Chapter Text
Chapter One
He didn’t know how long he’d been trapped there—tied to the table, a gag stuffed deep in his throat choking him and making it hard to breathe. At first, he’d been quiet, trying to be obedient in hopes his temporary master would calm down and show him mercy. It was hard to stay quiet with the long, phallic gag pressing at the back of his throat, but gerard tried. He let the shame come, the humiliation and the tears. He let himself cry, sorrowful and also angry at himself for getting himself in this position, but he knew—deep down—that he couldn’t have given in to the other man’s demands.
Gerard belonged to Master and no one else. Master was the only man allowed to touch him or be touched by him. No matter what Master’s friend insisted, gerard knew he wasn’t permitted to open his mouth to accept the other man’s length—not that he would have without a fight even with his Master’s consent. At first, he thought this whole thing was a test.
Maybe Master had called the man and told him to see if gerard would submit to his desires—disobey his Master’s most serious command.
Gerard tried to tell himself over and over as he waited that the test would be over soon. But hours past and he was still strapped to the cold, metal table in the basement. The gag was still strapped into his mouth.
Hours turned to days. He was hurting, cold, shaking, thirsty, hungry. He panicked the first night—screamed and screamed around the long gag in his throat—but no one came. Not until the next morning when a faint beam of light was cast across the stone floor.
With the light came Master’s cruel friend.
A beating, then abandonment. No food, no water. The man didn’t even speak to him—just grunted as he swung down one of Master’s heaviest straps across gerard’s stomach and the fronts of his thighs. Gerard had nearly vomited from the pain, but the gag in his throat kept down whatever tried to rise from his stomach.
The beam of light disappeared and gerard cried softly as he realized his own helplessness.
Master would be gone a week and who knew when His cruel friend would show gerard mercy. It could be the next day, but why would it be? The man enjoyed being cruel. Gerard could hear marcus crying upstairs sometimes after loud thuds or sharp smacks. Even adam stood somewhere overhead weeping, presumably after being struck.
Late on the second night that gerard spent strapped to the metal table—now soaked in sweat and, regrettably, urine—he heard footsteps on the stairs. His spirits lifted, not caring if it was the bad man come to beat him. Maybe he’d try for sex again and would remove the gag or at least undo the bindings.
But it was marcus.
Gerard had immediately started pleading for his fellow slave to remove the gag.
“I can’t,” marcus told him, crying as he stroked gerard’s hair and then began wiping his face with a cool, damp cloth—clearing away the tears and snot and spit. “I can’t. I’m so sorry. He’s asleep, so I’m going to bring you some water and clean you off, but I can’t let you up. I’m sorry.”
Gerard had become frantic then, making any desperate noise he could in hopes marcus would cave to his will—but he didn’t. He cleaned up the table, then went upstairs and retuned with a bottle of water.
Marcus would have to remove the gag in order for him to take a drink, gerard thought—but he didn’t. He manipulated gerard’s mouth in a way that the water poured past his lips and ran down his throat along the length of the phallic gag. He choked and coughed, his throat clamping down on the plastic—the water hitting his lungs. It took four tries for him to be able to drink without choking.
Once the bottle was empty, marcus kissed his cheek and left him again—left him alone, shaking and cold in the dark.
It went on for days until gerard lost count. He was tortured in the afternoons by the man—beaten, sodomized with toys and then left with something inside that burned unbearably—and visited by marcus at night. The second night he brought water, then there was juice one night, milk the next, then more water. The last one gerard remembered was one of Master’s vitamin drinks, a breakfast replacement milk drink.
His throat hurt so badly by that point he could barely swallow. His nose was clogged and he could only take his breaths around the gag—slowly suffocating as panic attack after panic attack washed over him. Not to mention the sheer agony of his jaw, forced to stay open wide around the hard gag.
His wrists and legs were raw from fighting the bindings, there were sores on his back and shoulders from lying on the hard table. His stomach ached constantly and the drinks marcus brought him did nothing to stifle the cravings for food.
He grew weaker and weaker until one day the man came downstairs again. He undid the straps on gerard’s ankles as he did every time he had the intent to use one of Master’s toys, and pushed his legs apart.
Exhausted, aching, terrified, gerard barely even whimpered in protest as slick fingers pressed inside him. He started sobbing faintly when he saw the man pull out a condom from his pocket and place it on himself—discarding the foil wrapper on the floor.
Gerard’s head lulled back and forth and he stared up at the beams overhead, willing himself away from this nightmare. The thought that his Master would be home soon had been his only comfort—the thought that his Master would come home and release him from the table and remove the gag was the only thing that calmed him down.
Now he knew.
When Master came home, He’d see the damage that was done. He would know gerard broke His most important rule and gerard would be worth nothing to Him. He didn’t want a slave that others had had. Gerard had been Master’s first virgin slave. He was proud to have been the only one to have his body.
Now that wasn’t the case anymore.
As soon he felt the other man press inside, gerard squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to scream, but his voice was wrecked and all he could get out was a soft wheeze around the gag. Each inch that was forced inside took gerard to new levels of horror.
Master would be home soon, and now He’d be angry when He laid eyes on gerard.
When Master had told him He was going away for a week, gerard had cried and clung to Him. He would miss his Master, he’s sobbed, but he would make sure the house was in order when He got home. He would have his Master’s favorite dinner on the table on Sunday night when He was due home. He would have the bedroom set up just how Master liked, all His favorite toys on display. He would have had his Master come home to the very epitome of submission.
Gerard laid on the table and trembled as the man started to thrust in and out, grunting like an animal—moaning, roaring. The skin of gerard’s back, pressed into the table, was strained and torn open with the force of the thrusts, already made raw from lying on the unforgiving metal for days on end. Unable to move, unable to scream or cry, unable to block the pain…it was the cruelest torture to which gerard had ever been made to submit.
With all the awful sounds—the wet noises, the growls, the squeaking of the table—it was a surprise when both he and the man heard the door open and close overhead.
Master was home.