L*st and Death

"You're not gonna take it, right?"

Baekgyeong asked, his voice anxious.

"Huh?"

"It's too big. I don't think it'll fit in your hole."

"...Yeah, maybe."

Siron, who had been taking a cock just as big—Baekgyeong’s size—for four days straight without much issue, couldn’t bring himself to lie with a straight face. He lowered his head, avoiding Baekgyeong’s eyes. Misreading the redness of Siron’s ears as embarrassment, Baekgyeong's gaze gleamed with hunger. He shoved Siron down onto the mattress, pinning him flat on the bed.

“I told you, we’re not having sex!”

“Yeah, I’m not expecting to go that far either.”

Baekgyeong climbed on top, pressing down on Siron’s stomach as he straddled him, planting his knees on either side of Siron’s thighs and leaning forward. Baekgyeong’s massive frame blocked out the upper half of Siron’s body completely.

“Hold my cock with both hands.”

At Baekgyeong’s command, Siron reluctantly grabbed the shaft. Then Baekgyeong slowly began to move his hips. The sensation of the shaft sliding across his palms was too vivid, too raw. The thick veins bulging against the surface of the skin dragged against his hands with a pronounced resistance, making Siron flinch involuntarily again and again.

Baekgyeong stared straight into Siron’s eyes, panting hotly.

“Your palms—haah—those calluses, fuck, they’re no joke. Move a little.”

Siron gripped the cock—thick as a forearm—with both hands and began to slowly stroke. At the same time, Baekgyeong rocked his hips, their motions falling out of sync. Watching Baekgyeong's arousal so blatantly, Siron felt something in himself start to slip—reckless, dirty.

“Your hands, hah, they’re rough as hell. Feels like I’m fucking sandpaper.”

“It’s your fault I’ve been through hell.”

“Then think of it as punishment. Haa... Squeeze my cock like you’re gonna wring it dry, yeah?”

Siron was finding it harder and harder to endure Baekgyeong’s blazing stare and the intimate, hypersexual contact. Because he kept imagining himself being crushed, pried open, and lifted by Baekgyeong’s weight. His body twitched involuntarily, like muscles spasming in his sleep.

He pictured that snakehead of a cock, bulging and obscene, forcing its way back and forth through his hole. He wanted to draw his knees up and spread his legs, writhing as his heels scraped along Baekgyeong’s thighs and knees. He wanted to feel the terrifying sensation of his insides being churned—his inner flesh pushed out and then violently stuffed back in as that shaft pistoned through his rectum. He wanted to be pummeled by that hot, wet, relentlessly moving cock, like his colon was being kneaded and beaten into submission.

“You’re thinking about getting fucked.”

“What the—hah—fuck kind of shit are you saying.”

“You’ve got that look. That look you get when you’re begging to have your hole stuffed full until you’re slurping down cock to the root.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re rotting my ears.”

Moisture began to gather between Siron’s palms and Baekgyeong’s shaft. The precum that had spilled from the head now coated the shaft and Siron’s hands, making the contact slick, wet, and sticky as skin clung and pulled with every motion.

Siron tried to control his breathing, refusing to pant—but it only grew rougher and more ragged. He didn’t want to admit it, but he missed that filthy fucking mouth. Missed the merciless thrusting, the biting, the way that mouth sucked him down like it wanted to devour every inch. He wanted that kind of sex—desperately.

“Moan for me. Come on.”

“......”

“Make it feel like I’m cumming inside you. Moan like a whore and make me hard.”

“Fuck off—I’m not doing that!”

“Ugh—Siron. Huhhh.”

At that moment, Baekgyeong’s body tensed, his lower muscles going rigid. A hot flood of cum spilled over Siron’s palms, pooling on his old, threadbare clothes.

Gripping his own cock with the same sticky hand coated in Baekgyeong’s semen, Siron was overwhelmed by the urge to jerk himself off.

It’s just the pheromones.

A moan, more like a sob, leaked out between his teeth.

Siron felt as if a thick, bloodlike mist of pheromones was cloaking his entire body like a veil. But in truth, Baekgyeong was holding himself back. Even after climaxing in a frenzy of uncontrollable arousal, he restrained the release of his pheromones—aware of how it might affect this still inexperienced omega.

But just then, Baekgyeong’s greedy gaze dropped to the bulge in Siron’s pants.

“Hah? You’re hard now?”

Baekgyeong grabbed Siron’s cock through his pants and squeezed, rough and forceful. Unbelievably, that cock—normally limp and spent after every time they fucked—was rock-hard. In a flash, Baekgyeong was consumed by a dense, almost painful surge of arousal. Like the flesh of an overripe fruit being crushed, like the burst of scent from a shattered perfume bottle, Baekgyeong’s pheromones exploded out, thick and overwhelming.

Ian Fitzner, feigning indifference, quietly transferred the feed from Monitor 30’s split-screen CCTV footage onto a USB drive. The satellite connection °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° was unstable, so the video skipped and stuttered, but even so, it clearly showed two men tangled together, groping and devouring each other’s bodies.

