What Choice Do You Have

"What choice do you have?" I had heard that so many times now it was like a mantra. I looked up at him and nodded. He smiled.

It had all started sometime in the past. I think it was several month ago, but I have lost track of time.

I was working at an accounting office in New York City, fresh out of college, with my business degree in accounting, and I was sure I was going to take over the financial world and make a million dollars before I was thirty.

I was pretty much a loner; I have no family, as my parents died when I was young. And with no relatives, I was sent to an orphange. I concentrated on school and learning, knowing it would be my way out. I managed to get a scholarship, and applied myself in college, as well.

I tend to focus obsessively on things like courses and work. Actually, I guess I become single-minded, and what you would call a `workaholic'. And that is what was happening. I was spending 10--14 hours a day at my job to prove that I should be promoted and given salary increases. I toiled away in my cubicle, and then went home to my tiny apartment to sleep, shower, eat, and return to my job, starting all over again.

I had just a few things in my apartment; it seemed like the rent took almost all of my money and, between grocery and utilities, there wasn't much left. I had a TV, an ipod, phone, PDA, a portable sound system on which to play my ipod and my laptop. My life resided in my phone, PDA and laptop. I was fastidious about keeping them all synched and up to date. Everything about my life was there: phone numbers, account numbers, credit card information, appointments, schedules - everything.

As usual, it was nearly midnight when I left the office and found my way down to the subway. I got on a nearly empty car and headed off towards my stop. I rested my head against the metal post near the seat.

I must have dozed off, because laughter woke me. I wiped my eyes and looked around. There were only three other guys in the car with me. They were laughing, whispering, and pointing at me.

I felt a bit uncomfortable being alone in the car at this time of night with what looked like young hoodlums. They had bandanas tied around their heads, and earrings dangling from one ear. They wore grey hooded sweatshirts that put their faces in shadows. The light would glint off of an earring, or I would see a flash of white off of their teeth as they laughed.

I tried to ignore them, trying not to give them any reason to think I was trying to offend them.

The subway stopped, and I thought they were going to get off as they stood up. But the doors closed, the train pulled out, and they were still standing.

"Hey dude, where you going?" one of them asked me, kicking my foot.

"Home," I mumbled.

"And where's home, dude?" he asked, again kicking my shoe.

"Next stop," I said, knowing that it wasn't, but wanting to get off the train.

They all laughed. "That ain't your stop," the same one said, and kicked my shoe again. I moved my feet back under me. He laughed.

"Where's home?" he asked again.

I didn't know what to do and I didn't want to continue this conversation. I looked around for something to call the driver, or some way to get out. They saw this and laughed.

"You give us your wallet and cash and we'll leave you alone, Mister Office Man." My heart was pounding. I was going to be robbed! I didn't have much money on me, and only one credit card that I kept for emergencies.

"I'll give you all my cash, but I have to keep my wallet." I thought, and added, "There's nothing in it."

"Look, you give us what we ask for. I mean, what choice do you have?" He looked at me, then his friends, and then around the empty car.

I swallowed and realized I didn't have a choice. I nodded, and reached for my pocket. He grabbed my hand and said, "Whoa there, dude. How about I do the reaching? Now stand up." He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me up.

I am not a big man. I stand about 5 feet 8 inches, and weigh about 120 soaking wet. But I felt even smaller surrounded by these guys. I stood up and felt hands all over me. They went through every pocket in my coat, shirt and pants.

They came up with my wallet, cash, keys and PDA. "Guys, let me have the keys and the PDA and you can take all the rest." They laughed.

"Shall we let him have his P-D-A?" He spaced it out, making fun of my abbreviation.

"It's a personal digital assistant," I said, and then realized I should have kept my mouth shut. One of them slapped me across the face.

"What, you think we are dumb or something, and don't know what a PDA is?"

I shook my head and decided to not say anything else. They were jingling my keys and poking at my PDA. I couldn't keep it back, "Look! Just leave me my keys and the PDA, and I won't tell the cops." Shit! That was the wrong thing to say.

