Monday, August 24, 2015

Story: Shut Doors Open Again

Bondage, nonconsensual, abduction, anal, mind control

Copyright © 2014 by John "Reddywhp" Reddy. Permission granted to archive if and only if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use this without the express permission of the author. This paragraph must be included as part of any archive.

What follows is a piece of fiction. Any similarity to living persons is coincidental. The author does not condone the activities described herein, though he has been known to enjoy similar activities himself .

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Shut Doors Open Again

The door slammed shut behind him.  I sat down on the couch and curled into a ball.   Hugging my knees to my chest, I barely succeeded in suppressing the tears as he left me.

The fucking bastard.

Ted had been the one who insisted that we have a closed relationship and after a year of loyalty, I’d walked in on him and my old master, Tory.   It would have been a hot scene had it not ripped my heart out.

There was Ted, “the man who never bottoms” in our sling, getting ploughed.  His fine but dense chest hair was matted from the sheets of sweat that poured off him.  The striations of his hamstrings stood out as his pale legs pulled on the bungee cord stirrups.  The v-shape of Tory’s Mediterranean skinned lats led down to his smooth ass, framed by the custom leather chaps I’d purchased for him five years earlier.  My old master, who’d dumped me for a teenager the moment I turned 25, was fucking my boyfriend.

I’ll admit I lost it.  I can’t repeat the string of obscenities that spewed from my mouth after the stunned silence, not for any sense of decorum, but because I can’t remember it through the haze of anger that colored the rest of that day.  I remember that things were said that couldn’t be taken back.  And I remember the smirk Tory gave me as he continued to fuck Ted through my tirade.

That was a week ago.  Today, Ted moved out.  He’d left me for Tory, and I felt like collapsing in on myself, the void of his absence had formed so quickly.

Blinking back my not-quite-formed tears, I straightened my back and resolved to purge Ted from my life.  I wasn’t going to let that two-timing deceitful bastard ruin my life.

It took me a day to go through our . . . my apartment to box up the remnants of his belongings.  I found ass toys, other accouterment, and even a latex catsuit that I knew weren’t mine.  How the hell had he hidden all this from me?  In my own home?  It was my condo, after all.

Ted’s turnabout hurt all the worse knowing that he’d been against any kink play in our relationship.  Kink play I had asked him to try on a number of occasions.  The recent sling purchase was a concession that seemed to make more sense now.

It was when I was cleaning his account off my office computer that my life turned around forever.  Since he’d broken all faith with me, I felt no compunction about going through his chat logs.  I felt it fair to learn what he’d been up to.  The chat log that stood out most was with “ToryMast”.  The chats started three months earlier.  I couldn’t believe what I read.

ToryMast: I see you’ve set up your account.  Good boy.

SlvTed15821321: Thank you, Sir.  i included the slave number like you instructed.

ToryMast: I know, boy.  Are you training your ass like I taught you?

SlvTed15821321: Yes, Sir.  i’m doing really well.  It still hurts when i wear the plug to work, but it’s less now. i'm afraid that Mikey is going to notice though.

ToryMast: Michael, yes.  I know Michael very well.  Whenever you think he’s going to find your ass toys, just tell him what I told you.

SlvTed15821321:  Yes Sir, “Michael, are you feeling fuzzy headed?”

There was a jarring sensation, and when I looked up, it was a half hour later.  I had the sense that I’d read through the whole chat, but I couldn’t remember anything.  I figured I’d just zoned out while reading, since it was such a stressful experience.  So, I tried to read it again…  and lost another half hour.

“What the fuck?” I thought.

I tried one more time, and lost another half hour.  And then, did something I thought I’d never do again.  I called Bill.  I was surprised I still remembered his number.

“Stafford here.  This is pretty late, so whoever this is, it better be important.”  Brusque as usual, it was one of the things I remembered liking about him.

“Bill?  It’s Mike.  Mikey Walters, I…”

He cut me off abruptly, “Mikey?  You’ve got some balls calling me after the way you walked out on me.  What, 7 years ago now?”

“I know, Bill.  Uhm, I kinda need…”

He cut me off again, “You need?  Really.  You run off with that tool after I set you up with a good job, and a nice collection of gear?”

“Bill, I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry!  But I need your help.  I’m in trouble, I think.  And it’s because of that tool.”  The pain in my voice must’ve gotten through to Bill, because he let me finish.  He remained silent for long seconds, and I was worried the connection might be lost, or he had hung up the phone.  “Bill?”

“Talk to me Mikey.  You have two minutes.  The clock starts now.”

As quickly as I could, I rambled off about how I’d been dumped by Tory, hooked up with Ted, and then dumped by Ted for Tory, and then about the lost time.

“What do you mean you’ve lost time?”

“I don’t know, I’m reading the logs of Ted’s chat with Tory, and I just . . . can’t remember any of it.”

“Really?  Ted’s chat with Tory?  Tell me about it."

I tell Bill about cleaning up the apartment, finding all the kinky toys that Ted had always scoffed at, and then finding and reading the logs.  Eventually, Bill tells me, "Okay, go back to the chat logs and read them to me one at a time."

So I sit down at the computer and start reading again...  I get as far as reading “Michael, are you feeling fuzzy headed?” and the next thing I know I'm blind... no, I'm hooded!  And gagged!  As I try reaching up to my head, I realize my arms are restrained as well.  I'm otherwise naked, and in a sling.  I'm confident it's my sling, even.  I recognize the feel of the leather and the spring of the stirrups.

"You stupid, stupid, boy.  You never told me what you were doing with him."  It's Bill's voice, muffled through the hood I'm wearing.  "It makes sense now.  But I'm surprised you're still so well conditioned."

I try saying, "But Bill!", but it comes up "Bhmph Bfill!" around the large gag built into this hood.  Bill lives on the other side of town.  I'm feeling scared and confused about how this has happened when I feel his hand, slick with lube, at my ass.

"Shut up, Mikey.  First, I'm going to take advantage of this situation, then we can talk about deprograming you."  What does he mean?  'Deprogramming' me?  "Or maybe re-programming."

I feel one finger, then two, quickly enter my ass, "Well, you're not too tight, that's good, boy."  Angry at the uninvited invasion, I try forcing his fingers out.  "So you have some life in you?  That's good.  It won't work, but you remember I don't like lifeless sacks.  I prefer caged animals."

I thrash in the sling as he works a third finger in and starts stretching my hole.  The bungie cords supporting the stirrups make it almost impossible for me to lift my ass out of the sling; he can continue to work my hole without my getting away.  It's what he always did with me when we were together, and I remember loving it.

When he starts working a fourth finger in, I start moaning and stop thrashing.  He can still work my prostate like no other.  Despite my vocalized objections, I can feel my dick drooling pre-cum onto my belly.  Under the hood, my eyes are rolling back into my head as he works my hole like he used to all those years ago.  Some things just don't change.

When he suddenly pulls his fingers out, the jarring sensation wakes me out of my blissful reverie to consider that this is still basically rape.  I don't know how I wound up like this.  I try remembering that I broke up with Bill for good reason, but then realize I can't remember what the reason was.

I feel a baseball bat against my ass... no... that's Bill.  That's his monstrous cock nudging my ass.  "You remember this boy?"  I weakly nod in response.

"No, boy, you know what I want."

I shake my head in response.  I broke up with him.  I don't want this.

He smacks me through the hood lightly.  "Say it boy."

I mutter around the gag.  I broke up with him, didn't I?

He smacks me harder.  The hood is padded, so even though I feel it, it's softened.

His cock is sitting at my hole, and I miss... I shake my head.  'I'm Tory's good boy.'  The phrase floats through my head, and I'm confused.

He smacks me harder again.  The padding still softens the blow, but the shock knocks the thought loose.  "Say it, Mikey."  His voice is soft in comparison to the slap.

I scrunch my eyes up under the hood.  I'm confused.  I want to give him what he wants, but I'm not allowed to.  'Tory will be angry with me.'  The thought rises to the top of my mind, and I shake my head again, trying to dislodge it.  I feel Bill's cock, hard and wet with lube, rubbing across my ass hole and I want it.  I need it.

I inexplicably start struggling against the bonds, trying to get free.  I don't know why I'm doing it but I'm also muttering something about Tory being angry with me.  Every time I mention Tory, I get another slap across my hooded face; I see stars with each hit.  

Bill's cock is at my ass, demanding attention.  This barrier in my mind, the thing stopping me from saying what Bill's been trying to pull out of me, breaks after one more smack across my face.  "Fuck me, Sir!  Please!" I shout around the gag, because I feel empty and I want him in me.

Before I finish saying 'please' I feel him sliding in, stretching me wide.  He doesn't slam it in.  He's never been cruel to my ass, at least.  Oh god, I feel it sliding slowly, wetly, into me.  I feel the natural ridges of his cock sliding over the sensitive skin at my sphincter.  I missed this so much.  Missed him so much.  I feel myself shaking as he slides in.

"Is this what you wanted, boy?"  He asks as I moan when his cock is all the way in.

When I don't answer immediately, he quickly pulls back until just the massive mushroom head of his cock is still in me.  "I said, 'Is this what you wanted', boy.  I won't ask again."

Suddenly I start nodding manically.  I'm sobbing as I repeat over and over again around the gag, "Yes!  Please!"  I continue repeating myself as feel him sliding all the way back in, and then he starts his slow, methodical pistoning of my ass.  His hands, strong and rough, one still slick with lube, grab my torso and pull me onto him.

I remember what he likes, and start clamping down, trying to milk his cock with my ass, which is both difficult and easy because it's been a long time since I've been stretched this much.  I'm at the limit of what I can take because I'm out of practice with this much girth.  I keep it up, twisting my ass around his cock, squeezing.  I couldn't get away if I wanted to, but I can move around in place.

I'm in heaven.  It's as if the intervening years have faded away.  I feel him pounding and rubbing my prostate constantly.  I'm whimpering and moaning in between my mantra of "Yes!  Please!".  I even try to fuck the air while he pistons my ass.  There's a desperation in my actions, in my voice, and he can feel it, he can hear it.  He knows he controls me.

Bill can go like this for a long time, with his slow, steady pounding of my hole.  Gagged and hooded, I can only taste and smell leather.  I can see nothing, hear less, but I can feel him.  My world has become every sensation coming from my ass and cock.

After minutes that feel like hours, he leans over me, grabbing my cock in one hand and the collar of my hood in the other.  Using the hood and my cock as handles, he starts roughly pulling me onto his cock more aggressively.

"Boy!"  I focus my world on his voice.  It's as if the way he says 'boy' cannot be ignored.  "Come, boy!".

He's not stroking my cock at all.  The twisting of my hips get me no direct stimulation to most of my shaft. But his firm grip on the base of my shaft, squeezing, the feeling of his cock in me, and the force of his voice push me over, and I'm coming.

I'm shooting, and the first load of hot wet come landing on my chest.  I tense everywhere, as if this orgasm had been building for weeks, from my toes, calves, and thighs, up to my jaw which clamps down on the gag, and out to where my fingers bunching into fists.  In between, my ass must be like a vice on Bill's cock, because within a second of the start of my orgasm, he's growling and I can feel his cock pulsing with orgasm.  

Splash after splash of wet, sticky jism lands on my chest, some of it running down my side.

Even as I finish, Bill continues pumping in and out of my hole, riding my aftershocks, as I repeatedly mutter around the gag, "Thank you, sir" and start crying.

"I know, boy.  I'll fix things, Mikey.  I'll fix you."

I don't know why I'm crying.  I don't know why I ever left Bill in the first place.  And thinking about it, I don't know why the memory of Tory's voice scared me so.


Haven't decided if I'm going to write a follow-on to this.  I think I leave a somewhat reasonable ending, letting people let their imaginations run.

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