Chapter Text
Zelena left him like that for the night and into the next afternoon, left him bound down to that cot with shocks rocketing through his lower body, having decided that Rumplestiltskin was not obedient enough or quiet enough or something. His memory on that front was fuzzy, but she had said something about leaving him until he learned to take the pain quietly before she walked out, leaving him with the pattern of three seconds of electricity followed by a respite of five seconds or so. By dawn, Rumplestiltskin was utterly wasted, incoherent with agony but too exhausted to scream. At some point after that, the electricity turned off, allowing him to get several hours of much needed sleep…until the electricity turned on again sometime around noon and his newfound strength let him scream a few times before the sounds died into whimpers again.
He lost track of the shocks sometime around the tenth cycle or so, and lost the ability to do more than cry quietly several minutes after that. But Zelena—who had not even bothered to appear in the basement, having used the remote to turn the machine back on—left him there for several hours further, finally coming down the stairs around four. By then he was only twitching and trembling, almost out of tears. His legs were shaking weakly and his body spasming slightly now that he was too weak for convulsions, and what tears he did manage to cry trickled slowly down his face. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t even sure if his eyes were open or shut, but a silent command to focus surged through the dagger and his vision slowly swam its way into functioning.
He wished it hadn’t. Zelena was sitting next to him again, smiling down at Rumplestiltskin as he trembled pathetically. Slowly, her right hand reached out to touch his face, and Rumplestiltskin stayed still, letting out a barely audible whimper of pain as she stroked his cheek. He had never thought that he would be in too much pain to scream, but the sound caught in his throat as he closed his eyes, just trying to brace himself for whatever came next.
“Open your eyes,” Zelena said softly, and he obeyed, watching her in terror. Soon enough, her left hand dipped between his legs, fingers running gently over his penis, and stars exploded in front of his still-open eyes. He wanted to scream so badly, but it hurt too much, and he barely managed another soft whimper.
“Good boy,” she praised him, slowly removing the clips from both rings and the rod. A relieved shudder ran through him, but Rumplestiltskin barely dared to hope that it might be over. She stroked him for several moments more, and his eyes tried to roll back in pain but wouldn’t. Focus, the unspoken command had demanded, and his mind was clear despite the agony. Those soft whimpers kept sneaking out of him, though, broken and pained and all he could manage when he wanted to scream.
Finally, her fingers left him and she commanded: “Head up.”
Weakly, Rumplestiltskin picked his head up off of the cot and let her unbuckle the gag. Zelena pulled it out quickly, and the spikes raked over his tongue, making a gurgling noise of pain roll out of him. Again, his mouth flopped open uselessly, and even the feeling of cold air on his tongue was hell. A low moan of pain filled the cellar until Zelena’s cheerful laugh cut it off.
“Have you been good, slave?” she asked, her hand stroking his forehead once more.
“I…don’t know, Mistress,” Rumplestiltskin whispered painfully. Blood bubbled up between his lips, but the words were clear and understandable; the curse forced him to shape his mouth properly despite the pain.
“Did you learn to take the pain without complaining? Without screaming?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered, his voice very small. He had grown too weak to scream; surely that counted? Rumplestiltskin barely had enough intelligence to realize how dangerous her last statement was: now screaming in pain counted as a complaint, counted as disobedience, and the thought of being hurt more because he was hurt was beyond terrifying.
“Then you’ve been good,” Zelena told him, and Rumplestiltskin shuddered wildly in relief. A soft sob of escaped him, a tiny noise of broken hope. He couldn’t take this anymore. He couldn’t.
She stroked his hair for a moment more before the restraints holding Rumplestiltskin to the cot opened with a click. When they did, Rumplestiltskin did not dare move; he just stayed still and as quiet as he could, his tears finally drying. Everything still hurt, and the burns between his legs were throbbing wildly, but at least that was a constant pain, something his curse could force him to grow used to. Something Zelena could force him to grow used to. The thought made Rumplestiltskin feel sick. He didn’t know how long it had been since she had started torturing him in earnest, but he did finally understand that she wasn’t going to stop, and there was not a thing he could do about that.
