by Jack L. Pyke
“Good, good,” said Voice.
Everything went quiet for a moment, then the mattress shifted as Friend got up.
“Right, Mr. Chambers. Let’s make this easy.” That came from Voice.
“Sorr—”
“Three days. Three questions. Three answers.”
Will tried to lift his head. “What?”
“Over the next three days, you are going to be asked three questions. You are to supply an answer for each one.”
Will gave a hard sigh and dropped his head back down. “What the hell do you think I know?” He wasn’t rich; he had no wealthy family members. The closest to any money was Erin’s father, but he’d died and Erin had long since created a distance of her own between her and Will.
A light tap of finger came on wood, not hurried, showing no impatience. “First day, first question…”
Will waited.
“Tell me the name of the boy you cry out for in your sleep.”
“Huh.” It was all Will had.
Will had never been so nervous, not even since he’d sat looking at the Vice-Chancellor, back at his job interview, and feeling more like he was facing expulsion for being caught smoking pot again. If he’d known Elliot was taking the same interview day, but for a higher job, he’d have deliberately smoked some pot to get thrown out. Because, Christ knows, it seemed like Elliot followed and made his life hell no matter where he went. But today Will was dressed for another interview, probably the only interview that really mattered, only this time a woman sat opposite, thick black diary weighing her knees down, her handbag resting against her feet as if it sighed relief from not carrying the diary. Maybe he was overdressed, it certainly seemed odd to Will to be suited up in his own living room. But today…
Will gave a deep breath and tried not to mess with his tie.
“Nervous?” Jill smiled over at him, taking a break from filling in her notes.
“Some,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “First times and all that.”
Jill chuckled, jerking him up from his mumble and forcing him to fight a blush. “I-I didn’t mean…”
“Take it easy,” laughed Jill, now content to close her diary, then reach down and slip it into her bag. Will swore he heard the thing groan in protest from where he sat. “We could have delayed this until your wife was back, y’know.”
He’d married Erin just after leaving uni, some seven years ago. Although he’d messed around with both sides, Erin had just felt right, when they’d met the summer before final exams. They’d settled pretty well, today just seeming a natural progression in their relationship. Erin had taken it hard with not being able to have kids. It was a little unfair now, after all the hard work and jumping through hoops had been done, she’d be half a country away looking after her dad.
Will had worked with social workers through Lancaster University, having been through a number of Child Protection courses that were more to do with work. Will usually felt at ease around anyone. Only this social worker, and the panel she came from, had him nearly ready to drop to his knees and beg mercy for whatever sins she wanted to say he’d committed.
“Okay.” Jill craned her neck to look out of the window, then got to her feet. “Remember this is just for a few days to start off with, to see how you get along.”
Palms a little damp now he’d eased to his feet too, Will found he was constantly wiping them on the material covering his ass as the doorbell rang. He never shifted; even though this was his house, Jill still seemed to command that air of control. Giving an easy smile, she disappeared into the hall, and the sound of a hatch being flicked, then the front door opening, had Will craning his neck to get a better look.
Jill came back in first, followed by the whole grunge scene: ripped jeans, black hair shaped around an oval face, all the kid was missing was a few piercings.
“Will.” Jill stood aside. “You already know—”
Will held out his hand and breathed a smile. “James.”
A sniff, James looked at Will’s outstretched hand, then quirked an eyebrow up at Will. “First-time nerves, huh?”
Will choked a chuckle. “Something like that.”
James took his hand. “Yeah, well, get over yourself, ’cause I’m bloody starving here and in need of a decent not social care home meal.”
“See, wasn’t so hard, was it?” The creaking of a rocking chair had started up again, and with the sound grating on his every nerve, Will found he was already pulling against the ropes, all drenched in sweat, body aching, throat hurting. He’d called it out without realising, and his whole world turned blood red.
“My life— my fucking kid is nothing to do with—” Will struggled to swallow as that same Friendly grip found his throat, slicing his anger in two.
