by Jack L. Pyke
“Good boy.” That wasn’t bitten out sarcastically as the chain to Will’s throat was unfastened and allowed to clank back against the wall. A towel finished what the air-drying hadn’t, but it was brief, clinical— just to get the job done.
The draft from the open door caused a shiver from Will, and he gave a groan as he was pulled towards the draught. “Clothes,” he managed to choke out against his own nakedness. Only a snort was his reply, and panic took full control for the first time, enough to cause Will’s breathing to rattle and gasp, now knowing he was nothing more than a hamster on a wheel, forced to constantly run for a vicious crowd. Will was suddenly struggling away from the grip on his arm, shoulder shoving Friend once, twice, then Will giving a cry as he managed to make a break for the door.
He hit the frame first, feeling his nose and top lip split under the run and hit; then Will landed on the floor, the wind forced out of his lungs as he went down hard. The blind stumble into the doorframe had only half-caused his screw-up, the weight from Friend, all shouts and cries joining the riot, did the rest as Will was slammed into from behind.
“Bloody idiot,” shouted someone. Voice. Then Will found he was somehow back on the bed, being dumped down, not really understanding how or why he got there.
“Breathe.” A body straddled Will’s, and Will caught Friend’s woodland cologne as a hand under Will’s jaw forced him to keep still. “Slow your fucking breathing.”
He hadn’t realised he was panicking, but slowing life down really wasn’t a problem for Will. His head, and the taste of blood in the back of his mouth, they all came on a cloud of almost drug-induced sleep. Will didn’t mind so much. He wanted to sleep now.
CHAPTER 6
LOST YOUTH
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 form, 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.
“Good boy.” That wasn’t bitten out sarcastically as the chain to Will’s throat was unfastened and allowed to clank back against the wall. A towel finished what the air-drying hadn’t, but it was brief, clinical— just to get the job done.
The draft from the open door caused a shiver from Will, and he gave a groan as he was pulled towards the draught. “Clothes,” he managed to choke out against his own nakedness. Only a snort was his reply, and panic took full control for the first time, enough to cause Will’s breathing to rattle and gasp, now knowing he was nothing more than a hamster on a wheel, forced to constantly run for a vicious crowd. Will was suddenly struggling away from the grip on his arm, shoulder shoving Friend once, twice, then Will giving a cry as he managed to make a break for the door.
He hit the frame first, feeling his nose and top lip split under the run and hit; then Will landed on the floor, the wind forced out of his lungs as he went down hard. The blind stumble into the doorframe had only half-caused his screw-up, the weight from Friend, all shouts and cries joining the riot, did the rest as Will was slammed into from behind.
“Bloody idiot,” shouted someone. Voice. Then Will found he was somehow back on the bed, being dumped down, not really understanding how or why he got there.
“Breathe.” A body straddled Will’s, and Will caught Friend’s woodland cologne as a hand under Will’s jaw forced him to keep still. “Slow your fucking breathing.”
He hadn’t realised he was panicking, but slowing life down really wasn’t a problem for Will. His head, and the taste of blood in the back of his mouth, they all came on a cloud of almost drug-induced sleep. Will didn’t mind so much. He wanted to sleep now.
CHAPTER 7
STOP
“Have I convinced you yet?” Ignoring all other bikes on display at the bike show, yet maybe keeping an extra eye out for Ryan, James started to pace the motorbike as Will forced himself to focus on the leather that creaked under his own touch. “Come on.” James was almost dancing. Will knew if he left the kid hanging on any longer, James would swing into full mosh-pit mode: all energy and a need to get noticed and not lost in the crowd kicking in.
“You never even cleaned your room this morning.”
“Uh-huh, like that, is it?” James gave a sniff to his nose, then giving a cry— he fell to his knees and gripped at Will’s leg, his head hugging close to Will’s hip. “Don’t leave me, please, Dad,” he shouted at the top of his voice, and Will instantly tried to shove him off as he grimaced a smile at the people who turned heads in their direction. “Dad, I love you. And, my room—I’ll promise to pick that one lone sock up off my cold— damp—”
“Get up—”
“—carpetless, cell of a windowless room—”
“Get up,” Will forced through his teeth, not knowing whether to laugh or run and hide underneath several thousand rocks with how people were staring.
But James wasn’t finished. “Even though I share that small room with five, like— eight, eight other of your shirtless, shoeless offsprings. We all love you, Dad, so—”
“For godssake, Jay, pleeeease.”
Giving a grin up at Will, James pushed to his feet and started to dust down Will’s jacket, then he looked at the onlookers. “Okay, move on. Nothing to see here.” He waved the bewildered bunch away, and they carried on with a few shoulder shrugs and wide-eyed glances back at them. “Mmmm.” James patted his own jeans down. “Don’t do the whole look at me, I’m gorgeous’ thing too much, do you, Will?”
“You’ve got enough showmanship for both of us.” Will fought off the burns on his cheeks as the sales rep finally came over, now the man had stopped wetting himself with laughter over in the distance.
“So.” The salesman grinned at Will
. “I take it that this young chap’s got his eye on this bike?”
Will rolled his eyes. “The whole pleading thing a usual around here, is it?”
The salesman nodded. “You’d be surprised.”
“At what?”
Will stilled hearing the voice. A half-turn saw Elliot manage to stop someone bumping into him.
“Mr. Matthews.” James dug his hands in his pockets and gave an awkward shrug at Elliot. “I’ve just seen Ryan.” He thumbed behind him. “That way.”
Elliot glanced past James. He was messing with his mobile and didn’t look happy about something. “I told him to keep his ass close,” he mumbled distractedly.
James’s blush turned a few shades deeper, X-rating his thoughts, no doubt with ideas on what could happen if Ryan brought his ass back close. “You like the bike?” said James to Elliot, and as Elliot looked it over, his eyes lit up a touch. “Bloody gorgeous, lad.”
Will was pushed aside as Elliot came between them, his back now to Will.
“Ryan said you used to own a Kawasaki.” James crouched down next to Elliot as Elliot inspected some biker thing Will had no clue about.
“Yeah.” Elliot cocked James a smile. “You chose this one, huh?”
James nodded, then his smile slipped. “Is it okay?”
Elliot gave a hmmm. “A bit much for a first ride. How the lessons coming on?”
“Good. Will drags me there each time. He thinks I should go safer with smaller.”
Elliot snorted but Will ignored it. “It might be the safer option, yes.” Elliot looked James over. “But you look like you’ve got the body type to handle her.”
“Yeah? Really?”
Will nearly groaned out loud at the pitch of excitement from James.
“Yeah,” said Elliot, getting to his feet, then stepping aside to let James climb on. “You take after Will more than you think with riding the wild.”
