Slade's chuckle makes Robin's blood go cold.

"Really, Robin," he says, with that damnable, reproachful *condescension* that makes Robin want to scream, "Did you really think I would use such an inflexible design as that? The fact is, you've just given your friends the best possible reason to leave." He flicks several switches on the controller in his hand, and the other four Teen Titans watch in horror as Robin, and only Robin, falls to his knees, agony screaming through him.

"He's lost to you," Slade tells them coldly. "If you ever try to rescue him again...I will kill him."

Starfire cries out. Robin forces his head up and glares. "He's lying!" he says. "He won't kill his own Apprentice!"

"Ah, but if you try to leave me, then you're not mine, are you? And if you're not with me...you're against me." He does something with the controller and the pain increases. Robin catches himself with his hands, biting his lip to keep from screaming.

"Stop, stop, please stop!" says Starfire. "We will leave you now, just do not hurt him anymore!"

"Starfire...no..."

Slade's one eye is amused. He flicks the switch, making the pain disappear, and watches approvingly as Robin slowly forces himself back to his feet. Robin doesn't know how to stop fighting. If he did, Slade would have no use for him. Robin knows this, but he still can't make himself stop.

"Robin," says Slade, "If they ever come here again, if you *ever* betray my commands, I will kill them. Either all at once-" his fingers manipulate the controls, and all four of the other Teen Titans scream and collapse, "-or One. By. One." He emphasizes his point by making first Cyborg, then Beast Boy, then Raven, and finally Starfire writhe.

"Stop." Robin crosses to stand in front of Slade. "Just let them go. I'll do whatever you want." He swallows. "Master."

He can hear the smile in Slade's voice. " . Tell them to leave."

Robin turns to his friends without hesitation. "Get out. Get out and don't come back."

"Robin-" Starfire is weeping, and Cyborg and Beast Boy both look furious enough to do something rash.

"He's right," says Robin flatly. "There's nothing we can do."

The others stare at him, betrayed, miserable. They were depending on Robin to come up with a plan, to save the day, and he's failed them. He's made things worse, putting himself...and them...further under Slade's power. They will be better off without him, he tells himself.

They look stricken, but they obey him, their leader...their former leader...and leave. Robin closes his eyes for a moment, then turns to Slade. Waiting for orders.

It's a new kind of order, not the same as the ones he's been given the past three months. "Strip," says Slade, and Robin frowns.

"Why?" he asks, even as his hands move to obey.

The eye behind the mask narrows. "I don't need to explain my orders to you, Robin, do I?"

"No, Master." He hates how easily the title rolls off his tongue now. In the beginning, he had to force himself to say it, fighting down the accompanying nausea each and every time.

He strips his clothes off and stands naked. Slade glances at him dispassionately and nods, then jerks his head. "Lie down on the table." It's a medical table, much like what one would see in a doctor's office, and it's cold against Robin's back as he obeys. There are several monitors behind Robin's head; once he's lying down, Slade walks over and turns them on.

"Good," says Slade evenly. He leans down and pulls something up from under the table, clasping it around Robin's wrist.

Robin frowns as he tests the restraint.

"You disapprove?" says Slade as he fastens something similar to Robin's other arm.

"I'm merely...puzzled, Master," says Robin slowly. "You know you can order me to do anything; why would you need to restrain me?"

Slade is smiling behind his mask, Robin can tell. "Order you to doanything...perhaps we'll try that next time," he says, and fastens one on each ankle. Robin pulls at them - there's no slack except what Slade allows, and they're snug. They will be very difficult to get out of, even assuming he's given the opportunity to try.

"Satisfied?" asks Slade, clearly amused.

"What is this, Slade? Another training exercise?"

"Of a sort," says Slade. He's doing something just beyond Robin's range of vision. "Close your eyes."

Robin frowns again, but does as he's told.

His eyes fly open again as he feels Slade's glove on his ass. "What-!" he says in sudden, startled panic.

"Robin," and that's an order, so Robin squeezes his eyes shut again as he feels something... prodding him.

"Slade, no,please," he pleads, unable to help himself, but Slade acts as though he hadn't spoken and something smooth and hard and slick begins to push inside him.

Ithurts, and Robin grits his teeth before automatically modifying his breathing pattern. There's nothing he can do, but he will not give Slade the satisfaction of watching him suffer. Part of him is confused, if Slade wants to hurt him, he can inflict far worse with the touch of a button, after all. Robin gives a mental shrug and allows himself to sink...sink into a meditative ... Metrion... Zinthos...he thinks, easily letting the homesickness wash over him and away. There is no pain, here, only peace. He hears Slade's chuckle as though from a great distance, but it does not disturb him. Pain is meaningless.

