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From: Misanthropic.Misfit@gmail.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage
Subject: NEW STORY "Professional Jealousy" Part 1 (M/m, NC, gay, abduct, B/D)
Date: Fri, 25 May 2007 21:22:54 -0700
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===================

Hello. This is my first posting so I hope I've got everything right.
This is a little fantasy I've been writing for a couple of weeks now
and as a big fan of these forums I wanted to contribute something
back. I haven't written much more than this but if all goes well I'll
post more episodes in the coming weeks and months. Comments welcome.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________


PROFESSIONAL JEALOUSY - Part 1 - by Misfit M


When Trent awoke he couldn't work out where he was. Bright light
burned his eyes. Deep instinct and discomfort instantly told him he
was in terrible trouble. The after-effects of the drugs cloaked him in
protective confusion for long seconds, even as the discomfort in his
limbs and his inability to move them were lifting his heart rate. Then
he remembered Clarence and the car ride and the drugged water. It was
crazy. Even though it seemed impossible, he suddenly knew what had
happened. His mind railed against it, he tried to wake up again, but
this was reality. As his eyes begun to adjust to the light, panic was
falling upon him. Some kind of bonds at his wrists and ankles held him
spreadeagled with almost no slack in his limbs. Feeling the flat
surface he was held against was wood, he realized he was naked. His
stomach was turning to ice and felt like it was falling through the
floor. As he grew accustomed to the brilliance he realized there were
multiple light sources, but one loomed over him on a sinister, medical-
like arm, and this one dominated his view. Squinting around it he
could see that he was in some kind of cellar or basement, furnished in
a way which only compounded his terror.

The floor was concrete and the walls were dirty brick with fittings
corroded or broken. The first thing he noticed though was a camera on
a tripod aimed at his prostrate form. Disconcerting as this was the
rest was worse. There were a couple of wooden benches and racks, some
shelves, a couple of metal trolleys, some kind of framework suspended
from the roof, a cage and a couple of chairs, one a hideous dentist's
chair with restraints. Arrayed on most of this furniture was a
profusion of different items, which even if their exact nature wasn't
apparent, were obviously designed for torture. For many seconds his
terrified and now wide awake eyes moved desperately from one object to
another, horrified at each new discovery but searching the room for
something, somehow that might redeem this nightmare. There was
nothing. Only a frightening arrangement of whips, straps, paddles,
clamps, masks, leather, rubber and dildos. And that was just the
things he was able to recognize. There was a frightening looking
electrical machine with knobs, dials, wires, electrodes and
attachments. There was another tripod and camera. Worst of all though
was an incomprehensible series of wooden, steel and leather devices
which looked as if they were designed for mutilating torture or
sadistic execution. It was a room devoid of hope. Within a minute he
was hyperventilating.

Stretching his neck he saw he wore leather cuffs at his wrists and
ankles, attached by chains to corners of the table he lay on.
Desperately his fingers searched the chains and cuffs for a release
but it was an awkward impossible task. Perversely, he felt stupid and
self-conscious doing it, knowing he was almost certainly helpless and
that the eye of the camera was recording what must be pitiful and
amusing struggles for his captor. Panic and desperation trumped pride
though and as his horror seemed to reach its crescendo he twisted and
pulled on the restraints with all his might. Of course all he earned
was renewed pain in limb and joint. He squeezed his eyes shut and
tried to calm down, forcing himself to take slightly slower, deeper
breaths. He fought the claustrophobic instinct to keep tearing madly
at the restraints and to beg, shout and scream. He knew that if he was
going to have any chance of surviving this situation he was going to
have to control his panic. Clarence wouldn't kill him would he? But
this room? The crazy disguise and the new car!? It didn't look good.
Maybe it was some kind of sick practical joke, revenge for exposing
the extent of his plagiarism at work. God, please let that be it.

Trent lay like that for many minutes, struggling back and forth with
his thoughts, trying not to contemplate the room itself. Even terror
cannot peak forever though, and reaching some degree of relative
calmness he found himself staring up into the light above him. There
was some comfort in the way it filled his vision and in the soft burn
of its glare on his retinas. He realized that he was trembling
uncontrollably and that he was probably going into shock. It was then
that he noticed the third camera. He hadn't seen it before because it
was just behind the arm-light above him. It was much closer than the
others and clearly pointed right at his face. It was the long
microphone stretching beside and in front of the lens which led his
eye to it. This last discovery broke the façade of control he had
managed to construct. He felt a powerfully renewed urge to flee, to
hide, to beg and eventually, to weep. Somehow the knowledge that there
was a close-up of his face, and that his every breathe was being
closely recorded, made him feel more naked than anything else. Panic
was welling up, threatening again to overtake him. He could feel his
breathing grow tighter and feared that if he gave release to the sob
growing deep in his throat he wouldn't be able to stop.

