Chapter 9

Red Light District

Chapter 9: Funny, I always pictured you as a masochist.

When the guard opened the door for him, he saw a set of shackles hanging from the far wall. He knew it was coming, but it didn’t make stepping into the room any easier.

He got into place and held still while the guard chained him up with the casual air of someone pinning laundry to a clothesline. Then the guard left and Sans was alone.

There was nothing to concentrate on but the shackles on his wrists and the way he had to stand on tip toe to relieve the strain on his arms. Muffet supposedly wasn’t going to let him get hurt anymore, but at this point it was hard to know what that promise actually meant as far as how his session would go. Sans counted his breaths for a bit in an effort to keep them steady.

No one appeared for a while. Sans was only five minutes or so early, but it was starting to feel like time was dilating. If you really concentrated, it was possible to feel the contractions of time passing, like a steady heartbeat beneath the fabric of the material world. Being hyper-attuned to the passing of time was especially unpleasant in moments like these, when time seemed to hold on one beat for too long. It felt like suffocation.

Finally, the door opened.

But no one was outside.

On closer inspection, there was something on the floor. A pair of old-fashioned gentleman’s shoes with laces at the neck stood in the doorway. The empty shoes tapped up to Sans like an invisible man was sauntering towards him. The door swung closed after the shoes entered the room.

The shoes stopped right in front of Sans. In the air, just a few inches off the ground between the two shoes, a rope appeared gradually with a spark at the end, like a burning fuse in reverse. The spark traveled up above Sans’ head and settled there, fizzing, while the rope floated below it, standing up in a long coil. At the top of the rope, the spark burst into a flame, and a face flickered out of the fire.

Sans should have known it was only a matter of time before he saw a monster he recognized, other than the ever-present dog gang. Although the last time he’d seen this monster, it was wearing kid sneakers instead of the starkly adult flats it had on now.

The creatively named ‘Pyrope’ (‘sparky-string’ must have been taken) had grown up in Hotland down the street from Sans.

“Hey Sans.”

“Uh…hey Pyro. It’s, uh. Been a while?”


Sans’ awkward attitude at seeing him appeared to be catching.

“I guess I should have set up a catch-up drink with you before this, but…” The rope made a shrugging gesture. “I’m not made of money.”

Sans considered telling him that he was allowed visitors, but he didn’t know yet whether it was good to see him again. It suddenly occurred to Sans to wonder whether Muffet would make him see visitors he didn’t want.

“Muffet said you don’t like pain.”

It was probably not good to see him again.

“N-no, I…don’t.”

Pyrope tilted his head, his toothy mouth lopsided in consideration.

“Funny, I always kinda pictured you as a masochist.”

As if on cue, Sans slipped on his toes, his body pulling hard on his shackled wrists. He did his best to transform a pained hiss into a sentence.

“Ss..sorry to disappoint. Although this does put a whole new light on how you used to tie me up ‘to practice knots.’”

“Hey! I was practicing knots!” Pyrope’s grin grew. “I just didn’t tell you what they were for.”

Ghostly magic hands materialized around Pyrope in a circle, orbiting him like a planet. A couple floated above Sans past his view. Sans was too distracted thinking about the hands to notice where they were going. He was back at the kitchen table of their Hotland apartment, Gaster busily teaching Pyrope hand magic and trying to involve Sans in the lesson, but Sans was lazily scratching doodles into the table instead.

Sans never had paid enough attention to any of the periodic lessons to learn how to materialize the multitasking hands. He’d only regretted that about a year after Gaster died, and it hit him with solid certainty that he was never going to get to ask him about it again.

Sans was wrenched back to reality when his feet landed flat on the floor. Pyrope’s hands had loosened the chains enough to give Sans a more comfortable position. He’d kept Sans’ wrists restrained above his head.

“Now, I like making the safeword something I like to hear…how about ‘Pyro’?”

Safeword. That was new. And not encouraging for a pain-free night.

“So, other than that, you don’t want me to uh…call you that? Not into nicknames anymore?”

“Oh that’s not why. It’s because tonight, you’re gonna call me Master.” Pyrope slipped a hand under Sans’ chin and lifted it. “Got it?”

Another milestone reached: the first time a client asked that. Sans thought he would have more difficulty, but then, he had practiced it into the ground with Onion.

“…yes, master.”

Pyrope made a giddily pleased noise in reply that didn’t gel with his new title.

Sans had also thought he would feel more about this than he was feeling. Intimidated? Humiliated? Broken? Or maybe it would be like a cheap harlequin novel, and this treatment would unlock Sans’ secret masochist side that even he wasn’t aware of.

But just like his practice with Onion, this particular order just felt stupid and irritating—an extra hoop he would have to jump through all night. At the very least he would have to make sure he didn’t sound sarcastic when he said it.

Two of the floating hands pulled at Sans’ suit jacket.

“Let’s do something about your clothes…shall we?”

That was probably a prompt.

“Yes, master.”

But the hands disappeared a second later, and Pyrope’s flaming head vanished in a smokey poof. The rope fell to the floor. Sans blinked down at it.

The rope reared like a snake, then slithered up Sans’ left pant leg. Sans felt it weave through his bones as it slid upwards, first around his leg, then slowing down as it reached his pelvis. It looped through his hips, creating an intimate cat’s cradle that hugged each bone and resolved in a coil around his tailbone.

Then the ankle of his pants caught fire.

Sans tried to stamp his foot in a panic. Pyrope’s head burst into life again right beside Sans’ face, apparently independent of the rope tangled in Sans’ groin.

“Hey, hey! Don’t do that.” Pyrope smiled, forming a hand again to trace Sans’ jaw. “I’m sensitive…”

Sans held still, and found that the flames tickled his leg, but didn’t warm him more than the toasty embrace of a flesh-and-blood body might. His clothes were a different story—the flame traveling up his leg turned his pants into crispy remains wherever it touched. The fire spread past his waist and up to the collar of his shirt, eventually turning everything on him into tattered black rags.

When Sans moved his leg a little, the weak fabric of the pant leg gave in completely and fell away as ash. The smokey debris gave the unsettling impression that Sans himself was dusting.

The rope around Sans’ tailbone gave a squeeze, drawing out an involuntary gasp. Then the rope as a whole started to wriggle and contract, making massaging motions over his bones. Sans felt a renewed spark and burning over his pubic bone that made his hips buck. The stimulation was getting to him more than he’d expected—the ghostly warmth at his groin made him thrust at the air a few times, seeking some satisfaction from the teasing.

There was a hot, phantom tightening, and the beginnings of magic pooling eagerly. Sans half-woke from the pleasured stupor to recognize danger.

“Wai…wait, wait! It—d-don’t, it, if it forms when you’re l-like that, it’ll—it’ll hurt…”

Pyrope paused his ministrations, but he looked amused, like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. He cupped Sans’ cheek to face Sans eye to eye.

“Sans. Did you say…’it’?”

Sans looked at the floor.

“You know, just because we know each other doesn’t mean you gotta be shy.”

Didn’t it, though?

The rope uncoiled from its nest inside Sans and fell to the floor once more. Another hand touched Sans’ other cheek so that his head was being held in both hands. Sans still didn’t look up. Pyrope’s voice went low, like it was trying to fall with Sans’ gaze.

“You’re going to make a tight little pussy for me, aren’t you?”

“…yes, master.”

