He came to me in the night. It was always in the night. In the daylight we both pretended that there was no nightly visitation. But he was highly sexed, and since my mom died, he came to me often at night. He waited until I'd turned eighteen, but after that, he came for me.

'Dad . . .' I murmured, still only half awake.

'Shush. Take this.'

I was on my back and he was straddling my chest with his knees and leaning over me, holding my arms out and above my head with strong fists encasing my wrists. I felt the tip of his erect cock at my lips and I opened to him, and we both moaned quietly in the dark as he stroked his cock in and out of my mouth, hardening it and arousing him further - and slicking up his tool for what he'd do later.

When he was sufficiently aroused, he moved his knees and lips down my chest and belly and swallowed my balls as his hand went to my cock. His hand went to join the other to cup and raise and separate my butt cheeks as his mouth went to my entrance. His hand on my cock was replaced by one of my own, and I lay there, looking dumbly toward the window, watching the wind sway the branches of the willow tree, and stroking myself. For a moment I had the sensation of someone being there, watching us, but I had shut my systems down. I didn't care and my senses weren't on alert. I was trying to transport myself to someplace else altogether.

He pulled my sleeping shorts - all that I was wearing - off my legs.

'Turn on your belly.' The voice was low, raspy, needy.

'Dad . . .' I murmured again. It was all I could manage, and I knew it had no effect.

'Turn on your belly, son.'

With a sigh of resignation, I did as he commanded. I always did as he commanded, whether day or night.

A heavily muscled arm went under my lower belly and lifted me to my knees, while a palm between my shoulder blades pushed my chest down on the cool sheet. He was crouched over me from behind, his thighs encasing mine. I felt the stretch and filling of the entry. But no pain. There hadn't been pain, really, for months. My channel was fit to his cock now. He just slid up into me as I gasped slightly and groaned the almost nightly possession by him.

One of his fists went to the wrist of my left arm and pinned it to the bed above my head. He let me have the use of my right hand - he'd done so for nearly two months now - and I moved it to my cock and began stroking it again to the rhythm of his fucking cock.

He moved his other hand between gripping my waist and pinching my nipple and turning my head toward his face when he brought it down to my head. When he did that, we kissed, deeply, his tongue invading and searching my mouth cavity. This was something else that had only entered the ritual in the last month or so.

My lips freed, I once more turned my head and gazed at the window - and once more had the sensation of someone or something pulling away from it out there as I turned my head. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated again on not being there.

The nature of pretending I wasn't really involved in what was happening to me in the night had changed in the last month or too also - and it scared me. In the initial months, I had zoned out to deny it was happening. Now I was zoning out because I was beginning to need it - to look forward to it each night.

Of course he really wasn't my dad - not my biological dad - and nothing that he was doing was something I could report him for, something I could stop, short of fighting him, which, considering our differing sizes and physical power, was a comical notion. And leaving was something I couldn't do, at least not yet.

My real dad had died when I was eleven, and Tyler had been with us for six years now, arriving a little more than a year after Mom was widowed. I say us, but he really was only with 'us' for a bit more than five years. My mom died six months ago. She had been sick for some time before she died, and I think she understood Tyler's interest in me before she went. But by then she was too far gone to do anything about it. She seemed to be hanging on mostly to be there until I got old enough to leave the house and go on my own.

My real dad's death and her own quick decline there at the end had bollixed up that idea, though. I'd worshipped my real dad, and his death had been a real blow to me. I just shut my life down for nearly a full year though - and that included school work. So, I was set back a grade. And, so, when mom died, I was no more than a week past eighteen, but I had a year and a half more to go in high school. And what were almost Mom's last words to me stuck.

'Stick it out until you graduate high school, Chris,' she'd said. 'Promise me you'll get your high school. Then go in the service for a while or something. Get away from this. But promise me you'll get your high school in first. A man can't do much of anything without that diploma.'

And so, I promised.

And the way it worked out with Tyler wasn't wham bang, either. It was gradual. He worked me. He seduced me. And he was smart. He waited until I was eighteen. And when he finally had me, there I was, an adult, and not able even to claim rape. And the longer I stayed, the less anyone would care what I let happen to me. They would have asked, 'Why didn't you just walk?'

