Tight Leash

This was it. This was finally his chance to get out and he was so fucking close he could see sunlight reaching inside the permanently dark slaughterhouse. The Collector loved doing this to him once in a while just to rekindle Arkin's desire to fight because it was more entertaining to crush someone with a backbone. Whenever Arkin felt himself getting too close to a complete mind break and he was starting to show it, The Collector would orchestrate a way for him to escape. The first few times Arkin had actually believed he was just that smart and just that lucky to outwit the sadistic mastermind but now he knew better. The Collector allowed him just enough wiggle room to entice his survival instincts and Arkin fell into his trap every fucking time. Even when he learned he was playing into the sicko's hand he continued to break out of his bonds and make a run for it. The Collector never made it too easy for him though and Arkin still needed to be careful or he could lose his life but there were notably less lethal traps than usual. He wanted Arkin to rekindle his will to live, not die cut to ribbons by razor sharp wires.

Arkin continued to try again and again because every time he learned from his mistakes and every time he got a little closer. The first time The Collector released him he'd managed to clear one floor before he was snagged back. The third time he reached the stairs but he hadn't counted on a secret opening in the walls where his captor was patiently waiting. This was his ninth time attempting to get the fuck out and he was steps away from the front door. It was obviously a trap but Arkin hoped against hope the windows were less deadly. They were covered in planks with nails the size of his fingers but a furtive glance behind him told him he was alone. For a man of such impressive bulk, The Collector could be as silent as a ghost but Arkin was hypersensitive to his steps by now. He began prying at the wood with his bare fingers, noting that some of them were old and rotting, making sure not to cut himself on the exposed nails. He got one down, then a second, shocked at how easily they came loose. Maybe The Collector never considered anyone was smart or determined enough to get this far. Well fuck him and his assumptions.

Arkin got four boards out, enough for him to squeeze out through. He'd lost a considerable amount of muscle mass under the careful ministrations of his captor but he was one of the lucky few. In his time there he'd seen what horror awaited the pieces prized by The Collector and for some reason he'd been spared mutilation in spite of being a chosen one. Arkin had no idea why he alone was allowed to keep all his appendages but he was grateful beyond words. That was not to say The Collector spared him his share due of punishment. He got scarred, cut, beaten and whipped just like the rest but his scars were only skin deep. Arkin recalled one time when he'd been especially mouthy and The Collector nearly ripped out his eye but it had been only a scare tactic. A very effective one.

Arkin's bare feet landed on the ground, the sun blinding him for a second. He squirted at the sky and filled his lungs with considerable fresher air than what he was used to. The stench of death and stale blood was still permeated through the place, a particular aroma Arkin would never be able to get out of his system, but it was less claustrophobic. There were new things mixed in but he couldn't figure them out immediately and he didn't have time to try. Arkin blinked one last time and stepped backwards, not looking at his feet, only to yell as a sudden stabbing pain shot up the sole of his foot. Once more The Collector had been ahead of him after all and Arkin stared incredulously at the large, rusty nails firmly lodged into his flesh. He attempted to pull them out but lost his balance and ended injuring his other foot as well. It was only now he realized he was surrounded by various sharp implements all ready to draw blood.

There was literally no way to escape. The bits of metal were too close together for him to move through and they stretched too far for him to jump over. He considered dispersing them with his hands but they were properly stuck in the ground and he was too weak, too hungry and exhausted to find the physical fortitude inside him. He was out. He was fucking out and he was trapped. Arkin yelled again, a roar of pure agonising rage as he cursed The Collector and his immense capability for cruelty. He could see the land for a few blocks and there was no sign of another person. There was nobody to rescue him or call for help or even register his stupid existence. The only way he could get out was to endure and pray The Collector wasn't faster than a hobbled, weakened ex-con. Arkin knew there was no way for him to escape but as irrational as it was he didn't have it him to stop now. He had to keep going because if he stopped he might never have it in him to start again.

Arkin realized his vision was blurred and it took him a moment to understand he was crying. He groaned and grit his teeth and began walking, forcing the nails deeper in. The pain was excruciating and anyone else would be done in by it but Arkin had been forced to endure as much and so much more. The Collector once drove a nail similar to this one into his hand, over and over until Arkin didn't even flinch anymore. Arkin was going to use The Collector's own sadistic lessons against him, a though which made him grin despite the incredible agony.

It took him precious seconds but he actually fucking cleared the minefield. Arkin let out a broken laugh but he knew this was no time for celebrating. The Collector was probably right behind him and unlike his victim he could use the front door. Arkin didn't look back as he hopped and skipped on bloody legs towards the nearest alley. Maybe if he got far away he would lose his captor in the maze of buildings. Maybe he would come across a homeless person or heaven forbid, a payphone. Every muscle in his body was strained and working overtime to get him away but he was moving far too slowly. He listened for every noise, every flutter of a pigeon's wing nearly sending him scuttling for the nearest hiding spot, but he couldn't hear any footsteps. He didn't hear a set of creaking doors swing open. He didn't hear the sound of clinking chains or terrifying chuckles.

Arkin reached the first building, a grimy abandoned structure covered in crass graffiti, and turned to hide around the corner. He was sure The Collector was behind him, so sure in fact that he hadn't even considered turning a corner to come face to face with his own person bogyman. Arkin was so shocked for a second he ceased all movement, staring dumbly at the other man smirking down at him. The Collector reached for him and he flinched back but it was too late. The gloved hands were upon him and he whimpered as he was violently shoved up against the wall. Arkin clawed at The Collector but it was as effective as a kitten pawing at a bear. The Collector was holding his entire body up with one hand and it was nothing to him.

