This story contains scenes of sex between men. If that offends you or you are not old enough to be reading this, please leave. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this little figment of my imagination. While this story was inspired by real people and events, it is a work of fiction. The characters live in a fantasy world where all sex is safe. In the real world it is not, so precautions should be taken.
Comments are appreciated at NJRimzu@aol.com.
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday night I went to the Alliance meeting as usual. My ass wasn't sore any more but I wasn't happy about the way things were going with Quentin. A couple of times recently I had thought our relationship might be progressing to another level, and it did change, but it wasn't in the way I wanted. I wanted him to be my boyfriend. I wanted him to kiss me, hug me, make love to me, not just fuck me and make money off me.
I was making the coffee when Marc came into the kitchen. He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which was more affection than Quentin had ever shown me.
"Hey, Mike. That was an incredible show the other night. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't have believed it." He turned me around and looked at my butt. "Damn!"
"I was there on the receiving end and I can't quite believe it happened either."
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah, physically anyway."
"Why, what's the problem?"
It was like opening floodgates. I let out all of the frustration and despair over my non-relationship with Quentin. I'd kept my feelings bottled up for so long. Maybe it was the extreme nature of the show on Monday or the talk of even kinkier stuff the night before, but I just couldn't take it any more. I must have talked Marc's ears off for ten minutes. It was more of the same old stuff I'd told him after his party, but he just let me go on, nodding and smiling now and then.
"Have you ever told Quentin how you feel?"
"No, I was afraid I'd turn him off if I came on too clingy. He seems to like everything the way it is. Just sex, whether it's me and him, or me and anybody or anything else."
"Well, I think you should tell him how you feel."
"What's the point? He doesn't seem to have any feelings for me. I know he likes to fuck me and he's making a ton of money from the website, but that's it."
Marc gave me a long, somewhat puzzled look. "You two need to have a long talk. Quentin's never said anything specific about how he feels toward you, but whenever I've talked to him I've gotten the impression that it was a lot more than that. He strikes me as the kind of guy who has trouble expressing his feelings. Maybe you need to make the first move."
I'd been thinking about Quentin and what to do all day. I'd pretty much decided to give up on him, but maybe Marc was right. At least if I talked to him, I'd know for sure. I decided I'd try when he came over the next night.
Since our standing 'date' wasn't until seven-thirty, I ran some errands after work and got back to the apartment a little before seven. I was walking past the noisy bar next door, thinking about what a low-life dive it was, when a face in the window nearly froze me in my tracks. It was Jim, that guy who got rough with me at the end of the Fourth of July cookout. I pretended I hadn't seen him but hurried toward the door of my building. I had just unlocked it and was pulling the door open when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Who the fuck do you think you're running from, slut?"
I tried to pull away but he had a tight grip on me. "N-n-no one. I was just in a hurry to get home."
"Well, don't let me stop you. Let's go." He shoved me through the doorway into the hall. He'd apparently been in the bar quite a while and reeked of booze.
"I don't think that's a good idea. I've got friends coming over in a few minutes."
"Friends, huh? More like tricks, I'll bet. But I know you only do your shows on Mondays and you've stopped entertaining web site members, so I think maybe you're lying. Let's go upstairs." He gave me another rough shove and kept pushing as I stumbled toward the stairs. I was hoping to run into one of my neighbors but the place seemed deserted. He pushed and shoved me all the way up the stairs to my apartment. When we got to the door I turned to him.
"What do you want?"
"Not much," he replied, as he looked me over. "I just want to finish what I started at the party last month."
He roughly shoved me through the front door of the apartment and slammed it behind him, locking the dead bolt. He grabbed my shirt at the front of the neck and pulled down hard, popping the buttons, literally ripping the shirt off me. I tried pushing him away and he grabbed my throat with his left hand and pushed me against the wall, holding me so tight I could barely breathe.
"Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I'm gonna get me a piece of that ass regardless, so it's up to you."
