Disclaimer! AT first this may have a sexual interaction between a minor and an adult....if that isn't OK with you to read--don't do it. If it isn't legal for you to read don't do it.
Obviously this story is not a stretch from the style of writing I seem to prefer. But, it is a challenge for me to share this one. Once again, it is all fiction and even blatantly so. I make up all kinds of nonsense to tell a story between two people. This one is going to be a grand adventure, with bad guys trying to kill the good guys. There is some dom submissive stuff (BDSM) in here that I am no expert on. It is all made up based on what I have read. Not on any personal experience so if I screw it up don't hang me-k?
There is also a fantasy (as in sci fi/fantasy) element that will reveal itself over time.
Don't forget, I write my stories for my enjoyment and hope that you will enjoy them too. I am not a pro--and am just hoping you enjoy them.
Please email me if you would like to join my group. Four parts of Identity are up there.
Evago email@example.com <mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org> Nifty needs your contributions!
Chapter 1: The Pain Of Freedom
Identity. Ego. Self-Awareness. Are you aware that these things are a luxury? Freedom is a oceanic term so broadly overused it has lost its meaning and swims in a sea of misunderstanding. The power to choose your own destiny is a real one for many and they fail utterly to appreciate the complete ability they have to do so. The right to wake up and lie about, choosing not to go to work, and instead spend two hours in the shower jacking off. This is freedom. The right to say your own name, to sign it, to repeat it until it is pronounced correctly. An identity. I lost mine once. Or rather, it was taken from me. And in that shame of emptiness I discovered what I was in the absence of who I had been.
I spent two months being trained as a slave to be sold, virgin and young. It started out partly a lie, but by the time it was over I believed the lie. While I was virgin, I wasn't as young as my captors imagined. One hundred and Sixty days after his eighteenth birthday, Micah Lfani ceased to exist. And was reborn a few days later in the arms of an Angel. My Owner.
You might imagine this is a tale about bondage and the emergence of a true slave. Maybe. I guess I will leave that up to you to decide. But, I do not think those who hold true to such things would think so. In fact, the sequence of events that brought us to the moment where he claimed me as his were so incredibly fortuitous and complex that mere chance cannot be credited. I have never been a faithful child of God. But, apparently he really was a fan of mine.
Micah Lfani started life an easy going, if incredibly spoiled, child of dot.com boom computer programmers in Seattle, Washington. Money, technology, free time, and access to some of the most sophisticated computer hardware and software in existence, and the intellect and curiosity to be dangerous. And he was bored enough to get deeply into trouble. Three hundred million dollars worth of trouble give or take ten million or so. Most likely give.
What does a fourteen-year-old junior in high school, yeah two years ahead of his peers; do with that kind of embezzled cash? Um, invest it? Move it around? Fail to imagine the tangle of complications that it entails? Have no clue whatsoever that it means more than a brand new game system and two year subscription to every computer magazine in publication? Get arrested?
Bingo. Get arrested. Not because anyone actually missed the money. Oh no, it was the money making more of itself and coming back to a now fifteen-year-old college freshman. Who had managed to at least buy a car and a fabulous wardrobe befitting a cute 5'6'' 110 lb dark hair blue eyed boy. Micah Lfani had a gypsy fey quality about him. Dark clothes, almost Goth but more GQ and euro than that. You have to realize he was living with his mother at school because of his age. Micah had possession of that cool three hundred plus million for a whopping seventeen months. You know they never found it all, or where it came from. How could they? He was smart, savvy and had all the personal sense of organization belonging to a butterfly.
Moot point. But the arrest was nothing. Ho hum. Juvenile court to start with, because of course they had NO IDEA the magnitude of the theft. He had a bright lawyer who ensured the rest of the charges remained in juvenile court. Money does buy some things. But, the government is crafty. Clever agents at the FBI decided it would be a suitable career move for Micah Lfani to become an operative. His computer skills were, strangely, not the first quality that inspired this kind of... offer.
Slender, lithe and graceful, a body as toned as a dancers with clear golden skin, naturally tawny from Mediterranean ancestry. But, bare skinned, nearly hairless body from Norse ancestry. Micah's hair is a dark sable brown, silky and mussed or combed it teases his brow, and curls behind his delicate ears, brushing the back of his sleek neck. Arching elfin brows dance above stormy gray blue eyes that betray every emotion. Cheekbones that barely soften the fey look, dipping to a slender angular jaw, and slightly mischievous mouth whose lower lip is more than a tad to full for a boy.
There never was a great and terrible struggle for this boy concerning his orientation. Gay or straight, hell, he was more preoccupied with the other challenges in his life to worry over the fact that he rather didn't think about girl's breasts but enjoyed the physical appearance of a good strong male. It really was not anywhere near the top of his daily considerations.
