Trapped in the Outbac

*****

This story is a gay/bi male, horror-themed, erotic suspense story, told in three parts. All situations, characters, details and places described are fictional. *****

#dominance and submission, #restraint, #bondage, #suspense, #dub-con

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Part II - Jaxon wakes to find Deacon's strapped him to a table and wants to play a game.

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I woke with a hard surface at my back. It took long seconds to focus, and to realise I was attached to the coffee table. My feet were flat against the floor, but my wrists were roped to the iron rings that ran around the sides of the table, There was a strap around my neck holding me flat so I couldn't raise my head.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Hey!"

Deacon's face came into view. He was sipping a glass of scotch.

"You really can't hold your liquor, can you?"

"Did you fucking drug me?"

He laughed. "Nope. You drugged yourself, mate. Next time, know your limits." He took another sip while he looked down at me. "Ready to live out some of your fantasies?"

"What fantasies?"

"Aaaallll the shit you wrote in your emails."

Oh, fuck no.

I pulled at the ropes, but he'd done a good job on the knots. At least I was still clothed, barring my boots. I seemed to have lost those while I'd been unconscious.

Deacon sat on the couch behind me where I couldn't see him, and rested his feet on the table either side of my head. Up close, his red Adidas trainers looked new. The white soles were clean at least.

"You have no idea how lonely it gets out here," he said. There was a clink of teeth against glass as he took a sip of scotch.

I craned my neck, trying to find an angle where I could see him. "I thought someone else was living out here with you?"

"There was. Farm assistant named Larry. He's not with us anymore."

The way he said it made me think I should have told someone I was coming out here.

He rolled his right foot from side to side, forcing me to turn my head to the left or taste rubber.

"Who names a kid 'Larry' anyway?" It was a question more to himself than me. "What's it even short for? Larrenstein?" He sipped his drink. "Larrence?"

"Laurence," I said. How the fuck did he not know that?

"Ah. Yeah, good point."

"Deacon, how about you let me up before this goes too far?"

He laughed and nudged my cheek with his shoe.

"After all the trouble I went through to get you to this point? I don't think so, mate."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Parked my truck up at the neighbour's, and it's a hell of a walk. No barn here, see, no garage. Couldn't leave it up the road to get nicked."

"Why would you do that?"

"Well, stud, obviously if I'd had my truck here, when you drove over the nail boards at the end of the drive, I would have had to have given you a lift back to town."

My poor Yokohama Advans. They still had ninety percent of the tread on them too. I'd bought the type-R when I'd gotten my new job and a hefty salary increase, and I hardly ever got to drive it. The first time I had in ages, and he'd deliberately mauled it.

"You

wanker

."

He nudged my head with his trainer. "Watch it, mate, you're not in any position to be getting pissy with me."

I tugged against the ropes as hard as I could, this time trying to unbalance the table, but it barely moved.

He set his trainer against the side of my head and gave it a push.

"Settle, babe, you're not going anywhere anytime soon."

"Why are you doing this?" It was horror-movie cliché to say, but I wanted to know what he had planned.

He took another sip before he answered me, holding the whiskey against his tongue before he swallowed.

"I don't know, mate. Guess I'm bored. Bored of pretty-boys like you who only suck cock. Bored of trying to find someone who'll drive all the way out here who actually wants to fuck. Plus, I've had a game in mind for a while now. Figured I might play it with you."

Oh Christ.

He took his feet off the table and leaned over me, his head tilted to one side. "You'd be up for a bit of fun, wouldn't you?"

"Deacon, untie me now!"

"Oh sssh." He patted my chest. "You'll enjoy it. Goes like this." He gestured with his glass as he talked. "I murdered three people on this property. I want you to guess who they were and what I did with the bodies."

He crouched so his face was next to mine.

"Every time you guess right, I'll give you a blow job." He ran his fingers through my hair then gripped a fistful of it. "And every time you get it wrong, you can blow me. You'd like that, wouldn't you? That's your thing. The hungry little cockslut who never gets any."

My mouth was dry. Three people. He'd killed three people. I started hyperventilating.

"Hey. Hey!" He gripped my hair tighter and shook it. "I'm just fucking with ya." He laughed manically and let go of my hair. "Jesus, mate, you'll believe anything!"