He tried to forget about the third camera but it was impossible. It
seemed to prevent him from recovering the degree of composure he had
previously achieved. He felt like a bug on a pin under a magnifying
glass. Struggling to lie still and impossibly hide his emotions from
what were surely Clarence's sadistic and voyeuristic eyes, he felt a
rage begin to rise within him at the hateful injustice of his
situation. The anger was like a blessing to him. He let it overtake
him, dwelling not on the cameras, his nakedness or the terrible
possibilities of his fate, but on that vile, smug, complacent,
arrogant, reactionary, evil bastard! Just because Clarence's lies and
conceits had finally caught up with him, because his prissy little toy
boy had dumped him, because of god knows what other ways he had fucked
up his own life, he had decided to take this fiendish revenge on him.
Him! Who had only been doing his job and doing it well.

Then an awful thought occurred to him. What if Clarence had been doing
sick shit like this for years? He'd always been a twisted old prick -
could he be some kind of serial killer? Trent's thoughts raced round
and round his brain in this torturous fashion for the two hours that
Clarence left him alone on the table. All that time a sick knot of
dread and anxiety twisted and grew in the pit of his stomach.

*

Clarence on the other hand spent most of that time watching his
victim's progress with delight from his monitors upstairs. He was so
exhilarated he could barely breathe. He was like a little kid on
Christmas Eve, except or course that his cock was so hard it hurt. He
eventually freed it and gave it some attention as he watched the young
sap struggling with his new situation. Watching him make each new
discovery while trying to stay in control of his emotions filled his
dark heart with joy. Watching the expression in Trent's eyes when he
noticed the close-up camera and mic, and his subsequent agonies,
filled Clarence with such great pleasure that couldn't withhold
release. It was probably the best self induced orgasm of his life and
it took him a minute to clean up and recover his composure.

Somewhat calmer he continued to watch his victim and reflected on the
best way to proceed with him. He hadn't entirely decided what to do
with him in the end but he knew he didn't want to break him too fast.
He was actually quite nervous beneath his excitement. Not of being
caught or of Trent getting away, but of not playing this just right.
He knew there was a great art to this and he was scared of not doing a
fantastic job. He'd always been a perfectionist.

After a little over two hours of the best entertainment he'd ever
watched, he decided it was probably time to reveal himself. Trent had
stewed long enough and he didn't want to have to clean up any urine.
He could make his prisoner clean up his own mess of course, which
psychologically speaking had its own advantages, but he wanted to keep
him in constant bondage for as long as possible.  So, forcing his mind
from the hundreds of possible things he wanted to do to his new guest,
Clarence turned off his equipment and slowly walked downstairs.

*

Trent started at the sounds from upstairs. His heart raced anew as he
clearly heard a lock and a door, then footsteps descending towards
him. Staring at the solid old door which was the only entrance to his
room he found himself praying Clarence was actually alone. He heard
the jingle of keys, then the rattling and clicking of a latch, then
another. It seemed to take forever. He could feel all the panic he'd
struggled against threatening to overwhelm him again.

Then there was his nemesis, looking down on him with a malevolent
smile. His eyes swept up and down his body with a brief but predatory
appraisal. Ice ran down Trent's spine but he didn't make a sound, only
returned the gaze with what he hoped wasn't a terrified and pleading
look.

"Welcome to my new place. I bought it with you in mind."

The room was warm, even in his nakedness, but Trent realized he was
shivering again. He didn't want to ask, didn't want to hear the
answer, but he spoke;

"Wh-what do you want? What are you going to do to me?" His mouth was
dry and his voice sounded uneven and weak in his own ears. He hadn't
meant to sound so pathetic and pleading. Clarence's shark grin only
widened.

"Why, whatever I want Trent. Whatever I want." He said slowly, tracing
a finger across his chest. Trent couldn't help shuddering at this
first contact.

"Please..." he whispered, furious at himself for being so weak but
unable to stop the words, "What do you want? Really. Can't we talk
about..." Even in his trauma the words felt like a cliché to him.
Forcing some steadiness into his voice he finished, "Is there anything
I can do?"

