He was slammed face first into the wall. Fuck! But he'd been so careful! He felt like screaming for O'Riely as he would have his mother when frightened as a child. But if the Irishman was somewhere around watching his back, which he doubted, he didn't want to give away his only advantage. Dazed, he still managed to push backwards, his hand trying to reach for the shank in his waistband.

A hard hand over his eyes as he was spun around onto his knees, other hands catching both wrists tying them together. A searching for a weapon, found, it was discarded with that same tutting he remembered, "Oh, Michel."

"Miguel, you bastard. It's Miguel!" He cursed, throwing his head around, trying to dislodge the hand. The owner knelt behind and around him, holding fast his arms to body by his free arm. He was strong holding the struggling Miguel. He removed the hand as the other tide another blindfold onto the still frantically wriggling victim. 'Not again,' Miguel screamed in his head. How could he have let this happen again? So careful, never alone, always watching.

Surely, when he failed to arrive for his appointment with Sister Pete, an alarm would be raised? Right, more likely the nun would figure he'd chickened out and catch up with him later. Where the fuck was O'Riely? Or even a passing Hack? No, these two knew how to plan, how to watch their backs.

He was manhandled around still knelling, bound hands placed high on the wall, knees also touching. "But then, my Michel, you would not know who this is?" That over pronunciation again.

"I know you. Bastard!"

A chuckle. "Good," long drawn out, so close he felt the breath warm on his ear.

He also felt a body slid in behind him, forcing his legs apart, too wide to support himself, forcing him to sit on the man's lap. The already hard cock pressed between his buttocks, only the fabric of their trousers hiding the size. Alvarez was sure that this time he was to find out. He struggled frantically yet knowing it was useless. They had him again. But he would not docilely give in.

The controlling body leant in, ran hands up his arms and, holding his forearms, stretched them further up the wall then his head was pushed forwards and through. "Be still. You will make me come too soon!" Alvarez froze. His frantic movements had done nothing but grind his ass on the man's crotch. He remained rigid. "Better. But relax. Enjoy." That bloody conceit again.

If this was Beecher, how could Keller just stand by and watch? But it must be them. No other two fit with what he knew! Soon, he vowed, he would remove them from his tortured existence. But now he could do nothing. Now there was a mouth kissing the stretched nape of his neck. Dry light kisses followed by moist warmth as the mouth covered the bone at the top of his spine, the teeth gently pressing in, tongue licking, massaging.

Alvarez shuddered.

Hands surrounded his waist, pulling up his shirt then moving under to explore his chest, pressing in firmly then tracing the line of muscles with light fingertips. Oh, Miguel remembered this. Felt it in his dreams where he had even less control over his mind's wanderings. He had no more control now as his body wanted to abandon all to the sensations these knowing hands were eliciting.

But he couldn't, wouldn't abandon his lifelong knowledge that this was wrong for him.

In one swift movement, his nipples were grabbed and tugged none too gently as the man behind reared upwards taking him along, the top of his head scraping along the wall, torture on his knees. His attacker was not being so gentle this time. Abandoning the play on his now sore nipples, one hand headed down his lean stomach and slid into the waistband, stopping to play in hair then continued onto his cock. The thing was stirring, damn it! The other hand circled around his waist to descend down his back, fingers dipping to divide his cheeks. "Umm. Better. But still too thin. Eat my Michel."

"I'm not your fucking Michael!" angry at the mispronunciation, desperately trying to ignore the hands.

"Ahh.! But I am fucking you. My Michael."

"I'm not your..." he began again as a finger delicately began to explore his arsehole, on his cock, a slow rhythmic stroking. All language fled. He wanted to fight, get away but stayed still. Whichever way he moved would push him onto fingers, either into the stroking on his cock or back onto the still playful finger on his rim. "Stop it. Stop it. Please!" he begged out, unsure whether speaking to this attacker, who had managed to get him once more, or his own cock that was showing its excitement against his will and the stroking fingers.

He was amazed as the hands were removed, replaced by building panic as his jeans were swiftly unbuttoned and yanked downwards to cut tightly across his extended thighs. A harder grip on his stirring shaft, a movement behind him and a now wet finger returned to caress his hole then gently force its way in. "No!" he sobbed out, pushing his face into the wall. It had sounded plaintive, half giving in. The finger pushed further and stilled, waiting. "Relax," another purr.

How could he relax? This was a fucking nightmare! A waking nightmare as bad as any his mind could throw up. Worse. The finger did not push anymore but began a small circling as more attention was applied to his cock, a slow steady rubbing up and down, fingertips catching his balls, tickling, taunting.

Miguel couldn't help it, he began to move, first forwards to try to get the fingers to press harder, but then back, trying to expel the probing finger. He was way past confused. He didn't want the invasion but the motions on his cock were stirring feelings deep in his belly as well as lower.

Forwards again into the stroking. He relaxed his passage for a renewed pushing out and the finger took its chance and pushed in up to its length. He let out a hoarse, choking sob. It hurt! But suprisingly not as much as he'd feared. His body clenched, tightening up once more.

A mouth was at the back of his neck kissing, caressing, forcing a way under the collar of his top. A cheek against his left shoulder, rubbing like a cat wanting to be stroked. Then more kisses travelling along his upper arm, licking, outlining the artwork there. A shifting and he was allowed to relax into a more comfortable knelling position. Comfortable? He had a finger shoved up his ass!

