At that moment, he heard the door to his room burst open. He scrabbled against the wall with his feet, trying desperately to gain some traction, and then they were on him, two massive guards pulling him off of the wall and carrying him back into the bedroom as if he were a child throwing a tantrum.
"Mr. Sarceda won't be very happy," said one of them, tossing him on the bed.
Both men left, slamming the door behind them.
Blake lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he'd gotten himself into this.
He slept fitfully for a while, waking up when he heard the door to his room swing open again.
Sarceda stepped in, attired in a fresh dove-grey suit, hold some long and slender in his hand. As he drew closer, and one of the goons shut the door behind him, Blake recognized it for what it was - a cane, but not the kind for walking with.
Sarceda bent it slightly back and forth in his hands as he drew closer.
"So," he said. "I can see that I haven't quite succeeded in fucking the stupidity out of you."
Blake glared at him.
"Since you seem not to understand," Sarceda went on, "let me say it in very small and simple words. You. Can't. Escape. There is no way out for you. Your only choice is the way you conduct yourself with me, and quite frankly, I'm not too pleased with that at the moment either. I went to all that trouble to be nice, to wash and dry you, and you just use the opportunity to scope out the most harebrained escape plan I've ever heard of in my life. That's not very nice, is it? That's not very respectful of your new master."
He cracked the cane in the air, and the noise made Blake flinch in spite of himself.
"Turn over," said Sarceda, his eyes dark. "It's time for you to take your punishment."
Blake rolled over so that the whole back side of his naked body was exposed.
The first hit was a fresh, sharp surge of pain. Blake hissed, his body squirming instinctively away from the feeling. Sarceda made a little tsking noise, stroking the tensed muscles in Blake's legs with a gentle touch until they relaxed. Then, the cane struck again.
Blake forced himself to focus on his breathing, the most basic pain management technique he knew. He was grabbing fistfuls of the sheets. Sarceda was taking such a long time between every downward stroke, rubbing and soothing the affected area so it would be all the more sensitive to the pain, when it came. He knew exactly what he was doing. If he just hit and hit and hit relentlessly, eventually, the pain receptors would shut down. But he wanted Blake to feel every hit of the cane as if it were the first.
"Just relax," Sarceda whispered. "Just relax and take your punishment. You've been a very..." Smack. "...bad..." Smack. "...boy." Smack.
Blake was horrified to hear himself let out an involuntary noise - almost a sob. His body was tingling all over and he wasn't sure if it was pleasure or pain. He realized, with a sick feeling of shame in his belly, that he was painfully hard against the mattress.
"So lovely," Sarceda whispered, before striking him again. But this time, it hardly even felt like pain anymore. It shuddered through Blake's body, leaving him covered in goose bumps and harder than ever. His dick throbbed, and he rubbed against the mattress, unable to care if Sarceda noticed.
"You've taken to this so well," he said. "Look at you. Tell me, Blake, who's your master?"
"You are," Blake said hoarsely, without even hesitating. The part of his brain that would have objected to this response was completely deadened, quieted under a strange, warm feeling of euphoria that was crawling up his spine.
The cane cracked once more, and Blake moaned, a broken, wanton sound. His body jerked and he came spectacularly, rubbing out his pleasure between the mattress and his stomach. He made a noise that was strangely like a purr. When he felt Sarceda's fingers pressing into the cleft of his ass, he spread his legs and pushed up towards him.
"Did you drug me again?" he murmured, some part of his fuzzy mind still vaguely aware that he wouldn't normally act quite like this.
"No." Sarceda sounded amused. "You're just a natural submissive. Like I always suspected."
Blake wasn't about to argue, not with Sarceda's spit-slicked fingers beginning to slide into his twitching hole. All thoughts of rescue or escape or anything beyond his need to be filled were gone, quieted under the roar of arousal in his brain. The feeling of Sarceda's dick sliding home was so exquisite that he almost didn't notice the click of a hammer being pulled back. The cold feeling of metal against his head.
Almost.
