Breakdown Motel Part 2 (Gay BDSM Erotica) Page 8

  Not a moment later, Danny had buried his entire shaft back where it belonged – directly up Jeff’s ass. Jeff nodded through their kiss again, eagerly bucking his hips into Danny, desperate to take as much of the top’s cock as he could. Not wasting any time, Danny began fucking the bound slave again, not easing him into anything anymore. There was passion and intense desire in each thrust, with Danny grunting with a pained exertion that Jeff hadn’t heard from him before. Within just a few seconds, Danny was humping as hard as he could, an almost angry sort of sex, reaming Jeff’s ass as hard and as desperately as he could. And Jeff was taking it… not just taking it – Jeff was loving it.

  “Don’t stop, Danny,” he cried out. “Please…”

  But Danny cut him off, clamping a hand down over his mouth, a pained grimace on his face as he started to feel a second climax coming. The gesture only turned Jeff on even more, and soon, with Danny’s dick still jackhammering in and out of his ass, he realized that he himself was cumming uncontrollably, and this in spite of the fact that his cock had gone more or less untouched. This development was hardly lost on Danny, with Jeff’s fresh cum splashing over his abdomen, a sensation that practically put him over the edge.

  “Oh fuckkk…” Danny moaned, his climax starting to hit, another quick burst of cum starting to shoot deep within Jeff’s battered ass…

  ~*~

  Mason drew a long puff from his cigar as he leaned back in an oversized leather chair in his office, crossing a leg over his lap as he gazed intently at the security footage playing back on one of several monitors at his workstation. There, on the screen, filling Jeff with cum, was the X he’d once known, the eager young sexual submissive desperate for nothing more than the release that only his master could grant. Mason smiled as he exhaled, the smoke obscuring the grainy black and white footage before him. He pressed a key, pausing the video, then turned to another monitor – a live image of Jeff asleep, his wrists still chained to the wall above the bed.

  “Well X,” he said, reaching down to stroke the head of the slave kneeling before him, obediently licking the sole of his master’s foot. “What do you think of him?”

  Danny paused, lifting his head to look his master in the eye. “He’s… perfect, sir.”

  Mason smiled, content. “Yes,” he mused, taking another long draw. “Yes, he is…”

  ~*~

  Stroke… Stroke… Stroke…

  Jeff could hear the voice of his old coxswain in his head, an echoing memory from his days spent on the high school rowing team long ago. Back then, he used to spend every Saturday morning on the Pecos River, rowing in tandem with the rest of his varsity crew team as the sun came up. He had loved the serenity of it, the pure, focused athleticism. The river was where Jeff had learned to push himself.

  Now, years later, history seemed to have repeated itself. Jeff was rowing once more, pushing himself as he had back then. But there was no shimmering water now, no fellow rowers, no coxswain keeping pace. There wasn’t even a boat. Instead, Jeff found himself in a boxy, dimly lit cement maintenance room beneath the motel, his wrists and ankles cuffed to what appeared to be a basic rowing machine. Of course, at Motel X, nothing was ever what it seemed, and the rowing machine was no exception. With a little tinkering from Gus, the seat had been modified – a chrome dildo jutted straight up out of it. You couldn’t see it though, not with Jeff at the helm, naked and glistening with sweat, the dildo neatly buried up his ass as he endured his forced workout.

  He’d been at it for almost an hour now, just as he had every other morning for the past… it felt like a month, but he had lost track. He and the ten other slaves at the motel were forced to take regular shifts, all part of a steady effort by Mason to keep them in pristine shape. Jeff felt grateful for the fact that rowing meant so much to him – he was able to use the workouts as a way to hang on to something from his real life. He would constantly find himself closing his eyes as he kept his steady pace, his mind drifting back to specific races he had taken part in years ago. He would do his best to try and relive them, remembering each and every stroke in real time as he slid back and forth on the machine, ignoring the gradual stretch of the dildo, blocking out the rest of the motel as best as he could.

