**AU in which...this stuff happens...just go with it, okay? It's a little dark, but it's hurt/comfort.**
Matt took a deep breath, hoping the inhalation would help with the pain he was experiencing. It did little to stop the stinging feeling in his rear. "Four," he grunted out, clenching his teeth as his neck muscles tightened involuntarily.
He felt his entire body tense as the next swing came down, his boyfriend's hand landing on his ass with a painful thwack. His the redness in his cheeks continued to burn with humiliation as he felt his cheeks jiggle, which he was sure Jackson was enjoying. The entire situation was humiliating; he was bent over his boyfriend's lap in the kitchen, his pants and underwear around his ankles as Jackson held onto his hair with one hand, spanking him like a child with the other. "Five," he said, closing his eyes.
The thick hand landed once again on his ass, sending waves of pain through his body. "Six," he counted out, gripping his stepfather's pants beneath him. He fought the urge to cry, though every sense in his body was telling him otherwise. He would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Instead, he focused on the pattern of the couch beneath them, following the lines of the plaid as they crossed one another. He curled his toes, inhaling sharply through his nose, forcing his body to keep from vomiting. A hard hand made contact with his red, bare skin once again. "Seven."
"Alright, I think that's enough," the thick, burly man said, relaxing his posture as Matt released the death grip on his pants and stood. "I hope you learned your lesson, though."
"Yes sir," Matt said, the redness in his face matching his ass as he saw his step-father's eyes inadvertently flicker down to his exposed privates. He wanted badly to pull his pants and underwear up to cover himself, but he knew that if he did, the man would probably choose to spank him again.
"I want to hear you say it, Matt," his stepfather responded forcefully, sounding as if he was scolding the boy.
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Matt looked into his stepfather's eyes. "I promise that I won't take your car without your permission again," he recited bitterly, doing his best to hide the venom in his voice.
"Good," he said with a nod. He hesitated a moment, his eyes flickering over the half-naked form before him, taking in the flaccid, uncut four inches engulfed in a sea of curly, dark pubes. He'd watched the boy develop from a little kid into a man, and he started to worry how much longer he could hold his power over someone old enough to drive. "Get yourself cleaned up and go get dinner ready."
"Yes, sir," Matt said submissively, turning his back as he pulled up his pants. His stepfather snuck in one last glance at his hairy, red ass before it was modestly covered.
"And son?" the man said, casting him a meaningful glance as the boy turned around. "Remember that this is for your own good."
"Yes sir," Matt said, nodding sullenly as he turned around and headed toward the kitchen. He honestly had no future plans to take the man's car without his permission again. He'd only taken it as a last resort. Jackson got called into work, so he could come over to pick up Matt's luggage, and the previous night had been the only time his stepfather would be out without his car.
He and Jackson had been planning Matt's escape for weeks, and tonight was supposed to be his last night living alone with the man his mother had married shortly before her death. He'd adopted the kid, and raised him as his own. This meant that he'd received brutal punishments for next to nothing for the past ten years. From the time he was seven, he'd never been allowed to leave the house, he'd never been allowed friends, he'd never been allowed to work or gain any independence except for school. Essentially, his stepfather had kept a tight leash on the boy, using him for chores and errands. The man had never actually tried to do anything sexual with his stepson, but he clearly enjoyed the constant beatings and humiliations as more than just methods of teaching Matt.
When his mother was alive, he'd never do anything too outrageous. Only after her death did he get creative and cruel with his punishments, as well as doling them out much more frequently. The two were basically strangers, since his mother had died only a year into their marriage in a drunk driving accident. Unfortunately, she'd been the one drinking. Her husband had been in the car with her, also drunk, but left with only minor injuries. He'd adopted her child in order to avoid a charge of accessory to manslaughter; it was much more difficult to send a man to jail when he was the only family of a young child.
