When I step from the car, I can almost feel myself shaking. I look up at the large house in front of me, and take a deep breath. As soon as the car arrived to pick me up in Chicago, every instinct I had was screaming run, they still are. From luxury car to private jet, to luxury car, nothing changed the fear and anxiety building in me. I stand, riveted to the spot, staring at this fucking huge house, when the driver sets my bag at my feet, jolting me from my staring. He looks at me, I glance his way and shrug, I've no money to give him a tip. He gets in the car and I hear it pull away. This is it, I think to myself as I grab my bag. Despite him telling me not to, I had to bring some things with me. I'm working Monday morning, expected in Philly, and I think, maybe, the Smackdown taping Tuesday. I'd have had no time, to get my shit together so I packed. If he doesn't like it, fuck him. My bag and I make the trek to the house, the drive, despite this being his second house and right by the beach, is long, and yet it feels far too short, I am willingly walking to, I assume, the worst weekend of my life.
The door's open a little, so I walk straight into the foyer. This is his second house, I remind myself, I've never been in anywhere other than a hotel with a fucking foyer and this is this asshole's second fucking house, the amount of money in this one small room is more than I'll ever make in my whole life. I might be walking straight to my own ruin but I can still appreciate the beauty that sufficient money can buy.
I hear him call my name and head for where the noise came from, coming to a large kitchen. He's leaning against a granite counter, wearing an almost gentle smile. It throws me, him fucking me, his domineering, I can handle, I've prepared for that but these slivers of something like affection, I hate them, it makes no sense to me.
"Punk, welcome to my home. Let me show you around." He takes my bag from me and leaves the room, showing me around. The living room, dining room, entertainment room, ridiculously fucking huge bathroom, with a tub that's bigger than my entire apartment are on the first floor. So is a pool house. Upstairs are several bedrooms, fucking huge bedrooms, every one of them a testament to the amount of money this asshole has. He stops at one, the bedclothes starkly white, window open making the curtains flutter in the breeze, fucking flowers in a vase; it's like something out of Home and fucking Gardens. He sets my shitty little bag on the bed and turns to me.
"This is your room." I stare at him, my eyes narrow and I take a deep breath, this is when the pain, the fucking, starts. He takes my hand in his, giving it almost a gentle squeeze, I wrench it free and keep staring at him. "My room is across the hall." He says, as he steps closer and takes the band holding my hair back, out.
"We're not sharing?" I snap, he shakes his head and laughs.
"I'm not that heartless, Punk. I'll give you some space. When you're ready, my bed will always welcome you." He tucks my hair behind my ears and leaves the room, clearly expecting me to follow. I don't know what to think of this. My own room, my own fucking whiter than fucking white room, so fucking white it reminds me of a padded cell and his across the hall. His is the only room that I've not been shown yet. He leads me back to the kitchen and opens a door I'd not noticed before. He ushers me towards it and I descend the stairs, gulping as my eyes take in the room. This is where the swing was hiding, no jungle gym, but so many other things, so many things I've never seen outside of porno. My whole body tenses as he wraps his arms around my waist, his chin on my shoulder. "This, right here. This is my favourite room. One day, soon, you'll play with me here." His lips brush my ear. "It's too much to ask right now." I tense even more, what the fuck is his angle here, I don't understand, he brought me here to fuck me, to use me in this fucking kinky sex dungeon, not to put up in his padded cell white guest room. "Relax." His voice soft in my ear and I want nothing more than to elbow this fucker and run. I don't get this, what the fuck is the point in this facade. "We won't be down here again this weekend. I just wanted to show you, what's waiting for when you're ready." He fucking told me that I was coming to play this weekend, and now he's not going to use this damn room. I had my brain prepared for it. I'd spent a week getting ready for this, what the fuck is his game. As much as I want to ask, as much as I want answers, I can't begin to form words, so when he lets me go and starts walking back up the stairs, I follow. He locks the door to the basement with a heavy key, and reaches over to me again, tucking my hair back behind my ear. "One day, Punk." He sounds soft, fucking wistful. "One day, you'll play in there willingly." I have to fight my instincts again; they're screaming run at me.
"I doubt it." Sometimes, I'd like a little warning before my mouth lets stupid shit leave it. He laughs and takes his hand from my hair.
"We've a dinner reservation at eight. Until then, enjoy yourself, I have work to do. I'll pick your outfit. I guessed on the sizes so the clothes may be a little tight." He smirks slightly, that familiar leer on his face. "But then again how anyone can appreciate your assets, the way you hide in such baggy clothing." Okay, this I can deal with, him being controlling, I can handle, that nice shit, fucking forget it.
"We're going out? In public? Where people can see? That is not part of the deal." He smiles, almost patronizingly and runs his fingers through my hair again.
"A private club." He strokes my cheek, rubbing at the stubble there, eyes narrowed. "No one will question anything, no one there will care." Shown off at the gentleman's club is my agenda for the night I guess, at least if we're eating out, he won't be pawing at me. "Before I get to work, give me your cell." I give him a look and shake my head. "No interruptions to this weekend, so hand it over." His voice back to the painfully bored tone. "We can do this the hard way, if you like Punk, have me look for it on you and believe me when I say, your pockets are the last place I'd look." I yank both phones out of my hoodie quickly, holding them out. He only takes my cell phone leaving me with his. "I'll be in the office, if you need anything. There's Pepsi in the fridge, junk in the cupboards. Don't eat too much, dinner at eight." With that he leaves me standing in his kitchen, feeling dumbfounded. Why the fuck am I here, if alls he's doing is working? Why the fuck do I have my own room, why the fuck is he taking me out to dinner, why the fuck isn't he dragging me down to his fucking cellar and playing with me, why the fuck does he keep fucking touching my fucking hair? Questions, more questions than answers but that's not hard because the only answer I have is none.
I spend most of the day in the entertainment room, watching shit movies on the theatre screen, waiting for him to come get me, to come take me back to his dungeon, but nothing. I see him briefly, once at around lunch time, when he comes, sets a large club sandwich down in front of me and sits by me, eating his own. After he finishes, he strokes my hair once more and leaves me alone for the rest of the day. Around six-thirty, I suppose I should get ready, so I enter my room. There's a pile of black on the crisply white bed linen, I glance briefly but don't really inspect it. The bathroom is just as painfully white; no pattern, no colour anywhere, apart from a little blinking red light. A camera. I sigh and start the shower, before walking back out to the bedroom, a little red light in the corner of the ceiling, pointing down at the bed. He's watching me; I wave to him and strip. He's seen my assets, and I need to shower. I wonder how many other cameras he has in this place. Did he spend all day watching me, watching shitty movies and rambling? I leave the bathroom; a towel wrapped about my waist and examine what he expects me to wear. Leather pants, what the fuck does he think I am? A fucking prostitute from nineteen ninety-four? Skin tight black shirt, and a fucking collar. I stand staring; does he want me to look like I'm cosplaying as the Crow? Is he gonna want me to break out the old eyeliner? I scrub at my face and sigh. This isn't for me, this is for my friends, my family, this is far from the most terrible thing he could do to me. The thong underwear, on the other hand, is close though, riding up my crack and pinching in fucking weird and uncomfortable places, a fucking jock strap would have been better than this piece of fucking shit. The pants aren't much better, they feel like they've been painted on and are apparently designed for a man about 6 inches shorter than me, they ride, embarrassingly low on my hips and of course, the shirt is too short. I look like a fucking idiot. I fucking better get a big old leather trench coat to go with my sexy Crow get up. The collar, I hesitate at the collar. It seems like too much. This is another one of those moments where it feels like a nail in the coffin, knocking on his hotel room door, choking on that dildo all weekend, coming here and now this. This is acknowledging I'm his pet but to save my friends, to save my family, to save my hard work, to save Colt, I am. I tie it around my throat; it feels heavy, so very heavy.
Finally, I go to find him, he's in the living room, sitting on the couch, sipping at a drink. I can feel his eyes on me, assessing, scrutinising, judging. He walks over to me and tugs the strap of the thong higher, tightens the collar around my neck, his fingers grazing the fading bruise he left on me, he steps even closer and his mouth latches back on that spot, no doubt sucking it lividly bruised once more. I clench my hands, forcing myself to remain still as he rebrands me. "Beautiful" He murmurs, stroking the mark once more and trailing his fingers over my exposed collar bone.
The club is quiet, only male couples, one-half of each pair dressed as ridiculously as me, wearing a collar, gazing at their owners with slavishly stupid expressions. Just as he said, no one cares, no one spares us a second glance, well not quite true, I can feel eyes on me, lots of eyes and fuck if it doesn't make my skin crawl. Our table is in the corner, near the back, the area dimly lit and I'm so grateful for that. He orders for both of us and I don't care that he does, I don't care what I eat, I just want this night to be over, I want out of this fucking stupid get up. The food comes and it's surprisingly okay, he doesn't stare at me, just glances at me ever so often, makes absent minded small talk about the food. It surprises me by all being okay. When we finish, he orders desert for us to share, I concede to him feeding me small bites, as alls I want is to leave and get out of these ridiculous clothes. When the food is gone and I think we are about to leave, he pulls my chair closer to his.