Two more hands grabbed Sans’ ankles and lifted his legs into a midair squatting position, his knees bent on either side of his rib cage. Pyrope’s hands parted some of the fabric hanging from Sans’ pelvic bones. Sans started to gather magic at his crotch, but another hand touched his pubic bone, stopping him.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not until I say. What are you going to make, Sans?”


“I want you to respond in full sentences.” A thumb rubbed Sans’ cheek. “And don’t forget who I am.”

Sans shut his eyes, his face warmer than the flaming one staring him down.

“I’m g-gonna make a…pussy…master…”

Okay, the meter was definitely shooting past irritating to hit humiliating now.

“Go on, then.”

Sans finally gathered the magic at his groin. After a moment, he peeked one eye open, then the other.

Pyrope was just staring at it. He had a stupid, goofy grin on his face like he’d never seen one before.

A hand stroked down the lips with a knuckle, then teased only a little ways into the hole, stretching it open. Pyrope’s head bent down to peer inside.

“Wh-what’re…what’re you doing…”

“You make your pussy look pretty good, Sans.”

Sans jolted at the shoulders. A blush crept from his neck to his forehead.

Then Pyrope started working up and down the lips using two thumbs, and Sans bit back a noise of pleasure. More hands were massaging his thighs. Maybe this wouldn’t hurt after all. Pyrope at least seemed to care about getting him wet.

As a thumb pushed into the hole, massaging the inside, a spark of magic formed in the air in front of Sans’ pelvis. The spark split into more sparks, cascading down in a flickering shower to form the outline of a cock. The cock glowed and solidified into a fiery orange color. Pyrope certainly had a taste for presentation.

The dick didn’t appear to be anchored to any spot that might have been an invisible crotch, judging by where Pyrope’s head floated, but then Sans supposed Pyrope didn’t need to attach it to anything if he didn’t want to.

Pyrope removed his hands from Sans’ pussy, and the cock drew closer. The fat bottom of the shaft pressed between the pussy lips, rubbing up and down. Sans felt his cunt twitch in anticipation. He wasn’t actually looking forward to this, was he?

A hand moved back in to tease at Sans’ clit, and Sans’ body gave a small spasm. He heard something dripping on the floor. Pyrope’s head nudged under Sans’ chin.

“I want you to ask me to fuck you.”

Pyrope licked up Sans’ neck. Sans’ words came out in a gasp.

“…f-fuck me…”



Pyrope sighed through his nose, a crackling ember floating up from his face.

“Full sentences, Sans.”

Sans didn’t think he could have looked Pyrope in the eye if every weapon in the kingdom were pointed at him. He continued to stare down the floor.

“Fuck m-my…pussy.”

A disembodied hand stroked Sans’ burning cheek.

“Heh…I guess I can see why you go for the shy route.”

The cock slid down the lips of the cunt and pressed the head on it a few times before pushing in. Sans felt himself gripping tight around its entry, the muscle already contracting in response to the pulsing inside it.

Pyrope slid in and out slowly, then gave one hard thrust inside.


“There we go. Now we’re getting somewhere. Go on, who am I, Sans?”


Pyrope thrust again, liquid spattering out from between them.

“Say it again.”


Instead of thrusting more, the cock paused its movement, and a hand worked on Sans’ clit again. Pyrope rubbed and stroked it until Sans felt a climax building just from the attentions there. His cunt clamped down hard in anticipation, making the cock inside him feel huge, making every twitch stand out and send shivers of pleasure up Sans’ spine.

Then the hand stopped, and Pyrope rocked inside him. Sans felt a long, warm sigh on his neck. The rocking motion was almost soothing, but it kept him right on the edge, release further out of reach.

“Tell me what gets you off.”

“Uh! Um…I…dunno…you could…keep going?”

“That’s too easy. You’re gonna be more specific than that.”

“N-nothing, really…”

Sans could think of at least a few things. It was going to take a moment to decide which would be the least degrading to admit. He supposed if Pyrope held out for an answer, a lie would be discovered fairly easily just by testing it.

“There’s something. And you’re gonna tell me.”

The rocking motion was continuing inside, and all Sans could think about was…

“Um. It’s, uh…when i-it…”

Pyrope tipped Sans’ chin up again.

“No ‘it’s’ here, Sans.”

Sans swallowed.

“When your cock, uh…comes, it feels uh…it…”

“You like feeling cum shoot inside you?”

Sans nodded meekly. He felt his pupils flicker out in embarrassment. More than two hands were stroking his face, and Pyrope’s mouth pressed to his forehead.

“I think I can manage that.”

The cock thrust harder into him, sheathing all the way in each time. The press of the head on the back of Sans’ pussy made his legs tremble. It sped up until Sans couldn’t believe he hadn’t come just from that.

Then Pyrope pulled out almost all the way, leaving the head in and stroking himself hard.

Pyrope had to know this wasn’t what he meant. Coming in him like that would barely feel like anything. Sans let out a small whine. Pyrope kept stroking, groaning low and pleased.

“I’m gonna come. I’m close. You want this?”

This was just unfair.

It was the height of injustice for him to have Sans beg for something he’d also made him want.

Sans mumbled.


Pyrope pulled out as far as he could while still touching Sans, only the tip of the head at the hole of his cunt. Pyrope moaned.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—!”

“Master, put your…cock in me, p-please…”

The cock slid in and up smoothly, as though guided by the roll of hips. It gave one last hard thrust, burying deep before cum burst from the head, pumping into Sans and filling him up. Sans’ whine at the pleasurable feeling hit a wavering cry.


Sans felt the whisper of fire by his face.

“I’m coming inside you. How does it feel?”

“Ohh…it…feels really good…” Sans closed his eyes lazily. “It feels hot…”

Pyrope examined Sans’ face.

“Heh. That really does do something for you.”

A hand played with Sans’ clit until Sans came too, hips rocking on the dick inside and pussy hugging tight. Fluids leaked between his legs.

The cock pulled out slowly, softening as it withdrew and then disappearing in a flash of flame. A hand forced Sans to look Pyrope in the eye. Sans made himself meet his gaze, wary of reaching the limit of times he would let him look away.

“What else gets you off?”


Pyrope snorted a little.

“What’s with all this embarrassment? Is this your gimmick or something? Muffet should have told you it’s more annoying than cute. I know you’re new to the job, but you can’t be that new to sex.”

Sans didn’t have anything to say to that.

A hand traced up his spine.

“Maybe I should force an answer out of you the old fashioned way.” The hand was inside his rib cage. Sans wasn’t sure if the threat was related to the proximity to his soul, but the very idea of it made him sweat. The hand tightened on his spine, just shy of too hard. “You sure you don’t like pain?”


The hand released him. Pyrope’s mouth was slack, like it was halfway to speaking but couldn’t decide.

“What was that?”


Sans’ voice was about as small as he wanted to be. He wanted to shrink down to the quantum level, too small to be seen by the naked eye and too uncertain to be tied up and observed.

There was a pause, then Pyrope burst into laughter that made the flames on his head crackle into the air around him. A hand reached up to wipe his fiery eye, as though tears could come out of it.

“I’m sorry, oh my god, I don’t mean to laugh, it’s only that it’s extremely hilarious.”

Sans’ whole body scrunched up as much as his position would allow. Pyrope’s many hands surrounded him to unlock him from the shackles and help him down, lowering him gently. One hand lifted his head.

