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Even The First - PART TWENTYFIVE
THE USUAL WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS TALE.
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Even The First - PART TWENTYFIVE
"If you weren't beautiful, this wouldn't be happening."
-------------------------- FIRST_______________ WARNING: __________
Look, I don't usually put a disclaimer, but I'm putting one here: You wanted a happy ending? You should have stopped reading at episode 22. This disclaimer is to warn you: You might not like what you read in the next few episodes. You mustn't get upset if it's not what you're expecting, and you mustn't complain if you read and you're upset. Because, if you are like Sean and you think this is all just a laugh, well, then, prepare to be amused. But if you're like me and you take all of this seriously, well then you might agree that this can ruin lives and people can get hurt and it's not funny. Seriously. Because, this is where it gets serious.
I'm not kidding.
Ok, that said; let's do it.
-------------------------- I had been waiting in the basement for several hours.
The day had passed away: I had used the time to restore myself. I had shaved two days of beard, and checked my body-hair, then cold-showered to refresh and remove all the grime, all the stink and sweat and fatigue - and fear.
Paul said Kevin loved being cruel, and nothing else.
I'd had a shit. I'd cleaned out my arse.
Then, because I was filled with nervous energy at the prospect of what was going to happen to me, I was working out - I didn't need to be told - it took my mind off how scared I was. Weights, skipping, crunches, press-ups, squats, pull-ups, jumping ... you name it. It felt good to have the blood pumping through my aching muscles, making my skin hot, red and pulsing and everything. Boiling, clean sweat was pouring off me. My heart was racing. I felt alive. Strong. But I was breathing hard, and I was shaking, and I was terrified. I continued to distract myself with physical jerks until, by the time the door clicked open and I at last heard the voice of Kevin talking, I had exhausted myself; I was hungry and dehydrated.
Was it possible Kevin could hurt me like Paul said?
I heard Kevin's voice say, "That's ok. Paul, leave it to me. Thanks, Paul. Thanks for this. I owe you one." Then Paul spoke, and then I heard Kevin laugh and say, "Ok. We're square then. Thanks. I'll ... ... Yeah I'll make sure that ... I'll make sure of that ... Yeah, I'll get on." Paul spoke again, then Kevin said, "Ok. No rush. Don't worry, I'll make SURE he does. No problem." Then Paul spoke again, they both laughed, Kevin said, "Can't wait!" and I heard the noise of his army-surplus boots as he descended the stairs. He wasn't in a hurry.
When he appeared, he was dressed in a comically fetish rubber outfit which glinted black-on-black in the basement light - as black as his large bald head was white. He wasn't in particularly bad shape, but not good either. Average. The rubber made his body look firmer than it actually was, but he wasn't muscular and the rubber only emphasised his lack of definition. He had an ill defined mound at his crotch.
I stood to attention in the middle of the room.
He surveyed me without speaking, then walked a circle, wordlessly inspecting me like I was a used car.
"Stand up straight."
I straightened myself as much as I could.
"Are you standing up straight?" he said, like he was blind. "C'mon, you're a military man. Show me how you stand on parade. Ten-Shun!"
I straightened myself still further, pulling my stomach harder in, lengthening and stretching my back, flexing my shoulders, tightening and extending my legs and buttocks.
He picked up a crop,
"You call that straight?"
He swished the crop, felt its balance and started thwacking the air with it.
"Ok, soldier" he said, "that's good."
I was straining every muscle to keep myself totally upright. He walked up to me and touched my arm with the tip of the crop, "Flex it, soldier. I want to see you, yes, that's it."
I raised one arm and then the other, flexing my biceps as instructed.
"Ok," he said, squeezing my fat muscles harshly. "Next," and he listed the parts of my body, one by one, to flex, display, touch and grip, massage and handle - I bore the discomfort with docility. "Abs!"
I flexed, bending my shoulders and pelvis forward to crunch my abs into high definition. "Such terrific development, soldier. Good work. I like it." He rubbed the washboard vigorously, pinching the lean to test how deep it went - and so on; finally coming to my gear which he held in his palm as though weighing it, lifted and dropped it a few times and then holding it and squeezing it hard in his fist. I winced.
"Good ... That's ok," he said, seriously. His eyes were dark, stern, intelligent, but rather than at me, he seemed to be staring at a point somewhere inside me, just beneath my skin - as though he were plotting how to get access to it.
