Calluses Pt. 04: Bleed

In time I found the strength to push myself up again, one groaning inch at a time. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, trembling everywhere, insides aching sweetly. The floor seemed to expand at the edge of my vision, a swirling, membranous ocean a mile beneath my feet, head slowly spinning. The barren room was filled with soft white light, neither here nor there, the sun no longer pouring through the drawn blinds...it must have been close to noon.

I stood up, relieved my legs were no longer shaking, though I still felt as if I'd been turned inside out. I took a few small steps across the room, listening intently for any sound of his return, hoping against hope I'd have more time to rest before he came at me again. The wind groaned across the far side of the house, the ominous creaking of an old ship, adrift. Lost. The world outside had faded into something else, a parallel dimension far removed from all that was happening to me between these white walls. I stood there swaying for a time, staring off at nothing as my body stitched itself together again, barely registering the distant clinks and clacks of work being done in a kitchen somewhere. I saw myself through a cloudy camera lens, standing naked and bruised in this barren room that wasn't mine, my body draped around me like a borrowed suit...my life happening to somebody else...

The greasy smell of frying bacon drew me out of this fog all too soon. My eyes finally focused on the open door in front of me, the hallway beyond...but I hesitated.

Man up...

My dick had grown hard again in a lazy sort of way, as if it had nothing better to do, but I ignored it. I looked down at my battered body and the dim bruises he'd left all over it...and the events of the morning finally sank in, burning like rubbing alcohol on an open wound.

I'd been used. Ignored, held down, and used. I felt it in every aching, stinging corner of my body, and deep within the well of my mind. He hadn't just fucked me...he'd turned me into a thing. A toy. I'd already known that would happen on some level, ever since he'd caught me on the highway - but to actually experience it, in all its painful detail, inside and out...he'd made me cum for him, begging for it, even as he'd hurt me. He'd made me want it so badly I'd have let him do anything to me, just to feel the tight fullness of his cock inside, pumping hard against that...spot...and Ihad loved it, right? I'd been moaning for it, moaned like a chick...and the thought made me cringe. The moaning, the heat and the pleasure had seemed like the most natural thing in the world at the time, even the ripping pain, the necessary evils...but now, standing there in the naked, shivering aftermath...I just felt like scattered hunks of living meat, well past its shelf life, but delicious all the same. It was beyond confusing, especially in my hazy, fucked-out state, but I knew it was wrong...

I bit the inside of my cheek - bit down hard, until I tasted blood, and felt a bit of my old self flicker back to life.

The cop...the Chief...I told him to stop. Begged him, even. I knew that much, remembered it clearly...but he didn't stop. Not this morning, not last night, not ever. What did that make it, then? There was a word for it, a terrible word, like a splinter under my tongue...

"Come on out and eat something, Mikey," his deep voice called from another part of the house, warm and inviting. It didn't sound like an order, but I knew anything he requested was no request at all. That nudging dance of suggestion in his voice was a farce, a tool he'd used to manipulate me, but I'd been too horny, shocked, or downright terrified to see it. Until I wasn't.

The jittery, druglike strangeness of the last twelve hours loomed with crystal clarity, now crashing down on my mind as a breaking wave, sobering me up for good. The world wasn't supposed to be like this. Cops were supposed to protect and serve, to respect their own authority, not...not this. And what was this, anyway? What the hell had I gotten myself into?

I was shivering. The house was freezing, worse than the night before. He must have turned off the heat for some reason. I looked for my clothes, and remembered I had none. He'd taken my socks, as well as my ruined shirt. The last time I'd seen my jeans and jacket, they'd been strewn across the living room at the far end of the house. Putting on any of his clothes was obviously out of the question -- he'd made that abundantly clear. I would be naked and cold until I asked him for something to wear...until I asked permission, like he'd told me to. Like a good slave. I began to hate myself a bit less, so I could hate him more.

Man up.

I drew up the courage to leave the bedroom, as naked as I'd been when he'd popped my cherry.

You're not a thing. You're a man.

My feet were freezing on the creaky hardwood floor as icy drafts washed over my skin, raising my body hair like hackles.

Make him see that, or you'll never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again...

