Of course, I did
I’m sitting on a hard metal folding chair in front of a plain wooden table. There’s a blank legal pad in front of me and a pen. The room is small and grey, featureless. Opposite me is a dark haired man with a cold expression. He’s waiting for me to write down my version of what happened but I have to gather my thoughts first . . .
I’m not sure where to start: the beginning seems like a good place but that’s the problem. You see, I don’t really know if I can explain when it all began . . .
Maybe I should tell you a little about myself, just so you get the picture. I’m fairly ordinary looking, five ten, have a college degree. My father died a couple of years ago but my mother carries on bravely. She’s pretty cool as mothers go. When I told her I was gay she took it well and has been supportive in a hands off, don’t interfere, do your own thing, just don’t tell me about it way. She never wants to meet my boyfriends, but that’s okay. At least she doesn’t nag about girlfriends and grandchildren. I know she’s disappointed about that but hey, when I hear some of the horror stories, I’m grateful she accepts me as I am. I never did tell my father and sometimes I feel guilty that he never knew the truth about his only child. Perhaps it was kinder, though. I try to convince myself of that.
I was 17 when I figured out that I was probably gay. Girls just didn’t do it for me, although I have a couple of great girl friends who have stuck with me since high school. I was too shy at school to make any close male friends; too shy and too confused. I had a huge crush on the science teacher but who doesn’t have a crush on a teacher at some time in their school career? Nothing came of that, of course, and I went off to college without ever having as much as a quick grope. A virgin, God help me!
College was . . . interesting. I discovered a little about myself, somehow managed to get through enough work to leave with a respectable degree in English Literature and, oh yes, I managed to finally lose my virginity – sort of. My mother is a schoolteacher and my father had been a Professor of English Literature at our local college, so it isn’t too surprising I followed in their footsteps, at least partly. I didn’t want to teach, still don’t, so I ended up in the bowels of corporate America. A not too bad job, not too bad paycheck, a not too bad apartment: I’m sure you get the picture. And if the picture is bland and uninteresting, then you got it right. My life was bland and uninteresting for a very long time.
So do I begin with my adventures at college? Would that explain the current situation? Not really; casual sex is pretty boring after a while and, besides, there wasn’t really anything like a beginning - just being there, doing that. So, having eliminated that possibility, perhaps when I started work? No, that’s pretty boring, too. But my life isn’t boring at the moment; not at all. So I guess I have to begin with the day I met Peter . . .
* * * * * *
Catherine is one of my friends from high school and, when she called me up and asked me to escort her to a dinner dance one Friday, I was happy to oblige. She was trying to make some guy from work jealous, but I didn’t care. I had to wear a tux and she was dressed to the nines. She’s a petite redhead and good company so I was looking forward to the evening, assuming the guy she was interested in didn’t decide to fight me for her. Hey, it was a free meal, after all, and I like to dance; it’s one of the things I’m pretty good at. And if things got out of hand, I could always leave.
The dinner was held in the ballroom of a local hotel. The usual kind of thing: tables of eight for a reasonably good meal followed by boring speeches, presentations to a bunch of retirees, and then dancing. There was an orchestra which played all the old standards and I did my duty with Catherine before she was whisked away by various colleagues.
Our table emptied shortly after dinner, the elderly couples deciding against any further entertainment, so only Catherine and I were still sitting there. This meant I spent a lot of my time alone, just watching the proceedings. Catherine sat down occasionally to grab a sip of wine between all the dancing and I did ask one girl to dance, just a gesture, but she turned me down: c’est la vie. I kept checking my watch, wondering when I could persuade Catherine to leave or if she would find someone else to escort her home and I could slip away unnoticed. She was having a good time and I didn’t want to spoil her fun, but the night was dragging on and I was becoming bored.
I had just checked the time again when a cool voice said,
“Are you as anxious to leave as I am?” I looked up and saw Peter for the first time. Women say this all the time and I have to agree – it is so unfair to meet someone for the first time when they are dressed in the formal black and white of evening dress. Everyone looks good in a tux; Peter looked absolutely amazing. He was about six two, slim, black hair and blue eyes; ‘Irish coloring’ as my mother would say. He was also extremely good looking in a dark, smoldering way. There was no indication he was with anyone and I wondered what he was doing at this type of affair on his own.
I realized I was staring and that he expected an answer. I could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I finally said,
“Well, yes, I suppose. I’m just waiting for my partner to decide what she wants to do.”
“Your partner? The pretty little redhead over there?” He nodded in Catherine’s direction and I acknowledged his question with a smile.
“Been together long?” he asked as he slipped into the chair beside mine.
“No. I mean, we’re not together. Catherine’s just an old friend.” Why was I explaining myself to this stranger?
“You look good together,” the man commented. “You move well.” I accepted the comment at face value, but got the distinct impression there were hidden undertones.
“Peter Reilly,” he said suddenly, extending his hand. I shook it and said,
“Tom James. Nice to meet you, Peter.” He held onto my hand a moment too long.
“Nice to meet you, Tom. Shall we go now?”
“I think your friend Catherine will be leaving with the guy she’s dancing with at the moment. Why don’t you check with her, then we can get the hell out of here.” I was too stunned to think of a reply, just grateful that Catherine decided to return to the table at that moment.
“Tom, if you don’t mind, Garysays he’ll take me home later, so if you want to leave . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed Peter. I introduced them and told Catherine I didn’t mind at all. Garyarrived to take her back to the dance floor and that left Peter and I. He rose to his feet and said, “Come on then,” and walked away without looking back to check if I was following him.
Of course, I did.