"Maybe I'd be slightly less inclined to believe you're a maniac if you hadn't tied me to a fucking coffee table!"

I rolled my head to follow him as he straightened up and went into the kitchen to refill his glass.

He leaned across the breakfast bar and contemplated me.

"Bondage suits you."

"I don't know what's going through your damaged brain right now," I said, "But this is not fun for me."

He nodded towards my obvious erection. "So that's a fear boner is it?"

He slid a stainless steel knife out of a wooden knife block and turned it in his hands.

"Tell you what, 'course I haven't really killed anyone, but let's pretend I have. Same rules. You guess who, how, and where I've buried them, and I'll blow ya."

"What? Now I have to guess

how

as well?"

He shrugged and slid the knife back into its place in the block. "Don't want to make it too easy."

"And if I don't want to play?"

He shrugged again. "Well, I can't let you go right now, since you'll probably try and go me for fucking with you, and you're stronger than I thought you'd be. So I guess you'll just spend the night where you are, and by morning you should have cooled off enough that all you'll want to do is go find a signal and get out of here."

"What makes you think I won't call the police the second you let me go?"

"Well," he said, walking around the breakfast bar to stand over me. "Firstly, I have emails from you saying you're curious about bondage. Secondly, do you really think I'd let you go if I thought you'd go to the cops?"

Sweat prickled between my shoulder blades.

He smiled down at me. "You going to go to the cops if I untie you?"

I shook my head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He laughed. "I believe you, mate." He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "But just to make sure, how about we just record some footage of you enjoying yourself right where you are?"

Something about the way he said it made my

it's just a fear boner

even harder.

He pulled out his phone and started recording.

He put a hand against my crotch and squeezed. "Want to say your name for the camera?"

"Piss off."

He laughed. "Don't be like that."

He dropped his drink back on the breakfast bar, then set up his phone so that it was leaning against his glass.

He came back and knelt between my legs and tugged my jeans open.

"Just like we talked about for the last couple of weeks. Me pleasuring you, and you getting to lie back and enjoy it."

As a concept, it was hard to argue with.

He tugged my jeans and briefs down past my hips, then breathed along my semi-erect cock.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice loaded with smug.

There wasn't much I could do. Well, I could have kicked him away; but no matter what I did, I'd still be tied to the table, and he'd be pissed off. I couldn't even tilt my head far enough forward to see what he was doing.

"Talk to me, Jax." He stroked a finger along my length, and I stared up at the ceiling, trying not to be so turned on. "Tell me to stop."

I took a breath to speak, and then held it as his lips pressed against the end of my cock. He held me with just the pressure of his lips, his tongue sliding against me, then let me slip from his mouth.

"You've gone quiet," he murmured. Before I could say anything, he took hold of me and licked slowly along my length, before taking me back into his mouth. I let out a groan, then remembered why he was doing it.

"Get off," I said, "Let me up."

He stopped teasing me, his breath hot against me. "Just so we're clear, you want me to stop sucking you, and never do it again?"

He laid his tongue against the underside of my drooling cockhead and teased along the seam.

Did I want him to stop? No, not really. Was I thinking about what might come next? No. No, I fucking wasn't, because he was tonguing my cock, and he was hot, and I was exceptionally horny.

"Yes?" he asked, then closed his lips around me. "Or no?" the question was muffled by my cock being in his mouth.

He started to suck me in earnest, and both of us knew I wasn't going to tell him to stop.

The bastard licked and teased me, only sucking me long enough to get me hard and desperate, and then pulled off and packed me away again. No mean feat, the state I was in.

"That should do."

My eyes were fixed to his arse as he walked back to the bench and stopped the phone recording.

He pushed the phone into his pocket and came to stand over me again. "So, are you going to play my game?"

"How about you finish sucking me instead?"

He laughed and shook his head. "No. Well,

if

you guess correctly, then yes. Otherwise..." he squeezed himself through his jeans. "My cock goes in your mouth again. Not that I can see you complaining either way."

I tugged at the ropes around my wrists, while he poured himself another drink.

"Fine," I said. I was desperate to get the game started so he'd touch me again. At this point, there was a good chance that even if I lost, I'd be able to come just from sucking him off. "Tell me what I have to do."

He crouched at the head of the coffee table and undid whatever was holding my head down. But even though I was no longer attached to the table, whatever was around my neck stayed that way.