“Your kid, Mr. Chambers?” said Voice. Will felt every muscle stretch and protest as his jaw was forced up, his breathing now coming in short, sharp intakes through his nose. “From what I hear, he wasn’t your anything,” said Voice.
Will flared his nostrils, wanting so much to get his hands free and punch someone. He didn’t really care who, just so long as his fist connected with something. But he controlled his breathing as best he could with the choking hold on his throat. “He was mine,” he said flatly. “If you want a father that personifies dick, go look at Ryan’s dad.”
The grip released his neck and Will swallowed, the ache from the roughness telling him he’d have bruises there.
“Mr. Matthews? You have issues with Ryan’s father?”
Will laughed, then it turned into a serious sobering up. “Oh, no. One question, three days,” he managed to choke out. “Can’t change the rules.”
“But you’re forgetting one thing,” said Voice. “I thought the ball twisting you had already would have been enough to convince you to follow the simple: I say, you do, game.”
“Like fuh—” A leg was suddenly between his, pressing into the mattress just a few inches from his scrotum, then Will winced as a fistful of blindfold was grabbed, forcing his head off the pillow with how it caught his hair too.
“There’s safety in not seeing,” said Voice, although he spoke from the bottom of the bed. Friend’s touch teased the blindfold, threatening to pull it off and show Will just what he was missing out on. “Do you want to see, William?” Voice sounded playful. “I mean, really see and risk knowing who we are? Because if you carry on using your mouth…”
The shift in Will was instant, and he quickly tried to turn his head, twist away from the threat of exposure. No. He liked the safety in not seeing. He wasn’t a fighter, never had been, and Friend’s pat at his face again after his hair was released seemed to acknowledge that.
“Good man, Mr. Chambers.” The rocking chair stopped, then gave a last sigh as Voice got to his feet along with his Friend. Will was beginning to recognise the length of the creaks, what each one meant. Then he was listening as Friend’s footfalls fell away from the bed, leaving Voice standing and watching from the bottom there.
“You answered the first question,” he said. “Thank you. Now, do you remember what we said this morning? That if you eat you would be allowed to sit up?”
Will let his head rest back down. “Yeah.”
“Let’s take it one step further.”
CHAPTER 5
THREE DAYS. THREE QUESTIONS. THREE ANSWERS.
A door creaked open, Will knew the sound by how long it lasted, and again polished shoes on wood came back over to the bed. Friend. Something slid onto a surface close by: a unit, then the bed at his side depressed.
“If you eat and drink, my friend here will take you to the bathroom this time,” said Voice from somewhere beyond Friend.
That meant this had to be a house of some sort. Will went still. And it also meant having his legs untied, his hands. He couldn’t fight, but he could run. He’d been running most of his life. That sounded really damn good to him. A shuuush hit the silence, sounding like it came from the unscrewing of a lid, and true to for
m, liquid being poured into a glass came next. Friend’s hand came under Will’s head, offering Will up for what was to come, and this time a straw tempted his lips. Sparkling water fizzed Will’s senses, making him choke a little as he drank, but he stored away the knowledge that they seemed to be learning from past mistakes over not using a straw.
“Very good.” Voice now paced at the bottom of the bed, his steps not hurried, just maybe stretching stiff muscles. “Can we go for two in a row?”
Softness pressed against Will’s lips and a few crumbs fell onto his neck. A strong scent of mustard cleared his nose, and again Will frowned. Like the soup had been, mustard was one of his favourites. With another nudge to encourage him to eat, Will took the bread, tempted to bite down on the thumb that briefly touched his lips. But ham? Mixed with mustard on soft bread? He nearly groaned his hunger, his need to eat, and after a few moments, Will knew there was nothing left of the food as the brush of hand proved as it wiped away the crumbs.
