Luke thrashed and twisted in his sleep, his bed like quicksand as he got ever more hopelessly entangled in his sheets. He struggled against invisible forces, knocking his pillows to the floor and scaring the cat off her corner of the bed.

In his dream he was in a strange room, his hands and arms held down by invisible men. The more he struggled, the more of them there were, putting their knees on his forearms and their hands on his chest, making sure he couldn't escape.

"You want this," a voice whispered.

"No..." he protested. But in his heart he knew he didn't mean it. It was what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to feel. He wasn't supposed to be so excited by it.

Then one of the men straddled his chest, his crotch in Luke's face. "You want this."


He woke with a shout. He bolted up, breathing hard. What the fuck! He looked at his phone - shit, four o'clock in the morning. Too early to get up and too late to go back to sleep. He lay back down but the sheets were cold and clammy now. He rolled over to the other, dry side of the bed. But now his hard-on was aching, and his bladder, too.

He got up to piss, trying to will away his boner. That dream again, he thought. How many times now? He finally got sick of waiting to go soft, and stuck his dick over the sink and splashed cold water on it. That did the trick, and then he let out a sigh as the stream rushed into the bowl. He smiled - pissing in the bathroom sink, how bachelor was that?

He started his morning, firing up the coffee and the computer, trying to shake off the scene in his head. Where did that crazy ass dream come from? he thought, and another part of him laughed. You know where, it said.

Yeah, he did. From that movie.

He'd been torrenting porn for a while now. His roommate Terry had turned him on to how easy it was to get professional grade stuff for free. And at first, when he was ready to stroke it, he'd just plunge into whatever he'd downloaded. But time after time he found his hand coming off his dick and onto the mouse to skip ahead in the movies, looking for the good parts. Most of the time he would just finish off while watching a half-assed onscreen fucking.

If ever there was a case study on false advertising, porn was it - at least gay porn, though he didn't imagine the straight stuff was any different. "Kyler Pounds Jaxxsin," "Brutal Top Micah Nails Patrick," etc. - all accompanied with descriptions full of equally thrilling adverbs.

"And then, when you watch it, it's like, what the fuck?" He'd complained to Terry one night as they sat on the couch watching the baseball playoffs. "Some guy sprawled on a bed, getting an indifferent blow job, then the bottom sits on his dick for a while. You call that a 'pounding'?"

"No, I don't," Terry said.

"Why the fuck is it so hard to find one guy who loves to truly fuck the shit out of another guy, and another guy who loves to get it, and pay them to do it on camera?"

"Maybe most people want to see that poochie ooh la la sex. They don't like the nasty shit like we do."

"Then why do they advertise it like you're gonna get Sodom and Gomorrah? Why..." He threw up his hands. "I tell you what, dude. You know what I like."

Terry laughed. "Hell yeah I do."

They'd met in a bar when Luke had seen Terry fighting with Tim, one of Luke's exes, and after Tim had stormed out, Luke had talked to him to compare notes. They both had the same problem with Tim - he was a rude dominating bastard in the bedroom, which was what they both loved, but he was also a rude dominating bastard everywhere else, which, well, not so much. Why was it so hard to find someone who knew when to be Jekyll and when to be Hyde?

Luke had raised his beer to swear an oath. "I will pay you the sum of one hundred dollars if you can find me a piece of pornography that gets me off so hard I can't walk. I will pay you to find me a fucking movie that really does have someone pounding that fucking nail into that ass exactly as hard as they promise."

Terry clinked his beer against Luke's. "Brother, you are on."

Luke had forgotten about the deal for a couple of weeks. Porn was low on his priorities list right now. He was busy on a bunch of freelance web design projects, so there just wasn't time. And he didn't have the patience, either, to comb through pages of porn titles, download a handful, and click through them looking for something that would get him off, only to end up deleting them all and having to start over next time he was horny.

Lately he just jacked off in the shower (Terry did too so it was no biggie), thinking of his and Terry's mutual ex, Tim. What a fucking beast he had been...too bad he was an asshole, too.