We went to a club somewhere on the wrong side of town. I was so busy concentrating on following Peter’s car that I didn’t really pay attention to where we were actually going. Only when I pulled into the parking spot next to his did I look around. We were in a dingy warehouse area, badly lit and with garbage littering the place. A plain brick wall with a metal door faced us. Even from the parking lot I could hear the heavy bass of a driving dance beat.
Peter didn’t say anything, just walked over to the door. I trailed along, not really sure why but intrigued to know what was going on with this guy. We were admitted by a huge bouncer who nodded to Peter and gave me a suspicious once over. Peter stroked my arm possessively and that was all it took. The bouncer grinned and let us in.
The dance floor was a mass of heaving bodies, the music excruciatingly loud and the bar the only brightly lit part of the huge room. There were tables surrounding the dance floor and booths lining the walls. There were also several doors leading off the room and I saw various couples disappear through into darkened corridors. I could only guess what was back there. Peter pushed his way through to the bar and yelled in my ear, asking what I wanted to drink. I yelled back and got some brightly colored cocktail shoved at me by the harassed bartender. Not the beer I wanted but what the hell.
Peter, meanwhile, had undone his bow tie and his top two shirt buttons. His jacket was consigned to the barman and he turned to divest me of mine. I was happy to cool out, but I still thought we looked out of place in evening dress, even without our jackets and ties. Grabbing my hand, Peter yelled “Come on,” in my ear and hauled me onto the dance floor. The pounding beat soon had me moving and I forgot about everything else. I would puzzle over Peter later.
He was a good dancer, letting the music take him, and when the DJ slipped in a slow number, it seemed natural to drape my arms over his shoulders when he slipped his hands round my waist. The volume was sufficiently reduced for me to hear what he was saying without him having to shout himself hoarse.
“You’re a great dancer,” he said. “I could tell from the way you waltzed around with the oldies that you moved well.”
“You do a fine job yourself,” I replied, not really caring, just enjoying the slow rhythm and the feel of Peter’s arms around me. I rested my forehead against his and surrendered to the music.
We danced forever; fast, slow, and everything in between. I was totally bemused by Peter, who didn’t seem to think there was anything strange about picking me up at a formal dance and then spending hours with me at a gay club. We didn’t know each other, just our names, but when we eventually tired I knew sex would be on the cards. We hadn’t had any kind of conversation because of the loud music but we were totally in tune.
We were propping each other up, too tired to dance anymore, just shuffling in place to some bluesy slow number, when Peter said,
“I’m ready to go now. Are you coming?”
Of course, I did.
* * * * * *
Once again I found myself following Peter’s car. We drove back up town and I followed him into an underground parking lot beneath a high-rise apartment building. Peter strolled over to the elevator and I entered the cab with him. We said nothing but there was a tension growing between us. I wasn’t really sure what to expect but I’d had just enough to drink not to care. I know I should have been more careful but I wanted Peter in the worst way and I had ceased to worry earlier in the evening. Peter was taking the lead and all he wanted was for me to follow. All I wanted was to be led.
His apartment was high in the tower, not quite the penthouse but still an expensive piece of real estate. It was decorated in cool, muted tones, ultra modern but comfortable. As soon as we were inside, Peter kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket on the sofa and headed to a small bar where he poured two snifters of brandy.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he invited, waving at the room in general. I shrugged off my jacket and collapsed onto the sofa, just watching him as he padded around in his socked feet. He handed me a brandy and walked over to the drapes covering one wall. He hit a remote and the drapes swept open revealing a staggering view of the skyscrapers and lights down town.
“Come and take a look,” he said, his eyes never leaving the view. I walked over and stood beside him, awestruck by the sight.
“It’s why I like this place,” he said eventually. Then he turned to me and took the glass from my hand. “I fell in love with the view,” he added, his eyes never leaving my face. He put the drinks aside and laid his hands carefully on my shoulders.
“I know what I like when I see it,” he continued, “and then I have to have it, so I go for it.” By now I had realized the conversation had shifted away from the view and I felt a hot flush creep up my face. Peter’s blue eyes were mesmerizing and I could not tear my eyes away from them.
“I like what I see now,” he said softly, “so I have to have it.”
“So are you going to go for it?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Silly question.” His voice was no more than a whisper as he bent his head towards me. I thought he was going to kiss me, knew he was; but he didn’t. Instead, he sank slowly to his knees in front of me. My mind was racing, anticipation making my semi-hard cock twitch. Was he going to go for it? Down, down he went, his hands sliding slowly over my thighs. He must have felt my muscles trembling as I fought to stay upright, to stay still. His lips passed within millimeters of the bulge in my pants and, looking down dizzily, all I could see was the top of his head.
Then I felt his hands on my calves and confusion overwhelmed me. It seemed like forever, but in reality it was only seconds before I felt him tugging at my shoes, followed by my socks. When I was barefoot, he started his slow upward progress, teasing me unmercifully. I was putty in his hands and he knew it. Rising gracefully to his feet, he smiled briefly then tugged me away from the window. It was like walking through thigh deep water, wading across the acres of carpet to the shadowy bedroom.
“Stay still,” he commanded in that hypnotic whisper. I obeyed and let him divest me of each article of clothing in the same agonizingly slow manner until I wore only my CKs. Then he stripped down efficiently and I saw him naked for the first time. His body was a thing of beauty, lean and muscled, a dusting of dark curly chest hair and a thick patch curling around his cock. It curved upwards, the tip already glistening and wet, which made my mouth go dry. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. All I could do was stare.
I felt overdressed and slipped my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers but he shook his head.
“Mine,” he murmured and finally released me. Once more on his knees, he slipped the soaking cotton down my hips, easing the waistband over my weeping cock. I was clenching my fists, willing myself not to explode, desperate for him to touch me. Once I had stepped free, he tossed my underwear onto the pile of clothes and rose to his feet again. I groaned, loudly, frustration and desperation getting the better of me. He rested one long finger briefly on my lips.