  In this way, the forced workouts became a kind of escape for Jeff, one of the primary ways in which he was working to, as Danny had put it, hold on to himself, to who he really was. He had actually come to enjoy them, in spite of the fact that crude wiring running along the underside of the machine meant that the dildo would electrocute him if the machine ever stopped running, if he ever tried to take any sort of a breather. Jeff didn’t care. Rowing was his, not theirs. They couldn’t pervert that, not even with a dildo up his ass, not even with the constant threat of torture. In a life as bleak as Jeff’s had become, this was the kind of thing that constituted a victory.

  In the eyes of his captors, Jeff had quickly and efficiently been broken down into a complete slave. He was docile, obedient, and accepting of whatever torment they chose to throw at him. He had endured ceaseless “training” sessions with Mason, Dwayne, Trixie, and Gus, where they would search for new and extreme ways of expanding both his sexual limitations and his pain threshold. He’d been fucked, fisted, beaten, defiled, and degraded, and ever since they’d moved him into room X, Danny’s old room, he’d taken all of it without a word of protest. He’d had his head and body shaved, his nipples pierced with thick-gauge rings, and his neck collared with the same ring of steel he’d seen soldered around the necks of the other slaves. He was one of them now. He looked like them and he behaved like them. He’d picked up the unspoken rules of submission, learned how to please his masters and avoid punishments. He was everything that Mason had said he would be. But Jeff refused to be reduced to a number. He had seen Danny at his absolute lowest, a shell of the man he had once been, an empty slave devoid of hope or humanity. And even though Jeff had believed him when he’d told him he was starting to feel like Danny Major again, not just “X,” Jeff also believed that the dark place Danny had been in before was very, very real. To Jeff, that was the true threat, not the abuse and torment he was enduring daily. No, the true threat was becoming what Danny had become, sinking down into that darkness as if it were a pit of tar, slowly engulfing him and filling his lungs.

  So, Jeff had trained himself to take pleasure in his workouts. The race in his mind was drawing to an end – the finish was in sight. With a few final reps of the machine, he brought himself and his teammates past it: a narrow victory over a rival school. Jeff couldn’t help but smile. His jubilation was brief, though; he quickly squelched the small celebration, the smile disappearing from his face. Cautious discipline was of the utmost importance to him. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down, to ever betray the secret fact that he stubbornly refused to be completely broken down. He was playing a role, the role of a complacent slave, and if Mason or anybody else at the motel suspected that he was really something else – that he was still, in his mind, Jeff Kenton – he knew that his chances of escape would diminish exponentially.

  The majority of this fear stemmed from one simple fact: Jeff hadn’t been branded yet. It was the one obvious remaining characteristic that distinguished him from the other slaves. He remembered the day Mason had Dwayne fuse the collar around his neck. He had expected the branding then – “XI,” perhaps – but it never happened. Now, weeks later, the absence of scar tissue across his backside left him uneasy, as if Mason were reluctant to trust his submission as legitimate. And although he knew far better than to question Mason on the subject, he was secretly desperate to have it done, to get it over with, to have his captors mint him as an official piece of property. He wanted it badly, a vote of confidence from his masters, a confidence that he would hopefully be able to exploit…

  At least, that was what Jeff constantly told himself. He hated admitting it to himself, but he couldn’t deny the nagging fear that he was deluded, that his eagerness for the brand was really just that: e
agerness. He was quite honestly terrified that his machinations of gaining Mason’s trust only to break it in a brilliant and daring escape were, in reality, the fantasies of denial, the misguided workings of Jeff’s increasingly indoctrinated brain as it struggled to grapple with the cognitive dissonance of life as a slave, an involuntary defense mechanism designed to trick him into accepting his fate. After all, there were times – most notably on the days when Mason would bring Danny down to room X and order him to fuck Jeff senseless – when it was a fate that Jeff seemed to crave, at least subconsciously…

  Jeff came to an abrupt stop on the machine, the rotor quickly slowing to a halt. Gus’ wiring detected the slowdown, and sure enough, Jeff felt a sudden burning jolt of electricity begin to pour into his lower body. He clenched his teeth and growled quietly, bearing the pain, punishing himself for letting his mind spin into such a destructive orbit. Self doubt was a luxury that he simply could not afford.

