6
The days blurred into a nightmare of repetition within the confines of Xokax's quarters.
Aiden Gallagher's world had shrunk to the holding cell, a cold metallic box that smelled of sweat, blood, and the faint metallic tang of the warlord's presence.
Two weeks had passed since the first night, fourteen endless nights of the same ritual.
Every evening, as the artificial lights dimmed to simulate dusk, the door would hiss open and Xokax would enter like clockwork. And every night, Aiden fought.
He fought with everything he had left.
The first few nights were pure brutality.
On the third night, Xokax took him against the wall, pinning Aiden's wrists above his head with one massive hand while the other yanked down the thin prisoner's garb that had been provided.
Aiden screamed and kicked, his bare feet slamming uselessly against Xokax's armored thighs.
"Get your hands off me!" he roared, tears of rage streaming down his face.
Xokax was quick that night, efficient and almost impatient.
He spun Aiden around, forced him to brace against the cold metal, and drove into him with a single savage thrust. The pain was immediate and blinding.
Aiden's voice cracked as he howled, his body shuddering violently.
Xokax fucked him hard and fast, each punishing snap of his hips designed to remind Aiden of his powerlessness.
When it was over, Xokax left him slumped against the wall, blood trickling down his thighs, the blanket tossed carelessly over his shaking form.
Aiden lost weight rapidly. His once powerful frame grew gaunt, ribs beginning to show beneath his skin.
His dark hair became a tangled mess, and his eyes hollowed out, shadowed by exhaustion and unrelenting trauma.
He barely ate the nutrient blocks shoved through the slot in the door.
Sleep came in fitful bursts haunted by flashes of violation.
Yet he refused to break. Each night he spat, cursed, and fought.
"You think this makes you strong?" he'd snarl, even as Xokax's hands roamed his body with clinical precision.
The cybernetic eye glowed softly, whirring as it cataloged every flinch, every suppressed whimper, every involuntary clench of muscle.
Xokax was learning him, mapping his breaking points like a strategist studying enemy terrain.
One night, midway through the second week, the encounter stretched for what felt like hours.
Xokax was methodical, almost experimental.
He bound Aiden's wrists with energy cuffs that hummed against his skin, then forced him onto all fours on the grated floor.
"Look at yourself," Xokax commanded, his voice a low growl as he positioned himself behind Aiden.
A small holographic display projected from his eye, showing Aiden his own reflection, flushed face and tear-streaked cheeks and trembling body.
Humiliation burned hotter than the physical pain.
Aiden tried to close his eyes, to shut it out.
"Fuck you. I won't look." But Xokax gripped his jaw, forcing his head up.
The thrusts were slow and deep this time, dragging against every sensitive nerve inside him.
Aiden bit his lip until it bled, fighting the unwanted stirrings in his groin.
His cock twitched traitorously despite the shame flooding his mind.
He thought of Melissa, her soft curves and her laughter and the way she used to moan his name, but the memory was fading, blurred by exhaustion and constant assault.
Xokax varied his angle, hitting that spot inside Aiden with ruthless accuracy.
A choked gasp escaped Aiden's throat before he could swallow it.
Pleasure, unwanted and filthy, licked at the edges of the pain.
He hated his body for it. Hated himself more.
"Stop... please, just stop making it..." The words died in a sob as Xokax continued, one hand reaching around to stroke Aiden's hardening length with detached curiosity. Not to please him, but to observe.
Aiden came that night against his will, spurting onto the floor while sobbing in shame. Xokax noted it silently, finishing inside him soon after, and left without a word.
The pattern deepened Aiden's self-loathing.
During the days, alone in the cell, he would curl up under the blanket and whisper to himself.
"You're still you. Still straight. Still hers.
" But the lies grew thinner. His body was adapting, betraying him in ways that shattered his identity further.
He was a dominant man, a man's man, reduced to this quivering thing that sometimes gasped when Xokax's scaled hips slapped against his ass.
