Fill me, some fragmented part of Dougie inwardly shouted.
God, was that him?
“Sir . . .” he said instead, not sure what he intended to continue with. Fill me, please. Stop touching me. Let me go home. Where’s my brother.
“Shhh. You had your chance to beg. Quiet, now.”
Dougie clamped his lips shut, afraid of being gagged again. It had been days since he’d been freed from that dark hell, and his jaw still ached sometimes.
The finger teasing around the rim of his hole suddenly plunged inside him, passing so easily. God, it felt good. He bit into the sheets to try to smother any noises.
And suddenly it was over. Gone again.
Empty.
He rolled his hips, trying to tempt Nikolai into continuing. God, he was completely fucked. Not a person anymore, just a tightly wound wire figure made up of tangled nerves and need.
Exactly what Nikolai had made him. When had he stopped fighting? Started encouraging the man instead? Disgusting, Dougie. You’re fucking disgusting. A coward. Weak. Snap out of it. Right the fuck now.
“See how hungry your ass is now?” Yes, the finger returned. Plunging into him again, pulling away, rubbing at the rim of his hole. Tracing the outside edge of it. He clenched his eyes and teeth and fingers and tried not to want it, not to need it, not to let Nikolai control him this way.
As if sensing his resistance, Nikolai redoubled his efforts, one finger becoming two, sliding inside him to the knuckle, homing in on his prostate like a fucking bloodhound and rubbing firm little circles there, over and over. Dougie felt his resistance crumbling with every stroke, with every twinge in his screaming cock and balls, with every white-hot flash of pleasure racing up his spine. But he held on. He held on.
“For you, Douglas, pain need not be a daily occurrence. Which means this virgin hole needs . . . training. To accommodate whatever whims your master has for it. I know you’ve taken two cocks at once before—seen it for myself, in fact—but it needn’t hurt the way it did then. Not if you’re properly prepared.”
“No,” he murmured into the bed. What Nikolai was proposing . . . it wasn’t just training a behavior, it was training his body, physically remaking him. “What are you . . . But won’t I be . . . My ass . . . I don’t want—”
The hand in his ass pulled out, slid down, grabbed him hard around the ball sac and gave a cruel twist. “What did I say about talking? Or what you want, for that matter?” Dougie yelped, and the hand released him. Back to stroking his hole. Pushing him to the edge again. “Yes, this training means you’ll be stretched. Yes, in this and in other ways I intend to change you. But it’s not as bad as it could be, I want you to understand that. You aren’t a custom job, merely a happy accident, so I’m molding you according to my own tastes. When I buy for a client, I follow his exact instructions, and . . . let’s say some of the boys of your set don’t leave this house the way they came in. Piercings on a few, scarification, tattoos. Hobbling injuries to the feet and ankles.” He paused. “Castration.” Dougie shuddered. “Be grateful I’m so gentle with you. Be grateful I have the foresight to teach you now how not to suffer when one day your master takes his pleasure with his fists inside you.”
His fists? Plural?
“Don’t look so shocked, Douglas. We’ll get you there, I promise. But for now . . .” Those questing fingers left his ass again, and for one horrible moment, Dougie’s body angled up and clamped down, chasing after them, trying to hold them, until his brain caught up and told it to cut that shit right the fuck out. He wanted to bury his head in the pillow and never come back out again.
Might as well smother yourself and get it over with. He’s killing you anyway. Save yourself the pain of dying by inches.
“Come, Douglas.” Nikolai curled a hand around his biceps and pulled him upright, guided him into the bathroom. “Defecate. Then clean yourself well. This will be your last chance until tomorrow.”
Dougie froze halfway to the toilet. Tomorrow? He’s going to plug me again until tomorrow? No. No.
“Don’t think holding back now will stop me from proceeding with your training. You’ll merely endure it with stomach cramps. The choice is, as always, yours. I’ll leave you in privacy to make it, then.” Privacy. Hah. “Don’t linger. You won’t like it if I have to come get you.”