  “I’m not losing it…” he muttered under his breath, a slight tremble in his voice from the electricity. “I’m not crazy…”

  After a few more seconds worth of shock treatment had Jeff biting his lip, he pulled back, jerking the handlebar into his gut and revving the rotor back up to speed. The electricity cut out, and within a few seconds, Jeff had resumed a steady pace that would have made his coxswain proud. The thought nagged at him though, just as it always did. He liked getting fucked by Danny. He liked touching him, kissing him, tasting him. He liked it even when it hurt. He even found himself liking it when the others fucked him. All of them had gotten moans out of him, all of them had made him cum. You will like it, they had always said. You will not have a choice. He hated how right they were, hated the awful implications…

  And as he glanced down to his lap, realizing that his cock had grown fully erect just thinking about all of it, well, he hated that, too.

  The door, a thick slab of heavy stainless steel with a small mesh-wire window, clanged open behind Jeff, nearly startling him.

  “Time’s up,” Gus said loudly, speaking as if the workout was intended as anything other than a punishing exercise. He flicked a switch on the wall, not for the lights, but for the dildo. Jeff obediently came to a stop, the dildo disarmed, and sat still while Gus unlocked his ankle cuffs and then helped him off of the dildo, up onto his feet, hunched over with his wrists still cuffed to the handle. Carefully clipping the end of along steel pole to Jeff’s collar, giving him almost total control of the slave’s movement from a safe distance, Gus then removed the wrist cuffs from the machine before quickly and deftly recuffing them behind Jeff’s back. Grinning as he called Jeff “Officer Bitch,” his favorite nickname for the numberless slave, he ordered him through the door and up the stairs, pushing him along via the pole.

  “Gotta get your sweaty ass cleaned up,” Gus muttered, careful not to drop the toothpick that dangled from the corner of his mouth. “Big day in store for you…” The two emerged from the stairwell, out into the hot, dusty morning air. Usually, workouts were immediately followed by “playtime,” Mason’s cloying name for the time spent with Danny in room X under the watchful eye of the camera, or sometimes with Mason sitting in the corner of the room, quietly observing and directing the action as he saw fit. But Gus jerked Jeff away from room X, and over towards the dungeon.

  “Got a special guest coming to play with you today,” he said happily. “And that’s just the start…”

  ~*~

  Thirty minutes later, following a blistering wash from Gus’ fire hose-esque high-power sprayer, along with a series of ice cold enemas, Jeff was finally alone again, hogtied and dangled from a hook in the center of the ceiling. His arms were bound behind his back with thick rope, creating the harness point that tied upward to the hook in the ceiling. His legs were folded backwards and forcibly spread apart. The padded leather table had been removed from the room, leaving Jeff as the sole centerpiece. He closed his eyes and hung his head, taking advantage of these restful moments by himself, the calm before whatever storm his captors had planned for him.

  He heard the door open, but he didn’t lift his head, didn’t open his eyes. Shutting the world out for just a few extra seconds was the kind of secret defiance he had learned to cherish. Of course, they’d reduce him to the eager, submissive slut they wanted him to be, just as they always did. He wouldn’t fight it. But he wouldn’t embrace it, either. Not until they forced him to.

  “Always had you pegged as a faggot,” a deep, familiar voice grumbled. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in weeks, and hearing it was enough to get him to open his eyes and look up.

  It was Sheriff Fox, standing across the room from him, arms crossed, admiring the sight of this naked slave on display. Jeff hadn’t seen him at the motel since the night he’d foolishly arrived. From what he’d gathered, Fox was careful to minimize his involvement with the motel, only daring to venture out when the situation demanded it. As he stepped forward, grabbing a fistful of Jeff’s hair and jerking his head taut and upright, the two of them locking eyes, Jeff could only wonder what had brought him here today.

  Wordlessly, staring deep into Jeff’s eyes with a knowing smirk plastered across his face, Fox unbuttoned his pants, reaching within to pull out his chubby cock. It was limp, but slightly engorged, making for a sizable mouthful as he pulled Jeff’s face down over it, the slave obediently parting his lips and taking it in.