Well, I didn't walk, because I promised my mom I'd get in that last year and half of school, and I didn't have any other good options. I had no living family left, and I had no means really to live out on my own. I didn't mind the idea of signing up for the military - I was leaning toward the Navy - but it stuck in my mind that one thing my mom had asked me to promise to do was to get that high school diploma before leaving.

And, as I've said. Tyler was clever. And he took it slow so that by the time I really was over the edge, it was done.

It had started the day after I turned eighteen. Mom was in the other room, dying. She'd been to the hospital and was back, under Hospice care, to die at home. I was keyed up and confused and into self-denial and wanting to make it all go away - transport myself to some fantasy land - and because I was a teenager with raging hormones, that meant a flashlight and dirty magazine and beating myself off in the middle of the night.

Which was all fine, but Tyler found me that night, right after my eighteenth birthday. I was terrified and paralyzed in place when he found me. But he came into the room and was calm and sat down on the side of the bed and told me all sorts of mumbo-jumbo over how it was normal and understandable under the circumstances. And while he was talking and holding my attention, he had his hand on my cock. When I noticed and flinched and began to object, he shushed me, reminding me that Mom was just in the other bedroom and that, although what I was doing was normal and understandable, it wasn't something we wanted to worry her about.

'So, just lay back, and I'll take care of it.'

And so I did. And he did. And I was surprised at how much different and better it felt when someone else did it.

Three days later, the night before Mom died, Tyler was back and sweet talked me into letting him take care of my fears and tensions again. And this time he ran his other hand over my body as he was slowly jacking my cock off.

When we came home from Mom's funeral, I was a basket case, and Tyler sent me to my room and told me to try to get some sleep. But I couldn't and I couldn't stop crying. And Tyler came into my room and sat on the bed and hugged me close and soothed me with his calm, soft voice - which was really something coming from such a big, muscular man - and with his hands patting and stroking me here and there. He had my cock out of the fly of my sleeping shorts before I knew it. And I was in such a state that I didn't care - in fact it was comforting. And this time he didn't relieve me with his hand. He did it with his mouth.

Mom was dead now and there was only Tyler. And he'd already given me a blow job. And I was already eighteen and had promised my mom I'd stick it out through high school. And not only wasn't I thinking too straight, but I was a teen with raging hormones and Tyler was giving me release and pleasure that, though I knew it was evil and not right, was overwhelmingly hard to resist.

Everything was fine during the day. Tyler was a coping single-parent dad by day. Fitting in getting me to school and being there during my ball games and other activities while still holding down his job. I took up more of the cleaning and cooking duties, but Tyler was hanging in there on those as well. And we said nothing during the day of what was happening at night. The dark covered all of our sins.

But he was coming to me more often at night now. And he cajoled me into taking head, and one night he introduced a dildo into the ritual as he was sucking my cock. The first time I just thought it was his thumb, which he had started strumming rim of my hole with while sucking me, but it wasn't - it was a dildo. And the second time I knew it wasn't a thumb - and that it hadn't stayed at the entrance. By the time he fucked me with his cock, he had me asking for it. And I was over eighteen, and with nowhere else to go.

And now it was four months later.

Tyler had just been to visit me the night before. But he was here, at the door, tonight, as well. I'd heard it. He'd had a video on out in the living room. A male porn film. He was standing at the door, breathing heavily and giving me a scary stare. He was stark naked and had a raging hard on. I was sitting on the floor, on the thick cushion I'd taken off the overstuffed chair in my room; my back to the bed; earphones in, with the music set to something I liked to listen to before I went to bed; and doing my last-minute homework. I already was in my sleeping shorts.

Tyler was on me like a flash, grabbing my wrists with his hands and pushing my arms back on the bed. His cock was assaulting my mouth, pushing my head back on the bed as well. And I was gagging and gasping as he face-fucked me.

Then he pulled me up on my feet and kicked the cushion out into the middle of room as he was stripping off my sleeping shorts. He pushed me down on my shoulder blades on the cushion and grabbed my hips in his hands, and pulled my pelvis up into his crotch and my hole onto his cock, and started fucking down into me with long, deep strokes, thrusting down with his cock, while he pulled my pelvis up into him. Pushing me down as he moved his hips back and then pulling me in again as he thrust forward.

