A Monster Lives Next Door
Please, please, please email me (JADashing@gmail.com) with any comments, suggestions, or critiques! Especially critiques, as this is the first narrative I've ever written, so I have a lot of room to grow. I'd love to hear from anyone and everyone. If you hate something, tell me! If you like something, tell me! (Please.) This is a rough draft of this story, so I'm still figuring out what I'm going to do with it.
Disclaimer: If you are just here to fap, this probably won't be enough to satisfy you. There are a couple erotic scenes, but it's nothing too graphic thus far. As the story progresses, the erotic aspect will undoubtedly take precedence. Also, this is all the work of fiction. It's not based on anything but my imagination. Any resemblances to real people, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence. And if this is illegal for you to read in your area (because of your age or something else despotic), then don't read this. This work belongs to the author, me, J. A. Dashing, muahahaha! As the author, I retain all rights to this story, and it cannot be reproduced or published without explicit consent from me. This work is copyright © 2014 by J. A. Dashing. Thanks and have fun!
PRELUDE
THE BOY WAS face down on the bed, naked. He could see the kid's small spine stretching down his exposed back, his butt wiggling back and forth in excitement. He had told him to undress and wait facedown in his bed for a surprise: a surprise he held in his hand.
"Now," Jacob growled, "you're going to lay there and take this, you little faggot." Robby always seemed to love it when he talked like that. The naked boy squirmed in the bed beneath him, nodding eagerly with his face hiding in a pillow.
Jacob looked down at the whip he held in his hand. He'd gotten it just a a few hours ago at the local sex shop. He didn't really know why. Earlier this week, he went there to get handcuffs, for the girls he slept with who were into more kinky play. But when he passed the whips, flogs, and other BDSM instruments, his gaze was ensnared. He had a guy who was devoted to him, who worshipped him, whom he could do seemingly anything to. Did that include hurting him?
He knew it was a horrible, evil notion, so he'd forced it from his mind and left the shop with only handcuffs. But over the past several days, the thought, the desire kept creeping back to him; it was insidious. He had to see how far he could go, how far he could push Robby, what he could do to him and get away with.
He gently let the whip drag across Robby's exposed back, teasing him. Robby stiffened under him. "Wh-what is that?" he asked into the pillow.
Jacob smiled as he heard the fear in the kid's voice; he probably knew what it was from the feel of it. "It's just a toy I got from the sex shop today. I thought I'd try it on you first. After all, who else would let me beat them?" He said it just to scare Robby.
The kid hesitated for a moment, but then nodded slowly. Jacob found himself surprised--and strangely moved by Robby's devotion. He expected Robby to freak out and say no, say that it was too far. But this kid would really let Jacob do that to him? Doing his homework and picking up after him was one thing, but letting Jacob hurt him?
I'll be really gentle, Jacob told himself. He didn't want to actually harm the kid; he was just curious how far he could go, how far Robby would let him go. It was just a little test. Jacob continued dragging the whip along the boy's exposed backside, slowly letting it trail between his buns so he could get prepared for what was to come. He lifted the whip back up.
Jacob breathed in and stood up straight; Robby barely made it past his knees on the small twin bed. He looked so tiny beneath him, so vulnerable, and here he was letting himself be completely exposed to pain for Jacob's amusement. Jacob carefully flicked down his wrist, bringing the whip down across the boy's butt with a soft snap. Robby let out a small yip, though Jacob suspected it was more from fear than pain. So he tried again, this time a bit harder. Snap! The boy yelped out into his pillow. A bright red mark formed across his exposed back, but he stayed there on the bed, just letting himself be abused_._ No, not just abused, abused by Jacob. The kid was doing this, exposing himself to torture for Jacob, just to make him happy. And, strangely, it did make him happy. He'd never felt so powerful. He had so much control over this kid, and he didn't even have to do anything for it. It was willingly given to him. He reveled in that control, found himself craving more of it. This kid was his plaything. His toy.
Jacob's eyes widened as something deep within came alight, something primal; he felt a grin spreading across his face. What is this feeling? It was incredible! The whip struck again, and Jacob laughed. It amused him, watching that tiny body squirm as it endured his merciless torment--staying there, naked and exposed, simply because he told it to.
He whipped Robby again, causing the puny thing to cry out in pain. Pain! He was hurting this kid, and it made him feel so good, so powerful. It wasn't an erotic pleasure, but it was equally fervent nevertheless. He whipped him again! Another cry, another wave of ecstasy washed over Jacob. He wanted more! He whipped him again! Snap! And again! Cries of pain came from under him. Cries of pain that were willingly given to him.
He looked down and froze. Robby's back burned with countless bright red streaks; the boy whimpered pitifully into his pillow, quivering beneath Jacob. Did I do this?
Jacob's merciless grin suddenly broke. The whip fell from his hand and shock flashed across his face. What had he just done? What the fuck was wrong with him! Robby didn't deserve this torment! He was just an innocent kid, who had been nothing but kind--more than kind, devoted to him, and he repaid him by doing something like this? Repaid his worship and admiration by hurting him?
And why had he liked it so much?
Jacob knelt down and carefully took hold of the kid's arm to turn him over. "Fuck, Robby! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I just did that! Why did you let me do that to you!" He was terrified, terrified by what he had just done, terrified of the monster that lurked deep inside.
He looked down into Robby's dazed face, distant eyes red from crying, tears still streaking down his cheeks. "Are you okay, Robby?" he choked out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ." His voice died off into a whisper.
To Jacob's surprise, Robby smiled. He smiled after Jacob had just done something so heinously cruel, after Jacob had made him cry in agony for his own twisted amusement. Robby wrapped his arms around Jacob's middle and pulled himself close, clinging to the man who had just tortured him, burying his tear-stained face in his shirt. Jacob didn't pull back though; he didn't push him away. He owed Robby this much . . .