I tried not to look at him directly, but I noticed how he breathed through his mouth - not through his nose, which was cute and flat. A stern furrow separated his rigidly serious eyebrows. And now I noticed that he had very bad teeth, a collection of stumps that constituted barely a smile. His lips were thin, red, moist; quivering with evident excitement. He took a few steps back, breathing steadily. The basement light reflecting smoothly off his rubber, reminded me of Darth Vader's black shiny outfit, the way he almost disappeared into his background. It contrasted with his large shaven head which glowed like some motorbike headlamp bouncing along a dark country road ...
"That's ok. That's good," he said, as though saying it to himself, swiping the air with the crop, marching about like a toy. His wet mouth was almost runny.
I resumed my position of attention with my legs slightly separated and my hands to each side - I didn't know what he wanted me to do; by the time he'd finished his little dance, I was shaking despite myself.
"Now, soldier, I want you to prepare yourself," he said, looking at the crop which he held like it was a long, supple feather, sliding it between his fingers. He stroked it slowly across the curve of my buttock, then put it down on a nearby chair.
"So let's get a little restraint going here shall we to start with? Don't want you flinching all the time. That's how soldiers get hurt - it's called collateral damage!"
He grinned like a dentist, backing me towards a set of chains by resting his hands on my delts, continuing to assess me physically like I was a meal he couldn't wait to eat. Two chains were hanging about a metre-and-a-half apart from a beam in the ceiling, two were attached to large metal rings fixed about two metres apart in the cement floor. I knew those chains well from previous scenes with Paul and his friends.
"You ok?" He laughed, "No matter. Stop. Shaking. Bitch ... Here: You can help with this, soldier" he said. "Do your ankles."
I easily closed one ankle into a metal bracelet on one of the floor chains. Then I had to spread and reach down with quite a lot of difficulty to fix the other. With my legs now at quite an angle it was difficult to balance; I could only just reach one of the hanging chains by twisting and stretching out my arms. Kevin stepped forward and took the chain from me. "Here, let's help you out," he said kindly, not making eye contact, not smiling. He quickly clicked the wrist restraint shut with a snap. Then he reached over and caught the last chain. He grabbed my free hand and yanked it up with some roughness so it just fitted into the bracelet and, click, I was fully restrained, without the need for any locks, in a diagonal cross. "That's it." My genitals were hanging exposed between my widely separated thighs. He gave them a quick flick. He could do anything. He could access any part of me. It's what he wanted. He could do anything he wanted. He could do anything.
"Thanks for the help. I like my victims to help. It makes it easier. Easier for me. Easier for them ... Easier. You understand?
"Like I care."
He wasn't smiling.
I turned my head and leaned it against my upheld arm, raising my arms for him to adjust the position and length of the restraints and adjusting my legs so that my ankles were fixed firmly wide apart. There was a smell of talcum powder as he went round the four chains, adjusting them so I was pulled evenly in all directions; he tugged on each one, gradually increasing the tension until I was stretched too tight to move, too tight to pull away, too tight to twist, to dodge or avoid any strike or slap, punch or whiplash or anything he wished to throw at me. It was like being caught in a spider's web, except that I was the web, me and some bits of chain; there was only my pulsating naked body pulling on the concrete and the beams, waiting for him to begin. Waiting for him to begin. Waiting.
"Can't move can you? Can you?"
"No Sir."
"Nice."
Kevin stood back, folded his arms and looked in my direction. I was already in agony and breathing hard.
"Anything you need? Water? Oh, you'll need to drink," he said. "Hold on soldier. Stay there!"
He smiled, turned on one foot, and lightly ran back up the stairs.
There was a long pause during which I thought only of my powerlessness and vulnerability; I would need to trust him and his freedom and domination and complete control over my body. When he returned he was waving a plastic bottle, gleefully. It wasn't sealed. He held it to my lips, supporting the back of my head, spilling most of it down my chest. It was water that tasted of warm weak piss; I gulped at it; his wide nostrils flared with concentration, his dark eyebrows stiffened and furrowed, and his mouth stayed open exposing the red interior as he carefully poured the contents into my mouth, only just allowing me time to swallow. He balanced the tip of his tongue on his teeth and was delighted at the struggles I made to drink.
"Oh that's so ridiculously hot ... you know, that's sexy. Thats right. The soldier's drinking a bottle of someone else's piss. That's Sean's piss you're drinking, that is. Paul got it. Fresh from the cute slavedick. Courtesy. Don't go filling you bladder or getting bowel movements," he warned, seriously.
I drank as much as I could - it tasted sourly refreshing - and immediately wanted to go to the toilet, but I didn't say anything. Kevin finished by shaking the last little bit over my face, and he tossed the empty bottle into a corner.
