Chapter 4: Start of Haziq's New Life
Aiman's alarm shrieked into the stillness of his bedroom, a harsh intrusion into the remnants of his dream. He had been in a state of limbo all night, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The encounter at Dukun Hassan's apartment had left an indelible mark on him, an eerie sensation that clung to him like a second skin. The thought of finally exacting his vengeance on Haziq was a sweet, intoxicating melody that played on repeat in his mind. He had barely registered the passage of time, his body moving through the motions of his morning routine with a detached, almost mechanical precision. The shower's hot water cascaded over him, but he barely felt it, his mind still lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. He dressed in his usual attire, the crisp fabric of his shirt and the smooth texture of his trousers offering little comfort. He skipped breakfast and went straight to the office. His mind keep playing scenarios on how to prick Haziq with the needle
As Aiman stepped into the office, Haziq's familiar silhouette appeared, as punctual as ever. His smile was a practiced mask, a warm greeting that belied the guilty twinge in his gut. The memory of Aiman's scolding during their last meeting still lingered, a constant reminder of his transgression. He extended his hand, hoping to dispel the tension with a friendly gesture. Aiman, however, was not so easily placated. His smile was a thin line, his eyes reflecting a nervousness that Haziq couldn't quite decipher. As their hands met, Aiman's fingers, hidden beneath the sleeve of his jacket, held a small, sharp object - a needle, its tip glinting menacingly in the dim light. The needle pricked Haziq's hand, drawing a single, crimson bead of blood. Aiman's face remained impassive, but his eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. "Just a small prank," he said, his voice laced with false amusement. "A little revenge for what you did during the meeting." Haziq chuckled, the sound forced and hollow. He didn't mind the prank, not really. All he cared about was that Aiman seemed to have forgiven him.
As Haziq settled into his workstation, a wave of dizziness washed over him, a sudden and disorienting sensation that left him feeling as if the room was tilting beneath him. The sensation was fleeting, however, and just as quickly as it had come, it receded, leaving Haziq with nothing more than a slight unease. He shook his head slightly, dismissing the episode as a momentary lapse, and returned to his tasks with a renewed focus. The morning routine continued undisturbed, the humdrum of the office a familiar and comforting backdrop to their shared workday. Haziq's voice cut through the quiet, "Aiman, I wanted to let you know, I helped with the corrections while you were on leave yesterday." His tone was casual, almost offhand, as if the task had been a minor inconvenience rather than a significant responsibility. Aiman's response was equally nonchalant, though there was a subtle tension in his voice that belied his outward calm. "Thank you, Haziq. I appreciate it." The words were polite, but the underlying resentment was palpable, a lingering echo of the scolding he had received in the previous day's meeting. Aiman's eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded Haziq, a calculating look in his gaze. He leaned in, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "You know, Haziq, I've been thinking. Why don't you go to the pantry and do the chicken dance? Just for old times' sake." The words were meant to sound like a joke, a lighthearted attempt to break the tension, but the underlying edge was unmistakable.
A peculiar sensation, a mix of unease and a strange compulsion, stirred within Haziq as he found himself compelled to obey Aiman's command. The weight of his embarrassment was palpable, yet he knew better than to defy Aiman's will. Was it the lingering guilt from the day he had humiliated Aiman in front of their colleagues? The question lingered in his mind, unanswered, as he made his way to the pantry, his steps echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. The moment he entered, the room seemed to come alive with a sudden burst of laughter. His co-workers, their eyes wide with surprise, stared at him in disbelief as he began to perform the chicken dance, a ridiculous spectacle that seemed to have been plucked from the depths of his subconscious. Aiman, seated at his usual spot, watched the scene unfold with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with a satisfaction that was almost unsettling. He knew, with a certainty that he held the power to control Haziq. He went to the pantry and join in the laughter. Then with a simple wave of his hand, he 'asked' Haziq to stop, and Haziq, his face flushing a deep crimson, immediately ceased his dance.
