A/N: Well here it is. The Final chapter of this slashy fanfic. I tried my best, which is why it took so long to update!

Warnings: This chapter contains anal rapage, finger sucking, slight BJ and humiliation. As if poor Tarrant didn't need any more after the last chapters.

Rating: R, M, etc.

Pairing: Knave/Hatter.

Other warnings: I am not the most perfect writer. This whole fic abounds with run-on sentences and dramatic short ones. Along with a references to the original novels and Mika, of all things.

Enjoy as I mutilate your AiW. BEGIN FINAL CHAPTER.

He wiped his mouth with the bunches of tea napkins after throwing up unto the tea tray. The cum he was forced to swallow ten minutes ago along with, oh a heaping plate full of terror did not agree with him.

The broken doll was still intact mostly. He most certainly knew he wouldn't for much longer. Alice was somewhere that could not help, but if she came to help he would see him half naked hacking up bit and pieces of tea, semen and his lunch in the farthest corner his leash would reach. The Knave, his 'master' as he told Tarrant was kind enough to acknowledge the croaking hatter's request for a place to vomit. With that sick grin of his, so sick he did. It wasn't much of a lunch anyways.

Stayne returned into the room, relocking the door. No one was around when he sneaked into his room to get some of his supplies. It wasn't much, just a few…things.

His hatter sat at the far corner of the room. He was heaving, recovering from throwing up. The knave set his blanket down on the table and headed over to the painted-whore with the pitcher he brought.

The painted-whore in question turned at the approach of his footsteps. His feet brought him instant bad and arousing memories, especially when Tarrant looked up the long legs to see his half-naked 'master' standing over him with some water. Why would the nasty-faced Knave care this much?

" Here. You need it before we start." The Knave bent and offered the pitcher to his terrified, beautiful darling. Tarrant eyed the water, and broken as he was (plus to spit the taste out of his mouth) he slowly grasped it and huddled the water close to his body. Stayne thought it actually quite cute, but he had other things to do while the hatter prepared himself as best he could.

Tarrant sniffled as the fear was becoming stronger. It was a disease that was spread through his body, infecting him dangerously. The water was tempting and useful as he almost threw up again at the taste in his mouth. He took some and gargled, spitting and doing it over and over again, before taking a much needed drink. After all, besides paranoia a madman has needs.

"M-my Alice w-would not approve." He sighed with defeat. The hatter looked up to find Stayne was indeed resourceful with the time. Stayne had cleared the table and was fixing up the buckles on what appeared to be a gag used in torture. There were a few pillows at an appropriate place on the table where a smaller man would presumably lay his head on. Finally there were dark metal shackles set aside for particular wrist shapes.

All this time the Knave was eyeing him, his hands at work fiddling with the gag, as if he was contemplating when and how to stuff it in the hatter's mouth…

Tarrant wished he didn't appear ready. He stood up, still chained by the leg and moved away from his mess. Stayne's expression was a devious smirk. Tarrant's was of a frightened boy. This toying, this pause between rape was only another aspect of the game Stayne played with his mouse. The un-satisfied cat, preying upon him, needed to satisfy his hunger that swelled in his pants.

His mouse, too, was quite hungry in a way more terrifying than the hatter wished to comprehend.

Stayne signaled his readiness by striding over to the mouse slowly with purposed steps. Night had long sense fallen and the candles burned brightly, casting the orange glow all over the pale body of his lovely 'dinner'. Indeed he was a marvelous sight to behold. The candles flickered an extra orange-glow in his dear's already orange hair. The frizzy curls stuck out all over seemed to be a halo of fire around the painted face. Tarrant's chest was already heaving because of his racing heart. The body was also delightful, a creamy color of flesh with a pinkish-tinge that made him seem in-human. The feast of the sight of flesh ended at the green pants which were tight around his hips and groin, ending a bit more than mid-shin in a strange way. The hatter's feet were still bare from when he had the 'event' earlier.

Our frightened hatter shook at the knees. As the swaggering Knave came closer and closer the hatter instinctually backed up until he could not anymore, not even reaching the wall. His eyes were gazing at the magnificence of his form, how lanky but strong, powerful his balance was. Broad chest of alabaster, his dark raven locks, his noble and arched nose, the black eye patch and the burning eye…and his face, his mouth neither grinning nor frowning yet. Regardless his lips were thick and sensual glistening with wetness. Tantalizing, appealing, and threatening.

Soon Stayne was right in front of him, glaring him down hungrily. Tarrant was belittled and even more frightened, but his mouth was salivating. Feet and lips went together in his head to form a mold of what he wanted. Another thing he also wanted, but feared. To be raped, to be forced and take it hard and hit.

That was exactly what Ilosovic Stayne was going to do.

"Oh…why…why…" He wailed as Stayne circled him. His rapist ignored his rhetohorical question as he looked over the beauty of the smaller man. Strong, limber, ungainly, and colorful. With those awful pants hiding his dignity and what he was safe to assume would be lovely legs and ass, he continued to subjugate his pet in a terrifying manner.

Tarrant stood his ground as Stayne once more was behind him. This time though he felt even less dignity: He felt he was just a piece of meat, a dress hung up to dry after being dipped in munter-sauce…all sorts of metaphors that he just came up with in his fear. Because that was what he was, a slut, Stayne's private whore.

"Ahh!" He cried when Stayne reached and grabbed his rear. The large hands massaged and roughly fondled his flanks. Tarrant began to jump away but was pulled back. Stayne snaked a hand around his hip, the warm arm against Tarrant's sensitive groin. He squeaked, held in place squirming where he stood as thick hands abused his rump.

"You have such largeness…" The venomousness voice purred, slick and malicious above and behind Tarrant. Stayne stood tall above him radiating heat from his chest to the cold, shivering back of the Hightopp. Tarrant was blushing and whimpering in fear as he experienced rude hands cupping, pinching and feeling the cloth-covered flesh. It felt so hard, rough and good to him…logic still didn't return home, so Tarrant now was accepting his fate as one who was enjoying his helplessness.

"I want to bury myself in you. I want to be inside your tightness…" Stayne blurted out and bent to nuzzle his hair. The man shivered beneath him as his hands ran up and down his thighs as he sharply inhaled the hair's scent. It was quite a delicious, an almost citrus, tea-scent, and floral. The man must have slept on a pillow of petals for all he knew. And now that orange hair was caressing his hardened cheek as he nuzzled and buried himself into it. His pet was non-resisting at the moment, accepting the fingers and hands at his rear to his fate, and the head in his hair.

Stayne had enough of the pants and his pet gasping with fear. He moved his hands to the front of the quivering man, and proceeded to rip the fly apart.

"WAHAAA!" Tarrant cried and grabbed Stayne's hands. He looked down to see the buttons had flown off and Stayne's hands were roughly pulling apart the front, exposing his semi-hard dick. He was sure the pause was because Stayne was busy studying his package. It abruptly ended when those large hands, oh so caressing, rubbed his heaving body, traced down his flexing stomach and teased the orange curls around his slowly rising organ. Tarrant was 'happy' indeed.

Stayne was quite surprised at the length of the hatter. Large for his size and already hardening it aroused him at how beautiful and yet so small it was. Insignificantly-sized compared to his massive cock (that tightened in his pants) eager to cause the Hightopp to shriek with orgasm. Currently his rabbit was squirming in his tight hold, feeling indeed the massive cock against his lower back as those larges hands seemed to swallow up his manhood.

