The Cyclist

He woke up in bed, cold and shivering. The tight steel of the chastity device secured on him once more. He heard the buzzing alarm, summoning him awake, telling him to get up and eat. But he couldn't. He was so ashamed. How could he have said that yesterday? How could he have enjoyed Lance's touch? He felt dirtier after the shower than he had before.

"Sit, and eat," the voice commanded, but Primoz ignored it.

He wasn't going to eat today; he wasn't going to move. He just wanted to waste away and disappear, not exist anymore. The voice repeated, becoming louder. Was it really a recording? It was beginning to sound angry. Primoz held his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I... want this," he heard his voice repeating itself in his head.

He didn't hear the hissing gas at first. He only realized it was there when he smelled it, and by the time he did, it had filled the chamber. He held his blanket over his head, but it was a useless gesture. He gasped and coughed and soon lost consciousness.

#

Primoz came to strapped in the chair. This time the chair was tilted back a little, the ring gag firmly in his mouth again, his head positioned so he was staring straight up at the ceiling.

"Good morning, Primoz," Lance greeted coldly.

Primoz shivered, completely immobile, at his mercy.

"Have you lost your appetite?"

He tried to shake his head no, but even that gesture was impossible with the tight metal bands strapping him to the suspended metal frame of the chair.

"You need to eat."

Primoz heard a wet noise. He strained his eyes to look at Lance. His captor stood with a cup in one hand, masturbating into it. He stared at Primoz, his eyes hungry, his tongue licking his lips. Then his face relaxed in pleasure as he came into the cup.

Lance sighed and smiled at Primoz. "Here. To whet your appetite."

He held up the cup the Primoz's lips and dumped in the contents. Primoz's eyes went wide, and he choked as the warm salty liquid made its way down his throat. His only option was to suffocate or swallow. He swallowed, the action painful and awkward with the gag, until his throat was finally clear and he could breathe properly again.

"And now, for breakfast."

Primoz was surprised to see that Lance held a long, narrow hose. Without warning, he shoved it through the ring gag and down Primoz's throat. Again Primoz gagged and choked as the rubber tube made its way down his esophagus. His eyes bulged out as he struggled to breathe. The hose blocked off part of his windpipe, and every breath was a strain.

At the end of the hose was a funnel, and Primoz understood what was happening. He had refused to eat breakfast, and now he would be forced. Lance held up a blender containing the melded remains of his breakfast, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Bottoms up," he smiled and started pouring the contents into the funnel, down the tube and into his stomach.

He felt the warmth of the sludge as it made his way down his throat. It hurt. It was a different kind of pain from when Lance had raped him, strapped to that very chair. But it was just as invasive, just as intimately violating. His breathing was becoming quick and panicked. He thought he was going to suffocate.

"Shh," Lance whispered, then reached over and flicked a switch.

Primoz hadn't even noticed the vibrator snug in his rectum, but now it flared to life, and he gasped in surprise. Even like this, gagged and force-fed, his body betrayed him. His dick hardened, burning with desire, its metal case constricting it uncomfortably. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out this moment, desperate for it to be over.

"There, all done," Lance said, his voice sounded calm and pleasant now.

Primoz's eyes blinked open, his eyelashes wet with tears. Lance yanked the tube out, and Primoz instantly began coughing and sputtering.

"Shh," came Lance's voice again, and Primoz began to shake. "Such a good boy. You finished all your food. I think it's time for dessert now."

Lance grabbed the side of the chair, pulling it forward and rotating it until Primoz was tilted forward, his face staring at the wall, his ass hanging out the back. Lance walked behind him, his hands massaging his ass cheeks. Primoz's shaking only got worse. Lance shushed him again, but it only made him tense up more.

The vibrator came out, and the next second, Lance was balls deep in his behind. He screamed, the gag distorting his cries into something unfamiliar. It sounded like an animal screaming. Again it felt like Lance was slicing him open, and he writhed in pain.

Lance took his time, enjoying every grunt and gasp as he rammed himself in and out of the shivering younger man. He slapped Primoz's ass, again and again, until his cheeks were red with pain. He leaned forward, pulling and pinching at Primoz's nipples until he squealed in distress.

When Lance was about to cum, he pulled out. He walked around to Primoz's face, to his open and sopping mouth, and shoved his cock in, cumming inside. The hot semen exploded into his cheeks, down the back of his raw throat. He gagged and struggled to breathe.

