The Night Owl

We made it to the van without incident. The garage was empty, dark, and silent. I put him in the passenger seat and got behind the wheel, started it up. He just stared ahead, frowning with his arms crossed, bare chest beneath rising and falling steadily. It was unsettling, how calm he seemed. How calm we both seemed.

My skin was cold. Everything was cold. I still hadn't processed all that had just happened to me. My boxers were soaked through with sweat and lube and the drying filth of the men who'd used me. Everything between my hips and my thighs felt like raw meat, stretched and bruised and throbbing. My nipples were hard in the cold air, mechanically sensitive. I felt exposed, even here in the darkness of the van, and I could still feel their hands on my skin.

My cock was still completely erect of its own accord, pushing into my constricting jeans with a desperation that was almost painful. That was the worst part of any of this.

I had my hands on the wheel, but I hadn't started the van. The windshield was fogged over. How long had we been sitting there? I reached across him and opened the glove box, handed him his glasses. He took them, put them on, and bowed his head. "I..." I cleared my throat. "I don't know what to say..."

"Then don't say anything." I looked at him. His eyes were shut under a hard brow, and the frown had turned into a sneer. "Just take me home."

I followed his instruction numbly, because it was all there was to do. The drive to his neighborhood was silent and distant, a dark blur. Before I knew it we were back on Milton Street, a short walk from his house, and he was unbuckling his seat belt. He threw it away from him, as if it were diseased, and opened the door. "Ben..." I started.

He turned on me, one leg dangling from the door. The orange dome light was spilling over his half-naked body, highlighting its lightly furred contours, the sweat on the skin, the overbearing tenseness of his muscles. Despite the still-present shock of my ordeal, I was glad, in that moment, that his body was still mine. That I was still the only man who got to touch it. I took a deep breath - to say what, I didn't know - but he interrupted me. "That was the worst experience of my entire life," he blurted stonily. Was it anger or tears that cracked his voice? Why did I care?

"I'm - "

"Stop." His eyes were on me now, and there was no lust in them at all. "I'm only gonna ask you this once. Did you set all of that up? Is this just - is this one of your sick games?"

I was speechless. How could he think that, after everything he'd watched them do to me? I swallowed, shook my head, met his gaze. "No. Of course I didn't. It was...just..." I shrugged lamely. "It was just very bad luck."

He let out a low breath, as if he'd been holding it. He was so used to me coloring the truth that it must have been obvious I wasn't lying. "Those men - you work for them? And they treat you like that? Do they always - ?"

"No! No... I just did something stupid, and..." I felt it well up in me, foul and unwanted. I felt my face twist. Damn it. I knew I was an ugly crier. I didn't want him to see that. I felt tears push out from between my narrowed eyelids.

"Save it, dude." He got out and slammed the door, and the cab went dark. I watched him in the rear view mirror as he stalked down the street, shirtless and hunched with his hands in his pockets, head bowed. He was seething, obviously caught up in his own shame, his own pain.

How dare he? I thought. I'd been through everything he'd been through that night, and then some. I was the one who'd been truly violated, who'd been forced to hand myself over to the prodding cocks of strangers, who'd given up my very manhood to save Ben from a hell he couldn't even imagine. How could he not see that? How could he be so god damned ungrateful? Did he think I wanted this?

I caught my eyes in the mirror. They were red in the streetlight, puffy, weak. He'd seen it, and now he was acting as if he were somehow above me - as if I no longer mattered. No...this wouldn't do.

My moment of vulnerability passed over me, through me, and all that roil of raw emotion crystalized into a diamond-hard shard of animosity that settled into my gut. I knew then what I was going to do to him, and I was in no state of mind to second guess myself. I grabbed my backpack and shoved some things from my footlocker into it, including my laptop. I got out and followed him. "Hey - wait up."

He glanced back at me, walked faster. "Go away."

We turned onto his street, and I stayed a step behind him. "I think we really need to talk," I said.

He was looking around, nervous and nearly unhinged. I could imagine. With all that had already happened that night, the thought of his neighbors seeing him walk up to his house with some other guy, both of us shirtless, our pants hanging low off our naked hips - it must have been horrifying to him. The houses were dark, however, lit only by streetlights, windows shut and silent. Still, the imagined threat loomed. "We haven't got shit to talk about," he hissed. He climbed the steps of his porch, his keys jingling in his shaking hand. He missed the keyhole once, twice, stopped before opening the door. His back stiffened. He wouldn't look at me. "I really don't want you here."

I moved up beside him, pressed my body against his. "Well, I'm not leaving."

"Jesus Christ!" He threw open the door and practically jumped inside, and I followed him. He slammed it shut and turned on the light. His face was boiling with rage. "You don't take a hint, do you? You never take a hint!"

"I'm not staying," I told him. I laid my backpack on the sofa and stood up, running my hands over my bare arms. He'd had the air conditioning turned way up since we'd left earlier that evening; the house was an ice box. "What do you think happened tonight, Ben?" My voice sounded so calm; I was almost scared of myself.

I could practically feel the venom radiating off of him. "I think you got me into a heap of shit, is what I think. I mean - for fuck's sake, Johnny - I had a gun pulled on me! And a knife..." His voice trailed off, nearly broke. I could still see it gleaming in the pink light as the sharp blade teased his squirming skin. My cock was getting harder. "I thought he was going to..."

He couldn't finish. He was holding his elbows, glasses dangling from one hand, staring off into space. Half naked, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen him. He looked scared. I should have gone to him, should have held him, should have fixed it - or at least tried to...but those thoughts didn't even occur to me. "I'm going to take a shower," I told him. "Then I'll go."

This brought him back around. His eyes focused on me, blue and sharp. "No. I wasn't kidding. I don't want you here right now."

