Sam's Reluctant Submission

by Brad Vance

  Sam sipped his coffee, as always sitting in a window seat in the cafe, no qualms about breaking the first C-note now that he was on the job. He felt…good. Really good. The way you feel when you haven’t been working for a long time and suddenly you are, you’re doing what you’re meant to do, and you’ve got money in your pocket again.

  His phone rang. “A car will pick you up Friday afternoon. Give me the address.”

  Sam gave him the address of the weekly hotel. “Where am I going?”

  “You’ll be taken to my hunting grounds. That’s all you need to know.” Derek hung up.

  “Asshole,” Sam said to the phone. A girl looked up from her laptop, a regular here, and smiled at him. He smiled back. When this is over, I’ll get a real apartment, honey, and then I’ll ask you on a date.

  He spent most of the expense money at the army surplus store on things he didn’t have, or didn’t have at hand, most of his stuff being in storage. Derek hadn’t said what he could or couldn’t take with him, or what he would or wouldn’t be provided with. So Sam picked out a small grey-black camouflage backpack, some dehydrated food and protein bars, a water bottle, some water sterilization pills, a flint, a small LCD flashlight (for emergencies only as the light could give away his position), a small first aid kit, and a Mylar “space blanket.” He already had a compass, and his own excellent knife, of course; that was something that would never go in storage.

  He went to an Internet café and looked at Google Maps for the outlying areas. Derek couldn’t be more than an hour or two out of town, he guessed – the man had a business to run and travel time was wasted time. There was plenty of deep forest to the south, private land from the look of it. Lots of big houses miles away from each other. A few creeks, which meant he’d be able to find water easily. If this was where he was going, he qualified.

  All the same, he had to make an educated guess if he was going to get an advantage, so he spent a good hour memorizing the landmarks and terrain in the area. If he was wrong about the site, he’d adapt; if he was right, he’d have leveled the playing field a bit, since Derek would know his own land like the back of his hand.

  The July weather meant he could travel light in terms of clothing, but it would be cool at night out there, far cooler than the city. So Friday afternoon he dressed in layers, black UA t shirt under black UA long sleeve under a black North Face zip up jacket – any and all of them light enough and easily folded up and stuffed in the backpack, or, if the backpack was taken away, still easy enough to manage in the pockets of his black camos. He was nearly out of money, and didn’t want new boots that would rub and chafe, so he took black shoe polish to the tan desert boots that had served him so well in so many places, but were far too bright at night. Sorry, guys, he said as he defaced them.

  Finally, he went out and spent the last of his money on a good dinner. Steak and potatoes, something that would sit in his system feeding it for a while if Derek stripped him of the food he’d bought.

  Sam felt good, he felt ready; he even flirted with the waitress, thinking about how different life would be with ten grand in his pocket. How he could start dating again, pay the dinner bill, hold his head high.

  He wouldn’t underestimate Derek. But he thought he had the measure of the guy. Rich prick, gone a little soft since starting his office life. Arrogant, smug, entitled. He smiled, thinking about Derek’s speech about how he wasn’t queer, just liked to dominate other guys. He remembered a guy he’d met on a beach once. Some Eastern European dude, talking dirty about the girls around them, about what he was going to do to them. Then he said, out of the blue, “I have been on feeshing boat for seex months.” A pause. “I am not-a gay.”

  Yeah, right, Derek, you’re not-a gay.

  On Friday afternoon, a black Town Car pulled up in front of his hotel. Some of the locals hollered at him as he got in, including some of the street’s regular prostitutes.

  “Oh, you got a nice ride there, honey! You better put out good if you wanna ride in that again!” He smiled and waved and got in the back seat.

  The black glass divider was up between the front and back of the car, so he couldn’t see the driver. There was a 19 inch TV screen in the back of the seat, turned off now. Sam settled into the comfortable seat and got ready to take a nap. “Sleep when you can” was drilled into him, and he knew the next few days might be completely sleepless.