“Not a sound,” he ordered and moved away to turn back the bed. I had given up all control, so now I stood there, forbidden to move, forbidden to speak, my eyes following his every movement. Opening the night stand drawer, he removed a pack of condoms and a tube of lube, and various other items. He picked one up and walked back to where I stood. He showed me what he had in his hand and his eyes sought permission. I swallowed and nodded.
Carefully he fastened the leather collar around my neck, checking it was snug but not too tight. When he was satisfied, he stepped back to admire the effect and smiled.
“Beautiful,” he murmured and finally he touched me, tracing his finger around the top edge of the collar. A trail of fire circled my neck and I tilted my head trying for more contact.
“Soon,” he promised, and returned to the night stand. Again, he showed me what he had chosen and again I nodded. He buckled the broad leather wristbands on, then lifted my hands and placed a delicate kiss on each palm. I curled my fingers, managing to touch his face for a second before he stepped back. He looked me over, prowled around me and nodded in satisfaction.
“I think that’s enough for the first time,” he said, almost to himself. It flashed through my mind that he was already planning a second time and I felt myself relax. This was not going to be a one off. I hadn’t realized I was so tense until his words calmed me down. He smiled at me and led me to the bed. Easing me down, he positioned me on my back, disposing my limbs as he chose: arms stretched out and legs spread. Then he knelt between my legs, settling back, obviously enjoying the view.
With delicate precision, he slid both hands up my legs, starting at my feet, massaging the calf and thigh muscles. Then he swept over my flanks, his palms circling my abdomen and pecs, avoiding my nipples, before massaging my shoulders and trailing his hands down each arm. He touched me everywhere except those places crying out for him. Willing myself not to move, I allowed him to play, although the effort made sweat break out on my brow and upper lip.
He was crouching over me now, on all fours, his knees either side of my thighs, his arms braced by my head. His eyes never left mine as he shifted slightly and I felt the very tip of his cock slide deliciously over mine. He was as wet as I and there was little friction, just a feather light touch. I swallowed hard, biting down on the urge to come right then. This was torture: refined, exquisite pleasure such as I had never experienced before.
Slowly he bent his arms, lowering himself on top of me so that his body completely covered mine, aligned perfectly from head to toe. As his weight settled I felt anchored, safe, and my mind slipped away into pure sensation. Only then did he kiss me, his mobile lips working over mine, his tongue demanding entrance. I opened my mouth and enjoyed the invasion, finally allowed to move in some small way.
At last, he broke the kiss and moved lower, lapping and nipping at my nipples until they stood peaked and sensitive. Lower again, his tongue dipping into my navel while his fingers pulled at my nipples, making me gasp and writhe with pleasure and pain. His cock had slipped between my thighs and I closed them around it, trying to establish a rhythm, but he kept moving lower. As the hot cavern of his mouth engulfed the head of my cock I abandoned any attempt to pleasure him. I was gone, surrounded by heat and suction and I could not hold back any longer. With a loud groan I spasmed and emptied myself into his mouth. I don’t know if he swallowed or spat; I didn’t care.
He gave me a moment or two to recover, and then I felt his fingers sliding into the crack of my cheeks, pressing against my anus. I was shocked into rigidity as a slick fingertip pushed inside me. He stopped immediately, waited a moment and tried again.
“Relax,” he murmured, “come on Tom, let me in.” I shuddered and took a few deep breaths but my body refused to cooperate.
“You’ve done this before,” he said, not asking, but I shook my head in denial, unable to speak. He looked confused for a second, then sat back on his heels, breaking all contact with me. I moaned from the feeling of abandonment and pushed my hips up at him in a reflex action.
“You want it?” he asked and I moved again. “Are you sure?”
“God, yes,” I managed to grind out, too far gone to worry.
“Sssh!” he commanded again. “Not a word!”
It took a while but eventually he had me relaxed and open, at least as much as I was going to get. Quickly, he slipped on a condom and slathered himself with lube before positioning my legs over his shoulders. As the head of his cock nudged at my slackened opening he asked once more,
“Are you sure?”
I nodded, remembering his order, completely under the influence of all the sensations coursing through my body. There was a strange feeling of fullness and some pain but when the head of his cock nudged my prostate I soared away from pain to pure pleasure. I was getting hard again and Peter worked me thoroughly, his cock sliding in and out in slow, careful strokes while his hand pulled and stroked me to fullness again. I realized later what amazing self-control he exerted but at the time I was ignorant and too sated with pleasure to admire his technique.
His thrusts became quicker, the rhythm more ragged and he finally came inside me, emptying himself with a muffled groan. I came again at the sound, a short, dry orgasm, which was still surprisingly good. His arms gave out and he collapsed against me. Tentatively, I put my arms around him and he sighed and squirmed over my chest, seeking a comfortable spot. We slept for a short while.
* * * * * *
When I awoke, I was alone. Peter’s comforting weight was gone and I felt the chill on my naked flesh. It was totally dark and my sleep-drugged mind fought for some point of reference. My eyes strained against the enfolding darkness and I tried to sit up: it was then I finally realized that I was restrained and blindfolded. The wristbands were fastened to the headboard somehow. I panicked, pulling and twisting to no avail, just exhausting myself. I yelled for Peter but knew instinctively that the room was empty. I was in deep, deep shit.
