Riding the Storm

by Candace Blevins

  He looked to someone behind Eric and said, “Standard intake procedures, with physical shackles and an extra guard, since we can’t force his compliance as yet. Use as many guards as you need to get him into the restraints.”

  Eric tried to fight, but with five people working on him at once, within minutes he was in a contraption so devious, only the truly sick and demented could’ve come up with it.

  Metal bars were bound to the outsides of his legs, wide elastic and Velcro straps joining them above his ankles, above and below his knees, and at the top of his thighs. The bars came to practically his underarms, and were connected to his torso as well. The bars were articulated at his knees and hips in a sick mechanical exoskeleton.

  More bars were put on his arms, and ended in a metal fist they folded his hand into.

  The articulated joints could be locked into position, forcing him to stand, sit, spread his legs, hold them together… he was no longer in control of his limbs.

  Rough hands pushed him over a contraption, his body bent at the waist and his limbs secured to the equipment via the exoskeleton, his arms over his head, his legs spread, and he jerked in his restraints as a greased finger touched his asshole.

  “They said you had to leave my ass alone!”

  “No, we can’t fuck you here, or do anything to take away your virginity. This is a thin, standard enema tube. The trainers hate it when they literally scare the shit out of their pupils, so you’ll be cleaned before you enter the official training areas.”

  Eric had given submissives enemas before, but he’d been kind, gentle, and talked them through it. Massaged their tummies when they cramped, told them how good they were doing, encouraged them they could hold more, helped them change positions when they asked nice.

  But this was brutal. The double balloon valve assured the water they put in would stay until they allowed it out, and they had a pressure monitor, and only stopped putting more water in when the pressure told them they were at risk of rupturing his bowels. He screamed and begged through the cramps, but they didn’t slow the water, and it was impossible for him to move to try to relieve the pressure or the cramps.

  Through it all, he kept the image of the shield in his head, determined the assholes were not going to get into his head again.

  While the water went in, they added more weights to the ring around his balls, used a vibrator on the solid steel cage around his cock, and added cruel, teethed, biting nipple clamps.

  He almost gave in when they added weights to the nipple clamps, too, but he remembered how it’d felt to not have control of his limbs, where he looked, or even what he thought, and he held the shield strong.

  When they finally decided to stop the water, they bent him forward a little more, adjusted his head, and put a Jennings gag in his mouth. He knew what was coming next, and he closed his eyes, imagined the space-age strong metal egg around him, and waited for someone to stick their cock in his mouth.

  He lost track of the number of men who fucked his mouth, more than ten, probably less than twenty, before they finally released the nozzle in his ass and shitty water flowed out of him.

  He was in an arena, of sorts, though it only sat perhaps two dozen people, all of the seats were full as he stood in place and spewed shit and water all over the floor, his legs, and feet.

  Someone hosed him down with ice cold water, and he held back the whimper in his throat as the balloon was once again poked into his ass and inflated, then the outer balloon, and the water started again.

  The cramps were worse this time, and he was screaming long before enough water was in for the pressure to start hurting. He didn’t know what they’d put in the water, and no one volunteered the information, but it burned and cramped like the fires of hell.

  They gave him five enemas, the last two coming out just water with no smell, before moving him.

  He must’ve given fifty blow jobs, and his jaw ached from being held open so long. His throat was sore from having so many cocks assault and invade, and he had a good idea of who used him simply because he was available, and who enjoyed hurting and humiliating him. He had no idea what he’d do with the information, but it’d seemed important to make note.

  Also, he was used to Kendra being cool to the touch, and many of the men who raped his mouth and throat were, but many were also warm, some downright hot, and he wondered if some weren’t shapeshifters.

  If so, his hopes of being left alone once dawn hit were dashed.

  He was once again sprayed down with freezing cold water, though nothing had smelled on this last expulsion. Someone put shaving cream in the crack of his ass, and he was very still as he felt a straight razor shaving his asshole.

  When they finished his asshole and the back of his nuts, he was placed on a hard table, his limbs situated so he felt like a dead roach lying on his back, and the sadistic bastard working on him proceeded to shave his entire groin, stomach, chest, and underarms. Never mind his chest and stomach were hairless. His arms were also shaved, and he dreaded the itch when everything started growing back.

  He kept himself neatly trimmed, but didn’t like having to deal with stubble, so he didn’t often shave anything terribly close… but that wasn’t the point here. Being forced into position, no way to move or fight, while someone methodically shaved him, was humiliating.

  However, Eric held the shield around his mind. They might rape his body, but they wouldn’t rape his mind again.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the metal armor around him, transporting himself to another place as the man used the straight razor on Eric’s throat and face. He wanted to protest when his eyebrows were shaved, but refused to acknowledge what was being done to him.

  Next, they sat him up and used the straight razor to get rid of the hair on his head, too, and now Eric felt them stripping him of his identity with every scrape of the razor. Silly, really, to feel your identity is wound up in your hair, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.

  They stood him up, leaned him over a single metal bar, and he knew his hipbones would be bruised before long.

  Someone relaxed the reticulated exoskeleton around his arms, placed his hands on the back of his head, and locked the joints again.

  His knees were locked straight, his hips bent at an angle so he leaned over the bar and couldn’t stand, no matter how hard he fought against the metal holding him in place.

  Fury laced through his veins, but still, he held the image of the shiny, strong, metal egg around him, keeping the mother-fuckers out of his head.

  “You will call me Master,” the man standing in front of him demanded. “I am the primary trainer, and since you’ve proven to be a bit of a problem child, you’ll begin your lessons with me.”

  “Fuck you, asshole.”

  The trainer motioned to people behind him, and Eric felt the joints at his hips being let loose, and then his legs were spread wide. The bar was lowered a little as his legs went wider, and wider, and then they not only tightened the hip joints down again, they ran a strap around his big toe, around his ankle, and then connected this loop to a recessed attachment point in the floor. When he tried to move his foot, it pulled painfully on his big toe.

  Perhaps he should keep his thoughts to himself until Kendra arrived to rescue him.

  “Address me as Master,” the trainer demanded, but Eric closed his eyes and didn’t speak.

  He grunted as he felt a needle going through his nutsack, in one side and out the other, though it didn’t penetrate the ball inside, it only speared the scrotum. It hurt, but as long as there was no infection, it wasn’t damaging.

  He remembered what they’d told him about not being able to permanently alter him in any way, and took comfort he could withstand whatever they threw at him for however many more hours it would be until his rescue team arrived.

  “Bark for me.”

  Again, Eric remained silent, and this time a horrible clamp was placed on the skin at his side, perhaps six inches below his arm
pit, had he been standing.

  He groaned, but didn’t scream, and the man again ordered “Address me as Master.”

  This time he received a needle through his right nipple as well as a strike from a horrid, thick, loopy johnny to the meat of his left ass cheek.

  His torturer went back and forth with questions, and orders — who taught you to shield your mind, oink like a pig, address me as Master, what is your official designation with Kendra — but Eric stayed silent.

  After each question, someone attached another cruel clamp somewhere on his body, or stuck a needle through his skin and back out the other side, as if sewing… and then struck him with either the loopy johnny or a cruel leather strap.

  So, when they finally asked a question he didn’t mind answering, he only paused a few seconds before answering, “I live on my yacht, where your people abducted me.”

  This time, the clamp on his left nipple, the most painful item they’d put on him, was removed, and someone ran a gentle hand over his ass, soothing where they’d been striking.

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I create video games.”

  A needle came out of the top of his arm… giving him immense relief to the nerve it’d been skewering, and someone rubbed across the skin where it’d come out, further easing the pain.

  Four more questions he didn’t mind answering, followed by something painful being removed, and then a soothing gesture, and then, “Address me as Master.”

  It would’ve been so easy to do it, to keep from feeling pain again, but he took a breath and held it, sealing his lips shut to be sure he didn’t accidently follow the order.

  An even crueler clamp went onto his nipple, and the strap struck his ass three times, instead of once, each pulling a tortured scream from him.

  “Bark like a dog.”

  A count of ten, in his head, and the skin of his right kneecap was pulled out, and a needle rammed into it and out the other side, through both layers of flesh.

  This time, the loopy johnny hit his right calf, then his left calf, and Eric screamed when he moved his feet the two inches his bondage allowed, only to jerk his big toes. He moved his feet back into position to relieve the pressure on his toes, suddenly so overwhelmed with the pain going from his face to his feet, in so many places and ways.

  You can do this, he told himself. It’s a simple, biological fear and pain response — adrenaline and endorphins. Ride it out. You’ve been in worse pain after a snowboarding tumble off the mountain, and then in the bumpy helicopter ride to the hospital. Hold it together. Help will come.

  He reinforced his shields and thought of Kendra. He didn’t know why he couldn’t contact Kendra or Abbott — whether it was distance, or perhaps if the supernaturals had done something to keep him from reaching out for help.

  He was certain, however, that Kendra would come for him.

  The torture went on for hours, basic conditioning behavior — obey and you’re treated with kindness, disobey and you’re hurt. He wished he had the willpower to disobey every command, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt for the commands he didn’t mind answering… the ones they already knew the answer to.

  Eventually, they took the tubular cage off his cock and replaced it with one shaped like a spiral cage. This one wouldn’t allow him an erection, either, but let them poke needles into his cock, put clamps on it, and torture him even worse with a vibrator.

  “Drop your shields and the chastity cage goes away, Eric.”

  He never dropped them, no matter the threat, no matter the promise of whatever reward they offered if he let them into his mind.

  He was aware when a good portion of the people left, including the trainer working on him, and figured this meant it was dawn. New people came in, bent him over a little more, and then his mouth was once again raped, over and over, and many of the men came around a second time.