  “That’s it,” Fox cooed. “Get it nice and hard like a good little fag bitch.”

  Jeff had become quite the experienced cocksucker in his time at the motel. Trixie, in particular, had come to enjoy visiting Jeff in his room for regular “face fucks,” and had taken pride in teaching him to deep throat, if you could call it teaching. He barely remembered what it was like to have a gag reflex, and as the sheriff’s cock grew fully erect, the slave unemotionally took it down into his throat, sucking it and massaging it with his tongue like a seasoned pro, operating on instincts that had been forced into him.

  “Eager little fucker, ain’t ya?” Fox said through a breathy chuckle, happily starting to buck against Jeff’s face, drilling his cock in as deep as he could with each slight throat. “Mason’s done good work on you…”

  Jeff remembered that first night, hiding in the cabinet and watching Fox with Danny. He’d been disgusted and outraged at the sight of such depraved, evil acts from a man who he had respected and trusted as an authority. Now, a month into his tenure as a sex slave, he showed no emotion and no resistance when placed on the receiving end of Fox’s sick lust. That fire was gone, long since extinguished. These men were his masters, no matter how much he might have hated them, and to treat them as anything less meant the harshest of punishments.

  “Mmm,” Fox purred, bucking harder and harder, “fuck yeah. Mason’s gonna get top dollar for you, just you watch.”

  Even with a mouth full of cock, Jeff had to contain his instinct to scoff at the remark, realizing just how out of the loop Fox really was. At this point, Jeff didn’t believe that Mason would ever sell him. After all, he’d made no secret of the fact that he had no plans to sell Danny, and it was Jeff’s presence that, in Mason’s eyes, had reinvigorated Danny back into the slave he was supposed to be, back into X. Without Jeff, Mason’s favorite pet was, in his eyes, broken. No, if Mason had his way, as he always did, Jeff would be staying at the motel for a very, very long time.

  It actually made for an interesting point of insight on Jeff’s part. Fox was simply in charge of hiding Mason’s tracks, nothing more. He wasn’t privy to Mason’s intentions and desires. He didn’t make the decisions at the motel, not when he had wanted to get rid of Trixie, not ever. He was a cog in the machine, not its operator. Whether or not this meant he was a weak point capable of being exploited remained to be seen, but it was certainly something for Jeff to file away.

  With his dick satisfyingly erect, Fox pulled out from Jeff’s mouth. He chuckled again, giving the slave a condescending pat on the cheek, then slowly began turning him, twirl
ing him in a slow one-eighty until he was staring down with lecherous eyes at Jeff’s vulnerable, exposed ass, its muscles tense and flexed with his legs bent and bound.

  “Nice and tight,” Fox mumbled, reaching out and grabbing two rough handfuls of ass, spreading Jeff’s cheeks wide, then slowly letting the toned flesh slip back through his fingers. “Gonna make for a perfect celebration fuck, don’t you think?”

  Celebration? Jeff lifted his head slightly, a confused expression suddenly dawning across his face. Behind him, he heard Fox snicker.

  “Nobody told you yet, did they?” he asked. “Might as well be me, then. You’re about to get yourself a promotion, officer.”

  He landed a sharp, stinging slap of his hand over Jeff’s ass, punctuating his proclamation. The pain barely registered with Jeff – he was much less focused on Fox’s actions at this point than he was on the man’s words.

  Fox chuckled again, stepping forward and bringing the tip of his dick up against Jeff’s ass. “Yeah,” he said, nonchalantly starting to slide his cock up inside of the restrained slave. “There’s gonna be a vacancy today. Deal’s already all set up. The buyer will be here in about an hour to pick up his new slave. Then, I’m sure Mason will have you branded like a proper slut so you can take their place.”

  Jeff grimaced, not just from the sensation of Fox burying his cock up his ass, but from the thought of finally having a number of his own seared into his flesh. It was bound to happen sooner or later, he told himself. He couldn’t say he hadn’t seen it coming.