Clarence's grin kept growing. He pulled a chair up to the edge of the
table, careful to obscure the camera views as little as possible.
Leaning in he slid a hand behind the helpless man's neck and gently
lifted his head, tilting his face toward his own. His other hand began
gently playing with his hair in a mockery of tenderness. He didn't
answer for some time.

"Trent, let me explain things to you. You're here pay for what you did
to me, and for just being such an arrogant little wanker." Here he
paused and brought his hand from his hair to his face, stroking his
cheek with his thumb. He leaned even closer and spoke almost in a
whisper. "Mainly though you're here to suffer for my pleasure."

Trent just stared back in horror, unable to believe all this was
actually happening to him. For a tense moment he thought he was going
to be kissed. The urge to beg pressed upon him again but reason told
him it would do no good. Even so his mind raced to find the right
words which might have some kind of effect on his deranged co-worker.

Clarence finally leant back with a soft laugh, delighting in the
turmoil and fear Trent couldn't keep from his eyes. Trent took a deep
shuddery breath, only just realizing that he had been holding it in.

"That's right Trent, I have such plans for you. You're going to stay
down here in my little playroom. It's going to be your new home until
you've learnt your place." He was tracing his chest again as he spoke
but he stopped to gesture toward one of the large racks hung with all
manner of leather and rubber, adorned with straps, buckles, chains and
such. "I've got lots of new clothes for you to wear, to make sure that
you're constantly helpless. In fact I hope you've been enjoying this
relaxing position you're reclined in because it's almost time to get
you into some proper bondage."

Trent looked as if he was trying to speak so Clarence placed a finger
firm finger over his trembling lips to indicate silence.

"Hush, don't be rude. You asked a question, don't you want to hear the
answer? If what you meant was, 'what can you do to stop me or change
my mind?' the answer is absolutely nothing at all. However you can and
will be doing a lot for me." Here he paused again to enjoy the effect
of his words on the young man who had caused him so much trouble.
"Yes. Would you really like to hear what I have planned? What you can,
and will, do?"

White as a sheet, Trent nodded imperceptibly. Clarence continued with
a smile. He spoke slowly and with emphasis, taking obvious delight in
this exchange.

"In short, I'm going to train you to be a gay bondage sex slave."

At this point he actually had to cover Trent's mouth with his hand to
cease his exclamation.

"Really, Trent! Young people truly have no respect for manners these
days. Don't try to argue or bargain with me - you have no say in this.
Look at yourself. If you misbehave with me here you'll be very sorry,
I promise you. I know you're not naïve. You know there are far worse
fates than slavery or death."

Then his tone softened again. The cruel smile however didn't waver.
"If you're a good little boy though, you might come out of this with a
whole new set of experiences, and suffering little more than a bit of
post traumatic shock."

He removed his grip from around Trent's mouth and wiped it on his
jeans, then arched an eyebrow querulously. His poor guest however
merely gaped back at him.

"Nothing to say Trent? That's a refreshing change for you. It seems my
special treatment is already improving your character."

Trent couldn't repress a brief spasm against his bonds. He glared at
Clarence, his face reddening.

"You bastard! How can you do this? What about all those articles of
yours about moral values? Didn't they mean anything?"

Clarence suppressed a brief spike of anger at this outburst but his
smile never shifted. "Ah, there's the Trent I know and loathe so well.
Do you really think that you're going to be able to argue you're way
out of this?"

Trent however was furious and terrified and wasn't able to give up so
quickly. "If you do this to me then you're proving me right. You'll be
making a lie out of all the good work you've ever done!"

"Trent, I'm not going to argue the relationship between the general
and the particular with you here. We're not at work anymore. You're in
my little dungeon." As he said this he placed his hand on Trent's
waist, drawing it slowly across his stomach until it rested on his
navel, which he caressed with his fingernails. His touch continued the
have the disconcerting effect on his prisoner he sought. "And besides,
no one who cares is ever going to know about this."

He then drew his nails softly down from his navel till they reached
the wiry black hairs at the top of his thatch, which he caught between
his fingers and tugged gently upwards. Trent surged uselessly against
the chains again.

"No! Wait. What do you mean no one will ever know? You said you'd let
me go if I did everything you wanted!"

"Are you trying to stall me?" He moved his hand down to stroke his
victim's inner thigh. "Eventually I'll release you. If you respond
well to training. But you won't be telling anyone about our special
relationship. Apart from sparing yourself further humiliation, you
have the welfare of your loved ones to think about."

