Third Day (2 of 4)

Breaking Free: Damion tries to buy a simple new life, only to find the city’s freedom can degrade him just as much as a master’s leash

'Breaking Free' Content Warning: Erotic Psychological Drama

This story contains scenes of psychological distress, dubiously consensual intimacy, emotional dependency, complex trauma recovery, and themes of power imbalance and identity reconstruction.

This story explores the fragile process of healing after long-term dehumanization, the difficulty of regaining agency, and the intimate entanglements that form in the aftermath of captivity.

Proceed with care.

She leads him into a store that appears to be specifically for men's clothing. She walks through looking over the clothes with a discerning eye. He glances around. He has no idea what looks good and what doesn't.

"May I help you?" the attendant asks.

"We're here to buy this big boy some new clothes!" Falloway pats Damion on the chest. It feels great to be touched by someone that isn't Mulsae.

"I have no idea what to wear," he says bashfully.

The attendant points at the wooden models displaying full outfits, "We could start by looking at these styles. Do any of them stand out to you?"

Damion looks them over. He doesn't know what a quality style would be if it hit him in the face.

"They're all adequate," he decides to respond with a non-decision.

Falloway walks up to one of the outfits, "I think this one would look good on your wide shoulders."

"Okay," Damion has no idea what the next thing to do is.

The attendant goes over to a rack then asks, "What's your size?"

Damion blinks, "I have no idea."

She hums, "Let's go with an extra large." She pulls a shirt out from the rack, then goes to another rack with pants. She pulls out two and approaches Damion and holds each up to his waist. She puts one back then hands the pants and shirt to Damion.

"The fitting alcove is over there," she points to the back of the store. What's a fitting alcove? He wanders over to where she's pointing and sees a small alcove with a mirror in it and a curtain over the threshold. Ahh, it's a place to try on clothes.

He goes into the alcove and pulls the curtain closed. He whips off the robe and puts on the shirt and pants. He looks in the mirror. They're clothes, does it matter what he looks like? He's never had to be concerned with it.

He steps out and the two women coo at him, "So handsome!" and "Looks great!"

"Okay. So I'll purchase these?" Damion asks.

"Yup," Falloway says, "And now I must be off." Damion's expression falls. She's leaving? "Sorry I can't shop with you all afternoon! Would love to but I've got other things to do."

The anxiety and worry and the weight of the world comes crashing back into Damion. "Okay," is about the only thing he can muster to say.

Falloway smiles brightly at Damion, "Alright, you buy some more clothes, and I will see about getting you that rental." She puts her hand on Damion's arm, "I'll see you later."

Then she turns and exits the store. Damion just stands there overwhelmed. Alone. Again.

The attendant gets his attention, "Is there anything else you need?"

"I need a whole wardrobe."

"A whole wardrobe?"

"I don't own any clothes at all," he looks down at his feet, "I don't even own shoes."

Her eyes widen, "How did that happen?"

"Umm," he rubs his hand behind his neck, "I was a soldier. Then a lot of embarrassing things happened and now I have absolutely nothing. Except for a bank account with apparently a good amount of money in it."

She cocks an eyebrow, "Embarrassing things, eh?"

He shifts his gaze to the floor, "I don't want to talk about it."

"It's alright," she says brightly, "You're here for clothes, not chatting." I'd love to chat with you all afternoon.

"How much clothing do you want to buy?"

"What would be good to get started?"

"Perhaps three pants and five shirts. You'll also want socks and underwear. And maybe some undershirts."

"Okay," he says dumbly, "That's all great."

"Are there any others of these outfits you like?" she gestures at the wooden models displaying outfits.

"Couldn't I just buy five of these shirts?" he picks at the shirt he's tried on.

She chuckles, "Besides the fact that I don't even have five of them in stock, you don't want to wear the same thing all the time!"

"I don't?" Fuck.

"No! Everyone is expected to wear a different outfit every day."

This sounds exhausting. "People pay attention to that?"

"Oh yes, people notice if you wear an outfit two days in a row. They'll think you don't clean yourself!"

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Damion puts a hand to his brow. Now I have to manage multiple outfits? He sighs.

"Okay, can you pick out five outfits for me?"

"Really? You just want me to dress you?"

"Please. I really don't care about what I wear."

"Okay!" she says excitedly. She merrily skips around selecting shirts and pants. She returns with her haul, "Try all of these on to see if they fit."

"I have to take on and off all of these clothes?" This sounds exhausting.

"Yes, we need to ensure they fit you," she cocks her hip and puts her hand on it, "You seem like a newborn!" She chuckles, "I'm explaining everything to you. Where are you from? I haven't seen your type of Windborne before," she reaches out for his wing, "I've never seen such red and orange wings like these before." Damion deftly dodges her touch. She gets the signal and doesn't try to touch his wing again.