One of the quieted parts of his brain struggled to come awake, panic coursing through him, but Sarceda had so thoroughly chastened his mind and body that all he could do was whimper in protest.
"Do you think I'd kill you while I'm inside you?" Sarceda whispered. "Is that the kind of man you think I am?"
"I don't know," Blake managed to get out, his voice cracking. "I don't...I don't know."
"That's right," said Sarceda, fucking him hard, hitting that spot deep inside that turned him into jelly. "You don't know me. So I'd suggest you don't test me."
"I'm sorry," said Blake. "But what would you have done?"
"It's not about what I would do," Sarceda insisted, his free hand digging into the side of Blake's ribs. "It's not about what you would do, either - or rather, the person you used to be." He pressed the barrel of the gun harder against Blake's head. "You have to let go of all that. Because if you don't, I'll rip it away from you by force. And neither of us wants that, do we?"
Blake shook his head, feeling the gun scrape against his scalp as he did. "No," he said. "No."
"You belong to me now," said Sarceda. "You don't do anything except for my pleasure. I thought I made that clear yesterday."
"You did," whispered Blake. "I'm sorry."
Sarceda's cock flared inside of him and then he was filling Blake's ass with his hot come, the ultimate mark of his dominance. Blake collapsed on the bed, no longer sure how much of him was just pretending to go along with this. He couldn't remember feeling this much bliss...well, ever.
He shook his head in an attempt to snap himself out of it. This was ridiculous. It would be one thing for a civilian to succumb to Stockholm syndrome in just a day or two, but he was trained to deal with this sort of thing. Yet, at the same time...he wasn't. Not at all.
"I hope you're learned your lesson," was the last thing Sarceda said before he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Blake sat up, a gnawing, empty feeling in his chest. His ass and thighs were still somewhat sore from the caning, his stomach sticky with his own come, and he didn't know why, but he'd been expecting Sarceda to bathe and care for him like had had before. But of course not. He was being punished.
Blake squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He had to stop trying to make sense of Sarceda's actions. That was exactly how people ended up losing their minds in these situations. Losing their independence. Becoming mindless, will-less slaves with no thought but pleasing their masters.
Who's your master?
You are.
Blake didn't sleep for a long time.
***
Days passed - Blake wasn't sure how many. He tried to count them, but without any way to mark their passage he lost track. His food and water were brought by the hired guns, pushed silently into his room before they shut and locked the door again. He never made another attempt to get out through the bathroom window. He didn't even look at it.
He recited poems aloud to himself that he remembered, or half-remembered, from primary school. He sang songs, quietly. He picked out every shape and every face in the little bumps on the textured ceiling. He did his workout routine as best he could, hundreds of sit-ups and pushups and jumping jacks until all of his muscles screamed. At night he would sprawl on the bed, jerking himself off, trying not to remember the feeling of Sarceda's cock inside of him.
It took a while for him to admit to himself that he missed the madman. After all, at least Sarceda would talk to him. At least when he was being
sweetly tortured by this man who called himself Blake's master, he wasn't bored. Boredom was going to be the death of him. Literally. He'd heard of prisoners of war who lost their minds, and worse, in solitary confinement.
He was beginning to think he'd never see Sarceda again. He had no idea why that prospect left such a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Why was he even wondering about it? All he ought to have been concerned with was rescue. When was it coming? Surely they had to be on his trail, by now.
When his door creaked open in what he judged to be the middle of the night, unexpectedly - his stomach was not growling, it couldn't be a meal time yet - his heart thumped in his chest.
The light flicked on, and there was Sarceda, looking thin and exhausted. When he saw Blake, he smiled.
"Hello," he said, walking swiftly to the bed as Blake sat up. He rested a hand on his shoulder, and Blake made no attempt to shrug it off. "I see you've been taking care of yourself. Have you missed me?"
Blake cleared his throat. It had been a long time since he'd spoken. "Your men aren't much for conversation, are they?"