Until a sharp jolt of somethingelserings through him, forcing him back into his own body. His eyes fly open again of their own accord and a gasp escapes his lips. "What...?"

Slade does it again, sliding the smooth, hard object inside of him, and the sensation sears through him again, making him cry out.

"I thought so," said Slade, a quiet note of triumph in his voice. "Your Mentor taught you how to deal with pain, but not-" another thrust fills him with liquid heat "-pleasure." He looks down at Robin and says conversationally, "Do you know what I'm doing to you?"

Robin blinks, remembers what he's been taught through the fog in his brain, and swallows. "I think so," he says. "You...you're...stimulating my." He blushes, stammering out the word, "My...p-prostate."

"With what?"

Robin shudders. "With..." he knows the answer. His staff splits in two, one end tapered to fit into the other. "With my staff," he whispers. "You've used something to make it slick."

"Verygood, Robin," Slade emphasizes his words with another small push. Robin's dick is hardening, and by main force of will he keeps his body still, trying to re-capture the peaceful meditative state from moments ago and finding it utterly impossible. "You see, the nanobots inside you give me all kinds of useful information about your physical state," says his tormenter, this time *not* nudging again, and Robin hates himself for wishing that the man *would*. "Adrenaline, endorphins, muscle response... they tell me worlds about what you're experiencing. Pain..." he rocks Robin's staff a little, increasing the stretch and making him wince. "Pleasure..." he pushes in again, and this time Robin can't control the buck of his hips. "I could keep you on the edge for hours," says Slade pleasantly. "Never giving you *quite* enough of what you...need." He runs gauntleted fingertips down Robin's dick in a light caress.

"What do youwant?" says Robin desperately.

"I want you to beg for it," says Slade simply.

Robin is silent, hard and aching. He could give in, spike Slade's guns...all he has to do is give innow, to say 'let me come'. To stop fighting.

But Robin doesn't know how to stop fighting.

Slade's watching the monitors, not even *looking* at him. His eye is narrowed and his hands are steady as they move, another brush against his prostate, a gloved thumb sliding over the precome leaking from his dick...

Robin chokes back the sounds that want to come from his throat, but his body jerks helplessly at Slade's every touch, straining formore. He hears himself whimper. "Oh, God, Slade,why?"

"'Why' what, Robin?"

"Why...are you doing this? Whyme?There are plenty of people who would work for you *willingly*!"

The movements still...stop. "Why *you, Robin?" The quiet, deadly amusement that always characterizes the man's voice is present, but there is something else here, too. "Don't you know?"

Robin swallows and shakes his head.

"There are things all men covet," says Slade slowly. "Gems of the finest water, works of art fashioned by a Master. In ancient Japan there lived men who would forge beautiful blades crafted of steel folded and re-folded upon itself thousands of times. Beauty, power, strength...all would be combined into a single sword."

Robin stares. "I don't...understand," he pants.

Slade smiles out of his single eye behind his mask. He strokes one gloved hand down Robin's bare chest with an air of covetousness. "You are a work of art, my Robin. A living weapon crafted by a Master hand.

"I would...wield you."

Robin's mouth is dry. "I'm not...I'm not a weapon," he whispers. "I'm not athing," he adds more strongly.

"No, not a thing," says Slade evenly, his hands resuming their movements. "But you *are* a weapon, Robin. A beautiful weapon. Adangerousweapon. And when I'm finished with you, you'll be adeadlyweapon as well."

"*No*."

"Oh yes," says Slade with that unshakable confidence that makes even Robin's certainty waver. "Your Mentor was an expert, but he did not go far enough. I willhoneyou, Robin. I will make you better. I will make you *perfect*." Every word strikes Robin deeply. Hewantsto be better. Slade leans down, his face close to Robin's...close enough to feel his breath, were his mask not between them. "And I will never let you go...my Robin."

In spite of himself, Robin shivers. "No," he says again, but it sounds less certain to his ears.

Slade doesn't even deign to answer him this time, just continues to move just *so, and Robin bites his lip until he tastes blood, but he can't quite choke back the sounds rising in his throat.