Then one day he was in the home office he shared with Terry when his roomie came in, a feverish look on his face. "Dude."

"What's wrong?"

Terry smiled. "Nothing."

"Did you just jerk off?"

"Yeah. Oh yeah. In fact, I think....I know I just won our bet."

"What bet?"

"You bet me a hundred bucks I couldn't find a movie that would get you off."

"Well you haven't won it yet." He turned back to his project. "Put it on a stick for me and I'll look at it later."

"Don't wait too long. I need that money for the weekend."

"Yeah, yeah," Luke waved him off.

That night after he finished his work for the day, he shut himself in the bedroom and put the memory stick into his computer. He opened the folder and saw the file name: JAMIE'S BRUTAL ABDUCTION. Whatever. He double clicked it to open it and set VLC to full screen.

Jamie walks a deserted street, fiddling with his MP3 player, earbuds in deep. He doesn't see the van slowly pulling up next to him. Suddenly the van stops and two men jump out, dressed all in black from their ski masks to their Doc Martens. They yank a hood over the surprised man's head and roughly haul him into the van...

On a dirty mattress in an old warehouse, Jamie finds himself handcuffed, surrounded by men still in their ski masks, their pants popping open, their cocks shoved down his throat...they egg each other on, abusing him, using him, taking a knife to his jeans and cutting a vertical rip right over his asshole. He screams as one of the kidnappers shoves his fingers up his ass, a scream muffled by a hand over his mouth, then by the cock shoved down his gullet like a gag...

Luke still had his shorts on, not expecting to be this excited, and now his stiff cock strained up, bumping up against the elastic as if trying to bust out of prison on its own if he wouldn't help it out. He pulled his shorts down, not taking his eyes off the screen, and started stroking his dick.

A door slams, and the men look up at the intruder. "What the fuck is this!" he shouts, clearly the alpha dog. He's the only one without a mask, no shirt, torn jeans and black boots. "You fuckers think you're gonna leave me sloppy seconds?" He grabs the guy getting his dick sucked and throws him down on the floor, giving him a kick.

"We were just warming him up for you, boss," the man complains.

"This bitch is mine, assholes. Now get the fuck out."

Luke is gasping for air. The dude is a fucking god: lean, hairless and ripped, a dark scowl on his face, dark brown hair and eyes. A slightly receding hairline that makes him look like he's got horns. The USMC tattoo on his forearm is the kicker for Luke - a real honest-to-God Marine, how fucking hot is that?

He is pissed. He stalks around his prey, pushing his bitch bottom this way and that with his booted foot, then leans over in front of him, picking him up by the jaw, looks into his eyes. For a minute Jamie must think he's about to get kissed. Then his kidnapper smirks, spits in his face, and follows it up with a sharp slap from the other hand. He shoves the cock whore's face into the mattress with one hand and grabs his own crotch with the other, kneading his obvious woody.

The dude is so turned on by this scene. This isn't acting. This is what he fucking loves to do. He is a fucking pro at working over little faggots like this. He'd fucking make this movie for free.

Luke couldn't believe the tension in his prostate. His asshole was like a black hole, getting smaller and smaller and tighter and tighter like it could suck in the whole universe, all his mansex parts clenching with adrenalized strength like they were ready to lift a car, and then BANG he fucking shot all over the screen, the keyboard, the desk. "Ah, AHH! AHHH!" he shouted, completely forgetting his roomie was home, and completely not caring.

"Oh shit," he gasped, convulsing one more time as the action went on, getting crazier every second. He stopped the video, not wanting to spoil what came next by watching it with a limp dick in hand.

He wiped himself down in the bathroom and did what he could to clean up the computer. Oh shit, I got cum in the keyboard, I hope that doesn't fuck anything up too bad.

Only when he opened his bedroom door to get some wipes did he realize Terry was home. Home, and sitting on the couch with a shit-eating grin.