He was fucking me with a fury as he'd never done before, and I hooked my legs on top of the flare of his butt and hung on for dear life, my soothing 'go-to-bed' music still playing in my ear from the earphones.

Above the sound of the music, I could hear the sound of the sex. Grunting and groaning and moaning in harmony, but above that, a plaintive cry of 'Oh, shit, oh yes, oh gawd yessss, Fuck ME!'

I was shocked - and scared - at the realization that it was my voice.

* * * *

By this time, Tyler wasn't the only one fucking me. By now, I knew what was done was done - and that I didn't mind it when I wasn't thinking real hard - and was thinking why should I give it away just to Tyler for free. I was scraping together whatever money I could to help my escape from here, which was coming within a year. I kept the money in an old can out in the rafters of the storage shed in the back yard.

I figured I knew where I would make some money off this. And I was right.

For years, Mr. Collins, a bachelor living in a house twice as large and tidy as ours just down the street from us, had been giving me the eye and trying to make friends with me when I walked past his house. I wasn't so dumb that I didn't know what his interest was - and there were whisperings going around the neighborhood and at school that bore this out.

All it took to get him to come out of the house was for me to stand out on the front walk by his white picket fence one day and look around like I had nothing better to do than stand there. Sure enough, it wasn't long before he sauntered out, acting like he had a reason to be on the move and 'accidentally' noticing I was there and coming to the fence to greet me.

'Hi there, Chris,' he called out in a chipper voice. 'Great day, isn't it?'

'Yeah, yeah, it is,' I answered. 'Might rain tonight, though. The rains will be heavy this summer, they say.'

Mr. Collins was trembling like a Chihuahua on speed at this string of words from me. It was more in total that I'd ever said to him in all the years he'd been living in the neighborhood. He literally wagged his tail as he came out to the fence, obviously thrilled that I was still standing there.

'Yes, it's good for the flowers, though.'

'Nice flowers,' I said. 'And you got a gardener to take real good care of them, I see.' I was searching for words. The gardener was kneeling at the rose bed that lined the front porch of the house. He was facing away from us, an Hispanic, I guessed, maybe in his thirties. An outdoor worker. I wondered if he could hear us - and if he could understand English if he could.

'I try to keep the grounds up,' Mr. Collins said, his voice full of pride. 'Say, I was real sorry to hear about your mother. I - '

'Thanks. Thanks, Mr. Collins. You're a nice man for saying that.' I turned my eyes on him and smiled.

He practically melted on the spot with pleasure. He had his hands on top of the fence and they were trembling. I put a hand up there too, trying to make it seem like a natural move, and I could see him shudder as our hands touched each other.

'Nice house too. Real nice house. Big. Bet you have lots of rooms in there. Bet you have some nice things in there.'

'Would you like to see inside sometime?' Mr. Collins asked. His voice sounded so hopeful that I felt kind of sorry for him.

'I'm not doing much of anything now,' I said. I tried to keep my voice low, because I could see that the gardener had turned his head toward us - that maybe he was listening to us.

I thought that Mr. Collins was going to melt down to a puddle on the spot at the prospect of getting me in the house.

The gardener looked up from the rose garden as we passed and gave me a tentative little smile. I wondered if he figured any of this out. But then I didn't care. He was just a gardener.

'How's school and the baseball going, Chris?' Mr. Collins asked me as we entered the foyer. I walked right on into the living room, which showed that Mr. Collins made a whole heap more money that my stepdad did. 'I've always been interested in how the kids of the neighborhood were doing.'

'Yeah, I know you have, Mr. Collins. I've seen how you watched me over the years. Well, I'm here now. And I'm over eighteen.'

He turned his head toward where I was standing in the living room, surprised by what I said and by the hard tone I'd taken when I said it. And there I was, standing in the middle of his living room, with my fly open and my dong hanging out and cupped in the palm of my hand. I was kind of proud of my cock, and Mr. Collins seemed pretty impressed too. He went to his knees with a loud moan and began sucking my cock in a way that assured me that, as suspected, I probably wasn't the first neighborhood boy who had visited this house.

We were naked on his bed with him stretched out behind me and stroking his cock inside me from the rear as I propped my knee up on the bed to give him better access when I told him what the deal was: '$15 for you to suck me; $25 if I suck you. $50 for a fuck; $60 for the whole package.'

