The Cyclist Ch. 01

The wall on the other side of the chair slid open, a new room. Primoz got off the bike, his legs shaky, his entire body pulsing with pain. In the new area was a small metal-framed bed, an old thin mattress the only thing on it. It was enough.

He practically collapsed on the bed, burying his face into the mildewy mattress. After two nights in that torture device, it was the first bit of actual comfort. The voice did not speak again. The exercise room slammed shut, and the lights went out.

In complete darkness, he fell asleep.

#

He played Lance's game. The next day he followed the same routine. He'd completely lost track of time. He had no idea how long he was allowed to sleep. The truth was, Lance set up his time in this bunker so he'd never have more than five hours sleep, never be able to recover fully, to keep a clear head.

When he finished his exercise, Lance rewarded him again. This time when the bedroom opened, there was a pillow on the bed. The next day his reward was a blanket. He nearly cried when he touched the coarse wool sheet. It barely kept him warm, but he curled up in it and had the best sleep since entering this damn nightmare.

The next day he was looking forward to his exercise, wondering what his reward was. He rode fast and hard, keeping his eyes closed and pretending he was in a time trial. Then came the buzzer and the comforting voice.

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

A different wall slid open, the final room he hadn't seen. He sighed in relief. It was a bathroom. On one side a toilet, the other a shower. He went to the toilet, relieving himself in semi-comfort, happy to finally have toilet paper to wipe his ass, even if it was thin and coarse.

He was filthy and stepped up to the shower shaking with eagerness to clean himself, to wash away some of the horrors of this place. But there was no knob to turn on the water.

"Apply the shackles, and the shower will begin."

Of course. Of course, this was just another sick way to torture him. Primoz noticed the two chains hanging from the ceiling and the two shackles on the ground. Lance wanted him chained to take a shower. Why? He was so desperate to clean himself; he pushed the question away.

The ankle shackles were far apart, forcing him to spread his legs open. He closed the bonds around his ankles, and they fit perfectly. Lance had moulded them to Primoz's measurements. It was a terrible realization. How long had Lance been planning this?

Next, he grabbed the loose chains and locked in his wrists. Again, they were fitted perfectly to his skin - but then didn't know what to do next. The water didn't start. He stood there awkwardly, his feet too far apart, heavy chains hanging from his arms. Wasn't this good enough? Couldn't the damn shower just start?

"You're filthy, Primoz. We need to wash you." The voice was right behind him.

Primoz went rigid. He wasn't alone anymore.

Lance walked up to him, tsking. "What am I going to do with you?"

The chains yanked his arms up, becoming taut and stretching him out.

"Fuck you! Don't touch me!" Primoz screamed. He looked over his shoulders and finally saw Lance.

Lance was twenty years older than Primoz but was still lean and healthy. He was also naked. Suddenly the water fell. It was warm, and even feeling vulnerable and tense, it felt good to have the clean water run over his skin.

"Someone needs to scrub your back," Lance spoke in a soft, soothing voice. He was holding a soapy sponge and began gently rubbing Primoz's back. Primoz tried to jerk away, but the chains were tight. He hung there, completely at Lance's mercy.

"You are insane," Primoz hissed.

"Your intensity is beautiful."

Primoz closed his eyes and again tried to imagine he was somewhere else. He tried to remember taking a shower at home, his wife joining him, soaping up his back with her soft hands.

"You've been so good, Primoz. You deserve a reward," Lance was right up against his back, whispering in his ear.

"Fuck you," he replied through gritted teeth.

"I know English isn't your first language," Lance rubbed Primoz's arms up and down, "but surely you can come up with something better than that."

"I will fucking kill you."

Lance laughed. "Not before I fuck you... again."

He tried to hold in his scream, but it came out as a growl. Lance reached around him. He had a tiny key, and he unlocked the chastity device. It fell away, and Primoz couldn't help but feel relief not having his manhood constricted anymore. Lance's left hand returned to soaping up Primoz's side, but his right hands curled around Primoz's penis and began to stroke it.

"What are you doing?!? Stop!" Primoz's struggle only made the chains clink.

Lance wrapped his left arm around Primoz's stomach, pulling Primoz close against his naked body. Primoz felt Lance's stiff erection against his butt cheek, but Lance didn't try to force himself in. Lance simply continued to stroke Primoz's shaft.

Primoz's body betrayed him. He flushed at the soft touch, his dick becoming hard in the older man's calloused hands.

"Please," Primoz whimpered, the shame unbearable. "Stop, please. I have a wife, a son. I need to go home for them."

"Just relax, Primoz. This isn't about them. This moment is just for you."

Lance continued to masturbate him. Primoz's body was warm for the first time in days, and even though his mind was screaming, his body melted into the touch. Yes, his erection pleaded, more, faster. More, please!

Primoz groaned. Lance's left arm reached up to Primoz's neck and pushed his head back, so it rested on Lance's shoulder. Lance's fingers brushed Primoz's lips, which parted slightly.

"Tell me you want this."

His whole body burned. He wanted to feel good, wanted to cum. His rational mind was buried underneath his desire just to feel warm and a tender touch again.

"Please..." stop, stop, stop, he whimpered.

"Say: I want this."

"I..."

Lance stopped caressing him, and his dick throbbed painfully. The thought of being brought so close to an erection, only to be denied yet again, was agony. He did what Lance told him. Anything to end this torture.

"I want... this," he gasped.

The older man went back to work, his hand working Primoz's erection until it happened. He came and collapsed against Lance.

"Good boy," Lance whispered.

Primoz wanted to cry or scream, but all he could do was shiver in Lance's embrace.