Undercover prostitute. Hrm. You want him to do what? Well, at first it was rather painless. How to catch a pimp 101? Dangle sweet young thing, reel in medium sized fish. Rinse pole, repeat. But he was pretty good at his former profession. And it was on just one such swim through a murky dangerous pond that he got hold of a computer. That computer revealed a network of child trafficking. Moving children into and out of the good ol' USA. It wasn't a huge one, but it was substantial enough to be grimly tragic.
Dangling into and out of this cesspool, Micah spent a great deal of time amassing information before revealing it to his handlers. The shock of it rippled across bigger ponds. And so it was, on the day after Micah turned eighteen he was deliberately cut free of the line and dropped into the sea to swim with and bring into the shallows, the sharks.
The last thing Micah did was IM his handlers the day after his birthday. Little boy bored, going to go play in the park.
And Micah disappeared. He played the part so well. Fourteen-year-old boy, parents work long hours. Lots of time on the computer with no supervision, this boy was kidnapped, and instead of being transported directly he was diverted to a small sub organization. Remember the beauty of the boy...
A subgroup so secret he himself had no idea it had been a risk. He was not going to be sold as is. He was going to be trained. To be erased. Pain, reward. Pain, submission, approval. The only part of him left they did not violate by any object was his ass. Everything else was had, plundered and violated. He grew ill and nearly died from a particularly bad beating. He lost weight, dropping down from 130 lbs to 105. It was here that he surrendered his ego. No longer resisted the fist, the whip, and the cock in his mouth. Forgot Micah Lfani. But it had never been about finding out who Micah was, only in losing him. So, his connection to law enforcement never had been a secret to seek.
The slave became aware of his sale only hours before he was to be turned over. Not a trace of anxiety rippled through his slender body. He bent at the knees, suspended from the bonds, his hair covering his closed eyes. His skin had paled but healed from the savage whipping of months earlier. The white marks that crossed his back were barely visible. More prominent were the scars on his wrists from the first weeks fighting the shackles. But he was sleek, silken and taut. His bottom is pink from a flat paddle having been applied to force blood into his semi hard 6.5" cock.
Voices argued in the corridor at his back. He had spent the past four hours trying to understand what might be different with his new master. The emptiness of his mind allowed that he would lose his virginity, and the fear that would be associated with that was instead relief. It had been torturous to worry about that last bit of self. He was actually desperate to rid himself of it. The fear associated with his virginity ate away at him. Kept him awake. Because this would be the pain of all pains for certain. It had to be. Why keep it else wise? It was the last fear, the last sacrifice of a good and dutiful slave.
Presented to his Master, the slave hung mutely. He was stroked, moved, postured. The other two praised him and punished him for his beauty. The lash cut his back open, the slick heat of his blood dripping down over his ass like a red arrow.
But the Master clucked softly, and sent them away. He raged that they would dare touch what was his. Dare take a single moment from him. Long moments tortured the slave as he waited. His body began to shake as the fear clawed inside him. Their were muted voices then his voice, low and soft in the slaves ear, "Shhh. Don't be frightened. I have to touch you. They won't let me take you if they don't trust me." His hand slid down the slave's chest, fingers spreading. "So soft..." He said loudly. "Do you like my touch, slave?"
Master frowned slightly, his face close, "Look at me!" He growled, but his expression was gentle, not angry. Still the slave shook with fear, "Trust me." He breathed. "Who do you belong to?" He growled, his fingers holding the slaves chin in one hand, his other hand hot, heavy closing around the slaves cock.
"You are the Master. This slave belongs to you." The slave answered. Heat spread from the hand around his cock, and it grew in the Master's hand. The slave shook.
The hand on his chin curled around twisted the slaves head til his lips were beside the slaves ear, "That's right, slave!" He growled, then a whisper on a single breath, "I am a cop, kid. And everything will be alright."
Words came over the speaker, but the Slave did not hear them. "I am a cop." These words played in his mind. I am too. He thought. But, it was a trick. That was before. No, there is no before. Just the slave. But...
The master stepped away and the slave slumped, his cock aching and full, and missing the touch. He whimpered, sure he had displeased the master. "Master, I beg you punish your slave!"
"I won't fuck him in front of an audience." The Master was angry with the Others. The wall behind the Slave was glass, and this did not please the Master.
"But you will fuck it before you leave here with it. This is a requirement." The sibilant voice repeated.
The slave swooned when removed from his hanging. Only to wake cuffed on a floor in one of the darker Master's Sleeping chambers. He sucked in air as silently as possible, immobile.
Again, he could hear his new Master. This time, allowing that he would break in his Slave. Darkness threatened again because of the crushing fear of the Master's rejection. The Slave had no meaning without the Master.
