Trapped and fucked in the Australian Outback

This story is a gay/bi male erotic horror/suspense story. All characters and places described are fictional, except for the giant earthworms. Those are real.

#dominance and submission, #restraint, #bondage, #horror, #suspense, #Australiaisfuckingterrifying

You always hear stories about what happens in the Australian Outback. They’re a different breed out there, turned feral by the heat and isolation. All Lost Tribe from Mad Max, hopped up on silver paint, hunting hitchhikers for sport.

Of course, my Aussie mates [I’m originally from England] tell me an hour outside of town doesn’t count as ‘the Outback’; but what else do you call a countryside full of gum trees and wild goats as tall as men, snakes in the grass and the trees, dingoes gnawing on babies, and earthworms the size of the fucking monsters in Dune? Don’t believe me about the worms? Right now, pull up a browser window and type in ‘giant earthworms Australia 9ft long’. And never sleep again. You’re welcome.

This story’s about the mistake I made a couple of weeks ago, when I put my love of cock above rational sanity, and met what might well have been an unhinged serial killer… and had the hottest sex of my life to date.

*

It started when I got a message on this kink website ‘useandabuseme’, from a guy saying he was in my area and wanted to meet me.

I was only on the site out of curiosity, (purely for research purposes), and I wouldn’t normally take up an offer like that, being the least kinked up person I knew. But we chatted for a bit and I quite liked him. Smart, easy to talk to. He made me laugh, and he was clearly into me.

He sent me some pics, and fuck he was fit. He said he played Touch with the boys off the farms he worked on, so he was fit as well as being fit.

In his photos he looked to be in his early to mid thirties, athletic build, with medium-length brown hair and green eyes. There was a picture of him with his rugby mates, wearing a pair of shorts and a black Nike singlet. Posed holding the ball, his pecs filled out his shirt nicely, and his arms had that smooth, muscular look that suggested he either worked out a lot, or played a lot of sport. His shorts were tight enough to give the impression he had a fairly decent set of assets stowed there.

But the image I screenshotted and kept on my phone was a headshot that showed the lapels of what looked like a black utility jacket, when he was dressed up for a night on the town.

Honestly, all I cared about was that he reminded me of someone I used to know. And I’ll admit, that probably swayed me to meet him more than anything else. Familiarity, when you feel as if you’re a long way from home, can have a profound effect on your ability to make good decisions.

Because of where we’d met, I suggested we get lunch together in the city, thinking a first meeting in a public place was a good idea. But he lived way out of town, working as a plant mechanic on cattle stations, and my own work schedule was keeping me pinned down. Between us we were struggling to make it happen.

I suggested we cam, mostly so I could make sure he was the guy in the pictures, and to check that he seemed normal, but he said his internet wasn’t that great and he couldn’t get Skype to work. I guessed the NBN, Australia’s national broadband network, hadn’t made it out that far. The same went for phone reception. He’d be in and out of range, and whenever he’d call me I’d be in a meeting, or the phone would cut out as soon as I answered. Whenever I tried to call him, his phone would go to voicemail.

Of course that all sounds highly suspect now, but at the time I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Like I say, he reminded me of…someone… and as an introverted gamer whose aspirations included not leaving the house, I hadn’t had sex with anyone in longer than I’d have liked.

Neither of us was on social media, and messaging apps were pointless when the chat was never live. So because we didn’t have a better way to talk, I gave him an email address so we didn’t have to message through the site.

As soon as I did that, our conversations got a lot more personal. We still talked about politics and movies—but how horny we both were, and how much we weren’t getting because of our jobs, became the main focus of conversation.

It got so that every time I saw an email turn up in my inbox I’d get a little hard, and I’d open it with a hand in my lap, squeezing myself through my pants while I read it.

All this happened over maybe three weeks, and talking every day, it wasn’t long before my curiosity (and general horniness) started to override my natural caution.

He sent me enough pics that I was fairly certain I was talking to a real person, and none of them reverse-searched back to anyone else.

He said he was into bondage, and I said I didn’t know much about it, but was interested in knowing more.

He told me more.

I took to waiting until I was home before I read his messages. Otherwise, my afternoon meetings got embarrassing.

He asked if I was into humiliation and I joked, ’Why would you want me to humiliate you?’, and he went quiet on me for a couple of days.

It felt like a power play, but when he next got in touch he apologised and said he’d been out of 4G range for days. He was extra horny after that.

Hey Jax, I just spent three days working on a diesel generator next to a barn where they were milking cum out of bulls for artificial insemination. Can’t imagine why, but I thought of you. :-P

We have to meet soon, before I literally bust a nut. Speaking of busting a nut, my truck’s blown the head gasket and I won’t have transport for another week while it’s being repaired. But I need to see you. We need to make this happen. I’ve been dreaming about fucking you every night. You just look and sound so hot. I want to see you on your knees, feel your mouth on my hard dick and watch you swallow my cum. And I make so much cum. You’ll be drinking from dusk till dawn.

I’ll admit, I masturbated to this before I read the rest of the email.

I had to grab some tissues and wipe the mess off my stomach before I carried on reading.

Can you drive up this week? The other guy that shares the place with me will be away on Thursday night and I’ll have the cottage to myself. We can find out if we turn each other on as much in person as we do when we chat.

 I really need to see you, Jax. You’re all I can think about. You down on your knees, your hands tied behind your back, your mouth full of my cum.

 My hands tied behind my back… yeah, I’d never agreed to that. But then, I had said I was curious about bondage, and as far as kink went that was pretty mild. Not something I was into personally, but I didn’t mind that I was the focus of some good looking jock’s fantasies. It was hot to think I turned him on that much, and he hadn’t even met me.

I picked bits of tissue off my stomach as I carried on reading.

I know you said you only want to suck cock, and I’m cool with that. But if you want to go further, I’d love to turn you out and fuck that hot, out-of-bounds ass of yours. I know you’d love it. I know how to take you bi boys who won’t take a cock, and fuck you till you’re begging for more.

 That made me nervous. He knew my policy with men was suck-and-be-sucked only, or, if he really wanted it, I didn’t mind fucking him. But there was no way I was taking his huge cock in my arse. His huge, veiny, smooth cock.

At this point, I had to pause and masturbate again. I was starting to get sore by the time I read on.

Anyway, I’ll be in range tomorrow sometime during the day, so let me know what you want to do. 

He gave me his address and directions on how to find the cottage once I was off the main road, and signed off Deacon.

So that’s how I found myself driving out into the middle of nowhere, the Thursday before last.

It was about half six by the time I got off work, showered and dressed up in my Hot Topic best, and started the hour’s drive into the countryside.

It got cold early, and I had the heater blasting and the stereo cranked. The covers band I sang with wanted me to learn half a dozen Aussie songs, since I hadn’t grown up with them, so I was listening to Cold Chisel, Aussie Crawl, INXS and Icehouse on repeat.

The sun was setting as I got close to the farm where Deacon was staying, and I found myself driving down a rural road lined with gum trees and hedges, with wire fences running along either side. The houses were all set back a good K or two from the road, the access via concrete drive entrances and wooden gates every couple of kilometers.

There were no road markings or streetlights, but while the road was only just wide enough to squeeze two cars, a full moon was rising, and the road was relatively straight, so I felt happy gunning the motor.

So I was fanging it along this dark country road, singing along with some Aussie hit with a catchy chorus, when all of a sudden something white sprang out of the trees and bounded across the road. I slammed on the brakes, while the goat (I think it was a goat; maybe a tall sheep), cleared the fence and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the road.

The Civic came to a stop with its arse in the middle of the road and its nose on the dirt shoulder. And then, I shit you not, five seconds later the lights of a fucking semi-trailer were bearing down on me.

I barely had time to spin the wheel and gun the accelerator, before the truck drew even with me, veering towards the shoulder on the other side of the road with its horn blasting.

A rumble travelled up through the car as the truck hit the dirt verge and then righted itself and carried on.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I pulled the car onto the gravel and sat there for a second, processing how close I’d come to being compacted. The truck had come out of nowhere. The goat, or whatever it was, must have drawn my attention away from a bend up ahead.

I checked my phone’s GPS. The place I was looking for wasn’t much further, just a couple of kilometers up the road, so I floored the car again, pumped with adrenaline, keen to get to Deacon’s as quickly as possible.

But as I pulled onto the metal road that led up to the house, something about the car didn’t feel right. And by the time I turned off the main farmhouse driveway onto the rutted track that led to the cottage, it was obvious I had a flat.

I pulled up next to a small building built from stone. Despite the age of the place, the tin roof was shiny, and the brick chimney running up the outside was a lighter colour than the coal storage bin next to it, indicating it’d been replaced. At the far corner of the house I could see the corrugated steel curve of a water tank, shining in the moonlight.

There was a pile of firewood in the carport, and a hatchet lodged in a stump that suggested someone had been chopping kindling, and smoke was rising from the chimney.

I checked my phone. Just on half seven. Aaand he was right—there was no reception out here.

I turned off the engine and sat in the car for a moment, wondering what the fuck I was doing, meeting a stranger out in the middle of nowhere. The only conclusion I could come to, was that I was mentally impaired, possibly from being so incredibly horny all the time.

I flicked to the photo I’d saved of Deacon on my phone, taking one last look at the fantasy before I met the real thing, and tried to prepare myself for disappointment.

As I got out of the car, there was a noticeable list to the right. I switched my phone’s screen on and shone it down at the right front wheel. Definitely going flat. I checked the right rear wheel. Same thing. I crouched and shone my phone over the tyre and found a couple of ragged puncture holes. Not good.  I had a spare tyre in the boot, but not two. I’d need to get a tow.

And then the door opened. “Jaxon?”

“Yeah, hi,” I called back.

Deacon jogged down the front steps, and his shoes crunched gravel as he strolled towards the car. I couldn’t see his face, as he was silhouetted against the security light, and felt a stab of nervousness.

But as he got close, I could see he was everything his pictures had promised. The nervousness turned to anticipation. He was even better looking in person than in his photos. I guess he’d made an effort for our first date, if you could call it that. I wanted it to be more than a hookup.

“Everything alright?” he asked, and his voice sent a nice little thrill through me. He reminded me of a theatre student I’d had a thing for when I was at university.

As sexy as he was, I couldn’t help glancing down at his bulge. Even in the dark, I could see he was packing a massive weapon in his jeans. I dragged my gaze back to his face and he grinned as if to say, Yeah, I know. That look in his eyes made me want to drop to my knees right there. Tear his jeans open and suck him right there on the gravel, in the dust.

“Hey Jax, thanks for coming all the way out here.”

He held out his hand and I shook it. “Nah, come here.” He laughed and pulled me in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and gave me a pat on the back.

He smelled like wood smoke, and there was a faint hint of cologne on his collar. I realised I recognised it.

“Fierce,” I said.

“What?”

“You’re wearing Fierce,” I said. “Abercrombie used to spray it on the clothes in their stores. We bought a jacket there once…”

I realised this was a bad time to be leading with stories about my ex, and shut up.

“You like it then?”

He hugged me tight against him with one arm while his other hand slipped down to squeeze me through my skinny jeans. God that felt good. It’d been too long since I’d last been pressed against another warm body. He nuzzled my neck and I turned into him for a quick kiss on the mouth, just a hint of tongue.

He squeezed me again. “Someone’s a bit fucking turned on,” he said, a grin in his voice.

“Maybe.” I grinned back. I didn’t want to admit how much, but at that moment he could have fucked me over the bonnet of the Civic in front of a CNN news crew, and I’d have agreed to it.

He let go of me and glanced down at my lopsided Civvie. “You got a flat?”

“Two,” I said, distracted, still debating whether or not he’d be into me blowing him right there.

He nudged the front tyre with his foot. “Yeah, that’s not good.”

“The back’s the same,” I said. “Looks like I ran over something. I got run off the road by a semi trailer, so probably something on the verge.”

He winced. “Well that’s fucking inconvenient. Sorry about that, mate.”

“Not your fault.”

