How to Brea a Man

The next couple of days went better for Steven. Not good, not happy, but as well as he could expect.

Diana found a number of uses for a slave around her house, and they didn't always involve cleaning. Once she used him as a remote control, forcing him to change channels despite her having an actual remote for that, getting petty enjoyment out of making him do the mundane task. She had him cook some spaghetti for dinner, only for her to discover that he was an even worse cook than she was. That earned him a couple of whips, on top of forcing him to choke down the half-cooked meal himself.

She also seemed to like using him as furniture. Making him get on his knees and using his back like a chair while she read her books. A footrest while she watched her shows. Using his back for a carpet over a spill on the floor.

On the sixth day - maybe the seventh - Diana brought him out of his cell, fed him some scraps of toast and milk for breakfast, then brought him into her living room and told him to close his eyes. Just the idea had him sweating. No clue what was coming his way, now way to prepare. She was either going to kick him in the balls or give him another shock or-

He did it. Without another thought, without a word, he did it, and stood at rigid attention. Hands at his side, face straight ahead, still save for the sporadic tremors running through his body. He didn't know what was coming, but he did know it wouldn't be worse than what he'd get if he didn't comply. Or maybe he just hoped that.

Then came the waiting. She was moving around him. Footsteps, something heavy coming down, the shrill screech of metal scraping along the wooden floor. Then came a pause, followed by the faint rustle of clothing. Was she changing her clothes?

His first inclination was to peek, hoping to get some inkling of what was happening, but he fought the urge and stayed obedient. It wasn't worth the consequences, whatever they were, and he'd only have to wait a little longer. Just a little.

"Open them."

Steven opened his eyes, then his mouth an instant later when he saw what was before him. Diana was laid out on a long, padded table, face down, without a shred of clothing. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but this was the first time he'd had the chance to see it without intense pain being involved. He could appreciate every inch. The way her dark hair cascaded along the counters of her back, shimmering in the sparkling light of the sun through the blinds. How her body rose and sank with every deep breath she took, with hardened muscles shifting around like rocks beneath the skin.

What also struck him was the small table on the side, with two bottles on it. Massage oils, and ones he'd used before. "You want..." His voice petered out as he pointed towards the viscous fluids with a limping finger. "You want me to..."

"Massage. It's called a 'massage'." Diana rested her head on the side and glanced his way with her twin sapphires. "What? You said you had gifted hands, right? Show me."

She looked down, lingered for a second, then closed her eyes again, and it took Steven a moment to realize she'd focused on his hands. His shaking, jittering hands. He'd given women short messages before, getting them worked up before sex, and they had always approved.

Diana closed her eyes and waited for him to begin, but his focus laid on that remote in her hand, held with a lazy grasp. It wouldn't take much to snatch it away. He could reach out, take it, then throw it across the room. Then hit her in the head with something while she was retaliating. There was this vase nearby, within arms' reach on the bookshelf. Just pick that up, bash her on the head, knock her clean out. A couple of quick blows would finish the job if that wasn't enough. Then, he could run out and get help or find her phone and call 911.

Easy.

Too easy.

Diana whistled, nudging him back to reality. "Hurry up."

It was enough to get him moving. Steven moved over to the small table, took the nearest bottle, then filled his hands with two dollops of the stuff, enough to get started. He turned to her, looking her over, hands helds at the ready. "Where should I start?"

Diana had a deep, exasperated groan and gave him a jolt. Just a single press, half a second, but enough to make him yelp and spill a few drops. "Pick a spot and start."

That was all the incentive he needed to get working, starting at her ankles and working his way up from there. His fingers dug into her skin and pressed hard, kneading the muscles like dough, and the higher he went, the more he sank into the task. The more he liked it. Diana's was a living sculpture, he'd seen that from minute one, but there was such a difference between feeling a body like this and having the real thing in your hands. He pressed against the skin and it shifted under his fingertips. Unyielding, unflinching, almost daring him to press harder.

