Chapter Text
Lloyd thought of Ian's red lips wrapping around a lolipop, the first time he saw the boy on the bus to south chicago. He smiled at the memory. In front of him, the familiar lips were sucking on two fingers, salty tears slipping through them, mixing with saliva.
Good boy. Add a third one.
Lloyd stared intently as Ian whimpered through the screen, pulling his shaking hand out of his mouth and slowly back in. Lloyd sighed.
This isn't what he wanted. Sure, he paid his debts by earning Terry this gem of an evidence, and he did so oh so easily. He should be disconnecting the whole thing, disappearing into thin air. He knew who he was dealing with. Once Terry decides to pull the Ian card on Ian's father, the police will be all over his computer. The problem is - he's hooked.
He's addicted to Ian's pale face looking up at him, big eyes watering as he blinked. Addicted to his submissiveness, the way he wouldn't argue, even if he was hesitent with each new task. Lloyd's main attraction to him, however, was his shyness.
Lloyd knew Ian was far from innocent. He watched the boy ride and writhe and suck, heard the sinful sounds of pleasure coming from his beautiful lips when Mickey was around. Yet now, all alone, he always looks away as he takes his shirt off slowly. Lloyd's eyes follow his every move, Ian's face full of embarrassment mixed with shame and fear.
He wanted the boy since the very first moment he saw him. He adored his red hair and beautiful eyes, his freckled skin and pink lips. Having the boy's whole heart in his hands, he felt powerful. Ian was his. Ian does anything he tells him to do. Beautiful Ian, on his knees for him, waiting for instructions.
You are beautiful. Stop crying.
Ian sniffed and pulled his fingers out of his mouth, breathing shakily. Looking up, he stood up as the next message ordered him to.
Ian didn't know what was happening. He didn't know who that person was, or how he got into his system. Most importatnly - how he knew his name. For days he's been trying to think who, who will be able to do such a thing to him, who would want to ruin him the way that they do? He was terrified, and he was ashamed. Ashamed for not being safe enough, ashamed for being so weak. He didn't know what to do.
How can this end? Will this person leave him alone when he's done? When will he be done? Will he ever be done?
Ian looked at the camera, fighting his eyes to stay in place as they tried to look away. It's been 7 days since the hacker first introduced himself, and each day, he was losing more and more of his mind. He would cry himself to sleep, lock himself away at school, mind busy 24/7 trying to figure out a way out of this hell that holds him. He couldn't find a way out.
The first two days were easy. The hacker would tell him to get up, look at the camera and take his shirt off. Then he would stand there until he started to cry, and the hacker would disconnect. Ian wondered if he scared him off, or if maybe he was human enough to be pained by his expression. By the third day, however, the routine changed.
Hearing the notification alert, he submissively walked to his computer and sat down at his desk. Waiting for the text to appear on his screen, he frowned when it didn't show up. Looking down, he let himself get lost in thought as he stared at his fingers playing with each other. He was startled at the sound that blasted through his computer moment later. As in the first day, the video of him and Mickey played in front of him. Ian looked down again, turning the volume down to zero.
I can ruin your life.
The text showed, and Ian's eyes burned. He nodded as he started at the screen.
Say it.
Ian gulped, holding his sob. "You can ruin my life." he whispered.
You are mine.
Ian nodded, eyes tearing up at the words that control him. "I am yours."
Are you scared?
Ian let out a sob as he cried into his hands, elbows leaning against his desk. Finally looking up, he kept reading.
Look up.
Stop crying. Look up.
I am not trying to hurt you. I'm your friend. Stop crying.
Please stop crying.
Ian frowned at his abuser's stress. He seemed.. scared? Worried?
Testing the waters, Ian looked down again, covering his face with his hands. After a minute, his face went pale as he looked up.
You will do as I say. I will ruin your life when you give me a reason to. Do not look down when you are not told to.
This is your last chance.
Ian froze. Closing his eyes, he quickly opened them as he rememberd what he was just told.
You disobeyed me. Are you going to be a bad boy for me?
Ian shook his head quickly, still frozen in place, eyes never leaving the screen.
Are you a good boy? Are you my good boy?
Ian's stomach dropped with disgust, his tongue tasting sour. He nodded his head slowly.
You've been a bad boy. Slap yourself.
Ian's eyes widened as he gulped. Raising his hand to his cheek, he rubbed it softly before hitting himself lightly, soft slap blowing to the air. He felt pathetic.
Slap yourself harder, as you deserve. Tell me you're a good boy.
Ian felt himself get sick as he slapped himself hard, head forced to the side. "I'm a good boy" he whispered.
Do it again.
Ian kept doing so until the hacker finally let him rest, cheek blood red and covered with shiny trails of tears.
Take your pants off. Turn around and bend over the chair.
Ian's mind stopped. No. This is too far. Staring blankly at the screen, he waited for another text to show. None.
Reaching for his mouse, the screen suddenly showed a tab open. He watched as his hacker easily clicked on Twitter, Facebook and Gmail, the three tabs loading as the cursor ran down and into a folder.
"No! Stop, please stop, I'll do it, just stop" Ian begged, standing up and unbuttoning his jeans. He looked at the screen and watched the cursor clsoe the tabs. Getting his feet out of the skinny fit, he sniffed as he turned his skinny pale legs around, facing his bed in his underwear. Looking back, he mounted the chair as instructed.
Take it off.
He nodded, mind now not even thinking of disobeying. He felt safe. He felt in control. He stopped the hacker from posting his videos. Looking away, he slowly slid his underwear off, stopping at his folded knees.
Slap yourself. Tell me you're a good boy.
Ian knew what he meant. Taking a deep breath, he faced the wall as he spread his legs and lifted his arm. Spank
Again. Are you a good boy?
"Yes." He spanked himself again, hand grasping the chair again.
Again. Yes, what?
"I'm a good boy" Ian breathed out, slapping harder. Spank. Spank. Spank.
He was lost. Staring at his wall, he felt like he wasn't there. He felt like he was alone, and none of this was happening. He didn't want to turn around ever again. After losing count of the slaps, he turned around to find his desktop empty. No texts, no videos, no tabs. Frowning, he sat down and fixed his underwear.
The next day, he was on all fours.