Bound and Bent: Ten Tales of Serving Him
Page 6
Sarceda had knelt behind him, and Blake could feel his fingers closing around the base of the plug. Blake's own fingers dug into the industrial carpet as the plug began to move, sliding against the resistance of his innermost muscles. He took a deep breath and relaxed, and heard the plug slip out of him with a wet pop.
Sarceda's cock pressed into him a moment later, urgently hard and throbbing, and Blake's body accepted him hungrily. Sarceda sank in deep with the first stroke. Blake could feel his muscles closing around Sarceda's cock, gripping him tightly, his body knowing what it wanted before his brain could even consider it. He wanted to stay quiet. He wanted it more than anything, but he couldn't stop the little sighs and grunts that came out with every breath.
Sarceda leaned forward, still fucking him slowly, sliding his hand up Blake's stomach and resting on his chest. Blake felt Sarceda's face brushing against his spine, swore he felt the man's lips connect with his back for a moment before he went completely slack, resting his body on top of Blake's so that every inch of their skin was touching. Blake's cock ached to be touched, but he said nothing. He felt as if his heartbeat had slowed down by an unreasonable amount. Every part of his body was tingling. He tried to banish the thought, but the fact was, no woman had ever made him feel like this - not even close.
Oh God, why did that thought make him even harder?
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down from his hairline and travel the whole side of his face. Sarceda dragged himself back into an upright position, grabbing Blake's collar and holding it tightly as he picked up his pace. The shock of feeling at the first hard stroke made Blake cry out; he was so over-sensitized, so aroused from hours of wearing the plug, that he couldn't hold it back.
Sarceda wasn't talking. That was the strangest part. Even as Blake's mind started to go muddled around the edges, even as the buzz of pleasure grew louder and louder in his body, he noticed this. There was no taunting. There were no threats. Not even condescending dirty talk. It was just their bodies, moving together like they'd been created just for this.
Blake could hear Sarceda panting harshly, his hips stuttering like he was about to lose control. A moment later, Blake himself tipped over the edge, every nerve in his body jolting with intense pleasure as his dick twitched and shot long, thick jets of come all over the carpet beneath and in front of him. Sarceda only made a small noise when he came, but Blake could feel how his body quivered, how he quietly fell apart, and then was suddenly whole again.
Blake didn't move, even after Sarceda got up and left him there. He came back and wiped Blake down with something cool and damp, then said, in a sex-roughened voice, "get up."
He was already mixing himself a drink.
"May I get dressed?" Blake asked.
Sarceda looked up at him, almost startled, an empty airline-sized bottle of tequila in his hand. "Yes," he said. "Of course, pet."
Once Blake had his clothes back on, he followed Sarceda's example and rummaged through the mini fridge. Once he had his gin and tonic in hand, he actually hesitated for a moment. Was he meant to sit next to Sarceda again? Was that entirely too forward? Or would the man be offended if Blake sat somewhere else? He actually felt nervous as he walked over and took his former seat, his arm bumping against Sarceda's as he settled himself.
"What's your poison, Blake?" said Sarceda, looking at him sidelong. "I feel like I should have asked you already."
"Anything that tastes bad," Blake responded. "The worse, the better."
Sarceda grinned. "That explains the gin."
"And the tonic." Blake downed the rest of the glass in one swallow. "You know, the British officers who invented this cocktail only did it because they needed the tonic water to ward off malaria. The gin was meant to make it more palatable."
"A most patriotic choice of drink." Sarceda reclined his seat a little and stared at the ceiling.
"What, no editorializing about how they oughtn't to have been in India in the first place?" Blake called over his shoulder as he walked back to the fridge, this time returning with an armful of tiny bottles.
"I think we both know you oughtn't to have been," Sarceda replied. His eyes were closed.
The thought came to Blake's mind, once again, how easy it would be. How easy he was making it to just kill him.
It was almost as if he knew Blake wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it.