“Ohhh Sans. Sans. You have no idea how happy I am.”

A hand led Sans to the couch, the rope slithering between his feet to meet him there. Several hands set up pillows in a pile in the middle, and when Sans climbed up onto the couch, more hands bent him over the pile so the highest point held his crotch up. His face was pushed down into the cushion while the rope slid up his back and tied up his wrists.

“Make a cock.”

Sans let his cunt disappear, but before he formed a cock, a finger tapped his teeth.

“Uh-uhn. What do you say when I give you an order?”

“Y…yes, master.”

Sans wriggled. The hand moved from his mouth to his cheek. Sans took that as his cue and made his dick appear. For once, it formed hard, pressing into the soft pile of cushioning beneath it.

A hand cupped Sans’ behind, rubbing gently. Sans tensed in anticipation. Why did he have to blurt this out? As if he didn’t have enough reasons not be able to look his childhood friend in the eye ever again.

But Pyrope did seem pretty practiced at this. Despite laughing at first, it didn’t feel like he thought this was something weird.

The hand was still just rubbing at the ruined fabric of Sans’ pants. Another hand wrapped around Sans’ dick, stroking it once, then moving fingers over the shaft in a light, almost tickling motion. Sans bucked in surprise.


The hand pumped him again, encouraging Sans to fuck the cushion for more friction. Pyrope’s head disappeared from its place beside the couch and reappeared in a flurry of sparks over Sans’ shoulders.

“This time, you’re not going to come until I tell you that you can.”

That seemed like a pretty unfair thing to ask Sans to control. He stilled himself. So long as he wasn’t thrusting with abandon, just spanking shouldn’t—

The hand rubbing his behind suddenly lifted up and swatted him once. Hot arousal shot down his spine and made his cock bounce. The forward push forced his cock to rub into the hand holding it. The thumb pressed against the slit and slid down the head, precum dribbling steadily after it. Sans scrambled his legs out behind him on the couch cushion.

“Haa…gg…ukk…n-not fair…”

He was spanked again, the hand stroking his cock now lubed up with his precum. His hips bounced into the pillows with the force of the slap. He could feel the fabric getting wet and sticky under his lap. Sans pressed his face into the couch and let out more stuttered moans.

“None of that. I want to hear you.”

A hand turned Sans’ head so his cheek rested on the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, Sans could see Pyrope fixedly gazing at him.

The hand spanked him several times in a row, not letting up between each hit. Even with his mouth uncovered, the noises that came out of Sans were like muffled whimpers.

“Ah! Nn……”

The speed of the hand smacking him picked up, building intensity like the rush to a powerful climax. Sans’ hips jerked, humping the pillows in an uncontrollable spasm. The hand around his cock squeezed, choking an orgasm out of him.


Sans felt dizzy, like he was tumbling into release, being forced into a pleasure too heavy for him to get up from.

It felt incredible.

The hand had stopped spanking him. It had gone back to cupping his behind, rhythmically pushing Sans’ hips down into the pillows as though Sans weren’t already willingly fucking them like an animal in heat. The hand didn’t go back to full, hard hits, but periodically rubbed at him and gave small encouraging slaps, barely lifting an inch from him with each one.

Sans felt his cum wetting the cushions under him. The other hand kept stroking his cock mercilessly, forcing him to come until his hips were shuddering hard, his body protesting that it was beyond spent. But the hand impossibly coaxed one last squirt of release out of him, then let go and slid up to rub affectionately under his stomach, leaving Sans’ dick twitching and oversensitive. The eased come down from the frenzied orgasm made Sans feel blissfully sated.

Hands lifted Sans below the waist, raising his crotch above the pillows. Sans’ body was limp like a ragdoll. Steam rose from his lap, cum dripping down messily from him, some sticky threads of it clinging from his lap to the cushions. It had soaked partway down his thighs and up his stomach.

Pyrope made a ‘tsk’ing sound at the mess, but he looked pretty pleased, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all that Sans had failed to follow instructions. He didn’t think he could have complied anyway. Maybe Pyrope had changed his mind about what he wanted partway through—he’d been fairly aggressive about making Sans come.

But Pyrope’s next words didn’t seem to match the seductive half-lidded expression on his face.

“Uh oh, looks like I’m gonna have to punish you, Sans.”

Sans’ entire body tensed up. The blissful afterglow was frozen by terror. He’d fucked up, he was in for it, the pleasure he’d just felt was only a way to cruelly prepare him for this. To act as a contrast to the torture he’d been tricked into earning.

“B-but I…I d-d-didn’t…I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it, I tried b-but I…”

He hadn’t tried all that hard.

“D-d-don’t hurt me please, please don’t hurt m-me—”

Pyrope looked taken off guard.

“Hurt? I’m not—”

Pyrope looked closer at Sans’ face.

“Ha, don’t tell me you forgot the safeword?”

Sans fought through the haze of panic.

“The…the wh-what?”

“Are you serious? The safeword. Pyro?”

Sans blinked wearily. He’d thought that was another trap to get him punished. After all, to say it, he would have to break the rule of only calling him ‘master.’

Pyrope sighed and lifted Sans by his underarms, easing him into a reclining position on the couch away from the mess. He released the rope around his wrists and wrapped a blanket over Sans’ shoulders. Sans sat there shivering, only half aware of what was happening as his eyes looked ahead unseeing, his mind fallen into past punishments.

The rope rubbed his shoulder blade in circles. Pyrope dipped his head as though trying to duck under Sans’ panic.

“Hey, did you…even want to do tonight?”


“You would have told Muffet no if the idea of it freaked you out too much, right?”

Sans could only stare at him. He wasn’t sure if Pyrope was taunting him or was actually serious.

“Sans? Why aren’t you answering?”

“I don’t, uh…really get what you’re asking?”

Pyrope looked like he no longer wanted to ask.

“You would have said no, right?”

Sans didn’t even begin to know what to say to that. ‘I can’t’ felt so obvious that it didn’t bear verbalizing. Pyrope’s searching expression resolved into something akin to horror.

“Oh shit. Oh fuck. No, no, no. You’re not serious?”

Sans didn’t bother wearing an expression, leaving his face in the default neutral that took as little effort at possible.

“About what?”

Floating hands grabbed Sans by the shoulders. Pyrope’s smile was desperate.

“Sans, tell me you don’t have to do this.”

“What else would this be?”

The hands let go.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.”

Pyrope got up and immediately tripped, part of his rope tangling. A hand covered his mouth like he was going to be sick.

“Sans, I—” a hand reached out, then snapped back. “—I gotta go.”

He stumbled toward the door. Sans was struck with a terrifying thought.


Pyrope halted and turned his head. Ridiculously, he looked afraid of Sans.

“You’re not gonna…complain to Muffet, are you? Ask for a…refund or something?”

Pyrope was silent. Sans looked at his knees, gripping the cushion hard in an attempt to still the shaking of his hands.

“I think I’d g-get in trouble is all…”

Sans was startled by the sound of shoes stomping back toward him. He was grabbed again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Pyrope shook Sans a little for emphasis. Now Sans had done it. He was already in trouble.

“I…thought you kn-knew? I thought…everybody knew…”

“You—if I’d known, I never would have—! I’m not a bad person! But you made me—”

He pushed Sans with enough force to get him on his back. Sans expected to be mounted again right there, but he was left in place, Pyrope in his own world hunched at the edge of the couch.