"'K. Let's get started, shall we, soldier?" he said like he was proposing a trip to the seaside. "My god I should photograph this. You look so amazing. So good. Oh god. Oh. Here - final touch." He picked up a bite-gag from Paul's box of tricks - a piece of thick red tubing threaded on a chain held in place by a leather strap buckled behind my head. He fitted it into my mouth and tightened it into the corners of my mouth so that it restricted my tongue. Immediately, I started drooling, piss-flavoured saliva running down my chin, and breathing more awkwardly, with a noise, like I was an animal.
"Nice. We can go with that. Hey. Happy?"
I could speak, but it came out a bit like a pig who could only grunt and spit but nothing else. I nodded, staring at him.
"Soldier," Kevin grinned, exposing his awful teeth. He folded his arms, squeaking rubber, and just watched me for some minutes, appreciating the condition I was in. Thinking. The only sound was my laboured breathing through the bite-gag.
"Yeah, I that's nice."
I shivered.
"Don't get too comfortable." Like I could. He grinned again, picked up the crop and stroked it across my cold, hardened nipples; it caught briefly on their pointed tips before sprinting off and slapping against my chin. "Ohhh," he smiled. I was exhaling and inhaling noisily through the gag. He guided the crop around my body, flicking my dick with it, sliding it between my buttocks, scraping it across my back, my legs, my chest, my arms, my face.
"Wow," he said, "I like that. You." He inhaled deeply and exhaled deeply. "You really are something. So-o sexy. So sexy. I like that. Do you understand? I like that. Hehe, Paul says you're stupid but I'm going to make you smart! That's a joke!"
I knew it was a joke.
"Are you scared, soldier? You should be scared: You know I'm going to hurt you, don't you?"
"Yes Sir."
I was shaking. The short tight chains made the noise of vibration.
"Shhh shhh there now. Stay relaxed." He exposed his teeth again. "Yes soldier. And I'm going to enjoy it. Do you want me to enjoy it?"
"Yes Sir."
"Yes Sir what?"
"Yes Sir I want you to enjoy it, Sir."
"Yes Sir, oh yes."
He bounced the crop around on my pecs teasingly. As he did so each strike got harder; almost imperceptibly the pain grew and I was tensing more and more to take it. Eventually I cried out. Kevin laughed.
"Yes! That's it!"
My buttocks were completely vulnerable and Kevin quickly got into beating me there as well, grunting as he did so; each strike was less bearable than the one before. I tightened my glutes to absorb his abuse.
"No, stick your arse out for me ... that's it soldier, that's good boy. Stick out your bottom. Arch your back. Arch. Your. Fucking. Back. That's better. THERE !!! Does that hurt?"
"Yes ... Sir ..."
"Do you like it?"
"Yes ... Sir, thank ... youSir."
"I don't care," he laughed.
As I found it less and less possible to bear the pain I grunted more and more urgently with each strike, and I was forcing my arse out so he would have a good target. Finally Kevin had had enough. "Alright stop that. There's no need to panic, baby. I'm just testing your limits ... You've got this kind of body ... I just want to hurt it and hurt it ... I'm like that. Paul said to do what I want to do with you ... I just want to ..." and he thwacked my face with his palm. "Don't forget who's in charge, see, soldier. Get. It. See. Now ... let's see ... I ..."
Suddenly the door upstairs opened. I heard Paul's voice, "Everything all right now, Kev?"
"Yeah fine. Just getting started."
"Right. Just, be careful of the noise."
"I've gagged it."
I could feel tears filling my eyes, running down my face.
"Right."
And the door shut with a click.
Kevin looked angry. "Get the message?" he said. "This only gets better for me - whatever - because until you learn it's not going to stop, you'll never learn. Yeah?"
He was catching his breath.
He held my chin and directed my face towards his face.
"Who's in control here, soldier? Say it."
"You are in control Sir."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes Sir."
"Say it."
"I trust you Sir."
He smiled, gently stroking me between my legs, like I was a woman, groping my crack forcefully.
"Ohh ... the heat coming off that cunt ... I love ... that ... I love ... that I can hurt you," - I held still - "totally destroy you, and when I have, I'll totally own you. Yes: You're going to suffer. You know you're going to suffer. I want to see you cry, baby, tears. Baby. Oohh baby. Trust me: It isn't going to take that long ... You know, this is something I've wanted for so long: Something I can completely own. Something I can completely destroy. I think that's what every real man wants. Every real man: Something to hurt. Something to break. There there, cry, beautiful."
He sighed.
"You know, soldier, if you weren't beautiful, this wouldn't be happening."
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END OF Even The First - PART TWENTYFIVE