"Get up." The Master ordered.
Carefully the Slave rose, hesitating at each stage. All the way to his feet he struggled to stay upright.
"Hello, Slave. You'll find I am easy to please, all you have to do is obey. Nothing more, nothing less. You will answer my demands with actions and agree with "Yes, Jon." Not with Master. Do you understand, little man?" This was going to be challenging for the Slave, it was beyond his training but he was also trained to obey, in all things.
"Yes, Jon." The slaves eyes were on the floor, he could not see the Master's expression or no if a trick lay there.
"Come over to me." His voice was rough but firm. Not roughly angry, but husky with...some kind of emotion. Desire perhaps.
Shuffling slowly, trying to remain steady on his feet, the boy approached the big man where he sat on the wing back chair. His knees came into view, his legs were spread at the knees and his hands were outstretched. "Yes, Jon." The hands settled on the boy's slender hips, his thumbs dipping into the hollows with painful gentleness. The slave tried to control the trembling in his body, desperate not to anger or offend.
"Look at me, little man." Jon said softly. The slave's eyes came up slowly, blinking uneasily to and from the master's gaze.
"It was my desire to take you home before plundering," He swallowed, but forced himself to keep his eyes on the boys face, "your virgin ass. But, it will be done here. Because this makes me unhappy, you will surrender with a minimum of fuss. No effort. No fight. You will relax and allow this."
"Yes, Jon." Of course he would allow it. How confusing. Is he to fight later?
The master, Jon, leaned forward and grabbing the slaves hair pushed the slave down to his knees, where the master leaned forward, "Forgive me." He breathed. Again, a silent message not meant for the Others. The slave understood these things were private. Not to be shared. The master opened his pants, and the slave inhaled, relaxing imperceptibly. Finally, the chance to prove his worthiness. He unconsciously licked his lips and leaned forward the action drawing a very soft gasp of pleasure from the Master, as he witnessed the desire on his slaves face. Jon's cock went from anxious and unwilling to rock hard by the time he removed it from his boxers. Holy fuck, the boy's lit expression, drugged fascination, from his parted lips to his half closed eyes down to the tightening of his nipples and his own growing erection sent a primal message past the cops logic to his own animal instincts: desire. "Do you want my cock, little man?"
"Yes, Jon!" The response might have been conditioned, but it was no less satisfying for Jon. He couldn't help the fission of need that shot through him. A handsome man, at 6'2" 205' lbs he was a powerful, golden haired Adonis. His girlfriend was beautiful and they still had regular if unimaginative sex. He wasn't exactly sure he was the only cop she was fucking, but her undemanding personality suited him. Other affairs had briefly come and gone with no real interruption in his emotional being. But the last time he'd had a sexual escapade with another male had been as a teenager, when he and a younger cousin had jerked off together and the boy had sucked his cock a few times over the summer. Even at 12 his cousin had been bigger and raunchier than this slender angel. This boy was taller, but everything about him was tender. Part of him was savagely sickened by what he was going to do. But the guns outside shot real bullets. He was here quite by accident, and forced to choose to live or die over the fucking of this teenager. If he died, the boy would surely die as well. Die in servitude to a monster like the other man he had bid against.
He knew he was still being watched, so he made a show of demands, his words confirming that he desired the slave, if wasn't experienced at acting the part. Inhaling sharply he steeled himself and slapped the boys face with his powerfully hard 8'' weapon. The boy's lips parted and his eyes fluttered closed but he didn't flinch, "Do you want it, little man?" He growled.
"Yes, Jon." He breathed, but didn't move.
"Tell me you want to suck my cock." He ordered. And the boy dutifully responded with the words. But it was his eyes, and the flush on his lips that held Jon's attention. They clung to his throbbing dick like he was starving and his lower lip grew moist with saliva. Groaning he ordered the boy to suck it. When it happened he realized how very tenuous his control was. He was halfway to coming in four short strokes. But they were skilled; the boy tilted his head slightly and took him all the way to the root. No gagging, just deep throated sucking. "Lick my balls, little man." He had to stop the kid, because if he wanted this to end he had to fuck the boys...Jesus. The kids tongue was hot and agile and he obliged with astonishing dexterity. But, Jon's guilt is a formidable enemy.
He broke free of the desire and ordered the slave to stop. "That's enough!" He growled, and immediately regretted it for two glaring reasons. One: his dick popped out of the slave's mouth, swollen and begging for release and the lips of the slave were reddened and so fucking hot, Jon could almost cum just looking at them and two: the fear that was not hidden on the slave's face. "Stand up, little man." Together they stood and Jon wrapped his fist around the boy's neck, appearing rough but holding gently. Again he breathed into the slave's ear, "I am a cop. I...can't rape you. God, I can't." His mouth opened on his neck, rubbing gently, hiding his own shaking.