Something new burgeoned within him. It was more delicate than his sadistic high, yet somehow still stronger. Without thinking, he tugged Robby close, pulling the small, naked body to his chest and wrapping his arms around him. For all the torment Jacob had put him through, Robby still obeyed him, without ever saying no, or complaining, or getting upset. Robby was something special. He gave himself to Jacob, gave away his heart, mind, and body to the man who abused him.
This kid needed protection; he was fragile. He didn't need more torment, more abuse. But how could Jacob protect him from himself? When he turned into . . . that monster. That monster who liked hurting people for fun, for pleasure.
* * *
"You know I can't love you in that way. . . . We've been over this," Jacob sighed.
"You're never going to love me. Never going to be with me. You'll always be fucking girls instead, and when you can't do that, I'm your second choice. I'm always your second choice . . ."
Robby's words came spilling forth in a cathartic surge, unable to keep himself from venting his frustrations that had been pilling up for months.
"I thought I could do it! I thought I could be happy with just worshipping you, Jacob. And I was! It's been the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I loved it at first. . . . I still do. But I can't do it anymore: I love you, Jacob. I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life! I love you more than my life! But you don't love me. You never will."
Jacob looked down at Robby; the kid was devastated. He'd never seen him so upset. He should have known this would happen eventually.
"You know I can't," he said. "I do care for you, Robby. And I love dominating you, and controlling you, and abusing you . . . I love all that stuff. And I love you like you're my own kid brother. But I just can't love you in the way you want. I'm sorry, buddy. I'm really sorry."
Robby broke. He knew this was much more than he ever could have hoped for; he knew he should be so grateful for a guy like Jacob to care for him like he did--for him to say stuff like that, being straight. But his heart wasn't rational; his heart wanted him, wanted to be with him. He loved this guy so much it hurt--a constant aching in his chest that was only getting worse with the passing months. He couldn't sleep. Couldn't think. Couldn't get away. His entire being yearned for the incredible guy who lived in the same dorm room, who slept just a few yards away.
But it could never be. He was finally realizing this--not that he had ever, even in his wildest fantasies, thought Jacob would care for him so deeply, in his own way.
Robby looked up, seeing Jacob's face twisted in a pained expression. He really did feel bad about this. And that made it somehow worse, knowing how deeply it affected him, how deeply he affected him. He didn't think anyone else had ever seen this side of Jacob.
Robby clung onto Jacob's leg and let tears roll down his cheeks as he sat on the floor, feeling a large, strong hand come down to rub over his head.
"I need to go . . . I need to leave. I need to get away from you." Robby choked on the words, barely able to get them out without breaking down and sobbing.
"Don't be stupid, Robby." He grabbed Robby by his hair and tugged him up, giving the poor kid a massive hug--a show of affection that surprised even himself. "You need someone to look out for you, buddy," Jacob growled softly, Robby's ear pressing warmly to his cheek as he melted in his arms. "I can still do that until you find a guy. A guy you'll love even more than me; one who can love you back."
Robby shook his head slowly, ceaseless tears spilling from his eyes. He could barely manage a whisper, "You don't understand. There won't ever be another guy like you."
Jacob felt sick. He could almost feel Robby crumbling in his arms. What had he done to this poor kid? He'd ripped his heart out, that's what. He truly hurt him, and this time it didn't feel good--it felt cruel, evil, sick. He hated himself for letting this happen.
I am a monster.
CHAPTER I
THE TIME FOR INTRODUCTIONS
TRENT STEPPED OUT onto the dew-soaked walkway in front of his house. It was time. He'd picked this day at random on the calendar, as the day he'd go next door and introduce himself to the man who lived there. (He needed something concrete lest he continue to stall.)
He looked east as he strode along the sidewalk. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, causing a vibrant stream of light to splash across the sky, signaling that day had only just arrived. He knew it was early, but he couldn't wait any longer. He'd been awake all night, too nervous, too excited, to fall asleep. The lot he walked to was large, much larger than Trent's or any of the other lots in the area. And the house clashed defiantly with the ocean of newly-constructed, perfectly homogenous homes sitting on the properties around it. It resembled a southern-style plantation home, with faded white pillars in the front and an antiquated rustic architecture. Trent heard his steps crunch as he stepped onto the long, gravel driveway that stretched up an acre or two of land to the circular driveway. Though his walk up to the house took a couple minutes, he found himself gliding over the gravel with no concept of time--almost in a daze.
Trent felt his heart pounding in his chest as he stepped onto the porch, reaching the large, wooden front door. He lifted his hand to knock, before freezing, considering. Three knocks? Three knocks was good, right? He had no idea how many knocks was deemed socially acceptable--and he was desperate to make a good first impression. He needed to!
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
It didn't work. This was his house after all. The beast of a man who lived next door. A man Trent had been lusting after for months ever since moving into the neighborhood. He couldn't go a day without idling by a window, trying to catch a glimpse of the beast walking to his truck, or putting out the trash, or getting the mail. Seemingly everyday things for the man were magnificent highlights to Trent. It was pathetic.
How could he be so infatuated with a man whose name he didn't even know? A man who was entirely straight, and probably even homophobic--ubiquitous in this small town. He'd even seen the man come home with girls several times before. Yet no amount of logic or rational thinking could stay his obsession. He tried desperately to get the man out of his mind. He knew it was unhealthy! But he was just such a beast . . .
The last time this happened he'd been too afraid to approach the man who worked in the same building as he. For two years he continued to lust after a guy who never even knew his name--and whose name he had never learned. How pathetic was that?
Not again! He wouldn't do that to himself anymore. He was going to meet this guy, introduce himself, get rejected, and just get it out of the way. Trent didn't want to start off his new life in a new town with a new unrequited obsession. He would rather have awkwardness with his neighbor, than live within an emotional prison of his own construction.
So, how many knocks? he asked himself before noticing the doorbell. One. Two. Three. He counted, pushing the button.
After the lengthy chime had finished ringing, Trent thought he heard a muffled groan emanate from somewhere within the house, and perhaps some grumbling as heavy footsteps thudded toward him.
"Just a second!" a gruff voice called out, edged with annoyance. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Trent thought, backing away. He should just leave before--
The door opened. A half-asleep man stood before him in boxers and a tank top, his eyes squinting against the garish morning light that streamed in. But--oh, was he something! Six foot seven, with a muscled chest, a kempt beard that was trimmed short, and thick, hairy legs. He had short black hair, lightly tanned skin, and brown, currently barely-open eyes. Though his face wasn't pretty, it had a distinct ruggedness to it that made him attractive in an entirely different way.
One of the man's thick, muscled arms reached up to support himself in his tired state, grasping the top of the door frame easily because of his daunting stature, displaying a robust amount of pit hair.
Trent started, unconsciously taking a step back as he stared up at the beast of a man before him: Standing at five foot six, Trent was towered over. Part of him liked that, he discovered.
Trent timidly broke off his gaze, instead looking straight ahead--only for his eyes to meet something even more obscene: the man's nipples poked defiantly against the white, cotton fabric of the tank top, their shapes clearly visible--ostentatious, even--taunting him, daring him to look. Moments passed as Trent imagined slipping under the fabric, lips trailing up this beast's hairy abs and chest before latching onto one of those big, tantalizing nipples. Feeling it under his tongue as he kissed and sucked. Oh, God!
* * *
Jacob opened the door, squeezing his eyes shut to brace for the wave of light that washed into the room. Squinting, he could just barely make out a small figure staring up at him on the porch, whose eyes widened as Jacob lifted his arm for support. The guy had light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a face that he felt he'd seen before. Robby? Is that you?
But, even in his half-asleep haze, he knew it wasn't. Robby was his college dorm mate during freshman year. Well, he started off as a dorm mate, but Robby had changed Jacob. Made him discover things about himself he'd never expected. But it had come with a price, for both of them--a heart-wrenching price.
Even though Jacob didn't find men attractive, he'd discovered that he yearned to protect a vulnerable, obedient kid like Robby, who needed someone to dominate him, control him. But the closer he got to the kid, the worse Robby would feel, since Jacob was incapable of returning his love. It lasted for almost their entire first year, until the kid couldn't take it anymore. Robby broke down and dropped out of school; he disappeared. Even Robby's family didn't know--or seem to care--what had happened to him.
Jacob had spent months after that trying to track him down--years spent missing him and thinking of him. But no matter how hard he looked, how long he waited, he could never find him. He could never again protect him, never again could Robby be his. It had been almost ten years, but he still thought of Robby almost every day, wondering where he was now, if he ever found someone who could love him, who could actually make him happy. He hoped so. God knows that kid deserved it.
But this wasn't Robby. This was his new next-door neighbor, Jacob eventually realized. Still, he did sort of look like the Robby of his memories, though several years older, and with a more squared face and jaw. If only . . . He sighed to himself.
After a few moments of silence, he noticed the kid was ogling his chest, having not said anything in his apparent trance; looking down, he saw his own nipples outlined in his shirt. A spike of excitement shot through Jacob, though he displayed nothing. Could he actually be a kid like Robby? Living here, right next door?
He'd never gone looking for someone like Robby; it would feel too much like trying to replace him, which was impossible. But what if he was being gifted a second chance? A chance to do it right this time? If so, he suddenly decided, I will not mess it up.
Well, I'd better say something, he thought, waving his hand to get the kid's attention.
* * *
A hand waved in front of Trent's face. "Hello? You okay?" the man said. Trent's eyes snapped back up to return the man's gaze, feeling himself beginning to blush profusely. How long had he been fantasizing?
Trent tried to regain his composure, but ultimately failed, "Er . . . Sorry. May I help you?" he asked, too nervous to even realize his faux pas.
The man, obviously amused at Trent's lapse in propriety, chuckled--a low, deep laugh that made Trent feel like--no, he needed to focus! Wait, was the man saying something again?
". . . and you're the one who knocked on my door at seven in the morning, so I hope you can help me after waking me up early on a Saturday--by telling me why you're here."
"Oh," Trent said, startled, "I thought you'd be up already, since you usually go for your jog around this time."
"You know what time I jog?" The man blinked, eyes still bleary from the sun.
"Oh, well . . . I guess I've just seen you outside my window, when I get up in the morning." No, that wasn't creepy or anything.
"Anyway," Trent continued, "I got up hours ago because I couldn't sleep, so I guess I didn't realize it was still so early. I should have looked at the time. I'm sorry; I can come back later."
The man shook his head, still only half-awake. "It's cool. You're right. I should be out on my run by now, but I was up late last night. So, what d'you need?"
Trent felt a flutter of panic. Why was he here? He scolded himself for not having considered this ahead of time, before saying the first thing that came to mind:
". . . Um, since I woke you up, would you like some breakfast, then? I was about to make some for myself and thought I'd offer."
He kicked himself as he said it. Breakfast? It just slipped out. Who invites someone they'd only just met to breakfast?
To Trent's surprise, however, the man flashed a smile--a strikingly genuine smile, displaying brilliant, white teeth--evincing an impeccable, although surprising, level of oral hygiene. He didn't think a man so ostensibly dark and intimidating could have such a welcoming smile. Maybe his annoyance at being woken up had vanished at the prospect of breakfast. At least, that's what Trent hoped.
"You're offering me free breakfast?"
Trent grinned and nodded, probably with too much vigor, he soon realized. "Of course! It's the least I can do after waking you up. I am really sorry!"
The man waved his hand. "Really, it's no problem. I can't make it though, since I have . . . company."
Oh. Trent felt his face redden and couldn't help but frown slightly as his heart sank. He was with another girl last night.
As if cued to Trent's thoughts, lighter footsteps timidly approached from behind the man. "So," a feminine voice said, "um, thanks for last night. It was interesting and all, but I should probably be going now."
The beast turned aside, looking back at the tall, brunette woman who was standing in the shadowed living room, just outside of the stream of light from the door. There seemed to be an air of concern about the girl, though Trent couldn't figure out why. "Oh, okay," the man said, grinning, obviously not concerned with her obvious apprehension. "Yeah, it was a lot of fun."
The woman, who had apparently gathered all her things already, stepped around him and out the door, not even bothering a glance at Trent as she kept her head down. The man spanked her forcefully as she passed, causing a surprised yip.
"Don't you need a ride?" he asked after her, returning to his position at the door, hand grasping the top of the frame.
Still looking forward, she shook her head, evidently unsettled by the sudden spank. "No, it's fine. My place isn't far from here anyway."
Great, she'll be here all the time, then, Trent thought to himself, turning as she departed down the driveway. It was there in the sunlight that he noticed she had all sorts of bright red streaks and bruises along her exposed arms and legs; shocked, he spun back to face the man in the doorway.
"What happened to her?" Trent asked in surprise.
The man smirked as he watched her leave, standing up taller as if Trent's apprehension excited him: "She got what she deserved. That's what," he said distantly, before turning down to look at Trent. "So, about that breakfast."
Trent paused as a shiver traveled down his spine, "What she deserved"? What did that mean? Who was this guy?
The man must have noticed the unsettled look on Trent's face, "It was all consensual, if that's what you're wondering. I guess I'm just . . . more than she's used to." He continued to regard Trent, who was too dumbfounded to speak: he'd never expected anything like this from the man! "You're not one of those guys who acts all macho because of your height, are you? You don't have to defend her from me," he smirked down at Trent, "shorty."
"Wh-what?" Trent asked, the comment about his height staying his speechlessness. "Oh, no. No, definitely not macho." Oops.
Unfazed, the man chuckled at that. "Yeah, I figured as much."
Trent blushed, turning away instinctively as he felt a throb from his crotch. He looked down in horror, seeing a small tent that had formed in his pants; he hadn't even noticed it before! How long had it been there? Fuck!
Hopefully, Trent thought, the man was too tired to notice anything. He didn't seem unsettled or awkward, so Trent figured that to be the case.
"Well, if you're just going to stare off watching her ass as she leaves, I'm going to get back to sleep."
"What? I wasn't!" He blushed again, though luckily the man couldn't see it from behind. After waiting for his embarrassment to pass, Trent turned back around to face the man, his boner having subsided slightly. "So, do you like pancakes?"
"Love `em. Make some bacon too though. And eggs. I'm always real hungry after a jog."
Trent smiled, nodding eagerly. He was actually going to make breakfast for this beast!
"Oh, and welcome to the neighborhood, by the way. I guess I never got to tell you that when you first moved in." Annoyance flashed across the man's face, "Not that there's much of a neighborhood, for me anyway."
Trent assumed he was referring to the juxtaposition of his home: There were myriad lots that looked similar to Trent's, each about an acre large, with a recently built, homogenous house placed neatly in the center of each one. The man's lot, however, was massive. Trent guessed eight to ten acres, at least. This large, overgrown oasis was surrounded by dozens of these perfectly identical cookie-cutter homes.
"Because of your property, you mean?" Trent asked.
"Yeah, sort of. But mainly other stuff. Some of the neighbors have seen what I do to the girls. They talk, and gossip. But they're all too scared to actually ask me about it, so they all have it in their heads that I'm some sort of monster. They've even called the cops a few times, rather than just talking to me.
"Fucking idiots," he spat, causing Trent to flinch.
The man's arm flexed as he squeezed the top of the doorframe in irritation; it seemed involuntary to Trent--a happy accident, but he reveled in it nevertheless. Muscles rippled, veins pumped up, and his bicep swelled. It all happened in an instant, but that was all Trent needed to float off into another daydream.
This man. This beast. He was the kind of man who got what he wanted--and had the physique to back it up--with an air of dominance he just exuded, engendering subservience in those around him. Trent found his eyes trailing up and down the man's robust figure, unable to control his gaze. For a moment, he even found himself not caring if the man caught him staring (again). He wanted to kiss, lick, suck, rub all over this beast. He would do anything . . . Anything!
"Hey, you still there?"
Trent blinked, nodding absently before silently chastising himself and shaking his head clear. He looked up into the man's deep brown eyes. Wait, was that a smirk? It was gone before he could tell.
No. No, that was his own naïve hopefulness. It all came back to him in an icy shock, shattering his fleeting fantasy into pieces. He knew what he had to do: He had to tell this man that he found him irresistibly attractive, that he would do anything to be with him!
And then he would get rejected. Heart-wrenchingly rejected. Probably get called a faggot, freak, or any other combination of hateful, but true, words. His reputation in the neighborhood would probably be scorned, since faggots are so much worse than monsters, he reasoned. And worst of all, he would have an extremely awkward relationship with his new next-door neighbor--or, more likely, no relationship at all.
But he would be free. No longer in a prison. No longer in limbo. No more obsessing over one guy, yet always being too afraid to do anything about it, other than fantasize. No longer stuck! He would not be scared to take a chance anymore.
At least, that's what he hoped. But, all that stuff could surely wait until after breakfast.
* * *
Heh, Jacob thought, this kid is already under my thumb. One flex of the arm had engendered another one of the kid's silent fantasies. It was almost too easy.
Jacob looked down at the kid, who still seemed to be lost in thought even after he'd tried to get his attention. Might as well just let him stare for a while. Robby used to do the same thing, he realized, though he was usually more discreet. He'd always peek up from the textbook he was ostensibly reading to get a look at Jacob lying down on his bed across the dorm room. Jacob hadn't thought anything of it at first, until he noticed how often the kid seemed to get embarrassed around him, and how strange he acted whenever Jacob asked him to do stuff.
And this kid was even more obvious! He practically sprang a boner every time Jacob moved! He'd be really fun to toy with.
* * *
The door closed in front of him as the man left to get ready for his jog. Alone on the porch, Trent breathed a sigh of relief. Even with Trent's awkwardness, the man still seemed amenable to his company. He didn't know if that was better or worse than the alternative: if the man just disliked him from the start, he wouldn't have to go through the hell of embarrassing himself--all in a foolish attempt to overcome his obsession.
He would confess to the man after breakfast, he decided. He would allow himself one morning of fantasy, of pretense. It would almost be like a breakfast date! Almost, but not at all.
CHAPTER II
BREAKFAST WITH THE BEAST
THREE LOUD KNOCKS sounded at the door. Trent stopped mixing the pancake batter, feeling his stomach fill with butterflies--nervous, horny butterflies. After putting down the whisk, he hurried to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it to a towering figure that filled the doorframe. Trent took a moment to take in the sight. This man still seemed too impossible to exist, too perfect to live just next door.
The man was breathing heavily from his run as sweat dripped from his brow and clung to his wet hair. Beneath his pits, trails of perspiration soaked the sides of his tank top, and a large damp spot ran down the center of his chest. He really was a beast.
The man pushed in before Trent got a chance to say anything, sitting down on a chair in the foyer to take off his shoes and socks as Trent stared, dumbfounded. Not even bothering to put them away, he just left them in the middle of the floor as he stood up to to take a look around.
"Nice place," the man said a few moments later, before stepping into the kitchen.
Trent stood with his hand still clasping the door, baffled by the man's audacity. He probably should mind, but Trent couldn't help but feel excited by the impudence. He closed the door and followed the beast into the kitchen, heart beating fast.
Was this really happening? Breakfast with one of the most irresistible guys he had ever seen? Too bad it was all pretense and would soon end horribly, he painfully reminded himself.
The kitchen was spacious and clean, yet decidedly plain. Trent had been planning to decorate his home for months, but his attention was repeatedly diverted. He watched in disbelief as the man walked over to the counter and stuck a finger into the pancake batter, swirling it around a few times before having a taste.
"Mmm. That's good." He took another taste with the same finger, causing Trent to blush.
The man turned and rested back again the counter. "Damn," he said, "I'm starving. Usually I take a shower right after my jog, but today I skipped it `cause I was so hungry. Guess you'll just have to deal with my smell till I get some food in me."
Though the man seemed facetious, Trent couldn't help but moan to himself--quietly, of course, his hard on quickly resurfacing at the thought. Shit! He hurried up to the counter in order to hide his tent, reaching over and beginning to vigorously mix the pancake batter to keep his mind distracted. He felt so small standing next to this giant of a man, close enough where he caught the full whiff of his post-jog scent.
He smelled . . . good. A deep, pungent musk that forced its way into Trent's nostrils, smelling faintly of maple syrup and savory beast. He yearned to press up against the man; he wanted to breathe in as much as he could. It was intoxicating. Trent shuffled a bit closer to Jacob as he deceptively reached for another egg, sniffing in as deeply as he could without drawing attention. His scent was irresistible; he could breath it all day and never get tired of it.
Trent swooned, barely able to stifle another moan as he was overcome by the man's criminally effective pheromones. His tent stretched up as he felt his hard-on throb. Luckily he was right next to the counter, so his arousal was entirely inconspicuous.
"So, are you going to stir that or what?" The man asked, turning his head to Trent with an amused countenance, hands resting on the counter behind him to support himself.
Trent looked down in surprise, noticing he had just been standing there with whisk and egg in hand. This guy was probably going to think he had a mental deficiency or something. Trent cracked the egg into the bowl and resumed his stirring, pointedly keeping his eyes fixed on the swirling pancake batter--hoping his erection would soon subside.
The man chuckled at something and went over to sit in a chair at the breakfast table, hefting his legs onto the top and interlocking his fingers behind his head, leaning back into those monstrous arms of his as he exposed his sweaty pits to the entire kitchen.
He breathed out heavily as he relaxed. "Hey, get me some water, would you?"
Trent froze as he heard the man's voice behind him, sneaking a peek down at his tent, still happily presenting itself to the counter. Awkwardly, he walked sideways to the fridge where he kept some chilled bottled water, trying to nonchalantly face the counter. He opened the fridge door and closed his eyes: now was his chance!
Old people, knives, blood, gross stuff!
Entirely revolting images flashed in his mind, the last vestige of hope for not having to completely embarrass himself. Thankfully, he felt his erection soften somewhat, enough to where there wasn't a voyeuristic display. He closed the refrigerator door and turned around, only for his efforts to have been in vain.
There the beast was, eyes closed as he relaxed back into his hands behind his head, biceps swelling with those sweaty, hairy pits brandished to the world. Trent thought could smell them from all the way across the room. He stepped forward, feeling his erection instantly stir to life. Fuck.
Upon hearing Trent walk closer, the man opened his eyes. Trent started, quickly positioning the water bottle in front of his unrelenting boner. He smiled sheepishly as a blush passed over his face, stepping up to the table and handing the water to the beast, before spinning about and hurrying back over to the sanctuary of the counter, where his hard-on could roam free. That was close! He needed to get better at controlling himself . . .
Well, he usually was good at that. This man just did something to him. He caused him to feel things he never would have imagined. It was like the seed of submission being watered for the first time, having been buried within him for years without notice.
Trent never considered himself submissive; in fact, he'd never even accepted the concept. That was just a silly way for people to get over their insecurities, right? But now, to his ever-increasing surprise, every thought that popped into his brain was servile. This man was worthy of such devotion; he deserved it! He radiated dominance, an indomitable force that washed over Trent and swept him away into a sea of subservience.
This man took what he wanted without regard for propriety or graciousness, yet he did so entirely without spite; he merely asserted himself into his rightful position of power. Trent realized he could really grow fond of a guy like that. Well, he was already fond--he could grow enamored, obsessed, addicted.
Trent shook his head. No! Thinking like this was just going to make rejection that much worse. He had to act soon before being completely overwhelmed by these new, alien feelings. He had only met the man a couple hours ago, and already his entire being was being fundamentally altered--enkindling things in him he had never been aware of.
No, stop thinking about that. Pancakes!
Trent got out a pan and began to butter it, pouring out some of the batter as he got to work making breakfast for the beast lounging at his kitchen table.
* * *
A short time later, Trent had grits, eggs, bacon, and pancakes ready. Eventually he was able to get his boner under control, thankful for that as he turned around with plates of food, carrying them to the table. The man still reclined in the chair with his eyes closed, breathing relaxedly as his large, hairy legs dwarfed the breakfast table for two.
"Um, sir?"
That got the man to raise an eyebrow, opening his eyes. "Sir?" he chuckled, removing his legs from the table to give room for the food.
"Well, um . . . I realized I forgot to ask your name earlier, so I didn't know what to call you . . ."
"My name's Jacob. But `sir' is fine too," he said with a smirk. "You are making me breakfast, after all."
Trent's heart fluttered. "Err, I . . . That's just because I felt bad for waking you up!" Trent lied, although his deep blush and embarrassed smile probably gave away that he was enjoying this much more than he should. "I'm Trent," he said bashfully, trying to divert the man's focus from his reverent form of address.
Was this really happening? He was really serving this guy! And the guy liked it? Maybe . . . just maybe this would actually work out. The thought caused an explosion of joy within him; he couldn't help but smile.
"Still, `sir'?" Jacob smiled back and shook his head amusedly. "I'm only a few years older than you, you know? You're a weird kid, Trent." The man laughed casually as he reached over to get some bacon, ignorant of his comment's gravity.
Trent felt the momentary flutter of hope die, falling to the ground and shattering into a million pieces. He couldn't disguise the pained expression that flashed across his face. Trent was weird, wasn't he? Getting obsessive fantasies in his head that could never be realized: "serving" a man who just was here for some breakfast. What was wrong with him? He was a freak.
This was a really, really bad idea, he suddenly realized. He was only going to make it that much harder for himself in the end.
His fantasy was collapsing in on itself leaving nothing but shattered dreams and a pathetic, unrequited obsession. He just wanted the guy to go. Having him here would only make him feel worse.
* * *
Jacob looked over Trent as he chewed on a strip of bacon, seeing that the kid had gone silent. Maybe that last comment was too harsh . . . He didn't mean to hurt the guy.
Still, he couldn't help but admit how fun it was to toy with the kid. He was, after all, really amusing when he got so nervous about his blazingly obvious infatuation.
Jacob knew within the first few minutes of talking to Trent: the way he stared at him, fumbled over words, blushed, and shied away. Though the most obvious tell was probably his resurgent stiffy that kept popping up whenever Jacob did anything remotely enticing.
Or maybe I'm just reading into this too much.
Jacob chuckled to himself at the thought. Heh, no fucking way! This guy was in the palm of his hand. All Jacob had to do was walk all over him, and the kid would be begging for more. Jacob liked that: He could do whatever he wanted, not having to worry about pleasing anyone else, and this kid would love him for it. Pathetic. So irresistibly pathetic.
He hungrily chowed down another strip of bacon; it was really good. Having not eaten since before he'd brought that girl home, he was famished. It probably wasn't a good idea to go for his morning jog on such an empty stomach, he thought. It didn't matter though, since this happy accident came by to make him food--plus, the kid really seemed to like his workout stink.
Jacob smirked, remembering those pitiful, little sniffs Trent tried to disguise. He couldn't disguise the look of pure bliss on his face, though--or the little tent that bounced against the counter with every sniff. (The kid probably didn't realize the vantage point Jacob had at his height.)
He felt an itch to torment the guy some more, so he lifted his arms behind his head, hands forming fists as he feigned a stretch, groaning out deeply, while making sure Trent caught a good view of his rippling muscles--and a nice, heavy whiff of his musk.
He'd been tormenting this kid all morning--and it was fun. A lot of fun.
* * *
Trent stared at the beast before him, watching him voraciously devour strip after strip of bacon. His heart sinking into the depths of despair like a lead weight. How could a man so dominant, attractive, and genuine live right next door? The perfect beast of his dreams, only inches away, yet still so untouchable. It's not fair . . .
He had given up, resigned himself to rejection. He wouldn't even let himself hope, not after the weird comment that had sliced through his soul. It was obvious to him now that this was all just a pathetic pipe dream; he was just stringing himself along in a doomed fantasy land.
Trent looked down at his food to distract himself; grits, eggs, and pancakes filled the plate, though he suddenly found himself not hungry. Still, no sense in not taking advantage of the breakfast he'd made. He cut the pancakes into squares and reached over for the maple syrup--
Oh, no!
He started as he caught sight of Jacob, staring longingly at the man with his eyes wide. He was in the midst of a powerful stretch; his fists clenched, biceps swelled, muscles rippled--with a deep, resounding groan that shook Trent to the core. He unintentionally let out a whimper: the sight was just too much for him. He diverted his gaze back down to his plate.
Suddenly, a flare of anger spiked; although misplaced, he couldn't deny its fire. To his surprise, Trent discovered he was angry at the man--angry at Jacob for being so irresistible. For being everything he ever dreamed of in a man. Everything except for his. If this man knew the truth about how he felt, he would undoubtedly be called a faggot, yelled at, and left hopelessly broken-hearted. That angered him; it enraged him.
His fork clattered down to the plate as Trent stood up, pointedly looking down, away from this virile beast of a man that made him feel so strange, so small, so submissive. He felt such a burning desire to get down on his knees and serve--but no matter how strong his desire, the result was the same: ridicule, shame, anger.
It's not fair! It's NOT FAIR! he shouted in his head. Trent stormed away to his bedroom without saying anything, tears welling up in his eyes. He should have said something; he knew that. Something so his quiet outburst wouldn't have seemed so unprovoked.
"Oh, I have to go to the bathroom." Or, "I need to get something." Or even, "I'm hopelessly in love with you, I have this heart-wrenching yearning to worship you, and I'm entirely obsessed. So, sorry about being slightly upset that I can't ever have you!"
Yeah, that last one would have worked perfectly, Trent griped. If only the man knew what he was going through . . .
He collapsed onto his bed and cried a mélange of rage and sorrow.