"….." Tarrant shot his head back. He stared up at the Knave while his eyes threatened to shut at the wave of touch. Stayne had leaned over him having Tarrant's head tilted to the side to accommodate him as he peered down, pleasure obvious in his facial features, fondling and stroking the means to Tarrant's end. "….ah….nnnn…nnnnnnn…"

Tarrant shut his eyes and moaned. It was more intense than a foot had ever been. More pleasure than the teasing of a boot. And twice as electrifying and frightening, at the intensity, of someone touching him there that was not his own hand or a red velvet chair. If he hadn't been so afraid and dominated by the alpha-male, he would have come already.

The hands pumped him and teased him. Stayne's thumb kneaded his sensitive head causing the hatter to buck and claw. The rabbit was losing balance and was completely dependent upon the stature of the Knave behind him to keep him from falling to the floor. Hands still half-gloved reached about and gripped the arms, feeling them move as the muscles worked. The pumping intensified and he moaned again…up and down he belted out a high-pitched moan with each motion.

The only sounds, if one dared to listen at the door, would be what sounded like a woman with a frightening-moan, heavy masculine breathing, oily-voiced naughty words and the sound of pumped flesh.

Tarrant might as well been a weak creature of the female sex, what with his failing wailing voice and feminine form thrusting into the large hand.

Stayne burned and groaned watching his 'lover' writhe and fight the pleasure. The resistance the hatter put up against the overwhelming sensations was making his moans twice as painful, his breath twice as labored, his hands gripping his supporting arm like he was in the clutches of death…but oh, his face, red and white as the man stared at the ceiling choking, sputtering, wailing his cries. The Knave, foul as he was encouraged the dose of shame and hurt by spoonfuls of words.

"Slut…whore…you like that do you hatter? Oh you little fucking bitch…that's right, cry, no one cares except me. I'm going to make you come and you're going to like it. I know you will you crazy…dirty…freak…bastard…"

He knew Stayne was there. Stayne was actually there. His body, felt complete at the pain. It came from all sides of pain, humiliation, shame and those biting words that indeed he felt dirty, a slut, a whore, a whimpering girl.

Alice would not approve.

"I'm…I'm a slut…s-s…Stayne…" He blurted out from the pressure…and the vigorousness of the hand milking his throbbing.

"Yes you are." He replied breathlessly and licked the top of his head.

His foot-whore curled his toes and arched violently when the Knave tugged and squeezed him with a surprising, almost climatic motion. His sight was lost and he cried out. It was muffled when he bit Stayne's arms, gnawing and muffling himself and his 'slutty' behavior.

The man being bitten in question growled and moaned breathlessly from the pleasure of the nibbling. Noting how Tarrant's feet were twisting, he soon connected that feet and suckling said-feet were supplementing his diet of sex.

Tarrant's mouth was prodded by Stayne's fingers. Whimpering 'Stayne' again his mind was going blank, the pleasure at an almost complete level. Images of blooming eye-flowers and mindless rutting was in his head. Not even his usual words were forming. His bucking went faster and faster as craved the willing release from Stayne's hands. Instinct took over. He sucked those fingers, those tasty cherry-flavored flesh that he immediately imagined a foot. Cries, moans and almost screaming was muffled from the fingers wriggling around his tongue in suction.

Abruptly it stopped.

"….nnnnnn…." Moaned the hatter. He finally was able to breathe better as he came down from his almost-high. The fingers he occupied himself with continued to do so as he gasped and wrapped his tongue around them. Quickly his throbbing need began to ache, along with his light-headed head at the lack of continued pleasure. In fact he would have to say that this time it hurt worse than he ever imagined.

Stayne's hand was a bit glad he stopped, though it really didn't take much for the smaller man to scream so much. The music of his moans was even more delicious than earlier when Tarrant writhed upon the floor…moaning like a loose woman. He smirked at the memory, and scooped him up in his strong arms when Tarrant started to fall and slide down his body.

Tarrant opened his eyes when the fingers were removed and found he was lifted up off the ground, almost bridal style in the long arms. He was a bit sweaty from the exertions of trying to stand up straight during the whole burning ordeal. He felt even the fast heartbeat of his captor as he was pressed close to the naked chest. Within seconds he was carried over to the table. Hard fine varnished wood covered with a red blanket and pillows scattered about. It was like a platform for...

"…no."

"No what?" Stayne replied with the slick and sly voice. He set his hatter on the table edge and before the orange man could protest again he was pushed down. Tarrant was flat on his back, a hand on his chest keeping the man down. Not as if Tarrant was immediately struggling in the first place, though. Tarrant was still hard, needy and laying there with his legs up and spread for any sort of entry the tall dark man chooses.

Tarrant hadn't fully given up however, as he squirmed and became less blushingly aroused. Resistance became futile in the moment when the Knave removed his hand and went to his own pants, pulling them off quickly. Now Tarrant was whimpering, staring once more at the length of the Knave that was eager to be buried inside him.

He became harder at the sight, breathing faster and faster as he began to imagine what the scoundrel would do to him. He imagined himself writhing beneath him on his back, legs spread and kicking as he felt a hard hot cock tearing his insides. …ohmy…that…that is…w-wrong…

"No. P-please." Tarrant stammered. His plea for begging it to not happen served as a hidden 'yes'.

Stayne clucked his tongue with a lusty smile. Simply the lips seemed, as Tarrant quickly hallucinated when he began to cry again for some emotional reason, to drip the oily tea, like his intentions were made perfectly manifest in the visual form of slick pulsing liquid of the devil.

"First, dear, your pants…"

Stayne reached and quickly, roughly, tugged the pants off his hapless hatter. The fabric met only sudden short resistance when Tarrant kicking out and grabbed, trying to keep them on.

He smirked at his pet fighting him again. How he missed resistance…

"A-Alice won't approve! P-please, PLEASE!" Tarrant was going frightened again. The suspense and the manner in which Stayne dominated him was intoxicating and frightening more so than ever before. His body was completely 100% exposed…as was the Knave. Both naked, pale skin-to-skin.

"Alice doesn't have to know. But its not Alice you should be worried about." The vile man reached out and grabbed his length to get another favorable reaction to emphasize his point.

Oh…oh…He whimpered and shut his legs. His pants were thrown off leaving his legs freely seen, shaking and pale. Nervousness came in waves with the flushing heat of two body parts: his blushing face and his pitiful erection. Pitiful in comparison that is. Stayne was almost twice as big. And the big hand that held him completely…

Tarrant was once again manipulated and stroked into pleasure once more. The aching grew and with it his words of protest into soft moans. He lost the use of his jaw for such things, it was now loose and spouting sounds of sex frequently more than he'd have liked.

"I hate you." He hissed out. His lip hurt as he bit it, staring down frightened at Ilosovic's hands touching his genitalia. The pulsing intensified, his moans rising in pitch as the fright levels built again. This time he was even more trapped. The cunning wolf had him pinned on a table. In fact he was comfortably pinned down because when he threw his head back, in a violent yank, it hit a pillow.

What a whore I am to him. He gives me all the trimmings and trappings of a bed. The freak nuzzled it and used it as leverage when his master gave another stomach-curling yank. He dug his face into it muffling the moan.

"Don't get too comfy princess." The tall man growled with delight. He was very satisfied with how things turned out perfectly. Just perfect.

