Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The mansion on the outskirts of New York is erected like a stone and glass sentinel against the sky of December, its panoramic windows reflecting the distant lights of the city as stars drowned in a black well. It was 10: 30 at night, and the wall clock in the main hall - an ancient mahogany artifact that Frank had inherited from his grandfather, with hands that tic- tended up like an inexorable pulse - marked the time with a precision that now seemed like a mockery. Each second was stretched, a strained thread in the tapestry of his anxiety, while the air of the living room was filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional creeping of the fireplace and the tinting of the ice in his glass of whiskey. The liquor burned his throat, a false fire that did not calm the knot in his stomach, but rather stirred it, spreading down in a treacherous heat that caused his thighs to unintentionally pluck under the black silk pajamas. What if he doesn't come? What if all this is just another void disguised as fantasy, Frank thought, walking around on the Persian carpet that dampened its barefoot.

The mansion, with its vaulted ceilings and hunting walls that looked at it with eyes painted of reproach, felt more like a cage than a shelter that night. The heir to a dynasty that had shaped him into a man of impeccable suits and calculated smiles, Frank had been sailing a world that saw him as the epitome of success: tall, slender, with a sharp jaw and green eyes that closed deals in joint rooms. But under that armor, his body - subtle curves that the testosterone and the surgeons had sculpted in an imperfect harmony, small breasts that were erecting to the scum of silk, hips that were balanced with a grace that betrayed him in times of weakness - was a secret that tormented him and aroused him to equal parts. He was a man, yes, with pronouns that no one in his circle dared to question, but in the quietness of these nights, he longed to be stripped of all that: reduced to trembling flesh, to an object of desire that did not have to pretend control.
For three months, the vacuum had pushed it into the abyss of the dark net, a maze of anonymous forums where confessions were paid in cryptomonedas and raw truths.

I want you to get me out of here like I have no choice.
A whole weekend. Do what you want with me, but make it real.
No consensus, no shortcuts. Price is no problem.

The message had been a shouted cry in the digital ether, sent from a encrypted browser that erased his prints like tears in the rain. The answers had come as a flood: keyboard predators with empty promises, blurred photos of improvised basements and profiles that smelled of mutual despair. Frank had ruled them all out, his heart beating him with a mixture of disappointment and relief, until he appeared. With no flares, only a link to a small contract: seventy-two exact hours, collected on Friday at eleven, an initial deposit that confirmed the seriousness with a cold click on your offshore account. I'll break in. I'll drag you. I'll use you in my space, where time stops. Poison's words - that name knew in the second message, an alias that sounded temperate steel - had been recorded in his mind as an invisible tattoo, stirring feverish dreams where he was loaded on a wide shoulder, the world investing in a sumptuous of submission.

Frank had kept the disposable phone in his night table drawer, next to the security key: three calls at dawn on Monday, and it all ended up, the game dissolving like smoke. This is what I need, it was repeated now, standing in front of the window to look at the darkness of the garden, where the fused mushrooms with surgical precision were moving under a wind whispering storm promises. But the pulse in his belly under it gave him away, an insistent beat that made his clitoris swell against the fine cloth, the anus contracting in an anticipation that made him smile. My body already knows. He betrays me before he touches the door. The time was extended here, in this room that smelled of old leather and the well-warmed colony that it used for meetings, a space-time suspended where each clock tic was a step closer to the break that yearned and feared.

Two blocks away, in the driver's seat of an unmarked black van that was mixing with the shadows of an alley, Gerard counted the minutes with the patience of a predator who knows that hunting is inevitable. The vehicle board marked 10: 30, the engine turned off, leaving a silence that was filled only with its deep, controlled breathing, and the occasional friction of its leather gloves against the spent wheel.

Twenty-six years of life had hardened him as the concrete he now imagined under his boots: forged muscles in neighborhood gymnastics and other basements, his pale, scarred skin broke the predatory scheme, and green eyes that saw the world in layers of vulnerability. He was not a manual sadist, no; he claimed for these "experiences" on the margins of the network because the control was his balm, a way to order the chaos that had left him orphan at the age of 13 and wandering through dirty jobs until he found this niche: a painter of consented renditions, where the pain painted him with traces of care so as not to break the canvas.

But Frank... oh, Frank was a riddle that had caught him since the first message. He had devoured the attached photos a dozen times in the gloom of his basement: that curved neck as an invitation to bite, the blue veins beating under the pale skin, the glimpse of curves that promised a total delivery. A man in a body that pleads to be claimed, Gerard thought, adjusting the black latex mask that covered his face to his eyebrows, a blind veil that erased his identity and revived his own as a predator. Mine for three days. Seventy-two hours to disarm it, to see how it breaks and reacts in my hands. The contract was his bible: to break into the basement of his basement without mercy - a uterus of soundproofed walls, bolted chains and a mattress that he had absorbed groans from others, but none as he imagined from Frank - and there, in that underground limbo where time was measured in jars and not in hours, use it until the outside world faded. No weapons, no permanent; only strings that bit just, cold lubricant and their own cock as anchor. Gerard felt the pull on his crotch, a hardness that pressed on the load pants, by imagining Frank's light weight in his arms, the aroma of face colony mixing with fresh sweat. What if it's not enough? If three days know me a little, and I want to chain him up forever, feed him from my essence until he forgets his mansion and his deals? The obsession was already rising, a thread in his mind, dyed with a possessive tenderness that made him smile under the mask.

