The Cyclist Ch. 01

Primoz awoke and couldn't move. He was in a sitting position, strapped to a metal chair, and tilted forward at a 45-degree angle. His arms were strapped down, and a clamp across his forehead kept his head staring straight ahead at the wall. He struggled to move, but it was impossible. He screamed, but the ring gag in his mouth muffled his cries. He was naked, the cold metal digging into his skin.

Calling it a chair was generous. It was scrap metal welded together in the shape of a chair, suspended in the middle of the room and able to rotate 360 degrees. The metal bands kept Primoz secure and completely mobile. Hanging there, his mouth open and drooling, his ass out in the cold air, he was completely open and vulnerable.

He continued to scream and fight against his bonds. The fear was creeping in, the terror of realizing he was naked and tied to a chair suspended in a grubby underground bunker. And that's when he realized he wasn't alone. He sensed the movement behind him and became still, holding his breath while he heard the footsteps.

A hand reached out; cold fingers caressed his back. He futilely tried to pull away and heard a chuckle. Primoz shuddered as the man continued to walk around him. Primoz's head was at the same level as his crotch, so he could only see the man's belt and jeans. He tried to lift his head, see who the hell was responsible for this, but it was impossible.

The man's touch continued to explore Primoz's body, feeling his toned arms and tense shoulders. The man's fingers wove into his dark brown hair. Primoz knew what was coming even before the man reached down and unzipped his jeans, but it was still a shock. Primoz's scream distorted through the ring gag. The man laughed, caressed his cheek, and made soft shushing sounds.

Then the man reached into his open fly and pulled out his throbbing veiny cock. There was barely time to assess its size - a good 8 inches - before it was thrust into Primoz's mouth and hit the back of his throat. He gagged and nearly vomited but couldn't resist. The man pushed back and forth, gripping Primoz's hair.

It was clear the man took great satisfaction from Primoz's struggles. His cock swelled and thrust deeper and deeper. At moments the man pushed his cock down Primoz's throat so deep he couldn't breathe, then held long enough that Primoz was sure he would suffocate.

And then the man came, his cum exploding into Primoz's mouth. The taste was salty and horrible, but he couldn't keep it from dribbling down his throat. The man pulled away, and Primoz hung there in a state of shock, realizing his face was wet with tears. He was shivering but knew it wasn't because of the cold.

He wanted to plead with the man to stop, to let him go, but all he could do was pathetically moan as the man walked once more around Primoz, stopping behind him. The man grabbed his ass, his hands massaging both cheeks. It was too much, Primoz wept. Again the man gave a shushing sound. There was a sharp pain as the man inserted something in Primoz's ass.

It was small, maybe the size of a thumb, round and plastic. Primoz was confused. He'd expected the man to rape him. Instead, he'd inserted a small vibrator. Primoz felt it snug in his rectum, a cable trailing out uncomfortably.

"Goodnight, Primoz," the man said, flicking a switch and turning on the vibrator.

Primoz tensed, not from the vibrator, but because of the man's voice. It was familiar, very familiar, but just then it was impossible to think of whose voice it was. The vibration was intense. He thought he could ignore it, but his insides were on fire. He was frightened and cold, but his body didn't care.

As his dick hardened, he noticed something else. There was something on his shaft. He couldn't see what it was, but it was a chastity device. It was a tight metal cage keeping him from getting an erection. The more the vibrator aroused him, the more painful it became in the grip of the metal device.

The man with the familiar voice had left the room. Primoz was alone now, left naked and suspended in that freezing room, moaning as he was left in the limbo between ecstasy and agony, when all he wanted to do was scream.

#

Primoz couldn't say when he fell asleep, but he woke up when the vibrator was yanked from his behind. There was a buzzing sound, like an alarm clock going off. He was confused for a moment, not remembering where he was or what had happened. Then the chair released him. The metal bands retracted, and he fell face-first onto the dirty ground.

He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, looking around for the man, but the small room was empty. He tried to calm himself, looking at the dark enclosure. There were no visible doors or any other furniture beyond the metal chair. Primoz looked at the torture device, remembering what had happened to him last night, recognizing the familiar voice.

Lance's voice. He was sure of it. He had grown up listening to that voice, idolizing that man. But it was impossible, wasn't it? Even though Lance had disgraced himself, there was no way he could have done this.