Deacon leaned into me and pressed his lips against mine. I let my lips part, and his tongue slipped into my mouth. It was all those emails he’d sent me, and the way he walked like he had testicles the size of tennis balls, the way he smelled. All my natural self consciousness went out the window, and his hand squeezing me through my jeans had me horny as hell.

I grabbed the waist of his jeans and tried to yank them open while we kissed, and he caught my hands.

“Easy tiger, let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

I honestly hadn’t noticed, but now that he mentioned it, our breath was misting in front of our faces.

Inside the fire was lit, and the room felt cosy. I pulled off my jacket and Deacon hung it on the back of the door, then gestured for me to have a seat while he walked around the breakfast bar into the kitchen and fetched a bottle of Scotch and a couple of square crystal tumblers.

I dropped down on the couch and took a look around. It wasn’t a big place. There were three doors off the lounge—I was guessing leading to a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom—and that was it.

Deacon handed me a tumbler of whiskey and I took a sip. It tasted like the good stuff, smoke, peat. Not what I’d expected from a guy living in a farming cottage all the way out here.

“Laphroaig?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep. You can taste the smoke, can’t you?”

“Tastes like a burning hospital,” I joked, and he laughed.

He swilled the liquid in his glass. “So, look at you.” He took a sip, savoring it on his tongue. “This goth thing’s a good look for you. I wasn’t sure, I mean, it looks a bit slutty in your pictures, but then… you pull off slutty so well.”

I glanced down into my drink, my face burning in embarrassment. He’d asked me to dress like this. Otherwise, I’d have worn a shirt.

“How old are you?” he asked. “Out of curiosity.”

“Twenty-eight,” I lied. I’d just turned thirty, but any age with ‘twenty’ in it always sounded better to me. And what was a couple of years between friends? Besides, I never saw the sun—I could pull it off.

He grinned at my obvious discomfort. “You don’t look a day over twenty-seven.”

Fuck’s sake. I shook my head and laughed down into my glass. He was killing me and he knew it.

He dropped down on the couch opposite me and I took a proper look at him.

He’d said on his profile that he was thirty-six, but if he was, he didn’t look it. On top of sandy hair and green eyes, he had a healthy, tanned, muscular body.

He wasn’t stocky, but you could see he loved his sports. It was in the tightness of his biceps and the tautness of his thighs. His t-shirt stretched tight across his pecs, with a few curls of light brown hair showing at the V of his neckline. I’d already checked out his arse. He had a great arse.

“So, this is me casa,” he said, glancing around, encouraging me to do the same.

I stopped gawking at his body and took in the room properly. The couches we were sitting on were covered in brown velour and stacked with pale canvas cushions printed with monochrome images of wild animals. Roos and deer, rabbits and dingoes.

The coffee table looked as if it was made from wooden pallets, but sanded and finished to take it from junk to naked-wood chic. It had thick rusted iron rings screwed at regular intervals along all four sides which had a rope threaded through it, giving it a nautical effect. On the table were a couple of lit bowl-style candles that cast a gold-orange glow into the centre of the room.

The open fireplace was made from the same stone as the outside of the cottage, and there was firewood stacked up beside it in a raw-wood crate that matched the style of the coffee table.

Above the mantle hung an ornamental sword that looked like an antique fencing rapier.

A baseball bat and a rugby ball sat in one corner, along with a golf club. This guy really loved his sports.

The rest of the room was lined with bookshelves made from unpainted wood, with a lot of what looked like old science fiction books stacked there, and the odd ornament. I noticed a couple of photo frames and got up to take a closer look.

I could feel Deacon’s eyes on me, checking me out as he sipped his drink and watched me look around.

I picked up a picture of him with his arm around a younger guy.

“This your ex?”

“My brother,” he said. “Aaron. He was my best mate.”

“Was?” I said.

“Family feud,” said Deacon. “We don’t talk anymore.”

I didn’t ask anymore about that. Too soon to pry into his family life. I picked up the other frame. “This your sister?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s my ex.”

The woman in the photo was very pretty. She had a heart-shaped face, and reddish brown hair that fell down past her shoulders.  She was wearing a flowered sundress and was sipping a beer as she grinned into the camera. I could see the reflection of the phone taking the picture in her sunglasses.

“How long since you broke up?” I asked, getting that old familiar sinking feeling. Usually when a man had pictures of his ‘ex’ on his shelf, she was actually a wife who had no idea he fucked men on the side. I had no interest in being part of that.

He sighed. “I know you’re not going to believe me, and I did think about moving that photo into a drawer, but I have nothing to hide. We broke up about a year ago. She’s not my wife, I’m not lying to anyone. I promise, Jax, I’m not going behind someone’s back, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I came back to stand in front of him. “You sure?”

He put his drink down and pulled me into him with his hands on the backs of my thighs.

“One hundred percent. Now, you came here for something.” He gave me a calm smile.

He parted his lips as he looked up at me, and suddenly all I could think about was what it would feel like to have his mouth around my cock.

“What do you want first, Jax?” he murmured, pulling me in closer so that he was almost kissing my cock through my jeans as he looked up at me. He squeezed my arse. “Do you want me to suck you? Or do you want to taste the load I’ve been saving up all week for this moment?”

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck

While I was thinking about that, he softly mouthed me. I let out a moan, because fuck I was so horny for this guy, and pushed my hands into his hair.

So much for getting to know him first. I stopped caring about going slow, as he

tugged open the button at the top of my jeans and slowly slid down the zip.

“Still waiting for an answer,” he teased, as he tugged down my briefs and released my growing semi.

He started to flick his tongue over the end of my cock, then took the swollen head between his lips, massaging the underside with his tongue.

I made a noise in my throat and he gazed up at me, clearly amused. He pulled off me and kissed the end of my cock.

“So I’m going first then,” he said with a grin.

I just gave him a look of lust.

He slid his hands into my pants so that he was cupping my arse, then pushed my jeans and briefs down to my ankles.

I let out a happy sigh and kneaded his scalp as he closed his mouth over me again, getting me slick with spit.

He massaged my arse while he sucked me, then moved one hand under my sac and rolled my balls in his hand.

I was lost in ecstasy when he pulled off me. I opened my eyes as he gripped my forearms. “I need your mouth on me now,” he said in a low voice.

He sat back on the couch and spread himself wide, and I sank to my knees between his legs. I tugged open his jeans and took him out. He was nice and smooth, uncut, and looked just the right thickness to fill my mouth. His big balls were shaved, but there was a tidy nest of brown hair at the base of his cock that turned into a happy trail that disappeared under his t-shirt.

He was long enough that I couldn’t take more than half of him in, but I did my best.

“That’s great,” he breathed down at me, while I gazed up at him, happy to finally be on his cock. “Can you take it in your throat?”

I honestly hadn’t mastered it. I asked him not to try with my eyes, and he laughed.

“You’re okay to swallow though?”

I nodded quickly, and he grabbed fistfuls of my hair. I groaned as he dragged me onto him, going a little rough, but not trying to force his way into my throat.

“You know what?” he said as he fucked my mouth, a kind of intense hunger in his eyes. “I’ve changed my mind, I like this look. It’s really doing it for me.”

Him saying that only made me hungrier to please him.

Any guy who loves sucking cock will tell you the feel of a hard dick in your mouth is only half the pleasure; the other half is knowing how hard you’re making the guy whose dick you’re sucking. How into it he is, how much you turn him on. And if he gets worked up, you know you’re doing a good job.

“That’s it, fuck, I’m close so don’t, hooo yeah.”

His grip was tight as he spurted into my mouth, his cum as scalding as the first spurt of water from a hose on a hot day. I swallowed it all down, drank it as he made it, and he was right—he either made a lot more than most, or he really had been saving it up all week.

He kept his hold on my hair until he was emptied out, and then pulled out of my mouth, leaving me chasing after the last few drops oozing out.

He laughed. “That was fantastic. You really like sucking cock, don’t you?”

I grinned, feeling a juvenile sense of pride. He zipped himself up, then tugged me to my feet. “Come here.”

I put my hands on his waist while he cupped my arse, his fingers exploring my crack as we started making out. His mouth tasted of whiskey, and as I swapped tongues with him, his cologne mixed with the scent of wood smoke from the open fire.

It made me hungry to be closer to him, and I put my arms around him, pulling him tight against me. He gripped my cock, trapped up against my stomach between us, and stroked me while we kissed, a noise of satisfaction in his throat.

His touch made me moan into his mouth, and he pulled my t-shirt off and ran his hands over my chest.

“Shit, you looked a bit heroin chic, but there’s some definition there.”

Heroin chic. Great.

He kept stroking my cock while he teased my nipples, then ran a hand up into my hair. I gasped as he grabbed a fistful.

“Yeah? You like that?”

I gave him a silent, heavy-lidded look of lust, and he laughed and jacked me harder. He used the hand fisted in my hair to pull my head back, making me so fucking horny. I was so close, I was throbbing.

Without warning, he let go of me and dropped to his knees, taking my cock in his mouth.

I let out a lip-biting ‘Ffffuck’ and exploded on contact, my hands pushed into his hair while I shuddered and jerked into his mouth.

He gripped my shaft with one hand while he milked me, his eyes on my face, watching me lose myself.

He finished me off, tonguing the last traces of cum away, then let my softening cock slip out of his mouth.

“Good?” he said, as he got to his feet.

“Fuck yeah,” I pulled him into me, my hands gripping the top of his jeans. “Worth the drive.”

He smiled. “Worth the wait.”

He combed a hand through my hair, then gripped it just enough to make me gasp, and released it.

He gave me a curious look as my hair settled back into place. “That really gets you going?”

I nodded and he made a face.

“I hate having my hair pulled. It just hurts.”

I gave him a half-shrug. “It’s a good pain.”

Something came into his eyes. “I thought you said you didn’t like pain?”

He rested his hands on my waist, his thumbs stroking against me.

“I’m not into BDSM or anything like that,” I said. “Just looks uncomfortable.”

“You just said you enjoyed me pulling your hair.”

I laughed awkwardly. “I mean, yes, I did, but that’s not BSDM, is it? It’s just… it adds tension.”

“Tension.”

He grabbed my hair again and I let out a shudder of breath.

His gaze slid from my eyes to my mouth, and then he moved his hands down to my arse and pulled me hard against him, pressing my spent cock against his jeans.

He ran his tongue between his teeth. “I think, Jax, that you like pain more than you’d like to admit.” He ground against me then glanced down. “I think you’d quite like a bit of pain with your pleasure if you tried it. And probably quite a bit of control.”

I followed his gaze down, taking his point. I was getting hard again. Months of nothing, then this. Maybe it wasn’t that surprising any kind of dirty talk turned me on. Still, I didn’t want him thinking I was into kink, then getting pissed off when I asked him to back it off. That’d gotten me into trouble before. Enough trouble that I wasn’t prepared to risk it happening again.

I pushed him away and he let me go, watching with amusement as I pulled up my pants, packing my semi away.

“Jax, come on, we only have one night to play. One night! How long’s it been? We’re both horny as fuck for each other. You didn’t drive all the way out here for a blowjob.”

Yes, I really had, that was how desperate I was to touch another human being. Well, that and maybe more, but that ‘more’ didn’t involve what he was suggesting.

“It’s been great, but I think I should go. School night and all that.”

He sighed and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Firstly, it’s only half past eight, and secondly, you still need a tow.”

Fuck! I was annoyed with myself for forgetting that. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tried to bring up the internet on my phone. No signal. No bars.

“Where can I get reception?” I asked.

“Best place to try is on top of the water tank,” he said. If he was annoyed I wanted to leave so soon, he was polite at least. “Sometimes you can get a signal up there. Otherwise, about five Ks up the road. You sure you want to go right now? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.” And I wasn’t. I just knew if I didn’t go, I might end up doing things I didn’t plan on doing. “Let’s do lunch next week.”

I knew I’d gone too fast. I’d been so horny I hadn’t even had a conversation with him before we started sucking each other off. I wasn’t usually that quick to fuck a stranger, but it’d been so long. And after all those emails, we weren’t really strangers.

He considered me. “A bad idea because you’re afraid of what you might do if you stay? Afraid you’re not who you think you are?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” I said, irritated he seemed to be able to see right through me.

