Hey-oh! Wow, it has been awhile, hasn't it? Stupid hiatuses. Hiatusis. Hiati? Whatever. Here I am stalling while all you really want is for me to shut up and get on with it. I've kept you waiting long enough, am I right? Well, I finally got my act together and wrote this damn chapter over my Thanksgiving break, but I've gotta say, it's really not my favorite writing-wise. I just got so sick of editing it that I decided to go ahead and post it, so I am sorry if it seems worse than previous chapters.
On a somewhat similar note, I had to split this chapter into two parts because it was just getting much too long. I hope that doesn't bother anyone. Not sure why it would, but you know, just in case I'll say it.
Oh God, I should stop. I'm tired and I ramble nonsensically when I'm tired. I apologize to you all for any comments I make right now.
Let's just get on with it. That would be best.
Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda yadda yadda. If I haven't managed to steal them away yet, chances are things are going to stay that way and the rights will never belong to me.
Warnings: Language, graphic rape and molestation of a minor, and excessive use of words that nobody uses in normal conversation. Angst. Mentions of violence. If these things offend you, you should have stopped reading this story awhile ago.
If I were to write a book purely about the many unsavory situations I've woken up in, I'd have to write a fucking encyclopaedia, 'cause honestly? I've dealt with an impressive amount of weird ass shit in my life. I've woken up on beds of shattered glass after being thrown through windows by overzealous ghosts; I've woken up to a vampire sucking messily at my neck just before Dad's machete separated her head from her shoulders. A particularly memorable instance involved the members of an uncommonly devoted cult, who had me tied to a stone slab and were busy sprinkling rosemary and sage across my prone body when I finally regained consciousness.
But on the morning I opened my eyes, the foggy memory of nightmares and soothing words drifting somewhere in the corners of my mind, only to find myself snuggled into Cheverill's chest, my cheek pressed over his heart and his arms wrapped protectively around me? Well, suffice it to say that this one blows all competition out of the water.
It was the steady, warm exhales of air against my naked shoulder that gave it away. Mainly the part where my shoulder was naked. Which meant the rest of me was most likely naked as well. My eyes snapped open and I recoiled sharply, flinching away from the hand Cheverill was methodically combing through my messy hair. Cheverill's other arm tightened around my back and he drew me easily back against the broad planes of his chest. I let out a muffled grunt through the gag sitting between my teeth, realizing in horror that he had draped himself around me. And we had slept like that.
"Awake at last, I see," Cheverill chuckled, voice a low vibration in my ears. "Must you always pollute these peaceful moments with your obstinate frigidity? Won't you savor it, just this once?" His fingers returned to my hair and he hummed in contentment, like a cat, and tucked me closer.
I lay stiffly in his arms, chewing furiously on my gag. Yes, I wanted to snap at him. Peaceful is definitely how I would describe this situation. I wasn't thinking that it's creepy or perverted. Not at all. Especially now that I'd confirmed I was naked. Well, mostly anyway. All I was wearing were a loose pair of boxers, which was not much cover under the best of circumstances. Cheverill wasn't much better, in only the faded pair of sleep pants he'd dragged on the night before.
He must have sensed the disgust broadcasting off of me in waves. He huffed out a breathy laugh and smoothed one hand down my rigid back, tapping each vertebrae with a fingertip as he came upon them. "You have no idea how adorable it is when you act so acrimonious like this," he murmured, amused. "It's exceedingly precious."
I wondered how adorable he'd think it would be if I yanked a knife out from between the sheets and sawed off his balls.
"You know, I believe that I enjoy awakening in this manner," Cheverill murmured into my hair. "We shall have to do it more often."
And Jesus Christ. Cheverill was here. And it was morning. And I might have had a heart attack then and there because this was not how things were supposed to go.
Ever since my arrival here, just about a week ago, a semi-bearable routine had been established. Cheverill was always gone when I woke up- off spitting on orphans or whatever he did for a living, and only returned when the sun had sunk halfway below the horizon. I hadn't yet found a clock, so my only means of telling the time were the sun, and the deliveries of breakfast and lunch that were brought every day by the rather irritating woman with the mousy hair. But for the majority of the day, I was left to my own devices. I usually spent this time either hunting for the transmitter that activated the cuffs (I had found exactly squat so far, not that I'd seriously expected anything else), or doing my best to keep up with Dad's strict training schedules.
Trapped in this damn room every day, it was impossible to complete most of the exercises Dean and I used to do together. Obviously, I wasn't able to go for a ten mile run. But I improvised, and converted the bathroom door lintel into a chin up bar and strung the rolled up comforter from the ceiling as a replacement punching bag. My daily number of push ups and crunches were probably reaching unhealthy levels. But I didn't care. I needed to stay fit for when Dean and Dad finally came to bust me out (because they were coming, any day now). Besides, having an exercise routine helped to ease the endless monotony and went a long way towards keeping me from going completely stir crazy.
In any case, by the time evening approached, the terror would inevitably start to set in. I would pace anxiously around the confines of the room, straining my ears for the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and nearly jumping out of my skin whenever the wooden floorboards creaked. When at last, I would hear Cheverill's unmistakable tread sauntering down the hall outside, it was almost a relief to have the agonizing anticipation come to an end. Almost.
