Deathtrap

by L. M. Somerton

  “You’ve been behaving like a spoiled child for weeks and I’ve been lax in correcting you. That’s going to stop. From now on, you will be polite to every member of the club. Even Hatchet. You will carry out any and every task required of you without complaint, however menial it may seem. If I get even a hint that you’ve been acting like a brat I’ll bend you over the kitchen table and cane your ass so hard you won’t sit for a week. You won’t enjoy it either because that pretty dick of yours will be locked up in the most excruciating chastity device I can get my hands on. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir, I understand. But it’s not fair,” Orlando complained.

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  Rogue pushed two slick fingertips against Orlando’s hole and probed steadily. Orlando fisted the bed covers and whimpered. Rogue rested his free hand on Orlando’s ass and continued to probe with his fingers. Orlando’s inner muscles gripped him hard but Rogue moved with gentle persistence until he found his target. Orlando’s gland was firm beneath Rogue’s fingertips. He massaged it with care—just enough to drive Orlando to the edge of orgasm but not enough to allow him to come. Orlando jerked his hips, humping the air, desperately searching for something to stimulate his dick. He threw himself down onto his stomach and ground his cock into the mattress.

  “Oh no you don’t.” Rogue withdrew his fingers. “You can’t be trusted at all, can you?”

  He crossed to the dresser and extracted a set of padded cuffs, which only took a moment to fasten around Orlando’s wrists. Rogue hoisted his sub’s arms up until he could loop the connecting chain over the sturdy hook screwed in to the ceiling. Orlando could still kneel on the bed but his body was fully stretched and he’d lost any hope of being able to rub off on the bed covers. Rogue reapplied some lube, then got back to work with his fingers. Orlando’s passage accepted him easily, and he was less gentle this time, thrusting in until he made contact with his sub’s prostate.

  “Fuck!” Orlando fought his bonds as much as he was able. His ass muscles clenched but with the spreader bar in place he could do nothing to prevent Rogue’s manipulation of his sensitive nerves.

  Rogue circled Orlando’s waist with his arm, holding him in place but being careful to go nowhere near his cock. Any time it seemed that Orlando was close to coming without his dick being touched, Rogue stilled his fingers for a while.

  “Please, please, please… You have to let me come, Sir.”

  “I don’t have to do any such thing. I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet. Who’s in charge?”

  “You are!”

  “And are you going to behave?”

  “I… You’re not being fair, you bastard.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about fair. I care about keeping you safe!” The words slipped out before Rogue could stop them.

  He pulled free of Orlando’s grasping channel, then plumped some pillows. He sat on the bed where Orlando could look down on him. Slowly, he lowered his zipper and freed his cock. He fisted himself a couple of times.

  “Oh, God, that feels good.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Orlando groused.

  Rogue relaxed back onto the pillows and jacked himself to the edge of release. He savored the sweet pain of holding off for a few agonizing seconds and met Orlando’s gaze.

  “Do you know how stunning you look, chained and helpless?” Perfect jack-off material. The only thing better would be for me to have my cock buried balls deep in his ass. But this is about discipline, not pleasure. At least for him. “You’re still hard, sweetheart. Denial turns you on, doesn’t it?” Rogue pulled on his rigid cock and allowed the orgasm to roll down his spine. His breath quickened as the tingling pleasure built to a crescendo. His balls drew up tight and hot cum spurted through his fingers onto the sheets. He grinned when Orlando cursed under his breath.

  Once he’d recovered enough to get up, Rogue cleaned himself off in the bathroom. A new application of lube got his fingers nice and slick. There was no resistance as he penetrated Orlando’s channel. Once he found the little nub of nerves, Rogue massaged in slow, gentle circles and this time he didn’t stop. A leisurely trickle of cum gradually issued from Orlando’s cock while he jerked and cried in his restraints.

  “The milking process takes a while, I’m afraid,” Rogue commented without sympathy. “It needs to happen bit by bit, so you don’t get too much pleasure from it. I understand that ice on your balls can make it even more frustrating, but we can try that another time.”

