Chapter 11 – Red light District
Kyle falters from his slumber from the sound of the hatch creaking open, he rolls from his back to his side to watch Kip parade himself down the steps. He's barely the energy to keep his eyes open and, if it wasn't for this situation, he knows he'd remain asleep. Kip has done nothing but play mind games with him, his first forty-eight hours were spent chained in a pile of his own sick and piss. He'd been left to pull and exhaust himself from his bounds, screaming up at Kip to release him, to help. With his hands chained above him passed behind the bars of the bed and into a D ring drilled into the wall, he had tossed and flung himself off the bed, kneeling up into it from the floor. Exhaustion had kept him there, when finally, finally the flickering baby monitor was engaged. Kyle had spent another hour sobbing into it to convince Kip that he was worthy of water, of food. "You gonna be my good boy?" Kip had asked through the speaker. The monitor had switched red again in leu of Kyle's swearing; it had taken another four hours before Kyle caved and sobbed, "Please, I'll be good, don't let me die like this."
He was convinced Kip was still drugging him, out of touch and almost paralysed, his body was no longer his own, just an extension of his prison. It weighted him into this place, forced him to stare at thousands of pictures of himself, forced him to slumber instead of struggle, he could barely talk – that was his winning ticket; his voice. Yet, alas, that had been stolen from him too. His phone was still alive, tucked far into the other corner of the basement; the occasional notification murmured to remind Kyle of his incapacitation. No one had called, he was beginning to fear that no one ever would, he barely had the energy to declare Kip the winner in this battle. A small physiological torture, he'd already tried wrenching his body out towards it, but it was so far; just fragmented noises and flashing illusions. It was no longer in Kyle's reality, sat on the borderline between his and Kenny's – perhaps it would continue to connect them for just a little longer. He'd begged his GPS would work when it needed to; but fear struck that if Kenny saw it, he would think Kyle had purposely chosen to stay within Kip's house. This, Kenny, he begged to himself, you must not believe. e
"Good morning, my beloved." Kip sings, watching how Kyle rolls himself further away as he seats himself down beside him, almost as if he is making room for his new lover; he was already so pliant and subservient: a dream. Kyle says nothing, but stares at the tray of breakfast rested on Kip's lap. This would be his second meal, his first were scraps and warm murky water – it was just another game, Kyle tried not to let Kip win. He had eaten without questioning it, just said a quiet thank you once Kip had finished feeding him. When Kip had left him after, Kyle had cried into his pillow until he fell asleep. Kip now, was not sat with scraps, but a big breakfast. It's only catch, the orange juice. Stood proud and large and Kyle knew that it would be the same as before, he would be beaten and drugged and chained up for Kip to stand before and conquer. He's too hungry, too disconnected from his own body that he knows there's not much else he can do except struggle to seat himself and let Kip feed him again. So, he does. Kip's feeding him with one hand, the other is stroking burning circles into his thigh – he will not allow weakness over this; but it dissipates from him. Kip's laughing at the speed in which Kyle is eating, almost inhaling without chewing. This shall not bother him, it will not work – Kip cannot keep winning. "Slow down, baby." Kip hushes him, running his hand up towards Kyle's hip. It's not until Kip gestures the orange juice towards Kyle that he has his first hiccup, he flinches and turns his body away. "You think I'll drug you again?" Kip asks him, voice sharp.
"You say it like it's hard to believe." Kyle rolls his eyes, maybe if he aggravates Kip enough, he will be left alone. It's basically what worked yesterday.
"You will learn to trust that I know what's best. Drink." He states, pushing the glass back towards Kyle again.
"No, fuck off, dude!" He says, shaking his body and knocking the glass so some of its contents jump from its confinements and lands splattered around them, it makes Kyle jealous. "You think you can do this shit to me, and I'll roll over and wag my tail for you, fuck you I ain't your dog."
"But you basically already are." Kip shrugs, "what we see, and what is true sometimes does not correlate. Right now, I am in control. Right now, I own you. Watch." He places the tray and juice down, looming over Kyle's depleted, imprisoned body.
"Touch me and I'll kill you." He warns – tries to warn.