"I'll just be a minute. Please..." I did my best to look pathetic, pretended I couldn't meet his eyes. "You're not the only one who...who went through something tonight." His face was bland, cold as marble. "I...just want to get clean. Is that...okay?"

He looked me up and down, probably trying to find some hint of deceit, but only finding my long, shivering, naked torso. He blinked, shook his head, and his hard expression softened. "All right...go ahead. First door on the right, down the hall. But Johnny...after that I want you to leave."

"Thanks, Ben." I went into the bathroom, shut the door, and turned the water on hot. I was still shivering despite the warmth of the room, its rising humidity. I wanted to lash out, wanted to hurt someone. I knew it was Pendrick and his goons that I wanted to hurt, but I also knew they were practically untouchable. Ben, on the other hand, was in the next room. What was more, he was treating me like I'd done something unforgivable. Like I wasn't the one who'd protected him, like I hadn't put myself through hell for him. In that moment, I felt completely justified in what I was planning to do to him. Sometimes I wonder how much different things would have been if I'd just jerked myself off in his shower and left him alone like he asked.

I still had a monstrous erection when I stepped into the hot stream of steaming water and began to wash myself vigorously. No matter how much I scrubbed, how much stinging soap I pushed up into my ass, I couldn't make myself feel clean. The filthy part of me wasn't anything physical. It had always been there, ever since my fifteenth birthday, when my reeking uncle held me down and shoved a sock into my mouth. I'd pushed it into the dark corners of my mind, that old version of myself who couldn't fight back, who acted as if he hated being abused but couldn't help getting an erection whenever a rough man's hands felt him up without any thought given to his pleasure. I wanted to bury it. Bury it forever.

I cut the water, toweled myself off. I had so much hatred in me, and more than a little of it was reserved for myself. How could I have so little self respect? Why did my body love being at the bottom of the food chain so much, when dominating another man was the only thing that had ever made me feel truly happy? The unbearable shame of it was...a pleasure in and of itself. A weak, filthy pleasure. It was what I'd fought to overcome for nearly a decade, but I'd still gotten hard when Pendrick's cock had forced its way into my barely-prepared rear. I could still feel him in there - him above all others, as always. What I wouldn't have given to tie that charming old monster to a pole and show him what it was like to be used...

But Ben was the only one close enough to use in such a way, and all the hate I was feeling in those moments easily warped him in my mind. He wasn't so different from that old, pathetic version of myself who'd cried the first time they'd made him cum. He too loved to be dominated, to be abused, but had resisted every impulse to love it. The difference between us, as I saw it? While I was getting passed around like a party favor, too scared to dream of something better, he was going to college, comfortably fucking girls, finding his footing on top of the world - where he'd been born to begin with.

Being dominated was a luxury for him. It had never been forced on him, not really - not in a way that he didn't end up enjoying, sooner or later. He'd never been truly humiliated in entire his life before that night, and that was why he was acting like such a prick. Being stripped and prodded by Pendrick and his groupies was only a taste of what I had endured many times over, that night and many others. He didn't know how good he had it...but he'd learn. I would teach him. In those moments, as I dried myself and fondled my hard, aching cock, I hated Ben a bit more than I liked him - and it really turned me on.

I opened the door and walked into the living room without bothering to dress, slick with the steam from the bathroom. He was sitting on the sofa, polishing off a rather sizable glass of whiskey. He'd put on a t-shirt and some loose-fitting pajama bottoms, no doubt wanting to calm himself in more ways than one. He shot to his feet when I emerged. "I have clothes, if you need any..." he said dumbly, his eyes following the angular contours of my slim, naked body, resting on my engorged cock. He looked away from it, angry and embarrassed. "Damn it, Johnny..."

"We really need to talk, Benjamin." I rested my hands on my hips, rolling them forward ever so subtly in a way I knew was alluring. He didn't look amused.

"Don't call me that anymore. I don't like it. You sound like...him."

He was right, wasn't he...? The realization hit me, stung me, but I ignored it and marched on. "Okay, Ben."

He was shifting on his bare feet, arms crossed, nervous. He'd left his glasses on the coffee table. I could see a slight bulge in his pajama bottoms, and it was growing as I watched. Even now, with all the horrible things that had happened, we were both hornier than a pair of rabbits. I knew the reason. We'd both been used, treated like playthings. While I may have had my fill of it, Ben had only gotten a teasing, tantalizing taste - and, whether he cared to admit it or not, he was aching for more. "I can't believe you're trying to..." he started.

"Just listen." I took a step toward him. "I just want you to know...how sorry I am. This was all my fault. I know that. I was sloppy. I took a risk." I reached out, put my hand on the warm nape of his neck, felt his pulse quicken. "I just...I knew I was the first guy you'd ever been with, and I wanted to...you know...do it somewhere special. I wanted to impress you."

He rolled his eyes, still not looking at me. I could almost feel the heat of his cock as I inched closer to him. "It was pointless," he said. "You were the first person who...who I let..." He frowned at me. "I was already impressed. Nobody's ever..." Jesus, he could't just come out and say it. He blushed, grimacing. "Getting...fucked...was just as 'impressive' there as it was in your van. You didn't have to break into some mobster's condo just to...you know. You already had me."

"I guess I thought it was worth the risk."

He batted my hand away, took a step back. "But you never asked me if I thought it was worth the risk, did you?" His eyes were piercing. "I'm just some toy to you. I let myself forget it for a while, but I get it now. You don't care about what I'm going through - lying to my wife all the time, not knowing when you're gonna call me up out of the blue. I haven't tried to tell you because I knew you wouldn't care, and - because you scare me sometimes. I...didn't want to make you mad at me. I wanted you to keep liking me, because then you'd keep..." He slammed his fist into the wall, dented the plaster. He was yelling now. "Don't you see how fucked up that is? I'm a grown man! Why should I care what you think? Why do I want you..."