The increasing proximity of Clarence's hand to his genitals proved
extremely distracting and it took some seconds for Trent to realize
the threat which had just been implied. He was dismayed to recognize
both glee and lust in Clarence's eyes as he watched him struggle with
the combination of his vile words and his vile touch. Then the
bastard's eyebrow was arching again in mock curiosity as he
anticipated his response

"What are you saying? You'll hurt Emma? My friends and family? Who?
What will you do?"

"Calm down pet. I didn't say anything of the sort. I was just
suggesting that should I eventually release you, you might do very
well to properly consider the ramifications of your subsequent
actions. It's all far too hypothetical at this stage though. You've a
long way to go before you even earn your way out of this room."

Before he had finished speaking he stood up and began to walk down the
table's edge, his hand trailing down inside Trent's leg to his foot's
inner soul. Then, standing at the end of the table he took a foot in
each hand and grinned down at him. Trent had stretched his neck up to
follow the movements of his tormentor. Clarence playfully waggled his
feet.

"Cheer up droopy drawers! It mightn't be as bad as you expect. You'd
be surprised just how much a human being can get used to."

Trent let his head fall back with a quiet sob he couldn't quite
suppress. Clarence just stood there with his feet still in his hands
and enjoyed the view. He found himself reflecting that he was enjoying
perhaps the happiest moment of his life.

"You know, you really are quite a handsome young man."

Trent's head jerked up again.

"And I like the way you're in good shape without all that over-buff
show-muscle which seems to be so fashionable these days."

He let go of his feet and began walking around the other side of the
table, one hand drifting up the inside of his other leg. Trent's head
continued to follow him. He managed to barely flinch this time when
his hand skirted the edge of his groin, fingers tugging at his hair
again.

"When you first started at work I did wonder what it would be like to
fuck you. That changed after a while though as I got to know you
better. Eventually I spent more time wondering what it would be like
to rape you. Now though, since you've gotten so high and mighty at
work...well now I want to do sooo much more."

Trent's actually felt faint, his mouth opening and closing slightly
but apparently unable to form words. Clarence's fingers drifted back
up over his stomach to his chest where they hovered for a while,
circling his nipples in lazy figure eight. He had stopped by his head
and was bent over slightly so he could reach all the curves of the
helpless young torso beneath him. Trent was trembling with fright but
was still silent, staring back at him with wide dark eyes.

"You poor little thing. You're terrified aren't you? It's okay, you
can get through this if you do exactly what you're told. Although you
will be very sorry that you messed with me Trent, you can survive this
if you learn to behave yourself. You are going to be a good boy for
me, aren't you?"

Clarence's voice was quiet and calm but the edge of threat in it was
unmistakable and Trent could see by the look in his eye that he
expected an answer this time. He remained still for a few seconds
before he nodded his head slightly. Clarence shook his head in
response with a stern frown.

"That's not good enough kiddo. When I ask you such a question, I
expect sentence answers."

There was another short pause before Trent broke eye contact and
answered in a small voice, quivering delightfully with uncertainty and
humiliation.

"Yes, I'll be a good boy for you."

"That's better. It seems you're smart enough not to try and resist me.
Keep this up and you'll save yourself a lot of hardship. Now, are you
thirsty? Do you need to go to the toilet?"

"Thirsty."

"Good."

Clarence rummaged about in a bag and produced another bottle of water
identical to the one which had begun this whole nightmare. Noticing
the expression on Trent's face Clarence just laughed.

"Don't worry, it's not drugged. And even if I did want to drug you
there isn't anything you could do about it anyway."

He put a straw in it and held it down to his mouth. Trent didn't dwell
long on the risks before he was greedily sucking on it. Being fed in
this manner accentuated how ashamed he felt of being so helpless and
pathetic. He felt like a wimp for giving in so quickly without a
fight. But what could he do really? How could he possibly fight in
this position? He had to play along and try to gain Clarence's trust,
hoping he would make some kind of mistake and an opportunity would
present itself. He was still hoping this was all some kind of
malevolent bluff or practical joke. When all the water was gone the
bottle was returned to the bag and Clarence stepped over to one of the
other benches and collected a few items. Instantly Trent felt his
pulse rising.

"Now, before I put you into your new bondage, I have to secure you so
you won't be able to try and fight me or escape. I could have drugged
you like before but I want you to be awake for this. I think it's
important you get used to obeying me and realizing just how helpless
you truly are."

Trent's eyes searched the items Clarence held with trepidation. There
was a lot of leather and rope as well as straps and buckles.