The space-time, in the van that smelled of oil and in advance, contracted: the street lights blink like fleeting stars, and every minute was a step closer to reclaiming what, in his delirium, he already felt like his.

He jumped the side gate of the garden at 10:50, his boots sinking into the wet grass with a sound that the wind drowned.

Gerard's basement was a 40-minute drive away, a journey that he had already mapped in his mind: dark curves on secondary roads, the limbo of the journey where Frank would debate himself tied in the back seat, his body betraying him with tremors that Gerard would calm him with firm gloves. He approached the back door, the photo giving way with a soft click - unlocked, as agreed in the last message exchange, a detail that made Gerard's heart beat with a sadistic delight. He entered the dark corridor, the air loaded with that luxury that irritated him and aroused him to equal parts: polished wood under his soles, a slight aroma of jasmine of some expensive diffuser.

The living room opened before him as a stage, and there was Frank, back to the window, the slender silhouette cut against the night, the glass in his hand shaking slightly. Look at him, Gerard thought, the hunger rising through his spine as an electric chilling." Waiting for his ruin like a lamb that knows the taste of the knife. He did not waste time; his arm threaded around Frank's waist with a feline precision, lifting him from the ground in a fluid movement that left him hanging like a cut puppet. Frank's body was light, warm against his chest, and Gerard inhaled deep: a wealthy colony, clean skin and a salty nuance of nerves that made him more hardened. "Not a sound, sugar, or I cover that pretty mouth before I prove what he knows," he murmured against his ear, the voice roars like gravel under boots, a hot breath that peeled Frank's hair.
Frank was debated for instinct - a choreographed struggle, loose kicks that slapped Gerard's legs, a drowned jade that was half theater, half truth - but his mind was a whirlwind: It's real. His strength, his smell of leather and smoke... God, I'm already wet, betraying myself before you really touch me. The arm around his waist was a tender iron band, pressing right under his ribs, and the surface of the mask against his neck - cold latex, hot breathing - sent a wave of heat directly to his crotch, the clitoris beating with an urgency that humiliated him.
Gerard removed the cloth from the pocket - smoked with a diluted sedative, just for the vertigo without the total vacuum - and pressed it against Frank's nose, the sweet chemical smell invading his senses as a forced kiss. "Take a deep breath, sugar. Frank inhaled, the world leaning in a whirlpool of shadows and promises, his body giving up with a sigh that was absolute surrender. He dropped inert in Gerard's arms, his heart hammering a rhythm that the captor felt like a drum of war. So fragile, so perfect, Gerard thought, carrying him to the back door with deliberate steps, Frank's weight against his shoulder a balm to his growing obsession. Three days. But time is already at my will. And yours, without even knowing.

The door closed with a final click, sealing the living room in its eternal silence, and the garden engulfed them in the night, where the space was contracted in the van and the time finally began to obey.

Chapter Text

The trip in the van spread like a bottomless abyss, every turn of the road a deaf blow that was nailed into Frank's bones, made heavier by the black bandage that stole his sight and left him at the mercy of a world made only of rocks and shadows. Tied to the back seat with that plastic flange that bit his wrists like a cruel bond, he felt the engine retumbling under his body like an alien and furious heart, but it was Poison's silence that strangled him more strongly. There was no voice, there was no mercy; only the chirping of the tires on the wet pavement, the stink of old leather and the rancid sweat that was pouring from the front, a smell that stirred his guts and yet stirred a dirty fire in his belly. The cloth that had been put in his face was still clouding his head, a dazzle that made time undone: minutes since he was taken out of his house, or already a whole night? I was kidnapped, Frank was repeated, his chest was tight as in a press, but under that armed fear, the secret that he had put into this was lurking: he had hired him to take it like this, to pretend that there was no way out. His body, that eternal enemy, already gave him away with a sticky heat between his legs, the clitoris swollen against the pajama's fabric, the anus squeezing into a nervous tic that filled him with shame. It can't really be, he was lying, grabbing the phone hidden in his pocket - the lifeguard to end everything - but in that rolling drawer, the kidnapping came to life of his own, a violation of the stalking that his head was repelling as his skin shouted. The air was loaded, thick with its own shrouded breath, and each pothole spun it, bowing its sensitive flesh, reminding it that it was no longer the untouchable of the big mansion, but a hostage in unknown claws.

Poison held the wheel with nails that were nailed to the skin of the leather, eyes nailed to the empty road that dragged them away from the city like a cloudy river to the end of the world. The latex mask scratched his face, making him the executioner Frank had invoked, but inside he burned a fixation that consumed him: I have him. I've ripped him out of his palace of money and made him meat for me, even for tonight. It was not the payment that moved him - the money that covered his hole in that gutted basement -; it was the pleasure of destroying a guy like Frank, with a stiff neck and days of gold, making him a bunch of tremors in his basement. Poison was already on top of him, sunk in that heat, tearing away sounds that no one else would hear, and his cock was getting hard as iron against the cloth, a pinch that made him jade. I'll take it until I know who it is, until I pray it stops... or goes on. The idea put him to a thousand and scared him at times; it was a pact, Frank could cut him off with a call, but now, with a panic tufo - sweet, raw - coming up to him, the kidnapping was pure, a take that made him feel king for a while. He took a sharp curve, and the car faded; the drowned groan from behind made him tighten his jaw. He's coming, my prey. I'll make you really scream.

