AN: Early update & longer chapter for you guys! Plus I have a lot of the story completely planned out now, which makes me feel a little better...and this chappie is really juicy ;) But that's it for good news. Bad news is I have absolutely no more pre-written chapters left, and I am dealing with awful procrastination and writer's block. Realistically...I prob won't update on schedule next time. I wish I could promise you guys otherwise, but I don't wanna lie xD Review, it'll give me motivation! ~Aly

He somehow managed to drag me across the house in my only-underwear-and-collar ensemble. He wouldn't let me get dressed for the journey. He apparently didn't want to waste time - though I guessed his ulterior motives were otherwise. I think the only way he managed to get me through the walk was by constantly threatening to break out the leash, which got me to cooperate for a couple of moments at a time.

He yanked me by my ear, kicking and screaming, all the way to the other end of the house. It was the most mortifying experience of my life. The looks I received from passing maids and butlers were beyond embarrassing. I was sure they'd never seen anything as childish and improper as this spectacle; I felt like I was being taken to the guillotine.

Eventually I begrudgingly arrived at the products wing of the manor, disgruntled and irritated. I felt so exposed, and unnatural. Hikaru and I had fought to keep up a wall our entire lives; it was difficult to get used to letting others into our world. It's been years since we tore that old wall down, but I still find myself uncomfortable by others every now and then. And now was undoubtedly one of those times. I've never been so violated in my life. I just wanted to put on some goddamn clothes.

While I struggled he managed to pull me into a deep section of a larger room, which was littered with piles of rejected products and burn outs. We continued down a cluttered hallway to a room that was entirely empty except for a small, industrial cardboard box in the corner.

He pushed me inside impatiently, closing and locking the door behind us. He threw the bag in the corner and slowly dimmed the lights. If I was a girl, I'm sure a million red flags would've been waving in my head - even as a guy, a few already were. If anything screamed 'rapist' or 'sadistic kidnapping cannibal', it was Kyouya.

He straightened the hem of his long sleeves, nonchalantly commanding, "Please lie down." More red flags.

He apparently was too redundant to realize I would never follow his orders. After a moment of inactivity from me, he physically reached his limit. He firmly guided my shoulders down with a small noise building at the back of his throat in frustration. Though I feebly resisted, he managed to effectively push me down hard enough so I was sitting in a sprawl on the carpet. I flushed a deep scarlet as he swung his leg over me to straddle my waist. I couldn't help noticing his proximity; our chests were brushing slightly, and his pelvis was pressed tightly against my hipbones. My agitation only grew; I didn't need this to add to my discomfort.

He dragged both the cardboard box and the black bag over to us. He began tearing at the cardboard, haphazardly forcing it open.

"Our private police force recently produced a new innovation in criminal captivity," he murmured, holding my still struggling body down to the carpet. "I believe we will be able to kill two birds with one stone here," he seethed.

My stomach dropped when his hand emerged from the box. He was holding a shiny, very heavy looking pair of handcuffs. The short chain connecting them looked like it could support a skyscraper of it had to. The Ohtoris never did anything half-assed.

And I was suddenly very terrified of what would happen if - or more accurately when - he got me on those handcuffs.

It wasn't much of a fight. He was already on top of me, and was apparently that much stronger. I managed to get a few cold blows in there, swinging my limbs blindly in all directions, but nothing could deter him.

With a forceful grip he yanked my forearms upwards over my head, and roughly grabbed the handcuffs. He cuffed them together tightly, leaving no room for escape. I was completely vulnerable.

Once he was done with his handiwork he reclined back on his knees to hold down my thighs with his sturdy calves. I was quietly steaming with irritation under him. He brought a hand up to casually touch his cheek.

Confused, I saw there was a light, but nevertheless prominent, scratch across one of his cheekbones. Had I done that? One of the many benefits of having claws. I triumphantly grinned at him. He wasn't as tough as he thought.

"Got you," I boasted. Granted it wasn't exactly a super amazing feat given the circumstances, but I still felt smug. At least in a certain sense I wasn't making this easy for him.

His gaze was deadly. If there was anything Kyouya hated, it was a flaw. The Ohtoris strived to be perfect in every way imaginable. They definitely weren't the type to get injuries of any kind, regardless of the severity. "You're going to pay for this," he purred darkly.

