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Predator-Story-of-a-Serial-Killer-Chapter-One
Chapter Two - victim POV
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Pain. Nothing but pain. I gasped a breath.
I'm used to waking up scared. It's been my routine for years now. Ever since my father literally shoved me out the front door, told me not to come back, and slammed it. Bastard. Just because I lifted a twenty from mom's purse when she wasn't watching. I know, I know, it was low, it was despicable to steal from your mom. But couldn't they have just let me work it off mowing the lawn or something?
So it wasn't the first and only thing I've done that I'm not proud of. Dad called it 'The Last Straw'. I was fifteen then. I was stupid. I'm still stupid.
Anyway, since then I wake up with my nerves humming every single fucking day, ready for anything and not always sure where I was, only today...
... today, I wish I wasn't sure.
This was way beyond fear. I was alive in the grip of death… that’s how it felt. The rush of panic, along with the pain, was so intense that I wished I had woken up dead. I didn’t know what came next, but I was sure it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
I couldn't open my eyes, or I should say, just barely, they were too swollen. My tongue felt swollen, too, and don't get me started on what it felt like when I tried to move my arms, or even just my hands. All that though, is nothing compared to the pain inside. Everywhere inside, deep inside. And I remember horrible details, like my death flashing before my eyes. I didn't want to relive it, but I did because I needed any and all information that could get me out of this. That’s right. I wasn’t dead, not yet, and survival mode kicked in.
I had been drugged, raped, tortured and strangled. I had met, in the flesh, every prostitutes darkest nightmare, and I'd had quite enough of the sick fuck's twisted games.
Why hadn’t he killed me? The answer to that was terrifying. He wanted more. He enjoyed his power over me. That smug half-smile he wore…
Obviously, he wasn‘t finished with me. I was still chained up by the neck. I don’t think I can take much more torture and not go mad…
My father told me many times that I would come to a bad end.
As usual, he was right. I always took the easy way out, always let what I felt at the moment be my guide. It was easy to drop out of school, where every day was a reminder of how fucked-up I was. Easy to not study, not hand in homework and fail. Failure always came easy to me. So why was dying so hard? Death is only a dropping out of life. It should come natural to a fuck-up like me. I shouldn't fight it.
I had thought that I was dying, or more precisely-- that I was being killed, I had been absolutely sure of it. He had even told me I was. So why was I waking up? And alone? Seriously, what else did that... that creature who looked like a man think he could do to me? I shudder to think.
Maybe I had days… or weeks of torture ahead of me. I fought back a new wave of panic.
I still hadn't moved. The more awake I was, the more pain I felt, even lying perfectly still. It hurt to just breathe, the fat bastard had probably broken my ribs bouncing on them. The worst was knowing that he would back, sooner or later. Maybe with some new ideas. Or maybe with just the same old ideas.
I don‘t want to die here. Like this.
Maybe he was just going to let me go.
Sure. I believed me.
It dawned on me... I had been warned about this guy. It had been Sam who told me to have a watch on, that someone was fucking with us. With the younger and the prettier ones, it seemed. I think I yawned as if, what's so newsworthy about that? As the lowest of the low, street whores, we were always in danger. I didn't pay much attention to Sam.
I should have, right? Young, male hustlers do not have much going for them. Losers, all. We're too-easy victims, and so we all sort of stick together, at the same time, we never get too close. It would hurt to lose friends so often, but we protect each other if we can. Sometimes, one of us just disappears. Maybe tempted off for an easier life with some sugar daddy, maybe tired of living this way and finally ready to tuck tail between legs and limp on home where there were regular meals.
Or maybe... chained up and tortured and murdered.
Usually, when we're forced to do something against our will, it's for some pervy AV to sell. I should know. It happened to me once. Warren had been the guy's name, and I'd just turned sixteen, then. I should have been suspicious when he took me to an old garage instead of a crappy motel. Inside, in one corner, it had been all set up for my performance. They told me that I would be cast in the role of the delinquent victim of a cop gang rape, and let me tell you, it was not acting. Three guys into cosplay, dressed like half-naked, buffed-up cops, handcuffs, batons, restraints and all, cornered me and proceeded to teach me a lesson.
That had been a long, painful night, and I learned more than I wished about breath deprivation taking on three at once. They had fucked me at both ends, with hardly a break, for hours. In the morning, surprise, surprise, they actually paid me well and let me go, some the worse for wear and barely able to walk. But trust me, I distanced myself from that place quick as hell, despite the pain.
I tell my customers now that I don't do videos. A couple of times their wallets have convinced me to relax that rule, as long as it was just the two of us and nothing especially dangerous.
Then there are the tricks who just want to hurt someone. These gentlemen are generally not even gay. They just see boys as being tough enough to handle what a girl couldn't, or so they tell themselves to avoid the guilt. I've had more than one john tell me that as they fucked me senseless and left me with unplanned body modification from their teeth and their fists, and sometimes, from their belts. I've seen a hell of a lot in three years. I thought I'd pretty much seen and survived it all. That was me, a survivor, and as I lay there on that bloody sheet, I was already trying to think of a way out of this.
I was hurt though, and badly, this time. I’ve never been hurt this bad before. Still, all I wanted was my life, and I would do whatever it took to keep it.
Those thoughts would one day come back to haunt me, but at the moment, they calmed me. I lay there, shivering and waiting, and I guess I must have passed out again. Because I woke when a hand touched me, and my eyes flew open and I heard a loud gasp.
My nemesis was standing beside the bed. He stared at me. I stared back. I should have hated his fucking guts, but what I felt gazing back, wasn't hatred. Or even fear. The fact that my life had little worth was no new concept for me. Death, I knew, wasn't going to be far beyond his notice. I had to not act like I was prey, like I was weak, like he was crazy…none of this came as separate thoughts. It was just some random instinct kicking in.
"Next time, don't be so rough," I said to try and distract him. My voice unfortunately was little more than a croak.
That knocked him way off balance, I could see it in his eyes, and he even took a short step back, his color returning. Maybe he'd thought I was a ghost. The point is, that I was giving him the out that in my eyes, it had all just been a game, a game I was not totally against playing.
"I'm Noah," I went on, and now I wasn't just some random stranger, either. I had a name. "I'll tell you. That's one vid I don't care to see."
"Noah?… Vid?" he echoed. His voice I noticed was not the same, the tone was different. Softer, and unsure, he was clearly confused. I could win this, I thought was some dumb hope. He was stupid enough. I could get out of this with my life if I played this right.
"You know, I could've acted out some of it, and lasted longer," I said.
I coughed weakly trying to turn, feeling the chain tighten around my neck. I tried to loosen it, but my hands were barely working.
He still hadn‘t moved, or spoken. I said, "It didn't have to be so real."
The monster came closer, and his voice chilled me to the bone. "I killed you,” he said.
God, the chill that went through me, the hair rose on my neck. I tried to see his eyes, tried to get a feel of his mood.
"Look, I can take a lot. I like it rough," I lied, one hand on my throat. "But that was too much. You wouldn’t want to really kill me, would you?”
He just looked at me again.
"Look, I can fake it, I can make it all dramatic and shit, better than the real thing. You think this is the first time I've done this?"
The man's confusion had me feeling brave, somewhat brave, trying to save my own life. But I couldn't stop shaking, and in fact, I was scared half out of my mind, especially when he said,
"I have to kill you."
It seemed as if he said it to himself, not to me, the way his eyes were far-off, not looking at me. The thought seemed to sadden him, as if that was final. I had to bring him back, quickly.
"Why?" I asked, getting all the anger I could into one word, sounding as if my life on the line was no more important than a weather report. "Seems we have a lot in common. What's your name?"
"Daniel," he said automatically, still confused. I had him.
"Danny-boy, look, we can do this the easy way. Please?" I implored in a little kid's voice, one asking daddy to go for ice-cream. "Please, Daniel?"
"I don't think I can kill you now, not right now," he said in a dazed voice.
Encouraged, I nodded. "No need to do that, no need at all. We could be partners. Let's not bullshit. We are two of a kind, and we could work together."
I said the wrong fucking thing. I had gotten too cocky. He was on me, straddling my body, angry, his big hands at my throat. I took hold of his wrists, but only gently. "Easy," I choked. "I'm sorry..."