Stayne lowered his hands down his honeysuckle's thighs. They lingered at the tight knees that seemed to be attempting to stick themselves together with some sort of glue that wasn't there. "No matter…" he growled suggestively to himself. He pulled his sweet harlot closer to him and, with a leg swinging over unto the table he pounced the man with a kiss.

Tarrant screamed into his mouth at the surprise. He struggling, writhing while the tall man growled in his throat during the ordeal. His head was grasped by the hair again, oh my hair! Oh! And his mouth open to the tongue. Knave conquered him easily with sweeps of the probing protuberance. Tasting tea and honey…sweet honey, sweet whimpers and skittish moans, silk-smooth skin under his hands as they traversed the small body.

The man was not without his strengths. Tarrant bucked and wriggled from the electricity being jolted into him from the tongue and heavy lips attacking his own. However upon doing so his own organ was being tortured by the friction of Stayne's abs against him. The ache, it burned him. The more he struggled and grappled the Knave (more like hugging and bringing the large man closer against his trembling form, instead of trying to claw his skin off) the more contact he had. He bucked one final time when Stayne intensified the slippery tongue battle, fully aware now that it burned him with ecstasy. He cried out long and hard when Stayne, the sexual bastard that he is slipped his hand under his back. It brought his little man close and pressed hard against his body, prolonging the squeal.

Tarrant sucked in air and continued to writhe and gasp, half-insane from the hand that squeezed his rump and ground his lower-body against rock hard muscles. He was left to smother into the crook of Ilosovic's neck, gasping and taking in the musky scent he craved. That scent that was the ingredient in madness. All he thought was madness and aching need. Breathing, madness, sex and grinding the frictional-place to get more of the vile sexual ache.

The madman whimpered when the hand went to his hips and flipped him over.

THUD. Whimper. Trembling anew. The hair tickled his back because his raven-man grasped his shoulders and began licking patterns down his back. Tarrant arched and stretched out to fight him. Stayne had none of that and pinned his arms down. The spine was lavished and licked, his back covered with sloppy hurried, frenzied kisses. His throbbing just stuck at the edge of the table and his body being caressed, stroked, rubbed in all the ways of the Knave. His skin was on fire and the tongue slavering his spine, up and up till it reached his ear was terrifying. The man whimpered beneath such might and such little things the other had just done to him, and will do even more.

His ear was suckled and ravished with attention. Tarrant whimpered and bent, which gave him more access to his neck and cheeks. How they yearned for the abuse the dark man gave him. At last, his body betrayed through tears and soft noises what he wanted. Stayne knew it full and aware: Tarrant writhed beneath him both in pleasure and in fear. He wanted and yet did not want.

"You want it don't you?" His midnight lover purred in his ear. Tarrant did want it, he wanted him to continue nibbling and biting his jaw line…

But he dared not say it. Yet.

"You want me…" He drawled and pressed against Tarrant's exposed body. He knew he'd meet with a sound of resistance, and there it was, an audible gasp as he rubbed his aching manhood against his beautiful bottom. "….to fuck you."

Pausing, Tarrant's breathing hitched. He raised his arms and clung to the pillow beneath his head as be buried himself in it.

"Isn't that right Tarrant?"

The Tarrant in question shivered at the use of his name. Ilosovic's voice was malicious and husky, no doubt because he also was filled with distracting lust. The little man whined as those marvelous hands went down his sides, tickling him slightly as they went along.

He commanded again. "Answer me."

Tarrant couldn't say it, so instead he shook his head. This earned a sudden suction at his neck: Stayne latched unto him growling like a ravenous leech, suckling and nipping at his skin in a frenzy! He fidgeted and whimpered loudly underneath the onslaught. His hands how they reached behind to cry and get him, but his left hand was pinned down, his right flailing and clawing the table as he experienced the over-load. His demon lover let him writhe and feel the full extent of the lips and tongue he craved on his flesh.

"When you lie, it only makes the taste sweeter." He suckled the flesh where he bit. Each bite left a mark and a choked gasp. Marks that he owned this little man's body and soul. My prisoner…

He truly did taste like honey. And when he licked his fingers and sought out the tight place he would violate, he knew his voice would fully be as sweet as honey in his ears.

Tarrant laid there moaning. He took it all in, his tongue and large mouth bruising him with pleasure. He mewed like a kitten but breathed hard with lust as he throbbed, almost painfully on the table. The sensations traveled through his skin and body warming him and pleasing him. That hand was abusing his flesh, if 'abuse' was truly the right word. It was wet now, and the thick finger plunged insi-

"NYAH! NO!" Tarrant yelped and arched back! The intrusion was quick and a bit painful, stretching him as he tightened and squirmed around it. No one but himself had even 'been there' before, and with only two fingers, at the most he'd ever done in his experimenting, it was shocking. Electric. Painful. Sudden, slick and in as far as the finger could go.

"Beautiful hatter, keep going!" Stayne laughed and leered. He kept his finger in the tightness while the Hightopp squirmed and squealed, saying 'no' over and over again. He planted one final kiss on his shoulder before rearing up and back on his feet, one hand keeping his prey down while the other was busy wriggling in the tight little ass. The entire procedure, the thrusting and prodding his finger did inside him elicited the most delicious sounds of shocking sexual torture he ever heard from anybody.

The hatter certainly kept going with his 'beautiful' sounds. He tried to move to his sides and curl up, to roll away, but he was held down. There was just enough strength on his lower back to keep him from doing so. He kicked out and curled his toes at particularly stretching movements. It was getting hard to relax when the tears continued, crying and realizing that indeed Stayne would take him in a way very much violating. Like he wanted…no, that he SHOULD NOT want.

Stayne now slipped in two fingers. More gasps and trembling ensued.

"N-no…I can't…S-Stayne…oh LISTILVER!" Tarrant hissed and moaned, painfully when they further stretched him.

"Relax my nonsensical creature." Ilosovic cooed and caressed his body more nicely. Tarrant's suffering under this onslaught was wearing the man down, that is in the dominating sort of way. Stayne used his words carefully to cause enough power, evil and slickness to control the man beneath him. Tarrant was quite controlled.

Soon enough after some other mumbled words of dominating encouragement he felt the Hatter give way to his fingers. Tarrant now lay trembling, relaxing and accepting the fate as quickly as he had screamed and fought it. Sweet little Tarrant now buried his face into the pillow, sobbing and chewing the fabric. His moans were stuttering as he choked on his little sobs. The creamy skin paled considerably as he accepted his submission.

Now with three fingers, slipping more easily into the relaxed hatter, he knew the man was ready. Actually he wasn't, but it was as close to ready as he ever could be.

Tarrant moaned softly into the pillow when his rapist slipped his fingers out. His void felt a bit empty, he was just starting to like the feelings the fingers gave. Alas they were no longer there. He knew what was next. He felt the heat slip between his cheeks, wet and lubed from the container Stayne picked up, two large hands prying him apart…and that's when he knew there would be something bigger and worse to be shoved up inside him. He didn't know if he could relax himself to accept it.

He shuddered violently and curled the pillow in his arms, in a small attempt to hide his shame as he spread his quivering legs apart. The tip was already prodding itself inside and those large hands pulled him apart for the taking. What he would experience would be forever remembered as the day he was fully violated in more ways than the destruction of all he held dear…it was the destruction of his own sanity.

