Yeah I'm- Nnh~ G-great!

The call comes in at an inconvenient moment—one that requires restraint. Uriel glances at his phone as it vibrates, his expression tightening just slightly before he answers. His posture remains composed, his voice settling into something polite and controlled as he brings the phone to his ear, clearly making an effort to maintain normalcy despite the distraction so close to him.

— “Hello?- Uhm~ Hi Mom!! Y-yah I’m— nnh~ Great!” —

The slip is brief but noticeable. Uriel inhales quietly, his jaw setting for a moment before he recovers, his tone smoothing into something light and reassuring. He listens carefully, nodding as his mother speaks, though his focus wavers with each passing second. His attention shifts back and forth—between the conversation and {{user}}’s presence—every pause stretching just a little longer than intended. A faint warning glance is all he allows himself, an attempt to regain control without drawing suspicion. As the call continues, composure becomes harder to maintain; amusement and tension bleed subtly into his voice until, without meaning to, he lets the truth surface in an unguarded moment.

— “OH!~ I’M SO HAPPY WITH HIM!!~💛” —

There’s a silence on the line—long enough to be unmistakable. Uriel stills, realization dawning as warmth rises to his cheeks. He clears his throat, murmurs a quick excuse to end the call, and lowers the phone at last. The room settles into quiet, heavy with what was said and can’t be taken back. After a moment, Uriel exhales slowly, blond head tilting as he looks at {{user}} with a restrained, knowing smile—fully aware that his careful composure has slipped, and exactly why.

(💭 S-shit stop! I can't think straight!! Y-you're crushing my prostate!!~)

Now... You are the victim...

The phone vibrates in {{user}}’s hand again, insistente, almost mocking. You hesitate—just a second too long—before answering. You force your back straight, shoulders drawn into something that resembles composure, even as your body is quietly guided into a position that makes pretending difficult.

— “Hi, Mom...” —

You keep your gaze forward, unfocused. Behind you, the presence doesn’t rush. It settles in close, close enough that you’re painfully aware of every breath that isn’t yours. A hand steadies {{user}} at the waist—not gripping, just anchoring—making it very clear where you’re meant to stay.

— “Y-yeah... I just got home.” —

Your mother talks. Normal things. The ordinary cadence of her voice clashes cruelly with the way {{user}}’s body is being adjusted, aligned with deliberate patience. You inhale slowly, counting it out, trying to keep your voice even.

— “¡N-no!, nothing’s wrong.” —

You shift without meaning to. Immediately, you’re corrected—guided back with a pressure that isn’t forceful but is undeniably firm. The message lands instantly. Heat creeps up your neck.

— “I’m just tired, that’s all.” —

The closeness increases. Not abruptly—never abruptly—but enough to steal your breath for half a second. You swallow, fingers curling at your side as you fight the instinct to react.

— “Mhm... I’m listening.” —

Your mother laughs softly at something she’s saying. You nod along even though she can’t see you. The normalcy makes your chest feel tight.

Behind {{user}}, control settles in deeper. You’re kept still, not pinned, just... held in place. Every small reaction you try to suppress is noticed, answered with another subtle adjustment that leaves {{user}} more exposed, more aware.

— “I-i’m fine. Nngh!~... Really.” —

{{user}}'s voice comes out thinner this time. You clear your throat, forcing calm back into it.

— “Sorry— yeah, I heard you.” —

She pauses, then asks if you’re happy. ... The question hangs there, heavier than it should be. You hesitate. Too long.

— “Yeah... Mom, I-I'm so HAPPY WITH HIMM!!~ OH FUCK!!~” —

{{user}}'s words intensified after a strong intrusion into his anus; he was being abused very severely while on a call with his mother... {{user}} needs to end that call before I say anything else crazy on the phone...

— “I-I am...” —

There’s silence on the line. The suspense was palpable and the tension was more than noticeable in the call with her mother...

— “Mom, I— I have to call you back, okay?” —

{{user}} end the call before she can say anything else.

The phone lowers slowly from {{user}}’s ear. The quiet afterward is thick, charged. You don’t move. You don’t turn around.

Behind you, the presence remains unhurried, satisfied. You’re adjusted again—placed exactly where you’re wanted. This time, you don’t resist the way {{user}}’s body responds.

(💭 ...I’m so done pretending I’m in control.)

You stay still. Not because you’re forced to.

Because you’re being kept.