"Oh, I'm so scared," I mocked, regaining some of my confidence. I started to notice the uncomfortable strain on my muscles from the position I was in, but I tried to ignore it.

"Sarcasm won't help you here, Hitachiin," he muttered, and I was a little taken aback by the unfamiliarity of him using my last name. I thought he was beyond that. Was he trying to intimidate me? Wasn't working.

He temporarily lifted his weight off me to scrounge through the bag, his nose wrinkled in irritation. I hastily took this moment of weakness to begin my second escape attempt. We Hitachiins never gave up - at least until we got bored.

The handcuffs were so heavy I could barely twitch a muscle in my wrists or palms. I squirmed my fingers around the cool metal, but I wasn't able to make the lock budge. I had significantly more mobility in my legs, so I tried to build momentum in my ankles. I swung my ankles around his body as forcefully as I could, hoping to hook him off or at least disrupt his balance. I groaned in defeated exasperation as he easily evaded me by sliding back so he was trapping my knees under his weight, which effectively eliminated the functionality of my legs.

Grunting in annoyance I tried getting more creative, like using my elbows or collarbone to hit him, but I didn't get very far. In a last stitch effort, I twisted my body to lie at a slight angle, then bucked my hips up as hard as I could, trying to knock him off. It didn't work in the slightest - in fact, the only thing I actually managed to do was ram my crotch directly into his, which only added to my discomfort. To add to my mortification, he firmly pressed his bare palm dangerously low on my abdomen to pin down my midsection.

"Don't touch me," I couldn't help but bark roughly. I could only focus on how his almost painful hold on my flat stomach was centimeters away from my groin. How the hell could he have so many muscles in one arm, anyway? It felt like a brick wall was weighing me down.

"It's certainly a little too late for that, now, isn't it?" He purred lowly, an agitated gasp growling through his teeth. I snarled mutely in the back of my throat. His demonic eyes glistened in amusement at my struggling.

He kept one hand securely planted on my pelvis, and used the other to sift through the infamous black bag. I frowned at his smirk of delight - he apparently found what he was searching for. His hand soon slowly emerged with a pair of razor-sharp, sparkling scissors.

"No," I whispered immediately, my eyes widening in fear. I instantly knew what he was planning to do, and suddenly I didn't care about my ego or pride. Screw the tough guy persona. This was fucking serious. I had to resort to begging, and in any rational state of mind I would've laughed at the pathetic tone of my slightly quivering voice. "You can't," I pleaded hollowly, feeling my voice breaking in all the wrong places. I could practically feel the life leave my soul.

He looked somewhat incredulous at my reaction. "Don't worry, pet," he mumbled, a small, mischievous smile decorating his devilish features. "I promise I'll compensate you some other time. You can trust me."

Pet? I would've laughed if I wasn't so close to crying. "This isn't about money!" I choked desperately, squirming into the carpet to avoid the fabric butcher. "I'll wear the fucking maid costume, I don't care! Just let me take them off!" I whined, my breathing ragged.

"In order to do that, I'd have to remove the handcuffs - and I'm not risking another escape attempt," he scolded with a grin. So he finally figured out my weakness. Good for him.

"Kyouya-sempai, don't-" I pleaded brokenly, thrashing beneath my constrictions. I could feel urgent tears trickling beneath my eyelids.

"Stop moving. I don't want any blood on my hands."

The blades were getting alarmingly close to the hem of my boxers. I didn't care in the slightest that if he actually went through with this, he would see me completely naked. In fact, that was the last thing to ever enter my mind. I could only comprehend the soft, innocent, so blissfully naive and oblivious fabric underneath his murderous fingers.

With a quiet whimper, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my tears to keep from falling.

I heard rather than felt the first cut. The crisp sound of metal clashing against metal echoed in the small room, then I felt the soft flutter of thin silk against my thigh. I fought to contain a sob. That precious silk, so ravenously and savagely torn apart...may Kyouya rot in hell for destroying something so divine as a pair of limited edition designer underwear. May his soul burn for eternity for brutally murdering an innocent article of clothing, with such inexperienced and clumsy wasn't fair. I wanted to die.

With a final scrape he pulled back, haphazardly tossing the scissors somewhere out of my line of vision. I stared at the ceiling, still in shock. Scraps of the beautiful, couture material fluttered around my thighs, slipping and crumbling to the carpet below. My soul was dying.