The man in charge started a slow rocking movement taking Miguel backwards then forwards into the surrounding, tightening fist whilst pushing with the embedded finger. Then back, hand sliding to the head of his rapidly hardening prick, fingers pressing in around it, underneath, a thumb moving across the slit picking up and spreading the leaking precum there.

This was torture of another kind. Unknowingly, Miguel took up the rocking himself, yearning forwards, pushing his now erect prick into those pressing fingers wanting harder handling. Then back, wanting to impale himself further.

He had no choice, his body had taken over no matter what his mind yelled out. His body wanted this! He was reared upwards once more as the man behind shifted, speaking over his shoulder, "The gel!" Seconds past and Miguel felt a cold spurt on his stretched arsehole, heard a grunt from above him. How could that other one just stand by and watch this happening? He sensed him retreat, perhaps standing lookout.

All thought disappeared as a second finger was forced up inside him. He was rigid, straining up on his tortured knees as the pain coursed through him, his teeth clenched to tightly to allow the pained gasp from escaping. Then, no movement as he was being given time to adjust. Panting, gasping he remained still, willing the pain to recede.

The hand left his prick eliciting a groan from deep within him but his balls were gently grasped, rolled around within their sack and his arse began to relax as the pain abated. Miguel experimented and pushed back. It was uncomfortable but strangely he found he somehow enjoyed the tight stretched feeling. That low purr like chuckling by his left ear and the fingers began to move circling, stretching, widening him.

Miguel relaxed his arms, his head coming back through, turning his face towards the breaths he could feel against his skin. A cheek rubbed against his. Moving backwards, his mouth getting closer, Miguel strained his neck hoping to catch the other's mouth. There was a kiss to the corner of his own, a lick to his lips. He pushed himself from the wall, back arching, shoulders dropping to gain more access to that mouth.

The fingers in him began a scissoring, stretching him wide then retreating slightly, pushed back in, thumb on the outside between cheeks joining in the movements trapping him. Moaning, Miguel couldn't stand it any longer. He could not believe that he wanted more. His bound hands moved to find the hand cupping his balls. He caught it and it let itself be placed on his now throbbing cock, wrapped it around and pressed down with his own, begging. He forced his torso to twist further, his lips still straining for contact with that warm mouth. It caught his own, soft moist lips surrounded by scratchy whiskers, an almost tentative kiss then harder, tongue playing with the underside of his top lip as yet another finger entered him to join the dancing within.

Miguel's mouth opened gasping out in surprise, not only at the intrusion but that he welcomed it. The other man seized the moment to thrust his tongue in, seeking and finding his own. Miguel truly responded, all hesitation and inhibitions gone, enjoying the resistance as he pushed against the warm pressure filling his mouth. He was being tongue fucked, finger fucked, his cock being surrounded, stroked and pulled by three hands, his own bound ones setting the pace. Thrusting back against the fingers, he abandoned all up to sensation. From his mouth, from his cock, from his ass!

Shuddering, adding jerky movements to the rhythm he realised he was setting, he controlled, his mind gave a final rebellion screaming denial but too late. He went rigid once more, this time as he shot his load, feeling as if it came from his soul. He shook once, twice as the last of him left hitting the wall in front. Then all was gone. The fingers were swiftly removed, hand and mouth leaving with a satisfied sigh and a delighted laugh. It rang in his ears, in his head as he collapsed to the floor, rolling into a ball on his side.

He was shaking as he couldn't believe that he'd just come and with such force. His head fell back gasping. A light kiss to his mouth, along his jaw to that spot just under his left ear. "Oh, my Michel..." Long drawn out. Another brief kiss then the body retreating. "Show yourself to me tonight. You'll know how. And tomorrow...I'll do something nice for you!"

He was about to ask why, what? as he felt his hands untied and sensed a rapid withdrawal then heard feet running, receding.

Gasping, he untangled his hands and removed the blindfold. He couldn't believe they'd just left him like this. That man had been so hard yet he had just left! He must have a great deal of control over his body. One thing for sure, Miguel now knew he had none. He had...he'd enjoyed this! His body had cried out for the attention and all his self-control, what little he had at the best of times, had fled somewhere around the second finger!

He climbed unsteadily to his hands and knees, seeing his fluid on the wall. Shit. Fuck! What was happening to him? Beyond the obvious, he'd been taken again, but he'd enjoyed it! Pulling himself up by the wall, he then bent to retrieve his jeans noticing the marks where his waistband had dug heavily into his thighs. There would be more bruising.

Fastening them, he felt his arse sticky, feeling as if it was gapping and sore. Soreness he actually had to admit he rather liked. There was a jump in his belly and a pain shooting across his mind. Stooping, he braced himself with one hand on the wall and picked up the bindings. His fingers touched the cum.

Standing, he rubbed fingers and thumb together, his mind whirring. He didn't care that it would be left there to be found, proof of his body's betrayal. Right now he didn't care about anything but finding out who these men were that could make him go from fear filled terror to pleasure by the use of hands.

What he wasn't certain about was what he would do when he eventually found out their identities. He began to make his way back to the hospital ward, pushing the bindings deep into a pocket, his mind seething with conflicting thoughts, his body conflicting emotions.

==000==

TBC...