“You want to go, I get it,” he said. “I’m sure you have your reasons. Tell you what, I’ll jump up on the tank and see if I can get a signal. If I can, I’ll call you a tow. If I can’t, why don’t you stay the night and we’ll walk up the road together tomorrow, rather than traipsing all the way up there in the dark tonight?”

Yeah, I wasn’t staying the night. I’d probably wake up in the morning tied to his bed, covered in cum, wondering what the fuck had happened.

“Let’s try the water tank.”

I pulled on my t-shirt and followed him outside. We walked around the side of the house to the water tank, shining silver under the moonlight. There was a ladder running up the outside, and he climbed up and stood on top. I started to follow him up, but he put a hand out. “You don’t want two people standing on top of one of these tanks,” he said. “They’re not built to take that kind of load.”

I stood at the bottom of the tank while he turned in circles, his movement making the tank boom hollow with every step.

I looked around while he searched for a signal, gauging just how isolated we were. Overhead the sky was cloudless and filled with stars, and I could see the lights from the nearest neighbours. They had to be at least a few kilometres away.

Something moved in the trees beyond the fence that bordered the property, something pale. There was a thud of sound, like hooves against dirt, as whatever it was moved off, and then a weird scream. The sound was unnerving, but it didn’t shock me. It wouldn’t have surprised me if all Australian wildlife screamed. Even the spiders.  Especially the spiders.

“What was that?” I called up to him.

He paused and looked out into the dark, searching for whatever made the sound. “Probably a wild goat. Stay away from them, they’re vicious little fucks if you upset them and they’ll go you. I shoot them when I can.”

Wild screaming Australian goats. Great. I’d been chased by enough domestic ones on my grandparents’ lifestyle block back home to be wary of them.

I shivered. It was bloody cold after being by the fire.

“Anything?” I called up to Deacon.

He gazed down at his phone. “Nah, mate, sorry, nothing. I think we’re shit out of luck.”

“Do you want to try my phone? I’m with Optus if that helps?”

“Me too,” he said. He pushed his phone into his pocket and climbed back down. “Sorry, mate, you look like you’re freezing.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get back inside.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll try. I might get lucky.”

He shrugged. “Go for it. Stand near the outside of the tank though.”

I climbed up the ladder and did as he’d done, turning in circles. No hint of a signal.

“Hey, look, we can go for a walk up the road if you want,” Deacon said as I climbed back down. “Or, if you want to stay, I promise I won’t try and make you do anything you don’t want to do.” He put a hand to the back of my head, teasing my hair between his fingers. “You and me, snuggling up together in a nice warm bed. Doesn’t that sound good to you?”

He knew it did. I’d told him I missed sleeping next to someone else most of all.

I realised I was being an arse.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.”

We went back inside, and he poured us both another drink and handed a glass to me. I dropped down on the couch while he took a seat opposite.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he said. “It’s just, you’re dressed like this,” he waved a hand, “and all those emails—”

I felt my face go hot. I had said I was interested in some pretty fucked up things, after all. When I was horny, and in the comfort of my own home, and jacking off to his emails.

“I got the impression you were a bit more... relaxed,” he said.

I took another swallow of whiskey and held it in my mouth before I swallowed.

“Look, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about experimenting,” I said. “But there’s a fair bit of trust involved in going down that road.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I get it, don’t worry mate, I get it. I’m just horny for ya.”

It’s never unpleasant to hear that someone you find attractive wants to fuck you. And fuck, I was attracted to him.

He picked up the whiskey bottle off the coffee table and came over to me. He filled my tumbler to half, then climbed on top of me, so his knees were on the couch either side of me.

He sat his arse on my lap and poured more Scotch into his glass.

“Come on. We’re stuck with each other for the night. We may as well enjoy ourselves. I know you want to want to experiment a little bit. I told you, I’m used to you bi boys. I’ll go easy on ya.”

Wondering what he was up to, I put my hands lightly on his waist as he took a sip of whiskey and then leaned over me. The look in his eyes gave me a flutter of excitement. I knew what he wanted. Holding his eyes, I opened my mouth. He let the whiskey dribble from his mouth into mine, then kissed me.

A couple of the gay guys I’d hooked up with had wanted to spit in my mouth. I wasn’t comfortable with that and found it degrading—but this I found intensely erotic.

He broke away to put the bottle and his glass on the table, then took my glass out of my hand and started feeding the rest of the whiskey to me, one mouthful at a time.

I had to admit, it was fucking hot him doing that, and his scent mixed with the smoky smell of the open fire drove me crazy for him.

Several glasses of Scotch, and a slutty makeout session later, my head was swimming. I’d laid off the booze over the past twelve months, after realising I was drinking more than I probably should, and now it took a lot less to get me drunk.

“No more,” I groaned, my throat burning.

Deacon put the freshly emptied glass on the coffee table behind him and put his hands on his thighs.

“So, what do you want to do now?”

My head was spinning from the Scotch and the heat, and I had a solid semi going in my jeans.

“This is great for now.”

I pulled him down to kiss me again and slid his hands under my t-shirt. His touch made my skin come alive, and I realised I’d missed making out almost as much as I’d missed sucking cock. I masturbated thinking of a mouthful of cum, but this touch was like taking ecstasy.

“Hey,” he said, breaking the kiss, “I know you only want to top if we fuck, but did you know, if you look in Urban Dictionary, you’re literally the second entry down under ‘vers’.”

Seeing I was too drunk to follow, he pulled out his phone.

“I took a screenshot last week. Thought you’d find it amusing. It says ‘Jaxon says he's vers, but everybody knows that's just code for bottom’.” He showed me the screenshot and I laughed politely until my brain fired enough to process what he was saying. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, I know,” he said with a grin, pushing his phone back into his pocket. “It’s just a joke, mate, relax.”

We carried on making out, and he refilled the glass again, feeding every drop of it to me.

After a bit, I started to get a head spin on. I put a hand against his chest. “I should have a coffee.”

 “Really?” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Come ooon, we’re having fun.” There was a challenge in his eyes.

“Trust me, I like making out with you and your Scotch is brilliant, but I think I’m  trollied.”

I pulled myself up straighter and he climbed off me and took a seat next to me on the couch. He put a hand on my thigh. “You okay?”

“Coffee,” I said. I tried to focus on him and couldn’t.

“Okay, one black coffee coming up.”

He gave me a grin and then got up and went to the kitchen to make it.

I fell sideways on the couch and stretched out, my boots resting on the armrest at one end, the heat from the fire warming the top of my head.

“Here.” He put a cup of coffee on the table next to me, and I rolled onto my side so that he could sit on the couch beside me. “You really don’t get out much, do you?”

I shook my head. “Been busy the last year with work.”

Moving countries and being an introvert hadn’t helped either.

“Work’s that important to you?” He stroked a hand through my hair. “At twenty-eight?”

“I’m thirty,” I mumbled.

“And what do you wish you could do with me, if you were brave enough to do it? Maybe now you’re a bit more relaxed?”

“I don’t know.” I pulled a couch cushion that was digging into me out from behind my back and tossed it on the floor.

He moved off the couch and knelt in front of me so we were face to face.

He kissed my lips. “I think you do.” He kissed me again, then gripped my hair, hard.

I groaned, and it was confusion and being boozed, and the paralysis that came from that grip.

“I think you know exactly what you want, but you’re too scared to ask for it.” His face was only inches from mine.

I couldn’t argue with him while he was holding me like that. I couldn’t even speak.

He stood, keeping his hand in my hair, forcing my head up off the armrest so that I had to prop myself up on my elbow. With my focus reduced to a few inches in front of my face, I heard, rather than saw him unbuckle his belt and pull his jeans open. Still holding my head, he rested one knee on the couch and pulled my mouth onto his half-hard cock.

I started sucking him on autopilot, drunk and on familiar territory.

“Yeeah, fuck, that’s great,” he murmured. “You’re quite a lot more relaxed with a bit of piss in ya.”

He was right. When his cock nudged against the entrance to my throat, I just let him in. I gagged on him, couldn’t stop myself, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He pulled back to let me breathe normally, then thrust in again, deeper this time, controlling me with a hand gripping my hair.

He was treating my throat like any other hole he wanted to fuck, giving me a chance to get used to the invasion, but making sure I knew he was in control of the outcome.

And I wanted to please him. I did my best to take him, uninhibited by any kind of sober dignity, and felt his long cock plug my throat. Even drunk and willing, it was too much.

My throat worked around him as I struggled to remember to breathe while I dealt with the intrusion, and he pulled out, fucking my mouth for a bit before he pushed in deep again. This time, I remembered to breathe through my nose.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said softly, wiping away strands of drool from my chin. “All you had to do was relax. Just relax. Enjoy yourself.”

He kept fucking my throat as deep as I could take it, while my head swam and I did my best to accommodate him. Then finally his cock started to twitch and pulse, and a hot load of cum jetted against the back of my throat.

I swallowed, but I was too drunk and I coughed, splashing his cum all over his cock, my face and the couch.

“Fffuck,” he said, but he sounded more resigned than pissed off. I let my head drop back onto the armrest while he got a cloth and cleaned off the couch.

A second later my eyes opened wide as I felt his tongue against my face. He was licking his own cum off me.

I put a hand out and pushed him away and he laughed.

“Okay, so no licking your face.”

“Who likes that?” I asked.

He pulled me upright and put the now tepid mug of coffee in my hand.

“Drink up, mate, I don’t want to fuck you while you’re off your face. Sorry, I didn’t realise quite how drunk you were.”

That was bullshit, but I was okay with it. I’d have deep throated more guys if I hadn’t found it so unpleasant.

I did my best to put the coffee mug to my mouth, but it was a struggle.

“Want me to hold it for you?” he asked.

I shook my head and held the cup out to him. “Take it.” I was feeling nauseated anyway.

He took the mug from my hand and set it back on the table. “Why don’t you rest for a bit and let your head clear?”

He sat down at the end of the couch and I shuffled down so my head was in his lap.

My head resting against his thigh, I could smell that he’d cum. The hand by my face smelled of lemon washing up liquid from cleaning off the couch, and the wood smoke scent and the crackle of the fire was soothing.

I closed my eyes and he ran a hand through my hair then rested it against my chest.

“So, why are you still dressing like a slutty goth at thirty?” he asked.

“You asked me to.” My head was swimming.

“No, I mean, why do you ever dress like a slutty goth?”

“I’m in a band,” I mumbled against his leg.

“What?” He leaned over me, trying to understand me. “You’re in a band?”

“Covers band,” I said.

He ran his hand through my hair again and was quiet for a while. “Actually, I have to come clean. I knew that.”

I grunted. I was starting to fall asleep.

“I saw you play, Jax. Saw your band, saw you sing. About a month ago it would have been.”

His voice broke into my steady slide towards sleep.

“I would have gone up to you and talked to you, but I saw you with some girl and figured you were taken.” He ran his fingers lightly over my face and said teasingly, “And then I saw your picture on that site. And fuck me, it said you were single.”

He dipped his fingers in his drink and pressed his fingertips to my lips.

I was swimming down into the black now. The last thing I knew before I fell asleep was two fingers coated with whiskey, pushed inside my mouth. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

*

I woke with a hard surface under me. It took long seconds to focus, and to realise I was attached to the coffee table. My feet were flat against the floor, but my wrists were roped to the iron rings that ran around the sides of the table, There was a strap around my neck holding me flat so I couldn’t raise my head.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Hey!”

Deacon’s face came into view. He was sipping a glass of scotch.

“You really can’t hold your liquor, can you?”

“Did you fucking drug me?”

He laughed. “Nope. You drugged yourself, mate. Next time, know your limits.” He took another sip while he looked down at me. “Ready to live out some of your fantasies?”

“What fantasies?”

“Aaaallll the shit you wrote in your emails.”

Oh, fuck no.

I pulled at the ropes, but he’d done a good job on the knots. At least I was still clothed, barring my boots. I seemed to have lost those while I’d been unconscious.

Deacon sat on the couch behind me where I couldn’t see him, and rested his feet on the table either side of my head. Up close, his red Adidas trainers looked new. The white soles were clean at least.