Once again, Lance surprised him by unbuckling the ring gag around his head. It fell to the floor, and Primoz's aching jaw hung open.

"Clean it," Lance said, wrapping his hands around Primoz's neck and gently squeezing. "Drain it and lick it dry."

He obeyed, licking the shaft up and down, sucking the tip of his penis, swallowing down every last drop of warm cum. He shuddered every time he swallowed, and Lance just smiled and patted his head.

"Good boy," he purred.

Lance left him hanging there, though not before reinserting the vibrator, turning it on its medium setting, and Primoz was alone again. For the first time, Primoz realized there was no escape; there was no after. Lance owned him now, and Primoz couldn't stop him.

#

Primoz gave up looking for an exit, gave up thinking of a way out. If he did what the voice said, he was rewarded. If he didn't, he was punished. Simple as that. Getting masturbated in a shower was a million times better than behind strapped into a metal frame and raped. That's what he told himself every morning as he woke and every time he got on the bike.

If he had a shower, Lance was there and wouldn't leave until Primoz had spent himself and Lance held his weak body in his arms. It was almost loving, almost tender. Sometimes, when Primoz came, Lance began. He'd fuck Primoz, either letting him hang in the shower or carrying him over to the bed and having his way with him there.

Primoz stopped fighting back. It was easier to lie still, to let Lance do whatever he wanted. Eventually, he felt disappointed when he didn't get a shower. His rational mind was gone. Self-preservation had taken over. Then one morning, the cycle stopped.

That morning, he didn't wake up by himself. Lance was spooning him from behind, his arm under the nook of Primoz's neck; his other draped over his chest. Lance's fingers played on Primoz's nipples, tracing little circles. The chastity device was gone, his dick hanging limp against his leg.

"Good morning, Primoz," Lance whispered in his ear.

Was it even morning? For all, he knew he'd only passed out a minute ago.

"I'm going to fuck you, Primoz. Is that what you want?" Lance kissed his ear, nibbling on the earlobe.

"Yes," Primoz groaned.

Was it true? He wasn't sure anymore. He told himself it was just a lie. Because if he said no, Lance would just strap him into the chair and do it anyway. Lance wrapped one leg around Primoz's. With Lance draped this way over his body, Primoz felt just as trapped as he had in the chair. But if it was going to happen, wasn't it better to be like this? At least this was soft, tender. But it didn't hurt any less.

Lance pushed himself into Primoz's ass. He reached around, grabbing Primoz's cock.

"I want you to cum with me," Lance whispered.

Lance stroked his cock in time with his thrusts. He started slowly, drawing out the motion, arousing Primoz, who squirmed in Lance's grasp.

"Suck them," Lance ordered, shoving his fingers into Primoz's wet lips.

Primoz complied, sucking on the digits, feeling his erection get stiffer, while Lance swelled in him.

"Tell me what you want," Lance whispered, pulling out his fingers and rubbing the saliva over Primoz's face.

"I want to cum with you," he whimpered, knowing it was the right them to say.

"What else?" Lance thrust harder.

"You. I want you."

"Say my name."

Primoz moaned as Lance slowed his hand down, keeping Primoz's ejaculation just at bay.

"Lance. I want you, Lance."

Lance grunted, thrusting in and out, pinching Primoz's nipples.

"Tell me I'm the best."

"You're the best. Lance, you're the best. I want you."

"Say you love me."

"I," he gasped, his dick hard and agonizing for release. "Lance, I love you."

Lance laughed, wrapping his fingers around Primoz's cock once more, continuing the gentle motion up and down his shaft.

"Ah," Lance gasped. "I'm cumming. I'm cumming!"

Primoz reached his climax. They came together, Primoz's hot semen covering the bed and Lance's shooting deep into Primoz's ass. Warmth spread out from inside him as he went still in Lance's arm.

"Shhh, now," Lance whispered, his hand stroking Primoz up and down his side. "Shh, it's over now. Sleep Primoz, just sleep."

#

He knew he was somewhere else before he even opened his eyes. The dirty smell of grime was gone. The sheets of the bed he lay on were soft. The air was warm and dry. The light above him was bright. His eyes flickered open, and he looked around the bedroom. It was a quaint cabin room; he saw a forest outside the window. Was this a dream?