There were tears welling up in his eyes. "You're just having fun with me, but I feel like I'm getting torn to pieces." His voice cracked again. "I don't even know who I really am anymore, and it's my own fault for letting you play your mind games with me. I gave up any say in anything that happened to me, and it felt so good...but this is what I get." He backed away. "You can send my wife those pictures of Tammy if you want...but I can't do this anymore. I'd rather deal with the fallout than get myself killed. This is so fucked."

I should have heard this torrent of words for the cry for help that it was. Instead all I heard was whining, an admission of spoiled ignorance. Still, I played my game. "Oh, Ben..." I took another step toward him, closed the gap. He didn't move away. His breathing was ragged. "It's not your fault. None of this is. It's mine."

I leaned into him, rested my head in the crook of his neck. He was trembling, pulsing with heat. "God, you're so warm..." He was, truly. "That was the most you've ever said to me, you know," I said, enjoying his scent. "I'm glad you did. I...understand. I get it." I stayed there for a moment or two, not touching him, letting him believe that I was sorry without actually saying it. Before long, his hands had appeared at the small of my back. His big, muscular arms wrapped around me, pulled me close - and then his fingers were running through my wet hair. I had him.

I reached down and clamped my hand over the wet patch on his crotch. It was still as hard as ever, seeping into the gray fabric of his pajamas. He gasped. I fingered it, made him squirm, made it grow and flex. I rubbed my naked hip over the thin hem of his pajamas. "If you're really serious about ending this, I...can respect that." Lies. I had no intention of letting him go. I was solely focused on easing his guard down.

"I..." He finally relaxed a bit, let his hips roll into mine while his strong hands gripped my shoulders. "Thank you." He sounded so sad.

I brushed his throat with my hair, my eyelashes, my lips. I smelled like clean water and soap; he smelled like sweat, heavy musk, dirty sex. I wasn't shivering anymore. "Can we not end it like this, though? Can we have one last go? Tonight?" I massaged his cock through his pajamas, and my other hand went up the back of his shirt, over his bare skin. He let out a wavering sigh. "I want you, Ben." I worked his meaty ribs, teased his nipples under his loose t-shirt. "And you want me. You know that much about yourself. I saw it the moment we met, before I ever told you one thing that wasn't true. You can trust yourself that much, at least." There it was. The grain of truth that made the rest of the lie go down like silk.

I felt his hands on my back, running over my the tenseness of my muscles, down the curving length of my spine. He cupped my ass cheeks almost tenderly. He buried his face in my hair, sniffed deeply. "I can't believe you're even up for anything, after..."

I pushed my hard cock into his crotch, growled a little. "I'm up for fucking you. Nothing else."

His hands stiffened, drifted down to my thighs. His heart was beating rapidly against my chest, vibrating throughout my body. "All...all right." His voice was small. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He was breathless. Lust had already taken him. "Just...just for tonight. No strings after this? For real?"

"None." I pushed myself off of him and took a huge swig of whiskey from the bottle on the coffee table. I grinned warmly at him as I did, one hand on my hip, confident in my nudity. My cock was pointing resolutely forward, barely bobbing as I moved. I went to my backpack and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He groaned.

"I almost forgot about those damned things," he complained, though he didn't sound bitter. He was lifting his shirt over his head, unaware of how much this unexpected flash of tender skin made me want to attack him, devour him. "Doesn't it take all the...I don't know, enjoyment out of it, now that I know I can get out of them whenever I feel like it?"

"Humor me," I replied. I could hear the pleasantness seeping out of my voice as the whiskey caught fire in my gut. I was getting tired of playing at sympathy.

I went to him and pulled the shirt off of his head, ruffling his hair, exposing his muscled, comely torso to the low light of the living room. His loose pajamas were enticingly low, hugging his sturdy, fit waist, giving me a glimpse of his golden-brown bush below his sloping happy trail. I felt the familiar need to violate him without remorse, to make him squeal like a pig. To hurt him. I didn't suppress it this time, not completely. I rode it like a stallion, barely controlled. I stepped around him, pulled his arms behind his back, and snapped the handcuffs over his wrists. He was breathing heavily, looking at the floor, not a trace of a smile on his face. "I wish I could touch you," was all he said.

"Here," I said, putting the whiskey bottle to his lips. "Drink up."

He did, deeply, choking a little before I took it away. The luscious, lightly furred muscles of his chest and stomach rippled slightly as he swallowed, breathed. "This has been the most fucked up night," he whispered. I made him take another swig, and he coughed.

I shoved my hand into his pajamas. He still wasn't wearing any boxers. I took his balls and his cock in hand as they burst from the crumpling waistband. I squeezed, massaged, pulled a moan out of him. "Here," I told him. "Sit down." I pushed him firmly, and he fell back onto the sofa. His cock bobbed between his legs as he landed, hard and thick, the glistening pink head peeking out from beneath the golden foreskin. His back was arched with his hands bound behind it, thrusting his furry chest and his hard, pink nipples forward in an unknowingly wanton display. His smooth stomach curved below, perfect, his big cock covering his fuzzy naval above the unruly bunch of his crumpled pajamas.

I went to my backpack again and pulled out my laptop. "I want to show you something, Ben."

He opened his eyes as his body settled, watched me turn out all the lights except for the lamp by the sofa, plunging us into a cave-like atmosphere of dull yellow hues. I set the laptop up on the coffee table in front of him, washing the both of us in its white glow. "What's this...?" His words were lazy, lilting - he'd had so much to drink, and so quickly. "Can't we just...can't you just...like normal?" I gave him another long swig, then another - just to be sure. He didn't complain, didn't even cough.