His attempt was half-hearted, luckily, he was still unbalanced by all of it, and he let go but stayed sitting there on me. God, it hurt. I didn't try to get him off, I didn't move.
Very softly I intruded on whatever his thoughts might be. "Daniel, listen, just tell me what you want. Are you lonely? I know I could use a fucking friend, and I know I'm not worth anything, hell, my own parents have no use for me. They wish I was dead, too."
Ah, I had him. He was looking at me, blinking. "I'm not a faggot," he said.
"Me either, but we do what we have to, don't we?" I kept my voice respectful and sad.
His head cocked. "What makes you think you're anything like me, Noah?"
My strength was giving out. During all this, my body never stopped complaining. I couldn't stop shaking. I was hurt badly, and trying to ignore it to save my life, but the dizziness was getting worse. "I just know," I told him. "God, Daniel. I need help. I don't feel very good."
That was the fucking understatement of the century. I had been doing so well, too, confusing him and eating away at his resolve, but I could feel darkness closing in again. Spasms of pain ripped through me. "Talk to you later-" I think I managed to say out loud as if ending a phone conversation, before the world, just that quickly, winked out like a dying star again.
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Wonder of all wonders, I woke up a second time. I squinted up.
Above me, thankfully not on top of me, I could see Daniel, smiling.
"Gonna be sick," I whispered. Not the first words I wanted to say, but the first ones necessary. I struggled to lean my head off the bed and promptly vomited. Luckily I hadn't eaten in... a day or two, who remembers?... but there was blood in it, I think.
Daniel didn't get mad for some reason. I was too weak to even right myself, and he gently helped me to lay back. Then he got up and he cleaned the mess up off the carpet without saying anything. I didn't say anything, either. It's like all the adrenalin or whatever it had been that had gotten me through waking up the first time, was no longer there, like I didn't care if I lived or died now. But, I did care. I just had no reserves of energy left to work with.
The pain was stunning. It took away my breath.
Daniel sat back down beside me, straightening the blankets up to my chin. I thanked the bastard.
"I thought a lot about what you said," he started, slowly.
What had I said? It was all such a blur, all so spur of the moment crap I had handed him.
"It would be fun to do it with someone, and make our own movies. You really like that stuff, too?"
What stuff? I couldn’t think straight.
"Yes," I said as sincerely as I could, and with some apology for it. His arm moved and I cowered down.
His eyebrows knitted together. "I won't hurt you."
Only my weakness made it easy not to laugh at that one. What a stupid prick. "Thank you."
And then he kissed me, not rough like before, and I desperately tried to kiss him back. He made a face, guess I didn't taste especially good. "I'd better get you cleaned up," he said.
"Thank you," again I said. But inside, sheer, blind terror seized me. Not that fucking bathtub again. Oh, god.
He unchained me. Then, instead of dragging me, he actually carried me to the bathroom. I hadn’t noticed the first time I had been in this room, but it was ridiculous. It was all done up with these aqua blue, fat, smiling fish, on the shower curtain, curtains, toilet cover and one hanging on the wall with bubbles coming from its mouth up over the paint. It made me shiver, but not as bad as my realization that I was to weak to fight. Drowning had never seemed like a pleasant death to me-- and let me tell you, it’s not. That and fire often found me in nightmares more than I care to think about.
But how could I object?
As it turned out, although I suffered major panic with every move he made, he was fast and efficient, washing all the blood away, off my battered body and out of my hair, and I even managed to brush my teeth. It felt remarkably good in the warmth, to be honest, and if not for being so afraid and so helpless, I would have enjoyed it.
After that, back on the bed, I slept some more. Time had no meaning, nothing had meaning but the man tending me and my own fear. Fighting it was difficult and tiring. I woke many times. I ate some soup and drank water and juice, but I didn't speak to Daniel again for what seemed an eternity, but I found out later wasn't even two days. I was healing, and had some strength back. I managed to get up on shaky legs and with help from the wall, walk by myself to the bathroom, and really check myself out. There was no rectal bleeding any more. I was somewhat surprised, so I guess the worst damage was healing.
Bennys of being a prostitute who'd been taken by two cocks at once before. I guess I was stretched.
It had been a plan of mine to make myself useful. Now that I could think again, I wanted this Daniel to want me and trust me so I would have a chance to escape. He had chained me up again, telling me he was sorry for it, but couldn't chance me having second thoughts. I didn't want to say how it felt having to worry about his second thoughts. No. I wasn't going to try to get loose until I was positive that I could. Comfort was all that mattered right now. No, not comfort, that's not what I meant. I meant freedom from pain, from torture.
From death.
I told my would-be murderer whatever it seemed likely he wanted to hear, and I seemed to be doing all right reading him gauging by his moods. As soon as I was able, I began to ask for the freedom to cook and to clean while he was home. Still in some amount of pain, I did what I could, and Daniel watched and studied me.
One night, after almost a month, he lay down with me on my bed. He had his own room, and had not slept in mine during this time, but something was changing. He kissed me, as he had tried to once before, gently. I didn't remind him that he had said he wasn't gay. I was stupid, but not that stupid. I kissed him back. I stroked his body, and asked to be freed. He unchained me. I went down on him without being asked and with all the skill I had. I brought him to orgasm twice with hands and mouth and I held him close to me that night, petting him. He fell asleep without chaining me, and I was sure that sooner or later I was really going to get my chance to be free of him.
He put the chain back around my throat in the morning, but hesitated. I just smiled, lifting my head to make it easier for him, as if I trusted him completely. That next night, he began to talk to me about 'our' plans. Our videos that we would make. And then he was on top of me, and I didn't try to stop him. But the fear was back as he held me down and fucked me. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I hadn't gotten over that night as much as I thought I had.
From that day on, he got rougher. He liked to choke me while he got off, and I had to act as if I didn't care, but I was mindlessly numb with terror. Abuse, I was used to. But this went beyond that, he had gone beyond that and I was keenly aware every moment of the viciousness he was capable of. So, I encouraged him, and he had no problem at all doing such fun things as all but twisting my nipples off, or grabbing suddenly at my balls and squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe.
Daniel worked Monday through Friday. It couldn't have been far away, for at first he stopped back during the day at random times to be sure I was behaving. He stopped doing that after a week or so, but once I heard a knock on the front door. I wanted to scream--scream bloody murder for help, but I was frozen, barely breathing in the lonely room. What if he was testing me? I felt chilled. That afternoon, once sure the knocking was over, I wept brokenly. I cried so long and so hard that I passed out with exhaustion.
How had it happened? I felt such intense fear at just the thought of trying to leave, I thought I might faint simply from the panic. If he caught me, I was worse than dead. Better to be alive, and stay alive.
And then everything changed. I had been with him for three months and we had fallen into something of a routine. I took care of Daniel and his needs the best I could. I cooked for him, dusted his bathroom fish, waited on him and bore his increasingly harsh lust every night. I spend hours sucking him off.
Routine, more or less. Until that night, when he fucked me for fucking forever but didn't get off... and said he was sexed up and needed to find another victim and asked was I ready?
I didn't ask him, ready for what? I didn't have the mind to, really, all I felt was some kind of relief that I was not going to be his focus any more. As always, I simply agreed and didn't care what I had to do to prove my loyalty. And then he kissed me, hard on the mouth; I, without any other thought, kissed him back. I told him I was ready.
But no amount of denial could prepare me for the night he brought another victim home, unconscious, and threw him down on the bed. He was breathing like a charging bull, and I could see the rage, the insanity in his eyes.