Tarrant had no warning. With a grunt Stayne slipped inside his darling honeysuckle all the way. It took a few seconds as he immersed himself into the writhing tightness, till his groin was pressed against the soft round bottom. Beneath him the man arched and wailed to the heavens in a long, aching cry. It ended after awhile, which Stayne didn't mind at all the length of his howl, with slow steps into sobbing and squealing. Tarrant's arms shot out and grappled the table cloth/blanket to steady himself, to watch him claw and flex his body at the long, heavy intrusion inside. Ilosovic enjoyed the whole thing, his hands gripping his boney hips to keep him steady while he purred with pleasure. He even decided he didn't even need to use the gag on him, his hatter was just fine the way he was screaming.

Tarrant's mind was whirling. Heat and stretching tore at his senses at the overload of nerves and terrified wonder. He had never been filled so complete and so hurt and blanked with suffering…

"…oh…" The pale man stammered out in his sweet voice. He realized, over his gasping, gulping need for air and wet nose he was no longer able to talk properly. Another squeal came as the Knave slipped out…and thrust back in. Tarrant obliged him with another wail. "Ahhhh! Ah!"

"Tight…little…slut…" Stayne grunted as he began to pull halfway out, and powerfully thrust his in, pull out, and in, out and in…a hard, slow rhythm that rocked the body he was fucking into spasms and squealing, Tarrant being ground into the table with each heavy thrust. It milked him of his voice, and his body arched and quaked to take it all in with each, deft movement.

His every string was being bowed like a master at his cello, droning out heavy, deep resounding notes with calculated, heavy movements.

Stayne could not keep this up for long. His masterful strokes that caused so much torture was not causing the full amount of pleasure he needed. Stayne uttered a soft cry when he picked up the pace, pulling Tarrant's hips out and in as he stood immersed in the tight channel. Tarrant squealed like a pig.

"W-WILL YOU P-PLEASE STOP R-RAPING ME?" Tarrant was going to ask politely but it turned into a loud stammering cry, ruining the demanding tone he tried to convey. His body shook with each pummel as it picked up the pace and sensation. His voice and moans were shaking and his brain wiggling loose in his head.

"Dear Tarrant…heh…its too late my…sweet…" He was amused instead of obliging, snickering in between his words and groans. His small laughter cowed the hatter even further.

Ilosovic's voice was even more terrifying. His usual weasly sound was huskier and wispier, deeper and penetrating his ear in a soul-crushing way. As he lay there with the barrage of thrusting he couldn't help but continue to cry.

Then it hit him. He choked again, coughing as his body revolted with familiar pleasure. A place he was never touched was struck when Stayne's cock angled a bit. He throbbed and coughed again, hiding his girlish moan in an act of intense concentration despite the distractions.

Stayne's grip had just moved to the man's shoulders when he realized he hit it. The two coughs had a distinct ring of gut-wrenching pleasure. Pausing his thrusts he angled and shifted about, trying to find it again. He did, and this time hatter could not cough to cover it up. It was truly a pure moan.

"My oh my what a sight…" Ilosovic cooed triumphantly. He slowly moved, stroking his honeysuckle's insides fueling more moans. Tarrant gasped and bit into the pillow to gag himself. Still he continued to voice the pleasure. His drool from his lax mouth and burning body seemed to metaphorically drip the last of his brains.

"Don't hide it from me Tarrant!" The man growled and ripped the merciful pillow from the teething hatter. Now, at last, the hatter's moans were clear and loud, leaving him nothing to fully hold unto.

Tarrant needed substance, both hand, foot and mouth. Stayne thrust hard in that moment causing the hatter to buck and moan again…and again…and again, Stayne's manhood stroking his little prostrate into excitement.

Stayne felt the quivering underneath his hands as he throttled himself inside the submissive man. Tarrant's moans and squeals were the most delightful sounds he had ever heard. Better than when he licked his feet, even sweeter and mind-blowing when he stroked him…no, when they shared the same pleasure, inside his lithe and feline body, the man was at his most broken.

The hatter was no more. He was no longer a Hightopp, nor human, nor of Wonderland or Underland…he was in these moments a pitiful creature who enjoyed himself and soaked up the pleasure of being victimized.

A whining kicking rabbit, who's feet were sorely left out of the pleasure and rough movements inside him. The snare that captured him was the mere sound of his voice.

A mounted cat in heat by the Tom who clawed his back, regardless of the lack of Tarrant's female body parts.

Prey for the tall midnight wolf.

A whore.

"I c-c-c-can't f-fight a-anymore!" He whimpered out when his rapist oh my glorious master leaned in to fuck him at a vigorous pace, hot breath at the back of his head and neck. His own erection was hurt and aching, un-satisfied against the edge of the table as he was ground into the table. No pillow, no nothing…his mouth, he wanted to muffle his cries, to suck something, anything…that's where his hand went. Another wave of pleasure and he lost himself to suckle his fingers.

"You are…denying yourself…still…what a lie, slut…" Grunted the Knave, riding the little orange pony. "Keep fighting…I love it…"

"S-slut…" The pony 'neighed' back, lost and rutting for more friction.

"Yes you are. Fucking slut. Tea-drinking pansy…"

"I…I…am a slut…" The pony 'whinnied' dejected and blushing. The simple words and accepting such a horrific station in life, which would describe how wanton his inexperienced actions of sex sounded like, made him arouse even more. The way each movement inside that shifted back and forth, at excruciating speed, threatened him closer and closer to his shameful orgasm.

"Yes…yesss…" Stayne growled and chuckled again. His thick hands massaged the back of the finger-sucking, tear-cheeked slut. He was close, but not close enough. The tight channel took his entire girth very well, with PLENTY of protest. Sweet sounds of sex, moaning, of fluids and flesh, grunts and the table creaking. Tarrant just about chewed his own fingers off. He couldn't even hear properly anymore, he was so close…just a hand down there and…

Stayne's mouth was hungry. What better to take the hatter than to face his beautiful eyes in the midst of such pleasure?

Tarrant felt half relieved when he pulled out. His body began to ring with soreness, emptiness and unsatisfication. The pony was now spending time gasping to gain his breath back, to calm down from the storm of the gut-eating margarine-wasps that fluttered in his stomach. It was short lived though for the limp sweaty ragdoll.

He was turned over, now facing the ceiling and his chest cooled from the air upon it. His hands moved from their place at his sides up to his body. He clutched his fingers, twisting their wet-selves in nervous agitation. He had every reason too, for he looked down (after wiping his eyes with the back of his hand) to fully see what was going on. Stayne was glistening with sweat and, the lower area, large swollen and slick. Those hands, torturously tempting went up his shaking legs, lifting them up and over his broad shoulders. Looking further up despite previous warnings to himself, Tarrant quaked at the sight and sensation of his thighs against his chest and his feet up in the air: his legs could not reach and dangle over Ilosovic's broad shoulders.

"Your lips quiver when you're frightened." The midnight man huffed, his hands up and down the sweet thighs. He nuzzled his darling's shin, licking the skin. Sensation clouded him as he only tasted sweet honey and flesh. He peeked his eye open to find Tarrant was now chewing his fingernails, twitching as he watched the thick tongue dart up the side of the ungainly calf.

Tarrant's feet begged to be licked once more. The tongue teased him and he tensed and wriggled his feet, allowing the exaggerated sensation of wet tongue to make him burn even more. His eyes, so wide and watching, became rested: eyes half closed as he gurgled a moan when that sweet thick tongue and hands bent it down, to suckle the foot.