  Just as he was about to doze off, the TV came on. The picture was shaky – someone had a GoPro strapped to his head. It was evening, still light enough to see, and the man with the camera was running through the woods. Sam could hear the branches and leaves smash and crack beneath his racing feet. Then he saw the object of the pursuit – another man, running almost as fast – almost. Sam had come in at the end of the chase; the quarry was near the end of his race.

  The hunter closed the distance. Then the rabbit was caught – a snare in the leaves was triggered and the man was yanked off his feet, suspended from a tree by one ankle. The hunter stood beneath him, breathing quickly but not panting – he was in excellent cardiovascular shape, Sam thought, to be barely out of breath after a chase like that.

  “Game’s over,” the man hanging upside down.

  “No,” Derek said. Sam recognized his voice instantly. “Not quite yet.”

  “Come on, man. Isn’t this enough for you?”

  “You know the price.” Derek’s knife flickered and cut the rope and the other man fell to the ground.

  “Fuck me,” the man whispered, not a request but in the way you’d say “I’ll be damned.”

  Derek laughed. “Yep.”

  The man broke into a run. Derek reached down, grabbed the end of the rope trailing behind his captive, wrapped it around his waist, held on tight with both hands and waited. All of which took two seconds. Two seconds after that, the rope went taut and the victim flew off his feet, smashing face down into the ground.

  Derek was on him, on top of him, his forearm around his neck in a rear naked choke. “You…signed…a contract. And I’m going to hold you to it. You understand?”

  The man frantically clawed at Derek’s forearm, to no avail. “Or, I can let you go, and sue your ass off. You got the money for a good lawyer?” He released his grip slightly, enough to let the subject answer.

  “You wouldn’t,” pant, “let the whole world,” pant, “know what a fucking sicko you are.”

  “Wouldn’t I? Do you know how much money I have? I’ll tell you. I’m worth Fuck You dollars. You know how much that is? It’s enough to say Fuck You to anyone.”

  Sam could see it happen – the total surrender, that thing inside an animal, an evolutionary switch a billion years old that flipped inside your brain when it was all over and made dying easier. “Fine. You win. You better fucking pay me my thousand bucks.”

  Derek could see it too. “There you go,” he said gently. “Relax.”

  He had the man’s arms behind him and zip tied in a flash. Sam swallowed. Derek was not a fucking dilettante, not the vain preening rich Eurotrash bastard that Sam had thought he might be…well, he was, but he was also a trained killer.

  Then the knife flicked, sawing at the back of the man’s fatigues. The dude was ex-military, just like himself, Sam thought. And he’d lost. Derek pulled the fatigues up by a belt loop just enough to slice a hole in the back of them.

  “Oh shit!” the man cried out, but he was too smart to struggle under a moving blade. Sam could see his white underwear, then that too had a hole cut in it.

  Derek got up, took off his own small backpack – nearly the same as the one Sam had selected. The prey hadn’t had one, Sam realized. Had Derek made him go out with nothing, or had he lost or discarded it along the way?

  Derek pulled out a plastic container and unscrewed the lid. Sam could read the label – Albolene, what the fuck is that? Then he watched with every (straight) man’s groin-clenching horror as Derek’s fingers plunged into the jar and came out w
ith a thick smear of the stuff.

  Derek spread his big, dry hand over the small of his prey’s back, then roughly jammed two greasy fingers of the other hand through the hole he’d cut.

  “FUCK! AAAHH!” The man cried out as Derek violated him hard and fast with his long slick digits. His body weight was pressed down on the man’s back as he held him in place.

  “Easy now. Better to get torn up with two fingers than with what’s coming next.”

  A few more quick thrusts of his fingers and then Derek let go, unbuttoned his own pants, and pulled out his cock, making sure the camera got a good look at it.

  “Holy crap,” Sam whispered without thinking. That had to be a dildo he’d kept stuffed in his pants. That was too fucking huge to be a cock. Sam had been told by girls that his dick was big, but compared to Derek’s it was a midget.

  “Virgin ass,” Derek whispered to himself, drunk with lust, stroking his huge tool with his greasy paw. As he pulled it down and let it bounce back up and around, Sam realized it was fucking real. “Mine. My ass.”

