By A Lost Boy

“Is that Cole, in my stocking?” Whispered Coach Adams through a dimpled grin.

The silver-haired hulk of a man embraced his other half with unwavering elation. Between their parted lips was I… the name I was given, matters little; merely a hogtied plaything beneath what I regarded as the most exquisite tree you can imagine.

They turned to face me mid-embrace. Immaculate, vascular and sun-kissed. Coach Adams was actually my former wrestling coach. He was like a second father, or father to be brutally honest. Adams trained me up for years during my stint in higher education. I remembered him fondly; up until a point, he was my role model. A truly enlightened man.

Had I known prior to my visit the position I’d be in, who am I kidding? I had many regrets, and this sure as Hell weren’t one of them. Being trapped was my escape. You see, I had a slight addiction to gambling away other people’s money. And you’ll of noticed I said ‘stint’ in higher education… yeah, a downward spiral or dare I say agonising decent into Hell roughly captures my journey thus far.

I was in the area, a downtrodden bar called The Sink to be specific, trying to dull the woes of being on the run. I was one pitcher of house beer in when a man no older than 50 sat himself in the dingy little booth I’d hidden myself away in.

The guy had a paradoxical way about him, mischievous yet haemorrhaging with integrity. His smile was able to blot out awareness of any other customer that currently resided in the bar. He wore a shirt which was an extra layer of skin kind of tight – the top button pinched at the base of his jugular.

To be frank, I was more inclined to women… although that man’s eyes, those god damn eyes had rendered me statuesque. He slid a hearty sized shooter into my spare hand as he knocked one back himself with grace. He followed with a stern nod, a nod which invoked a compulsion. Every fibre of my being shuddered. I complied with his wishes and drained the contents of the glass.

We shared a pitcher of The Sinks finest “ale” – on the house. Plenty to lubricate the conversation with adequate effect. I invested in him my story, which was returned with sincere pity. Marshall as I’d come to know him glided his abrasive, formerly working class hands across my own and gripped tight ahold of my wrist.

It was here that he made his intentions known. And I wasn’t quite as bewildered as I thought I’d be when he suggested that I return home with him. He figured being in a fantastic position himself, financially, and me being… not so much, he’d abolish any & all debt that I’d accumulated and in exchange for relieving me of my encumbrance, I’d relinquish my free will for the remainder of my time.

That might have been a bit extreme amongst the mindful, but I implore you to oversee this tale objectively – I was essentially homeless; I hadn’t slept under a roof nor had I ate in what felt like weeks. I was big toe sticking out my sneakers poor, and what I can only describe as the king of bachelors, an entrancing presence with bottomless brown eyes was offering me perpetual warmth, shelter and nourishment – in return? I’d obey his every command. It was a done deal.

After systematically severing each string of questions I’d drawn out in front of him, I convinced myself that I was about to enter into a far better situation than I’d dealt with previous. I rationalised that I was doing time for my bad behaviour. At this point, the only people who sought me out wished me harm. I think you’re understanding me, are you not?

And with that, we up & left, into Marshall’s car and towards his lake house. Upon arrival I noticed how idyllic it was, a secluded area frozen in time; a paradise made up of towering oak & running water.

He parked within a built in port by the side of the building and gestured I get out, and so I did. Marshall stepped outside with me and we enjoyed the view for a time, the plethora of smells and the chirping of birds was almost overwhelming. Ironically I’d not felt this free in a long time!

His great arm draped around my shoulders like a boa, and he proceeded to steer me towards the entrance.

***

By the time the latch of his front door clicked shut, Marshall’s humble persona had shifted. Like a Spector he loomed over me, circling me about an inch apart. He traced his finger through every grove of my torso before beckoning me. I proceeded to follow him down a dark hallway and into a bathroom. The space was void of almost all light, and sound, and there was sterile vibe to it all, much like a dentist’s office.

I came to a halt between the door frame. A polar opposite reflection countered me upon the other side. Me, trembling, sweaty and nervous and he, stalwart and gallant with arms folded. I was clear on my terms, and I told him if this was to be it that he was to show me he was as honourable as perceived. My stubbornness invoked a playful expression upon his face.