"I'm an Emberai."

The attendant's face falls, "From the Sanctum of the Cutting Deep?"

"Yes."

She gasps and takes a step back clutching the pile of clothing in her arms defensively. Damion is confused.

"Is something wrong?"

"I've heard of your kind. You're dangerous."

Damion blushes and lowers his gaze, "Only to my enemies."

She shakes her head, "I think you should go."

"What?" he's crestfallen.

"Please, go," she looks pale.

"May I buy what I'm wearing?" he gives a pleading expression.

"Just keep them. Collect your things and go," she takes another step back.

Damion nods slowly and goes into the fitting room to fetch his robe and coin purse.

He starts to walk out, "I'm sorry," he says sadly. She just watches him carefully.

He steps out of the shop into the open air. Fuck. What the fuck? At least Mulsae had stopped humiliating me. And now all the Sanctum Masters got together and have thrown me into a pit of humiliation all over again. He wants to scream. He wants to punch the wall. But now he can't show any sign of aggression because he's Emberai. Fuuuuuck.

Damion unfurls his wings and leaps into the sky. He lands on his terrace with a thud, storms inside, tosses the robe and coin purse in a corner, and grabs a pillow off the bed. He buries his face in it and screams. Then screams again, muffled and raw.

I need a fucking drink. He tosses the pillow aside, snatches the coin purse from the floor, and storms back out. Fuck this shit.

He flies to the outskirts of the city and looks for something that looks like a tavern. It takes him a while, but he finds something. He enters and immediately is relieved to find a bar.

He slides up to the bar and orders a double shot of mistburn. The bar tender obliges and Damion swallows it with one gulp. He hasn't drank alcohol in two years. Fuck, it feels good. He feels the burn down his throat and warmth start to bloom in his body.

"Anything else?" the bartender asks while stereotypically wiping a stereotypical glass with a stereotypical white cloth.

"Whatever will make me forget shit for a while," Damion groans. The bartender pours him another double.

A tall woman with bright red hair and crystal red eyes saunters up to Damion. She places a hand on his shoulder and slips into the chair next to him.

"I hear you're looking to forget things," she purrs.

"Yup," Damion grunts.

"For a price, I could make you forget things," she leans in close, invading Damion's space. Oh, he does not mind. He leans towards her and their cheeks just barely touch. It feels delicious.

"I bet you could make me forget things," he coos in her ear. She runs her hand down Damion's arm to his thigh as Damion noses her jaw line drinking in her scent.

"Would you like to go upstairs and forget things with me?" she whispers in his ear and nips at his earlobe.

But then she freezes. She pokes at Damion's caged cock through his pants. She runs a nail along the bars to get a feel for what it is.

"Are you wearing a cock cage?!" she asks incredulously, all hint of seduction evaporated, "I didn't realize you were a pixie," she says loudly.

"I am not..." he says even louder, then lowers his voice to stop drawing attention, "I am not a pixie," he hisses.

"Why the fuck would you cage your cock if you aren't a pixie?" she narrows her eyes at him.

"It's... I was..." he struggles to figure out how to explain succinctly, "I was cursed. I can't take it off."

She starts to slide off the stool, "Sorry for your predicament, but I don't know what you thought you were going to do with me without a cock," she leaves with a passing remark, "You probably should just be a pixie."

Damion drops his head to the bar top with a loud thunk. He calls out, "Another double, please."

Fuuuuuck.

Damion sits up and gulps down his drink as the bartender slides the next cup over to him.

"Cock cage, huh?" the bartender asks casually.

Damion nods. "Oh, and if you'll believe it, an anal plug, too!" Damion is drunk. His tolerance to alcohol is gone after being sober for two years. He swallows the double shot anyway.

The bartender hums in thought, "I know a crowd into that sort of thing," he says nonchalantly.

Damion cocks an eyebrow, "What?"

"Most people think it's weird and get turned off, but these folks find it hot."

"Really? Someone would find it hot?"

"You don't think it's hot?"

"No, it's humiliating," Damion says with a sneer.

The bartender shrugs, "It depends upon your opinion whether humiliation is a problem or a desire." Damion narrows his eyes.

The bartender pulls out a piece of parchment and writes an address on it, "Here," he hands Damion the parchment, "That type of people hang out at this bar. Why don't you try hanging out there for a night and see what you think of them."

Damion takes the parchment and looks at it. He's a little wobbly as he moves from all the alcohol. "Okay," he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, "Another drink, okay?"

The bartender chuckles, "Sure."