The door closed, and Dougie half-collapsed onto the toilet seat. No choice, not really—his body took over the moment he sat. He’d expected it to hurt, expected to be sore, but he wasn’t, and in truth, it actually felt pretty good. That was nothing he wanted to examine too closely though, so he stared at the pretty blue glass tiles checkering the wall like a border at eye-height, and tried to think of nothing, nothing, nothing at all.
He couldn’t put off touching himself forever, though. He had to clean himself. His hole was still loose, hypersensitive, and touching it with a baby wipe sent a shiver clear through him. He’d been wrong to think there was no more room inside him for fresh shame. It was just . . . shoving other vital bits of him away to make space. Hollowing him out. He knew with numb certainty that one day, if he wasn’t rescued, there’d be nothing left inside him but what Nikolai had put there.
That thought should’ve terrified him, but he suspected it was too big to seem real. You couldn’t be scared of the sleeping giant if you didn’t realize you were walking on its belly instead of a mountain.
Enough. Stop this. Don’t keep him waiting.
He finished up, flushed, washed his hands. Still numb. Which, he supposed, was better than how he’d felt before, all raw exposed nerves and animal hunger. He could feel that, though, creeping in on the edges of his consciousness, the edges of his flesh, pacing and clawing and biding its time to be free again.
That scared him.
And Nikolai hadn’t taken off the cage. How much would it take to push him back to that edge?
“Good boy,” Nikolai said when he emerged. “I’m all ready for you. Come lean over the edge of the bed like you were earlier.”
“Y-yes sir.” He went. Bent. Closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Don’t panic. Don’t freak out. Don’t beg.
Nikolai’s hands, slick with lube, slathered his hole. Just the opening. The voice that had been calling, Fill me, fill me, was quiet so far.
“Almost back to normal already.” Nikolai prodded him with a finger, but didn’t push inside with it. It was true. Dougie could feel a little resistance again. “See?”
“Yes, sir.”
The finger slid inside, and Dougie instinctively clenched against it, tried to keep it out. There were no words to describe how relieved he felt at that reaction; it seemed his ass wasn’t the only thing almost back to normal, thank God.
“You must learn conscious control of these muscles.” Nikolai wiggled the tip of his finger in a circle inside Dougie, rubbing up against the ring of muscle. Still so sensitive. Dougie gritted his teeth, clenched down again.
“That’s good, that’s useful,” Nikolai said. “Clenching around someone inside you is quite pleasurable for them. But in order for it not to be so painful for you, you must also learn to relax these muscles. Try it now.”
It took Dougie a few seconds to figure out how, but he managed it. Suddenly he was a lot more comfortable. Barely even felt the finger.
“Very good, pet. Very good. You must practice this. As often as you can. Fortunately . . .” He slid his finger free, gave Dougie’s right ass cheek a ringing slap that brought heat but, thankfully, no pain, “. . . you’ve a whole new day ahead of you to do so.”
“What? A d—” No more talking. The thick, rounded end of a silicone plug touched his hole. “No, no, no,” he protested, but it was no use. Nikolai didn’t work it in slowly with gentle pushes or twists, either—just thumped it home. No pain, though, not really, despite it being bigger than the plug he’d worn at Madame’s, bigger still than the plug he’d been tortured with last night. But oh God, it curved the same way, pressed firmly against his prostate, and
then Nikolai gave it a twist and it started to vibrate too.
“No,” Dougie moaned as the buzz sped up a notch or three and lit his whole middle on fire. “Not again, please, no, no, no!”
He realized he was shouting only when Nikolai slapped his ass—much harder this time, all pain—and snapped, “Be quiet. You had your chance to stop this. You’ll have it again tomorrow, too, and when that time comes, I suggest you carefully consider the consequences of your choice.”
Nikolai buckled the same strap around his waist. Locked it again. “Now stand up,” he said. “And turn to face me. I’ve one last thing for you. One last test.”
“No more,” Dougie moaned, but he still stood and turned. God, this thing was downright uncomfortable, for all the teeth-gritting pleasure it sparked. No ignoring it: it kept him stretched until he burned. Vibrated. Filled him deep and rigid and—God damn the fucking vibration.
