29. Chapter 29
Justin
The two days I spent with Cameron spoiled me for his company, and now loneliness weighs on me even heavier than before.
The silence of the basement is deafening, and I wish with all my heart that the walls weren’t soundproof.
Not because I could call for help, but because I’d be able to hear something other than my breathing and the low hum of the refrigerator and the air conditioning.
A clock would be even better. I’m sure the ticking would start driving me crazy eventually, but at least I’d have some way to measure time, because it seems to stretch endlessly down here.
I count my Mississippis, but stop when I get to two thousand and nothing changes. What’s the point, anyway? I could count to a million and still be alone.
I miss the sun. I wonder if it still exists. If the world is still out there, moving forward like nothing happened. There could be an apocalypse happening outside, and I wouldn’t even know. Maybe I’d only find out when the electricity would go out. Then the fridge and AC would grow silent too.
I don’t even want to imagine what the room would feel like without those white noises. Like a tomb, probably. My tomb, if Cameron never returns.
It’s silly to think about that. I have enough food and water to last me for days, and Cameron has never been gone for that long.
He came by yesterday too, angry about something he refused to talk about.
Not even sex helped calm him down, and when I was about to suggest we cuddle to help him unwind, he shoved me back into the cage and stormed off.
I wish he’d let me in on whatever is bothering him.
I’m not in any position to help, but I could have listened.
I could have tried to ease his stress with a massage, a blowjob, or even just a simple kiss, but he wouldn’t let me.
He used me like a sex toy, then tossed me away once he’d scratched his itch.
It shouldn’t surprise me, he never saw me as a person after all, but it still rankles. I could be more for him than just a ready set of holes to stick his cock in.
I want to be more for him, and it scares the hell out of me.
The thought of escape still lingers in the back of my mind, but it’s becoming more abstract every day.
There’s no way out. Even distracted, Cameron is careful to lock the cage, and even if he didn’t, there’s still the code for the door, which I still don’t know even after watching Cameron go through that door every day for two weeks.
Truth be told, I haven’t really been watching him that closely. The code doesn’t matter. Nothing matters other than Cameron coming back.
It’s late, I think. I have nothing but my internal clock to go by down here, but I think it’s way past the usual dinner time when Cameron strides through the door.
He’s angry again, and I tense in anticipation of violence.
Other than the rough sex, he didn’t take his anger out on me yesterday, but he seems worse today.
Since I’m always at hand and hardly in a position to complain or fight back, I make a convenient punching bag.
I’ve been dreading the day Cameron realizes that.
He yanks the cage door open. “Out.”
I scramble to obey but must not be fast enough for Cameron’s liking, because he grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.
Without a word, he shoves me at the cage, the cold metal painfully digging into my stomach as he bends me over it.
The only lube I’m afforded is a glob of spit he spreads around my hole as he roughly pushes two fingers inside.
The sudden stretch burns, but I force myself to relax.
I’ve learned by now that clenching will just make the burn worse.
He only preps me for a few seconds, then spits into his palm, spreads the saliva over his cock, and pushes against me.
I grit my teeth, my fingers gripping the bars of the cage so tightly my knuckles are turning white.
A cry escapes me when the head pops in and the pain flares into white-hot agony before settling back into insistent burn.
Cameron pushes in without giving me a moment to adjust, burrowing into me until his hips are flush with my ass. Then he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer as if he wanted to sink even deeper. He rests his forehead on my shoulder.
Even through the haze of pain and discomfort, I recognize his actions for what they are. He needs me. Today, he’s the one seeking comfort with me in the only way he knows how, and it’s a heady feeling to know that I can provide it to him.
“Use me, Sir,” I push through my clenched teeth. “Take whatever you need from me. I’m here for you.” The words should make me feel disgusted with myself, and at some level, they do, but they also feel right.
“Fuck.”
Cameron groans, grabs my hips, and starts thrusting.
All I can do is hold on for the ride as he roughly uses my body for his pleasure.
The drag of his cock through my tight hole burns, and I embrace that pain.
If it helps him, I can take it. I can take much worse for him if only he’d give me a chance to be there for him.
“Justin, fuck.”
Cameron kicks my feet farther apart and changes the angle of his thrusts to hit my prostate.
I whimper under the onslaught of sensation, my cock filling in a rush.
The discomfort of dry penetration and the sharp edge of the cage poking my ribs with every thrust is too great, and I already know I won’t be able to come unless Cameron touches me, but it doesn’t take the pleasure away completely.
“Such a good boy,” Cameron snarls, snapping his hips forward so hard the impact against the cage knocks the wind out of me. “You’re so fucking perfect. And mine. All fucking mine.”
“Yours,” I confirm, because that’s what he wants to hear. It’s also how I feel right now.
His.
Completely owned by Cameron Matthews, and I can’t find any fault in that.
What was the problem I was supposed to be solving here again?
Getting away? Why would I want to do that?
“All yours.” How devastated would Cameron be if I left?
He’d have no one to comfort him, no one to be there for him.
I could never do that to him. “Forever.”
Cameron cries out and finishes with my name on his lips. I’m only halfway there when I feel his cock jerking inside of me, but that’s okay. This was for him.
My ribs protest when he pulls out and releases from his death grip. I’ll likely have bruises tomorrow. My ass burns and I wince as I awkwardly clench it in an attempt not to make a mess.
“Fuck, Justin,” Cameron repeats breathlessly. He’s still dressed, but now he tears his clothes off. His chest heaves, and from the way his fists clench, I can tell he’s not burned off his aggression yet.
I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong, hoping that maybe I can get him to talk, but I never get to it.
