When I came to, I do not know how much later, I felt a bit more comfortable. I had clearly not died and gone to heaven, but I was lying on a pretty good mattress with a pillow, or pillows, under my head. I could not see anything, as I had a dark blindfold over my eyes: probably one of those eye-masks that they give you on long-haul flights. However I could see from the few chinks of light at the side, that I was in daylight, rather than artificial light. That meant that I was no longer in Gary's combined dungeon and torture chamber. That was okay as far as it went; however... To put it as neutrally as I can, I was still well outside my comfort zone.

I was still naked, sore, forcibly restrained and very frightened. My hands were chained to what I presumed was the bed-head. My legs were still being kept wide apart by the metal leg-spreader contraption into which Gary had buckled me earlier. I was therefore still his prisoner. Given that Gary could flip from superficial charm to extreme sadistic violence in a moment, this was not a happy thought. I was now certain that he was a dangerous and unstable psychopath. And I was still completely in his power. No-one knew where I was.

The eye-mask was suddenly ripped away and I could see where I was. I had a pretty good view, as there was a large oval mirror set in the ceiling above me. My spread-eagled "rugby player's physique," which Gary had been good enough to admire earlier, was now somewhat the worse for wear, with ugly red welts where the cat o'nine tails had hit me. Someone had untied my cock and balls, thank heaven. My brutally violated asshole was still very sore. I would have been in denial ('this can't really be happening to me...'), if the evidence had not been so impossible to ignore.

"How d'you feel?" came an amused masculine voice.

I flinched with terror. Gary was there. It was a huge double bed: he was lying nearby, hands behind his head, also looking up at the mirror, which had presumably been placed on the ceiling so that Gary could watch his own erotic encounters. I was in his flat. It was on the top floor of the same building in Old Compton Street as the sex shop. Help me please, God.

"I said, how d'you feel?" he asked, slightly more loudly.

"How d'you think? Sore," I said truthfully.

"Yup: you should be," he said laconically.

He was now almost naked. He had stripped to a minuscule pair of scarlet briefs. They covered about as much as a bodybuilder's posing suit. That was no doubt the reason why Bodybuilder Gary liked them. Much as I hated him at that moment, I had to admit that he looked great: massive and muscular, like a reclining Roman statue of Mars or Hercules; with fig leaf. Like a statue, he was completely smooth. His body had been shaved or waxed, in approved bodybuilder style. I wondered how long the "fig leaf" would remain in place. His hands, now cool again, caressed me in a loving way that I distrusted. He kissed me; this time, very tenderly. I could almost have been his boyfriend. He didn't stop at my mouth: ears, throat, shoulders, nipples, belly; all received his skilful attentions. I started to get aroused. Then I realised where he was about to go next and was horrified. My cock was still very sore, and being 'eaten' by Gary would constitute another kind of violation.

"No! Please not that!"

Gary looked up at me and smiled. Then he grinned sadistically and produced from somewhere the silver cock-probe and tweaked my glans with it.

I uttered a whimper of fear.

"There are worse things than this or my mouth, you know. So far, I've not even tried to use electric torture on you, and I've got all the kit for that!"

"Gary, please!" I was close to tears.

"Okay. Take Five. Take a drink of this." He produced a rubber tube from somewhere.

"What's this?"

"It's nothing nasty: I'm not trying to poison you. But I've not finished with you either; you will be needing energy for what lies ahead, so drink some Red Bull energy drink."

I drank it. He was right: I did need it.

"You're pretty dehydrated. Have some mineral water, too. You've taken no water since this morning; you've sweated a lot and you pissed yourself downstairs while I was flogging you. It often happens."

"What often happens?"

"Captured men being tortured with extreme BDSM often lose control and void their bladders. I thought everyone knew that? I've seen it often enough."

"I could believe that, but no; I don't think that it's widely known. I thought that you were going to kill me!"

