“This is completely illegal. You can't hold me here if I don't want to be here.”
They turned and walked away, but the door didn't slam behind them. Someone had caught hold of it.
“Saturday morning,” Lane said. “That's the day you picked to play this stunt. You knew I'd be here.”
It was my turn to go silent.
“You demanded my attention, and now you have it.”
Still not saying anything.
“You're going to have to explain to my people about that trick with the camera. It shouldn't be possible for a prisoner to access the stream like that.”
“You have no idea what's possible with modern technology.”
He squatted next to the bench and took hold of my head. Turned it so I had to look at him. “I don't doubt it for a minute, but the fact remains a naked man with no access to technology shouldn't have been able to reprogram that system like that. What's in that head of yours, Thorne? You could have been a dangerous man if you'd gotten an education.”
“I'm a dangerous man as it is.”
“Hmm. Point taken.”
Chapter Thirteen
LANE
The dungeon was ours today.
“What's your safeword?” I asked.
“Fuck you,” he said.
“I'm getting real tired of your attitude, Thorne. We're here for your benefit, not mine. If you don't want to be here, you don't have to be here. I can bounce your happy ass right back to Angelina Parish within the hour.”
Back and forth. Two steps forward, one step back. He did want to be here, but he couldn't seem to admit it to himself. It was way past time I broke through some barriers.
“You're not going to trick me into safewording out. You can fucking forget it. I'm stronger than you think I am.”
He'd rise to a challenge. I knew that by now.
“I'm going to be testing your strength today.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
I walked slowly in a circle around the bench. His face rested on his right cheek, so I kept coming in and out of his view. Once, I walked around carrying a riding crop. The next, I came into view holding a plug. The next, a gag. A vibrator. A box of silver clamps. A cock cage.
I watched not just his face but his body. The little twitches as he struggled not to react. What toys did he fear? What toys did he long for? Submission scared him, so the toy he feared the most would be the toy he most desired.
“What are you trying to do to me? You really think you're going to freak me out that easy?”
“I need to hear you say you want to be here.”
“I can't say that.”
“You have to say that.”
“Gag me. I won't say that.”
“Ask for it. Make me believe it.”
“Gag me. I don't want to beg.”
“Beg for the gag.”
“I- I- I can't do that. I can't beg.”
“Your stupid pride needs to go. You have to be broken down before we can build you back up.”
“No. No. No.”
For all the noise he made, for all his talk talk talk, Thorne wasn't a good communicator. He didn't know what he really wanted, so how could he tell me? A hollow man. A man without a purpose. So many rich kids—and make no mistake about it, the rich were kids well into their twenties and sometimes their thirties—lack direction. Everything's been done for them already.
His father was to blame for that. He wanted a better life for his son. By which he meant an easier life. An easy school. No military service. No need to work for money. The money would come for him no matter what he did. Thornhill Raynaud would never disinherit his only son. No matter how hard Thorne tried to force the issue, to give himself something to struggle against, it was all a fight with a paper bag. He could be the best thief in the state, or he could be a fuckup, but Raynaud's money would always be there.
Thorne wanted to have his back against the wall. He wanted to be forced to fight for something. He just didn't know what that something was.
Also, he was turned on. I squatted and reached between his legs.
“No,” he said. “It's a trick. Biology.”
“Your natural responses to a more powerful man make you uncomfortable,” I said.
“Who said you're more powerful?”
I laughed out loud.
“One day,” he said. “One day it will be turned around on you.”
“Sure, it will.” I decided on the leather cock harness with all the fancy buckles. It took a long time to make all the adjustments.
If it was physically possible for his cock to get any harder, it had done so. Strategic straps at scrotum and base and mid-shaft would help slow him down. He'd stay hard, but he couldn't pop too fast. Maybe he couldn't pop at all. Many men couldn't, wearing this style of harness.
I smiled and licked my lips. Thorne, his head turned to the side, his eyes rolled upward, couldn't help but see that smile.
“You're enjoying this,” he said.
“I'm allowed to enjoy my work.”
“Fuck you.”
“You're going to need a more imaginative vocabulary.”
“Just give me the fucking gag.”
“Not today. I want to hear you cry today.”
I began to stroke the tails of the flogger up and down the length of his smooth bare back. Not hard. More of a tickle than anything else. His arms goose-pimpled, and a visible tremor ran down his legs. He was becoming aroused whether he liked it or not.
“You have been given great gifts, but now you need to be given a sense of purpose.”
“Your sense of purpose.”
“You haven't done particularly well providing your own, or you wouldn't be here.”
I smacked him a little harder. I like the way the taut skin rippled on the back of his thighs when I did that.
He liked it too. The way his ass clenched in a visible effort not to grind himself into the bench told me that.
“You like this,” I said.
“No, I don't. I hate it. Hate it. You're making me feel things I don't really feel.”
“You like it.”
“I don't. You're causing this somehow.”
“I'm drawing out your natural responses to being dominated. You need a strong hand. Guidance. Nobody was ever willing to give you that guidance. You were spoiled. Letting you think for yourself, letting you make your own decisions... that's what brought you here.”