I don’t know how many hours passed. I drifted in and out of sleep, intermittently shouting and struggling to get free, panic settling like a cold hard lump in my stomach. I was helpless and abandoned and absolutely terrified. My mind raced with different possibilities. I screamed in anger and then from pain as I tried twisting free again: the muscles in my shoulders seized and spasmed. I was in agony and my willpower finally crumbled. I called out again, begging for Peter to release me, promising I would do anything if he would only let me go.
My pleas echoed around the empty room and then I became aware of an even worse situation. I desperately need to go to the bathroom. No way was I going to piss all over myself; that would be too humiliating! I tried to take my mind off my bladder by imagining all the things I would do to Peter when he finally released me. Violent images flashed through my mind as I imagined beating the crap out of him, tying him down . . . With a horrified moan, I realized that final image was having a different effect on me. I could see him strapped to the bed, screaming while I fucked him raw. My cock lengthened at the mental picture and I found myself in serious trouble. The desperate need to piss was now complicated by a hard on. Shit, shit, shit!
“Peter,” I whimpered. There was no other way to describe the pathetic sound emerging from my raw throat. “Please, Peter, please let me go.”
“I told you not to speak.” Peter’s voice startled the hell out of me. When had he come back into the room? Or had he been watching my futile struggles all along?
“You bastard!” I yelled and received a slap for my trouble. Not hard but shocking all the same.
“Let me go, you sonofabitch!” Another slap, harder this time.
“Be quiet!” I forced myself to lie still and waited.
“That’s better. You need to learn obedience.” Peter’s voice was remote and I felt a chill of fear. My mind was racing again, trying to think of a way out of the situation. The overwhelming urge to piss overtook me again. At least the shock of Peter’s voice and the slaps had wilted my erection, but my bladder was straining. To my utter surprise and total humiliation, I felt Peter place something cold and hard over my penis and balls. I guessed it was a hospital urinal or something similar.
“Go ahead,” he said clinically and finally I relieved myself, cringing at being in such a position. However, I felt better and relaxed a little. I heard Peter moving around, presumably disposing of the container. A cup was placed to my lips and I felt cold water dribbling over my lips. I drank greedily, the water soothing my dry throat.
“Better?” His voice was solicitous now and I opened my mouth to thank him then thought better of it. I nodded and his fingers caressed my lips briefly.
“Good boy,” he said and I squirmed at the term. “You learn quickly. I think you’re ready for your next lesson.”
I felt him working on my bindings and finally my arms were free. Moving them was absolute agony and I was so absorbed with the pain that Peter managed to maneuver me without my becoming aware of it. He flipped me onto my front and fastened my wrists together behind my back. My shoulders were blazing with pain as he hauled me to my feet, still blindfolded. His hands were on my neck and I finally registered that he had attached something to the collar I still wore. He tugged at me and I had to follow. He had me on a leash like a dog! I stumbled along behind him, totally disoriented.
“Stairs,” he said suddenly and I fought for balance as I followed him carefully down carpeted stairs. I heard a door open and close behind me then Peter tugged on the leash again. The floor was cold and smooth beneath my feet, now, probably the kitchen tiles. He led me through another door and more stairs down into a much colder place. I could smell dampness and decided I was in a cellar, but that made no sense. We had been in his apartment earlier; he couldn’t possibly have a cellar.
I was pushed and prodded along, then forced to my knees. Peter fiddled with my collar again and then undid my wrists and, finally, removed the blindfold. It was dark and I was unable to make out my surroundings. Without saying a word, Peter turned away and I heard him climbing the stairs. As he exited through the door, he flicked on a light switch. I clenched my eyes shut at the flare of brilliance, hearing the door close and lock. After a few moments, I slowly opened my eyes, gradually taking in my situation.
I was kneeling on a thin mattress, which was lying on the floor. The room I was in was a cellar or workshop, with rough cement walls and floor. There was no window, just the locked door at the top of a flight of stone stairs. There were toilet facilities behind a partition – just a lavatory and a sink. There was no table or chair, no food, no form of entertainment, not even an old magazine. My collar was attached to a chain, the end of which appeared to be embedded in the concrete floor. I could stand up and pace five steps before I literally reached the end of my tether. At least those five steps encompassed the makeshift washroom: my humiliating experience earlier would not be repeated. Looking around, I felt my blood run cold. There were wicked-looking contraptions and chains fastened to the walls and ceiling at various points around the room. Where the hell was I? And what was Peter planning?
I splashed cold water on my face and cupped some to my lips. My throat was still raw and my mind cotton-woolly. Then it came to me; I had been drugged. Peter had slipped me a mickey and at some point during the night had moved me to a different location. It was the only explanation for my physical symptoms and the existence of this basement room. I was very, very scared. Peter had seemed like a nice guy. We’d had fun at the club and the sex had been spectacular, but now here I was the prisoner of an apparent psychopath.
Several hours passed and I had finally stopped pacing and huddled on the mattress, cold, hungry and frightened. I had assessed my situation as calmly as I could and had drawn several conclusions. I had determined not to let my fear show; to try and reason with Peter when he returned to the basement. I knew he would be back: what other reason was there for trapping me the way he had if not to enjoy gloating over my situation? I could only hope he wasn’t homicidal. He hadn’t really been violent with me, except for slapping my face to shut me up. I hadn’t enjoyed that but I hadn’t felt particularly threatened by it. My surroundings were not comfortable but nor were they particularly uncomfortable. Apart from being hungry and rather cold, I was fine. The muscles in my shoulders and back had finally relaxed somewhat and the pain had reduced to a dull ache, just the odd twinge when I stretched reminding me I had been bound for a very long time.
As my thoughts coalesced and my stomach reminded me it had been empty for a very long time, I heard the door opening. Peter paused at the top of the steps, a tray in his hands. A fragrant smell wafted towards me and my stomach growled again. I saw a slight smile flit over his face and then he came down towards me. He stopped just out of range and deposited the contents of the tray on the floor.