He started to crinkle the remains in his fists and deposit the ripped fabric in some compartment of his bag. I internally scoffed; it was just like him to want to keep the remains of my used underwear rather than throw them away, the fucking creep.

By this point I wasn't denying it - I knew the reason he was blackmailing me was far from innocent. I didn't know how far he was going to take this, but I knew I wasn't going to put up with this shit for long. It was one thing to get sexually harassed, or even molested - Hikaru and I were infamous for being notoriously open with our sexuality. Back in the Host Club, the only thing we ever did was be sex idols for the girls. I was used to stupid acts like this. Sure, the only experience I'd ever gotten in terms of intimacy was with Hikaru, and that was only the twincest act in the club, and those weird blindfold-handjobs we used to give each other when we were going through puberty. Other than that, I was a happy virgin, and I could care less about that status. Regardless, I didn't really care.

On the other hand, the thing I really did care about was my clothes. I couldn't help it; they were my one true joy in life, my calling. Destroying my clothes was like destroying my God.

I let out a hushed, quivering breath, glad the trauma was over. He finished collecting the last scrap and looked at me, then raised an eyebrow. "Why are you crying?"

My eyes widened, and I dimly registered the dampness rolling down my cheeks. Well wasn't I pathetic?

He almost gently ran the pad of his thumb down my cheekbone, wiping away the stray tear. I refused to meet his eyes, trying to muster up my dignity again. There was nothing I could do now. "I'm not crying, dumbass," I managed, my voice pitched a few octaves.

He rolled his eyes, glaring daggers at the carpet underneath me. As he carefully wiped the wetness under my eyes, he muttered, "You shouldn't get attached to inanimate objects. It's superficial, and materialistic."

A startled giggle gasped through my lips. "Superficial? Kyouya, I'm a fashion designer. My clothes are my life."

"Not anymore," he snarled firmly, his eyes burning into mine, demanding my full attention. I was momentarily distracted. "I'm your life now, do you understand me? And don't call me Kyouya."

I gaped at him, my mouth parted slightly. Every word this guy said shocked me. A nonconsensual wave of tears came. I felt so worthless and immature, but I guessed all of my pent up frustrations had finally come to a head, and I found I couldn't prevent the light tears streaming down my flushed face.

"Stop. Crying. Be quiet." He menacingly growled. I was too baffled to comprehend anything, but eventually the waterworks ceased, and we were just left staring into each other's eyes.

He sighed, resting his forehead against my bare shoulder for a moment. Then he stood up, leaving me lying sprawled on the carpet. Once his weight was off of mine I remembered I was now naked, and flushed briefly before regaining my pride. So what if he saw me naked. Let the pervert see whatever he wanted to. He was a fucking psychopath.

He loomed over me for a moment, studying every inch of my porcelain skin. He bent down to the bag, unraveling the horrendous maid costume. Still bent, his face in close proximity of my lower abdomen, he ordered, "Spread your legs."

I smiled back at him, all traces of tears gone. His sudden outburst had awakened a strange, rebellious edge in me. I was pissed as hell about my clothes, and I was tired of being weak.

He wasn't going to win this game. Modesty wasn't even in my vocabulary. I opened my legs, bending my knees slightly. Better give him a show, the ruthless bastard.

He apparently liked what he saw. My half-deranged grin never faded. "Happy to oblige, master," I hissed, mentally tearing apart his flesh. I wasn't going down without a fight.

He stood up straight, chuckling under his breath. Apparently he liked the nickname.

Without warning he yanked my ankle up towards him, dragging me a little. With one leg in the air, he hesitated, eyes roaming my bare lower half - no doubt mentally taking pictures.

After he was satisfied, he started to shimmy the itchy leotard up my leg. He sank to his knees and lifted my other leg to hitch the material over my ass and up my back. He unclipped the metal link between the two handcuffs in order to twist my arms through the sleeves; the bands on my wrists were still too heavy to allow me any mobility in my now asleep hands, though. He lifted my torso into a sitting position to clasp the buttons on the back, before letting my limp body fall backwards once more.

So he had finally gotten me into the fucking thing. The horrendous tool and lace seemed to mock me from every painstaking angle, but I was beyond caring at this point. The death of my boxers had completely drained me of all energy.

