Chapter 23
The Watering Hole
A text message came in around ten o’clock that night, while Rune lay awake in bed beside Oliver who was heavily asleep. Rune had been scrolling through the local police station scanner’s twitter feed when the phone vibrated with the arrival of the new message.
It was from Max.
Cops are headed to The Watering Hole looking for the Lions. Got a call out that way for disturbing the peace and heard they’re doing a follow-up on your report.
Right away, Rune replied:
Swing by and pick me up?
After a short pause, a new text popped up:
Kid, just stay away from it.
Knowing he should, but also that he couldn’t, Rune insisted:
I just want to see if they take anyone away, or if the truck is there.
Three dots blinked on Rune’s screen, indicating a new message being typed. It read:
We can tell you that much.
Rune glanced at Oliver’s sleeping form, knew he’d be out for hours with how tired he was, and sent his last text:
Come on, Max. Please? I won’t get involved. I swear.
There was a solid minute before Max’s verdict came through.
Fine. Be ready.
Eagerly, Rune sprang out of bed, pulled clothes on and scribbled a note for Oliver:
Couldn’t sleep. Went on a walk to clear my head. Be back soon. I have my phone if you need me.
Four cars with flashing red and blue lights had swarmed the bar’s parking lot. In the flood illumination from the headlights, countless patrons were gathered in small clusters around the officers. More police vehicles approached from farther away, their lights growing larger and brighter the closer they got.
Max and Rune stayed across and down the road a bit, out of the light, watching. Max wore his club leather jacket. Rune was in his hoodie again.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away, praying the cops would start to load people up in the backs of the vehicles to be taken downtown for questioning and hopefully charges.
There had been no text from Oliver, who Rune would have bet was still deeply asleep.
As the additional police arrived, it only added to the confusion.
Rune kept glancing at the dark tangle of brush near the large tree on the opposite side of the road where he’d wrestled Oliver to the ground earlier that day. After they’d gotten into Oliver’s car, Rune had gone through his pockets to make sure he’d not dropped anything, but he still felt a little paranoid about it. Temptation lured him over to scout out the area again, just in case. Especially now that the Lions would be on alert that someone was after them.
The additional cop cars added to the overall illumination of the area, some of it creeping their way.
Rune swatted Max’s arm, pointed to the road, thinking they should at least back up a little more.
Max nodded but at first made no move to go.
Then, from the swarm of people in front of the bar, someone broke off, smoking a cigarette. It was a huge bald man, the red glow of his cig sparking up as he inhaled and began to stroll right toward them.
Rune tapped Max’s arm again. But Max was looking in another direction, the far end of the lot.
The bald guy started to jog, coming right for them.
Rune got on Max’s bike, made a frantic cry to Max who finally saw their pursuer—now mere feet away—and got on as well.
A hand reached for them, skimming the back of Rune’s hoodie.
They peeled out of the dirt on the hard shoulder and sped down the road, leaving the light and the Lions behind.
When Rune got back to the apartment, Oliver was right as he’d left him, the note untouched. Scooping it up and taking it into the kitchen, Rune set the edge of the note on fire, dropped it in the sink to burn up and out. Then he went through his pockets again, trying to remember.
He always kept a small notepad in his left pocket with a pen. When a page was full, he tore it off and threw it out. But if he wasn’t near a trash can, he didn’t litter—he’d stick the crumpled page in his pocket to be thrown out later.
He had three crumpled pages in there at the end of the day, but had that been all of them? He scoured his memory, trying to count the times he’d torn pages away. He even smoothed out the pages he still had, reading them over, trying to tell himself there wasn’t one missing.
But he’d stopped for coffee on the way to The Watering Hole, looking for Oliver, wanting the energy boost to fuel him. He told himself the page he’d scrawled his order on, along with some leftover conversation from that morning with Jackson, had been tossed in the trash at the coffee shop.
He couldn’t be sure.
If the Lions found it, surely they’d make nothing of it.
It was nothing.
Rune was so successful at reassuring himself that it took four more hours until he finally calmed down enough to fall asleep from pure exhaustion.
Luckily, Oliver let him sleep in. When Rune finally rolled out of bed, it was just shy of noon.
Before waking his phone or unplugging it from the charger, Rune headed to the bathroom for a shower. Part of him dreaded facing the day and what might have happened while he slept.
He used the toilet, brushed his teeth, then climbed into the billowing steam of the shower, planning to shave once he was done.
Hands planted on the tile, he let the hot water blast down on his back, his thoughts in a whirl.
The first sign he wasn’t alone was a touch to his back, making him jump, sliding up to the nape of his neck to grasp hold. The hand used the hold to bend him sharply over at the waist, and kept him firmly in the position. Rune got the briefest glimpse over his shoulder. Dark-eyed, Oliver glared down at him, his lips sealed tight. Guilt swelled in Rune’s gut. Bowing his head, he could only yield to Oliver, who kicked Rune’s feet apart into a wider stance.