Maybe...maybe he can *make* himself...he closes his eyes and calls on a different kind of meditation, if it might be called that...his favorite fantasy, the one where Starfire comes to him after a long battle, kissing him and stripping off their clothes. She wraps her arms around him, and he can smell the slight ozone singe of her starbolts on her skin as he kisses her ,he whispers to her. Ducking her head, she puts her hands on his tights, sliding them down, away, leaning her head and engulfing him-

A leather-clad hand strokes and squeezes his balls, shattering the illusion. His eyes fly open.

Slade is watching him.

Whyhadn't his Mentor taught him to deal with something like *this, damn him?

The answer is obvious, and Robin almost smiles at the thought...until the hand becomes his Mentor's in his mind, black leather touching , he thinks, but his treacherous brain supplies him with images that make him shake his head desperately, trying to drive them out.

"What's wrong?" Slade's voice is sharp, his eye on Robin again instead of the monitors. At least he can't read Robin's mind, yet. Only his body. "Robin," he says, a deep and warning note in his tone, and Robin swallows.

He can't think of his Mentor like that. He can't. Hecan't. "Just...just make me come already, Slade!" growls Robin, though it is an order more than a plea. Anything to make this end, to take those images away. "Please!"

Slade chuckles. "Robin," he says reproachfully, "You didn't think it would be *that* easy, did you?" Leather, leather, the scent on Robin's skin, mixing with his own arousal. "Begme," says Slade, his voice dark and smooth and convincing.

Damn him. Damn him.

"I hate you," whispers Robin, and another chuckle rolls over him. Where are his *friends*? How can they let this happen to him? Even as the thought comes to him, guilt pours through him as he remembers what happened the last time they tried to deactivate the nanobots, when reports of Cyborg's lifesigns started tapering off. Slade had known at once, of course...and he'd almost killed Beast Boy in retaliation. His friends are better off without him, better off forgetting him and leaving him to his fate.

It hurts to think it. From the beginning he'd been certain that this could not last, that Slade wouldn't be able to hold onto him forever. He'd find a way out, or the Titans would. There wasalwaysa way out.

Wasn't there?

"Robin," comes the voice...thatVoice...low, almost a whisper. Gentle touches on his face, his hands where he's balled them into fists, the gloves cool against his skin.

No. He can't...hecan't...

The knowledge floods him, sudden and bitter. Slade's going to win...Slade always wins. Robin closes his eyes.

"Let me come, Slade," he whispers. "Please."

"Goodboy." His skin is so sensitized that for a moment the touch of leather against his cock is painful. Then Slade grips him and squeezes, and it's good, it'sperfect... "Yes, Robin," he hears the voice through the haze of pleasure, "Come for me...come...Now."

And Robin arches and jerks and screams as the orgasm surges through him raw and hot, and comes harder than he ever has in his life.

It feels like a long time before he can gather the strength to open his eyes again. His stomach is splattered; Slade managed not to get any on himself at all. Of course.

Or...Slade holds up his hand, a small white trail dripping over two gloved fingers. He brings it to Robin's lips. "Clean it," he says coolly, and Robin tries not to shudder as he opens his mouth and begins to lick the glove clean like an animal, tasting himself and leather and a subtle sharpness beneath everything else.

"Good boy," Slade says again, barely even a whisper this time, and Robin hates the way the praise makes something heat inside him, makes him want to givemore...

Slade matter-of-factly begins to unfasten the restraints. Robin is surprised to note that his wrists and ankles are raw from his struggles - he hadn't even been aware that he was pulling at them.

"You can see why I wanted you restrained," says Slade, a tinge of amusement threading his voice.

"Yes, Master."

"Next time, though," Slade touches Robin's wrist gently. "Hmm."

Robin blinks. "Master?"

Slade says nothing else, just turns away. "Go get cleaned up," he says after a moment, his tone brisk. "And put some cream on those chafe marks."

"Yes, Master." Robin hesitates a moment longer. "Master?"

"Yes, Robin?"

"This training exercise..."

"Yes?"

"I fail to understand the purpose of it."

Slade's eye narrows. "You don't need to understand the purpose, Robin. But since you ask, you are vulnerable to pleasure as you arenotto pain. You must have *no* vulnerabilities if you're going to work for me. You must be perfect."

"And this will...cure me of this vulnerability?"

"Eventually you will only be able to achieve orgasm with my command," says Slade calmly.

"No. Ohno..." The words come out in spite of himself, a harsh, horrified whisper.

"Yes, Robin," says Slade almost gently. "Now, I believe I gave you an order." Slade's chuckle makes Robin's blood go cold.