"This will be your slave collar." He said, holding up a wide leather
collar with metal D-rings. He also produced a small padlock. "This
will keep it on. I don't plan to ever take this off you while you're
here."

He slid it behind Trent's neck, fumbled a little for the correct angle
and notch, before it clicked in place. It was tight and uncomfortable.
Clarence then took a length of rope and threaded it through one of the
links at the back of the collar.

 "Just bear with me." Clarence chuckled, clambering up beside his head
onto the table with the rope.

Trent flinched at the proximity of the boots to his face as they
shifted position while Clarence worked above him. He could hear
clinking and saw that the rope was being run through some kind of
pulley system. Clarence then stepped down the table a little to adjust
the close-up camera. Soon he was on the floor beside him again with
the other end of the rope. He let it hang and grabbed another of the
items he'd retrieved and held it up for Trent to see with a mock
gesture of politeness. It was a heavy black leather corset with some
kind of strange dial on the front.

"A corset. To help with your figure." Joked the older journalist as he
laid it down on the table beside Trent's waist. "Lift." He then
ordered.

It was the last thing Trent wanted to do, but after a brief pause he
did obey.

"Good boy." Said Clarence, with another chuckle as he slid the
constricting garment beneath his waist.

Trent felt a powerful swelling of hatred for Clarence, who was clearly
beside himself with glee. With every glance, gesture and word he
gloated in his position of power over his former adversary. But
although he was helpless to do anything about his rage, he still
couldn't keep it from his eyes. Clarence caught the look and grinned
back at his prisoner.

"You'd really like to get your hands around my throat wouldn't you?"
Said Clarence as he began lacing up the corset. "That's why you're
wearing this. It will help keep you relatively helpless when I release
your arms."

As he finished up tying the corset, the pressure on Trent's diaphragm
had become uncomfortable but bearable.

"Of course I do confess there is a certain intrinsic pleasure just
seeing you in a corset struggling to breathe."

Clarence smirked and began adjusting the knob on the front of the
garment. It gradually began tightening around Trent's waist, forcing
him to take shallower and shallower breaths. He pulled at his chains
again, his face registering how unpleasant he found this new
sensation. Clarence of course only continued slowly turning the dial,
enjoying the play of emotion's across his victims face. Soon the
pressure became too much for him.

"Stop! Please, stop!" Gasped Trent finally. "You're going to kill me."

Clarence shook his head, continuing to tighten the corset until
Trent's eyes were bulging and his breathing a constant shallow pant.

"Certainly I could kill you with this. Even this setting is probably a
little dangerous, but I'll let it out after we get you in your arm-
binder."

Trent then heard and felt a click through the device that was crushing
his guts up into his ribcage.

"I'm just locking it on. There. Now I'll just get these ropes
situated..."

Clarence then threaded more rope through rings at the base of the
corset and tied each side to points beneath the table, effectively
anchoring Trent's hips to the table. He then took the loose end of the
collar-pulley rope and threaded it through a pulley and brake system
beneath the table so he could easily adjust and hold whatever tension
he wanted.

Knowing that his arms were about to be released Trent was desperately
trying to calculate the odds of a successful escape attempt and the
likely consequences of failure. With his arms free he had a chance,
however small, of overpowering Clarence. Really though, it seemed more
like a futile dream considering he could barely breathe and his body
below his waist was still lost to him. And he didn't like the look of
that rope tied to his collar one bit.

Clarence produced a small key and proceeded to unlock the wrist cuffs.
Clarence stepped back slightly as Trent instinctively pulled his arms
down and brought them together, rubbing his wrists. The new pain in
Trent's shoulders felt good as he rotated his arms experimentally.
Clarence didn't give him time to dwell on his situation though,
quickly drawing the pulley rope taut. Trent found himself painfully
forced into an awkward sitting position. He was unable to breathe, not
because of the unpleasant pressure at his throat, but because the tiny
amount of room beneath the corset disappeared as his body folded.
Almost as bad was the terrible crushing pain. He literally saw stars
but couldn't even gasp for mercy. Instinctively his hands tore
desperately at the corset but predictably found no access.

"Put your hands down!" Ordered Clarence, slapping his hands away so he
could relieve the pressure of the corset.

Trent was already turning purple by the time his new corset was
adjusted enough to restore his shallow breathing. Although it was
barely enough to repay his oxygen debt, his face gradually faded from
purple to a very flustered red. It took all of his willpower to keep
his hands away from his waist and neck.

