The Trouble with Bills

If anyone paid any real attention to Paul, they might have seen a traumatised young man. No one did. His family, though pleasant, were half a country away. In truth, they always struggled in their own lives and keeping in touch with Paul was never their top priority or concern. Paul found it easy to be keep family at a distance, if they ever did contact him, with the perfunctory hello and quick, impersonal, chat.

His friends, well, he started to question whether he really had any friends at all. His 5-a-side group never noticed a change in him. If he showed up and carried on with the usual banter everyone seemed to go home smiling. The few friends he had made at university were all busy with their own lives. The group chats that had helped them through university all but dead now. There was never any one-to-one contact and he did not initiate any himself.

Work colleagues, with him working at home so much, never really paid any attention. Beyond the next software drop and how he coded the only personal questions he ever got asked was about football. He always pretended to like one of the top teams and be interested but it was, he knew, all part of his way of keeping people away. He did his job well enough. It was well within his comfort zone, and no one seemed to care about his life beyond that.

Having won the final 'best technical project' prize at university he was more than capable of doing what his company asked him to do. The interface he created for the final project was why he got the job he had. The company that sponsored the university prizes were keen to have him onboard, so here he was, coding away. Though some part of him already resented the company he worked for. The work was easy enough. The pay surprisingly good. It was the way in which they took his interface and sold it to government clients, making a fortune he had no doubt. That pissed him off. Still, for now, it was what he needed. Easy and simple work with enough money to pay for a flat and let him get on with sorting the rest of his life out.

He did have a few days sick leave after the 'event' with Mark. He felt, after the event, that he had to create a better life for himself. He could never let himself get so low. So unconcerned about himself, so driven by arousal, that he ended up in the same mental space that had ended up wit him being buggered by a man twice his age. It was a turning point he felt -- he had to make a better life for himself. Though, Paul recognised, it would be easy for him to disappear and very few people would notice, let alone care. He mulled that though over a lot since the 'event' with Mark.

It was maybe three weeks when the fear of Mark contacting him started to fade. He struggled to understand, at least for those few weeks, what had driven him to seek male company. He had never been sexually attracted to men. Never one to be submissive or feel that sense of submission he did that day. The whole thing was out of character. It left a deep scar on Paul, grateful there was no long-term physical injury, that he knew would take a long time to recover from. Though, he struggled to accept the deeply humiliating and bisexual needs that he sought and experienced that day. He sought it out. Sought it! That thought neve really got an answer when it popped into his head. He had sought it!

As time moved on, he started to realise, and accept, that it was maybe an itch he had had to scratch. He forgave himself for being so naive. So gullible and, he accepted, so pathetic. He started to justify it all with the stress of loneliness and that slight curious itch. If he had dug deeper into his psyche, he might have found out that it was the humiliation, and powerlessness, he had experienced at the hands of his Father, that he experienced with Mark. Though the sexuality was his own addition to that emotional mix. Those beatings, spankings, bare bottom spankings, beltings, threatening words of silence, had bedded themselves deep into Paul's mind.

Three weeks passed. The hourly, almost constant, checking of his phone started to lessen. The sense that it was maybe just a one-off 'event'. That Mark, though he had made a big thing of wanting control and 'ownership' was maybe just a perv. Well, a perv for sure but also, Paul thought, a sadist, that just happened to be there when Paul sought an anonymous make stranger for sex. It was just an unlucky coincidence Paul reasoned. If it had been a simple kiss and grope in a care -- which he had thought more likely he would have forgiven himself easy enough. It was just the severity of it and his own automatic obedience to please a man sexually that he still struggled with. It was just the super low mood, the loneliness, it was not him. He worked to put it out of his mind.

He was surprised to notice, months later, that he had not thought about Mark for a week or so. Though the memory was still vivid he started to forget about the potential control Mark had on him. After all, he had seemed more than a little too good at taking all the important details from Paul, the video of his humiliation, the pissing, the begging that, Paul hoped, it was maybe just part of the 'play'. Yes, Paul was starting to return to his old self. In one way, six months after he had met Mark. He found himself at ease with himself. He could now accept that the bisexual itch was not real. That had just been very lonely and sought whatever company he could get.