Sarceda's smile almost looked fond. "I missed you, as well. I hear you haven't been causing any trouble. I think you deserve a reward, for being so good. Don't you?"
Blake didn't respond, but he could feel his body betraying him - his breathing quickened, every muscle in his body tensing in anticipation. He was sure that his pupils dilated, as well.
"I have something very special for you," Sarceda said. "I'll be back in just a moment."
He disappeared through the door again, coming back with something small, which he shoved into his pocket as he walked in the door - and the largest bottle of personal lubricant that Blake had ever seen in his life.
Blake's eyes widened.
"What's that for?" he asked, staring at the bottle.
Sarceda chuckled. "Lie down," he said. "On your side. This might take a while."
Blake did as he asked. Clearly, Sarceda wasn't going to be answering any questions. He might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.
He felt Sarceda's fingers first, wet and slippery with lube. They stretched him open just like usual, except instead of eventually replacing them with his dick, Sarceda just kept adding more fingers. The fourth left Blake stretched open uncomfortably wide, but his body soon adjusted.
"You missed having my cock inside you, didn't you?" Sarceda murmured, one hand resting possessively on Blake's hipbone. "Missed it so much. I don't think just my cock will be enough for you, anymore. Not after such a long time. You need more. Don't you?"
Blake nodded. He didn't know if it was true or not, but he had a feeling that Sarceda was going to proceed with whatever he had planned, no matter what he said.
When he felt the thumb slip in as well, and Sarceda kept on pushing, the tight ring of muscle pressing against his knuckles, Blake hissed.
"Shhh," said Sarceda. "Relax." He withdrew for a moment, then returned, his hand feeling even slicker. This time, he was able to slide in past the knuckles. Blake made an inhuman noise, clawing at the sheet. Little rivulets of sweat travelled down the sides of his face.
The feeling of fullness was incredible. If he'd been asked to guess he never would have thought his body could be pushed to these limits, but now that it was happening, it was the most exhilerating experience of his life. His cock was twitching to life, and he stroked it slowly as Sarceda began to slowly pump his hand in and out. Sarceda was right. This was what he'd been missing all along, without even knowing it. Being so completely filled that he was sure he would break in half, but at the same time knowing that he wouldn't. That he was going to come out of his unscathed, just like he always did.
Because in spite of everything - in spite of his army, in spite of the constant threats of violence, Sarceda had never hurt him. Sarceda would never hurt him. Not really. If he wanted to, he could have done it a thousand times over.
This realization hit Blake like a punch in the gut. He had become vulernable in front of an enemy - the one thing he had been told he must never do - and what did he recieve in return?
Pleasure.
Only pleasure.
Blake couldn't quite see, even if he craned his head, but he tried to imagine it - Sarceda's hand, disappearing into his ass, up to the wrist...further. It was almost as horrifying as it was arousing. As Sarceda's movements quickened, Blake began to stroke himself faster, until his body clenched with pleasure and hot ropes of jizz shot out of his cock. He turned his head; Sarceda was biting his lip, wincing a little at the muscle contractions around his hand. He slipped it out slowly. Blake had never felt emptier and more satisfied at the same time.
Sarceda retreated to the bathroom for a while, and Blake heard the sound of running water. When he came back, he was fishing around in his pocket for whatever he'd concealed in there earlier. He finally pulled it out, and Blake saw that it was a small leather strap - but thicker than the one he'd used as a cock-and-ball tie. And it had a buckle.
A collar.
He sat up, and Sarceda fastened it around his neck, slowly. The look in his eyes was profound, but unreadable.
"This collar means you belong to me now. Always." His fingertips caressed the leather, and the skin near the edges of it. "It means you're mine forever. Whatever happens. I'll always find you."
That night, for the first time, Blake fell asleep with Sarceda's arm wrapped around his waist. Like they were lovers.
***
When the raid came, it was the middle of the night. But Blake didn't find that out until later.
They pulled Sarceda out of bed first, and it was this feeling that woke Blake. Two men were hold Sarceda, one on each arm, but he wasn't struggling. A third man crouched by the bed. He was dressed in riot gear.