“Come now, that plug is no bigger than my own cock. You’ve taken more and shot all over your chest besides.”
Oh God, don’t remind me.
Nikolai took Dougie by the chin, stroking his jaw like they were lovers. And was that true affection Dougie saw in his eyes? How could anyone who claimed to feel for him do this to him? “Now. This training will continue regardless, but you can make it easy on yourself, or you can make it difficult. Today, you’ve chosen difficult. Tomorrow, you can choose again. I’m sorry, but once your choice is made, I can’t let you take it back. Perhaps one day, when you’ve truly learned . . .” Nikolai looked into the distance, like he was daydreaming, then snapped back to reality, that stern fatherly look returning. “But until then, I’d be doing you a grave disservice. So today, the cage stays on your cock, and the plug in your ass continues to vibrate until I see you next. You can, however, save yourself one last indignity, if you choose to.”
It couldn’t be that easy.
“W-what’s the catch, sir?” Dougie asked, eyes drifting briefly to the raging hard-on tenting Nikolai’s thousand-dollar suit pants.
“No ‘catch.’ I’m not a used car salesman. A choice. You can get on your knees and ask nicely to suck my cock, or you can face the consequences of displeasing your master. Now. Choose.”
Beg? Dougie swallowed hard. He wanted him to beg for it? Please, Mr. Crazy Kidnapper, would you do me the honor of raping my mouth?
No, it’s not like that. Just suck his cock. It won’t be that bad. You did it once and came out intact.
Don’t suck his cock. Don’t you fucking dare. Give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. He’s smart. He’ll exploit every weakness.
Just get on your knees and look up at him like you’re in a cheap amateur porno and say it. Say, “Please sir, can I suck your big cock?”
“I’ll take your hesitance as a no, then.”
“No! Wait!”
He didn’t look angry, only disappointed. But he wasn’t swayed by Dougie’s “No,” either.
“This is a lesson your brother has had to learn—and learn again, and again, and again—the hard way. I see it’s your turn now.”
Mat. What have you done to Mat oh God please tell me you’re not treating him like this . . .
“You should be less concerned for him and more concerned for yourself, little pet. He spares no concern for you, after all. You disgust him as much as you disgust yourself.”
Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up.
“I’m sorry. It’s the truth. Now, I think we’re quite finished talking, don’t you?”
Yes, please. Anything is better than more mindfucking.
Nikolai gave one of Dougie’s nipples a pinch. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out. Stretching it. Dougie arched away, whimpering—he’d had quite enough of that awful pain/pleasure, wanted no more of either, thank you very much.
“I love how pink these are. Very beautiful. I once had a boy like you with nipples like this. Probably . . . seven years back? Six? No, seven. I had them pierced with rings and hung with little bells. Quite festive.”
Dougie whimpered again. No, please, no. He couldn’t possibly deserve something so drastic. No no no.
And then, Did he say years? God, how long has this sick operation been going on? How old was that other man . . . Roger, was it? How old was he? Had he been taken when he was Dougie’s age? And never—
Nikolai reached into his pocket, pulled out . . . jewelry? Two pretty little somethings on either end of a short silver chain. Like quarter-sized filigrees, or flat silver pretzels, almost.
Nikolai caught Dougie studying the chain. “Pretty, aren’t they? They’ll be even lovelier on you.” Jewelry after all, then? “Though you may beg to differ. Or”—he smiled, as if at some private joke, and tweaked Dougie’s nipple—“beg to have them removed.”
Clamps. They’re nipple clamps, like in that porn mag you found in Mike’s closet.
Can I beg now?
“Hold still. The more you squirm, the tighter I’ll fasten them.”
He was squirming, wasn’t he? Just looking at them made him hurt. No wait, that was Nikolai, his fingers twisting his nipple again, getting it hard. Nikolai pulled it away from his chest until it was taut and latched the clamp around it. Tightened the clamp. Stopped right before the point of true pain, and God damn him for that anyway because now Dougie was stuck half-enjoying it, or his body was, anyway, his poor neglected cock as interested in the signals coming from his nipples now as it was in the signals coming from the awful fucking vibrating plug up his ass. Half pleasure, half pain from both directions.