The basement suddenly looked like a discreet coffin, a grey block in a corner of dead factories where street lights tipped like blind eyes. Poison cut the engine, and the silence fell like a yoke, heavy and definitive. He jumped out, the cold of the night nailing into his flesh, and raised Frank on his shoulder with a buffet - as light, as about to break, as a loot of war. I felt the heat of that body hanging by the silk of the pajamas, the crazy heartbeat hitting his shoulder.

The stairs to the basement squeezed under their boots, each step a deeper step in their hidden kingdom: the fourth was a black well, smooth cement walls that devoured the light and swallowed the screams, a focus hanging that puked a dirty clarity on the old mattress in between, marked by blurred traces of others that had passed by. He let it fall like a fart, the blow shaking the rotten air, and he turned away to look at it: the bandage in its place, the red wrists by the flange, the chest going up and down like a broken line. What a gem in his terror, Poison thought, the saliva accumulating in his mouth as he saw him writhing. It was the ideal kidnapping, the planned rape, and the shock - the rich now naked in his sewer - made him lick his lips.

Frank came back to himself with a bounce, the world a mess of ice and twilight: the hard ground biting his back, the tufo to mold and old iron wrapping it like a dirty rag, and above, the weight of someone who smelled it like food. He tried to turn, to cover himself, but his arms weighed lead, and the words came out in a broken whisper: "Please... let me go. Don't hurt me." It was the part of the theater, the kidnapping I had bought, but in that second, with the pulse buzzing in his ears, the fear really became - it has taken me to force, it will force me here, and there is no exit door -. Hot tears wet the bandage, but his body sold it: the legs were intertwined alone, the clitoris beating with a hunger that humiliated him, the anus loosened as if he welcomed the disaster.

Poison swollen on his knees, the cold scissors kissing his skin as he cut off his pajamas: first his chest, leaving the nipples warm by the cold and the awning; then his belly, soft and trembling; and down, in the air, his lips swollen, the clitoris stiff as a mute cry, and the anus, a pink fold that closed and opened under the raw light. Frank doubled, whining "no, for God's sake, don't put a finger on me," but his hip leapt, a tic that gave him away.

Poison threw the scissors with a sound that bounced on the walls like a hammer, the gloves clicking as they closed in fists. What a show in his panic, he thought, his heart grabbing his ribs as he opened Frank's legs with his knees, tying his ankles to the mattress poles with rough cords that scratched his flesh - hard, without looking; the pain was the soul of the kidnapping, of forcing him without a barracks. The dolls then, lying up to the header, leaving Frank stuck in that bed made of jirons, open as an animal in the trap. The time in that hole became rubber, sticky as fresh blood: minutes stretching in hours under the buzzing of the focus, air full of gasps and sweat. Poison tore off the mask of a pull, the latex sticking on the way out, showing his angulous face and greenish eyes that ate him alive. "Shut your mouth, sugar. Down here you can't even hear God. I got you, and now I'm gonna fuck you until you know not to breathe." His voice was a serious snoring, yet careless, only the stinginess of the one who takes what he wants.

The first point was a fire: Poison's open hand crushing on Frank's back with a lash that filled the basement, the fire spreading like hot oil, dyed the skin in live red. Frank shouted, a pure cry that ate the silent walls, his head a whirlwind - he's hitting me, he's going to destroy me, this is really forcing me - but the pain was tearing with a bitter taste, the anus giving up a little, squeezing a heat that sold it. Poison did not give a truce; his fingers went down, and the roes and owners, opening his lips to restrain the clitoris with the silent yolk, making Frank bend in a lament; then, spitting in the anus - no fusleries, only the wild -, putting a big finger that was nailed without notice, opening it with a scroll that took another noise. Fucking tight, Poison thought, moving his finger in anger, bending it to give in that deep corner that Frank's body put to dance, tears and fasting entangled in a broken noise. "Feel how I open you, sugar. Your flesh begs me, even if you deny." Frank was busting, the invasion of a knife that would cut it - it burns, it burns so much, but don't go away, you fuck me more -, its clitoris beating in empty, denied by the scare and delirium.

Poison opened his pants with anger, taking out his dick - tiesa, with swollen veins like twisted roots, the already slimmed tip of a clear and thick thread that shone under the dirty focus -, and he nailed into a ferocious slug: his head breaking Frank's anus like an attic, opening it to the maximum with a wet and dirty noise, a carnal chapoteum that resonated in the walls like a broken meat echo, the internal walls giving up one at a time, wrapping it in a heat that sucked and resisted at the same time. "Swallow everything, you taken bitch. That's when they take you by force, when they nail you until you bleed inside.".

