In time I found the strength to push myself up again, one groaning inch at a time. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, trembling everywhere, insides aching sweetly. The floor seemed to expand at the edge of my vision, a swirling, membranous ocean a mile beneath my feet, head slowly spinning. The barren room was filled with soft white light, neither here nor there, the sun no longer pouring through the drawn blinds...it must have been close to noon.
I stood up, relieved my legs were no longer shaking, though I still felt as if I'd been turned inside out. I took a few small steps across the room, listening intently for any sound of his return, hoping against hope I'd have more time to rest before he came at me again. The wind groaned across the far side of the house, the ominous creaking of an old ship, adrift. Lost. The world outside had faded into something else, a parallel dimension far removed from all that was happening to me between these white walls. I stood there swaying for a time, staring off at nothing as my body stitched itself together again, barely registering the distant clinks and clacks of work being done in a kitchen somewhere. I saw myself through a cloudy camera lens, standing naked and bruised in this barren room that wasn't mine, my body draped around me like a borrowed suit...my life happening to somebody else...
The greasy smell of frying bacon drew me out of this fog all too soon. My eyes finally focused on the open door in front of me, the hallway beyond...but I hesitated.
Man up...
My dick had grown hard again in a lazy sort of way, as if it had nothing better to do, but I ignored it. I looked down at my battered body and the dim bruises he'd left all over it...and the events of the morning finally sank in, burning like rubbing alcohol on an open wound.
I'd been used. Ignored, held down, and used. I felt it in every aching, stinging corner of my body, and deep within the well of my mind. He hadn't just fucked me...he'd turned me into a thing. A toy. I'd already known that would happen on some level, ever since he'd caught me on the highway - but to actually experience it, in all its painful detail, inside and out...he'd made me cum for him, begging for it, even as he'd hurt me. He'd made me want it so badly I'd have let him do anything to me, just to feel the tight fullness of his cock inside, pumping hard against that...spot...and I
had
loved it, right? I'd been moaning for it, moaned like a chick...and the thought made me cringe. The moaning, the heat and the pleasure had seemed like the most natural thing in the world at the time, even the ripping pain, the necessary evils...but now, standing there in the naked, shivering aftermath...I just felt like scattered hunks of living meat, well past its shelf life, but delicious all the same. It was beyond confusing, especially in my hazy, fucked-out state, but I knew it was wrong...
I bit the inside of my cheek - bit down hard, until I tasted blood, and felt a bit of my old self flicker back to life.
The cop...the Chief...I told him to stop. Begged him, even. I knew that much, remembered it clearly...but he didn't stop. Not this morning, not last night, not ever. What did that make it, then? There was a word for it, a terrible word, like a splinter under my tongue...
"Come on out and eat something, Mikey," his deep voice called from another part of the house, warm and inviting. It didn't sound like an order, but I knew anything he requested was no request at all. That nudging dance of suggestion in his voice was a farce, a tool he'd used to manipulate me, but I'd been too horny, shocked, or downright terrified to see it. Until I wasn't.
The jittery, druglike strangeness of the last twelve hours loomed with crystal clarity, now crashing down on my mind as a breaking wave, sobering me up for good. The world wasn't supposed to be like this. Cops were supposed to protect and serve, to respect their own authority, not...not this. And what was this, anyway? What the hell had I gotten myself into?
I was shivering. The house was freezing, worse than the night before. He must have turned off the heat for some reason. I looked for my clothes, and remembered I had none. He'd taken my socks, as well as my ruined shirt. The last time I'd seen my jeans and jacket, they'd been strewn across the living room at the far end of the house. Putting on any of his clothes was obviously out of the question -- he'd made that abundantly clear. I would be naked and cold until I asked him for something to wear...until I asked permission, like he'd told me to. Like a good slave. I began to hate myself a bit less, so I could hate him more.
Man up.
I drew up the courage to leave the bedroom, as naked as I'd been when he'd popped my cherry.
You're not a thing. You're a man.
My feet were freezing on the creaky hardwood floor as icy drafts washed over my skin, raising my body hair like hackles.
Make him see that, or you'll never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again...
Each step forward made me more determined to confront him, to make him acknowledge what he'd done to me. I wanted to hear him say the word aloud, watch it ring in his ears. I was chasing the anger now, because it made me feel stronger than a mewling toy at the end of his dick.
Use it.
The rest of the house was laid out in a predictable way, simple and open and bland. The sparse, clean kitchen was easy to find, all plain brown furniture and baby blue tile. The window above the sink glowed like a ghost, drawing my eyes. The world beyond was white, pristine and formless, smothered under a blanket of snow. The air was full of it, drifting like a sea of ashes above the frozen wasteland, and its lifeless beauty only existed to remind me of how trapped I was.
He was standing at the stove with his back to me, oozing confidence with his massive legs planted apart. The broad bulk of him was covered by a fresh white undershirt and loose gray pajama bottoms. His huge, hairy arms were bare, and even now I hated myself for letting my eyes roam over their potent musculature, remembering their inescapable weight. The smell of the bacon was stronger than ever, filling the room with its rich sputtering.
"I hope I didn't wear you out," he said nonchalantly, as if we'd been playing racquetball. "I bet you need all the protein you can get right now, with all that stretching you've been doing...but I got you covered." He turned to face me, holding the sizzling frying pan in one hand and two plates in the other. He'd prepared a massive pile of bacon and scrambled eggs, sprinkled with pepper and steaming in the white air. My stomach groaned, reminding me I hadn't eaten in over a day.
"Where are my clothes?" I asked, barely staying focused. I also wanted my phone, which was with my jeans, wherever they were, but I knew enough to avoid mentioning that too soon.
He paused for a moment, as if he'd expected me to say something else...then blinked, smiled, and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Tossed the shirt, but the rest are still around here somewhere." His dark eyes casually wandered across my nude body, and he smirked at my half-stiffy. His tongue flickered over his lips, brushing his beard, making the skin of my ass tingle at the memory.
I covered my worsening boner without success, trying to shove it down with my hand. I couldn't will it away; it was pushing through my fingers like an unruly child, a lost cause.
"Why do you want them, anyway?" he asked, the softest hint of mockery in his deep voice. "I think you like prancing around like this. You know how sexy you are, or at least you should." His eyes rose to meet mine, a shifty smile wrinkling at the edges, and his husky voice dropped an octave. "You like teasing me, boy?"