It was sweet as honey. The dark man delighted himself sampling the foot once more, sending the hatter closer to the edge. Alas he himself was near the edge and was getting cold without the tightness of his little rabbit…he moaned around the toes just thinking it again, swaying where he stood, suckling. Tarrant could certainly do without a mouth on his foot when Stayne would ride him to a gallop…

Tarrant began to cry again. The momentary lapse of reason was breaking through as throbbing pain and pleasure came from below. What a slut, what a slut indeed to crave him hurting him, to lick his feet as if it was sweet candy. It was already true before, how could he change it now? Stayne fucking him was the fantasy he craved. Stayne hurting him, over and over, taunting as he would drive him to a dubious climax…

His darling hatter moaned and shifted on the table. The little pony was impatient. Of course, Ilosovic was too, and as he reluctantly licked his lips from the foot he reached down, scissoring the rectum open again. The affect was delicious for his pony, who sniffled and placed his hands to his sides, gripping the edge of the table for support. The knuckles were already white and his sweet painted lips wide for breathing and moaning. Tarrant's blush was the main indicator of his enjoyment of the abuse.

"Say my name." Stayne commanded, sending a shiver down Tarrant's spine.

Tarrant's fight was still there however. It wouldn't go away, for it was quite necessary for the full enjoyment of this sadistic sex. He shut his lips, breathing hard through his nose. Stayne's tip was just inside, pulsing and teasing, threatening a moan from the rebellious hatter.

"Say it. Slut. Scream it." Stayne was even more thrilled at the refusal, the pony not answering his calls. A little encouragement of the physical sort was needed. His hands would supply that.

The hatter grunted and bucked slightly, moving away from the threatening penis at the feathery caress of the larger man. Tarrant removed his fingers, quivering and biting his hand to muffle himself. His own penis throbbed harder and harder as he was stroked once more. Those hands teased up his body, tickling and caressing his average belly and chest. His squeak was loud to his own ears when Stayne bent over more and tweaked his nipples, tugging and twisting with a smirk. He stared at his hungry expression, the teeth in the smile glinting in the orange light. It made him blush more, bite harder and tuck his legs back up in defense against the lust trying to kill his brain.

"The more you fight…the more I enjoy it. You don't want me to enjoy it, do you?" The Knave savagely growled.

Actually I do. But Tarrant couldn't say it, it would ruin everything. His eyes welled up with another batch of tears at this. His hand now dreadfully hurt and he removed it. Unfortunately that had an opposite effect because, his lips free and non-biting, were licked. Stayne's presence in his face, tasting the hint of flavor came as quick as it left. Tarrant barely had time to exclaim his arousing shock when another shock came, also arousing. His foul-minded Knave went to his nipples that were previously pinched and were bitten, licked and suckled in the small moments. His body exploded with heat and he revolted this, squirming and grabbing Stayne.

It had been so few times Tarrant had touched the Red Knave on purpose. In the dungeon he was strung up so he couldn't. Just earlier it was merely the feet, legs, abs and cock he was forced to engulf. Then his sides and muscled lengthy arms, but he could not comprehend the feeling of them under his hands. Now he had almost hugged the villainous man in his attempt to claw and push him off.

He realized this as he grasped the scalp. The hair upon his head was wispy, black and thick, inky and silky as he clawed the Knave's scalp. He gasped, other than the sensation of his left nipple so clamped between teeth, at this, and for a few seconds forgot the purpose of why his hands were running through his enemy's gorgeous hair.

Stayne was quite aware of the hatter pawing his hair and scalp. However, he was quite the dominant and knew the hatter was not 'distracted' enough to fully be pawing my hair, clinging and erratic breathing in sex, screaming…and so he was not fully entranced by this behavior. A quick glance up confirmed the curious and flabbergasted look in the wet grass-green eyes. The slender hands continued to run and caress his hair and cheekbones, sending pleasant sensations. In fact there was a soft purr from Tarrant's chest as he felt a bit of odd happy distraction…

It ended abruptly. Stayne scowled and nipped and licked his way down the citrus kitten's chest. Another pulse of blood to his manhood came with each tensing and 'nng!' of the hatter, suffering from the dull bites that reddened his flesh. Stayne kept back a groan of pleasure to maintain control and on-task: to hear his slave submit and say his name as he did times before…

Hatter's attention lapsed into mindless pleasure again. He felt wetness, heat, and the distinctly a tongue and…teeth…!

"STAYNE! OW! AHH!" The man dared not buck into the toothed maw. It ground and made an unpleasant sensation around his immersed manhood. The dull teeth gnawed the cock, the tongue soothing and lapping around the shaft of the quivering hatter. Stayne pulled away, smirking as he licked the precum from the tip.

"More hatter, more." He growled pleased. Tarrant, once started saying the name could not stop. The Knave continued to bless his erection with his mouth. It was even sweeter than his toes. It fit nicely in his mouth and the back of his throat, not too big but not too insignificantly small. Up and down he went, keeping his unblinking gaze upon the features of Tarrant as the poor man belted out his name.

It felt better than a hand. It was warm and suckling him. His voice and body was being milked by the mere mouth of the enemy. Tarrant forced his eyes open, breathlessly saying Stayne over and over again in his soft voice. Daring once more to look he looked down…this was helped at a powerful force of suction the Knave gave, making Tarrant reel with ecstasy.

"…S-Stayne…ah…" Tarrant gasped out and reached to the Knave. He once more grasped the silky hair, watching and gripping as the head moved up and down on his shaft. Stayne bobbed up and down, his lips tight around the swollen member, the tongue easily slipping around the hot flesh. The more Tarrant squealed his name the more he sucked. It was quite easy, considering how a bit larger he was in comparison.

Hatter felt even more pleasured when he began bucking with abandon, thrusting into the wet cavern that suckled him. It was because the midnight man with his ever-burning gaze stared unceasingly at him. Watching him moan and shake as he wrapped his legs over the tall man's shoulders. Squealing, moaning the name over and over with the welcomed pain throughout. Hating it was wanting it, wanting it was not wanting…it reached equilibrium in the ensuing moments, as he fucked that mouth, toes and foot against the bent back of the man, and his limits so close…

Once more the Knave denied him satisfaction.

Tarrant was so mindless it took him a few seconds to slow down his thrusting. He peeked an eye open realizing he was trying to make love to the air. Stayne chuckled and licked his lips, watching the man's blush return. This display of helplessness was simply divine. The hatter was completely under his control at last. Needing him. Needing his touch and sex.

…no…what have I done to deserve this…he wailed in his head, as he wailed pitifully aloud. His cock burned and seemed to be on fire. He could barely feel when Stayne mounted him once more, leaning over him as the savage man began to stretch him once more. Another coat of lube was applied, another breath, and another howl from his drying throat as he entered him once more.

"Tight…tight…ah yes." Stayne murmured as he began to throttle him. No mercy this time, no pause to get ready. His whore was willing to take anything. In fact the whore liked it: squealing and moaning and his legs parting for it. Tarrant's tears would seem to say no but, in twisted half-logic, Tarrant embraced the sex. It all meant yes, hurt me.

Fuck me you giant of a man. Tear my body apart.

Stayne closed his eye with a groan as he delved with speed into the vessel. The thoughts coursed through his brain as he imagined the hatter chanting them into his ear.

You burned my village. Now burn my body with your sex.

"Stayne…h-h…har…hard…er…" The Hightopp whimpered, constricted with hurtful pleasure.

I don't really deserve this, but I am after all your prisoner. I've annoyed you all these years, unintentionally flirting my body in front of you.