I finished off the bottle myself and brought up the video, made it full screen. White light turned golden, and the image of the barn's loft appeared on the screen. There was the table, and the chairs. There was the mattress next to the post, and the body pillow draped across it. There was the top of the ladder that led down to the ground far below.

I felt him stiffen next to me. "What the fuck..." In the video, Ben's head appeared at the top of the ladder, and then the rest of him. Even drunker than he was now in his billowing white shirt, his shorts and sandals. My own image followed behind his, and everything clicked for him. "What the fuck did you do?" He sounded outraged, but he could only watch in frozen horror. His cock was softening slightly, tilting to the side.

"I'll fast-forward to the good part," I said, and hit a few keys. It cut to the image of Ben naked, handcuffed to the beam, on his stomach across the mattress, my face buried in his ass. His electric moans filled the room, brimming with humiliation - and then hitched, wailing sobs. It was almost painful; he sounded like a little boy.

I glanced at him. His face was slack, pale. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Nah, not that..." I fast-forwarded again, and the video cut to me mounting him, ramming my crotch into his ass, slapping it with delight. I'd forgotten how delicious he'd sounded that night - such raw pain and pleasure and astonishment, completely unfiltered, echoing off the walls of the barn. My cock was hard enough to burst.

"You fucking bastard," he whispered next to me. His eyes were glittering and wet. "This is too much, man...this is too much..." He was on the verge of tears again.

"Best night of my life. Are you really surprised I filmed that? I thought you knew what kind of guy I was? Besides, I don't see how much different it is from all your dirty pictures of - what was her name? Tanya? Tara?" I shrugged, started the video over again. "It doesn't matter. Point is, you've been acting like you're some pure, innocent angel who got corrupted by the bad old man from the city..." I ran my hand down his stomach, took hold of his semi-hard cock, and began to stroke it. "But that's absolutely ridiculous. You lie to your wife. You fuck other people. You're a selfish prick - a bad person, most would call you - but you're too chickenshit to admit it. At least I was upfront about it."

His image was stripping in front of mine on the screen, awkward and embarrassed, so new to the idea of having a man get off on him, at least outside of masturbatory fantasies. His cock was getting hard in my hand. "God damn you," he whispered, two lonely tears leaking from his eyes. "God damn you..."

"I can tell your wife all about good old What's-Her-Cunt, if you want," I told him. "But you should know that it'll be all or nothing. If I tell her about one affair, I'll be telling her about both of them. I'll make sure she gets this. Hell, maybe I'll make sure everyone you work with gets this, while I'm at it. Everybody you know will see exactly how much you get off on having a guy's cock up your chute. Maybe they'll be sorry for you. Maybe they'll jerk off to it." I grinned as his cock hardened completely, swollen and erect between my kneading fingers. He looked disgusted. How could he not be? Here I was, threatening to send everyone and their mother a video of his ass getting used, and he was getting off on it. At least, his body was getting off on my hand. I didn't care either way. "So maybe tonight won't be about goodbye sex at all. Maybe tonight I take the kid gloves off and teach you a lesson."

I bent over his lap and took the head of his hard cock into my mouth, slurped up a gob of salty-sweet precum through his piss slit. He flinched in the cuffs, hissed through his teeth. "You're so pathetic," he whispered bitterly, though I could hear the sex in his voice.

I looked up at him, licked him from my lips. I squeezed his cock, harder than was comfortable for him. He jerked. "What was that?"

He was watching the video, his face a mess of grief, of rage. "I said you're pathetic." His voice was getting stronger know, righteous even. "You can do whatever you want to do to me; it won't change anything. I saw what happened tonight. I saw them fuck you like a little bitch. I saw your cock get hard for it. You moaned like a cunt when they fucked you - when that Pendrick guy did, anyway. You liked it, and I'll always know it. Some big fucking man you are."

"You think I'm pathetic? You haven't had it hard a day in your life. You've never had somebody use you - I mean really use you. You've never had anybody fuck you who didn't care. Well, guess what? You're getting that tonight." He spit in my face. It was so unexpected that I laughed despite myself. I wiped it away with one hand while I stroked his hard shaft with the other. "That was rude, Benjamin." I used his spit to wet the tip of his cock. Amazing that it was still so hard.

"Don't call me that!" he roared. He tried to get up, but between the handcuffs and the booze and the pajamas bunched around his hips he couldn't find his balance. I pushed him back down. He was too angry to keep trying, yelling at me with a red face, as if he didn't even notice my fingers around his hungry cock. "You're nothing but a bitch, Johnny! You play at being the big man, but I know now! I know all about you!" He was raging, all man. It was impressive, considering how painfully passive he'd always been. It was also sharply erotic, considering what I was going to do to him. "I'm gonna think about you getting reamed by a bunch of old farts whenever you fuck me, you know that? You sucked my cock while they fucked you, you fucking whore! What does that make you? Fucking pussy!"

He was trying, with all his might, to hit me where it hurt. I didn't mind. I was numb to it.

I pulled his pajamas down around his thighs and began jerking him off faster. I kept my fingers light, but firmly in place. "Yeah, you watched me get fucked," I said, icy calm. "And you got off on it. You were hard the whole time." He jerked under my fingers, breaths quickening. He was glaring fiercely, trying not to grunt as my fingers swirled over the slick, sensitive head of his cock, rolling his foreskin over the glans, then down to the base and back again. On the screen I was eating his ass, and his skin was reddening. "I know you liked it," I continued, nibbling his stiff neck, his nipple. "You liked seeing me get what was coming to me, is that it?" My voice was husky, dripping sex. "You liked seeing me get used? Or maybe you've been wanting to do it yourself this whole time. Maybe you think about tying me up and fucking me when you touch yourself, but you're not man enough to actually go through with it." I jerked him off even faster, and his meaty cock swelled in my feathery grip.

