tagGay MaleA Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 11

A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 11


© Sadie Rose Bermingham 2006

"Woo hoo!! Chapter Eleven already. This chapter caused me great emotional difficulty so I hope you guys have managed to bear with me since it's taken much longer than normal to produce.

The usual terms and conditions apply. Josh and Sadie Rose own the copyright to this random work of genius. Anyone publishing it without consent deserves whatever we decide to do to them in retaliation! You have been warned!!


"He will come back," Aldo soothed for the umpteenth time that day as he came to sit up on the top deck with Ant, sipping a Margarita. "He has nothing to wear, so he is not going to leave the Cap, no?"

"You don't know him," Ant exhaled, still staring out at the road beyond the harbour, waiting for the familiar dark head to appear in the distance, slim shoulders slumped, demeanour already chastened. He would know, he had already decided; from Rayne's very stance he would know the truth of the matter. 'If' the boy decided to come back at all, that was.

Rayne had been determinedly opposed to anyone's pity from the beginning. On that very first day, a mere week and a half ago, when he had pulled the kid from the unseasonable snow back in Greenwich, Ant had been countering Rayne Wilde's attempts to push him away. It was almost as if he had been programmed to reject assistance, even if the only other option was death. He had never known anyone so determined to be independent that they would face the grave rather than let others get near. If the worst had happened and his results were positive, Ant's greatest fear was that Rayne would pre-empt the sentence of AIDS by cutting his throat or simply walking into the sea and not stopping until the waves washed his limp body back to shore. Alternately, he would fuck any man who wanted him then bait them with the truth until they gave him what he wanted. He had walked the mile and a half length of the beach five times since mid-day. No one had seen his young lover.

Mikkal came to the boat at around five thirty in the evening wearing an expression of dutiful concern, and little else. Ant had been pacing the upper deck for the past half-hour and before that he had spent all afternoon searching the Cap for his young friend, with no success. Now he scowled at the tall, blond Finn as if he was personally responsible. Mikkal folded his arms and queried; "He is not back yet?"

"Do you see him?" Ant snapped, hands on his hips.

A shake of the head was his only answer. Mikkal looked away solemnly as if Rayne might step up out of the sea in front of him like Ursula Andress in Doctor No.

"PJ has stayed with our boat to wait for him. Clay went out again to search a little while ago," he said at last. "I told them I would come here and ask."

"Well you've asked. And the answer is still no. So you can fuck off back and tell him that," Ant growled.

Mikkal turned his head and surveyed the Englishman coolly, his handsome face hard to read.

"We did not push him away," he said simply, at last.

"You let him go, that's just as bad. If he's dead it's 'your' fault!"

"Ant!" Aldo exclaimed with a shake of his head. "You cannot say such things!"

"I'll say what I mean," the older man growled back at him. "Something is wrong. If he was coming back here he would have done it by now. Someone would have seen him. 'You' tell me where the hell else he could have gone!"

"I don't know," Aldo answered him, holding out his hands helplessly. "But accusing people is not going to help. We need to find him and to find him we have to work together, no?"

He looked from Ant to Mikkal standing solemnly below them on the pontoon. The tall Finn braced his arms more tightly across his tanned chest and shrugged his broad shoulders. Aldo narrowed his eyes at the man irritably. Ant was already on his way down to the lower deck, muttering darkly to himself.

"Does he have other friends here?" Mikka asked at last.

"He doesn't know anyone but us," Ant said vehemently. "He's been here less than a week. He doesn't speak French! What do 'you' think?"

Mikkal seemed on the verge of a sarcastic retort but he looked up as the gate opened onto their pontoon and a stranger ventured warily through it. He was slim and fair-haired and, curiously for the Cap, actually dressed in denim cut-offs and a pale blue tee-shirt. Sensing that his approach had been noted, he stopped about halfway down the jetty and held up a folded sheet of paper.

"I'm looking for Rayne," he called out hesitantly in English. "I... umm... this is his, I think."

Mikkal snorted delicately through his nostrils and shook his head so that his long blond hair swayed restlessly with the motion.

"So... 'he doesn't know anyone but us'!" he repeated sardonically, holding Ant's incendiary stare.