Each push was a brutal conquest: deep, unbeatable at first, only the rush to take, to take from every inch, the glande rubbing against the sensitive wrinkles that were folding and giving, Frank's body shaking under like a fish in the net, the muscles of his thighs trembling, the small breasts rising and falling into jawns that were breaking in the throat, sharp cries passing to them, spooked, gourmet, as if the air were slipping into the swollen mouths. Poison felt the sweat of both of them gluing, his pubic hair scratching Frank's red skin from his ass with every clump of hips, the smell of raw sex - salty, musk, with a metallic touch of effort - flooding the basement like smoke from a bad fire. He roared at the drop, an animal sound that vibrated from his chest to Frank's, fiery jets and thick, filling the bottom of his insides, a hot ballast that spilled in irregular pulses, flooding, marking, causing the inner walls to be contracted in involuntary spasms around the cock that was still beating inside. Frank became rigid as a tensed bow, the neck tendons jumping, the toes curling against the ropes, shaking at the edge of something that did not come - an abyss of relief that was denied, leaving only the pounding void, the clitoris swollen by shattering the air in vain, a desperate pulse that made him cry in silence, tears blending with the sweat that struck him in the blindfolded eyes. But he did not drop it; he took off with an obscene pop, leaving the hole and fire, a burning that spread like a sweet poison from the broken anus to the loose knees, the semen slipping through its buttocks in sticky, white and hot streams, drawing grooves through the shaky skin as a seal of owner, dripping to the mattress in slow-drying pools. "Don't go out, sugar, not until I break you up, until every drop of mine burns you inside and reminds you who broke you." Frank was thrown into waves that shook the whole torso, the basement a furnace of pain and desire where the kidnapping was mixed with the forced in an inextricable knot, his head a vertigo of fragments he took me up to the tuetanus, he emptied me inside with his dirty heat, and I ask again, fuck, I ask it even if I kill the swollen anus palpating like an open wound that begged to be touched again, the whole body a traitor who was just a little bit into the void left by Poison, while the hot man was clawing at the beginning of his own, this one time, and he was shinged up against his own. "A moment of friction, rough and salty lips pressing the soaked temple, a fleeting kiss that was half threat, half twisted comfort, before the night swallowed them again, the focus buzzing like a distant insect over its tangled forms. The time was twisting down there, hours of stillness broken by drowning ayes and breaths that were entangled in the vicious air, sweat cooling in the skin, semen drying in sticky crusts, and the two, in the deepest of their twisted treatment, were sunk in the delivery that the rapture had released - a bond of flesh and fluids that tied them more than any rope, a hunger that grew in the dark, devouring them alive.

Chapter Text

Saturday night was crawling like an open wound, the basement a concrete belly that devoured time and spit only shadows. The air below was thick, filled with sweat and the metal stench of raw excitement, a smell that was attached to the walls as dry blood. Poison had lit a yellowish bulb in a corner, its dirty light projecting dark veins that were seeping through the cracked ground, making each chain look like a snake ready to bite. Outside, the December wind howled against the high windows of the basement, a deaf reminder of a world that Frank had left behind - his empty mansion, his unread emails accumulating as unpayable debts. Down here, time was not measured in hours; they were counted in heartbeat, in the swollen pulse of Frank's anus that was still palpating from the afternoon assault, an echo of rape that anchored him to the curly mattress. Kidnapped, Frank thought of flashes, genuine panic stirring his guts like a romo knife. This man took me out of my life, broke my door and put his dick in me like it was a hole in the wall. But the thought was drowned in the treacherous heat of his body, that traitor who was more open with each embezzlement, lubricating himself only with the memory of pain.

Poison raised him from the mattress with a brutal ease, his hands as large as tongs nailing into Frank's armpits, ignoring the bruises that already blossomed there as cardinals in a ripe fruit. "Up, sugar. Time to hang you like the sweet flesh you are," he grunts, his voice a scratched snoring that vibrated against Frank's ear. He chained him to the roof with broad straps that bit the skin of the wrists, pulling until Frank's arms stretched over his head, his shoulders crunching in protest, his feet just shrieking the cold ground. Frank's whole body was now thinking, exposed and trembling, the broad hips swinging slightly like a broken pendulum. Poison took a step back, admiring his work: the pale skin peeled with sweat, the nipples hardened like pink pebbles, and down, among the trembling thighs, that swollen vulva that dripped a clear thread of traitor moisture, framing the red anus - a ring of abused meat that would contract into the air, as if it pleaded and cursed at the same time. Me to destroy, Poison thought, "a sick knot of possession squeezing his chest. I took him out of his gold cage, dragged him here like an animal, and now his ass is begging me to take him back. How much more can it break before it's just mine, forever? The idea aroused him to the vertigo, his dick tightening against his pants like an iron bar, dripping a sticky trail on the fabric.

He approached slowly, deliberately, his boots crunching against the concrete like bones breaking. His hands went up Frank's thighs, fingernails sinking into the soft flesh until they left red grooves, and then they separated the buttocks with a crudder that ripped a slack from the pendant man's throat. "Look how you tremble, sugar. Your body knows you're my prisoner, I've stolen you and I'm beating you to death." He put raw lubricant on his fingers - cold and viscous, like machine oil - and pressed two against Frank's anus, forcing the initial resistance with a push that was pure assault. The sphincter gave way with a wet pop, the inner walls wrapped around the intruders as a desperate mouth, and Frank shouted, a gourmet sound that bounced on the walls as an echo of absolute rape. It hurts, Frank thought, the burning spreading like a lava through his bowels, the anus stretching to the limit, each nerve screaming in agony and stirred ecstasy. His clitoris was pounding furious, roaring the air in vain, denied by Poison's untold orders, and hot tears were coming up his cheeks, salted as the sweat dripping on his back. But his hip - that traitor bitch - pushed back, swallowing deeper, as if the body wanted to be desecrated to the bone.