What the fuck was I going to do…
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-next chapter killer POV
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Number Twenty-Six (was Sweet Victim)
The latest victim of a brutal serial killer survives. The life or the death of number twenty-seven is in his hands, but is he too broken to care? WARNING: GRAPHIC Abuse, Anal, Angst, BDSM, H/C, Humil, MC, Minor, N/C, Oral, Spank, Toys, Tort, WIP
Horror/Thriller > Slash - Male/Male
Rated [Adult++] -:- Chapters [2] -:- Published [2008-03-21] -:- Updated [2008-09-03 05:09:12] -:- Edited [2008-09-03] -:- Hits [1799] -:- Reviews [13] -:- Average / Total Vote [+++++ / 21]
I'm used to waking up scared. It's been my routine for years now. Ever since my father literally shoved me out the front door, told me not to come back, and slammed it. Bastard. Just because I lifted a twenty from mom's purse when she wasn't watching. I know, I know, it was low, it was despicable. But couldn't they have just let me work it off mowing the lawn or something? Yeah, so it wasn't the first and only thing I've done that I'm not proud of. Dad called it 'The Last Straw'. I was fifteen then. I was stupid. I'm still stupid.
Anyway, since then I wake up with my nerves humming everyday, ready for anything and not always sure where I was, only today...
... today, I wish I wasn't sure.
I couldn't open my eyes, or I should say, just barely, they were too swollen. My tongue felt swollen, too, and don't get me started on what it felt like when I tried to move my arms, or even just my hands. All that though, is nothing compared to the pain inside. Everywhere inside, deep inside. And I remember horrible details, like my death flashing before my eyes. I didn't want to relive it, but I did because I need any and all information that could get me out of this. I had been drugged, raped, tortured and strangled. I had met, in the flesh, every prostitutes darkest nightmare, and I'd had quite enough of the sick, twisted games.
Obviously, it wasn't quite enough for him, since I was alive and still chained up. I guess I'll see him again soon, with that so-terrible grin on his face that I had no way to wipe off it.
My father told me many times that I would come to a bad end. As usual, he was right. I always took the easy way out, always let what I felt at the moment be my guide. It was easy to drop out of school, where every day was a reminder of how fucked-up I was. Easy to not study, not hand in homework and fail. Failure always came easy to me. So why was dying so hard? Death is only a dropping out of life. It should come natural. I shouldn't fight it.
I had thought that I was dying, or more precisely-- that I was being killed, I had been absolutely sure of it. He had even told me I was. So why was I waking up? And alone? Seriously, what else did that... that creature who looked like a man think he could do to me?
I still hadn't moved. The more awake I was, the more pain I felt, even lying perfectly still. It hurt to just breathe. The fat bastard had probably broken my ribs, on top of everything else.
The worst was knowing that he would back, sooner or later. Maybe with some new ideas. Or maybe with just the same old ideas. I don't think I can take anymore.
Maybe he was just going to let me go.
Sure. I believed me.
It dawned on me... I had been warned about this guy. It had been Sam who told me to have a watch on, that someone was fucking with us. With the younger and the prettier ones, it seemed. I think I yawned as if, what's so newsworthy about that? As the lowest of the low, street whores, we were always in danger. I didn't pay much attention to Sam.
I should have, right? Young, male hustlers do not have much going for them. Losers, all. We're too-easy victims, and so we all sort of stick together, at the same time, we never get too close. It would hurt to lose friends so often, but we protect each other if we can. Sometimes, one of us just disappears. Maybe tempted off for an easier life with some sugar daddy, maybe tired of living this way and finally ready to tuck tail between legs and limp on home where there were regular meals.
Or maybe... chained up and tortured and murdered.
Usually, when we're forced to do something against our will, it's for some pervy AV to sell. I should know. It happened to me once. Warren had been the guy's name, and I'd just turned sixteen, then. I should have been suspicious when he took me to an old garage instead of a crappy motel. Inside, in one corner, it had been all set up for my performance. They told me that I would be cast in the role of the delinquent victim of a cop gang rape, and let me tell you, it was not acting. Three guys into cosplay, dressed like half-naked, buffed-up cops, handcuffs, batons, restraints and all, cornered me and proceeded to teach me a lesson.
That had been a long, painful night, and I learned more than I wished about breath deprivation taking on three at once. In the morning, surprise, surprise, they actually paid me well and let me go, some the worse for wear and barely able to walk. But trust me, I distanced myself from that place quicker than hell, despite the pain.
I tell my customers now that I don't do videos. A couple of times their wallets have convinced me to relax that rule, as long as it was just the two of us and nothing especially dangerous.
Then there are the tricks who just want to hurt someone. These gentlemen are generally not even gay. They just see boys as being tough enough to handle what a girl couldn't, or so they tell themselves to avoid the guilt. I've had more than one john tell me that as they fucked me senseless and left me with unplanned body modification from their teeth and their fists, and sometimes, from their belts. I've seen a hell of a lot in three years. I thought I'd pretty much seen and survived it all. That was me, a survivor, and as I lay there on that bloody sheet, I was already trying to think of a way out of this.
I was hurt though, and badly, this time. Still, all I wanted was my life, and I would do whatever it took to keep it.
Those thoughts would one day come back to haunt me, but at the moment, they calmed me. I lay there, shivering and waiting, and I guess I must have passed out again. Because I woke when a hand touched me, and my eyes flew open and I heard him gasp.
He stared at me. I stared back. I should have hated his fucking guts, but what I felt gazing back, wasn't hatred. Or even fear. The fact that my life had little worth was no new concept for me. Death, I knew, wasn't going to be far beyond his notice. I had to not act like I was prey, like I was weak, like he was crazy... none of this came as separate thoughts. It was just some random instinct kicking in.
"Next time, don't be so rough," I said softly, my voice unfortunately little more than a croak.
That knocked him way off balance, I could see it in his eyes, and he even took a short step back, his color returning. Maybe he'd thought I was a ghost. The point is, that I was giving him the out that in my eyes, it had all just been a game, a game I was not totally against playing.
"I'm Noah," I went on, and now I wasn't just some random stranger, either. I had a name. "I'll tell you. That's one vid I don't care to see."
"Noah? Vid?" he echoed. His voice I noticed was not the same as before, the tone was different. Softer, and unsure, he was clearly confused. I could win this, he was stupid enough, I just had to play him right. I could get out of this with my life. I had hope now.
"You know, I could've acted the part." I coughed weakly trying to turn, noticing that there was still rope around my neck. I tried to tear it off, but my hands were barely working. I pulled at it, dragging it free and tossing it off the side of the bed. "It didn't have to be so real."
My nemesis came forward. "I killed you."
That, as you can imagine, chilled me right to the marrow. I kept a semblence of calm and forced myself to look at him. "Huh? You mean, it was a snuff film? Damn it, mister-?" I said, watching as his eyes narrowed, and I was shivering, unsure again. "I like it rough," I lied, one hand on my throat. "But that was too much. You don't mean you were really going to kill me?"
He just looked at me this time, like I was ghost. It bolstered my shaky courage.
"Look mister, I can fake it, I can make it all dramatic and shit, better than the real thing. You think this is the first time I've done this?"
The man's confusion had me feeling brave, somewhat brave, trying to save my own life. But I couldn't stop trembling, and in fact, I was scared half out of my mind, especially when he said,
"I have to kill you."
It seemed as if he said it to himself, not to me, the way his eyes were far-off, not looking at me. The thought seemed to sadden him, as if that was final. I had to bring him back, quickly.
"Why?" I spat, getting all the anger I could into one word, sounding as if my life on the line was no more important than a weather report. "Seems we have a lot in common. What's your name?"
"Daniel," he said automatically, still confused. I had him.
"Danny, look, we can do this the easy way. Please?" I implored in a little kid's voice, one asking daddy to go for ice-cream. "Please, Daniel?"
"I don't think I can kill you now," he said in that same monotone.
Encouraged, I nodded. "No need to do that, no need at all. We could be partners. Let's not bullshit. We are two of a kind, and we could work together."
I said the wrong fucking thing. I had gotten too cocky. He was on me, angry, big hands at my throat. I took hold of his wrists, but only gently. "Easy," I choked. "I'm sorry..."
His attempt was half-hearted, uncertain, he was still unbalanced by all of it, and he let go but stayed sitting there on me. Luckily, not on my ribcage. I didn't try to get him off, I didn't move.
Very softly I intruded on whatever his thoughts might be. "Daniel, listen, just tell me what you want. Are you lonely? I know I could use a fucking friend, and I know I'm not worth anything, hell, my own parents have no use for me. They wish I was dead, too."
Ah, I had him back. He was looking at me, blinking. "I'm not a faggot," he said.
