Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/746775.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Enzai:_Falsely_Accused
  Relationship:
      Durer/Guys
  Character:
      Guys_(Enzai), Durer
  Additional Tags:
      Abuse, Non_Consensual, Rape, Boot_Worship, Prison_Sex, Punishment, Pain,
      Anal_Sex, Guys_may_not_be_eighteen_here
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-01-11 Words: 1699
****** Training Day ******
by Eline_(Sans_Souci)
Summary
     Durer needs his boots cleaned. Now. Smutty and abusive Durer/Guys.
Notes
     For flaxen_and_fire, who wants more Durer/Guys in the fandom, because
     there isn’t enough of it. (There really isn’t very much Durer/Guys
     despite it being inescapable in the game.) Durer/Guys cannot,
     canonically speaking, end in anything other than extremely
     embarrassing (for Guys) no-holds-barred graphic sex. “Not another sex
     scene—surely this crazy fangirl has written enough of them?!” is
     probably what you’re thinking right now. The gutter of my mind is a
     productive little cesspit.
                              * * * * * * * * * *
Straightening up, Guys threw another shoe into the box. His efforts merely
yielded mediocre footwear that just might fit someone with deformed feet. His
back ached after long hours at the workbench and he was dying for some fresh
air.
The clock above the doorway indicated that he had two hours more before the end
of his shift in the workshop. Wonderful.
Nursing his much abused thumb, he picked up the next shoe and caught sight of
Durer entering the room. He could see the change instantaneously. The guards on
duty stood at attention a little more stiffly than normal. The prisoners in the
workshop hunched a little lower over their shoes and the entire room soon
comprised of grown men trying very hard to be invisible.
Durer looked to be in a foul mood. Guys gulped and ducked his head lower as he
heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
Don’t look up--don’t look up. Maybe he’s just on his rounds . . .
“Oi, Guys!” A gloved hand collared him and pulled him upright. “Just the person
for the job.”
Fuck.
“I need my boots polished before six. Official functions are such a pain. I’ll
take the brat--he can’t possibly be worse at it than making shoes,” Durer said
offhandedly to the guard on duty. The guard saluted nervously as Durer left
with Guys trailing in his wake. One could practically feel the unvoiced sigh of
relief that arose from everyone else.
In Durer’s quarters, half a dozen pairs of boots had been lined up against one
wall.
“Here. I want all of them cleaned and polished by dinnertime,” Durer barked.
“I’ll need at least one pair by this evening and the rest for the silly
official visits next week. And don’t you dare skive off--I want to be able to
see my face in them!”
Guys watched Durer stomp off and sighed. Boot polishing was just one very small
step up from making shoes. It was not as though Guys had not, at one point or
another, polished boots to earn a few extra coins for sweets, but these were
Durer’s boots and he would probably kill Guys if he did less than a perfect job
on them. Guys’ natural inclination in matters like this would have been to
place tacks in Durer’s boots. Well, a boy could always day-dream.
An hour and a lot of boot polish later, Guys could practically see his tired
face in the smooth surface of the knee-high boots. He had buffed the leather
industriously, polished the heels and cleaned the soles until they looked brand
new.
Durer came back just as he was arranging the boots back along the walls. Guys
hoped that Durer would be so busy that he would be let off early.
“Done already? Hmmmm.” Durer inspected the boots carefully, lifting each one
and turning them over. Guys wondered what kind of sick game was playing at now.
“You missed a spot!” Durer said, holding up the offending boot triumphantly.
Guys was certain that that scruff had not been there before, but to argue the
point with Durer would be a mistake.
“I’ll clean it again--” Guys began.
“You’d better,” Durer threatened. But his scowl turned into the smirk that Guys
had learned to dread. “I have a better idea. You can polish the boots I’m
wearing now first.”
Guys looked down at Durer’s boots. The head guard’s rounds took him through
most of the prison and Durer’s habit of hanging around the least pleasant parts
had not improved the state of his footwear.
Kneeling down gingerly, Guys reached for the polishing cloth and was startled
by Durer’s boot coming down on his hand.
“Not like that. Clean it with your tongue!”
The pressure on his hand told Guys just what was coming if he did not get to it
right away. Durer’s boots were made for kicking and stomping inmates.
Whimpering slightly at the pain, he bent to apply his tongue to Durer’s boot.
Guys tried not to think about the . . . stuff on Durer’s boot. The things that
the head guard did to entertain himself did not lend themselves to pleasant
thoughts. Under the grime and dirt, there was more boot polish. Soon, he was
licking off the polish from the boot.
Boot polish tasted horrible. If Guys had to name the most disgusting-tasting
things had had ever put in his mouth, boot polish would rank a close second.
Right up there with Durer’s piss. But at least it overpowered the taste of
everything else. Guy’s tongue ran over the toe of the boot as he concentrated.
