13. Chapter 13
Justin
The whores of Babylon have nothing on me, I’m sure my father would say. He would be right.
I didn’t have a choice in sucking Cameron’s cock. I’m sure that every handbook for kidnapped people says to do what your captor says, but this is an entirely different matter. I bet none of those handbooks cover the topic of getting an orgasm in reward for good behavior.
I should refuse. Cameron offered to stop, and he sounded sincere, but I’m weak and pathetic and stupid and did I mention pathetic?
I want to come. Worse, I want Cameron to make me come, because he’s so damn good at it.
That’s why I don’t protest when he shifts me on his lap so that my back is against his front and my legs are splayed wide.
His cock is warm and soft under my ass, its size still impressive even when it isn’t erect.
I’m all sticky with cum, but when I try to wipe my chin, Cameron grabs my hands. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he orders.
I leave the cum be even if it itches as it dries and put my arms where he wants them. My cheeks heat with embarrassment, but not even that stops me from subtly rocking my hips, my cock smacking my abs in a desperate call for attention.
“You want it badly, don’t you?” Cameron teases, but he strokes me again.
I let myself get lost in the sensation. He’s right, I do want it badly. Badly enough to humiliate myself by begging my captor for an orgasm. Not to be released, but to be allowed to come.
When Cameron kisses my cheek, I tilt my head to capture his lips in a heated kiss, which I’ll hate myself for later.
For now, though, I pretend that this is normal, that Cameron is a man I hooked up with while on a quest to explore my newfound attraction to men.
I pretend that everything that’s happening is consensual.
Which it kind of is.
Fuck, what am I doing?
My doubts don’t make me stop. If anything, they make me lean into the act more. My neck aches from the awkward angle, but I keep attacking Cameron’s mouth. “Faster, please,” I beg, thrusting into his hand, but he maintains the infuriating slow pace.
Cameron chuckles. “Easy, pet. We’ll take it slow, let you feel every second of it.”
He swipes his fingers through the mess of cum on my chest, but instead of making me lick it off, he trails that hand down my body and between my cheeks.
I suck in a startled breath when he circles my hole, tensing instinctively.
His other hand continues the slow strokes on my cock, giving me something to focus on other than the imminent threat to my anal virginity.
“Relax,” he says. “I won’t hurt you.”
He did promise that, and despite him being an evil kidnapper, I believe him. I have to believe him because if I didn’t, I’d go crazy with fear before he even touched me.
I force myself to relax, decidedly focusing on the hand on my cock and not on the one that’s lower, touching things that shouldn’t be touched and setting alight nerve endings I had no idea existed.
Fuck, why does it feel so good?
I’m close, but Cameron is expertly keeping my orgasm just out of reach, slowing down and even stopping his stroking every time I get near the point of no return.
It’s exquisite torture that makes me mindless with need and helps me forget how wrong this all is.
He keeps teasing my asshole too, slow circles around the rim like he’s giving me some kinky massage.
Once his cum dries up, he fetches a lube kept handy in the coffee table drawer.
The hand stroking my cock sometimes slips lower to fondle my balls, which are already drawn tight. Cameron squeezes them so hard it hurts, except the pain doesn’t really register as pain but as a strange, spicier kind of pleasure.
I cry out and arch into his touch, wanting him to continue and needing him to stop.
If I come from his touch, what does that make me?
Some sick pervert who gets off on getting raped?
Because this isn’t a scene we’re playing out for fun.
This is real. I haven’t consented to any of this, so how can I be enjoying it?
“No, please,” I whimper, tears once again streaming down my cheeks. In direct contrast to my words, I thrust into his fist, fucking into it like it’s a sex toy.
I’m not tied up. Why am I not fighting? I should fight, yet all I manage is repeating “No, please” until the words lose all meaning. All while I chase my orgasm like an animal in heat.
“It’s okay,” Cameron says. I barely hear him over the sounds of my own moans. “Kiss me, pet.”
I do, because I have to do what he says.
Not because I want to lose myself in the kiss.
Then his finger slips inside of me. I instinctively tighten around the intrusion, then moan at how good it feels.
There’s none of the pain I expected, just lots of pleasure, made even better when that finger starts fucking me in time to his stroking my cock.
I catch myself chanting “please, please, please,” the “no” forgotten somewhere along the road, along with my dignity.
Cameron’s deep, velvety voice sounds in my ear. “There you go. It feels good to let go, doesn’t it? To not have a single worry in the world aside from obeying and pleasing your Master?”
He’s not wrong, it does sound good. At the same time… “But…”
His finger curls, stroking and searching, until it hits a spot that has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. Whatever I was going to say is lost to this fresh wave of pleasure.
“Fuck, please, please, I can’t,” I let out between quick breaths, completely overwhelmed. “Please?” Cameron doesn’t respond, and I despair, convinced he’s going to torture me more, but then I remember what he wants to hear. “Sir! Please, Sir, may I come?”
“Such a good pet. Yes, you may come.”
If I weren’t crying already, I’d start now because the sheer relief his words bring is overwhelming.
His fist shuttles over my cock, wet with lube and pre-cum.
Under different circumstances, the obscene noises would make me die with embarrassment, but now I barely hear them over my heavy breaths and the praise Cameron keeps whispering into my ear.
“You’re doing so well. Are you going to come for your Master?”
The finger in my ass touches that magical spot on each stroke, making stars burst behind my tightly shut eyelids.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, my muscles lock up and all that pent-up pressure explodes out of me at once.
I cry out, I think, probably sounding like I’m being murdered, and my cock kicks in Cameron’s grip over and over as I come all over my stomach.
There’s a slight burn in my ass, and I idly notice that one finger became two at some point of my orgasm, but it’s easy to ignore with my body twitching with the aftershocks.
Spent, I slump against Cameron, my head falling back on his shoulder.
I let go of his neck at some point and gripped the couch cushions instead, but he doesn’t seem to mind that slight disobedience.
He kisses my temple and the top of my head.
“You did well,” he says, slowly stroking my softening cock like he’s determined to milk every last drop from me.
“I did?” What is he praising me for?
On the heels of that thought, sudden clarity slams into me like a 4x4, and I choke on a gasp. What have I done?
I let my captor make me come. Begged him for it, even. I didn’t even protest when he violated my ass. In fact, his fingers are still there, gently stroking what I assume is my prostate and sending tremors of pleasure through my body.
Pleasure? What the fuck is wrong with me?
“It’s hard to accept, I know,” Cameron says, like he’s reading my mind. Or maybe he just noticed my sudden stiffness. “But was it really bad? Did you not enjoy it? Did you dislike a single thing I did?”
“No, Sir.” And that’s the problem.
“Well, then there’s nothing wrong with it, is there? What do you say to your Master?”
Probably not that he’s evil and manipulative or that I want to go home. “Thank you, Master,” I whisper and wipe my tears away with the back of my hand. I feel like I just lost a part of myself that I’ll never get back, one that will forever stay down in this basement, even if I somehow make it out.
What have I done?