairs with a
broken neck, he's certain he won't just be killed but tortured first, and maybe
Mother will be executed with him. The woman has made such threats before;
there's no doubt in his mind that she's capable of carrying them out.
At the top of the stairs, the boy opens the door, and Kiel squints under the
strength of the sudden light. It was morning when he was put in here, so he's
sure now it must be around mid-noon. He hasn't had anything to eat today – he
was abducted on his way to breakfast, just after he'd washed up from cleaning
out the stables – and his stomach has itself twisted in a knot from hunger.
He's got a pretty good idea they haven't brought him up here to feed him,
though, and part of him wants to cry out of sheer frustration. The thought of
doing more work in this state makes him feel faint.
It's a small relief when, once he can see clearly again, he finds the hallway
to be abandoned of servants and company. The girl is still groping him as the
boy leads them down the corridor. Kiel fantasizes, as she gets dangerously
close to his entrance, about breaking her fingers, not just in half but into
little pieces and then grinding those into bloody, fleshy pulp and bone dust.
He wonders how loud she would scream as he bent each one back, snapping them
one at a time, slowly, slowly...
The boy brings them to the bathroom, and the girl is finally forced to withdraw
her hand when they step in. Kiel glances to the side, catches sight of himself
in the mirror, and it makes him want to throw up. The boy busies himself mixing
up a bucket of soap and water, and once he's done with that, he sets it on the
floor, then hands Kiel a toothbrush – his own, he realizes, wondering why he's
even surprised.
"Get scrubbing, bastard," the boy orders. "I want the floor clean enough to eat
off of – and you'll be checking after with your tongue, got it?"
Kiel stares, first at the expanse of the place – it's the servants' bathroom
and the biggest one in the manor – and then at his toothbrush in the boy's
hand. "This is ridiculous," he mutters. "Give me a sponge, and I'll do it the
right way."
Without warning, the boy throws the toothbrush down, grabs Kiel's hair, and
forces him to his knees – he's surprisingly strong, from fencing and horseback
riding, probably. "Who do you think you are, talking back to a noble, you dirty
bastard?" he demands, pulling his hair like he did his sister's earlier. "If
you think any of us want to support you and your freeloading whore mother, then
you're even crazier that I thought. Now scrub."
Kiel doesn't even have the will to fight back anymore, just wants this to end
already, and as quickly as possible. He picks up his toothbrush, dips it into
the bucket, and starts to scrub at the tile, imagining he's actually peeling
the skin off the boy's face, layer by greasy layer. On his knees like this, he
knows he's on full display to them, panties and everything, and the girl is
delighted; on occasion, she runs up behind him to give his bottom a slap or a
squeeze before darting back behind her brother. He gives him a few kicks there
as well, or slides his foot up between his legs where he knows it'll hurt the
worst. He claims it's punishment for not working fast enough, though Kiel's
sure he just gets off on it, maybe even more than his sister. Otherwise, he
wouldn't be holding his hands so carefully in front of him like that.
The two watch him for what has to be at least half an hour, and he isn't even a
third of the way across the floor yet – they keep nitpicking him, making him go
back and get in between all the cracks and crevices, sometimes twice each. It's
obvious they just want to keep him here, draw out his humiliation – their
gratification – for as long as they can. His hands and fingers and shoulders
and wrists are sore from the repetitive motions of holding and scrubbing, and
his knees are bruised and raw from crawling all over them across hard tile. The
panties and dress feel tighter than ever; he's sure they've left marks in his
skin that he'll find later when he's finally allowed back into his own clothes.
He thinks, far from the first time, that this must be what Hell looks like,
because he can't comprehend anything being worse than living like this. He's
even starting to think it would almost be a relief for the woman to find him
now because there's no way she would let this continue in her house.
But when she finally does, it's not a relief at all. The boy and girl have him
with his cheek against the floor and his bottom in the air, licking at the scum
between two tiles because they're pretending the toothbrush won't reach there,
when she sees him. She shrieks, and then he's flat on his side because she's
kicked him over, keeps kicking him even as his legs curl into his stomach like
a dead bug's and his hands move to shield his face from the blows.
"Disgusting boy!" she screams, and he realizes that he's shaking now, that for
the first time today, he's truly afraid. "Filthy! Vile! Reprehensible! In a
dress and – and panties! In front of my children! And – you've stolen my
daughter's clothes, you depraved little wretch!" She stops kicking him only to
snatch up his wrist and haul him to his feet.
"No," he protests, weakly, "I didn't –"
She isn't listening anyway; that's clear when she smashes him across the face
with her other hand. It's the second time he's been hit in the mouth today, and
this time, he can taste blood.
The woman pulls him along with her, back down the corridor, to the top of the
basement stairs. The boy and girl are following, only halfheartedly pretending
to be repulsed by him. It doesn't matter, because the woman isn't paying any
attention to them, only him, and once she gets the basement door open, she
gives him a shove. He's already so close to the ground, having been mostly
dragged, that he doesn't even feel himself fall, just the solid impact of stone
against his shoulder, then his head, as he tumbles down the stairs, landing in
a tangled heap at the bottom.
"I don't know why my husband puts up with you and that – that prostitute," the
woman yells down at him, and he's so disoriented, he can't move, can't even
speak. "You can stay down there until morning – and no meals for you!"
Kiel picks himself up, finally, and puts his hands against his throbbing head.
"And if I see you dressed like that again," the woman continues, "then you'll
be sleeping in the stables from now on with the other animals – naked."
She slams the door shut, and he hears it lock, and he's in darkness again,
except for the sliver of light squeezing beneath the door and down the stairs –
and there's a little bit of blood on them. He moves his hands from his head,
and they come back red and sticky, but he can't seem to find where the wound
is. He has to wrap it, though, so he doesn't bleed out.
He rips the dress getting out of it and doesn't care; he holds it against his
head, trying to stem the flow of blood from wherever it's coming. He takes off
the panties, too, and spits on them, and then finds his own clothes, and it's
such a relief to get back into them that he cries a little, soundlessly, so
even he can't hear himself. He's still shivering as he sits and leans back
against the wall with his makeshift bandage, still hungry and sore and feeling
so dirty and used that it's making him sick, though he knows it's not his
fault, he didn't do anything wrong.
He looks at the door, and at the light leaking from under it, and he wonders if
maybe there's some way out of here. But everything around him is invisible and
unreachable in the blackness, so he wonders, what's even the point? If he
reaches out his hand to check, he'll just get bitten anyway.
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