He didn't object and signed up for the next visit to be on my way home from school three days hence. My stepdad didn't get home from work for nearly three hours after my school finished for the day.

The gardener was in the front garden the next day I visited Mr. Collins, and he turned his head and gave me a little smile again when I reached the stairs to the porch and started climbing. I instinctive smiled back, a little nervous because he was there, and because I couldn't think of a plausible reason to be approaching Mr. Collins's house by myself if the gardener asked. But he didn't ask.

The door was slightly ajar when I got to it, and I heard a faraway voice call out from upstairs. 'Come on in. It's open. I'm upstairs.'

I went in and began to climb the stairs. Half way up I stopped dead in my tracks and let out a 'Holy shit.' I began to turn to flee the house, when Mr. Collins said probably the only thing that kept me there.

'$75. I'll give you $75. And you won't be doing anything special or different. This is for me. This is to make it more interesting for me.'

I turned back and looked up at him again. He was wearing women's lingerie. A black lace bra, with matching panties and black mesh stockings and black stiletto heels. He also had on a red-haired wig, and his face was made up like a baby doll, a mean slash of shiny, deep-red lipstick across his mouth. He was talking in a funny, high voice like he was playing some sort of game. And I guessed it was pretty obvious that he was.

'It's no different for you, honey,' he repeated. 'It's just me. It's just what I like. $75, OK?'

He didn't look all that bad as a woman. Younger even. And he wasn't fat; he had good muscle tone and firm arms and legs. A flat belly and a nipped-in waist.

If I closed my eyes. . . . And it wasn't like I had to get it up. He said it would be no different. And he had topped me earlier, although for the money, I was willing to try going either way.

I started walking up the stairs again, and as we crossed the hall to the master bedroom, I was impressed on how well he walked in the heels. I guessed he'd done this a lot.

'Please take your clothes off and sit on the side of the bed,' he said.

I watched myself - and him/her in the mirrors as I stripped. That was the thing I'd remembered the most about his bedroom from the other day. The mirrors. He had them everywhere. It had been arousing to me to see myself being fucked no matter how I turned my head. I assumed that the mirrors were there because he found it amusing as well. He wasn't bad looking for an old guy and was a good cocksman - or so I thought, only having Tyler to compare him with. But I thought Tyler must be good at it as much as he was fucking me - and I knew he and my mom really went at it before she got too sick to enjoy it. And, surprising, Collins was as good at it as Tyler was, although he must be at least ten years older than Tyler.

We didn't do it just like we had the first time. This time Mr. Collins spent more time in setting it up - and he had an extra fetish thing going with the lipstick. The color was something that rubbed off easily. Collins made a point of paying attention to nearly every inch of my body with his lips, and I could see that the lipstick was rubbing off on my skin. And he got up every once in a while and renewed it, so that it was always leaving fresh lip marks.

I found quickly that the panties had a slit in them in front, so that his cock came out without having to remove the panties. I sucked him and then he sucked me, being careful to leave distinctive lip-shaped red markings on my cock. He followed this up with lip attention to the rest of my body, and then he had me lay on my back on the edge of the bed, and he came between my thighs and fucked me to mutual ejaculations while we watched ourselves and each other in the mirrors. Although I had been worried about being able to get it up, the setting was so exotic and he was such an expert cocksman that I didn't have any trouble at all. The mirrors helped too.

Afterward, Mr. Collins made me stand in front of a full-length mirror and he took photos of the artwork he'd done on my body with his ruby-red lips before he let me shower and gave me four twenties and told me to keep the change.

I had a pretty busy extracurricular activity schedule at school and on the baseball mound, but I did have Tuesday afternoons free, and Mr. Collins signed up for that time slot. He must have had quite a closet, because he was wearing a different set of lingerie each time - and a different shade of lipstick.

Tuesday's must have been one of his set days with the gardener too, as he was always there, kneeling by the roses and giving me a little nod and smile when I mounted the porch stairs to Mr. Collins's front door.