I saw the eyebrows fold in on the guy in front of me. "You ain't going to tell the cops nuthin'. Hold him," he instructed the other two. Each one took an arm and held it tightly. I tried to struggle, but couldn't budge them at all.

The leader, I sensed he had to be the leader, brought out something, and a blade popped out. The light glinted off of the blade. I swallowed, sure that I was going to be killed now.

Instead, he grabbed hold of one sleeve of my coat and slit it. He laughed as he ripped the sleeve apart. He did the same to the other. He did this a couple more times, until he pulled if off of me in shreds. I wanted to shout out then and call for help, but as I opened my mouth, he stuck a piece of my coat into my mouth and then tied another piece around it, gagging me.

I was scared shitless now. I began to shake as he next went to work on my dress shirt and tie. I could hear ripping and tearing sounds as he shredded the shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking that at any minute he was going to start sticking that blade into me.

I felt it slide along the skin of my belly, and thought I was going to die then, but he was just shredding my t-shirt. He cut it up the middle and then ripped it off of me. Then he took a strip of the shirt and handed it to his friends. "Tie his hands behind his back."

I thought I would fight to resist, but it was futile. They easily held my wrists together behind my back and bound them. I now stood there naked from the waist up. I was shaking.

The leader pushed me down in a seat. The two others quickly removed my shoes and socks. I noticed then that they had a backpack and were stuffing the tatters into it. They put the shoes and socks into it next.

The leader then waived the knife around my crotch, and I pleaded through the gag for him to leave me alone. Please! But he only laughed.

He used the knife and cut my belt with a strong tug. He motioned to the other two and they pulled me up. He reached in and, in seconds, my pants were dropping to the floor of the train. He pushed me back down and pulled off the pants.

The train came to a stop, and I thought they would leave and I would be okay. Passengers would board and someone would help me. But no one got on and they didn't leave.

I sat there in my blue striped boxers and shivered. Were they going to leave me like this on the train? Just my boxers and nothing else; no way to get home or get help?

I wanted to tell them that if they just let me go, I would forget all about it and never say anything to anyone, but I couldn't say anything with the gag in my mouth.

The leader motioned to his friends, and they stood me up again. He brought the knife towards my crotch, and I kicked out. I was more scared of them cutting my cock or balls now, than fearing for my life.

I managed to get an elbow in my face for that, and tasted blood. But I kicked again, and got another blow to the head. I felt one eye closing up.

I then felt the cold metal against my thigh that was now being held rigid by someone. But again, I heard the ripping of cloth. They shredded the boxers and then ripped them off of me.

I was now naked in the subway, at the mercy of these thugs. One started flipping my dick back and forth. Another one rolled me over and put his hand on my ass, and then his finger at my hole. I screamed into the gag, and bucked.

I got a jolt to my kidneys for that, and the wind knocked out of me. I was sure I was about to be raped. I was crying now and pleading through the gag. I was almost ready to beg for them to kill me rather than rape me.

I struggled, then my head hit something, and I saw stars, and then darkness.

I came to sometime later. Some homeless guy, or that's what he looked like through the one eye that I could see through, was peering at my face. I could smell him more than I could see him. When I opened my eye, he said, "So you are alive!"

I nodded. He removed the gag and untied me. I was tied to a post in the car. I wiped my face and looked at myself. I had bruises on my legs and stomach. I covered myself with my hands. Then I heard him say, "Here, put this on."

A coat came into view, but it was greasy and filthy. "What choice do you have?" he said.

I didn't have a choice. I took the coat and pulled it around me. It just barely covered my ass and my crotch, but at least I was covered.

I related the story to him between taking sips of water from the deformed water bottle he handed me. I asked him what time it was and he laughed, showing me his naked wrists.

I said I had to get to my apartment. I told him the stop. He stayed with me and helped me up the steps out of the subway, and then the 3 blocks to the apartment.