  “No!” Orlando sobbed. “I hate you!”

  “Of course you do.” Rogue kept his fingers moving until he was satisfied that Orlando’s balls were drained. He withdrew carefully. “Now, I think your cock deserves some attention.” He stroked Orlando’s now half-hard length. “Of course, however much you want to, it’s going to be a while before you’ll reach orgasm, no matter what I do to you.”

  Rogue knelt on the bed and took Orlando’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head and savoring the salt-sweet taste. He paid some attention to Orlando’s balls before licking a trail up his trembling stomach and abs.

  “Don’t! Stop it. I’m sorry…it’s too sensitive.”

  “I don’t hear your safe word, Orlando. Until I do, I decide when this ends.” Rogue reached Orlando’s chest and took one pert nipple between his teeth. He bit and sucked while twisting the other between a finger and thumb. Orlando howled.

  “Let me down…please! This is torture. You’re cruel and mean…”

  “I am,” Rogue agreed. “And I’m quite prepared to do this every day until you start behaving.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Rogue shook his head. “Never gonna happen, sweet cheeks. I will, however, be fucking you. Though your cock will likely be caged and your nipples clamped. We’ll see. I have plenty of ideas about how to keep you under control.” He released Orlando from bondage and slid the spreader bar back beneath the bed. He massaged Orlando’s wrists and ankles, checking carefully for any damage to his skin, but apart from some redness there was none. “It’s almost lunchtime. Get dressed and you can help in the kitchen. Crow and Shelton should be back with supplies by now.” He walked over to the door. “Change the sheets too—laundry duty this afternoon will keep you out of mischief.”

  Orlando threw himself face down on the bed and thumped his fists into a pillow. A few feathers flew into the air then drifted back down to land in his hair, the white a stark contrast against the black strands. Rogue gave a low chuckle. He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. A session with Orlando always cleared his mind, and he strolled back to the living room with new purpose. Sitting around waiting for trouble made his skin itch—planning a pre-emptive strike on Arno Bellazi and his crew of gun and drug runners would give The Wyverns something to focus on.

  In the two months since Orlando’s kidnapping and the resulting gun battle with the Diablos Oros, there had been little action. Though it had been useful to have some breathing space to repair the damage done to the compound and surrounding area by bullets and Shelton’s booby traps, Rogue wasn’t used to the relative calm. Horatio Trap usually kept The Wyverns very busy and the sudden lack of demands on their time and expertise was suspicious.

  Crow, Shelton and Hatchet were seated around the table in the corner of the living room that they habitually used for plotting rather than eating. Everyone was more comfortable gathered around in the kitchen for meals—The Wyverns weren’t much into formality or table manners—so the big dining table had become an unofficial office. Shelton waved at him.

  “Hey, Rogue, is Orlando in trouble again? We left all the groceries in the kitchen for him to unpack.”

  “He’ll be out in a bit. He’s just…getting his head together.”

  Hatchet snorted. “We’ll be waiting a while then.”

  Shelton rolled his eyes. “You could cut him some slack, Hatch. It can’t be easy fitting in here.”

  “Do I look like a fucking therapist? He
’s tougher than he appears and this is a motorcycle club, not kindergarten.”

  “We don’t all have skin like a rhino,” Shelton scolded. “Orlando is sensitive. His entire life has changed in a few short weeks so it’s no wonder that he gets a bit snarky.”

  Crow kneaded the back of Shelton’s neck. “You know we don’t have time to pander to delicate sensibilities, Shel,” he said. “If Orlando weren’t here, he’d either be dead or under lock and key at one of his father’s hideouts by now. Neither option seems particularly great to me.”

  Shelton closed his eyes and leaned into Crow’s touch with a purr. “Oh, that’s good. You’re right, of course, but that’s still no excuse to act like a bunch of foul-mouthed Neanderthals.”

  “But we are a bunch of… Never mind.” Hatchet stopped talking as Crow gave him a warning glare. It didn’t do to upset Shelton if Crow was around.

