A/N: This is the most terrifying and sexual slash fic I've written so far. And 2 more chapters too!

Here are the warnings for this first chapter:

Pairing: Ilosovic Stayne raping and dubious-consenting Tarrant Hightopp.

Setting: Flashbacks to the dungeon torture session and the hat-room while Alice is with the bandersnatch.

Rating: Graphic mature M, R-rated.

Warnings it contains: Bondage, humiliation, whipping, foot fetish, feet rape, non-con/dubious consent and masturbation.

Other Notes: Some made-up words, along with a few small references to the original source material of the Lewis Carrol's books.

The Hatter knew the Knave well enough. He was cruel, he destroyed his home, murdered his people, the right-hand man of the bloody big head, and continued to torture him with rude interruptions and leering gazes. In fact, the leering had been getting worse…even more disgusting was what he dared not to think of how he was looking at him, when he was in the dungeon…

He sipped his tea, taking a break from hatting. The queen was in no hurry he figured nor was his creativity quite top-notch.

"How would you like it if YOU were forced to make buggering hats for a berggering queen?" He lauded aloud, his eyes flashing orange crimson. His fingers twitched without him noticing it, a bit of tea splashing over the side to the table. The subject of making hats and the childish monster of a lady was strong in his head. Strong because that is what he tried to focus on to divert fear into anger.

Oh, not just any old fear. His scalp tingled at the memory of the black hand snaking into his hair, pulling at it.

"Tell me Mr. Hightopp, you are a clever man with clever ways about the land." The commanding voice began with the sharp tug at his hair. "You're clever enough to know when something's going on and when something's not. So, clever-man, and I certainly know you ARE clever…where is Alice?"

Tarrant hung from the ceiling by shackles. His arms were up, the metal clasps around his arms, wrist, the chains from the ceiling suspending the man.

He knew the wretched man was eyeing him. The hairs on his back, stripped bare the clothes at a heap at the cell door, were risen. Madmen were not without uncanny sense of scrutiny and paranoia. It was as if the Knave's gaze shot physical sensation every scope of flesh he looked at. The particulars of his chains were not helpful, stretching his lithe form like a hung mass of butchered meat.

Helpless, soon to bleed for his answers.

"Oh knave, your entire speech is like a portmanteau!" He giggled. After all what was a little pain? He would never tell. Perhaps if the mood was right he could be excited, thrilled at pain! The man giggled again, earning the Knave to respond with a huff of frustration.

"You will tell me, hatter."The knave hissed behind him, a particular menace behind the voice. The hatter remained strong however, smiling with confidence as he saw the man go to the left side, running his hands over the rack of torture implements.

Tarrant wasn't smiling now. A sip of the tea revealed it was not properly twinkled yet, nor was it of a delicious variety. Not emerald or sapphire, but spicy cinnamon ruby-red, pungent with rosehips and the bramblebun variety of black leaves. Tarrant wrinkled his nose at the queen's signature blend, but it was the only evening tea he was provided for today. Any tea was good tea. Any chance breathing was good breathing.

The twilight was revealed through the lattice windows. Of course he had fear, especially for Alice. She would find the sword, yes, and they would get out of here. His sweet Alice had all grown up and would take these hardships, and find she IS Alice. And with Mally he knew she would not fail. All he had to do was sit here and wait, biding his time with some purpose. At last, hatmaking…but here, no. But he must, that he knew. The queen and that…knave must not follow any suspicions that the favorite Um had a very different name.


The giggle died in his throat for the moment, naturally-painted lips frowning as he squeaked. A sharp bit of pain had appeared at his back at the same sound of something supple and leather. That dashing genius mind of him soon surmised it was a sort of whip. Tarrant squirmed slightly as the pain quickly disappeared and he once again giggled.

"Oh…" He laughed out, eyes closed somehow finding this whole affair funny. "How savage!"

Tarrant expected another lash again quickly to silence his anti-society outburst, but instead there was a pause.

In such a good mood he turned his head as far as he could to see the reaction. The Knave, as soon as the clownish face smiled at him, turned his softened, strange face into an intimidating scowl. The grinning hatter chuckled as he tried to decipher the meaning of the non-nasty face that the Knave was so concerned about that he had quickly made his usual nasty face again.

He stared into his tea. The depths of the rusty liquid was translucent and clear-through. Impeccably clear, unlike when he brewed at home. There usually would be the bits of leaves and flavors about, leaving a grit at his teeth. Here tea was left to be perfect. It certainly tasted 'perfect'.