"Are you okay?" he said. "Are you hurt?"
Blake cleared his throat, not looking the man in the eye. "I'm fine," he said.
"Can you stand up?"
He got to his feet. Someone came and draped a blanket over his shoulders, and it was only then that he remembered he was naked.
He saw Sarceda and many of his men being led away in handcuffs, somewhere out of site, and he was taken to a helicopter and crammed in beside several of his rescuers. He was given a bottle of water and an energy bar, which sat forgotten on his lap.
They took him to an airport. The plane was huge and lavish, and there was a doctor waiting.
"I have to examine you," he said. "If that's all right."
Blake understood what that meant. He simply nodded.
When the doctor was done poking and prodding at him, he gave him loose-fitting clothes to wear. They felt scratchy and uncomfortable, bunching awkwardly against his skin. He sat on the edge of the small exam table, waiting for something. He didn't know what.
The head of his department walked in, his eyes alight with relief.
"Blake," he said. "Christ. I thought for sure..." his eyes roamed up and down Blake's body. "...well, never mind that, you're all right now. Yes?" He looked to the doctor for confirmation.
The doctor cleared his throat. "More or less. There's no...lasting physical damage." There was something unspoken in his face, and Blake's boss, thankfully, didn't seem to be in an inquisitive mood.
"It's good to have you back." He clapped Blake on the shoulder, but gently. "I can't say how soon you'll be considered for active duty again, but in the meantime we'll make sure you get all the help you need. I know you're not a fan of talk therapy, but in situations like this..."
The doctor was giving him a very pointed look.
"...right," he drifted off. "I'm sorry, I'll give you some space."
He left.
"There's a seat for you in the main cabin," said the doctor. "Whenever you're ready."
He, too, walked out the door, leaving Blake alone. He scrubbed his hands across his face. The fingers of his right hand drifted down to his neck, catching slightly on the leather of his collar. No one had removed it. No one had even mentioned it ye
t.
Just like no one was going to acknowledge that they found him curled up in bed with another man.
Blake stood up and left the exam room, stepping into the tiny bathroom next door and staring at his reflection in the sickly fluorescent light. The buckle of his collar glinted when he moved his head.
I'll always find you.
Just for a moment, Randal Blake closed his eyes, and smiled.
Bound by the Enemy: His Willing Slave
Jessi Bond
Copyright 2012 Jessi Bond
Months after being released from captivity, secret agent Randal Blake is still reeling from the heights of pleasure and pain that the mysterious Sarceda introduced him to. Unsure that he is fit for active duty, Blake's boss sends him to do some training on a military base - but his convoy is ambushed, and Blake is once again taken captive. And who should pull the bag off his head, but Sarceda himself? He is full of devilish ideas for how to show Blake just how much he missed him, and the spy is like putty in Sarceda's hands. At times, Sarceda's cruel façade begins to crack, and Blake wonders if deeper feelings are developing.
Sarceda, however, has more sinister plans for Blake's future, involving the ruthless head of Colombia's biggest cartel, a renowned sadist. But as Blake begins to understand Sarceda's motivations and the terrible tragedy that has sent him on a lifelong quest for revenge, Blake realizes he must see it through - even if it means enduring greater pain and humiliation than he thought he could withstand. And rumors of betrayal by the very agency that is supposed to protect him leave Blake reeling. By the time Sarceda gives him his freedom, Blake is no longer sure where his loyalties lie...
Warning! This 14,000+ word story contains kidnapping, D/s elements, reluctant consent, bondage, knifeplay, whipping, and a slightly twisted happy-for-now ending! Adults only!
***
Three months, six days, and fourteen hours.
That was how long the career criminal Sarceda held secret agent Randal Blake captive. It took them two months just to get a whiff of his whereabouts, and another two weeks to plan a raid. When Blake's people found him, the two men were curled up in bed together. They were naked. Blake was wearing a thick leather collar.
Bound and Bent: Ten Tales of Serving Him Page 3