Kip ignores him, threading ropes up into a D-ring from the ceiling, delicately threading them through Kyle's cuffs, ensuring they won't get snagged by the bars. He ties a loose know to the ends that fold around a protruding metal bar on the adjacent wall from Kyle.
"Let's see then." He says finally, revealing a key hung from his neck to unlock the padlock that keeps Kyle cemented to the bed. He steps away as quickly as Kyle tries to stand; he takes another step ready to charge at Kip – to kill him. Yet, Kip's already at the rope, pulling it frantically until it guides Kyle determinedly to centre of the D-ring from the ceiling, exactly where Kip wants him to be.
His body seems to be so malleable, so easily seized. Kyle's hands are hoisted above him, and Kip pulls at the rope until Kyle is being stretched up, up away from the floor. He's fighting to stay planted by dancing on his tiptoes, all sense of balance betraying him with everything else. There's a quiet relief in being stretched out, like his body is finally feeling alive; but as quickly as the feeling comes, it goes. It becomes painful and difficult to retain himself as he watches Kip secure the rope next to him. The metal cuffs are playing the main role in this pain, cutting sorely into his wrists. Kip steps back whilst looking at Kyle and sighs; soft and satisfyingly. He's proud of himself, that is so easy to see, but there is something propelling that feeling that Kyle tries not to assume. He knows it, so he breaks eye contact and stretches his neck to see if there's any knots above him that he can try to unpick quickly. There's nothing, of course there isn't – what a cynical thought. Kip turns around towards the short wardrobe which too, is adorned in photographs of Kyle. He runs a finger over a photograph, letting out that same sigh before opening the doors and peering inside. From Kyle's position, he can't see any of its contents, the door has been used as a blockage and, the way Kip's hands fiddle inside create a dread he's never experienced before. Kip turns himself back towards Kyle, he's not holding anything in his hand yet; but he's ready to begin.
"I forgot, one second." Is all he says, leaving towards the trapdoor without another word. Kyle uses the moment of stillness to struggle, dropping his weight to see if it'll snag the rope and cause it to tear; nothing. Tries trying to pull himself higher to reach the far distant knots and untie them; nothing. He is without a single trick, why else would Kip have left him. It had been all chains and metals and padlocks. Kip wasn't playing around, not with Kyle's secureness, everything else though, it appeared, was no more than a mere joke.
"Did you get the struggling out of your system, baby?" Kip coos from the top step, a large metal bucket in hand as he pulls the latch closed and shut behind him. Padlocking them both inside. Kyle gives a final few desperate tugs to his binds as the room gets sucked into darkness, he can hear the metal clambering towards him. Kip flicks on the light at the bottom of the stairs, not the yellow blinding light Kyle had gotten to know, but a dingy red light that sinks into the darkness neatly. "Guess we should clean you up first, bud. You're still icky from the outside world."
"Outside world?" Kyle repeats mockingly, he hates the sickly-sweet honey of Kip's voice, soft and murmurous and unassuming. "You're fucking kidding me, right? Touch me and I'll kick your teeth out." He tries, like a small puppy barking for dominance, Kip knows it's not working.
"I'm excited for you to try." He smiles, placing the bucket down and pulling a large sponge from within the pale. "Go on, then." He starts when he reaches Kyle, pressing the sponge to his thigh and methodically circling the skin there. "I want to see you try." Perhaps falling into Kip's persuasive trap wasn't a great idea, Kyle tries and immediately loses his balance. His wrists are met with a sharp cut from his metal cuffs, his shoulders pulse from the immense pressure. Kip holds him as he struggles to balance himself, spinning slightly in place. He is completely immobilised; he cries out with a quiet fuck.
Kip chuckles, patting him before resuming cleaning him. Methodically dunking the sponge and squeezing the frozen water out over Kyle. His wrists are surely bleeding, and every slight movement creates further aggravation to them. He finally breaks into a sob when Kip begins humming to himself, perhaps he would be unharmed in bed still if he had just drunk the juice, his eyes glimmer at the faintness of it now, stood solidary on the floor by the bed – it doomed by the same fate as Kyle. "Why don't you trust me?" Kyle tries, "We could've done this properly, can't you let me clean myself?" He knows he's lying and most likely, Kip does too. But, at this point Kyle has to try any option left available to him. Kip offers no reply, which eggs Kyle further into frustration. "You're such a fucking weirdo!" he practically shouts as Kip worms his way up past Kyle's torso. Their eyes meet but still, Kip gives no reaction – just this quiet, charmed smile, which shuts Kyle up. Scared would be an understatement.