Then again, maybe he was really on his guard the whole time. Waiting to spring into action the moment Blake tried something. He might have a gun tucked in that jacket. Blake hadn't seen him undress or re-dress, he had no idea what might be hiding under that suit.
Well. He had some idea.
The thought made him chuckle, as he mixed himself another gin and tonic on the tiny fold-out tray. Both he and Sarceda were silent for a while, slowly sinking further into their seats as they accumulated more and more empty bottles in the aisle beside them.
"Pet," Sarceda said, at last. "Hmm," said Blake.
"Do you trust me?"
Blake squinted at him. "Not as far as I can throw you, you absolute maniac."
Sarceda laughed like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard in his life. A real laugh - maybe the first real one Blake had ever heard from him, and it was infectious. There might be something left of the person he'd once been, before life twisted him.
"All right," he said, finally, settling back down. "I am going to tell you something. I know you won't believe me, but consider this. I already know you won't believe me, so why would I tell you this if it weren't true? Lying would get me nowhere."
"You're not making any fucking sense."
"Listen." Sarceda leaned towards him. "How do you think I knew where you would be? How do you think I was able to take you, with so little trouble?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Blake. "Are you blackmailing someone at the Pentagon?"
"They wanted me to know." Sarceda was speaking in barely over a whisper at this point, as if someone was listening. "I've been working hard enough for long enough at finding intel, by now I know the difference between legitimate secrets, and a trail of fucking breadcrumbs."
Blake stared at him.
"Trust me," Sarceda went on. "At first it was so obvious I thought it was a trap. I had a contingency plan. But no. No, they wanted me to have you. All they know about me is that when you were with me, wheels were turning. Once you were gone, I was quiet. They want this coup to happen. They need it to happen. Alvarez is old and stubborn and he doesn't honor their agreements anymore. They want fresh blood. They let me have you, for the greater good."
Blake shifted in his seat. "Go on," he muttered. "Pull the other one."
Sarceda shrugged and settled back. "Of course," he said. "Your people would never do such a thing. Especially not to a valued agent. No matter how broken he was. No matter how concerned they were about his ability to ever work in the field again. No, it would be much more sensible to keep a man like that on the payroll indefinitely, wouldn't it? Just let him convalesce on his own time. Don't worry if he'll ever be of any use, ever again."
Blake had a very cold feeling at the base of his spine.
"They're done with you," Sarceda said. "They don't care anymore whether you live or die. Think about that, while you make your plans to run home to their loving arms."
Blake hurled an empty gin bottle across the cabin; it bounced against the wall and rolled under one of the seats. "Do you think I'm stupid?" he asked, his voice louder than he intended, twisting in his seat so that he and Sarceda were more or less facing each other.
"Of course not," said Sarceda. "That's why I knew you wouldn't believe me."
Blake had to laugh. "So is that what you wanted? To break a human being so badly he couldn't go back to his normal life? That's hardly an accomplishment. Anyone could do it."
"Yes, but most people wouldn't. But regardless - no. That wasn't what I wanted."
"Why, then?" For the first time, Blake was giving voice to the ques
tion that had been plaguing him since he'd first woken up in that dank basement below Sarceda's house. "I don't understand."
Something broke in Sarceda's face. Blake saw it, for a split second - he was sure he did - a flash of raw emotion that could not have been an artifice. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and Sarceda settled back into his seat with a certain sense of finality.
"You will," he said, simply.
Blake remained unconvinced.
He drifted off to sleep eventually, waking up much later to the sound of Sarceda tidying up the cabin. Amusingly enough, he was washing the butt plug in the tiny sink, drying it carefully, and slipping it back into the little bag.
"Good morning," he said, when he walked past Blake's seat and noticed him.
Blake nodded and stretched. He kept waiting for the surreality of the situation to hit him - but somehow, all of this felt more real, more grounded, than his last few months of "normal life" had. He'd been back in London just a few days ago, but it felt more like years. A strange, disconnected interlude between losing Sarceda and then finding him again.
Losing. What a strange way to put it.