"Really, Robin," he says, with that damnable, reproachful *condescension* that makes Robin want to scream, "Did you really think I would use such an inflexible design as that? The fact is, you've just given your friends the best possible reason to leave." He flicks several switches on the controller in his hand, and the other four Teen Titans watch in horror as Robin, and only Robin, falls to his knees, agony screaming through him.

"He's lost to you," Slade tells them coldly. "If you ever try to rescue him again...I will kill him."

Starfire cries out. Robin forces his head up and glares. "He's lying!" he says. "He won't kill his own Apprentice!"

"Ah, but if you try to leave me, then you're not mine, are you? And if you're not with me...you're against me." He does something with the controller and the pain increases. Robin catches himself with his hands, biting his lip to keep from screaming.

"Stop, stop, please stop!" says Starfire. "We will leave you now, just do not hurt him anymore!"

"Starfire...no..."

Slade's one eye is amused. He flicks the switch, making the pain disappear, and watches approvingly as Robin slowly forces himself back to his feet. Robin doesn't know how to stop fighting. If he did, Slade would have no use for him. Robin knows this, but he still can't make himself stop.

"Robin," says Slade, "If they ever come here again, if you *ever* betray my commands, I will kill them. Either all at once-" his fingers manipulate the controls, and all four of the other Teen Titans scream and collapse, "-or One. By. One." He emphasizes his point by making first Cyborg, then Beast Boy, then Raven, and finally Starfire writhe.

"Stop." Robin crosses to stand in front of Slade. "Just let them go. I'll do whatever you want." He swallows. "Master."

He can hear the smile in Slade's voice. " . Tell them to leave."

Robin turns to his friends without hesitation. "Get out. Get out and don't come back."

"Robin-" Starfire is weeping, and Cyborg and Beast Boy both look furious enough to do something rash.

"He's right," says Robin flatly. "There's nothing we can do."

The others stare at him, betrayed, miserable. They were depending on Robin to come up with a plan, to save the day, and he's failed them. He's made things worse, putting himself...and them...further under Slade's power. They will be better off without him, he tells himself.

They look stricken, but they obey him, their leader...their former leader...and leave. Robin closes his eyes for a moment, then turns to Slade. Waiting for orders.

It's a new kind of order, not the same as the ones he's been given the past three months. "Strip," says Slade, and Robin frowns.

"Why?" he asks, even as his hands move to obey.

The eye behind the mask narrows. "I don't need to explain my orders to you, Robin, do I?"

"No, Master." He hates how easily the title rolls off his tongue now. In the beginning, he had to force himself to say it, fighting down the accompanying nausea each and every time.

He strips his clothes off and stands naked. Slade glances at him dispassionately and nods, then jerks his head. "Lie down on the table." It's a medical table, much like what one would see in a doctor's office, and it's cold against Robin's back as he obeys. There are several monitors behind Robin's head; once he's lying down, Slade walks over and turns them on.

"Good," says Slade evenly. He leans down and pulls something up from under the table, clasping it around Robin's wrist.

Robin frowns as he tests the restraint.

"You disapprove?" says Slade as he fastens something similar to Robin's other arm.

"I'm merely...puzzled, Master," says Robin slowly. "You know you can order me to do anything; why would you need to restrain me?"

Slade is smiling behind his mask, Robin can tell. "Order you to doanything...perhaps we'll try that next time," he says, and fastens one on each ankle. Robin pulls at them - there's no slack except what Slade allows, and they're snug. They will be very difficult to get out of, even assuming he's given the opportunity to try.

"Satisfied?" asks Slade, clearly amused.

"What is this, Slade? Another training exercise?"

"Of a sort," says Slade. He's doing something just beyond Robin's range of vision. "Close your eyes."

Robin frowns again, but does as he's told.

His eyes fly open again as he feels Slade's glove on his ass. "What-!" he says in sudden, startled panic.

"Robin," and that's an order, so Robin squeezes his eyes shut again as he feels something... prodding him.

"Slade, no,please," he pleads, unable to help himself, but Slade acts as though he hadn't spoken and something smooth and hard and slick begins to push inside him.

Ithurts, and Robin grits his teeth before automatically modifying his breathing pattern. There's nothing he can do, but he will not give Slade the satisfaction of watching him suffer. Part of him is confused, if Slade wants to hurt him, he can inflict far worse with the touch of a button, after all. Robin gives a mental shrug and allows himself to sink...sink into a meditative ... Metrion... Zinthos...he thinks, easily letting the homesickness wash over him and away. There is no pain, here, only peace. He hears Slade's chuckle as though from a great distance, but it does not disturb him. Pain is meaningless.