“Now,” his torturer said with a soft smile, “if you can pass one more test, I will give you a reward. Would you like that?”
He knew the answer to this. She had hurt him until he learned. “Only if you think I deserve one, Mistress,” Rumplestiltskin whispered brokenly.
“Good!” Zelena laughed, and stroked his face again. Rumplestiltskin shook; she continued: “Then brace yourself, and no complaining.”
Weakly, Rumplestiltskin tried to do so, but a breathless whimper ripped out of him as Zelena flicked her left hand and the rod slipped out of his body. He was so torn open that it came out relatively quickly, but spikes still caught on his destroyed innards and Rumplestiltskin moaned dizzily in agony. He could feel the blood pulsing out of his ass, and a sick shudder rolled through him in both relief and in pain. He felt so empty, and the magnitude of what she had done to him was barely beginning to sink in—
“Stop the bleeding. In your ass and in your mouth,” she commanded, and she must have been touching the dagger, because Rumplestiltskin felt the magic, his magic rush through him, knitting up just enough of the wounds to stop the flow of blood. Nothing hurt any less, but he was used to that by now, so he just looked at Zelena, waiting brokenly for the next order.
She continued stroking his face. “What a good slave you’ve become,” Zelena cooed. “You’ve earned your reward.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” he whispered hesitantly, hating the pain that came from talking but knowing that Zelena would only hurt him more if he did not satisfy her.
“And so polite, too,” she replied cheerfully, her fingers playing with his hair until they abruptly lifted, and suddenly Zelena was not touching him. Rumplestiltskin almost cried in relief.
“Off the cot and on your knees,” Zelena ordered, gesturing at a place on the floor right next to where she still sat on the cot. “Right here.”
Moving was agony. Even rolling to his side was slow and nearly impossible; Zelena hadn’t touched the dagger, and his body did not want to respond to his commands. Tears blurred his vision immediately, and a low whimper made it out as he tried to obey her. His body started shaking spastically, weakly and uncontrollably, and Rumplestiltskin whimpered again as he tried to make his hands move under his body so that he could get off the cot. Breathing was getting harder and harder; his narrow chest started heaving as he struggled to breathe through the effort of moving. Finally, he made it to his side and collapsed there, hyperventilating from exertion.
“Now,” Zelena hissed, and fear spiked through him, fear enough to send adrenaline racing through his system. That was finally enough to make his limbs work, and Rumplestiltskin half-crawled, half-fell off the cot, his limbs twitching uselessly as he forced himself to move. Slowly, he dragged himself to his knees, slumped over but at least with his knees under his body enough to satisfy Zelena.
“Good boy,” she praised him, stroking his hair again. Rumplestiltskin shuddered.
A moment passed in silence, and then a sudden, sharp creak invaded the cellar. Sunlight intruded—Rumplestiltskin was facing the stairs—and the flapping sound of wings drifted down to him before he could begin to wonder why the trapdoor was opening. A flying monkey landed right outside the cage, and Zelena rose to greet her creature.
“Hello, my lovely,” she said with a smile, gesturing airily at the monkey. Green smoke swirled, and suddenly a man stood in its place, staggering in confusion. “Walsh, I’m so glad you could join us,” the Witch purred.
“I am…what do you want?” Walsh asked unsteadily, his eyes sweeping over Rumplestiltskin in confusion.
A tiny corner of Rumplestiltskin’s mind, the tiny part that still held a shred of humanity, cringed away from what this stranger was seeing. Here he was, naked and on his knees, broken and bleeding and utterly, clad in nothing save the prong collar tight around his neck and the horrible rings wrapped around his penis. Apparently he was still able to feel shame, because it cut through him like a knife, but he was too far gone to fight.
“You’re going to do something for me,” Zelena purred, stepping towards Walsh with a dangerous smile. “Understood?”
