Content Notes: NSFW, noncon, Spiral weirdness, mindbreak.
Words used for Jon's anatomy: cock, cunt.
Sometimes, Jon's mind tells him: you don't belong here. He doesn't listen to it.
Jon is in never-ending corridors, and he's part of the wall. He is naked, his head, shoulders and chest on one side of the wall while everything else is on the other, his body open for use on both ends. And he is used; whether it's someone ramming into his throat or coming onto his face, or burying themselves deep inside his cunt or arse, people are always ready to take advantage. For some reason, they are always terrified or even angry as they do so, but it doesn't matter; Jon's duty is to be there for them. He is part of the wall.
His mind tries to tell him differently, but Jon believes this is how it has always been. Why else would it feel so right, to the point his cunt gets slippery wet the second he feels hands grab his hair or hips?
Still, he never feels more sure of his place in the world than when the master of the corridors arrives.
"Poor Archivist," it sing-songs to him, grasping Jon's pelvis from the left side with its big, big hand while moving its other hand between his legs. "That hole always needed fixing, but I never thought you would fill it so well."
It runs a blade along his folds, rests it against his cock. Jon breaks into shivers, lips falling open as he pants.
"Good job, Archivist."
Jon knows its cock will be big, twisted, swirling, a nightmare. He can't wait for it.