“You have no idea how lonely it gets out here,” he said. There was a clink of teeth against glass as he took a sip of scotch.

I craned my neck, trying to find an angle where I could see him. “I thought someone else was living out here with you?”

“There was. Farm assistant named Larry. He’s not with us anymore.”

The way he said it made me think I should have told someone I was coming out here.

He rolled his right foot from side to side, forcing me to turn my head to the left or taste rubber.

“Who names a kid ‘Larry’ anyway?” It was a question more to himself than me. “What’s it even short for? Larrenstein?” He sipped his drink. “Larrence?”

“Laurence,” I said. How the fuck did he not know that?

“Ah. Yeah, good point.”

“Deacon, how about you let me up before this goes too far?”

He laughed and nudged my cheek with his shoe.

“After all the trouble I went through to get you to this point? I don’t think so, mate.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Parked my truck up at the neighbour’s, and it’s a hell of a walk. No barn here, see, no garage. Couldn’t leave it up the road to get nicked.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Well, stud, obviously if I’d had my truck here, when you drove over the nail boards at the end of the drive, I would have had to have given you a lift back to town.”

My poor Yokohama Advans. They still had ninety percent of the tread on them too. I’d bought the type-R when I’d gotten my new job and a hefty salary increase, and I hardly ever got to drive it. The first time I had in ages, and he’d deliberately mauled it.

“You wanker.”

He nudged my head with his trainer. “Watch it, mate, you’re not in any position to be getting pissy with me.”

I tugged against the ropes as hard as I could, this time trying to unbalance the table, but it barely moved.

He set his trainer against the side of my head and gave it a push.

“Settle, babe, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Why are you doing this?” It was horror-movie cliché to say, but I wanted to know what he had planned.

He took another sip before he answered me, holding the whiskey against his tongue before he swallowed.

“I don’t know, mate. Guess I’m bored. Bored of pretty-boys like you who only suck cock. Bored of trying to find someone who’ll drive all the way out here who actually wants to fuck. Plus, I’ve had a game in mind for a while now. Figured I might play it with you.”

Oh Christ.

He took his feet off the table and leaned over me, his head tilted to one side. “You’d be up for a bit of fun, wouldn’t you?”

“Deacon, untie me now!”

“Oh sssh.” He patted my chest. “You’ll enjoy it. Goes like this.” He gestured with his glass as he talked. “I murdered three people on this property. I want you to guess who they were and what I did with the bodies.”

He crouched so his face was next to mine.

“Every time you guess right, I’ll give you a blow job.” He ran his fingers through my hair then gripped a fistful of it. “And every time you get it wrong, you can blow me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? That’s your thing. The hungry little cockslut who never gets any.”

My mouth was dry. Three people. He’d killed three people. I started hyperventilating.

“Hey. Hey!” He gripped my hair tighter and shook it. “I’m just fucking with ya.” He laughed manically and let go of my hair. “Jesus, mate, you’ll believe anything!”

“Maybe I’d be slightly less inclined to believe you’re a maniac if you hadn’t tied me to a fucking coffee table!”

I rolled my head to follow him as he straightened up and went into the kitchen to refill his glass.

He leaned across the breakfast bar and contemplated me.

“Bondage suits you.”

“I don’t know what’s going through your damaged brain right now,” I said, “But this is not fun for me.”

He nodded towards my obvious erection. “So that’s a fear boner is it?”

He slid a stainless steel knife out of a wooden knife block and turned it in his hands.

“Tell you what, ‘course I haven’t really killed anyone, but let’s pretend I have. Same rules. You guess who, how, and where I’ve buried them, and I’ll blow ya.”

“What? Now I have to guess how as well?”

He shrugged and slid the knife back into its place in the block. “Don’t want to make it too easy.”

“And if I don’t want to play?”

He shrugged again. “Well, I can’t let you go right now, since you’ll probably try and go me for fucking with you, and you’re stronger than I thought you’d be. So I guess you’ll just spend the night where you are, and by morning you should have cooled off enough that all you’ll want to do is go find a signal and get out of here.”

“What makes you think I won’t call the police the second you let me go?”

“Well,” he said, walking around the breakfast bar to stand over me. “Firstly, I have emails from you saying you’re curious about bondage. Secondly, do you really think I’d let you go if I thought you’d go to the cops?”

Sweat prickled between my shoulder blades.

He smiled down at me. “You going to go to the cops if I untie you?”

I shook my head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He laughed. “I believe you, mate.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “But just to make sure, how about we just record some footage of you enjoying yourself right where you are?”

Something about the way he said it made my it’s just a fear boner even harder.

He pulled out his phone and started recording.

He put a hand against my crotch and squeezed. “Want to say your name for the camera?”

“Piss off.”

He laughed. “Don’t be like that.”

He dropped his drink back on the breakfast bar, then set up his phone so that it was leaning against his glass.

He came back and knelt between my legs and tugged my jeans open.

“Just like we talked about for the last couple of weeks. Me pleasuring you, and you getting to lie back and enjoy it.”

As a concept, it was hard to argue with.

He tugged my jeans and briefs down past my hips, then breathed along my semi-erect cock.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice loaded with smug.

There wasn’t much I could do. Well, I could have kicked him away; but no matter what I did, I’d still be tied to the table, and he’d be pissed off. I couldn’t even tilt my head far enough forward to see what he was doing.

“Talk to me, Jax.” He stroked a finger along my length, and I stared up at the ceiling, trying not to be so turned on. “Tell me to stop.”

I took a breath to speak, and then held it as his lips pressed against the end of my cock. He held me with just the pressure of his lips, his tongue sliding against me, then let me slip from his mouth.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he murmured. Before I could say anything, he took hold of me and licked slowly along my length, before taking me back into his mouth. I let out a groan, then remembered why he was doing it.

“Get off,” I said, “Let me up.”

He stopped teasing me, his breath hot against me. “Just so we’re clear, you want me to stop sucking you, and never do it again?”

He laid his tongue against the underside of my drooling cockhead and teased along the seam.

Did I want him to stop? No, not really. Was I thinking about what might come next? No. No, I fucking wasn’t, because he was tonguing my cock, and he was hot, and I was exceptionally horny.

“Yes?” he asked, then closed his lips around me. “Or no?” the question was muffled by my cock being in his mouth.

He started to suck me in earnest, and both of us knew I wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

The bastard licked and teased me, only sucking me long enough to get me hard and desperate, and then pulled off and packed me away again. No mean feat, the state I was in.

“That should do.”

My eyes were fixed to his arse as he walked back to the bench and stopped the phone recording.

He pushed the phone into his pocket and came to stand over me again. “So, are you going to play my game?”

“How about you finish sucking me instead?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No. Well, if you guess correctly, then yes. Otherwise...” he squeezed himself through his jeans. “My cock goes in your mouth again. Not that I can see you complaining either way.”

I tugged at the ropes around my wrists, while he poured himself another drink.

“Fine,” I said. I was desperate to get the game started so he’d touch me again. At this point, there was a good chance that even if I lost, I’d be able to come just from sucking him off. “Tell me what I have to do.”

He crouched at the head of the coffee table and undid whatever was holding my head down. But even though I was no longer attached to the table, whatever was around my neck stayed that way.

He walked to the far end of the table, and I lifted my head to see him better.

“First of the three,” he said. “Who’d I kill?”

Larrenstein was the most obvious choice. “The guy who lived here with you. Larry.”

He nodded slowly. “Easiest first. Fair enough.”

He sat on the couch on the far side of the table, and I gave up trying to keep eye contact with him.

“And how’d I kill him?”

I studied the wooden ceiling beams while I thought about it. There were so many options.

“How many guesses do I get?”

“One,” he said. He got off the couch and climbed onto the table, his hands either side of my head, his knees either side of my body.

“How did I do it, Jax?” He combed a hand through my hair.

At least I could see his face now.

“Tell me about him,” I said. “What’d he do to you?”

Deacon sat back, his arse resting against my abdomen. “He was annoying.” He thought for a moment. “He listened to the most godawful music.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, like, Jeff Buckley. All the time. Christ. Made me want to cut myself.” He put his head on one side. “You ever heard Buckley sing? So fucking annoying. It’s like listening to a cat mating with a skillsaw.”

I had all of Jeff Buckley’s albums on my phone, but I was guessing this wasn’t the time to say so.

“You killed him for listening to bad music?”

He gave a spasm of laughter. “No. No, I killed him because he didn’t keep the kitchen clean, and out here that means getting rats and all sorts pissing and shitting all over the bench. You know how big cockroaches get out here?”

Oh, probably no bigger than the earthworms or the spiders.

“So, how’d I kill him?” he asked. He pushed up my t-shirt and started running his hands across my chest, making it exceptionally hard to concentrate.

“Gotta hint for you, Jaxon. This whole game’s about seeing the obvious.”

I took mental stock of obvious weapons. The baseball bat and the golf club in the corner. Ornamental sword over the fireplace. Axe stuck in the stump in the carport. Knives on the bench.

He pinched my nipple hard and I let out a yelp. “Ow! Do you mind?”

“Hurry up,” he said. “Stop fucking about.”

Larry, Larry, how had he killed Larry? How did you kill someone you held in contempt? In the most mundane way possible.

“You stabbed him to death.”

He raised an eyebrow, go on.

I thought a moment as he considered me. “Specifically—a dirty kitchen knife.”

He grinned. “Go on. You’re doing well.”

“And... he didn’t hear you coming because he had his music up so loud.”

He nodded. “Good. See, it’s an easy game.”

“Do I get my blowjob now?” I asked, ever hopeful.

“Not quite, mate. I still need you to tell me where the body’s buried.”

The place had to be fifteen acres of gum trees and paddocks. But Deacon wasn’t after GPS coordinates. He’d already told me I just needed to see the obvious.

The obvious.

Bright and silver, shining in the moonlight.

“He’s in the water tank. Isn’t he?”

He gave me a confused look. “The water tank that provides the water I used to make you a coffee?”

“Well, I mean—you didn’t actually do it, so...”

He grinned like a toddler caught doing something naughty. “Didn’t I?” He gazed down at me. “So his body isn’t floating about in the black water, all... disintegrated and rotten?”

He was worrying me now.

He burst into laughter and patted my chest. “Well done, mate, first one to you.”

I let out a breath of relief, and he climbed off the table and knelt between my legs again. He took me back out of my jeans and kissed the tip of my cock.

“Round one. Cum for me, Jax.”

My eyes went wide, and I forgot the game as he wet his finger and pushed it into my arse, then set about aggressively sucking me off. His mouth made wet suction, and the pad of his finger stroked the inside of my channel while he made satisfied noises in the back of his throat, until I was humping against his face.

Cum for me, Jax.

I gave him everything I had, and he swallowed it all.

When he was done, he wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and got to his feet.

“How was that?”

“More fun than being murdered.”

He snorted, amused. “This next one won’t be so easy, so think hard. Who’s number two?”

What other clues were there? Two photos, his brother and his ex—the only evidence of other people in his life.

I thought of our conversation about his brother, Aaron, and how they didn’t speak anymore because of a family feud.

“Your brother. You murdered your brother.”

He moved around the table and crouched by my head, sliding a finger into the Christ, it’s a collar, isn’t it? around my neck, tightening it against my Adam’s apple.

He tugged it gently. “Why’d I kill him?”

“You tell me.”

He slid his finger around the back of the collar, forcing my head flat to the table.

“Fair enough.” He leaned over me. “The prick fucked my world. I was already on the edge, and he kicked the chair out from under my feet.”

“What’d he do?”

He spoke against my ear. “He fucked my ex.”

Christ. There was enough venom in his voice for me to almost believe it was true.

He took his finger out of the collar and I swallowed hard.

“So, Jax, tell me—how’d I kill my asshole of a little brother?”

He sat back on the couch behind me, and the toe of his sneaker nudged the back of my head as I studied the ceiling.

How had he killed Aaron?

How did you kill someone who’d knocked the chair out from under your feet?

Slowly. Painfully.

The chair out from under your feet.

The carport.