* * * *

I rather enjoyed the fucking with Mr. Collins, and it worried me that I did, but the money was too good to deny myself and put the brakes on this stuff. At $80 a week, my tin can in the storage shed was going to need company soon. I'd made it to late summer. One more year, my senior year, and I could just walk away from here - and with some serious cash in my pocket. I'd put it all behind me, or so I thought.

I was getting old enough now to accept that I was just fooling myself. I began to become obsessed with the women's lingerie - and wondering about it in connection with my nights with Tyler. I have no idea what caused me to do it, but one afternoon, when rain had wiped out a baseball practice and Tyler wouldn't be home for hours, I stole into the master bedroom and started browsing through the drawers in my mother's bureau. Tyler had done nothing about getting rid of her clothes.

I found her intimate lingerie in one of the lower drawers and I took a pair of black lace panties back to my bedroom and stripped and put them on and walked around the house for a half hour. It didn't give me quite the thrill I thought it might, but just the idea of how I wanted it to make me feel made me hard.

And then Tyler went four nights without visiting my bedroom. I didn't think he was doing this on purpose at the time, but now I think he did. Now I think he wanted me to take that last step. The first two nights I luxuriated in a full night's sleep. The third night I couldn't sleep and kept looking at my door, waiting for it to open and for Tyler to slip into the room and into my bed. On the four night I was in a stew, wondering what was wrong, why he wasn't coming.

On the fifth night I could take it no longer. I padded out of bed, stripped off my sleeping shorts, and slipped on the black lace panties I'd purloined from my mother's drawer.

Tyler was awake, on his back, no doubt waiting for me - although I didn't know it at the time. I climbed onto the bed and straddled his pelvis. He laughed and pulled my face down to his and kissed me deeply on the mouth. I could feel his cock come alive. He moved his hands over my bare torso as we kissed and then down to my hips, and I felt the jerk in his cock and heard the low gasp when he learned I was wearing lace panties. He let me know he enjoyed that a lot - but he didn't enjoy it so much that it prevented him from gripping the flimsy material covering my buttocks on both sides and rending it apart with a low ripping sound and then settling my channel on his cock through the slit he'd made.

He laid there, providing the ramrod, and smiling up into my face as I did all of the work, riding his cock in undulating waves. When he had shot his load up into me, he laughed his ultimate victory over me, the fulfillment of my conditioning.

Later, in my own room again, I couldn't sleep. I had come in the panties in Tyler's room and he'd kept them as a trophy, so I was in my sleeping shorts once more.

It had already rained once and then stopped, and I could hear the splatter of precursory rain drops once again on the window. They were promising quite a storm tonight.

I liked watching storms, and Tyler's laugh at the conclusion of our sex had awakened me to what he had conditioned me to do - that final step of me coming to him, wanting it, and willing to do all of the work to get it. This depressed me, and for the first time I wondered if staying around to complete high school was going to be the end of it - whether I could break away from Tyler even after that. And, even more depressing, I was beginning to doubt if the high school diploma was the real reason I was staying around - whether I wasn't completely under Tyler's spell now.

I couldn't sleep, so I got out of bed and took a Coke from the refrigerator and walked out onto the front porch, just in my sleeping shorts, to welcome the coming storm and to try to force my racing brain to be lost in watching the thunder and lightning show.

I had finished the Coke and gotten tired of waiting for the storm to arrive. I turned to go back into the house, but I was grabbed from behind and tossed out into the yard. I landed on the wet grass and someone was on my back, his knee in the small of my back, and my hands were pulled behind me and being tied off. A burlap sack was pulled over my head and I was roughly pulled up and frog marched across the yard, tossed into the back seat of a car, and, after doors slammed, the car was on the move.

I have no idea how long we drove; I was too stunned by the sudden assault to keep any sort of track, but the car eventually stopped after a particularly bumpy ride at the last. I could hear the pattering of rain on the metal roof. The storm was starting. I heard a door open at the front of the car - and slam shut - and then one of the doors to the rear seat opened, and I almost tumbled out of the car. Strong hands grabbed me, though, and lift and tossed me toward the other side of the car. Someone was in the back seat with me. His chest was pressing in on mine - he was bare-chested, so I knew it was a man, and heavy muscled and slick with sweat. I heard and felt the ripping of my sleeping shorts - and heavy breathing. Whoever it was was too agitated to just pull my pants off. I was wedged, facing up, in the back corner of the seat. The seat was wide and plush, I figured some older model car - something American and from the 60s, maybe.

