AN: The true story begins here, the first chapter was just a prologue, if you will. There's some angst in here, start of non-con and light torture. I'm not sure exactly how things are going to play out still. Let me know what you're hoping for, but I hope you'll enjoy the direction so far!
Email at TheNakedGinger at gmail dot com.
"Mmmph" Mike's eyelids fluttered as they began to open. It was incredibly bright where he was and combined with just awakening from being knocked unconscious, it was taking him a while to register his surroundings.
He moved his head back and forth to try and get his senses in line. He meant to move his hand to his temple to alleviate some of the pain and that's when his senses really snapped to attention. His hands were bound.
All of a sudden he took his situation in. He was lying on a metal table but it was longer than a typical kitchen table or operating table. Mike's hands were bound above his head and legs bound near the base, creating an X with his body. All of this clothes were on, except for his boots. God, his migraine hurt.
Mike explored the room with his eyes. It was cold and not just in temperature. Everything was white or stainless steel. It felt like an operating room. There was a frosted-glass window to his left and a table of knives and tools to his right. There was a plain wall behind him and an almost-plain wall in front except that it had the door to the room. It had two handles and probably a lot of locks to keep it shut tight.
"Shit.." Mike said to himself. He tugged on the restraints. They were cloth rather than metal, like in a hospital. 'At least they're not uncomfortable.." Mike thought, but they weren't coming undone.
He laid there for a while planning an escape plan, wondering if Ryan and Deb knew where he was, and accidentally letting his mind wander to what Joe had in store for him. 'How long was I out for?'
The thoughts went in and out of his mind for who knows how many hours when finally he heard the locks on the door start to unfasten. Mike tilted his head up as far as he could to see who would be entering to kill him.
To no surprise, Joe was on the other side of the door when it swung open.
"Ahh, Mike Weston! You're awake finally! I was starting to think you may die on your own before we got to chat!" Joe walked into the room and set a tray of food down onto the table with the knives. He then turned around and placed a hand on Mike's cheek to ensure he had his focus. Mike didn't resist, he was curious.
"I hope my guys didn't bang you up too much." Joe traced his fingers across Mike's black eye and cut cheek bone. Mike didn't know what the damaged looked like, but it was very sore to the touch and he let out a rough sigh and tried to turn away.
"I'm terribly sorry that they got so rough, Mike. I really want things to go much easier for us."
"I don't know where Claire is and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you!" Mike spat back quickly.
Joe was startled. He raised his eyebrows. "Now, now, Mike. We can get to business later. First, you need to eat. You were out for over a day!"
'A day?!' Mike thought 'Fuck me!'
"But luckily, one of my devoted followers is an excellent cook. She made the most incredible chicken noodle soup for you." He turned to get the soup. "Now, yes, I know. Soup? Soup, really Joe?" Joe laughed to himself. Mike still lay there stunned and bound, silent.
"You really need to try it though before you discount it as 'just' soup. Trust me." Joe turned with the soup and spoon in hand but frowned. "Well, how am I going to feed this to you with you lying down?"
"You could untie me."
Joe laughed loudly. "Ha! You're a funny man Mike Weston. You remind me of Ryan in that way, hm? No, no. You won't be untied anytime soon, but…" he moved back towards the table, "you're laying on a very fancy table."
Joe fiddled with something Mike couldn't see, but a moment later the table vibrated and began to hum. Mike quickly put two-and-two together as the table started to tilt upwards. 'It's mechanized. Who knows how many positions it can do..'
A few seconds later, Mike was almost vertical and very soon eye-to-eye with Joe Carroll.
"Now then, that's better, yes?" Joe asked. He raised the bowl of soup to Mike's nose. "Smell it, you'll see."
Mike attempted to hold his breath for a second out of instinct to disobey but quickly gave in. Whether he liked it or not, he was hungry. He inhaled deeply and melted a little. What Joe said was true, it smelled amazing. Who cared that it was only soup?
"Yes, indeed." Joe was pleased to see Mike's reaction. "But it tastes even better." He brought a spoonful of the delicious liquid up to Mike's mouth.
Mike hesitated again. 'It could be poison, or a knock-out drug..' he thought, 'but, why would he need any of that to kill me? Knives are Joe's favorite...'
Joe could almost read Mike's mind. "It's not poison. That's not quite my MO. This is truly just me, trying to be good to you, Mike Weston. A peace offering between friends, hm?"
"We're not friends."
"Not yet, anyway," Joe corrected.
Mike eyed him angrily, but then looked down to the spoonful of soup. He pursed his lips and looked away towards the window. Slowly then, he opened his mouth.
"Ah, very good!" Joe exclaimed and pushed the spoon lightly into Mike's mouth. Mike closed his lips around the spoon as Joe pulled it out, lifting the spoon slightly to empty its contents. The soup was perfect temperature, just hot enough not to burn his tongue. It tasted delicious. Mike held the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing.
"It's good is it not?" Joe asked, seemingly legitimately interested.
Mike didn't lie, "It is. It's really good. You should tell that follower of yours to leave you and go open a restaurant."
"Funny, Mike. Although, she did work at a restaurant before finding me, ironically enough. But I don't think she's going back anytime soon. Beat her boss to death with a frying pan and what not." Joe smiled. "More?"