He looked down at himself. He was naked and clean. Someone had washed him before bringing him there. In the dim light of the bunker, he had never really been able to make out the scrapes and bruises covering his body, but now he saw—the deep cuts on his knuckles, the skin rubbed raw on his wrists and ankles. He didn't want to look at himself anymore.

If this was a bedroom, there had to be clothing. There was a closet in the corner. Primoz opened it and found a flannel shirt and jeans; both were too big for him, but what did it matter? Clean clothes! He never thought the sight could make him so happy.

There was nothing else of use in the bedroom, no phone anyway. Primoz left the room, walking into a small living room and kitchen area. It was a tiny cabin; the only other room was a bathroom. He looked at everything, pulling open drawers and pushing aside shelves, but he couldn't find a phone.

Where was he? What was going on here? All he knew was he needed help. He went to the front door, expecting it to be locked, to this just be another cage for Lance to keep him in, but it opened.

The bright blue skies and sun above burned his eyes. When was the last time he'd seen natural light? He ran out of the cabin, half-blind and without shoes; he didn't care. He was free. He ran as fast as he could down the dirt driveway. It had to lead somewhere. There had to be help at the end of it.

There was a road. Primoz saw it. He ran faster until he burst from the dirt path onto the warm pavement. He heard the squeal of breaks and turned in time to see the care barrelling towards him. He put his arms up, an idiotic attempt to protect himself - and the car stopped.

He looked at the bumper, only an inch from his legs, and collapsed.

"Hey! Hey! Are you all right!" The driver got out of the car, reaching for his cell phone.

Primoz lay in the road, his breathing shallow and quick. Too many emotions rushed through him, and he was shaking. He was free. He'd almost died. He was saved. He was ruined. He couldn't think straight. The more panicked he felt, the harder it became to breathe.

He was having an anxiety attack. He was barely aware of the driver calling 911 or of the ambulance when it arrived. There were lights and sounds, but they were so overwhelming. He fought against the first responders, feeling Lance's sinister hands all over him. When they sedated him, he was relieved to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

#

He thought he would wake up in his prison again, but he was in a white hospital room. There was a pain in his arm, but when he tried to move he realized his hands were strapped to the bed. He screamed.

"Mr. ---! Mr. ---! It's okay," a young woman in scrubs was in the room with him; she rushed over to his side, calling for a doctor.

Primoz tried to get control of his emotions, but it was impossible. Part of him recognized he was in a hospital, safe. But the part that took over now only felt the restraints, and he was terrified.

"Let me out! Let me out!" he kept screaming, pulling as hard as he could against the thick straps. He tried not to think of the chair, to not feel Lance's cock deep in his throat, cutting off his air, but he couldn't.

There was a flurry of commotion as a doctor, and more nurses rushed in. The doctor spoke to him, but Primoz barely understood. A warmth flowed out from his arm, and his breathing and heart rate slowed.

"Mr. ---, can you hear me?"

Primoz's head lolled back against the pillow. The doctor pointed a bright light into his face, and he closed his eyes against it.

"I just need to check you over, Mr. ---. Can you open your eyes?"

He did as the doctor said. He'd become very good at following orders, but also they'd pumped him full of drugs. He felt calm, compliant.

"Follow my finger," the doctor said, waving his finger in front of Primoz's eyes.

The doctor talked with the nurses, going over his blood pressure and readout from some machine. There was an IV in his left arm and sensors stuck to his chest. Primoz was eerily calm, just watching the medical staff work around him like he was watching a drama on TV.

"Can you answer a few questions for me?" the doctor asked. He was an older heavy-set man, probably in his 50s, with a stern look. "Can you tell me your name and where you are?"

He just stared at the doctor. It felt like a trick question.

"Is your name Primoz ---?"

Primoz nodded.

"Do you know where you are?"

If he had to guess by the way they were butchering the pronunciation of his name, he'd say America. But he wasn't sure, and he was worried if he said the wrong thing, the doctor would be angry. He shook his head.

"Can you tell me what day it is?"

Again, he shook his head.

"Can you tell me how you ended up on Highway 12 without shoes or ID?"

He shook his head, and the doctor frowned. The panic rose again. He'd said the wrong thing, and now the doctor was angry. What was he going to do to him?

"All right, Mr. ---. That's fine for now," then the doctor opened his chart and began to list a series of medical information. The doctor told him he was "fine" physically, other than some surface injuries, which he rattled off without much care.