“Of course,” the man said slowly, with the air of someone who was long used to doing what he was commanded. The control inherent in the enchantment that had turned him into a flying monkey was probably still active, too, which meant Walsh probably had little choice in the matter, but that didn’t do anything for the sinking feeling in Rumplestiltskin’s stomach.
Neither did the fact that Zelena immediately unfastened Walsh’s trousers, gesturing him towards Rumplestiltskin. “Any questions?”
“No,” Walsh said softly, but Rumplestiltskin turned his head to stare at Zelena, what she wanted sinking in immediately. His eyes were wide with shock, and he absolutely could not believe she was going to do this…
“Suck him hard,” Zelena ordered, and Walsh stepped right up to him as Rumplestiltskin stared at Zelena.
“I…”
“You don’t want to earn yourself punishment, do you?” she demanded.
He flinched. “No, Mistress.”
“Then do it,” Zelena snapped.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. It was one thing to do what she told him to—Zelena had the dagger and she could force him—but this…he couldn’t do this. Crippling shame cut through him, but before Rumplestiltskin could even think about the consequences of hesitation, the cattle prod came up, sparking already—and then touched his right cheek.
Crying out sharply, Rumplestiltskin cringed wildly away from the shock, his entire body convulsing. His hands came up, making it halfway to his face before he managed to stop them, remembering brokenly that he was not allowed to shield himself from any punishment at all. The cattle prod touched again, obviously as a reminder, and Rumplestiltskin shuddered weakly, sobbing in pain, rocking back and forth on his knees as the electricity made colors flash in front of his eyes.
“Open your mouth,” she ordered, and Rumplestiltskin finally complied, mechanically stretching his jaws open and just closing his eyes as Walsh shoved his penis into his mouth.
A choked off whimper tore out of him, muffled by the mouth full of flesh. He hadn’t been prepared for the pain, hadn’t realized how badly his mouth would burn at the slightest touch. Reeling, Rumplestiltskin recoiled, choking helplessly and trying to scream. But hands grabbed him by the hair and held him still when reflex made him rear back. Rumplestiltskin convulsed in pain, struggling for air through his nose, and he distantly heard Walsh yelp as his teeth scraped against sensitive flesh. He was barely aware of that, though, choking and suddenly crying in agony. His whole body was jerking, burning for air, instinctively fighting the intrusion bouncing against the back of his throat. Blackness crept towards him, utter incoherency approached fast.
“Suck,” Zelena ordered, and the dagger was in her hand now, because the command sizzled in, digging into his mind and forcing his lips to start moving. It hurt terribly, the cuts in his mouth raw and fresh and horrible. But his lips moved on their own, his body obeyed his curse, and all Rumplestiltskin could do was try to sob around the penis buried in his mouth.
Walsh’s hands stayed anchored in his hair, dragging his head forward and back as Rumplestiltskin cried and sucked. He wanted to scream but was not sure he had the strength to do so even if he could get in enough air. His broken body just kept shuddering, trying to rock back and forth in pain, but he sucked.
Finally, Walsh was rock hard, and Zelena said: “Stop.”
Gratefully, Rumplestiltskin pulled back when Walsh released him, sucking in his first deep breath in what felt like forever. His head dropped on its own, but no sooner had relief coursed through him than fear followed right in its heels. What if Zelena punished him again? He knew that the cattle prod had just been a warning, just two small shocks to remind him… His shaking grew harder and harder immediately, and Rumplestiltskin started to hyperventilate again, this time in terror. He was so afraid that it overrode even the horrible shame rolling through him, the appalling knowledge that he was broken enough to suck another man off without argument.
“Get back on your hands and knees on the cot,” Zelena ordered next, and Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped up to stare at her incredulously. She wasn’t—
Mechanically, his body obeyed the command before he could even decide if trying to object was worth the inevitable pain. Zelena still held the dagger, though, so he was on the cot and on his hands and knees before Rumplestiltskin’s body fully realized how much moving hurt. Then Zelena’s hand was on his face, brushing hair out of his eyes.
