To the Victor

By Tom Gungy - Tomgungy@gmail.com
published June 25, 2020
3575 words
Summary

Lord Edwards takes a relaxing train ride through the countryside, leaving him suspiciously vulnerable…

Author’s Note: This addition was requested by a reader via email who specifically asked that I keep the diapered content to a minimum. More diaper-related content will be coming in the future, but in the meantime, email me if you yourself have any particular requests!

Edwards smiled absent-mindedly as he watched the charming countryside roll by outside the train car window. An older man with gray-flecked hair and smile lines gracing his face, the doctor could’ve easily been mistaken for a mature gentleman caught in reminiscent remembrances of his youth, yet there were many aspects vaguely off-putting about the seamless doctor Edwards. The way his well-kept body pressed against his flirtatiously tailored suit gave the man a sense of poised virility, rarely seen in a man his age. His expression, though blissful and retrospective, held an air of quiet, dominant confidence. Doctor Edwards, though a man of increased age, gave the impression of complete and confident control, and though a stranger who’d become conveniently absent for the last several years of human history might mistake his poise for a mastery of personal dominion, they’d be mistaken in assuming how far the man’s influence truly spread. In that empty train car, Edwards appeared as simple as anyone else, and maybe that is why he chose to travel in such an antiquated fashion in a world of high-speed jets and monorails. Perhaps it allowed the dictatorial leader of the world to feel human.

“Is the something you wanted to say?” Edwards asked the window’s shadowy reflections. “Or did you simply plan to blow me to kingdom come?”

In the glass, dimly overlaying the beautiful scenery outside, was the glint of a gun being surely aimed at the doctor’s head. Wielding it was a young man with a determined expression on his ruggedly handsome face. The shadow of stubble around his pursed lips caused the gunman to appear a good few years older, but Edwards estimated the man couldn’t be a day older than twenty-five, though he tried to conceal it. His figure, clad in combat fatigues that hugged the man’s muscular thighs and a simple black shirt displaying his impressively swollen biceps, boasting the enviable girth of freshly fluffed throw pillows, was obviously toned with conscientious care, and the steady arms that extended from the deadly weapon appeared to be certifiably dangerous on their own.

“Fuck you,” he spat, obviously with no love lost for the smiling dictator.

‘That’s it?” Edwards further prodded, his tone almost concerned. “Far be it from me to tell you your business. You obviously were able to track me down, surpass my many defensive measures, and not to forget, somehow avoid the globally omnipresent systems of mental correction programming in place to keep the masses content and complacent. You’ve achieved a series of feats few men can be lauded for, and though I imagine it means little to you, you’ve certainly impressed me. You can do whatever you want now. My life is now in your hands, yet you simply wish to insult me in such a manner and then simply complete your impressively lofty quest? No explanation? No savoring of the moment? Not even coerced begging on my part?”

The gunman seemed to falter, his hardened expression betraying the vaguest shadow of surprise at the doctor’s unorthodox. He didn’t stop pointing the weapon at his target, but he paused, obviously in thought. Edwards, never one to lose his unflappable air of control, broke the silence with a calm but pointed clearing of his throat in the direction of the stranger’s reflection.

“How about this,” he began with pragmatic patience, “may I know the name of the man who’ll end me?”

The young man continued to stare at Edwards with a slightly stunned expression for a moment or two before answering the doctor.

“Victor,” he disclosed with a casual grunt.

“Victor,” Edwards repeated as if to taste the word on his lips. “A good, strong name. Apropos given the situation.

“Tell me, Victor, what malfeasance have I committed to see me so profoundly remedied by your hand?”

“You fucked it up,” Victor softly growled, his eyes narrowing in a thinly veiled, glacial rage. “You facked it all up.”

“I think I understand,” Edwards responded thoughtfully, “but would you mind expounding for my sake? Killing a man is such a personal endeavor, after all, and I hardly know how I’ve wronged you so irreparably as to result in my demise.”

Victor’s eyes grew clouded as his gaze diverted from his target, instead focusing on the doctor’s reflection staring him in the face.

“You took Eli,” he answered, his level voice dipping with hatred.

Edwards paused for a moment now, supposedly reflecting on who his soon-to-be assassin was referring to, when he suddenly seemed to recall an earlier run-in with another man with a gun.

“Oh, yes,” the doctor replied with a simple smile, “the one that caught me before a speech a few months back, correct? He’d found out how to slip backstage and even caught me while I was changing for the occasion. Were you two close?”

