CAN'T RAPE THE WILLING
Kevin Donovan
letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com
What follows is a work of gay erotic fiction, featuring bondage, domination, some light kink. It is completely fiction. All participants, if they existed, would be over the legal age for consent wherever you live. If you yourself are under that age, leave now. The author never condones any kind of coerced sex or unprotected sex. Like all Nifty authors, I get inspiration and encouragement from your comments, so please don't be shy.
This is only my second Authoritarian piece: the first was "The Harem," October 11, 2001.
CHAPTER TWO: `BOSS'
Jake woke, groggy, head splitting. He was in a cave-dark room--no, it might not be the room, it might just be the soft black head-mask he wore. He tried to shift his legs: no dice. They were firmly tied from the ankles. He drew his arms in: likewise, from the wrists.
His movements attracted some attention, however. He felt a weight on the surface he lay on. A zipper drew across the mouth of his mask. Fingers pushed in two tablets. A plastic cup pressed at his lower lip, splashing water across his chin and throat. He fought to resist the dose. "Aspirin," a rough, male voice whispered. Could be cyanide for all he knew, but Jake swallowed. His head did really throb. The zip closed.
The fingers ran across Jake's bare chest, and down his abdomen. He realized, without surprise, he was naked. The room was warm, though, and there was no top-sheet. The imprints of a man's weight moved around the side of the mattress. Then moist, hairy underarms lay across his own lightly-haired, muscular thighs. A warm mouth engulfed his limp dick. With the aid of his headache, Jake tried not to enjoy it. He even tried not to get an erection, but it was no use. The mouth was damn good. It alternated between deep-throating Jeff's seven-inch rod and sucking in either one, or both, of his ample testicles within its soft, wet cavity. He struggled to resist, and lasted quite a while, as the mouth relentlessly and determinedly pursued its goal. Finally, he could stand it no more. Jake let fly with a long series of shots of his sperm, right into the waiting and eager mouth.
The weight left the foot of the bed. A door opened, then closed. He lay alone, in darkness. He dozed.
He didn't hear the door as it re-opened. Instead, he came to when he felt his feet, which were actually attached to some kind of heavy dowel, already released from the bed-frame, being hoisted by a pulley into the air. They rose, rotating and lifting his buttocks, until his mid-section was a couple of feet or so above the mattress. His captor kneed toward him from the foot of the bed. He fondled Jake's balls. There was jiggling on the mattress--maybe he was stroking himself up. Then, Jake felt the blunt and spongy head of a man's cock press against his dry, tight rectum. Without warning or preparation, not so much as a spit, it pushed suddenly and forcefully into his bowel. The pain was as sharp and intense as if a base-ball bat had been abruptly shoved up his ass. It felt the size of a bat, too. He screamed, as best he could, with his chin confined within the mask. The cock drew back, then rammed his gut again, and a third time. Jake screamed again.
It seemed he might have heard a sharp intake of breath over to the side, near the door, but he could not be sure. There might be a third person in the room. But the harsh raping continued, and his screaming continued, diverting his mind from that possibility. His rapist was hung huge, at least nine inches, and thick.
In a few minutes, the pain of the rough sex subsided, and Jake's own ass juices, combined with the other man's precum, lubricated his rectum. Jake's screams turned gradually into little shrieks, then high moans. By the time the assailant's cock erupted in ejaculation, Jake's vocalization were reduced mainly to little groans of longing for release. His captor simply grunted, pulled out, and left the room. Jake was left in the dark, his legs still suspended, his own cock throbbing with frustration.
So, this is rape,' he thought. What the hell was I thinking. It hurts like fuck.' He felt alien jizz drip from his ass--no condom, then, for sure. Jake began to cry. In all likelihood, this man would use his ass until he was no longer horny for it, then kill him and dump his body someplace. Ethan would not even call him until morning at the earliest--was it morning already?-- not after last night. Hell, it might be much longer--maybe never, if he was determined for Jake to make the first move to make up. The tears rolled, soaking the face of his mask.
They'd miss him at work, and check, and soon enough report him missing, Jake hoped. Shit.