I hadn't attacked Cheverill since the Letter Opener Incident. I thought he even seemed disappointed about it; There was the uneasy feeling that he was waiting for the chance to bring out a whip, or pliers, or some other sick instrument to punish me with. Not that he actually needed an excuse to do so. From the time he stepped into the room at twilight, to when he finally dropped off to sleep at night, he devoted to "breaking me in", like I was some kind of horse. And he did this in every possible way he could think of. I dreaded the night. I dreaded it with the kind of fear I hadn't felt since I was a child, when the dark was made scary by the imagined monsters lurking in the shadows. But now was different, because the monster wasn't hidden any longer. The monster had a face, and wasn't afraid to show me how inhuman he really was.
So it is easy to understand, as Cheverill dragged me into a sitting position and propped me against the headboard, that I was having a slight panic attack, because it was morning and Cheverill was still here. This was not the way things were supposed to be! I was supposed to have until tonight to piece myself back together, supposed to have some time until I was ready to face Cheverill again. He'll leave soon, I thought to myself, hysteria doing its best to make my throat swell shut. He has to leave soon. I didn't know what I was going to do if he stayed.
Cheverill noticed my breathing pick up. He gave me a concerned look and placed a hand on my jaw, thumb stroking along the corner of my gag. "Samuel? What's wrong?"
My fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists. I was perfectly aware that he knew I couldn't answer him, even if I had wanted to.
He had taken to gagging me every night before we fell asleep. He'd started doing it on my third night here, after he'd woken up to find me attempting to chew the control bracelet off his wrist. All that I'd gotten out of that little escapade were some sore teeth, a lump on the back of my head from Cheverill slamming me angrily against the wall, and the new tradition of Cheverill strapping me into a gag whenever he was ready to call it a night. It was fairly simple, as gags went. Cheverill called it a "ball" gag, which I assumed came from the large, rubber ball that sat between my teeth, wedging my mouth open uncomfortably. A brown leather strap was affixed to either side of the ball, and wrapped around my head to clasp shut in the back. It made it so that no matter how much I pried at it with my tongue, I couldn't get it off, and only succeeded in making my cheeks hurt. I hated the thing.
"Samuel?" I flicked my eyes over to Cheverill's face. A worried expression tugged his lips downwards, and I glanced away quickly, staring with forced fascination at the opposite wall. I didn't want to see Cheverill's fake compassion. I was sick of him pretending to care.
Cheverill sighed, and scooted over to sit beside me. "I apologize if I startled you." He placed a hand on my thigh and squeezed gently. I glared mutely at the wall. "I know you are accustomed to my absences throughout the day," he continued. "I wish to acknowledge my deplorable neglect regarding you. I have not paid you the attention you are due, and I sincerely hope that you accept my regrets towards the matter." I rolled my eyes inwardly. This whole situation would have been so much easier if the guy didn't talk like he was practicing for a poorly written, sixteenth century English play. "However, today I aim to change that." Cheverill grinned at me. "Today, I am devoting purely as a day for us to revel in each other's company."
A bucket of ice slid into my stomach. He had to be messing with me. But then why hadn't he left for work yet? I struggled to keep my face blank, to stop the trembling that I could feel starting in my hands. My mouth was dry around the gag. I wished I could spit it out.
Cheverill reached behind me, to where my cuffs were clipped together at the small of my back, and laced his fingers with mine. "You know, it is a very special day for us," he said. "It's our one-week anniversary."
Oh God, he was clingy on top of everything? It wasn't enough that I'd been kidnapped by a closet nutcase, I'd been kidnapped by a closet nutcase with the emotional romanticism of a ninth-grade girl. What in the world had I done in a past life to piss someone off this badly?
Cheverill must have caught my grimace. His fingers tightened around mine and he smiled shyly, abashed. "Ah come, don't condemn the occasion so hastily. The first week has always been an important milestone for a new acquisition. Perhaps I should explain." He stroked my hair once, and I shuddered at the excitement leaking into his tone. "You see, Samuel, for the first week, I restrict our relationship to purely intercourse. I view it as an introduction period, a chance for me to explore your body without outside influence. I believe it promotes a stronger bond, to allow me to freely discover your sensitivities."
He needed to shut up. This was like an awkward, more sadistic version of The Talk.
"However, by the commencement of the second week, I deem our relationship mature enough to move beyond these initial phases. Today, Samuel, is the day I introduce you to the finer points of erotica. It is high time that we advance your education in this subject."
I had absolutely zero clue what he was talking about. Although, if it had to do with "erotica", the chances that I would enjoy what was coming were falling fast.
Cheverill laid a kiss on my shoulder. "I see you still don't understand today's significance. No matter. You will soon." He released his grip on my hand and reached up to fiddle with the strap of my gag. "It is unfortunate that you make these precautions necessary," he muttered, almost to himself. 'I will remove this if you behave yourself, agreed?"
I eyed him narrowly. True, I would love to have the gag taken out. My jaw ached from the stretch, and I had long given up trying to swallow normally. But I'd found that it had one redeeming quality: Cheverill couldn't kiss me when I wore it, and trust me, having a pervert's tongue licking over your own is something to be avoided if at all possible. There aren't enough toothbrushes in the world once that's happened. Still, I was beyond sick of this damn gag. I nodded hesitantly.
