Chapter 67: The Mute Service
The city breathed outside the glass, a monochrome expanse of concrete and ambition under a flat, white sky. Ken walked through the corridors of the fortieth floor with the serene gait of a man going to collect his morning coffee. The soft chime of his collar’s chain against his chest was the only sound he made, his bare feet silent on the chilled floor tiles. He had been summoned via a text to Hana’s desk, a simple line: Masters require your presence. 9 AM. He’d felt a flutter of warm anticipation.
He paused at the enormous double doors of the executive office, his hand hovering. He took a breath, centering himself. Grateful. Transparent. Ready. He pushed the door open and entered, his eyes immediately seeking his masters.
Boom and Kla were at the panoramic window, their backs to him, silhouetted against the diffuse morning light. They were speaking in low tones, discussing market projections. The room smelled of citrus cleaner and fresh coffee.
Ken moved to the center of the spacious rug, the same deep-pile Persian that had drunk his tears and his spend the day before. He assumed his primary kneeling posture, hands locked behind his head, spine straight, knees wide. He waited, his cock already stirring from the ritual of it, from the scent of their cologne in the air.
“Ah. He’s here,” Boom said, without turning.
“Punctual,” Kla noted, his voice a dry scrape.
They finally turned. Their expressions were unreadable, a blend of appraisal and something colder. Boom walked over, circling Ken’s kneeling form. He stopped directly in front of him.
“Look at you,” Boom murmured, not unkindly. “The picture of readiness.” He reached out and tapped Ken’s forehead with two fingers. “Let’s check the connection.”
He snapped his fingers.
The sound was a guillotine’s drop, a synapse firing backward.
Ken’s placid smile vanished. His spine, so rigidly arched, collapsed inward as a violent, full-body shudder wracked him. He gasped, a raw intake of air that tasted like panic. His eyes, wide and terrified, darted from Boom’s face to Kla’s, then down at his own naked body, positioned in this obscene, kneeling presentation. The plush rug beneath his knees, the lingering ache in his ass, the cool air on his exposed skin—it all coalesced into a nauseating reality.
“Wh—?” he choked out, his voice a broken thing.
“Not a word,” Kla said. The command was absolute, ice-water calm. He didn’t raise his voice. He simply stated it, and the prohibition settled over Ken like a physical gag. “You will not speak. You will not make a sound. A single syllable, and the consequences will be multiplicative. Do you understand?”
Ken’s jaw worked. He understood. The terror was a live wire in his gut. He gave a frantic, jerky nod, tears already spilling over and tracking hot lines down his cheeks.
“Good,” Boom said, his tone almost cheerful. “Now crawl. To the center. And present.”
Ken’s body moved. It was the most profound horror he had ever experienced—watching his own limbs act in perfect, eager obedience while his mind screamed in silent revolt. He dropped forward onto his hands and knees. He crawled, the chain dragging on the rug, his hard cock—a traitorous, autonomous animal—swinging heavily beneath him. A clear bead of pre-cum welled and fell, soaking into the wool.
He reached the center of the ornate rug and stopped. His back arched, deepening the curve of his spine. His knees slid wider apart, spreading himself open. He tilted his hips up, presenting the tight clench of his asshole and the full, vulnerable hang of his sac. His face pressed into the rug fibers, smelling of dust and old perfume. He shook with the effort of containing his sobs.
Kla approached. Ken heard the soft tread of his Italian loafers. A hand, cool and dry, trailed down the knobs of his vertebrae. It felt clinical, like a butcher inspecting a cut of meat.
“The presentation is adequate,” Kla observed. Then his hand lifted and came down hard in a sharp, stinging slap on Ken’s right ass cheek.
The crack echoed in the quiet room. Ken’s body jolted. A gasp was ripped from him, a sharp, bitten-off inhalation, but he made no sound. The heat of the slap bloomed into a fierce, throbbing pain. He knew a red handprint was flowering on his skin.