He laughed: "Murder? I am capable of it. But no; I'm not going to kill you; not now, anyway. I'm enjoying you too much."

"So what is going to happen to me?"

Gary looked at me. "You're going to be fucked, of course." He said it in a reasonable, matter of fact tone.

I was close to tears: "Why, Gary, why?"

"Why, Gary, why?" he reflected. "Well... it's something I've wanted to do for a long time. Now I can. And although you seem to have forgotten, you've fucked me about a score of times; not always very gently. Now it's payback time!" He smiled cheerfully, damn him.

"Please not! For the last time, you've got the wrong man! I've never met you, never mind fucked you! You've already almost killed me with that bloody African Prince!" I started crying helplessly. "Oh God, what have I done to deserve this?"

"I didn't know you believed in Him! More seriously, you've done quite a lot, actually," said Gary. "But it won't be with the African Prince: I'm going to fuck you with my own cock. It's a good size, but it's smaller than the Prince, you'll be relieved to hear. Anyway, that's for later. I now have a good idea of your limits. Fit though you may be, you need time to recover. Just now, I want to talk."

He seemed almost pleasant, but I had no reason to trust Gary. I was by now scared stiff of him and I think I showed it. He noticed, because he even paid me a back-handed compliment:

"Look," he said. "You can't really be such a wimp, because you play rugby. That is not a game for cowards. I've seen you being hurt quite badly on the pitch. You must remember this: one time you were almost broken up: You did in fact break a couple of ribs, as I recall. I was there and I read about it afterwards. You were carried off the pitch by the Physios; a wounded hero, cursing under your breath and gritting your teeth: rain, blood, tears and sweat trickling down your face - and everywhere else - smeared with mud; your shorts and shirt torn to ribbons. You'd been deliberately set upon by two opposing Forwards; that was clear to me, if not to the Referee! Two weeks later you were playing again! Everybody said how plucky you were.

Gary paused and looked at me. I said nothing. He continued:

"I admit that I love watching you suffer pain. It's orgasmic! When the pain bites, you open your mouth to gasp, swear and bellow; your muscles stand out; your fair hair gets messed; your cock gets ramrod-stiff. I want to enjoy all that again. And even if I were about to kill you, I'd expect you to die bravely. So don't behave like a wimp now. Man up!"

The effrontery of this calm, irrational remark from my torturer needs no underlining. For a moment I was gobsmacked, but not for long:

"Gary, it's not the same at all. Look, rugby is a game. This clearly is not a game to you. You're deadly serious. And apart from the pain you've inflicted on me, you bastard, you are the most frightening man I've ever met..."

Here, he gave me a look that would have stopped an enraged lion in its tracks.

"Bastard? Watch your language!" he growled.

"No I won't! You're going to kill me anyway; I know how much your promises are worth. You're bigger and stronger than me... you'll do it because you love doing that sort of thing; because you're a fucking psycho! So I'll fucking-well say my piece before I go! I know what you're capable of..."

Unexpectedly, Gary lay back on his elbows; threw back his head; faced the mirrored ceiling and laughed boisterously for several minutes. He turned and grinned at me almost fondly.

"Oh Alex, I haven't laughed so much for ages! You haven't a clue what I am capable of. You've only scratched the surface: Believe me; I've done nothing much to you yet! But thanks for that compliment, that I'm 'the most frightening man you've ever met;' I almost love you for that! I'm very flattered, although I have to decline the honour!"

Why? I wondered. Could there be anyone worse out there?

Again, Gary kissed me affectionately. If that sounds nice, it wasn't; or only in a perverted way. I'd as soon have been kissed by a boa constrictor. He wasn't just gigantic, muscular and cruel. With his blond hair, dark eyebrows and intensely blue eyes - blue brilliant from dead, starless skies - he looked like all the sadistic Gestapo officers from all the war films I had ever seen, rolled into one. Somehow, the fact that he was strikingly handsome made him even scarier.

He was still chuckling.