Poison then plunged, releasing his dick with a scratching zipper and sinking it in a single blow, the bulbous glande opening up into the tight heat, rubbing against the sensitive walls with a friction that made the veins of his axis beat like living cables. "Here, bitch. Feel how I blow your ass, how I fill you with me until there's nothing left of your rich life." Each hit was a hammer: deep, relentless, the sac hitting Frank's thighs with wet chasquids, the semen of previous sessions splashing in dirty jets through his legs. Poison grumpy with every penetration, his hands on Frank's hips guiding the rhythm like a butcher driving his res, but his eyes - those green, feverish eyes - devoured the face of his prey: his mouth opened in a continuous groan, his eyes intertwined in an abyss of surrender. I love him like that, broken and hanging, his ass swallowing me like he never wanted me to come out, he thought, the pleasure going up his thorn like a sweet poison. I'll fuck him until I forget his name, until he can only scream mine. Sweat dripping from his forehead, mixing with Frank's, and for a moment, he bowed his head to lick the man's neck - a long, possessive, teeth roaring the skin to almost break it. "Good girl, squeezing like this. Your ass is tiring me, you see, like I know you're my hostage." He went down further, his mouth capturing a nipple in a wet kiss that was half suction, half bitten, the tongue turning around the hardened peak as his cock continued to hammer the anus, leaving a trail of saliva shining in the dirty light.

Frank hung there, time dissolving in a blur of pain and fire, the basement a private hell where every second was an eternity of invasion. This is real rape, repeated in fragments of mind, genuine panic stirring his stomach like bile. The anus was now burning, a volcano of swollen flesh that was contracting around Poison's cock, each retreat a agonizing void, each pushed a fullness that made him slack. His clitoris stoned like an exposed heart, roaring Poison's belly in vain, the denied orgasm accumulating like a storm that did not burst, leaving only a hunger that made him crazy. He had no words - only drowned syllables, "ah... by... God" - the body betraying him with spasms that pushed him against the assailant, as if his flesh were longing to be destroyed. Poison, in a shrewd, kissed his collarbone with feverish lips, licking the salted hole before going down to kiss the trembling belly, his tongue drawing wet lines through the skin while his hip was not ceasing, swallowing with saggy.

Poison ejaculated with an animal roar, hot jets flooding the bowels of Frank, a sticky, deep-spilled stream, marking each inner fold as a conquered territory. "Feel my milk rotting inside, reminding you to take you for this." He was nailed for a moment, breathing against Frank's neck, his dick beating still in the heat, before retiring with an obscene jellion, semen dripping through man's thighs in white and dirty streams. He then went down to Frank, unleashing the straps with an almost tender slow, massaging the numb arms with firm thumbs. "Shh, my love. He wrapped it in a rough blanket, the only aftercare on that night of brutality: a sip of water from a warm bottle, fingers combing the soaked hair. But even in softness, there was crudely - Poison licked a tear from Frank's cheek, smiling with teeth -." Cry sugar. Your tears are delicious. See, I'm breaking your soul, and you love it. "He kissed his jaw then, a soft kiss that became licked, his tongue tasting the sweat salt in the line of the palpiting vein.

On Sunday, it dawned with furious rain beating the basement, a flood that hammered the roof like impatient fingers, leaking into the basement into rhythmic drips that marked the passage of hours as a tortuous water watch. The space seemed more claustrophobic under the storm, the walls sweating moisture, the heavy air like a sweat. Poison went up for supplies - scrambled eggs in a greasy frying pan, black coffee that smoked like cigar smoke - and went down the tray with a metal tinting. Frank lay tied to the folding table now, legs open and fixed with straps that bit the ankles, the anus exposed to fresh air, even dripping remains from the previous night. Another stolen day, Frank thought, exhaustion weighing on his bones like lead. He raped me until my ass is just an echo of him, and the world outside is still spinning without me. How much longer before he doesn't want to come back? The pain was constant, a deaf pulse at its entrance that made it twist, but the body - always the body - responded with a wet heat, the clitoris swollen under Poison's eyes as a sick flower.

"Open your mouth, sugar," Poison ordered, sitting on the edge of the table, a tablespoon of eggs shaking in the air. Frank obeyed, his lips intertwined, and the salty taste exploded in his tongue, mixed with the bitter curse of dry semen in his throat. Poison fed him slow, deliberate, his free hand down to roar the sensitive anus - a finger drawing the swollen fold, pressing just enough for Frank to jump around the food -. "Eat well, I need you to be strong for what comes. I'm gonna fuck you again, until your ass blood my name." Frank's eyes were filled with fresh tears, the touch of a flash of pleasure - pain that made him bow, but Poison stopped him with a slap on his thigh. "Don't run. You're my hostage, not my lover. I use you when I want to." Inclining, he kissed the inside of his thigh, a wet kiss that became lamida, the tongue rising through the trembling skin to the edge of the vulva, tasting the sweat mixed with semen remains.

