These Monstrous Deeds

by T. J. Hamel

“What would you like me to say, Ben?” Nathan tears his gaze away from the stage to glare at his best friend. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  “Fine.” Benny squares up, glaring back at him. “He seems to be under the impression that he’ll be getting some more of the boy in the future.”

  White-hot rage sparks through Nathan’s veins. “Why the fuck would he think that?”

  “I was planning to ask you that.”

  “I didn’t give him that impression.” Nathan pauses, his mind flitting rapidly through that night. “I didn’t mean to give that impression. I-” Fuck, did he give that impression? He hadn’t meant to, but maybe he did.

  Nathan shakes his head. It doesn’t fucking matter. “He won’t be touching him again. No one will be.”

  “Oh god.” Benny grabs Nathan’s elbow, squeezing it hard enough to make Nathan hiss. “Do not fucking tell me you promised that. Don’t fucking tell me you promised that to him.”

  “Can we not talk about this right now?” Nathan harshly whispers, eyes searching for eavesdroppers.

  Benny ignores him. “Fucking hell, you did, didn’t you? You fucking promised that boy-”

  Whatever else Benny wanted to say is cut off by a startled, “Casey?”

  It’s quiet at first. Enough where only Nathan and Benny hear it. They look down at Carter in unison just as the boy grabs hold of the back of a dining chair and uses it to lift himself to his feet. Nathan darts his hand out, grabbing Carter’s elbow to stop him from going anywhere.

  Carter doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are wide, his chest heaving. Then he gasps and yells, “Casey!”

  Casey.

  From his dream?

  “Casey!”

  “Slave!” Nathan hisses, his heart racing as he feels everyone’s attention falling to them.

  But Carter isn’t listening. His focus is on –

  “Carter?”

  Nathan snaps his chin in the direction of the voice, trying to find who spoke his boy’s name. His eyes land on a slave just a few feet away. He’s around Carter’s age, though taller and broader. An athletic frame, but a body that’s seen better days. Nathan watches as the boy stares at Carter in shock. Then awe. Then overwhelming relief.

  “Oh god, Carter!” The boy rushes forward, grabbing Carter in a hug that yanks him straight out of Nathan’s grip. Nathan’s too shocked to even fight it. “They told us they killed you!”

  “I thought they killed you!” Carter sobs, clinging to the boy. “I didn’t think you’d survive. I – I saw it! I saw them take you!”

  And then they’re talking over one another, neither probably even registering what the other is saying.

  “You idiot! You fucking-”

  “-didn’t want them to-”

  “-told you to leave it be!”

  “I couldn’t-”

  “-believe you’re okay! They-”

  “-god, I’m sorry, Casey. I tried-”

  “-they do to you?”

  “Nate,” Benny warns.

  Nathan nods, sharp, one time. It’s like a reset. Then he lunges forward and grabs Carter, fisting his hair and yanking him back. Carter reaches out for Casey, screaming his name, but he’s no match for Nathan. Casey tries the same, but he’s stopped by someone who must be his owner. A man Nathan recognizes, but can’t place at the moment.

  Not that it matters. They both have naughty slaves to deal with. And fast because all eyes are on them.

  The man doesn’t hesitate. Casey is already crumpled on the floor, the man’s shoe kicking into his side.

  Fuck.

  Nathan turns Carter towards the table, slamming him down on it. Glass shatters, candlesticks shake, flames smoke out. A flute of champagne spills, soaking the blood red tablecloth until it’s nearly black. Nathan uses his grip on the boy’s hair to casually roll his head to the side so they’re face to face. He ignores Carter’s cry of pain.

  Clinging tight to the rage he’s feeling towards this entire goddamn situation, Nathan wraps it around himself like a fucking protective cloak, and slips into the man these people believe him to be. “Big. Fucking. Mistake,” he growls.

  “Sir-” Carter whispers in what can only be described as devastation. “I’m so sor-”

  Nathan grabs his pocket square and shoves it into the boy’s mouth to cut off his apology. Carter begins to violently tremble then. Low keening sounds are emanating from his throat, muffled by the silk fabric stuffed in his mouth.