"Now I'm sure you're keen to get out of that awkward and painful and
position, so if you'll just put your hands together behind your back
we'll get you strapped into this."

He was holding up a long piece of tapered leather with straps and
buckles and with corset-like lacing along almost its entire length.
Trent stared at it with a strange mixture of fear and resignation,
knowing there was nothing he could really do to stop Clarence, even
though his arms were free. He had to gain trust to escape, he told
himself.

Soon Clarence was sliding it up over both his arms and doing up the
straps around his shoulders and neck. Once he had it on he was kind
enough to release the tension from the collar rope and loosen the
corset a little more. He didn't take it off though, Trent noticed,
even though it had served its apparent purpose. Trent found the
novelty of the relief from its horrible discomfort soon wore off
though. The corset still restricted his breathing and obliged him to
lean back uncomfortably on his trapped arms to relieve pressure on
this waist and lungs.

Clarence meanwhile was contemplating exactly what to do next with his
prisoner and in what manner to proceed. Eventually he decided on a
spreader bar above the knees. First he attached new d-ringed leather
cuffs below Trent's thighs before he released one of the ankle cuffs
from the chains. He then attached the shortened spreader bar to each
cuff before he released the other ankle so he could evenly align
Trent's body along the table again. The young journalist was now held
to the table only by the corset itself, but even so all his limbs were
once again neutralized.

"Very good. You're being a very good boy Trent."

Clarence stood back for a moment to survey his handiwork. Trent looked
absolutely delicious to him. He seemed to be on the verge of panicking
again as he contemplated all the things which Clarence might be about
to do with him. He spoke up again, his attempt to keep the desperation
from his voice was both amusing and very appealing to his abductor.

"No, wait Clarence. You haven't gone too far yet. It's not too late
for you to let me go. You've already had revenge - you've hurt me and
scared the shit out of me. What if..."

He had trailed off as he had realized how much pleasure Clarence was
getting out of watching him plead. He wasn't going to let him go. At
least not yet. He found himself praying that this was all still just
some vile practical joke. But a prayer it truly was, for his instincts
told him all this was horrifyingly real.

"Please." He finished, in a tiny voice. "What are you going to do to
me?"

"We've been through all this before." Explained Clarence happily. "I'm
binding you to make you my sex slave and there's nothing you can say
or do to stop me."

As he said this he widened the spreader-bar and drawing Trent's knees
painfully wide before locking it into position. Trent groaned at this
painful new indignity and found his legs below the knees were now
hanging over each side of the table. Before he had time to dwell on
the humiliating implications of his new position he was abruptly drawn
up into a semi-reclined sit as Clarence drew tension back into his
collar rope.

Clarence then returned his attention to the single-glove imprisoning
Trent's arms. With some relish he began doing up the lacing as tightly
as he could, pulling Trent's already helpless arms together even more
tightly. As he realized what was going on Trent issued a helpless
groan of distress. Then, as the stringency of the device was making
itself felt, he couldn't keep from useless pleading.

"Ahhh, stop! Not so tight. You're going to break my arms. Pleeease!"

Clarence ignored him and continued his work. Trent began sobbing, no
longer able to withhold the extent of his distress at what was
happening to him. It was so unreal. It was so unfair. Clarence
returned to his seat beside the table to enjoy his victim struggling
to come to terms with his new situation. His elbows were now squashed
together behind his back, his knees were spread wide enough to twist
his thighs almost one hundred and eighty degree from each other, the
corset remained crushing his waist and the collar at his throat held
his torso from the table and made his breathing even more
uncomfortable. Trent was now looking quite desperate.

"Please." He gasped. "I didn't do anything wrong. I'll do anything you
want, just let me go."

Clarence just laughed; "You'll do anything I want anyway."

He then reached forward and began to toy with a helpless nipple.

"Anyway, I'm sure I overheard you boasting to Angela at work about how
good at Yoga you are. Something about the importance of flexibility
and all that garbage. I wouldn't have expected this to be so
uncomfortable to a yogi like yourself."

He laughed again at his little joke and gave the nipple a short
squeeze. Trent's only response was a despairing sob. Clarence was
silent for a while as he played with Trent's chest. Trent continued to
choke back sobs and do his best to ignore Clarence's ministrations.
Although his tormentor's touch was a minor indignity compared to
everything else, the very insolence and intimacy of it, in his
helplessly exposed condition, made him shudder with dread.