"We'll be landing soon," said Sarceda. He pulled out the handcuffs again, dangling them in front of Blake. "Sorry, but I'm afraid we have to put these back on. Appearances, and all that."
"Of course," said Blake. "Got to maintain the illusion that you're holding me against my will."
"Don't get cheeky," Sarceda warned. "I've been awfully nice to you lately, it would be a shame if you made me regret it."
Blake held out his hands obediently, letting himself be locked up again. Sarceda didn't speak again, not when they landed, not when the door slid open and the armed guards escorted them to a car waiting on the deserted tarmac. The air hit Blake in the face like a wet dishrag; it was stiflingly hot and humid. He could feel himself begin to sweat, futilely; there was nowhere for the moisture to evaporate to, so it just sat on his skin. Sarceda got into the driver's seat of the car, and one of the guards shoved Blake towards the passenger side.
He climbed in, relishing the cool burst of the air conditioner. As Sarceda pulled away, Blake twisted his head around to look at the guards, confused.
"They're not coming with us?"
"No." Sarceda laughed a little. "If we walk onto Alvarez's compound with armed men we'll be shot on sight."
They drove for a while on a dirt road, which seemed to grow narrower and narrower as they went on. Blake stared into the horizon. Eventually, he caught sight of a massive building - about the same color as the sand itself, surrounded by a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire. When they drew close, Sarceda began to slow down, and two armed men by the gate immediately trained their rifles on the car.
He pulled up until he was almost between them, and rolled down his window.
"What is your business?" one of the men asked, in Spanish.
"I need to speak to Señor Alvarez," Sarceda replied. "I have important affairs to discuss with him."
"Get out," the man replied, gesturing with his gun. "Him, too."
The guards both pulled out a pair of metal detecting wands that looked as if they had seen better days, swiping them over both men's bodies until they seemed satisfied. A thought occured to Blake - had Sarceda really walked into this situation completely unarmed? Was he insane?
"Go on," said one of the guards. Sarceda climbed back into the car, and Blake followed his lead.
They drove up close to the house, parking off to the side. Blake could feel the eyes of the many armed guards following them as they walked up towards the massive staircase that led to the twin front doors. Suddenly, the doors swung open.
A tall, gray-haired man was approaching. He stopped midway down the staircase, staring at the two men for a moment in silence. His eyes flicked from Sarceda to Blake, and then back again, a few times.
"Sarceda? Back so soon?" He spoke Spanish, but slowly, and Blake thankfully understood most of it. "I thought I made myself abundantly clear the last time we met."
Sarceda responded quickly, also in Spanish. "With respect, Señor Alvarez, I would like to renew my proposal. Together, we would be ten times as strong as we are separately."
"My answer is the same as always," Alvarez replied. "Get your own territory."
"But I've brought you a gift." Sarceda laid his hand on Blake's shoulder and pushed him forward. "It would be a shame if I had to leave, and take him with me."
Alvarez's lip curled slightly. "This is your gift?" He eyed Blake, up and down. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"He is a very important agent," said Sarceda. "And a very good slave. I trained him myself. When you're done using him, you can fetch a nice ransom from his country."
Blake stood stock-still as Alvarez walked up and stared at him, as if he were looking at a piece of meat. His heart thudded in his chest. So this was what Sarceda had set in motion. Giving him as a tribute to another ruthless criminal. Alvarez's eyes were cold and evaluating, with an edge of hunger, as he walked in circles around Blake and examined him. Finally, he reached out and grabbed fistfuls of Blake's shirt, ripping it in two and throwing it aside. Blake couldn't help but flinch. He reacted less when Alvarez snapped his fingers at one of the guards, and the guard proceeded to methodically remove Blake's pants and underwear. Blake stepped out of them obediently, goose bumps rising on his skin despite the heat.
"Kneel," Alvarez said, in English. Blake looked at Sarceda, automatically.
"It's all right," said Sarceda, his face unreadable. "You're to follow his orders now."
Blake knelt, and Alvarez laid a hand on the top of his head. "It looks as if you've lived the easy life, up until now. I don't even see any whip marks on you. That will change soon enough."
