2. Chapter 2
Justin
Did I think fucking up a hookup was bad? Apparently, that was just a start to the worst night of my life, because I’m about to get murdered. There’s no doubt about it. I can see it in the stranger’s eyes. He’s killed before and for whatever reason, I’m his next victim. That’s just my luck.
“Please,” I manage to whisper, my attempt at begging cut short when the blade presses tighter against my jugular. I idly wonder how long it would take for me to bleed out if the stranger slashed it. Minutes? Less? Would it make that wild blood spray they always show in the movies?
“You have one chance to tell the truth,” the man says. He’s got a slight Russian accent that only underlines the air of danger around him. I hold my breath, not even daring to blink, when he moves the knife to my eye and says, “If you lie, you’ll lose something.”
A gentle pinch on my eyelid lets me know what I’ll lose if the man decides I’m lying.
Something embarrassing happens. Too embarrassing to even think about.
As the stranger threads his fingers through my hair and leans over me, his solid, warm weight pressing me into a mattress, my cock sort of notices.
And by notices, I mean it stiffens in the most confusing half-erection I’ve ever experienced. What the fuck?
“Please,” I repeat, desperate to escape the terrifying situation. My voice betrays me and the word comes out half a plea, half a moan.
The stranger narrows his eyes, then moves down my body until he’s straddling my hips and my awkward erection presses against him. Fury flashes through his eyes and for one terrifying moment, I’m certain my confused cock just cost me my life. Then he grins. “You’re one kinky fucker, aren’t you?”
I want to refute him, but when his grip on my hair tightens and his ass shifts against my cock, my hips buck on instinct, trying to get friction.
Jesus fucking Christ. There’s definitely something wrong with me.
I’m not even into kink. I mean, yes, I occasionally watch porn where people are tied up and punished, and not because I imagine being the one holding the belt, but everyone does that, right?
There’s nothing kinky about that. It’s just porn. Everyone watches porn.
“What’s your name?” the stranger suddenly asks.
The visceral hatred in his gaze is replaced by a strange avarice, and I’m not sure if it’s an improvement. Now he watches me like I’m a prized animal he’s considering investing in.
Mindful of the blade still uncomfortably close to my eye, I reply, “Justin. Justin Palmer.” It’s probably a bad idea to give him my real name, but I’m terrified of what would happen if he caught me lying.
He seems entirely capable of burying that knife in my eye socket.
“Please, just let me go.” Why did I let Derek talk me into coming to the party? I don’t even like parties!
“In a moment, Justin,” the stranger says almost comfortingly, then his tone grows cold again. “First, tell me what you did to that girl who just ran out of here.”
He’s after Grace? Is he the reason she started crying the moment we kissed?
I should probably be brave and protect her, except I’m not brave at all.
“N-nothing! I didn’t do anything to her, I swear.
” He doesn’t look like he believes me, so I continue, “She just started crying. I swear I didn’t do anything! ”
“Hmm.” The man lets go of my hair, only to grab my neck.
His hand is huge, easily wrapping the front of it, and when he squeezes, I struggle to breathe.
Impossibly, my cock seems to like that too and it hardens even further.
At least the stranger doesn’t seem offended by my obvious arousal.
If anything, he seems pleased, which doesn’t bode well for me.
Am I going to be raped before he kills me?
My arousal fades a little when he asks, “So, you didn’t touch her at all?”
I want to lie, I really do, because he looks like a jealous asshole who beats people just for looking at his girl, but I’m a terrible liar and I really don’t want to lose my eye.
“Well, we kissed, but—” I stutter to a stop when he moves the blade to my mouth.
Panic surges as I realize what he’s about to do and I seal my mouth shut, but he presses on some spot on my jaw joint, causing so much pain that I’m forced to open it.
Immediately, he grabs my tongue and presses the blade to it.
“Kissed, huh? Did you use tongue?” The blade digs a little deeper, making a stinging cut, and I taste metal. “Did you stick this slimy thing inside my Doll?” the stranger asks furiously.
I try to say that no, I haven’t kissed Grace like that, but it’s impossible to articulate when he’s holding my tongue. Shaking my head proves even more dangerous as more blood trickles down the back of my throat.
My hands are free. I could fight, but what difference would it make?
The stranger is twice my size and he has a knife.
He’d cut me before I even had a chance to touch him.
Besides, I’m not a fighter. Compliance is the only thing that can get me through this alive.
As soon as I realize that, I submit to my captor’s strength.
My body relaxes, resistance draining out of me.
Whatever happens, happens. It feels oddly right, and despite the mortal danger, my erection hasn’t gone down.