"I wasn't boasting." He eventually whispered, struggling to control
his voice. "She just wanted to know about Yoga."

Clarence had a long laugh at this, apparently finding Trent's remark
particularly amusing.

"Oh, Trent you're priceless. About to be brutally raped and you're
worried about appearing vain." He leaned in closer, sliding his hand
up to his prisoner's neck and putting just a hint of pressure on his
windpipe. The flash of fury that had appeared in Trent's eyes at the
laughter had vanished at the mention of rape. As Clarence loomed over
him he looked away, eyes tearing up.

"So, my little award winning journalist. How do you feel about the
usefulness of soft power in this position? And how does all this make
you feel? I know how much you believe in people being honest about
their feelings."

Trent looked back into his eyes for a moment, but seeing only cruel
mockery in them, he immediately lowered his gaze again. His only
answer was another mournful sob. For a little while Clarence lingered
over his co-worker, tracing the edges of his leather bindings and
feeling the tension in the muscles straining beneath his skin. As he
began to work his way down past the corset Trent piped up again.

"How long are you really going to keep me?" His voice was squeaky.

"You can't hold me off with questions Trent." Chuckled Clarence. "And
I've already told you that. It depends on you. If you don't do
everything I want you might never leave."

"Oh God, what do you want? You're talking in circles just to torture
me!"

"But that's one of the reasons why you're here Trent. So I can torture
you at my leisure."

Trent began to cry again, this time with less control.

"You're going to murder me aren't you." He sobbed. It was more
accusation that question. How could he have possibly imagined he would
be able to maintain any strength or control in this situation?

"Now don't get all hysterical on me." Chided Clarence as though he
were dealing with a child. "Everything I have told you is true. But
you have a good cry if you need to. I understand that it will take a
little while for you to get used to all this. You've got a lot of
useless ideas from your old life to let go of."

Trent looked up at him with red pleading eyes but didn't say anything.
There was a question in them nevertheless though and Clarence knew
what it was.

"Oh, all sorts of ideas." He explained happily. "Just for starters,
ideas about your own power, dignity and independence. About pleasure
and pain and good and evil. Ideas about your own sexual orientation
and about me."

Trent broke eye contact again. He just couldn't hold his gaze anymore.
He choked off another sob as he forced himself not to cry. His
breathing was very ragged though and it wasn't just from the corset.

He sat helplessly on the table struggling to breathe and wriggling in
an attempt to relieve the discomfort in his crushed and spread limbs.
Clarence attached more rope to the spreader bar and fixed it to
another pulley above the table. Trent began to weakly protest as he
realized that further indignities were looming, but Clarence ignored
him. He released the ropes that held Trent's corset to the table and
the tension from the collar rope. Trent fell backwards with a gasp. He
then took hold of the spreader bar and dragged Trent down the table
until his hips were at its bottom edge. He lifted the bar above the
table and backwards so Trent's legs wouldn't gain any purchase on the
floor.

Although Trent was no longer tied down, his bondage was too severe for
him to be able to make more than a feeble resistance. He now lay with
his full weight on his crushed arms, his feet in the air with legs
spread at an obscene angle and his newly folded body once again making
the corset horribly restrictive. He gasped and sobbed in his new
position while Clarence brought enough tension into the angle of the
rope holding the spreader-bar to keep Trent's knees raised high and
pulled towards his head.

Leaving the near hysterically desperate Trent for a few moments,
Clarence spent a little time readjusting the three cameras to better
record the action.

"I'll quit work!" Trent panted. "I'll tell everyone I fed you those
stories. I'll publish a confession that I set you up. Please Clarence,
I'm sorry! Just don't do this to me."

Clarence stood silently at the end of the table again, grinning like
the Cheshire cat. He ran his hands slowly from Trent's knees all the
way down to the edge of his groin.

"I don't think so. No. This is just the right position for you Trent.
You look fantastic. And that desperate conviction in your voice... You
were always an earnest writer but its good to actually see you being
genuine without being pompous. I'll concede that you weren't a bad
journalist, even if you were a liberal ideologue. But you're going to
make a much better fuck-toy and slave-boy than you ever did an
intellectual. In fact, I could build a fantastic porn-site just with
the material we're going to make together."

"Oh God, I'm sooo sorry. Forgive me. I'll do anything. Please tell me
what I can do to make things right." Even as he begged Trent knew it
was useless but it was instinct. The only thing he really had left was
his voice.

"I've told you how you are going to make things right. First though we
need to clean you out."

