Date: Sat, 18 Dec 2010 21:10:13 -0800 (PST)
From: kevin Donovan <letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: chapter 2 can't rape the willing, gay male authoritarian

CAN'T RAPE THE WILLING

Kevin Donovan

letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com


What follows is a work of gay erotic fiction, featuring bondage,
domination, some light kink.  It is completely fiction.  All participants,
if they existed, would be over the legal age for consent wherever you live.
If you yourself are under that age, leave now.  The author never condones
any kind of coerced sex or unprotected sex.  Like all Nifty authors, I get
inspiration and encouragement from your comments, so please don't be shy.

 This is only my second Authoritarian piece: the first was "The Harem,"
October 11, 2001.

CHAPTER TWO: `BOSS'

            Jake woke, groggy, head splitting.  He was in a cave-dark
room--no, it might not be the room, it might just be the soft black
head-mask he wore.  He tried to shift his legs: no dice.  They were firmly
tied from the ankles.  He drew his arms in: likewise, from the wrists.

            His movements attracted some attention, however.  He felt a
weight on the surface he lay on.  A zipper drew across the mouth of his
mask.  Fingers pushed in two tablets.  A plastic cup pressed at his lower
lip, splashing water across his chin and throat.  He fought to resist the
dose.  "Aspirin," a rough, male voice whispered.  Could be cyanide for all
he knew, but Jake swallowed.  His head did really throb.  The zip closed.


            The fingers ran across Jake's bare chest, and down his abdomen.
He realized, without surprise, he was naked.  The room was warm, though,
and there was no top-sheet.  The imprints of a man's weight moved around
the side of the mattress.  Then moist, hairy underarms lay across his own
lightly-haired, muscular thighs.  A warm mouth engulfed his limp dick.
With the aid of his headache, Jake tried not to enjoy it.  He even tried
not to get an erection, but it was no use.  The mouth was damn good.  It
alternated between deep-throating Jeff's seven-inch rod and sucking in
either one, or both, of his ample testicles within its soft, wet cavity.
He struggled to resist, and lasted quite a while, as the mouth relentlessly
and determinedly pursued its goal.  Finally, he could stand it no more.
Jake let fly with a long series of shots of his sperm, right into the
waiting and eager mouth.

            The weight left the foot of the bed.  A door opened, then
closed.  He lay alone, in darkness.  He dozed.


            He didn't hear the door as it re-opened.  Instead, he came to
when he felt his feet, which were actually attached to some kind of heavy
dowel, already released from the bed-frame, being hoisted by a pulley into
the air.  They rose, rotating and lifting his buttocks, until his
mid-section was a couple of feet or so above the mattress.  His captor
kneed toward him from the foot of the bed.  He fondled Jake's balls.  There
was jiggling on the mattress--maybe he was stroking himself up.  Then, Jake
felt the blunt and spongy head of a man's cock press against his dry, tight
rectum.  Without warning or preparation, not so much as a spit, it pushed
suddenly and forcefully into his bowel.  The pain was as sharp and intense
as if a base-ball bat had been abruptly shoved up his ass.  It felt the
size of a bat, too.  He screamed, as best he could, with his chin confined
within the mask.  The cock drew back, then rammed his gut again, and a
third time.  Jake screamed again.


            It seemed he might have heard a sharp intake of breath over to
the side, near the door, but he could not be sure.  There might be a third
person in the room.  But the harsh raping continued, and his screaming
continued, diverting his mind from that possibility.  His rapist was hung
huge, at least nine inches, and thick.

            In a few minutes, the pain of the rough sex subsided, and
Jake's own ass juices, combined with the other man's precum, lubricated his
rectum.  Jake's screams turned gradually into little shrieks, then high
moans.  By the time the assailant's cock erupted in ejaculation, Jake's
vocalization were reduced mainly to little groans of longing for release.
His captor simply grunted, pulled out, and left the room.  Jake was left in
the dark, his legs still suspended, his own cock throbbing with
frustration.


            `So, this is rape,' he thought.  `What the hell was I thinking.
It hurts like fuck.'  He felt alien jizz drip from his ass--no condom,
then, for sure.  Jake began to cry.  In all likelihood, this man would use
his ass until he was no longer horny for it, then kill him and dump his
body someplace.  Ethan would not even call him until morning at the
earliest--was it morning already?-- not after last night.  Hell, it might
be much longer--maybe never, if he was determined for Jake to make the
first move to make up.  The tears rolled, soaking the face of his mask.