At first, he just dealt out more punishments than usual, unsure of how to be a parent. As time passed, he grew to liking the power it gave him over his stepson, and he started doling out punishments for smaller things more frequently. They became more creative, too, often involving an element of humiliation. He was frequently spanked, as well as whipped, beaten, forced outside naked in the cold, stripped, and starved. It only occurred to Matt that this was unusual one day in his freshman year of high school, when he referenced the fact that he'd been spanked the night before. His friends all got quiet, and someone asked him if his father really still spanked him. He said he was joking, and everyone laughed, but Matt started noticing that he was probably too old for such things. In the same year, he stopped associating with the few friends he had. This occurred when his friends came to pick him up one day before he'd finished the dishes. His father forced him to go out into the snow while completely naked, run to their car and tell them that he couldn't go. Luckily, the situation was so awkward that they never told anyone.
For the rest of his time in high school, he rarely talked to anyone and never went out after school. He was afraid of being embarrassed in front of them, and didn't think anyone would understand his situation. He was much too scared to ever tell anyone, so he suffered through it. In his senior year, he realized that he didn't know how he was going to afford college. He brought the subject up to his father, and the man informed him that he would not be going to college. That night, Matt both realized that there would be no end to this if he didn't do something, and decided that he was going to do something to end it.
Fortunately, around the same time, a boy in one of his classes started talking to him. He was the only person that ever really tried to talk to Matt, and was persistent yet gentle enough to manage to get to be friends with the boy. Everyone was shocked when they saw Jackson Whittemore, who was exceedingly popular, rich, and had a job as a model after school, talking to Matt Whats-his-face, the creepy guy that never talked. After Matt confided his secret in Jackson, the boy convinced him that he didn't have to put up with it anymore. He could live with Jackson until they finished their senior year, then move to New York with him after graduation. Jackson would make money from modeling, and Matt could go to school.
They assumed his stepfather wouldn't do anything to get him back, since he would be too afraid of involving the police in their relationship. And so Matt cooked his stepfather one last meal, received one last beating for making the asparagus too raw, watched his father get drunk and pass out one last time, then rode off with Jackson, never to look back.
"Ten," he said weakly, wincing as the pain radiated from his ass. He could tell that this was going to leave quite a mark, and he wouldn't be able to sit without thinking of it for at least a week.
"Alright, I think that's enough," Jackson said, letting go of Matt's hair, and quickly standing so that the half naked boy fell from his lap and onto the floor. A boner was tenting Jackson's expensive jeans as he looked down at the man laying on the ground. He put a foot on his throat. "And remember this next time you RSVP us to a party without asking me first."
"Yes sir," Matt said, curling up and hoping that Jackson was done for the moment. The man removed his foot from his boyfriend's throat, walking away to get changed. Matt sat up and righted his clothes. He chastised himself for telling Jackson right after he got home; he was always the most violent after a day at work.
Standing up, he moved the chair where Jackson had been sitting back to the kitchen table, moving around to prepare dinner. His mind began wandering over where he'd gone wrong, how he'd ended up in the exact same situation as he'd been in with his father. In the past five years, things had gone much differently from the plans he was promised. He and Jackson lived for a few months in a wonderland, going to school and coming home together, going to parties, having sex, and generally enjoying life. After graduation, things changed.
They both moved to New York City, where Jackson pursued modeling. This didn't make nearly enough money, since he was relatively inexperienced, so he had to take on another job. Matt's stepfather hadn't filed taxes in years, so he ran into some obstacles while trying to get financial aide from any college in the area. Furthermore, since nobody would cosign any loans, he wasn't able to get enough money together to go to school. Rather than letting Matt work, Jackson instead followed a job offer back into the suburbs. There, he worked as the manager of a hardware store, which he was promised would be lucrative. This turned out to be true, and he managed to open his own store. However, the work was hard and he was faced every day with his failed modeling career when he came home to see the man he'd promised to be successful for.