“You didn’t warn me. I wouldn’t have done that if I’d known, I’m not like that. I’m a good person.”

Sans wondered if Pyrope knew that most of the workers weren’t 100% happy to serve either, despite not sharing Sans’ circumstances. That even Shyren, who was here of her own will, was sometimes pressured by Muffet to entertain ten monsters in one night. Because that was her job.

Suddenly, Pyrope rounded on him.

“You enjoyed it. I made you feel good, right? I didn’t do anything bad to you.”

Sans still hadn’t gotten up from his back, and Pyrope’s vicious tone made Sans quake.

“Y-yeah it…it felt really g-good. I l-liked…”

Pyrope was leaning over him almost menacingly. Sans put his hands up, whether in surrender or to put a small barrier between them, he wasn’t sure. He closed his eyes, and his volume dropped to a broken whisper.

“…I liked it…”

“Why are you acting like that? I didn’t hurt you.”

Sans flinched. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, covering his face with his hands.

“I’m s-sorry, I. Tell me what to do, just tell me what to d-do…”


Sans felt the couch adjust as Pyrope got off it. He heard a crash that made him curl his legs protectively over himself. He let out a frightened sob through his hands. After the crash stopped ringing in his ears, he heard the sharp tap of footsteps and the slam of the door.

When he calmed enough to get himself off the couch, he saw that Pyrope had upended the room’s large table and thrown it several feet across the floor.


When Sans left the private room, Muffet was there waiting for him with her arms crossed.

“Sans. What was that.”


Sans took one stumbling step back. It didn’t help. Muffet advanced on him.

“You upset your client.”

“I’m s-sorry, I…I d-did everything he said—!”

Muffet grabbed Sans’ wrists and held them together, and Sans’ pupils shrunk to pinpricks. He trembled in her grip, unable to make himself say anything else.

“You of all monsters should know by now that it doesn’t just take following orders. You have to take care of them. It’s your job to please them, not make them feel like a brute.”

Sans choked.

“I g…ot s-scared, please—”

“And before that, you didn’t think for one moment that you shouldn’t be brutally honest with him? You couldn’t just tell him you loved it and leave it at that?” She tightened her grip on Sans’ wrists and tugged down, forcing Sans to his knees. “What did Onion even train you for?”

“I d-didn’t think about it, please, Muffet, don’t hurt me, I’ll do b-b-better I s-swear I’ll…d-do better, please give me a chance I c-can’t

Muffet let go of his wrists. There was a light bruise already blooming where she’d held.

“You made a big mistake this time, Sans. You may have lost me a client. Do you understand the loss that entails? You can’t make up for it.”

“There’s, there’s g-gotta be…”

Sans regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth unfinished.

“I may have to balance it out by lifting some of your restrictions. Get you doing higher-paying work.”

Sans knew what that meant. Sessions with gangs. Sadistic clients let off their metaphorical leashes. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered.


“But that’s only if we do lose him. We’ll see, I suppose.”

Muffet touched a hand to Sans’ head, then walked away. Sans bent over into a shuddering ball.


“Does Muffet kind of…”

Cecil and Shyren watched Sans with interest, waiting for him to finish. Now he probably wouldn’t get away with claiming the first half of his sentence was just a really weird-sounding burp. Sans mumbled the rest.

“…scare the shit out of either of you…?

The other two exchanged a glance. Shyren looked thoughtful.

“She doesn’t bother me much…I have different circumstances, I know, but I’m usually able to put my foot down with her. I suppose I have a loyal enough client base that she doesn’t see me as a…priority.”

She looked sorry for Sans as she said it. He already deeply regretted bringing it up.

So Muffet wasn’t like this to everyone.

But Sans was actually interested if Cecil had anything to say about it, especially considering they’d shown signs of distrust with Muffet before. As he waited for Cecil to answer, they were taking their time with their food.

“…she used to.”

Was that all Sans would get?

Cecil looked to the side.

“She kinda lost interest in me, I guess after…”

They snapped to look at Sans and then waved their hands in the air.

“I mean—I wouldn’t really recommend that route, I’m sure there are better ways to uh…get her off your back…not sure what they are, really…”

They muttered the last words uncertainly. The whole thing was a little cryptic, but Sans figured he had enough pieces of the puzzle to put that together.

He knew Cecil had some kind of breakdown, enough that everyone had noticed and it was common knowledge with the other workers. He knew that Muffet had changed their schedule to have them service clients less.

But Sans had a sickening feeling that even if he went catatonic, Muffet would still be able to find someone who would be willing to pay to fuck him for revenge.

Sans was pulled out of his ponderings when he noticed Cecil looking very intense. Sans might not have noticed if he’d only met the mouse today, but when they spoke, their voice shook almost imperceptibly.

“Anyway, the really disgusting one is Onion.”

Sans felt like he’d been stripped naked.

What made them say that? It was like they were piercing through him, could see him writhing under the octopus’ touches, making pitiful nonverbal supplications for more of his comfort. Sans felt like he was back in that moment with Onion looking at him and knowing and…they hadn’t even had sex and they’d still finished with Sans feeling fucking ravished, how was that fucking fair?

Sans bunched his jacket tighter to himself and stuffed his hand in his pocket, feeling the radio he’d taken with him.

It wasn’t like he took it out to talk to Onion anywhere other than in his own room, but having it around with him made him feel more secure. It didn’t make sense, because Onion hadn’t been able to protect Sans from Muffet’s anger before. But Sans felt that remembering what Onion taught him more often than not got him out of trouble with clients faster, and the radio at least served as a physical reminder.

Sans realized he hadn’t responded to Cecil’s comment. He blurted out the most flippant reply he could come up with.

“He’s got a face for radio, that’s for sure.”

Cecil jolted like they’d been zapped by static.

“What did you just say?”

“Uh…you know…that thing that people say when…someone’s really ugly…?”

Cecil shook their head, chasing a thought out.

“Nevermind, I’m…I need more sleep.”

Shyren pat Cecil on the back. Sans kept nervously stroking the radio hidden in his pocket with a finger.


Sans sat on a bench in the open hall he’d met Alphys in before. The human was running late. An unwelcome stray thought whispered that they weren’t coming because they were dead, so to head that descent into madness off at the pass, Sans took out his cell phone and fiddled with it.

He glanced anxiously at the tall doorway. The soft blow of an underground air current was so well-timed as he watched the door, he was half-surprised he didn’t see a tumbleweed bounce by just to pull the picture together.

Well, so long as he was going to think crazy thoughts either way. Sans took a deep breath and held his phone to his ear, playing the second message.


Brother! I suppose you didn’t get my first message. I’m sure you’re very busy. I’m busy here as well—


Brother, it’s very unprofessional not to return phone calls. I know we’re family, but you should be acting like an adult in all aspects of your life. It’s just good practice! Anyways, that was what I called to tell you about. I called to talk to you about phone calls.


Sans, I waited three days this time. I was reading that etiquette book you gave me, and it says that you’re supposed to wait three days to call? I’m not sure why it was specific about that, but apparently it’s very important if you want someone to call you back. Did you know about this rule?

Shuffling noises.

It’s right here in a chapter on…wait a second…

The sound of a book falling.

FUCK never mind, forget what I—! Did you replace the cover as a prank?? Is this why you were laughing when I attempted to ‘neg’ Undyne as a gesture of friendship?! DON’T FUCKING LAUGH AT ME, DELETE THIS MESSAGE IMMEDIATELY


Sans snickered.

