Six years ago...
You collapse onto Brendan, post-coital; smearing cum between your bodies in the process. Your cum.
Your sweaty, flushed, naked body shudders through its last spasms as his cock remains buried in you. You have just enough energy to plant a sloppy kiss onto the rough stubble of his neck, a thank you to him for fucking you so good he had you calling his name out like a mantra while you rode him like a cowboy hard then slow then hard again.
You lose yourself when you are in throes of passion with him. He has a knack of being able to make you feel like you are having an out of body experience. At the same time he binds you to him while deep emotional and physical sensations curse through you.
You trace your hands over his arms and chest feeling his short soft body hair and firm muscles under your fingertips. You settle your head into the crook of his neck and feel your breathing and heart beat settle down.
You begin to lift yourself off his cock and your eyes fall shut under the weight of after-sex fatigue.
"What do you think you are doing?" Brendan murmurs.
You open an eye sluggishly when you feel his hands hold your hips in place. He pushes you back onto him so that his dick slides back into you, deep. You roll your hips onto him automatically.
Oops.
He is still hard. He hasn't cum yet. How inconsiderate of you. You rushed ahead there.
He pulls you into a kiss that serves to entice and cajole. It works. Even though you are tired and post orgasm you feel a new spark of excitement.
He mouths into your ear, "Kind of selfish, don't you think? Using me like a piece of meat then throwing me aside when you are done with me."
He nibbles at your ear lobe and growls seductively. It tickles so you push his face away then comb your hands through his hair.
You giggle.
"Couldn't help it though, could I?" You grin lazily, "Sorry."
"Actions speak louder than words." He rumbles low in his throat with a slight grin on his face then rolls you onto your back without pulling out so that he settles above you.
He looks down at you. "Show me how sorry you are, Stephen."
When he says your name like that you don't know what to do with yourself.
You help him in lifting your legs so that they settle on his shoulders. Then you settle back into the bed and give him a look. Gosh, you are horny again, already. You whisper, smiling,
"I'm very sorry, Brendan."
He smiles and starts to thrust into you. Immediately, your arms splay out either side of you grabbing onto the bedding and your toes curl as he hits the spot time and again rebuilding that delicious erotic tension in you. He repositions you a few times, pushing a pillow under your hips first then wrapping your legs around his waist. Finally, you bring your legs back up crossing your ankles together behind his neck.
You are bendy like that. You can even put them behind your own neck if the occasion calls for it. Today it doesn't.
You use the power in your ankles to pull Brendan down to you so that you can kiss him as deeply as he pummels into you.
"Fuck, Brendan!" You call out when you pull your lips away from him, overwhelmed. His hip gyrations are smooth and measured, long slides then sharp stabs into you so you feel every inch of him rubbing against your insides, making you squirm with need. His composure fades though, eventually. It is replaced by an animalistic drive where his breathing becomes laboured and harsh. His eyes shut with abandon and he bites into your shoulder.
He fucks you so hard that you feel yourself getting rammed up towards the headboard in his room with each push into you. You want to feel him deeper and harder so you tell him so breathlessly while tilting your pelvis up to him and widening you legs to give him better access. You don't mince your words.
Your language can get obscene like that.
You begin to stroke your rigid cock in time with the snap of his hips against you. You feel that initial tingle in your balls, arse and lower belly that signals the beginning of your orgasm. You make a weird low sound. You always feel embarrassed about it afterwards but can't help it when Brendan is unrelenting in his assault of your body.
You can get uninhibited like that.
"Don't cum yet." He growls as if sensing the shift in your body. He drags your hair off your forehead and pushes his mouth against yours once more. His tongue flickers against yours and he breathes you in. You open your mouth wide crushing him to you trying to get as much of Brendan into you as you can.
He bites on your lower lip as he emits a low moan. His fingers descend to grip your hips as he jerks.
He cums. Hard.
"Shit!" He drags out almost as if in pain. He pulls you to him, holding on as if you can keep him from imploding.
You groan out nonsensical sounds as you cum too. You feel your inner muscles milking Brendan's cock reflexively, trying to push him out. Both your hands grasp his buttocks pulling him to you not ready to let him go yet.
He is the first to move, pulling out carefully and disposing of the condom before falling back into the bed so that you lie side by side without touching.
You prop yourself up onto your elbow to look at him. Your index finger traces a path down his cooling body feeling its warm dampness from his exertion.
"That was amazing." You say honestly and hope he won't go cold on you just because you have said something vaguely emotional. He hasn't seemed to mind recently so.
He doesn't reply. His eyes remain fixed on a spot on the ceiling as his breathing evens out.
He looks over at you with such sincerity that you feel wobbly in the knees.