By the end of the second week, the encounters had taken on a terrible familiarity.
One night Xokax used his mouth first, forcing Aiden to his knees and sliding his thick cock past protesting lips.
Aiden gagged and retched, tears pouring down his face as Xokax fucked his throat with measured strokes, the cybernetic eye fixed on his expressions.
"Good," Xokax murmured once, almost approvingly, when Aiden's tongue inadvertently brushed the underside. Aiden wanted to die.
Another night was degradation pure and simple.
Xokax made him beg, not for mercy, but for the pain to end in the only way it could.
Aiden refused until his voice was raw, until Xokax edged him for what felt like an eternity, bringing him to the brink and denying release until Aiden was a broken, pleading mess.
Only then did Xokax take him, hard and fast, finally allowing the shameful climax that left Aiden curled in a fetal position afterward.
He was losing himself.
Then came the night that changed everything.
The lights had dimmed. Aiden's body was already sore from the previous evening, but he stood anyway, fists raised weakly. "Come on then. Let's get this over with."
Xokax entered, larger than life, his presence filling the small cell. This time he was slower, almost contemplative. He stripped Aiden with care that felt mocking, then positioned him on the bench, face down, ass raised. No bindings tonight. Just raw power holding him in place.
Aiden fought at first, bucking and cursing, but Xokax's grip was iron.
The initial penetration drew a familiar scream, but as Xokax began to move, deep rolling thrusts that dragged perfectly against Aiden's prostate, the pain mingled with something far worse.
Pleasure. Undeniable, building waves of it.
Aiden's cock hardened fully against the bench, leaking steadily.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to summon Melissa's face.
But she was blurry. Fading. Instead, all he could see behind his eyelids was crimson scales, the glowing red cybernetic eye, the massive form dominating him completely.
"No... fuck, no..." Aiden whimpered, biting his arm to stifle the sounds. His hips began to move back involuntarily, meeting Xokax's thrusts. The warlord noticed, of course he did. The cybernetic eye whirred louder, recording every detail.
Xokax's pace increased, one hand sliding under Aiden to wrap around his aching cock, stroking in time with the deep fucking.
Aiden's resistance crumbled. The pleasure crested like a tidal wave, crashing over him without mercy.
He came hard, untouched except for Xokax's hand and the relentless pounding inside him, ropes of cum splattering the bench as he cried out in ecstasy and horror.
His voice broke into sobs even as his body clenched and spasmed around Xokax, milking him.
Xokax followed soon after, burying himself deep and filling Aiden once more. The satisfaction radiating from the warlord was palpable, a silent triumph.
Afterward, Xokax withdrew and stepped back. Aiden collapsed to the floor, shaking uncontrollably, the blanket forgotten. Cum leaked from his abused hole, mixing with his own release. He felt filthy and disgusting. A traitor to every belief he had ever held.
"I hate you," Aiden whispered, his voice shattered. Tears streamed down his face. "I hate you so much. Look what you've made me."
Xokax crouched beside him, surprisingly gentle for a monster. His breath, warm and faintly metallic, brushed Aiden's ear. "I know," he said softly. "But I don't hate you."
The words hung in the air like a poison and a promise. Aiden sobbed harder, curling tighter into himself. Xokax lingered a moment longer than usual before leaving, the door sealing with its familiar hiss.
That night, sleep claimed Aiden in exhaustion.
For the first time, his dreams did not feature Melissa.
Instead, he dreamed of Xokax, those powerful hands and the glowing eye and the overwhelming presence.
In the dream, there was no fighting. Only surrender.
Only heat and crimson scales and a twisted sense of belonging.
He woke with a start, horror twisting in his gut. The beginning of something insidious had taken root, wrapping its tendrils around his fractured mind. Aiden stared at the ceiling of his cell, hollow-eyed and broken, whispering denials into the dark.
But the pattern continued. And with each night, the line between hate and something far more dangerous grew thinner.
Aiden was changing. Whether he would survive the transformation remained to be seen.