Indulgence

The door opens with the quietest of creaks and I fall out of the numb lull I had struggled to put myself in. My head is turned away from him as he enters but I still see him; his shadow – an inky black silhouette within a rectangular glow of yellow light – goes still when he pauses under the threshold. A few moments later the door is closed and the latch clicks into place. With the effects of the hallway light now gone; the only source of illumination stems from the moonlight which pours in through the bedroom window. I can feel his eyes on me. They desecrate every inch of my restrained naked body without offering a shred of dignity to cling onto. My muscles tense but as usual the straps binding my wrists and ankles only bring about strained pain. So I simply stare at the bare wall, the one that doesn’t hold the hopeful view of a window, and try to drone out every other sense but I’m not foolish enough to believe I will be successful. I can hear the almost silent padding of his feet as he finally crosses the room. I stay still; my muscles clench quietly once more and my eyes begin to water in fear and with my sheer focus on the now blurry wall.

I don’t start thrashing until I feel the mattress dip slightly as he climbs on. At first my motions are unhindered – sometimes he likes to simply enjoy my hysteria with his presence alone – but eventually I feel his grip on me and I am defeated with the knowledge that he could overpower me in any given scenario with or without the bonding straps around my limbs. I can’t look at him. His calming expression never fails to make me feel sick to my stomach at hownormal this is to him. Even in the beginning there wasn’t an ounce of shame hiding behind his hungry gaze.

I resolve to twist my body as far as it will go under his control and bury my face into the tear-soaked pillow. He will not let me escape for long but for now his attention is focussed elsewhere. I take solace when the opportunity is given me, using the darkness to block out the slender fingers running up the inside of my thighs. I catch my breath as they play around my crotch before gliding up over my stomach and ribs, coaxing for a reaction. I accidently give him one. I shudder and an unmistakable cry escapes my throat and can be heard through the pillow. The air heats up and I can feel the smirk etching out across his face. He doesn’t want my mind to desire this, but he revels in the idea that my body does and betrays me for him. He has succeeded many times before now, each instance violating my heart worse than before, but the last time he tried he had failed. I defied him. And he hates me for it.

My feathery mental fortress is swiped out from beneath my head. He makes me watch as he pummels his fist into my pillow. Once. Twice. He then tosses it aside like a predator viciously discarding of worthless prey. It hits the bare wall hard and slides down to lie dead on the floor. He makes me watch so I remember how ‘lucky’ I am. I am indeed a lucky boy; he repeatedly tells me of his fantasies in which he slowly tears me apart, piece by literal piece, until he is climaxing in a bed of flesh and blood. I know he does not lie; I see the way his eyes dissect me. But I am a ‘lucky boy’. After all, here I am under the hand of a blood-thirsty, self-proclaimed sadist with the self-control of a saint. I believe that. He’s practically angelic.

He is slow to lean over me. His eyes have captured my own and they were not letting them stray. His hands slide up my arms until his fingers intertwine with mine. Now we are nose to nose. I can hear just how rapid and uneven my breathing is and it is almost embarrassing next to his relaxed, measured intakes. The familiar smell of his sweet, creamy musk invades my nostrils. The first time I ever experienced his scent, it was as if my mind had been doped up beyond the realm of pleasure and my gut seemed to curl up in what I later discovered was sexual arousal. But now the smell, although viciously alluring, stirs up all the memories and my insides curl in a very different way. I have a feeling he’s talking to me now but like a deer caught in headlights there is nothing I can do but stare into the delicately cruel eyes. I can feel small puffs of air ghost over my lips as he murmurs and it takes all my will power not to lick them moist again; he doesn’t need any extra encouragement from me. His gaze steels and I realise whatever words he spoke had been in the form of a question. He had asked me something and was now expecting – demanding – an answer. My heart pounds painfully as my nerves jolt into panic. He’s waiting. My mouth opens; no sound comes to my aid. He’s growing impatient. The only reaction my body offers now come in the form of tears. They cascade down my cheeks; each drop considered closely by him as they stain my skin and eventually drop off and land on the sheets underneath us. It’s not clear if he understands exactly why I am so anxious but he does me the honour of repeating himself. ‘What game shall we play tonight, baby?’