"Good morning, Primoz," the voice came over a hidden loudspeaker. There was no question; it was Lance's voice.

"The fuck I am!?! Why you do this!?!" he screamed at the air in frustration.

The wall slid open, and suddenly Primoz was staring into a second room. It was the same size as the one he stood in but brightly lit. There was a table with a small metal stool attached to it. The middle of the table had a glass dome, under which was a large omelette and home fries. Despite his anger and fear, his stomach rumbled at seeing the food.

"Sit, and eat," Lance said pleasantly. It sounded like a recording, and maybe it was. He knew it was futile trying to have a conversation with it.

He approached the table, not seeing any way to lift the dome and get to the food.

"Sit, and eat," the voice repeated.

Primoz looked down at the steel stool. The room was cold. Other than the chastity device, he was naked. The idea of sitting on hard metal was frustrating, but he was hungry. He hadn't eaten in at least a day. He knew that dome wouldn't open until he did what Lance commanded. So he sat.

The bench shifted down, obviously weighted, and the dome rotated into the table. As with the chair, it was primitive but effective. Primoz reached forward and grabbed the plate, quickly shovelling the food down his throat. It was hot and filling, so he barely noticed how bland it was. He ate, and the fuller he felt, the more he was able to think.

The last thing he remembered, before waking in the chair, was cycling. He had taken his bike out by himself, riding through the hilly roads near his home in Slovenia. He'd rode those roads a thousand times by himself. He'd thought nothing of going alone. It had started like any other ride, but then a car had come upon him, going too fast.

He'd moved to the side, but the car jerked and pulled in front of him. He swerved to the side and ended up losing control of the bike and falling into a ditch. He was still rolling on the ground in pain, trying to collect himself, when someone got out of the car. He thought the man was coming to help him. Instead of help, when he reached Primoz, he pulled something out and held it over Primoz's mouth. The next thing he knew, he was in that chair.

It was insane to think that Lance had built this place, had planned this. He stopped eating as the truth sunk in. Lance had kidnapped him. It was something he'd never imagined was possible, but it had happened. He was trapped and entirely at the mercy of a man he'd idolized as a child.

The food was greasy and sat in his stomach. He felt sick. Was there even a toilet in this place? Glancing around this room again, he saw no door. But clearly, Lance had built the walls to slide open. So any one of these walls could have led to a bathroom, or an exit. He needed to focus and find a way out of here.

"It's time to exercise," the voice said, which Primoz was now positive was recorded.

Primoz slammed his fists on the table and stood up. "What the fuck you talk about!?!" Lance was insane! Kidnap him, lock him in a bunker, and tell him to exercise? What was the point of this!?!

Back in the room with the chair, another wall slid open. Curiosity pushed Primoz forward. He walked back into the center room, and the wall to the table room slammed shut. Primoz was a little startled by the way it fell. If he'd been standing closer, it would have cracked his head open.

A stationary bike was in the middle of the new room and a bucket in the corner. It was Primoz's bike, the same bike he'd been on when Lance had taken him. His stomach sank a little to see it there. He was hoping someone would find it abandoned on the side of the road. With no sign that he had gone missing, how long would it take for people to start looking? What would his wife think?

On the wall in front of the bike was a clock that said 5:00:00. Next to the time was a hanger, with black underwear hanging from it. Primoz grabbed the underwear, looking it over. It was a strange mix between a thong and biking shorts. It was little more than a pouch for his dick and balls, and on the back were the cushions for sitting on a bike. They barely covered anything, but he still put them on. It was good to be wearing something.

"You need to stay in shape," the voice continued to speak. "Physical activity is imperative to keep you desirable. You have five hours to ride 200k. If you don't, you will be punished." The clock on the wall began to count down the hours, minutes, and seconds, so Primoz knew precisely how long he had to complete his task.

Primoz felt ill. That word. Desirable. It brought back everything that had happened last night in a flash. Lance stood in front of him while he struggled, forcing his erection deep into his throat. His head spun.

He had to crouch down, his head hanging between his legs, and he gripped his knees for support. He thought he was going to be sick. No one was looking for him, and he was trapped here. Lance wasn't done with him. He was going to strap him into that metal rig again and... and... he couldn't even think the thought.