It also tasted a bit oily, perhaps from the natural oil of the rosehips. It reminded him of the scent of Stayne's hair. Oily, musky, black and trailing. Strange against his cheek. And that voice was oilier…slick with maliciousness…

"So you want to play games. I expected this." His enemy breathed in a voice that sounded like oil and nails. The scowl intensified when the Knave darted his eyes quickly to his pale back, planning where next to hit. Tarrant's neck was starting to hurt and already the complications of the Knave's body language was starting to egg at him. That is, besides the pain that was to come.

The hatter moved back, staring at the cell door ahead. Where the leather strip hit him it was tingling, and not feeling quite nice due to the ray of cold pale sunlight providing the only light here. The light he was sure illuminated his back, causing a very creative limp-formed shadow on the straw and stone floor.

"Mmm…oh wait…that's me!" He muttered aloud at realizing the shadow was his. How stupid of him. How absent minded was…


The burn came again. Left shoulder blade. Searing pain disappearing in 3 second with just the dull reminder. He exhaled from his nose sharply, biting his lip. It was time to be serious perhaps, or laugh it off again, or something, because he was having trouble making up his mad little mind…


The sound certainly didn't start with the letter M.

Tarrant sat up straight sharply. The dull pain came back, softly reminding him of the events that happened many hours earlier. The grin of disgust turned into remembering pain again. The oily red tea no longer pleased him despite the promise of life-giving caffination and sugar. He rightly stretched his arm out straight directly from his side, and poured the offensive liquid straight into one of the many unfinished hats strewn about on the table and floor.

"It was an ugly hat anyways." He glared at the hat, so red and black, crisp felt and rouge cloth rose-adorned. Now it will forever smell like slick red tea. Orange tinged his pupils at the onset of rage.

"Bad hat! Very naughty hat, you slippery eel of burgeoning…viciousness!"

He tipped it in the air, splattering tea to the floor as he slumped back in his chair. With an angled leg he snapped his foot up, kicking it away. It made a familiar sound against the wall.


He was no longer laughing. The Knave was probably sick of his giggling-ploy. It certainly must be, he thought, as there was barely any pause between the whippings.

His head hung down a bit because he was arching and breathing hard. The pain was all over his back. He either had to breathe or to gag a scream, resulting in heavy panting cries. Low cries, steadily rising in pitch. Tarrant was not having any of that yet. He needed to concentrate on something since the lashes stifled his ability to even remember giggling, which always served to previously distract from problems. Mind-numbing physical pain though was different than mentally-numbing logistics and biting words.

"In with the…good air…out…with the…bad…ahh…rrr…NNN! MAALLY!" The raspy chanting let loose his mind. He called out for his dear friend when his mind slipped. Some days it slips easier than other. The 'persuasion' today though was testing his resolve. Only after he noticed the Knave stopped did he comprehend thoughts besides breathing, his drying throat, and how weak he was appearing. He would have felt more aware of his cries of humiliation if Alice was here. However she was not, which he was thankful for. Dear Alice…

The panting Hatter raised his head, unclenching his fists and shaking his head like a dog. Sweat flew off of his body and he returned, taking deep breaths. The Knave he heard stalked around, so blinking awake he found the tall man right in front of him. Tarrant dared to look him up and down.

He was caressing his black leather strap, slick with sweat and a bit of blood. The foe was intimidating in all his glorious blackness, save for the craftsmanship of the dark metal tunic and the red stripes, like a zigzag pattern of blood, covering his arms. Tarrant watched the hands for a moment, feeling a little queasy at how gingerly he was stroking the whip. Moving up he wished then he shouldn't have. Stayne was smiling that sick grin of his, the black hair framing his one-eyed face. Tarrant knew his painful responses then was what he wanted.

"So you DO beg. I was almost thinking you were too insane to lose such…dignity." Hatter, in a less hurt mood would have either laughed or glared at such an insult. "Alas you now have a new problem. The more I hurt you, the more I will enjoy it. You don't want me to enjoy this do you?"

No, he did not. He did not want this villainous man who ruined his life to take pleasure out of ruining his life further.

"So." He stepped in, towering over his still-heaving body. The hatter's heart was pounding again from the Knave invading his personal bubble, wishing he could catch his breath faster. Being so exposed without shirt and hat was already driving him insane; that eye again, boring into his body, piercing his heart.