  Casey is off the ground now, laid over a table just like Carter. His master is whipping the ever living shit out of him with a belt as his men hold the boy down. He’s already bleeding from cuts on his back.

  Nathan curls his free hand into a fist, thinking fast. Carter has to hurt, and hurt badly, but he can’t get himself to do something like that to him. Never.

  Jesus Christ.

  The host and his wife are standing a few feet away, eyeing Nathan in anticipation. There’s also a curiosity to their gazes, though. It’s interesting to them that Nathan hasn’t done anything yet. For now. Pretty soon it’ll be less interesting and more suspicious. They’ll start asking questions.

  Nathan can’t have them asking questions.

  “My apologies,” Nathan says to Jamie and Charles. He gives them his best smile. “Do you have somewhere I can straighten this one out privately? I don’t want him to disrupt your party further.”

  His mistake, Nathan realizes too late, is that Carter being punished wouldn’t be a disruption to these people. It would be entertainment.

  Charles gives Nathan a smile that’s dangerously wicked. “Why don’t you take him up on the platform and let us all watch?”

  “What’s better than dinner and a show?” Jamie adds, giggling. “Oh, you have to, Nathan! Please?”

  Nathan swallows hard, reminding himself of the person he’s built himself into. Cold. Uncaring. Dangerous. Violent. He smiles, the thing feeling sinister on his lips. “Of course. Lead the way.”

  ◆◆◆

  They’re raping Casey.

  Carter can see it from where sir and Benny have him standing on the stage. They finally stopped whipping him once Casey went limp against the table, but now his master is letting anyone and everyone take turns with him. They aren’t even waiting. They’re using his ass, his mouth, his hands. Some are rubbing their cocks against his back, apparently not caring that it’s slick with fucking blood. Others are rutting against his hair.

  Carter failed him again. He got Casey in trouble again. This is his fault.

  This is all his fault.

  He should be down there. That should be him. Why won’t they ever fucking hurt him? Why is it always Casey?

  A metal stand is rolled up behind Carter, made of two sturdy poles that cross each other. Hands are all over him, forcing him to turn and face it, then wrenching his arms and legs to force his wrists and ankles into restraints until he looks like a sprawled-out X. The cloth was taken out of his mouth when Benny told sir that Carter was crying too hard and needed to be able to breathe. Carter hasn’t said anything, though. Partly because he’s afraid to be punished if he fucks up again, and partly because he hasn’t seen sir yet, and sir is the only person he’d be interested in speaking to right now.

  Other than Casey, of course. Not that Casey looks like he’s capable of speaking right now if Carter’s view over his shoulder is any indication.

  Casey’s awake again, at least. They’ve rolled him onto his back. Carter can see his eyes, wide as they stare up at the ceiling, slowly blinking. Only for a moment. Then his hair is grabbed, and a cock is getting shoved in his mouth, disrupting Carter’s view.

  Carter forces himself to keep watching. He deserves it.

  This was his fault.

  Sir passes in front of Carter, holding something Carter doesn’t recognize in his hands. Whatever it is, it looks intimidating. Sir doesn’t even bother to look at Carter. He hasn’t acknowledged him at all since he had slammed him into the table and growl
ed at him.

  Big. Fucking. Mistake.

  Sir was right. It was exactly that. The biggest.

  God, what the fuck had Carter been thinking?

  His excitement and relief had made him idiotic. Reckless. He should've held his tongue and waited. Maybe later in the party, he would have had the chance to get close enough to Casey for a hurriedly whispered hello, or a quick reassuring touch in passing. Now, he's suffering the consequences. Casey is too.

  Carter deserves this punishment. Not just because he misbehaved, but because he got Casey in trouble. He got Casey hurt.

  Just like the Casey in his dreams.

  It’s getting harder to breathe. Carter is gasping for air, his desperation growing every second his chest burns. Most of the crowd is watching Carter now. Their anticipation and amusement are thick in the air. Carter swears it’s fucking choking him. Filling his lungs and leaving no room for oxygen.

  Carter tries to convince himself he’s okay. That he’s getting air, even if his mind is trying to make it feel otherwise. He’s getting oxygen, he knows he is, but his body doesn’t believe him.

  They’re going to kill Casey.