"Me either, but we do what we have to, don't we?" I kept my voice respectful and sad.
His head cocked. "What makes you think you're anything like me, Noah?"
He said my name. Thank god, because my strength was giving out. During all this, my body never stopped complaining. I couldn't stop shaking. I was hurt badly, and trying to ignore it to save my life, but the dizziness was getting worse. "I just know," I told him. "God, Daniel. I need help. I don't feel very good."
That was the fucking understatement of the century. I had been doing so well, too, confusing him and eating away at his resolve, but I could feel darkness closing in again. Spasms of pain ripped through me.
"Talk to you later-" I think I managed to say out loud as if ending a phone conversation, before the world, just that quickly, winked out like a dying star again.
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Wonder of all wonders, I woke up. Alive.
Above me, once I managed to focus my eyes, I could see Daniel, smiling.
"Gonna be sick," I whispered. Not the first words I wanted to say, but the first ones necessary. I struggled to lean my head off the bed and promptly vomited. Good thing I hadn't eaten in... a day or two, who remembers?... All I threw up was bile, but there was blood in it, I think.
Daniel didn't get mad for some reason. I was too weak to even right myself, and he gently helped me to lay back. Then he got up and he cleaned the mess up off the carpet without saying anything. I didn't say anything, either. It's like all the adrenalin or whatever it had been that had gotten me through waking up the first time, was no longer there, like I didn't care if I lived or died now.
But, I did care. I just had no reserves of energy left to work with. I was so tired.
Daniel sat back down beside me, straightening the blankets up to my chin. I thanked the bastard.
"I thought a lot about what you said," he started, slowly.
What had I said? It was all such a blur, all so spur of the moment the crap I had handed him.
"It would be fun to do it with someone, and make our own movies. You really like that stuff, too?"
What stuff? "Yes, some of it," I said as sincerely as I could, and with some apology for it. His arm moved and I cowered down. Fuck.
Daniel wasn’t fazed by my fear. His eyebrows knitted together. "I won't hurt you,” he said.
Only my weakness made it easy not to laugh at that one. What a stupid prick. "Thank you,” I told him.
And then he kissed me, not rough like before, and I desperately tried to kiss him back. He made a face, guess I didn't taste especially good after vomiting.
"I'd better get you cleaned up," he said.
"Thank you," again I lamely said.
He did, too. He unchained me and all but carried me to the bathroom, which was done up in these aqua blue, fat, smiling fish, on the shower curtain, curtains, toilet cover and one hanging on the wall with bubbles coming from its mouth up over the paint. It made me shiver, but not as bad as my realization that I was about to be bathed. In water. By this manic-depressive sadist.
Drowning had never seemed like a pleasant death to me, that and fire often found me in nightmares--more often than I care to think about.
But how could I object?
As it turned out, although I suffered major panic with every move he made, he was fast and efficient and best of all, gentle as he washed all the blood away, off my battered body and out of my hair. I even managed to brush my teeth. He put ointment and bandaides on the burns, and he wrapped my damaged hand.
It felt remarkably good in the warmth of the water, to be honest, and if not for being so afraid and so helpless, I would have enjoyed it.
After that, back on the bed, I slept some more. Time had no meaning, nothing had meaning but the man tending me and my own fear. Fighting it was difficult and tiring. I woke many times, sobbing. I ate some soup and drank water and juice, but I didn't speak to Daniel again for what seemed an eternity, but that I found out later wasn't even two days.
I was healing, and had some strength back by then. I managed to get up to the bathroom, and really check myself out. There was no rectal bleeding left, I was somewhat surprised to discover, so I guess the worst damage was tears at the entrance. Bennys of being a prostitute who'd been taken by two cocks at once before. I guess I was stretched.
It had been a plan of mine to make myself useful. Now that I could think again, I wanted this Daniel to want me and trust me so I would have a chance to escape once I was up to it. He had chained me again, telling me he was sorry for it, but couldn't chance me having second thoughts about staying.
I didn't want to say how it felt having to worry about his second thoughts. No. I wasn't going to try to get loose until I was positive that I could. Comfort was all that mattered right now. No, not comfort, that's not what I meant. I meant freedom from pain, from torture.
From death.
I told my would-be murderer whatever it seemed likely he wanted to hear, and I seemed to be doing all right reading him gauging by his moods. As soon as I was able, I began to ask for the freedom to cook and to clean while he was home to stand guard. I didn’t put it that way, but we both understood.
Still in some amount of pain, I did what I could, and Daniel watched and studied me.
One night, after almost a month, he lay down with me on my bed. He had his own room, and had not slept in mine during this time, but something was changing. He kissed me, as he had tried to once before, gently. I didn't remind him that he had said he wasn't gay. Not me. I kissed him back. I stroked his body, and asked to be freed. He unchained me. I went down on him without being asked and with all the skill I had.
I was good, no, I was great. I’d always liked giving head and could do it in my sleep. I brought him to orgasm twice with hands and mouth and I held him close to me that night, petting him. He fell asleep without chaining me, and I was sure that sooner or later I was really going to get my chance to be free of him.
He put the chain back around my throat in the morning, but hesitated. I just smiled, lifting my head to make it easier for him, as if I trusted him completely. That next night, he began to talk to me about 'our' plans. Our videos that we would make. And then he was on top of me, flipping me over prone and I didn't try to stop him. But the fear was back as he held me down and fucked me, pressing against my back.
I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I hadn't gotten over that night as much as I thought I had. The problem was, his voice got rough when he asked what I was so afraid of.
I told him, that, see? I could act the part of the helpless victim…and he seemed to like that idea, believing I was only acting and rutting harder each time I pleaded or whimpered.
What I discovered was that it wasn't causing pain he enjoyed so much as the feeling of power he got, of ownership. I knew then that I had to remain on guard. Too easily, I feared this need of his could go too far. I was playing with dynamite. But I was still alive.
From that day on, my captor got more violent. He liked to choke me while he got off, and I had to act as if I didn't care, but I was mindlessly numb with terror.
Abuse, I was used to. But this went beyond that, he had gone beyond that and I was keenly aware every moment of the viciousness he was capable of. So, I encouraged him, and he had no problem at all doing such fun things as all but twisting my nipples off, or grabbing suddenly at my balls and squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe.
But at least he stayed away from his toy chest. And his cigars.
Also, he liked to cuddle, fondle and kiss for hours. I’ve never had a lot of patience with it, but this guy had taught me to learn to like whatever kept me alive.
Daniel worked Monday through Friday. It couldn't have been far away, for at first he stopped back during the day at random times to be sure I was behaving. He stopped doing that after a week or so, but I couldn't be sure of that and once-- I heard a knock on the front door. How badly I wanted to scream--scream bloody murder for help, but I was frozen, barely breathing in the lonely room. What if he was testing me? I felt chilled. That afternoon, once sure the knocking was over, I wept brokenly. I cried so long and so hard that I passed out with exhaustion.
How had it happened? I felt such intense fear at just the thought of trying to leave, I thought I might faint simply from the panic. If he caught me, I was worse than dead. Better to be alive, and stay alive.
And then everything changed. I had been with him for three months and we had fallen into something of a routine. I took care of Daniel and his needs the best I could. I cooked for him, dusted his bathroom fish, waited on him and bore his increasingly harsh lust every night.
Routine, more or less. Until that night, when he fucked me for fucking forever but didn't get off... and said he was sexed up and that meant I wasn't satisfying enough and he needed to find another victim and he asked-- was I ready?
I didn't ask him, ready for what? I didn't have the mind to, really, all I felt was some kind of relief that I was not going to be his focus any more. As always, I simply agreed and didn't care what I had to do to prove my loyalty. And then he kissed me, hard on the mouth; I, without any other thought, kissed the bastard back as I whispered in his ear,
"I'm ready..."
But no amount of denial could prepare me for the night he brought another victim home, unconscious, and threw him down on the bed. He was breathing like a charging bull, and I could see the rage, the insanity in his eyes.
What the fuck was I going to do…
--
Note: I'm not sure what the pov for the next chapter will be. If I didn't mention it, the inspiration for this tale is what I've read about serial killers, esp. Gacy and Dahmer. Enjoy.