He walked to the far end of the table, and I lifted my head to see him better.

"First of the three," he said. "Who'd I kill?"

Larrenstein was the most obvious choice. "The guy who lived here with you. Larry."

He nodded slowly. "Easiest first. Fair enough."

He sat on the couch on the far side of the table, and I gave up trying to keep eye contact with him.

"And how'd I kill him?"

I studied the wooden ceiling beams while I thought about it. There were so many options.

"How many guesses do I get?"

"One," he said. He got off the couch and climbed onto the table, his hands either side of my head, his knees either side of my body.

"How did I do it, Jax?" He combed a hand through my hair.

At least I could see his face now.

"Tell me about him," I said. "What'd he do to you?"

Deacon sat back, his arse resting against my abdomen. "He was annoying." He thought for a moment. "He listened to the most godawful music."

"Like what?"

"Oh, like, Jeff Buckley. All the time. Christ. Made me want to cut myself." He put his head on one side. "You ever heard Buckley sing? So fucking annoying. It's like listening to a cat mating with a skillsaw."

I had all of Jeff Buckley's albums on my phone, but I was guessing this wasn't the time to say so.

"You killed him for listening to bad music?"

He gave a spasm of laughter. "No. No, I killed him because he didn't keep the kitchen clean, and out here that means getting rats and all sorts pissing and shitting all over the bench. You know how big cockroaches get out here?"

Oh, probably no bigger than the earthworms or the spiders.

"So, how'd I kill him?" he asked. He pushed up my t-shirt and started running his hands across my chest, making it exceptionally hard to concentrate.

"Gotta hint for you, Jaxon. This whole game's about seeing the obvious."

I took mental stock of obvious weapons. The baseball bat and the golf club in the corner. Ornamental sword over the fireplace. Axe stuck in the stump in the carport. Knives on the bench.

He pinched my nipple hard and I let out a yelp. "Ow! Do you mind?"

"Hurry up," he said. "Stop fucking about."

Larry, Larry, how had he killed Larry? How did you kill someone you held in contempt? In the most mundane way possible.

"You stabbed him to death."

He raised an eyebrow,

go on.

I thought a moment as he considered me. "Specifically—a dirty kitchen knife."

He grinned. "Go on. You're doing well."

"And... he didn't hear you coming because he had his music up so loud."

He nodded. "Good. See, it's an easy game."

"Do I get my blowjob now?" I asked, ever hopeful.

"Not quite, mate. I still need you to tell me where the body's buried."

The place had to be fifteen acres of gum trees and paddocks. But Deacon wasn't after GPS coordinates. He'd already told me I just needed to see the obvious.

The obvious.

Bright and silver, shining in the moonlight.

"He's in the water tank. Isn't he?"

He gave me a confused look. "The water tank that provides the water I used to make you a coffee?"

"Well, I mean—you didn't actually do it, so..."

He grinned like a toddler caught doing something naughty. "Didn't I?" He gazed down at me. "So his body isn't floating about in the black water, all... disintegrated and rotten?"

He was worrying me now.

He burst into laughter and patted my chest. "Well done, mate, first one to you."

I let out a breath of relief, and he climbed off the table and knelt between my legs again. He took me back out of my jeans and kissed the tip of my cock.

"Round one. Cum for me, Jax."

My eyes went wide, and I forgot the game as he wet his finger and pushed it into my arse, then set about aggressively sucking me off. His mouth made wet suction, and the pad of his finger stroked the inside of my channel while he made satisfied noises in the back of his throat, until I was humping against his face.

Cum for me, Jax.

I gave him everything I had, and he swallowed it all.

When he was done, he wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and got to his feet.

"How was that?"

"More fun than being murdered."

He snorted, amused. "This next one won't be so easy, so think hard. Who's number two?"

What other clues were there? Two photos, his brother and his ex—the only evidence of other people in his life.

I thought of our conversation about his brother, Aaron, and how they didn't speak anymore because of a family feud.

"Your brother. You murdered your brother."

He moved around the table and crouched by my head, sliding a finger into the

Christ, it's a collar, isn't it?

around my neck, tightening it against my Adam's apple.

He tugged it gently. "Why'd I kill him?"

"You tell me."