I panicked and started struggling. He took his right hand and slapped me hard across the face, back and forth several times. He brought his knee up and slammed it into my crotch. I would have doubled over in pain if he hadn't had me pinned to the wall. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, from both the assault on my face and my balls. I didn't know what else to do so I started screaming. He loosened his grip on me, quickly bent down and picked up my shirt from the floor and jammed it into my mouth, effectively muffling my screams.
"Okay, you've made you choice. The hard way it is."
He pulled some kind of cord from his back pocket, turned me around and pulled my arms behind me. He looped the cord around my wrists and pulled tight, tying them together, then put his foot on my butt and kicked me into the bedroom. I fell against the side of the bed and landed on the floor. He bent down and yanked my shoes off, then unfastened my pants, pulling them and my briefs off in one motion. He replaced the shirt in my mouth with the briefs, and took a necktie from the rack in the closet, tying it around my head to hold the gag in place. He picked me up and threw me on the bed. My feet were free and I kicked at him to try to fight him off. His right fist hit me on the chin and stunned me, then he started using my body as a punching bag, hitting me over and over again. The first couple of blows to my stomach made me feel like I was going to puke, but I hadn't eaten anything since lunch so there was nothing to come up. Every now and then he'd land a blow on my jaw but he concentrated on my abdomen.
I don't know how long the beating went on. He was cursing at me the whole time, calling me every degrading name he could think of. The more he hit me, the more pissed off he got, like he was frustrated that he wasn't hurting me enough. I was hurting from my head to my thighs when he rolled me over onto my belly, took off his belt and started whipping me. He concentrated on my ass because when he tried whipping my back the blows were blocked by my arms, which were still tied behind me. I'd thought that his fists had hurt when he beat my front, but that pain was nothing compared to the stinging lashes of the leather strap. He cursed me as he whipped me.
"You're just a worthless piece of shit, you know that? A little whore. How many men have you had up your ass, a hundred, a thousand? That's all you want isn't it, somebody fucking your hole. That's all you are, a hole to be filled."
He finally seemed to have his fill of inflicting pain on me. My whole body was like a limp wet rag. I hurt everywhere and had no strength to even move. He pulled my hips up and pushed my legs apart so I was on my knees with my head still down on the mattress. I heard him fumbling with his pants and then he spit a couple of times on my hole. He pressed his hard dick against it and rammed into me hard. I couldn't remember what size dick he had but with only a couple of gobs of spit for lube it felt huge. I'd taken an awful lot up my ass over the last few months but Quentin had always made sure to use lots of lube and stretch me gradually, so nothing had hurt very much. With each thrust I felt a searing pain burn though my ass. As he fucked me he continued the stream of verbal abuse. He also reached under me and grabbed my balls, pulling and squeezing them hard. In spite of his drunken state he didn't last very long. I felt him tense up and he gave one last long pull on my balls as he shot his load into me.
He rolled me over onto my back and I watched him put his dick away. I thought that maybe that was it as he fastened his pants. I was lying toward the foot of the bed, my arms under my back, my legs spread wide. I didn't have the energy to move a muscle and ached from head to foot. He looked down and spit in my face, just as he had at the cookout. Then he raised his right foot and brought his boot down hard on my balls, grinding the heel into them. Even though the gag had muffled all of my screams my throat was hoarse and it burned as I tried to yell.
"I oughta cut off your balls and shove them up your ass, but you'd probably like that, wouldn't you? I do it anyway if that web cam of your was on, just so all of your so-called fans could see what a pig like you deserves."
With that he stared beating me again, landing blows from my balls up to my head. The pain was worse than ever, probably because I was already bruised everywhere, but after just a few minutes it seemed to fade. I couldn't figure out why and then I realized that I was losing consciousness. My last thought was a hope that maybe he'd stop beating me if I passed out. Maybe it wouldn't be fun for him anymore. Or maybe that would just make him angrier. I didn't care; I just wanted the pain to stop and finally it did.
It seemed like only seconds later that the pain was back. I hurt everywhere, but at least there were no new blows attacking my body. I was still too weak to move. I opened my eyes and was greeted with a blinding light so I quickly closed them again. Almost instantly a voice called out next to me.