As I climbed to the third floor, I realized I had no keys and no way to get a hold of the super or anything. But I didn't have to worry, because when we got to the apartment the door was open.

I went inside. It was empty! Everything was gone. Not just my stuff, but the stuff that came with the apartment: the microwave, the little dorm sized fridge, the hot plate, the bed, the dishes, everything. No phone, no laptop, no bed, nothing. I went to the closet and it was stripped bare. Everything I owned was gone.

I sat down on the floor, realizing even the carpet was gone. I started crying. The bum kicked my leg and said, "Quit your bawling. You can come crash at my place. In the morning you can call your work and figure out something."

I looked at him and around the room. He said, "I mean, what choice do you have?"

I shook my head. I had no choice. I got to my feet and wearily followed him out and down the stairs. At the bottom, I just blindly followed him as he wandered around, took a subway, and ended up in a neighborhood even more dingy than mine.

He led me up several flights of stairs, unlocked a door, and went in. I followed. I didn't have any other choice. The place was a mess. It smelled like old men, piss, and dirty laundry. There was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a pile of rags in one corner. A broken toilet in another. A faucet came out of the wall. There was a box of cans along one wall, with a can opener on the floor, and a hot plate plugged into the wall.

The only furniture was a couple of wooden crates. It looked like he used one for a stool and the other for a table of sorts. There was an empty can, a fork, and a dirty plate on top of it.

He closed the door behind me, and held out his hand. I realized he was wanting his coat back. I shrugged out of it. He looked at me up and down, laughed, and tossed the jacket in the corner. He stripped out of his own clothes and threw them in the corner.

He went over to the cracked toilet, reached down, and picked up a large rusty coffee can. He held it in front of himself and began to piss in it. The sound of the stream echoed off the sides and rang in the room.

When he was finished, he handed me the can. I looked at the can and then at him. "You got to pee?" he said, looking at me as if I was a couple batteries short of a full charge.

I looked at the vile yellow liquid in the can, and the smell hit me. I shook my head. He laughed and said, "Well, if you need it in the night, it's over here." He sat it on the floor next to the toilet.

"I only use the commode when I have to take a shit. Then I flush with whatever piss is in the can."

He walked over and grabbed a rag off of the floor, then put it under the tap, turned it on, and brownish water came out. He got the rag wet, turned off the tab, and came over to me.

He used the rag to wash the blood off of my face. The rag smelled terrible, but he was trying to take care of me, it seemed. I didn't have a lot of choices. I thought about finding a policeman or a hospital, but without clothes, ID, credit cards, what could I do? They would assume I was a bum and throw me out.

When he was finished, he said, "Well, that should do you for the night. In the morning, I'll see if I can steal some bandaids or something to put on it."

He reached over and pulled the chain on the light. "Come on over here," he said. I could see in the white of the dim moonlight that he was indicating a pile of rags in the corner. I followed him over. He knelt down on the rags and patted then pile next to him.

I knelt down. He reached over and pulled a chain out of the rags. He took my arm and fastened a cuff around my wrist. He laughed. "Can't have you robbing me blind, killing me, or anything, while I am asleep." He laughed some more.

He lay down on the rags and patted the floor next to him. He looked at me, and I could see his smile in the moonlight. "What choice do you have?"

I shook my head and wiped the tears from my face. I crawled over and lay down in the indicated spot. He laughed, pulled some of the rags over us, and then moved up until his naked body was against mine. I shuddered. He laughed, and pulled me closer. I felt his dick along my crack, and cringed.

I lay there for what seemed like hours, until I drifted off to sleep. I woke once to him shaking me and yelling, "Shut the fuck up!" He shook me again, "You are screaming in your sleep. Now shut the fuck up!"

I thought I was still dreaming. It was a horrible dream - being robbed, stripped, and forced to spend the night in this hell hole. I fought the dreams, but went back to sleep.