Chapter Two - victim POV
-
Pain. Nothing but pain. I gasped a breath.
I'm used to waking up scared. It's been my routine for years now. Ever since my father literally shoved me out the front door, told me not to come back, and slammed it. Bastard. Just because I lifted a twenty from mom's purse when she wasn't watching. I know, I know, it was low, it was despicable to steal from your mom. But couldn't they have just let me work it off mowing the lawn or something?
So it wasn't the first and only thing I've done that I'm not proud of. Dad called it 'The Last Straw'. I was fifteen then. I was stupid. I'm still stupid.
Anyway, since then I wake up with my nerves humming every single fucking day, ready for anything and not always sure where I was, only today...
... today, I wish I wasn't sure.
This was way beyond fear. I was alive in the grip of death… that’s how it felt. The rush of panic, along with the pain, was so intense that I wished I had woken up dead. I didn’t know what came next, but I was sure it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
I couldn't open my eyes, or I should say, just barely, they were too swollen. My tongue felt swollen, too, and don't get me started on what it felt like when I tried to move my arms, or even just my hands. All that though, is nothing compared to the pain inside. Everywhere inside, deep inside. And I remember horrible details, like my death flashing before my eyes. I didn't want to relive it, but I did because I needed any and all information that could get me out of this. That’s right. I wasn’t dead, not yet, and survival mode kicked in.
I had been drugged, raped, tortured and strangled. I had met, in the flesh, every prostitutes darkest nightmare, and I'd had quite enough of the sick fuck's twisted games.
Why hadn’t he killed me? The answer to that was terrifying. He wanted more. He enjoyed his power over me. That smug half-smile he wore…
Obviously, he wasn‘t finished with me. I was still chained up by the neck. I don’t think I can take much more torture and not go mad…
My father told me many times that I would come to a bad end.
As usual, he was right. I always took the easy way out, always let what I felt at the moment be my guide. It was easy to drop out of school, where every day was a reminder of how fucked-up I was. Easy to not study, not hand in homework and fail. Failure always came easy to me. So why was dying so hard? Death is only a dropping out of life. It should come natural to a fuck-up like me. I shouldn't fight it.
I had thought that I was dying, or more precisely-- that I was being killed, I had been absolutely sure of it. He had even told me I was. So why was I waking up? And alone? Seriously, what else did that... that creature who looked like a man think he could do to me? I shudder to think.
Maybe I had days… or weeks of torture ahead of me. I fought back a new wave of panic.
I still hadn't moved. The more awake I was, the more pain I felt, even lying perfectly still. It hurt to just breathe, the fat bastard had probably broken my ribs bouncing on them. The worst was knowing that he would back, sooner or later. Maybe with some new ideas. Or maybe with just the same old ideas.
I don‘t want to die here. Like this.
Maybe he was just going to let me go.
Sure. I believed me.
It dawned on me... I had been warned about this guy. It had been Sam who told me to have a watch on, that someone was fucking with us. With the younger and the prettier ones, it seemed. I think I yawned as if, what's so newsworthy about that? As the lowest of the low, street whores, we were always in danger. I didn't pay much attention to Sam.
I should have, right? Young, male hustlers do not have much going for them. Losers, all. We're too-easy victims, and so we all sort of stick together, at the same time, we never get too close. It would hurt to lose friends so often, but we protect each other if we can. Sometimes, one of us just disappears. Maybe tempted off for an easier life with some sugar daddy, maybe tired of living this way and finally ready to tuck tail between legs and limp on home where there were regular meals.
Or maybe... chained up and tortured and murdered.
Usually, when we're forced to do something against our will, it's for some pervy AV to sell. I should know. It happened to me once. Warren had been the guy's name, and I'd just turned sixteen, then. I should have been suspicious when he took me to an old garage instead of a crappy motel. Inside, in one corner, it had been all set up for my performance. They told me that I would be cast in the role of the delinquent victim of a cop gang rape, and let me tell you, it was not acting. Three guys into cosplay, dressed like half-naked, buffed-up cops, handcuffs, batons, restraints and all, cornered me and proceeded to teach me a lesson.
That had been a long, painful night, and I learned more than I wished about breath deprivation taking on three at once. They had fucked me at both ends, with hardly a break, for hours. In the morning, surprise, surprise, they actually paid me well and let me go, some the worse for wear and barely able to walk. But trust me, I distanced myself from that place quick as hell, despite the pain.
I tell my customers now that I don't do videos. A couple of times their wallets have convinced me to relax that rule, as long as it was just the two of us and nothing especially dangerous.
Then there are the tricks who just want to hurt someone. These gentlemen are generally not even gay. They just see boys as being tough enough to handle what a girl couldn't, or so they tell themselves to avoid the guilt. I've had more than one john tell me that as they fucked me senseless and left me with unplanned body modification from their teeth and their fists, and sometimes, from their belts. I've seen a hell of a lot in three years. I thought I'd pretty much seen and survived it all. That was me, a survivor, and as I lay there on that bloody sheet, I was already trying to think of a way out of this.
I was hurt though, and badly, this time. I’ve never been hurt this bad before. Still, all I wanted was my life, and I would do whatever it took to keep it.
Those thoughts would one day come back to haunt me, but at the moment, they calmed me. I lay there, shivering and waiting, and I guess I must have passed out again. Because I woke when a hand touched me, and my eyes flew open and I heard a loud gasp.
My nemesis was standing beside the bed. He stared at me. I stared back. I should have hated his fucking guts, but what I felt gazing back, wasn't hatred. Or even fear. The fact that my life had little worth was no new concept for me. Death, I knew, wasn't going to be far beyond his notice. I had to not act like I was prey, like I was weak, like he was crazy…none of this came as separate thoughts. It was just some random instinct kicking in.
"Next time, don't be so rough," I said to try and distract him. My voice unfortunately was little more than a croak.
That knocked him way off balance, I could see it in his eyes, and he even took a short step back, his color returning. Maybe he'd thought I was a ghost. The point is, that I was giving him the out that in my eyes, it had all just been a game, a game I was not totally against playing.
"I'm Noah," I went on, and now I wasn't just some random stranger, either. I had a name. "I'll tell you. That's one vid I don't care to see."
"Noah?… Vid?" he echoed. His voice I noticed was not the same, the tone was different. Softer, and unsure, he was clearly confused. I could win this, I thought was some dumb hope. He was stupid enough. I could get out of this with my life if I played this right.
"You know, I could've acted out some of it, and lasted longer," I said.
I coughed weakly trying to turn, feeling the chain tighten around my neck. I tried to loosen it, but my hands were barely working.
He still hadn‘t moved, or spoken. I said, "It didn't have to be so real."
The monster came closer, and his voice chilled me to the bone. "I killed you,” he said.
God, the chill that went through me, the hair rose on my neck. I tried to see his eyes, tried to get a feel of his mood.
"Look, I can take a lot. I like it rough," I lied, one hand on my throat. "But that was too much. You wouldn’t want to really kill me, would you?”
He just looked at me again.
"Look, I can fake it, I can make it all dramatic and shit, better than the real thing. You think this is the first time I've done this?"
The man's confusion had me feeling brave, somewhat brave, trying to save my own life. But I couldn't stop shaking, and in fact, I was scared half out of my mind, especially when he said,
"I have to kill you."
It seemed as if he said it to himself, not to me, the way his eyes were far-off, not looking at me. The thought seemed to sadden him, as if that was final. I had to bring him back, quickly.
"Why?" I asked, getting all the anger I could into one word, sounding as if my life on the line was no more important than a weather report. "Seems we have a lot in common. What's your name?"
"Daniel," he said automatically, still confused. I had him.
"Danny-boy, look, we can do this the easy way. Please?" I implored in a little kid's voice, one asking daddy to go for ice-cream. "Please, Daniel?"
"I don't think I can kill you now, not right now," he said in a dazed voice.
Encouraged, I nodded. "No need to do that, no need at all. We could be partners. Let's not bullshit. We are two of a kind, and we could work together."
I said the wrong fucking thing. I had gotten too cocky. He was on me, straddling my body, angry, his big hands at my throat. I took hold of his wrists, but only gently. "Easy," I choked. "I'm sorry..."