"Nurse! He's awake!"
In a few seconds I heard a rustling next to me.
"Are you sure? He looks the same to me."
"His eyes opened for a split second then closed again." It was Quentin's voice. Very slowly and carefully, I opened my eyes again, squinting to let as little light in as possible. "You see?"
I looked around. I was lying on a table or stretcher in some kind of medical place, probably a hospital. Quentin was sitting in a chair next to me. Some woman was bending over me, trying to look into my eyes. I realized that Quentin was holding my hand.
"Are you okay, babe?"
The woman examining me gave him a funny look and straightened up.
"I'll go get the doctor." She turned and disappeared through the curtain.
I tried to speak but only rough sounds came out. My throat felt raw. I hurt so bad tears started running down the sides of my face. Even the exertion of crying caused physical pain. Quentin took a spoon and fumbled with a small plastic pitcher, coming up with a couple of ice chips, which he carefully slipped into my mouth.
"Don't try to talk, babe. They've already checked you out a little and didn't find anything seriously wrong, but the doctor said he needed you awake to find out what hurts."
"Everything," I whispered. "Where am I?"
"Memorial Hospital. I was on my way down the block to your place when I saw that asshole come out the door. As soon as he saw me he took off in the other direction. I ran up to your apartment and the door was open. You were on the bedroom floor, covered with blood. I thought you were dead." His voice broke and he stopped talking for a few seconds. "I saw you were breathing and I grabbed the phone and called 9-1-1. I bullied my way into the ambulance with you. No way was I letting you go alone."
Just then a light-skinned black man in a white coat came through the curtains. He smiled as he lifted my eyelids, one at a time, and shined a little flashlight into my eyes. He nodded.
"Is there any place you hurt more than any other?"
"No, just everywhere, pretty much. How am I, doc?"
"Considering you look like one huge bruise, not too bad, I think. We've sewn up a few cuts but you don't seem to have any obvious broken bones. Take a deep breath for me." I did as he asked and gasped as I felt a sharp pain in the right side of my chest. "Probably a cracked rib or two there. I'll send you down for some x-rays. And I'd like to keep you here overnight for observation, just to be sure you don't have a concussion or any internal injuries."
"Do you have any family in the area you'd like us to notify?" the nurse asked.
"No!" I hadn't meant to sound so vehement but there was no way I wanted my parents to know what had happened, or why. "As long as I'm gonna be okay, that's all that matters. I'll tell them about it later."
"The police were here when you were brought in and they want to talk to you about what happened. I told them I'd let them know when you were conscious. Do you feel like talking?"
"Not really. My throat's really sore and I don't want to think about it right now."
The doctor nodded his head. "That's what I thought. I'll tell them you're awake but can't talk until morning." He made a few notes in my chart and then left. The nurse followed him, saying she'd arrange the x-rays and then I'd be sent upstairs for the night.
"You can't tell the cops what happened, Mike." Quentin sounded desperate.
"What do you mean? You want that guy to get away with this? I'm not much of a fighter but he should pay for what he did to me."
"I agree, but we don't want them to find out about the web site."
"I thought you said it was all legal? Shit, don't tell me I'm gonna get in trouble with the law on top of getting beat up."
"No, everything's perfectly legal. It's just that if they see what you've been doing on the site they're not gonna take this case seriously. They'll think you're a slut who brought it on yourself. Besides, you don't want your parents to know about this and they'll find out if it becomes a police case."
"So he just gets away with it? What's to stop him from attacking me again?"
"Let me think about it. I'll figure out something."
"But what can I tell the cops then?"
"Make something up. Pretend it was a domestic dispute or something like that. Say you don't want to press charges, that it was all a misunderstanding."
