10. Chapter 10
Justin
Even though I asked to go to the bathroom to buy myself more time, I still try to pee.
“Try” being the key word, because my body is so tight it doesn’t let me.
At least my erection is gone, thank fuck.
I woke up with it, but it only took me a few seconds to realize that I’m still stuck in this nightmare.
Even my cock agreed that this is not the time to be hard.
For one, I was still in the cage. For another, Cameron was there, engrossed in his drawing, and how fair is it that he looks so cute with the tip of his tongue stuck out as he focuses? He’s evil! One hundred percent evil. He has no business being cute.
Okay, maybe not one hundred percent. He did give me a blanket, after all. And he hasn’t hurt me. And he gives killer blowjobs. But still, he keeps people in cages against their will, so he’s evil.
Desperate to come up with a plan before my five minutes are up, I look around the bathroom.
It’s luxurious, with both a spacious tub and a shower cubicle with several rain heads, elegantly designed in contrasting black and white, but the fixtures are kind of murky, like they haven’t been cleaned in a while.
Maybe I could offer to clean the place up.
It would give me freedom to roam around the basement.
Everything in the bathroom is fixed in place, and the cabinet under the sink is locked.
The most dangerous things I could use as weapons are a hair brush and a bottle of hair conditioner.
There’s no window to climb through, only vents on the ceiling too small for me to fit through even if shortie me could somehow reach them.
The mirror makes an odd, non-glassy sound when I tap on it. I’ve seen enough safety mirrors to know it won’t shatter.
Cameron thought of everything. He must have if he’s been doing this for a while. Whatever escape I can think of, others have probably tried it before and failed. What am I going to do?
Another panic attack is clawing at my consciousness, but I shove it away. I need to stay calm and rational even if…
Fuck, I can’t even say it in my head!
Okay Justin, you can do this. I will stay calm even if Cameron wants to…
Fuck me. Even if Cameron wants to fuck me. There. I admitted it might happen. Now it should be easier to deal with when it comes, right?
Why doesn’t it feel easier?
I want to go home.
The thought of home almost makes me cry again because instead of warmth and safety, I’m now imagining my father’s disapproving frown when he finds out I’m gay. He’ll probably think getting raped was my fault. That I deserved it for being a filthy sinner, or some other Bible bullshit.
Cameron never asked how I recognized the image he was drawing, but growing up in a religious family will make one able to recognize all kinds of Bible imagery.
It will also make them ignore being attracted to men as well as women.
Which I still am, by the way, so I guess I’m not fully gay.
Bisexual, I think it’s called? Still too weird for my family to accept.
Eventually, I manage to pee. There’s no clock here, but I tell myself I still have a few minutes to spare as I absently wash my hands while staring at myself in the mirror.
I look like shit. The dark shadows under my eyes make me look like I’ve been punched, and my eyes are bloodshot and wild.
I look like a drug addict going cold turkey, not like the boring college student I am.
What does Cameron even see in me? The way he watches me, like I’m the center of his world, is unsettling.
A little flattering, too, but mostly just creepy, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“Thirty seconds,” Cameron calls from the other room.
My hands tighten on the rim of the sink. I’m not ready. I don’t even have a plan yet!
I’m tempted to beg for more time, but I don’t want to anger Cameron. He’s been patient with me, and I certainly don’t want to be around when that patience runs out.
It takes some work to unglue my hands from the sink. Then, somehow, I force my legs to move.
Everything’s going to be okay, I keep repeating to myself.
Maybe if I repeat it enough times, I will start believing it.
But Cameron said it too. He said that everything was going to be okay and that he wasn’t going to hurt me.
I have to believe that because if I don’t, I’ll never be able to take those last few steps toward him.
He’s leaning against the couch, still looking unfairly sexy, watching me like a predator watches his prey. His smile feels a little smug. He knows that he doesn’t have to hunt me down. This prey has nowhere to run, and no choice but to willingly come to the monster ready to devour me.
The distance between us feels infinite, yet I cross it too quickly to my liking. My legs are unsteady, and I’m almost grateful when Cameron pulls me into his chest. I might have collapsed otherwise.
What’s worse, my lower lip wobbles as another crying fit approaches.
Certain that Cameron will get mad if I start crying again, I try to stop the tears, but it’s like trying to stop the river.
The more I fight it, the worse it gets, until my shoulders are jerking with heart-wrenching sobs and I’m smearing tears and snot all over Cameron’s bare chest.
Instead of yelling at me or beating me, Cameron smooths a hand down my back. “Ssh, it’s okay. I’d never hurt you, pet,” he whispers into my hair. That’s when I realize I’ve been repeating “Please don’t hurt me” between sobs and hiccups.
Cameron sits down on the couch and pulls me on his lap, like I’m a child who needs comforting.
Maybe I am. I desperately need comfort right now, even if it comes from the person who caused my distress.
Cameron is just so good at this. He hugs me tightly and whispers sweet nothings, assuring me over and over that everything will be okay and that he won’t hurt me.
He squishes me when he leans over to grab a box of tissues from the coffee table, and that simple act of caring makes me cry even harder.
I’m a lost cause. Why can’t I stop crying?
Nothing terrible is happening to me right now.
I’m being held and comforted. I should be befriending Cameron, getting him on my side so he won’t kill me when he grows bored with me.
Instead, I’ve covered him with my snot and the erection that’d been pressing into my ass has grown soft considerably.
Great fucking job, Justin. Way to get yourself killed as a malfunctioning pet. Truly, Cameron’s a saint for putting up with my antics without even a word of reproach.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say eventually, once the worst of the crying is over. “I don’t usually cry this much.”
“Ah, pet,” Cameron sighs. “You can cry as often as you need to. Just promise to tell me if there’s something I can do to make you feel better.”
I’m tempted to blurt out that he could let me go, but I hold it back. That’s definitely not what he wants to hear.
With a wad of tissues—I’ve used up almost the entire box—I clean up my face and Cameron’s chest the best I can.
My face feels hot and swollen and I must look awful, but Cameron still watches me with a smile.
He kisses my forehead, my nose, my cheeks.
His five-o’clock beard scratches at my skin; a new but not unpleasant experience.
His lips are soft and warm and my cheeks grow even hotter as I remember those lips on my cock. How am I getting aroused again? I’ve just been weeping like a baby a minute ago, and now my captor is literally kissing tears off my cheeks, and my reaction is to grow a semi?
Cameron is hard again, too, and his arms are like a steel cage around me, preventing me from moving away even if I wanted to. And I don’t really want to. It’s all kinds of wrong, I know, but I do feel safe with him.
Get that shrink appointment ready. When I get out of here, I’m going straight to a padded cell.
One hand cups my cheek. It’s so big he could crack my head like an egg if he just squeezed a little, but he’s being achingly gentle. Rubbing the tip of his nose against mine, he whispers, “Kiss me, pet.”