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Verge of Madness 

Schneider’s P.O.V

I was on the verge of madness. The last vestiges of my sanity teetered on the edge of the abyss. Soon the darkness with all its twisting and clawing shadows would rise up to drag me down to hell, and I feared that there would be no escaping it this time round. 

I was being made to pay for all my sins. 

The list of things I wasn’t proud of could fill a novel. Each sin, each act of wickedness, had pushed me further down a path I could never turn back from. Yet, in recent years—and despite my past—I had fought to maintain some semblance of discipline. There was a line I would not cross, could not cross. It had become the code I lived by. Without it, I was nothing but an animal.

But the longer I was held captive, the more that code seemed to unravel. The daily torment chipped away at my resolve and wore at my spirit, eroding the walls I had built to preserve my now seemingly fragile code. It wouldn’t be long now before I broke. I could feel it—this slow descent into madness. Into weakness. Weak to the mental and physical torture. Weak to the pull of temptation…

Oh, sweet, ugly temptation. 

What had thou done to me? 

The slut writhing on my cock moaned, impaling himself deeper on it. 

My body with a mind of its own reacted, a shudder raking me. A shiny sheen of sweat covered every inch of me like a second skin, a result from both the physical strain of sex and the dungeon’s humidity.  

The defiler rode my dick like a champion, milking every rivulet of cum straight into his bowels. 

I grunted and shivered again. The feeling of self-loathing had all but settled in my gut like a viral infection, turning me nauseous. Disgust rippled through me in waves. My body’s reaction to the stranger taking advantage of me was a betrayal to myself, and although I was more than aware that it was involuntary, that it was a chemical reaction, I was still furious at my lack of discipline and restraint. Surely, all those years of self-flagellation, of self-restraint, of self-imposed regimen, would have afforded me more strength and willpower than this. 

I tasted self-disgust anew. 

Like a possessed man, I struggled against the iron restraints keeping me shackled to a rickety wooden chair that squeaked with every forced thrust.  

Control. I must be in control…

But my control, along with my sanity, was slipping. 

In the corner, he sat and watched. He was always watching, waiting for me to break. A man whose patience rivaled my own. A man who was, to my great chagrin, was winning. 

So far I’d managed to resist every interrogation and torture session, but I was afraid I was at my limit. 

The abyss beckoned. 

Pieces of the edge crumbled away beneath my feet.

“How about you imagine it’s that boyfriend of yours? What’s his name?” he purred, the dangerous glint in his eyes promising nothing but malice.

My reaction was immediate—an instinctive switch flipped inside me. Nostrils flaring, my eyes darkened as a storm gathered within, churning with a cold fury. The heat from the sweat that had coated my skin moments before vanished.

A primal coil of danger unfurled deep in my gut, pushing the nausea aside until it was but a distant memory.

I stiffened, every muscle in my body locking into place, as I turned to face him with a gaze sharp enough to cut steel and hot enough to smolder stone. My voice came out low, chilling, laced with a promise of unspeakable retribution should he dare to follow through with his unspoken threat. “Don’t. Speak. His. Name.”

The words hung in the air like a curse.

He was like a beam of light, too pure, too innocent for this place of suffering and degradation. He didn’t belong here, not in this hell. Over my dead, rotting body would I allow him to be dragged into the dark, his light snuffed out by someone like him.

I would burn this place to the ground before I let him touch Julian.

Our eyes locked and a current sizzled between us. 

A deliberately slow smile stretched his lips, and I realized that I was speaking to no man, but an outright devil.  

Fear tightened my spine into a straight rod and dread turned my throat sandpaper dry. I knew, oh I knew, that my threat would not dissuade someone like him. If anything, I had showed my hand, revealing my one true weakness. I silently cursed myself for my foolishness. My wits had all but deserted me, it seemed. 

“Oh, I think you’re craving the company,” he said in a purposefully congenial voice that made teeth grind. “After all, you’ve been so sulky lately. Not very fun.”

It took a great deal of effort to swallow the beastly roar that came bubbling up my throat. 

This was all fun and games to him. He fed off my suffering, nurturing his misguided grudge. 

“I will kill you,” I promised coldly with eyes as cold as ice.  

If it was the last thing I ever did, I was going to sever this man’s head from his neck. 

He laughed and the grating sound made my head pound.

“As I see it, you have two choices,” he said, raising two fingers in the air. He ticked them off one by one as he said, “You can either give up everything you know about your older brother, or I can have your precious Julian brought here. I’m sure Christopher will enjoy the extra company.”

To drive his master’s point home, Christopher, the man writhing on my cock like a wanton bitch, tightened around me, and I nearly erupted. 

“Damn you!” I growled through clenched teeth, fighting down the forced release. Bullets of sweat dribbled down one either side of my face. 

Christopher jabbed a needle in my neck and I felt searing pain shot down my neck, quickly followed by terrible ecstasy. 

“No!” I roared, knowing full well what that injection contained. 

A fucking aphrodisiac. 

It made quick work of me, spreading through my veins with every pump of my pounding heart, muddling my mind, and heightening my senses into a tightly wound thread that needed but a little tug to snap. 

“Now, make your choice,” he said from the shadows, all pretenses of civility gone. He was finally revealing his true colors. All black. Icy eyes devoid of any human feeling stared at me with barely concealed anticipation.  

“You… shriveled cunt,” I cussed through steamy pants. I hated myself for panting, but I hated, no, loathed him even more for being the source of my humiliation and suffering. He was the one to blame for all of this. “You won’t live to regret this.” 

He leaned forward in his seat, shadows deepening around him as his face emerged from the dim corner into the harsh white light of the fluorescent bulbs. 

At the sight of his half-burned face, I made a repulsed face. His jaw ticked. “Come on, it’s been more than a year! Surely you’re tired. Give me your brother and your suffering ends. Give me the man that did this to me. Julian doesn’t have to suffer. Don’t you love him?”