My breathing catches several times before I can answer. That bothers him. His hand clutches my upper throat and chin, his nails digging deep enough I feel skin breaking. I cry out and he smiles. He tells me he’s going to show me my own limits, before throwing me beyond them. He promises he will make me scream louder than he ever has before. He swears that he will make my body convulse only for his touch. He will make me beg for him. What’s more, I continue to believe him. Rarely does he fail in his vows.

The heat from his body is soon stolen from me as he moves off, and my attempts to hug myself for warmth is short-lived as my shackles maintain their influence. I plead for everything and nothing, twisting my head back and forth as if doing it enough times will make it all go away. It worked once, but sadly he had not appreciated my head hitting off the bedside table which knocked me out cold. It was a lesson learned and not only has the table been moved further out, I have also been positioned more central on the bed. No nasty unintentional accidents for me today.

‘Ah!’ The gasp comes out of pure shock as the surprisingly warm lotion is squirted up the length of my body. He takes care to make sure every inch of me is well saturated through the expert use of his hands. I cannot pretend his hot touch doesn’t settle my ice-like skin, but there was still so much loathing in my soul at how easily he claims me. His fingers curl into each curve and massage into vulnerable spots known to cause me to whine. He is not disappointed with me, but I am. Palming my shy dick is an unfair move on his part; the lotion creates a smooth and slippery surface under his grip and, before I can do anything to prevent it, blood rushes to the lavished area and has me twitching like each touch is a flash of electricity. His dry chuckle seems to echo in my ears and disgrace washes over me. I want to scream out that no matter what he does to me, he will never have what he truly wants. He will never have my soul. I want to make him understand…but that involves indulging him in speech and I never want to make such a mistake again. When I talk, he makes me cry. When I cry, he makes me plead. When I plead, he makes sure I know how useless it is. It feeds his ego and his cravings but it kills me inside. Part of my soul falls off into nothingness and I am forced to admit that he does indeed hold some level of power over my soul, and he crushes it each time I attempt to resuscitate it. 

‘Does it feel good, Kurt?’

Why must he torment me like this? I bite my bottom lip and refuse to issue another peep. He is not deterred in the slightest and I feel the mattress shift again as he moves to loosen the straps around my ankles. Despite receiving a measure of freedom - and a relief from the stretching sensation which had been causing my muscles immense agony – I will myself not to move an inch. He never eases my pain without an ulterior motive and it does not take long to realise what his motive is. He kisses the markings imprinted around my ankles which thankfully are still too numb to react. Only when his tongue begins its journey up the inside of my left leg do I attempt to pull away. His hand pushes down on my thigh and he deliberately slows down so I must feel every lap, every lick, until his nose nudges my member. I’m given a reprieve when he moves up to my mouth and forces me to taste him. He must have used a flavoured lotion on me because alongside the usual smouldering hint of smoky vanilla is an overwhelming taste of strawberry. Come to think of it, I can practically smell it radiating off my marinated skin. He moans with loud appreciation as my tongue pleads for some kind of mercy. It is a foolish bid but I rarely act on my own accord anymore. I utter out a stifled sob when he finally moves down again to sample the rest of me.

He builds it up. It’s a cruel tactic of his, and has never failed to have my body quivering in selfish sexual desire. Over the course of several minutes his hands rub, massage and fondle. I understand the natural concept of the process; someone wanting their lover to experience the height of orgasmic pleasure should indulge every inch of their being down to the very nerve. I learned that many years ago when I first thought I could handle the lessons of intimacy offered through the frank pages of Cosmo. My naivety still shocks me to this day, but at least now I know why he is using the dirty trick on me; he wants me torn between my fundamental principles and my uncontrollable desires. And it’s working. His smile is cruel but his hands are accommodating as they smooth over areas causing me to mew. I continue to fight against him but we are both well aware they are futile attempts.

After what seemed like an eternity of emotional torment, he firmly eases my legs apart and kneels between them. Even through his jeans I can feel he is hard. I close my eyes and listen as he unzips and tosses aside his clothing and with a couple of swift motions I feel the restraints around my ankles fall away. I swallow roughly. Gripping my hair and pulling my head up, he mocks me with another sweet kiss. There is vague stubble on his face – something I would find irresistible in any other scenario and with any other individual. The mix of strawberry and vanilla do nothing to calm me as my legs are sightlessly lifted up and rested on his shoulders. I move them off instantly but he raises them up again, making sure to dig his nails into me as a warning. I shamefully heed this warning and allow him to manoeuvre me to his heart’s content, which he does as he lifts my rear up with ease. I initially gasp in pain as the new position creates an even greater strain on my strapped wrists, but it soon becomes a secondary concern when I feel him pressing up against me.