I wanted to keep him talking. As long as I stayed alive, there would be a chance; minuscule, but growing as the hours ticked slowly past, that Jake would miss me; that he'd report my prolonged absence to the police; and that I just possibly might be tracked down and rescued. Jake had no way of contacting me on my Mobile. That was charging up, back at the hotel. Meanwhile I estimated the chances of my survival in this madman's hands at less than fifty percent.

I decided to push my luck. "It always comes back to this. Can you tell me now why you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you? Why are you doing this to me now?"

There was a pause, while Gary yawned, stood up scratched and stretched himself: something I would have liked to do, if I had not been tied up. He touched his toes and stretched his arms. He looked down at me and gave me the kind of smile that a leopard might give to a tender young antelope.

"You know, I now believe you. You really do not have a clue who I am, do you?" Gary said. "I am completely forgotten: I see that. In one way that is insulting; you damned well ought to remember me, in spite of everything. You did me enough damage at the time. On the other hand, it is also a compliment. It confirms that I have been successful beyond my wildest dreams in reinventing myself; in assuming my new identity. Still, I would have expected you, of all people, to see through that."

Gary paused for a moment. He walked over to the window and stood there, looking pensively through the net curtains. Bastard and psycho though he might be, he was still as handsome as a million-candled Christmas tree, damn him. Then he continued:

"I know that I have changed; evidently beyond recognition. You have not. You are still the same superficially charming macho man that I first met, all those years ago. You are also still the same selfish, autistic bastard, whose only real love is himself; who hasn't a clue what his impact on other people is - and doesn't care, either. I am not going to spell it out now. I will continue to hurt you, as you have hurt me deeply in other ways, until you finally realise who I am and face up to what you did."

"I see. I'm still none the wiser. What now?"

"The break's over. I'm going to fuck you. Then we're going back downstairs to the basement."

"Back to your fucking torture-chamber? Oh nooooooo!!! Please Gary, no!"

He grinned like a very large, mischievous schoolboy. I almost expected him to say something like: 'I've found this great place to tickle trout! Come with me this evening?' Instead, he nonchalantly said:

"I loved your scream of despair! Sorry; it has to be down there. This flat is not suitable for torture. Meanwhile, I still have to fuck you."

Gary smiled. He then tied a rope to the leg-spreader bar, which he attached to the bed-head between the manacles that secured my hands to it. He tightened the rope so that my legs, already spread wide apart, were tugged into the air and kept there. My ass was totally exposed and vulnerable. It was also still damned sore, having been broken by the African Prince earlier that day. Gary was in no hurry. He made love to me skilfully before he actually took me. He was bloody good, hitting G -spots that I never even knew existed. I bet you didn't know that there are G-spots on your knees and deep inside your ears? Tweak either in the right way and you get an erection. After a while he released my legs from the leg-spreader.

Finally, he took me, grabbing a leg in each hand and sliding firmly and skilfully inside me. No-one had ever been allowed to do that to me. And, in many ways, that was the worst part so far. It was quite different from being fucked by the African Prince. This time Gary was not brutal: he was gentle and considerate. He hit my prostate, smack on target. I had a violent orgasm, during which I almost fainted with pleasure. I looked up at him. He was smiling at me, with a maniacal gleam in his eyes. He knew exactly what I was feeling and thinking. Against my will; against all my instincts, I was enjoying being fucked. I was being served as I had served so many other men. I would never forget this moment: sooner or later, if Gary allowed me to live, I would want to be fucked again. That was the real violation. What he had done to my body was reparable. The violation of my mind might be less easy to handle. I had been Gary's bitch-boy; worse, I had enjoyed it. My masculinity had now been hopelessly compromised. That was the deepest wound of all. Later, it occurred to me that some at least of my straight male victims, however much they might have liked it at the time, would have felt like this afterwards. They could never be truly straight again. Arguably, I had behaved very badly towards them.

(To be contnued)


Max Markham


Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus