"Go right ahead and use the playroom," Kirk says, trying not to laugh at me. "If you want."
"Have no fear," I shoot right back - checking my fly again, 'cause I just came back from the bathroom and he's surely gonna give me shit about it if my zipper is down. "Freak."
But he's used to that. He nods, knowing I don't even wanna touch the door of his dungeon. "If you change your mind, go for it. Just clean up afterward -"
I groan.
"Seriously, though, I don't know why I'm so paranoid. I can't shake the feeling that somebody's fuckin' with my stuff."
I nod. "No real proof, though?"
"Naaaah. Nothing obvious."
"Smoke another joint."
He sighs. "That's probably it. Imagining things..."
"Yeah."
"Anyway, get on the computer and order up food from Turklo's. Or call 'em. They'll deliver it. Usually they come on Fridays, when Flora's here to put it away -"
"It pays to have rich friends." I know that'll get a rise out of him. We've been friends since fourth grade, and our families weren't rich. But he's sure done well with the kink.
He turns and squints at me. Big ol' smirk. "Hypocrite. I get it. So long as you don't think too hard about how I make all that money -"
"Consenting adults," I shrug.
"Asshole," Kirk says. "Vanilla het."
"Yeah, well... I'm still think you're okay, for a fuckin' homo."
That gets me a hard punch on the shoulder. "A homo who's goin' back to Europe," Kirk shouts. "Gonna play with some of the best. Give 'em all they can stand."
"Yeah. I bet."
"What else?" he says, thinking out loud. "You got the car keys. And we made room in the garage for your truck. Okay -"
"I don't know, uh, about taking your car," I say.
"Aaaah. Do it. That's an order. Bring some hot chick back up here. That'll be a first... Impress the hell out of her. What's the point of making all this money?"
"You're a trip."
"Goin' on a trip... Take the Beamer, Muttley. Or just lay around here the whole time, drunk as fuck, jackin' off. I don't care. Do what you want. That's what I'm gonna do..." And he gets all thoughtful again, daydreaming.
The phone rings.
"That'll be the limo," Kirk says, shaking his head. He runs out of the room.
Fuck, this is a nice house. Huge TV, great deck out back. All of the yards here go on forever. Way off to the north I can barely see part of the neighbor's garage... and that's it. I mean, no buildings within shouting distance - which makes sense, knowing the kinda stuff Kirk does for fun. And profit.
Damn. I'm gonna be housesitting in Kirk's place - in PVE. Three weeks, but if I know him at all that could double. It's not even August yet. I can clear out whenever I want. Hell, I'm so far ahead on credits I could skip the fall classes completely and work my ass off during the spring semester...
Life is good.
A leather carry-on bag slides across the hallway.
"Open that door, Zipless." He appears carrying two big suitcases.
I do it. "Aye aye, Kirktease."
"Remember your alarm code?"
"Our locker combination."
"Good boy." He gathers up the other bags, and pauses in the doorway. "Don't stand there and watch me drive off. It's tacky."
"You're ashamed of me. I always knew it -"
"Mutt," he says, acting like he's hurt. "You know how many guys I know who'd love to be stayin' here? Put this place to good use? But I asked you first. I trust your ass."
I snort once. "You kidding? Thanks for asking me."
He grabs my shoulder and squeezes it, emphasizing the next words. "And you enjoy yourself - y'hear?"
"Guess I don't have to tell you the same -"
"Hell, no!" he laughs, letting go of me. "You sure don't. Maybe I won't even come back."
He's kidding. Must be nice to have that kind of money, I think. "Works for me," I tease him.
"Hah. Later on."
"Later." And I shut the door.
My first stop, I decide, is that big leather chair he's got. Massive, and yet the cushions are just about the deepest I've ever seen.
I pretty much jump on it, and sigh. Very nice. So I reach over for the TV remote control, on the side table.
And a white thing lands on my right arm.
Canvas. Wide -
It slips under my wrist.
Just as I'm starting to pull, the other side slaps around. Velcro.
I find this fascinating. When I yank my arm, it hardly moves -
Quicker than I would've thought possible, another one is catching my left wrist.
"Hey," I finally manage to say, like an total asshole -
That gets me worried. Pulling a lot harder...
Thinner straps snake around, poking into friction buckles - and standing up as if they're pulled. Reefing hard.
Hallucination, I think. In Kirk's house, of all places. They feel snug enough, but there's no way it can be real...
"Kirk?"
And that's when I hear a car door shut. Outside.
I look at the window. Dammit. A couple seconds too late. If I'd yelled -
But Kirk isn't gone yet.
I can't see the limo... and now I can't stand up.
My arms are pinned, indenting the padded leather. In the open space under the armrests, I can see white nylon straps moving. They're clipping onto rings on the cuffs -
More tension, from the outer sides. Damn.
All I can do is claw at the edge of the armrests - and I can't even get a grip on that.
"Kirk! Dammit!"
I pull harder.
This is amazing, somehow. I'm... trapped. In the chair.
The limo's engine revs up a little-
"No. No!" Aw, fuck. I need help. Kirk is still here, it isn't too late, he could run back in here and get me out of these fuckin' things...
"Hey hey halllllp!" I yell. "No... Dammit - Kirk!"
Darting up - oh, shit! My ankles. Covered, surrounded. Wrapped. I do not believe this.
The damn limo is definitely pulling out. I yell Kirk's name as loud as I can, over and over.
More straps rise up, I hear clips clicking - and the tension digs my heels into the footrest.
Outside the window, there's... silence.
This just fuckin' blows my mind.
I slam all around, and twist - but nothing does any good. Yelling, and yelling. I have to get somebody's attention, right now.
I'm actually, literally stuck.
All alone.
I listen for a long time, in case the limo comes back. Maybe he heard me. Or he could've forgotten something - his favorite dildo, I don't care.
Shouting for help. Anybody...
I sit there, with sweat running down me, and try to stretch the fuckin' straps.
This can't be real, I tell myself, looking at the cuffs as I tug on 'em. I've never had a dream like this, but I feel a little... dazed.
Ah. That's just fear.
Maybe I am crazy. Kirk's barely even in the limo, and I see some of his toys come and strap me down? Dammit - this is completely nuts. Shit like this doesn't happen to me.
The canvas is thick, and the tension from the straps - opposing each other - that seems real. If I'm not crazy, then what the hell is going on here? Some kind of magic?
Kirk, maybe...
I keep thinking about that, as I wrestle around. The chair's too heavy to move. Really padded, though.
This is scary - and the curiosity is killin' me, I can admit that.
He wouldn't do this to me.
But he is a sadist. According to his friends who are also into this shit, he's really good at it.
I can't believe he'd set me up like this. But there's no way I think these damn restraints could just... catch me, all by themselves.
"Kirk!" I shout. "Not funny at all. C'mon."
I get totally creeped out by this bondage shit. He's playing with the big boys now. I'll bet it's been years since he had to bother with anybody who was the least bit reluctant.
And he did say he's been feeling paranoid lately... as if somebody's been messing around in the house. No, wait. He meant the dungeon, specifically. Didn't he? His playroom. He said his maid never goes downstairs...
Where else could these cuffs and straps have come from?
I don't like this at all.
"This is not what I had in mind," I say, looking around. "Why don't you get somebody who'll, uh, appreciate this?"
Silence.
I can picture him, grinning at me.
"Waste of a perfectly good cock..." Trying to make me blush.
Every couple years, when we're drunk enough, he reminds me of a standing offer... And when I turn him down, Kirk leers and lets it go. But we've been playing that game since we were thirteen. No big deal anymore.
Zipless, he calls me. Vanilla boy. But he's never done anything like this to me, no matter how twisted he is. We respect each other.
I keep telling myself that.
"Whoever you are," I announce, "this is not cool... You may think it's real cool, but I don't."
I really can't get out of these things. Shit.
How the fuck did these cuffs come and wrap around me, all by themselves?
Over time, I yell less and less...
Somebody wants me to stay in this damn chair.
"Ha ha. Mutherfucker," I say. "I'm not playing. You get me?"
No answer.
I look out the window. Kirk, c'mon, get me out of this.
The maid? No, I think she comes on Fridays.
Today's Tuesday.
Dammit...
The sky is getting darker.
I don't tug at the restraints anymore. If they didn't break yet, I'm stuck.
And Kirk's on the plane, all eager to get there. Never suspecting a thing. It was timed too suspiciously, that's what I think. As if somebody was waiting for the perfect moment, so I'd know the only chance I had to yell for help was rolling away.
There's no way he'd do this to me... even if he was a magician. He could never fuckin' resist the head-games. I'm sure there would've been some clue. Sadistic as it gets. Totally rubbing my nose in it.
Besides, if he could make the cuffs get me like this, odds are he would've done it a long time ago. Just for a laugh.
Three more days, strapped down here. No food, no water.
Shit - that's the best case scenario. Pretty damn doubtful.
I know where these cuffs came from...
What a fuckin' place. That huge walk-in closet, right off the playroom. And that smile on Kirk's face was chilling, as he watched me looking around - well, it just wasn't human. I pretty much ran back up the stairs. Not for me. No thanks.
One look was enough. I saw dozens of things I didn't recognize. All that leather. Fuckin' electrodes...
As much as I love Kirk, there was no way I was spending another second in there with him. Period.
I look at my trapped feet.
"Look, I'm tellin' you, I do not wanna play... I'm not gonna be any fun."
Nothing moves.
Not a sound.
The sun is going down.
"Dammit..."
I'm tired of sitting here - and now I'm really getting nervous. I need to pee.
Nighttime. Toys from Kirk's dungeon, keeping me laid out. And now, it's getting dark. Anything could happen.
I know what's coming. Goin' down.
Kirk's playroom.
"Don't do this," I say, looking out the window. "I am a nice guy. I don't deserve this..."
Beep.
Huh? I heard a -
There's another one. It's coming from the hallway.
Oh, yeah! I got it. The alarm panel. Kirk must've come home, and I just didn't hear him.
"Kirk! Get in here. Man, am I glad -"
And then it hits me. I locked the door. To touch the alarm panel, he would've opened the door already.
Somebody's in the hallway.
"Help me! Please," I holler, having stray thoughts about armed burglars finding me like this, serial murderers...
Four beeps - and a long tone.
I lunge around, until I figure that one out. The alarm system was just turned on.
Behind me, something slides. A window. Closing - and I don't know how that's happening either.
"Please... Help! Help help help haallllllllp!"
I get to watch the nearest window. Just like magic. Slowly closing.
No one will possibly hear me now.
A few minutes later, I decide it's got to be the alarm system's night setting, where the windows and doors are alarmed - but the motion detectors aren't on. Even strapped to the damn chair, I have to be moving around enough to set 'em off, right?
I'm in for it now.
Gonna get fucked with. Definitely. Oh, hell, I can't even think about it.
Three days - three weeks. Or maybe Kirk will stay longer. Probably, yeah. And it'll work.
I'm going to see the dungeon again. All that soundproofing, and I bet even the maid won't hear me.
And she works for Kirk, right? Shit.
No, that's paranoid. Even if she could hear anything, up here - wouldn't she think it's just... me, Kirk's housesitter, and a guest? Having fun. The usual shit, here.
It's like a long, bad dream.
The cuffs are holding tight. I'm gonna get it. Aren't I? Get it all.
I picture a whip, moving all by itself.
Too fuckin' scary.
No...
Either the toys will come to me... or I'm going into the playroom.
This will not end on Friday, when the maid comes. That's too much to hope for. She probably won't even hear me...
Weeks.
I really can't believe it.
Another hour goes by. I think it's been that long.
Somebody, or something, is willing to wait. And there's no reason to hold off... unless it wants me to think.
And I do, of course. Horrible things keep coming to mind.
But I'm calm, at the same time. At some level I must be getting used to the idea - Aw, this is just insane.
I wonder what they're gonna do to me.
A soft, quick noise comes from somewhere way behind me. Before I can stop myself, I'm trying to look back. The headrest is way too high, and it's all dark anyway. Oh, fuck...
That same sound again. I hope it's not scissors. It can't be -
Something is moving!
I tense up and start pulling again... until I see it.
A cigar.
As if today couldn't get any weirder -
Kirk's fairly big on cigars. This must be one of his. Probably expensive.
"No," I snap. Damn fuckin' restraints. Surely I'm not gonna be kept in this chair, just to smoke cigars. I wish I'd never come here.
It just waits.
About fifteen minutes later, worn out from trying to move, I decide nothing else is going to happen - until I smoke that thing.
It hasn't moved at all. Parked in midair..
This is the most bizarre feeling. I can't do a damn thing.
And I really need to pee now...
"Fuckin' twisted bastard," I say quietly. Then I sigh, and nod once.
The cigar comes right on down.
So - I've got a cigar. Big deal.
Maybe, I think, they want me to piss my pants. Right here.
Another fifteen minutes go by. I've stopped watching the ash fall, still glowing, on my shirt. Burning holes. And I'm real fuckin' thirsty.
The straps move.
It's time. Oh, shit.
"Now, wait a sec, here..."
Whining won't do me any good. No one's around to help.
The ankle straps fly up, and then all of the ones holding my wrists meet them. Slapping together -
Winding up.
I'm still caught. It's not like I expected anything else...
Tugging anyway, I drop the cigar. Oh great, I think, watching it burn my shirt. But it lifts up, pauses - and jams back between my teeth. Nothing friendly about that. I don't think I wanna see what happens if I drop it again.
And the straps lift me off the chair.
"Oh no... Don't, c'mon now," I pant. But I bite down on the cigar, just in case.
And I'm floating - oh, shit, it's true. The stairway door... opening wide!
"I can't do this," I mumble. "Look. I can't take it. Really. I'm a wuss, I'll admit it. Please. Please, not... down there."
Lunging around, swinging back and forth.
Halfway down the stairs - and the top door closes.
Past my shoes, a poor excuse for light appears. From inside the room.
The playroom.
Kirk's personal torture chamber...
And mine, I guess.
At this moment I wish I was Kirk. Far away. Or at least the guy who always does the torturing, never the one on the receiving end. But I am in for the fuckin' education of a lifetime, here, and I can't come up with a single reason to hope it isn't true.
No matter how much I want it to be a nightmare, scaring the absolute shit out of me, I'm going in.
A huge rack is backlit.
The closet door - all that pain, in there. And pleasure too, I guess. Stuff I never ever imagined, if I know Kirk...
I tug on the cigar, needing it now. Wondering, as I look at the closet, which torture will be rolled out first.
The main door is swinging out now. Sealing.
After the straps get me anchored to the rack, I puff smoke and keep my eye on the closet.
My heart is just starting to slow down a little when I see them float out.
Feathers?
Not at all what I expected.
Within fifteen minutes, I'm begging to be whipped instead. Ignorance, I suppose. But I just can't laugh hard enough to deal with this. It blows away everything else. A few feathers.
Hell of a beginning...
Pigskin gloves are brought out next.
Oh, fuck, it's a bottle of oil...
More brushes than I knew existed.
So many other tools.
This is about the eighth cock-toy. I hate them all.
My nipples get way too much attention. And I don't even wanna think about what's being shoved up my ass...
Hoods, paddles, crops - and then I didn't have to wait any longer for the whips to appear.
More diabolical devices were brought out. Combinations of toys and techniques filled so many unbelievable hours.
And the days.
Maximum excitement.
I had no idea how ticklish I was.
Or how much more ticklish I could get.
A single day can be so mercilessly long...
The match lights my cigar.
"Thank you, Master," I say automatically.
It still sounds corny to me, but I don't dare let that show. That's what it wants me to call it - whatever's got me trapped in here. It's never spoken or anything, but once there was a big pause, with gloves ready to pounce ... and I started to beg. Eventually, through trial and error, I figured out that it wants to be called Master. The gloves gave each other high-fives, and attacked...
Ever since, I thank it for every cigar. Each meal, and each cum-shot.
Once, maybe a couple weeks ago, I heard a new sound. This faint rumble seemed to come from over the ceiling. It took me a half-hour to remember I was under a house. Kirk's house. And finally I figured out it was a vacuum cleaner. His maid was up there, not five yards over my head, and I didn't have any voice left. The frustration of it got to me, but as soon as I started to cry there were about a dozen brushes landing, making me whoop again.
I started counting the days, like I did at first, so I'd know when the maid was there... but I lost track. No clock, no window, and some rounds are longer than others.
I feel like there's no such thing as "time", anymore. Another cigar, and the rotary tools coming over, or the cock pump, or it's time for another enema.
Hands I can't see, slowly gloving up...
Entire days getting thumped on, played with, worked up, jerked off.
Long nights. It's always the same.
Something weird has happened to me lately.
Aw, fuck. Lately? Being here isn't weird anymore. That sucks. I'm totally used to this. It seems like I've been getting fucked with for months. Master is the same as ever - calm, brutal...
What I'm wondering about lately is the mood I've been in. The night Master hauled me down here, and actually it seems like it five years ago, I didn't know how it was gonna be. I had some ideas, but they were all pretty ridiculous. Not even close.
But I still remember that first time I was strapped here, on this rack, the closest thing to a bed I have in here. Staring at the closet, so frightened I thought I was gonna puke. It's almost funny.
That wasn't all. I had another feeling, along with the fear. It's been with me ever since, like the feathers and the probes in the grip of Master's steady hands. The first couple days, I called it curiosity.
That's not the right word. Oh, Master still surprises me all the time. Every damn day. I gotta be cool about it, and respectful - or else - but the mystery is over and done with. Now it feels more like all this shit is... interesting.
Another morning, or night. Tougher than usual. I hear silverware, so it's going to feed me soon. My feet just got a real workout, to keep me from cumming. When the gloves let go, they turn their palms toward me... and hang there, waiting.
"Th... Thank you, Master."
A cigar floats over.
I wonder if Kirk ever wore that particular pair of gloves. There's enough of 'em here.
Hell, I haven't thought about Kirk in days. If he could see me now. The beard. Smokin' these cigars...
My asshole doesn't hurt at all now. Just the opposite.
I understand Kirk better than I used to.
Nothing is going to stop Master. That's obvious. A cigar, a good meal, then a few hours of agonizing fun. More food, and cigars. Another round, even more intense.
Dinner, a few shots of bourbon with my cigars - and things get really interesting.
Deeper, and slower. Customized fun.
I hear Kirk call my name. All shocked and everything when he sees me. I haven't had this dream in a long, long time -
A hand slaps me. Hard. Nothing unusual about that, but it feels different. Warm -
I open my eyes.
It is Kirk. He's really here.
"Oh no, oh no," he keeps muttering.
"Run," I say, and all I can do is whisper. I start coughing.
He's unbuckling one of the wrist cuffs. Nice try. He looks horrified. I guess I knew, deep down, that he wasn't really behind this... Master catching me and all. That doesn't matter anymore, because I know what happens now. "Muttley, oh fuck, I'm just so sorry -"
"Run, Kirk," I rasp, "right now."
He looks at me, and his hands stop moving.
Too late anyway. I can't stop it, what's about to happen. I feel kinda sad, and I'm pissed at him. Irrational, maybe. But that's not all. I'm getting hard. He's back, and I just know he's in for the surprise of his twisted life.
Both of us at the same time.
This is so damn exciting!
I've dreamed about this. Hell, yeah. I want to watch somebody else getting it. Kirk - who made all of this possible.
He can't be thinking what I already know. Master... It isn't a guy, or a bunch of guys, doing this to me. He's not thinking outside the box. And now he's inside it, along with me. I know it's too late.
"Now," I bark - and then I just lose it, laughing in his face. But I want to see him try... "Go!"
"Stick tight," he says, totally unaware of the pun. Turning -
I wish he'd make it out, only because I want to get the hell out of here. What a crock.
Gloves zoom in and get his triceps.
There. A hard tug, and back he goes.
He watches the door close - and I'm horny as fuck, watching him try to get out of Master's hands...
And it really gets insane then.
Master lays into both of us with gusto.
Makes me watch him howl, and then he gets to watch me.
After a few rounds, it dresses him up in his executioner's outfit and makes him work me over. I learn the names of a few dozen things I'd gotten to know real well.
When it's my turn, I'm a lot clumsier... but Master takes control of the gloves I'm wearing, and I learn.
It's been maybe a week - and today Kirk is gone.
My life goes on as usual.
A few days later, here he is again. Standing in the doorway, with only some kind of leather jock-strap on, looking pale.
"I got you... a vacation," he says, sounding pissed.
The dildo starts backing out, and my hood is loosening...
I can't make it up the stairs. Invisible hands carry me and dump me on the couch. The stairway door slams shut.
Something like sixteen hours go by, and I wake up. There's a box of cigars on the table in front of me. A bottle of bourbon, matches, a big ashtray.
