Corey Cooper, University Student by day and crime-fighting superhero by night, has a problem. He fantasizes about being dominated and enslaved by the supervillain Imperious. Thanks to a stupid mistake, every filthy wish he’s had in the last few months seems to be coming true.
Corey has been captured by Imperious, and he can’t seem to find it in himself to make a bid for freedom. He has been alone for who knows how many days, and it’s only a matter of time before Imperious comes back to finish the job. The question is whether Corey will let it happen without a fight.
Servitude is an 8,600-word short story and part four of a four-part series.
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Excerpt
In the week following Corey’s capture, his world had shrunk considerably. All it had taken was a single mistake, a lapse in vigilance — his failure to account for the possibility that the attack on the capitol was a trap. Corey hadn’t anticipated that Luxus would be there, waiting in the wings to strike when he was vulnerable.
Corey closed his eyes. He briefly saw a flash of Imperious’ searing blue gaze. He had gotten so lost in Imperious’ eyes, back then. Just like that, his body betrayed him. His mouth watered at the faint memory of the taste of Imperious’ cock in his mouth, and the thrill that it sent down his spine made his cock hard and his cheeks flush with arousal.
The mere thought of Imperious was enough to send Corey into a horny spiral. This had been the case time and again over the last few days. He was unable to resist the urge to wrap his fingers around his cock, tugging at his erection while fantasizing about what had happened to him at the warehouse.
Without so much as breaking a sweat, Imperious had completely and utterly demolished Corey. The crushing, humiliating defeat was so profoundly hot. Even more so because it was with Imperious, the very man that Corey had been fantasizing about for years.
Every stroke was yet another admission that everything Imperious had said about Corey was right. He moaned as he moved his hand up and down his shaft. He was a fraud, unworthy of being called a hero. His destiny had never been to protect the people; he was meant to be whored out as a living fucktoy to be used against the very people that he was supposed to protect.
Truth was a difficult pill to swallow, but there was no argument that Corey could conceive of to defend himself. It was hard to find any when he was busy wallowing in his destruction, jerking off to the memory of his debasement. There was no redemption in that, only proof of how far he had fallen in a few days.
For years, Corey had been telling himself that it was all just a fantasy. For years, that was exactly what it had been, a dirty pleasure that he indulged in when in the privacy of his own bedroom. The reassurance had helped him sleep better at night, but it had been false.
It had always been false. All this time, Corey had known, deep down, that it had never been just a fantasy. It had been a craving. Defeat, humiliation, enslavement. In some twisted way, a part of Corey had always wanted it to be real.