He pulled out his cell and positioned himself behind me with his arms resting over my shoulders so the screen was in front of me. His keenly shaven whiskers combed at the peach fuzz on the back of my neck.

My eyes glazed as I watched him empty one of infinite accounts into another, the other I’d given to him. It was the man whom I had dealings with. He even left a complimentary message as to whom organised their payout. I was somewhat free…

And that was it. I belonged to he. Furthermore, I wanted to be. I had been saved. He lay a trail of kisses up to my ear and whispered, “Remain stubborn, boy,” drawing out each syllable, a serpent.

For the entirety of that afternoon I was worked on like a project, a blank canvas. Firstly I was instructed to kick off what was left of my sneakers, and then the battered cargo’s… followed by my old college jersey. He ordered I dump my belongings into the garbage bag he’d prepared and jutted his jaw in query as I did, resting his chin over a knuckle.

Without speaking he gestured my briefs off. “By the tub, lad.” As I followed the order he swung me back around to face him, almost tearing off my arm. “Crawl,” he demanded. That was the first twinge of humiliation I’d come to experience. I was unable to fathom how it made me feel. I could sense the blood swirling around in my face. My heart wriggled around beneath my sternum, a provoked animal in a cage.

I threw myself down on all fours and made my way over. He directed me parallel to the tub, on all fours. I daren’t attempt to look anywhere but forward, I could feel him inspecting my back end. He proceeded to pull open my cheeks, exposing my hole good and proper, and then he tapped away at my sack letting them dangle. “You need a good wash, cunt,” he sniggered. I couldn’t help but meet his remark with a blush.

Oddly. I felt little arousal in the atmosphere. It appeared to be quite by the books in all honesty. I’d had my fair share of encounters myself, and this wasn’t one of them. Almost hollow. Without substance.

After lathering me up dry, Marshall hosed me down in nearly boiling water. I cannot begin to explain to you how much you yearn for such luxury as cleanliness when it’s taken away from you. I remained a statue as he reiterated further inspection. He got in close to me, rubbing the tip of his nose with my own and suspended his hand in the air, forming daggers with his index finger and middle. It was then he jammed them into my mouth and separated them.

Marshall proceeded to tsk and reached into the drawers behind me, brushing my waist as he did so. He pulled out from it a toothbrush and began scrubbing my teeth. I was to gargle some salt water before following him into the hallway.

My ears perked at the clinking of chains as I turned the corner, and the rubbing of leather’s sound was as formidable as its stench.. Limb by limb he cuffed and collared me without joining the restraints and asked me to follow him into the living quarters.

The room in question, perhaps multiple rooms caved into one was nothing shy of magical, much like back home during the holidays. A tree dominated the centre of the room, challenging the hearth for brightest shine, burning wood enveloped my nostrils and the marble flooring to my surprise warmed up the soles of my feet as I walked over to the tree. I assumed that he had only just refurbished the room, as there was many areas blanketed by dust sheets.

It was by the tree that he joined the wrist cuffs, and the ankles. And slapped his hands down on either shoulder implementing his full weight upon me. I sunk down to my knees and as I descended my anxiety had risen. I had no idea what to do. I’d never even kissed a man, let alone held a penis in my mouth. I try to lubricate myself, licking my lips as such which induced a sharp chortle. “Easy,”

Again I felt a twinge of embarrassment as he mocked me. From his back pocket he withdrew a metal device which only rallied my confusion. He stretched it out in front of my face by the strap either side. It was a great ring with metal bars feeding into the centre, either corner.

Without so much as a warning he shoved it at my mouth causing the bars to slide flawlessly between my teeth like a brace. I instinctively bit down causing it to fit into place… I felt a sharp surge envelop each and every inch of my heart. The fight or flight phenomenon had set in and I was unable to entertain either of them. My eyes ricocheted in every possible direction, I could see in my peripheral as he lingered around the side of my head, his fascination with my reaction as he fastened the buckle.