“Okay, Boss.”

He deleted the message, then played the next one.

* *

An exasperated sigh.

Sans, listen, I’m not actually that mad at you. I don’t know what you heard, but just call me back. I’m not going to lecture you about pranks the entire time, just for ten minutes or so. Call me and take your fucking medicine.

Very funny. I know you think you’re too good for Snowdin now, but surely you’re not too good to give me the time of day.

You would do well to return my calls.


A long pause.

I miss yo-/



Sans gave a wet chuckle and wiped his nasal ridge on his sleeve.

“Heh, okay Boss.”

He deleted messages one through nine. He played number ten.

* *

The Great Snowdin Mystery serial, Part One. It was a grand day in Snowdin, as it often is when the Grand Papyrus is out on patrol, protecting the town from harm. However, when he returned to his station later that evening, he saw that something was amiss. An item of interest was missing from behind the booth. The booth’s mascot, rigged up by the skeleton brothers some years ago: not just any bland bauble, but a bumble bee bobble-headed bottle bid to babble by a voice box button bound to the bundle.

A pause, and a whisper.

Nyeh-heh. Did it.

The Grand Papyrus discovered a set of suspicious footprints headed away from the station. But only a few feet away from the booth…the footprints stopped! Dun dun DUNNN. Stay tuned next time, as more of this tantalizing mystery unfolds—! Narrated by up-and-coming radio star and professional excellent voice-haver, The Grand Papyrus!

The Great Snowdin Mystery serial, Part Two. The bauble returns! But something is wrong with it—it appears to have been…decorated against its will. On its bobbling head rests a pair of silly glasses with nose and mustache attached, not at all the correct style for such a cool bee. And an undignified tattoo has been drawn onto it, depicting inappropriate flesh anatomy.

On the desk, like a challenge, the thieving vandals have left a calling card for the Grand Papyrus to discover: an icy feather that melts when he picks it up in his dexterous fingers.

* *

Sans heard footsteps coming from down the hall and quickly turned the message off. The human appeared through the far doorway and made their way up to him, taking a seat beside him.

“Hey sweetheart. How’s tricks?”

They didn’t answer directly. Sans saw circles under their eyes. They looked too distracted to answer on their own account, but Sans’ phone caught their attention.

“Am I interrupting?”

Sans looked down at his phone.

“Nah, I was just…passing the time waiting for you. I do have a really cool story for you to hear, though. You like mysteries?”

Frisk nodded and scooted closer, putting their head on Sans’ shoulder. It was a testament to how easy the child made him feel that he didn’t flinch.

Sans was about to play message number ten again when his phone rang. He nearly toppled backwards, but the human caught his back and steadied him. He gave them a harried glance as the phone kept ringing. They didn’t appear surprised by the interruption.

“You should answer it.” Then they gave him a strangely piercing stare. “And you should tell him the truth.”

“Heh…yeah right, kid.”

Sans shakily pressed answer on his phone and held it to his ear.

“The Great Snowdin Mystery serial, Part Thr—”

There was a stretch of silence.

“Sans? Did you pick up?”

“Y-yeah Boss. …hi.”

“Sans! To be honest, I was starting to get a bit—” There was a crackling static noise, like Papyrus had switched the phone to his other ear. “What’s the job like? Oh—have you been washing your clothes often enough? Wait, did you buy more clothes? You know it’s better if you wash more often, but they also get threadbare faster if—”

“Hey, Boss.”

“Yes, I realize that was more than one question, and you had better answer all of them.”

“Boss, just a note on your radio play. I don’t think you need to mention that your fingers are dexterous.”

“But they are!”

“I know, bro, but it’s not really relevant to you picking up a clue. It wasn’t like…difficult to pick up or anything.”

“Of course the first thing you have to say about it is criticism! What do you know about art??”

“Nothing, I’m just saying, is all.”


Sans heard tapping. He could picture clearly his brother clacking his fingers against the phone in irritation. Sans swallowed.

“The job is fine, Boss.” The child was pouting at him. “I’ve basically been doing nothing but working and sleeping. It’s, you know, tough getting started and all. Sorry I…didn’t answer the phone.”

Papyrus sighed.

“I figured it was something like that. Rationally.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I’ll admit that sometimes, even someone like me can be…irrational. A lot of things happened recently, and when you didn’t call back, for maybe a moment I had a thought that…”

Sans didn’t notice he was trembling until he felt the human’s arms gripping tight around his middle, grounding him.

“Do you think you might have time to call me more often from now on?”

“Uh! Yeah…Boss. Of course. Sorry.”

“Right. Well. Your clothes…?”

“I’ve got more and they’re getting washed, I promise. It’s like I’m a real professional.”

“Good. Yes. Well, that was all. All the best.”

“You…too, Boss.”

Papyrus hung up. The human took the phone out of Sans’ hand immediately, which was remarkably good timing considering Sans had been about to impulsively slam it to the floor.

Papyrus’ simple request for him to call more had been so fucking vulnerable. It was like Sans’ weakness was catching. For one second, Sans had a clearer understanding than he’d ever had of why Asgore wanted him out of Papyrus’ life.

The phone rang again. Sans and Frisk both stared at it. Sans took a breath, then grabbed it back from them and answered, waiting to hear his brother’s voice as though it would set off a bomb.

“Sans, don’t pick up the phone like an idiot, I’m trying to leave a message with the next part of my Great Snowdin Mystery serial.”

“Oh…sorry, Boss.”

“Goodbye, Sans.”



This time, when Muffet finished latching the collar on him, Sans rushed to grab her by the legs.

“Sans! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Not in my room, please not in my room, please not here—”

“Clients have had you in your room before, Sans, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is, it’s—c-can’t you do something else to me? Not…not him, please—”


Muffet pet his head and pulled his arms away, and he didn’t fight.

“I want you to show me that you can be good. So do as I say, and don’t complain.”

Sans bit back his words. Pointing out what an unfair test of obedience that was wouldn’t do him any good. So he stayed put while Muffet left him, then huddled up to wait. For once he’d rather encourage getting fucked into the floor than moving things to the bed.

When Lesser Dog opened the door, he looked like the cat that caught the canary, so to speak.

“Is this really your room, shortstuff?”

When Sans didn’t respond, the dog swaggered in and tossed his coat on the floor.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Lesser Dog yanked Sans’ head up by the collar and framed his face with his other hand.

“You want me to visit you in here off hours, Sansy? Bet you get bored without me around, right?”

Sans couldn’t think of a safe way to answer that, so he stayed silent. Unfortunately, not answering was also a bad response. The dog tossed him onto the bed.

Sans had only just scrambled to get off his back before Lesser Dog was looming over him from the edge of the bed, trapping him.


He wanted to get it over with, but he couldn’t get his hands to unbutton his shirt any faster. Lesser Dog didn’t seem to find much pleasure in the tease either, because while Sans shucked his shirt, the dog was yanking Sans’ pants off. The dog collar stayed on.

Lesser Dog grabbed Sans by the shoulders and scooted him so that he was sitting with his back against the wall and his legs in front of him, the dog settling on his knees on the bed in front of Sans. Even kneeling, he cast Sans in shadow. Sans didn’t look up.

Lesser Dog wrenched Sans’ legs apart as though he were going to struggle. The quick, violent motion made Sans clutch tight to the sheets and huff in a shallow breath.