Then he quietly says, "Yeah. Yeah it was."
He turns his attention back to the spot on the ceiling but you feel brave enough to say more.
"It isn't just when we, you know, um, do it. I love being with you, Brendan, like when you joke with me or when we hang out at the club and talk. I like that I can tell you about my kids and my stresses because you understand what I'm going through. You know?"
He stares at you.
"You make me dead happy." You say.
His eyes widen as he scans your face. He whispers, "You are an emotional fecker, ain't you?"
You swallow against his insensitive remark. "No-"
"Stephen." He says and traces your lips picking up their moisture with a finger and silencing you. Then he puts the same finger on his bottom lip while he talks.
"Stay tonight."
You grin. "Yeah? You sure?"
He nods. "You have half your stuff here anyway." He says in exasperation.
You smile because that is an exaggeration. You have a toothbrush, a change of clothes, a pair of shoes, an electric razor (that he bought so that's not your fault) and some shower gel because Brendan is a soap and water man and you prefer richer scented liquid-derived bubbles.
You wrap a hand around his waist sidling up closer to him. He sighs heavily then wraps an arm over your shoulder.
You close your eyes as your feel yourself relax in his strong hold.
You mutter, "Can't believe I've got to work in the morning," before you feel yourself drifting off.
He nudges you a second later, "No, you don't. Your shift starts at one."
Shit. Oops. Why did you open your big mouth? "Yeah well. It's another job, innit. I need to earn more money now that Amy and the kids have moved in with Pete. No big deal."
"You already work all hours of the day." He argues.
"I really don't, Bren." You lie. You work long hours pretty much everyday.
"Why didn't you ask me about working more shifts at the club then?"
"I knew you'd think I was overworking if I did." You say. "And, anyway, I didn't want you to feel pressured into giving me more shifts just because we are together. It's fine. Really. I have to do this. I need to support my kids."
Brendan sits up suddenly, dislodging your arm from him. He pulls a sheet over himself. His voice is pensive when he says, "I know how it feels to want to do everything for your kids, Stephen. As a father you do what you need to do to provide."
"Yeah exactly."
He looks at you. "I'll think of something. Something to make things better for you and yours. I promise."
His gently kisses you. You like it when he gets like this, protective and caring. He lowers his guard a lot more around you now-a-days.
With a sense of peace and contentment you shuffle closer to him and drift off to sleep cocooned in his heat.
XOXO
One Month Later...
You wake up with a start. You shake from the cold.
It takes you a minute to come to your senses and figure out what's gone on. You are reminded by the soreness in your face, ribs and wrists and the realisation that you are blindfolded and strapped down to a chair.
You have been kidnapped.
You feel a rising sense of panic. It grows in you to a point where you are screaming at the top of your lungs and fighting your restraints so forcefully that you topple over and land on your side. There is an echo that makes you think that wherever you are must be a pretty large enclosed space.
The impact when you hit the hard ground should stop your efforts due to the pain it causes, but it spurs you on.
You don't know how long you keep it going but at some point your voice gets too hoarse to continue shouting and your wrists get too sore from the chafe of your skin against the straps.
You stop struggling, exhausted. You are getting nowhere. You need to change tact so you think about how you got to this point.
You finished at the club, said bye to Brendan and the other staff members, started walking home as normal and received a call from Brendan while you walked.
When you came off the phone you heard a sound behind you and spun round to see a dark looming figure advancing towards you with speed. You immediately recognised the danger. You figured you were about to be robbed. All you had on you were the keys to your house, a fiver, some loose change and your old beat up mobile phone.
This thief could have them all if he wanted as long as he left you alone. But he didn't ask you to empty your pockets or hand over your cash. Instead he gripped you in a tight painful hold. You tried to break free but you were smaller and weaker than him. When you harnessed every bit of energy you possessed to beat him off, he punched you in the ribs, winding you and then you saw a brilliant white cloth come up to your face.
Everything faded to black and your memory after that is sketchy; a bumpy ride in a car boot blindfolded, gagged and tied up, being hauled out and dumped onto gravelly ground, being strapped to a chair, a gunshot, pissing yourself in fear, being left alone without answers from your kidnapper, eventually falling asleep out of fatigue after attempting to escape.
Now you are awake and back to reality.
You try not to panic. You know it's not useful but things are not looking good. You don't know where you are, who took you, why they took you, how long they are taking you for, what they plan to do to you, how long has passed since you were taken, whether anybody you know has figured out that you are missing...
Shit.
And your ribs really fucking hurt; so much so that it hurts when you so much as breath deeply.
You are lying on your left side, still in the chair. You try to coax your sore wrists out of their shackles again. Every movement jars your ribs but doesn't get you anywhere near freedom.