He couldn't take it anymore, the hatter knew his limits…sometimes. This sometime was right now because his mind, slipping away, was curling in on itself. His eyes shut and turned away, daring not to see the collar of the Knave's shirt that was his eye level. His toes curled in his shoes as he hung limp above the ground recovering and being frightened by him.

"Tell me…Tarrant…" His oily voice was right in his ear! Tarrant stiffened and winced more as the stringy locks\tickled his cheek, and the hiss and breath at him. Its tone already seemed to violate his first name.

"…where is Alice…just tell me, and you will not have to cause me any more enjoyment from your predicament."

The snake tongue had darted out. Tarrant's eyes opened wide at the sensation of a wet that had went and lathered his ear from lobe to the top. Stayne's free hand had grabbed him forcefully by the chin and shoved his head to the side. With a squeak Tarrant could only react, at the moment, with sound and wide eyes as the Knave licked his ear, again. The orange man trembled under the hand that held his head in place so the heavy Knave could worship his left-side.


Tarrant whimpered aloud. The click of the door however woke him from the sudden trance of terror. He blinked, and realized that he had almost fallen over completely in his chair, except his head, to the left, was smushed at the edge of the table, crushing his ear and jaw. He realized he had ground in, the memory and tingling of a ravaged cheekbone from a wooden table, enhancing the horror.

His mind was truly slipping.

Sharp as an arrow he sat up once again. Horror, familiar these days, plagued his face. He rubbed himself to wake out of the terror and to rearrange the invisible imprints of lips and saliva from his pale drawn countenance.

Trembling again. Memory again. Standing up and leaning against the table as the other side of his madness came forth. Hands curled at the wood

"How dared the laddie…how dare…Stayne…"

The Knave pulled back, hearing a hiss. The hatter had a feral curl of his sweet lips, tea-stained teeth peeking out. Tarrant was tensing up like a trapped dog about to snap the fox's neck.

The grip tightened on the jaw as he studied his beautiful gorgeous eyes. They turned into a flaming orange, a sign that the other side was appearing.

Indeed it did. The mad hatter wrenched his head free and went out to bite him, snapping into the air roaring in his peculiar raspy war cry.


Once done he proceeded to raise his knees and swing about, aiming to kick the Knave who so rudely tortured him. However wisely Stayne moved back, remaining unfazed in his smile as the hatter's odd shoes only made it to scrape and push, with no effect, on the Knave's body. Well, to some effect that is.

"Defiance doesn't get you out of here." He cooed.


"Since you refuse so far, I should have whipped the entirety of your body. Perhaps I should enhance the disgust you feel, it seems to be working into a far-better response than calling out for a stupid rat-girl…"

He raged, fumed. Alice would be protected. Alice will destroy the queen and restore peace. The Knave shall die a painful death, yes, that would be nice. Perhaps now, if he would get out of these shackles, he would tear him to pieces…that would be nice. Very nice.

Stayne's large hands grappled the foot that was trying to kick his legs. It wriggled like a caught fish in his hands, as Tarrant had a new objective of the leverage to kick his face. As his leg was stretched and held, he in fact started to feel more helplessness. His body momentum wasn't as strong, with the foot and leg trapped in the grasp of the wet-lipped Knave. In fact, as he found from his increased wiggling he was losing strength. The pain was starting to bother him, hurting the strained skin and muscle. His arms had been suspended for a little while. His weight was lifted from the strain of his arms and his right foot and leg. It used to be just the foot, but the slick glove had gone up and down his calves inside his pants…

"……………" Tarrant stared, ceasing the wiggling to breathe. It was indeed a hand up and down his calves, caressing flesh and sock. The other cradling his magnificent heel, the hand-up-the-pant-leg gracefully sliding down the shin bone…luring the flummoxed frustrated candy man to the slight smirk of pleasure on the offensive man's face.

"You dared…you did…vicious man…eel…snake-fingers…soft and hard…"

Tarrant clawed the table with stubby fingers as he moaned his woes. His hip against the spot where a smushed face was earlier. Memories driving him insane…though he already was.

"Am I finally gone…mad?" His voice no longer matched the orange in his eyes. In fact it was squeaking again, trembling, shaking as his entire body was.

Memory again, the slipping of his mind had let through. His foot tingled, the bruise of the bite stinging him. Grounding his feet did nothing to ease the sensation as he leaned against the table.