A heavy silence fell over the train car, the ambient clatter of wheels on the track serving as the gunman’s telling answer.

“I’m sorry,” Edwards offered, his smile replaced by a politely somber expression. “He was a handsome man, bright too. I did readmit him to the public once I was done with him, which is more than what I can say for most of the men who try to kill me.”

“Yeah,” Victor spat through gritted teeth, his cool demeanor largely melted by the fierce fury on display, “another one of your mindless, diapered drones.”

“Yes,” Edwards confirmed with a nod. “Most I save for my personal guard, yet he spoke fondly of you during his conditioning. If it’s any consolation, we were never able to get your name out of him, but even with half the mental capacity he had before, he still babbled about his beloved. After that, I didn’t have the heart to separate such an inseparably bonded pair.”

Victor scowled at Edwards in the window, yet his dewy eyes betrayed the way the older man’s words affected him. As the gunman sniffled and glared, the gun in his hands trembled, even seeming to lower a little.

“He was very happy by the end of the process,” the doctor continued. “He was rather fixated on you and put considerable effort into resisting his condition to ensure he’d see you again. I eventually had to use you as the focal point of his induction, repeatedly mentioning how relaxed thinking of you made him feel and how happy thinking of you made him feel. I talked about how easy it is to fall into love with a person, just focusing on them and thinking about them. He loves you so much, after all. You just want to relax and think about Eli. He makes you feel so warm and pleasurable. Just relax and think about Eli…”

Edwards continued to drone on, his soft and gentle tone barely audible above the clatter of the rails, as he turned to face Victor. The young man had allowed the gun to droop from its direct aim at the doctor’s head, instead limply hanging from his grasp and left to swivel to the plush seat beside Edwards rather than at him. The gunman’s eyes were no longer cold or filled with barely restrained emotion. His eyelids sagged over his glazed eyes like those of a man struggling to stay awake. His shoulders had begun to slump, visually relaxing with the rest of his body as his posture grew less rigid. Observing the young man’s change, Edwards’ smile became dubious, taking on a darker edge while forsaking his calm demeanor. His tone became louder and more demanding, commanding Victor’s gradual descent into his trance instead of patiently coaxing the would-be liberator. The doctor rose to his feet, slipped his possessive grasp over the young man’s shoulder and gave him a sudden jerk.

“Sleep,” he ordered as he jerked Victor forward.

The young man’s eyes fluttered shut in response as he careened into Edwards’ arms. The doctor allowed himself a small chuckle at how effortless it’d become to disable these pathetic rebels that often came to assassinate him. Edwards’ had known about Victor’s malcontent for months, ever since his precious comrade had been readmitted into society as an invaluable asset in tracking down the rest of his former rebel sect. Victor had been the most difficult to track, largely due to the newfound shame he had for his former lover. Eli hadn’t been too phased by the resulting break up between the pair, having grown strangely disinterested with a man like Victor who didn’t share his tremendous subservient love for “Lord Edwards” and he was quick to report the latest of his ex’s whereabouts. Victor had been shrewd enough to run and cover his tracks, but Edwards knew a lingering and meandering train ride would make himself an irresistible target for the vengeful rebel.

“Easy, boy,” Edwards murmured into the young man’s ear. “Just relax in my arms. You trust me, don’t you? Eli does. Eli loves me. You love me too, don’t you Victor? You love me with Eli?”

“Love you with Eli,” Victor quietly sighed into the doctor’s chest.

“That’s right, boy,” Edwards softly chuckled again, the villainous grin stretching ever farther across his face. “You love and obey.”

“Love and obey,” the rebel sleepily repeated.

“You’re helpless to resist your adoration for me, aren’t you, boy? All other love pales in comparison to your love for me. You’re enslaved to it, to me. You’re a slave to your love for me. You’re a slave for me, right boy?”

“Your slave…”

“Ah,” Edwards tutted, hoisting Victor’s head upwards with a finger to his chin, “how does a slave address his master?”

Peering back at the doctor with a half-lidded gaze and a drowsy smile, the young man answered, “I’m your slave, master.”