“Eat,” he said, “you’re going to need your strength.”
There was a polystyrene cup of vegetable soup and a hunk of bread. No utensils; nothing I could use as a weapon or a tool to free myself. Too hungry to despair, I grabbed the food and ate rapidly, determined to be prepared for whatever happened next. By my calculations, it was about noonon Saturday. There was no-one to miss me, at least not until Monday morning and I hoped to be long gone by then. Surely Peter wouldn’t keep me much longer? My mind traveled to a dark place and I instinctively blocked out the thought of never leaving the basement alive and well.
Not too much later, I heard the door open again.
“Feeling better?” Peter asked and I nodded, anxious not to upset him further. He smiled and came down the steps, his hands in his pockets, his expression neutral. My eyes never left his face, hoping he would relax if I played along with him. Again, he stopped outside the limit of my chain.
“On your knees,” he commanded. I suppressed my rebellious reaction and slowly knelt down. “Good,” he commented, “you are a quick study.” His voice was full of praise and I felt a grin flicker across my face, not at his tone but how easily pleased he was. The next thing I knew I was sprawled on the mattress as he kicked me in the ribs. Not too hard, just enough to knock me off balance.
“Don’t smile, don’t speak, don’t think, just obey. Those are the rules. Follow them and you’ll be treated well; disobey and you will be punished. Do you understand?” I scrabbled back onto my knees and nodded. This was beyond ridiculous but my mind refused to think of any way to argue against him.
“Lie down,” he said next and, when I was slow to respond, pushed me over with his foot. I sprawled untidily on the mattress and looked up to find him looming over me. Before I could resist, he locked my hands together with the wristbands and then fastened them to the collar. I was totally immobilized again.
“Better,” he said, and then pulled at my legs to straighten me out. I lay naked before him, my cock limp and shriveled, my breath coming in short gasps as fear once again flooded through me. He knelt over me, his hands moving slowly over my body. He kneaded my sore shoulders, digging his thumbs in painfully but it helped undo the knots in my muscles. Then he slid his hands over my chest, copying our lovemaking of the night before. The same slow strokes over my torso, my thighs and calves. I was confused to say the least. His touch was that of a lover and yet I was trapped, unwilling and scared.
“Relax,” he murmured, “You have a beautiful body, Tom“, he continued as his hands worked my shaft. Despite everything, I started to harden under his skilful ministrations and a surge of mixed emotions disarmed me. I was scared and resentful but, at the same time, I felt desire creeping through me. When he bent his head to kiss me I tried to turn away but his eyes commanded obedience. His mouth was gentle at first, his lips whispering over mine, teasing me to open to him. When I finally did, his tongue slid inside, tasting every corner of my mouth before slowly thrusting in and out. He was tongue-fucking my mouth and my body responded on the most basic level. When he started to work my cock with his clever fingers, I knew I was lost.
My hips pushed up as I slid through his fist, matching his rhythm, desperate for completion. As I strained upwards he laid a hand on my chest, gently pushing me back.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured. “I don’t want to have to blindfold you again, Tom, just do it.” I obeyed and let myself be absorbed by the sensations he was creating. I moaned slightly when his hand stilled its movement, and then I felt him slip something cold around me. I tensed immediately as he tightened the cock ring. Then his fingers were playing with my balls as they were lifted and separated by a narrow leather strap. Once he was satisfied with the way I was bound, he continued to play with my cock, teasing and tormenting it until it was straining against the ring. My balls were aching and I was close to begging for release. Again he stopped and I felt him slip a condom on me.
He shifted suddenly and I felt my cock nudging against his entrance, which was already slick and loose. Slowly he lowered himself onto me and rode me unmercifully to completion. As his semen splattered over my chest and he tightened around me I was pulled over the edge and came inside him. Despite the waves of pleasure and release, I felt totally used and abused. Ignoring my previous good intentions, I opened my eyes. He was still sitting on me, his head tipped forward as he gasped and shuddered with aftershocks.
“You fucking bastard,” I said. “You miserable, disgusting piece of shit! How dare you do this to me! You have no right!”
He looked up at the sound of my voice and his expression silenced me. He eased himself off me and smiled evilly.
“So you still haven’t learned,” he said softly, his tone deadly. He disappeared behind the partition and I could hear him splashing water, obviously cleaning himself. Then he re-emerged into my line of sight.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked idly. Then he bent down and pulled me to my feet. He blindfolded me again, released the chain and pulled me across the room. My hands were undone from the collar and then fastened to another chain, which he then pulled so that my arms stretched above me, immediately causing the pain in my shoulders to flare again. He continued to pull on me until my feet barely touched the ground. Then he walked away and left me. I heard the door close but not the lock, so I assumed he would be returning soon. I flexed my arms and tried swinging my legs. Perhaps I could kick out at him when he came back into range. Then it occurred to me that if I managed to knock him down I would still be suspended and unable to free myself. I ground my teeth in frustration and waited.
Time passed and I began to ache all over. I could only relieve the pain in my shoulders by balancing on my toes. My cock and balls ached from the ring and separator he had left fastened tightly around me. I was soon physically exhausted and mentally drained. I was slipping into total despair when I heard the door open again. I felt Peter’s hands on me again. To my relief, he released my genitals, giving them a casual pat as if they were a pet. My humiliation was complete. He then eased the chain suspending me so that I could stand properly and lower my arms a fraction. I sighed with relief but managed to stop myself from saying anything to my tormentor.