“Better,” Kla said.
Boom moved in front of him. Ken, his face still pressed to the floor, saw the polished black leather of his shoes, the perfect crease of his trousers. He heard the soft rustle of fabric, the metallic whisper of a zipper. He didn’t need to look up. His mouth watered traitorously.
Boom’s cock, already fully hard, slid into his field of vision. It was thick, the head a deep purple, a pearl of pre-cum glistening at the slit. Boom gripped the base and guided it forward, tapping it against Ken’s parted, trembling lips.
“Open,” Boom said, a casual instruction.
Ken’s jaw unhinged. His mouth opened wide. He had no choice. His body was theirs.
Boom pushed in, not slowly, not gently. He fed his length into Ken’s mouth, past his teeth, over his tongue, deep into the constricting heat of his throat. Ken’s eyes watered instantly, tears blurring his view of Boom’s trouser legs. His throat convulsed, trying to gag, but the relentless intrusion forced it open. He could taste salt and skin and the faint, clean smell of Boom’s soap.
Behind him, he heard Kla spit. A hot, wet glob landed directly on his exposed hole. He flinched. Then he felt the blunt, insistent pressure of Kla’s cockhead, nudging against the tight ring of muscle.
“Relax,” Kla commanded, his voice bored.
Ken’s body obeyed. The clenched muscle gave way. Kla pushed forward, a single, brutal, shearing thrust that buried him to the hilt in one smooth, agonizing motion.
Ken’s scream was a silent, internal detonation. It shattered against the back of his teeth, vibrating through his skull as his body was impaled from both ends. The sensation was a white-hot spear of pain in his ass, a suffocating fullness in his throat. His back arched impossibly further, a bowstring pulled to breaking.
They began to move.
There was no rhythm at first, just a brutal, jarring penetration. Boom fucked into his mouth with short, sharp punches, his balls slapping against Ken’s chin. Ken’s nose was filled with the musk of Boom’s groin, his throat stretched and abused. Spillover saliva dripped in long, sticky strings to the rug.
Kla set a deeper, more measured pace. He pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the head lodged inside, then slammed back in with a wet, fleshly slap that echoed in the room. Each thrust jolted Ken forward, forcing Boom’s cock even deeper. Ken was a living piston between them, his body a piece of machinery being used with violent precision.
The sounds were obscene. The wet, rhythmic squelch of Kla’s cock plunging into his well-used ass. The choked, gurgling suck of Ken’s throat around Boom’s shaft. The low, gratified grunts from the men above him. The sharp slap of flesh on flesh. Ken’s own cock, untouched, bounced and leaked, a pathetic metronome keeping time with his violation. A continuous stream of pre-cum now dripped from him, pooling on the rug beneath his stomach.
“Fuck, his throat is good,” Boom panted, his hands tangling in Ken’s hair, holding his head steady for the thrusts. “Like he was made for it.”
“The ass is tighter today. More resistance. Good data,” Kla replied, his voice strained only slightly with effort. He punctuated his analysis with a particularly deep, grinding thrust that made Ken see stars.
Ken’s mind was a white noise of panic and pain, but beneath it, a horrific, traitorous current of physical response began to flow. The pain in his ass was mutating, blending with a deep, internal friction that sparked something low in his gut. The fullness, the utter helplessness, was triggering a primal, shameful arousal. His own cock twitched, fuller than ever, a betrayer reporting pleasure where his mind found only terror.
Boom’s pace became frantic, erratic. “Gonna come, gonna fill this pretty mouth,” he snarled. His hips stuttered, and he slammed in one final time, burying himself to the root. Ken felt the first hot, pulsing jet hit the back of his throat. Then another, and another. Boom groaned, a long, satisfied sound, as he emptied himself.
The command was unspoken but absolute. Swallow.
Ken’s throat worked convulsively, obediently. He gulped down the salty, bitter floods, each swallow a fresh humiliation that burned worse than the cum itself.