Until a sharp jolt of somethingelserings through him, forcing him back into his own body. His eyes fly open again of their own accord and a gasp escapes his lips. "What...?"

Slade does it again, sliding the smooth, hard object inside of him, and the sensation sears through him again, making him cry out.

"I thought so," said Slade, a quiet note of triumph in his voice. "Your Mentor taught you how to deal with pain, but not-" another thrust fills him with liquid heat "-pleasure." He looks down at Robin and says conversationally, "Do you know what I'm doing to you?"

Robin blinks, remembers what he's been taught through the fog in his brain, and swallows. "I think so," he says. "You...you're...stimulating my." He blushes, stammering out the word, "My...p-prostate."

"With what?"

Robin shudders. "With..." he knows the answer. His staff splits in two, one end tapered to fit into the other. "With my staff," he whispers. "You've used something to make it slick."

"Verygood, Robin," Slade emphasizes his words with another small push. Robin's dick is hardening, and by main force of will he keeps his body still, trying to re-capture the peaceful meditative state from moments ago and finding it utterly impossible. "You see, the nanobots inside you give me all kinds of useful information about your physical state," says his tormenter, this time *not* nudging again, and Robin hates himself for wishing that the man *would*. "Adrenaline, endorphins, muscle response... they tell me worlds about what you're experiencing. Pain..." he rocks Robin's staff a little, increasing the stretch and making him wince. "Pleasure..." he pushes in again, and this time Robin can't control the buck of his hips. "I could keep you on the edge for hours," says Slade pleasantly. "Never giving you *quite* enough of what you...need." He runs gauntleted fingertips down Robin's dick in a light caress.

"What do youwant?" says Robin desperately.

"I want you to beg for it," says Slade simply.

Robin is silent, hard and aching. He could give in, spike Slade's guns...all he has to do is give innow, to say 'let me come'. To stop fighting.

But Robin doesn't know how to stop fighting.

Slade's watching the monitors, not even *looking* at him. His eye is narrowed and his hands are steady as they move, another brush against his prostate, a gloved thumb sliding over the precome leaking from his dick...

Robin chokes back the sounds that want to come from his throat, but his body jerks helplessly at Slade's every touch, straining formore. He hears himself whimper. "Oh, God, Slade,why?"

"'Why' what, Robin?"

"Why...are you doing this? Whyme?There are plenty of people who would work for you *willingly*!"

The movements still...stop. "Why *you, Robin?" The quiet, deadly amusement that always characterizes the man's voice is present, but there is something else here, too. "Don't you know?"

Robin swallows and shakes his head.

"There are things all men covet," says Slade slowly. "Gems of the finest water, works of art fashioned by a Master. In ancient Japan there lived men who would forge beautiful blades crafted of steel folded and re-folded upon itself thousands of times. Beauty, power, strength...all would be combined into a single sword."

Robin stares. "I don't...understand," he pants.

Slade smiles out of his single eye behind his mask. He strokes one gloved hand down Robin's bare chest with an air of covetousness. "You are a work of art, my Robin. A living weapon crafted by a Master hand.

"I would...wield you."

Robin's mouth is dry. "I'm not...I'm not a weapon," he whispers. "I'm not athing," he adds more strongly.

"No, not a thing," says Slade evenly, his hands resuming their movements. "But you *are* a weapon, Robin. A beautiful weapon. Adangerousweapon. And when I'm finished with you, you'll be adeadlyweapon as well."

"*No*."

"Oh yes," says Slade with that unshakable confidence that makes even Robin's certainty waver. "Your Mentor was an expert, but he did not go far enough. I willhoneyou, Robin. I will make you better. I will make you *perfect*." Every word strikes Robin deeply. Hewantsto be better. Slade leans down, his face close to Robin's...close enough to feel his breath, were his mask not between them. "And I will never let you go...my Robin."

In spite of himself, Robin shivers. "No," he says again, but it sounds less certain to his ears.

Slade doesn't even deign to answer him this time, just continues to move just *so, and Robin bites his lip until he tastes blood, but he can't quite choke back the sounds rising in his throat.