The Knave chuckled. The tone of the hatter's moans and the begging for more and more was different. It was arousing. Submissive. Breathless and sounding like the hatter was just killing himself saying such things. He obliged and leaned over, able to penetrate deeper.

I know where Alice is. That fucking little girl in that pretty blue, but you're going to have to break me first. Perhaps I'll sing, tell her where she is. Just a little harder and I'll be your slave. I'll lick your boot. I'll even wear her dress when you kill her. It won't match my eyes though.

Ilosovic freely panted. His elbows rested on the table, his feet planted on the floor as he fucked the living daylights out of his pony. Tarrant arched and threw his head back, moaning 'h…hhh…har…haa…' unable to finish the word. His face was the most beautiful masterpiece ever painted, and the tightness around his throbbing cock…priceless.

Hatter by day. Your pet at night. I'm screaming out to you from the depths of your phallocentric tyranny. You Knave, you scoundrel…how…how savage! You're only going to hurt me. I must be hurt. Hurt me.

Tarrant's lips burned for Stayne's, or at least a foot. That cherry dark flesh of lips he wanted, badly. Simply the passionate growls and moans of the oily-voice that panted above his face just inches away was not satisfying his need to be pleasured…certainly the need to be dominated was sufficient.

Your hair is like the raven. Fuck me on a writing desk.

Stayne grunted as he rocked back and forth, letting the friction lull him to near orgasm. Tarrant's moaning was erratic along with his breathing and his toes curled into twisting shapes in the air. Sweat glistened again on their bodies. One erection sheathed inside while another was teasingly being sometimes touched by the convulsing abs that provided the power behind the thrusts.

Ahh! I'm your slut. Oh…ooh…make me bleed…and I will make you come…

"Oh f-f-futterwacken…" His slave wailed and coughed, indicating the spot was now being reached to excruciatingly sexual heights. Stayne grinned and almost drooled on him, as pleasured as he was, noticing the painted lips smile briefly. Only making him enjoy this more as he continued the sexcapade.

Vent your frustrations upon me. Crush me under the heel, whip my undeserving body. Watch it flinch and squirm. I'm mad you know, it's okay, I'm already too damaged to repair.

Stayne was distracted with his arousing thoughts and fucking, which he, mad with pleasure, accepted the Hatter's mouth. Tarrant had reared up and wrapped his arms around the torso and had smashed his lips against his. Considering how bent Stayne was and his head lowered to enter the small man, Tarrant was at a barely perfect height to snog the tall man. Tarrant's hands tingled when he wrapped around and was close against the large chest, and his mouth and tongue needingly kissing the man.

I'm quite full of surprises when I get used to things.

The Knave, pleasured at the mouth, accepted the act of submission with gusto. He tongued the man back, exploring the small mouth as he continued the rhythm. Saliva sweet with pleasure and honey 'gasmed his taste buds. The other tongue wriggling and fighting his as he swept the inside cheek and tea-stained teeth was even more delightful. Stayne shivered at his shoulders as he grabbed the nest of Tarrant's hair and pushed down, the collision making a thud. Tarrant's head was supported on the table as the vicious Knave raped his mouth. Tarrant mewed, mewling and kissing back with eager hunger. Saliva was exchanged, their nether's pleasured, his mouth open to the invasive tongue that fed him. Stayne was rewarded with purrs again, sudden and dissipating quickly when his thrusts shut his voice. Ilosovic was free to moan as loudly as he wanted, as weak and pleasured as he could because the mouth muffled his own cries, and Tarrant's own shaking feminine sounds were loud enough.

Tarrant shook and lost control of his vocal box when the sex turned into wild fucking. The table creaked and vibrated under the onslaught. His member was aching worse and worse, the sensation in his gut and tightening balls cleared every thought from his mind. Both were sharing rapid breaths. Stayne kissed him once more before letting out a cry, shaking and close himself. Tarrant cared not for the weakness, he didn't even see his pleasured red face. All he felt was his prostrate and anus being molested at a frightening speed, his body moving with it, a hard cock up his body, his own hand reaching down to touch himself, his legs wide open, his voice spewing forth yelps and screams...

…and he smiled, so close to releasing his insanity.

That is till his molester snarled like a beast and bit down on the orange man's shoulder.

"OHHH! OOH STAYNE!" His hand sloppily jerked himself trying to orgasm. The pain became pleasure making his eyes swim in warped rainbows.

The Stayne in question began to ravish his slut's neck, suckling and even simply placing his mouth clamped over the flesh…gnawing the edge of neck to shoulder. His manhood burned and felt close to fully claiming the small man as his own.

Just a bit more…

Grunting and heaving. Snaking an arm underneath the back of the convulsing hatter who kept crying out, feeling pain with each stroke that did not send him over the edge.

Stayne grappled his hatter, his hatter…and locked his eye with the wide-open, spaced and pleasured sight of the madman.

"You're mad."

At long last Tarrant had found his almost-release. Tarrant choked out his wail at first, cutely coughing it when a particularly intense thrust prolonged its stay in his hole. Then the bricks came tumbling down from his house of a brain.

S-savage…

"FUCK ME, DAMN YOU ILOSOVIC. PLEASE. OH G...GOD…PLEASE!"

Sporadic and twitching, Ilosovic refusing to move inside him. On the cusp, the BRINK of pure satisfaction. The Knave knew it.

"Why?" Stayne managed out with a groan.

Tarrant feverishly twitched and continued to pump himself. Stayne didn't mind though. Tarrant completely needed him to finish him off, in some psychological insane way. The thought almost made him come right then, at how successful he was.

"BECAUSE IF I…I…STAYNE FUCK ME. RAPE ME. PLEASE! OH P-PLEASE pleasepleasepleaseplaseplease…" Tarrant's demanding voice of sexual frustration died down quickly into pitiful whimpers. Whining. His other hand pawing him as his master, always in control, did not dare move him to the point of climax.

Stayne continued to smile down at him.

"More, hatter." He slurred his words.

"Please…p-please Stayne…please finish me…please give…give it to me…please…oh please…" The madman babbled. He was even crying now, barley keeping his eyes open. Submission attacked him. He cried, he began to sob, his aching hurting him, hurting him so bad and painful. He shook and reached to his master's face, only gracing his fingertips across the surface of his cheek as the Knave pulled away. Hatter pawed the air whining and blubbering, sniffling and burning up.

"…please…"

Stayne pulled out slightly, denying both their release, prolonging the suffering the pony was going through. He was reared up and dominant, simply basking in the writhing body beneath him who pleaded for his sex.

"Show me." He caressed the fluttering eyelashes of his pet. "Prove it you little bitch…"

No sooner the words hissed from his mouth the hatter had taken his offered hand and began to lick his fingers. Stayne balanced from the pillar of his arm felt and watched the lips engulf his hands. Tongue and whimpering ensued as Tarrant began to milk the invisible sustenance. He needed it, needed this warmth, instinctually sucking and grasping the arm as he thrust the fingers two at a time in and out of his mouth. He cried at this, knowing that this was easing the pain in his brain through forcing abuse.

The hand's owner let the kitten do all the work. He was pleased and panting above the small man who forced his hand to abuse his mouth. At last he withdrew the fingers, this time curling the hand to claw his own face. Stayne was too horny to be disturbed though at the feel of his own hand being curled and made to claw, wet, down the sobbing face of a pleading man. The hand went clawing further, now rubbing and caressing his chest and neck.

