Chapter 16
The Scene
Bracing himself for a lecture, Rune went into his bedroom. Oliver and Adam weren’t there yet. Were they there at all? His skin tingled with the sense of being watched, something he’d learned to rely on over the past year. It helped him realize if someone was trying to talk to him or not. So yes, he did think they were there, somewhere.
Maybe they were too angry to face him.
A bench sat in the middle of the open space next to the bed. It was BDSM furniture like the kind he’d seen at Manse, though he’d never encountered any before in daily life. The bench was slightly raised on one end and was padded with leather.
Rune didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to explain. He just wanted to feel connected to something, so he’d stop floating, get anchored. Unless he was touching or being touched, he wondered if all the world was a fantasy playing out in his head on mute. Nothing was real. He hated it.
There was a small side table against the wall by the door. He grabbed it and set it by the bench, then placed the bowl of ice on top.
He knelt at the bench and eased his throbbing fingers into the ice once more. The bandage was an effort to disguise the ugliness of the wounds rather than serve any other purpose. He didn’t care if it got wet.
For a second, he was back in the lot. Max and Goat were holding Kurt Radner by the hair and the shoulders. Kurt had been bound. He’d been kneeling too. Lips moved, spittle flew, hate burned in blue eyes. Rune had caught a word here or there—like ‘cocksucker’—even though he hadn’t really been trying to lip-read.
Even though he’d been surrounded by riled men, it had been so still. The connection of impact the only thing grounding him, so he chased it, kept finding it.
He’d changed his shirt at the clubhouse, tossed the bloodstained one into his old closet bedroom.
Couldn’t change his torn skin, though. He knew punishment was coming.
He was ready.
Leaning down over the bench, he relaxed into the pose, even though he was totally naked, ass up, his back to the door. It took some effort, especially since Adam was there, and Rune didn’t know what to make of him yet. He’d sensed Adam would always be on Oliver’s side first, above all, and it wasn’t clear how that translated for Rune.
There were no footsteps to track, no warning of approach. The room was lit and not the hall, so no shadows moved over the wall. It was nothing but still air, and then—out of nowhere—a touch slid over the back of his thigh.
He flinched, gripped the bench with his left hand.
A tablet was set down and propped up on the same little table as the bowl of ice, the screen turned to face him.
A message popped up:
Are you ready?
He nodded, closed his left hand into a fist and rotated it up and down, keeping his wrist stationary.
Show me your safe sign.
He folded down all of his fingers except for his pinkie and thumb.
Rune glimpsed Oliver, turning his head to manage it, seeing only his chest, hips, and legs. Oliver gripped Rune’s shoulder for a minute, hesitating.
He thought, this is when it’ll happen. Oliver will call it off. Kick me out.
But, he didn’t. He removed the wrapped hand from the bowl, feeling the joints, the bones of his fingers, the center of his hand and wrist. Rune waited. No sharp pains flared. Seemingly satisfied, Oliver set the hand back in the ice and let him go.
Oliver dried his hand on a towel, then caressed from the nape of Rune’s neck, down his spine to the curve of his ass. Slowly, Rune let himself begin to believe he wasn’t going to be rejected and abandoned for what he’d done. There was always the possibility, remote as it seemed, that Oliver just wanted to hurt him before sending him packing.
The caressing hand twisted, questing between Rune’s legs and taking hold of his sac. Oliver nudged Rune’s legs farther apart on the bench, pulled on his scrotum. A flare of want washed over him, heating him up from inside.
There was pressure, a tug. The tugging didn’t stop. It was steady in a strange way, so he tried to move.
He let out a cry he couldn’t hear as his movement yanked at his balls. He’d been shackled by then to the bench, with barely any slack. The realization made his face flush. He bit at his lip to keep quiet.
Something dangled in his field of vision.
A collar on a chain.
He was tempted then, to look up at Oliver’s face. His guilt and desire to please kept him from doing it.
He pushed slightly up from the top of the bench as Oliver wrapped the leather around Rune’s throat and connected the chain to a bolt on the bench. Rune wasn’t going anywhere.
The proof that Oliver intended to keep him awhile evened Rune’s breathing. He fought a smile.
There was no sign of Adam. The prickling at the base of Rune’s neck remained, but he saw no evidence of the other Dom in the room. Trying to figure out if Adam’s role would be a passive one, Rune was surprised by the touch of something cool to his crease. It didn’t feel like any toy he’d seen before. It was pointed on the end and had a strange, uneven texture. It was pushed through his rim, the pointed end tapering to a thickness that tested him almost right away, especially without prep or lube. It was about three inches inside him, held steady there, his butt clenched up around it, when he started to feel something new.
He grunted, hid his face, felt his breathing quicken. He gripped the bench as the burning swelled, coating the inside of his ass, climbing up into his gut. Maybe they’d dipped the plug in hot sauce before stuffing it inside him. That’s what it felt like. A gloved hand turned his face to the side again, so it was visible, and was firmly held there for study as the thing inside him began to push deeper.