  Rogue took a seat at the head of the table. “Orlando will adjust. He has no choice, and if we deal with the Bellazi Clan thoroughly enough, then he might just get a bit of his freedom back.”

  Shelton tapped his pen on the edge of the table. “Best get to planning then.”

  Rogue nodded. “For the sake of our collective sanity, I think that would be wise.”

  Chapter Two

  Orlando flopped onto his back and blew a feather away from the tip of his nose. He peered down his body and glared at his limp dick.

  “That was the cruelest, most sadistic thing he’s ever done. I didn’t deserve that. I didn’t.” He wriggled, enjoying the ache in his ass. “Well, maybe I did, but that’s not the point. That was the least satisfying orgasm I’ve ever had.” He examined the marks around his wrists. “So why is it that I think I’m falling in love with the bastard? Even though he reeks of oil and leather most of the time.”

  He rolled off the bed, grabbed a clean pair of jeans from the dresser, then pulled them on. He didn’t bother with underwear because there was little point—it only ended up in tatters once Rogue got his hands on it. The denim was soft against his skin, fitted but not uncomfortably tight. A slash in the fabric ran across the front of one thigh, a few stray threads tempting his restless fingers.

  “I’m so fucking bored. I’m sick of being the on-call skivvy for this bunch of borderline psychotic cavemen. I need to breathe some air that hasn’t been spat out of an air-conditioning unit.”

  He pulled out the dresser drawer that housed his eclectic T-shirt collection and had a rummage. Teddy and Bull had gone to his flat and collected his clothes. They’d stuffed his entire wardrobe into a couple of garbage bags, lobbed them into the back of the truck amongst a load of oily bike parts and brought them back with shit-eating grins pasted on their faces. When Rogue had asked what the problem was, Teddy had upended the bags and displayed several of Orlando’s less practical pairs of underwear. Orlando sighed at the memory. Having his jocks fired around the room hadn’t bothered him at all—it was the lingering smell of oil that impregnated every fiber. After three washes, he could still smell it, even though he knew it had to be his imagination. Either that or the lining of his nose had been permanently damaged.

  He picked out a pale blue tee with Bored written across the front in sequined capitals, then pulled it on.

  “Yes. Definitely.” He admired his reflection in the mirror. “Not that any of those leather-clad apes would know good taste if it hit them in the butt.” Refusing to pander to Rogue’s love of keeping him barefoot, Orlando stuck his feet into an old pair of sneakers. “I should so paint my toenails. That would really set his wheels spinning.” He stomped from the room and shut the door slightly harder than was strictly necessary. Rogue wouldn’t hear or witness the little display of petulance, but it sure made Orlando feel better.

  When he got to the main communal area, he found Rogue, Hatchet, Crow and Shelton huddled around the table, talking in low voices. Orlando’s throat tightened at the thought that he was not trusted enough to be included in whatever the four of them were up to. Tears welled in his eyes but he fought them back.

  They aren’t even going to notice that I’m in the room. I might as well be invisible.

  The prospect made him sad and a shard of loneliness pierced his heart.

  “Orlando,” Rogue spoke just as he reached the kitchen door.

  Orlando glanced across at the table but Rogue didn’t look up.

  “Unpack and store the supplies, then make something edible for five. The others won’t be back until later.”

  Orlando didn’t respond. He pushed through the swing door into the kitchen to find at least twenty sacks of groceries piled on top of the table and stacked on the floor. He shook his head. “It’s like feeding an entire fucking zoo. If they forgot my Twinkies, there’s gonna be trouble.” He was addicted to the chemical-laden treat. Anything sweet would do, but Twinkies held a special place in his heart. He’d been devastated when it had been announced that they were going to be discontinued.

  With a sigh, he grabbed the first bag and began the process of unpacking, sorting and storing. By the time he’d finished, the store cupboard, freezer and two fridges were full to bursting. He cracked open a soda and grabbed a package of Twinkies before collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table.

  “Who needs gym membership…that was quite a workout.” He rolled his shoulders and scowled as the door swung open.