Overnight, a clump of my hair had tangled in the clasp, and Cheverill had to carefully pry it out before the bindings could come undone and he carefully pulled the ball out from between my teeth and tossed the thing onto his bedside table. I swiped my tongue around the inside of my sore mouth, trying to rid it of the taste of rubber. "Isn't that better?" Cheverill purred. "It's really quite wearing, carrying on a conversation by oneself." Pointedly, I pressed my lips together and turned back to the wall. "Samuel!" he whined playfully, putting on an affected pout. I glared into the distance and ignored him.
A hand twisted into my hair and wrenched my head to the side. Cheverill had dropped his teasing attitude. He scowled at me and cranked my head back painfully. "You will behave yourself, Samuel," he snapped.
"No," I gritted out, squirming in his hold.
Cheverill's face darkened, but before he could say anything else, someone knocked loudly at the door. "Mr. Cheverill?" a voice called.
"Come in," Cheverill answered irritably, less than pleased at the interruption. The door creaked open, and Carter stepped into the room, his brown hair combed neatly back and a neutral expression on his square features. His gaze flickered from Cheverill to me and back, taking in my contorted body and Cheverill's hand buried in my hair.
"Well?" Cheverill barked. "What is it?"
Carter inclined his head. "The breakfast you ordered is ready, Sir."
Cheverill released me and laughed brightly. "Excellent!" he said. "Bring it in then."
I sat upright as Carter stepped aside to allow two women to enter the room. Between them, they carried a large tray laden with covered dishes. With difficulty -the tray must have weighed a great deal -they manouvered the tray over to the bed and settled it across the blankets. Cheverill watched happily as they unfolded legs on each side and balanced the tray across his lap as well as mine, curtsied once, and scurried out the door.
"Mmm, I must order breakfast in bed more often," he said. "What a lovely treat." He winked at me and I ground my teeth together. "Of course, after breakfast comes the true-"
He was interrupted by a noisy cough. We both looked over to find that Carter was still standing self consciously just inside the door. "What is it?" Cheverill demanded, annoyance souring his words.
"I was only checking that this is a good idea. You missing work like this at such a busy time…" Carter hedged, like he was regretting mentioning anything yet determined to say his piece.
Cheverill's scowl was back. "Carter, I thought it was understood that the matter was settled."
"But with the deal set to go through, is now really the time to take a day off?"
"Yes, it is," Cheverill replied warningly. "I have business to attend to here, and it would behoove you to recall that your position does not include interfering in my affairs." He glared at Carter, challenging the other man to question him further. Icy anger roiled in the air around him, and I shrank away instinctively, knowing Cheverill had the tendency to strike out at those nearest to him when he was riled up.
Carter had seen me cringe. The skin around his dark eyes tightened for the briefest of instances, disappearing almost immediately as a neutral expression smoothed over his features. After a lengthy pause, he bowed. "I'm sorry, Sir. I was out of line."
Cheverill smiled, satisfied. "Good. Now, I suggest you leave Samuel and me to our day off, and get on with the tasks I assigned you." The dismissal was clear. Carter glanced at me one last time before he gave a quick bow and left the room, a glower tugging at the corners of his lips.
As the door closed behind him, Cheverill let out a small, disapproving huff. "He has been abnormally quarrelsome as of late," he told me, lifting the lid from one of the many plates crowding the tray. "I feel he needs a stern reminder in proper etiquette… Ah! doesn't this smell delectable!" He sniffed greedily at the plate of sausages and despite myself, my stomach gurgled loudly.
Cheverill snickered. "Hungry?" I blushed and didn't answer. "Are you giving me the silent treatment, Samuel?" he asked cheerily.
"Fuck off," I grumbled. A short blast from the cuffs left me doubled over and gasping, muscles quivering from the sudden shock.
"I am growing extremely tired of hearing this coarseness from you," Cheverill said mildly. He dropped his bracelet and continued to remove the lids from various dishes. "I have given you ample time to adjust to my expectations, and it is time for you to begin adhering to them. I will no longer tolerate these vulgarities. It's indecent." Delicately, he speared a strawberry with a fork and popped it into his mouth.
I caught my breath and straightened up, shaking slightly. "You don't like me swearing," I said slowly, "because you think it's indecent. And vulgar. And nothing sounds ironic about that to you." A second bolt of electricity drove through me, stiffening my spine and tearing an agonized grunt from my throat. The back of my skull smacked hard against the headboard, sending faint stars dancing across my vision.
"I do not condone mockery any more than expletives," Cheverill explained calmly once he'd let go of his bracelet. Fucking trigger happy bastard. I bit my tongue and leaned back against the headboard, imagining that I was somewhere, anywhere else. "Sulking does not become you, Samuel," Cheverill observed. "You are too mature for childish displays. Sit up and have breakfast with me."
"How do you expect me to do that when I can't use my fucking hands, you son of a-" I cut off with a yelp as the cuffs gave a sharp jolt. "Would you stop doing that?" I snarled after a moment, frustrated and pissed as Cheverill methodically cut up a piece of sausage. He chewed unhurriedly before peering over at me with exaggerated patience.
"I would think it obvious that you are not ready be given such freedoms, Samuel." He pressed the tip of a finger into the joint where my shoulder met my chest, and I bit my lip to stifle a whimper as pain flared along the socket.