The slave's eyes opened and he stared into the distance. If it was a lie, the slave was still a slave and he would be given the Masters cock one way or another. If it were true, the Master would die if ... "You must." The boy breathed, dipping his head so the masters body hid the words, "they will kill you. It isn't rape if I am willing. I beg you." More words than the boy had spoken in more than two months. "Yes, Jon." He said loudly, as if he'd been given an order, and the Masters hands loosened as the boy knelt again and found his cock. It was the first time in more than thirty days since the boy had referred to himself as I. It was HUGE. I am giving him my body. I must do this. I want this. I am willing.
The slave felt himself being backed towards the bed, and the Master said words like: "You want me to fuck you?" and "Beg for my cock." But the slave no longer registered them as real. Instead he looked deeper, at the actions. He responded correctly, but inwardly he was scrambling to actually please the man, not just play the part. He balked at the bed.
"Forbidden," He breathed in between Jon's tirade. "Not here."
Jon fisted his hand in the boy's hair, pulling his head back, his lips and teeth scraping the boy's skin, "How then?" he mouthed.
"Ceiling." The boy hissed out between clenched teeth. His cock was so hard, dancing against the Master's thighs. Every brush was an agony of pleasure. He couldn't cum, even now he felt ashamed that he was failing Jon this way.
Jon found the hook on the ceiling and drew the boy's bound wrists to it. His gaze was tormented but alight with desire. In his mind he was about to fuck a fourteen-year-old boy. No amount of end justifies the means could satisfy the agony of WANTING it. Along the wall was a table of tools. They included a whip, dildo's and other instruments, some familiar kink and some completely unknown. But, there was also a glass dispenser of lube.
"Get the whip." The boy said so softly, Jon was afraid he didn't hear. Gripping the kids face he brought his own in close.
"Afraid boy!?" he shouted and the kid arched convincingly as he shouted an obscenity, a threat, and then whispered, "Forgive me."
Jon moved slowly, stroking the whip as he removed his pants and shirt. Nothing diminished his raging hard on. His tongue felt swollen and his throat tight. His ears were ringing and he would have sworn he was drugged. The thought of striking the boy filled him with dread, but he raised his hand and swung the lash. The kid arched, a soft whimper escaping his lips.
God, he didn't fight. The welts from earlier opened, and his blood slicked the pale skin of his back. A second lash, and Jon's knees started to feel weak. Turning away he approached the table, slicking his hands, his cock, saving a puddle of it in his palm. He shook. As he approached the trembling figure suspended from the ceiling he realized the hook was the perfect height for him, he could fuck the kids ass, and would have all the control. But the boys weight was held strongly on his wrists. It had to hurt. If he lifted the kid he could still fuck him, not as deeply, and not as quickly, but with less pain.
The obscenities poured from his mouth as he threatened and taunted the boy, but his fingers and hands were gentle as he pressed the slick fluid into the boys quivering opening. His index finger swirled around the tender pink bud, then pushed and Jon groaned at the tightness, his heartbeat jumping in his dick. My god. "God, your tight, little man." He groaned and the words were wrenched from him. Real. The boy moaned softly, trembling.
A dance started between them. Outside the room the others had already grown satisfied that the inexperienced Master was who he said he was, and he wasn't skilled enough to be a good show. But, his money was good and the boy was rather old for most of their clientele. It was a good sale.
Inside the room the two were caught up in the sexual journey they would never share with another soul. A visceral personal expedition into their own souls. Jon for his part was agonizingly aware that he had never felt a twinge of desire as an adult man for boys. But nor could he deny that right here, right now was the single most arousing moment of his life. He wanted his little man with a powerful hunger that he could not explain. "Who do you belong to, little man?"
"That's right. Now, open for me." He groaned, pressing his finger deep and the boy whimpered. Jon's hot hands kept his ass cheeks spread, as his legs supported the boy's thighs wide open as well. "Open for me..."This time spoken for the kid's ears only, a gentle request. He penetrated deeply, stroking, and the hot clasp of his slaves willing body began to transport him. Pre-cum soaked his balls and thighs, his savage looking cock red and pulsing. Pressing a second finger at the opening he pushed and the boy jerked, a cry escaping him. Instinct brought his hand down on the kid's ass in a satisfying slap. They both groaned. The lube slid into the tight hole, his fingers pumped slowly at first, but he was far from being able to penetrate the boy without tearing him open. His hand went to the boy's hip, and he began to rock against him, pumping the boy back onto his two fingers, fucking him.