Rayne came to his senses slowly, feeling cold and sick to his gut. He was so disoriented that it took him a little while to assimilate his surroundings and begin to think coherently. When he finally managed to force his brain and body to work together they relayed the grim truth back to him. He was hanging, by his wrists, from a pair of leather manacles attached to a chain that dangled down from the ceiling, in a whitewashed room devoid of furnishings. The walls were tiled and he could smell bleach. It was cool although the lights were quite bright. His jaws ached and when he tried to move his lips he realised why. There was a thick rubber bit-gag between his teeth, held in place by a tight strap that fastened around the back of his head. He struggled weakly and his body answered with a slow flood of pain. His ankles were cuffed and chained to loops in the floor so that his feet were kept about three feet apart, his toes barely able to brush the cold, tiled surface. His arms screamed as the sensation gradually returned and his pulse quickened. Rayne quickly figured that he must have been suspended here for quite some time.

He clenched his buttocks together, trying to ascertain whether he had been raped and the tugging sensation between his legs, coupled with the large, firm obstruction in his anus quickly told him the worst. There was a butt plug inside him, or some kind of long, thick, ribbed sex toy that he could not expel without the use of his hands. His struggles pulled on the serrated clip fastened to the soft flesh of his foreskin and linked to the plug by a short chain so that his prick was tugged back between his legs. In addition there was a cold, metal cock ring around the base of his shaft, beneath his shaved balls. Another pair of fine chains connected two more clips on his erect nipples to the ring. He wore a collar around his neck with little iron spikes on the inside that dug into his skin when he tried to look down. Each movement twitched the metal teeth in his sensitive buds and towed on the chain between his legs until he whimpered with combined need and agony.

As he squirmed and groaned incoherently, a door opened somewhere behind him and he heard quiet footsteps coming closer. A soft touch on his left buttock made him wince away defensively, then utter a muffled yelp at the biting sensations that tormented his slender body as a result.

"So glad you could join us, Mr Wilde," his tormentor said in a silky tone, speaking perfect English but with a pronounced French accent. "I believe that you will benefit enormously from our little training session tonight."

Rayne did not have to see his face to know who he was. An icy trickle of fear ran down his spine as Christophe walked slowly around him to look him in the eye. The Frenchman was naked save for a pair of supple black leather gloves and buckled biker boots His long, brown cock was fully engorged and nodding against his belly. The younger man moaned wordlessly around the gag in his mouth, shaking his head.

A gloved hand cupped his cheek and Christophe looked solemnly into his eyes.

"I was pining for the loss of my precious Thierry, but you fell into my lap like a gift," he purred. "It will be a pleasure and a challenge to train you, Rayne Wilde. I have heard so many tempting tales of the skill of your hot mouth and the tightness of your delicious ass. By sunrise my friends and I will all have sampled your delights, my little whore."

'Over my dead body!' Rayne tried to get the words out but the gag muffled his attempt. He shook his dark head again more fiercely. The struggles tugged at the clips on his nipples and he keened in pain, biting down hard on the rubber bit in his mouth.

"Such spirit," Christophe whispered coldly. "It will take a good many men to tame you, I think. We few will begin with your initial chastisement. If the pain of the scourge encourages you to submit, maybe we will be more gentle when we have you saddled and mounted. If not, then I fear we must simply ride you hard until you are too weak to fight us. Rest assured, we 'will' beat the rebellion out of you by morning, one way or another!"

He introduced his companions formally, one by one, as if he was a tour guide and they were all his charges. Rayne had only realised that others were present when Christophe's comrades stepped forward to look him in the eye. They were a pair of Dutchmen, Henryk and Davide who were totally mismatched; the latter was young, blond and brawny with a deep, all-over tan, the former middle-aged, short and stocky with the beginnings of a belly, a 70s porn-director's moustache and more scalp than hair. Next to him stood a tall, muscular German named Peter, whose hirsute body and unwashed scent told Rayne that this had been his abductor. Peter was still visibly horny and the younger man shuddered at the thought of what might already have been done to him while he was unconscious.

The last of his tormentors he knew before they were introduced. Giovanni's smile was calculating and humourless. His dark, latin eyes virtually swallowed Rayne's body as he hung helplessly before the five men. Rayne wondered if he had already bragged about the other day in the toilets at the Laguna. He felt sick with disgust and self-loathing.