"You're prettier when you're clean." Is all Kip says when he's done, standing back to marvel Kyle and throwing the sponge back into the confines of the bucket. He turns away to meander back to the wardrobe, still open and allusive. "Go on, you we're saying?" He says whilst his back is still turned, he's peering into the wardrobe, fiddling. It's creating quite the atmosphere.
"I- I, I don't want to be here, Kip, I wanna go home. I wanna go back to being friends. Please, can't we stop this – I'm-" scared. He can't bare to announce it, he knows that yelling in this position will only cause more issues, he's stuck, Kip's won, Kenny's gone. Ike doesn't know he's missing, and his mum will only ever mourn her son now. He tries to think about being free, about being discovered; but it's so difficult when Kips retracting more rope from the closet and returning to him with it.
He begins tying it just above Kyle's knee, looping it a few times and getting a secure knot before violently yanking his knee up, threading the rope up and decoratively weaving it into the rope holding Kyle's hands up towards the ceiling. He's stood like he's doing some demented tree pose, barely on the balls of his feet as the ropes hold him firmly in place. This is how being paralysed must feel; yet his body is so awake, so aware and so unable to change its position. He gives a wail and a groan during it, trying to pull his leg back down to the earth, to no avail.
"This is seriously fucked up, please. Let me down, Kip."
"Your little acts of rebellion were so cute earlier, but they're getting stale now; either you beg properly or shut up." He's walking back to the wardrobe, almost so disinterested in Kyle – it makes this so much worse.
"Kip, I swear to you; I will not tell a soul, I will leave quietly, and we can all go back to normal. I promise I will not tell anyone, Kip, please." He tries in his sturdiest, most tactful voice. He's trying not to use his hands to annunciate his words. Instead, the metal from his binds shifts with a menacing hiss and it renders Kyle's words pointless.
Kip this time, is holding a long leather whip. Playing with it and letting it delicately run through his fingers. "Kip- Kip please don't do this. I don't understand. Please dude." It's easier for Kip to smack him with it then it is to reply, so he continues whipping Kyle until his skin grows tiny spores of blood. He's screaming and crying and my god, Kyle looks beautiful decorated in the dingy red light of Kip. Kyle is doing a very good job of begging now, trying to twist himself but perfectly trapped in Kip's web.
"You will be quiet, unless you want me to continue." Kyle tries to still, his mouth weaves itself closed and he huffs quiet breaths trying to be as peaceful as he can. "Good boy." Kip says, watching how Kyle violently flinches when Kip goes to stroke the hair out of his face. "You ready to hear your rules?" He innocently asks, securing his hands in Kyle's hair and prettily twisting a curl into its original ringlet. He lets it fall onto Kyle's face and tilts his head – why did he leave his camera upstairs?
"Rules?" Kyle whispers, Kip whips him once for good measure and Kyle immediately stills again.
"Yes, only three rules for now – aren't I nice. There will be more later, but we start with three for you, ok baby?" Kyle just blinks, eyes flickering from the ground to Kip and back again. He can't even nod, his body stings so badly.
Kip begins to circle him; the irony is not lost on Kyle. He is the prey; his head hangs lowly, and he watches from his peripheral as Kip allows the whip to loudly drop behind him, with Kyle's flinch he retracts a bottle of lotion from his back pocket and squeezes out a large portion onto his hand. He's stood fully behind Kyle massaging the oil firmly into his chest and groin. Kyle lets out hushed and furious noes, but Kip ignores them for now. He knows the oil will burn the open sores of Kyle's body, will give him a tingling warmth anywhere that his hasn't split. He presses himself into Kyle, rubbing himself into him as he plays and twirls his fingers around Kyle's nipples. He suckles a kiss into the exposed skin of Kyle's neck, tasting blood through his nibbles as Kyle's head thrashes and shakes to dislodge him. He's seen Kenny suck at Kyle's skin, play with his chest – he knows Kyle likes it, a lot – therefore he won't be fooled by Kyle's silly display of apprehension, why. He's already panting.