Despite his strange way of dealing with emotions, a sly blush crept to his cheeks. The tingling wasn't meaning pain.

Those nimble fingers, so relaxed in groping the leg now began the removal of the shoe. Hatter stared, lulled and seduced by the lack of strength, the odd constricting position he was in, and the feeling of his shoe untied and pulled off. It fell to the floor causing a refreshing sound besides breathing, sounds of distress and THWACK.

Tarrant wasn't having any of that. The fire still blazed thanks to the inappropriate behavior that was happening to his legs. He began kicking, grunting with exertion. Both hands now held the foot trying to keep it steady.

"Whaddaya doin', Ilosivic?" Tarrant huffed. He would attempt to bluff now, considering his leg strength was failing him.

"I will get what I want any way I please, hatter." The kicking stopped, so he now tore off the musty sock.

"Like I said, you'll never get an answer to that. Yer wastin' your time." He gave a dry chuckle, but it lacked intimidation. He didn't think the Knave would be mad enough to come up with a torture involving the caressing of a man's foot.

Toes wiggled in the grasp of the gloves. The Knave paused, scrutinizing each perfect toe as he brought out a handkerchief. Tarrant rightfully and feeling more frightfully hoped it would be a more mundane torture. He could survive without toenails, after all.

The Knave spit on the linen, making it wet as he began cleaning the foot. Tarrant blushed not expecting something so gently minstrating his toes could cause such a…feeling. His captor was focused on the task, spitting and wiping bits of debris, rubbing and cleaning the foot.

"I hope the s-stink…" The hatter paused as a weird sensation turned his stomach. "…won't come off! Serves ye right…" another huff, even more fake than the last one.

"I'm actually surprised." Stayne's voice was low again in that tone. Oily, weasly. "I expected your feet to be in worse condition. You are a quite a clean man, despite not washing your clothing often."

Tarrant learned this was a bad thing, that is being clean and washing every few days. He had even taken a bath that morning.

The last of the blaze flickered away as panic became the staple thought. Fear, and tickling, tingling suction.

Stayne gave one last smile at his handiwork, then to the pursed lips of the Hatter, and leaned in, taking the massive toe into his mouth.

Out of the trance again. Tarrant had fallen, his foot failing him.

He laid there on the floor, discovering he was heavily breathing to get enough air. He had broken into a sweat, his palms in the ragged gloves damp. In fact he noticed, opening his eyes from being tightly shut, he was shaking all over.

"Stayne…" He belted out as he heaved over, staring at the ceiling. His leg was restless, the foot attached curling and flexing in his shoe. A foot that was cleaner than the other.

"What…is happening…to me? Yes, yes I am mad. You damnable yiptuppin', driving me to the BRINK, the cusp crust brim rim edge threshold boundary perimeter pantanmener! If only she w-was here…I can stop…thinking…that…"

His porcelain doll moaned. Lips and tongue greedily suckled his foot. The length of tongue prevailed in gathering responses. How the Knave loved the twitching toe at his cheek, the taste of the flesh, the gnawing of the foot-meat. It served the session well, providing his need for the taste of the pretty man's flesh and cries.

The hatter had long since lost the fight. Every breath was shallow and shaking, his head moving about, eyes opening and closing unintentionally fluttering his eyelashes. All the while his face flushed into a creamy pink, a slow-cooking bundle in his pants, wet lips and lolling eyes.

Tarrant Hightopp had been beaten by maddening pleasure.

It was indeed torture. His foot provided an unlikely weakness. Not only was his foot a virgin to the caresses of a warm mouth and white nibbling teeth but it was being administered by a man who, previously a villain, was now a sexually-intimidating villain. Two sources of pleasure came from the leg so currently being abused. Either he kept his eyes open, dizzily and needingly looking at the dark man's sensual lips and hands engulf his feet and fleshy leg meat…or he could shut his eyes, the sensation of touch intensifying so much that he would throw his head back, letting out moans and whimpers.

"F-feet don't begin w-with the letter MMMMMMmmmmmnnnn."

The hatter kicked his aching feet as he began rubbing and hugging himself, wandering his hands that were unknown to him as if they were in response to protect himself, or to touch himself.

His arousal betrayed him. It was swollen enough to cause tight constricting pain against the buttons. The very thought of the fact he was enjoying this foot pampering this much was a numbing-mental pain that giggling would usually fix. However, breathless and writhing in the air provides no room for giggling.