You stop your actions when you hear a bolt unlocking then a door open.
"Well what have we here?"
The voice is male, deep and gruff. In your mind you picture a huge fucker of a man, probably with cauliflower ears, knocked out teeth and a tattoo on his neck and knuckles.
You automatically cower remembering the gun from earlier. There is something that makes you question whether this person is the same one who was with you earlier.
You try to make yourself small as you hear his footsteps approach you. The next second you find yourself hauled up, chair and all, into a sitting position. Your mental image of a burly guy can't be wrong. He lifts you as if you weigh as little as a feather.
"Jesus. You smell of piss." He says. "Pity. I'm not into water sports."
You stay quiet. You aren't even embarrassed about the fact. Who wouldn't pee themselves if they thought they were about to get shot? The feeling of the weapon against your face before you fell asleep made you lose bladder control.
You hear the sound of liquid being poured into a receptacle then a push of something solid against your lips.
"Drink." The stranger says.
You hesitate at first, wondering what he is offering to you but your thirst overrides your better judgement and you blindly lap at the liquid testing it. When you are satisfied that it is water you guzzle it all while he tips it into your mouth. When the fountain of liquid stops flowing you keep your mouth wide open, silently begging for more. He obliges with a low rumble of laughter.
"Thirsty, ey?" He mutters close to your face as you quickly drink a full second cup. "Alright, sexy, I've got to let the boss know what's up. Morning report, you know. Fuck! The reception is shit in here. Back in a sec. Don't go anywhere!"
He cackles at his own joke as you hear him walk away again.
So now you know a few new things from what he has said. One, it must be Saturday morning. Two, At least two people are involved in your kidnapping and you are certain he is not the same person who brought you to wherever you are right now. Three, you are either somewhere remote or somewhere really built up because the reception is bad. You are leaning towards remote because you can't hear the buzz of cosmopolitan life around you.
"Sorry about that, kid." The man's voice approaches you once again a few minutes later. "Let me introduce myself. My name is J, as in the letter. We are going to get along just fine as long as you behave yourself. You hear?"
You nod quickly.
"Speak." He orders.
"Yes." You croak.
"Good." There is amusement in his voice. "Now. How about some food?"
Your stomach is in knots. Food is the last thing on your mind. "No, thank you." You hesitate and then say, "You aren't the s-s-same guy who b-b-brought me here, are you?"
"You are a smart kid."
Nervously you say, "I t-told the other man that he t-t-took the wrong person. I d-don't think it is me he w-wanted."
"I can assure you he hasn't got the wrong person, Stephen Hay."
You start at the fact that he knows your name. Your chest is really hurting now, distractingly so.
"Then what does he want? I have like £400 savings in the bank. It was for my kids but-"
The man laughs loudly. "Thanks for the offer and everything, Lord Sugar, but no thanks."
"Who is he, the guy you are working with?" You ask and wince when you move in your chair and grind your broken ribs together.
"Now that would be telling. All you need to know is that this inconvenience should be over really soon provided everything goes to plan."
You breathing is shallow to reduce the pain in your chest. "I think I need to go to the hospital. My ribs."
He laughs at you. "Nice try. We are going nowhere. I think you and I will have a great time together Ste, I really do."
You feel tears fall and tell yourself silently to toughen up.
Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.
XOXO
Present Day (Day 1)...
Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.
You are shaking uncontrollably.
You haven't moved from the bed since Martin stormed out an hour ago.
He hasn't called you and you haven't called him. You can't.
You feel ashamed.
You can't believe what you did to him.
'I love you, Brendan.'
That is what you said when you were making love with your fiancé and you can't take it back. You said it and that's that.
You hate that you have hurt Martin. You try to convince yourself that you only said those words because you had a flashback at a very inopportune moment and that it was your memory talking not how you actually feel.
Six years have passed. How can you feel love for a man that you haven't seen for that long and who left you the way he did?
It makes no sense.
You cover yourself over with the fine bed sheet of the king-sized hotel bed. When you move to lie on your side you feel the echo of fullness you felt when Martin was in you, fucking you, a short while ago. You savour that feeling because it reminds you him, the person you are supposed to care for passionately; that you do care for.
But thoughts of Martin keep getting interrupted by images of Brendan.
You toss and turn as you try to sort out your feelings. Do you go to the man that you know loves you completely and has been there for you for five beautiful years; your rock? Or do you seek out the man who you loved with every fibre of your being, who has made every relationship you have had before or since seem insignificant in comparison; your fire?
Your rock or your fire?
Martin or Brendan?
Maybe it is a futile question since six years ago the latter walked out of your life without a backwards glance and just a few moments ago the former did the same.