[R18] Back In the Cage

The room around him seemed to shrink into a sticky box, where the air reeked of disgust, sweaty sheets and stale perfume. The lights dimmed and twitched like a lamp in a butcher's shop, and every sound - the smacking of lips, the slapping of hands against skin, the wheezing, animalistic breathing - seemed amplified many times over, as in a theatre with distorted acoustics, where everything around you was designed to keep you from escaping from the horror of what was happening.

Rava stood in the midst of this scene like a fly caught in amber, unable to move or exhale, or even say a word, because his tongue was stuck to his palate and his throat had long ago been clogged with thick fear. The body wouldn't listen. Even the trembling had receded. All that remained was a dead, heavy stillness.

Scarlett, already completely naked, with fake eyelashes, faded lipstick, and a look that was more madness than desire, was rubbing her breasts against his groin, squeezing them in her hands as if mocking anatomy, and licking the line of his belly with her lips, slowly, as if stretching the abomination of the moment into eternity. She made noises that could hardly be called moans-it was more like chewing, slobbering, wet, tongue twitching and sobbing, as if she was disgusted by it herself, but she went on, greedily, fanatically.

Moule, with his greasy fingers, his grey hair on the phalanges, stood behind him, clasping Rava's head in his grip, and with a disgusted wheeze he caressed his ears, thrusting his tongue into them as if he were going to clean out whatever was left of the human inside. His breath smelled of cheap sausage, sour alcohol, and the bitterness of nicotine, and his voice, mocking and broken, wheezed in his ear:

"Look how sweet he is, eh? Small, trembling... Mmm... I love those... have you seen my ears? His ears are too small, like a cub... that's why I can't stop...."

Scarlett, unable to pull away, suddenly whimpered pitifully as she continued to rub herself:

"Come on... come on, love, get up, don't be shy, show me how much it feels good...".

Moule grunted viciously and spat out with all straightforwardness:

"He ain't worth shit, he ain't no man, dead, gutless, like all those "streamers" with faces instead of cock. No wonder there's no reaction from him. I'm telling you, you don't even excite even me, let alone this scarecrow...."

"Or maybe you're the one who's old and soft as a snot and can't surprise me with anything anymore except for the booze," she hissed, but didn't even stop. Her tongue wrapped around Rava's navel, her breasts slapped against his skin, leaving sticky marks, and it was so disgusting that Rava felt something inside him tighten into a knot, as if even his insides were trying to shrink in disgust.

He couldn't move, couldn't even turn away - his body froze in a state of total submission, like a fragile marionette that no one asks what it wants.

"They'll get tired. They'll get bored. They'll bugger off,"he kept saying mechanically inside himself, trying not to feel the tongue on his skin, the fingers on his lower back, the droplets of saliva rolling down his neck. He just wanted someone to switch him off from the inside.

But that wasn't what was worse.

Worse was Hades.

He was sitting in a chair against the wall, legs spread, taking a slow drag on his cigarette and watching as if he were attending a theatre of the absurd, with the same interest that a god watches the suffering of his subjects. His lips were curved in a lazy, nasty grin. He seemed relaxed, almost complacent, like a spectator enjoying a prolonged, sordid performance. He didn't even blink. Only exhaled puffs of smoke that reeked of cinders and contempt.

He knew. He knew Rava could no longer feel his body without the pills. He knew that there was a void beneath him now, and that any arousal, even mechanical, had long ago become impossible for him without artificial stimulation.

So, when all that could be heard in the room were the irritated exclamations and impotent mooing of two sweaty bodies who were beginning to realise that the 'toy' was not responding - it was at that moment that Hades rose, stretched, lazily, as if he didn't want to spoil his cigarette but knew it was time.

He walked over to Rava, taking his time, and without warning grabbed him by the hair, by the root of the neat bundle, and threw his head back so sharply that his spine snapped. Pain travelled through his body like a pulse.

"Ah..." Rava wheezed, but only a groan of pain escaped his throat.

Hades didn't look him in the eye. He held his head like a doll and poured a gulp of strong alcohol into his mouth. The bitterness immediately burned his mucous membranes, drove the cloudy veil from his mind. Then he pulled a familiar, frighteningly simple packet of pills from his pocket. Rava tensed instantly. He clamped his mouth shut. With all his might.

Hades spoke again, louder, more irritated:

"Open your mouth. I'm not in the mood to listen to your snivelling. Do as you're told. Now."

Scarlett flinched, but didn't intervene. Moule took a step back.

"I said open it. Your own. The crappy one. Mouth."

"N-no..." Rava said, almost silently, and pressed his lips together even tighter.

The next second the silence was cut by Hades's husky laugh. He didn't shove the pills down-he just drank the alcohol himself, noisily, ostentatiously, as if this were just an excuse to have fun.

