Into Oblivion
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,570
Reviews:
27
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,570
Reviews:
27
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
3
James woke with his face buried in something amazing. Silk, some distant part of his mind registered, the part of him that remembered things about civilization. He breathed it in, long and deep. It smelled nice. Soap, something else from the dim and distant past.
Somebody must have taken him home, there was no other explanation for it. Some rich-ass john who liked to get comfortable. He vaguely remembered warm hands and a silver car, but not much else. He'd probably gotten trashed, the dull throbbing in his head a hangover from… whatever. He was awake now and not apparently worse for wear, so it wasn't worth complaining about. Except he was thirsty. Hungry he could deal with, meals were few and far between, but thirsty got you dead quick.
And he opened his eyes to a bottle of Gatorade and a sandwich sitting on the night stand. Ham and cheese on million-grain bread, with the expensive kind of mustard, a hell of a lot fresher than what he usually fished out of trash cans behind the deli. The lettuce was still crispy. What god had he pleased?
He was licking stray mustard off his fingers and searching out crumbs when he realized that he was chained to the bed. Black leather cuff on his left ankle with a padlock, something made for this shit, not jury-rigged. The padlock threaded through the end of a coated steel cable, the kind people used to lock up bikes. He had maybe fifteen feet of slack, then the other end looped around the biggest beam on the headboard and threaded through itself. Headboard was made of metal, maybe even real wrought iron. No way he was getting out of this unless he felt like gnawing his foot off. He’d need tools to even think about it, and he didn’t even have clothes.
A quick exploration of the room proved that the fifteen feet of slack just about got him to the pisser, which was probably the point of it. Couldn’t see anything out the window but a stretch of alley and a cinderblock wall that might be anywhere. Looked to be about noon outside. TV worked, had a bunch of channels. He couldn’t get to the door to find out if it was open.
So… no clue how he’d got here, not much after getting kicked out of Gabe’s building and standing in the rain. Some john picked him up, foggy memories of something fucking NICE… and then he woke up here in some bedroom. Might be a hotel. Chained to the bed with some serious not-getting-out bondage gear. With a boxed lunch waiting for him.
Ok… go with it then. Baseboard heating and solid meals and…and if his memory was worth anything the sex was good. Sure, whoever this guy was he was apparently into kinky shit, but James could handle way more than anything he’d dished out so far. Not like he so much had a choice in the matter, really.
He settled down on the bed again, flipping through channels, waiting for whoever it was who held the keys to come back.
Somebody must have taken him home, there was no other explanation for it. Some rich-ass john who liked to get comfortable. He vaguely remembered warm hands and a silver car, but not much else. He'd probably gotten trashed, the dull throbbing in his head a hangover from… whatever. He was awake now and not apparently worse for wear, so it wasn't worth complaining about. Except he was thirsty. Hungry he could deal with, meals were few and far between, but thirsty got you dead quick.
And he opened his eyes to a bottle of Gatorade and a sandwich sitting on the night stand. Ham and cheese on million-grain bread, with the expensive kind of mustard, a hell of a lot fresher than what he usually fished out of trash cans behind the deli. The lettuce was still crispy. What god had he pleased?
He was licking stray mustard off his fingers and searching out crumbs when he realized that he was chained to the bed. Black leather cuff on his left ankle with a padlock, something made for this shit, not jury-rigged. The padlock threaded through the end of a coated steel cable, the kind people used to lock up bikes. He had maybe fifteen feet of slack, then the other end looped around the biggest beam on the headboard and threaded through itself. Headboard was made of metal, maybe even real wrought iron. No way he was getting out of this unless he felt like gnawing his foot off. He’d need tools to even think about it, and he didn’t even have clothes.
A quick exploration of the room proved that the fifteen feet of slack just about got him to the pisser, which was probably the point of it. Couldn’t see anything out the window but a stretch of alley and a cinderblock wall that might be anywhere. Looked to be about noon outside. TV worked, had a bunch of channels. He couldn’t get to the door to find out if it was open.
So… no clue how he’d got here, not much after getting kicked out of Gabe’s building and standing in the rain. Some john picked him up, foggy memories of something fucking NICE… and then he woke up here in some bedroom. Might be a hotel. Chained to the bed with some serious not-getting-out bondage gear. With a boxed lunch waiting for him.
Ok… go with it then. Baseboard heating and solid meals and…and if his memory was worth anything the sex was good. Sure, whoever this guy was he was apparently into kinky shit, but James could handle way more than anything he’d dished out so far. Not like he so much had a choice in the matter, really.
He settled down on the bed again, flipping through channels, waiting for whoever it was who held the keys to come back.