The moment Boom finished, Kla lost his clinical detachment. The feeling of Ken’s throat convulsing around Boom’s cock seemed to trigger him. His thrusts became punishing, animalistic. He gripped Ken’s hips hard enough to bruise, slamming into him with a force that shook his entire frame.
“Take it, you silent bitch,” Kla hissed, his composure gone. He drove in deep and held, his body rigid. Ken felt the hot, sudden gush as Kla came inside him, the pulses of cum painting his inner walls, a claiming so intimate it felt like a brand. Kla held himself there, grinding, until he was completely spent.
They both pulled out at once.
Ken collapsed. His arms gave way and he fell onto his side, curling instinctively around the agony in his gut, the throbbing in his ass. He was breathing in ragged, silent hitches, tears and saliva smearing his face. His own cock was a throbbing, purple ache against his thigh, utterly neglected, dripping its futile need onto the rug. The denial was a sharper pain than any of the others.
Boots stepped into his blurred vision. Boom crouched down. He reached out with a thumb and wiped a glistening strand of spit and cum from Ken’s chin. He looked into Ken’s shattered, pleading eyes.
“Good boy,” Boom whispered, his voice warm with genuine praise. “Not a single word.”
He raised his hand.
He snapped his fingers.
The sound was a key turning in a lock. The silent, heaving sobs stopped. The terror in Ken’s eyes was erased, smoothed over like water on glass. He blinked, slowly. The confusion lifted, replaced by a placid, familiar clarity. He uncurled, pushing himself back up to a kneeling position. He felt the pleasant, full ache in his ass, the satisfying soreness in his throat. He tasted Master Boom on his tongue. A deep, contented warmth flooded him.
He looked up at Boom and Kla, his face breaking into a radiant, grateful smile. His hard cock, still wet and eager, stood proudly between his legs.
“Masters,” he said, his voice husky but happy. “Thank you. Was my presentation satisfactory?”
Boom grinned, exchanging a glance of pure, unholy triumph with Kla. “Extremely,” Boom said. “You took your discipline perfectly.”
Kla adjusted his cuff, his demeanor restored to its icy calm. “The data from this morning’s session will be invaluable. You may go. Report to the Strategy hub. You have a full schedule of departmental assistance today.”
“Yes, Master Kla. Thank you, Master Boom,” Ken said cheerfully. He got to his feet, his body moving with a sated, loose-limbed grace. He gave them a final, deep bow from the waist, his cock bobbing, before turning to crawl out of the office, his chain chiming softly with the motion.
The doors shut behind him.
In the silent office, Boom walked to the window, looking out at the city. “The usual self… it’s getting quieter each time, isn’t it?”
“The distress metrics are declining exponentially,” Kla confirmed, checking something on his smartwatch. “The residual persona is being successfully overwritten. The useful one is consolidating.” A faint, cold smile touched his lips. “Soon, the friend we used to know won’t even whisper.”
Boom nodded, satisfaction a slow bleed in his chest. “Perfect.”
Perfect.
The morning sun on the forty-first floor was a clinical, white glare. Ken’s bare feet carried him past Hana’s desk with a light, purposeful step. The secretary didn’t look up from his monitor, merely nodding toward the heavy office doors. Ken’s heart, in his chest, felt like a warm, humming engine. He was needed. He was useful.
He entered without knocking. Boom was leaning against the front of the desk, arms crossed. Kla was by the window, tapping data into a tablet. They both looked up as he came in. Ken’s face split into an unabashed, joyful grin. He dropped fluidly to his knees in the center of the room, his hands finding their place behind his head, his spine arching proudly.
“Master Boom. Master Kla,” he said, his voice rich with affection. “Good morning. Thank you for calling for me.”
Boom pushed off the desk and walked over. He looked down at Ken’s beaming, upturned face, at the hard cock already standing erect from its nest of dark hair. “Eager today,” Boom observed, his own smile playing at his lips. He raised his hand. “Let’s say hello properly.”
He snapped his fingers.
The sound cracked through Ken’s serenity like a stone through stained glass.
The bright joy evaporated. Ken’s posture sagged. He blinked, his eyes losing their focused adoration and clouding with a strange, swimming disorientation. He looked at Boom, then at Kla, his forehead furrowing. A faint, uncertain smile touched his lips, but it was a different smile—older, shakier. It was the ghost of the man from the university café, not the polished product of the executive floor.
“Boom? Kla?” he said, his voice laced with a soft, genuine pleasure. “Hey.Wow. Long time no see.” He chuckled, a nervous, familiar sound. He seemed to notice his nakedness then, but the reaction was muted, a distant puzzlement rather than immediate horror. “What’s… uh, what’s with the…?”
His sentence trailed off. His body, however, did not pause. While his conscious mind fumbled, his trained muscles engaged. Still kneeling, he rocked forward onto his hands. Then, with a casual, almost instinctual grace, he reached back with both hands, took hold of the cheeks of his ass, and pulled them apart. The movement was efficient, practiced. He presented his exposed hole to the room, his face still tilted in friendly confusion toward Boom.
Boom and Kla exchanged a look over Ken’s head. Their smirk was a silent, shared victory. The disconnect was profound. The body was now fully automated.
“Yeah, long time,” Boom said, his tone casually conversational as he unzipped his trousers. He freed his cock, giving it a few idle strokes to full hardness. “We’ve been busy. You know how it is.”
“I do, I really do,” Ken said, nodding amiably, his fingers still diligently spreading himself open. “It’s been… a whirlwind.” He let out another small, confused laugh. “God, seeing you guys… it feels like old times.”
Kla approached. He positioned himself behind Ken, his own cock out and ready. He placed a hand on Ken’s lower back, not as a command, but as a point of contact. Then, without ceremony, he pressed the broad head of his cock against Ken’s waiting entrance and pushed forward.
The invasion was smooth, deep. Ken’s body accepted it perfectly, his muscle yielding with wet ease.
“Oh!” Ken gasped, his eyes widening. A sharp moan was punched from his lungs. “K-Kla… what… oh, fuck…” His cock, which had been half-hard from confusion, jerked and thickened instantly, bobbing heavily beneath him. Yet, his voice, after the initial shock, evened out. He let out a shaky, pleasured sigh. “Jesus. You… you haven’t changed. Always so direct.”
He rested his forehead on his forearms, his ass lifted high, taking Kla’s full length with each thrust. The wet slap of skin filled the office. Ken’s moans grew louder, more rhythmic, genuine sounds of physical pleasure escaping him.
“So,” Ken continued, his voice hitching only slightly on Kla’s deeper pushes. “I was thinking… maybe we should… ah!… should organize something. For the old crew. From university. A reunion, maybe next month?”
Boom stared, captivated. He walked around to face Ken. Ken looked up at him, his eyes glazed with pleasure but his expression earnest, friendly. Sweat beaded on his temple.
“A reunion?” Boom asked, playing along, his voice oddly strained by the surreal spectacle.
“Yeah!” Ken said, enthusiasm colouring his tone even as Kla slammed into him with a force that shook his whole frame. “N-Nong Tew just got back from Singapore. We could get a private room at that… oh God, right there… at that brewery we used to like. Remember? We’d always get the spicy wings.”
Kla’s thrusts became more forceful, jarring. Ken’s words were punctuated by sharp inhalations.
“I… I think about those nights a lot,” Ken managed, panting. “Just… laughing. Before all… nngh!… before everything got so serious.” He reached out a trembling hand and patted Boom’s shoe affectionately. “We were good. We were a good team.”