"That'll be one hundred dollars." He laughed. "I'll take a check."

What Luke loved best about being his own boss was making his own schedule. And these days that meant making lots of time for "Jamie's Brutal Abduction," and his growing obsession with the star, Slader Jacobs. He found a short interview on YouTube where Slader, sitting on a park bench with his shirt off, answered a few questions.

"So tell us about your tats. Is that Elvish around your arm?"

"Yeah, that's the One Ring, man."

"... 'and in the darkness bind them,' is that your motto?"

"One of 'em."

"And you were in the Marines?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his taut smooth belly. "Couple years."

"You get it on with some of the other jarheads?"

Slader laughed. "You gotta ask? Man, they jack you up in there to be the most aggressive motherfucker on the planet, you're working out all the time, you're always watching war movies, and when you're just sitting there waiting for something to happen and you can't shoot anything, what the fuck do you do with all that aggression? It's just you and a bunch of bored young horny motherfuckers in top shape, man, band of brothers, who's going to ever tell on a brother if he sucks a dick to help a brother out?"

"So you're really gay?"

He shrugged. "No, I'm not gay, I'm not straight." He grinned his feral grin. "I'm horny."

"So I hear you have a side business..."

"Yeah, porn doesn't pay that much, you know, and I'm not stupid, people get sick of looking at you and move on, you get old, you get fat, whatever. But after I did this one big hit..."

"'Jamie's Brutal Abduction.'"

"Yeah, that one. After that, guys in bars would start asking me if I'd kidnap 'em. Offering me serious fucking money to do it, too. So I thought about that, and I realized, you know, I'm not going to be an escort, I'm not gonna fuck guys for money, but if somebody wants to pay for that experience, for the 'everything but,' you know, that's hot. I can do that."

Luke froze in his seat. Not only had he found the hottest guy in the world in the hottest movie ever, but he could be in that movie. It could be him on that dirty mattress, naked and bound...Okay so maybe he wouldn't be getting all those cocks in his throat and his ass, but fuck! Some of the hottest tops he'd ever been with had never stuck their dicks in him, just fucking abused and tormented him with his own frustrated lust until he popped. And that experience would last him through a hundred jerkoff sessions at least.

"So you must be busy then."

"Not really, man. It's an expensive proposition. There's a lot of overhead you know? A van, the other guys, a dirty basement to put the little faggot for a day or two, not everyone can afford it. And a lot of people call, you know, they want me to talk about the process and how it'll go for them and then they fucking jack off and my time's wasted. So I charge $500 now just to have the conversation, and if you're serious it's a down payment, if you're not, fuck you pay me," he laughed.

"Well, thanks for your time, Slader. How can people get a hold of you?"

"Google me, man. Not that hard."

Luke Googled. He found Slader's website, and skipped all the "About Me" and "Gallery" and "Movies" links and went straight to "Services."

NON SEXUAL kidnap fantasy service. You know what this is or you wouldn't be here. It's $3,000. Send me $500 via PayPal and I'll call you.

Damn, that was a lot of money. Three thousand bucks...he could get a lot of new equipment for that. Take a nice long vacation. Or make a memory to last a lifetime.

He logged into PayPal. He looked at the message box on the Send Money page. What to say? I love your movie. I fucking worship you. I would pay ANYTHING to get you to fuck me like that, and if I can't get that, I want to get as close to it as I can.

Like he doesn't know that, if you're sending him five hundred dollars just to talk about it! Instead, he just wrote his name and his phone number and clicked Send.

When a week passed and he hadn't heard anything, he started cycling between glum, angry, and optimistic. He's a porn star, his sensible side told him. Not exactly the most stable people in the world. Yeah but I paid five hundred dollars for a fucking phone call! How hard is that to do, to take fucking five minutes of time? Maybe it's part of the game, he told himself. Maybe it's his way of showing you he's in control. He hoped for the latter.

