Twink Van Pt. 01

"Right now we're in the back of a truck, and we're about to go on a road trip," said Jane, leaning down by his face. "You'll be all alone back here and it'll be real cold outside of this blanket. If you thrash around and knock it off, you'll be dead of exposure before we get there."

Sasha swallowed. He'd woken up many a night shivering because he'd kicked the duvet off the bed in his sleep.

"If you want, I'll make things a little easier for you. I'll strap the corners of the blanket down to eye-bolts, and you'll have to damn near tunnel out of there to get out from under it." Her lips grazed his ear as she spoke. "But if I do that for you, you've gotta make things a little easier for me. How does that sound?"

Again, he nodded.

She took out a bundle of thin plastic tubes attached to a complex set of rings and clips, coated them thoroughly in lube, and lifted the blanket to access Sasha's groin. He could not see her hands but he felt them, squeezing and adjusting his penis for a few moments before he felt an uncomfortable scraping sensation against his urethra. The feeling intensified, and he writhed in discomfort as he realized that she was feeding a catheter inside him. It felt bizarrely deep, like she'd pushed two meters of tube inside him, but a sharp jolt within him told him it had just barely touched his bladder. He squeaked as something clipped on the head of his cock, and it turned to a sad whine as unseen straps separated his balls and bound his limp penis between them. This obviously wasn't a medical issue catheter.

Once finished, Jane gave him an encouraging slap on his buttplug, lowered the blanket, and strapped the corners down through eyebolts as promised. She stroked his hair and smiled at him kindly.

"Are you still a little cold?"

Sasha was still shivering, and was unsure if a lie, the truth, or silence would bring on a worse punishment. He looked away from her and nodded slowly.

She ran her fingers through his hair and chuckled. "That's okay, don't worry. I'm going to feed you some hot chocolate."

He looked at her warily, so she opened the flask and held it near his nose as steam rose off it. It smelled like hot chocolate, with a hint of cinnamon, and he relaxed ever so slightly.

She put her hands on his inflatable gag but did not remove it. Instead, she turned a valve. Air hissed out and the cock-shaped plug end shrunk back by an inch. Sasha moved his head, and found that it no longer tripped his gag reflex. As he got used to it, Jane used a large plastic syringe to draw up half a cup of hot chocolate from the flask.

"Sasha, I need you to do something, okay?" she said, soothingly. "That little rubber dick in your mouth? Start sucking on it, suck it like a baby bottle, and don't stop. I don't wanna see you start choking on your drink."

She inserted the nozzle of the syringe into an opening in his gag, and with a twist and click it locked into place. The effect as she pushed down on the plunger was immediate, thick hot chocolate bursting into his mouth through dozens of tiny holes on the penis-shaped gag.

His eyes went wide as he gulped down the first mouthful, sweet and chocolatey and painfully hot, nearly inhaling a mouthful despite his obedient suckling. She did not give him a chance to adjust and kept pressure on the syringe, keeping the flow constant as he sucked frantically. Only once half the tube was empty did she stop for a moment, watching his nostrils flare as he allowed himself to breathe, and with a nod she pressed the plunger once more.

The heat that shot through his core as the liquid settled inside him was overwhelming. He remembered lying in a hospital bed as a child, an IV in his arm and stitches on his belly, the day after his swollen appendix had almost killed him. The pain had washed over him in waves, growing in intensity as the minutes wore on, and the only thing that pushed the tide back was the dose of morphine every half hour, all the pain receding under a rush of warmth. That hazy, nauseous feeling of relief was the only thing he'd experienced that could compare to the warmth inside him now.

With the syringe empty, Jane unclipped it from his gag and stored it along with the thermos in her bag. It was only when she turned around with a small rubber pump in hand that Sasha stopped sucking on the now-empty cock insert. He whimpered in protest as she attached the pump to another outlet on the gag, but was soon silenced as it reinflated, puffing out his cheeks and stretching his jaw painfully.

She stood up and shouldered her bag, a line of bare skin still visible from her collarbone to her groin where her coat was unbuttoned. Looking Sasha directly in the eye, she said, "We're going for a little drive to get to your new home. It'll be a few hours, though I guess it might seem longer to you, because this trip is a test: that cooling unit up there is gonna go on full blast the whole time, and nobody is gonna stop and check in on you until we get there.