Insistent pressure against his hole told Rune what was coming—no prep, but a good hard force-fucking he completely deserved for many reasons. He’d scared Oliver in so many ways the day before. He’d even intentionally kicked him in the balls. Even though he welcomed Oliver’s need to dominate and take him, Rune tensed with worry and nerves. He didn’t resist, but found he couldn’t unclench his ass. It took an especially hard thrust from Oliver to breach him. Pain flared. He knew Oliver was likely hurting from the friction burn as well, not that Rune could hear or see his reactions, or thought Oliver would have cared enough to let it stop him. Rune’s hands slipped against the tile wall. Gasping through the ache, he tried to loosen up, denying every instinct that kicked in to fight back. His body wouldn’t cooperate, wouldn’t relax. The pain continued to be intense. He knew it colored his cries, which he couldn’t hold back or measure. Everything Oliver did to him was reflected raw and unfiltered in Rune’s every whimper and shuddered grunt.
Burrowing deeply into Rune’s ass, Oliver kept a tight grip on Rune’s hip and his neck. Oliver forced him to take every inch. When Rune writhed, Oliver stayed with him, kept thrusting. Once Oliver’s cock was fully sheathed, it got hard for Rune to breathe through the pressure of penetration. There was plenty of humiliation for him in that moment. Rune knew all of his failures and selfishness had gotten him there, bearing his punishment.
Remembering kicking Oliver, knocking him down, punching him, Rune let the throbbing low in his body sink into him. He gave over to it, panting. Secretly, mentally, he urged Oliver on, wanting him to do his worst, welcoming everything Oliver could dish out if it would help him feel more in control again.
The surrender of that helped center Rune a bit. His trembling eased. His heavy breathing began to steady.
Oliver took tight hold of Rune’s hips with both hands, then began to fuck him, going harder, and harder. Rune growled through it, ricocheting off of each thrust as Oliver’s hips beat a steady rhythm against Rune’s parted cheeks. The continuous dry friction burned deep inside and at his rim. It was all he could do to stay on his feet, and keep his knees from buckling.
Rune felt Oliver climax, holding inside him with a tremble as he unloaded. Abruptly, he pulled out.
He shut off the water, reaching around Rune to do it, then resumed his bruising hold on the back of Rune’s neck to guide him out of the shower, dripping in more ways than one.
Rune left soaking footprints as he was manhandled from the room and out to the bed. Oliver pushed him down onto it on his back, grabbed at Rune’s legs to bend them sharply back, forcing him to fold in half as Oliver swiftly cuffed Rune’s ankles, locked them snugly together. Then, Oliver slipped a collar around Rune’s neck, buckling it shut. There was a metal ring in front which Oliver connected by a short chain to the ankle cuffs, pulling it as tight as he could before locking it in place. It kept his legs folded back with his knees in his armpits, his sore hole exposed for further torment. His sphincter throbbed already from the force-fucking. As his anxiety spiked, Rune’s breathing remained out of control.
He flashed back to that night with Elet, years ago, and being chained, being made to take a cock of monstrous size, his yells echoing from the walls as he felt like he was coming apart, as if Elet was wearing him like a particularly delicate glove, like his body would never recover, as if he had no power at all except the power to submit to his Master’s lust.
Water continued to fall off him, soaking the sheets. He shivered with a chill.
He barely had a chance to get his bearings before seeing Oliver with a massive silicone phallus in his hand, and a bottle of lube. He fisted the slick over the long, thick cock, then moved up to Rune with it.
An embarrassingly nervous, shouted plea for mercy was felt rather than heard.
The cool, firm end of the toy touched Rune’s sensitive opening. Oliver’s fingers parted him with gentle but determined coaxing, stretching his rim to hug around it, feeding it into him. Once the head was past Rune’s rim, Oliver palmed Rune’s right cheek to steady him. Ruthless but slow pressure worked to penetrate Rune with the shaft, stuffing it through his clenched outer ring of muscle. Rune’s aching ass swallowed the toy, pulling it in like it was starved for it. It sank farther than Oliver’s cock had gone. Head thrown back, Rune gasped for air, quivering, holding onto his thighs, breaking into a sweat.
When he thought the phallus couldn’t possibly penetrate him any deeper, it kept going. Rune kept crying out, his mouth working as he struggled to bear it.
Finally, stuffed impossibly far into his ass, the toy stilled. Oliver held it, watching him. Rune lay there, afraid to move, impaled and chained, made utterly vulnerable and helpless. Though Elet possessed the largest cock to ever fuck him, the phallus Oliver had just forced into Rune was longer, if not thicker. It had to be the size of a small arm.
Rune reminded himself again of how much he’d scared Oliver lately, in so many ways. He understood Oliver’s impulse to pin Rune down, to chain him and overpower him and physically conquer him. Because in that moment, spread, bound and fucked, Rune had no escape. He had given himself over completely to his Master. Though he had his safe sign, it was Rune’s only out. Oliver had no reason to listen to Rune’s pleas or whimpers. He was fully empowered to keep Rune in that bed, chained and violated, as long as he wanted. It was just another way their tug-of-war for control continued, and now Oliver was certainly winning.