A sniff, Friend’s weight was gone from Will’s side. Will tried to relax, then failed miserably when a light touch of material brushed his face. At first he panicked, thinking Friend was going completely foe in his attempt to suffocate the hell out of him. But tugs came at Will’s left wrist, and Will caught on that it was the tail of Friend’s shirt brushing over his face as he leaned over to untie him.
“Trust is low,” said Voice, and a strong hand, bigger than Friend’s, pinned Will’s free hand back to the bed as Friend untied his other. The need was there to rub at his wrists, just get some feeling back into them, but relief was denied as a shove at Will’s shoulder pushed him awkwardly onto his side, now facing Voice. It was awkward. His legs were still tied, the tendons and muscles in his right leg now stretched to hurting, the rope acting like the perfect rack as the pressure of a knee was pushed into Will’s back.
A grip under Will’s shoulder lifted him up slightly, then a slight push from Friend tipped him forward so Friend could tie Will’s arms behind his back. More rope circled Will’s wrists, wrapping around the left one once, twice, four times, then the right wrist taking the same treatment before they were knotted together. Will’s heart sank a little. Use of his hands was out of the question. Feeling the release of his feet, Will pulled his body up into a tight ball, the sheet slipping free and leaving Will blushing.
“C’mon,” said Voice, and a grip under Will had him sitting up, his legs still near enough pulled under him on the bed. “Up.” A tap at his legs encouraged him to uncoil and let his feet find the floor. Will toed it first and felt a mix of dust and wood grind against his pads. Then he just sat there for a minute, feeling the ache spread from his feet, up his legs. Moving made things worse, disturbing muscles that almost seemed happy to sleep the days away. How long had he been here? Two nights? Three?
“Not got the time for this,” mumbled a voice, but it wasn’t the Voice. Seemed Friend couldn’t string together more than three gravel-filled syllables at a time. An arm slipped underneath Will’s, using his bound arms as leverage and forcing him up. Will stumbled forward into a body the size and shape of his, maybe one size up, but not much.
“Off.”
Will was pushed to arm’s length before an arm slipped under his again, his bound hands making it easy for Friend to take Will’s weight and encourage him forward. Will half-limped, half-walked, dragging his right foot slightly with the stretching the muscles had taken. The movement was awkward and, frustrated, Will hated how he relied on someone else for such basics steps. Brought to a stop, Will was forced to wait as a door pushed open. This one had a different sound to it, a little lighter as its creak spread out into an echo. Pulled forward again, he found wood floor gave way to cool tile. It could have been an en suite; Will couldn’t really tell. For all he knew, Friend could have led him into a corner of a disused building to take care of business. He couldn’t remember anything after being knocked out: if they’d driven or walked. Maybe he was back at the Mill. Will nodded internally to himself. That would make sense. It wouldn’t take much to get the place set up, add a generator, bring a bed in. He felt a little sick. That meant a hell of a lot of pre-planning here, and personal information… they knew what flavour of soup he liked, how he loved the sting of a little heavier spread of mustard on his sandwich— that he wasn’t James’s dad.
He groaned, or at least recognised the groan hitting the silence was his as Friend stopped him and twisted him around. A foot kicked at his ankle, forcing his legs apart, then a body shaped his from behind. Will looked away. Despite being blind, he still looked away as his nakedness met the press of jeans and soft cotton, as his dick was taken in hand.
“Andy Morgan,” he mumbled.
A snarl hit the silence as Will was pushed forward by a strong grip in his hair, the hand on his dick now playing hell with his scalp. “Who the fuck’s Andy Morgan?” Friend couldn’t have sounded any rougher.
“James’s paternal dad,” said Will, hoping it sounded calm, even though he wanted to blurt it out on a startled cry. “That’s you.” It made sense. Although the bastard had never been there for James, it would make perfect sense for him to want revenge. James had been in Will’s care after all.
Friend gave a snort, and Will found he could move again as he was pulled back to mould the man behind. “Try again,” came the whispered snarl against his ear. An arm slipped around Will’s waist, fingers now holding onto his hip. Friend’s body dug into his, lower back to flat stomach, soft curve of ass to the press of a groin that had Will fighting the need to shake him off.