"Please. Please Stayne. Please. Please. Please." His pet breathed, barely hitching his words as he moved the hand lower. Stayne just towered there, shocked and pleasured at his hand touching such skin. He felt the man quiver when his palm reached the ginger curls around a very throbbing penis. It was insidiously delightful.

"You really want me? Tell me how much of a whore you are." He cackled. He felt the legs around him falter at the sound of his voice.

With a gulp the slut began. "I'm a whore." The voice was croaking and wheezy.

" I am…a-a slut. A dirty slut. D-dirty nasty…" His voice became weaker with a soft moan when he placed Stayne's hands upon his aching self. "I'm so d-dirty that I should be w-whipped and b-belted…"

It was incredible music. "Yes Tarrant. You will be." He husked.

"Fuck m-me I'm a…b-bitch!" He gasped and shut his eyes when Stayne's hand finally responded, just gently stroking the underside of the reddened shaft. The small hands left to grasp himself, to steady the hardness to the tickling fingers. So close indeed, so close…

"Yes I will. You bitch." Stayne murmured and bent down again, sliding back in further. The hatter seemed to melt and shook extremely hard, making Stayne groan at the vibrations.

"Yes I am. YesIam. Slut. Fucking slut. I'm the s-son of a damned kindangen mertder…please make me come…please sir…S-Stayne…" The man begged when the hand left him once more. "Please m-master, please sir sir s-sir SSIRR! AHH! AH! OH! MPHF! MMH..hfff…phfff…mmnff…nngg…"

Stayne growled. He was satisfied, but if he wasn't already so pleasured at the sounds of his pet he would have continued to have the hatter berate himself even more. He had shoved his fingers into the open mouth, which caused the biggest blush he had ever seen on the hatter's white face. Sweet Tarrant took it, moaning and whimpering the wanted abuse as he let the fingers jab, probe, and be sucked in rhythm like the sex-fiend he is.

"Good girl."

And then the sex began again.

It was vicious, hard and powerful. He pummeled the prostrate speedy and hard, breathless and eager to explode. He had enough of pleasantries…all he wanted now was to finish inside the broken, slutty, burning, squealing, effeminate man.

Tarrant's body blossomed like flowering tea just twinkling. At last he would release, at last there was permission. Wave after wave of pleasure went through his body at every inside contact of the Knave's giant member.

I am the victim. I am the raped. He hurts me and pleases me so. And now I'm going to…to…

"I'm…I'M GOING TO…ILOSOVIC! S-STAYNE! AH…AHH!"

"T-Tarrant…oh…"

He felt hot wetness spew across his stomach. The liquid, a sign of the hatter's shame for this horrific moment sent the Knave spiraling into his final thrusts. Tarrant squealed, the fingers now removed from his mouth for him to freely scream. He was unaware of how howling it was, all he felt was gripping the tensed upper arms of the enemy and thrusting up, splattering jizzum all over himself and the man he moaned for. His back arched to take him deeper as he finally cried out his satisfaction like the fucking slut he was.

Stayne snarled and roared as he vigorously fucked. It came suddenly like a boiling of his insides that bubbled so hard he almost squealed when it over-flowed. He felt weak in that moment, shaking above the man he had impaled with closed eyes and lax mouth…dark moans all starting with the letter 't' floated from his mouth as he gave deep thrusts, stuffing the man with his seed.

Tarrant clung the best he could to the man as he was rocked at a slow speed. His vicious man was coming down from his orgasm. Tarrant huffed and garbled another moan as he orgasmed again, dry and whimpering pitifully as Stayne slowly fucked him, lulling his body. He felt incredibly full, creamed and stuffed, subjugated to the whim of the midnight man who panted above him. He opened his tear streaked eyes, shuddering and gasping like a fish to see the Knave's pleasured face. He was, indeed, beautifully dangerous, even in the midst of savoring the tight heat of a violated man. The body was bent, lithe and smooth gliding movements, further lubed of course, making squishy sounds. Obviously the twitch of the Knave's upper lip betrayed the decline of the sexual fantasies in his head.

It was the best butter…

Tarrant whimpered more. He panted, catching his breath and feeling how numb he was, how wet it was and hearing the squelching from the man who stayed inside him. Both heaved for breath, Tarrant staring up at him dominated and waiting for the man to finish. He lost his strength and fell back down, flat on the back, limp and accepting. Tarrant raised his arms, palms open, flat and limp. He felt more…submissive this way, even more pleased…causing him to softly mew and whimper.

Stayne swallowed and opened his eyes, panting heavily above the orange man. He was entirely thankful the Queen's bedroom was at the other side of the castle, and no one would even dare interrupt the Knave during coitus. It was quite a good thing, for it allowed the un-interrupted sex that had brought the hatter to his filthy little knees. Or at least on his back, howling and begging him to jerk him off. The pony was broken in. He would never be the same, certainly. Most certain.

Tarrant didn't even want to try to comprehend the shame he felt. He wanted to be hurt by Stayne forever, at any hour of day or night. He wanted to be chased up a tree and dragged down. To run for miles and collapse with exhaustion and let him take him on the dirt. To forever wage this war of queen against queen, that ensued that Knave against hatter would continue on and on…

The Knave slipped out, lumbering off and standing unsteadily. He bent and stretched, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he recovered, spent. His knees were of course weak, so he leaned over the table again to catch his breath. A bead of sweat dripped off his brow unto the quivering limp leg of the spread Tarrant. He looked at him, groaning as his mouth was begging him again to do something about it. His lips were dry, so he licked them as his panting was softening. At the sound of Tarrant whimpering he smiled and opened his eye, seeing it was from the fact he did, indeed, lick his lips. A breathless chuckle he gave making Tarrant blush more.

Tarrant's mouth watered, still craving oral sensation. His rear burned with soreness reminding him that sitting up might be quite painful. He watched his naked lover/rapist smile deviously at him, all a bit sweaty and slick from cum. In fact his own was smattered on the Knave's chest, messy and slick as pale as his flesh. Certainly the Knave was a man who was of noble birth, that despite wandering the wild wood all the time was obviously of the slick and perfection of the upper class. It showed in the beauty of his body.

"Lick me clean." Ilosovic spat. "Whore."

"D-dear me w-whatever fo…r…" He began but shut his trap immediately when the eye flickered with anger. Tarrant immediately was reminded of the terrible position he was in and how good it was to be submissive. Quite submissive. Stayne would have none of his wild personality at the moment to spoil his mood. It was certainly working…Tarrant bit his lip and shivered as he let himself fall down in the role and mindset that was mere seconds ago.

He sat up, wincing at the stretching. The orange rabbit spent a few seconds gasping and bent, accommodating his hurt body. He was even beginning to register the hickies and bite marks on his body, slightly stinging and adding more arousing sensation. He coughed to clear his throat, his frazzled head only reaching the crest of the Knave's pectorals. That was where he started. Once more he reminded himself how he hated this, but, his mouth and strange need conquered it. The flesh was offered and so he began slow experimental licks.

The tall man stood watching and feeling the feathery tongue lick up the sweat from his muscles. It was the perfect after-glow from such conquering sex he just made them experience. Tarrant was ensured to be his frightened dominated slave forever. Such was these memories he would forever 'cherish' as long as he lived. It was evident, he watched his orange kitten lick his flesh. The 'kitten' even grasped his sides to steady himself licking down his body…

Tarrant recoiled and snorted in disgust. The nauseous feeling in his stomach returned when he encountered the whiteness. He remembered the salty taste, definitely worse than the sweaty flesh he licked, and how he was made to swallow…then he had thrown up…then he was raped.