"Stop," he whispered, but it was too late. He moaned shrilly and exploded in my hand. Shimmering ropes of cum shot out the head of his cock as it throbbed and pumped between my jacking fingers, drenching his stomach and his chest in a gargantuan load that had been building in his nuts all night. He gritted his teeth against the groans that poured out of him, balls twitching with each gush, nearly receding into him with each deep contraction.

When it was over, I slowed my pace a little - but I didn't stop jerking his wet cock. He shuttered, tried to pull away. I didn't let him. "I totally get it. I mean, I'm hard as a rock right now with this video playing and all. I can't believe I was going to keep it to myself. This is so damned hot, dangling it over your head like this." Cries of pain filled the room - I was pushing my cock into him on the screen, taking his cherry slowly, deliberately. "I don't blame you for enjoying watching the same thing happen to me. But I don't forgive you, either."

He was really squirming now, as the ultra-sensitivity of post-orgasm fully sank in. I was still pulling at his hard cock, faster now, keeping it erect. He shrieked when it became too much to bear, hips twisting into the sofa, a vain attempt to escape the punishment. I pushed my forearm into his stomach, held him down. He was big, strong, but he had no leverage, and no focus. "What's the matter? Don't you like that?"

"Stop!" he shrieked, and tried to kick me with his bare foot. He failed, of course. His pajamas were binding and tight around his thighs. He only slid further down the couch, flattening himself, making it all the easier for me to polish his delicate knob. His voice took on a desperate ring, a shrill pleading sound that I deeply enjoyed. "Please stop - please! Fuck!"

"Pussy," I growled. I left his tortured cock alone and grabbed his thick arm, hauled him to his feet. He swayed, dazed, panting, nearly in tears. I wrapped my arm around his neck from behind and grabbed his bound wrists, took complete control of him. I dragged him into the hallway, and he could only stumble along beside me with his pajamas bunched around his ankles, a prisoner. His naked torso glistened with his load of jism, dripping down the slope of his stretched stomach, pooling in his navel. His big cock dangled limply between his legs, still semi-hard. "I'm actually glad you came," I said conversationally, sniffing the sweaty hair behind his ear. "I don't want you to enjoy this too much."

"Fuck you," he grumbled, voice made gravelly by my arm around his throat.

I took him into the dark bedroom, flipped on the lamp on the end table. It was pleasant in here. It smelled like him. I pushed him onto the quilts face-first, onto his chest, his buxom ass jiggling slightly under his cuffed wrists as it rose into the air above his bare feet. I yanked his pajamas off completely, grabbed his foot. I used the pajamas to tie his ankle to the bedpost. Double-knotted, firm and tight. "What are you doing, man..." he groaned. He sounded so tired.

I pushed the meat of his thighs up toward his glutes. I grabbed those great slabs of glorious flesh, and squeezed, pulled, owned them. His hole puckered between them in its light bed of amber-colored hair. "I'm doing what I always told you I'd do," I said, and spit into his crack. His muscles stiffened, and I rubbed my spit into his tight hole. "Whatever I want to do." I slapped his ass and stood up, my hard cock bobbing painfully between my legs. "I'll be right back."

I left him on the bed and went down the hall, into the dim kitchen. I rooted through the cute little pantry until I found something suitable - a big can of Crisco. Perfect.

I found him turned over on his side, his foot still tied to the bedpost. His arms were working at the cuffs behind him, face a mask of concentration. The cum that had decorated his torso was now rubbed into the quilt, dark patches of moisture. His impressive cock was draped over his hip, not quit limp. He blushed when I saw him, sneered. "Trying to find the release?" I asked, setting the can of shortening down on the dresser. "I didn't say you could do that."

"I don't care," he snarled, and kept working. "You had your fun for the night. I'm done. I don't care." He was too drunk and indignant to think clearly.

I smiled warmly, patted his brawny thigh. "You're not going to get those off."

"Want to bet?"

"Sure, but it wouldn't be fair. Those cuffs are the real deal. The trick ones are back in my van."

His face darkened, drained of the last of its determination. I had him, and he knew it. He was too drunk to see it any other way. "You son of a bitch..."

"Yeah, yeah..." I took his shoulder and turned him back onto his stomach. He didn't resist. I climbed behind him and grabbed his hips, pulled them up to meet my cock. I rubbed my hard rod lewdly over his tight hole, pressing the meat of his ass cheeks around the shaft. His body was stiff under my hands, his head pressed into the pillows, like he was trying to ignore it all. I realized I'd missed this, the almost complete lack of consent, less of it now than there ever had been. It was thrilling, absolutely thrilling. I didn't have to worry about his pleasure. I didn't have to worry about how he was feeling, or whether or not he liked what I was doing. He was a toy again. What was more, he was a toy that I, in those moments, had a fair amount of contempt for. I wouldn't care if I broke it. I was going to be cruel. He had to see what it was like. I wanted him to know.

I got off of him and stood beside the bed, rubbing his ample rump. I pulled back and slapped his ass as hard as I could. The room practically echoed with the sharp sound of it, and his whole body jolted from the shock. I did it again - and again - until I was simply pummeling his ass with my open hand, really slapping the shit out of him, filling the room with flesh-on-flesh, barely a breath in between. He was straining against the cuffs, bucking and bellowing, leg pulling uselessly at the knotted pajamas, nowhere to go. The pale skin of his ass was quickly shifting to a bright, tortured red. He was pressing himself into the bed now, trying to fold himself in half to get away from my assault, clenching his red ass cheeks tight. "Stop! Fucking stop!"