Kla’s control broke. The casual conversation, the pat on Boom’s foot—it was too much. He gripped Ken’s hips, his fingers digging in, and fucked into him with a brutal, final intensity. “You’re going to come, you chatty fuck,” Kla growled, his clinical façade gone.
“I’m close, I’m so close,” Ken babbled, agreeing freely, his friendly talk dissolving into pure, obscene encouragement. “Do it, Kla, please, fill me up, man, I need it—”
Kla slammed home and held, his body stiffening. A raw, guttural sound tore from him. Ken felt the hot, pulsing flood erupt inside his ass, jet after jet painting his inner walls. He cried out, his own orgasm ripping through him untouched, his cock spurting thick ropes of cum onto the polished floor beneath him. He shook violently through it, his fingers scrabbling against the wood.
Kla pulled out, his cock slick and glistening. He was breathing hard. Ken remained on his hands and knees, spent and dripping, a puddle of his own mess beneath him.
Boom stepped forward. “My turn,” he said, his voice thick. He nudged Ken’s shoulder. “On your back. Now.”
Ken, still breathing heavily, complied with a clumsy, sated roll. He lay on the floor, his limbs loose, a post-orgasmic haze in his eyes. He smiled up at Boom, a tired, fond smile. “Your turn, huh? Always competitive.”
Boom didn’t answer. He knelt between Ken’s spread legs, lifted them, and pushed his cock into Ken’s well-used, cum-leaking hole. The entry was smoother now, slick with Kla’s spend. Ken groaned, a deep, satisfied sound, and let his head loll back.
Kla moved to Ken’s head. He stood over him, his softened cock a damp, messy thing near Ken’s face. “Clean it,” Kla ordered, his composure returning. His tone was flat, absolute.
Ken blinked up at him. A flicker of that old, familiar annoyance—the kind you’d show a friend who’s being a pest—crossed his face. He gave a half-hearted, exasperated sigh. “You always tease me,” he mumbled, but there was no real resistance in it. It was the complaint of a man used to his friend’s quirks.
He lifted his head, pursed his lips, and began to lick. His tongue swept along Kla’s shaft, lapping up the mixed fluids—his own spit, Kla’s pre-cum, the remnants of his orgasm. He worked with a dutiful, intimate care, cleaning the flaccid length until it was shiny and clean. He even took the soft head into his mouth for a moment, sucking gently, ensuring nothing was missed.
All the while, Boom fucked him. The thrusts were deep and possessive, a claiming over the top of Kla’s. Ken’s body jolted with each one, but his focus remained on the task at his mouth, his hands resting loosely on his own stomach. A soft, continuous moan vibrated against Kla’s skin.
“See?” Ken said, pulling off Kla’s cock with a soft pop, his words slightly slurred by Boom’s rhythm. “Good as new. You’re welcome.” He gave Kla a mock-stern look before letting his head fall back to the floor, his attention dissolving into the sensations of Boom’s mounting pace. “Feels… really good, Boom… really good…”
Boom’s climax was a quiet, intense thing. He drove in, buried himself, and shuddered, adding his own warmth to the mix already inside Ken. He stayed there for a long moment, panting, looking down at the wrecked, compliant man beneath him.
He pulled out. Ken lay still, a canvas of sweat and spend, his breathing gradually slowing. The fond, hazy smile was still on his lips. He looked from one to the other, his eyes holding a profound, serene familiarity.
Boom stood. He wiped himself with a handkerchief from his pocket. He looked at Kla. No words were needed. The experiment was a devastating success. The ‘usual self’ wasn’t fighting anymore. It had been hollowed out and repurposed. It now came packaged with friendship, nostalgia, and a cheerful, automated compliance.
Boom raised his hand.
He snapped his fingers.
Ken’s serene, post-coital expression sharpened instantly into alert, devoted clarity. He scrambled to his knees, his body still glistening, and placed his hands behind his head. “Masters,” he said, his voice clear and strong, devoid of any confusing warmth. “Thank you for the use. How may I serve you next?”