  He didn’t hesitate. They were deep in the woods, and nobody heard the scream as Derek plunged his cock through the hole in the helpless man’s pants, unerringly punching through that sphincter’s remaining resistance.

  Derek was an animal, he fucked like an animal. One hand held the man’s shoulder to keep him from getting off Derek’s cock, while the other hand pushed his face into the leaves and dirt.

  To his horror, Sam realized he was getting a hardon. The cruelty of it, the reckless rough abandon of it…no tenderness, no care, just taking. It was all about Derek, what Derek wanted, and what Derek wanted was to inflict pain, to inflict humiliation, to take his pleasure with his dick as violently as an animal would tear out the throat of its dinner after capturing it as Derek had captured this man.

  Sam’s hardon disappeared as he realized what had happened. I just got a boner from…gay porn. From a fucking scene of…from that.

  Then something really rattled him – a change in the sounds coming out of the man getting nailed. From “Aah! Aah!” to “uh, uh,” to “ahh, ahh…ahhh!” Was he starting to enjoy it? Derek could tell the difference as well, his thrusts slower but deeper, his head, and the camera, coming closer to the bottom’s face.

  The look on it was one of dull, dazed, almost narcotic pleasure. Sam thought about his conversation with that girl about his prostate, and realized that Derek was using the head of his cock to push the dude’s deepest, darkest pleasure button, that he was getting jacked off from inside…that it felt good…so good…

  Then his training kicked in. Psyops. This was Derek rattling him. This was Derek making him focus on defeat. What defeat looked like.

  Sam’s face went blank. He watched the rest of the scene impassively, cursing himself for letting go this long. Derek probably had a camera in here, had probably already seen the reactions he hadn’t masked. SERE training prepped you for almost everything – almost. There was no section in the manual about how to handle getting fucked in the ass.

  The scene came to its brutal end. Derek pulled his monster cock out and stroked it a few times, then his cum started spewing out, so much of it that even in the dimming light, you could see it. That was when he plunged it back in to the wreckage of that asshole and began to pound it even harder, faster, the man’s stilled cries renewed now at the fresh assault. Derek’s breathing was finally fast now, as he truly exerted himself to punch every drop up the gut of his prey.

  Finally he was done. He pulled out, got up, yanked up his pants, as the camera captured his last gesture – reaching into his pants for a money clip, ten Benjamins in it, which he threw on the exhausted man’s ass. “Game’s over.” And then he reached up and the camera went dead.

  Then the speakers in the car whispered to Sam – his own voice, looping over and over. “Holy crap, Holy crap, Holy crap” – the words that had burst out of him at the sight of Derek’s cock. Sam’s training had slipped, he’d let a reaction show, but you don’t kick yourself for that, you just put the mask back in place and move on. He’d been one of the toughest candidates in SERE when it came to psyops, and no doubt he’d be angry that he’d slipped so early in this game…angry later, when there was time for emotion.

  Derek’s obscenely huge penis had rattled him, no doubt, but that slip was over. Derek would take every advantage of it, naturally, mocking Sam with it, but so what. It was huge, anyone would say Holy crap when they saw that.

  You know what? Fuck that guy and the huge cock he rode in on.

  Sam watched the landscape, mapping it in his mind against the aerial photos from Google Maps he’d burned into his retinas. Sure enough, he was heading south, into the forest. He’d sat at the computer in the Internet café for a good two hours, zooming in and out until he had the lay of the land memorized.

  The car took a gated service road, the gate open now with the padlock and chain wrapped around it, as if it would be locked again soon enough. It was a well-graded dirt road that wouldn’t mess up the Town Car too badly, other than to get it dirty. They went about a mile up it until Sam knew they’d be hitting a clearing, and sure enough, there was Derek in the clearing, standing there waiting for him.

  He got out of the car, and as soon as he and his backpack were clear and the door was shut, the driver rolled back down the road, leaving the two of them alone. Derek extended his hand for Sam to shake. His hand was just as Sam remembered it, a laborer’s hand, not a desk jockey’s.