Problem: his firm shut down for the whole of Thanksgiving week. He'd been nabbed on Friday night. It was now, what, maybe Saturday? Sunday, latest, depending on how long he'd been out. He had a full nine-day holiday before he would have to report for work. And he had adamantly refused to fight the throngs and have his junk groped at the airport to fly home to visit his parents. Even if they called and got no response, they'd just assume he got lucky with some chick--he was not out yet back home.
Problem: unless his body washed up in the river before then.
Jake did not sleep. His legs, suspended, cramped. After thirty to forty minutes, the door opened, and his kidnapper returned. Jake was determined to speak to him, mumbling through the closed, tight mask.
"Hey, dude, I have no idea who you are, you know. No clue where we are, either. So it's safe to let me go, OK? Get your rocks off, that's fine, then just send me on my way, OK? I'll never say a word."
The response was a guttural grunt and the same big cock thrust up the exhaust pipe again. This time, it was not quite so horrible, since some slickness and dilation remained from the earlier reaming. Still, it was demeaning, and frightening, and painful. And yet...damn, Jake did love to get fucked. This was one of the bigger dicks he'd ever taken, and it filled him to capacity. With lube and a little foreplay, he'd have enjoyed it. Shit, he was almost enjoying it now, after warming up, if he wasn't scared shitless.
The steady ass-slamming continued.
"Well, what do I call you, then? Master?"
The man paused. He idly jiggled his cock-head in and out of Jake's sphincter pleasingly as if considering.
"Naw. Stud' or Boss.'"
"I'm Jake."
"You're `Puss.'"
The ass-slamming resumed, maybe harder. Boss's firm hips collided forcefully with Jake's butt muscles at each collision, making them jiggle. It felt like he might be bruised afterward.
After fifteen minutes of hard thrusting, Jake's assailant finished with a shudder, pulled out, and slid off the bed. Slam, bam--not a word of thanks, man. Damn. But he lowered Jake's legs and fastened them back to the footboard.
He tried to think of whether that voice was recognizable to him. It was so low and guttural, he couldn't tell. Jake often used various pet names with Ethan, one of which was Stud,' since Ethan topped him so often and so well, and he thought Ethan kind of liked it. But never Boss.' So, by default, the Captor would be `Boss' to him.
One thing sure: Boss was one hell of a high-T, sexy man. Jake found himself wondering what Boss looked like. His imaginary picture was pretty impressive.
This time, a couple of hours may have passed. Jake didn't think he slept, but he might have. The man returned, hoisted up his legs, and raped him. An hour later, it happened again. In all, Jake took his captor up the ass six times during what he supposed was the night. The sheet at his hip level was soggy with expelled cum. His rectum hurt, and deep inside, his bowel ached. He felt miserable--but he slept.
When Jake awoke, things were different. The head mask was gone. A wall sconce shed a modest amount of light into the room. His wrists and ankles were not chained. Instead, he wore a leather chest harness, extending to a cock ring, locked into place, and the center back ring had a length of chain attached to it, about fourteen feet long, whose other end was bolted securely into the ceiling above the bed. That meant that Jake now had freedom to move around most of the center of his room. On the headboard end, he actually had several spare feet of chain. And on that end, there was an open door, narrower than the entryway door. He peeked in. It was a small bathroom, with a stall shower. A washrag and towel hung, folded, on the rack. It was a tiny little place, but very welcome. He was surprised he hadn't wet and shit himself already. In the other direction, a few feet from the foot of the bed, was a small café table, with two flimsy chairs.
` Great, my kidnapper and I can have tea,' he thought bitterly.
But on the table were a pitcher of ice water, a plastic cup, and a covered tray. Suddenly, he realized--he was desperately thirsty, hungry enough to be interested in what lay beneath that tray cover, and, he suspected, likely to use the commode not much longer after he ate. So he'd better get at it. A shower sounded good, too, if he could reach it.
His tray held a wrapped BLT sandwich, a little carton of applesauce, and a pint of milk. Not gourmet fare, but he wolfed it down. Then, he moved to the little bathroom to empty his bladder and bowel. He found he could just manage the shower, if he positioned himself just right. He found hotel-type soap and shampoo there, plus a new toothbrush and tube of paste. There was also a rubber enema bulb. Hint, hint.