“You hung him,” I said. “Out in the carport. You stood him on the chopping block, and then you shoved it out from under him and watched him swing.”

I could see it—the young guy in the photo, his hands grappling with the rope around his neck, struggling as he choked. Only unlike in the movies, there wouldn’t be a harness to take his weight. It’d all be on his throat.

The collar around my neck suddenly felt like a noose.

I swallowed hard again, trying to stay calm.

Deacon got off the couch and his breath was hot against my face as he crouched beside me again. “How the fuck did you get that?”

“It’s the ultimate power trip for you, isn’t it?” I rolled my head to look at him. “He took your power by fucking your girlfriend, and you took it back.”

He looked impressed. “You’re right. I hung him. I sat on that stump and watched his face turn blue, watched his eyes fill with panic as he died.” He teased my earlobe with his teeth, then said softly, “Now. What’d I do with the body?”

Again, ‘Put it in the ground’ wasn’t the answer. Deacon was far too twisted for that.

He straightened up and walked over to the fire to add another log. There was a swirl of sparks, then spitting and popping as flames connected with wet sap.

Surely not...

Even as an exercise in fantasy, it was sick.

“You didn’t bury him, did you?” I could see from the look in his eyes that I was right. “You didn’t bury him—you burned him.”

He gave me a long, considering look. “How the fuck do you figure that?”

“You chopped him up with the hatchet... and you burned his pieces in the fireplace.”

He shook his head. “Not the fireplace. Can you imagine the smell? The smoke everywhere? But you’re right. I incinerated every last piece of that little fuck.” He sniffed. “Alright. I guess I owe you another blowjob. But first, let’s try for round three.”

“But—”

“Christ, you’re insatiable,” he said. “Consider this an I.O.U. Besides, wouldn’t you like a couple of minutes to recover?” He put a foot against the table and gave it a push. It shuddered, but didn’t move.

“Now, who’s number three? Who else did I kill?”

At this point, there was sweat collecting between my shoulder blades, and no doubt in my mind. “Your ex. You killed your ex.”

He nodded. “Too easy, once you know why I killed my little brother. But how?”

He’d hung his little brother and watched him die, wanted it to last. But his ex... that he still had a photo of her on his shelf said a lot.

“She didn’t know you knew,” I said. “You never confronted her. You...” I suddenly had a vision of how it’d played out. “You waited until she was asleep—and then you drove that fancy sword on the wall through her heart.” I nodded towards the rapier mounted over the fireplace.

He stalked around the table to where I could see him. “Sorry mate, you couldn’t be more wrong on this one.”

I got a twitch of dread between my shoulder blades. “How then?”

“Golf club,” he said. “It wasn’t pretty.”

A flash of the girl in the photo, the metal head slamming against the side of her head. The wet thud as it connected with her skull.

Deacon crouched beside me again.

“Where’s her body?” he said. Then softer, “Where’s her bodee, Jax?”

The way he said it was usually reserved for people covered in blood, holding chainsaws. The Australian accent lent itself well to psychopathy.

I looked around the room, searching for inspiration. It suddenly seemed that there was more at stake than just a friendly blowjob. Where had he buried her? Put her? Disposed of her?

He stood, using the table to lever himself up, and it shuddered under me.

And then I knew what he’d done.

“In the table.” I choked on the words. “She’s sealed in the table.”

Deacon grinned. “Not bad mate, not bad.”

He was utterly mental. I could see that now.

“I’d really like it if you’d let me up now.” There was no keeping the panic out of my voice.

I could feel the corpse of his ex girlfriend trapped under me, folded in on herself, her hair like a cheap wig draped over her decaying shoulders, her jaw hinged open as she desiccated in the dark.

He opened the door to one of the other rooms and disappeared. I craned my head as far back as it would go, but even at that angle, couldn’t see anything.

“Deacon!” I shouted. “Mate, what are you doing?”

There was the noise of drawers opening and things being moved around, during which my smartwatch vibrated, no doubt to tell me my heart rate was now in the healthy exercise zone. Then I heard footsteps as he came back. He walked around the table so that I could see him, and gazed down at me. A pair of handcuffs dangled from his left hand.

“Do you want to see?” he asked.

“See what?”

“See her. My ex.”

He swung his hand against his leg, and the chain-rattle of the handcuffs sent another spike of fear through me. There was no more fear boner.

“Let me up,” I said. “Now, Deacon. Now!” I wrenched at the ropes. “Now!”

“Sure,” he said matter-of-factly. “Why not?”

He crouched at the right side of the table and untied my right wrist. As soon as he freed my arm, I rolled away from him and crouched on the other side of the table, doing my best to work my left wrist free.

He straightened up and watched me with an amused smile.

While I was fumbling with the knot, he strode over to the corner of the room where he kept his sports equipment and picked up the baseball bat.

I fought his knot with fingers cramped from reduced blood supply, while he swung the bat, then dropped it back in the corner. He picked up the golf club, running a finger over the curved metal head.

He positioned the photo of his ex on the far arm of the couch, and I fell onto my arse in shock as he swung the golf club, sending the heavy photo frame crashing into the opposite wall.

I came back to a crouch, still tethered to the table, as he strolled back to me. As I finally got the knot undone, he stood the golf club against the floor and leaned on it to watch me.

He dangled the handcuffs at me. “You going to let me put these on you, or are we going to add a number four to the game for the guy who comes after you?”

I shook my head as I did up the button on my jeans with trembling hands.

“You know I’m not letting you walk out that door.”

I ignored him, jerking at the zip too hard, jamming it. I tugged at it again and finally got it to mesh, and pulled it up. I pushed my hands into my pockets, and then looked around for my boots.

“Ah yes, your boots. You’re not going to get far without them,” said Deacon.

They were nowhere to be seen. I started for the doors at the rear of the cottage to look for them and he stepped in front of me.

“Uh, no. You want your boots back, you let me cuff you.”

I spun around and headed for the front door.

“Jaxon, come on, don’t be an idiot. This is Australia, mate. Apart from the fact it’s bloody cold out there, this is Australia. Spiders. Snakes. Scorpions. Tasmanians. And mate, you don’t have your phone either, and with no car, you’re going to need that to get home.”

I looked for my jacket on the back of the door. Gone. My phone wasn’t in my pants.

I spun back to him. “What is this, ‘Baby it’s cold, and there are snakes outside?’”

He laughed and held out the handcuffs. “It’s, ‘Babe, I get to fuck roughly once every three months, so I’m going to fuck ya however I want to fuck ya, and you’re lucky you’re wearing pants right now.’”

I walked back to him and put my face in close to his. “You don’t honestly think I’m going to let you do this, do you?”

“Well, yeah?” He gave me an amused look. “Course you are. We both know it. But I don’t mind if you want to play hard to get, if that’s what does it for you.”

“Where are my b—”

He hooked a foot behind my calf, tripping me so that I fell backwards onto the couch, and brought the handle of the golf club against my chest, pinning me as he dropped into my lap.

I gripped the golf club with both hands to hold him off and found my fear was almost a match for his muscle.

“Jaxon, come on, mate,” he squeezed out, grunting with exertion. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I put some muscle into it, and managed to shove him back. He fell on his back on the floor and I straddled him, doing my best to put the golf club against his throat. For a second I had him pinned, and then his muscular biceps swelled as he jerked the club out of my hands. The sudden, uneven transfer of force caused the handle to slam against the side of my head.

I fell sideways and ended up on my stomach, my head thick with pain. I put a hand to my temple, sure I was about to pass out, as he crawled over to me.

“You okay, mate?”

“No.”

“Shit mate, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He pushed the golf club to one side, and pinning me with his weight, snapped the handcuffs around my right wrist.

“This is for your own good.”

He got off me and stood in front of me as I got to my hands and knees, but as I reached for the golf club, he shook his head.

“Oh, come on!”

He kicked me flat, then dropped down onto my back and wrenched my outstretched right arm behind my back. I tried to push him off me with my free hand, and he yanked my left arm up and ratcheted the handcuffs closed.

He ruffled my hair then got off me, dropping back down onto the couch.

I staggered to my feet, my head still spinning, and tried to focus on him.

“That fucking hurt.”

He poured himself another drink. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t fight back.” He held up the bottle. “You want one?”

I dropped onto the couch opposite him.

He shook the bottle at me again.

“No, thanks.” Sarcastica bold.

“Suit yourself. You alright?”

I leaned back and closed my eyes. I was dazed more than anything. And as the pain dropped away, with the handcuffs digging into my wrists, I realised that irritating fear boner was back.

He put his feet up on the coffee table and flexed his trainers against the edge of it as he sipped his drink.

“So. Do you want to see or not?”

I opened my eyes. “See—?”

“Inside the table.”

Oh, that. The chill of fear came back. Did I want to see inside it? Not really, no.

“Oh, come on Jax, you really think my ex is stuck inside the coffee table?”

When he said it like that, it sounded ridiculous. But I wasn’t the one hitting other people in the head with golf clubs.

“Okay, okay, look, I’ll show you I’m just playing with you.”

He got up and went into the kitchen, crouching to retrieve something from a cupboard. I shrank into the couch as he came back with a cordless drill.

He laughed and waved it at me. “Easier to take the screws out. Chill out, babe, this isn’t Hostel.”

He pulled the magnetic bit out of the end of the drill, swapping it from flat blade to posy, and then started to take a dozen two-inch screws out of the table top.

He dropped the screws in a pile on the carpet then set the drill behind him on the couch.

“You ready?”

I shrank further into the couch as he pulled off the heavy wooden top and leaned it against the back of the couch.

“Come on. Take a look.”

I caught a smell of something. A damp cement, closed-crypt smell. But I had to know. I got off the couch and with my hands trapped behind my back, moved closer to the table.

The bottom six inches of the wooden box was lined with what looked like a couple of layers of bricks. At several kilos each, that meant hundreds of kilos of weight. That explained why it didn’t move. There was no corpse.

I flinched as Deacon put an arm around my shoulders.

“See. It was just a game.” He glanced at me. “You okay?”

“How about you get these handcuffs off me?”

He squeezed my shoulders. “How about you suck my dick?”

“Were you a bully at school?”

“Some might have thought so. Didn’t get any complaints to my face.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me over to the couch where I’d fallen asleep earlier. He dropped onto the couch and spread his legs wide, leaving me standing in front of him.

“By my count, I owe you one, and you owe me one. Since I’m hosting, home rules are, I choose who goes first.”

He put his hands against the backs of my legs and gazed up at me.

“And you, sweetheart, are going first.”

I shook my head at him.

“Come on babe, don’t tell me you don’t want to.” He coaxed me with the heat in his eyes, his hands massaging the backs of my thighs, squeezing my arse.

I closed my eyes, knowing I was only holding out to prove to him that he’d been wrong. That I didn’t want... whatever this was. But we both knew that was bullshit.

“Jax-on,” he crooned. “We both know you can’t resist an opportunity to have a cock in your mouth.”

He was right. It didn’t take much to seduce me. I was already starting to salivate. I couldn’t explain why, but having my hands trapped behind me was making me horny as fuck. And despite everything, I wanted him to force me onto him again.

He put his palms flat against the backs of my knees and pressed hard, and my legs buckled. I fell to my knees in front of him.

“Look at you, with your big puppy-dog eyes, begging me to hurt you. Tell me this doesn’t turn you on.” He gripped a fistful of my hair. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

I said nothing and he let me go.

The heat from the fire beat against us as he pulled his t-shirt off and ran a hand down his chest. His skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat that made every muscle on his cut torso glisten, and I couldn’t keep from devouring him with my eyes. I’d never been so thirsty for anyone.

Curls of brown hair ran across his pecs, trailing down the centre of his body to the top of his jeans. While he didn’t have a defined gym six-pack, he was all hard muscle. He clearly did his crunches. I did too, but I was never going to look like that. I’d have been insecure, if I hadn’t been so fucking turned on.

My gaze dropped to the bulge in his jeans, and he squeezed himself with a lazy smile. “You want this?”

Saliva was starting to pool in my mouth as I imagined sucking on what was crammed inside his pants about a foot away from my face.