He pinched my chin between strong fingers, studying my face. I knew he could see tear tracks, caused by the pain and humiliation I had endured. His fingers traced over them lightly and then I felt his tongue licking the salty residue from my cheeks. He was confusing me utterly with his mixture of tenderness and cruelty. Despite everything that had gone before, I felt relaxed by his gentleness.
“Should I release you?” he asked softly and I nodded carefully, hoping it wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“If I do, will you be good?” I nodded.
“You’ll obey the rules?” Again, I nodded my agreement. Then he laughed manically and put his lips close to my ear.
“You’re a terrible liar, Tom. If I let you go, you’ll try to get away. No, I think you’d better stay right there. Or I could return you to your bed where you would be more comfortable. If I do that, will you be a good boy?” I nodded vigorously, desperate for some small measure of freedom.
“Okay,” he said, and I was freed and pushed across the room. The chain was back on my collar and my hands loose.
“You may take off the blindfold after I leave the room,” he said. “I’ll be watching, so be obedient. After all, you promised.” I heard his footsteps crossing the bare floor and the door opening and closing. With trembling hands, I removed the blindfold. I was back in my original spot, chained to the floor. Miserably, I curled onto the mattress and fell into a fitful sleep, my dreams full of violent images.
I had lost all track of time and became obsessed with the idea that I had been missing for days. Surely someone was looking for me by now? Perhaps someone had notified the police, I thought hopefully. There had to be an end to my captivity; the sooner, the better. I had been left alone for a long time. I was cold and hungry again. The baser part of me hoped Peter would return with food; my intellect and emotions hoped he wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure I could cope with him again. He had kidnapped me, manhandled, mistreated me, and raped me. There was no other word for it. I felt dirty and used, humiliated and shamed. I wanted nothing better than the chance to get my own back. My anger was the only thing keeping me from total despair.
I heard the door open again and instinctively leapt to my feet. Peter stood at the top of the stairs, watching me. He remained still until I got the message and fell to my knees. He then approached and laid a paper plate holding some sandwiches on the floor. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to eat while he stood there, so I waited, although I was desperate for food. He nodded briefly and I grabbed at the plate, wolfing down the sandwiches before he changed his mind.
When I had finished he told me to stand.
“Lesson three,” he murmured and grabbed my wrists. I kicked out at him, struggling violently, but I was hampered by my lack of mobility and he easily subdued me. Once again, I was immobilized and blindfolded. He manhandled me across the room and I groaned at the thought of being suspended on the chain again. My shoulders and neck couldn’t take another session. Instead, I was pushed into a kneeling position on some kind of padded platform. In my mind’s eye I could see the contraption. It was like a prie-dieu, with a high wooden step and a T shaped frame. I was pushed against the frame and fastened to it so that I was bent forward, my chest against the padded bar of the T.
Peter ran his hands down my back and over my ass. I felt his fingers at my crack and clenched my muscles, trying to resist giving him entry. He yanked my hair hard, bringing tears of pain to my eyes as my head snapped back and he thrust inside me at the same time. His fingers worked hard and fast and then I felt his cock push into me. He leant his weight heavily on me so I was crushed against the bar while he reamed my ass. My cock hardened under the assault but he didn’t touch me, just took his pleasure and withdrew. I felt his semen trickling down the back of my thighs and groaned in pain and humiliation. He moved away briefly and I heard the scrape of a metal door opening and closing.
“You said you would be good,” he commented, “and I trusted you. Now, you have to be punished for disobeying and trying to get away.”
Pain blazed through me as he lashed at my bare ass. I don’t know what he was using but he beat me thoroughly until my ass, flanks and the back of my thighs felt raw. I had tried to remain silent, stoically suffering the first few blows, but as he continued I started to yell and curse, then finally was reduced to sobs and pleading. As I begged him to stop, he said unemotionally,
“First rule, don’t speak, remember. For every sound you make, you’ll get five more. Do you understand?” I suppressed a groan and nodded miserably.
“Good. Now, I like to be fair, so I won’t exact punishment for every word you said. You’ll get five more and, if you’re quiet, that will be all.” Five more! There was no way I would be able to take that without a sound.
Of course, I did.
* * * * * *
I think I passed out. I came round lying on the mattress again. I was face down and as I awoke I instinctively rolled onto my back. Pain lanced through my ass and I hurriedly turned back on my stomach. There was no way I could go through that again! What would Peter do to me next? The thought terrified me. I tried to calm my panicked breathing and strained my ears, trying to hear if he was in the room with me. I was still blindfolded and my hands were locked to the collar, trapped beneath my aching body.
I jumped as I felt his hands on me. He was rubbing some kind of lotion onto my ass and the pain eased considerably as he gently massaged the area. I gratefully submitted to his ministrations, enjoying the relief. When he had finished, he removed the blindfold. He urged me onto my back and squatted beside me.
“Say thank you,” he ordered. I remained silent and he smiled. “You may speak.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, hardly believing I was obeying him.
“See, that wasn’t hard now, was it?” I shook my head, although tears unaccountably filled my eyes. He gathered me into his arms and held me close, soothing and petting me.
“It’s okay,” he repeated, over and over. “It’s okay, Tom, everything will be fine. You’ve learned well, you understand now. As long as you’re obedient nothing bad will happen to you.” He may as well have passed a death sentence. I was subdued, beaten into submission, and I knew it. I was totally dependent on Peter’s good will and it was blindingly obvious to me that I had to maintain that good will at all cost. Perhaps my expression reflected my thoughts because Peter suddenly smiled.
“As you’re being so good,” he said casually, “I’m going to unchain you.” My eyes widened with hope, only to have it crushed immediately. “You will be free to move around the room,” he continued, enjoying my crestfallen expression. “I want you to take a good look at everything here. When I return, you may choose your next lesson.”