Each step forward made me more determined to confront him, to make him acknowledge what he'd done to me. I wanted to hear him say the word aloud, watch it ring in his ears. I was chasing the anger now, because it made me feel stronger than a mewling toy at the end of his dick.

Use it.

The rest of the house was laid out in a predictable way, simple and open and bland. The sparse, clean kitchen was easy to find, all plain brown furniture and baby blue tile. The window above the sink glowed like a ghost, drawing my eyes. The world beyond was white, pristine and formless, smothered under a blanket of snow. The air was full of it, drifting like a sea of ashes above the frozen wasteland, and its lifeless beauty only existed to remind me of how trapped I was.

He was standing at the stove with his back to me, oozing confidence with his massive legs planted apart. The broad bulk of him was covered by a fresh white undershirt and loose gray pajama bottoms. His huge, hairy arms were bare, and even now I hated myself for letting my eyes roam over their potent musculature, remembering their inescapable weight. The smell of the bacon was stronger than ever, filling the room with its rich sputtering.

"I hope I didn't wear you out," he said nonchalantly, as if we'd been playing racquetball. "I bet you need all the protein you can get right now, with all that stretching you've been doing...but I got you covered." He turned to face me, holding the sizzling frying pan in one hand and two plates in the other. He'd prepared a massive pile of bacon and scrambled eggs, sprinkled with pepper and steaming in the white air. My stomach groaned, reminding me I hadn't eaten in over a day.

"Where are my clothes?" I asked, barely staying focused. I also wanted my phone, which was with my jeans, wherever they were, but I knew enough to avoid mentioning that too soon.

He paused for a moment, as if he'd expected me to say something else...then blinked, smiled, and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Tossed the shirt, but the rest are still around here somewhere." His dark eyes casually wandered across my nude body, and he smirked at my half-stiffy. His tongue flickered over his lips, brushing his beard, making the skin of my ass tingle at the memory.

I covered my worsening boner without success, trying to shove it down with my hand. I couldn't will it away; it was pushing through my fingers like an unruly child, a lost cause.

"Why do you want them, anyway?" he asked, the softest hint of mockery in his deep voice. "I think you like prancing around like this. You know how sexy you are, or at least you should." His eyes rose to meet mine, a shifty smile wrinkling at the edges, and his husky voice dropped an octave. "You like teasing me, boy?"

The tingling reached my face...but I bit down hard on my cheek again, and my vision seemed to clear. "It's freezing," I snapped, a bit louder now. He was making me angry again. Angry was good.

"Yep," he agreed. "That storm last night was a big cold front coming in. Guys on the radio called it 'unprecedented.' Kind of a big deal, I guess. It's been snowing nonstop all night; gonna go on straight through to Monday. I don't mind, though...makes things feel more cozy in here. Don't you think, boy?" He arched his bushy black eyebrows suggestively, but he was studying me now. Calculating, like before. He put the plates down on the table, watching me from the corner of his eye as he piled on the food. "Sit down, will you? We gotta fuel up. Got a busy day ahead of us..."

I swallowed, but my throat was dry.

Man up.

"I want my clothes first."

He took a long, silent breath, flexing his knuckles around the handle of the frying pan. He took a few slow, steady steps...and then he was standing less than a foot from me, melting me with his eyes. I could smell him now...rich and slightly, deliciously sour...

"You wanna run that by me again?" he rumbled, and my legs felt weak.

I gulped, shifting from one foot to another, arms wrapped around my belly. "Can...can I have my clothes back?"

"No," he huffed, as if my question were the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. He gestured at the table in a way that told me his patience was running thin. "Sit down."

My body jolted into action at his sharp command. I did as I was told, taking the seat closest to the wall, furthest from him. The glazed wooden chair was cold on my ass cheeks, sending my balls further into my groin. My traitorous dick was finally going soft, and I could feel my face and chest flushing red.

"Good boy," he said, warm and cold at the same time. Instead of making me horny and drugged, as it had before, it just made me feel like an idiot. He laid a plate down in front of me. I knew I needed to eat something...but it just smelled like hot grease now, sticky in my lungs, making me feel sick.

He tossed the empty pan into the sink with a sudden racket that made me jump. Then he was sitting across the table from me, eyeing his bacon and my bruised, hairy chest in equal measure. "Don't be shy, now. I love watchin a hungry boy eat."