"If I told you to get under the table and blow me, would you?" I glance down at the table cloth, it hangs long and low, it would cover me, if I was under the table, but if it was up to me, I wouldn't be there in the first place, so I shake my head. He laughs, stroking my hair again. "We'll get there, I suppose." I'm surprised that he accepted my answer so easily. I'm, once more, unsure what this is all about. He takes my hand and brushes his thumb gently over my knuckles, before moving it down to my crotch. "Touch yourself, I want to watch you." I'm sure my eyes bug out of my head, he wants me to jerk off in public? Sure, no one is looking at us but still, we're in public. He unties the stupidly tight pants and pulls at them, then takes my hand and puts on my still covered cock. "You know the arrangement, Punk. Touch yourself for me." I close my eyes and slip my hand under the fabric of the thong. "Let me see." He says. I take a deep breath and pull dick out from the confining fabric, stroking myself, as I stare down at the table, not looking up at all. "Look at me; I want to see your face." Again, I take a deep breath and raise my head, meeting his eyes. I don't know why, but there is something exciting about this, the illicit danger, how public it all is, I'm hard and into this far more quickly than I'm happy with. I allow my mind to drift as I stroke myself harder, thinking about ex-girlfriends, about random porno I've watched, again that one video Colt sent me comes to my mind, that slender, tattooed man on his knees, his lover's hand in his long bleached out hair, guiding him forward, slowly easing his cock down his throat. ("You can do this, Punkers.") Those words that I've never heard in that context ring in my ears as I come with a low moan. My cum coats my hand and I reach for my napkin, he snatches it from me and shakes his head. "Use that smart little mouth of yours." I wrinkle my nose, I may have tasted myself over the last few days but it doesn't mean I enjoyed it. He doesn't back down though, he holds my wrist and brings my hand to my mouth, I lick it clean quickly. Finally, we leave but I can't help but notice the bulge in his pants when he stands.
When we get back to the house, he pours himself a drink, and me Pepsi, then leads me to the back yard, settling on a chair near the pool.
"Do you swim Punk?" I nod and he gives me a horribly gentle smile as I glance at the large pool. "Go on." He tilts his glass in the direction of the water and I rub the back of my neck, looking around, pensively. I know how private the area is, no one could see and yet, I still feel uncomfortable.
"Is that an order?" If he is letting me decide, then alls I want is to go to bed, I've had it with this fucking day, I want it over and done with.
"Will it make you feel better?" He laughs softly. "Then yes, Punk, it's an order. I'm going to fuck you before you sleep; I'm just trying to loosen you up." I ignore that statement and stand, stripping his stupid clothes from my body and diving into the water. I swim around for a while, feeling his eyes on me the whole time, finally I hear my name and glance over to him. He stands naked, by the hot tub. A very large part of me is considering how easy it would be to drown right now. He motions for me to join him. I get out of the pool and go to the hot tub, sitting on the edge, my legs dangling in, trying to adjust to the warm water after the coolness of the pool. He's already in the tub and moves to settle between my legs, his hands forcing them wider apart, running along my thighs.
"I'm going to prep you." I blink at him in stupid confusion, thrown off by him again. I figured it would be hard and painful like last time. He has me lean back on the cement; I study the stars above me, wondering how I came to this point in my life, trying to spot constellations. He pushes my legs wider and I close my eyes, mentally preparing for the pain of his finger pushing into me. Instead, I'm surprised when something warm and wet starts moving over my asshole, his tongue. I've never had this done to me, never wanted it done but as I lay there, I can't help but enjoying it, the physical sensations of something warm and wet, squirming and lapping at a place, until very recently, I hadn't considered as anything other than serving a mildly disgusting, but thoroughly necessary function. His tongue delves deeper into me, slowly opens my body up, the strange pleasure growing with each thrust and press into me. I feel my cock begin to harden and when he slides a finger into me, I find my body pressing back against it. "Good boy." He murmurs, his breath washing over my asshole, a shiver runs down my spine and my body begins fucking his finger, rocking against it. He doesn't push, allowing my ass to adjust, doesn't add a second finger until I ask him too, and I did ask, grudgingly but I did it. He was pressing against my prostate and I wanted more, I hated that I did but my body wanted it too badly. He keeps this up until my body has over-ridden everything else, I'm panting with painfully honest desire, moaning, and whimpering as three of his fingers fuck my ass. I've lost all modesty and self-respect is following it out the window. I never knew fingers in my ass could feel like this, I've played with my own to get used to it but it wasn't like this, this is so much more, it's almost too much more. He must slides his fingers from my body, and settles back on the other side of the tub, looking at me, as I lie there, panting, my legs splayed, my body aching for something more and mind wanting to run. "C'mere, Punk, ride me." I blink, my mind protesting but my body slipping into the water, straddling his thighs. His hand reaches into the water stroking my erection, and he pulls my face closer, kissing me. I pull back, aching to escape, I can feel his cock against my ass, my body definitely thinks fucking him is a good idea, I can feel something like an aching burn of desire in my ass, but my mind, my mind is a fuzzy mess.