After the Letter Opener Incident and Cheverill's little dislocating fiesta on the second day, he had taken to clipping my wrists together behind my back the moment he returned every evening. Twisted into these unnatural angles, my swollen and bruised shoulders had next to no mobility, and attempting to move them always resulted with the damaged nerves shrieking at me to stop before they tore in two, and the vague suspicion that I was going need a bin to throw up into. Cheverill knew this, of course, and made sure to jostle my arms at every possible opportunity.
At last, Cheverill removed his hand and picked up his fork to stab a thick slice of sausage. He brought it to his lips and I got a whiff of rich, spicy meat. My mouth watered because fuck, I was starving. I hadn't eaten properly since yesterday at lunch, and I wasn't sure that one counted; I'd thrown up most of it later, after Cheverill had brought out his damn ring gag again and shoved me to my knees. At least he hadn't dislocated my shoulders that time. My stomach rumbled once more.
I took a tremulous breath and did my best to keep the resentment out of my voice. "Well, I can't eat without my hands, can I? So could you unlock them?" Cheverill raised his eyebrow, waiting. I clenched my teeth and told my pride to shut the hell up. "Please?"
Cheverill smiled widely. "If you were esurient, Samuel, you needed only to ask." He poured out a measure of orange juice, golden liquid catching the morning light from the windows and sparkling as it filled the glass. Then he raised the glass to my lips and held it there insistently. You've got to be fucking kidding me, I thought, pressing my lips together. I wasn't so hungry that I would willingly submit to being hand fed like a dog.
"Must you be so bellicose always?" Cheverill coaxed, nudging the glass against my lips. "Is it so difficult to allow me to tend to you?"
"Buddy, you have got a seriously skewed definition of what tending to someone means," I mumbled.
Cheverill set the glass down with a clink and exhaled sadly. "I do wish you refrained from driving me to these extreme methods Samuel," he said. A wooden box was set in the upper left corner of the tray, and he lifted this box into his lap and thumbed open the latch. "It has been some time since I have required the use of this," he confided as he drew out a clear, plastic funnel. A bad feeling began to build in my chest as I watched him replace the box on the tray and turn back to me, funnel in hand.
"Since you refuse to cooperate and dine with me politely, I'm going to provide you some incentive for why you should mind your manners." His free hand snaked up to my jaw and pressed mercilessly on the pressure points behind it until my mouth was forced to open. Before I could react, he had jammed the funnel as far down my throat as he could manage, scooped up the glass of juice, and tipped about half of it into the funnel's mouth.
I flailed and choked as the juice splashed over my tongue, hitting my windpipe and making me gag. I drank frantically, inhaling as much as I swallowed, and it was only when I'd emptied the funnel completely that Cheverill took it out from between my teeth. Immediately, I hunched over into a coughing fit. Cheverill slid a cloth napkin smoothly into my lap as I hacked up what felt like an entire lung's worth of juice, my throat and chest on fire.
When I was done, Cheverill patted my back sympathetically and gingerly tucked the orange spotted napkin into a corner of the tray. "Now, are you prepared to do this civilly?" he asked, wiping the tips of his fingers clean on a fresh napkin.
"You're fucking insane!" My shoulders grated excruciatingly as I forced myself upright and attempted to scramble away from him. "Stay the hell away from me!"
"Samuel, we have discussed using profanity." Cheverill's eyebrows were furrowed. Electricity ripped through the cuffs, stopping me cold at the end of the mattress. I collapsed onto the pillows, trembling, and an arm wrapped around my back and levered me up against the headboard. "It seems that you are not yet ready to eat in a more humane manner. We shall give it another round," Cheverill's voice announced. Fingers pried my lips apart and I realized a moment too late what was happening. I jerked to the side but the funnel was already braced against my teeth and Cheverill had rammed a forearm across my neck to keep me still. Whatever amount of orange juice left in the glass was tilted into the funnel and I thrashed feebly as juice filled my mouth.
It was harder to swallow the second time around, but I managed to keep from inhaling most of it, so I decided to count it as a win. Good thing I have low standards.
"Have you had enough yet?" Cheverill queried. "I am willing to continue with this method, if you-"
"No." My voice scraped as it left my battered throat.
"No?" Cheverill cocked his head, as though he hadn't quite heard. Bastard.
"No," I repeated, my shoulders slumping. "No more."
Cheverill didn't bother to hide his gloating smile. I closed my eyes as he selected a slice of buttered toast and lifted it up to my lips. Dad and Dean are coming, I told myself. They're coming for me right now. They're coming, they're coming, they're coming. Haltingly, hating every second the fact that Cheverill had reduced me to this, I took a bite from the toast in his hand and chewed it woodenly.
"There, not so atrocious was it?" Cheverill crooned. He tore off a corner of the toast and proffered it to me. "See how agreeable it is when you discard your unpleasant truculence?" I swallowed the second bit of toast, the taste of butter greasy and ashen on my tongue. In this way, Cheverill fed me another piece of toast, three strips of bacon, and half of a cheese and egg omelet until I couldn't take it anymore and shifted so that I could slouch against the headboard. I had flatly refused to drink any more orange juice.
"Are you sated then, Samuel?" Cheverill inquired, and I really wished my hands were free so that I could pin him down and throttle him. I don't know why the hell I hesitated with that letter opener. If someone had slapped a knife into my hand right then, I would have driven it into Cheverill's neck without a second of hesitation. I grunted in response to his question and twisted my wrists in the cuffs, feeling the metal rub at the chafed skin underneath.