"No! You're crazy. People will miss me. You'll be the prime suspect.
It can't be worth the risk, it can't be. It's still not too late.
Stooop!

Trent thrashed madly, hoping for some kind of miracle, twisting and
writhing to the extent his bonds would allow. Clarence watched him
with amusement for a moment before he dragged over a chrome trolley
with a pole at one end hung with bags and tubes. Its squeaky wheels
were noisy on the rough cement floor and added menace to the trolley's
already creepy medical air. Trent stopped his struggles at the sound
and stretched up to see what was happening. The veins in his neck and
on his forehead stood out as his wild eyes darted along the trolley
and its contents.

"Wow. You really need to calm down. I'm just going to give you a nice
enema before I give you a quick taste of your new function." As he
prepared all the equipment he would need for the process he continued.
"By the way, I haven't got round to asking you. Have you ever had anal
sex before? Of any kind?"

Trent had stopped his desperate struggling and lay relatively still,
panting like a sick dog and staring at what seemed an unnecessarily
large delivery 'dildo' which Clarence was fitting the water tube into.
He seemed not to have even heard the question. Clarence paused, giving
him a hard look.

"I don't expect to have to repeat myself with you." His voice was
suddenly hard and very impatient. Trent's eyes flicked up at the
threat. His mouth opened but he was silent for a moment. His lower lip
actually trembled. Clarence could see the terrible hesitation in his
eyes as he briefly warred with anger, fear, hatred and eventually
surrender.

"I...No...Not really."

He quickly dropped his eyes again. Clarence's smile widened.

"Really. What does that mean exactly? Your girlfriend sticks her
finger up your arsehole occasionally?"

Trent didn't look up this time, just swallowed another sob. Clarence
waited a couple of seconds but he wasn't feeling patient. He leaned
forwards and slapped him hard across the face. Before Trent recovered
his wits, he pulled up the collar rope again bringing the poor boy's
head up against the spreader bar and leaving his body folded in a
painful, bent 'V', only the very base of his back against the table.

"I told you I expect an answer when I ask you a question!"

Trent couldn't answer though, because he could barely breathe. He
gaped and twisted pathetically, unable to relieve the deathly pressure
on his diaphragm. Clarence let him suffer a few seconds longer before
reaching forward and significantly letting out the corset. While Trent
recovered his breathe Clarence gave him a look which warned him not to
equivocate again.

"Yes...yes!" he gasped out quickly, his voice taut with the pain of his
position. "I've done a little bit of stuff with girlfriends."

Clarence's smile returned. He considered pushing this line of
investigation further - Trent clearly found it humiliating to answer
such questions. However breaking him down like this was making him so
horny it was all he could do to maintain his calm, casual demeanour.
What he really wanted to do was fuck his helpless rival's virgin arse.
He could pursue this particular psychological torture later. He'd
established enough dominance for the moment.

Even so, he maintained his patient approach and continued to torment
his victim with a slow torturous circling of his objective. One
doesn't gulp down a fine meal in five minutes and Clarence understood
how much foreplay could synergize the act itself. So before he plugged
Trent with the enema spigot he toyed with his utterly vulnerable rear.
He skirted at first, slapping, pinching, squeezing and stroking the
helpless buttocks, working Trent up into quite a lather before
stroking a finger along the inside of his cleft, lingering especially
around the tightly clenched little star.

Poor Trent felt as if his mind was coming apart. His panic had now
risen and fallen a number of times, and the often frantic struggling
which attended it had gained him nothing but further pain. The strain
in his hips, shoulders and back from his bondage was terrible. His
arms were beginning to feel numb and he was already feeling a taste of
what were sure to become horrible cramps if he wasn't soon freed. But
Trent feared he might never be freed. Exhausted and further tormented
by Clarence's probing fingers and tormenting remarks, he was sinking
deeper and deeper into despair. Even so Clarence kept introducing
little ways to keep crushing his hope ever lower. Now, in this
agonizing, degrading position, when he finally felt the vile fingers
at his twitching sphincter, he wished for the sky to fall in or the
earth to swallow him up. He would have made any pact to escape the
clutches of this maniac, but it was useless. He couldn't even withdraw
into himself in numb shock, for he knew Clarence would punish him with
increasing severity if he didn't respond promptly to his every
perverted whim. So, as the cruel bung was slowly and painfully
inserted into him, although he dreamed of Emma, of his home, of
anywhere else, he had to listen to Clarence's gloating, taunting
voice. At least, he told himself, it would help to earn his trust.

*

    

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