Throughout the day, Aiman's relentless stream of requests for Haziq's humiliation seemed to never cease. He would casually ask Haziq to sing the ABC song during their lunch break, the tune echoing through the office, drawing curious and amused glances from their colleagues. Aiman would then turn to their female colleague, a woman of quiet dignity, and asked Haziq to slap himself playfully on the cheek, his laughter echoing through the room. Haziq, despite the humiliation, would comply, a strange mix of embarrassment and satisfaction washing over him as he saw Aiman's face light up with amusement. The spell, as Aiman saw it, was working. Haziq was proving to be an obedient puppet, unable to refuse his requests. As the day drew to a close, Aiman's mind began to churn with ideas for the next day's prank. He envisioned a grander scale, a larger audience, and a more humiliating task. The thought of it sent a thrill down his spine, a sense of power and control that he found intoxicating.
The next day, Aiman extended an invitation to Haziq to join him for a gym session, a casual proposal that seemed too good to be missed. Despite initial hesitation, Haziq eventually agreed, though he quickly pointed out that he had not bring his gym attire. Aiman smiled, and with a hint of playful excitement, said he had an extra pair of wrestling bodysuits in his locker. The idea of wearing a bodysuit wasn't unappealing to Haziq, especially considering how it would contrast his usual office attire. Thus, Haziq agreed to the plan, curious about the reception. Upon arriving at the gym’s slightly dimly lit changing room, Haziq was handed a sleek white bodysuit by Aiman. Aiman’s eyes sparkled, and with a sly grin, he suggested Haziq wear it without underwear. Haziq, with a bit of indecision, chose not to push back, feeling somewhat taken aback by the request but trying to maintain some composure. Once he slipped into the tight, spandex bodysuit, he discovered that it was a size too small. However, the elastic material clung to his shape, accentuating his muscular frame. Looking at himself in the mirror, Haziq was struck by the way the bodysuit framed his body, a vivid contrast to his usual shapeless office clothes. The bright white fabric hugged his contours closely, making certain areas particularly prominent. He glanced down, half-expecting to be able to cover the considerable bulge straining against the fabric, but the white was nothing but honest. It highlighted the ridges of his abs and emphasized a muscular build that even Haziq had forgotten about. Aiman burst out laughing when he caught sight of Haziq, his slender, toned physique on full display. The expression on his friend's face told Aiman that the bodysuit had been a better fit than expected, and he couldn't resist giving Haziq a hearty compliment. "You’re looking good," Aiman chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Sexy af, dude." Feeling oddly flattered by Aiman's praises, Haziq decided to play along, though his comfort level with the outfit was still ambiguous. Aiman promptly grasped his upper arm, propelling Haziq toward the treadmill and they both started running
Haziq's body started to perspire. Small clear sweat started to appear and just few minutes later, Haziq's white wrestling singlet became transparent drenching with sweat making Haziq becoming more horror and humiliated. Haziq's dark skin and body hair were vibrant against the stretched white spandex. His dark nipple became hard and pushed through the material. Same thing was happening down at his crotch. Somehow seeing his reflection in the mirror running in tight white wrestling singlets almost naked made him hard. Some people passed by and looked at his 'performance'. The humiliation Haziq felt only added fuel to his raging hard-on. Aiman on the other hand, had stopped running but ordered Haziq to continue. He found himself a good place to watch Haziq embarrassing himself. He took out his cellphone and started to take Haziq's humiliating picture
After a while, Haziq's body began to perspire, beads of clear sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip, tracing a path down his chest and back. Within minutes, his white wrestling singlet, once pristine and form-fitting, was now a transparent sheath, clinging to his body and revealing the dark hue of his skin and the faint outline of his muscles. The material stretched taut, accentuating the curve of his biceps and the definition of his abs, while also drawing attention to the dark nipples that had hardened and pushed against the thin fabric. The same fate befell the area below, where the singlet clung to his crotch, leaving little to the imagination. The sight of his reflection in the mirror, a near-naked figure in tight white spandex, sent a wave of humiliation crashing over him, yet it also ignited a primal response that he could not control. The heat of embarrassment and the sight of his own arousal only served to intensify his discomfort, as he felt the weight of his own body's betrayal. A few passersby cast curious glances his way, their eyes lingering on the spectacle that was unfolding before them. The humiliation Haziq felt only served to fuel his raging hard-on, a cruel irony that added to his mortification. Meanwhile, Aiman, who had stopped running, found a strategic vantage point to watch Haziq's humiliation unfold and taking some good picture while in the process