            They'd miss him at work, and check, and soon enough report him
missing, Jake hoped.  Shit.


            Problem: his firm shut down for the whole of Thanksgiving week.
He'd been nabbed on Friday night.  It was now, what, maybe Saturday?
Sunday, latest, depending on how long he'd been out.  He had a full
nine-day holiday before he would have to report for work.  And he had
adamantly refused to fight the throngs and have his junk groped at the
airport to fly home to visit his parents.  Even if they called and got no
response, they'd just assume he got lucky with some chick--he was not out
yet back home.


            Problem: unless his body washed up in the river before then.


            Jake did not sleep. His legs, suspended, cramped.  After thirty
to forty minutes, the door opened, and his kidnapper returned.  Jake was
determined to speak to him, mumbling through the closed, tight mask.


            "Hey, dude, I have no idea who you are, you know.  No clue
where we are, either.  So it's safe to let me go, OK?  Get your rocks off,
that's fine, then just send me on my way, OK?  I'll never say a word."


            The response was a guttural grunt and the same big cock thrust
up the exhaust pipe again.  This time, it was not quite so horrible, since
some slickness and dilation remained from the earlier reaming.  Still, it
was demeaning, and frightening, and painful.  And yet...damn, Jake did love
to get fucked.  This was one of the bigger dicks he'd ever taken, and it
filled him to capacity.  With lube and a little foreplay, he'd have enjoyed
it.  Shit, he was almost enjoying it now, after warming up, if he wasn't
scared shitless.

            The steady ass-slamming continued.


            "Well, what do I call you, then?  Master?"


            The man paused.  He idly jiggled his cock-head in and out of
Jake's sphincter pleasingly as if considering.


            "Naw.  `Stud' or `Boss.'"


            "I'm Jake."


            "You're `Puss.'"


            The ass-slamming resumed, maybe harder.  Boss's firm hips
collided forcefully with Jake's butt muscles at each collision, making them
jiggle.  It felt like he might be bruised afterward.


After fifteen minutes of hard thrusting, Jake's assailant finished with a
shudder, pulled out, and slid off the bed.  Slam, bam--not a word of
thanks, man.  Damn.  But he lowered Jake's legs and fastened them back to
the footboard.

            He tried to think of whether that voice was recognizable to
him.  It was so low and guttural, he couldn't tell.  Jake often used
various pet names with Ethan, one of which was `Stud,' since Ethan topped
him so often and so well, and he thought Ethan kind of liked it.  But never
`Boss.'  So, by default, the Captor would be `Boss' to him.


One thing sure: Boss was one hell of a high-T, sexy man.  Jake found
himself wondering what Boss looked like.  His imaginary picture was pretty
impressive.


             This time, a couple of hours may have passed.  Jake didn't
think he slept, but he might have.  The man returned, hoisted up his legs,
and raped him.  An hour later, it happened again.  In all, Jake took his
captor up the ass six times during what he supposed was the night.  The
sheet at his hip level was soggy with expelled cum.  His rectum hurt, and
deep inside, his bowel ached.  He felt miserable--but he slept.


* * * * * * *

            When Jake awoke, things were different.  The head mask was
gone.  A wall sconce shed a modest amount of light into the room. His
wrists and ankles were not chained.  Instead, he wore a leather chest
harness, extending to a cock ring, locked into place, and the center back
ring had a length of chain attached to it, about fourteen feet long, whose
other end was bolted securely into the ceiling above the bed.  That meant
that Jake now had freedom to move around most of the center of his room.
On the headboard end, he actually had several spare feet of chain.  And on
that end, there was an open door, narrower than the entryway door.  He
peeked in.  It was a small bathroom, with a stall shower.  A washrag and
towel hung, folded, on the rack.  It was a tiny little place, but very
welcome. He was surprised he hadn't wet and shit himself already.  In the
other direction, a few feet from the foot of the bed, was a small café
table, with two flimsy chairs.

` Great, my kidnapper and I can have tea,' he thought bitterly.

But on the table were a pitcher of ice water, a plastic cup, and a covered
tray.  Suddenly, he realized--he was desperately thirsty, hungry enough to
be interested in what lay beneath that tray cover, and, he suspected,
likely to use the commode not much longer after he ate.  So he'd better get
at it.  A shower sounded good, too, if he could reach it.