Reflex kicked in, and he started to fight, but even the slightest movement pulled agonizingly at his sac, so he couldn’t even writhe. Panic swelled, sweat breaking out over his whole body. He might have been grunting. He could have been screaming.
A message popped up on the screen.
It’s ginger. It won’t injure you. The pain is all in your head. Relax.
Adam. It was Adam reassuring him.
Rune forced himself to take a deep breath and blow it out. He closed his eyes, stopped fighting the bondage, but couldn’t stop clenching on the ginger even when he wanted to. Oliver pushed it even deeper, and the root swelled thicker than ever. Then it narrowed rapidly, locking in place inside him.
A noise of terror escaped him, uncensored, unknown. He trembled, couldn’t stop. He took a handful of the ice just to counter the pain of heat with the pain of cold. The hand on his head combed through his hair, soothing.
A gloved hand took hold of his softened cock, stroking it to hardness, and he didn’t want it, but he didn’t fight. All he wanted was that thing out of him. He pushed down on it with his inner muscles, but it did no good. Clenching only made the burning worse.
Now, it wasn’t just hot sauce. It felt like a red-hot poker, like he was being burned alive from inside out.
He saw the blond skinhead on his knees, the smashed ruin of his nose, the blood-soaked teeth, smiling.
Maybe Rune deserved it. For scaring Oliver. For seeking out others in order to hurt them, to make them pay. For the arrogance of taking judgment into his own hands.
He sniffled, felt tears slipping from his eyes and didn’t know if it was from being upset at what he’d done or from the burning pain. Oliver brushed the tears away, but pushed Rune’s head down when he tried to turn it again. Oliver wasn’t allowing that. He wanted to see.
Rune searched the tablet’s screen, the room—anything—for a clock, a watch. There was nothing. No way to track it. It seemed to go on forever. Oliver kept stroking him, stirring lust even as the torment grew. Rune didn’t adjust to the burn. It only compounded on itself.
He was still crying; knew he would have been ashamed of the sounds he was making if he could hear them.
The strange thing was, he was hard. Staying perfectly still, he liked and invited each slow tug at his dick from root to tip, even while wanting to claw at his own flesh to get that fucking thing out of his ass.
And then it moved. Was being withdrawn. But Oliver was already touching him in two places.
Control slipped away again, fast. Hands held him down in three places while the ginger root was withdrawn. It pulled free, leaving the burning behind. But then the root was rubbed up through his crack and he panicked, bucked, hurt himself and felt the pain climb down into his balls too.
There was a new message on the screen. How long had it been there?
Do you accept your punishment?
He stared at the words, let everything else fall away. He gave up struggling and just lay there, panting. His eyes traced the loop of the P, the curl of the U, the point of the I. When the ginger pushed back into him, began fucking him in a gentle rhythm, he didn’t resist, but couldn’t help his shuddering. He pulled against the binding on his scrotum just enough to distract himself with the pain there, which was fuller, broader and less sharp. He pulled his right hand out of the bowl of melting ice and flipped off both Doms.
The ginger began moving in longer strokes, riding him. Fingers rubbed in a circle around his rim, the flames climbing out to cover him there, too.
But that’s when he realized, it wasn’t even about the pain. He’d had worse. He’d lain broken and alone on asphalt, bloody from head to toe.
The real bitch of it was the shame. The helplessness. This was something he couldn’t fight against, or undo, or decide to stop. There was the safe sign, but using it would only compound an already monstrous level of humiliation. Because he wasn’t weak. He wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of breaking him to that level again. Even Oliver.
He climbed back into his head, detaching, receding. It was a defense mechanism, but it worked. He lost track. The sharp edge of agony dulled.
Even when his head was taken between two hands, his mouth stuffed with a cock that slid over his tongue and into his throat, he didn’t fully return. Gradually, he felt something else. Fingers. They were wet. Everywhere they touched, cooled.
Moaning, he wanted to push back onto them, and couldn’t do that either. Recognizing Oliver’s scent and feel, Rune finally came back. He started to suck, using his tongue, swallowing Oliver’s taste. Just when he was really getting into it, loving the way Oliver pushed deep enough into Rune’s throat to scare him, cutting off his air, testing his gag reflex, he pulled out. The hands that held his head moved, spreading his ass instead.
He waited, anticipating.
Something entered him, but it went deeper than a cock should have been able to. A desperate groan erupted in his chest. Goosebumps spread over his skin. Twelve inches of silicone-shaped phallus took him in slow, complete strokes and even if he wasn’t bound, he wouldn’t have dared to move. He stared at Oliver’s bare hip, felt Oliver’s fingers digging in to pull Rune’s hole as open as he could, and wished for a gag because it felt fucking amazing and it was really embarrassing how much he loved it. He even loved the way the burn remained, spicing the pleasure.
Praying thanks for his limited senses, he knew he was too exhausted to fight the pleasure too. He willingly fell another rung on the pride ladder, urging Adam on with each stroke with his cries alone.