It was then that he became aware of the strap around the slave's testicles. Fuck, the boy was hard as a rock; pre-cum flowed down his own member, soaking the kids pale thighs. But no way was he cumming with that. But when Jon started to remove it, the boy's hiss stopped him.
"Not supposed to cum."
"Fuck." Jon growled angrily. "I want you to."
"Not this time, Jon," he said so softly, "Only for you, Jon." He said Jon's name like a benediction. `Not this time,' rang in Jon's ears. Plainly implying a second time. His eyes closed on the possessive thought.
Finally a third finger joined the two, and the boys gasp of pain and pleasure ripped through Jon, his own control so tenuous that when the kid said, "Yes! Jon!" It snapped.
Waiting was over. Jon's fingers slid free and he stepped closer, trembling, he slid the angry read head of his cock, swollen and looking bigger and more obscene than it ever had, against the tender pink opening. His hips jerked uncontrollably, popping past the boy's achingly tight ring, and the kid screeched. The boys weight carried him back onto the marauding behemoth deeper still, summoning a tender but stinging slap from Jon. Both of them cried out as the s Jon caught his little man's hips in a fisted grip that was bruising. "Fuck, yeah..." He groaned helplessly. The tight velvet grip of the boy's ass enveloped Jon's steel and he had never known such a sensation of rightness. Perfection.
The helpless sounds of pain and pleasure as the boy begged him, urged him, had Jon relentlessly pushing forward, then back, forward then back until he was buried, balls deep in the boys quivering, clenching rectum. Staring down at it, Jon was struck anew by how fucking hot it looked. How fucking right it felt to be there. The slave's prick was bouncing and rock hard, purplish with blood filling it to bursting. The world slid away, and all that mattered was their lust. The teen felt strong fingers unlock the ring and he jerked on his own scream of agony and pleasure as the hot hand massaged his throbbing pulsing scrotum and the shaft of his cock in one swipe and the orgasm ripped through him so savagely his ass contracted on the massive cock and it slid deeper still.
"That's it little man, cum for me..."Jon's hips jerked as the slave's ass milked him and his own orgasm washed over him, a rolling rush that started in his balls, and he slammed the teen body back on his cock, shooting his cum deep and wet into the waiting cavern. It traveled up his spine, and he felt the flush of it heat his scalp, his face, his fingers even tingled with the force and he clutched the boys still jerking cock in rhythm to his helpless thrusts.
For the slave's part, the rush of Jon's gift, and the man's orgasm deep inside his ass, was like coming home. The sensation of belonging was so profound he began to drift out of consciousness. He sobbed Jon's name. Blood trailed down his forearms from the shackles, and down his spine, soaking them both. Cum turned pink and leaked from his ass, coating Jon's still hard cock as he drew it free. The blood and semen should of repulsed him, but the sight of it was like a badge of ownership, and as guilty as the pleasure was, Jon felt it in his gut. Satisfaction. His.
Lifting, he unhooked the kid from the ceiling, not surprised when the boy collapsed in his arms, sobbing out his apology and trying to stand. "Shhh...baby. Hush." Jon buried his face in the kids throat, his hands looking like the was fisting them around one wrist and pulling him back, "Hold on a little longer, baby." He groaned, not aware that he had changed his endearment.
The cops gut twisted on the words, they were fervent, and sincere and he couldn't help but shiver. "Lie down on the floor, little man." He growled just as the handle on the door spun.
He didn't hesitate. He slumped instantly, cowering.
"You are too kind to him, he will require constant supervision because you allow too much!" The sibilant voice argued.
"Perhaps that is exactly what I intend." Jon sneered.
The man paused, rather surprised by the tactic. Well then, there was more here than met the eye. He was seducing his slave, engendering trust. The man smiled. "He will be bathed and prepared for you. A shower awaits you, good sir."
Two men and an older woman came in and took the boy away, and Jon felt a flash of fear, he looked at the older man piercingly. "He is mine." He threatened.
"Yes, yes. We have cared well for him until now; you must trust that he will be well when you receive him. But to bring him into the world you must have him prepared." They shook hands, Jon barely concealing his hatred and fury.
He covered it with a laugh; "Very well, I will meet you downstairs?"
"No, this is our last meeting, sir. He will await you in your vehicle on the third floor. Good day to you. Enjoy your purchase."
Jon showered gingerly. His hands shook as he cleaned the blood and semen from his cock. His skin felt hot, his fingers stung as if he had just struck the boy. God, what was his name? Leaning his head against the glass enclosure Jon realized achingly, the best fuck of his life and he didn't know his name. Gone was the imagined distaste for gay sex. Gone was his identity as a heterosexual male. In its place was a man whose desire for this singularly beautiful slave was so intense it erased every other sexual adventure from his mind. He wanted the boy. Wanted to make love to him. See pleasure in his eyes. Touch his entire body; lick his skin, his cock, and his bottom. He wanted to open the boy's mouth and explore it with his fingers, suck on the kids tongue, lick and nibble on his ears. Whisper soft words to him. He wanted to see the kid cum, hard and with pleasure and freedom.