That, having now been fucked by Mark, he never wanted to experience or touch another cock in his life. That made him feel surer of himself in a way. He knew he was not bisexual or gay. His fitness, health, social life was all starting to improve. This newfound self-acceptance seemed to give him a more authentic feel to his life. Though he could not understand yet why he had been so deeply submissive to Mark he did not think or worry about that anymore. He even had a few dates now. The sister from one of the guys from the football. Life was OK and he was optimistic.

Having finished dinner, washed up, dinner plates placed back in the cupboard. He was near and tidy, by nature, and it was a side of him that he was pleased about. It was a habit, he was proud of, it meant he was a decent human being for some reason. Again, if he had dug deeper into his psyche he might have learned his cleanliness and precision in his work and home life was but an attempt to control his fears and worries in life.

Having cleaned up he felt good and settling down to his desk. he was quite happy to do a little more work to get ahead of this software sprint and he sat down at his desk in the spare room.

If only someone could have seen Paul when that text arrived, they would have described it with the following description. Colour literally drained from his face. You could almost watch his skin go from a healthy shade to a pale grey. The look on his face was one of fear and terror. The sweat, cold clammy sweat, on his brow appeared almost as soon as his face turned grey. He froze, eyes wide, staring at his phone. Not moving. Still.

The initial message was quickly followed by a few others. Each message popping up on screen to be read just before it disappeared. Five messages, in all, burned themselves into Paul's ashen grey skull.

"Paul. Long time no speak. Hope you are good!" The first message, the gut puncher, could have been read by anyone else as friendly and warm. Like an old friend getting in touch with him. The speed of Paul's thoughts as they reacted to that first message told you how confused Paul was. He could only think of the pain of the fucking, the pain of the oral sex, the humiliation of the piss, the freezing cold as he stripped naked outside, the shame of asking for 'rape', the utter self-contempt he felt for allowing it all. The utter stupidity of recording videos and giving Mark access to every bit of personal information he had. That first message could not fit with the memories of the 'event'. The urgent physical pain he felt reminded him suddenly of how his bottom felt for the first two weeks. His throat, sore to swallow for over a week. The anxiety about whether he was really injured or not. These physical and emotional pains launched themselves back into Paul's brain -- very much at odds with the friendly tone of the first message.

"Look. Sorry about the absence of contact. Work has been very busy -- had to work abroad for a couple of months there. Had my daughter return from university. So, apologies for the gap in contact!" The same sense of a long-lost friend getting in touch further pushing Paul's mind into a tailspin of confusion. Surely, Paul thought, Mark could not be under the impression that Paul had enjoyed the assault. The 'event', as Paul termed it, had nothing but humiliation, pain, shame and sadism wrapped around it. There was nothing that could suggest some sense of interest or connection that could explain such a warm couple of texts.

"Anyway. No doubt you are missing me. I know, installed it on your phone, you have not looked at any gay porn or been back to that gay chat site. Well done! Keeping yourself for me like I told you too!" Paul's head shook from side to side. He was not sure whether the shock of the first two friendly messages, the shock of knowing his phone was tracked, or the shock of Mark thinking he waited on him to assault him again. It was on the third message Paul remembered the thirty seconds of throat fucking -- how he had struggled and been overpowered. How the sperm, along with his snot and saliva, ended up coming out of his nose such was the intensity of the assault. His stomach, to add to his grey pallor, flipped -- and he felt nausea building in his gut.