His tray held a wrapped BLT sandwich, a little carton of applesauce, and a
pint of milk.  Not gourmet fare, but he wolfed it down.  Then, he moved to
the little bathroom to empty his bladder and bowel.  He found he could just
manage the shower, if he positioned himself just right.  He found
hotel-type soap and shampoo there, plus a new toothbrush and tube of paste.
There was also a rubber enema bulb.  Hint, hint.

`Boss isn't into packing the fudge,' he chuckled.  `Well, me, neither.'  He
filled the bulb and rinsed his bowel several times. He was relieved to note
that the run-off was not pink.  His traumatized ass felt much better after
the rest and the cleansing.

The "day" went slowly, as Jake had absolutely nothing to do.  He did
measure off his access to the room, and he discovered that he could not
quite make it to the entry door, and there was a "safe" zone for his captor
of about four feet from the door across the far end of the room, in case
Jake got rowdy.

After six hours or so of excruciating boredom had passed, the door opened,
and his captor entered.  He was completely naked, except now he wore a
black head cover, similar to Jake's only with the lower section removed to
that his mouth and chin showed.  He was white, about six feet two, and
lean, but very well muscled.  He had a honey-blond goatee.  His entire body
was evenly tanned.  His left thigh bore a cross tattoo in the area that
would normally be covered by pants, boardies, or cargo shorts.  The man's
body hair was light, and his pubes full, but shortened to half-length, in
the same honey-blond as the goatee.  `So the carpet matches the drapes,'
Jake thought, giving Boss a thorough look-over from his seat at the café
table.


"So, you like?" asked Boss.


"I'm gay, man.  I like to look at hot, naked men, and you're one of
`em. What can I say?"


"Had a fun day?"

"Feel like I ought to be crocheting booties, man, the way you've been
sperming my gut."


"Make `em size twelve, then, Boss chuckled.  I don'know who your tenth
grade biology teacher was, but you didn't learn shit. You ain't makin' no
baby.  Guess we could try again, though, just in case.  Face down, and
spread `em."


Jake sighed.  For a moment he debated his options.  Given time and
patience, he might be able to strangle this guy with his chain.  But if he
screwed it up, there could be grim consequences, and even if he succeeded,
he'd then be chained up in some guy's basement with no way to get out, and
the one person who knew he was there dead.  He slowly moved over to the bed
and did as instructed.


This time, there was a small mercy, in that his attacker at least spit on
his pucker before slamming his cock in to the hilt.  Jake gave his
customary scream, but with somewhat less sincerity than the day before.
Boss lay atop his back and hunched away at Jake's meaty ass.  His face lay
beside Jake's familiarly.

"Are you looking for ransom?" Jake asked.  "Because, trust me, my family
can't come up with much."


The man's head swung side to side, even as he continued to pile-drive
Jake's butt.


"You're going to kill me, then."

There was a long, scary pause.  Then the head shook negatively again.


He ground away at Jake's ass.  It was starting to feel pretty good again.

"So what, then?  What the fuck is this about?"


Jake didn't really expect an answer, and he got none, as the man picked up
the momentum of his fucking action, driving deeply and forcefully into
Jake's gut, until he spewed, gasping.


Then, just as he pulled out, he leaned forward and whispered cryptically
into Jake's ear.


"What?  What the fuck?" Jake addressed his captor's retreating bare
backside.


"'All for love'?"

What the fuck does that mean?"


But he realized this could spell trouble.  `Crazy fuck thinks he's in love
with me.' Jake moaned.


********


            Within the hour, the door opened again to admit the naked Boss
bearing a plastic plate of Kentucky Fried Chicken Original Recipe with
mashed potatoes and coleslaw.  He stepped back out, but returned with a
fresh pitcher of ice water and--two cans of Budweiser beer.  Jake could
have kissed him.  Never in his life had he been happier to see a small dose
of mediocre alcohol.

He ate and drank it all.  Afterward, as he sat at the table awaiting the
occasional belch, his captor returned, still masked but naked.  Jake didn't
speak, but eyed Boss curiously.  The man absolutely measured up to his
imaginary picture.  He was, quite simply, a beautiful man.  His muscles
were long and lean, but well-defined.  Even the size-twelves were shapely
and handsome.

Jake just got up, went over to the bed, and assumed the position, face
down..  The fellow actually chuckled, the first hint of humor he had
displayed.  But he didn't come to the bed.  Instead, he went back out
removing the trash from Jake's meal, but he quickly returned, carrying a
leather sling on a chain.  He stood in Jake's flimsy chair and affixed the
chain to the ceiling on a hook several feet from the table.


            "Get in," he grunted, and left the room.