As Haziq maintained his relentless pace on the treadmill, his eyes darting between the mirror and the gym floor, a sudden jolt of recognition shot through him. There, standing near the entrance, was Mr. Zamani, his boss, his face a picture of disbelief as his gaze was fixed on Haziq's backside, which was indeed a sight to behold as it bounced rhythmically with each stride. The realization that he was being watched, and by none other than his superior, sent a wave of panic coursing through Haziq's veins. The gym now felt like a stage, and he was the unwitting star of a humiliating spectacle. Aiman, who had been observing the scene with a smug satisfaction, felt a surge of glee. He had planned this meticulously, knowing that Mr. Zamani would be at the gym today. The two of them shared the gym near their office, and Aiman had been waiting for this opportunity to exact his revenge on Haziq. Mr. Zamani, however, was not one to be easily amused. After a few moments of staring, he turned on his heel and walked out, his expression unreadable. Aiman's smile widened, a sense of triumph washing over him. He had achieved his goal, and Haziq was left to face the consequences. Haziq, oblivious to Aiman's satisfaction, felt a wave of relief wash over him as Aiman finally stopped the treadmill. He quickly made his way to the changing room, eager to escape the prying eyes of the gym. Aiman, however, was not done with him yet.
Haziq quickly went out of the skimpy wrestling singlets which no longer served it purpose and exposed every inches of his body. Haziq covered himself with a towel when Aiman 'suggested' for Haziq to take a bath at the washroom with no door as it was broken. Haziq complied while Aiman continued taking picture of Haziq naked body taking a shower. Aiman instructed Haziq to get into few humiliating exposing pose and Haziq complied without hesitation. He could not describe his feeling of horror and humiliation of his action just then in the gym and during shower, but it was mixed with satisfaction of obeying every Aiman's request. In fact, he could not wait for Aiman's next command. When Haziq readied to go home, Aiman invited Haziq to come over to his apartment, which Haziq gladly accepted
Haziq, with a swift and almost desperate motion, discarded the skimpy wrestling singlet that had once served its purpose but now felt like a mere hindrance. The garment fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, leaving him exposed to the cool air of the gym, every inch of his body now visible. Aiman's suggestion, delivered with a casualness that belied its implications, was for Haziq to take a bath in the washroom, which was conveniently devoid of a door due to its recent breakage. Haziq, without a moment's hesitation, complied, wrapping himself in a towel as he made his way to the open doorway of the washroom. The stark reality of his nudity hit him like a physical blow, a mix of horror and humiliation churning within him as he stepped under the shower's spray. The water cascaded down his body, washing away the sweat and grime of the day, but it did little to cleanse the sense of degradation that clung to him like a second skin. Aiman, meanwhile, stood just outside the doorway, his cellphone held at the ready. He snapped picture after picture, capturing Haziq's every movement, every pose. The click of the camera was a relentless metronome, counting out the seconds of Haziq's humiliation. Aiman's instructions were clear, his voice echoing through the open doorway, directing Haziq into a series of humiliating, exposing poses. Haziq complied without question, his body moving through the motions with a mechanical precision that belied the turmoil within. He did not know if there was other people in there. He could not describe the feeling that gripped him - a mix of horror and humiliation, yes, but also a strange, twisted satisfaction at obeying Aiman's every command. It was as if his body and mind were two separate entities, one acting out the degrading acts while the other watched in silent, horrified disbelief. As Haziq finally turned off the shower and stepped out, the towel clutched tightly around his waist, he felt a strange sense of anticipation. He could not wait for Aiman's next command, his body already aching with the need to obey.
Once Haziq was ready to go back home, Aiman came over to him and 'invited' Haziq to come over to his apartment for dinner, which Haziq gladly accepted. Aiman on the other hand was excited for the next move in his quest to satisfy his vengeance.
Haziq knew, deep down, that accepting this dinner invitation was more than just a social gathering between colleagues. However, the same strange sensation that always gripped him when Aiman issued the slightest command was beginning to take hold, a gnawing unease that settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone. It was a feeling of inevitability, of being drawn into a current that he could neither resist nor escape