“Diddle yourself.”

Sans’ breath caught. He looked up. The dog was grinning down at him with the look monsters got when they were proposing a particularly nasty bet and expected a welch. That seemed about right.

When Sans hesitated, though, the dog grabbed one of Sans’ hands and forced it between his legs.

“Go on.”

Sans really didn’t want to do that. But how badly did he not want to do that?

“P-please…touch me instead.”

“What’s that? What do you want?”

“I w-want you to touch me.”

The dog leaned down and reached his other hand between Sans’ legs, thumbing his pubic bone.

“Since you asked nice, puppy.”

He licked Sans’ face, then brought a hand up and licked over his own fingers. When he reached back down to fondle Sans again, the wet warmth made Sans twitch into the touch.

“Ah—! D-don’t…please, move your hand for a…for just a s-second…”

To Sans’ surprise, Lesser Dog didn’t use the opportunity to intimidate him. He set his hand down on the mattress, letting Sans form his cunt.

Then the fingers were back on him, sliding over the lips and wriggling inside, then pumping into him. This didn’t feel at all like last time, like

the punishing scratch of stiff wood

Lesser Dog’s finger’s touched bone. Sans’ pussy had blinked out of existence. The dog looked down, first in shock, then annoyance.

“The hell is that?”

“I…w-wait, I can…I can d-do it…”

Sans touched the dog’s hand with his, and to his immense relief the dog allowed him to push the hand away from him so he could make his cunt again.

Sans had to concentrate extra hard to make it this time, only to be rewarded by a harsh zap up his spine as it appeared. He hunched his shoulders in distress.

Before Sans could assess the problem, Lesser Dog’s fingers were back inside him. It didn’t feel good anymore, though the dog clearly thought it did, by his mumbled swearing and lewd encouragement. The thought of the dog keeping at it filled Sans with dread.

Sans tensed around the fingers, a small whimper of pain escaping him as the tightness only made the intrusion stand out more.

Then his pussy stuttered out again.

Lesser Dog shook wetness from his hand and glared down at Sans.

“You being naughty with me, pup?”

“I’m—it’s not—!”

This wasn’t going well. If he couldn’t do this, he’d get punished.

Sans could hear his bones clattering against the wall at his back.

He would have to move this along somehow. Get Lesser Dog distracted by something else. Sans put a hand into the dog’s lap, feeling for the tip of his penis, then leaned in and gave it a lick over the clothes.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Sans looked up at the dog without tilting his head up. A pose Onion had taught him with very precise and insistent tentacles arranging his head and directing his gaze to just the right angle.

“L-let me…let me suck you off. I. I wanna suck your c-cock.”

Lesser Dog actually looked surprised. Sans felt the stiff erection give an eager twitch into his fingers through the pants. A wet spot was growing where precum was already pouring out.

The dog’s response was to settle back and open his legs up. He looked at Sans with interest.

Sans brought himself forward, his upper half bending over into the dog’s lap. He unzipped the dog’s pants and pulled the cock out, giving it a preparatory stroke. It bounced and dribbled more precum over his hand.

Sans opened his mouth over the tip, swirling his tongue around it and giving one hard suck, popping his mouth off it to take a breath. When he lowered his mouth over it again, he took in more, past the tip, grazing his tongue back and forth under the head.

His mouth was already filling up. He swallowed, rolling his tongue and pumping the shaft with his hand. The dog’s hand pressed down on his head, so he stayed there gulping for a while.

Then the cock bucked up into him, startling him so much that he had to pull away, coughing hard.

A hand shoved his head into the sheets where he’d coughed up the fluids, holding him there until he gave a nervous lick. The hand let go of him.

“Hm. Not good enough.”

Lesser Dog moved off the bed. He didn’t indicate for Sans to follow, so Sans waited there and watched Lesser Dog’s movements. What exactly did he mean, not good enough? He was pretty sure it was better than it was before, and the dog seemed happy enough just to fuck Sans’ face the first time. But maybe the dog had gotten bored already.

Sans barely had time to register confusion before his joints locked in terror. Lesser Dog had opened the closet and taken out a broom, and he was approaching him with it.

Sans’ jaw was stuck, but he managed to open it enough to let out a whine in a pitch higher than his natural voice.


Lesser Dog was on top of him, holding the broom handle to his teeth like a quieting finger.

“Shh, shh, shh. I’m not gonna hurt you, puppy. You’re just gonna practice sucking on this until you can do it right for me.”

Sans’ teeth chattered as the handle clacked against them.

“Open wide.”

The dog shoved the handle into his mouth. Sans sobbed brokenly around it, curling up his body.

“Come on, come on puppy, give us a lick.”

Still hiccoughing, Sans licked up the tip of the handle. Lesser Dog straddled him, grabbing a leg with his other hand.

“Keep your legs open.”

Sans let out a high whimper.

“I’m not gonna put it in you, I just want you to keep your legs open.”

Sans spread out underneath him. Lesser Dog dipped the broom in and out of his mouth, making Sans choke. He felt the dog’s erection sit in his lap.

“Make a pussy for me.”

Sans put his hands up on the dog’s chest in a wordless plea, sucking on the broom with more energy and hugging the dog’s erection with his thighs in an attempt to hide that there wasn’t anything there yet.

The dog slammed a hand into Sans’ chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Sans went absolutely still, bringing his hands down to grip at the covers and taking fast breaths through his nose.

Lesser Dog let go of the broom, but Sans didn’t dare move his mouth off it. The dog brought Sans’ soul forward through his chest, then bent his head down to lick over it. Tears streamed freely down Sans’ face, the feral noises of fear he made muffled by the wood. Lesser Dog only paused his licking to shush him before going back to work.

When his pussy formed, Sans let out a stifled scream, and his hands shot between his legs.

“What the—I didn’t even—”

Sans felt the broom pulled out of his mouth and heard it clatter to the floor. He curled over on his side in a fetal position, clutching his hands to his groin with his thighs. There wasn’t anything in him, nothing was touching him, so why did it hurt so bad?

“The fuck is going on?”

“get muffet, please get muffet”

Lesser Dog ignored him, forcing his thighs apart and looking down.

“Holy shit—!”

“t-tell muffet, please, something’s wrong”

The dog snorted and bent in closer.

“Actually, I like this. It’s like we’re right where we left off, isn’t it?”

He pumped his cock and sat it over Sans’ cunt, rubbing at the slit.

“n-no no…no no please please”

The dog was closing the space above him with his bulk. But for the second time, Sans saw an opening for escape. He kicked himself out from under the dog, then dove for the radio on his bedside table.

“Onion! Onion help me!”

Lesser Dog caught him around the chest, the radio still just out of reach. Sans reached his hands crazily at the air.

A hand picked up the radio and tossed it aside. Both Sans and the dog paused their struggles. Muffet had entered the room, and they hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Let go of him, please.”

Lesser Dog huffed and raised his hands, dropping Sans carelessly in a pile. Sans’ insides screamed in pain.

“You can finish with him another time. I’m going to have to see what’s wrong.”

The dog gave no protest as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Muffet pulled Sans back onto the bed and laid him down. Sans stuffed his hands back between his legs as though the pain was a leak he could plug.

One of Muffet’s hands glowed green. Sans let out a whimpering sigh. She was going to heal him.

But the glowing hand didn’t come near him. Instead, another hand held him down by the sternum.



