Ratchet was thankful when the Smuggler stopped caressing him, but felt his blood run cold when he reached for his knife.
"Let's say we have some fun." The Smuggler smiled, pointing the weapon in his face. Ratchet froze as it was lowered down to his neck. In a quick motion, the Smuggler grabbed a fistful of Ratchet's shirt and slashed at it. His heart pounded in his ears, the knife had just barely grazed his skin. The Smuggler tore the rest with his bare hands, as the fabric screamed it's protests. Once the shirt lay in ribbons around him, Ratchet couldn't help the shudder that suddenly wracked his body. It hadn't been much, but it was one of the only things that covered him, that helped him feel he still had some sort of dignity left. The Smuggler was back with his knife. He slid it flatly against Ratchet's thigh and up his pant leg. He twisted it slowly, tenting the fabric, testing its integrity, seeing how far it could stretch before giving in. As he raised his knife higher, the fabric stretched and strained more and more. Threads began to snap, being pushed past their limit. Ratchet swore he could hear them as if they were guitar strings snapping midway through a cord. Then, with a sudden flick of his wrist, the fabric tore completely. Ratchet closed his legs tightly, attempting to keep the damaged garment on. The Smuggler made quicker work of the other pant leg, cutting a quick line up. The fabric sagged now, missing its structure to conceal its wearer properly. The Smuggler grabbed the waistband, and Ratchet felt his stomach flip. He speedily ripped the cloth from between his legs. The Smuggler paused then, admiring his work. Now Ratchet was completely nude, turned into a raunchy display against his will. He scowled at him.
"Come on, Ratchet, relax. Here, I'll let you go first." The Smuggler smiled, and ran his hands up his thighs. Ratchet grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head into his shoulder.
"Stop it." He commanded.
"You say that," the Smuggler said, before leaning in and murmuring in his ear. "But look at how hard you're aching for me."
The Smuggler wrapped a hand around his erect cock, moving it teasingly. He swirled his wrist around it, before he began to pump it in long, slow strokes. Ratchet bit his lip, refusing to look, trying to focus on anything other than the steady rhythm building between his legs. He swirled his thumb around the sensitive head and Ratchet could barely bite back the moan in his throat.
"You like that, sweetheart?" The Smuggler crooned.
"Fuck you." Ratchet hissed back.
The Smuggler reached under him and tugged at his balls. Ratchet grunted, pain instantly jumping up his stomach.
"Come on now darlin', I'm doing this for you. Now, just try to relax and enjoy it while you can." The Smuggler said.
The hand around his testicles changed to gently fondling, as he began to pick up the pace of his strokes. Ratchet was panting now, trying to swallow the moans that bubbled up inside him. His hips began to twitch on their own, and he could feel the climax building within him. He hated it, he hated him and he hated himself. Why was he doing this to him? What was the point? What was there to gain? This was nothing but torture, just cruel and unusual torture. And why? Why, deep down, was there a piece of him that was enjoying this? That was getting excited by this? He was right, he was sick. What would Clank and Talwyn think of him, if they could see him right now? He just wanted to curl up and die.
Finally he couldn't hold back anymore and came with a muted, anguished groan. He spilled into the Smuggler's hand and onto the floor.
"There you go. Told you, you were having fun." The Smuggler said and wiped his hand clean across Ratchet's cheek. He wished he would have just slapped him, it would have hurt less. Ratchet screwed up his face, feeling his own fluids cake and solidify in his fur. A disgusting beacon of his own weakness.
"Now that you've had your fill," the Smuggler said standing up. "It's my turn."
He unzipped his pants, Ratchet's stomach roiled.
"N-no." The word spilled from him in a near silent whimper.
"What was that?" The Smuggler paused, eyeing him. He was smirking at him, enjoying his turmoil. Fear was rapidly replaced by unbridled fury. No, he wouldn't give into this bastard. He wouldn't give up, not yet, not ever. No matter what sick and twisted form of torment he had in store, even if it killed him, he wouldn't give in.
"No! Let me out of here," Ratchet screamed at him. "I'm not some sex toy for your sick pleasure, you insane son of a-"
In a flash, the knife was at his throat, cutting the lombax off mid sentence.
"Look kid, either you play nice," the Smuggler hissed, digging the blade in deeper, a bead of blood trickling down his neck. "Or I'll fulfill my promise and go after your little friend instead, or maybe that Markizian girl."
Ratchet's face blanched.
"You wouldn't!" Ratchet tried to sound threatening, but the words came out only as an anxious squeak.
"Try me." The Smuggler growled.
Ratchet looked at him, and swallowed hard. He would admit, he was scared, terrified even, but the only thing that scared him more, was the thought of his friends suffering the same, or an even worse fate. The idea of him torturing Clank, of assaulting Talwyn, horrified and utterly outraged him. If going through this meant even the chance of them escaping this lunatic's wrath, of avoiding just a fraction of what he had gone through already, then it wasn't really much of a choice, was it? He would still find some way out of this… right? The Smuggler pulled his knife away and Ratchet lowered his head, the onset of defeat and despair finally settling heavy within him. The Smuggler chuckled darkly.
"That's better."
Chapter 5 image: i imgur com mFm4ne5 png