That morning, the penetration was slower, more intense - Poison mounted it on the table, the dick sinking into the anus already battered with a friction that scratched like sanding, every inch a raw claim. "Feel how I open you up, sugar. Your ass is made up for me, squeezing my shit like a dirty river." Frank was screaming with every blow, the concrete under the table vibrating with the impacts, his mind a chaos of yes, no, and more. The anus contracted around the intrusion, betraying it with spasms that milked Poison, and the man laughed, low and sadistic, biting Frank's shoulder until he left teeth. You're raping me with this hungry ass.

The rain of Sunday had become a constant roar, a grey veil that struck the basement as if the sky itself conspired to keep them locked in that wet and suffocating basement. The water dripped through the concrete walls into fine threads, forming puddles that lick the edges of the mattress as anxious languages, and the air was loaded with a thick odor to wet ground mixed with the raw sex musk - salted sweat, hardened semen and the treacherous juice that sprung out of Frank's body without his permission.

The time had been completely shredded; there were no watches down, only the hammering of the storm marking the morning-to-afternoon passage, each drop a reminder that Frank was trapped, kidnapped in this well where his captor had dragged him by force, breaking not only his door but every barrier of his flesh. He's taken everything, Frank thought of waves of panic that let him tremble. But the thought was drowning in the insistent pulse between his legs, that hot moisture that leaked through his thighs, the swollen anus and pussy begging for more invasion, as if his skin knew that pain was the only balm for the vacuum that Poison had dug in it.

Poison observed him from the edge of the table, his chest rising and coming down with heavy breaths, the cock still half-lived hanging between his legs as a latent threat, glossy of shared fluids. Fuck, look at him, I was thinking, hanging here, his pussy squeezing, his ass marked with my fingers... I kidnapped him for a bunch of bills, but now I'd hold him in chains, even if I got paid to let him go. It's mine, to fill until it reigns. He approached with slow, deliberate steps, the concrete crunching under his boots, and raised Frank from the table as if he weighed nothing - one arm under his knees, the other on his back, ignoring the protest groans that escaped from man's throat. "We're not done with the morning, sugar. I'm gonna use you until noon knows my semen in your tongue." He placed it on the soaked mattress, face up, and tied his wrists to the poles with strings that bit the already red skin, legs folded and opened by straps that fixed them to their own thighs, exposing all - the pounding anus, the swollen vulva dripping a clear thread that was lost on the mattress, the clitoris upright as a silent cry.

Without words, Poison knelt between his legs, his mouth descending like a predator over the exposed vulva. He licked with raw hunger, the flat and wide tongue sweeping his lips swollen in long lashes that sucked the salted juice, then sinking into the opening with stitches that pierced the inner walls, tasting the velvety heat that was contracted around it. Frank arched his back, a gourmet slack escaping from his chest, pleasure a fire that devoured him from within, his hips pushing against the invading mouth despite the terror that heeded his heart.

Poison grumpy against the flesh, vibrations that reverberated to the clitoris, which now licked with the tip of the tongue in fast circles, sucking just enough for Frank to twist, tears springing his cheeks. "So delicious, sugar. Your pussy is begging me to fuck you, to fill you again and again." The lick spread to the anus, the tongue tracing the red fold with a tortuous slow, pressing against the resistance until the ring was pierced with a wet push, tasting the interior with shots that made Frank scream, the body convulsing in uncontrollable spasms. He then went up, kissing the trembling belly with lips that sucked the skin, licking the fine hair line to the navel, where his tongue sank into a playful and possessive kiss.

But Poison did not let it break yet; he straightened, aligning his hard dick against the vulva, and pushed with a brutality that was pure claim - the glande making way in the slippery heat, stretching the walls until Frank felt that it was going on inside, a burning that was scratching in the tear. "Take it all sweaty. Feel how I blow your pussy, how I frame this hole that no one else will touch." It went deep, the venous axis rubbing each nerve with scratched friction, the sac hitting the perineum with wet chasquids that splashed fluids through the thighs. Frank howled, the strings cutting his skin as his body betrayed - the vulva contracting around the intrusion, milking it as if he wanted to assault, the clitoris beating against Poison's pubic hair in rocks that drove him crazy.

The pleasure accumulating like a storm in his belly, denied by Poison's hand that pinched the clitoris every time the climax threatened. Poison was lost in the rhythm, sweat dripping from his forehead to Frank's chest, his grunts a sadistic mantra: "Squeeze like this, sugar. Your pussy sucks me like I don't want him to come out, like you know you're mine to fuck all day." He lowered his head to kiss a nipple, licking the pink halo with slow circles as his cock was hammering, the saliva dripping from the side of the chest on a bright trail.

Poison's climax came as a drowning roar, hot jets flooding the deep vulva, a stream that spilled against the inner walls, then dripping through the crack until the anus was wet below. He retired with an obscene pop, the white semen falling on the mattress like curved milk, and left Frank panting, the body shaking on the edge of the vacuum. "Don't run away, my love. Hold on to me, the morning just starts." He unleashed it just to turn it upside down, the buttocks lifted up, and entered the anus without warning - the still slippery cock of the vulva sinking into the tighter heat, stretching the swollen ring with a push that ripped off a rugged cry from Frank.