"Mister..." Scarlett began, clearly frightened.

"Out," he said, not raising his voice, but there was such rage in his tone, such a concentration of malice, that even Mole, not hiding his fear, began to gather up the scattered clothes.

"Quickly. Out. Both of you. Now."

He didn't even look at them. And still, they ran out barefoot, in a panic, with things in their hands, not even trying to cover themselves. The door slammed shut, and a viscous, deathly silence hung in the room.

Hades stood opposite Rava. The bottle was back in his hand. The pills disappeared into his pocket. He was drinking. Slowly. Greedily. With disgust on his face, now directed only at him.

"I've been waiting for the whole month…" he began, and his voice sounded like a torn thread. "The whole fucking month for you to come back, crawling, on your knees, begging for help. I thought you'd come with your eyes downcast, saying: "Hades, save me. Feed me. No place to rent. Give me money. Give me a roof. Give me warmth." And you… you came with that mug… with that look… as if you don't owe me anything."

The smell from Hades's mouth hit like a whip, so sharply and thickly that Rava couldn't stand it and made a slight movement back, a barely noticeable step that turned out to be a mistake — the man instantly caught the impulse, reacted with predatory precision and, without waiting a second, yanked him by the tuft of hair, yanking with such force that his entire neck crunched like broken wood, and Rava's eyes filled with tears from the pain. He cried out, his breath breaking, and immediately his lips were completely covered by someone else's, hot, wet and unbearably heavy.

It was not a kiss, it was absorption - slow, greedy, with a vile sucking, as if Hades wanted to pull out not only the air, but also the soul. He did not launch his tongue immediately, as if teasing, leaving Rava in tension, sucking his lips into himself, like a leech, like a vacuum cleaner, and then, when the guy's breathing had already become ragged, he drove his tongue inside, and Rava felt how the wet dense muscle made its way to his teeth, knocked on them, and then slid along the palate, along the inside of his cheeks, as if it was inspecting what was inside, and looking for what else could be broken.

Hades' fingers, clutching his bun, slowly slid down, and the same hand that had just been tearing at his hair, roughly grabbed his buttocks, pressing hard into the skin, as if trying to push inside, to get to the bones, and Rava choked on his own scream, which could not escape - all he could do was wheeze in his throat, dully, pitifully, soundlessly, because his mouth was completely occupied - with this tongue, this hateful trembling flesh, this vomit of someone else's desire. The man moaned - quietly, with pleasure, as if everything that was happening caused him not only excitement, but also a feeling of deep power, pleasure from the fact that Rava was no longer a man, but just an object, completely frozen, limply open, with rolled-up eyes and a body that stopped resisting not because it gave in, but because it no longer knew how. Hades dropped the bottle, and it rolled across the floor with a dull sound, heavy and glassy, ​​without breaking, but leaving behind a sense of something complete, final, like the slam of a door at the end of a play, and at the same moment his hand suddenly, without warning, grabbed Rava by the groin. He squeezed, felt the softness and stopped.

Pulling back to a breath away, Hades exhaled loudly into Rava's face, and the whole room filled with the thick, sour, nauseating exhaust of alcohol and cigarettes. He looked straight down at the groin, with an expression on his face that needed no words. But he spoke anyway.

"Disgusting," he said without blinking, his voice saturated with disgust, as if someone had put rot in his mouth, "now I understand why you've had so few orders in the last year. All you can do is pose on air, skinny as a teenager, and just as useless.

A wave of shame washed over Rava, not because of the words - he knew they were lies, he knew they were unimportant - but because at that moment he believed. At least for a second, but he believed. His body, which had recently been burning with embarrassment and disgust, was now filled with emptiness. Absolute. An abyss in which even the desire to die would be too active an emotion.

Hades turned away. Slowly, lazily, as if the scene had bored him. He sat back in the chair, lit a cigarette from a new pack, and lit it with such calm as if he had not just stuck his tongue down Rava's throat, but signed a couple of papers. He blew out the smoke, looking at the ceiling.

Rava was still standing, his pants down around his hips, his hands shaking, his lips wet with saliva and alcohol, he didn't know where to start, didn't know if he should speak at all, but finally he slowly pulled his clothes back on. He was silent. And then, unexpectedly for himself, he said:

"Your secretary said that you wanted to talk to me."

Hades nodded. Once. Almost indifferently.

"Yes", he said and blew out smoke again. Then he looked straight at Rava, and there was nothing left in his gaze except coldness.

"Give me your address, phone number, place of work and account number."

Rava buttoned the last button on his jacket, straightened up, with difficulty but firmly answered:

"I think you've known all this for a long time. Without my permission."

Hades smiled slowly, wryly, as if he didn't believe himself, but was playing out of habit.

"Yes, you're right", he said, with a drawl that seemed to last forever. "But it's much more interesting to hear it from you personally."