This quickly turned to rage. At first, he would just yell at Matt a lot. If he came home to find dishes in the sink, or a full garbage can, he would go off and list reasons why Matt was worthless. He never allowed his boyfriend to get a job, however. He said that he needed someone to take care of the house, and took it as an insult to his masculinity and ability to provide whenever Matt brought up the financial benefits of both of them working. Eventually, Jackson started getting violent. He would throw things, and sometimes he would hit Matt. This became more frequent, as did several other forms of subjugation and embarrassment. He was only allowed to be friends with the wives of Jackson's business friends, he couldn't go out on his own, he had to ask permission before spending any money, he had to do everything that Jackson asked or face a beating, and he wasn't allowed to go on the computer.
He also had many of the same punishments as his stepfather had given him, though the added sex made everything just that much worse. Jackson often beat him, spanked him, stripped him, and put him in humiliating situations, but this was also often followed by or incorporated in very rough sex. Jackson usually got off during or after these situations, though Matt was only rarely allowed to achieve orgasm. When they first started making love, back in high school, it was wonderful and beautiful. Now it had turned into another way for Matt to be demeaned. Having been forced into submission for the majority of his life, Matt easily slipped into the role of the punching bag. He barely even noticed how bad it was until his life was nearly the same as when he'd left his stepfather.
He still rarely talked to anyone other than Jackson. He had no friends, and only socialized at parties involved with Jackson's work. At these events, he was still usually demeaned, with Jackson making jokes at his expense and telling inappropriate stories to embarrass him. Sometimes, usually only if he was drunk, Jackson even put his boyfriend into humiliating situations, like his father had. He would grope Matt, or rip his clothes, or yell at him. Once while they were leaving a party, when he was particularly drunk and particularly angry, he held Matt down and ripped off all of his clothes, driving off with them. Matt had to go back to the party, explain the situation and get a cab back to his house. Jackson was even more cruel than his stepfather, though he often lacked the creativity.
"Don't burn that now, it cost good money," Jackson said, peering over Matt's shoulder. The man snapped out of his thoughts, noticing that the pork chops he was frying were nearly done. "My good money," Jackson muttered as he padded off to the living room with a cold beer.
Matt watched as he went. A diet of beer and pork chops mixed with a lack of exercise had robbed Jackson of his model-like good looks; now he was 23 and already getting doughy and hunched over. Matt quickly finished the meal, doling it out onto two plates and quietly informing the man in front of the tv that dinner was ready when he wanted it. Matt sat at the table, silently waiting for when Jackson decided to come and eat. After a few minutes, the man, now clad in a wife-beater and sweat shorts, took his beer over to the dinner table.
"How was your day?" Matt asked as they both started eating. He'd learned how much conversation was appropriate for Jackson, and now had a fairly practiced script for dinner.
"Shitty," Jackson replied, as he often did. "A manager dropped an entire box of lightbulbs, and one of the registers turned up fifty dollars short."
Matt didn't respond, as he'd learned that anything he could say would only make Jackson angrier. Instead, he changed the subject. "Your aunt called today to say-" Matt started, interrupted by the man slamming his utensils down on the table.
"You fucking burned the god damned meat," he said calmly. Matt's stomach dropped in terror as he recognized the dark tone. This wasn't just his usual anger, but an indication that he was in a dark, depressed slump in which he was particularly violent. "I told you it cost good fucking money. Now it's worthless!"
As he said the last word, Jackson hurdled the plate across the room, clipping Matt in the temple before it smashed against a wall, mashed potatoes, green beans, and ceramic flying in every direction as blood trickled down Matt's aching forehead. The submissive man tried to remedy the situation with logic, which sometimes worked. "I'll still eat it, I won't waste it!" Matt said, hurriedly digging his utensils into the meat and shoving a piece in his mouth. It didn't taste burned to him.
"No, no, we aren't eating your shitty burned meat!" Jackson cried, standing up on his chair. Matt continued eating, trying desperately to avoid Jackson flying off the handle. In his rage, the slightly drunken man dropped his sweats to the ground, taking hold of his cock and aiming a stream of acrid yellow piss right onto Matt's plate. Urine mixed in with the potatoes, turning them yellow, as well as bathing the beans and meat. Some splashed onto Matt, and Jackson began aiming his stream directly onto the man, eventually finishing while soaking his face.