The impossibility of it made his chest hurt. His entire body shook with the knowledge that this boy was NOT his. He had no right to touch him now. The water drained away the stain of what he had done, but not the scar. Worse than guilt he felt anger and rage at himself. He wanted to feel guilt over what he had done. Instead he felt guilt over wanting more of it. Why can't he feel shame? He wanted to. But, he could not.
The tightness in his chest threaten to steal his breath. This kind of heartache was so unfamiliar and disturbing. Jon saw himself in the mirror and he froze, staring at the feral expression in his eyes. Unrecognizable. Known for being a hard and uncompromising, Jon was also known for being ice cold. That man was missing now. With a curse he dressed and strode out of the small room, unaware of the way fury lengthened his stride.
The boy was laying prone on the back seat of his suburban, his eyes closed, a pained expression on his face, when Jon climbed into the drivers seat. The keys jangled loudly and he shivered, "Just try to rest kid. We'll go to a hospital." Jon whispered as he turned on the car.
"No." The boy finally said.
"No, I am not hurt. Take me home." He said unevenly. "Take me with you, Jon."
The building disappeared into the background as they swept out into the city. Silence stretched between them as Jon felt helpless. "I can't do that, kid. My god." His voice broke, "I raped you. You need a doctor."
"No. It wasn't rape. Please, Jon." He began to cry. "Please. I will be fine."
Jon pulled over into a gas station, it was dark, and dawn was a couple of hours away. "What is your name, kid?" He unbuckled his seat belt and looked back. The kid had not moved, he was still lying on his side. A frown creased Jon's face. There was real discomfort in the boy's body.
The boy shook his head, "Little man." He answered in confusion.
Jon's lips parted on a gasp. It dawned on him then, the boy was trying to give the right answers, the right responses. He was dressed in breakaway sweats, a single white t-shirt and slip on sandals. Little else, Jon was sure.
Climbing from the truck, he came around the back and opened the door. "Sit up."
Sucking in a sharp breath, the boy's eyes narrowed against discomfort and slowly rose trying uneasily to sit. His body started to shake as real pain stopped him.
"What's wrong?" Something wasn't right. He had not torn the boy. The whipping had opened his skin, but this was something else.
"Hurts." He whimpered.
"What hurts?" Jon pressed, reaching for the kids hands.
"Oh god. I am so sorry. We have to go to a hospital, kid-"
"Not ...not because of that. Because of..." He shook his head, tears stung his eyes and panic started to set in. "The thing..."
"What??" Jon's eyes bugged open. "What thing?"
"It is like a cock...to keep me open for you."
"Jesus Christ!" Jon exploded and immediately regretted it as the boy shivered trying desperately to sit up right. Jon clambered into the truck, slamming the door. Reaching over head he switched on the light, his hands shook. "Lay over my legs." He ordered grimly. The kid didn't hesitate. He leaned down, exhaling in relief, and pressed his chest over Jon's thighs. "Help me take your pants off then." The cop whispered brokenly. The kids bottom was exposed, the soft pale globes so perfect and tender he wanted to stroke them. But the sight of the rubber plug, piercing inward, chained to the steel cock ring via leather straps made his gorge rise. "Dear god." If he pulled the plug out, the boy would hurt as the ring tore his balls. "Will it unlock at the ring?"
"Easy then, shhh..god, I am sorry." Gently Jon reached under the kid's hips, finding the ring with his fingers, the heat of the boy's soft cock caressing his arm. The ring unsnapped and both of them jerked. Jon stared at his shaking hand as he carefully pried the obscene device from the kids clasping bottom. Leaving the tender pucker open and gaping. He groaned. My god. "Oh god, baby. I am so sorry." His fingers stroked helplessly, caressing around the outside, watching as the boys shivering rectum closed. He kept touching, petting, his breathing rough as the boy grew hard under his ministrations. Long minutes ticked by as Jon caressed the sleek back and thighs of his lover. His lover. My god. Aroused beyond belief he tenderly stroked and comforted the boy. "Tell me your name, darling." He breathed. "I will never hurt you. I want your name." He cooed, his own voice unrecognizable.
"Little man." The boy responded on a sigh, arching into Jon's palm. And it dawned on Jon, he may not know it. "So tired."