In the morning, I woke to something rocking me. It took me a few moments to get my bearings and figure out where I was; then what was happening to me. The old guy was rubbing his hard dick up and down my crack! Fuck this!

I pulled away from him and cried out, "Stop!" he laughed, and I came to the end of my chain. I looked down and saw his purple headed swollen dick. He laughed again, and stroked his dick.

"Not to often do I get to wake up next to a soft warm body. Old Joe just got all excited!" He laughed, as he stroked his cock.

"Now why don't you just lay back down here and let him finish up!" he cackled then.

I shook my head and moved the cuff around my wrist. I looked around and saw that the place looked ever worse, if that was possible, in the light of day. I moved against the wall and wrapped my arms around my pulled up legs.

He laughed and went back to jerking his cock. He kept watching me as he did it. Soon he was shooting out cum like a volcano. It flowed over his fist.

When he was done, he took a lick of his cum covered hand, and then offered it to me. "Want a bit of protein for breakfast?"

When he saw the disgust on my face, he laughed. He used some of the rags underneath him to wipe himself clean, and I thought about having slept in that.

I saw movement out of my eye, and turned. A giant cockroach was scurrying across the wooden table. I shivered.

He got up and found a key someplace, then unlocked the cuff on my wrist. I rubbed my wrist as he walked over and picked up his can. He held it in front of himself, and pissed a hearty stream into it.

Then he held out to me. I had to go, but I didn't want to use this can. But I had to go. I reached for the can, but he shook his head. "Can't have you throwing a can of piss at me, now can I?"

He looked at me, saw the look on my face, and said, "What choice do you have?"

He held it in front of me and I stood there. It took me at least two minutes to get a flow going. When I was finished, I reach down to shake off the last drops.

He laughed. "Like that does any good around here."

He sat the can on the floor and then sat down on the filthy toilet. I heard him taking a dump in the toilet, and thought I would throw up. He finished, using a piece of rag lying near by to wipe himself. Then he poured the piss in until the toilet flushed itself.

He opened the window a crack and threw the rag out. I saw that the window was nailed so it could only open so far, about 4 or 5 inches at most.

He opened a can of beans, put the can on the hot plate, and a couple of minutes later, used a rag to hold the lid and bring it over to the table. He wiped a fork off with a rag and handed it to me. He took another for himself and didn't bother to wipe it.

"Dig in." He smiled at me. "Not the best breakfast in the world, but what choice do you have?"

I shrugged and realized tears were running down my face as I crawled over and sat on the floor next to his crate. I ate the tepid beans and wished for something to wash it down with, but thought of the color of water I saw last night. He reached into a paper sack next to him, and pulled out the badly deformed water bottle and offered it to me. He pulled out another for himself.

"I get these filled up over at McDonalds," he said, as if explaining everything.

I drank and ate until it was gone. He asked me if I wanted to call my work. I said yes. He scrounged around in his pile of clothes and found a pair of sweatpants, without the tie string, and a tank top that had huge arm holes. Then he found a pair of flip flops that were about 3 sizes too big and didn't match.

He put back on his worn out jeans, a patched denim shirt, and his jacket. He had a floppy hat and a pair of mismatched sneakers to complete his attire.

I would have to hold the waist of the pants up, other wise they would fall down.

Downstairs, we walked a block or two to a pay phone. He dug around in his pants until he found some change. He handed it to me, and I dialed the office and asked for my supervisor. "Phillips, what the fuck have you done?" he yelled, when he found out it was me.

"What do you mean, Sir?" I asked meakly.

"You came in here last night, cleaned out your desk, downloaded all kinds of client's files, trashed your computer, and pissed on the desk. What the fuck got into you?" he screamed.

"Sir, I didn't, I never," I tried to explain.

"Look Phillips, it is all on the security tapes. Your card was used to get in, the clothes, the hair, everything matched you. You are fucking fired, and I am going to file charges with the police and have your ass thrown in jail!" He slammed down the phone.