While Cheverill ate his own breakfast, I moved to gaze out the wide bank of windows on my right. The watery autumn sun had dispersed the clouds that had lingered since dawn. The sky was a pale, flyaway blue. The fiery red and gold leaves clinging to the trees of the forest were fading as winter crept closer. Already, some had given up and fluttered to the forest floor, creating a jeweled carpet of dying color. The flowers planted in precise rows were wilted, and a pair of gardeners were steadily making their way along the beds, clipping off the shriveled stems. A stiff breeze blew across the grounds, plucking at the gardeners' clothes and tugging loose a flurry of leaves from their branches. The leaves swirled uncertainly, whirling together across the grass until the wind released them and they floated down to settle in small, crackling piles.
God, I wanted to go outside. Even just for a minute to feel the breeze and smell the crisp air, sweet with rotting leaves. I hadn't been able to unlock another window after Cheverill had rigged the cuffs to trigger if I went into the closet, and he'd made sure his desk drawers were shut tight after the Letter Opener Incident (all objects that could have been even remotely used as a weapon had vanished after my second day as well). The lack of fresh air bothered me more than it should. I was used to being outside, walking home from school or just sitting in the sun to read whatever books Dad had ordered me to leaf through. The air in this room was dead, and before I had been stuck inside for a week straight (longer if you counted however many days Cole and Damien had kept me) I never would've thought that the absence of wind would matter so much to me. It made my heart thump dully, to be so cut off from the world.
Cheverill put down his fork with a clatter, the sudden noise breaking me out of my thoughts. He perched himself beside me and dabbed primly at his lips with a napkin. "I know the phrase 'breakfast is the most important meal of the day' is cliché, but I find it difficult to top an outstanding feast like this," he chortled. I kept my face pointing towards the windows and said nothing. Maybe if I ignored him he'd leave me alone. Right. Solid plan, Winchester.
"You're not very loquacious today, Samuel." I could feel Cheverill's eyes wandering over me and I hunched my shoulders defensively. "Too eager for our activities to initiate?"
"Go fuck yourself."
He shocked me, then left me dazed and hazy while he called for someone to come and take the tray away.
"You cannot fathom the extent of my excitement in this moment, Samuel. I have been anticipating today for quite some time. I simply cannot wait to see how you'll look once- well, we'll get to that."
And if I claimed that those words didn't send a thrill of nervous fear skittering down my spine, well, I'd be a dirty liar wouldn't I?
Cheverill was rummaging around feverishly behind the closet door, sporadically calling out to me as he searched for whatever the hell it was that had him so wound up. Before he'd gone, he'd given me just enough of a jolt to stun me while he unchained my hands from behind my back, then laid me out on the bed so he could attach each of my wrists to the posts on either side of the headboard. So now I was waiting here- my hands still useless, dammit -listening to him prepare God knew what, and thinking that this would be an excellent time for a rugaru to leap into the room, tear Cheverill's head off, and continue on its merry way. I would probably be so grateful I wouldn't even try to waste it.
After another few moments, Cheverill reemerged, a bulky, metal case in his arms. It was about a foot and a half wide, and a half a foot tall, more like a small trunk than anything else. He bundled it lovingly over to the foot of the bed and set it down with a hefty thud, the muscles in his chest flexing powerfully. It was impossible to miss the bulge conspicuously tenting his sleep pants.
"You seem agitated, Samuel," he noticed. "I promise, if you relax this will be so much more pleasurable." I kicked out at him when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my boxers, more for the show of rebellion than the belief that I could stop him. He slipped the boxers off of me, and I flushed as I always did, hating how Cheverill's gaze traced over me. "Marvellous," he muttered. He slithered off the bed and bent over the chest, flipping the lid open and examining its contents thoughtfully. I craned my neck to see what was inside, but the edge of the bed blocked it from view. "I believe," Cheverill said, mostly to himself, "that we shall begin with these, and see where to go from there." He pulled out two short lengths of honest to God chains, shackles dangling from each of their ends, and held my legs down while he clicked one onto each of my ankles and attached the other ends to the posts at the corners of the bed frame.
"Have you ever considered seeing a therapist?" I asked him once he'd made sure the chains were as taut as they could be. "Maybe talk through some daddy abandonment issues, or the fondness for drowning kittens in your free time?"
"I'll have you know that my relationship with my father was wholly conventional, thank you," he replied blandly. Metal clinked on metal as he poked his hand back into the crate. "And I have never found the drowning of kittens to be particularly- Ah, here we are!" He flourished a small object into the air. "This is feasibly my most favored item to enter today with. No need to preoccupy yourself either, I've had it expressly fitted for you."
"Dude, I don't even know what the fu- what that thing is. Or why in the world today's so special anyway."
Cheverill frowned at me. "I've already elucidated this for you Samuel. Today I introduce outside materials into our relationship."
"Well that makes it so much fucking clearer. Thanks," I sniped sarcastically. Cheverill's frown hardened and his fingers moved automatically towards his bracelet. The familiar current blasted through me and I screamed, back arching off the bed and the tendons in my arms turning to knotted ropes under my skin as I strained against the chains. Cheverill kept me locked into this position for a couple seconds, then let me drop back to the sheets, panting and limp. There has to be some kind of long-term effect, getting shocked so often like this, I thought as I struggled to catch my breath, scared at the possibility.