Mike pursed his lips again, wanting to disobey, to spit in his face or something but he was weak. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth again in obedience. Joe kept his smile and continued to feed him.
Joe talked about useless information on his followers, his favorite meals, and the freshness of air outside of a prison cell. Mike tried not to listen and instead focused on the food that was warming his belly.
"All done," Joe announced. "Now wasn't that just delicious?"
Mike sighed, and nodded his head.
"Oh, you have soup smeared all over your face. My apologies, Mike Weston. Let me get that for you." Joe reached down and grabbed the bottom of Mike's shirt, pulling it up to meet his face. He sopped up the sticky residue with Mike's shirt.
When Joe was finished, he looked down to admire Mike's exposed chest. It was furry but not as hairy as himself, Joe knew. Mike was fit and Joe appreciated people who took care of their bodies, regardless of gender.
Mike caught on to where Joe's eyes were focusing. "I didn't take you for that type. When did you become gay?"
Joe scoffed. "Oh, no. Labels just aren't for me." He released Mike's shirt which casually fell to return to almost where it started, but still leaving a bit of Mike's treasure trail exposed. "A body is a canvas for me. We may have our preferences, but I admire any great work of art. Why pigeon hole yourself to just one medium, right Mike?"
"Mhmm, seems like you have some closeted issues you need to sort out."
Joe's smile waned. He took a second to compose himself and then sighed and threw his hands up. "Well, call me whatever you like. But now that dinner is over, it is time for us to get to business."
"I already told you-" Mike began.
"Yes, yes, I know. You don't know where my wife is. The thing is, I don't believe you…" Joe said. "However, you would be my first male work of art if I decided to torture you. And while I do like trying new things, I've decided to try a different approach. What's that old phrase, 'You catch more bees with sugar' or something?"
"In that case, you could just let me go. That'd be really nice of you." Mike smiled all the way to his eyes. He was adorable and he knew it. If Joe was potentially questioning his sexuality perhaps he could use that against him. Mike was entirely straight, but he could act if need be.
"Ahh, Mike. I'm not that nice!" Joe turned around with a sharp blade. Mike's smile disappeared quickly. "No, I think we'll try it my way."
Joe came up upon Mike and placed the tip of the blade to his neck. He lightly trailed the blade slowly down the man's chest. Inch by inch, it snagged a few times on mikes shirt. Joe moved the blade slowly down until it reached the top of Mike's jeans. He paused there.
Joe had been watching Mike's eyes the entire time while Mike was looking down, following the blade as it moved out of view. When Joe paused though, Mike looked back up to meet Joe's.
Maintaining eye contact, Joe inched the blade a bit further keeping it steady on top of Mike's package. Mike's eyes widened and he gulped. He wasn't sure what was happening. Joe's murderous acts always had a sexual aspect to them, but he never manipulated or mutilated any sexual organs. It was purely a mental sexual connection with the murder.
Joe grinned wide at Mike's first look of real terror. "Oh don't worry Mike Weston. I wouldn't skip to the finale that quick! There are many acts that preceded it."
'Oh god, what does he mean?' Mike almost screamed in his head. 'Ryan, where are you?!'
Joe brought the blade back up to Mike's shirt and used his other hand to pull the shirt taut. In a quick motion, Mike's shirt was sliced up the middle and fell to the sides of his chest.
"Oh no, look what I've done!" Joe feigned ignorance to the act. "I hope that wasn't an expensive shirt. It did look good on you. I'll pay you back for it, I promise." Joe stepped back to look at the tattered garment. "Well, it's already ruined, so…"
He returned to Mike's body and sliced the sleeves of his shirt as well. In just a few seconds, Mike 'stood' there shirtless before him. Mike was panting, the fear still settling into him.
"Now then, Mike Weston. On with that 'get more bees with soup' or whatever, I'm going to get you to tell me where Claire is."
"Never," Mike breathily declared.
"Oh I wouldn't be so sure of that. I'll make you feel," Joe got real close and whispered into Mike's ear, "real good Mike. So good, that you'll want me to continue. That you'd tell me anything to keep it going."
Mike bucked his chest to get Joe off of him. "Creep!" he yelled. "I don't want anything to do with you. I'm straight and you're a monster! Nothing you do could make me feel 'good'"
Mike was sure of himself.
"Oh really now, Mike?" Joe walked back up to him and slammed his open palm into Mike's nuts.
"Gahhahh!" Mike yelled out.
Joe kept his hand there, loosely gripping the contents of Mike's jeans. Mike wasn't at all aroused and so Joe just slowly massaged his soft cock and balls below the denim.
"Ass!" Mike finally spat. "Bitch!"
"Hmm, no reaction yet. It may take a bit to set in." Joe casually said and released Mike's manhood.
Mike was furious but puzzled, "What? What does?"
Joe smiled. "I know you're 'straight' Mike," Joe used air quotes on that word, "But that's the wonders of modern medicine. A chemist can create a drug that makes Viagra look like placebos."
'Shit! The soup!' Mike's eyes widened.
"Yes, smart boy. You're putting it together, I think." Joe clapped his hands together. "So we'll just wait a bit. I have time. But, while we wait. Let's see what tools we'll be working with, shall we?"
Joe returned his hands to Mike's jeans, finding the button clasp at the top.