CHAPTER III
A SPIKE OF RAGE; A JOLT OF FEAR
JACOB STARTED AS Trent slammed down his fork and walked away, pausing mid-stretch. Had he done something to upset the kid? He did seem pretty shaken.
Maybe he was taking this toying business too far: flaunting himself in front of a guy who thought he was entirely unavailable, making himself irresistible to the likes of a pathetic, vulnerable kid like Trent, just to fuck with him for his own sick amusement. But it was so fun. It was fun to watch him squirm, trying to hide his fiery infatuation, yet just being a cute, awkward mess with it. And that pathetic whimper he'd just made!
Shit. I did go too far.
Jacob sighed. Well, he should probably do some damage control now. Poor kid.
He stood up, grabbing the last strip of bacon from the serving platter and chomping down on it as he walked out of the kitchen. He heard muffled cries coming from the door at the end of the hall. Fuck . . . Jacob hadn't realized how profoundly he'd affected the kid.
Why did he have to do stuff like that? Why did he have to toy with Trent, when he was already so obviously obsessed with him?
This one was fragile. He'd have to be more careful with him.
Jacob opened the door, not bothering to knock. He frowned, seeing Trent curled up on the bed sitting against the wall, quickly wiping tears from his eyes and sitting up as he tried to disguise his sadness.
"Hey, you okay?" Jacob asked, though he knew the answer.
He stepped closer as Trent nodded quickly with his head down, forcing a smile and looking up, his eyes still red from crying.
"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I just . . . just felt sick . . . suddenly." He looked away as his smile broke. This kid was way too transparent for his own good; he was painfully easy to read. And painfully easy to control.
Jacob sat down on the bed beside Trent, who was barely keeping it together.
The same thing had happened to Robby at the start. Jacob's domineering presence and quintessential masculinity turned that vulnerable, scared kid into a subservient slave that craved Jacob's control. But even Robby had taken months to become so taken, so infatuated, so . . . upset.
He'd played his games, toyed with the kid. It was time. Time to catch him and make him his. After all, there were plenty of other games to play after Trent was caught.
This poor kid had no idea the kinds of torment he'd soon be subjected too.
* * *
Trent curled up in his bed as he continued to snivel, trying to keep quiet so as not to alert Jacob.
Why? Why did he do this to himself!
It was high school all over again. His mind flashed back to those days of despair--an involuntary surge of emotion hit him: Trent had been hopelessly in love with a seemingly good-natured, attractive jock for years at his school. Finally, in his senior year, he'd found the courage to tell the guy how he felt. Since he'd never seen the guy with a girlfriend, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
It was a bad idea. The guy screamed at him and called him a faggot in the middle of the central courtyard--in front of what seemed like the whole school. And, for the rest of the year, he was mercilessly tormented by the other students for his confessed feelings; it was misery.
It had happened so long ago, but it never truly left him.
I need to be stronger! I can't let stuff from so long ago bother me now! he shouted at himself, hoping that fervor would be enough to drive away his tears.
But tears nevertheless continued to trickle from his eyes, releasing pain he didn't even know he held. For how many years had he been too afraid to act? For how long did he limit himself to fantastical romances with life's passersby, all because of this fear he clung to like a lifeline?
Jacob had unlocked him: inside he found unrealized submissiveness and scars. And soon his heart would bear a new scar. One carved by the beast next door.
The door opened.
Trent sat up with a start, hurriedly wiping away his tears, desperately trying to regain a composure that eluded him--that had continued to elude him whenever Jacob was near.
Hadn't the man ever heard of knocking?
Jacob asked if he was okay. Oh, yes! He was perfectly fucking fine!
What should he say that was believable? Something that would drive him to storm away like that and hide in his room . . . Trent never was good at thinking on the spot.
He forced a smile. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I just . . . just felt sick . . . suddenly."
Oh, that was good_--totally_ believable. His artificial smile crumbled as more waves of sadness washed over him at the sight of the masculine perfection towering over him that was Jacob. Trent quickly looked away.
Jacob was going to think that something was really wrong with him. Not only awkward and distractible, but suffering from sporadic mental breakdowns without cause. Maybe then he wouldn't have to get rejected. Jacob would just treat him like the freak he was and leave him alone.
To Trent's surprise, however, Jacob sat down next to him on the mattress. He seemed to be lost in thought, which Trent was grateful for, since his countenance still hadn't recovered from the sudden bout of anger--and later despair.
It was time, he realized. He had to tell him. Now. Right now and just get it over with.
He was done putting himself through the hell that was his romantic life--or lack thereof.
How would he say it? How would Jacob react? He didn't care.
His heart beat faster, his palms got sweaty, his breaths became shallow. He couldn't stand it anymore! He had to say something! Anything!
He squeezed his eyes shut, as if flinching before his own words. It all spilled out uncontrollably: "I love you, Jacob! I've been in love ever since I saw you on the first day I moved here. It's crazy, I know. But I'm hopelessly attracted to you, and I want to worship the very ground you walk on! And I don't even know what that means, but I want to do it anyway!
"Yes, I'm a faggot! I'm a freak! I know already; you don't have to tell me! So just--!"
His voice broke and he turned away. Tears streamed down his face; not even a dam could hold back the unrelenting sea of sorrow. He couldn't even speak.
He was shocked at himself. Shocked at his own sudden outburst. Fuck! Fuck, shit, fuck! Why did I do that! I've ruined everything! He's going to hate me! Going to ridicule me!
After a few more moments of chastising himself, Trent timidly looked up at Jacob, already wincing at the man's inevitable anger. The man's face was twisted in thought. He looked dark, dangerous, like he was about to do something devastating. Trent suddenly felt a jolt of fear. He didn't know this man. He could be anyone! He could be leader of the anti-gay movement, captain of the KKK! He could hurt him.
Suddenly, the man's large hand grabbed ahold of the hair on the back of his head, the powerful grip squeezing tight so Trent couldn't move. He tried pulling away, crying out, but there was nothing he could do.
Oh, fuck! He is going to hurt me!