"As I was saying," Cheverill went on, unconcerned with the fact that I was doing my best to curl in on my aching body. "Since you so clearly need this delineated to you in much more elementary terms, the purpose of today is to familiarize you with some basic sensual objects that will become customary in our quotidian routine."
I could almost feel my balls trying to draw up protectively. "You mean sex toys," I said faintly.
Cheverill pursed his lips at my choice of words, like he'd bitten into a particularly sour lemon. High mannered prick. "At any rate," he maintained. "You perceive the significance of this occasion." He fluffed out his pompous air anew and held up the object again so that I could inspect it. "This tool is one of the less complex that I will be showing you today," he explained. "It is a type of-" he paused and grimaced. "Well, you might recognize it as a 'cock ring.'" His tone suggested that the crude term physically hurt him as it rolled off his tongue.
Unwillingly, my eyes glued themselves to the strange, burnished object. It appeared simple enough. A single, flattened metal band, which was presently separated into two half moons, connected by hinges in the middle. Divots for the clasp were visible at each end, so that when the halves folded up they clicked together to form the ring. It was a rich, warm gold, and I refused to consider the possibility that it wasn't just painted that color. Cheverill may have had money, but no one should ever make a damn cock ring out of gold just because they could. I knew the basics of what a cock ring was, mainly from Dean's lewd description of a bartender he'd spent the night with a few months back. Apparently, she'd been a bit kinkier than Dean's usual conquests, but Dean had never been too picky about his women, so it hadn't bothered him much. And actually? I think he'd secretly liked some it. I'd tried hard not to listen to the details. But I hadn't been able to avoid the whole story, and now, thinking back on what Dean had mentioned about his little cock ring experience, I decided I really didn't want to have one of my own just yet.
Cheverill gave me a moment more to ogle the thing before settling on the bed between my bound legs and taking my flaccid length in his hand. I jumped at the brush of his cool skin against mine and reflexively tried to jerk my hips away. Oh God, I couldn't do this again. Please, please, please, don't make me do this again! I bit my lip to stifle a sob. Dean's coming. He's coming for me.
"Pay attention now," Cheverill reminded me. "This is for your education as well as my divertissement, Samuel." He reached down to grab a bottle of lube and snapped the cap open briskly. Excluding the day that I got here, he had always made sure to use the stuff in whatever we did, something for which I was unspeakably thankful. Nothing could have prepared me for the white-hot agony of him entering me dry that first night. I'd done my best to forget the horrible pain, and he'd apologized sweetly for it numerous times since then, but his excuses, that I was just too much for him to resist, that he couldn't make himself wait another second to take me, somehow failed to put me in an especially forgiving mood.
The bed dipped as Cheverill readjusted himself and tenderly pumped his hand over my dick. "The problem with the ring" he complained, "is that you cannot put it to use without being aroused first." He jacked me off carelessly, not even lingering over it as he was inclined to do, and the cuffs chafed my ankles raw as I fought the chains keeping my legs spread wide. Without my consent, my cock hardened quickly.
When I was at half-mast, Cheverill stopped. He picked up the lube and dribbled a dab of it over his fingers, then thoroughly coated the ring as well. "The first instance that you wear this may be unsettling," he informed me. "I am aware that you are unaccustomed to the effects of using a ring, but you will adjust." I tensed as he placed the golden band at my base and snapped the two halves shut around me, the metal sparkling brilliantly. It was tight, but not uncomfortably so. I let my breath hiss out from between my teeth as he took his hands away, cringing at the feel of the cold metal and the strange pressure it caused.
"That's my good boy, Samuel," he purred.
"Go to hell," I snarled, yanking futilely at my restraints.
"Language," he scolded back, forsaking his bracelet in favor of taking me in his grip and flicking a nimble thumb across my slit. I gasped at the unexpected touch. Sensations shot up to my groin and I groaned as Cheverill squirted more lube into his palm and gave me a strong pull. "Always so receptive Samuel," he murmured adoringly. I turned my face into the pillow, swallowing against the shame coating my throat with a bitter taste. I could feel myself thickening as Cheverill squeezed me gently, every reaction compounded by the metal ring sheathing the base of my dick.
"Stop," I ground out, teeth gritted.
"Ah, but you're ravishing like this!" Cheverill exclaimed. "And you seem to be enjoying yourself well enough." He lightly scratched a nail across my now weeping tip. Pleasure raced through me and I was bucking up into his hand before I even realized what I was doing.
"You son of a bitch," I husked, giving the chains another tug. I was fully hard now and concentrating everything I had on resisting the urge to thrust into Cheverill's expert touch. He gave me a soft stroke in answer. I forced my eyes shut, fighting to keep my shallow breaths from stuttering as pleasure throbbed through me. I was only halfway successful, and I could sense Cheverill's glee every time I failed to hold back a moan. Dean's on his way, I chanted to myself, over and over again. It didn't matter that he hadn't come yet, that if it was possible to find me he and Dad would've already smashed through the door and shot Cheverill right between his smarmy blue eyes. He's on his way right now.
Cheverill took his hand away (I did not whimper at the loss, a feat for which I was proud) and peered down at me, rock hard and swollen, metal glinting unobtrusively against my skin. "Wonderful! I feel confident in saying that we are ready to move on to more refined tools." He smeared a drop of precum down my length, catching my eye at the same time and smirking. "Rings are all well and good, but they are juvenile really. We must start with them yes, but only because they are necessary for what comes later."