I shrugged, at a loss, trying to find my courage again...

"Aw, don't be like that," he cooed. I felt his big toe running up my foot beneath the table, tracing the ball of my ankle. "I ain't mad. You just need to learn to ask nicely when you want something." He chuckled, but I could hear the lethal gravity in his voice. "'Please and thank you' is a good place to start, yeah?" He grinned and shoved a piece of meat into his mouth, talking and chewing like a shameless barbarian. "But I'll let it slide for now. I know you're in a bit of a state after what I put you through this morning..."

I just stared down at my plate, as if the yellow mounds of cold egg were all that mattered. The toe at my ankle worked its way up, tickling the mound of my calf muscle.

"I know it got a bit rough there at the end...but damn, boy. You don't know what you do to me, when you start crying like that." I could feel his eyes burning into me, but I didn't look up. "Why do you cry so much when I'm fuckin you? Huh? I can tell how much you like it...that hungry ass don't lie, and that stiff dick don't either...so why all the whining and carrying on? Is it because you like it too much? Don't know how to say it any other way?" The toe was snaking its way up my inner thigh now, and my loins were responding...filling up with blood...

My hands gripped the chair beneath me, knuckles tight. My voice didn't crack when I finally spoke, but it was smaller than I thought it'd be. "It wasn't just rough 'at the end,'" I croaked, and dared to look up at him.

His eyes were cold and unblinking, waiting for me to go on, so I did. "It was...the whole thing was too rough. With the - what you did right before. When I woke up. When you, uh...you know. When you hurt me. And choked me." I swallowed as my voice tried to waver and crack, and made my gaze just as hard as his. "That wasn't cool, man. I thought I was...I thought you were gonna kill me. You scared the shit out of me."

Something flickered across his face, but I couldn't read it. The toe between my legs was lightly scratching my inner thigh, moving no further. He was still listening, so I continued. "I don't know, man...after that, when you started to, uh...when you..."

"When I fucked you."

I nodded, dropping my eyes once more. "Yeah. That was the worst part. You wouldn't let me move. I thought you were tearing me open..."

"But I wasn't."

"But Ithought you were. It fucking hurt. I mean, I was already gonna let you do it - that's the deal - but you wouldn't let me figure it out, you just..." My voice had become thin, but I said it. "You raped me."

A bloated silence followed...and then his face broke into that nasty, smirking grin. "You serious? Ha!" He spit a little when he laughed, leaning back with the fork in his fist, and his toe fell away from my thigh. "You don't even know what that word means, boy. You just took some convincing, that's all. It happens."

"I - I said no," I stammered. I hadn't expected him to apologize or anything, but the laugh really...hurt. Why did it hurt? I should've been furious! "You heard me say no, you knew I couldn't take it, but you did it anyway. You didn't stop."

"It was only your second time taking a dick, boy. It was bound to hurt - but we both knew you could take it." He kept on smirking, chewing noisily...but his eyes had narrowed. He was examining me like a lion, crouched and coiled in the tallgrass. "I was real careful with you last night, college boy, because I knew you were a virgin. But you're not a virgin no more, yeah? So stop acting like one. I've only got you here until tomorrow night, but I wanna turn that tight little pucker into a sloppy pink pussy before you walk out that door."

My cock twitched between my legs, and a soft, silent moan died in my throat.

He didn't notice. "Only way to do that is by fuckin it hard -- real hard -- and regular like. So yeah, it'll be rough - but you're gonna take it. That's the deal, remember? Say it..."

"Whatever you want," I echoed, a reflex, miserable and mortified. I was shaking, teeth chattering, feeling every cold inch of my nakedness in front of him.

"That's right. Whatever I want. After you eat -- and you're gonna eat every bite of that food I made -- after that, I'm gonna rub some bacon grease all up in you, and fuck you dirty right here on this table." My face was hot, breath shallow. He was sneering at me, but I could feel the sex rising from him. "It's gonna be rough, just like this morning, no matter how much you whine about it...but I think you like it rough. I think that's why you're crying and begging when I fuck you -- even before I'm fuckin you. Just standing next to you. Just touching you..."