“I have the right to think for myself.”
“You have the right to fuck up, and that's exactly what you've done.”
I increased the pressure of the strokes slowly but surely. Step by step by step. There was no reason to hurry. It was Saturday. My office thought I was at my hunting camp. It wasn't hunting season, but I was rebuilding my deer-hunting blind so I'd be ready for fall. Or so they thought.
“You think that hurts?” he asked. “That doesn't hurt. It fucking tickles, that's all it does.”
“I'm not hitting you hard enough? Is that what I just heard you say?” I hit harder. Not a lot harder but harder.
“Fucker. That doesn't hurt.”
“It doesn't?” A stroke. “What about that?” Another stroke. “What about now?”
“Fuck you. Fuck you. If you think that hurts me...”
I was putting some power into the strokes by now. The skin flushed in long raised stripes. I wasn't anywhere near his limits, but I could tell it hurt. Try getting him to admit it though.
“I'm getting bored here. Tired of being tickled.”
Harder.
“Not even remotely impressed.”
Harder.
“Ouch. Fuck. So what. I don't care.”
Harder.
“Mmphf.” He firmed his mouth, trying to stop himself from whimpering. Good luck with that, man.
I struck the tender place at the back of his upper thighs. Struck the same place twice, then three times.
He cried out, then bit the cry back, then
cried out again.
I was breaking him down.
“No, please, no...”
I liked the sound of that. “No?”
My voice roused his pride again.
“I don't care,” he said. “Fuck. More, then. More. I'm not afraid.”
Harder. Harder. The shoulders. The upper back. The ass. The upper thighs. By now he was bright red from knees to neck, except for the band of flesh I avoided striking around the kidneys.
“More.” He was screaming, but I doubted he knew what he was screaming. “More.”
Instead, I dropped the flogger and held my hand an inch above his back to feel the heat coming off. “I like to hear you beg.”
“Wasn't begging,” he said.
We had a long way to go. I had a special cooling ointment with a generous mix of DMSO in it. It was a famous prescription in the BDSM community for its ability to reduce bruising. I gooped a thick daub out of the jar and began to spread it over his burning skin. He twitched beneath me, not wanting to reveal how the contradictory mix of cold and heat was affecting him.
“Wasn't begging,” he said again.
“Keep telling yourself that.” I made a massaging motion over the broadest part of his back. It felt good to let my goopy fingers sink into his firm flesh. He twitched again, and I knew he was grinding his cock into the leather bench. The cock ring could only do so much.
The thighs demanded an extra helping of ointment. I didn't want purple bruises there. At least not this week.
His legs were spread, his balls visible and heavy. His ass tucked itself into itself, the better to fuck his hard cock into the leather. He was so close to climax he'd lost all pride.
“You like that. It made you hot. You want to come.”
“No. No fucking way. I'm not hot. It's a trick.”
“Some trick.” I stopped touching him. Pushed myself away from where I knelt next to him. Walked away, my boots making a heavy clop on the concrete floor. His ass drew crazy circles as it worked faster and faster.
My own bulge was pushing down my zipper from the inside out. I pretended not to notice, but Thorne sure did.
“Please,” he said. “There's no reason for either of us to suffer like this. Please.”
Tears ran from the corners of his eyes. He was broken.
“All right. You win. You win. Fuck me.”
I laughed. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”
Chapter Fourteen
THORNE
What mind fuckery was this? He'd forced me to break down. To cry. To beg. I was giving him everything he wanted. My ass cheeks flexed and came open, the better to reveal the twinkling rosebud of my dilated hole. I was hot and cold, open and loose, aching all the way down to the inner coils of my twitching balls. My toes kept curling and uncurling against the soles of my bare feet.
“Please. I need this, and you need this, and please. Please don't make me beg. I can't beg, I can't, I can't...”
“You can, and you are.”
How could his voice be so calm? So cold?
“I'm your prisoner. I can't get away. Anything you want to do to me, you can do. Anything. Anything.”
“You really think it's about me and what I want? You have a fuck of a lot to learn about why you're here.”
He was at my side, kneeling and then standing again. That fast, all in a flash, something was wedged inside of me. A plug of some kind. A laughably inadequate teeny tiny plug that did little more than sit there impudently at the very entrance.
“I need more than that. I need cock.”
“Tell me more.”
“Deeper. More. Deeper.”
“Keep talking.”
“I can't. I can't.” I closed my eyes. I didn't like to say what I wanted. Wasn't it enough for my body to say it?
He hit a button somewhere, and the mini-plug began to vibrate. More an irritation than a satisfaction.
“More. More. That thing's completely ridiculous.”
“Maybe I like you ridiculous.”
“Please. If not my ass, then my mouth. Gag me with your cock.” I'd lost all dignity. My ears burned. I told myself it was too dark for him to notice.
“Tell me more,” he said.
Fuck. “Tell you? What can I tell you? Your cock, my mouth... please, please, please.” I felt another rush of shame at the sound of my own voice. When had I lost all self-control?
“I'm not sure I understand.”