He lunges and captures my mouth in a rough kiss.
His tongue plunges in deep, the way he thrust his cock into me minutes ago, and I’m sure I’ll lose some hair from the way he’s yanking on it.
There’s a flash of pain when he bites my lip, then his tongue is back.
What he’s doing can’t even be called a kiss anymore.
He’s fucking my mouth, plain and simple.
I can’t breathe or think. All I can do is whimper when he squeezes my cock so hard it hurts, but it’s that good kind of pain, the kind that makes me want more.
Cameron doesn’t leave me wanting, though.
He strokes me roughly, the nearly dry friction uncomfortable to the point of pain, but it’s also exactly what I needed, and I realize I’m about to come.
I try to pull away from the kiss to ask for permission, but he doesn’t let me.
“Hold it,” he orders and bites me again.
I scream as he grabs my balls and pulls. I try to move away from the pain, but that only makes it worse. Besides, there’s nowhere to go with the cold metal of the cage behind me and a wall of muscle in front of me.
“Please. Please, Sir,” I beg, unsure whether I want him to stop or continue.
Cameron wrenches my head back, exposing my neck, and places a stinging, bruising kiss at the base of it. “You’re my good little pet, aren’t you?”
“Yes! Yes, I am. Please.” He lets go of my balls and goes back to stroking me, which might be even worse, because now I’m close again. “Please, Sir, may I come?”
“Hmm.” His hand shuttles over my shaft, firing off both pleasure and pain receptors as the dry friction winds me up harder. “You were good today, weren’t you?”
“I was. I’m always good.” I’m the best pet ever. I should get some recognition here. “Please, Sir. Cameron.” Saying his name is a gamble, because I might get punished for not addressing him properly, but it pays out.
“Alright, you may come. For me, pet. Always for me.”
The glide of his hand suddenly gets a lot smoother as I come and splatter both of us with cum. Cameron keeps stroking me through my orgasm, then rests his forehead against mine. “Jesus fucking Christ, pet. You’ll be the end of me.”
My whole body is sore, but I still preen under the praise. Really, who would have thought that I, of all people, would be so good at sex as to bring someone as gorgeous and experienced as Cameron to his knees?
Tension in Cameron’s shoulders suggests he’s still not back to his usual self, but as he disappears into the bathroom, I tell myself we’ll get there. I can help him through whatever is bothering him. I just have to convince him not to leave tonight. For both our sakes.
I’m about to follow him into the shower and maybe help him relax some more, when I hear a vibration from the pile of clothes he so recklessly tossed on the floor earlier.
Without really thinking it through, I dig through it until I find the phone in the pocket of his pants.
It stops vibrating for a moment, then starts again.
Whoever’s calling him must have some urgent news.
That’s my only thought as I straighten up with the phone in my hand. Not that I could finally call for help and get out of here, but that whatever this “Sin” person wants to tell Cameron must be very important, since there are already several missed calls.
Even when I do realize what an opportunity I’ve been given, I don’t immediately jump on it. In fact, the thought of using the phone to escape makes me so terrified I nearly drop the damn thing on the floor.
I should do it. I really, really should. This is what I wanted from the beginning, isn’t it? A solid chance at escape.
The shower’s running. Cameron can’t hear a thing in there. I could call the police and tell them I’m being held captive. Yes, there’s a chance a dirty cop will respond to that call, but they keep record of all the calls, don’t they? They can’t completely sweep it under the rug.
This is the best chance I’ve had so far, possibly my only chance ever, so why am I standing here like an idiot, staring at the phone instead of dialing 911?
Because I’m afraid.
If I make this call, everything will change. I’ll become a victim. A celebrity, because word will get out. Everyone will know what happened. They’ll laugh at me, pity me, and speculate about whether I deserved it. Whether I’d been asking for it.
My mother will be devastated, and my father? He’ll just be disappointed. Maybe he’ll remind me that if I’d been a proper man, this never would have happened to me.
There will be lab tests and testimonies and interviews. Therapy.
Jesus, what would I even say to a therapist? That I liked Cameron? That I enjoyed it when he raped me? That I enjoyed my stay with him, and the only thing I really minded was being locked up in that stupid cage with nothing to do all day?
Damn. I’ll end up in a nuthouse, won’t I?
The phone starts vibrating with another incoming call.
As I glance at the screen, I smother a hysterical chuckle. Sin. What an apt name for someone from Cameron’s world. It really must be an emergency, though, because they’re not stopping. I should let Cameron know. Have him quite literally take the decision out of my hands.
Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll just hand the phone over and pretend I never had it in the first place.
Getting rescued sounds like a whole lot of trouble, and it gets even worse when I factor in how disappointed Cameron would be in me.
He’d go to prison. I couldn’t do that to him.
He’s no saint, but he’s too good a person to rot in jail alongside murderers and terrorists.
I’d never see him again, never hear him call me a good boy again or tell me how proud he’s of me.
At this point, I’m not sure I can live without his praise.
The decision feels easy.
As I look up from the screen, I’m met with the tempting sight of a naked Cameron straight from the shower. Water glistens on his skin and drips onto the floor, and tendrils of steam escaping the bathroom curl around him, making him look like a mythical being. Maybe a Greek god.
My smile freezes on my lips when I look into his eyes and see he’s not looking at me with tenderness or desire, but with unbridled fury.
I’m still holding the phone, and I realize what it must look like to him, even if reality is very different. I cry out when he advances on me, my mind scrambling for something to say. “Wait! I didn’t—”
I don’t get further than that.
Cameron grabs my neck and slams me into a wall. “Shut the fuck up.”