A breath kept brushing his left shoulder blade, but it seemed very deep, very carefully controlled. Maybe too controlled. Friend’s hand drifted down Will’s abs, tracing almost absently through the wiry offering of pubic hair, all to wander down his shaft. Nose and lip replaced the brush of breath, just easing over the curve of Will’s neck, taking, tasting his scent. Lip turned to nip, but the strong brush of fingers down his dick still had that distracted feel as Friend played him root to tip.
“Please.” The beginnings of a long and heavy hard-on pressed into Will’s hip. “Stop.”
“Hm?” The contact was gone and Will was pushed forward again, the grip on his hips keeping him steady. Nature’s call came next, more through fear of being on such unsteady ground and chasing that teetering over a cliff feeling. The sound was unmistakable, though, the filling up of a toilet, then the tug on a lever added the final confirmation that a toilet was flushed.
“You need anything else?”
Will swallowed— hard. “No.” His voice sounded a little high.
“Sure?”
“Absolutely fuh—”
The swear word was cut short as Will was pushed to the side. Friend really didn’t like swearing. Will wondered how he’d get on with Ryan’s dad. Elliot—
Will stumbled, nearly fell, but the security of a wall saved him, and he quickly huddled into it, needing its comfort as he clawed his nakedness into it.
“Shower.”
Will groaned. “What?” he said in a ghost of a voice.
“You need one.”
Buffeted slightly, cold metal slipped over Will’s head, and he panicked as a choker chain settled at the base of his throat. A tug tightened it, then a light clink was heard in time with a chain’s rattle just a few inches above his head. Will instinctively tried to shift back, down— anything to pull away, but he came to a choking stop as the tether to the chain kept him still, almost forcing him onto the front pads of his feet.
Will’s world became a whole lot smaller as water blasted his head. He yelled out, not that the water was hot or scalding, but he’d been chained up like a wild animal in desperate need of a wash, and he was better than that— better than this.
“Why me? I’ve done nothing to you.”
Nothing came, and Will tried to twist away from the water, curl up in the corner somewhere and be allowed to find some dignity with covering himself up. The ropes bit into his arms, the chain choked his
throat, and part of him welcomed the hurt, welcomed the anger. If he had the instinct to fight, then he wasn’t an animal to be trained.
A body came in quick behind his, shaping him again, all naked, all toned, touching his, and he cried out again, mostly in fear, the rest in anguish with how his own body writhed a sudden hell no to the contact.
Hair gripped, Will was forced to press his forehead against the wall, and he was held there until he got the hint not to move, not to struggle. “I’ve never fucked anyone against their will. What d’you think I’m gonna do? Rape you?”
Will forced his breathing to calm. The heat off Friend’s hard-on was there, but it was contrasted coolly with the calmness of his control. “Stay that way. Please.” He’d loved bondage in the past. But there was everything wrong with this.
Giving a grunt, Friend shoved him forward, and Will turned his face at the last moment to stop himself smacking into the tile. Friend seemed to take a step back, as if not liking the feeling either, then a rough sponge with rougher handling had Will trying to cower into the wall, just to slot himself in somewhere and not have part of his body on display. Strokes came at his shoulder blades, rough at first, then gentler as Will forced calmness. The touch moved down to his lower back, then spent time stroking the curves of his ass. Attention was paid to his legs, but there was no lingering, nor when it came to Will’s groin. He was left alone for a moment and water was allowed to wash the assault away. But then shampoo rubbed into his scalp, sending foaming bubbles over his chest and back, and it soon made him feel dirty again. The most humiliating part came when the water was turned off and a toothbrush demanded access to his mouth. Will complied, to get this hell over with— he complied.
Grateful for small mercies, Will was left alone to drip-dry in the corner. Shuffling came from close by, like Friend was towelling himself dry.