The phone rang one day while he was out running errands. He looked at the number - blocked - and almost didn't answer it. Could be a new client, though, he thought, and ducked into an alley to muffle the traffic noise on the busy street.


"So you want to get kidnapped." The voice was smooth, a little contemptuous.

"Y...yeah," he stuttered, his throat suddenly dry.


"The movie. I can't stop jerking off to it."

"Why's that."

"It's..." He knew just saying "it's hot" was the wrong answer, the boring stupid answer. He could already tell from Slader's bored tone that he would have to work just to keep him on the line.

"I finally found a movie that delivers what it promises. They all say rough this and hard that, and it's all bullshit. You fucking take that guy and truly gang-bang him. It's not acting. His face, man, he's in real pain when you shove your dick in him. I mean you fucking shove that big piece in there, with one stroke. And you. You love it. The more he bucks and the more it hurts, the harder you grab him, the harder you shove his face into the mattress."

Luke sighed. "I'm sick of it, you know? I'm sick of fucking half-ass sex and half-ass guys. And even if this is 'everything but,' fuck man, everything but is still hotter than anything else I'm getting these days."

The silence on the end of the line seemed to go on forever. Then Slader said, "So you'd fucking love it if right now someone drove up and blocked that alley you're standing in and threw you into a van."

Luke's blood pressure soared. He was watching me right now! How the fuck could he find me with just... He thought about it. "Just" his phone number and email address and name.

"Yeah man. Yeah."

Another silence, shorter this time. "Well, that ain't gonna happen." Luke let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Relieved and disappointed at the same time. "Because you pay in full first."


"You'll get 24 hours notice. So when you disappear, nobody freaks and calls the cops. Sometime the day after you get the call, it happens. And that'll be when I'm good and ready."

" long will I be gone?"

"How long you wanna be gone?"

"A day..a night...?"

"Okay, I might let you out that soon. Better tell people you'll be gone a couple days."


"Non sexual, right? You're aware that this is a perfectly legal operation?"


"I'm emailing you a consent form. Gotta protect myself."


"Be ready." He hung up.

"You seem jittery," Terry said one day.

"Lot on my mind, lot going on."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." It was killing him not to tell his friend, but that had been part of the deal. Nobody must know. And to be honest, telling someone would make it a game, a lark. Keeping the secret made it...dangerous. Exciting. Because who knew, what if this guy was a psycho? What if it wasn't a game? His instincts told him it would be okay, this was a legitimate business that had a fucking lawyer drawing up contracts...even as another part of him thought, something, everything could go wrong.

Another week passed. He was out to dinner with friends one night, and they'd long ago agreed to silence their phones and pile them in the middle of the table when the first drinks arrived, and not look at them until after the bill was settled. Which was killing him, thinking, what if he's calling now, what if he's expecting me to pick up? What if I don't answer, is the deal off?

After dinner, he was a little wobbly from the wine. He'd been eating light for a week now, telling himself it was a good time to cut back, but the reality of it was, he was hoping against hope that his "non-sexual" experience would turn out all kinds of sexual, and who wanted to be stuffed full of food when that happened?

He checked his phone - just a text. He clicked it open.

You've been called out of town on business. You're leaving tomorrow night. We'll find you. Take a long walk around midnight tomorrow.

Already flushed from the wine, Luke turned red. "Bad news," someone asked him.

"No, no. Great news."

The next day, Luke made a big deal out of packing a carry bag as if he was going somewhere he'd need all that shit. He hooked up the douchenozzle to the shower and cleaned himself out a couple times. All for nothing, sure, no doubt, non sexual, but what if, what if...

He left the house at 11. The streets in his neighborhood were pretty quiet this time of night. He wanted to turn around every time he heard a car slow down alongside him, willed himself not to. He would see a white van parked on the street and would think, is this it? He never thought about how damn many of those there were before - now they seemed to be everywhere. He suppressed the urge to cross the street when he saw one, some animal part of him ordering him to flee from danger.