I smacked his hole, his taint, let my knuckles rake over his hanging balls just enough to create an ache in them. He cursed deeply, reedy voice tinged with rage, pain, humiliation - impotence. I teased him, tickled his ravaged ass cheeks, feinting. He jerked away from each unseen sensation, expecting another assault, receiving none. I smiled, practically drooling, then railed on him again out of nowhere.

By the time I was satisfied, his ass was flaming red. He was panting loudly, almost sobbing. I felt under his hips. His cock was half hard. "Wow," I said, a bit out of breath. "I'm impressed. You actually liked that?"

"Stop fucking around," he growled. "This is - if you - it'll be rape."

"Says you." I mounted the bed behind him, pushed my knees up under his thighs, spread them forcefully. I pulled his hips up to meet me again, got him on his knees, ass up - but I had no intention of teasing him this time. I pushed the head of my cock into his dry hole, barely punctured it. He yelped, jerked away from the sharp pain. I laughed, rubbed the small of his back beneath his clenching fingers. His skin was so hot. "You deserve this," I told him. His hole felt amazing on the head of my cock, clenching and quivering, velvety muscle. A scared animal. I removed my cock, left his hole tight and pink and angry. "It might even be good for you."

"Bullshit," he groaned into the pillow.

"It's true." I uncapped the can of Crisco, took a small dab of the greasy white mess into my fingers - very small. "You want to know why?" I smeared the shortening onto the tip of my cock - not too much. The rest I rubbed into his bright red ass cheeks, making them slick, making them shine in the lamplight like greased hams. "I'll tell you why. I got abused tonight. Not the fun, risky abuse that I give to you - they hurt me, Ben, and you didn't care. You were there, you saw it - and you still, somehow, came out of that experience thinking that getting stripped and felt up was worse than getting raped. That's bullshit."

I pulled his ass cheeks apart and pushed the head of my cock into him again. It was easier this time, but not by much. He snarled into the pillow, then shrieked as the head of my cock pushed past the taut ring of his hole and popped into his tight, all but dry chute. The shortening warmed inside of him, melting, dripping, squishing hotly between my cockhead and the tender meat of his clenching cunt. "I did it for you, Ben. Something I never thought I'd have to do again - I did it for you." I grabbed the supple flesh of his broad back, pushing him further into the quilts, and drove my hips firmly into the defenseless valley of his ass.

He panted and groaned in obvious pain as I forced myself into him. I watched as my long cock began to disappear into the warm, snug cleft between his clamping ass cheeks. Slow and steady. His hot chute was incredibly tight around my cock, a terrific pressure, just enough of a challenge. Just like the first time. "I'm doing this for you too, believe it or not. I'm giving you some empathy. You need it." His body was trembling almost violently under my fingers. He was whimpering at the pain of it - there wasn't enough lubrication. I didn't care. My raw cock was a tool of discipline, and I intended to use it.

"You would have gotten it worse than this if I hadn't let them fuck me," I told him, lording over his bent hips, sweating with effort, concentration. I wanted it to hurt, but I didn't actually want to injure him - and I didn't want to do it too quickly. I wanted this to last, this slow, deliberate impalement. I wanted it to make a fucking impression. "You'd have gotten everything I got, but worse. After that, they'd have let that bald bodyguard have you, him and his friend. They would have hurt you, Ben." I pumped the head of my cock deep into him, and he yelped frantically. "Not this piddly shit, either. You think this is bad? He would have raped you - prison raped you. Made you bleed out." As awful as the reality of that would be, the image of it drove my cock further into him. "He would have fucking killed you."

Another inch of my cock had disappeared into his tortured ass, and his body quaked. His desperate panting was quicker, coming in bursts. He was trying to curse me, but only gibbering into the pillows. His hands were white-knuckled fists, bound and helpless at the small of his back. I could tell he was trying to loosen up, if for no other reason than to lessen the pain - but that only went so far. I pushed deeper, and drove half my cock into him. He bellowed, almost weeping with rage. His cunt flexed erratically, milking my cock, a cradle of crushing, poached pleasure. His bent hips were straining under my hands, bucking pointlessly against the inescapable invasion. Sweat from my brow dripped down my nose, spattered onto his sweaty back.

"I saved you, Ben - you know it's true. And what fucking thanks did I get?" I reached under him, pinched his nipples until he howled. They stiffened immediately. "No thanks at all. Just insults, and a pity party - not for me, of course, but for you. Spoiled little Ben. Bratty grown man who thinks the world revolves around him. This?" I pushed deeper into him, and he wailed. "This is just getting even. Balancing the scales. Like any good punishment."

He was gibbering, panting, cursing blindly. I leaned over him and took a handful of his sweaty hair, light brown between my knuckles. I held his head down and pushed the rest of my cock into him, and he ate me right up, finally caving in. I didn't stop until my pubes were digging into the tender skin of his inner ass, mingling with the downy fur that ringed his stretched hole. My hanging balls rested against his, warm and throbbing, aching. We were utterly joined, quavering into one another's flesh, equal parts pleasure and pain.

I sighed, ran my hands over his trembling body. "There we go...that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Please..." he whimpered breathlessly, muffled by the pillow. "Please, please, please..." His voice broke. It sounded like he was crying, but I couldn't be sure. "I - I'm sorry, just...please...use more lube...it fucking hurts..."

"I know, Ben. I know." I reached under his hips, found his cock. It was only half-hard, if that. Good. I slapped it, made him grunt. I leaned down over him, my cock throbbing inside of him, and spoke into his ear. "This is what it's like. This is what I went through every day when I was Pendrick's boy. This and worse."