My eyes, which have been scrunched, shut tightly until this point, bulge open and I stare up at his hungry eyes in utter horror. ‘N-no!’ I mumble in sheer panic. He hasn’t prepared me; my insides will be torn apart.

‘Shh…’ He leans down again and terrorises me further by letting his dick circle my hole, pressing in slightly each time he places an innocent kiss upon my tear-stricken face. I continue to stutter out ‘no, no, no’ as he whispers ‘it’s alright, baby. Shh, don’t cry… Do you feel this?’ He drags his member up my own. ‘I’m already slick. Just looking at you has made me this way. I’m dripping cum for you. Do you feel it, Kurt?’

I do. I feel his sickly sticky juices merging with the strawberry lotion coating my length. I can only imagine the sight of the essences stringing out between our cocks as they slip and slide across each other. The thought itself makes my stomach turn yet my loin’s burn. He continues to whisper sweet yet ineffective assurances my way when he finally drags his tip down my length once more to return to my entrance. I squeeze the muscles around my hole as if I had any control over what Blaine would do next. He senses this. Chuckling, he lightly fingers me, pushing in just to prove to me my efforts are in vain. Then he forces himself inside me.

I cannot be sure if it was the severe lack of preparation or simply having my clenched muscles driven to breaking point, but the searing hot agony which pierces through me was beyond my mental comprehension. I cannot scream; my throat closes over and the compressed air in my lungs has my mid raising up close enough for him to lean down and suck on my exposed skin. But he does not. He, too, is unable to speak. I know in hindsight I will be utterly ashamed I caused him to feel so good through my pain. Despite my kicking limbs, he fills me to the hilt and I am impaled on him. I try twisting, I try to make myself relax but it is all too much. I now understand that perhaps all the attention littered upon my body earlier was not simply to enhance pleasure; he had taken me dry and raw before but never before had the pain extended to every nerve and all through my veins.  At last my throat gives way and I let out a shriek so strained and shredded I am positive I have destroyed my vocal cords. Above me, he takes in a shuddering breath and releases a loud half moan, half growl. My tortured motions seem to be giving him heaven only enhanced when he begins jerking out and in. His rhythm is unpredictable. His fingernails scrape down my legs causing them to scar deeply. I will later notice them for the first time when they glow red against my white skin.

My wrists ache as I fight against the leather binding but the tearing sensations deep inside would distract me even if my hands were to snap off. His thrusts are merciless, animalistic and relentless. They just keep coming. I have spent most of the last twenty four hours in the darkness of my prison of a bedroom, yet all I could see now is white. No stars, just cruel hot white. I am certain I pass out but only for a moment; he brings me back to life by force. Tears shed and I take no notice. I only regain some sense when he reaches between us and claims my dick with a firm grip. A pitiful shot of pleasure strikes down to my balls and he starts pumping me. All the while, he talks.

‘I told you – I told you I’d make you feel this way,’ He pants. I can tell he is striving to slow his pace; the concentration and determination is evident in his flushed, sweaty face. His hips move in a rocking fashion causing his dick to push against my insides at almost all angles. Almost all of them. Both of us know he has one final dirty hand to play. His smirk comes closer to my shaking lips and he lets his tongue flick over them possessively. ‘Didn’t I promise you this? Don’t you like it, baby? Don’t you like me fucking you?’ I whimper and he swallows it in another deep kiss. ‘You know you want me… I can make you feel things no one has ever felt before.’ He continues to manipulate my body by tickling behind my balls and fisting my length. He can tell by my pleading that I no longer know what I want anymore. The pain within me is still strong but it intensifies the flooding notion of pleasure surging between our bodies.

‘Pl-Please…’ I whine. Through the field of white in my vision I see his eyes – those warm and loving eyes I used to love were now cold and mocking but the lust was just as predominant as it had ever been.

