by J. A. Rock
waterwheel, a duck hunt.
Aiden didn’t have too much time to dwell on decor.
He was shepherded into the kitchen and ordered to
stand in the center of the room while Scott fetched a beer
and a bottled water from the fridge. Scott opened his
beer on the table’s edge and sat down. He swigged his
beer, watching Aiden.
“Strip,” he said quietly.
Aiden pulled off his T-shirt and then undid his
jeans, sliding them to the floor. He tried to step out of
them, but his left leg got caught in the bunched denim
and he floundered until he was able to reach down and
untangle himself. He hesitated at the waistband of his
briefs. There was something terrifying yet wickedly hot
about the idea of standing naked in this quiet room, with
Scott’s gaze on him.
“What are you waiting for?”
Aiden flushed and removed his underwear. He
held on to his clothes, not sure if Scott wanted him to
fold them and place them somewhere.
“Drop them,” Scott ordered. “Hands behind your
head.”
Aiden dropped the clothes and clasped his hands
behind his head, utterly exposed. His cock strained
upward, as red as he imagined his face must be, its web
of veins visibly pulsing. He felt Scott look him up and
down, and struggled to keep his gaze on the floor. He
knew he had a hot body, slim and well-proportioned
with softly defined muscles and pale, smooth skin.
“Nice enough,” Scott muttered.
Aiden felt a flash of resentment. Nice enough? You
couldn’t find a better-looking sub at Obey, unless you
really had a thing for barely legal blond supertwinks.
“You’re too thin. Could do with some bulking up.
Pretty hips. And I like your hair. What’s that color called
—like a reddish brown?” Scott snapped his fingers.
“Chestnut. Like a horse.”
Aiden tried not to let it bother him that Scott was
sitting there appraising him as though he were an
animal. He reminded himself that every minute Scott
spent assessing him was a minute Scott didn’t spend
torturing him.
“Turn around,” Scott said. “Let me see your ass.”
Aiden turned.
“Nice. Small but well-shaped. Needs some color,
but I’ll fix that.” He stood and approached.
Aiden jumped as Scott placed a hand on his butt.
“Think I’ll have a hard time stuffing my cock up
that tight little ass?”
“No, Sir. I mean, I’ll take it.”
Despite how hard the conversation was making
Aiden, there was something ridiculous about it too. He
didn’t like when tops talked about their monster dicks or
how Aiden’d better take them to the hilt without
whining. He liked the psychological aspect of BDSM
play, but there were always parts of any scene that felt
so… fake.
Aiden’s cock bobbed against his belly, and he
wished to God Scott would touch him. As if reading his
mind, Scott said, “You should know your dick doesn’t
concern me in the least. Your ass and mouth are what I
care about. I’m going to use you however I like, all night,
and I could give a shit if you squirt or not. Face me.”
Aiden did.
Scott’s dark eyes glittered, and Aiden swallowed on
a wave of arousal.
“What’s your safe word?”
“Mushroom,” Aiden said.
Scott laughed. “Mushroom.” He grabbed the water
bottle from the table and uncapped it. “Sit down.” He
took a seat himself and handed Aiden the water. “Drink
that. And tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?” Aiden asked. “Sir?”
“What’s your name, where’re you from, what are
your hobbies… shit like that.”
Aiden took a nervous swig of water. This was
different from the scenarios he was used to. Because
Scott was different from most tops. Most tops were like
Daddy—they drooled over Aiden like a prize, could
hardly wait to get him through the door before they were
on him, pawing, yanking, panting… as though if they
didn’t claim him right away, he might disappear. They
often wanted to kiss Aiden or pet him, make him feel
good so that he’d want to come home with them again.
That wasn’t what Aiden was after. He wanted a true top,
in control and insecurity-free. He wanted to feel owned,
used, and utterly debased.
“My name’s Aiden,” he began.
“Shithead,” Scott said.
“What?”
“Your name’s Shithead.” Scott said it as though he
was correcting a minor grammatical error in Aiden’s
speech.
“Oh,” Aiden said uncertainly. “Okay.”
“While you’re here, your name’s Shithead. Drink
that water.”
Aiden took a few gulps.
“Where’re you from, Shithead?”
“Tremont? It’s about fifteen minutes north of here.”
Aiden drank until a little less than half the bottle
remained.
“What do you do?” Scott asked.
“I work at a restaurant right now. But I studied
theater in college. I think I—”
Scott snorted into his beer. “That’s why you’re so
popular.”
Aiden tilted his head, not sure what Scott meant.
“I’ve heard about you. You do it all. Choirboy,
army recruit, rent boy, slave… That must be why you’re
so good at role-play. You’re an actor.”
Aiden wasn’t sure whether Scott was mocking him
or complimenting him, so he kept quiet and drank the
rest of the water, ignoring his bladder’s protest.