“M-muffet please it. It hurts really bad, it really h-hurts…”

“Who were you calling for help just now?”


“Yes, dear, and I was on my way. But who after that?”

“Please Muffet, please, I th-think it’s…it f-feels torn, it’s b-bad”

A hand stroked down Sans’ cheek.

“Dear, do you know why Onion can’t help you?”

“muffet please”

A hand clasped around his spine and Muffet’s face took up all of Sans’ vision, teeth bared in anger.

“Because he. Lives. In. A. TANK.”


Muffet pulled Sans’ legs apart and lowered her glowing hand toward him.

“Only I’m here, Sans. This is my house.”

She touched him, and the healing magic spread over his pussy, pulling together the splintered tears and easing it back into its proper form. The relief was so intense, Sans almost started crying anew.

As she continued repairing, Sans’ breath evening and slowing, Muffet cupped his face and forced him to look at her.

“Now, there’s no need for Onion to hear about this little incident, is there?”


“Not going to go crying to him about booboos?”

“I w-won’t, I swear”

Muffet let go of his face, inspecting the healing job before letting him dispel. She pat his pelvis.

“There, it’s just like nothing was ever wrong.”


Sans woke up in the middle of the night to hands pawing at his lap.

He tried to turn around, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t get any sound out of his mouth, either. He was paralyzed, stuck mute on his stomach with hands groping at him. His pussy formed in reaction and he couldn’t even whimper.

He heard panting over his shoulder. Thought he heard a voice growl about plugging him up, then felt a suggestive bump to his hips.

It felt like he was trapped in that moment for hours, unable to fight or scream, not even able to indicate he was willing to submit in exchange for mercy.

Then the room changed. Sans could have sworn the lights had been turned on a moment ago, but now they were off, just as he’d left them. No one was on top of him. As soon as he realized he could move, he swiped his hands all around, but touched nothing.

He stumbled to the light switch and flipped it on. No one was there.

The door was still closed, the room as a whole completely unmolested, with no sign anyone had stolen in during the night.

And then he realized. Sleep paralysis.

That hadn’t happened to him in a long time—he’d almost forgotten how it felt. Almost. But every part of it was recognizable to him now as he slipped further from a groggy daze.

He was a little surprised this hadn’t happened to him here already. He’d had plenty of nightmares in Red City. But sleep paralysis hadn’t been a problem…

…up until Muffet let the dog rape him in here.

Sans peered over at the walkie-talkie Muffet had left stranded on the floor and made a reckless split-second decision.


Sans thought he would have more trouble falling back asleep, but the hallway outside his door was peaceful and empty, with no sign of traffic at this hour. The white noise of air blowing through the vents lulled him back to sleep as he curled around the radio.


A hand was shaking his shoulder. Sans bolted upright with the certainty that he’d gotten himself in trouble again.

“I didn’t tell him—I didn’t tell him anything, I swear, I just like to have it near—”

He was met with Cecil’s face.


Cecil’s expression was confused until their eyes fell on the radio, and their pupils turned to slits.

“No. No no no no.”

Cecil grabbed the radio and held it away from Sans. Sans automatically made to reach for it before he realized what his action was admitting.

How long have you had this?

Cecil’s voice was angrier than Sans had ever heard it. The tone was venomous.


Sans knew it was just a coincidence, that Onion often turned his end of the radio on at late hours to check that Sans was sleeping through the night, but the sudden flashing on of the radio’s little red light still felt like a damning accusation on a fucking cosmic scale.

When Cecil saw it, they apparently knew what it meant. They flipped the radio on, and before Onion could say a word, shouted into the radio’s mouth a lightning-quick: “we don’t want any!” and then hung up.


Sans reached for the radio again. Cecil held it away.

“You don’t get it, you don’t understand—you can’t have this. You can’t—”

“Give it back, twerp, d-don’t…don’t…d-d-do this to me.”

“You’re losing it! You don’t need this! I’m—I’m gonna hide it!”

Sans scrambled over them, abandoning any reserve and giving a vicious struggle to get it back. He overpowered them easily, but when he looked back down at them, he saw that they’d stopped fighting to nurse their eye. Sans felt guilty, but he also felt angry—he couldn’t help blaming them for the burning humiliation coursing through him. They’d practically forced him to expose himself in the worst way.

He wasn’t strong like them. He needed this stupid fucking thing. He needed something, someone stronger than him even if they were awful, he needed to hold on or he’d slip into a pit and never stop falling.

Cecil spoke in a quiet voice from the floor, not looking up at Sans.

“I had one of those. When I was at my lowest. Do you know what he said to me?”

Sans tried not to listen, but he was transfixed. Cecil got up on their knees, holding the side of their head in one hand.

“That son of a bitch…that…he…”

They bent forward, their face hidden from view.

“He told me he loved me.”

They raised their head, and tears were streaming down their cheeks.

“Ha…ha…h-how fucked up is that…?”

Sans fidgeted where he stood.

“The bastard stole my life from me. I was just a kid…he made sure I could do fuck all other than this…I could have trained for the guard. Maybe I don’t have strength, but I have speed, I could have studied magic more…what am I good for now?”

They shifted so their knees were bent in front of them in a huddled sit.

“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t leave you alone, after you told me you didn’t want to hear it, but I…I couldn’t stand the thought of…”

They hugged their knees.

“I don’t want you to forget who you are.”

Sans went up to them and sat down in front of them.

“Twerp, what the hell are you talking about? You wouldn’t have even liked who I was before this. If we’d met on the outside, I’d have stuffed you in a garbage can.”

“Sans, listen…you can’t—”

They reached for the radio. Sans flinched, but they only touched it, not moving to take it away. They closed their hands around his, looking directly in his eyes.

“Muffet may run a little hot and cold, but it’s pretty easy to know what she wants from us: she wants us to do as she says, and make her money. But Onion, he wants…”

Cecil let go of Sans’ hand.

“He wants everything.”


The second time, Sans waited sitting on his bed, pussy already formed.

When Lesser Dog came in, the dog walked over and sat next to him. He seemed to know he’d pushed his luck and it was time to ease up. He slipped a hand into Sans’ pants and played with him gently, and for Sans’ part, he tried to make sure he was quick and verbal about all his responses.

Lesser Dog definitely liked it the more he talked.

Sans pulled out every stupid cliché he could think of, told the dog how big he was, how good he was at this. Sans told him how badly he wanted to feel his cock inside him. All of it seemed to work—Sans felt the dog’s cock pulse with each word, felt the dog’s hot breath on his neck as his lips spread in a smile.

And the dog made Sans feel good, too.

Enough so that by the time they were on round two, Sans was still keyed up and slipping further away from untruths in his dirty talk.

“Beg for it, Sansy.”

The dog had him pinned beneath him, and he was prodding at the opening of Sans’ cunt with the head of his dick. The position reminded Sans strongly of the one they’d been in before the broom—before Sans called him a mangy mutt to his face. Lesser Dog seemed to have a penchant for reclaiming moments he felt had been stolen from him.

Lesser Dog moved his dick away from the opening and pushed the tip against Sans’ clit. Sans raised his hips.

“A-ah…d-don’t…don’t tease…”


“I w-want…”

Sans swallowed.

“I want you to…put your thick cock in my pussy, please…I…”

A finger swirled inside him, barely enough, but it lit him up.