I pulled out of him slowly, steadily, until his tight hole was squeezing around the head of my cock and nothing else. I let him push me out with a subtle plopping sound, watched my engorged member bob at the mouth of his red, swollen cunt. "That's a start," I told him. "But you're not sorry enough. Not yet." I took another small dollop of shortening out of the can and rubbed it over my throbbing cock. "We're going to do this again..." I pushed the head of my cock into him, ignored the formidable resistance, the forlorn cry of pain. "...and again, until we've got this thing good and sloppy. Then..." I grinned, though he couldn't see it. "Then we'll do something really fun."

How many more times it took, I couldn't say. I'd found a sort of nirvana there in the bedroom he and his wife shared, plowing him on the same bed where he'd plowed her. I pushed into him just as slowly and steadily each time, adding a small wad of greasy Crisco whenever I pulled out again, drawing out the thrill of the initial penetration for as long as I could.

His hard cries of pain gradually gave way to soft, low grunts as his cunt became wetter, looser, wider. It wasn't anything he was doing to accommodate me; it was sheer physics. I was stretching him like a canvas, using him at my leisure. I only cared about the cramped pleasure of his hole against my cock. Every piercing cry of complaint was icing on the cake. The shortening was melting inside of him, around my cock. It was leaking thickly, glazing his taint and his hanging balls beneath with thick, runny fat. Even the underside of his thighs were covered in it.

I pulled out of him, watched his widened hole close up. It didn't close completely this time, but left an inviting little dab of mysterious shadow in the center of it, proof that he was finally ready for more. My whole body was throbbing from the concentrated effort of breaking him in so slowly, my muscles sweaty and elated by the workout. I felt fantastic. I pushed three fingers into him, relished his gasp, found the lump of his prostate, kneaded. I found his cock with my other hand, found it hard despite himself. His body knew what it wanted. "There we go."

"Just fucking finish it," he groaned, but I could hear the yearning in his voice. Besides, his cock didn't lie. Even when I'd taken him in such a painful way, he'd gotten hard. He was made for this.

"Oh I'll finish it, champ." I went to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled it out: the giant black dildo, his wife's substitute cock. He watched me from the corner of his eye, and I heard his breathing quicken at the sight of that massive tool. I grinned down at him and shook the thing, watched it bob comically. I held it up to my own cock. "Well...girth-wise, this thing has got me beat. But I think I'm a little longer." I went to the bed, uncapped the Crisco, and slathered the dildo with it. Was it just me, or was he sweating even more? Shivering, even. "I've always wanted to try being on the giving end of a double penetration...this might be the next best thing. For me, anyway - for you, it'll be a pretty accurate representation."

His whole body stiffened, and he strained mightily, lifting his upper half until he was upright, on his knees. He twisted his beautiful, sweaty form until he was able to lock eyes with me. He was a god to me in that moment, a bound god, lightening in a bottle...though he looked so scared. "No."

I smacked the dildo into the palm of my hand, as if it were a baseball bat, as if I were ready to beat him with it. "I don't think you're in any position to tell me what I can and can't do with that ass of yours. With any of you."

His brow hardened. How stunning he looked when he was angry - how masculine, how raw. I was starting to like it. I think I loved him. In a way. "No! You've had enough! I said I was sorry - " His voice took on a pleading tone, and his brow furrowed, softened. His Adam's apple bulged under his scruff as he swallowed. "Just...you can fuck me the normal way, okay? I'll even - I'll do whatever you want. Just..." He eyed the black dildo. "I don't think I can take it. I get it. I was a jerk, I get it..." His cock was half-limp again, bowing toward the mattress, inviting even in that state. "You're gonna hurt me, Johnny. Please don't hurt me..."

"Beg me." I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, stretched his throat deliciously. He would have fallen off the bed if I weren't holding him up. I licked the salty sweat off his taut neck, the soft, pulsing vein of his exposed throat. I pushed the dildo into the crack of his ass, rubbed it against his sloppy hole. I drove it into his slick chute, and he gave way with a whimper. "I want to hear you beg."

He grimaced, softened - then a single word burst out of his mouth, raw and genuine and choked with submission, drawn out almost into a mewling cry. "Please." The word was a religious experience, coming from those lips, in this way. Never before had he been so completely dominated, so helpless within my power. He knew that I would do whatever I wanted to him, knew it at the core of his being, and he'd accepted it with such intoxicating grace.

I removed the dildo from his ass, let it fall to the floor. "Good boy." I pushed him down onto his right side, arched his back toward the wall as I pulled his free leg up and rested his calf on my shoulder. Tears were flowing freely from him as he watched me position his body the way I wanted it. I eased myself against the underside of his thighs, his taint, straddling him atop the bed. I pushed my hard shaft against his greased-up hole, felt it pucker around the head of my cock. I held his cuffed wrists with one hand and cradled the slope of his stretched stomach with the other, holding him still, fingering his furry naval. His cock grew again as I molested him, as I prodded his hole with my own.

I slid into him without much effort, up to the hilt, pulling his manly body to meet the thrust of my hips. We were joined completely in an instant, perfectly snug, like pieces of a puzzle. He grunted, then sighed, then groaned. He was tight and wet, hot and throbbing. His eyes were clenched shut, but I could see the sensations rippling across his face - the pain, the pleasure, the impotent weakness. I fucked him then and there, fast and hard, as I liked. It was dirty, and mean, and gratifying - and his cock stayed just as hard as mine. "Oh, yeah - yeah, that's it..." I took his cock in hand, held it tightly as I fucked him, claiming him. I bit his hairy calf, nibbled his flesh. "This cock is mine. This ass is mine. Tell me what you are."

"Ooooh, fuck, youuuurs..." he moaned bitterly, his voice practically vibrating with the violence of my fucking. His eyes were shut, teeth clenching. He was powering through it, bearing the onslaught like a rock in the ocean, pummeled by wave after wave, a towering storm. I had to give him credit.