Scott got another bottle from the fridge and put it in
front of him.
“So let’s get your story straight,” Scott said. “Your
name’s Shithead. You crawled out of my asshole for the
sole purpose of serving me. Your hobbies are sucking
my cock, taking my cock up your ass, and screaming
while I strap your butt raw. Got it?”
In spite of the water, Aiden’s throat went dry. “Yes,
Sir,” he managed.
“Good.” Scott reached out and stroked Aiden’s jaw
with one finger. “Come on. Let’s tack you up.”
Scott took Aiden by the arm and pulled him from
the kitchen down a narrow hall. They stopped at the last
room on the right. Scott pushed open the door, flipped
on the light, and led Aiden through the bedroom and
into the attached bathroom. He spun Aiden so Aiden
stood in the doorway, facing the bedroom.
Aiden heard Scott open a cabinet in the bathroom
behind him, and a minute later a thick collar was placed
around his neck and fastened snugly. It was so wide
Aiden could barely move his head. Two ropes with steel
clips hung from either side of the doorway, and Scott
snapped the ropes to rings on either side of the collar so
that Aiden was cross-tied like a horse. Maybe “tack you
up” hadn’t been a metaphor.<
br />
Scott went back to the cabinet and then reached
around Aiden with what looked like a long, narrow cage
with a ring at the base. Aiden knew it was a chastity
device for his cock, and the idea of being blue balled
with a full bladder sent a wave of desperation through
him.
He gasped as Scott gripped the base of his cock and
began working him. “Oh yeah,” Aiden breathed, riding
Scott’s hand. “You’re making me so hot. Please let me
come for you, Sir… ” He doubled over in shock and
agony as Scott slapped his upright dick with an open
palm. Only the cross-ties kept him from dropping to his
knees. “Ow!” he shouted. “Fuck… ”
Scott smacked his ass once, twice, three times, so
hard that Aiden’s eyes watered. “Nice try, slut. Behave,
or I’ll land you another one on that twitchy dick of
yours.” He fitted the cock cage over Aiden’s dick and
secured it.
Scott pressed on the area just above Aiden’s groin.
Aiden winced and drew back, his body bumping against
Scott’s. Scott pushed harder.
“Need to piss?” Scott asked in Aiden’s ear.
“Yes, Sir,” Aiden whispered.
Scott backed away, and Aiden heard him take
something out of a box. Aiden battled the urge to ask
Scott what he was doing. Scott ordered him to bend
forward and stick his ass out. Aiden did, heart thudding.
A second later, something cold nudged his entrance.
“What is it?” Aiden asked before he could stop
himself.
Scott reached around and held the object in front of
Aiden. It was a well-lubed butt plug. Medium-sized—
not too intimidating, except for the device attached to the
plug’s base. It looked like four burrs strung together on a
flexible wire—four small, bristly spheres. The burr chain
arced out from the plug’s base, then bent back in so that
it ran parallel to the plug. Scott let Aiden study it for a
few seconds; then his hand disappeared, and Aiden felt
the tip of the plug seeking his entrance once more.
Scott spread Aiden’s cheeks wide and teased his
opening with the plug’s narrow end, fucking him with
the tip until Aiden finally let out the breath he’d been
holding and relaxed enough that Scott could slide the
plug inside him. It was always strange to adjust to a
plug, and Aiden shifted, trying to get comfortable. Then
Scott spread his cheeks once more and positioned the
flexible burr chain along his crack and against the soft
skin between his asshole and balls.
When Aiden moved, the burr chain scraped and
pricked his crack and taint. He danced for a moment in
the cross-ties, trying to contain the sensation. The burrs
ended right at the back of his balls, and the pain each
time his balls nudged the bristles was maddening. To
make matters worse, Scott slipped a black mask over his
eyes. With his sight gone, it was impossible not to
concentrate on the itchy pain between his legs.
Scott ducked under one of the cross ties and stood
in front of Aiden. Aiden could smell the beer on Scott’s
breath. Scott didn’t say anything, just stroked Aiden’s
cheek for a moment, and Aiden was suddenly as
frightened and frustrated as he could ever remember
being. He had to piss, his dick was caged, the skin
between his legs was being cruelly pricked and stung by
the burr chain, the collar was too tight, and he couldn’t
see. And here was Scott, obviously loving his pain,
reveling in his helplessness.
His tears flowed from under the blindfold and
Aiden tried to move a hand to his face to stop them
before Scott saw, but Scott caught his wrist and placed
Aiden’s arm back at his side. Scott cupped the back of
Aiden’s head, drawing him forward as much as the ties
would allow, until Aiden’s face was pressed against the
big man’s chest.
“I know,” Scott murmured. “It’s new. It hurts. But
it’s exciting too. Isn’t it?”
Aiden, all his pride gone, sniffed hard and nodded.