Maybe...maybe he can *make* himself...he closes his eyes and calls on a different kind of meditation, if it might be called that...his favorite fantasy, the one where Starfire comes to him after a long battle, kissing him and stripping off their clothes. She wraps her arms around him, and he can smell the slight ozone singe of her starbolts on her skin as he kisses her ,he whispers to her. Ducking her head, she puts her hands on his tights, sliding them down, away, leaning her head and engulfing him-

A leather-clad hand strokes and squeezes his balls, shattering the illusion. His eyes fly open.

Slade is watching him.

Whyhadn't his Mentor taught him to deal with something like *this, damn him?

The answer is obvious, and Robin almost smiles at the thought...until the hand becomes his Mentor's in his mind, black leather touching , he thinks, but his treacherous brain supplies him with images that make him shake his head desperately, trying to drive them out.

"What's wrong?" Slade's voice is sharp, his eye on Robin again instead of the monitors. At least he can't read Robin's mind, yet. Only his body. "Robin," he says, a deep and warning note in his tone, and Robin swallows.

He can't think of his Mentor like that. He can't. Hecan't. "Just...just make me come already, Slade!" growls Robin, though it is an order more than a plea. Anything to make this end, to take those images away. "Please!"

Slade chuckles. "Robin," he says reproachfully, "You didn't think it would be *that* easy, did you?" Leather, leather, the scent on Robin's skin, mixing with his own arousal. "Begme," says Slade, his voice dark and smooth and convincing.

Damn him. Damn him.

"I hate you," whispers Robin, and another chuckle rolls over him. Where are his *friends*? How can they let this happen to him? Even as the thought comes to him, guilt pours through him as he remembers what happened the last time they tried to deactivate the nanobots, when reports of Cyborg's lifesigns started tapering off. Slade had known at once, of course...and he'd almost killed Beast Boy in retaliation. His friends are better off without him, better off forgetting him and leaving him to his fate.

It hurts to think it. From the beginning he'd been certain that this could not last, that Slade wouldn't be able to hold onto him forever. He'd find a way out, or the Titans would. There wasalwaysa way out.

Wasn't there?

"Robin," comes the voice...thatVoice...low, almost a whisper. Gentle touches on his face, his hands where he's balled them into fists, the gloves cool against his skin.

No. He can't...hecan't...

The knowledge floods him, sudden and bitter. Slade's going to win...Slade always wins. Robin closes his eyes.

"Let me come, Slade," he whispers. "Please."

"Goodboy." His skin is so sensitized that for a moment the touch of leather against his cock is painful. Then Slade grips him and squeezes, and it's good, it'sperfect... "Yes, Robin," he hears the voice through the haze of pleasure, "Come for me...come...Now."

And Robin arches and jerks and screams as the orgasm surges through him raw and hot, and comes harder than he ever has in his life.

It feels like a long time before he can gather the strength to open his eyes again. His stomach is splattered; Slade managed not to get any on himself at all. Of course.

Or...Slade holds up his hand, a small white trail dripping over two gloved fingers. He brings it to Robin's lips. "Clean it," he says coolly, and Robin tries not to shudder as he opens his mouth and begins to lick the glove clean like an animal, tasting himself and leather and a subtle sharpness beneath everything else.

"Good boy," Slade says again, barely even a whisper this time, and Robin hates the way the praise makes something heat inside him, makes him want to givemore...

Slade matter-of-factly begins to unfasten the restraints. Robin is surprised to note that his wrists and ankles are raw from his struggles - he hadn't even been aware that he was pulling at them.

"You can see why I wanted you restrained," says Slade, a tinge of amusement threading his voice.

"Yes, Master."

"Next time, though," Slade touches Robin's wrist gently. "Hmm."

Robin blinks. "Master?"

Slade says nothing else, just turns away. "Go get cleaned up," he says after a moment, his tone brisk. "And put some cream on those chafe marks."

"Yes, Master." Robin hesitates a moment longer. "Master?"

"Yes, Robin?"

"This training exercise..."

"Yes?"

"I fail to understand the purpose of it."

Slade's eye narrows. "You don't need to understand the purpose, Robin. But since you ask, you are vulnerable to pleasure as you arenotto pain. You must have *no* vulnerabilities if you're going to work for me. You must be perfect."

"And this will...cure me of this vulnerability?"

"Eventually you will only be able to achieve orgasm with my command," says Slade calmly.

"No. Ohno..." The words come out in spite of himself, a harsh, horrified whisper.

"Yes, Robin," says Slade almost gently. "Now, I believe I gave you an order."