He undid the chain on my collar but left my wrists bound, and walked away without looking back. I missed a golden opportunity to try and escape because my mind was already occupied with my next ‘lesson’. It was only when I heard the door lock that I realized my stupidity. Peter was a master at physical, emotional and psychological control. Furious with myself, I stormed around the room, futilely pulling and pushing at the various contraptions, hoping to vent my feelings by destroying something. Everything was chained or bolted to the floor and as my anger faded I began to take stock.
First I used the facilities. It was nice to be able to do so freely and I freshened up, hoping the cold water would wake up my brain. Then I methodically examined everything in the room. Next to the corner with the mattress and toilet area, there was the area where I had been suspended from the ceiling. A solid metal cupboard beside it held a selection of equipment displayed behind a locked latticed door through which I could clearly see what was on the shelves. Various leather bindings, blindfolds and gags were on the top shelf. Below was a selection of whips, paddles, floggers and, most horrifying, a riding crop and a bamboo cane. I could easily imagine the damage they would cause. I guessed that Peter had used a paddle on me because, although it had hurt, it had not raised welts or broken the skin. The next shelf had my scalp crawling. There were dildos of various sizes displayed, and some of them were huge. No way could I take any of those! Beside them were cock rings, ball stretchers, nipple clamps and some items I couldn’t begin to identify.
Eventually, I moved on to continue my explorations. The prie-dieu was unremarkable, just the wooden frame I had seen before with rings embedded in the base. I guess I’d been fastened to them when Peter had raped and beaten the crap out of me. Surprisingly, the padding on the kneeler and chest bar was substantial. All the comforts of home, I thought cynically, and smiled sourly at my foolishness. Unbidden, I felt my cock twitch at the thought of the beating. I ignored it and moved on.
Next to it was an X-shaped frame with straps at each corner. I had no desire to be fastened to that and moved on round the room. There was a man-shaped cage made of metal strips, which had me shuddering and, finally, there was a large panel, pierced with odd shaped holes and with leather bindings fastened in various places. I was fingering the buckles on one when Peter returned.
“Have you chosen?” he asked and I stared at him, absolutely stupefied. He actually wanted me to choose the next method of torture! There was no way I was going to co-operate with this lunatic! I shook my head and stared at him, hoping he’d get the message. He got it pretty quickly and his eyes flashed with anger.
“Still defiant!” he exclaimed. “When are you going to learn, Tom? Okay, since you won’t make a choice, I’ll have to choose for you!” He prowled around the room and I just stood and watched him, dreading what he would select instead of thinking about making a run for it. I have no excuse other than he had me totally mesmerized. He lingered in front of the cage and I stiffened nervously. He was obviously watching me because he smiled sadistically before moving on. He circled the entire room, watching my reaction to each item, and then returned to me.
“You’re not ready,” he announced and pushed me back to the mattress, chaining me in place once more and freeing my hands. “You can stay there and think about it for a while,” he said and walked away. I sagged with relief before it occurred to me that I could have made a run for it. I had been free and Peter hadn’t locked the door. I berated myself for my utter stupidity and resolved to be ready the next time.
Peter returned much later, once again bring me soup and bread. He said nothing, just deposited the food and left. Time passed and I was left severely alone. I paced my five steps back and forward, drank water from the sink, curled on the mattress and tried to sleep. The temperature was dropping and I assumed night had fallen. Despite my best efforts, my eyes kept returning to the contraptions in the room. If I had to choose one, which would be the easiest for me to endure? All of them were designed to restrain me, but some, like the prie-dieu, would put me in a more vulnerable position than others. If I chose, would he just tie me down or would he do other things? I shuddered at the thought of being beaten again, or suspended from the ceiling. Did I have to choose? If I didn’t, he would choose for me, he’d said so. My mind spun in ever decreasing circles until I felt like screaming. A headache pounded at my temples and I finally curled up in a fetal position on the mattress and closed my eyes, willing the whole thing to be a nightmare that I’d wake up from soon.
Far too soon, I heard him at the door. Fear overwhelmed me and I scrabbled back on the mattress, curling myself into a ball with my back against the wall. Peter watched this performance with a strange look on his face then he came over to me and touched me lightly on the shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” he asked kindly and I shuddered under his touch. “Come on, Tom, tell me what’s wrong.” Unbelievable! I refused to look at him, just sat there with my arms wrapped around my knees and my head bowed. “It’s all for your own good,” he continued. “Once you have learned to be submissive, you’ll enjoy yourself. You don’t have to worry about anything, no responsibilities, not a care in the world. All you have to do is be obedient and please me. I’ll take care of everything for you.”
I raised my head when I heard this. He wanted me to sub for him! He was totally insane if he thought the idea appealed to me and I wondered what I had done to give him that impression. Then I thought about our meeting, how I had followed him willingly, enjoyed him taking the lead, let him put the collar and cuffs on me. Had I actually brought this on myself? Allowing him to take the lead sexually was a far cry from being raped and abused, however. Had I given him any indication that I was enjoying myself? My thoughts must have shown in my expression and he smiled at me.
“It arouses you,” he said softly. “And it will again. Think about it, Tom,” he encouraged, his hands moving gently over my naked shoulders. He let me think about that for a while, sitting beside me, watching me. “Instead of fighting me, why don’t you relax and enjoy it. I’m not a harsh master. I’ll only punish you for disobedience. There is so much pleasure I can give you, if you’ll only try.”
He studied me carefully as I chewed over his words, and then got to his feet. He hauled me up and fastened my hands behind my back before releasing the chain.