Sarceda laughed. "I thought I'd leave some of the fun to you. But he's broken, don't worry about that. He doesn't fight back anymore."
"Good," said Alvarez. "I can be forgiving, but some of my men...well, we wouldn't want him to do something stupid and get himself killed. Then he won't be of much use to anyone for long. I have to say, the last British agent I got my hands on was a bit of a disappointment."
Blake felt sick to his stomach. Margrave. He'd gone to work a dual effort with the American DEA in Colombia a few years back, and disappeared...
Sarceda rested a hand on Blake's shoulder and squeezed - a strangely reassuring gesture, given the circumstances. "He's strong, but he's docile. I have no doubt you'll be happy with him."
Alvarez clapped his hands. "Come. It's almost time for supper. We can discuss business later. Bring him." He pointed at Blake, and two of the guards lifted him by either arm and led him up the stairs, into the building, and down the hallway after Alvarez. When they finally came to a halt, it was in a grand banquet hall with the longest table Blake had ever seen in his life. In the corner sat a massive wire cage, like one might keep for a mastiff. Or a tiger.
Blake had a halfway decent idea what it was intended for in this instance.
As they approached the cage, one of the guards kicked Blake in the back of the knee, knocking him down and forward. He crawled into the cage - there wasn't even so much as a thin blanket padding it, so the wire dug into his skin. The door was slammed shut and padlocked behind him.
He shifted in the small space, trying to find a position that was even remotely comfortable. He couldn't, of course, and settled for curling up in a semi-fetal position, but upright, against the edge of the cage. Two guards stayed close to him, but the rest took seats at the table with the exception of two standing behind Alvarez. Some younger men without guns brought in steaming plates of food and quickly disappeared.
"I have to admire your persistence," said Alvarez finally, looking up at Sarceda. "I might have shot you on sight."
"But you wouldn't," Sarceda replied. "Because in spite of yourself, you understand how valuable I am."
Alvarez laughed. "That swollen ego of yours is going to get you killed someday," he said.
&
nbsp; "Did people used to say that about you, when you were my age?" Sarceda's tone was jovial, but guarded. Blake wished he could see his face.
"Every day. But I proved them wrong." Alvarez was watching Sarceda like a hawk. Did he suspect foul play, beyond the usual paranoia that must be a part of his everyday life? When was Sarceda going to make his move? With no weapons and with Alvarez surrounded by strong men with big guns, it was going to be quite the trick. Sarceda's strategy was a good one, he had to admit. He was slowly getting closer to Alvarez - close enough to strike.
But what was going to happen to Blake?
"No hard feelings, after your last visit?" Alvarez asked, gesturing for another beer.
"Of course not," Sarceda replied smoothly. "What's a few months in a filthy jail cell against the chance of joining your organization?
Alvarez laughed. "I'm going to speak English for a moment," he said, leaning forward over the table. "So that we can have a private conversation."
"Of course." Sarceda nodded.
"Tonight, I want you to bring the slave to my room and demonstrate what he can do." Alvarez's eyes glinted with a hunger that made Blake's stomach twist. "We'll have some fun with him. If all goes well, tomorrow, we can discuss your business propositions further."
"Excellent," Sarceda replied. Blake could hear him smiling.
When the meal was over, Alvarez left first, taking most of the guards with him. The remaining few watched Sarceda suspiciously as he gathered up some leftover food from the table.
"I'm just going to take some food to the slave," Sarceda said to one of them. "If that's all right with you."
The guard nodded, and stepped away from the cage a bit.
Sarceda pushed a small, neatly-constructed burrito through one of the holes in the cage. Blake stared at it. He knew that he was hungry, but there was a lump of sick anticipation in his throat.
"Don't worry," Sarceda said, in English. "I'm not going to let him hurt you. We'll have a good time tonight."
Blake understood his meaning just fine, and he had to respect that Sarceda wasn't going to believe that none of the guards spoke English, just because Alvarez had implied it to be true.