So he did. Diana's moans told him that the effort wasn't unappreciated. Deep, rumbling sounds that shook the table, pleasant sounds that he would've loved even more from a woman who hadn't kidnapped him. He worked his way up to her thighs, which tensed and hardened at his approach, greeting him. He'd grown familiar with them over the past few days, having been crushed between them in more ways than he cared to think about. But they weren't knocking him unconscious right now. They were sitting there, pulsating at his touch, warping as he moved over them. He pressed against the curves, rubbed into them, touched them with tender care as they swelled. With everything he'd gone through, it was a welcome change of pace, and he found himself savoring every second she was pleased with him.

"There we go." Diana had this long, wistful sigh, as if she were on the cusp of slipping off. "Good. Good. Higher, now."

Higher. Right. Onto her ass. Her plump, ripe, rippling ass.

Steven turned to the side as he continued, making sure Diana wouldn't get any glances of his rising erection, straining despite. He took caution here, respected - after all, these were the muscles that had knocked him out several times already, that could do so much more. He might not like it, but he had to respect it. All that this body could do to him, the ways it could crush him. The power was evident with every touch, and the more he molded her body, the harder her pressed, the more he found himself enjoying it.

...fuck, he was getting hard.

That happy thought stayed with him all the way until he finished the job, inch by inch, servicing her skin all the way until she was satisfied. When he was done after putting the finishing touches on her neck, she melted her way off the table and rose up to her full height, presenting her entire body. She was so close, only a foot away, and she leaned in to bring them even closer. He inched away and pulled his chest back as she neared, but he didn't step away. He couldn't. His feet refused the command.

"You did good, Steven." Diana brought the remote up, tapped it against his chest, then ran it along the contours, tracing along the underside. "Really good. But I've got a question for you. A simple question." She moved in and tapped their foreheads together. The briefest touch. "Why didn't you run away? Try and smack me, knock me out, then bolt?"

Steve kept his eyes low, staring at her feet. Nice, clean feet. Red paint on the toenails. "Would it have worked?"

"No." Diana stepped to the side and folded her arms, as she walked around him in a tight circle. "But it wasn't just that, was it?"

"Yes." A fingernail scratched along his lower back. A poke. "No. No, I didn't run away, because I know better. Because-"

Two sets of fingernails dug into both of his cheeks, grasping tight and pulling him back with a sharp gasp. He tensed up, stood on the tips of his toes, then eased back down and relaxed in her grasp. "Because I own you."

"Because you own me."

She pulled away and gave his butt cheeks a few quick pats. "Glad we're establishing that. When you're my property, when you play nice, when you make me happy? You get rewards." Diana shoved him forward, hard enough to make him stumble. "On the couch. Go."

Steven went along with her urging and moved forward, shambling his way into the living and settled on her plush, leather sofa. He eased into it, getting comfortable, as she kneeled down by his legs and pushed them apart.

Diana reached under the sofa and pulled out two black ropes, long and threaded. She went right to work, once again showing off her expert skill. She tied up his ankles, bound them together, and fastened them to the sofa's legs. After a few test pulls to make sure there wasn't any slack, she brought more ropes out and started on his arms, stretching them out and tying them behind the sofa. She pulled them apart, just far enough to cause him the slightest discomfort, but nothing he couldn't endure. She was all too aware of his limits.

"Perfect." Diana made her way back around the sofa and inspected her work. After a couple of tugs at the rope work, she seemed satisfied. She brought her knee down to rest on the couch, placing it in a perilous proximity to his balls as she leaned in. It didn't stay there, long, however, as she shifted around and took hold of his shaft. Rubbing her over had already worked him up, and now she was helping the process along with steady, subtle strokes. Up, down, up, down.

"There." She hummed, soft and cool, as if she was doing anything except stroking a cock. "How's this feel? Comfy?"

Diana's tone took him off guard, shocked by the genuineness of it. Not sarcastic, not playful, and not screwing with him. A real question, and one he struggled to answer as her strokes came faster. "It's..." He wiggled in his bonds, tested his freedom. He was secure, but far from the worst position he'd been in over the past week. "It's fine, I guess."