“Look at me,” she said softly, standing in front of him. Trying to beg with his eyes, weakly Rumplestiltskin brought his head up and did so, desperate to get her to stop somehow. She couldn’t mean, couldn’t mean… “This is your reward,” Zelena told him, smiling. “You’ve been good, so I won’t rape you today.”
She paused, obviously waiting for a response, and Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what to say. “Thank you, Mistress?” he whispered, confused and so afraid.
“You should be grateful,” Zelena replied viciously. “But in case you’ve forgotten, you are mine. You belong to me, and I will do whatever I want with you. Even if I want to have you passed around like an object.”
“I don’t understand…” he whimpered, shaking harder. But he did. He just didn’t want to.
“Rape him,” Zelena ordered Walsh, and then her gaze locked back on Rumplestiltskin. “Keep your eyes on me. And stay still.”
Hands clamped down on his hips, and Walsh shoved into him without another word. Rumplestiltskin managed a strangled scream of pain, quiet and horrified all at once. His body jerked with the intrusion, his vision going black with agony that was far worse than having Walsh in his mouth. His broken cries were as much in shame as they were in pain; although every thrust made his body convulse, the tears that poured down his face were not from that. The curse held him still, kept him from fighting, and all Rumplestiltskin could do was cry while Walsh slammed into him again and again. He whimpered with every thrust, praying for it to end and wishing he could look away from Zelena, away from the horrible woman who had ordered another man to use him like this. And she was smiling.
He couldn’t even fight. He was so weak and so useless and he was being raped while he just took it and cried. Zelena’s smile filled his vision, and even when he wanted to beg her to make this stop, he couldn’t find his voice to do so. He could only endure thrust after thrust, sobbing weakly and tasting his own tears and blood in his mouth. The rape seemed to go on forever, until Zelena told Walsh:
“Stop.”
Walsh did immediately, still buried inside Rumplestiltskin, who let out a strangled whimper and shuddered. It hurt so badly. It hurt so badly. His entire body was shaking, but he somehow managed not to pull away when Zelena touched his cheek, brushing his tears away.
“This will continue until you beg me to put the rod back in,” she told him bluntly.
Rumplestiltskin stared at her incredulously, not even comprehending the words right away, but Zelena only gestured to Walsh, a smirk tugging at her lips.
“Continue.”
And it did. Rumplestiltskin didn’t know how long, but even his wasted mind could tell how Walsh was getting uncomfortable. The other man’s movements were growing jerkier and harsher; Zelena must have been keeping Walsh hard with magic, because it was obvious that he wasn’t enjoying himself at all. But no matter how much it hurt Walsh, Rumplestiltskin was suffering far more, his body jerking in time with Walsh’s thrusts and his whimpers growing softer instead of louder because it hurt so badly. He could barely breathe through the pain, could barely think. It took several long minutes—they felt like hours—before he even realized that there was a way to make it stop, and by then Rumplestiltskin was so desperate that the words came out without hesitation.
“Please put the rod back in, Mistress,” he gasped between thrusts.
“Ask me to make it wider,” she commanded, and her hand was not on the dagger.
Walsh thrust harder; Rumplestiltskin keened out a broken noise. “Please make it wider,” he parroted, just wanting it to stop.
“Good boy,” Zelena stroked his face again, and then said to Walsh: “Enough.”
It stopped. Oh, it stopped. Rumplestiltskin collapsed in relief, still crying pitifully. Even when Zelena had raped him, he had never felt so violated, so horribly used. She’d brought someone in with the express purpose of raping him, had forced him to stay still and look her in the eyes while Walsh pounded into him. He was too broken to feel anything other than violation, too hurt to even try to object. He was just pathetically grateful that Zelena had finally let it stop.
“That will be all.” There was a flash of green smoke, and suddenly Walsh was a monkey again, and the sound of wings flapping drowned out Rumplestiltskin’s soft whimpers. Moments later, Walsh was gone, and Zelena was putting the rod back in.