She glowered at him as she spoke. "So I sure hope you don't do anything dumb like wriggling out from under the blankets or throwing up behind that gag and not having the good sense to swallow it back down, because dead bodies are a pain in the ass to haul and I've got better things to do with my night."

From her basket she pulled a length of pink silk, and Sasha only realized it was a blindfold as it plunged his vision into darkness. He whimpered as he felt a pair of warm lips touch his cheek. "I'll see you in a few hours, Sasha. Be good, you hear?"

The heat of her lips lingered for a moment as she stood up, and faded as the door clicked shut behind her. Sasha was alone, and as the floor lurched with the start of the van's engine, he knew he would be alone for some time.

His mind raced down every possible path and fell flat on all of them at once. Who was this woman? Had he pissed someone off? Why was this happening to him? Were they going to kill him? When will they kill him? Every hint his brain conjured up was laughable-a tenner he owed his old dealer, the voice of a college lecturer, flashes of the film Taken-and each one was pushed aside by another question or by the combined blare of the cooling unit and the van's engine. The cooler was still running at full blast, and everything above his nose was still taking the brunt of it. He tried to wriggle down further under the blanket, without much success.

The floor jolted, and immediately jolted again. They must have just driven over a speedbump, he thought. He felt himself being pulled gently in one direction, and then another. Probably a roundabout. A bolt of clarity pierced his mind - he'd been doing deliveries for long enough to know roads by feel. He might be able to tell if they were still in town or had left it, and maybe even if they were on the motorway or not, and have some sense of where they'd taken him. There were only so many directions you could take out of Kidderminster, after all.

He counted eight turns and ten stops before the first set of cramps hit. It had seemed like the uncomfortable plug in his ass clashing with the bumps in the road, but it built slowly until in ten seconds his guts felt like they had doubled in bloat, then tripled, then tenfold as if he would burst open like a crushed grape at any moment.

The first time he'd gone to a music festival he'd tried to steer clear of the portable toilets, but on the second night he tried hash brownies for the first time along with half a bottle of vodka. He'd woken up drenched in sweat and stumbled out of his tent a few hours after midnight, half-staggering half-sprinting to the same awful toilets he'd been avoiding, for the worst bout of the runs he'd felt in his whole life up until that point.

He'd felt then just like he was feeling now, except this time there was nothing he could do but desperately try to hold it. There was another pressure inside him, and he realized he was also desperate to piss. As if to spite him, the van went over another speedbump at that exact moment, and the jolt to his midsection made him squeal into the gag.

The hot chocolate.

Jane had spiked the hot chocolate.

Somehow the pain built further, until the agonies of a few minutes ago felt like pleasant memories in comparison. His cheeks burned with humiliation-and from the cold blasting down onto his face-but he knew there was no more point holding it in. With a whimper, he relaxed.

Nothing happened.

Another wave of cramps wracked him. In a moment of panic he tried to push, which sent a sharp pain through his urethra and nothing else. The plug in his ass was a shape and size that he couldn't push out, and he had absolutely no chance of removing the catheter from his piss-hole. Instinctively he reached down to yank them out, but his hands were chained behind his neck and all that his effort accomplished was two-thirds of a sit-up and the most painful set of cramps yet.

There were no questions in his mind any more, no thoughts, only cramps. They clenched his core so tight he couldn't breathe, forcing him to spend his only conscious thoughts trying to relax enough to inhale for a few moments.

The cold that crept in down his neck and under the edges of the blanket felt colder, and as he twisted from side to side he could feel himself lying in a pool of his own sweat. The fleece fabric of the blanket did nothing to wick it away. Steam rose out from the edges of the blanket as warm sweat met cold air, unseen behind his blindfold.

The journey went on and the pain grew greater than anything he had ever imagined. Every position was intolerable. His legs kicked out uncontrollably as spasms wracked his core, every muscle in his body flexing and twitching, sweat flowing from every pore on his skin. Tears streamed from his eyes, and though he felt full beyond comprehension his throat grew raw with thirst.

For a moment he wondered how close he was to sweating himself to death, but the thought was chased away by another wave of cramps. He did not pass out from the pain, and he did not grow used to it. The roads seemed to stretch on forever, country roads out of the way of cameras and prying eyes, and English country roads were so twisty, and so bumpy...