She picked up the pace, now, and his heartbeat followed suit. "Could you stay like this for a couple of hours?"

He forced his breath to steady before he answered that question. "Yeah, I think so." And the follow up question came a beat later. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired of being cooped up in her with you." She pushed off the table, stood straight in front of the couch, and rolled her shoulders. Still coming down from the massage. "I need to go out. Do some shopping. Fresh air. And I could just shove you in the cell and let you rot all day. Or." She sat the shock remote down on the table, picked up the television remote, and placed it in his hand. "I could let you watch some television for a few hours. Be nice to you. A little nice."

Steven glanced between her and the ropes, shifting back and forth, not sure how to respond to that. He couldn't complain on the surface, but it all seemed too good to be true. Where was the angle? Where was the trick?

Diana tapped his nose with the tip of her index finger, regaining his attention. "I'm not messing with you. Relax." She ran that same teasing finger along his chin. "But if you don't trust me, you could just spend the day in the cell." She pouted, showing off her plump lips in the process. "Does that sound like fun, Stevie?"

His answer was instantaneous. "No."

"I agree!" She clapped and made her way around the couch with a light bounce in her step. The sudden end to her handjob left him reeling, and his hips bucked against thin air without his permission, searching for pleasure that wasn't there. "So just sit tight and enjoy the perks of a job well done."

And with that, she disappeared into the hallway, and the hiss of rushing water came from the bathroom. He kept looking in that way, waiting for some sort of attack, a shock to his balls, something, anything. Instead, all he had was a bunch of nothing. She was serious.

Steven forced some calm into himself after a couple of minutes, settling down and doing like she suggested - just watching television. Catching up on the world, watching sports, laughing at some shows. It was almost enough to make him forget he was tied to a chair with a torture device strapped to his testiles, and he was grateful for the reprieve.

He was so into it, in fact, that he didn't notice her leaving until the front door slammed shut, reverberating through the house and sweeping him with a gust of chilling air. A car engine revved up outside, gravel was being tread on by tires, with both sounds fading further away.

This was real. She was gone.

As the silence set in, Steven looked about, centering his focus on the ropes. He gave them a few pulls, trying to slip her wrists free, but that wasn't happening. She had a deft hand for rope work, securing them tight enough to give nothing away, but not tight enough to really hurt...unless he tried to slip free.

There was no way he could pull himself free. The ropes were too strong. But what about the legs they were attached to?

Steven gave his right arm a hard pull, putting most of his muscle into it, and he could feel that the leg attached to the rope was starting to pull free. This sofa was wood at the base, solid, but not unbreakable. If he could only give them enough force, they would give.

"All right, okay." He nodded, going through all the particulars in his head. "One, two-"

Steven threw himself forward at full force, putting his entire body into the effort, straining against the ropes so hard that they bit into his skin. He held that for a few seconds and felt the legs giving, but he wasn't quite there, wasn't close enough. Just a little harder, a little stronger, a little meaner.

"One! Two!"

He tried the same thing again and got different results. The sofa whined, creaked, then sagged forward as the legs gave way with a final, convulsive thrust. Steve whipped his arms around and sent the legs flying, with one of them hitting the television hard enough to leave a crack, and it all sent him flopping with arms flailing. He came close to smacking his head on the table, but wound up face down on the floor instead, with his legs still bound.

But he was free. "Oh shit, holy shit-"

With his arms no longer ensnared, Steven pushed his way back onto the sofa and worked with a fever pitch, bringing his fumbling hands to the ankle restraints and picking at them. He seized up when a car approached the house, then eased back when it kept going down the road. Diana had left less than thirty minutes ago, she wouldn't be back anytime soon. He was safe.

All the same, he'd feel safer the moment he got the fuck out of this house. He went back to the task, picking at ropes, dealing with the puzzling knots, until he'd freed one leg, and then the other. His wrists came next, made easier by all the sweating, and that was it. Nothing hold him back, nothing to stop. He stood up, breathing hard along the way, and gulped as he looked around.

Now what?