Rough hands were forcing my thighs apart and raising my legs, and the man was between my legs, and I screamed as a cock far thicker than either Tyler's or Mr. Collins's split me and forced itself deep inside my channel and I was being furiously fucked. He bit into my nipple and I cried out in pain again. I began to sneeze from the dustiness of the sack over my head. I tried to suppress it, thinking, 'No, please don't take the sack off, please don't take the sack off' - knowing that if he did I would see what he looked like. And if he didn't care if I knew what he looked like, then . . .

I couldn't suppress the sneezing, though, and also began to cough. And the sack was drawn off my head.

It was Mr. Collins's gardener.

'Why?' I cried out.

He backhanded me across the face and growled, 'Shut the fuck up.'

And I turned my head toward the window in the passenger door I was wedged up against and watched the storm roll over us. There was thunder and lightning aplenty, and it seemed like each clap of thunder and flash of lightning was accompanied by a ramrod splitting me asunder. Each time the thunder clapped, I lurched at the thrust of his cock inside me, each time thinking he couldn't go further down inside me, widen my channel with his monster tool any wider, but, with each thunder clap, he did.

He fucked me with intense purpose and abandon, and I moaned and groaned at how much fuller and more intense his taking of me was than Tyler's and Collins's fuckings were. He wanted me and drilled me in ways they hadn't done, moving deep inside me, relentlessly fucking, making me writhe and whimper and cry out, afraid of what came after this, and then, because he was at it so long and so deep, afraid that this was the last of me - fucked to death. I had ejaculated a long time before he exploded and fell on top of me, sweaty and panting. Holding me tight, his breathing becoming less ragged but his cock coming back to life inside me the longer he held me there.

The second fucking, in consort with the abating of the thunderstorm into a gentle rain, was slower, more methodic and longer, with his hands now searching my body more, as if assuring himself that I actually was here, that the snatch and furious fuck that went before were real, not just one of the longing wet dreams that had driven him to do this.

When he was finished, he covered my head with the sack again and went over the front seat back into the driver's position while I whimpered, exhausted and taken as neither Tyler nor Mr. Collins had ever done with me.

We drove on for a half hour or more, and I sensed when we turned off asphalt and onto gravel and then, eventually onto dirt - probably mud now. The last quarter of a mile or more was on jarringly rough road.

I was bundled out of the car, across uneven dirt, and up onto a wooden porch - which I discern because I was barefooted, and then through a door which was closed behind us. I heard two bolts being thrown on the door and the scrape of a key in a lock. The sack was jerked off my head again.

He had prepared for me. This wasn't a casual snatch. We were standing in a log cabin that was about twenty feet square. The windows were all shuttered from at least the inside. There was a double bed in one corner and chains were welded to the wall above the headboard. At the loose end of the chains were wrist clamps, and this was where the gardener herded me - over to the bed, where he pushed me down on my belly. He untied my binding and turned me over on my back on the bed and forcing my wrists into the wrist clamps. The chains attached to the walls were short, and I couldn't move my hands below my shoulders as I lay on the bed.

The gardener stripped off his wet jeans and his briefs and came down on the bed, forcing his knees between my thighs and sliding them under my buttocks. Then he thrust his cock inside my channel again, and fucked me for a third time - long and hard, with animalistic noises like he'd been building up to do this for months and hadn't had sex in the meantime.

He said nothing to me, didn't answer my whimpered questions or respond to my pleadings. If he hadn't told me to shut up in the car in half-decent English, I would have thought there was a language barrier between us. There certainly wasn't any other barrier between us.

He got out of the bed and padded around turning off lights. I had only a brief opportunity to see what was there, while he was doing so. Just one room. A small kitchenette area over on the front wall by the door we'd come through. This bed was in one back corner and a raised tin square about three foot square was in the other back corner. A shower head was on the wall above this. A toilet was set in the wall at one side of the open shower square and a white porcelain sink on the other. Thus, the room was completely exposed. There was an old couch with the stuffing coming out. A small desk against the front wall, on the other side of the door from the kitchenette - with a laptop computer on it - a round wood table with three mismatched straight chairs in the center of the room, and an overstuffed chair that didn't match the couch.