"OK OK. Let's be honest I was maybe a little hard on you. But you did ask for it -- remember the videos and voice messages now! Anyway, I have the house to myself for a few days and want you here. I can pick you up in an hour or so. Lucky day 😊!!" Paul snorted a sob, a tear, the nausea building, the fear, the panic, all back as though they had never left him. He cannot be serious. This is not happening. This is not right. I will call someone. Who do I call. I will ignore him. How can he think I want this. Why did he do those messages and videos. Why is this happening to me. What do I do. Tears silently streamed down his face by this point as he sat, frozen still, watching each text flash up in turn on his phone. Work now not in his thoughts. Only survival, fear, panic and escape.

"Look. I do not want to do this. But I do not like you not responding immediately, so just to remind you. I have the messages and videos. I have all your family, and what few friends you have, to hand. I know your work details. Your five a side buddies -- and from watching your phone I also have the contact details for your new wee girlfriend Susan. To make it easy I will pick you up at your flat. I will be outside in around twenty minutes. So, unless you want fucked, in all the wrong ways, you answer me with a 'yes Sir - see you downstairs shortly Sir' -- or I will fuck up your pretty little life!!!!!!!" It came so suddenly, only just catching it in time as he made it to the toilet, the bile and nausea chasing themselves out of his stomach into the toilet. Gagging, retching, crying, panic -- he knelt on his knees, puking for a full five minutes.

Maybe it was the fear. Maybe it was the absence of time. Whatever it was Paul could only see one option -- get in the car with Mark and explain his situation and put an end to it all. With some strange sense of certainty. Not really thinking how he reacted to Mark, only thinking about how his life was starting to come together and a false confidence in his abilities to be 'reasonable' with Mark. Paul looked at the text messages again as he got himself in a shower quickly.

It hit him again then, the nausea, the fear, the panic. Why the fuck was he in a shower. He was only going downstairs to say it was finished. He did not need to shower for that. The panic, submissiveness rushed back in, he knew deep down he was getting showered in case Mark wanted him to be showered. He knew that he was getting showered for Mark. He knew he would not be able to do what he wanted to do. He would not be able to tell Mark to go away. He knew he would do whatever Mark wanted and beg for it to stop.

He responded quickly to Mark, 'Yes Sir', in text. Just in case he done anything stupid and sent the videos or contacted anyone in Paul's life. He stood, somehow dressed, showered, deodorant on, aftershave on, phone in hand waiting for Mark only ten minutes later. No idea what he would say or do -- trying not to let the fear and panic win. He had to be strong. He had to face up to Mark and tell him it was a one off. He had to.

The message on his phone. Mark was downstairs waiting. Before he could open the door to leave it was followed by a second message. Mark was coming up. Shaking his head Paul did not want Mark in his flat, in his house. Any thoughts of telling Mark it was finished were smashed by the third message. Mark was short of time suddenly and he had to go. His instruction to Paul was cold. He was to unlock his door. Get to his bed. Strip. Face down.

Unlocking the door, tears and fear winning, he was so far into the submissive headspace he was again on automatic pilot. It was as though six months had not passed, and it was only minutes ago that Mark had fucked him, 'raped' him, brutally and completely. Paul, walking to his room, the tears running freely. Stripping his clothes off and laying face down naked in his own flat waiting for Mark. Sobbing.

He heard Mark enter, that damned jangling of keys again, as he heard Mark take off his coat and shoes. Then the bedroom room opened. Paul, as though on some instinct, pulled the pillow over his head. His bare bottom on display for Mark once more. He hoped that was enough and did not want Mark's cock in his mouth. His head hidden under the pillow. He pulled the pillow tight as though to drown out the risk of hearing Mark say anything -- blind and unable to hear. Hhe hoped it would all just disappear like some bad dream. He felt the bed move. His knees nudged, his legs opening, the intrusion of a finger, the spit, the finger fucking. Then the nudge again, the weight shifting, he pulled the pillow tighter. He felt it. The pain was immediate. It pushed inside him, slowly at first, then he felt Mark's full weight as his cock was pushed deep inside Paul once again. Then the pause, that hated pause, and the huge sigh of relief from Mark making it all the worse for Paul.

"Good boy." Mark said softly, as the fucking began, and Paul, head hidden, was fucked once again.