His attempt was half-hearted, luckily, he was still unbalanced by all of it, and he let go but stayed sitting there on me. God, it hurt. I didn't try to get him off, I didn't move.
Very softly I intruded on whatever his thoughts might be. "Daniel, listen, just tell me what you want. Are you lonely? I know I could use a fucking friend, and I know I'm not worth anything, hell, my own parents have no use for me. They wish I was dead, too."
Ah, I had him. He was looking at me, blinking. "I'm not a faggot," he said.
"Me either, but we do what we have to, don't we?" I kept my voice respectful and sad.
His head cocked. "What makes you think you're anything like me, Noah?"
My strength was giving out. During all this, my body never stopped complaining. I couldn't stop shaking. I was hurt badly, and trying to ignore it to save my life, but the dizziness was getting worse. "I just know," I told him. "God, Daniel. I need help. I don't feel very good."
That was the fucking understatement of the century. I had been doing so well, too, confusing him and eating away at his resolve, but I could feel darkness closing in again. Spasms of pain ripped through me. "Talk to you later-" I think I managed to say out loud as if ending a phone conversation, before the world, just that quickly, winked out like a dying star again.
--------------
Wonder of all wonders, I woke up a second time. I squinted up.
Above me, thankfully not on top of me, I could see Daniel, smiling.
"Gonna be sick," I whispered. Not the first words I wanted to say, but the first ones necessary. I struggled to lean my head off the bed and promptly vomited. Luckily I hadn't eaten in... a day or two, who remembers?... but there was blood in it, I think.
Daniel didn't get mad for some reason. I was too weak to even right myself, and he gently helped me to lay back. Then he got up and he cleaned the mess up off the carpet without saying anything. I didn't say anything, either. It's like all the adrenalin or whatever it had been that had gotten me through waking up the first time, was no longer there, like I didn't care if I lived or died now. But, I did care. I just had no reserves of energy left to work with.
The pain was stunning. It took away my breath.
Daniel sat back down beside me, straightening the blankets up to my chin. I thanked the bastard.
"I thought a lot about what you said," he started, slowly.
What had I said? It was all such a blur, all so spur of the moment crap I had handed him.
"It would be fun to do it with someone, and make our own movies. You really like that stuff, too?"
What stuff? I couldn’t think straight.
"Yes," I said as sincerely as I could, and with some apology for it. His arm moved and I cowered down.
His eyebrows knitted together. "I won't hurt you."
Only my weakness made it easy not to laugh at that one. What a stupid prick. "Thank you."
And then he kissed me, not rough like before, and I desperately tried to kiss him back. He made a face, guess I didn't taste especially good. "I'd better get you cleaned up," he said.
"Thank you," again I said. But inside, sheer, blind terror seized me. Not that fucking bathtub again. Oh, god.
He unchained me. Then, instead of dragging me, he actually carried me to the bathroom. I hadn’t noticed the first time I had been in this room, but it was ridiculous. It was all done up with these aqua blue, fat, smiling fish, on the shower curtain, curtains, toilet cover and one hanging on the wall with bubbles coming from its mouth up over the paint. It made me shiver, but not as bad as my realization that I was to weak to fight. Drowning had never seemed like a pleasant death to me-- and let me tell you, it’s not. That and fire often found me in nightmares more than I care to think about.
But how could I object?
As it turned out, although I suffered major panic with every move he made, he was fast and efficient, washing all the blood away, off my battered body and out of my hair, and I even managed to brush my teeth. It felt remarkably good in the warmth, to be honest, and if not for being so afraid and so helpless, I would have enjoyed it.
After that, back on the bed, I slept some more. Time had no meaning, nothing had meaning but the man tending me and my own fear. Fighting it was difficult and tiring. I woke many times. I ate some soup and drank water and juice, but I didn't speak to Daniel again for what seemed an eternity, but I found out later wasn't even two days. I was healing, and had some strength back. I managed to get up on shaky legs and with help from the wall, walk by myself to the bathroom, and really check myself out. There was no rectal bleeding any more. I was somewhat surprised, so I guess the worst damage was healing.
Bennys of being a prostitute who'd been taken by two cocks at once before. I guess I was stretched.
It had been a plan of mine to make myself useful. Now that I could think again, I wanted this Daniel to want me and trust me so I would have a chance to escape. He had chained me up again, telling me he was sorry for it, but couldn't chance me having second thoughts. I didn't want to say how it felt having to worry about his second thoughts. No. I wasn't going to try to get loose until I was positive that I could. Comfort was all that mattered right now. No, not comfort, that's not what I meant. I meant freedom from pain, from torture.
From death.
I told my would-be murderer whatever it seemed likely he wanted to hear, and I seemed to be doing all right reading him gauging by his moods. As soon as I was able, I began to ask for the freedom to cook and to clean while he was home. Still in some amount of pain, I did what I could, and Daniel watched and studied me.
One night, after almost a month, he lay down with me on my bed. He had his own room, and had not slept in mine during this time, but something was changing. He kissed me, as he had tried to once before, gently. I didn't remind him that he had said he wasn't gay. I was stupid, but not that stupid. I kissed him back. I stroked his body, and asked to be freed. He unchained me. I went down on him without being asked and with all the skill I had. I brought him to orgasm twice with hands and mouth and I held him close to me that night, petting him. He fell asleep without chaining me, and I was sure that sooner or later I was really going to get my chance to be free of him.
He put the chain back around my throat in the morning, but hesitated. I just smiled, lifting my head to make it easier for him, as if I trusted him completely. That next night, he began to talk to me about 'our' plans. Our videos that we would make. And then he was on top of me, and I didn't try to stop him. But the fear was back as he held me down and fucked me. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I hadn't gotten over that night as much as I thought I had.
From that day on, he got rougher. He liked to choke me while he got off, and I had to act as if I didn't care, but I was mindlessly numb with terror. Abuse, I was used to. But this went beyond that, he had gone beyond that and I was keenly aware every moment of the viciousness he was capable of. So, I encouraged him, and he had no problem at all doing such fun things as all but twisting my nipples off, or grabbing suddenly at my balls and squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe.
Daniel worked Monday through Friday. It couldn't have been far away, for at first he stopped back during the day at random times to be sure I was behaving. He stopped doing that after a week or so, but once I heard a knock on the front door. I wanted to scream--scream bloody murder for help, but I was frozen, barely breathing in the lonely room. What if he was testing me? I felt chilled. That afternoon, once sure the knocking was over, I wept brokenly. I cried so long and so hard that I passed out with exhaustion.
How had it happened? I felt such intense fear at just the thought of trying to leave, I thought I might faint simply from the panic. If he caught me, I was worse than dead. Better to be alive, and stay alive.
And then everything changed. I had been with him for three months and we had fallen into something of a routine. I took care of Daniel and his needs the best I could. I cooked for him, dusted his bathroom fish, waited on him and bore his increasingly harsh lust every night. I spend hours sucking him off.
Routine, more or less. Until that night, when he fucked me for fucking forever but didn't get off... and said he was sexed up and needed to find another victim and asked was I ready?
I didn't ask him, ready for what? I didn't have the mind to, really, all I felt was some kind of relief that I was not going to be his focus any more. As always, I simply agreed and didn't care what I had to do to prove my loyalty. And then he kissed me, hard on the mouth; I, without any other thought, kissed him back. I told him I was ready.
But no amount of denial could prepare me for the night he brought another victim home, unconscious, and threw him down on the bed. He was breathing like a charging bull, and I could see the rage, the insanity in his eyes.
What the fuck was I going to do…
--
-next chapter killer POV
-----------
Number Twenty-Six (was Sweet Victim)
The latest victim of a brutal serial killer survives. The life or the death of number twenty-seven is in his hands, but is he too broken to care? WARNING: GRAPHIC Abuse, Anal, Angst, BDSM, H/C, Humil, MC, Minor, N/C, Oral, Spank, Toys, Tort, WIP
Horror/Thriller > Slash - Male/Male
Rated [Adult++] -:- Chapters [2] -:- Published [2008-03-21] -:- Updated [2008-09-03 05:09:12] -:- Edited [2008-09-03] -:- Hits [1799] -:- Reviews [13] -:- Average / Total Vote [+++++ / 21]
I'm used to waking up scared. It's been my routine for years now. Ever since my father literally shoved me out the front door, told me not to come back, and slammed it. Bastard. Just because I lifted a twenty from mom's purse when she wasn't watching. I know, I know, it was low, it was despicable. But couldn't they have just let me work it off mowing the lawn or something? Yeah, so it wasn't the first and only thing I've done that I'm not proud of. Dad called it 'The Last Straw'. I was fifteen then. I was stupid. I'm still stupid.
