Deliver Us (2 page)

Darrek walks down a flight of dimly lit stairs, into an even darker chamber. Straining his eyes, they start to slowly adjust. Before he can see much of anything besides the bench in the middle of the room, T-shaped with restraints welded onto the frame, a deep, gruff voice says from behind him, “On your knees, slave.”

He does it reflexively, going to his knees on the painfully hard concrete floor. As soon as he does, he’s instantly uncomfortable as his bones grind against the unforgiving surface.

But it doesn’t even matter to him because, see, the
big
problem at the moment is that it’s a
male
voice—a very,
very
male voice—low-pitched, rough and alarmingly sensual. He turns his head to look for the source, catching only a flash of full, luscious lips, stark gray-blue eyes framed with thick, almost feminine lashes, a chiseled, bare chest and model-perfect body. Then there’s a hand twisted in the back of Darrek’s long hair, yanking his head back hard and exposing the thick, long column of his neck.

“I didn’t say you could look,” the man growls in Darrek’s ear, before a blindfold is wrapped over his eyes, tightened at the back of his skull and he can’t see
anything
.

A hand pushes down inside the front waistband of his cut-off jeans and closes around his dick. It squeezes slowly up its length and he actually starts to get
hard
.

“What’s your safeword?” the voice asks, stroking him up and down and it feels so fucking
good
.

“I... t-think there’s been a m-mistake. I was supposed to be with a
woman
, someone named G-Gabe....”

“That’s me,” the voice interrupts, cutting him off. The unanswered question is repeated, “What’s your
safeword
?”

The man—Gabe—releases his cock. Pushing lower, his fingers curl around and grip his balls instead, squeezing them just enough to feel amazing but not enough to hurt.

“I-I don’t k-know...” he sputters, confused.

“What kind of vehicle do you drive? What’s the model name?”

“T-tundra?”

“That’s your safeword.
Use it
if you want us to stop.”

“But....”

“
Listen
to me,” he growls, punctuating his command with a firm squeeze of his hand. A bolt of heat and pain shoots into Darrek’s gut, fire exploding in his balls, his stomach cramping up tightly, but his dick twitches with interest against Gabe’s arm.

“I am
very good
at what I do. I will make you feel things that you never even thought
possible
before, things that a
woman
would
never
be able to make you feel. Anything that happens here, in this room, does
not
leave this room. This is between us, and my assistant.”

Rubbing his thumb over Darrek’s left testicle in small circles, kneading the flesh, he asks, “Do you
want
this?”

“Um... juh... I don’t kn....”

“Do you
WANT
this?” the growling voice at his ear asks. Soft, hot lips skim over his neck and throat, over his Adam’s apple, sending a shiver down his spine and the hand clenched around his most sensitive body part
tugs
forcefully.

“
Oh, fuck
...” Darrek gasps, tilting his hips instinctively, trying to follow the movement and relieve the pressure. “Yes. Yes!
Shit
.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he purrs, and then the hand is gone—the lips and warm ghost of breath across his neck, as well.

He sharpens his ears, trying to pick up any and all sounds. Soft, padding footsteps—which suggest that Gabe is barefoot—circle him and then recede. Distantly, a door opens and heavier footsteps, someone wearing shoes, possibly boots, approaches.

“Remove your shirt, slave,” Gabe commands.

Darrek fumbles a little with it, as the nervousness sets in, but he gets it up and over his head. Someone takes it from his hand before he even has a chance to drop it to the floor. Beginning to tremble, he feels a hand cup his cleft chin, tilting his head up as he’s examined.

“I think we’ll leave the hood off today. I want to see just how exquisite this face looks when it’s begging and screaming,” Gabe’s voice muses, and then says to the new arrival, “Gag him.”

The hand falls away from his chin but he keeps his face tilted to the same angle.

“Open your mouth as wide as you can.”

What seems to be a large rubber ball gag is fitted between his teeth. His lips close around it in a perfect ‘O’ shape. It feels enormous in his mouth. Someone tightens the strap around the back of his head, keeping it snug. Wondering fearfully how he’s supposed to say his safeword with the gag in place, Darrek gets even more nervous.

A throaty voice chuckles behind him. Not Gabe, someone else. This voice is somehow even
deeper.
The person that it belongs to sounds intimidating enough to cause Darrek to start clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, his heart pounding in his chest. Biting down on the gag, he finds that it soothes him, the way his teeth press at the surface. Darrek likes that it will prevent him from saying anything stupid or cowardly in front of these two men to whom he’s giving such absolute power over him.

Starting to question the logic of this decision, his safety, the detailed questions on the paperwork about his health insurance information, his existing medical conditions, the legal waiver he’s signed absolving them from fault should anything go wrong and he gets seriously hurt....

Oh god
, Darrek moans to himself, remembering the form clearly enough that he can almost see it if front of him, and only
just now
realizing that there had been a section that asked if he was averse to anal penetration. He hadn’t checked it off. He’s left himself in the hands of two Dominants that already have him on his knees on an increasingly painful concrete floor, half-undressed, blindfolded and with a gag in his mouth and he has
NOT
said anything about the fact that he’s straight and rather averse to anal penetration. These men have no clue that he’s never been interested in gay sex, that he’s never let anyone, not even the kinkiest girls he’s dated, go
near
his ass with
anything
. He may be easygoing, but he’s not
that
easygoing.

He starts to tremble more.

“He’s nervous,” the deeper of the two voices observes, sounding amused. “Is this your first time, slave?”