‘There’s just one last thing I need you to do for me.’ He rocks himself in to the hilt again and moves his lips to my ear. ‘Beg for me, Kurt.’

I am given a mere moment to take in his words before he repositions himself one last time – the dreaded tilt of his hips. He thrusts. He finds the spot he had been saving for this moment; I feel the head of his dick slam against my prostate. My back arches and he scoops his arms around my back to keep me perched and taut but there is no need; for the first time in a long time I grind back into him. He calls out my name, groaning various curse words into my neck as he repeatedly strikes my most vulnerable spot with more and more vigour. I meet him with every blow, and each time he shatters me into a realm of utter ecstasy. It is then - only then - he gets his wish. ‘P-please-! Blaine, please fuck me harder-! I w-want you, please – oh God, yes!’ I cry out in sheer desperation. I can’t stop it anymore. Deep within my heart my loathing has never felt so strong for him but something else has taken hold of me. I feel no shame now because my words succeed in gaining his approval. His lips turn up as his eyes flash; he is sure to reward me.

My blood is pumping through my veins, my dick throbbing against his chest until I begin to scream that I am coming. He takes hold of my length one more time, crushing it. It was excruciatingly gratifying. Our lips come together in a wet sloppy manner but all I want is for more of him. He gives himself freely. Our breathing is hectic as we share gulps of heated air until he pulls back far enough to pant ‘S-so close…come with me, Kurt. Fuck, just come for me…’ Despite every inch of what was left of my sanity, I comply wholeheartedly. I let myself go and instantly experience the indescribable heights of sexual pleasure. My world disappears and for many moments I am lost in stunned ecstasy.  Unintentionally I also clench my torn insides around him which is the final push before he too reaches his climax and spills his red-hot release deep within me. I feel myself fill up as he calls out my name. I cannot comprehend it all. Every inch of me is pulsating; even the rock-hard dick inside me seems to throb. His mouth finds mine after our screaming comes to an end – I hadn’t noticed my own voice until this moment – and he claims me one last time before gently settling me back down onto the bed.

I’m overwhelmed with dizziness. The room spins and my legs fall uselessly off his shoulders as I suck in as much air as my lungs allow. Looming over me, my captor takes in my wrecked appearance. He, too, is spent but for him there was still a lot to revel in. He had succeeded in his mission and now, as his gaze runs the length of my quivering frame, I know this is all a game to him. I’ve always known, I suppose, but it doesn’t lessen the aching feeling in my heart when I realise I had been broken again so easily. I was supposed to be stronger than that.

I have started to cry as the sea of shame washes over me once more with a vengeance. I feel his member slide out and fall on top of mine. He’s hot and wet, and he tarnishes my already guilt-ridden body further by gathering cum currently leaking from my ass and spreading it out across my skin. I turn away, but he is having none of it. With his free hand he takes hold of my chin again and forces his wet fingers into my mouth. I squeal but I know what I must do. I suck them clean. Satisfied, he gets up onto his knees and practically hops off the bed with smugness. ‘The only heart-breaking thought I have,’ he starts as he grabs his boxers and begins putting them on, ‘is that you will never know just how painstakingly beautiful you look in the throes of passion.’ He laughs as I turn away from him. I don’t need to hear this now. After securing my ankle straps again, he finishes dressing himself and I try to control my sobs until he leaves. As usual, though, he will not leave without a final kiss. He leans over me once more and captures my lips, humming against my mouth as he takes in the taste of his cum lingering on my tongue. Then, as quickly as he had entered, he leaves.

I wait until I can no longer hear his retreating footsteps before I let everything out. I wail into the bare mattress - which is now drenched in sweat, tears and other bodily fluids – and pray for the rescue I know will never arrive. After all, why would it? I’m dead to the world now. No one is looking for me because I am no longer considered lost. They have my body – or what they think is my body – in some cemetery, with a headstone engraved with my name and life period which is said to have ended late last year. I know because he showed me with a photograph. The memory makes my weeping body feel sick as I remember his soft, sweet tone from that day. It lulls me into some form of unconsciousness as the words cradle my desecrated mind:

No one is coming to save you, baby…See? You’re dead. Everyone knows it. You only have me now. Only me to hold your hand. Only me to dry your tears. Only me…and you will learn to be grateful.