Twelve passed, and he walked some more. Then it was nearly one o'clock. Fuck! He was getting tired, the adrenaline wearing off. He saw activity ahead of him and it surged again for a moment, before he realized it was just some guys offloading boxes out of a panel truck in front of an all night deli. No masks, no hoods, just some working class guys doing their job. He was starting to feel stupid about the whole thing.

He was just passing by when one of the guys dropped a box in front of him. Bottles broke and he was splashed with some kind of red juice. "Oh, sorry man, shit that got on you. Let me get a towel."

"No, that's fine, I'm okay."

"No, here," he said, reaching into the truck. Luke followed him off the curb and looked in the back.

Hands reached out and grabbed him, while the guy behind him gave him a push. Before he knew it, the door was rolled down shut behind him, the engine roared to life, his arms were wrenched behind him and handcuffed. He was thrown down hard onto on the metal floor of the truck, his head bumped hard against the side. Then he heard Slader Jacobs' voice in his ear as the truck sped off.

"Don't. Fucking. Move."

The shock was wearing off and the adrenaline kicking in. He was breathing hard and fast - as hard as he could with a knife to his throat. He could feel the edge of the blade nicking his skin. He was afraid to swallow.

The knife came away after he'd proven he wouldn't shout, and a hood was drawn over his head - burlap, painfully scratchy on his face, and he could feel it being tied close around his neck. What the fuck have I gotten myself into, he thought, pulse racing.

He was on his knees, trying to keep his balance as best he could with his hands behind his back as the truck took its turns and swings. He had no idea how many men were in the truck with him.

Finally they stopped somewhere. Two men up front, he realized, as he heard both doors slam. The rear door rolled up and he was picked up by two guys like a bag of potatoes and handed to the others on the ground. They each took an arm and led him. He heard keys, then a padlock clicking, a chain tick-ticking as it came off a fence, and a gate swinging open. They rushed him, pulling him forward so he stumbled, his feet dragging behind him, all his senses wanting him to stop in his tracks because they couldn't tell where he was going.

A big creaky door opened and he was being taken down steps. Ten, twelve, fourteen, he counted. It was basement-cold, the fifty-something degrees a basement always. It was brightly lit, he could tell through the burlap. Then, suddenly, it wasn't - the lights were off. The two men on either side of him shoved him to his knees and took off the bag.

Slader's three accomplices were lean and fit, one of them built like a brick shithouse. Luke wondered if they were all Marines, and started to get hard thinking about it. All of them wore masks now, except Slader. Luke hadn't had a long enough chance to see their faces on the street, paying attention as they'd intended to the stain on his pants, and now he would never see them.

"Take off his shoes," Slader said, and they stripped them off his feet. Slader stood in front of him, his cock at eye level. "You're our prisoner now, you understand?"


Slader slapped him, hard. His head turned with the impact.

"Try again, faggot."

"Yes, sir."

"There you go. You see that?" he said, and Luke turned to look. There was a dirty old mattress (just like the movie, he thought), and a big metal ring embedded in the wall above it. "That's your new home. You behave, you get treated well. You don't..." He slapped him again. "You get it?"

"Yes, sir." Luke's skin was stinging from the blow, but his cock was starting to throb.

"Take off his pants," Slader commanded. They unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then threw him face down on the mattress and pulled them off, leaving him bare from the waist down save for his white socks.

Slader laughed. "Shit, look at that. Fucking queer went out tonight without his skivvies. What was he hoping to get?" He straddled Luke and shoved his face into the mattress, leaning down to stage-whisper in his ear. "What did I tell you, son? Non. Fucking. Sexual. You don't get any cock in that ass, you hear? Fucking pig."

The rest of them laughed. "Look at that ass," one said. "I'd fuck it. I'd fucking wreck it."

"Yeah, well you aren't getting paid to wreck it. I'm a legitimate businessman now. Fix him up there."