Darrek groans and nods his head in affirmation.

“Oh, Gabe. We have ourselves a
virgin
on our hands! I think I’m gonna enjoy this. And
look at him.
Perfect body, pretty-boy face....”

“Wait ’til you feel his balls. They’re huge and full. And his cock?” Gabe says to his associate eagerly, literally purring with desire. “...Mmm....”

“That good, huh?”

“That good. Take him to the table. Get him in the restraints. I want to get started.”

They guide him to the bench he’d caught a glimpse of before the blindfold had been put in place. It’s quite high up in the air, higher than the average dining table. He lies back on it, but it’s short and his ass hangs off the end slightly. They tell him to stretch his arms to the sides, perpendicular to his body. There’s a narrow beam running crosswise to which they secure his arms. He can’t see what the restraints look like or what they are made of, but they feel cold, like metal, and thick. He hears the small sharp snick of a lock clicking into place first on the left side and then the right.

One of the men, he’s not sure which, removes Darrek’s shoes and socks. Darrek is a tall guy at six-foot-six, but when they lock his ankles in restraints as well—just the edges of the heels of his feet resting on tiny footrests, almost like stirrups—his toes and the balls of his feet wiggle and dangle in mid-air. It’s not enough contact to do more than keep his legs in place and he’s not sure why it unnerves him, but it does. It makes him feel like a child, unsteady and out of his element. He’d feel much better with his feet firmly planted on the ground, but maybe that’s the whole point.

“Leg spreader?” the deeper, older sounding one asks Gabe. Darrek can tell from the source of the voice that the man is sitting between his legs. Darrek can sometimes hear the squeak of wheels from that general direction, and imagines that he’s sitting on a rolling stool.

“No, not yet. Clothespins first, then the spreader. No neck restraint yet either. I want to see him squirm.”

Darrek moans loudly, pulling at the restraints.

“Relax, slave, we haven’t even
started
yet,” Gabe laughs.

It’s an unnerving sound.

He hears drawers being opened, the clink of metal, the softer tap of other unknown objects being arranged on a surface nearby, and senses the men moving around him. They’re deciding what to do to him. They’re setting everything out right now, and if he could only
see
, he’d know what was in store for him. Hell, it’s all nicely laid out only a few feet away. The fact that the other men know exactly what they’re going to do and exactly what they want him to feel, but that
he’s
not allowed to know, to say yes or no until it happens, excites him. Darrek is aware that there’s always the out of using the safeword, but the position of complete submission he’s been put in makes the blood rush to his cock, and he feels it swell even more, pressing at his jeans.

A pair of hands begins to caress lightly over his chest, over the firm, thickly defined muscle there, and then down over his abs and back up to his pectorals. Each hand finds one of his nipples. They rub insistently over them in small circles, stimulating them, and then pinch down and pull. Darrek grunts. He arches a little when he simultaneously feels warm lips close around one of his nipples, sucking at it then biting down, tugging it between teeth as the hand still works at the other one, making the small nubs hard and erect, just as he also feels
another
set of hands grab between his legs, right at his crotch. They seek out and find his balls, tracing the outline of them, pressing at the fabric and gripping them carefully through his jeans.

He makes a series of small grunts, half-words mumbled around the gag and then the first clothespin is attached to his testicles.

The thickness of the fabric covering them dulls the discomfort. It starts as a pinch, but the ache grows, spreads. He starts to breathe harshly through his nose with apprehension, then yelps in surprise when clothespins are attached to first his left nipple and then his right.

Darrek’s heart pounds in his chest, especially when what he suspects are Gabe’s hands grab his knees and keep him spread wide as the other man attaches more clothespins to his balls.

He counts eight in all.

When they’re all attached, Gabe’s fingers trace along the outline of Darrek’s dick inside his pants. It pulses and strains against them. He dips his hand under the waistband of the tented pants, feathering lightly over Darrek’s erection, the proof of his arousal, showing Darrek that he knows how much all of this is turning him on. Darrek moans thickly.

The hand slips free of his pants, and then he’s just lying there being closely observed. The pain starts out manageable, concentrated and sharp, but as the seconds turn to minutes, the pain grows exponentially.

Darrek starts to writhe, tries to close his legs like that might help, but it makes it worse. He tries to spread them wider and that makes it worse too as the pins pull and snag at him.

It starts to hit him then—the magnitude of what he agreed to. But he doesn’t call it off.

Gabriel watches for a full fifteen minutes, pacing, before he starts to touch the man strapped to the table. Darrek, the paperwork said his name was, squirms and tries every possible variation of position available to him, but he can’t escape the pain. It’s beautiful to watch, especially because it’s only the beginning. Darrek doesn’t even know the meaning of the word pain. Yet.

Gabriel nods to his assistant, Trace, a tall, stocky man ten years his senior whose grizzled beard and long hair, typically worn tied back at the nape of his neck, hides strong, handsome features. His dark eyes and piercing gaze punctuate a fearsome personality. At the signal, Trace reaches out and feathers all of the fingers of his right hand rapidly over the clothespins attached to Darrek’s testicles. Darrek cries out through the gag and tries to close his legs again. Smiling at the reaction, Trace brushes the clothespins back and forth with his palm and then takes hold of one of the pins. He doesn’t squeeze the end to release the grip of the wood at Darrek’s flesh, he grips the
top
of the pin, keeping it pinched tight and
pulls
, hard.