My tongue had taken itself a lap around the perimeter of the ring and down the support beams under my teeth in an attempt to establish the device limitations. I tried to speak but only gargles proceeded me, I could do little but wave my slobbering tongue around, what had been rendered an open wound that was my mouth. He stepped back and admired his work with a smirk. I felt like an idiot, I tried my utmost best to look anywhere but at him.

It was then when he left my field of vision entirely. I could hear him unwrapping wires, connecting plugs and playing with switches. The sweat mustering between my thighs rivalled that of the drool that was no thicker nor thinner than a rope dangling from my mouth, down passed my waist. I watched as the end of it flirted with the tip of, to my surprise, my erect cock.

I felt a bold force scatter me towards the floor, my chin just about crashed against the marble. I kept reminding myself why I was here, my salvation had reared its head in a less desirable form is all. I would endure this for my new master, I could feel myself well up when I remembered what he’d done for me. This was all necessary.

Marshall proceeded to join my ankles with my wrists and finished off by placing a blue ribbon on my tailbone. I was able to comprehend what was happening, simply because the man had organised a floor length mirror opposite me… fanning the unforgivable flames that was humiliation. I couldn’t look away from my contorted frame, pried open mouth and glazed over eyes. I noticed a camera had been set up just in time for what came next.

Headlights reigned in our attention as they scaled the room, refracting from the outside through the window. An engine roared as briefly as it died. The latch on the door was open as swift as it were closed, and the clapping of footsteps along the hallway coincided with my heartbeat.

Coach Adams stood there in the doorway, riddled with glee. I muttered, I don’t know what I muttered, I was just happy to see a “friendly” face. The two men were obviously together.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” Marshall exclaimed, wielding an opened bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“Is that Cole, in my stocking?” Whispered Coach Adams through a dimpled grin. They embraced each other as his lover nodded their head.

“I recognised him in The Sink and remembered how much you adored the lad, I had to have him. I’ve convinced him to serve us in exchange of clearing up some loose ends!”

“Fan-tastic” Coach said indirectly, reaching out his hand. Marshall handed over a note from his back pocket, written upon it my consensual agreement. I mean it wouldn’t hold up in court or anything but it was genuine. After reading he crumpled it up and threw it over his shoulder.

He drew in ever closer, and outlined me with footsteps. Hunter, and the prey. “You truly were, always my favourite, Cole,” he said as he leant down, he rested his thumb under my chin, tilting my head upward. My heart ached. It was a delight to be in that presence against.

His expression dissolved from euphoria, into disappointment… “Such a shame we reunite under these circumstances, you had such promise,” he brushed his fingers from the other hand through my hair. “Debt?” He clarified, toward my sunken face.

If he hadn’t of been unsheathing his cock right there and then, I’d of noticed he was aware of my former predicament, yet Marshall had never actually disclosed my ‘loose ends’…

My mind scattered in every possible direction. It wasn’t long before I remembered, my dealings with the pursuer were never direct. We hadn’t spoken on the phone and we hadn’t so much as seen each other in the flesh. And was a Coach’s salary even that substantial, to afford such a lavish way of living?…

Hmmm. Mmm. Mmmph. Adam’s had slid all the way in, my eyes gauged as I peered down at the end of my nose toward the throbbing appendage slipping in and out of my face hole. I continued to gargle as the tip strung a bittersweet web around the back of my throat.

The Coach clamped his titanic hand at the base of my skull, pushing forward and pulling back on his master cock. At this point he was essentially wanking himself off with my throat. I could hear him muttering to himself, a mad man swept up in the moment, when suddenly he jammed it into the back of me and paused. “Don’t you find it quite odd, Cole, that the majority of your former wrestling team followed the exact same lifestyle, right down to the app?”

It was then where I noticed several pairs of bare feet poking out of each and every quivering dust sheet strewn over the sofas, that I forfeited the concept of Coach Adams – the paternal idealisation… after all, he was the one who taught me how to gamble. Bittersweet, indeed.

Metal would like to thank the author, A Lost Boy, for this story!