“You fucker. You understand. Get your cock out of those pants and wedge it down my fucking throat before I fucking die...”
I don't even like to think about all the things I said. All the ways I begged. I was rotating my ass openly, both to grind my ringed cock into the leather and to make it painfully obvious how desperate I was. He must have hit another button, because the vibrator in my ass began to buzz even faster. If only it was a little larger. Longer. If only it could zap again and again against my gland...
The indirect approach was driving me to insanity.
I must have found a thousand ways to say, “please.”
Suddenly, Lane was kneeling there, a leather pillow under his knees, his crotch pressed close to my mouth. I used lips and tongue to take down the zipper, which was easier than you'd think, thanks to the amount of pressure it was getting from the other side.
Lane's naked cock. Finally.
I made a noisy smacking sound as I sucked the first few inches roughly inside my mouth. My face felt stretched out long. My lips were stretched inward to make a pad over my teeth. My throat bobbled a little and then opened wide.
As fast as I gulped him down, I almost triggered my gag reflex. I jerked my head back a little, then bobbled it forward again. This time he stroked to my esophagus without a twitch. I sucked hard, harder, hardest. His crispy curls were being ground into my face. I swear I could hear his pubes crackle.
The taste of salt and musk and man.
I wanted him, every drop of him. My elongated mouth worked faster and faster. He lost the rhythm and thrashed hard, a garden hose splashing. Desperate to swallow everything, I worked my throat faster.
“Unnnnnnhhhhh. Ughhhhhhhhhh.”
At first I didn't even understand what I was hearing. Lane out of control? Lane groaning in the heat of climax? The taste of it, more than the song of it, made it real.
“Unnnnnhhhhh.”
I forced myself to open my lips a little wider. His cock felt red and bruised and hot, but it retreated slowly. Almost reluctantly. Kinky Lane didn't want the moment to end any sooner than I did. Finally, though, he stood and stumbled back a step, allowing his pants to finish falling in a tangle around his ankles. For a moment, he swayed above me, his legs as shackled by his pants as my own legs were shackled by the manacles.
“You,” he said. “You.”
“Me,” I agreed.
“You wanted this.”
“I did.”
“You begged for it.”
I felt another gush of red heat. More shame? He'd broken me. I'd begged for his cock, begged for the right to suck him off, begged to deep-throat and deep-swallow. I'd never begged like that, not for any man.
And yet the heat I felt rushing through my blood didn't feel like shame.
It felt like triumph.
“I wanted it. I wanted everything. And I want even more.”
I eyed the tangle of fabric around his ankles, and he kicked it away. His cock was already semi-hard again, but he pretended not to see it.
The vibrator suddenly cut off. It was a hot, damp, and unmoving lump of plastic just at the inside of my hole.
Did I need to keep begging? Then I'd keep begging. My pride was gone, and yet it wasn't. It was a different kind of pride.
“Let's see how tough you really are.”
He squatted behind the bench and dipped his fingers between the globes of my ass. I gasped as the vibrator was popped free to leave me painfully empty. His fingers dipped again, and now I realized he was unbuckling the multiple strap
s of the cock harness.
“No, please,” I said. “I won't be able to hold back. If you take it off now, I'm going to come without permission.”
“Then you'll be punished.”
“But I can't, I can't, I can't control myself.”
“That's fine. You don't need to control yourself. I'm the one in control here.”
The last strap pulled free, and I was already jolting against the leather. Already coming. Already spewing. The force of my long-delayed ejaculation was actually painful, like something being clawed right out of my balls and up the length of my shaft.
It felt like I was shooting fire.
“Fuck,” I screamed. “Fuck.”
“Oh, the fun's not over yet.” He stood up, smacked my ass, and came around to remove the cuffs on my left wrist and then my right. I pushed up on my hands and then my elbows, but I couldn't really go far since my ankles were still chained.
“Look at that mess,” he said. “I'm going to need you to lick that up.”
All pride gone, I stuck out my tongue and went to work. Lapping my spew off the leather bench wasn't such a horrible job. Trying to lick the mess off my own torso was more of a challenge. A man is only so flexible. I'd curled my neck down hard and thrust my tongue all the way out to get to my own chest, but it wasn't working particularly well.
Lane laughed. I felt a rush of shame.
“Not funny.”
“Very fucking funny.”
I twisted and stood up, the bench a super-sized shackle pulling on my ankles. We could both see I was already getting hard again.
“You have an abbreviated refractory period,” he said.
“Not my fault. Who's getting me all stirred up?”
“If you weren't a natural-born dyed-in-the-wool true-blue submissive, you wouldn't be stirred up.”
“I'm not a fucking submissive. That's ridiculous. I'm not about that.”
“Your body responds to power. As it should. It's your head that's the problem.”
“No,” I said. “I'm not a fucking submissive. I just need some cock, that's all. Biology.”
“Psychology,” he said.
We glared at each other but I wasn't exactly in a position to negotiate here. After a time, I knelt again, the floor hard against my knees, the chains tugging roughly at my ankles. I couldn't forget I was still attached to the bench.
Choice of Cages Page 9