More than a little scared of the insane phallus stuffed inside him, and what might happen to him next, Rune felt his heart race. He tried to get his breathing slowed down and regulated, but then Oliver took hold of him by the balls, and pulled, and squeezed.
Instantly, Rune’s stomach and thighs clenched tightly, cramping, and he coughed, whined, moaned. Reflexively, he bucked, but Oliver had him in two places, so he couldn’t go far.
Oliver kept applying pressure to Rune’s testicles. It was steady, careful, awful. He didn’t let up or let go. Still, it was much nicer than a kick. Rune had enjoyed kicking Oliver in the nuts quite a lot, actually, though he had no plans to admit as much; not that he needed to, clearly.
When the hand squeezing him released, the cock began to slowly withdraw. The sensation was startling, but welcome, giving Rune some relief from the maddening pressure. It didn’t last long. Oliver pushed to reclaim him right away. On the in-stroke, back into him, Oliver started to lightly slap Rune’s sac where it hung, over and over. Rune groaned in protest and clenched up, tried to curl forward. It didn’t help or work, so he pulled his legs back, drawing them together. He tried everything to fight it, uselessly, the pain of each light smack a shockwave that made him feel panicked and desperate. He pleaded wordlessly, too far gone to care what he might have sounded like. Oliver ignored it, and Rune’s guilt became more and more satisfied with his torment. He stopped fighting or protesting and just surrendered to it. The big fucking arm kept riding his ass and Oliver kept batting away at Rune’s sac, though his ass was still clenched in protest and it made the penetrations ache that much more.
The thrusts grew longer, more complete as Rune’s body adjusted. It quickly made Rune dizzy, unable to stop panting for air, his body tugged and pushed with each thrust. The slapping stopped and Oliver roughly massaged Rune’s balls instead. Rune kept waiting for a squeeze, a slap, and they came, but not at predictable intervals. There was no anticipating anything.
More control slipped from him. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. He forgot everything but enduring each moment.
It went on and on. He feared Oliver planned to keep this up all day long, working out weeks of worry in one session. A new level of exhaustion and nervousness began to take over, the throbbing in his rectum the loudest thing he’d ever experienced. The shaft was grinding on his gland, and the push and pull of the deep fucking continued to mortify him.
The toy stilled. Rune breathed his thanks, but realized Oliver wasn’t taking it out. He’d buried it again to the root, left it there.
Oliver climbed on the bed, by Rune’s head.
Before Rune could anticipate it, Oliver wrenched open Rune’s mouth and fed him Oliver’s cock, which pushed fast into his throat. The angle helped Rune be able to take it. Reflex kicked in, so he fought it at first, gagging on it. At the same time, a wet hand started to tug Rune’s erection and he hated the rush of pleasure. Fought against it harder than he’d fought the pain.
Convulsing, unable to breathe, Rune kept choking on the cock in his throat, which was riding him gently, shallowly, but too deep. The hand jacked him faster, bombarding him with a building need to come, his balls full and heavy. Oliver rubbed down over them, likely causing a rising sharpness in Rune’s cries, but Oliver stayed fairly gentle with them.
As blackness crowded in at the edges to Rune’s vision, Oliver finally gave Rune some air, letting him gasp, then plunged in again. He caressed Rune’s throat, tracing the edge of his stretched, wet lips, and clasped his jaw.
The hand jacked Rune harder and orgasm slammed into him without warning, his vision completely blacking out. Semen flooded Oliver’s fingers which squeezed the thick fluid over his shaft, his fingers constricting around the head as he shook drops free of it.
Rune moaned around Oliver’s cock. When he let go, Oliver went back to fucking Rune with the toy, watching him writhe and quake as he was taken from both ends at once, proving to him that it was always possible to be made even more powerless. All it took was some incentive and imagination.
Oliver’s come filled Rune’s mouth. Rune worked to swallow it, but Oliver pushed back into Rune’s throat and kept shooting down it. His hand caressed Rune’s neck as he struggled, feeling Rune’s throat continue to swallow around him.
When Oliver pulled out, Rune gasped for air like a drowning man.
Oliver gave him a moment to recover, but kept fucking him at a steady pace, then caressed Rune’s stomach as he began to hammer the cock into his ass at a bruising speed.
Yelling, cursing, fighting the chains, but not dreaming of using his safe sign, Rune took it. He had to. Because finally, he really, truly, understood. It didn’t even matter whether he had any control. Where he’d been, what he’d done, what he planned—it was inconsequential. Nothing in the whole world came close to what Rune felt when Oliver was driven to consume him. That was Oliver’s gift. His blessing. The salvation he offered.
The fear and the rage had no room in Rune when he was Oliver’s.