Anyway, since then I wake up with my nerves humming everyday, ready for anything and not always sure where I was, only today...
... today, I wish I wasn't sure.
I couldn't open my eyes, or I should say, just barely, they were too swollen. My tongue felt swollen, too, and don't get me started on what it felt like when I tried to move my arms, or even just my hands. All that though, is nothing compared to the pain inside. Everywhere inside, deep inside. And I remember horrible details, like my death flashing before my eyes. I didn't want to relive it, but I did because I need any and all information that could get me out of this. I had been drugged, raped, tortured and strangled. I had met, in the flesh, every prostitutes darkest nightmare, and I'd had quite enough of the sick, twisted games.
Obviously, it wasn't quite enough for him, since I was alive and still chained up. I guess I'll see him again soon, with that so-terrible grin on his face that I had no way to wipe off it.
My father told me many times that I would come to a bad end. As usual, he was right. I always took the easy way out, always let what I felt at the moment be my guide. It was easy to drop out of school, where every day was a reminder of how fucked-up I was. Easy to not study, not hand in homework and fail. Failure always came easy to me. So why was dying so hard? Death is only a dropping out of life. It should come natural. I shouldn't fight it.
I had thought that I was dying, or more precisely-- that I was being killed, I had been absolutely sure of it. He had even told me I was. So why was I waking up? And alone? Seriously, what else did that... that creature who looked like a man think he could do to me?
I still hadn't moved. The more awake I was, the more pain I felt, even lying perfectly still. It hurt to just breathe. The fat bastard had probably broken my ribs, on top of everything else.
The worst was knowing that he would back, sooner or later. Maybe with some new ideas. Or maybe with just the same old ideas. I don't think I can take anymore.
Maybe he was just going to let me go.
Sure. I believed me.
It dawned on me... I had been warned about this guy. It had been Sam who told me to have a watch on, that someone was fucking with us. With the younger and the prettier ones, it seemed. I think I yawned as if, what's so newsworthy about that? As the lowest of the low, street whores, we were always in danger. I didn't pay much attention to Sam.
I should have, right? Young, male hustlers do not have much going for them. Losers, all. We're too-easy victims, and so we all sort of stick together, at the same time, we never get too close. It would hurt to lose friends so often, but we protect each other if we can. Sometimes, one of us just disappears. Maybe tempted off for an easier life with some sugar daddy, maybe tired of living this way and finally ready to tuck tail between legs and limp on home where there were regular meals.
Or maybe... chained up and tortured and murdered.
Usually, when we're forced to do something against our will, it's for some pervy AV to sell. I should know. It happened to me once. Warren had been the guy's name, and I'd just turned sixteen, then. I should have been suspicious when he took me to an old garage instead of a crappy motel. Inside, in one corner, it had been all set up for my performance. They told me that I would be cast in the role of the delinquent victim of a cop gang rape, and let me tell you, it was not acting. Three guys into cosplay, dressed like half-naked, buffed-up cops, handcuffs, batons, restraints and all, cornered me and proceeded to teach me a lesson.
That had been a long, painful night, and I learned more than I wished about breath deprivation taking on three at once. In the morning, surprise, surprise, they actually paid me well and let me go, some the worse for wear and barely able to walk. But trust me, I distanced myself from that place quicker than hell, despite the pain.
I tell my customers now that I don't do videos. A couple of times their wallets have convinced me to relax that rule, as long as it was just the two of us and nothing especially dangerous.
Then there are the tricks who just want to hurt someone. These gentlemen are generally not even gay. They just see boys as being tough enough to handle what a girl couldn't, or so they tell themselves to avoid the guilt. I've had more than one john tell me that as they fucked me senseless and left me with unplanned body modification from their teeth and their fists, and sometimes, from their belts. I've seen a hell of a lot in three years. I thought I'd pretty much seen and survived it all. That was me, a survivor, and as I lay there on that bloody sheet, I was already trying to think of a way out of this.
I was hurt though, and badly, this time. Still, all I wanted was my life, and I would do whatever it took to keep it.
Those thoughts would one day come back to haunt me, but at the moment, they calmed me. I lay there, shivering and waiting, and I guess I must have passed out again. Because I woke when a hand touched me, and my eyes flew open and I heard him gasp.
He stared at me. I stared back. I should have hated his fucking guts, but what I felt gazing back, wasn't hatred. Or even fear. The fact that my life had little worth was no new concept for me. Death, I knew, wasn't going to be far beyond his notice. I had to not act like I was prey, like I was weak, like he was crazy... none of this came as separate thoughts. It was just some random instinct kicking in.
"Next time, don't be so rough," I said softly, my voice unfortunately little more than a croak.
That knocked him way off balance, I could see it in his eyes, and he even took a short step back, his color returning. Maybe he'd thought I was a ghost. The point is, that I was giving him the out that in my eyes, it had all just been a game, a game I was not totally against playing.
"I'm Noah," I went on, and now I wasn't just some random stranger, either. I had a name. "I'll tell you. That's one vid I don't care to see."
"Noah? Vid?" he echoed. His voice I noticed was not the same as before, the tone was different. Softer, and unsure, he was clearly confused. I could win this, he was stupid enough, I just had to play him right. I could get out of this with my life. I had hope now.
"You know, I could've acted the part." I coughed weakly trying to turn, noticing that there was still rope around my neck. I tried to tear it off, but my hands were barely working. I pulled at it, dragging it free and tossing it off the side of the bed. "It didn't have to be so real."
My nemesis came forward. "I killed you."
That, as you can imagine, chilled me right to the marrow. I kept a semblence of calm and forced myself to look at him. "Huh? You mean, it was a snuff film? Damn it, mister-?" I said, watching as his eyes narrowed, and I was shivering, unsure again. "I like it rough," I lied, one hand on my throat. "But that was too much. You don't mean you were really going to kill me?"
He just looked at me this time, like I was ghost. It bolstered my shaky courage.
"Look mister, I can fake it, I can make it all dramatic and shit, better than the real thing. You think this is the first time I've done this?"
The man's confusion had me feeling brave, somewhat brave, trying to save my own life. But I couldn't stop trembling, and in fact, I was scared half out of my mind, especially when he said,
"I have to kill you."
It seemed as if he said it to himself, not to me, the way his eyes were far-off, not looking at me. The thought seemed to sadden him, as if that was final. I had to bring him back, quickly.
"Why?" I spat, getting all the anger I could into one word, sounding as if my life on the line was no more important than a weather report. "Seems we have a lot in common. What's your name?"
"Daniel," he said automatically, still confused. I had him.
"Danny, look, we can do this the easy way. Please?" I implored in a little kid's voice, one asking daddy to go for ice-cream. "Please, Daniel?"
"I don't think I can kill you now," he said in that same monotone.
Encouraged, I nodded. "No need to do that, no need at all. We could be partners. Let's not bullshit. We are two of a kind, and we could work together."
I said the wrong fucking thing. I had gotten too cocky. He was on me, angry, big hands at my throat. I took hold of his wrists, but only gently. "Easy," I choked. "I'm sorry..."
His attempt was half-hearted, uncertain, he was still unbalanced by all of it, and he let go but stayed sitting there on me. Luckily, not on my ribcage. I didn't try to get him off, I didn't move.
Very softly I intruded on whatever his thoughts might be. "Daniel, listen, just tell me what you want. Are you lonely? I know I could use a fucking friend, and I know I'm not worth anything, hell, my own parents have no use for me. They wish I was dead, too."
Ah, I had him back. He was looking at me, blinking. "I'm not a faggot," he said.