“Yeah?” he asked again. Cocky fucking prick. “I need to hear it.”

He caressed himself through his jeans while I stared.

“Jaxoooon.” A soft, sing-song voice. “You want it, babe?”

Another squeeze.

“Yes,” I said hoarsely.

He pulled open his jeans and released himself from his briefs. His big, veined cock sprang out, hard and already glistening. He flexed, and my eyes followed his bobbing erection. He laughed as he started slowly stroking himself.

“I’ll never understand you lot,” he said. “Little bi boys who want it in their mouths, want to give me pleasure, but you won’t let me fuck your arse and give you the same back.”

“Bottoming hurts,” I said. My eyes stayed glued to his cock.

“Don’t be a wus,” he said. “It doesn’t just hurt, does it? I’ve never fucked a man who complained about it afterwards.”

He kept stroking himself, and I kept watching him do it.

“Oh, come on then.” He put a hand on the back of my head and pressed his cock against my lips.

His hand rested against my hair as I licked at his oozing precum, tonguing it away and watching it ooze again. Teasing him the way he’d teased me while he was filming me.

“Get on with it,” he growled.

He gave a sigh of approval as I licked up and down his shaft as best I could without my hands to help hold him still.

“Don’t neglect the balls, mate.”

He slid his hips forward to the edge of the couch, and pulled his cock up against his gut so that I could suck his balls into my mouth. The size they were, I took them into my mouth one at a time, rolling them against my tongue. With the sweat of our struggle, I had a nose full of his musk, and a slight hint of that cologne that made me want to moan like a horny whore for someone I wished I could have in my mouth again.

“Never do a half-hearted job, do you?” he said. “You want to make a bet? If you lose, you eat my arse. If I lose, I eat yours.”

“What kind of bet?” Rimming wasn’t generally my thing. I was happy to receive. Less keen on giving.

“After this, I have a go at making you cum without touching your cock. If I can’t do it, I’ll eat you out until you beg me to fuck you. Nothing else, unless you want it.”

I laughed. Maybe if he hadn’t sucked me off twice already. “Sure. You can try.” His tongue on my arsehole. That, I could live with.

“Well, get to work, then.”

I let him guide my head back onto him.

For some reason, having my hands trapped behind my back made me lose some of the reluctance I’d had to deep-throat him earlier. I found myself doing my best to open up and take him deeper, even though that had never been something I’d been comfortable doing.

“Ooh, Jaxon, babe, keep doing that.”

He started to moan as he fucked my mouth.

“Oh, Jax, just imagine my wet tongue against your hole, sliding around, teasing inside.” His eyes met mine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Oh fuck yes.

I sucked harder, picturing him tonguing my hole, aware of my cock trapped in underwear damp with sweat and precum, twitching as I opened my throat up for his thick prick. I had no idea how he made me this horny, but if this was where he wanted me, I’d arrived.

He reached down and pulled open my jeans, and tugged down the front of my briefs so my cock sprang free.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he said softly. “See, I knew this’d work for you.”

He didn’t touch me, just grabbed a handful of hair and started pushing me down on him, jamming his dick so deep it felt as if he was drilling for oil in my throat.

“Oh fuck,” he said, and the look of pain on his face told me he was about to cum. He grabbed two fistfuls of my hair and started thrusting his hips. The harder he gripped me, the less resistance I gave him, until I was just a hole for him to fuck into.

He let out a groaning sigh of pleasure as he came, spurting hot cum across my tongue, coating the inside of my mouth.

I swallowed reflexively, and he slammed himself deep into my throat for the last couple of blasts, holding himself there until every last drop had slid down my abused throat into my stomach.

“Thaaat’s it,” he said, as I choked on his dick. His eyes locked to mine. “See, you’re already halfway to being a submissive little bitch.”

I thought that was generous of him.

He finally pulled out, leaving me coughing, thick strands of throat juice hanging from the end of his cock.

“Fuck that was hot,” he said. He dropped his hand to my shoulder. “You ready for me to fuck your arse yet?”

I frowned, Yeah, no, mate, and he laughed.

He collected the saliva from my lips and wiped it against my chest, then pulled me up on my knees so he could kiss me.

When he’d finished swallowing my tongue, he encouraged me to my feet while he stayed sitting, putting my leaking cock at his face height.

“You’re look a bit horny there, babe,” he said.

He put a finger to the stretch of fluid leaking out, and wound it around his finger, breaking it away.

“I’d love to lick all that off,” he said softly. He looked up at me. “But I’ve got a bet to win.”

He got to his feet. “Open.”

He pushed his finger into my mouth, and I held his gaze as I sucked it clean, knowing things were about to get a whole lot dirtier than I’d planned.

“How can you not know what you are?” he asked. “I haven’t even made you dinner. Haven’t wined and dined you. We’ve barely had a conversation that didn’t involve fucking. You said you didn’t want a hook-up, but you’d have blown me outside before I’d said a word if I’d asked you to. I could see it in your face.”

I went hot with embarrassment and he shook his head.

“You’re worth more than that, you know that don’t you? I’ll show you. When I’m done playing with you.”

He did up his jeans and glanced down at my still-drooling cock. “But we can’t leave you like that now, can we? You’d better come with me.”

He grabbed my arm and guided me around the couch to the open bedroom door, then gave me a shove.

 “In you go, there’s a good boy.”

Humiliated and horny, I did as he said.

*

I expected Deacon’s bedroom to be some kind of sex dungeon. In fact, it was surprisingly normal. Nice, even. He kept his place tidier than I kept my flat.

A solid-looking oak bed was set against the wall opposite the door, taking up a third of the space of the room.

The headboard and footboard were made from horizontal slats divided by vertical posts, with solid posts at all four corners. The bedcovers looked new, and the bed was neatly made up as if he’d just finished a House & Garden shoot.

It even smelled clean; the scent of freshly washed sheets, and traces of the cologne he’d sprayed on before I’d arrived.

Half a dozen monochrome framed photographs were mounted on the stone wall above the bed. Most were landscapes that had the polished look of stock photos.

Along the wall at the far end, bookshelves full of tattered paperbacks ran the full width of the room. Boxy, freestanding paper lamps stood either side of the bed, glowing gold, and a laptop sat on the nightstand with a screensaver scrawling its way across the screen.

There were no clothes on the floor, just a wicker clothes hamper in the corner, and there wasn’t an empty Doritos packet in sight. How did he live like this? His tidiness was more disturbing than his fantasies about murdering his flatmate for listening to Jeff Buckley.

“Right, let’s get these off.”

He undid my handcuffs, and I sat on the bed and distractedly rubbed my wrists as he went to the laptop and woke it up. A grid of tiles appeared on screen, and the lights dimmed as he tapped a coloured square, leaving the paper lamps as the only light source. He tapped another tile, and a voice spoke over 80s synth chords.

“Coming up to seven o clock here, and uh, the sun’s rising.  I’m about to go home, and you’ve been listening to the late night shift. And if I’m dreaming, don’t wake me tonight. Before I go, I’m about to take one more request here on Stereo Sydney.”

I thought that was odd, as we weren’t in Sydney.

That done, he pushed me back on the bed, and I dropped back onto my elbows while he tugged down my jeans and briefs. He kicked them to one side, then undressed, dropping his clothes into the same pile as mine.

I moved to make space for him, and he climbed onto the bed and lay down beside me. I rested my head on my forearm, and he mirrored me.

“So, how’s your night going so far?” he asked.

“Good song choice,” I said, as I finally recognised the Icehouse track he’d put on.

Well you gotta be crazy baby, to want a guy like me...

He laughed, and ran a hand across my chest.

“Ah, I’m not crazy. But right now, I see a guy dying to have his limits pushed with someone he trusts. Do you trust me?”

 “No. You’re completely mental.”

He snorted. “You’re still here.”

“You’ve got my boots.”

His laugh shook the bed. He put a hand to the collar around my neck and brushed his thumb over the metal lettering. “You look so hot in this. I knew you would.”

I put a hand to the collar and felt the raised metal letters, spelling them out silently.

All I could think as I read the word was, Jesus, really?

“I had this made just for you,” he said, sliding a finger inside the collar, tightening it against the back of my neck. “That’s what you’re going to be by the time the sun comes up.”

“You really enjoy fucking with me, don’t you?” I said, and he gripped my hair and put his face close to mine with a grin.

“Oh, fuck yes.”

He rolled on top of me and pushed me flat against the bed, speaking close to my ear.

“This has been a looong time coming.”

I flinched as he moved his hand down my chest, and tried not to react as his fingertips rested against my right nipple.

Some of the more aggressive tops I’d hooked up with in the past had gotten excited when they discovered I was sensitive there, and I could tell by the grin that spread across his face, that Deacon had figured it out. He squeezed hard, his eyes on my face, watching my reaction. I cringed under his touch and his grin widened. Keeping his eyes locked to mine, he put his teeth against my left nipple and bit down.

“Fuck, Deacon, fuck! Stop doing that!”

He kept two fingers pinched tightly around my nipple as I squirmed under his weight, and said, “Oh, that’s beautiful. Oh babe, we’re going to have so much fun.”

He kept torturing me, holding me against the bed so I couldn’t twist away.

“Deacon, stop!”

He stopped, keeping me pinned against the bed with his weight.

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“What is? Enjoying yourself?”

He licked my left nipple, and I threw my head back against the pillow and groaned as he bit down on it again.

He stopped torturing me and lay on top of me, his elbows braced against the bed, his hands clasped across my chest.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Please don’t.”

“Are you ashamed of your body?”

I blinked up at the ceiling.

“Heroin chic,” I said, leaning on the hard ‘k’ at the end.

He shrugged. “Yeah, okay, you’re not built—but you’re hot. You know you are. I wouldn’t have dragged you all the way out here if you weren’t.”

“To fuck with me. I’m flattered.”

“Nooo. Well, a bit.” He gave me a shit-eating grin. “But mostly to have some fun. Push some boundaries. Have a laugh. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that why you came? We’ve talked for weeks, this hasn’t come out of the blue. You told me you wanted this.”

“To be tied to a table and have the crap scared out of me? Yeah, I don’t recall telling you I had a serial killer fetish.”

“Okay, maybe not in so many words. But fear, pain, it gets you off. Or, it would, if you let yourself go.”

“Mmhmm. Plus ten perception.”

“Plus ten sarcasm.”

I snorted.

His eyes lit up. “Hey, you ready to lose that bet?”

Ah yes, the bet.

“You honestly think you can make me come without touching me?”

“Yep. And I can’t wait to feel your tongue on my arsehole after I do.”

“You’ve got a real way with words, you know that?”

He sat back on his heels. “You love it.”

Fuck, I did love it, and it scared the crap out of me. The idea of being ‘forced’ to lick his arse, while he gloated and fucked my tongue made me so hard. Fuck. What was wrong with me? I’d never gone this far before. Not with someone I hardly knew.

“You ready, Jax?”

I couldn’t really lose. It was time to admit that to myself. And besides, there was no way in hell he could make me come without touching me.

I put my hands behind my head and gave him a smirk. “Go on then, you cocky prick. Do your worst.”

He ran a finger down the centre of my chest. “Close your eyes.”

I shook my head and he laughed.

“Come on Jax, I’m trying to do the impossible here.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”

The bed creaked as he got up and went to his laptop and put on some psy-chill.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

The room went dark as he switched off the bedside lamps.

“Put your arms above your head. I’m going to cuff you to the headboard so you don’t try and back out of our deal.”

The bed moved as he got up to fetch restraints.

My pulse sped up as I gripped the horizontal slats with both hands, and he put leather cuffs on me and secured my wrists to the headboard.

“Beautiful,” He breathed. His voice made my gut clench with anticipation. “Look at you, doing what you’re told.”

I wished he wouldn’t keep reminding me.

His voice went low and dangerous. “Understand this, mate. Your body’s mine until I’m done with it.”

Oh, holy God.

He got back on the bed, and I got a crawling between my shoulder blades as he just lay there, staring at me.

He said nothing for a while, and I got more and more uncomfortable wondering what he was going to do to me.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and incredibly fucking sexy.