Arkin sobbed again, tears of impotent frustration running down his cheeks as he understood, again, how stacked the odds were against him. The Collector eyed him, cocking his head to the side as if in question, searching Arkin's face for something. The thief ground his teeth, mustering as much defiance as he could and that was apparently the right choice. The killer smirked and nodded at Arkin, letting him know he was pleased and the thief understood what he'd just given the sadist. He'd just admitted that he wasn't broken yet, that he was capable of enduring more at his hand and given the chance, he would play another game with him. Once more, he played exactly into The Collector's hand. It wasn't even that Arkin had so much to live for. He was just too stubborn to die. Sure, he had Lisa and his daughter but better people than him had been broken before with far more to lose. No, his motives for continuing the fight were far less altruistic. He was a roach and roaches survived. Simple as that.

'Go on then you sick fuck! You know you're not done with me so fucking get on with it! Fuck you-!' Arkin's pointless stream of insults was cut short when The Collector unceremoniously pulled out one of the planks stuck in his foot. The pain balled inside his chest and he roared out while The Collector continued to eye him smugly. When it subsided, the killer did it again. And again. And again until all five bits were out and Arkin was close to passing out.

'Fuck you…. Fuck you….' Arkin kept saying it but the bite was less and less with each monotonous repetition. His eyelids felt heavy and his mind was foggy. He wanted to collapse and sleep but he hadn't been lying before. The Collector wasn't done with him. After every chase the predator loved to claim his pray and Arkin couldn't imagine things playing differently this time.

Arkin felt The Collector's hands on him, pushing up his shirt and yanking his pants down. He was maneuverer so his legs hugged the bigger man's waist and felt himself being sandwiched between the wall and the muscular chest. The thief rested his cheek on the other man's shoulder, hating it but preferring it to the brick. He felt the heat being transferred to him and he knew fighting The Collector when he was like this was just plain stupid. Not only was he barely conscious but he'd get nowhere. He'd fought the first few times and he'd ended up with a snapped arm, four broken ribs and more unorthodox use of bugs on his injured skin. There was something about larvae wriggling inside an open cut which took the fight out of a person.

Instead he let the man have his victory, orchestrated as it was. The Collector nudged his already engorged member at his entrance and Arkin hissed in a steadying breath. It was very little preparation and when the hot rod pushed inside his tight body he buried his face against The Collector's chest, his fingers grabbing at his shirt. The man never prepared him when he used him like this, no doubt another sadistic brand of torture to remind him just how little control he had over his own body. Whatever privileges he was afforded were just that, privileges handed to him like a favour by a malevolent god. If he got a respite from feeling pain it was only because The Collector felt like letting him get a break. If he got fed something other than the usual slob choked full of the necessary nutrients to keep him alive it was only because The Collector had some scraps he himself didn't feel like polishing off. Likewise, if he gets to derive some pleasure from his captor claiming him in the most humiliating way imaginable it was only because The Collector allowed it.

Arkin made a noise as The Collector buried himself completely inside and actually paused long enough for him to catch his breath. A small act of kindness Arkin knew he should be grateful for and as fucked up as it was, he was indeed grateful. He felt The Collector's breath against his ear and he shivered, silently letting the man know he was ready for more. The psycho began to move in earnest, sending Arkin's smaller frame up and down the wall. He could feel his shirt and skin tear from the friction but Arkin did little more than whimper as he focused on whatever pleasure he could derive from any of it. He focused on the limited skin contact he knew he'd be starved of in the very near future. After The Collector had his way with him he'd shove him in that red box and turn him into the bait for some new unfortunates. He'd force Arkin to become the catalyst for a fate worse than death for some other random individuals going about their normal lives until they weren't.

More noises tore loose from his larynx as The Collector fucked him with more and more wild abandon. The perpetual pain which had become so interwoven into his existence mixed with lust he wished he didn't fell for the man he hated most in the world and pleasure sparked along his nervous system. The Collector was jabbing his sweet spot just often enough to make him moan and Arkin understood this was yet another form of psychological torture but why the fuck would he fight the few good things still allowed him. Instead he exposed his neck so the killer could bite along the sensitive skin like he knew The Collector liked to before he climaxed and used a hand to touch himself. Once the other man was done then the whole thing was done. If Arkin didn't find his own release in time he would be forced to forget about it because The Collector really didn't appreciate it when his pets looked for any crumb of joy outside his expressed wishes.

Usually The Collector would snap his wrist to a painful angle if Arkin attempted to touch his leaking member but apparently he was in a better mood than either anticipated and the captured thief was allowed to lose himself in the mind-numbing pleasure. As a bonus, The Collector changed his tactic and hit Arkin's bundle of nerves on his every thrust until Arkin was basically a boneless mass of pleasure deprived tendons. He shook violently and actually called out to the killer as he came in the most powerful orgasm of his life. Arkin gasped for breath as The Collector continued fucking into him, rocking his body until he was done. The ex-con's arms fell lifelessly by his side and his eyes closed, the need for sleep far too intense to stave off any longer.

'Mine.' The Collector's voice was always so low and nondescript that Arkin could never hope to match when he finally got away from the freak. It was still a shock to hear however since he could count the times he'd spoken on one hand. Short of shushing his victims the man was practically mute but when he did speak it was always to make a point and Arkin hoped this was the exception to the rule. If the man already staked him as his then Arkin might truly be fucked. From what he'd heard from the other collections, ones which had been part of the insane man's arsenal for far longer and those of them who still had tongues, once someone becomes part of the collection there was no escape. Sure, Arkin was a favourite pet but he hadn't officially been branded. Arkin squeezed a tear from the corner of his eye before he passed out.