"I, I..." I stumble, words have escaped me and he brushes one finger over my asshole, sliding it inside of me, pressing against my prostate. I lose the fight with my body's desires and I reach back and line him up with my ass, taking a deep breath as I lower myself on his cock. It's hard, he's so big and as hungry for this as my ass feels, he's almost too big for me.
"Easy." He whispers in my ear, another shiver running through me, as he pets my hair again. "Relax, Punk." His cock sinks a few inches into me, before I feel the burn of my body stretching too far around him. I stop and take several breaths, his hand still petting my hair, in that gentle way again and his voice in my ear whispering words of encouragement, his other hand stroking me keeping me hard, despite the pain. He doesn't rush me and it takes several long minutes before I settle down completely, impaled by him even deeper this way. I move slowly, muscles I'm not familiar with protest slightly, yet alls I can focus on is the sweet burst of pleasure his cock is causing my body, as it rubs over my prostate. This pleasure encourages a faster pace, and his hand slides from my cock to my hips, guiding and encouraging but never demanding my body speeds up it's movements, never once does he force me to move faster. This is my show and it's fucking with my head too much, no matter how much my traitorous body is enjoying this, my mind is repelled, repulsed by it. ("You can do this, Punkers.") Those words that I've never heard in that tone, ringing in my ears, as he attacks my nipples and I whimper in unwanted pleasure. My body is so focused, that my mind shuts down and when I come, I'm riding him hard and fast, he follows quickly behind me. His arms wrap around me, keeping me in place, as I fight my instincts to run, to flee, to get the fuck away from him, not that my exhausted body would let me. When he finally lets me go, I stand on shaky legs, wincing as he slides from me. I grab a towel and the pile of clothes, left by the pool, trying to ignore the feeling of his cum as it dribbles from my ass. I hear him behind me and honestly, all I want is to get away. "Punk" I stop and turn towards him, trying not to say something I'll regret. He smiles softly and strokes my hair once more, his hand holds my chin with firm, gentle pressure as he kisses me.
"Good night." My voice is horribly hollow and all he does is nod and let me go.
As soon as I'm in the snowy white bedroom, I shower, scrubbing at my skin and biting back tears of rage, of humiliation, of something I can't place, something I don't want to think about. I have no allies in this, my body enjoys what he can do to it, my mind wants to taint my best friend by focusing on him and I, I just want this to be over. I'm fighting a war on too many fronts and I can't win, there's no victory to be had here, this is a war of attrition, I need to endure, I need to survive. ("You can do this, Punkers.")
I flop on to the bed, once I'm out of the shower, towel forgotten somewhere on the floor, he lets himself in, looks at me with something dark in his eyes.
"I came to say goodnight and to give you another present." I don't want anything from him, I want to be left alone, I want to sleep. He produces another anal plug, this one much closer to his size and some form of ring. I lay there, staring up at him blankly, my mind comfortably empty as he spreads my legs and eases the lubricated plug into me. I hiss as my body stretches to accommodate the width. By the time he is finished I'm hard once more, from it rubbing against my prostate. The ring, he slides around my cock and I wince at the tightness, as he closes it. "Don't remove either of these." It's a warning and I just nod, staring at the ceiling above him. He stands and I close my legs, the fullness painfully uncomfortable. "I like to get up at eight. Your mouth will be my alarm clock." Eight a.m. blowjob? Sounds wonderful, I think bitterly. "If I over sleep, I get pissed and that would not be good for you." He leers and pulls the comforter out from under my body, then up and over me. "I don't think it'll be a problem though, by eight, you'll be begging, quite literally begging." He leers at me and brushes a soft kiss over my temple. I lay staring at the ceiling, wishing for something to look at other than blank white and the little red light. I don't know how long I lay there, but eventually, the plug comes to life, vibrating, rubbing vigorously against my prostate, the cock ring keeping me hard. Tonight is going to be hell. For hours, the vibrations change from fast to slow and back again, never in a pattern, just randomly. He is, both literally and figuratively, playing with me and it makes me hate him just that little more.
I hope everyone enjoyed, and please remember to review, we really appreciate every review,the good, bad, or ugly we want to hear it all.
SuperRaindowMuffin- Thank you for the review we are glad you are enjoying this.
littleone1389- We are so glad you are loving this, the metaphor stuff was all lamentomori, she does that stuff so well. This is part one of the weekend, part two will be next.
Rebellecherry- thank you for the review, we are so happy that you think this is epic. I agree there is something so naughty with this pairing but at the same time it works so well.