The burning renewed a fire that made it arched, the semen of the vagina lubricating the anal invasion in a dirty mixture. Poison was scolding with saggy, hands on the hips leaving bruises, whispering against the back of the neck: "Feel how I fill you from behind, sugar. Your ass swallowing me whole, squeezing my milk like a broken whore." Eyaculó again, deep and hot, then tapping with fingers that pushed everything inside, a raw tenderness in the gesture. He kissed the curve of his exposed back, licking the sweat that perlated the skin, the tongue coming down to the base of the thorn where he bitten gently, leaving a wet kiss that contrasted with the crudeness of his previous embezzlement.

The afternoon slid into a limbo of breaks and assaults, the rain waving only to return with fury, as if the sky measured the pace of its violations. Poison fed him with the remains of cold eggs, tablespoons that he anointed in his own dick before forcing Frank to lick them - a forced blowjob that was pure humiliation, the man's mouth stretched around the salty axis, the tongue licking the glande as tears fell on Poison's thighs. "Suck." Frank was choking, his throat burning with every facial move, but his pussy was pounding down, dripping to the mattress in treason.

The disgust stirring with a hunger that embarrassed him. Poison used it like this half an hour, retreating to slap his face with his wet dick, laughing low: "Good girl, your tongue is as anxious as your pussy." Inclining, he kissed Frank's swollen lips in a possessive kiss, licking the saliva and semen trail of his chin, his tongue invading his mouth briefly before repushing.

Then, on the mattress again, he mounted it sideways - a Frank leg raised on Poison's shoulder, exposing both holes to alternate penetrations. First the pussy, slow embezzlement that rubbed the bottom with sadistic precision, causing Frank to soak and his body to bow, the clitoris shattering the man's thigh in desperate friction. "Look how I open you, sugar. Your pussy swallows my dick like it's thirsty." The pleasure went up in spirals, and this time Poison didn't stop him - he let the jet come, a hot squirt ejaculating around his axis, splashing his abs in an obscene bow that made him grunt with delight. "Yeah, move me, baby." Frank was breaking into ecstasy, the fluid sprouting uncontrollable, leaving puddles on the mattress, his mind a target makes me ejaculate like a broken source. Poison ejaculated in response, mixing semen with the squirt, before changing the anus - the glande pressing the slippery ring, sinking into the narrowest heat with a blow that made him moan. "Now your ass. Feel how I blow you on both sides, how I fill you until you drip for days." He kissed the inside of the raised knee, licking the sensitive skin behind the bone with playful strokes, his mouth then coming down to the thigh to suck a kiss that left a red mark.

The afternoon melted into a mist of sweat and moaning, Poison unleashing it for a short breath - warm water sorbid from his fingers, a kiss bitten in the temple that was almost tender, "Rest, my love, that the night will break you more" - before tying it again, this time partially suspended from the roof, his feet touching just the ground as he was standing, alternating between pussy and anus with embezzlement that made him swing like a pendulum of flesh. Each change was a break: the pussy swallowing deep, the walls shrinking into spasms that milked, then the anus resisting before giving in with a wet pop, the renewed pain making Frank scream, the pleasure a monster that devoured it, his clitoris beating denied until Poison pinched it, forcing another jet that splashed man's chest. Poison, lost in his obsession, licked the squirt of his own skin, grunting: I love him like this, dripping for me, his pussy and ass marked with my shape. Kidnapped forever in my dick. He kissed Frank's exposed neck while he was swarming, licking his throat with possessive lashes that tasted his fast pulse, his mouth coming down to his breasts to suck a nipple hungry, teeth shrieking right for Frank to bow more.

At dusk, with the rain becoming a whisper, Poison put him down exhausted to the mattress, wrapping him in his sweaty arms for a longer pause - fingers massaging the bruises, lips roaring his forehead in a sadistic chirp: "Shh, good girl. You've been so sweet today, so open to me." But the night was already falling, the gloom wrapping the basement like a shroud, and Poison felt the hunger to renew, his dick harden against Frank's hip. All day long using it, and I still wanted more. Frank, curled against that chest that smelled of them, trembled with an exhaustion that was half fear, half longing - the anus and pussy burning like eternal fires, the whole body a map of invasions that tied this man more than any chain. The storm outside was glowing, but down, the assault barely stopped, promising a night of more raw deliveries, more rapes that erased time.

Chapter Text

The morning of Monday was leaked in the basement like a stealth thief, a glow that llaminated the edges of the concrete walls, dyed the pools of dry rain with a fantastic tone. The air below was a heavy sweat, impregnated with three days of sweat and fluids - the smoothed smell of hardened semen on Frank's skin, the salty juice of his own betrayal dripping still through his thighs, and the metallic echo of the chains that now lay inert on the ground as dead snakes. The time, that capricious enemy, had devoured the seventy-two hours with a voracious greed, leaving Frank lying on the curly mattress, the body an exhausted canvas of tender bruises and red marks that palpated like living memories. His anus burned with a deaf, swollen, and sensitive fire to the rote of the rough blanket that Poison had thrown on him at the last pause; the pussy, on the other hand, was a constant pulse of slippery heat, a vacuum that still contracted around the memory of brutal embezzlement, dripping out remains of semen that cooled against his buttocks. Kidnapped, raped, broken, Frank thought of fragments of cloudy mind, residual panic stirring his guts like a distant echo. He dragged me here, forced me into every corner of my flesh, and my body let him in as if he were the only man who has ever really been able to claim me. But under terror, there was a deeper void, a longing that made him tremble - not cold, but the imminent absence of that possessive heat that had filled him to the edge, which had made him feel alive in his own destruction.