My cock’s clearly on board with the plan too.
The stranger looks pleased, chuckling as he puts the knife away and stands up. I watch him with confusion, convinced he’s going to lunge at me again any second, but he heads for the door. “Y-you’re letting me go?” I ask like an idiot. Why am I reminding him of my existence?
He smirks. “Are you disappointed?”
Am I disappointed that I’m not going to die tonight?
Is he for real? “No! No, I just…” I trail off, unsure what I was going to say, because my cock keenly misses the solid weight of the stranger pressed against it, and isn’t that just stupid?
I’m not even gay! “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.
” There, that sounds like a smart thing to say.
“Of course you won’t. You want to be a good boy, don’t you?”
A gape at him, horrified, even if part of me likes the idea more than is probably appropriate. Or safe.
“You won’t say a word about this to anyone,” the stranger continues, “and from now on, you won’t touch yourself, either.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What?!” How can he say something like that to me? “I’m not… I didn’t…”
“No jerking off,” the stranger clarifies and points the knife at me again.
“Oh. Okay?” Don’t argue with crazy people, right?
Especially with crazy people holding sharp objects.
It’s safer to just agree with everything he says.
Whatever it takes to get him to leave. After all, there’s no way he can enforce a command like that.
How would he know if I touched myself? It’s ridiculous.
He shuts the door after himself, leaving me alone to my spiraling thoughts.
I stay in the room long after that, hugging my knees and rocking in place, feeling like I should…
what? Cry? Call the police? Was I really just held at a knifepoint or did I make the whole crazy incident up?
The cuts on my tongue suggest it was real, but they might also be paper cuts from…
I don’t know, licking an envelope? Do people still use envelopes these days?
As I stumble back into the hallway and make my way between groups of people animatedly chatting in various stages of drunkenness, the unreal feeling intensifies. How could something so terrifying happen to me when there were people standing outside the door, just a few feet away?
I can’t stay here anymore. I need to go to my room, have a long shower, and figure out what the fuck happened to me.
I might also have to jerk off, because after everything, my cock is still achingly hard, and the phantom feeling of the stranger’s hand wrapped around my throat makes the arousal unbearable.
I don’t bother finding my roommate to tell him I’m leaving. He’s probably tongue-deep in someone’s throat by now, the awkward friend he’d dragged to the party forgotten at the first sight of tits in a tight top.
I like tits like any other guy, so why does my confused mind keep coming back to the feeling of that man’s solid weight holding me down? I’m definitely not gay. My current erection must be some sort of messed-up trauma reaction.
The shower doesn’t help.
No matter how much I scrub myself and how much the hot water scalds my skin, I still feel the stranger’s touch.
Which is ridiculous, because he didn’t even touch me anywhere but my neck and face.
And my hair, when he grabbed it to hold me still.
My stupid cock jerks at the memory, clearly very much into the idea of being held down and… fucked?
No. I can’t think about getting fucked by another man. I’m already the family outcast, the runt of the litter as my siblings lovingly call me. I can’t also be gay. My parents would never accept that.
A groan escapes me as I wrap my hand around my aching cock. I stroke myself, thinking about naked women. Kneading their tits, touching their pussies. Sinking my cock into that tight, wet heat. It felt great the few times I had sex.
Except I still feel aroused even when my thoughts stray to cocks. What would it feel like to touch one that isn’t mine? To put it in my mouth? Would it taste salty? Would it be heavy on my tongue?
Would it hurt to have it in my ass?
I whimper and try to force my thoughts back on the right track, but the gay fantasies are persistent. It’s not fair. Why can’t I just be normal?
There’s another problem, too. I feel wrong, stroking myself, because the stranger forbade it. It angers me. What say does he have in my life? He’s a criminal who assaulted me, and I should go to the police to report him, not consider abiding by his insane commands.
Besides, he’s not here now. He’d never know. But the way he called me a good boy…
“Fuck!” Pain shoots from my knuckles as they collide with the tile. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
The empty bathroom doesn’t provide me with an answer, only with the soft pitter-patter of the shower that’s starting to get cold. Maybe I’m the one who needs help, not Grace, although she certainly had her own set of issues. Different from mine, but still.
We’re all messed up here, it seems. Me the most, because despite the desperate urge to come, I let go of my cock and turn off the shower. I’m not going to masturbate tonight. Not because the knife-wielding madman forbade it, but because I’m clearly in shock and it would be wrong.
There. A perfectly logical explanation. And if it also means I’m a good boy for following orders? Well, that’s just for me to know, because no one else will ever find out.