People who could accept me as I am? Mulsae told me to find people who will accept me just as I am. Maybe I should go there. Maybe tomorrow.

He gulps some of his drink.

Gods, it's not even dinner time and I'm already drunk. What the fuck am I supposed to do for the rest of the day? For tomorrow? The day after that? The rest of my godsdamn life?

He gulps down the last of his drink. The alcohol has hit his bladder. He gets up and stumbles over into the bathroom. There's a long trough against one wall to pee in, and an enclosed area with a toilet to shit. Well, I don't need to shit but it's the only way I can pee with this godsdamn cock cage.

He goes in the enclosed area and sits down and hears the door open to the main area. He pees. After being forced to pee while looking at Mulsae's eyes, I can manage peeing when someone is nearby.

He flushes and opens the door to the enclosure to a man just standing there. He has a large build, but Damion still has him beat.

"So it's true," the male says, "A big boy like you is a pixie."

"No, I'm not," he says while swaying.

The male hums and puts his hands on Damion's shoulders and drags them down his chest, "I think you are." Someone actually touching Damion feels great. He's felt so alone, and now he isn't alone.

The male ushers Damion back into the enclosure and shuts the door. "See? You like it," the man purrs. Damion just wants to be touched and held. He just doesn't want to be alone anymore.

The man unties his pants and releases his length. He pumps it a few times then puts his hand on Damion's shoulder and pushes down. Damion starts to slide down, but then he realizes what this man expects!

Damion bolts up, "No, no," his words are slurred, "I don't do that. I don't do that. Never again. Never."

The man reaches up to Damion's mouth and pulls down his lower lip. Damion lets his mouth open and the man inserts three fingers.

"But this mouth would look so pretty on my cock," he purrs, "And oh! Look at this," he fiddles with Damion's tongue ring, "You've even got a tongue ring." He sticks his fingers down Damion's throat and he swallows them down. The man bucks and moans, "You're made for it," he thrusts his hands in and out of Damion's mouth.

Damion doesn't do anything. He feels like he's not supposed to do anything. Someone has him and is using him and his task is to endure and try to enjoy what he can.

The man removes his fingers and pumps his cock with his saliva covered hand. He puts his other hand on Damion's shoulder and pushes down. Damion goes down to his knees.

He rubs his cock on Damion's face, "Comon, open up for me, baby, open up," he moans.

Damion zones out. He goes to the far away place he goes to when his body is being used. He opens his mouth, the man promptly thrusts his cock in and makes Damion gag.

"Gag on my cock, baby," the man pants as he thrusts.

The man crowds Damion and pushes his head up against the wall. His head can't move. He just has a cock thrusting down his throat and his job is to endure. Tears leak from his eyes.

The man withdraws, "I want to fuck that ass of yours, baby." He pulls Damion up and turns him around and presses him into the wall. He unties his pants, ripping them as he does and shoves them down to Damion's thighs.

The male reaches around and fondles Damion's cock cage, "It really is there. It's so hot. Your cock is trapped. You're just designed to be fucked."

Mulsae designed me, Damion thinks numbly. He designed me and shaped me to be fucked, and I guess that's all I'm useful for now.

The man gets a grip on the anal plug and pulls. He pulls forcefully, quickly, Damion grunts in discomfort as the flare comes out.

"Wow, this is big. You keep this in you all the time?" he ruts against Damion, "You must be so loose." He drops the plug on the dirty floor.

The man sticks a dry finger into Damion and feels around and pulls on the rim, "You are so godsdamn loose. I bet you can take me just the way you are."

Damion whimpers. He's been changed and altered. Designed to be fucked.

The man notches his cock and pushes in. Not carefully like Mulsae did. No, this male goes quick. Damion gasps in pain.

"You like that, baby, don't you," he growls.

"No, I don't," Damion whines, "It's too fast."

The man continues thrusting, "A loose little girl like you? You can take it. You can take it all." He speeds up and pounds harder and deeper. Damion whimpers and moans. The man just continues.

This man doesn't think about Damion. He doesn't care how he feels. He just wants what he thinks he deserves.

I miss Mulsae, Damion laments. This felt so good with him. I want Mulsae to be here.

The man quickens his pace then gives one last mighty thrust and holds, grunting. His seed spills into Damion as he pants in Damion's ear. "Good little girl," he whispers.

He pulls himself out quickly and Damion grimaces. He puts himself back in his pants and ties them.

"Gods, thanks for the fuck. It was great," the man says unceremoniously as he walks out of the enclosure. Damion just stays there unmoving. His cheek and hands are against the wall. Seed is dripping from his hole. He hurts. The door to the bathroom opens and closes as the man leaves.

Continue reading: Third Day (3 of 4)
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