They took off his handcuffs, yanked off his t-shirt, and brought out a set of chains. They threaded the chain through the ring in the wall and started wrapping it tightly around his wrists as they held them behind his back. They knew what they were doing; there was just enough chain to wrap each wrist four times, then they padlocked the chain on each side, securing the last link to one above it. He was on his ass now, his arms held behind him but loosely. He could move a little, could sit down, but he wasn't going far.

Suspended above him was a water jug with a long sipper, like something you'd give a hamster, Luke thought. "Make sure he can reach it," Slader said. "Don't want no dead bodies stinkin' up the place."

Luke had to prove he could pull a drink of water off the sipper before they were satisfied. Slader nodded. "Okay, good work, let's get a beer. We'll be back for you later. Maybe." They all laughed and headed up the stairs.

They left one light on, a dim bulb over the stairs. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around his prison. There was a TV on the wall in front of him, and a single speaker to the left to the mattress. Other than the water bottle, that was it. He was naked, cold, and scared.

And horny as fuck. Being manhandled like that had given him a raging boner. It had been almost exactly like the movie...until now. Until instead of unzipping their own pants and shoving their cocks down his throat, they'd just...walked out.

Suddenly the TV came to life. Then a movie started. He almost laughed - it was "Jamie's Bareback Abduction."

"That's what you were hoping for, wasn't it, you sick fuck," came a voice from the speaker. Luke nearly jumped out of his skin. It was Slader, whispering into a microphone upstairs. "Can you touch yourself in those chains?"

"I...I don't know."

"WELL FUCKING FIND OUT!" The voice almost deafened him, echoing in the cold concrete basement.

Luke had to maneuver himself, sitting up against the wall so that his left hand was up behind his head, right against the ring, so all the play in the chain left him free to stroke himself with his right hand.

"You guys see this?"

In the background, their voices. "Yeah, man." There must be a camera somewhere - maybe a webcam in the TV, Luke thought.

"So show us how much you love this movie. How much you want to get fucking gang raped by a bunch of dudes."

Luke took a drink off the sipper, to get his saliva going, and got some spit on his hand to help lube his cock. He'd gone semi-soft from the shock of the speaker, and then came the scene where Slader burst in and scattered the other guys, claiming the little slut for himself, and his stiffie came back full force. Luke stroked himself, looking at the staircase, then back at the TV, waiting for Slader to come down and do this, all this, to him.

"Please," he whispered. "I'll pay anything."

"Of course you will. But guess what, motherfucker. Some things aren't for sale. Now fucking touch yourself."

Luke couldn't help himself. He wouldn't believe it, wouldn't believe that he couldn't offer himself so completely to Slader that he wouldn't take him up on it. He could do this, he could prove that he was worthy, that he wouldn't scream and cry and change his mind like some little half-assed sissy who ran away when he was this close to getting what he wanted.

"Come on," he said, looking at the staircase. "All of you. Come on."

The speaker was silent. He worked his dick harder and harder, slapping it around, slapping himself in the face, twisting each nipple till the pain was evident on his face. They should know what I want, what I can take, what I need.

"I fucking need it. I" On his knees, back arched, left hand holding on for dear life to the ring, he shot his load across the mattress, his eyes fixed not on the screen but on the stairs, still willing them to come.

Finally, spent, he collapsed on the mattress.

"Drink," the speaker commanded, but quietly. Luke drank his fill, and fell back on the mattress.

The TV went off. Then the light over the stairs. Luke rolled over and slept the sleep of the dead.

He woke up...when? The next day? There were no windows, no way to tell what time it was. They were coming down the stairs, one of them hauling what looked like an IV stand, the other with arms full of restraint straps.

"Up and at 'em," Slader said. Luke tried to rub his eyes and was pulled up short - the chain wouldn't let both hands reach his face. They unlocked the padlocks, unchained him, and threw the chain in a corner.

One of them put a bucket in front of him. "Piss in this," he said. It was the one who said he'd wreck Luke's ass. He looked up but the eyes in the ski mask were unreadable. Luke wasn't shy; he let go a stream into the bucket, thanking his foresight in douching out so, if nothing else, at least he wouldn't have to take a crap.