Stayne had long since pulled up a chair. He sat, his legs and lap open as he nipped the flesh. His eye darted up the leg, lingering on the bulge, past the kicking and twisting un-abused other leg, up the god-like chest…to the moaning, weakened face.

Tarrant, enslaved by a foot. Trembling and gasping his hot tea-breath with a tiny moan accompanying each exhale. Stayne bit on the side of the lenient foot, growing stiffer and a small moan himself at the bucking the hatter gave.

He knew the hatter was not fully aware of how extreme his reactions were. The lust had coursed through his system that had whipped the mad mind into fluffy white pudding. Tarrant had actually bucked into the air, thrusting the trapped cock into an invisible body, all from a toe-hickie that sent the signal to his brain.

"A-Alice…" Hatter labored his moan. It was like a muted howl, for he crowed his head up and wailed the ecstasy that the Knave, suckling the bruise, caused.

"How sweet of you." Stayne chuckled in response, blowing warm breath across the wiggling wet toes. Tarrant was currently in a twisted version of heaven, of requited sexual completion, foot worship, and Alice in his head.

The voice iced into his ears like a shard of glass. Alice left his thoughts and the sickness in his stomach came back again. However the pleasure was proving too much, already built up in his body. It made his responses slow, stifling the madness. Made him weak.

"D-damn..."He began with a whine. Stayne smile at the face the dear hatter had because of what he was doing. "…damn you Stayne…eee…"

Tarrant whimpered wishing he hadn't ended his curse with a whine. He couldn't help it, the damned-Knave had stolen his ability to keep control of his vocal chords. All with a mouth.

Stayne was pleased. The succulent hatter was right where he wanted him.

Burning. His hands unbuttoned his own shirt, snaking all over his chest, avoiding his stinging back. He curled on his side whimpering pitifully. He chewed his bowtie as he relived the moments of weakness in excruciating detail. The hands had a mind of their own now, lost to madness and despair.

Tarrant looked down after whimpering pleasure and terror to the sky. He had voiced much discontent and fear that his enemy was exciting him. The sounds that came from the suckling of his foot stated it clear.

"Your feet are like honey, but the color of warm milk." Stayne gloated with a grin. He gave one last suck of the toe, wringing out another 'nngh!' from his victim before pulling away with a wet pop of the lips from suction.

Touch. Hurt. Satisfaction. Wriggling feet excitedly as the pressure at their beginnings burned.

Tarrant was lost, so lost he could not distinguish that his hands making him rut and fuck the hard floor were not his own. They were, but, the lust and confusion that condensed into his brain gave him no sense of feeling from his thimble-tacked fingers.


The exhausted man closed his eyes, catching his breath though his member still throbbed horribly. He didn't know whether to note that he should be relieved that he wasn't receiving pleasure from a beautifully dangerous enemy, or aching pain that it stopped. He would have kept moaning even if his feet were so raw and bleeding and shredded, eaten off his legs…Tarrant knew he would enjoy pleasure till the end of the foot's life.

"Oh footsie…tootsie rootsie…fffffiggy baskets…"Mumbling breathless nonsense as his foot laid gently drenched in saliva.

"Fffffiggin's baskets…darling toe, how s-sweet you a-are…" Mumbling the absent rhyming as he pushed his shoes off, wriggling like a playful kitten laying on his back.

The dark man was extremely satisfied, in fact extremely surprised and aroused that the freak enjoyed foot worship so much. It would have worked fine if the hatter was merely disgusted, by then the Knave would chew the foot painfully. However the freak had given him an even better response, an encouraging one.

It had been awhile since he last dined upon sex.

He bent forward, his long arms reaching the other leg. It was shaking agitated in his grasp as he pulled them both into his lap. He could see why, the hatter was mangling his feminine lips by chewing, forcing himself to not cry out at the pang of arousal. It hurt, so bad for the hatter, for his pants to be restricting him.

Tarrant watched in those lidded red eyes the Knave tearing off the other shoe. Toes twitching as the shoe and then sock was slipped off, slowly and teasingly. Tarrant gave a smile, sure in the limp mind to except more pleasure. He purred like a cat, chirring and sighing as the Knave's left hand massaged the foot.

Purr he did, but only for a moment. He pulled his legs up, soon making work to make his toes bare. But the pressure, oh the pressure…it ached…the hands reared back, turning on him.

"….no! A-Alice would…not approve…Aye…ayne…." Half-words as he tried not to call the tall dark and handsome man's name. Too late, his hands had gone to massaging the foot and slinking into his pants. The hatter mewed, as if in pain more than sighing at the touch.