  They’re going to kill Casey, and all Carter can do is watch.

  “Sir,” Carter gasps, his chest heaving. There are black spots in his vision. “S-sir?”

  A hand wraps around Carter’s throat from behind him, sir’s cologne filling his nostrils. “Talking is not a good idea right now, understood?”

  “Please.” Carter turns his chin the best he can with sir’s tight grip on him, trying to look up at the man. It’s dumb, he has his new rules telling him not to, but he can’t help it. He’s fucking desperate. “Sir, please. Save him. Let – let them hurt me instead.”

  Sir’s eyes find Carter’s, shock in them. Then confusion. Then rage. “What?”

  “Casey.” Carter widens his eyes, wanting sir to see how serious he is. “Please, sir. He won’t survive it. Give them me.”

  The hand on his throat squeezes until Carter gags. He barely registers sir’s mouth against his ear, the man’s voice sounding faded and distant. “You should probably worry about your own survival right now, you fucking idiot. Don’t you remember what I told you would happen if you did something like this? Why do you always have to fucking ruin everything?”

  Carter feels tears roll down his cheek. It’s a strange sensation considering his skin is going numb. There’s a humming in his head. He wonders if anyone else can hear it.

  The hand loosens, allowing Carter to suck in a gush of air. The fingers remain in place like a threat. A violent promise.

  “My fault,” Carter whispers, closing his eyes. “It’s all my fault.”

  The fingers twitch against his skin. He expects them to tighten, but they don’t. He thinks maybe they… stroke him.

  His mind is clearly oxygen-depleted.

  “No more talking. You’re done talking now. Understood?”

  Carter looks over his shoulder at Casey again, his chest quaking. He looks so lifeless. Like a ragdoll. “They’re gonna kill him.”

  Sir sighs before muttering an angry, “Christ.” His hand leaves Carter’s skin. Just seconds later, a blindfold is wound around his head.

  True, uninhibited terror overwhelms Carter. He thrashes his head, words pouring from his lips before he can stop them. “No, not the dark, not the dark, sir, please, not the dark-” he’s cut off by something hard pressing into his mouth. He feels leathery straps on each of his cheeks, digging into the skin, and he realizes it’s a ball gag.

  For the first time since he was brought on stage, Carter releases a sob. There’s no holding back after that. He just sobs and sobs and fucking sobs, barely noticing as he’s pushed and pulled into position.

  His plug is pulled out of his hole, something else nudging against his rim instead. Something too big. Too dry.

  The hauntingly familiar sensation of a cock cage returns to Carter’s genitals, cold and tight. He’s not concerned about it. Not really. There’s no chance he’ll be getting hard tonight. Biology or not, nothing can overcome this terror.

  But then Carter remembers that Todd Henley was the last person to put a cage on his cock; it had been his idea to do so at all. Todd Henley, who is in attendance tonight. Todd Henley, who might be touching Carter right this second.

  Sir had said he wouldn’t share Carter anymore, but that was before this.

  What if sir changed his mind?

  There’s a rattling sound. Metal on metal. It’s sharp in his ears. Irritating.

  Carter realizes after a moment that it’s his cuffs against the frame. He’s shaking.

  He can’t stop shaking.

  Something warm and wet is squirted down Carter’s ass crack and all over the toy threatening him. Then the toy moves away slightly and the tip of what Carter assumes is a bottle is being pushed into him. He jerks as he feels the same liquid filling his hole.

  The bottle disappears.

  So do all of the hands touching him.

  Then Carter is alone. Left on a fucking stage strapped to a metal frame with his lubed ass facing a crowd. And he’s in the dark.

  All alone in the dark.

  Again, again, again.

  Please, not again.

  He tries to tell himself that he’s done this before, that it’ll be okay, but this is nothing like the auction. Carter is smart enough to know that.

  His shaking just gets worse.

  There’s the sound of a machine whirring to life. Then the thing against his hole is pushing against it, demanding entry. White dots spark in his vision behind the blindfold as he sobs into the gag. The machine moving the toy doesn’t care that he’s not ready for something so big. It just pushes and pushes, making room for itself where there is none.

  It hurts.

  God, it hurts.

