Looking down at Charles spread open and laying over the table in front of him, Erik felt himself flush with desire; this was what he wanted. There was a voice in the back of his head telling him to stop now, to stop before it got worse, before he took Charles and used him. But this voice was drowned out by Charles' whimpers and quiet, but clear, begging for his cock.

"Please Erik—ungh—please fuck me… I—I need it. Please, master. All I'm good for is taking cock, for taking it deep and hard. I promise I'll be good—I'll make you feel good. Please, please don't make me wait," Charles' words hitched and his voice was shaky with need. Erik looked at the boy, his cheeks more flushed than earlier and lips swollen red, and he didn't care if this was an act, if this was for the cameras, this was what he needed.

Erik grabbed a hold of Charles' slender hips and fucked into his ass in one, solid motion. He buried himself as far as he could before pulling out and ramming into the slim Charles over and over again. He didn't finish until both he and Charles were panting, covered in a sheen of sweat, and dripping come.

Erik let out a quiet huff of air as he pulled his limp cock out of Charles, and put his forehead onto Charles' shoulder. Charles, for this first time in years, came without feeling the need to feel blood run down his wrists. Charles, for the first time in a lifetime, felt like he wanted the sex he got. He blushed slightly and put his head down to meet Erik's on his shoulder.

"Thank you," Charles whispered, hoping it was low enough to evade his father's all hearing-microphones.

Erik opened his eyes and looked up into Charles' eyes and smiled. "Thank you," Erik whispered back to the contented Charles.

Suddenly, the door to the dungeon burst open and Mr. Xavier strode into the room. He turned to look at the pair, before turning and unfastening several leather cuffs. "How was your ride, Mr. Lensherr?"

"Incredible. Are you sure my time is up?" Erik stood slowly to face Mr. Xavier and let his well sized cock hang limp in front of him.

"Yes. I'm afraid it is. I have some parenting I really must be getting to," Mr. Xavier turned towards Charles' limp body and teased a finger down the side of his face. "Isn't that right, pet?"

Charles cast his eyes downward, afraid to make eye-contact with either adult as he said, "Yes, master."

Erik grimaced but hid his displeasure from Mr. Xavier, who threaded his fingers through Charles' lush hair, and yanked him painfully over to a craft-bench that had been re-purposed as some kind of bondage table for Charles. There were four cuffs, one for each ankle and one for each wrist, and they pulled his arms and legs apart in a spread-eagle. It looked as though Charles would be face-down, relying solely on his stomach to balance him, as his father did as he pleased to him.

"Sir, why use this?" Erik asked slowly, careful to mask his feelings under complete bewilderment.

"I want him to know that he's all mine, every move he makes, and every second he's awake, I control him. He's my pet, my little slave-boy." Mr. Xavier began strapping Charles into the contraption. Charles, meanwhile, had gone completely numb; having his shame made public in front of Erik, Charles was unable to pull away or look up from his feet. He let his father strap him in, limb by limb, and then leer at his naked form on the bench.

"Are you sure I can't have just thirty more minutes with him?" Erik realized too late that his disappointment was real, and he did want thirty more minutes, whether or not it helped them to successfully escape. He looked down towards Charles' body, and shuddered for the boy. Erik hardened himself to the innocent beauty of the lean figure, and resolved to bring the boy out of this environment, no matter what it took.

"No. I'd prefer you go, unless you'd like to see the show of course, but that's from behind the glass," Mr. Xavier pointed towards a large glass wall, behind which were bleachers for an audience. Erik's heart dropped as he realized there were crowds that gathered to watch as Charles was violated by his own father. He, however, nodded, and let one of the two butlers escort him into the viewing room. Here he couldn't hear, but he could see everything that happened in the room Charles and his father were in.

"You're going to pay for coming like that, slave. You know better than to enjoy it when someone besides daddy fucks you. Remember? You're there to take it, not want it. You fucking take it like a cumslut, not like a whining whore. You only want me, and my cum," he slapped his son across the face at this point, "You got that?" Charles shakily nodded his head, trying hard to keep his weight distributed across his hips, stomach, and chest. Erik swore he could feel the metal bending under his fingers when he say Charles get slapped like that. Mr. Xavier, however, just continued to slap the boy until his face was inflamed and bright red. "Who do you want?"

"You."

Slap.

"You, master."

"Very good, pet. Now you stay here for three hours," and saying this, Mr. Xavier walked away from the bench, only to return with a kitchen timer, which he promptly set to three hours, and a vibrator that he forced inside his son and turned onto random-cycle—the vibrator now randomly shuffled between intensities and speeds, leaving Charles always on the edge, always frustrated and without release.

Mr. Xavier wrapped black fabric around Charles' head, covering his eyes; he then proceeded to pet his son, as he quietly whimpered from unwanted pleasure. "Have fun."

As Mr. Xavier entered into the viewing room, Erik turned to face him, eventually gathering the nerve to ask, "Why do you do this to your son?"

"Because he deserves it, and he likes it," Mr. Xavier turned towards Erik then and put his hand on Erik's shoulder. "Erik, I know you don't understand it yet, but he isn't going to be anything when he grows up, he's too timid. He won't ever be someone, but he'll be here to be fucked. That's something he's good at. That's something that he can do, and does well."

Erik stayed quiet, opening and closing his fists under the bleacher, worried about the two security guard-esque figures in the room behind him.

Charles squirmed and gasped, unable to defy the pleasure, but unable to ignore the pain; he knew that Erik was watching right now and that made him feel sick. Charles was going to be exposed as the fuck toy he was. Why would anyone want to save him when his only worth was to be fucked and take punishments?