By slavebladeboi
I could feel the weight of the door as I pushed it open, far heavier than it looked. It slowly swung silently behind me and, turning, I could see the reason why. Thick padded soundproofing covered this side, black and shiny.
It took several seconds for my sight to register anything in the low-level lighting of the room, anything that is, apart from the beam of bright light shining vertically onto the naked figure in the centre.
By slavebladeboi
Joey skidded to a halt and leapt off his bike, leaving it resting against the fence with his safety chain over the cross bar and hoping Jack, who was close behind, would use it for both their bikes. Taking the steps two at a time, he punched the code into the lock and shoved his weight against the door, leaving it ajar for the figure already within sight. Jack had only taken 30 seconds to get his backpack closed and over his shoulders, and he was gaining rapidly.
Unlocking his apartment door, Joey immediately sent a text to Chris telling him he was in, safe and going to bed. He was in no mood for any interruptions to spoil the next few hours. He tossed his phone onto the chest of drawers and stood, panting, facing the door, his body glistening from that 15-minute race, the damp lycra suit clinging closely to his firm, muscled body.
By slavebladeboi
They walked awkwardly along the path that ended at the road. Joey, his hoodie pulled down to hide the blindfold, pushing his bike with his right hand whilst Jack held and guided him, pushing the other bike with his spare hand. At the junction Jack leaned the bikes against the fence.
“Listen to me. We don’t have much time. I’m telling you, not asking you. Trust me.” Jack said this as a command. “You won’t come to any harm, you’ll be back here in about 30 minutes, just do as you’re told. Don’t panic and think about your answers. I swear, you’re safe. Now. Stand still.”
He reached into his backpack and, grabbing Joey’s wrists, swiftly cuffed them behind his back. Jack stepped back, looked at the figure in front of him, leaned in and gave him a long hard kiss.
“And that’s a promise.”
By slavebladeboi
Drink it? Throw it? Do what it said? The bottle sat on the top of Joey’s desk where he had put it half an hour earlier. His gut crawled, but whether it was with fear or excitement he was too wound up to figure. The “do what it said” was the small message written on the base of the bottle-
Here 6pm tomorrow.
So what? Bring it with him, drink it now or what? He couldn’t think straight.
It didn’t help when Chris barged in through the unlatched door. “Hey dude, did you manage to … anything wrong J?” Chris saw Joey sitting staring at a clear plastic drinking bottle perched on his desk like it was some kind of religious idol. He gave a sort of embarrassed laugh. “Joey. Hey, what’s the matter?”
To start at Part 1, click here
By slavebladeboi
The ride back to his student accommodation didn’t really register on Joey’s mind. He pedalled the anger out of his body, with each thrust of his legs he felt calmer, or at least less fraught. Fumbling with the padlock and chain he secured the frame to the rack and buzzed himself in. He had no thoughts in his head that made sense to him and simply flung himself face down onto the bed, still drawing deep breaths from the exertion.
After a while he relaxed and let his mind become focussed on that bench, the cyclist and his recent experiences, but it was always coming back to the cyclist. There was something. He wasn’t sure if it was something he was missing from the picture he had in his head or just a feeling that he felt ok with the meeting. No. He had been used and the other guy knew about it. And he seemed happy to acknowledge it. And that made him feel, well, perhaps less angry now if he allowed himself to admit it.
For Part 1 click here
By slavebladeboi
Following a mainly sleepless night, and twenty four hours after waking on that bench, it happened that Joey returned to the park, this time on his bike, which he usually used to get him to his part time work, to help with his expenses, as well as for the exercise that helped keep him in shape. There was very little breeze to slow or cool him and he felt the urge to push himself to mitigate the inner feelings he still had. Dappled shade rapidly alternated with brilliant sun, cooling and heating his back in succession as he cycled around the track, always within view of that bench, but never getting close to it.
The bench attracted him with a force he couldn’t explain but at the same time it repelled him, the two opposing forces made him feel disturbed, almost giddy. Since his experience, waking up, remembering his tortures, finding his cock locked without knowing who or when, he was both frustrated and nervous. In truth he was angry, frustrated, frightened and anxious all at the same time. He didn’t know which way to turn mentally. He’d been used. The turmoil that this caused him was fighting the feeling somewhere, deep inside, that it was sexy, hot and just about everything that he’d dreamed about most of the time he was jerking off.
Jerking off, yeah, the thing he could no longer do, and that made him angry.
By slavebladeboi
I sat looking into my empty coffee cup listening to the gurgle of the machine on the countertop that was making the coffee to go into it. I was feeling very unsure about the present contents of my basement. I told him I’d hold him to the agreement he’d signed, but I could see he was totally out of his depth there. Looking at the screen, where I could see him hanging limply in that spread eagle, he had diminished in size almost, certainly he wasn’t looking like the gym-fit stud that I’d carried in. Dejected and lost would sum it up. If I went through with my threat then he’d live, he’d be in pain for a lot of the time and arrive home sore, but he’d get over it in a few days, physically. Not so sure mentally. Would that experience put him off for life? Would he feel unable to cope and maybe turn his back on what could be the best thing he had in life for the future? Difficult to know, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to test that theory. So I planned something different.
I opened the door and slammed it behind me in one noisy move. He jumped enough to make those taut chains rattle. Walking up to him I stared straight into his face and waved the contract under his nose.
“This! This is your contract. You wrote some of it, you signed it and you swore it was correct. Well? Didn’t you?”
By slavebladeboi
“I know, I know, we all make mistakes,” I said, putting my hands each side of his face and stroking the skin, or at least the bits that weren’t covered by the leather gag and head harness.
I looked straight into his eyes, now filled with tears of fear, maybe terrified, but it’s all the same really at this stage. He struggled a bit, the chains that held him spread eagled in that oh so delicious and vulnerable vertical position rattled slightly. I increased the tension a tiny bit more.
His intake of breath proved it was enough for the moment and it did stop the chains from moving.