I turned my head away from him. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me. I'd fallen for Quentin that first night he'd come over to the apartment. I'd done all of this for him, hoping he'd feel something for me. He'd always taken charge, telling me what to do, but taking care of everything as well. He'd pushed me to do a lot of things I'd never dreamed of doing, but he'd taken care of me as well. He'd taken responsibility for everything and I'd trusted him. Now I was in the hospital, my life was falling apart and he seemed to be running away from it all. It was over. He didn't care about me and never would. I'd made a huge mistake believing in him.
"Okay, I'll tell them something, don't worry. Can you ask the nurse if I can have something for pain? I'm hurting really bad."
Actually, I wasn't hurting any more than before but I wanted him to leave. I wanted to be alone and I was hoping the painkiller would knock me out. Quentin left but was back with the nurse in a minute.
"Here's a pill for the pain. We're taking you to x-ray now and by the time they're done it should have kicked in. You'll go straight to a room upstairs and will probably be asleep by the time you get there. Your friend should leave now. There's nothing more he can do."
My thoughts exactly. An orderly came in and helped me into a wheelchair to take me to radiology. Quentin nervously hung around until the last minute, then surprised me by stepping forward quickly and kissing me on the cheek.
"I gotta go now. Are you gonna be all right, Mikey?"
"Yeah, sure, no problem."
"Okay, I'll be back in the morning to take you home."
"You don't have to do that. I can take a taxi."
"I don't want you going home alone. I'll take care of everything, don't worry."
He turned and left. I didn't know why he was dragging this out. Obviously it was all over. The web site, our friendship, whatever strange little relationship we'd had. Didn't he get it? Maybe he was just feeling guilty. He should. It was all his fault. But I'd let him.
I don't know what I was expecting, but I was in even more pain when I woke up the next morning. The x-rays had shown I had three cracked ribs so they taped up my chest and gave me a prescription for something for the pain. All of the other tests had come back negative, so there was nothing seriously wrong with me, just lots of pain and bruises.
A cop came by but I made up a bullshit story about a drunken misunderstanding with an ex. He didn't buy it but what could he do? If I didn't want to cooperate and press charges, or even help identify the guy, that was the end of it. A doctor had just finished going over my discharge instructions when Quentin showed up. He looked worried when he saw me but his face broke into a smile when I told him I was okay and was going home.
An orderly took me down to the front door in a wheelchair even though I would rather have walked. I was sore but I wasn't a cripple. They waited at the door while Quentin went to get his car. I was shocked when he pulled up in my car. He got out, opened the passenger door and helped me in, then went back around and got behind the wheel.
"What are you doing with my car?'
"I don't have one and I didn't want you going home in a cab. Just relax and let me be your chauffeur."
A few minutes later he pulled up in front of a small apartment building several blocks from my place.
"What it this? I'm tired and hurting, Quentin. I just want to go home. No games, please."
"This is home, babe. It's my place. You don't think I'm gonna let you go back to your apartment alone, do you? Too many people know where you live, especially that maniac. You're staying here, at least until we know he's not a danger to you."
"Well I can't stay with you and Griff forever and that's about how long he'll be out there from what I can see."
"Don't worry about that, He'll be taken care of."
"Yeah sure. Without the cops?"
"I talked to Marc last night. He was really upset about what happened to you." Quentin helped me out of the car and put his arm around me as he led me in the front door. On the elevator he pressed the button for the third floor. "Marc said he'd take care of it."
"Marc? He's a lawyer. What's he gonna do, sue the guy?"
"Well, he could but I don't think that's what he's got in mind. He's a criminal lawyer and apparently he's defended some pretty unsavory characters who owe him some favors. I don't know just what Marc's gonna do, but I'm pretty sure that guy isn't ever gonna bother you again. It may be a long time before he can bother anyone again."
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. He led me to the right and unlocked the first door on the right. It opened into a large living room. He helped me over to the couch and I sat down carefully, feeling a sharp pain in my chest. He sat next to me with his arm still around me.
"I've been thinking, Quentin, and I want to quit the web site. I haven't really been enjoying it and now it's just too dangerous. I know this guy was a stray nutcase, but I'm scared now. I don't want to do it any more."