"My name..."Primoz managed to croak, his throat feeling dry and unused.

"What was that?"

"You know... my name. You said, no ID."

"I've never heard of you, but apparently you're famous. You've been missing for a month. Now, you don't have to tell me what you were up to, but the police will be here soon to question you."

A month... It had only been a month. It had felt like a year or more. It had felt like a lifetime. But it was only one month?

"Now, if you're calm, I see no reason to keep you strapped in," the doctor motioned towards one of the orderlies, who reached forward and undid the thick buckles on his wrists and ankles.

The doctor saw the wounds there from the shackles and frowned. Whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself. He left with the other staff, leaving behind one nurse to finish up. He pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, burying his face in his knees.

He was trying to understand how it was that so little time had passed. He'd always thought he was so strong. He was a champion. It had taken less than a month for Lance to break him, to mould him into the perfect little pet.

"I hear your wife will be here soon. Got on a plane as soon as she heard you'd been found."

He vomited.

The nurse jumped back in surprise. Then quickly grabbed a bedpan and held it under his mouth. "There, there, it's okay," she patted his back as he vomited again.

"No," he moaned. "You can't let my wife. I can't... she can't see me like this."

His wife. Oh god, his wife. He'd thought about her so many times, dreamed of being with her again. But what would he say to her? How could he tell her what had happened to him? What he had let happen? Even now, he heard his voice, begging for Lance to have his way with him.

"Lance. I want you, Lance."

"You can't let her!" Primoz yelled, glaring at the nurse.

"You're the best. Lance, you're the best. I want you."

"Please!" He blinked back his tears, and the nurse just kept patting his back.

"Lance, I love you."

"Hey," the nurse smiled. "You don't have to see anyone you're not ready to. Now, let's get you washed up.

There was a private bathroom in his hospital room. It was tiny, just a toilet and a standing shower, but Primoz couldn't have asked for more.

"I'll leave you a clean hospital gown outside. Take your time," the nurse said and left him alone.

He sat down in the shower, letting the warm water wash over him. He tried to think, tried to understand. Why had Lance let him go? To go through all that trouble, building a sex dungeon, just for him... and then to suddenly let him go after a month? He knew it was just another game, another way to torture him, but he couldn't figure out how.

Was this really a hospital? Were those real doctors and nurses?

He never wanted to leave the shower, but he was also starting to feel afraid. He didn't want to be alone in this strange place. So he got up and towelled himself off. He peeked into the room, making sure it was empty, before stepping out. He grabbed the fresh hospital gown and wrapped it around himself.

"All done, Mr. ---?"

He turned around and saw the nurse from before coming into the room.

Primoz crawled into the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest again.

"Some cards came for you, some well-wishers."

"Who knows I here?" Primoz watched her put two cards on the bedside table but didn't reach for them.

"Everyone," she laughed. "When they said you were famous, I didn't believe it. But boy! I've never seen so much media show up so fast for someone I'd never heard of. You're a cyclist?"

He nodded.

"So you ride in that big race, the one in France?"

He smiled. It had always amused him how he was a superstar in the world of cycling, but most Americans had no idea what professional cycling even was.

"This is America, yes?"

"Do you not remember how you got here?" she asked softly.

He shook his head.

"You're in New Hampshire. What happened to you?"

He only shook his head again. To avoid the subject, he grabbed one of the cards. It was a simple get-well-soon, signed by 'your biggest fan in New Hampshire.' He put it aside and opened the next. It was a letter, with a small picture enclosed, and it stopped his heart.

He'd never seen the photograph before, but he remembered the moment. He'd been shackled in the shower, Lance right behind him, his hand holding Primoz's neck, his fingers caressed his lips. Primoz's head was back, resting against Lance's shoulder. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful.

The photograph was tight on their faces. You couldn't see the shackles holding Primoz in place or the dungeon Lance had been kept him in. Anyone looking at this photograph would see two lovers, their faces frozen in pleasure. He was starting to hyperventilate even before he read the letter.

My dear Primoz,

You have no idea how much time I cherished our time together. I always meant it to be short. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more time. But we're both busy men and can't hide from the world forever. Rest assured, I have enough photographs and recordings to enshrine our love, to keep me warm in the nights when I am missing the touch of your body.