"I know, baby, I know." The body beneath Jon's hand was so perfectly formed. He was tall, slender. His muscles were taut and well formed. He wasn't feminine, but not manly either. Soft hair grew on his calves and thighs, but it was fine and silky, but not childish. Razor or chemicals had removed the hair around his groin,, Jon didn't know. The same with any possible chest hair. But the boy's cheeks had been shaved, if not daily, he had facial hair. Slowly, aware of his pleasure at seeing the boy's naked body, Jon pulled the sweats back up over the kid's nakedness nearly stopping when the boy whimpered in protest. He was a well-trained slave. His body was conditioned to receive pleasure. The reward. It was arousing beyond measure for Jon. But, he was also a man with a moral compass and it drove him now. Pulling the boy into his lap he battled his demons, hugging the kid. Slowly the strong arms came around his neck. And a soft whimper escaped the boy's lips. "You ARE safe now, I promise." Jon said gently. "I really AM a cop. I am so sorry, so sorry for hurting you." He kept on, caressing his hand down the boys back.
"I am okay, Jon." The boy said softly. "I was willing. It was right. Safe now." His arms clung, and he buried his face in the hot curve of Jon's jaw, rubbing against the day's growth of beard. The big man was warm, gentle. His embrace felt like heaven and if it was a trick, this was his moment to live for.
"I am going to take you home," Jon gasped as the boy's arms locked tight and he wriggled in his lap, murmuring, yes yes yes, over and over. He knew the confusion and innocence of the boy meant he would have to separate from him. But, so much had happened. Jon vowed to try desperately to do the right thing. To not lose the kid's trust.
It took five minutes to get the boy belted into the front seat, and keep him there. He wanted to climb onto Jon's lap until Jon firmly told him "no." He immediately backed off, and stared at his knees.
At the condo Jon stood blindly in the living room as the boy instantly stripped off his clothing. Eyes closed, Jon drew in deep breaths. The sight was mesmerizing. He stood in the pool of light at the door waiting for Jon's instruction and all the cop could think to do was stare at him. Logically he knew this was conditioned, programmed behavior. But nothing changed the fact that they were sexually connected. Still, Jon struggled; he could NOT take advantage anymore. "The clothing uncomfortable?" He asked quietly, "I have a robe you can wear instead."
The boy nodded. He followed uneasily, his eyes downcast and it was all Jon could do not to scream in frustration. "Baby, if you need to use the bathroom, to relieve yourself, shower, anything, please don't ask me. Just go." He said gently, showing him the small common bathroom. "And if you are thirsty, or hungry, please get yourself water or juice. There are cookies and some peanut butter and jelly. Would you like to eat?" He hesitated when the boy walked right up to him and knelt.
"Ah, hell, kid. I don't know what to do to make you feel safe with me." He groaned and pulled him to his feet, "To convince you-- you have NOTHING to fear."
Slender arms went around Jon's neck and Jon groaned, as the sleek warm body pressed against him, "Sleep." Jon's arms moved of their own volition, lifting the boy into his arms and striding grimly towards the bedroom. He stripped himself at the bed, and they lay entwined, Jon trembling with sorrow and guilt, the boy asleep in the time it took for his head to hit the pillow. The sun rose and Jon lay awake, stroking the soft curls of the boy's hair behind his ear. Gently, in the gloomy light he pushed the boy onto his stomach and surveyed the damage, again. He couldn't stay away from the boy's body. Pressing delicately, slowly Jon spread the slender thighs. A tiny band of skin was calloused around the boy's testicles. He had been wearing that band daily for weeks if not months.
The pink rosebud of his anus was closed now, but still reddened and swollen. Helplessly Jon leaned forward splaying his fingers he parted the soft cheeks and swept his tongue over it. The boy moaned softly in his sleep, pushing back. Moistening his finger on the saliva left behind he curled the tip around the opening, not pressing, just petting.
Then with a curse he rose up, his eyes dancing over the scars that marked the curving back. Hundreds of them, some pink most white. He had even been stitched closed. The welts from the night before were angry and bruised but not deep. Each kiss was an apology, a tender supplication of affection and sorrow. Jon caressed the boy with his mouth, apologizing silently. But the kid slept on, and finally Jon lay half over him and fell into a deep sleep.
It was late when Jon woke. The bed was empty and he felt a rush of panic. The blankets tangled around his feet and he fought free, his breathing rough. The scent of coffee tickled his nostrils. Skidding to a halt in the kitchen he found the boy standing by the big plate glass window that looked out over the city. He was still naked, but for a towel around his shoulders.
There was a strange buzzing sound, familiar but unusual. The printer. His computer was on and something was printing. The boy didn't move at the window, just said, "Coffee."