Matt was still for a moment, trying not to cry while sitting at his dinner table, covered in piss. "I'm sorry I ruined your meal," he said slowly, his tone measured as he tried not to betray his emotions.
Jackson pulled up his shorts and brought the phone and phonebook over to the piss-soaked man. "Order a fucking pizza, and tell them that you're too stupid to make a decent meal yourself," Jackson said.
Matt opened his mouth to question the man, then looked at his eyes and thought better, taking the objects and dialing the number. After a few rings, someone answered the phone. "Hello, I'd like to place an order for delivery," Matt said, his voice shaking.
"Is the address still the same for this phone number?" a perky voice asked on the other end.
"Yes, it is," he said evenly, clenching the leg of his chair with his other hand to keep from crying.
"Alright, what can I get for you?" the person asked cheerily. Matt's mind flashed quickly over the thought of how much he'd rather be there, on the other end where the girl sounded happy.
"Uhm, I'd like a large peperoni thick crust with extra cheese..." Matt said, looking up at his angry and expectantly looking boyfriend "...because I'm too stupid to make a decent meal."
Jackson's face spread into a satisfied smile as the voice on the other line stopped for a moment, unsure of how to go on. "Y-Your total will be twelve fifty, and it should be there in ten to fifteen minutes," she chirped, an edge of awkwardness infiltrating her voice.
"Thank you," Matt said, quickly hanging up.
"Now," Jackson said in a cruel tone, "why don't you get out of those wet clothes?"
Matt stood, obeying as he slipped off the urine-soaked shirt. His pants and underwear quickly followed, comprehending the man's real meaning. Jackson stared at him in the face for a moment, then smacked him. The blow hurt, sending Matt's head reeling to the side. He stood his ground, knowing how much worse it would be if he gave up too easily. Jackson grabbed his hairy balls, pulling Matt toward him by his sensitive spot as he repelled him with punches to the gut from the other hand. Matt offered sounds of pain, not too loud or too quiet, just the right volume to please his abuser. Jackson let go of his testicles, pushing him with both hands onto the ground. Matt sprawled, and Jackson picked up his beer and went to the tv.
Matt knew what he was expected to do, and followed the man into the living room, leaving his clothes behind as he sat on the sofa, looking at the tv without really seeing it. He analyzed his wounds; his forehead had stopped bleeding, and didn't hurt too much, so he probably didn't have a concussion. His stomach hurt where it had been punched, and he figured he'd have some minor bruising, as well as a fairly noticeable bruise on his cheek. The doorbell rang, and he stood, collecting his clothes from the kitchen floor.
"You know what? Leave them this time," Jackson said, looking over at the man. Matt was surprised, since the man wasn't usually into public humiliation except for that one time at the party. He looked over at Jackson, who seemed to sober to explain his unusual cruelty away. The man sat up in his armchair. "In fact, get the money and step out of the door. Hand the pizza guy the money and tell him that you're naked because you're a whore."
"Wha- Yes sir," Matt said, correcting himself when he saw the devilish glint in Jackson's eye. The man turned around in his chair to get a good view through the window as Matt walked toward the door.
"And no tipping!" he yelled before the man opened the front door and stepped out into the night.
It was a warm evening, and the sun was still setting, giving enough illumination to clearly take in Matt's form. The pizza boy did a double take as he looked up from his receipt. He eyed the man's body for a good moment, taking in the sight of the slender, hairy form. "I-I have a large peperoni with extra cheese," the boy said, his eyes fixated on the man's exposed crotch. "It- It's $12.50."
Matt knew the boy. He lived in the neighborhood and was the son of one of Jackson's older work associates. His dad owned a paper mill, and hosted lots of parties, so they'd seen each other several times before. They'd even talked once, so he knew the cute young blonde was eighteen and a senior in high school. He hoped desperately that the boy would never find himself in the same situation.