I let his cock swing and grabbed his throat, squeezed. He gasped for breath, looked right at me, and moaned like a terrified sow. That was all I needed. I swelled inside of him, and burst. I growled when I came, like a beast, never letting up. This is your place, I wanted to tell him. Bound and helpless and at my mercy. You are a thing. I only roared and filled him with my seed. It washed over my cock, oozed out of his ravaged ass. I pulled all the way out, watched his enlarged hole pulse open for me, red and rimmed with my own cum, almost begging me to fill it again.

I obliged, and rammed my cock all the way into him once more, gyrating my hips, stirring it like a stew. He wailed, toes curling tightly. His ass squelched and burped as I impaled him over and over again, all the way out, all the way in, reveling in each fresh penetration as his wet, buffeted hole parted for the head of my cock. I used him this way without thought, like an animal, until I came a second time, lazy and warm, and I finally began to go soft.

I pulled out of him with a heaving, happy sigh, and let his leg fall against the quilt. He turned his hips away from me as I got off the bed, buzzing and elated. "That was fucking incredible!" I cried. I slapped his raw ass, and he yipped. "Now you know what it's like, don't you? Now you..."

He was crying, shoulders shaking into the pillows, face hidden. I sat down on the bed next to him, panting. I reached down and pulled at the pajamas, untied his ankle from the bedpost. His pulled his legs up, curled into a fetal position with his wrists cuffed behind his back.

"Ben...?" He wouldn't look at me. Deep silence but for the muffled noise of the crickets outside. A cold feeling washed over me as the heat of the duel orgasm and my anger with Ben subsided. The entirety of what had just happened - what I'd done - came with it. He shouldn't be crying. He should be panting along with me...embarrassed, maybe...but he had a hard-on the whole time. He should have loved it by the end. That was how this was supposed to work. "Ben..."

I took his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. His face was crimson, distorted by his weeping, wet with tears. His cock was still hard. I pushed his legs apart, and he let me do it. I took him into my mouth, let my tongue engulf his sex. His sobs became wet little moans as I worked him over, swirling my tongue around the head of his dick, between his foreskin and his glans. He tasted rich, like salt and musk and deeper things. Precum pumped into my gullet, slid down the back of my throat. It wasn't purely sexual to me. After all, I'd just climaxed twice. No...it was different. I wanted him to feel better. It wasn't an act of lust; it was something far warmer, purer, harder to pin down. I wanted him to cum in my mouth, to ingest him intimately, to wash over all this unpleasantness with a single selfless act. That would fix it, wouldn't it? That would make up for it...

I moaned against his dick, cradled his hips in my arms, digging my fingers into his back until I found his cuffed hands. I took his fingers into mine, held them tight, and pushed my head down onto his cock until I was swallowing it, gagging on it, welcoming it into the back of my throat, devouring it completely. His thighs fell open on either side of my head, and every moan I pulled out of him was like a balm. When he finally came, I nearly choked on the hot mineral deluge - but I didn't spill a drop. I swallowed, kept swallowing, until he was finished.

I let him fall out of my mouth. I looked up his spent, sweat-slick body at his face. His chest and stomach were heaving, beautiful and firm. I hoped - no, expected - to find him smiling. I expected him to be grateful, even.

His face was slack. He started down at me with something cold in his eyes, something beyond contempt. "You finished?" he asked, his voice flat. I couldn't even look at him.

I got up, found my backpack, the key, and unlocked the handcuffs. He sat up slowly, rubbing his wrists, staring at nothing. "I...uh..." What was there to say? Shame had consumed me, now that my cock was spent. I couldn't figure out why. I was justified in teaching him a lesson. I knew I was. He knew the nature of our relationship. He knew his place. I'd put myself through hell that night to save him from getting violated...and then I'd gone ahead and done it myself.

"I want you to go," he said softly.

"All...all right." I went into the living room, pulled on some clean clothes, packed my things. He was still sitting on the bed when I went back to the bedroom. He was naked and raw and empty-looking. "Look...things got really out of hand tonight. I didn't mean to...want to..."

"Fuck off!" He grabbed the lamp and threw it at my head, ripped the cord right out of the socket. I ducked, and it shattered against the wall next to me. The room was drenched in darkness. "Fucking leave!"

I left. It felt like an out-of-body experience, like I was watching it happen to someone else. There was hate in his voice. Real hate. The kind I thought only I was capable of feeling. I was shaking from the force of it, and I knew, deep down, that I deserved it. I'd wanted him to get a taste of what I'd had to endure for years, and I'd given that to him...as well as everything that came with it.

A deep dread settled into me as I trekked back to Milton Street. It was worse than the mortifying abuse I'd suffered earlier that evening. I'd done this in cold blood. I'd practically brutalized the only person in the world who really seemed to enjoy my company. I'd dehumanized the only person who ever lit up when he saw me, even if he was only ever thinking about the sex we were about to have. I couldn't help but feel that I'd broken something precious, that I'd never get it back again. I was right, of course.

I got back into the van, locked the doors, and drove away. I was aimless for some time, lost in a layered miasma of guilt, until I saw the sky lightening. I was still in suburbia, empty gray streets and perfectly trimmed foliage. I pulled into a drug store and parked, let the engine die.

I opened my laptop, found the video file of Ben's first time being fucked. I'd watched it many times since I'd first recorded it, jerking myself off to the digital memory of his plundered virginity. It had been my most valued possession for months, but now...? It was only a weapon that I never wanted to use.

I closed the file, hit delete, watched it disappear in nanoseconds. I put my head in my hands as the sun climbed into the sky, wishing I could sleep.