  No one told him to release the shield on his mind, and he wondered if any of the shapeshifters had the ability to control him, should he drop the shield. He held it strong, though, just in case.

  One of the shapeshifters rammed his cock down Eric’s throat and held inside. At first, Eric thought he was imagining the already huge cock lengthening, but then he realized he wasn’t, and his stomach tried to make him puke, but the cock was lodged firmly in his throat and what felt like halfway down his esophagus, so nothing could come up.

  As the shapeshifter withdrew his cock, sure enough, it was nearly a foot long as it came out — skinnier than when it went in, but still thick enough to stretch Eric’s throat and make him gag.

  When the man finally came, he did so buried deep, his cock jerking as it spurted inside Eric, dumping the load straight into his gut. He fought to move his arms, still at the back of his head, but couldn’t move them, couldn’t do anything to escape or even change positions to relieve his aching muscles… he had to take what man after man after man gave him.

  When the main trainer returned, Eric was full of hope. If this was dusk, Kendra could be here in the next hour. He might not have to hold on much longer.

  He’d been given two ounces of water in increments, and Eric suspected it was once an hour. It wasn’t enough to soothe his thirst, but would keep him alive. He’d also ingested no telling how much ejaculate, but he didn’t want to think of that.

  When he’d told them he needed a bathroom, they’d told him to pee where he was. Eventually, he’d been forced to do just that, and they’d once again sprayed him down with cold water.

  His muscles were so fucking tired, and he now let the exoskeleton hold him in place and support his weight. Within the next couple of hours, if they’d leave him alone, he’d probably be tired enough to sleep in this position. His captors had let his arms down a few times, locked in place so he couldn’t move or use them, but at least it let the blood flow back into them.

  They’d just moved his arms back up, his hands once again at the back of his head, and speared a needle through his tongue. Someone was using the strap on the back of his thighs — they were up to six strokes every time he refused an order, now — when he heard Kendra in his head as the doors to the torture chamber flew open.

  It’s us, Eric. Hold on just a few more minutes. We need to neutralize the room before I can release you.

  The man who’d been strapping Eric was thrown to the ground, his legs and arms ripped off, and then Kendra grabbed the next person, did the same.

  Kendra ripped the arms and legs off the people Eric had assumed were vampires. Some of those he’d suspected as being shapeshifters, she slammed into the ground until their skull caved in, but most were restrained with what he assumed was silver rope and wire. When the only people standing in the room were Kendra and the three men she’d come in with, she very efficiently released Eric from the contraption, as if she were familiar with it, with zero fumbling.

  “Don’t stand just yet, some of the needles and clamps will pull if you do. Let me get them all out.”

  Within moments, he was free of every clamp and needle, and she sat him on the floor and kneeled in front of him, his face cradled in her palms. “I need to go into your memories, see what they did to you. I won’t do it without your permission, though. You’ve been violated enough and I won’t add to it.”

  Eric shook his head, unwilling to let her see his humiliation.

  “Okay, but so you don’t get mad at me later for not telling you my plans… if I know who hurt you, I can deal with them appropriately. If I don’t, then I’ll kill everyone in the building, whether they’ve come into contact with you or not, just on the off chance they hurt you.”

  “You can’t do that.” After all the screaming, his voice barely worked, and she looked to her side and asked someone, “Orange juice?”

  Someone handed her a bottle, then a straw, and she held it below his mouth, offering the straw.

  The citric acid burned his throat, but also felt as if it healed him, and washed away the taste of so many men’s cum.
He might have thrown eight ounces of water up, but the orange juice was perfect. How had she known?

  He didn’t get a chance to ask, though, because she said, “Okay, Eric. I won’t go in your mind without permission. Aaron Drake and his wife are going to get you out of here. I can’t travel the route they’ll take you, but it’s the fastest and safest way to get you home.”

  Eric shook his head. “No, don’t leave me.”

  She motioned towards someone else, and he brought her a bag as she said, “You don’t want to watch me kill nearly two hundred people, Eric. I’ll be with you before sunup, and I promise you’ll be safe with Aaron and his wife.”

  “No. Don’t… I don’t think more than seventy or so people hurt me, used me. You can’t kill that many!”

  She pulled a pair of men’s sweatpants from the bag, helped him into them as she answered, “Then let me see who hurt you, and how, so I can give them an appropriate retribution.”

  Eric looked sideways as he heard a noise, and was horrified to realize the people lying on the ground with their legs and arms ripped off, were still conscious and awake, blood pouring from the gaping holes where their limbs had been.

  “They aren’t dead?”

  Someone levitated him a few inches off the ground, pulled the pants up, and gently put him back down.

  “No,” Kendra answered, “They’ll grow their limbs back in a few months’ time, if someone feeds them. Without a regular blood source, regular feedings, the strongest will grow them back over the next couple of years or decades, if someone buries them in the earth. I haven’t killed anyone yet.”