Maybe it was because scenes like this weren’t uncommon on the island. No one in the security room paid any attention to Monitor 30, nor did anyone spare a glance at Ian. On the surface, it looked like he was simply doing routine CCTV analysis.

The files transferred excruciatingly slowly. Ian sipped silently from a mug filled with tea, struggling to calm his churning nerves.

After what felt like forever, he finally stood, slipped the USB drive into his pocket, and left the security room as if nothing had happened—heading back to his quarters.

Once there, he changed into more comfortable clothes. After some thought, he laid a long bed runner across the comforter. He hated his grotesquely oversized genitals. That was why he never masturbated. But he didn’t know what effect Baekgyeong’s footage might have on his body.

“...Can’t risk messing up the sheets.”

He turned off the lights, climbed onto the bed, and sat down on the runner. Powering up his laptop, he plugged in the USB and transferred all the videos. Then, tension rising, he hit play.

Like actors in a silent film, the figures on screen made no sound. Perhaps because of that, Ian’s curiosity was only further piqued. As expected, Baekgyeong and 3543 seemed to know each other. Not quite friends—3543’s attitude toward Baekgyeong leaned closer to hostility than affection.

Baekgyeong suddenly stripped. Ian froze the video like a mammal encountering an unfamiliar environment and shutting down under sensory overload. Even after long minutes passed, his heart didn’t settle.

Baekgyeong’s cock looked bigger than any alpha’s Ian had ever seen. He hated his own body—but why did he feel such hunger, why did his gaze get caught, fixated, on that monstrous thing between Baekgyeong’s legs?

3543, both appalled and intrigued, kneaded Baekgyeong’s balls like dough. Ian wanted to take in every single moment, not missing even a second. He wanted to jam the whole scene into his brain.

Right after cumming with 3543’s hands, Baekgyeong gripped 3543’s cock along with his own, mashed the two together with those massive hands, and rubbed them in tandem until he came again. Drunk on arousal, Baekgyeong smeared 3543’s cock all over his own face, then shoved it deep into his throat and sucked greedily.

Each time, 3543 spread his legs wide, exposing his thighs completely and locking Baekgyeong’s face between them. The sheer vulgarity of 3543’s posture struck Ian like an ice pick to the heart.

Then Baekgyeong pressed 3543’s legs together, sandwiching his cock between the thighs. What followed was more obscene than anything Ian had ever seen in porn—Baekgyeong bucked like a jackhammer, grinding his hips with wild, relentless force.

The tightened glutes flexed and dipped with each thrust. His huge, snake-like cock slapped against 3543’s ass, the proportionally massive balls flattening and deforming with each impact.

Ian, electrified with arousal, sat rigid like wax, watching Baekgyeong consume the other man’s body with abandon. There were even moments of unexpected, shameful pleasure—like the face of 3543, flushed and gasping, completely lost in his orgasm. Bruised, torn, ruined, yet flushed with rapture—it whipped Ian’s heart into a frenzy.

The more he looked, the more beautiful 3543’s facial structure seemed. But it wasn’t his beauty that captivated Ian. It was the damage. The destruction. Somewhere along the way, Ian Fitzner had failed to notice that his preferences leaned toward the filthy and dangerous. Before he could even get his pants off, he had already ruined his underwear with a sudden, overwhelming orgasm.

“Ah... It’s so fucking obscene.”

And yet the sex continued. There was no penetration—but Baekgyeong clung to 3543 like a leech, worshiping every inch of him with his mouth and cock, all the way until the footage ended.

Even after the video stopped, the arousal didn’t dissipate. It echoed inside Ian’s mind. He didn’t want to relive the shock of it while feebly jerking himself off with his hand.

For days afterward, Ian moved like a man drained after marathon sex—spaced out, limp. Eventually, he managed to turn off the media player. A bright white file explorer window popped up in its place. Moving up one folder level, he saw four folders lined up in a row on his screen. They contained the CCTV footage broadcast in the four-panel view on Monitor 30. He’d meant to download just Baekgyeong’s video, but had ended up grabbing all the split feeds.

There were files from various angles showing Baekgyeong’s cell, as well as the one adjacent to it.

Ian was about to delete the extra footage but hesitated. A dirty curiosity crept in—he wondered what the prisoner in the next cell had been doing while Baekgyeong and 3543 were getting off.

But his interest quickly faded. The man in the next cell was just sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, reading a book thicker than a Bible. His bed was backed up directly against the wall shared with Baekgyeong and 3543’s—connected by the same steel frame, meaning any movement in one cell’s bed would cause vibrations in the other.

Even so, the man didn’t seem to notice a thing. His eyes never left the page.

Ian fast-forwarded through the rest of the video. The man’s posture barely changed the entire time.

“Is he paralyzed from the waist down? No interest in sex at all?”

But being paralyzed didn’t mean being asexual. Arousal and even erections were still possible. And yet the man seemed utterly unaffected by everything happening next door.

Bored, Ian closed the video and, without hesitation, deleted the footage of Isaac Bazelli from his laptop. His interest had already cooled. So he never did find out that despite nearly two hours passing, Isaac had barely made it through three pages of his book.

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