  He did a double take as he realized what Derek was wearing. The commando sweater with shoulder patches and the small backpack didn’t surprise him, but he had to look again to make sure that Derek wasn’t wearing pants. Nope – just matte black tights, the kind you’d wear under your ski pants. And they did absolutely nothing to conceal Derek’s massive cock, dressing left nearly to his hip joint. Long and fat, it was like…

  Sam looked away. The tights made sense, he thought, cursing himself for not thinking of it. Pants rustled, swished, caught on shit. Derek was dressed like a cat burglar, for stealth and silence. Also, Sam thought ruefully, he dressed like that to show me his dick. Psyops again.

  And were those…ballet slippers? No, they were Vibrams, the toe shoes. Those would be like cat feet in the woods. Sam kicked himself for not thinking of that. Wearing his boots in situations like this was too ingrained in him. Never mind, he thought. You didn’t have a hundred bucks for new footwear anyway.

  “I had a pack ready for you,” Derek admitted, indicating a camo pack on the ground next to him. “I should have known you’d have your own. However,” he pulled a fish scale out of his pocket, “I do have to impose a weight limit on you.”

  Sam nodded and hung his pack from the hook of the scale, watching the arrow move to show its weight.

  “Seven pounds,” Derek said. “You’ll have to lose two. And, no mechanical or electrical equipment. You have anything like that in there?”

  “A flashlight,” Sam said.

  “That’ll have to go.”

  Sam nodded. He’d expected Derek to go through his pack, but Derek trusted his word, his honor. The mini flashlight hardly dented the weight allowance, though, so next he tossed most of the food, keeping a few packs of dehydrated meals with him. The protein bars were more convenient, but at a couple ounces each, they were an easy discard. He emptied the first aid kit and tossed the plastic box it came in. When he looked at the mylar space blanket and realized it was a shiny gold that would show up far too easily in the dark, that went, too.

  The bag was still just a little too heavy. He extracted the knife and sliced off the front and side pockets, and then he was good. Derek nodded. “Good idea.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Okay.” Derek looked at his Luminox. “You’ve got fifteen minutes. Starting…now.”

  Sam broke into a trot, knowing Derek wouldn’t bother to watch him, because of course the first direction he headed in would be a feint.
r />   “What did you think of the in-flight entertainment?” Derek called after him.

  Sam spoke over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “Was I supposed to be entertained?”

  “You were excited. I could tell.”

  So he had been watching. Sam stopped and turned around. “I was shocked. The reactions are quite similar.”

  He turned back around and started off again, breaking into a run to maximize his time advantage. He heard Derek chuckle and then he was in the woods.

  Sam felt great. He was in his element, for the first time in a long time. This is what I do, he thought, his breath coming deep and regular as he penetrated the forest. This is where I belong. He headed for the stream to the west, where he could move without leaving tracks – and where the sounds of the stream would mask his own.

  He found some blackberry bushes, and picked a few at random, not leaving a pattern from which Derek could discern he’d been this way. They were sweet and sour and just the right amount of energy for now.

  His training days came back to him now. He remembered his first day, memorizing the acronym S U R V I V A L.

  S – Size up the situation. He’d memorized the text in the FM 21-76 and still recalled it perfectly. “If you are in a combat situation, find a place where you can conceal yourself from the enemy. Remember, security takes priority. Use your senses of hearing, smell, and sight to get a feel for the battlefield. What is the enemy doing? Advancing? Holding in place? Retreating? You will have to consider what is developing on the battlefield when you make your survival plan.”

  He could still hear the instructor’s voice in the classroom. “How do you size up a situation? Observation! You must be observant! Any little detail can give you away to an enemy as well trained, or better trained, than you. And vice versa. In fact, we are going on a training exercise tomorrow. And I will allow an extra two pounds of weight to anyone who can find a typo in the FM 21-76.”

  Sam’s hand shot up even as the others frantically flipped through the manual. “Bradley!”