He hovered above me, his hands on either side of my head and knees beside my hipbones. His eyes glinted with triumph. After a few seconds of silence, he breathed, "Looks like the handcuffs worked, huh?" He dipped his head into the crook of my neck, just below the thick collar. I froze as a spot of warmth pooled onto the clammy skin below his hovering lips, causing a raking shudder to crawl up my spine. "After all, that's why we're here."

My breathing hitched and faltered as I felt his tongue dart out to taste my skin. So this was it. So much for subtlety. He nudged my jaw up with his nose, and I involuntarily craned my neck upwards. I could feel hot puffs of air fanning along the curves of my neck, and I grimaced, closing my eyes. I heard him snicker quietly, nuzzling deeper and tightening his grip on my arms.

He sucked on my skin, dragging his teeth over the quickly bruising skin. His hand slowly crept up my exposed leg until it brushed lightly over my groin. I tried to ignore it, half-heartedly begging this wasn't going to happen - because even if I was this self-proclaimed sex god, I was still terrified of whatever he was concocting. And I was suddenly positive I liked my current state of virginity.

"I like the outfit, too," he added, smiling against my skin. His fingers crept roughly inside the thin fabric, and rested, unmoving, against my length.

I winced, cursing my body for its stupid, troublesome reactions. He chuckled darkly against the puckered and violet skin of my neck. He began to lightly skim his fingers over my foreskin, and I hissed through my teeth. He brushed a sensitive area and a nonconsensual whimper began at the back of my parched throat before I could suppress it.

"That's it," he whispered, dragging his teeth to my defined jaw line and nibbling near my earlobe. He went a little faster, lazily pumping my half-hard erection.

I cringed, screwing my eyes shut and trying to focus my attention on something else, but I could only concentrate on what his hand was doing to me. Exhaling sharply, as a final defense mechanism I stammered with a protesting mewl, "F-fuck you...s-stop...fucking p-prick."

His ministrations suddenly faltered, and I cautiously opened my eyes to meet his. He was staring at me warily, a crease in his brow. He looked mildly pissed off. Did I ruin the moment with my indecency? Fan-fucking-tastic. I was about to say something snarky, but he cut me off by withdrawing his hand from the damp leotard and abruptly jumping off of me. He stood up and paced back a few steps, leaving me in a breathless, awkward heap under all the ruffles.

I stared up at him, pinching my eyebrows together in confusion. Why did he stop? Didn't he want to get what he put all his effort into? For some strange reason, his pause caused a blow in my self esteem. What, now I wasn't good enough for the bastard? What the hell was going on here?

He stood frozen to his spot. After a short staring contest, he cast his eyes downwards. "Down the hall, last door on the left," he forced through his teeth. I was baffled by his hostility. What happened to the sadistic, sex-craved demon who was jerking me off five seconds ago? "Take whatever clothes you want. Leave the leotard on the floor."

I didn't move. He snarled under his breath, glaring at me through agitated irises. "Get the fuck out of here." With that, he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I laid there, stunned. The sensation in my lower regions had not subsided completely, but left me feeling empty and uncomfortable. I was somewhat relieved that I wasn't going to be violated today, but was more confused and frustrated than anything. I didn't like being played with. I was done with messing around; why couldn't he just do it straight, get it over with? I hated all this confusing bullshit. I despised him to the core.

I shook my head, trying to shake the wistful feeling. I resented this guy - I shouldn't feel bad about whatever internal turmoil he was going through. I should just forget about it. And take a really long, scolding hot shower. Or, on second thought, the coldest shower in history. Anything to scrub all traces of him off my body.

Trying to repress my confusion and focus on getting my ass out of there, I bolted up and followed his instructions, quickly changing into the most attractive outfit I could find in what I guessed to be a storage room. I contemplated ripping the god awful lingerie to shreads after all the trauma it's caused me, but begrudgingly decided I would hate the repercussions more. I tried as hard as I could to rip off the collar, but I couldn't get it to budge. After minutes of senseless tugging, I settled with just readjusting it to conceal the violet hickies the Devil had made. I departed as soon as I could, ignoring the bustling butlers and maids strolling past.

Once I had practically jogged to the outskirts of his property and called my chauffeur to come pick me up, I groaned.

I forgot. It was Sunday. I had school tomorrow. With him.

This was going to be hell.

AN: I bet you sexually frustrated fangirls were begging for a lemon. Muahaha. In due time, kiddies. Reviews are much obliged! ~Aly