They selected their weapons on Christophe's instruction and wasted no time using them. Each man was allowed five strokes and they took them alternately and without pity. Henryk, the balding Dutchmen had a thick leather strap, which he used on the boy's bare buttocks with great enthusiasm. Davide, his countryman wielded a leather thong that flickered across his legs like a striking mamba. Peter struck his back and shoulders with a long, slender switch that stung his flesh and made him wince, glad of the bit between his teeth. Rayne chewed down harder on it as Giovanni flicked the cat across his naked chest, twitching the clips on his sensitive nipples. He closed his eyes tightly as Christophe stepped up with a riding crop and slashed him across the face without restraint. His abusers were not gentle. More than one man was soon panting with excitement as they took turns to beat him. There was no rhythm to their assault on his body. Some came rapidly, raining down blows on his flesh like stinging ants. Others were more premeditated and he experienced a terrible anticipation, awaiting the crack of the whip. Each strike hurt worse than the last though, and Rayne was shuddering and whimpering involuntarily well before it came to an end. His slim body flinched instinctively whenever he heard one of their weapons whistle towards him.

His exposed skin was streaked with sweat and a little blood, the muscles twitching involuntarily at every touch. His jaws ached from the effort of remaining clenched on the bit and not screaming, even though he wanted to beg them to stop. He found himself wondering about halfway through his punishment if they had killed Thierry. And if that was true then what would prevent them doing the same to him?

Giovanni grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged his head back roughly, then pulled on the two chains attached to his nipple clamps, making him drop the bit and suck in a sharp hiss of breath. Fire seared through his chest from the vicious metal teeth in his tortured teats and he let out a breathless moan of agony.

"Good. You feel pain then?" the lean Italian said with another mirthless smile.

Pale green eyes glared back at him like cups of poison.

"Fuck you!" Rayne snarled around the gag, emphatically enough that his muffled words needed no translation.

"You will," Christophe promised him, unmoved.

"You want it hotter?" Giovanni sneered. "You want us to hurt you more? I noticed that you did not come back for your reward the night before last. Did I scare you, little boy?"

Rayne pulled on the cuffs around his wrists, trying to lift himself though the pain in his arms was almost unbearable. There was no question that the others knew what Giovanni meant. He heard a few muffled snickers. Peter, his captor, was playing with himself quite openly. Now Rayne avoided looking at the rest of them. He kept his teeth clenched and his malevolent stare fixed on the man in front of him, thinking that one day he would hunt this bastard down and kill him slowly. He wanted to remember Giovanni's face so that he could see it contorted with fear and pain. The thought sustained him well enough that when they unhooked his wrists and let him kneel down so that the blood ran back into his arms and hands, he did not scream in agony, although he did bend his face down to his knees and whimper softly to himself. The pain from his aching shoulders to his cold fingertips was like the lick of flames.

His wrist cuffs were clipped to the ankle restraints then, so that he could not rise. Christophe knelt beside him and removed the gag.

"This room is soundproofed," he said. "You can scream as loudly as you like. No one will hear you."

"I'll make 'you' scream," Rayne hissed quietly at him. "Just you fuckin' wait!"

"We won't wait for long. Soon we will be crying out with pleasure as we fuck your tight ass," Peter, the big German promised huskily in broken English, still stroking his massive tool.

"We have all taken a pill for potency tonight," Christophe chuckled. "I feel the medication beginning to work already. Soon we will not be able to control ourselves, Rayne. You will be our helpless slut for the rest of the night, cuffed and gagged, on your knees as we take turns to fill you with our cum. After each covering session you will be allowed to thank us for pleasuring you so vigorously. If we do not receive your gratitude and humility you will be raped again. Your humiliation will continue until you express gratitude. Do you understand?"

Rayne lifted his head, swallowing once or twice to wet his mouth, his expression unreadable. His lips parted uncertainly, then he pursed them and spat in Christophe's handsome face. The slap he got back rattled his teeth and he did cry out, more in shock than pain, before the gag was forced back between his jaws and his face was pushed down against the cold tiled floor. He felt rough hands between his legs, unclipping the chain from his plug and fastening it to another loop in the floor. Now every motion back or forth tugged on the sharp metal clip in the soft flesh of his cock hood. Moments later the big, ridged, rubber plug was pulled quickly out of his anus and he shuddered with pain and pleasure as it was expelled. A deep, slow ache of need in his balls was exacerbated by the tight metal ring around the base of his dick and then he felt strong fingers part his cheeks and a cold glob of lube was squirted into his gaping hole.