He was helpless, powerless. Trent let out a whimper of terror, feeling his emotions collapsing in on themselves; everything he had feared before seemed minuscule, senseless in comparison to the terror of this moment.
The powerful grip pulled Trent by his hair. It didn't hurt, but it was enough for him to be unable to resist or pull away. Trent resigned himself to it. This beast was six foot seven and built like a wall; there was nothing a puny guy like him could do against a force like that. Trent squeezed his eyes shut--whatever this monster was planning to do to him, he didn't want to see it.
Suddenly he felt hot breath on his face. Lips met his own. And Trent melted.
Another hand wrapped around his back; it tugged him close. The man's muscular, powerful body pushed against him, forcing him down into the mattress. All of his fear, anxiety, sadness evaporated in an instant. He couldn't think of anything but the force that was holding him down, pushing him into the bed, warming him, and enveloping him. He was putty in the beast's hands.
One of the man's massive thighs forced its way between Trent's legs, pushing right up against his now-throbbing erection, eliciting a moan of pleasure. Jacob growled dominantly, beginning to grind over the much smaller Trent. He pushed his tongue between Trent's lips, invading his eager mouth with an erotic competence. Trent moaned again, sucking lustfully on that tongue as he wrapped his own arms around the massive torso of the beast, clinging tightly to him.
This was his fantasy. Oh, this was heaven. He didn't ever want this moment to end. What had seemed like an impossible fantasy for months was now his reality.
Eventually Jacob broke off the kiss, breathing deeply above him. Trent looked up into those deep brown eyes, his own eyes glazing over in pure pleasure as he basked in the domineering warmth of the beast's hold. Jacob smiled down at him, chuckling softly as he continued to grind his massive, hairy thigh between Trent's legs, further teasing his already throbbing boner.
"I`m glad you liked that." Jacob smirked.
Trent smiled back warmly. He didn't even know what to say. He was elated, but also shocked. Words couldn't begin to communicate how he felt, but he tried anyway--his brain still mushy from Jacob's passion.
"I thought you were going to . . . and I was so terrified. But then you kissed me and I got happy."
The man chuckled, slowing his grinds until he just lay on top of Trent, holding him close.
"Can't even think, can you?"
Trent shook his head slowly, still wearing a stupidly happy grin on his face.
"How did you know?" Trent finally managed to ask.
Jacob smirked again, shaking his head. "Well, it might've been that little stiffy you've been sporting half the time I'm around you. Or the way you stare. Or maybe the constant blushing. Which is painfully easy to read, by the way."
That caused another blush, followed by an even wider grin.
"And what was that stuff about worshipping the ground I walk on?" Jacob pressed.
Oh, God. Did I really say that? Trent's grin vanished; he brought up his hands to cover his face, trying to hide from the embarrassment.
"I . . . err. I feel . . . funny when I'm with you."
Trent winced at his own words; apparently, being held under Jacob was not time for his brain to be eloquent.
Jacob grinned, but there was something foreboding just behind his eyes. Trent caught a glimpse through his fingers; it was that same darkness he had seen right before being grabbed by the hair--and passionately kissed. It scared him a little, but excited him even more. Who was this man?
* * *
"I feel . . . funny when I'm with you," the puny thing said under him.
Jacob grinned; he loved it. He loved toying with Trent--just as he'd loved toying with Robby. But Trent was uniquely exciting: That pathetic whimper, pitiful yelp of terror, just before being kissed to wipe all of the fear away. Jacob held the power to both cause and relieve his fear, his pleasure, his pain. Trent was his now, and he didn't have to do anything for it but expect that power over him.
Some people might call him a sadist, and some people might be right. But Jacob couldn't help himself. It excited him in ways nothing else could, exerting his control over someone else who was all too happy to let him do so--making them collapse under his power.
"You're mine now," Jacob growled down to Trent. "And I'm going to do whatever I want with you."
He reached up and grabbed both of Trent's hands in his own; his powerful grip tugging them up above Trent's head, where the kid couldn't hide his embarrassment. He liked seeing Trent when he was embarrassed; it made him laugh. And he wanted to watch Trent squirm.
"Understood?"
Surprise flashed across Trent's face, but it was soon replaced by bliss. The kid nodded eagerly, his eyes alight with purpose. "Yes . . . sir!"
Jacob smirked. He could tell this is what Trent wanted more than anything else. He could almost feel the kid's own will breaking beneath him, begging Jacob to take hold of everything. He let go of Trent's hands and domineeringly stood up, towering over the small figure in the bed who looked as pathetic as ever with his eyes brimming with earnest obedience, his legs spread wide where Jacob's thigh had been resting a moment before. Already, this kid worshipped him. You could see it in his eyes, the very way Trent looked at him. A wave of memories washed over him.
Over the years, Jacob slowly began to realize that he had truly loved Robby. It wasn't love in the way that made his dick hard, but love in the way that made Jacob want to defend him, protect him, nurture him, and dominate him. He'd had girls--and he could always have girls. But Robby was the only person who'd stuck in his mind over the past decade. No other girl had ever made him feel quite the same. He'd have given anything to have a second chance--and now he had one. Trent, while distinctly his own person, also seemed to press all of Jacob's buttons in all the right ways. He was small, vulnerable, scared, pathetic--and willing to do anything to please Jacob.
Anything.
Even so, kissing Trent had surprised even himself. But he had to. He had to give the kid a small taste of affection in order to unlock his heart completely. This time, he wouldn't let the kid go. He wouldn't let him run away like Robby did. He would make this kid love him more than anything else in life; and if that meant a kiss or grind here and there, it was worth it. Trent was his now, and he was never letting go.
* * *
Trent had never felt like this before. Looking up at the beast, he realized something fundamental inside him had shifted, opening a door that had begun to consume his soul from the moment he had first met Jacob.
His own purpose seemed to seep from him, pouring out until he was nothing but an empty shell of a person. Yearning for that shell to be filled with Jacob's control until it spilled out over him and he was washed away, drowning in the dominance of the man standing above him. He needed that. That was his purpose. Jacob was his purpose.