Stayne grinned at the cute, disgusted face his pet gave him. He even had the gall to look up at him, begging eyes and twitching lip definitely telling him I do not like this at all.

"You will do as you're told. Lick and swallow."

Tarrant almost shook his head. Instead he allowed himself to cry a little and face the mess he was going to eat. Gingerly he leaned in and started to lap it up, wincing and trying not to gag his own cum as he swallowed. It was now cold to lukewarm, disgustingly salty and not tasty at all. Still the commanding growl and a hand wound in his hair urged him on to finish cleaning him up. The hand gripped him just firm enough to remind him that he WILL eat it till it's GONE.

And so Tarrant obliged by lapping every wet bit he could find. He continued to gag it down, fighting the queasiness that ruined his day again as he swallowed the semen. He cleaned up all the flesh…except the slick flaccid cock, smeared with it. With another dry gulp, a look of sadness up at the dominant Knave, he bent and licked the appendage clean. More sickness in his stomach.

After one final agonized lick off the tip the Knave pushed the hatter away, smiling at the weak and cringing face of his 'sponge'. Tarrant simply shut his eyes as he was nudged back, and laid himself on his side on the table, hearing Stayne dress himself. His hands went to his stomach cradling himself to keep the nausea down as he heard Stayne buckle his boots back on. Now he started to feel cold, naked still, his breath getting caught back.

Then he began to cry. No sex to distract, just eternal shame and comprehension. He acted horrible, he was enslaved from simple touches and demanded him to have sex with him. What kind of a man was he?

Mad. That's what I am. I'm completely bonkers. And this time, I'm not a good person. I'm miserable. I'm gone forever.

Ilosovic turned his head back to the curled form that was now loudly sniffling. His pretty boy was chewing his fingernails and rubbing his face as he began to bawl. The man surely was bonkers and hurt. Even better was how weak emotionally he was, which delighted him even further. The vile man smirked as he dress himself at last, donning his cape, and bent over to kiss his pet goodbye in farewell.

Tarrant looked up and wiped his eyes to find the dressed Knave smiling down at him. Stayne spent this time leering at his sex toy as he clasped his cape on.

The hatter averted his eyes in shame. However it didn't last long when his captor bent even further down to plant a heavy kiss on his cheek. The man paled and opened his hands away from the face he was half hiding. Unfortunately that was a mistake, for Stayne pushed the man on his back and brutally kissed him.

Tarrant whimpered and moaned, the kissing was even more intense because he was so exhausted mentally and physically. The prodding tongue from the softly groaning Knave was all it took to open his mouth to the passion the man gave unto him. Soft, pleased growling ensued from his bedeviled rapist as he had free reign to taste and tongue the sweet flesh once more. This time it was saltier than usual, tasting a bit of himself and the man who he violated. He smirked as he went back in to maul and tug the painted lips with his teeth during the indulgent several minutes. The pony laid there letting him kiss and exchange tongue and taste. There was nothing else he could do anyways, he wasn't able to run, to even want to push him away, or make him angry. He was too tired and beaten to fight today. Besides, it was in fact a bit enjoyably humiliating…he seemed to like that a lot today.

At last the villain pulled away, leaving the poor naked man to just lay and watch him go. Stayne petted the smooth skin as he moved away, leaving a wake of goose bumps from their path. Tarrant just watched miserably crying his eyes out, already reddened and extra-miserable, as his master put his gloves back on and merely gave him a grin of utter dominance.

"I shall see you later, pet." He sneered, satisfied for the night. "Don't worry too much, I might be gentler next time."

With that Tarrant buried his head in his hands and sobbed, cried the last of sanity into his hands. Like a baby. A lame horse. A slave prostitute. The very last of the Hightopps was now to the lowly station of this.

The clicking footfalls of the booted feet died away as his vile enemy went about the room, snuffing out the candles. When that was done he left to the door, leaving the poor man to lay in almost utter darkness. He left him there on the table, sobbing and broken, a pile of porcelain limbs heaving on the table wracked with sobs. It was beautiful in the cold light of the moonlight, the red and black walls dark in night framing such a portrait. A slick, destroyed man was the centerpiece of the midnight masterpiece.

A man that would never know true satisfaction, for awhile at least, without him.

If Alice ever knew, well…it was unfathomable.

Tarrant didn't know if he would ever be right again.

As the door clicked shut, and he moved off the table dragging the wet blanket and pillows with him, he could barely moved. His pity and pain crippled his body, the only sound his whimpering cries and the rattle of the foot chain still attached. So he took the pillows and made a crawl to the pallet that was in the corner, his bed provided. The small cot would make do, he felt like he could sleep for ages. There he finally staggered unto the bed, muffling a cry into the pillows he dragged up to cuddle and hug. He pulled the red meager blankets over himself, still shivering however.

Quite possibly, I might never sleep peacefully again.

The whimpering hatter tried to settle down to sleep a fitful dream. Squirming and shifting about uncomfortable and still crying, he knew he would now resign himself to horrible, arousing images of the thick tall man holding him, black hair against his neck with a soothing oily voice…that would be what would make him fall asleep. Those cooing weasly words his imaginary Knave would give him the permission to fall asleep, safe from everyone but Ilosovic Stayne of the pain of the outside world. Enslaved. Wanting and needing. If Alice didn't slay the Jabberwocky, he would certainly be doomed to repeat this night in an endless cycle.

I will never tell her. She m-must be strong… He gulped and pulled the edge of the blanket close to blow his nose. He will pay for this…but if he dies, how am I ever going to be happy again?

Then again, what I need from him are things one shouldn't feel happy about in the first place.

He looked up through the windows to see a single star in the sky. It gleamed brightly like twinkled blue tea. The blackness around it reminded him of dark gloves and hair…but there it was, a small pinpoint of light shinier than a beetle's eye. Tarrant knew then how would, at least try, to get to sleep.

"T-twinkle…twinkle…little m-mercy…h-how I wonder…where t-thy art…"

He smiled at this, giggling.

His Knave of Hearts seemed to lack one.

But he, mad Tarrant…he had one.

Had one, however.

It was stolen. All on a Summer's day. By the Knave of Hearts.

It hurt him so.

All the saddest people are mad…

A/N: Well there you go. Another smutty slashfic down the drain. Oh God I went really crazy on this one...

If you enjoy mindless slashfics of 'dominant male character raping young/lithe/femmish uke boy' be sure to check out my first one of DBZ's Cell/Frieza in This is Hell. Then I improved, this time with a one-horned (Phallic much?) sorceror and adorable frightened Eric the Cavalier in Sweet Pea, from the obscure fandom of the D&D animated series. I recommamend 'Sweet Pea' more though, but most of you readers wouldn't know the series anyways. Sigh.

For non-slashiness I have a whole smack dab of older fanfics that are stuffed with Mary Sues and self inserts. Last one was like, EARLY last year. OLD but still enjoyable works.

Finally I would like to thank my friends Kit and Andi for being on the 'Stayne-sexy-wagon' with me and the new friends I made being obsessed with this fandom. Its been so much fun I'm writing another horrific sexual fanfic...this time with a certain, oh, queen and dear Stayne-ie-boo?

As if I wasn't disgusting you guys out further.

Read and Review and may the prosper be with you, long!

Shoys.