Two of the guys tucked the restraint straps under the mattress. It was an X shape system that Luke knew from experience would keep him from using his hands or feet to escape around a corner of the mattress. "Face down," Slader said. Luke lay face down on the musty old mattress, which reeked of stale sweat, old cum and piss. Each of the four men grabbed a limb, and tied him down. They checked the straps and pulled them tight, making sure there was no give, until he was completely spread-eagled. Luke started getting hard. This is it! Fuck yeah!

Then he heard the IV rattling as they positioned it. What was that for?

"Look right to you?"

"Yeah, about right. Test it."

Luke felt a small splat land on the small of his back.

"Little lower."

A drop of something landed on his ass crack, just above his hole. "Yeah," one laughed. "That's it."

Slader gave him a little kick in the side. "You know what that is?"

"No, sir."

"That's a lube drip. Right on your ass. You wanna be a good boy?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then I want to see you work that asshole. I want to see you open it up and suck that fucking lube right down in there. I wanna see you fucking begging for it. Even though," and he gave him another little kick, "never forget, there ain't no dick going up there. You hear me?"

"Yes sir." He almost left the sir off, wanted to feel the sharp crack of Slader's hand on his face. But he didn't dare.

They left again. He could feel the lube dripping from above him, only the smallest dollop every minute. He pulled himself up the bed an inch; he only had a few inches of mobility the way he was bound. He arched his back to spread his cheeks, trying to catch the lube right on his asshole. After a few minutes, he was getting it right on his hole. The first time he twitched a little from the shock of it, and it slid down and away. He concentrated on holding still, counting down the minute. He counted out loud every ten seconds, and at ten seconds to go, he held still and relaxed his asshole, tipping his ass up to get the lube right...there. Then he'd squeeze, trying to suck it in, trying to keep as much as possible in his hole.

Time passed. There was a puddle on his balls, then on the mattress. His dick was still hard, and now between drops, he started to wriggle around enough to get the lube on the mattress onto his dick. Then he could start thrusting it into the slick fiber without rubbing it raw. His fists clenched as he tugged futilely against the restraints, his every desire trying to send his hand to his cock to work it, to his asshole to stuff the thick sauce splattered on his ass deep inside.

"Very nice," the speaker whispered. "You win a prize."

The door upstairs opened and two men - neither of them Slader - came down carrying some metal apparatus. Another carried a big round mirror, old and speckled where the reflective surface had flaked away. It was propped in the corner where Luke could see what was happening behind him. The lube drip was wheeled away.

It wasn't until he saw one of them running out the extension cord that he realized - it was a fucking machine. He watched as one of them fitted a fat dildo onto the end of the prong. It must have been seven inches around and ten long. Oh my god that would fucking kill me, he thought. He'd always stayed away from dildos, never wanted his ass to be stretched out like that.

The speaker crackled. "I told you no cock in your ass, but I never said anything about anything else, did I?" Laughter in the background. "Perfectly legal. You ready for it?"

"Y...yes, sir. I mean I's huge."

Slader laughed. "Yeah it is, isn't it. You'll take it, you'll see."

They finished setting it up, pointed straight at his ass. They slathered it with thick, greasy lube. There'd been no point in catching the slick stuff with his ass, it had only been a test - there was so much cream on this dildo you could grease a pig with it. Then they left. What the fuck? Luke thought. He was afraid of the giant dildo but more afraid of being left here looking at it, waiting for something to feed his ravenous ass.

Then he heard it come to life. A faint humming. But it wasn't moving. He watched it in the mirror, waiting for the violation to come, wondering how loud he would scream when that thing ripped him open.

A few minutes passed. Another test, he thought. Prove it, prove you want it. He buried his face in the mattress and waited for it to come to life and punch him in the guts, trying to keep his hole relaxed to minimize the pain.