He caught his breath as Christophe pushed his long, hard cock in, sheathing it smoothly all the way up his twitching passage. Someone – Giovanni, he was willing to bet – was holding him down, a hand pressed onto the back of his neck. The Frenchman got right inside him, then began to buck vigorously. Each stroke forced Rayne forward on his shoulders and knees and tugged on the chain between his legs. Christophe was well endowed and he needed no assurance of that from his young victim. Every thrust sent bolts of pain through the boy's caparisoned genitals. Rayne began to scream in agony from about midway and did not stop until Christophe had bathed his innards in cum.

His assailant withdrew and the gag was removed so that Rayne could sob more freely.

"Take it off!" he choked when he was able to speak. "Please! Take that thing off my cock!"

"Not what we want to hear," Christophe said drily. He patted Rayne's arse cheek and added; "Gio was correct. He is a most satisfying ride! Who wants the next turn up his tight fuck-chute?"

Peter stepped in right away and the gag was left off this time as the enormous German lubed and penetrated him, thrusting his long, thick sex in deep and hard. He raped the slender English boy viciously, seeming to enjoy his breathless shrieks of pain as he was used. The force of his thrusts pulled the clip right off Rayne's red-raw foreskin and this was not discovered until after he had withdrawn from the boy's leaking anus.

"We should pierce his cock head," Giovanni suggested maliciously. "Insert a small hook into his slit and clip it to the ground, then fuck him until he begs!"

"No!" Rayne said at once, unable to look at him. His face felt as if it was on fire. "Please, no!"

"You forget he is one of Leland's boys," Christophe said more grimly. "We have already marked him. If we go too far..."

"Pfff! Daniel Leland is an old man!" Giovanni snorted, shaking his head. "What can he do?"

"He has powerful friends," the Frenchman countered. "Patrick McNamara is here at the Cap. He was seen in Leland's company yesterday. We will probably get away with fucking his boy but if we damage him, there 'will' be reprisals."

Rayne closed his eyes for a moment. He had never been so grateful in his life. When he got back to the boat he was going to do whatever he could to make life easier for Dan Leland. Rape he could handle but mutilation was something else. He felt queasy at the thought of it.

"How are we to teach him true submission if we cannot hurt him?" Henryk asked warily. He had moved into position behind Rayne and was rubbing his hard on against the boy's bare buttocks.

"We can hurt him," Christophe said coldly. "So long as we do not 'physically' mark him. He can be tormented though, without coming to physical harm."

The younger man looked at him anxiously. He did not like the sound of that. Nor, he suspected did Giovanni, who clearly preferred to beat his victims bloody, or even cut them, as a prelude to his climax. Rayne had been with men like the Latino before. One of his rare punters in London liked to make small incisions on his arms and back during sex and lick the bloody wounds while he fucked his mate. He said that he could not cum if there was no blood. Personally Rayne thought he was sick but since he was also sick enough to cut his own arms he said nothing about it at the time.

This was different. He was genuinely concerned that these perverts might actually try to kill him tonight.

"How do we do that?" Davide asked curiously. He was younger than the others and looked a little wary of inflicting actual damage on their pet.

"When the rest of you have taken your pleasure with him, I will demonstrate," Christophe said magnanimously.

Henryk and Davide were only too pleased to get on with Rayne's anal violation. Both men fucked him energetically until he was moaning with mingled pain and arousal, still on his knees. Henryk was not over large and his turn with their captive was mercifully brief. Davide mounted him quickly as soon as the older man had withdrawn. During this assault, Giovanni pushed the gag back between Rayne's teeth then slowly rubbed his leaking cock head all over the boy's face, covering his skin and hair in fat jewels of cum. As Davide was nearing climax in him, the Italian instructed the still-panting, older Dutchman to prise open Rayne's mouth and pull his head back, holding him in that position. Rayne struggled but was held in place as Giovanni masturbated vigorously, pumping his long hard cock until it ejected its creamy load into the English boy's face and mouth. At once, he put his hand under Rayne's chin, forcing his head up and his mouth shut and allowing Davide to bugger him excitedly from behind.

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