Edwards continued his sinister smile in return before reaching to the compartments above. Just below a rustic overhang intended for luggage hung a thin, ornate rope. The doctor seized the line and gave it a sharp tug. Nothing happened in immediate response, and Edwards returned his attention to the young man now swooning in his arms, murmuring more truths about Victor’s deep and undeniable love for his ruler. It was some time later that the door on the far side of the car slid open. Another young man steadily entered, pushing an ornate cart stacked with silver platters and serving trays, each covered with a well-polished dome. The man himself appeared to be just short of a decade older than Victor, though his clean-shaven face contrasted with the rebel’s stubble caused the direct comparison difficult. He was clad in a form-fitted suit as trim and proper as his face, and his hair matched with a slicked-back style reminiscent of the bygone servants from an older age, a detail that Edwards found appropriate given the suited man’s new station.

“It seems we have company, boy,” the older man mumbled into Victor’s ear.

Still in a hypnotic stupor, the rebel dizzily turned to regard the servant standing expectantly behind him. Upon regarding the man, however, his eyes shot wide in surprise. Victor appeared fully conscious as the smile slipped from his lips and his face turned noticeably pale. His mouth opened with a gasp before he could voice a word.

“Eli?” he breathed in hushed shock.

Eli, gazing up from his tray for the first time since entering the car in servile submission, gazed back at Victor with an expression of confusion and noticeable uncomfortability.

“Please, sir,” he answered with marked politeness in his level tone, “no names. We servants do not deserve them. I’m servant four-hundred and seventy-two, but you may call me ‘servant’.”

“Eli?” Victor responded, obviously befuddled. “What happened to you? Don’t you remember me? I’m… I’m…”

Victor’s expression of confusion grew more profound as he became introspective. The servant and Edwards waited for the younger man to finish as he’d occasionally open and close his mouth, as if on the cusp of announcing himself before forgetting all that he was going to say. It was as if his thoughts, history, and identity had been removed from his mind, and even as the young man attempted to recall why he knew the suited servant standing patiently before him, the notion fizzled from his consciousness. All the while, Edwards smiled dubiously from behind the younger man, leaning forward to whisper into his ear.

“Sixty-eight,” the doctor murmured.

“What?” the young man spun his head around to regard his master.

“Your designation, boy,” Edwards answered with a chuckle. “It’s ‘slave sixty-eight’, one of my personal collection.”

“Perhaps our paths have crossed before then, sir,” the servant suggested with a relieved smile, “and you’re just a bit confused, if you’ll pardon my forwardness.”

“He is a ditzy one, this boy,” Edwards replied with another chuckle before severely eyeing the servant, “but it’s hardly your place to note such a thing, servant.”

“No, sir,” the servant quickly answered, clearly flustered. “My humble apologies, sir.”

The young man, “slave sixty-eight”, maintained his confused and introspective expression as he watched the servant bow his head to stare at the tray again, his brief smile long-since replaced by a solemn grimace. The slave could no longer recall why he’d felt so strong a connection to the cowering servant before him, but he marked how strange it was to see such a physically formidable figure, whose muscles were hardly contained within his simple suit, bowing to Edwards so meekly. Without any thought given to his master’s dominant control, which seemed nearly sacrosanct in the slave’s mind, the servant’s meager bearing would seem almost ridiculous, yet it seemed only natural that anyone would worshipfully yield to Lord Edwards.

“Take a seat, boy,” Edwards ordered the slave in an indifferent tone that unnerved the younger man. “I have to handle… four seven two was it?”

“Yes, sir,” the servant answered with a quiet whimper while the slave rushed to do as he was told.

“I’ll have to make a note for your file, won’t I?” the doctor asked condescendingly. “Let your handlers know what a naughty boy you’ve been?”

“Yes, sir,” the servant said as he gazed at the tray like a small child that’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.”

“For now though,” Edwards continued as his ominous smile returned, “clear the cart, servant.”

The servant nodded and quickly complied. He collected the various covered trays, moving to place them in several unoccupied seats nearby. He might’ve taken the time to prepare the unfolding tables installed in the car, yet the servant seemed frantic to obey, obviously attempting to redeem himself in Lord Edwards’ all-important perspective. If he succeeded, the doctor didn’t show it, instead maintaining his stern and critical gaze. Once the servant had finished, he returned to his former place beside the cart, staring down at it while he nervously folded his hands behind his back. Edwards stepped out into the aisle with a wide, confident stride, bringing his face to face with the servant, before reaching towards the unoccupied cart, patting his open palm on the barren surface.

“Up you go, servant,” he ordered expectantly. “On your stomach, if you please.”