I was crushed. The guys had obviously used my key card, my clothes, and everything to clean it out. That made me think of something else. I asked him for some more change. He gave it to me grudgingly.

I frantically dialed my bank. I asked to get my balance. When the person came back, I was told, "Yourr balance is zero, you credit card balance has exceeded the $10,000 limit, and there is a notice to contact the police if you attempt to contact this bank." He paused, then added, "They are probably tracing this call right now," and hung up.

I slammed down the phone and frantically looked around. "We have to get out of here!" I cried, pulling him along the street.

He let me pull him as far as the alleyway and behind the dumpster before he stopped and made me explain. It all came tumbling out while I blubbered on and on about being ruined.

He patted me on the back and said, "Well, you can hide out in my place until this gets sorted out." He looked at me and said, "What choice do you have?"

I had no choice. I followed him back to his place. He took back my clothes and cuffed me to the wall again. He was going to go out and see if he couldn't round up some money.

I sat in the pile of rags and cried and felt sorry for myself. I went through every scenario I could; going to the cops, going to the hospital, calling my work again. I had no options. I was screwed.

He came back several hours later. "Okay, I have a way for you to make some money, so we can get you out of this mess."

"What do I have to do?"

"What does it matter? You don't have a choice do you?" I shook my head.

He uncuffed me and gave me back the sweat pants and tank top. I followed him in a daze and he led me through the streets and alleys to a steel door, deep down a dank alley.

He knocked, a slot opene,d and someone looked out. Then the door opened and we were let inside. I followed them down a steep narrow set of stairs. At the bottom, another steel door was opened with a key, and I entered a very well lit room.

It seemed nicely furnished, with all the furniture covered with tan and blue sheets. A man, with greased back hair and a gap between his teeth when he smiled, shook my hand.

"I understand you have run into a little trouble and need some cash," he said looking from the old man to me. The big guy that let us in was standing by the door.

I nodded my head. "Well, I think we can come to some agreement to assist you," he said, nodding his head.

"But first, I think you need a shower and some clothes." I nearly died. A hot shower! Wow!

I followed him and he led me to a large bathroom. He pointed out the shower. I reached in and turned on the water. It felt so great. I looked in the mirror and saw my bruised face and the wretched clothes I was wearing.

I dropped the pants and pulled off the shirt. I was about to step into the shower when I realized two things: there was no door on the shower, and a guy was standing there holding a camera pointed at me.

"What the...?" I started to say.

"Let's just say that you are beginning to earn your money, and all you have to do is take a hot shower." I was thinking about what he was saying when he said, "What choice do you have?"

So I climbed in and began to lather up. As I soaped up myself, while the man with the camera moved in and shot various parts of my body. Then the greasy haired man said, "Why don't you get yourself hard," and smiled.

I blushed, but looked around at the old man, the camera man, and the greasy man. Again, no choice. I got hard and figured if they liked to see a guy's dick, then let them go for it. I was getting a hot shower!

I soaped up and stroked until I was hard. I made it look like I was enjoying it.

After a bit, I was told that was enough. I rinsed and then was given a towel. I was filmed as I dried off. I blushed once again, but then figured what the hell.

When I was dry, the man put something on the cuts on my face and gave me a lotion to rub into my bruises. I was filmed as I rubbed in the lotion.

They led me back into the living room. There on a table, on which there was a sandwich with chip, and a soda so cold the glass was beaded with water. My mouth started watering.

I went to reach for it and the man said, "Not quite yet, boy."

He gestured to the sofa, "Why don't you lay back here and get yourself hard again?"

My eyes were on the sandwich. I did as I was instructed. When I was hard, he spoke, and I thought I was going to get the sandwich. Instead, he was introducing me to another man. This guy looked like a rugby player; he had his rugby shorts on. He came over and sat on the couch next to me.

"Okay, boy, you are to make out with this guy. He has never been with another man before and you have to show him you can please him."

When I balked, he pointed to the sandwich and said, "If he is pleased, then you will be paid and fed well."