Wholly fucking unbearable. He caught his hands reaching to pull the clamps off and forced his fists back to his sides, and he’d only been wearing them for seconds.
“Be a good little pet now and leave those on. No one touches them but me, do you understand?”
“Y—” His voice cracked. Shattered. Like my fucking mind. He swallowed hard, spent a good five seconds working enough saliva into his mouth to speak. “Yes, sir.” Even those two simple words sounded breathless, needy, desperate. He was trying so hard not to scream, so hard not to cry. So hard not to throw himself at Nikolai’s feet and beg.
If Nikolai didn’t leave soon, he’d end up doing all three.
But Nikolai didn’t leave. He just smiled, and gave the chain between the clamps a gentle tug—Dougie almost relished it; the pain momentarily chased his arousal away—and reached out to stroke a lock of Dougie’s hair between thumb and forefinger. “Enjoy your day, Douglas,” he said, still smiling softly. “And your night. I hope both bear fruitful thoughts.”
Nikolai turned and left then, and Dougie fell to his knees the instant he was out the door, the plug shifting inside him, drilling against his prostate like a fucking jackhammer. Then he started to cry.
But at least he hadn’t begged. Well . . . hadn’t begged to suck Nikolai’s cock, anyway. That counted for something, right?
It had to. It was all he had left.
The hinges were on the wrong side of the door, but that hadn’t stopped Mat from trying to figure out how he might break the damn thing down. He’d made the mistake of kicking it, just once, and was frankly lucky he hadn’t broken something. Steel core, definitely. Same with the door frame. The locks were serious business, and there was no keyhole on the doorknob on his side. Nikolai carried a key, but no way could Mat try taking it from him. Too much risk to Dougie to snatch it by force. And what if Mat escaped but then couldn’t find Dougie? God knew he hadn’t heard so much as a peep from him since he’d been here, so Dougie could be anywhere, and Mat didn’t doubt for a second that Nikolai’s men would . . . carry out his demands in the event harm came to him.
Mat couldn’t risk trying to sneak the key away from Nikolai, either. Nikolai would notice it missing the second he left the room and tried to lock the door behind him. And Mat had no doubt he wouldn’t like the consequences of that at all.
Still, there had to be a way to sneak out of here. No windows, only the one door, and cameras watching his
every move, but . . .
He ran his fingers along the wall beside the door. Felt like drywall. If it was anything like construction everywhere else in America—assuming they were even still in America, though the woods he’d seen on the way here certainly looked like the southern Appalachians—there’d be wood or steel studs every eighteen inches, and in between those, nothing blocking his way into the hall but some foam insulation and another sheet of drywall on the other side. He could kick or punch right through that. Avoid the studs by sound. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the wall, listening for where it was hollow.
It wasn’t. Anywhere.
Fuck. More steel reinforcement? Or just some sheets of plywood? Only one way to find out, but what would happen if Nikolai found out he was looking? If it was steel and he couldn’t escape when the fucker came for him? He bent his leg at the knee, flexed his toes back, prepared to strike . . .
And couldn’t do it.
He crossed the room in three angry strides and drove his heel into the heavy bag with so much force he sent it nearly horizontal. When had he become such a fucking coward? When had he started letting fear of pain rule his life?
You think you don’t fear pain, but that’s only because you don’t truly know what pain is yet.
Oh, how he’d scoffed at Madame’s doctor when he’d said that. But Mat had clearly been the fool the man had thought him. He’d learned his lesson about pain all too well since that day, hadn’t he.
Jesus, he made himself sick. He’d probably make Coach Darryl sick, too. The man would kick him right out of his gym if he ever saw Mat cowering like some beaten dog at the thought of a little suffering.
A little? Hah.
He kicked the bag again. Threw a hard punch on the backswing. Stupid without his hands wrapped, but he didn’t give a fuck right now. Hit it again, again. And more, until his hands throbbed, until the skin over his knuckles split. See? He could take pain. It was nothing. Didn’t mean anything. Wouldn’t stop him. Not again. Never ag—
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