Just this one bed. When he'd turned out the lights, he came back to the bed and stretched beside me and almost instantly started to snore. It took me longer to go to sleep, and shortly after that, he was waking me again, turning me on my belly - with my chained arms crossed above me - and straddling my hips and fucking me again.

When I woke in the morning, he'd changed the chains. They were longer now, enough so that I could get out of the bed and stand and walk maybe three feet from the bed. There was a hunk of bread and a cup of cold coffee on the nightstand next to the bed and two tin bowls on the floor below that. One was about a third filled with water and there was a sponge floating in it. The other was empty and had a half of roll of toilet paper in it. I could pretty much tell what both of those bowls were for.

The gardener was pissing in the toilet on the other side of the room. He was still naked, as, of course, was I. I listened as he emptied his bladder in a long, steady stream going on for almost a minute.

I wolfed down the bread and drank the coffee as the gardener moved to the sink and brushed his teeth and shaved. He still looked like an Hispanic to me. But he had a well-worked body, muscles bulging on muscles, and his cock and balls were hanging heavy. He was taking side glances at me as I sat on the edge of the bed and chewed on the bread, and I could see that he was getting hard again.

So, I wasn't surprised when he put his razor down when he'd only half shaved and came over and grabbed for my legs while I sat on the bed. I slapped at his hands as best I could and told him no as emphatically as I was able, but he just stunned me again with a backhanded slap across my face that snapped my head to one side, and roughly grabbed my legs, tipping me back on the bed, and crouched been my thighs and fucked me to his ejaculation.

When he was finished with me, he just left me there, my heels dug into the corners of the bed and my legs spread and trembling, and me moaning softly, and went back to his shaving. He took a shower, dressed in his gardening work clothes, and was gone for the rest of the day.

The first thing he did when he returned to the cabin that night was fuck me again. He obviously had been building up to this and looking forward to it for some time. After that, he usually didn't do it more than once a day, but he never got tired of doing it.

When the first weekend came up, he brought out some red lace panties he had been keeping hidden somewhere, put a slit up the middle of them in back with a knife, and forced them over my legs. He then sat on the edge of the bed, forced me onto his lap and cock - through the slit in the panties - with me facing away from him and stroked my cock through the material of the panties until we both had come. He hung the torn panties with my cum in them on the bedpost, where they remained for a week. I now knew that he'd been peeping on me at Mr. Collins - and probably at my own house too while Tyler was fucking me.

And I now also knew what had prompted this elaborate scheme.

I stayed with Julio - for after the first few weeks I ascertained at least that much about him, that his name was Julio - for thirteen months. I knew it was thirteen months, because he had a calendar hanging above the desk and he delighted in marking off the days. He delighted even more in the first few weeks he held me captive in marking off each time he fucked me. And there were more of the latter marks than the former.

Slowly, over the initial months, he lengthened my chains in stages of trust. The longest addition, permitting me full access to the cabin so that I then could shower in the corner stall too and go to the toilet properly and have access to food and drink was the night I woke him up and straddled his cock and fucked myself on him. That was a watershed of him believing I wanted him now and that he'd won me over.

He took the shutters off the windows soon after that, and I discovered we were in the deep woods, with a clearing for a power line not far in front of the cabin and railroad tracks in back. I'd already ascertained that a train ran by somewhere near at three set times a day, as it was about the only sound of life outside the cabin I'd heard for two months at that point. It didn't escape my notice either that the train ran slow in this section of the forest.

By that time I'd figured I was here for good - or at least until something drastic happened. No one had come for me; there was no hint that anyone was looking for me. And I thought that figured. I was over eighteen. The school system couldn't touch me if I'd decided just to drop out. And Tyler wouldn't come looking for me; he would just have figured that I'd had enough and had cleared out that night I disappeared. I had screamed obscenities at him the night I'd left - mad, frustrated, and angry that he'd tricked me into coming to his room on my own for the fuck and begging for the fuck - and taking all responsibility for it. Tyler would neither wonder at me leaving that night nor want anyone to look into my disappearance too closely.