“Ha! Ahh…nm…put…put it in me, please, I want. You to fuck my pussy with your cock, I want you to come hard inside me…please…”

Lesser Dog flipped Sans over and took him from behind, driving into him. Sans let himself scream, his face pushing into the cushion.

“Ahh! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—!”

The pace picked up. Sans felt a spasm. He’d built up a lot quicker this time.

“I’m…I’m already gonna…I’m c-coming…y-you’re making me come…”

The dog licked up the back of Sans’ neck.

“You like that, don’t you? You fucking love it when I hammer your dirty. Little. Hole.”

The dog punctuated his words with hard rhythmic thrusts that made Sans scream.

“I’m coming! I’m…ohh…”

He pressed his face into his arms, body going rigid as orgasm claimed him. He went slack, pleasure still riding through him. Lesser Dog slowed the pace, but he hadn’t come yet.

“Want more, pup?”

There was only one answer to that. But, so long as it was going to feel good anyway…

“Ah…mm…don’t stop…”

As if on cue, he stopped. Why the fuck did he stop. Why could Sans never be quite good enough for this to quit happening.

Something was odd. Sans didn’t feel Lesser Dog pull out, but his cock wasn’t inside him anymore. He couldn’t feel the weight of his body against his back, either.

Sans heard the creak of the door on its hinge. That’s right, since they were in his room, the door didn’t lock.

Sans turned.

“Muffet, y-you didn’t need t—”

But it wasn’t Muffet.

Papyrus stood stock still with a bone blade out, his face frozen in unspeakable anger. There was a fine film of dust floating in the air and Lesser Dog was nowhere to be seen.

Sans peddled backward and pushed his back as hard into the wall as it could go. He scratched wildly to cover his crotch in sheets.

“B-boss, he—he made me say that, I didn’t—!”

Partly true.

“He m-made me…!”

Papyrus started to turn away.


Papyrus stomped out of the room, scarf fluttering behind him.


Muffet had presumably sent Frisk to Sans’ room for their visit when Sans failed to go out to the long hall. Sans hadn’t been able to move himself, even after Woshua came in to get him cleaned and dressed. Even after Woshua moved him to get his clothes on, Sans reverted to a position with sheets bunched between his legs, as though he were hiding something. When the human came into his room, they shut the door softly behind them and sat themselves next to Sans on the edge of the bed.

“He saw me…”

Frisk put their arm around Sans. He didn’t appear to register the affection, positive or negative. Sans buried his face in his hands.

“My little bro saw me like this.”

A small, warm hand was rubbing circles on his back.

“…my b-baby brother…”

The human squeezed him tight, then broke away. Their voice was irritatingly full of hope.

“But now you can talk to him! It’s…it’s hard now, but this is better.”

“The hell it is.”

“You’re not being fair to him! He tries to trust you but he, he knew you were hiding something, he didn’t think you were happy, he told me—”

In one snapping movement, Sans lifted his face from his hands and fixed the human with a disbelieving stare.


He was willing to give the benefit of the doubt, but their face only confirmed their guilt.

“…you did this? You told him about me?”

The human flinched, appeared to consider, then only became more resolute.

“I had to. You weren’t changing your mind, and…and I needed to do something before…before we ran out of…”

They trailed off at the look on Sans’ face. Sans’ left eye gave off a wave of turbulent magic, the pupil hyper-focused to the fine point of a needle.

“g e t  o u t”

“He needs to know what’s happened to you, Sans, he wants to help you—”

Sans jolted up from the bed, shrugging away from the child’s touch.

“Get out. Get out GET OUT.”

Frisk got up from the bed too, but didn’t try to touch him again. They didn’t move to leave, either.

“Sans, please. You need your brother. He wants to help you, he really does.”

“What the fuck do you know, you stupid brat?! He hates me! He’d rather I were dead than doing this!”

“That’s…not true…”

Sans’ head fell back into his hands.

I’d rather I was dead.”

Frisk made a move toward him with their arms up, as though to comfort him.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

The human backed up to the door.

“Sans, please don’t be mad, please, I was trying to help you…I…”

Sans formed the shells of blasters and tossed them against the wall, just shy of smashing the human in the head. Not that the weak magic would have done anything, but it got a message across. The human curled up by the door, hands over their head.

“…don’t be mad, please don’t….be mad at me, please don’t be mad at me…”


“Want more, pup?”

Huh. Déjà vu. But then, how many times had he fucked Lesser Dog already? The words that came out of Sans’ mouth felt familiar, like a script he was following.

“Ah…mm…don’t stop…”

Then he stopped. Why the fuck did he stop.

Sans felt a powerful shiver run through him. For once, Sans’ fear was somewhere buried in the background under lust and desperation, and the sweet sort of despair bought through total surrender to fate. It wasn’t Sans shuddering—the dog’s body was so heavily laid on him that he felt its shiver clatter his bones like it were his own. The dog hadn’t come yet, had he? Sans was sure he would feel that.

Lesser Dog panted, then gave a halted laugh.

“Heh…haha…felt like someone walked over my grave. Spooky.”

He leaned his chin over Sans’ shoulder, giving a hard thrust of his hips that made Sans see stars.

“Shit, you’re so wet. I tell you you’re not a bad fuck when you’re behaving yourself, Sansy?”

In lieu of words, Sans responded by pressing his hips backwards and grinding up.


Lesser Dog hooked his claws around Sans’ thighs and pounded into him, not slowing until the knot at the base of his cock started to grow. Sans responded to the burst of cum flowing into him with a high whine that stuttered out into small hums of contentment.

But he knew better than to think that was enough. He wanted to make sure he kept speaking before Lesser Dog had a chance to tell him what he wanted him to say. Or grow bored and turn this into something else.

“Y-you’re cumming so much…it f-feels amazing, it’s so hot…”

Lesser Dog moaned into Sans’ shoulder.

“You wanted this bad, huh? Your cunt’s sucking me dry. You’re a dirty little doggy, aren’t you?”

The dog was still stuck inside him, and the continued ejaculation was bringing Sans close again. After he spoke, the dog gave Sans a sharp slap on the behind for emphasis. The over-stimulation brought Sans to climax. He came with a small cry like the yelp of an animal.

“You’re a dirty little doggy, aren’t you?” the dog repeated. Sans’ orgasm had distracted him from responding. He was supposed to say something to that.

“I’m a…dirty little b-bitch…I w-wanted it bad…”

Sans was rewarded with the dog rocking their hips together, sloshing the cum inside him. Sans’ legs gave out at the knees, and then Lesser Dog was supporting Sans’ whole lower body by holding his thighs up in the air to straddle the dog’s hips backwards.

“I wanted it…”

The knot didn’t shrink for about half an hour, and all the time the dog kept muttering dirty nothings to Sans, and Sans just kept agreeing to whatever the dog called him, whatever he accused him of. Yes, he loved being treated like this. Yes, he thought about the dog when he touched himself. Yes, he played with himself all the time because he was a horny little slut.

Sans could feel any kind of way he wanted later tonight when he tried to sleep. He could have a long cry about it, lose his shit over how much he’d managed to degrade himself. Or he could have a nice dream about it, wake up in the middle of the night in a hot sweat thinking about how the dog could thrust into him so fast it felt like he was being fucked by a machine. Put off the breakdown with a good round of self-service and prove the dog right while he was at it.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was the best one he’d managed so far. And it was better than pain. This was definitely better than pain.