He handed the young man the money, with a generous tip that Jackson would hopefully never find out about. "Keep the change," he muttered quietly as he took the pizza from the boy's hands. "And... And I'm naked because I'm a whore."
"What?" the boy asked, his cute face contorted in confusion.
Matt glanced toward the window to see Jackson's happy face nodding for him to continue. "I said I'm naked because I'm a whore," he said louder, knowing Jackson was probably squealing with glee that he had to repeat himself.
"Oh, okay, well have a nice day," the boy said, walking away looking very confused.
Matt came back inside, setting the pizza down on the dry part of the kitchen table and taking out new plates. He knew that he wouldn't be able to clean up the mess until early tomorrow morning, after Jackson had a chance to fuck him but before he came downstairs and saw the mess. Jackson came into the kitchen, scratching his stomach as he flipped open the pizza box.
"So you know why you're a whore, right?" Jackson asked, picking up a piece of pizza and biting a large chunk from it. "Because I know you're fucking someone else," Jackson said through a full mouth.
Matt froze. Who else would he be having sex with? "Why do you think that?" Matt asked, confused.
"Because," Jackson said, stepping close so that his pizza breath was on the man's face, "I haven't let you cum in a week and you haven't asked me yet."
Matt held the man's gaze. The truth was he had just gotten used to it, but he knew that sometimes Jackson got ideas like this into his head. It explained his especially cruel behavior. "I promise that I would never cheat on you," he said earnestly, his eyes locked on his boyfriend's. "I could never find anyone better."
Jackson grabbed the man by the neck, pulling him up on all fours onto the table. His head was right over the pizza, and Jackson moved around to look at his ass. "Put your face down and open your cheeks," the man commanded. Matt reluctantly set his face onto the greasy pizza, feeling the hot cheese on his bruised cheek as he exposed himself. He felt Jackson's clumsy fingers poke and prod his anus, presumably checking for signs of cheating. "Alright, maybe you're telling the truth."
As Jackson said this, however, he stood on the table, getting onto his knees as he dropped his sweats once again. "I think I'll just remind you of how good you got it, though," he said, spitting onto the boy's hole.
Suddenly, something snapped inside of Matt. He saw himself from the outside, naked and face down in a pizza on a urine-soaked table, showing his asshole to an asshole, about to have sex that he didn't want, trapped in a loveless and abusive relationship with no hope of change or escape, humiliated and degraded, with no fulfillment. The thought of Jackson putting his cock inside of him suddenly seemed like the single most repulsive thing imaginable.
"No," Matt said, raising his face out of the box.
"What the fuck did you-" Jackson started, caught off guard by Matt's unexpected swipe at his knees, sending him sprawling from the table onto the floor. He landed on his back with a thud.
"NO!" Matt screamed, jumping off of the table and kicking Jackson in the stomach. The man on the ground didn't move, totally unsure of what to do. Before he even had a chance to think about it, Matt took the kettle from the stove and dropped it on Jackson's head. The man was knocked unconscious, confused up until the last second.
Adrenaline pumping rapidly through his veins, Matt ran through the house, collecting everything that he might need in a backpack before Jackson would wake up. He packed fifty dollars that he found in Jackson's wallet, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a few items of clothing. He quickly washed the urine and pizza off of his body before dressing. Zipping up his backpack as he ran down the stairs, Matt found the reality of the situation settling into his brain at last. He had almost no money, no friends, nowhere to go, and no skills. Slipping on his shoes, he took one last look around the cheap, dingy rental house. Jackson was still out cold, pizza in one hand and his hard cock in the other as he lay on the floor. He realized that anything would be better than this hell. With that, Matt ran out into the night, dialing a taxi company on his cell phone.
**Many thanks to a great follower and writer, yuki90, for giving me the prompt he's been holding onto!**