The massaging stopped after just one soft lick of the toe. Tarrant sighed again his purrs louder. He rolled his eyes back in such pleasure. As the first-abused foot was grasped he realized he never knew he could purr. Perhaps he and Chess had more in common…

"Nn…mmm…oh yes, t-that's so warm…"He purred aloud as the balls of his feet were pressed against a warm fleshy object. Stayne grabbed his foot, loudly groaning as he moved the hatter's feet up and down slowly.

"S-Stayne…" Soft, whispered moans. Eyes watering as he stroked himself. His foot, like a blind hunter stalked around and found the table leg.

Tarrant lulled his eyes open again and looked down.

Stayne was violating his foot with his stiff erection. He must have pulled it out after he had dismantled the other shoe. Now the Knave was leaned back in the creaky wooden chair, a firm grasp on the lubed-from-spit foot that was being made to press and stroke the giant, long swollen rod. Stayne took his leisurely time, licking his limp lips as he watched, triumphant, the prisoner's face.

A few seconds passed as Tarrant's mind cleared into whiteness. He squealed and then cried out with horror. Nostrils flared as he sucked in air and wailed again, shaking and trying pull his legs away. There was a hand on each foot, keeping each one in its place, one kept on a leg and the other moving up and down a very warm object indeed.

The foot pressed and moved up and down, leveraged on the table leg. The phallic object satisfied the foot, sending sensation up the straining leg to the groin.

Whimpering, sloppily pitiful. Tarrant was now sputtering. He stopped the caresses to unbutton the pants, freeing himself as the madness fully took over. His hand wrapped around and started to erratically move like a ravenous hare, being electrocuted around his girth.

"I am…ah….after all supposed to be torturing you." Stayne drawled.

"Stop r-raping my f-foot!" Hatter yelped as he squirmed. His toes curled trying to bend, to claw the swollen thing his foot was stroking.

The Knave was fascinated by the wriggling toes, like a fish amused by live bait. He throbbed, a wave of pleasure every pulse, in time with the foot he was forcing to provide him friction. The toes that tried to snap at his burning head he squeezed, letting them wriggle along the sides of his phallus. His pleasure was expressed with a hitch in his breathing, turning his smile into an 'o' face as he breathed.

Up and down, erratic. Rolling around back and forth from side to side wetting the floor with tears, cold sweat and drool. Stuttering guttural cries from closed rainbow eyes.

Tarrant whined as the fear and disgust boiled in his gut. His pleasure was mixed with the helplessness he felt as he hung, immobilized, and both his feet pleasured and giving pleasure.

With all that the pleasure was even more exotic. His gasping was shallow, hitching and coughing at the onset of crying whenever he dared to see him. Stayne had his eyes closed with confidence the hatter would not escape. Strong hands placed both soles of the feet around the massive organ, making his prisoner gape and make those adorable squeaking sounds of terror and weakness. Harder, harder he went, grunting as he began bucking into the passage created by the shivering feet. Tarrant could only dwell on the violation he was watching and feeling.

Mewling as his pumping intensified. Toes curled around the table leg. Tarrant eyed the chair he was formerly sitting in. It was soft, plush red. With no further ado he hissed and pounced on it.

Tarrant mewed at the sound of his enemy gloating his pleasure. The vile man moaned as he rammed between the feet. His head went back with his tunic heaving up and down as the villain neared his peak. He hissed, smiling that sadistic face. The eye opened clouded with lust. A wolfish grin appeared with a dark, growling laughter. Tarrant gasped another cry of disgust before paling.

The chair was pushed down, the legs up. Hatter mounted it, grinding his manhood on the velvet as he humped it vigorously. His imagination had become real. His right gripped the bottom of the chair as he rode the seat. The other was twitching as it attacked his thigh, dragging his leg, an unwilling entity now, up to claw and scratch his own foot. The straining of the position was interpreted as the stretched leg from the hours ago, when he was suspended half naked to the onslaught…

Musky hair, that scent. His nose now lied to him too.

"Stayne oh STAYNE oh StayneohStayneohStayne….Sttttaaayynnneeee…not my foot…p-please…my p-pretty foot…BITTERNAGHT! NAUGHT GUTTER! B-bbanderSNATCCHHH…Mundun's merkikou…kou…oh…"


The laughing was indistinguishable from groans. The Knave dominated him without even being above him.