"That's okay, Mike. I was thinking the same thing myself. At first it was fun, watching all those guys fill your hole, playing with you like that. But after a while, the novelty wore off. We've run out of things to do and I'm not into it anymore. We'll have to keep the site going for a while, though. Lots of guys have paid memberships running for several more months and refunding them could get tricky over the Internet. But we've got plenty of pictures and videos to keep the site fresh until we finally shut it down. I just won't accept any more members or renewals and eventually it will be over."
"Speaking of paid memberships, I might have to borrow some money from you. I guess I'll have to find another place to live and I really can't afford to move. Besides my lease isn't up until January, so I'll lose my deposit if I have to move before then."
"What are you talking about, borrow money from me? I haven't got any money."
"What about all the money from the web site? You never said how many members we have, but I assumed there was lots of money coming in."
"There was, thousands of dollars, but didn't you read those papers you signed?"
"You said I didn't have to and I trusted you." Oh God, he couldn't have run through all the money already.
"Well, I left you a copy of everything and I assumed you read it. You own the site, Mike. All the money is yours. You were the one doing all the work. Your ass was on the line, so to speak. I only have access to whatever money I need to invest in the site and keep it running."
"So I can afford to get a new apartment?" I was shocked. Quentin had never mentioned the money to me so I'd always assumed he was taking it all.
"You could probably afford to buy a condo, but you don't have to if you don't want to. I've talked to Griff and he agreed to move into your place so you can live here with me."
Great, after all this time I'd finally realized I wasn't get anywhere with him and had to think about moving on, and now for some reason he wanted me living with him.
"What's the point, Quentin? We're gonna be shutting down the site and you aren't making any money off it anyway. Why would you want to go to all that trouble to have me live here?"
Quentin gave me a puzzled, almost hurt, look.
"I don't care about the site or the money, Mikey. I care about you." He seemed embarrassed and looked down at the floor. "I love you, Mike. Don't you realize that?"
I was totally stunned. I know my mouth dropped open.
"Love me? But you never said anything. You never even kissed me until last night in the hospital."
"Yeah, I know I'm not good at showing emotions, but I think I fell in love with you that first time I saw you in the store. There was just something about you I couldn't resist. And then when I came to your apartment I just had to have you and I knew I was in love."
"But you brought Griff over to have sex with me."
"I didn't know how you felt about me and was afraid I was being too obvious about my feelings, so I was trying to play it cool, like it was just about sex. Even so I didn't want Griff to fuck you and I got really pissed when I found out he and the others did. But then I discovered that watching you get fucked really turned me on, as long as I was in charge, and then one thing led to another. When that ex-boyfriend of yours turned up I was really jealous. I was afraid he'd want you back and you'd go with him. He was abusive to you and I was going to stop him, but then I didn't, hoping that would turn you against him."
It was taking a long time to sink in. I just couldn't believe it. All this time I'd been hoping that by doing everything he wanted, he'd begin to like me a little, and he'd been in love with me all along.
"I know you seem to like me, Mike, and you always love it when I fuck you, though sometimes you seemed to enjoy having just about anyone fuck you. But do you think that you could be happy if we stopped all of this other stuff and it was just the two of us. Do you think that maybe you could fall in love with me?"
For the first time since I'd met him he seemed shy and unsure of himself. I'd loved it when he took charge and made me do whatever he wanted over the past several months, but I liked this new side of him as well. He was more than sexy; he was sweet. But that didn't mean I was going to let him off the hook that easily.
"I'm not sure, Quentin. You've created a monster with my hungry hole. I don't know if just one skinny black dick is gonna be enough." I looked away so he wouldn't see me smiling.
"I'm sure it will be, Mikey. You always seemed to enjoy mine as much if not more than everyone else's. And I'll never get tired of playing in that little pink hole of yours.""
"Well, I'm not promising anything, but I suppose we could try. But if you can't keep me satisfied, you've only got yourself to blame."
He carefully pulled me into his and pressed his lips to mine.
"Blame? I trained you good and showed you what you like. I'm taking credit, not blame."
The End.