"You’re going to come for me, Jax."

I twitched as he leaned over me and breathed hot air across one nipple. I tried to squirm away from him, still sensitive from him tormenting me.

I twitched as he leaned over me and breathed hot air across one nipple. I tried to squirm away from him, still sensitive from him tormenting me.

“Come on, not that!”

“Sssh.” He pressed two fingers against my mouth, and I resisted the urge to suck on them. “You made the right choice, deciding to become my bitch-boy. I have mates who’re gonna love playing with you.”

Okay, that was a shot of adrenaline I didn’t need. But Christ, if he kept using that voice on me, he could do anything he wanted.

I tightened my grip on the wooden cross-bars until the wood dug into my hands.

“I want to play with you. Just a little bit. And you want me to—don’t you, Jax?”

If I hadn’t already been so fucking hard, I suspected I’d get an erection just from the way he said my name.

His breath hit my chest as he carried on shit-talking me.

“When we’re done here, maybe I’ll make a call. Aaron and Lawrence would love to help you practice taking it deep.”

Lawrence? Larry. The guy he shared the cottage with. And his brother, Aaron? Fuck. Well, I guessed they weren’t dead then.

He carried on talking, raising the hair on my arms.

“Those little noises you make when you take a guy into your throat? They’re gonna love those.” He put his mouth next to my ear. “And those little whimpers you make when you’re scared.”

I realised I was whimpering now, and shut the fuck up, embarrassed.

He shifted further down the bed, and then I felt his breath tickle the sparse hair on my stomach.

The music throbbed on, and so did my cock, thinking of him inviting a bunch of strangers to fuck me while I was tied to his bed. I so badly wanted to slide my cock into something. It didn’t matter what. A mouth, a hand, a vagina, a tight arse. But not being touched was torture.

His voice rose over the dark beat of the music.

“You said you didn’t trust me, but you still let me tie you down. What does that say about you? You want me to make that call?”

I groaned, imagining half a dozen strangers’ cocks being fed into my throat.

“And you know I’m going to fuck you. Because you’re going to beg me to fuck you. I’m going to push my fingers into your tight little fuckhole and get you lubed up and ready for my cock. Then I’m going to tease you until you’re pushing back on my fingers like the horny slut we both know you are.”

The bed moved again, and cool air blew across the tip of my now rock-solid, engorged and painfully sensitive, drooling cock.

“Suck me,” I begged him, humping air.

He laughed. “Not a chance. Not after you came in here telling me you were only going to suck cock.”

“Please!”

“I think you enjoy getting another man worked up, then denying him that hot little arse of yours. You’re a fucking cocktease in Calvin Kleins. But denying your true nature is only denying yourself.”

I groaned, unbelievably frustrated. “Come on!”

I felt the bed move, and then his shadow cast over me. Something wet touched my tongue. I realised he was leaking his precum into my mouth! I groaned again and reached out my tongue, hoping to catch the tip of his cock, but he kept it out of reach.

“You’re a cum-hungry little slut, aren’t you, Jax? I could cum into my hand and feed it to you and you’d lap it up like a dog.”

I groaned loudly now, my hips thrusting against the bed as I imagined him doing that.

His voice was back by my ear again. “Tell me you’re not lying there, hoping against hope I’ll just flip you over and fuck you.”

I moaned, so desperate, but unable to come without any kind of physical stimulation.

He made a noise in his throat, his voice moving away from my ear.  “Christ you’re hard.” It was an observation. “I was so right about you.”

His voice moved in close again. “Can you just imagine me taking your hot, wet dick into my hot, wet mouth right now?”

Yes. Yes, I really fucking could, and it was killing me.

He laughed softly as my hips came up off the bed again, my own precum drooling against my groin.

“You’re going to be an epic lay when I’m done with you.” He undid my hands. “Roll over. Keep your hands on the headboard.”

I did as he said, thinking, Epic? Legendary, thanks all the same.

He secured my hands again, then moved back down the bed.

He spread my legs and I shuddered as he breathed hot air against my arse. All it did was make me desperate to feel his wet tongue against my hole. This was torture.

“See, to me, it looks as if you’re getting ready to take my cock,” he said.

Very hard to deny at this point.

His breath ran across my arse cheeks, left to right and back again.

My head a mess of insensible horniness, I pushed my hips against the bedspread, grinding my dick against his duvet.

“Fuck Jax, I want to be in your arse so fucking badly right now!” I could hear the strain in his voice, and was glad this was doing his head in too.

I bucked as his breath hit the centreline where my twitching hole was desperate for attention.

“Get up on your knees.”

Using my grip on the headboard as leverage, I scrambled onto my knees.

“That’s it,” he said softly. “Legs further apart. I want to get under you.”

Yes, yes, yes.

I spread my legs wider, and felt the bed move as he positioned himself on his back under me.

“Hey Jax? You’re leaking.” His breath was against my throbbing cock again. “How badly do you want me in your mouth right now?”

Just fucking SUCK ME, you fuck!

I heard swallowing and knew he was taking my precum, and it nearly pushed me over the edge. I was pulsing and throbbing, but there was no release.

Hot breath hit me again.

“Are you going to cum for me, Jax?” he said softly. “Or have I lost this bet?”

“Not unless you touch me,” I said, desperate and horny. “Come on, put me out of my misery.”

He ran a finger along my length, and I nearly screamed, I needed to cum so badly.

“Oh. That’s a shame. I really wanted your tongue on my arse. I guess I’ll just have to settle for doing this.”

He took a hold of me, pointing my shaft down towards his mouth, and then his tongue was on me. I started breathing high and fast, trying to hold off and enjoy it as long as I could, when he laughed and moved his mouth off my dick. “Time I paid up.”

FUCK!

He moved out from under me and I collapsed flat on the bed. I opened my eyes, and it felt obscene to move out of that warm world of fantasy back into his bedroom. But he was back at his laptop, and now a set of 2” silver cubes, that turned out to be a pico projectors, sent blue and gold psychedelic patterns kaleidoscoping across the walls and ceiling. It was like being trapped in a fishtank, on acid.

I knew where this was going. I had no idea how things had come this far, but I did know I was about to get roundly and solidly fucked.

He sat on the bed beside me and stroked a hand through my hair.

“I fuck a lot of guys,” he said. “But every now and then, one comes along that I know was made just for me. Do you know what I mean?”

I could hardly stand it, what was he doing? I needed to COME!

“Designed for me,” he went on. “Like,” he glanced up at the ceiling. “Like God looked forward in time to this moment, and said, ‘I’m going to make Deacon the hottest, most obedient, but beautifully defiant little cockslut, and leave him hot and waiting until Deacon finds him’.”

His hand kept moving through my hair.

I gave him a desperate, pleading look, and he smiled.

“And here you are. Three hours ago, you’d have punched me if I’d tried to restrain you. Now look at you. You just want to get fucked.”

I started to protest, but before I got a word out, he shook his head, Oh please.

He ran a hand down my back and slapped my arse, then bent over me.

“But someone told you that you aren’t allowed to want this. Someone told you pain was bad, even if it makes you happy. Someone told you that you were bad, didn’t they?”

He climbed onto the bed and lay beside me so that we were face to face.

“Hi.”

He touched the collar around my neck, and I wondered what would happen when the sun did finally come up.

He smiled, as that hypnotic music played in the background, and ripples of blue and gold flowed across the ceiling, the walls, the reflected colours painting his muscular arms and back. I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I was just quietly waiting, throbbing and in pain, as if God really had put me on Earth to serve him, and I was waiting to find out how.

His cologne, it was that fucking cologne. He smelled like someone else and it was bending my brain.

“I’m going to go to town on your arse now, Jax. You want that?”

My mouth was dry, so I nodded.

“Good boy,” he breathed quietly.

He kissed me, then moved down the bed, kissing and mouthing me with his teeth, until he reached my arse.

“You know,” he said, taking a moment to massage my arse with his hands, “For a guy who didn’t plan on getting fucked tonight, you have a surprisingly hairless arsehole.”

I went hot with embarrassment, and he chuckled.

“Up on your knees.”

I did as he said, and he put his arm under me, then ran his hand down my back to grip my hair, keeping my hips high, but pushing my head against the pillow.

Once I was positioned the way he wanted me, he ran his hands down my back, and then pulled my cheeks apart.

I let out one of those whimpers he loved as his tongue touched my hole. His tongue was so hot, so wet, I clenched my hole as he circled my entrance, desperate to feel something in there now.

In just a few hours, I’d gone from thinking of him as a potential fuck, to feeling completely submissive to him. He was stronger than me, far more dominant, and I just didn’t have the will to fight him anymore. I didn’t want to fight him anymore. The way he used my body gave me a kind of pleasure I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I humped his hand, but the bastard edged me, taking away his hand every time I got too close to cumming. He’d bite me, and I’d moan, because fuck him, he was right, I did like pain—but then he’d stop, somehow able to gauge how much stimulation would bring me over the edge.

“Please! Fuck, Deacon, come on!” I felt as if I might start to cry.

He put a hand against the back of my neck and tugged on the collar.

“Calm down.”

The second I felt his hand against the back of my neck, my head filled up with the mental equivalent of insulation. It weighed nothing, but it made my thoughts go quiet.

“You know,” he said, “the first time I spoke to you on email, I had this vision of you panting and moaning for my cock, juuust like you are now.”

He moved his hand back under me and masturbated me with the lightest touch possible, while he licked his way across my arse, leaving a wet trail of saliva.

“You like that?” he kept stroking me. “You’ve gone quiet.”

The music flowed like dense water and his touch had me in some kind of trance. It was like riding an epic drug high, but with a distant edge of fear of what was coming.

He moved up the bed and gripped a fistful of my hair. “You want me to fuck you, Jax?”

I shuddered and he increased his grip on my hair.

“You want me inside you? I’ll take it slow, I promise. I want you to enjoy it as much as I do. I’ll keep it short and sweet. This time.”

This time.

His hand in my hair, that music pulling me down. I was never going to say no. From the second I got in my car, I was never going to say no. If he’d let me go, I’d have gone home frustrated and horny and disappointed.

He gripped my hair hard, so hard it should have hurt—but in that moment, all I felt was a distant, heavy pleasure. He could have done anything to me. I realised that was bloody dangerous, but I also didn’t care.

“I think you’re ready,” he said. “But I promised you I wouldn’t fuck you unless you begged me. And I’m not hearing any begging.”

“Please.”

“I can’t hear you,” he said softly, while psychedelic music swamped my dulled brain. It was hard to speak. I was stoned on whatever he was doing to me.

I wet the inside of my mouth. “Please,” I said again, still a whisper. I didn’t want to use my full voice. Was afraid I’d wake myself up.

“Good boy,” he said. He kissed me softly, then moved back behind me.

I heard the distinctive sounds of him tearing open a condom packet, rolling a condom on, lubing himself up.

A slick finger traced circles against my entrance, then slid inside, greasing the inside of my passage, preparing me to take him. I let out a soft moan, please keep doing that.

By the time I felt him position himself against my nearly-virgin hole, I was completely still and compliant under his hands. He knew what he was doing, and I hung my head between my arms and let him do what he wanted.

He eased himself into my lubed hole slowly, and I let out another moan. As scared as I was, it was distant now. I tried to relax, tried to remember how to take a cock, but honestly, I was so stoned on his dominance, even my tension was pleasurable.

I expected him to use me hard; he just seemed like he would. But instead, he went slow, getting me used to having him pushed inside me, all the while talking to me, telling me how good I was, taking his dick, his huge dick in my tight little arsehole.

Maybe there was some pain; there usually was, an ache inside, a burn at the entrance, which was why I generally avoided going this far with my hook-ups. But maybe I’d just been with the wrong guys. If there was pain now, the numbness in my brain turned it into pleasure.

I started that moaning he liked so much, as his cock seemed to expand, filling me completely. Getting impaled like that, on all fours, in such a submissive position—I can’t explain to you why that’s worse that being on your knees and sucking cock, it just is. You can’t see the guy’s face, you can’t control what happens to you. But with Deacon, all of that was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced.