Boss isn't into packing the fudge,' he chuckled. Well, me, neither.' He filled the bulb and rinsed his bowel several times. He was relieved to note that the run-off was not pink. His traumatized ass felt much better after the rest and the cleansing.
The "day" went slowly, as Jake had absolutely nothing to do. He did measure off his access to the room, and he discovered that he could not quite make it to the entry door, and there was a "safe" zone for his captor of about four feet from the door across the far end of the room, in case Jake got rowdy.
After six hours or so of excruciating boredom had passed, the door opened, and his captor entered. He was completely naked, except now he wore a black head cover, similar to Jake's only with the lower section removed to that his mouth and chin showed. He was white, about six feet two, and lean, but very well muscled. He had a honey-blond goatee. His entire body was evenly tanned. His left thigh bore a cross tattoo in the area that would normally be covered by pants, boardies, or cargo shorts. The man's body hair was light, and his pubes full, but shortened to half-length, in the same honey-blond as the goatee. `So the carpet matches the drapes,' Jake thought, giving Boss a thorough look-over from his seat at the café table.
"So, you like?" asked Boss.
"I'm gay, man. I like to look at hot, naked men, and you're one of `em. What can I say?"
"Had a fun day?"
"Feel like I ought to be crocheting booties, man, the way you've been sperming my gut."
"Make em size twelve, then, Boss chuckled. I don'know who your tenth grade biology teacher was, but you didn't learn shit. You ain't makin' no baby. Guess we could try again, though, just in case. Face down, and spread em."
Jake sighed. For a moment he debated his options. Given time and patience, he might be able to strangle this guy with his chain. But if he screwed it up, there could be grim consequences, and even if he succeeded, he'd then be chained up in some guy's basement with no way to get out, and the one person who knew he was there dead. He slowly moved over to the bed and did as instructed.
This time, there was a small mercy, in that his attacker at least spit on his pucker before slamming his cock in to the hilt. Jake gave his customary scream, but with somewhat less sincerity than the day before. Boss lay atop his back and hunched away at Jake's meaty ass. His face lay beside Jake's familiarly.
"Are you looking for ransom?" Jake asked. "Because, trust me, my family can't come up with much."
The man's head swung side to side, even as he continued to pile-drive Jake's butt.
"You're going to kill me, then."
There was a long, scary pause. Then the head shook negatively again.
He ground away at Jake's ass. It was starting to feel pretty good again.
"So what, then? What the fuck is this about?"
Jake didn't really expect an answer, and he got none, as the man picked up the momentum of his fucking action, driving deeply and forcefully into Jake's gut, until he spewed, gasping.
Then, just as he pulled out, he leaned forward and whispered cryptically into Jake's ear.
"What? What the fuck?" Jake addressed his captor's retreating bare backside.
"'All for love'?"
What the fuck does that mean?"
But he realized this could spell trouble. `Crazy fuck thinks he's in love with me.' Jake moaned.
Within the hour, the door opened again to admit the naked Boss bearing a plastic plate of Kentucky Fried Chicken Original Recipe with mashed potatoes and coleslaw. He stepped back out, but returned with a fresh pitcher of ice water and--two cans of Budweiser beer. Jake could have kissed him. Never in his life had he been happier to see a small dose of mediocre alcohol.
He ate and drank it all. Afterward, as he sat at the table awaiting the occasional belch, his captor returned, still masked but naked. Jake didn't speak, but eyed Boss curiously. The man absolutely measured up to his imaginary picture. He was, quite simply, a beautiful man. His muscles were long and lean, but well-defined. Even the size-twelves were shapely and handsome.
Jake just got up, went over to the bed, and assumed the position, face down.. The fellow actually chuckled, the first hint of humor he had displayed. But he didn't come to the bed. Instead, he went back out removing the trash from Jake's meal, but he quickly returned, carrying a leather sling on a chain. He stood in Jake's flimsy chair and affixed the chain to the ceiling on a hook several feet from the table.
"Get in," he grunted, and left the room.