I need to piss, but the thought of standing up is confusing - it's been a while - so I lay there and have a smoke first, drinking when I want. The stars, outside the window, are fading in the sunrise.
It's only a temporary break, and Master makes sure I know it...
Kirk watched the pen write out the instructions. It was a red pen, mysteriously scribbling on the order form out of a gay scat video catalog in big capital letters.
Whoever's not in the dungeon is not allowed to go outside. If we do - or if we touch the phone, answer the door, talk to anyone, try to signal anybody - Master is gonna haul the other guy to another cell somewhere, and there won't be any more vacations for him.
No more days off...
The third night out, I wake up with a collar around my neck. That was in my marching orders, too.
There's no way to describe how much I hate walking back down these stairs.
And I know more it's been longer than a week this time.
Kirk looks tired - as if he has a right - and he shakes his head a little as handcuffs float over to him, followed by a ball gag and a cock toy with a whole bunch of chrome rings and studs.
I can't do it anymore. Sure, it's exciting. Way too much. On and on, Master really sticking it to me...
Kirk hates it. Not being the one on top. That was obvious. But I can't take it any more. If I run, Master will catch me - or just keep sticking it to Kirk. Maybe both. There's got to be some way out of this.
When I wake up, one of the first things I do is check and see -
Dammit. The collar.
Slowly, I take it off...
All that day, I'm waiting for straps to jump out and grab me.
I cook dinner and eat it. Start drinking...
When I go walk back out of the hall after a good, long shit, I hear a door squeak.
I jump and look around -
No. The door is open. I step closer, cautiously.
"Muttley," Kirk rasped. His voice was faint, but it echoed a little in the stairway.
"No," I said immediately. "Sorry. Really... I can't, Kirk."
"Please -"
"I'm sorry."
"You gotta get your ass down here," and then he coughs a few times. "Muttley?"
"You gotta understand."
"Now, dude."
"No."
There's a pause.
"I'm beggin' you."
"I can't. I - I won't."
"So... This is it, huh?"
I feel like shit. Time to do something. "Don't worry, I'm gonna go get help -"
Hands grab me. I can't see 'em.
Dammit, I should've known. There was never any chance. Master pinches my knees, and my shoulders. Down the stairs, stumbling in its grip.
I get turned and shoved through the doorway.
"You blew it," Kirk says.
He's standing up. Full leathers, cigar in his teeth... and a bad smile on his face. Bad for me, I think. He looks wired, way too happy. And cruel -
Master starts pulling my shoes off, and my shirt.
"Right this way, asshole."
He walks into the closet.
The hands drag me behind Kirk. Smoke swirls past each side of his head...
I've never been in the closet, but they're not giving me much time to look around. Shelves, drawers, and leather stuff hanging from every inch of the walls -
A rumbling sound starts, in front of Kirk. Harnesses and cuffs start to sway... as the wall swings back.
I see another door behind it. Metal.
"No," I sigh. "Kirk -"
"You're fuckin' done, Muttley. Finished. Master's gonna really thrash your ass now."
That gets me lunging around, but it's got a tight hold on me. The metal door is opening.
Another cell. Smaller. Wide bench, chains already hanging down, X-shaped rack, foot-stocks. All for me.
"Aw hell - please, no, no, naaaah -"
Kirk stands aside, and I'm shoved past him. "Too late. You lose. You didn't do what you were told. Rules of the house."
"C'mon, Kirk!"
"I'm liking this idea. Your own cell. Secret. You're gonna get it... until you learn how to obey."
Master slams me down on the bench, and opens the foot-stocks.
"Please, buddy, please, don't do this!"
"Do what?" he says, with a cackle. "I'm not doing anything. Just going about my business. Torturing guys who want it. I like that. If I wanna imagine another dungeon in the back of the closet, where a fucker who betrayed me is getting every second of the fun he deserves... so much the better." He laughs again, and leans back - so the door can start closing.
"No no Kirk no nooooo pleeeze -"
The door is covered with foam rubber. No point in begging him anymore. And Kirk can hold a grudge, if he wants, even when he isn't being tortured into collaborating with Master.
Nobody will know.
The stocks latch, and I watch cuffs drop down to my ankles.
Feathers cruise right down to my feet.
29feb04