Suddenly he felt something touching his ass cheek. He looked in the mirror. It was on - it had been moving the whole time! It was moving as fast as a glacier, but it was moving, painfully slowly.

"Relax," Slader said. "It's going in there. Just relax and fucking enjoy it."

The huge dildo pushed up against his asshole, slowly but insistently. There was nowhere for him to go. The pressure built slowly on his hole, and he felt it, knew it, any second now.

"Deep breath." He did as he was told.

"Now, let it out slowly." And as he did, relaxing, the head of the monstrous dildo slowly pushed inside him.

"Oh fuck," he said, letting it in, no choice in the matter. "Fuck."

The fucking machine pushed the dildo in, further, further, till he was full to bursting with it. Then when he thought he would die of the pain, when he was sure his prostate would be crushed like a grape, it started retreating. The whine of the machine got louder as it ever so slowly picked up speed.

The TV came back on again. Luke looked in the mirror. But it wasn't the movie.

It was a scene in this room, a scene right here, and Slader and the guys were using and abusing some little faggot. He had a ski mask on just like his attackers. Only HE was getting it, getting their cocks shoved down his throat, passed around a semicircle from one to the next, each one using his hands to shove the prisoner's head down onto the next one's tool. And then he was tied face down, spread-eagled, just like Luke, and Slader jumped on top of him and with one stroke rammed his cock all the way in.

Luke bucked, his cock wet with lube, using the mattress to rub it hard while the dildo fucked him faster and faster.

While Slader pounded away, the others took turns skullfucking him. "Yeah, faggot, fucking take it. You fucking love it. Fucking tear you off the street and give you what you were looking for!"

Luke came, screaming. The dildo machine got even faster, forcing the juice out of him again and again.

Then it was over. The machine withdrew, the TV went off. He lay there gasping. "Come on," he whispered. "Come on. I'm ready. Please."

"Time's up," the speaker said. There was a rustling and a snappy click as the microphone went off. The harsh fluorescent lights were on again. Two men came down and untied him. They threw his clothes at him.

"You're free. Get dressed and get out."

"No! I want what he got. I want..."

He got slapped. "You get what you paid for, motherfucker. Now get out."

Luke staggered home. It was late the next night. He was nearly in tears of frustration. He told himself he'd got what he'd paid for. That he'd been lucky to get a dildo up his throbbing asshole. That he'd felt Slader's skin on his, that rough soldier's hand on his face. He'd paid to be abused, and in the end the final abuse had been having to watch someone else get everything he wanted.

He let himself into his apartment. Terry was out, fortunately. He took a very long shower, cleaning off the grease and the sweat and the cum. He put on a pair of sweats and flopped out on the couch, trying to care about whatever was on SportsCenter. His phone chimed, an incoming call. Not now, he thought, whoever you are. But he answered anyway.

"Good job," Slader said. "Like I said, this is a legitimate business. The guy you saw getting fucked in that movie wasn't a customer."

"Thanks," Luke said, and for all his disappointment and exhaustion, hearing Slader's voice again was sending blood to his crotch.

"I work hard at being a good employer. And that means keeping the employees happy. Man, we get some sad-ass bitches down in there sometimes, and most of the time they go out the door and that's the end of that. But I had some complaints this morning."


"Yeah. Those boys wanted to give you what you were begging for. So maybe someday, maybe someday soon, you'll get it."

"Fuck man, I would do anything for that."

Slader laughed. "You've already done it."

"'ll do the same thing? Send me a text and...?"

"Not exactly. Can't leave a paper trail. See if you paid us for last night, and we text or email you to set up...the next thing, that would make it look like we're delivering the rest of a paid service later, if we follow up that way, see?"

"So how will I..."

"Don't worry," Slader said, and Luke could see the smirk on his face. "We know where you live."

NOW READ THE REST OF THE SAGA OF LUKE AND SLADER!  At the Google Play store, AllRomanceEbooks, or Smashwords.  SO TOTALLY BANNED AND FORBIDDEN at :)


Brad Vance

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