"…Stayne…s-stop…stop this…st…op…sta…yne…"

He answered by glowering up at the begging man. Both eyes locked, in different states of pleasure. The hatter was now convinced the Knave was more insane than he was to fuck feet.

"It will stop if you tell me her whereabouts." Stayne grunted this more than properly spoke it. He took one abused foot to his mouth, suckling the toe greedily as he used the space between the two main toes on the other to glide his member through. Tarrant hiccupped a sob as more tears came. He squirmed his head about his arms to wipe his eyes as the toe space forcibly footjobbed. Weakness coursed through his veins as he interpreted this as true torture and harm. His feet were his property, not a surrogate vagina to please a lecherous man.

Panting and whimpering. His back-marks from the whip burning again as he imagined gloved strong hands caressing his curved spine. He arched and pummeled the chair, making the whole structure jerk every little bit more across the floor. Tarrant had let go of his foot and now reached behind to slink hi hands into his pants again, this time to seek his own hole.

"I know you won't tell me. I know you're going to keep suffering." He breathed out in his evil voice. "You stupid little man with your loyalty…ah…"Stayne lifted his long legs, easily reaching up and along Tarrant's leg. His boot pressed against the shriveling bulge of the hatter, quickly bringing it to life.

He arched up, whimpering freely as he licked his finger and slipped it inside himself. Tarrant quaked as he felt so hot that the chair should have already combusted into flames.

"…you are mine. Your body will be mine. You will break and fall into a level of madness you never would have imagined…" He nudged the painted-man's bundle further, eliciting Tarrant's cries.

"S-Stayne…p-please have mercy…I…I…" Tarrant moaned as he pleasured his body.

"I will…take you…" He groaned. "I will beat you…fuck you…you little rabbit…trap you…"

"Do…don't…d-don't hurt me…"

Gasping. Humping like a rabbit that he was compared to. Miserable, ensnared, trapped in the castle. Trapped in his horrific memory and fear. With only a chair and his hands to amuse himself with.

"I'm going to hurt you…over and over again…oh…yes…I will enjoy it…I am…enjoying it…"

Tarrant broke into tears as he thrust into the chair.


Stayne bucked as he came. Tarrant stared, watching and cringing in horror as the Knave wantonly emptied himself all over his feet. His fine, red-scratched, bruised, abused feet…covered with whiteness. Tarrant thought he would vomit as Stayne moaned his pleasure and pumped himself dry all over the wriggling feet.

"Yes…yes…yesss…" His hand held the squirming, sobbing hatter's feet in place as he disgusted the foot's owner. He panted heavily, satisfied with himself and the terror shocking the freak.

Sobbing. Shaking. Convulsing.

The Knave stood up. His manhood half-erected, bobbing about as he approached the sniffling, hurt man. Tarrant kept his eyes clenched as he felt the oily hair again at his neck. Stayne's hands went up his sides, feeling the hatter's chest heave and shake. His suspended freak kept sobbing as he lapped up the tears. Sweet as honey. Salty as sex.

He trembled as the tongue licked his face. His feet dripped with cum, trembling and limp. His feet we slimy and warm as he began shaking the shameful seed off his foot, splattering it away as he weakly kicked and wriggled.

"You will always remember this, hatter…" The dark man purred in his ear. Tarrant whined. Disgust burned in his core. The Knave's hands went to his ribcage and pulled him against his chest.

"P-please don't…NNAAHH!!" Hatter cried out at the feeling of Stayne's throbbing organ poking his bare stomach, and the thick clothed leg that kneaded his groin again.

"How I've always wanted to violate you." Tarrant's ear was bitten sharply as the intention was clear. He was going to be raped. This man had always wanted to rape him, instead of kill him. Always. Wanted to. Rape him.

"Bastard…how I h-hate you…you…sick, t-twisted munter…"

"Today is that day, my honeysuckle…"

"H-h-honey s-s-suck…suckle…su…nnnnnn…"

A kiss was given to him, though Tarrant did not exhale. Ilosovic knew he hadn't fully broken him yet, just horribly shaken him. Certainly Tarrant would never look at his feet the same way again. And soon, his entire body, that the Knave was groping…

His foot kicked out, grinding into the floor as the Hatter slumped off the chair and replaced the velvet with his hand. He needed to finish. No, Stayne's hand, which magically looked like his own, needed to finish him off, 'against his will'.