The pain of Durer’s heel on his other hand was a distraction and it came as a
relief when Durer finally lifted his boot--so that Guys could clean it.
Durer’s boots went all the way up to the knee. Guys thought his tongue might
drop off before he finished with the second boot. He desperately wanted a drink
of water, but even that might not help. His tongue was coated with the awful
stuff--it was probably black with all the polish he had licked off.
“Not bad, brat,” Durer commented from somewhere above him. Guys looked up and
almost swallowed his polish-coated tongue. Durer had been whacking off while he
had been polishing his boot. Honestly, why was he even surprised anymore?
Guys’ knees and calves were cramped from kneeling for so long. He would have
made a spirited attempt to run for it, but Durer had taken the precaution of
closing and locking the door. Apparently he was not so busy that he could not
indulge in one of his favourite pastimes.
A firm hand gripped Guys’ collar and hauled him to his feet. “Get your trousers
off,” Durer said with a leer.
Guys could see the print of Durer’s heel on the back of his hand as he shakily
undid his belt and trousers. Dragged backwards to lean against guard, Guys
could feel the hard shape of Durer’s prick prodding him in the buttocks.
“Spread your legs--yes. Wider.” Durer assisted in this action with his thigh.
Guys could barely even keep his balance without Durer’s grip on his collar. No
matter how many times Durer had done it to him, Guys always felt like a
terrified mouse in the claws of a particularly vicious cat. No matter how many
times he told himself that he would be a man about it, he was reduced to a mass
of quivering jelly in front of Durer.
“No,” Guys whimpered involuntarily as the head of Durer’s dick pressed up
against his ass.
“What was that? Was that a ‘yes, please, ram it up my ass hard, sir’ that I
heard?” Durer purred into Guys’ ear. Guys could only bite his lip to suppress a
scream as he was stretched open and penetrated. His ass burned as Durer pushed
his way in--it always hurt because Durer did not care if his victims could walk
afterwards.
“Ah, that’s a good tight hole,” Durer sighed in pleasure, pushing Guys down so
that he could brace himself on the floor with his hands. Without preamble,
Durer grasped Guys’ hips and started to pump into him.
“Urguuuh!” Guys thought his ass was going to be torn open by Durer’s ungentle
ministrations. His hips were pulled back and pushed forwards in time to Durer’s
movements and he could do nothing but balance himself as well as he could
against the floor. If Durer should let go, he would topple forward.
The pain faded into the background after a while--or perhaps he had gone numb--
as Durer pounded into him without mercy.
“Does that feel good?” Durer asked him, reaching down between his legs to
fondle Guys’ cock.
Guys could only gasp as his member was roughly stimulated. The worst part was
that he was actually responding to it. The stroking hand combined with the
pressure in his ass was making him hard.
“Do you want some more?” Durer teased as he slammed his dick deeper into Guys.
“Ahhh!” Guys panted in time to Durer’s thrusts, unable to form a coherent
reply. His wits had been addled by the addictive mix of pleasure and pain.
“Eh, I’ll let you off just once this time,” Durer said generously and continued
to pound into Guys until he spent himself in the boy’s ass.
Guys whimpered again as Durer pulled out, dumping him unceremoniously on the
floor. He was still hard and sweaty from the sex with his breaths coming out in
short pants. Guys really wanted to get off, but he was wary of doing anything
without Durer’s permission.
“You look like a bitch in heat,” Durer laughed, nudging Guys with his recently-
licked boot. Guys instinctively leaned away and Durer insinuated his foot
between his thighs. “There--why don’ you get off like the mutt you are? Eh?”
The leather of his boots rubbed against Guys’ erection and he groaned in lust
and despair. Another nudge caused his balls to shake. Guys bowed his head in
shame as he started to rub up against Durer’s boot like a horny dog.
“Oh my, you really are a bitch!” Durer said mockingly. He pushed his foot
between Guys’ ass cheeks so that the toe of his boot touched his recently
dilated and still dripping hole. The sensation was both arousing and painful to
Guys as he tried to generate enough friction to get himself off.
“Uhh—ugh!” Guys moaned again as his balls rubbed against the boot. He ground
against Durer’s leg, mindlessly seeking his release. He would be ashamed of
himself--later, much later. His hips moved faster and he buried his cry against
Durer’s uniformed hip as he came.
“What do you say?” Durer said in a mocking parody of a school teacher.
“Thank you, sir,” Guys mumbled as he looked down at the floor.
“But you’ve dirtied my boots again,” Durer said with an unpleasant sneer. He
pushed Guys off his leg roughly and pointed at the traces of semen that had
Guys had left on his boots. “Clean them again, brat!”
It looked like it was going to be a very long evening . . .
                              * * * * * * * * * *
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!