The voice spoke again, but he didn't listen to it; he didn't care. He got up and looked at the walls, feeling the edges with his fingers. He was looking for any kind of switch or weakness. He went over every corner, and then he felt along the walls. There were no cracks; it was all smooth metal, like the hold of a ship.

The voice spoke again, and he screamed at it in Slovenian. He didn't care what it threatened; he wasn't going to play this game anymore. He was going to get out of there.

When he finished in the exercise room, he went back to the wall that led to the dining room. He'd seen it open, but he still couldn't find any way to open it. It had sealed completely, so he couldn't even pry it open.

Downright naked and freezing, he made his way around the entirety of his prison. At one point, he was desperate to use the toilet, but all he had was the bucket. He knew why it was there. It was humiliating, but he had no choice but to use it. When he finished, he screamed at the walls, hoping someone could hear his anger.

He continued to search, then searched again, and then one final time. He screamed and swore in frustration. He punched the walls until his knuckles bled. He eventually sat in a corner, holding his knees up to his chest, trying to stay warm. He was filthy and miserable and just focused on trying not to cry. There must have been hidden cameras if there were hidden speakers, and he wasn't going to give Lance a show.

He stayed in that corner for the rest of the time, focusing on his breathing, trying to pretend he was in the mountains, cold just because of the altitude. And then he heard a loud buzzing sound. Primoz looked up and saw the clock flashing 0:00:00.

"Your time is complete. You did not make your distance. You will be punished." The voice was monotone, unfeeling. Then there was a hissing sound.

Primoz looked around, noticing smoke coming from the ceiling. Gas. Panic gripped him. Was it poisonous? He knew it was hopeless, but he got up. He searched the walls, looking for an exit, while the gas got thicker. He held his breath, trying to stay low, as he started crouching.

His head was swimming. The dizziness was overwhelming. He was on his hands and knees, retching up the horrid breakfast from earlier. Then everything went black.

#

When he woke up, he was naked again and strapped in the chair. He wasn't surprised this time, but that didn't make it any less terrifying. Still, he managed to keep his composure. Last time he'd been shocked and overwhelmed. He wasn't going to lose his head as he had before. Being here was psychological torture as much as it was physical. He was a champion. He wasn't going to let some disgraced cheater break him.

"Good evening, Primoz."

Lance was in the room, standing behind him, out of sight.

"I'm disappointed. I expected more from the red jersey."

Primoz wanted to tell Lance to go fuck himself, but the ring gag kept him from saying anything.

"I know you're angry."

Lance put his hands on Primoz's thighs, and he shuddered, making Lance chuckle. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into the palm of his hands. It was the only movement he could make, the only way he could express his fury.

"You should try to relax. The tenser you are, the worse this will feel."

There was no more warning before Primoz felt Lance's lubed-up dick pierce him from behind. Despite his resolve not to, he screamed. It might as well have been a knife, cutting him open. Lance shushed him, and Primoz whimpered. Lance had only inserted himself an inch or so, but the pain was unbearable.

He bucked in the chair, twisted his arms and legs. The metal bindings dug into his skin. It only made Lance laugh as he slid himself a little deeper into Primoz.

"Shhh, you need to relax. I don't want to hurt you."

The absurdity of the comment almost made Primoz laugh. Absurd or not, he knew it was true. The tension clenched in him. He took a deep breath, trying to take his mind somewhere else, trying to relax. At the same time, Lance pushed himself deeper.

Primoz grunted and moaned in pain. His eyes rolled in his skull; his tongue lolled between the gag. He couldn't relax. He was starting to panic. Lance was going to tear him open, and he was going to bleed to death.

He struggled against the chair, all the while Lance just chuckled, pushing himself in even deeper. Then, Lance pulled out. Primoz tried to catch his breath as Lance went in again. He began to push himself in and out, agonizingly slow. Getting used to It was impossible. Lance's cock swelled in excitement and pulled him open wider as he slid in deeper.

"Shh, you're doing so good," Lance said in a calm, soothing voice. Primoz choked back his tears.

He wanted to apologize, tell him he would ride the bike, do the stupid exercises. Just stop, please stop. It hurt so much. He felt so pathetic, immobile and at another man's mercy. He needed it to stop. And then it did.