He doesn't speak again, not until kyle's neck is bloody and red from Kips devotion. "Rule number one. I am your master; you are my pet."
"Fuck you." Kyle spits, twisting with all his might to try and dislodge Kip from his back – it doesn't work. Shallow and puffing breaths match his quivering chest, he's trying desperately to expel Kip, from his mind, from this room; from his body. The insurmountable fear that leaves his limbs to lull and drop, this had become its own struggle. He's bleeding, weak – Kip's trailing his hands over all of his cuts, rubbing in a burning gel which glistens off of Kyle's freshly sponged skin.
Kip just sighs, dislodging himself from Kyle's back to reach for the whip. It takes five hard cracks for Kyle to finally scream out in agony, the sound so alluring that Kip gives him five more. "Rule two, you will be obedient and well mannered." He watches Kyle crippling in hurt, sobbing crackling cries and blurting out blubbering moans. "Do you understand?"
"You'll have to kill me." He bites, words hailing no defeat. He tries to stifle his shout when Kip whips him next, but his muted rendition is quickly departed with a few more flicks of Kip's wrist.
"Oh, but where's the fun in that?" Kip asks daringly, continuing his assault. "This is much more thrilling, my greatest desire turned into a reality; soon you'll have no thoughts left to do anything other than what I demand."
"Like I'd give you the satisfaction, you sick fuck!" He rallies, unable to allow Kip to defeat him.
Kip laughs, his thrashing turning more violent. Each crash of the whip is more painful than the last and Kyle's body sings a broken tune to each one. "We'll see, won't we." He states, devoting all his power into his actions, deliberately trying to break the sweet, delicate layer of Kyle's skin. "Let's put that to the test then, you'll stop making noises when I whip you, if you want it to stop." He's smacking him now with almost sniper proof efficiency, each lay of the whip plastering an existing tear in his skin. His muscles contract, his body begins shaking; he's stuck in a paradox. If he continues squealing, he's giving into Kip's torture, if he goes quiet; the same thing occurs.
So, he does what his mind begs him not to do – feign defeat. He stifles his cry into a breathy pant. Kip laughs at him, the whip continuing to smack into him, he gurgles, pants and huffs with each hit. "You'll have to do better than that, I demand silence." Kyle growls, he's in so much pain, he needs this to stop if he wants to retain consciousness; if he wants to be let down from his binds. So, he bites lip and tries to hold his breath with each hit, it doesn't work for a while. He's inhaling sharply, or letting out a quiet groan – eventually it becomes unbearable, so he focuses on what he can control; the pain of his lip. He bites into it deeply, trying to focus all awareness onto it, after another few goes it works. Kip falters, watching as Kyle opens his mouth after and his lip dribbles with blood. "Good pet." He smiles, dusting a finger over Kyle's lip before bringing it to his mouth to lap at it with his tongue.
"You disgust me." Kyle whispers, letting the blood jump and splatter towards Kip. None of his words seem to affect Kip, he feigns ignorance at them all.
"No point telling you rule three, if you can't seem to grasp the first two." He sighs with a great disappointment. "Let's try this again." Kyle's body immediately prepares itself for a second onslaught. But Kip doesn't go to whip him, instead retreating to the wardrobe to retract a large wand with a cord and socket. It's got a tube attachment on it and, if his sexy wish list with Kenny was anything to go by – he knew exactly what that was, and what it was used for. He plugs it into the wall, returning to position himself behind Kyle and thread the item around his dick. Quickly, it is turned on and Kyle's body instantly splits into two. He's buckling his hips and trying to remove himself from it, but it just means he's thrusting back into Kip or forward into the object. His mind spins with options, does he want to cum from Kip's hand. Already he's hard, body barely registering the turmoil within his head. He thinks perhaps it's easier to orgasm then to announce to Kip that he's officially his property. He's tries to control his breathing, but sloshy pants and fizzling moans split from his throat. He'll have to do this if it avoids anything else.