Oliver let go, moved to fill Rune’s mouth again. Hungry for it, impatient, Rune chased Oliver’s cock with his tongue, opening wide, humming with happiness as the crown pushed deep, lodging in his throat. Reflex kicked in, his body struggling with the obstruction. Fingers combed his hair back, caressed his jaw and neck. Pulling back, Oliver let him take a desperate breath then pushed back inside, choking him again. The whole time, Adam fucked Rune with the obscenely long toy. It was narrow but endless like a snake. It made his legs feel so weak, he was glad for the bench, certain he wouldn’t have been able to hold himself up without it.
Taken at both ends, he lost himself in it. But Oliver came before long, unloading over Rune’s tongue. Swallowing the salty, tangy come, Rune sucked him through the aftershocks.
Oliver pulled out, let Rune collapse down to the bench, panting.
The chain on the collar was released, then the one fastened to a leather cuff around his sac was freed, too. Fingers rubbed his rim as the toy withdrew completely. A warm body moved up behind him, skin on skin.
Frowning, pleading, he pushed back into the contact and onto the wet cock that breached him. He didn’t care about anything but getting fucked by an actual person. He needed nothing else. The contact, the connection, the safety of it, the ways he’d been affected inside and out, it was the realest moment he’d had in a year.
There was a firm thrust, a hot, hard body at his back, and teeth bit down on his neck. He reached back, found a handful of hair and tugged on it, pulling the mouth against his skin, rocking back into the next thrust.
He cursed, begged, couldn’t stay still. He bounced back onto the cock stuffing him, needing it. His erection strained, dripping. A hand caressed his balls, palmed his stomach as the cock thrust inside him. A palm rubbed up to his chest and fingers teased his stiffened nipple.
Delirious, Rune glanced up. Oliver stood there, stroking himself.
Feeling utterly undone, Rune turned his head, the collar pulling tight. Red hair fell in his eyes. It smelled like coconut and was soft as silk. He found Adam’s mouth, opened for the tongue licking into him, forcing his jaws wide. Rune rotated his hips, grinding on Adam. Teeth nipped at his lip, and a harder thrust knocked the wind from him. Hands held him down while Adam straightened, pounding Rune’s hole until he climaxed, then slowly rocked inside him.
Tingling from head to toe, dazed, boneless, aching everywhere—inside, out, hands, legs, knees, ass, stomach, balls—he let himself be moved. He was pulled to his feet, walked to the bed. Adam climbed on, his dark red hair tumbling into his blue eyes, his chest covered in thick red curls that stretched down his navel to gather at the root of his cock. Rune was pulled down with him, made to lay back on the soft fur on Adam’s chest. Adam’s hands hooked under Rune’s knees, pulling them back and spread apart as far as they’d go, testing his flexibility. Rune’s wet, throbbing, curled hand, chilled from the ice, rested on the bed. He tracked Oliver intensely, not even blinking, as he spread lube on his dark, heavy erection and climbed onto the bed.
The sight of him was so welcome, Rune felt his helpless smile and reached for Oliver with his good hand, needing to touch him. The hand curled behind Oliver’s neck, the fingers twining in his dark hair. Oliver entered him with a complete thrust, bottoming out hard. Rune arched, his head fallen back against Adam’s shoulder, his chest heaving. His ass was in torment—swollen from overuse, sensitive from the endless fucking and from the ginger. Sex had never felt so good or hurt so much.
Oliver’s lube-slicked hand found Rune’s cock and Rune pleaded with him, convulsing at the first skimming touch. Adam held him down, kept him spread, his lips pressed against the side of Rune’s temple. Oliver stared deeply into Rune’s eyes, pinning him down in more profound ways, and rode him gently. As his fist twisted on Rune’s cock, they both held him trapped between them as he climaxed, shooting hot over Oliver’s hand. Rune pleaded more fervently, but Oliver stayed a breath away, his lips barely skimming Rune’s, stealing his air as he shivered.
When Rune was past it, Oliver finally kissed him. Rune wrapped himself around him, kissing back passionately enough that Oliver had to fight to take control again. Soon, he was panting against Rune’s lips, rocking more slowly against him, holding him by the jaw to be kissed for a long time.
As he laid on Adam who caressed his legs, and was engulfed in Oliver who had him inside and out, Rune felt them suddenly grow still. Saw Oliver catch Adam’s gaze, Oliver’s hazel eyes wet and bloodshot.
Rune’s hand had been pressed against Oliver’s chest, all of his fingers extended except his ring and middle fingers.
Oliver cupped his hand against the sign for ‘I love you’, whispering unheard words against Rune’s ear, a ghost of secrets. Then he kissed Rune, and it tasted salty. His thumb brushed Rune’s lip. Oliver searched his eyes. Rune’s hand held where it was, as it was.
Between them, Oliver’s ring and middle fingers curled down too, his right hand pressed against Rune’s chest the same way.
Letting out a sigh, Rune looped his right arm behind Oliver’s neck and felt an anchor drop inside him, pinning him down like an unbreakable tether.