His foot appeared between my legs again, pinning my hard cock against my thigh. I groaned, and he snickered. "See? That's one of the things I like so much about you, college boy. It's not just gettin your love button smashed in that's turning you into such a sweet little slut for me. That'll put any boy in his place, one way or another. You, though...you actuallylike gettin put in your place. Youlike havin no choice, just laying back and letting a real man call the shots. That's why you're such a fuckin natural...such a perfect little buck, born to get fucked..."

"No..." I groaned under my breath, but his toes were kneading the underside of my hard cock, and I was wriggling in my seat.

"Don't you dare lie to me." His heel was grinding into my balls, making me grimace even as my legs drifted apart to make room. He caught my eyes with his, grinding deeper, and I let them hold me there as our breathing grew ragged between us. I was panting, the dull pain of my balls mingling with the swollen want of my cock, turning the rest of me to soup. He was enjoying whatever heaving expressions I was making, drool glistening in his beard at the corners of a wild grin.

What if he was right? I'd been a mess that morning, hadn't I? Just like last night. He was the one who'd been doing the fucking, and being on the receiving end was still so freakishly new to me. Girls lost their minds when they were getting fucked hard enough, barely aware of their surroundings, and I knew I'd been the same. Sometimes they even pleaded with their wide, lashy eyes, as if it was all too much for them...but that had never stopped me from fucking right on through it, because I knew better; knew they'd be moaning and grinding and loving it by the end. Maybe he knew better as well, better than I knew myself. Maybe I was wrong...

"You're gonna be in love with my cock by the time I get you all turned out. You understand that, don't you, boy? I'm gonna fuck you till you love me, and you're gonna let me do it, because you get off on it, born to lick boots...because deep down, you're just a hungry little bitch...always have been. I got your number, boy."

His heel was getting more insistent, clumsier, and his toenail grazed my sensitive ballsack. I flinched at the sudden sliver of bright pain that followed, and the haze of lust retreated for a small, sobering instant. His eyes were running across my flexing shoulders and hairy pecs, dancing at the puffy nipples, hungry to fuck again -- and I blinked.

"Yeah..." he was growling, sucking the drool off his lip, and it wasn't the slightest bit sexy. "Gonna get you drunk on my cock, boy...get you hooked for good...make you cry every goddamn time..."

Man. Up.

"Fuck that, and fuck you. I'm just here to stay out of jail. You're the faggot, not me. "

I don't really know why I said it; maybe because I knew he was trying to snuff out the last remaining shreds of my burgeoning manhood. Maybe because I didn't like what he was saying about me, that I was wired to submit before I'd ever even met him - that I liked being treated like a thing, lower than dirt...but the reason didn't matter, of course. I'd said it, loud and clear and looking straight at him - and I instantly knew I'd made a huge mistake.

The foot on my crotch stopped moving, and his black eyes rose to mine. He was actually shocked, and he was handsome again in that moment of quiet, childlike wonder...but then he was angry. More than angry...

The table flipped in a single, savage instant, and then everything was chaos. His muscles bulged under his shirt as the chair ripped out from under me -- and now he was pinning me against the wall with all the overwhelming strength of his massive arms, and I realized he'd been actually holding back until this raw, terrifying moment.

"Liar," he snapped, and my entire body lurched with dread. His face was an inch from mine, eyes wild, nostrils flaring like a raging bull as my short bout of confidence shriveled and died, leaving me to tremble like a hunted thing. "Spoiled fuckin liar." His hand appeared at my nipple, and he squeezed harder than he'd ever done it before, pain and tingling numbness shooting through my body in all directions. There was no poised control, no teasing lesson -- only punishment.

"Ow --ow, FUCK--!" I shrieked. I didn't want to give it to him, didn't want to let him win, but I was squirming like a slippery fish in his hands. "Fuckingstop it!"

"No."

I shoved my fists into the brick wall of his chest, trying to get him off me. He was almost surprised at my sudden strength, as if he'd forgotten I was also a guy, and a muscular one at that. His furious expression actually wavered for one sweet moment as he grunted and grappled with my fists, even stumbled back a step -- but it was useless in the end, and it only made him twist harder. He was just too heavy. Too strong. Even now, when I was finally pushing back - I couldn't do anything to stop him.