"Thank you." Jon said absently as he walked over to the desktop. The screensaver was dancing a single shape across the dark screen and so Jon moved the mouse. Gasping as the boys face came into view. Micah Lfani. Missing. Micah. "Micah?"
"Yes, Jon." But he didn't move.
Birthdate: February 16th, 1986. Age: 18 Height: 5'6" Weight: 130 lbs.
Jon's knees gave way. He literally fell to his knees. Eighteen. The difference was inconsequential really, but colossal for the cop. He was ashamed of his relief. The details of the screen came into view. This wasn't a simple bulletin. This was an FBI document. An FBI screen inside the DOD's own network. He was logged in to the Department of Defense. What the HELL?
"Micah. How did you log into the DoD's mainframe?"
"With my password." He answered softly. "I should not trust you. I have no reason to. Masters can come from ANY walk of life. But, I can't...not. I need to call my handler, Jon. But, I am afraid to do it without telling you. Without asking you." He still didn't move. The profound truth of this statement was lost on Jon. Micah gave himself to Jon. He broke his cover, would become a traitor for Jon. If Jon were evil and had actually meant to buy Micah, the boy didn't care. He would give everything he had kept from the others to Jon.
The words swirled in Jon's head. Slowly he rose to his feet. Micah was still struggling, of course, with his conditioning. So much was roaring through Jon, but all he could think of was holding Micah. Naked he walked to the window and stood beside the young man. Not the boy, the young man. "I feel guilty."
"You didn't rape me." Micah argued instantly, pain in his voice.
"Yes, I did. But worse, I feel bad because I am relieved. And how dare I? You are not fourteen, but in my mind nothing will change the fact that I did rape a fourteen-" Micah moved, the sting of his slap jerked Jon backwards.
"I did not give my virginity to a rapist." The words were spoken softly, with feeling. He balled a fist and shook it at Jon, ready to strike him. "I gave it to a man who took every care with it. I gave it to a man whose only thought was on my freedom. I gave it to you." Micah was afraid; a deep inner fear had gripped him. He didn't want to lose Jon as ...his master. Really, he didn't want the dynamic to change as it was changing. He longed for, needed the comfort of Jon's authority. And he knew in his heart this was not a role that Jon played willingly even if he had done so with pleasure and enthusiasm. It hurt. It was a crushing ache the emptiness of freedom. The loneliness.
The expressions on Micah's face captivated Jon's attention. The words echoed in his mind and he saw the truth in them, but then why didn't they ease his confusion? `Because you want him,' a voice said. You want him beyond reason. The desire wasn't just about sex, it was about claiming. In front of Jon stood a beautiful, youthful figure of a young man. His eyes were bright, his skin supple, his lips pink and soft. Even the scent that clung to his skin, sweet but musky was deeply attractive. He was too thin, and Jon longed to see him eat. He was too pale, and Jon wanted to see him lay naked in the sun. His eyes were haunted, and Jon wanted to see them filled with delight and desire. His lips were parted and Jon wanted to see them...well wrapped around his cock if he was being honest with himself.
Slowly, Jon's gaze traveled down Micah's body where the young man's cock stood out proud and erect in the gray light. They stood a foot apart, both aroused and yet...miles apart. Impossibly separated now by honor and commitment. "I have never felt the way I felt when I was buried inside of you." The words meant something powerful. "And it is true, I felt guilt afterwards. But, not during. A moment came and I left behind why I was fucking you, how we had gotten there, and who might be watching. There was just you...and my desperate need to get inside of you and ..." Jon's eyes closed and Micah's fingers touched his chest. Slowly, Micah embraced Jon. And they stood silently, just holding each other. Jon supporting Micah as he shook with relief. "I am going to call Greta Berg. She is our department shrink. We need help, Micah. We need to break that ring quickly, get those kids out."
"Yes. I can help. But... I can't help but be afraid, Jon. It's just inside of me. This fear, this unease." This instinct, he thought, to be with you. "I know you are not comfortable with. ...telling me what to do. But, I can't function without it right now. I don't know how to... and I am afraid, as soon as we contact the Bureau I will be taken away from you. That scares me." He whispered. The fingers of his hands were clutching Jon's neck in a painful grip.
"I know, baby." The endearment came out naturally and they both hesitated, slowly Jon looked down at Micah and it happened. Without reason, without logic, without will, Jon brushed his mouth over Micah's in a soft reassuring kiss. It deepened, became hungry, languorous and demanding. The young man opened, his lips softening and surrendering on a soft moan of physical release. Jon groaned, shaking as he felt the orgasm grip Micah, shocked and aroused by the fever that Micah seemed to inspire. The wet heat of Micah's semen soaked his legs, and Jon's hand slid down Micah's back and cupped the soft curve of his ass, drawing the boy to his own throbbing erection.