So, I was on my own. And seeing the effect of initiating the fuck on Julio - which I had tried as an experiment - had given me hope of being able to work on his vanity. I was making use now of what Tyler had taught me in his conditioning - he had taught me to move from one frame of mind to another just by gradual reconditioning. In Julio's case the method could still be sex, which Julio was obsessed with, but the goal would be developing a level of trust that would, I hoped, eventually set me free.

I made him believe I couldn't get enough of his cock now - and I admitted even to myself that it was, indeed, a very nice cock. I went after him and gave him master head, something he'd never had done before, and more often than not I was initiating the sex - and complimenting him on what a great lover he was. I asked him to bring more lacy and silky panties, and we repeated the fetish that he seemed to enjoy so much.

Increasingly, he was giving me little freedoms and favors here and there. And I was showing appreciation for them and doing my best to convince him that I was here by choice now.

Then, purposely, I went into a blue funk. He, of course, asked me why, noticing that my end of the lovemaking had become lethargic. I told him I was bored - and wanted to use the Internet. He said that wasn't possible. I cried and pouted and told him that I wanted to study - that I could complete my high school via the Internet by taking GED - general education diploma - classes on line. He told me he couldn't really trust me alone on the Internet, and I said, he could use the keyboard and I'd just sit there and do the class work.

He wanted good sex again, so he gave in to me. I started working on a GED on line to complete my last year of high school - thinking that if nothing else in life I could try to fulfill the promise I'd made to my mother. And, in turn, I gave Julio great sex again.

After a month of acting as intermediary for my studies, Julio got bored and let me do the classes myself. I was careful to stick to only that on the Internet, though, as he tested me several times to make sure that was all I was doing. And I gave Julio really great sex, thinking of inventive positions that he'd never even dreamed of before.

I had him convinced in the first eight months that I couldn't live without him, that all of the police in the state couldn't close in on the cabin and pry me from his bed.

The chains came off completely. But I was still naked. Julio had never permitted me to wear a stitch of clothes. That was one hedge on me not going anywhere. He had locks on the doors of the drawers and closet he used for his clothes and he kept them all secure.

For a couple of more months he still locked me in the cabin and shuttered the windows, using the outside shutters, when he went to work. I gave him no reason to think I'd even thought about trying to escape, and I always had my legs open for him, begging for it, when he came home.

He was the world's greatest stud. I couldn't go five hours without a cocking by him and by him only. I made him believe that.

I had complete freedom of the cabin and its environs for a full month during which he laid many a scheme to catch any sign that I'd tried to leave him.

At the end of that month, I completely finished my online GED work. I went to a virtual graduation ceremony, without inviting Julio to it or telling him that I had finished the work - and had a graduation certificate waiting for me on line for whenever I wanted to download it.

The next day, a Tuesday, while Julio presumably was pruning Mr. Collins's roses, I put on trousers and a T-shirt of Julio's that I had kept out of the wash and Julio hadn't noticed were missing when he'd locked his clothes away, dug the pair of old boots out from under the bed that Julio had thought he'd taken to the dump with other trash, and held my breath until I heard the whistle of the train somewhere down the track, where it blew its whistle three times a day at almost exactly the same time.

I caught the train, which was moving slow by the house and hung on to the side of one of the cars while the train chugged into a town - happily, my own town. I walked for two hours in Julio's glumpy boots to my neighborhood and, staying well clear of Mr. Collins's house, slipped into my own back yard. It was a work day, so Tyler was at his office. I busted a pane in the kitchen door and entered the house and found my room just as I had left it - suspecting I would from the example Tyler had set by not getting rid of my mother's things after she died. My wallet with my driver's license and all were right where I'd left them the night I'd been kidnapped. My clothes were there too, and I changed into some of my own clothes, being surprised at how they hung on me after my more than a year a Julio's sex slave. And I put enough clothes for several days in my duffle bag.

I went to the computer and turned it on and went to where my GED diploma was waiting for me. I printed off two copies and folded one of them and put it under the picture of my mom on the mantelpiece. I then took up the duffle, took one circuit around the house to say good-bye to the spirit of my mom, and went out to the storage shed in the back and retrieved the money I'd saved and hidden there.

Within an hour and a half I was back downtown and pushing my way into the door of the naval recruiting station.

And starting a new life, not thinking much where it would take me - but knowing it was a whole hell of a lot better than some of the places I'd already been.

 

Habu

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