And it's as if Kip can sense his thoughts, for he says; "Oh, I forgot to mention. You're not allowed to cum, if you do, it's fifty lashes for you, sweet pet." There it is, the dilemma; more slashes, more pain, and he'll cum to by Kip's filthy hands. His mind is once again thrown with options, he's really running out of choices.
So, he whispers it, broken and hoarsely. The words spoken in spit and blood and vengeance. Kip's snaking himself around Kyle's body, facing his prey to reveal Kyle's bloody lip, his furrowed brows. The hate, despair and hurt that floods his eyes, his cheeks are wettened with tears. He's beautiful. "Say it properly, look at me." He's sharply twisting Kyle's face, Kip's fist grappling Kyle's cheeks to domineer his sight. The toys vibrations pick up, Kip has heightened the intensity. Kyle knows time is running out, he's sat on the edge of his orgasm, it's slowly trickling through each nerve of his skin.
"You a-are my master." He says, only cutting himself off to moan – he can feel his orgasm beginning to hit. His eyes hit Kip's, "I'm- Ah, I'm your pet-ah." He says as he ejaculates, disgust and horror freeze him. Terrified that he had still lost to his worst outcome.
Kip, instead, smiles. Cunning, cold and like he's in love. "Good pet." The toy is removed, and Kyle is left to brokenly hang in shame. Kip returns to press against him, flickering and playing with freshly sensitive skin.
"Please stop." He whispers brokenly, when Kip cups his softening penis. Kip seems to ignore him, the perpetuating hope that Kyle will know what he needs to say next if he wants his begging to be heard. Kyle doesn't though, already feeling broken enough. "Please, Kip."
"So close, pet." He huffs, "Say it properly if you remember rule two."
"Don't touch me. Master." He strains, his words fuelled in fire and hatred.
"What is rule two, my precious?" He asks with a hum.
"To, um?" His eyes dart side to side in thought, he can't remember: "To be well behaved, to… to speak nicely?"
Kip reaches for the whip, "So close, whilst you think about my exact words. I am going to whip you."
"Please, no. Please, no." He keeps repeating, his body wonders if it can take much more. "Kip- Master, please don't."
He hates how quickly he's given into all of this; hates how quickly he's accepted his fate. But he's terrified of more, he doesn't want to bleed dry knowing Kenny is above him, doesn't want to be a raped, beaten and glorified into a toy for Kip's pleasure. He's learnt so quickly anything he says will be used against him as punishment, his fight turned into wrongdoings – he can't escape this. He knows that his words are venomous, yet so is Kip. He isn't affected by Kyle's cursing, his vulgarity; his fight. It's almost as if Kip revels in it, banks on it. Kyle wonders if there is anything he can say to retune Kip's thoughts, but the doubt and pain and hurt overshadow it all. So, he plays along, recharging the pain into anger, the hurt into action. He cannot allow himself to turn into a shell, a doll. For now, he understands he must play along if it gives Kip a moment of seclusion, a moment of weakness that Kyle can exploit.
Eventually, after four cracks of the whip wallops into him with the force of a thousand elephants, he gasps, "To be obedient."
"Yes, and?"
"To? To be well behaved."
"My good boy." Kip beams, immediately retreating to return the whip to the confines of the wardrobe, from it he returns with a metal circle. It's hard to tell what its purpose is in the foggy red light of the basement. Kip wastes no time making it apparent, securing it around Kyle's neck. He retrieves a padlock from his back pocket, revealing a key tied around his neck. He opens the lock, threads it through the metal collar and secures it around Kyle's neck. The padlock is weighted, hanging from him like a dog tag. It might be the final blow to his resistance. "Do you want to be let down now?"
"Yes, please." Kyle croaks in a foreign whisper of defeat.
"Fantastic, so you know what you need to do then, don't you?"
"Yes." Kyle already knows, at this point welcomes whatever numbness it'll give him.
"Good." Kip strokes his cheek once before parting to Kyle's bed. He grabs the orange juice. "Drink." He commands, holding it to Kyle's bloodied lip.
When Kyle begins to drink it, finally accepting all that is happening. That's when it happens…
Brr brr.
His phone lights up with a call.