I mentally bit my lip and went for it. I made out with him like I would a woman, not that I had a lot of experience with that. I noticed the bulge in his shorts and he reached and put my hand on it.

Next thing I know, he is naked and I am stroking his cock. I blink and realize there is a camera on me. I close my eyes and go back to what I am doing. I figure if I can bring him off fast, then I can get to my sandwich.

I am working away when I hear, "Suck him." There is no question; it is only direction.

I am gone, lost, and I go for it, as tears stream down my face. He pushed my head all the way down on his cock and I gag. He holds me there until I come up choking for air, tears streaming out my eyes, and snot running from my nose.

He laughs and pushes my head back down on his cock. He doesn't bury my head this time, but continues to fuck my face, using his hand on the back of my head to control the pace.

Soon I hear him moan, and he is filling my mouth with his spunk. I gag and try to spit it out, but he sticks his dick deep in my mouth again.

Finally, he lets me up for air. I wipe my face and discover cum on it.

"Jerk yourself off; show him how much you enjoyed pleasuring him." I freeze, and want to run. Greasy hair looks at me, smiles, and says, "What choice do you have?"

I lean back and do as instructed. Reviling my every action, I stroke and squeeze, working to get myself off. Finally, I manage to gasp, and shoot ropes across my stomach and chest.

The rugby guy laughs at me. The greasy hair reaches over, takes the top piece of bread off of my sandwich, and wipes up the cum on my stomach. He then puts it back on the sandwich and hands me the plate.

I look at him, but he only smiles. I close my eyes and take a bite. It is too good; I devour it, the chips, and the soda. All too soon it is gone.

The rugby guy is gone. I look up to see the greasy hair man counting out twenties to the old man.

"I thought the money was for me," I said, in almost a whinny voice.

"Oh, it is," the old man said. "This is to pay for your room and board and to get you some clothes. Thomas here says that we need to get you in a little better shape, and he will be able to pay you much more. He also has some other ideas on how you can make more money," and the old man leered.

I started to protest, when the old man said, "What choice do you have?" and laughed.

That was several months ago. Now I live as the old man's servant in his room. He has bought a few things for the place, and gotten a few things fixed. He still has me sleep in the corner in a pile of rags. That is, except on the nights when he wants me in his bed.

The first night, he laughed, put me on my stomach and climbed on top of me. I felt something cold wet at my hole. Then next I felt him pushing himself into me. I cried into the pillow while he fucked me.

Now, he has taught me to please him in many ways. So when I am there, he uses me in whatever way he wants.

He has bought me some clothes, but keeps them locked up when we are in his place. He keeps me naked there so I won't run away, not that I can because he keeps me chained to the wall when he is not there.

He feeds me fairly well, but most of that he puts in a bowl for me on the floor. I do get bottles of water to drink so I don't have to drink the dirty water that comes out of the pipes.

Everyday, I go to Thomas' place and make movies. I have now learned that I am to enjoy myself there, no matter what he does to me. I am there to please him and the old man. He has brought in so many men, I can't count them.

It turns out he has another "studio" where there are wooden beams, benches and cages.

He laughed the first time he put me in there. The other man in the movie with me was a real sadist. He wore a hood and a leather jock. I didn't know the ways I could be hurt. I passed out before the end of the taping. The old man received quite a stack of money from Thomas, that night.

I can't even list all the ways they have used me, beat me, tortured me, and filmed it all.

I do whatever the old man says. I have found out recently that he is really a very wealthy man and does this for sport. He has had several of his friends down to watch the filming in Thomas' studio. It seemed to be a new low for me, having to perform naked for these men in suits. Their hands roamed all over my body as I was passed from one to the other.

I am beginning to wonder if he didn't arrange everything from the very beginning in the subway. But I can't do anything; this is all I have. This is my life now. I mean what choice do I have?

Comments and suggestions are always welcome -- harryrod575@yahoo.com

Have fun

harry