  Carter sobs and screams until his throat feels like it might start bleeding. He writhes in his restraints, bucking his body, thrashing his head.

  People are laughing at him. Cheering. Catcalling.

  He’s not sure where sir is. He’s not sure where he wants him to be either. Is it better for him to have abandoned Carter? At least it means he’s not standing there enjoying himself like the others. That has to be better than if sir is just standing a few feet away right now, grinning, uncaring, watching Carter like he’s never kissed him or held him or watched Harry Potter with him. Abandonment has to be better than that.

  Carter tries to focus on other positives of his situation, trying to find the silver lining. First, it’s just a toy raping him for now. That’s a definite bonus. Second, the cage on his cock will most likely save it from being abused too badly. Third, no one is touching him or hurting him.

  He can hear the party. Laughter. Talking. Light music, enough for an ambiance, but not so much no one can enjoy their time with friends. Glasses are clinking. Perhaps silverware as well. Dinner and a show, isn’t that what they said?

  Maybe they’ll get distracted by Carter and leave Casey alone. Another silver lining.

  The crowd quiets. Carter’s heart lurches, knowing that can’t be good. Just seconds later, something is slashing across his back. His back bows as he screams into his gag. There’s laughter and applause. He’s hit again. And again. And again. On his back, his ass, his thighs, his calves. The toy starts moving faster inside of him, pounding him in rhythm with the hits.

  Is this sir?

  Benny?

  Someone else?

  Oh god, what if sir gave Carter to the party? What if he handed him over to not just be raped, but to be tortured and punished until they’ve had enough?

  Sir wouldn’t do that.

  He – he wouldn’t.

  He wouldn’t.

  The pain stops. Carter sucks in as much air as possible, relief rushing through his system, even as his body throbs and burns in agony.

  He’s hit again. This time it’s the front of his body. A thigh. Then the other. His stomach.

  Then his gen
itals. He thought the cage on his cock would protect him, but it doesn’t.

  Still recovering, Carter’s not prepared for the pain of a brutal hit against his left nipple. It’s hard enough to send the clamp there flying. Blood rushes to the abused nub too fast, sending Carter into a dizzy spell. He starts to sag in his restraints. His shoulders burn as they take the brunt of his weight, but he can’t get himself to straighten out again. No fucking way.

  The person hitting him is trying to get the other clamp off now, but they’re struggling. Hits come fast, one after another, sharp bursts of pain until the clamp is finally snapped off. Carter chokes on air.

  The dildo speeds up.

  The person hits his genitals again.

  Something hot and wet pours down Carter’s balls and thighs, making him writhe in agony as the liquid hits his welts. He realizes distantly that he caused this. Carter pissed himself.

  People are cheering.

  Someone is close in front of him. He can feel the heat of their body rippling off them.

  No, it’s two people. They’re whispering to each other. One is angry. The other is desperate.

  He hears, “-can’t-” and, “-shit together-” and, “-have to stop.” He hears, “-a little more,” and, “-please, Ben-” and, “-get us fucking killed.”

  It’s hard to concentrate on any of it. Everything is numb and distant and much safer if he doesn’t let the words or the sensations register.

  The dildo slows. Then stops. Then disappears.

  Something warm and heavy is being pressed against Carter’s front. Things piece together in a quick jumble. His gag is removed, something wiping his chin and cheeks. Then the blindfold is gently slipped free. He blinks a few times, but his vision is too blurry. He can’t get his eyes to focus.

  The cuffs on his ankles are freed. Strong hands grab the backs of his thighs, twitching when Carter sobs in pain. His nipples throb as something coarse rubs against them. A thumb is stroking his cheek. The crowd is louder. Words are being whispered in his ear. A cock is sliding into his hole.

  “-got you. You’re safe now. Never – never again. Never again, sweetheart.”

  Carter blinks, and he sees a watercolor painting of sir’s face in front of him. The sight of him rips Carter out of his lingering fuzziness and plunges him straight into turmoil. He hangs his head to rest on sir’s shoulder and sobs freely, his chest heaving, his eyes pouring tears too fast for him to see anything even if he wanted to. Not that he wants to. He keeps his eyes closed nice and tight.