  “It’s not ready. Give a man a chance, will you? I’ve only just finished… Oh, hey, Shelton.” Orlando relaxed a bit and shoved one of the sweet treats into his mouth.

  Shelton had never been mean to him. Of all The Wyverns, Shelton had the best manners, and he often helped out in the kitchen.

  “I just came for a soda.” Shelton walked over to one of the enormous fridges.

  “Bottom shelf. They’re not icy cold, though. Not been in there long enough. There’s ice if you want to use a glass.”

  Shelton picked out a can and popped the top. “Doesn’t matter, I have dust down my throat from the trip into town. I swear I could cough up fucking gravel.”

  To Orlando’s surprise, Shelton sat down at the table with him rather than returning to the living room. He took a couple of deep swallows of his drink, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “That’s so much better. How ya doing?”

  Orlando nibbled on his lower lip. He wasn’t sure how far he could trust Shelton with his feelings. He needed to talk to someone, though, and Rogue was not a candidate likely to listen to his whining. Shelton seemed sympathetic at least.

  “If I wanted to join the service industry I’d be flipping burgers somewhere a lot more salubrious than this dump.” He shoved his chair back, then fetched the makings for burgers. He tipped a bag of onions onto a chopping board, grabbed a knife from the block then started peeling. Within seconds, his eyes started to water, hiding the real tears that slipped from his eyes. “I feel like a fucking servant most of the time. None of you want me here. You don’t trust me, and Rogue won’t even let me outside on my own so I’m doing just peachy.”

  “You’re crying.”

  “Am not. It’s the onions.” Orlando brushed roughly at his eyes.

  Shelton took another knife from the block and began to wind it in and out of his fingers. Orlando gave him a sideways glance, awed at his dexterity.

  “If I did that, I’d be minus a few fingers.” He snuffled and grabbed a tissue to wipe his nose before setting a pan on the range to heat.

  “It takes time and patience,” Shelton said, his tone mild. “Like a lot of things.”

  Orlando heated some oil and threw the chopped onions in to the pan. A delicious aroma enveloped him. “I’m not very good at being patient.” He gave the pan a shake and removed it from the heat. He paused then turned back to face Shelton.

  “Rogue just wants you to be safe. You could think about trusting him,” Shelton said.

  Orlando unloaded a package of ground chuck into a mixing bowl and seasoned it. He turned off the hob, then scooped the half-cooked onion int
o the bowl as well.

  “Cooked onion works so much better than powder.” He dug his hands into the mixture and pummeled the contents. “Sometimes you have to take a few risks to make a tried and tested recipe even better.” He began shaping the meat into patties. “Perhaps Rogue should trust me to do more than make mouthwatering cheeseburgers. He might be surprised. You can tell the vultures that food will be available in ten minutes.”

  Shelton wandered over to the door, stuck his head out and shouted, “Ten minutes!” then returned to his seat.

  “Now, are you going to sit there playing with that knife or use it to chop some tomatoes?”

  Between them, Orlando and Shelton finished the meal prep in short order. Rather than stack the burgers, Orlando laid everything out so that each man could make his own tower according to his taste. Rogue always went plain—just cheese and meat—but Crow liked to pile salad, pickles and extra cheese until his bun barely held everything together. Hatchet ate whatever was on offer so fast he couldn’t possibly be tasting it.

  Orlando and Shelton had only just finished when the kitchen was invaded. Rogue and Crow strolled in, still deep in conversation, but they both fell silent when they spotted the spread. Shelton grinned.

  “The way to a man’s heart really is through his stomach. Pitch in, guys, before the burgers get cold. Orlando used his special recipe.”

  Hatchet burst through the door.

  “Leave something for me.” He turned a chair around, straddled it then leaned on the back, looking expectant.

  Orlando waited until the others were all seated and had loaded their plates, then he joined them at the table. He wasn’t a big meat eater but he’d made a smaller patty and put it at the bottom of the pile. He stabbed it with his fork then shook it onto his plate with a heap of salad. He snuck a glance at Rogue. The man had his eyes closed and as he chewed, an expression of pure bliss crossed his face.