Scott’s heartbeat was slow and soothing, and Aiden liked
the feeling of Scott’s hand in his hair, not pulling, just
resting. He calmed suddenly. He could do this. He could
do this for Scott.
Scott pulled away and unclipped the cross ties,
then led him—by the hand this time—into the bedroom.
“Kneel,” Scott ordered, and Aiden did, wincing at the
horrible prickling between his legs.
He heard the creak of springs as Scott sat on the
bed, the quick purr of a zipper undone. Scott’s fingers
wound in his hair once more, pulling his head forward
until Aiden’s searching mouth found Scott’s hard,
bobbing cock.
“Suck me.”
Scott’s dick was thick and deliciously curved.
Aiden put his lips around it and licked up the shaft,
flicking his tongue against the head. He lapped at the
long, swollen vein on the organ’s underside and swirled
his tongue around and around his prize. He drew back
and kissed the slit, then began pounding the small,
sensitive opening with the tip of his tongue.
Scott’s fingers caught in his hair so fiercely and
suddenly that Aiden moaned. Scott began to fuck
Aiden’s mouth, grunting and slamming, making Aiden
gag. He kneed Aiden in the jaw as he thrust, and he
released Aiden’s hair only long enough to cuff the back
of his head and order Aiden to take more of him. Aiden
took the battering, determined not to lose focus. He
sucked and swallowed around Scott’s cock, taking Scott
deeper, deeper…
He was so lost in his performance that the sting of
the quirt came as a surprise. The double leather thongs
snapped against his naked ass, making him jump. Pain
from the burr chain between his legs shot through him at
the movement. Aiden swallowed a cry.
“The way you’re going, Shithead, I won’t come
until Christmas,” Scott said.
Aiden sucked harder. The quirt stung his ass, his
thighs, his hips and back until Aiden wanted to sob with
frustration. He was hard and humiliated, frantic and
tired. There was no pleasing Scott, who cursed him,
called him names, and whipped him.
Finally Aiden deserted technique, forgot finesse,
and attacked Scott’s cock as though it were the last
source of nourishment on earth. He kissed, sucked,
slurped, and used his hand to roll the heavy balls and
stroke the soft skin behind them. He felt sloppy,
unskilled, and overeager, but finally Scott tossed the
quirt aside, grabbed Aiden’s hair in both hands, and
shouted, “Yeah. Oh, yeah.”
Scott jerked and shot his cum down Aiden’s throat.
Aiden didn’t stop teasing the head of Scott’s cock with
his tongue, and Scott didn’t stop his long, slow thrusts
down Aiden’s throat until long after he was emptied.
Scott pulled out. He yanked off Aiden’s blindfold
and raked his fingers through Aiden’s hair, forcing Aiden
to look up at him. He spit, the saliva landing just below
Aiden’s right eye. Aiden flinched but made no move to
wipe his face. Scott watched him. His expression was
disdainful, but there was something else there.
Admiration? Pride? “Into the bed, Shithead,” he said
finally.
Aiden obeyed.
Chapter Two
Aiden woke very early the next morning, not sure
where he was. He tried to move, but his wrists were
bound behind him. He was lying on a pile of towels on
an unfamiliar floor, facing a wall. His ass was sore inside
and out, his arms ached, and his throat felt bruised.
He was on Scott Runge’s floor.
Scott Runge had taken him home, stripped him,
beaten him, fucked his throat and ass. Scott Runge had
pinched his tits, kneaded his swollen bladder, tied his
wrists behind him, and left him here to sleep on the floor.
He’d made Aiden beg for the privilege of being used.
He’d called Aiden Shithead, spit on him, and demanded
to know if Aiden was capable of doing anything right.
Scott Runge had also kissed Aiden and stroked his
sweaty hair back from his face. He’d led Aiden to the
bathroom and rubbed circles on Aiden’s stomach as
Aiden experienced the unparalleled relief of pissing after
holding it for so long. Scott had removed the horrible
butt plug and applied salve to the skin that had been
scratched raw by the burr chain. He’d rubbed the welts
his belt had left on Aiden’s ass and told Aiden that his
pain threshold was impressive.
Aiden’s cock grew at the memory, and he would
have given anything to be able to touch himself. He
stared at the wall, listening. Where was Scott? Was he
going to play with Aiden some more before letting him
go? Aiden wanted to go home, wanted to shower and eat
and crawl into bed and jack off to memories of Scott until
it was time for him to go to work. He tried to roll over,
but it was difficult with his arms bound behind him.
Scott entered the bedroom. Aiden held his breath as
the man crouched beside him and undid the restraints
around his wrists and ankles. Aiden slowly flexed his
arms. He wondered if he should get up or lie here and
await Scott’s instructions. Scott took Aiden’s wrists and
rubbed them, bringing some circulation back. Then he