After a barely discernible nod, the servant obediently resigned himself to stooping over the cart. His chiseled back pressed against the sheer fit of his suit, leaving little of his masculine form to the imagination, and the seat of his pants protruded outward to indicate the impressive girth of the man’s toned rear. It was there that Edwards’ attention seemed particularly focused as the same hand that had batted at the cart’s surface now rubbed the rump in a swirling, sensual fashion. The slave watched the older man caress the stupendous mounds with a strange sense of arousal, the earlier tension fading away from his mind as he became almost entranced by the doctor’s gentle display. The servant appeared likewise pacified by Edwards’ touch, a relaxed smile creeping across his face from the far side of the cart. The car grew quiet as the doctor’s delicate strokes became synchronized with the ambient rumble of the rails. The peaceful air was then promptly broken when Edwards yanked the servant’s suit pants downward. The slave stared wide-eyed, barely noticing the subtle crinkling noise that came with the servant’s undergarment being stripped in tandem with his pants, as the servant’s impressive ass came fully into view. The cheeks were shaved entirely bare, a detail that seemed out of place on a man so masculine, and the care taken to tone the rear was clearly obvious. Edwards seemed to take no time to note any of this, however, but immediately brought his rubbing grasp downward from a wide swoop onto the servant’s bare ass. The suited man yelped in pain, and the slave quickly became alarmed by the bizarre abuse unfolding before him. Despite his orders to sit, he nearly intervened out of the inexplicable kindred he experienced for the servant, yet then he noticed the man’s groin.

Also fully exposed without the decency of his pants to guard him against the slave’s concerned gaze, the servant’s genitalia was on open display, and the seated younger man was shocked by what he saw. The servant, still withstanding repeated blows to his bare bum, was fully erect and leaking copious amounts of precum down the side of the cart creaking beneath his weight. His groans of pain slowly evolved into moans of pleasure, and still vaguely stunned by the servant’s lewd behavior, the slave noticed a growing tightness at the groin of his pants. His history and purpose of Edwards’ personal slave was still blurry in his mind’s eye, yet something seemed appropriate about hearing the servant’s euphoric vocalizations. He began to harbor the notion that pleasure was integral to his role under Lord Edwards, who now eyed his slave with suggestive interest.

“Like what you see, boy?” Edwards asked the slave with a mischievous smile.

“Yes, master,” the slave earnestly replied, unabashedly groping his groin.

“Why not see what was served?” the doctor coyly prompted.

The slave turned to face the silver-domed platter taking up the seat Edwards had vacated moments before. Complying to his master’s mysterious whim, he seized the handle attached to the platter’s cover and pulled it free to reveal the morsel hidden beneath. The slave was astonished to find that the dish held no sustenance, yet bore a single, prodigious dildo in a daring ruby red hue. The phallus was nearly a foot long by the slave’s approximation, an estimate he was foggily able to concoct from his slowly materializing memories and vast sexual experience as Edwards’ personal slave, and was adhered to the silver tray by a powerful suction cup at the dildo’s base. The slave had no idea what to make of the object’s appearance on the plate beside him, yet he noticed his mouth had begun to water in unconscious anticipation. He shifted uncomfortably in his mind, and the slave suddenly realized how empty his ass felt.

"I was hoping to guide you through the entire five course session,” Edwards informed his slave between forceful swats and the resounding moans of the servant, “but since I have my hands full with this very naughty boy, perhaps you might enjoy the show from the window.”

It took the slave only the briefest moment of contemplation before excitedly responding, “Yes, master! Thank you, master!”

Without a second thought, the slave hurriedly plucked the dildo from the platter, rose from his seat, and slapped the suction cup base to the window. He gazed upon his master as he punished the strangely familiar servant like a mere child as he shucked the pants from around his waist, allowing them to fall to the floor and expose his own throbbing erection. The slave showed no hesitation as he leaned backwards, impaling his ass on the window-affixed dildo and moaning as he displayed his anally pleasured rump to the exterior countryside. The concept of exposing himself so publicly upon the order of his master only served to arouse the slave even further, causing his throbbing cock to ooze like the servant whose punishment and humiliation he now pleased himself to. The man formerly known as Victor lapsed further and further into his new whorish identity with every thrust of the ruby red cock, and as he watched his former beloved suffer his pathetic fate in orgasmic pleasure, Victor solidified his place as slave sixty-eight, Edwards’ own sex-obsessed loser.

Hot
Mind control
Wanking material
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