The kiss endured, bruising the whimpering soft lips. Sensual dark lips claimed him and the tongue darted in, the same thick tongue that violated his foot earlier. It violated his mouth now. It tasted like foot and some other thick taste besides the hot flesh exploring his smaller mouth.

As he moaned his submission, a wet glove smearing itself into his bright hair, he found he liked the taste.

Drool. Pumping like a madman, he is the madman.

He moaned as he rocked back and forth on his side, legs open as he imagined a Knave there, heat against his opening and those dark, large hands, perfectly engulfing him. Those curls by his cheek with a thick licking tongue. A demanding oily voice 'caressing' his ear in his own evil way, to whisper horrible things.

"My lord, the queen requests an audience with the prisoner!"

The growl as Stayne pulled away felt to Tarrant like ice-tea hitting his face. Tarrant gasped for breath and still shook in the tight, all-encompassing grasp. Stayne moved away, and he knew the man was glaring at the messenger-guard. He couldn't help but watch as Stayne tucked himself back in smoothly and quickly, not letting on too much information he was just about to fully molest the prisoner.

"Thank you, you may get ready at the top of the stairs." The Knave gave his warning, fake smile at the card. The guard left.

Tarrant was catching his breath, feet now cold and still wet. He looked up at the malicious man. It made him sick.

"I shall get an answer from you, or not, later. Our business…is not settled yet."He remarked, showing his frustration at not being able to completely take the gorgeous man.

Tarrant sighed in relief, his eyes fluttering closed as he relaxed. No, he wasn't going to be further tortured now. He was being let loose for the moment.

He fell to the floor after the shackles were unlocked. He coughed, finally able to wipe his eyes with the back of his sweaty hand. He moaned on the cold floor, not moving. His arms, how they hurt, his back how it burned, his groin…

Tarrant wasn't even given a towel to wipe his feet. In fact the Knave was cruel enough to drop the socks especially on his quivering fluid-covered feet. Tarrant knew the tall man was smiling, the hidden contours concealed by the shadows.

He was kicked to sit up. Swallowing and sniffling, he tried to stop himself from crying more as he humiliated himself by putting on his sock, now ruined with a 'squish'. The Knave was right, it did disgust him. It disgusted him how he enjoyed that mouth on his feet and then disgust from what had been left on it.

The mad hatter was abused and humiliated. He felt like a whore even though the only violation was his feet. Feet that were covered in cum, making him feel sick as he stood up. He was shaking where he stood, the Knave shackling his wrists in front of him once the hatter finished dressing.

Suddenly he was spanked, pushed through the opened cell door. The man cried out, making a discontented noise at walking with slimy salty feet and the loud SPAWCK of his rear.

Hanging his head he was about to head out when the Knave's grip came around his hips, holding him still for a moment.

Tarrant whimpered in his broken state. Shaking, mentally and physically abused. Though in a usual mood he would dismiss the disgustment, it was not his usual mood right now. It had happened to him.

The Knave's clothed aroused pressed warningly into the hatter's lower back. Tarrant sniffed again as tears threatened to come forth. It would hurt him, so bad, if he was to be sentenced to death and torture alone with the Knave again. The promise of sex was not welcome, he knew this now. Pleasure from his always came with a price.

He didn't know it would be more madness.

"Touch me S-Stayne…y-yes that's right, ffuck, FUCK me. Toe-licking dog that you a-are…you a-already t-teased me…so far…ahh…ahhhh AHHHH…" Tarrant said in a wild, high voice. Like a mouse in passion. His own erection was so aching and hot in his hand.

The lecherous eel once more leaned against the sweet man's cheek. The sweet man almost buckled right then and there at the presence of that glorious…no, he didn't want that! Stayne was not so arousingly attractive to him, no he couldn't be, even though he looked so powerful and handsome when his feet were escaping into oblivion…

The bulge was still evident. The kiss was long on his cheek, planted there for seconds to get a taste of the hatter's blushing warming skin.

"You are a delicious flower. I will enjoy you later." The slick voice of terror cooed.

"You...you…" Tarrant breathed out. He was barely able to conjugate words in the presence of a lusty Knave.

"I what, honeysuckle?" Words slick with dominance.

His victim shivered as he mustered up the strength. His words came in a soft weak voice, struggling ot be spoken despite his throat clenching shut.

He did not want to feel the ultimate pleasure from being humiliated.

He did not. He did not. He did not.

Yet he did.

"Y-you're mad."