He fucked into me a short way, lubed up again and went in further, and I just let him fuck me, feeling distant from it all, except for that feeling of being controlled and dominated by a stronger man’s cock.

Until he adjusted his angle, and hit a place inside that woke me out of my trance.

I licked my dry lips and rasped, “Fuck.”

“What’s that babe?” he asked softly, running over that spot again.

“Fuck me. Please fuck me.” I realised I was panting hard, on the edge again.

And although he was fucking me, he got what I meant.

“Yeah?” He pulled out further and slid back in again, hitting that spot, and I threw my head back and started making animal noises I’d never made before in my life.

“FUCK me!”

Then, and only then, did he do what he’d clearly wanted to do all night.

He didn’t porn-slam me exactly, but he picked up his pace and drove in deep. This time, I felt every inch of him pushed up inside me.

“Oh, fuck yeah, you hot, little, fuck.”

His grunts and the slapping of flesh on flesh were loud against the music, and soon he’d turned me into a moaning whore.

I pushed back against him, feeling him drive right up into my insides, and gritted my teeth, wanting more.

“Fuck, Deacon, I’m coming, fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah, you are!” He slammed into me, and the pressure turned into a surging explosion.

I drove back onto him and let out a pained groan as I exploded all over the bed. Feeling my arse clamp around him, he made a noise low in this throat and grabbed my hips, thrusting in hard and fast until he slammed home and pumped his cum deep inside me.

God that felt amazing, I felt dizzy.

He held me tight against his body as he jerked inside me, my involuntary tightness milking every drop from his balls, and then pulled out with a happy sigh.

I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted and doped up on endorphins.

He discarded the condom, then released my hands from the headboard.

“You alright?”

He handed me a bottle of water and I gulped a third of it down. Honestly, I was ready to black out for a few hours.

“So you enjoyed yourself?” he asked, and it amused me that as confidant as he was, he still needed to hear it.

“Fucking amazing,” I said, rolling onto my back. “I can’t believe how much effort you went to just for a fuck.”

He sat on the side of the bed and took the water bottle back from me. He took a swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not just a fuck.” He capped the bottle and put it back on the nightstand.

He put a hand to my hair and stroked above my ear as I put my hands back up to the headboard, stretching my arms above my head. It felt so natural now.

“How long’s it been since you fucked the same person twice?”

I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling, thinking. “A long time.”

“Shift over.”

I did, and he lay on his back beside me, his arm folded under his head.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” He glanced sideways at me. “That night I saw you at the pub, I was going to ask if you wanted to get a drink—but I wasn’t sure if you were straight or gay. You looked queer as fuck on stage—but you were with a girl, and the two of you looked close.”

“Yeah, she’s a good friend,” I said.

“But that’s all?”

“Yeah, that’s all. Trust me, we won’t be fucking any time soon.”

I closed my eyes. It had to be four in the morning, and I was exhausted.

He teased my hair with his free hand, and I felt myself falling asleep.

“But I got your attention tonight, didn’t I?” he said.

I snorted. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Sleep was pulling me down. The room was warm, the music was soothing, and his hand in my hair was bliss.

*

I woke the next morning to find Deacon’s face inches from mine.

“Morning, babe.” He tapped my nose. “How’s my horny fuckboy?”

He put his hand around my morning boner and I groaned. Awake for three seconds, and he was already at it.

He shuffled closer to me on his stomach and kissed me. His lips against mine woke a sensitivity in me that made me grow even harder in his hand.

He broke the kiss and stroked fingers down my chest. Somehow, the way he touched me, made me feel sexy as fuck.

“Mind if I suck you good morning?”

I shook my head.

“Didn’t think so.”

He went to work, and ten minutes later I jerked my load into his mouth with a happy groan.

He ran his tongue up my shaft in a long sweep, then got off the bed. He held out his hand.

“Come take a shower with me.”

I rolled off the bed, wobbly on my feet, and followed him out into the lounge, then into the bathroom, which was the next door along.

Like the rest of his place, the bathroom was spotless, and surprisingly roomy.

He pressed me up against the wall of the shower and slid his hard cock through his hand as he soaped me with his free hand. I found myself just staring at him, aroused, even though I wasn’t quite ready to get hard again.

He licked water from my face, and I kissed him, loving the feel of his tongue against mine. Loving his presence that held me against the wall.

He put a hand on my shoulder and I grinned as he pushed me to my knees.

I pulled his hard cock towards my mouth and licked water off the end of it, then took him in deep as I could.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ awesome.”

I looked up at him while I serviced him, and he put a hand against the back of my head and pulled me onto his cock.

“I could start every day like this. You taking my load in the shower.”

I gave him a look and he laughed.

“Oh, come on, you like being my bitch-boy. Admit it.”

Yeah, I did. Every time he insulted me I felt a twinge in my balls, and I knew if he kept it up, I’d get hard again.

“Right, you’re gonna learn to take me properly, without being drunk.”

He cupped the back of my head and pulled me against his groin. I made a noise of protest as his cock slid deep, invading my throat.

“Fuck, yes,” he bit his lip. “I’m close. When I come, keep it in your mouth.”

I put my hands on his thighs, just resting them there so I could push away if I needed to, and did my best to take him. He held my eyes as his cock twitched and pulsed against the root of my tongue, my jaw practically unhinged to take him that far.

“Fuck that’s hot! You okay?”

I nodded. I wanted to do this. For him, I wanted to do this.

I couldn’t breathe properly, no matter how hard I tried to relax around his cock, but I let him stay there as long as I could before I started pleading with my eyes.

With another growl, he released the pressure on my head, and I went back to sucking.

I bobbed my head on his dick, increasing my suction, and was rewarded with a growl of happiness as he flooded my mouth. He pulled back to make sure I didn’t lose any of it, and held my head in place while he spurted his load.

 I pressed my lips together as he pulled me to my feet.

“I’ll have that back, thanks.”

He put his mouth to mine and I let his tongue force my lips open.

We swapped his load back and forth in a filthy tongue fuck, and then he took as much of it as he could into his own mouth and swallowed it down.

I’d never done anything quite that filthy, and knew something in me was being altered every moment I was with him. He was too much like my ex, but with something else dangerous added. A new ingredient that I was afraid I was already addicted to.

He put a hand on the back of my neck and gave me an evil grin. “That was a first for you, yeah?”

I nodded.

“I wonder what else I can make you do?”

Make me do.

Since I had no idea myself, I just gave him a look that invited him to find out, and he put his hands either side of my face, and gave me his own look of lust-filled affection.

“I think it’s time I made you that meal,” he said. “And then we can go get my truck and sort out your car.”

He turned off the shower and got out, tossing me a towel as I followed him out.

He tied his towel around his waist. “Right. Let’s sort you out with some clothes.”

“I have clothes—”

“Yeah, you can’t go out in those, babe, it’s going to be thirty-five degrees by midday.”

I followed him back to the bedroom and he insisted on giving me fresh underwear, a pair of his shorts, a green beach t-shirt, and a pair of ‘thongs’, which, thank fuck, turned out to be flip-flops.

“How am I going to get these back to you?” I asked.

“I guess you’ll have to come see me again.” He grinned.

His t-shirt was loose across the chest and shoulders on me, and I had to pull the drawstring tight on his shorts to get them to stay up. They smelled of washing powder, and I fancied, a bit of him.

“I look ridiculous.”

“You look cute!”

“Cute? Really?” Cute. FFS.

“Oh sssh, sssh,” he mocked me, pulling my head against his chest. I shoved him away and he laughed his arse off.

He put on some music, and I sat at his kitchen table, with sunlight streaming through the lounge windows, as he cooked a full English breakfast for us both.

As I ate, I felt his gaze on me.

“I like that collar on you.”

Christ. I choked on a mouthful of sausage. I’d nearly gone out in public wearing a bloody dog collar.

I dropped my cutlery and unbuckled it. I dropped it on the table, those silver letters shining in the morning sunlight.

For a moment I considered that four-letter word, then picked up my cutlery and started eating again.

“I was right though, wasn’t I?” he asked, pouring out orange juice for us both.

I chewed and considered the collar some more. Swallowed. “Maybe.”

He gave me a lopsided smile and got up from the table. He disappeared into the bedroom and came out with a necklace in his hand. A rolled-leather choker with a metal tag hanging from it.

He handed it to me, and I read the tag. It was engraved with the word “Free” on the back of the tin tag. The same as the collar on the table.

I looked up at him. “You had this made?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I had a feeling.”

I was getting one myself.

I put it on as he sat back down and tucked back into his breakfast, leaving me to wonder what this all meant.

After breakfast, he washed the dishes while I dried, and then we set off down the country road to pick up his truck.

The sun was warm, and when I looked up, the sky was hard blue against the muted green of the gum trees. As we crunched sun-warmed leaves under our shoes, I breathed in the clean air and was happy I’d taken the risk of driving out into the unknown.

Deacon wasn’t psychotic, he just liked to play, and he was fucking good at it.

I glanced over at him as he stripped apart a dead leaf, and he caught my look.

“It’s nice out here, eh?”

I nodded. “Better than living in the city.”

“Dunno how you can stand it. Stinks of car fumes, and all the noise.”

“Yeah, mate, have you not noticed how noisy the fucking countryside is out here?”

He laughed. “Yeah, good point. It fades into the background after a while.”

“Fucking killer goats,” I grunted.

“I love how scared you are of goats,” he said. “Did you fall into a cave full of goats as a child?”

I shouldered him sideways. “Piss off!”

He staggered  a couple of steps into the road and made goat noises at me.

“Cock.”

We ambled up the road at a leisurely pace, chatting and teasing each other, and then at some point his fingers loosely hooked with mine.

Holding his hand felt weird to me, as a mildly sexually-repressed introvert, but it seemed natural for him. He wasn’t self conscious or worried a carload of Aussie yobs was going to come up behind us and beat us to death.

He squeezed my fingers as if he’d read my mind. “Relax. It’s fine.”

“What’ll happen if ‘the boys off the farm’ see you holding hands with a skinny little music twink?”

He laughed out loud and nearly choked. “Fuck’s sake.” He gave me an exasperated look. “I’ve blown half the guys I work with, straight or not. They’re my mates, and frankly, I could beat the shit out of half of them. If anyone gives us shit, I’ll deal with it.”

The metal tag on the choker bounced against the V of my collarbone as we walked, and the tension did eventually drop away. It was just so nice to be out in the fresh air. He was right, it was going to be hot.

It was a couple of Ks to the neighbours where Deacon had left his truck, and as we walked up the drive to the house, there was a middle-aged farming type chopping wood out the front of the barn.

He stopped and raised a hand in greeting as Deacon and I came up the drive.

I expected Deacon to drop my hand, but he kept that loose grip until we reached the man, then moved his hand to my shoulder.

“Patrick, meet Jaxon.”

Patrick shook my hand.

“Nice to meet you. Lovely day for a walk.” He squinted up at the blue sky. “Going to be bloody hot though.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d pick up the truck and take Jax to check out the train at Emerald Lake.”

I looked sideways at him. That was news to me. But, just quietly, I did love trains. I supposed I could call in sick.

“Well, it’s a great day for it,” said Patrick. “Keys are in the truck. Have fun, boys!” He gave me a wink, and went back to his chopping.

As I climbed into the passenger seat of Deacon’s truck, I was well confused.

“I thought we were hooking up,” I said. “Now we’re going on a picnic?”

He nodded, as if this were the most normal thing in the world, and started the truck.

“Need to get new tyres on your car, but I figured we’d do that in the afternoon. We’ll collect your wheels and take ‘em into town.”

“New tyres,” I said. “Not retreads.”

He glanced at me. “Of course.”

When I finally drove away from his place that night, well fucked, and with two new tyres, still in his clothes, with the taste of his mouth in mine, I didn’t know if I’d see him again. For all I knew, taking a steam train ride was how he ended all his hook-ups. But somehow, I didn’t think so.

And you know what? He just texted me. And fuck me, I can’t describe how seeing that text makes me feel. He wants to get together again on the weekend, and this time I get to keep my tyres.

Fucking awesome, fucked up psycho. I might just fall in love.