Lance thrust himself as deep as possible and ejaculated. He went still, pumping his juices into Primoz's behind, squeezing his ass cheeks hard. He was panting as he pulled out and patted Primoz on his back like he was patting a dog.

"I need a sandwich," he said.

A sandwich? A fucking sandwich? Primoz wanted to scream at him, kick him. He swallowed back his tears. Don't give in, he whispered to himself. Don't let him win.

Primoz gasped as Lance shoved the vibrator into his rectum again. It didn't feel as tight this time, but it hurt no less. Then there was a click, and the vibration started. He tried to turn his head, but it was impossible. He listened for the opening and closing door but heard nothing over the vibrator. One moment he could make out Lance's heavy breathing, and the next, he was alone.

He was shivering, freezing, his dick going painfully rigid in the chastity device. His anger was the only thing that kept him from weeping. He imagined finding the exit, getting his hands on Lance, and choking the life out of him. And then, Lance was back.

"Mmm, that was a good sandwich. I bet you're hungry too, right Primoz?"

Lance walked in front of Primoz, already unzipping his jeans. Primoz couldn't hold his scream back as Lance's veiny cock smacked into his face. Lance played with him, rubbing the tip of his clock on Primoz's saliva-drench lips. He reached over and clicked a button, and the vibrator in Primoz's ass intensified.

"Look at that drool," Lance laughed. "You're like a dog waiting for his meal."

He grabbed Primoz's hair and shoved his dick down Primoz's throat. Lance pushed until his balls were up against Primoz's lips. Then he pulled back and began to thrust back and forth. Lance was so deep in his mouth he couldn't breathe. Being suddenly cut off from air, Primoz couldn't hold the panic back. Tears rimmed his eyes as his lungs started to burn. He needed to breathe!

His vision started to blacken; his body went slack. He was barely conscious when Lance grunted in pleasure, cumming deep in Primoz's neck. Then he pulled out, and Primoz gasped as air rushed into his agonized lungs.

Lance patted Primoz's cheek. "Good night, Primoz."

Then Lance left, leaving the bitter taste of semen in Primoz's mouth. He was left alone, suspended in pain, the sound of the vibrator the only thing he heard.

#

The following day was a repeat of the first. There was a loud buzzing sound as the vibrator was suddenly pulled out, and he fell to the ground. He lay on the cold, dirty metal floor, just enjoying being able to lie down for a moment. He knew he couldn't have slept long, exhausted beyond belief, but he had no way of knowing how much time had passed.

"Good morning, Primoz," the recorded voice greeted him, and the door opened to the breakfast room.

He didn't move, his body was sore, and there was a throbbing pain in his ass. It was the cold that finally motivated him to get up. He needed something warm, even if it was just greasy food.

"Sit, and eat."

He complied with the voice, sitting on the ice-cold bench, and the dome began to open. Instantly he winced in pain and stood up, and it closed. He swore, yelling at the ceiling, and sat down gingerly. He pushed the pain away and snatched the food as soon as the dome opened. Grime and blood covered his hands, and his ass throbbed in pain, but he didn't care. He needed the food; he needed to keep a clear head.

The morning played out the same. As soon as Primoz finished eating, the exercise room opened. This time he walked in without hesitation, taking the thong off the wall and putting it on. He didn't just want to cover himself; he knew he needed the cushion to sit on the bike. Even with it, he knew it would be painful, maybe even excruciating. But if he didn't...

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He would do whatever Lance told him, buy time until he figured out how to escape.

Pretend you're in a grand tour, he told himself. You've crashed; you're in pain. There's a long stage ahead of you, maybe even a category one mountain. You need to ride. That's all there is to it. Swallow the pain, and ride.

The only time he stopped cycling was when he had to use the toilet. Then he got up and swallowed his embarrassment as he crouched over the bucket and did his business. It had been cleaned or changed since yesterday, one small mercy. He imagined Lance watching him thanks to some hidden camera, chuckling to himself. It just added to the nightmare.

He rode until the buzzer went off. His five hours ended. Sweat dripped off him, his body in agony, and he wished more than anything he could just have a shower and crawl into his bed.

"Your time is complete. You made your distance. You will be rewarded."