“I’m not going to beat or starve you into submission,” he said casually. “You have to be willing or there is no pleasure for either of us. But I think you need to be restrained while you think about what I’ve said. I was going to use the cage but I can see you don’t like that idea yet. You will, eventually, but I’m not cruel, so we’ll try something else.”
He led me past the chain hooked to the ceiling, much to my relief, and I could tell he hesitated between the cross and the panel. He pushed me towards the X-shape and I dug my heels in, resisting mightily, throwing my weight back against him. Surprisingly, he allowed it and, instead, moved over to the panel.
“The cross would have been easier for you,” he said, “but you seem to have made your choice after all.” I was confused by his words: seeing myself with my wrists and ankles strapped to the cross, suspended off the floor exposed and vulnerable had seemed horrible to me. When he fastened me to the panel, however, I realized what he meant. I had envisioned standing in front of it, fastened by the leather straps round my chest or waist and maybe my wrists, but Peter had other ideas. He buckled a strap fairly loosely round my waist, certainly, then secured my ankles. I was standing firmly on the floor and felt I could tolerate this easily. Then he undid my wrists and pulled me forward, fastening them to my ankles with short straps. I was bent almost double and the blood rushed to my head. I swayed forward and he tightened the belt at my waist to give me more support.
It was excruciatingly uncomfortable, but at least I had my back to the panel and my genitals were hidden by my torso. The thought comforted me as Peter’s feet moved out of my line of sight. I heard the scrape of the metal cupboard opening and tensed. Was he going to beat me again? The blood was pounding in my ears now and I wondered how long I would have to stay in this position. It seemed to me I would pass out fairly soon. Perhaps he would beat me and then release me. I prepared myself, hoping I would be able to stay silent as I didn’t want the beating to be prolonged.
Peter’s feet reappeared as he walked past me and I realized he had gone around the back of the panel. I had assumed it was against the wall, but it was actually free standing. To my utter dismay, I felt Peter’s hands on me from behind. Peter had full access to me through the holes cut in the panel. I heard him chuckle to himself, amused that I had finally figured out what was going on. My ass was totally exposed and I felt slick fingers rubbing lube into my hole. My mind completely seized as I remembered the shelf of dildos. Dear God, what was he going to put in me?
It was a butt plug, big enough to stretch me and damned uncomfortable to begin with. My muscles resisted and he forced it into me. I suppressed a groan, the threat of a beating rendering me silent. Peter then returned in front of me and, thankfully, released my wrists so I could straighten up. He then pinioned them out to the sides and left me there. I could move slightly and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. As I did so, I felt something move inside me and the plug brushed my prostate. Despite everything, my cock gave a little twitch. Each time I shifted my weight, the same thing happened and, in attempting to ease my discomfort, I was stimulating myself.
Peter left me there long enough for my arms to cramp and my cock to harden. He was smiling as he walked towards me and, unthinkably, I felt like smiling back; the whole scenario was absurd. I remembered in time that I wasn’t supposed to smile, so I ducked my head and waited for his next move. Without warning, he dropped to his knees and took me in his mouth. The wet heat surrounding me was incredible and, before long, I felt my balls tighten. Peter sucked me hard and I was on the verge of coming when he suddenly released me. I could not stop the moan of disappointment that escaped my lips, but Peter finished me with his hand and I shuddered uncontrollably through an explosive orgasm.
My knees gave out and I sagged against the bindings, depleted and satiated. The plug shifted again and I groaned as it stimulated oversensitive nerve endings. Peter undid me and pushed me across the room, my head spinning. I was back at that damn prie-dieu and knew what was coming. I had broken the primary rule by moaning and groaning, so now Peter was going to punish me. Surprisingly, the thought no longer terrified me.
“Ten”, he said and I braced myself, wondering what he was going to use on me. He used his hand, hitting me hard on the buttocks, and then caressing the area each time before delivering the next blow. It was painful but oddly satisfying. When he had finished he said,
“You may speak.” I knew what he wanted to hear.
“Thank you,” I said. He nodded and smiled, then returned me to my bed in the corner. I was left to muse on the change in my attitude. Now that he had explained his intentions, I was no longer afraid. I didn’t like the situation, hated the thought of being beaten and sexually abused, but my crippling terror had gone. He had said if I relaxed I would enjoy it.
Of course, I did . . . eventually.
* * * * * *
When Peter finally released me, I discovered to my amazement that it was only Sunday night. I felt like I had been in that damn cellar for days. He had blindfolded and restrained me, but I was conscious for the drive back to the underground car park where my car stood, miraculously undamaged. He told me to go home, to go to work and that he would be in touch soon. I was astonished but said nothing. He had taught me well in that respect. I went home, had a long hot shower and tried to sleep in my comfortable bed.
My mind replayed the last 48 hours over and over and I finally decided that I should report what had happened to the police. Peter could well have done this before and would probably do it again in the future: I couldn’t allow that to happen. Peter was probably relying on my shame and self-disgust to prevent me from reporting the rape, but I gathered my courage and set off for the local precinct. I told the desk sergeant I needed to report a crime and a dark-haired man came to take my statement . . .
I was sitting looking at the legal pad when my cell phone vibrated. I asked the detective if he minded if I took the call and he shrugged. It was a text message from Peter. ‘I’m watching you. Are you sure you want to do this? The cage is waiting.’ I felt my cock stir in my pants even as a cold shiver passed through me. I pushed the legal pad away and stood up.
“I’ve changed my mind”, I told the detective. “I don’t want to report anything.”
Peter called me the following weekend and asked me to meet him.
Of course, I did.
© j.d. davis 2005
Author’s note: This story is fiction and is not intended to make light of the reality of drink spiking and date rape. Drink spiking and date rape are criminal acts. Read the article on the site about it. If you are ever date-raped, report it to someone.
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