He stepped off of the bed, wiping his fingers unceremoniously on the sheets as he leaned back over the chest. "This next one however, is one of my favorites. Most likely, you will disagree initially. But don't let it worry you." He straightened, cradling a slim wooden case. "You'll learn to appreciate it just as much as I do."
"Y'know, somehow I doubt that," I managed weakly.
Cheverill tutted at me disapprovingly. "A negative outlook will get you nowhere, Samuel."
"Yeah, I can't imagine why I might be feeling so pessimistic."
Cheverill laughed and patted my leg fondly. The lid of the case opened with a click and he lifted out what appeared to be a long, silver needle, blunt at one end and rounding into a tiny ball at the other. The metal glittered in the warm daylight pouring in from the windows.
"This is known as a sound," Cheverill said, pinching the balled end between two fingers. "They are extremely undervalued, in my opinion. I can't wait to see how it will look on you."
I gulped, watching in fearful fascination as he rubbed lube liberally across the length of the metal. Dean had never mentioned sounds after his dominatrix bartender experience. I really did not want to find out the use of them for myself, but as usual it didn't seem like I was getting much of a choice.
"It is in your interest to remain as still as you can for this step," he warned me. "It would be... unpleasant if you caused me to slip and puncture your urethral wall."
"Whoa, whoa, hold up, my urethral what?!"
"Don't move now." He placed the blunt tip of the sound against my slit.
"Hey, no, stop! What are you-?" The tip disappeared inside me and I cut off with a shocked yell. It was, without a doubt, the weirdest thing I had ever felt. It wasn't exactly painful, not at first. But as the sound slid another half-inch into my dick (and bringing the word "penetration" to a whole new level), the discomfort morphed into a slow, unbearable burn.
"Stop!" I shouted desperately.
"Shh, shh, almost there." Cheverill carefully pressed the sound in further. The burning spread and I cried out, wrenching at the cuffs around my wrists and ankles. "Stay still!" Cheverill ordered sharply. The burning grew and grew, until the pad of his thumb tickled my sensitive tip and the sound was seated entirely within me, only the rounded ball remaining outside, flush against my slit. "All done, all done," Cheverill soothed as I shuddered, trying to adjust to the fullness, the wrongness of metal stretching me from the inside. It was utterly violating, with something burrowed so casually into my dick as if it had every right to be there.
My tongue fumbled for words. "Take it out," I rasped. "Please."
"Ah, but you wear it so fetchingly, Samuel." Delicately, Cheverill took the ball between thumb and index finger and twirled it.
Whatever I had said before, I had been dead wrong; thiswas the strangest, most alien mixture of pleasure-pain-weird I had ever felt. My control slipped. I shrieked, arching up blindly at the sensations that exploded through me. Somewhere above my head, Cheverill chuckled quietly and spun the sound a second time. My dick throbbed urgently, held in check by the ring.
"Mmm, you like that, I see." Cheverill's other hand closed around my shaft and he moved it gradually up and down, teasing me. "How long do you think you could stand this before it became too much?" he mused out loud. I choked out a groan and thrust into his grip, hoping he'd catch the hint and pick up the pace already. "Not yet Samuel, not yet," he told me, putting a steadying hand on my hip. "Coming is a privilege, as you very well know. Do you think you deserve to come?"
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood and nodded furiously. My dick was aching from being kept on the edge for so long, clouding my thoughts and stunting my pride.
"No, no, you need to do better than that." Cheverill dropped lower and rolled my balls between his fingers, trails of flame following his touch. His voice hardened, a vein of steel injected into the cooing tone. "I want to hear you beg, Samuel. You can do that for me, can't you?"
I shook my mutely. No, begging was bad. I shouldn't do it, even if I couldn't remember why just then. Dad wouldn't like it one bit if he knew I'd begged for anything. I couldn't disappoint him here; I disappointed him enough on hunts as it was. "I won' do it," I slurred. Cheverill's eyebrows slanted downwards and he gave the sound a deft twist.
"You think you can defy me indefinitely?" he demanded. "You believe you're strong enough for that?" His voice hushed conspiratorially. "If so, you're sorely mistaken. I know you, Samuel, and you're weak. Endeavor to hide it all you like, behind your bravado and your insolent comments, but I can see it in your pretty, pretty eyes."
I met his gaze, dark blue on uncertain hazel. Wrong, he was wrong. I wasn't weak. He was lying to me, always lying-
A curt knock at the door shattered the wordless power struggle between us. Cheverill whipped his head around to glare at the door, practically growling at the interruption. "What?" he spat loudly.
He appeared as surprised as I felt when the door opened to reveal Carter standing on the threshold. Then Cheverill's eyes bulged and he swung himself off of me and stalked over to the other man, teeth bared. It was probably only the fact that Carter was a good three inches taller and twenty five pounds heavier that stopped Cheverill from strangling him then and there. "I ordered for this room to be left alone," Cheverill hissed, spittle flying. "Are you so dimwitted that even that simple command escapes you?"
"Sir, I'm sorry but-"
"But what?!" Cheverill roared into his face. "What could conceivably be so important that you maladroit oafs could not handle it yourselves?!"
To Carter's credit, he stood his ground. He didn't even flinch as Cheverill bellowed at him, merely raised his arm to dry his face on his sleeve, expression calm. He waited until Cheverill stepped back, slightly out of breath from his rant, the cleared his throat.
"The deal fell through," he said steadily. "Sandover changed his mind last minute, realized he was getting shortchanged. He's asking for a renegotiation of the terms."
Cheverill froze in his tracks. The fury apparent in every line of his body drained away, replaced by a sort of cold, calculating wariness. "What is he squalling for this time?"
"He no longer thinks that giving you seventy percent of all profits is such a fair plan after all."
Cheverill ran a hand distractedly through his dark hair and cast a brief glance towards me, his frustration clear. Carter turned to regard me as well, and met my eyes impassively. I imagined how I must look, spread out like a slut across the bed, strands of sweaty hair plastered to my forehead and my cock still leaking around the metal ball at the tip. I wrenched my gaze away from Carter, fighting down the blush that wanted to rise to my cheeks.
At length, Cheverill gave a clipped nod. "Very well," he said reluctantly. "It seems I must deal with Sandover personally." He tapped a long finger against his chin. "I'm afraid we will need to put our time on hold for the moment, Samuel," he sighed. He crossed to the bed and leaned down to kiss me, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth as I tossed my head from side to side, trying to dislodge him.
Carter coughed awkwardly. "Sir, we really should go," he ventured.
"In a minute." Cheverill waved him off vaguely. "I need to ensure that Samuel remains entertained while I'm away. I'd hate for him to forget the lesson we're working on."
For the first time, Carter's unconcerned demeanor faltered, and his lips thinned angrily. But he kept quiet as Cheverill plucked a thick, stubby plastic rod from his damn crate. "I'm certain you'll be familiar with this," he said to me, uncapping the lube and applying it liberally over the object's shiny black surface. "It is commonly called a vibrator, and it's going to keep you nice and aroused for when I return." He covered two of his fingers in lube and reached down to press first one, then the other up inside of me, pushing at my furled hole until he breached the ring of muscles.
I yelped at the abrupt intrusion, and wished with all my might that Carter would stop watching so closely as Cheverill spread the lube around and in my hole. When he was sure I was prepped, Cheverill drew his hand out with a wet, slick noise that made me redden furiously. It sounded obscene, whorish.
"I am sorry for leaving you here," Cheverill apologised. "It is crass of me, but I'm afraid it can't be helped." He positioned the tip of the vibrator over my slippery hole and firmly began forcing it inside of me.
"Ah," I gasped. I wasn't used to this. The plastic felt odd, hard and unforgiving on my nerves and I clenched my muscles instinctively.
"Relax, Samuel," Cheverill commanded. "Now is not the time for your recalcitrance." He shoved the vibrator forward another inch.
"Stop!" I cried, struggling to twist my hips away from him. From the corner of my eye, I saw Carter give a small start, mouth opening as if to protest. But then his jaw tightened and he tucked his hands into his pockets, nostrils flared.
Cheverill wriggled the vibrator until he was satisfied it was deep enough inside of me that I wouldn't be able to push it out on my own. "Almost done," he promised. There was a click as he pressed a button at the base, and I let out a humiliating squeak as the vibrator buzzed to life.
"Wha- take it out!" I wheezed, squirming as my dick pulsed painfully. I scraped it clumsily against the mattress, but it was lodged unyieldingly in my ass.
"Just allow me to make a few adjustments…" Cheverill tweaked the handle to the side, and the tip shifted, brushing a spot that had stars bursting behind my eyes. I groaned lowly. "Almost there. Just a little bit…" Cheverill muttered. The vibrator angled again so that it rested directly over that spot, rubbing against it over and over until I was sobbing, almost writhing as the ring prevented me from tipping over the edge.
"Excellent." Someone patted my cheek. I couldn't focus through the paralyzing need to see who it was. "I will be ready just as soon as I change into more professional attire." There was the rustling of a clothes hanger being lifted off of its rack.
"Sir, should you really leave him like that? It might not be safe. You don't know you long it could take to come to an agreement with Sandover."
"Carter, once more you are overstepping your bounds."
"...Of course Sir. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't. Back to business, did Sandover reveal his exact reasonings for rejecting-"
A door slammed shut. I lay on my back, twisting uselessly at the shackles around my wrists and ankles, pain building within me as the vibrator pounded at me relentlessly. The world faded away, narrowed down to sensations that drowned me, smothered me beneath them. All I could do was lie there, clinging stubbornly to once sentence that repeated in an endless loop through me head.
Dean's coming. Dean's coming. Dean's coming. Dean's coming.
Whoa, where'd that cliff hanger come from? Damn muses, always doin' stuff like that.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, etc. I may be biased, but I think I've got some kick-ass followers, so kudos to you guys. You all are awesome, and I commend all of you on your everlasting patience with my writing speed. A couple of specific thank you's to Superwholock394 for an amazing PM that inflated my ego far more than I deserve, and to 3DBABE1999, who has made the plot way better than I could ever do on my own.
ANYWAY, I'm boring you guys, so I'll just finish up here. I already told you how I felt about this chapter, and plot twist of plot twists, now you can tell me how you felt about it too! My goodness! If you want to answer these questions, feel free, but don't take it as a necessity or anything.
1) How was the writing pace, style, descriptiveness? Seriously, be as critical as you want here. I want to know what you think.
2) Any part of the chapter that you loved/hated? Why?
3) Other comments, complaints, observations, reactions, blah, blah. You get what I'm saying.