"Me either, but we do what we have to, don't we?" I kept my voice respectful and sad.
His head cocked. "What makes you think you're anything like me, Noah?"
He said my name. Thank god, because my strength was giving out. During all this, my body never stopped complaining. I couldn't stop shaking. I was hurt badly, and trying to ignore it to save my life, but the dizziness was getting worse. "I just know," I told him. "God, Daniel. I need help. I don't feel very good."
That was the fucking understatement of the century. I had been doing so well, too, confusing him and eating away at his resolve, but I could feel darkness closing in again. Spasms of pain ripped through me.
"Talk to you later-" I think I managed to say out loud as if ending a phone conversation, before the world, just that quickly, winked out like a dying star again.
--------------
Wonder of all wonders, I woke up. Alive.
Above me, once I managed to focus my eyes, I could see Daniel, smiling.
"Gonna be sick," I whispered. Not the first words I wanted to say, but the first ones necessary. I struggled to lean my head off the bed and promptly vomited. Good thing I hadn't eaten in... a day or two, who remembers?... All I threw up was bile, but there was blood in it, I think.
Daniel didn't get mad for some reason. I was too weak to even right myself, and he gently helped me to lay back. Then he got up and he cleaned the mess up off the carpet without saying anything. I didn't say anything, either. It's like all the adrenalin or whatever it had been that had gotten me through waking up the first time, was no longer there, like I didn't care if I lived or died now.
But, I did care. I just had no reserves of energy left to work with. I was so tired.
Daniel sat back down beside me, straightening the blankets up to my chin. I thanked the bastard.
"I thought a lot about what you said," he started, slowly.
What had I said? It was all such a blur, all so spur of the moment the crap I had handed him.
"It would be fun to do it with someone, and make our own movies. You really like that stuff, too?"
What stuff? "Yes, some of it," I said as sincerely as I could, and with some apology for it. His arm moved and I cowered down. Fuck.
Daniel wasn’t fazed by my fear. His eyebrows knitted together. "I won't hurt you,” he said.
Only my weakness made it easy not to laugh at that one. What a stupid prick. "Thank you,” I told him.
And then he kissed me, not rough like before, and I desperately tried to kiss him back. He made a face, guess I didn't taste especially good after vomiting.
"I'd better get you cleaned up," he said.
"Thank you," again I lamely said.
He did, too. He unchained me and all but carried me to the bathroom, which was done up in these aqua blue, fat, smiling fish, on the shower curtain, curtains, toilet cover and one hanging on the wall with bubbles coming from its mouth up over the paint. It made me shiver, but not as bad as my realization that I was about to be bathed. In water. By this manic-depressive sadist.
Drowning had never seemed like a pleasant death to me, that and fire often found me in nightmares--more often than I care to think about.
But how could I object?
As it turned out, although I suffered major panic with every move he made, he was fast and efficient and best of all, gentle as he washed all the blood away, off my battered body and out of my hair. I even managed to brush my teeth. He put ointment and bandaides on the burns, and he wrapped my damaged hand.
It felt remarkably good in the warmth of the water, to be honest, and if not for being so afraid and so helpless, I would have enjoyed it.
After that, back on the bed, I slept some more. Time had no meaning, nothing had meaning but the man tending me and my own fear. Fighting it was difficult and tiring. I woke many times, sobbing. I ate some soup and drank water and juice, but I didn't speak to Daniel again for what seemed an eternity, but that I found out later wasn't even two days.
I was healing, and had some strength back by then. I managed to get up to the bathroom, and really check myself out. There was no rectal bleeding left, I was somewhat surprised to discover, so I guess the worst damage was tears at the entrance. Bennys of being a prostitute who'd been taken by two cocks at once before. I guess I was stretched.
It had been a plan of mine to make myself useful. Now that I could think again, I wanted this Daniel to want me and trust me so I would have a chance to escape once I was up to it. He had chained me again, telling me he was sorry for it, but couldn't chance me having second thoughts about staying.
I didn't want to say how it felt having to worry about his second thoughts. No. I wasn't going to try to get loose until I was positive that I could. Comfort was all that mattered right now. No, not comfort, that's not what I meant. I meant freedom from pain, from torture.
From death.
I told my would-be murderer whatever it seemed likely he wanted to hear, and I seemed to be doing all right reading him gauging by his moods. As soon as I was able, I began to ask for the freedom to cook and to clean while he was home to stand guard. I didn’t put it that way, but we both understood.
Still in some amount of pain, I did what I could, and Daniel watched and studied me.
One night, after almost a month, he lay down with me on my bed. He had his own room, and had not slept in mine during this time, but something was changing. He kissed me, as he had tried to once before, gently. I didn't remind him that he had said he wasn't gay. Not me. I kissed him back. I stroked his body, and asked to be freed. He unchained me. I went down on him without being asked and with all the skill I had.
I was good, no, I was great. I’d always liked giving head and could do it in my sleep. I brought him to orgasm twice with hands and mouth and I held him close to me that night, petting him. He fell asleep without chaining me, and I was sure that sooner or later I was really going to get my chance to be free of him.
He put the chain back around my throat in the morning, but hesitated. I just smiled, lifting my head to make it easier for him, as if I trusted him completely. That next night, he began to talk to me about 'our' plans. Our videos that we would make. And then he was on top of me, flipping me over prone and I didn't try to stop him. But the fear was back as he held me down and fucked me, pressing against my back.
I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I hadn't gotten over that night as much as I thought I had. The problem was, his voice got rough when he asked what I was so afraid of.
I told him, that, see? I could act the part of the helpless victim…and he seemed to like that idea, believing I was only acting and rutting harder each time I pleaded or whimpered.
What I discovered was that it wasn't causing pain he enjoyed so much as the feeling of power he got, of ownership. I knew then that I had to remain on guard. Too easily, I feared this need of his could go too far. I was playing with dynamite. But I was still alive.
From that day on, my captor got more violent. He liked to choke me while he got off, and I had to act as if I didn't care, but I was mindlessly numb with terror.
Abuse, I was used to. But this went beyond that, he had gone beyond that and I was keenly aware every moment of the viciousness he was capable of. So, I encouraged him, and he had no problem at all doing such fun things as all but twisting my nipples off, or grabbing suddenly at my balls and squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe.
But at least he stayed away from his toy chest. And his cigars.
Also, he liked to cuddle, fondle and kiss for hours. I’ve never had a lot of patience with it, but this guy had taught me to learn to like whatever kept me alive.
Daniel worked Monday through Friday. It couldn't have been far away, for at first he stopped back during the day at random times to be sure I was behaving. He stopped doing that after a week or so, but I couldn't be sure of that and once-- I heard a knock on the front door. How badly I wanted to scream--scream bloody murder for help, but I was frozen, barely breathing in the lonely room. What if he was testing me? I felt chilled. That afternoon, once sure the knocking was over, I wept brokenly. I cried so long and so hard that I passed out with exhaustion.
How had it happened? I felt such intense fear at just the thought of trying to leave, I thought I might faint simply from the panic. If he caught me, I was worse than dead. Better to be alive, and stay alive.
And then everything changed. I had been with him for three months and we had fallen into something of a routine. I took care of Daniel and his needs the best I could. I cooked for him, dusted his bathroom fish, waited on him and bore his increasingly harsh lust every night.
Routine, more or less. Until that night, when he fucked me for fucking forever but didn't get off... and said he was sexed up and that meant I wasn't satisfying enough and he needed to find another victim and he asked-- was I ready?
I didn't ask him, ready for what? I didn't have the mind to, really, all I felt was some kind of relief that I was not going to be his focus any more. As always, I simply agreed and didn't care what I had to do to prove my loyalty. And then he kissed me, hard on the mouth; I, without any other thought, kissed the bastard back as I whispered in his ear,
"I'm ready..."
But no amount of denial could prepare me for the night he brought another victim home, unconscious, and threw him down on the bed. He was breathing like a charging bull, and I could see the rage, the insanity in his eyes.
What the fuck was I going to do…
--
Note: I'm not sure what the pov for the next chapter will be. If I didn't mention it, the inspiration for this tale is what I've read about serial killers, esp. Gacy and Dahmer. Enjoy.