He slid his finger around the back of the collar, forcing my head flat to the table.

"Fair enough." He leaned over me. "The prick fucked my world. I was already on the edge, and he kicked the chair out from under my feet."

"What'd he do?"

He spoke against my ear. "He fucked my ex."

Christ.

There was enough venom in his voice for me to almost believe it was true.

He took his finger out of the collar and I swallowed hard.

"So, Jax, tell me—how'd I kill my asshole of a little brother?"

He sat back on the couch behind me, and the toe of his sneaker nudged the back of my head as I studied the ceiling.

How had he killed Aaron?

How did you kill someone who'd knocked the chair out from under your feet?

Slowly. Painfully.

The chair out from under your feet.

The carport.

"You hung him," I said. "Out in the carport. You stood him on the chopping block, and then you shoved it out from under him and watched him swing."

I could see it—the young guy in the photo, his hands grappling with the rope around his neck, struggling as he choked. Only unlike in the movies, there wouldn't be a harness to take his weight. It'd all be on his throat.

The collar around my neck suddenly felt like a noose.

I swallowed hard again, trying to stay calm.

Deacon got off the couch and his breath was hot against my face as he crouched beside me again. "How the fuck did you get that?"

"It's the ultimate power trip for you, isn't it?" I rolled my head to look at him. "He took your power by fucking your girlfriend, and you took it back."

He looked impressed. "You're right. I hung him. I sat on that stump and watched his face turn blue, watched his eyes fill with panic as he died." He teased my earlobe with his teeth, then said softly, "Now. What'd I do with the body?"

Again, 'Put it in the ground' wasn't the answer. Deacon was far too twisted for that.

He straightened up and walked over to the fire to add another log. There was a swirl of sparks, then spitting and popping as flames connected with wet sap.

Surely not...

Even as an exercise in fantasy, it was sick.

"You didn't bury him, did you?" I could see from the look in his eyes that I was right. "You didn't bury him—you burned him."

He gave me a long, considering look. "How the fuck do you figure that?"

"You chopped him up with the hatchet... and you burned his pieces in the fireplace."

He shook his head. "Not the fireplace. Can you imagine the smell? The smoke everywhere? But you're right. I incinerated every last piece of that little fuck." He sniffed. "Alright. I guess I owe you another blowjob. But first, let's try for round three."

"But—"

"Christ, you're insatiable," he said. "Consider this an I.O.U. Besides, wouldn't you like a couple of minutes to recover?" He put a foot against the table and gave it a push. It shuddered, but didn't move.

"Now, who's number three? Who else did I kill?"

At this point, there was sweat collecting between my shoulder blades, and no doubt in my mind. "Your ex. You killed your ex."

He nodded. "Too easy, once you know why I killed my little brother. But how?"

He'd hung his little brother and watched him die, wanted it to last. But his ex... that he still had a photo of her on his shelf said a lot.

"She didn't know you knew," I said. "You never confronted her. You..." I suddenly had a vision of how it'd played out. "You waited until she was asleep—and then you drove that fancy sword on the wall through her heart." I nodded towards the rapier mounted over the fireplace.

He stalked around the table to where I could see him. "Sorry mate, you couldn't be more wrong on this one."

I got a twitch of dread between my shoulder blades. "How then?"

"Golf club," he said. "It wasn't pretty."

A flash of the girl in the photo, the metal head slamming against the side of her head. The wet thud as it connected with her skull.

Deacon crouched beside me again.

"Where's her body?" he said. Then softer, "Where's her bod

ee

, Jax?"

The way he said it was usually reserved for people covered in blood, holding chainsaws. The Australian accent lent itself well to psychopathy.

I looked around the room, searching for inspiration. It suddenly seemed that there was more at stake than just a friendly blowjob. Where had he buried her? Put her? Disposed of her?

He stood, using the table to lever himself up, and it shuddered under me.

And then I knew what he'd done.

"In the table." I choked on the words. "She's sealed in the table."

Deacon grinned. "Not bad mate, not bad."

He was utterly mental. I could see that now.

"I'd really like it if you'd let me up now." There was no keeping the panic out of my voice.

I could feel the corpse of his ex girlfriend trapped under me, folded in on herself, her hair like a cheap wig draped over her decaying shoulders, her jaw hinged open as she desiccated in the dark.