She'd taken her phone and keys with her and he had no idea where his own were. No landline phone, no calling the police, so that left him with only one option he could see: Getting to that house on the other side of the thicket.

There was no time to look for his clothes, but he was able to snag a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around his waist, covering his most sensitive bits - whoever was in that house, it would probably help if he met them without his favorite parts dangling out.

With that done, he made his way out through the back door, picking up a wrench off one of the shelves in her storage room as he went. As sure as he was that Diana wasn't around, some added insurance wouldn't hurt.

The moment he stepped outside, Steven was greeted with an icy drizzle, pelting him across the face. It wasn't too far past noon, but the sky was overcast and dark enough to look later than that, with rain growing stronger by the second and thunderclaps in the distance. It wasn't as unpleasant to walk through naked as snow, but it wasn't too far off, either, and it spurred him on even faster through the thicket. He pushed his way in, forcing his way past the branches and enduring the cuts on his feet as he trampled through the underbrush. He slid past something with thorns that cut thin gash along his thigh, but even that was only enough to slow him for a couple of seconds. He had to keep pushing, had to make his way there, the house was close now and Diana couldn't stop him.

He stumbled out into the backyard of the house and came close to falling flat on his face as he did, managing to come down on his knee instead at the last second. Wheezing, heaving, he cleared the wet hair out of his vision and looked up, getting a full glimpse of the house for the first time. It was built in the same style as Diana's, with white tiling and matching windows, a long driveway, and a fence in the back, the sort of cookie cutter modern home he'd seen a million times. The only big difference from Diana's was the extra floor. Seemed like a family home. God, he hoped some small kid didn't answer the door.

Steven made his way to the front, peeking at the windows as he passed. The blinds were all closed, but he could see specks of light through them, and a couple of moving shadows, with the distinct thump-thump-thump of music coming through the walls. Someone was home. With any luck, they'd listen to him, believe his story, and call the cops. Hell, even if they didn't and they called the cops on him, he'd live with that.

He came to the front door and pounded it away it, slamming his fist into the wood with three, steady knocks. "Open up!" He tensed up as the wind hit him with a cold sheet of rain. "Come on, open up! I need help! Somebody, anybody, please!"

The music died down after a moment, followed by a muffled conversation close to the door. Females, two of them. Whatever they were going on about, it all came to an abrupt stop, before the door inched open. Not much, just enough for a hand to slip out and grip the frame, ready to shut it in an instant. A voice came out to match the hand a moment later, sheepish and slight. "Hello? Can I help you?"

"Yes!" His own exclamation startled him, elated to have the simple pleasure of talking to another person. A normal person. "Yes, yes, I need your help, please. I know how this looks, but I swear, I don't have any weapons or anything, and I was kidnapped and I just, I need-"

He reached for the door without thinking, wanting them to open it wider, if only to get more of the heat radiating from inside. "Hey, hey, hey!" The door flung further open now, as the second woman moved in front of the first. She was black, maybe an inch shorter than himself, a little on the chunky side, but didn't look too built up, a fulsome figure and a generous chest to go along with it. She'd either just finished working out or was about to soon, judging from the black sports bra she wore and the match track pants, giving him a good idea of her physique. Even so, he wasn't looking to pick a fight, here. He'd had enough of that in the last week to last a lifetime. "Calm down, man. What's your deal?

Steven backed up and raised one hand, while the other worked to make sure his towel didn't fall and make this even more awkward than it had to be. "I'm not here to hurt you, believe me, please. I was kidnapped. I don't know this area, you're the only other house around, I need your help." He gulped deep. "Let me in, I'm begging you."

The bigger woman scanned him up and down, holding a quick, silent debate with herself, before she pushed the door open wider. "Come in."

The smaller girl behind her put a hand on her shoulder. "Cynthia," She kept her voice lower, almost a whisper. "Are you sure about this? What if he-"

"It's cool, Josie." She nodded his way, then stepped back and gave him room to enter. "I'll call the cops, they'll straighten this out. Whatever this is." Cynthia waved a hand his way. "We're not leaving a naked man out in the rain, that's just messed up."