Poison lay next to him, his wide chest rising and down with deep breaths, his heavy arm crossed over Frank's waist as an invisible chain. In the dark, his tanned face seemed almost vulnerable, his skin so clear that he invited her to mark it, but his greenish eyes - open, vigilant - devoured the silhouette of man at his side with a hunger that was rooted in psychotic devotion. I spent seventy-two hours, I thought, a knot of obsession, squeezing his chest like a fist. I fucked him until his pussy and his ass bled my name, I made him chew like a bitch in heat, and now... now the contract makes me let him go. But fuck, how it hurts to imagine him back in that cold mansion, without my hands marking his skin. He bowed slowly, his lips shrieking Frank's temple in a kiss that was half-rushing, half-bitten - the tongue licking the pulse accelerated there, tasting the salty sweat mixed with dry tears -. "Wake up, sugar," he murmured against his skin, the roar voice of exhaustion and desire contained. "Time is running out, sunrise brings your freedom... or whatever's left of it." Frank blink, the world a blur of shadows and the weight of that body on his, and a groan escaped from his throat when Poison's hand went down, shattering the curve of his hip with a tenderness that contrasted the chaos of the previous days. No, don't let go of me, Frank thought, "the heart a fist in his chest, but the words drowned in a drowning sob, his body too exhausted to fight, too addicted to beg.".

He unleashed it completely this time, the strings falling to the ground with a deaf whisper, and raised it in arms like an exhausted child, loading it up to the basement bath - an austere space with cracked tiles and a shower that spit warm water as a repetitive breath. Poison sat him on the edge of the bathtub, opening the tap with an efficient gesture, and kneeled before him, washing Frank's body with a rough sponge that scratched right to stir the burning on his skin. Soap water ran through the small breasts, losing the nipples still sensitive, and coming down the trembling belly to the crotch, where Poison cleaned with gentle but firm fingers - separating the swollen lips from the vulva, rinsing the residual semen with a touch that made Frank jadeara, the clitoris beating under the rock like an exposed heart. "Shh, my love. Let me take care of you one last time," Poison whispered, kissing the inside of his thigh, the tongue licking a trail of water through the skin before going up to capture a nipple in his mouth - a soft suction that was pure aftercare, teeth bowing just to remember the sweet pain of past bites. Frank was sobbing now, not of fear, but of a loss that drowned him; his hand was wrapped in Poison's hair, sluggish, as if he could cast him there forever. Why I hired him, he thought of a flash of clarity under the water jet. Because my life was a void of suits and numbers, a body that the world saw as a woman but that yelled for being possessed as a man... for being forced to surrender until pleasure broke my pride. I looked it up in the shadows because I needed someone to steal my control, rape my soul to fill it with something real. And he... he did. He broke me, he took care of me in the pieces, and now it hurts more than any blow. The water washed the dirt, but not the vacuum; the physical wounds - bruises on the wrists that stoned like exposed veins, the anus that contracted with a sharp puncture when sitting, the red vulva that shone the air as a dollient secret - were only the beginning of the healing that would come, a slow process where the body reclaimed layer by layer, but the soul bled deeper.

Dry and dressed in borrowed clothes - slit pants that shrieked his sensitive skin like a mild punishment, a t-shirt that smelled Poison - Frank was taken to the van under the sky of dawn. The return trip was a loaded silence, the curves of the road a limbo where Poison's hands were rubbing his hands in the change of marches, a fragile bond that none would break with words. I let him go, but not entirely, thought Poison, his mind a whirlwind of possession and resignation. I fulfill the contract, leave it at his door as if nothing, and I disappear... but his body carries my mark, my seed rotting inside him. If fate is cruel, I will see it again; if not, at least I have had it broken in my arms. They came to the mansion when the sun looked shy, dyed the faked gold mushrooms. Poison parked two blocks, like at first, and helped Frank down, his arm around the waist a last claim. At the threshold of the gate, they stopped; Poison turned it gently, kissing it deep - tongues entangled in a desperate dance, teeth biting the lower lip to taste salty blood, his hand on Frank's back pulling to deepen the kiss as if he could swallow its essence. "Go back to your life, sugar," he whispered against his mouth, licking the trail of saliva that shone in the chin. "But remember, every pulse in your pussy, every burn in your ass... that's mine. If you need me, look me in the shadows." It just turned around, the black silhouette melting with the morning fog, disappearing like a ghost leaving only echoes.

Frank entered the wobble mansion, the cold luxury wrapping it like a mockery - Persian carpets that dampened his steps, windows that devoured the light without heating the vacuum on his chest. He went up to his bedroom, the mirror, giving him a face that was so daft, marked with chupetons that blossomed like purple on his neck and breasts, bruising on the hips that hurt the scum of the silk of his bed. The body collapsed into the king mattress, a map of invasions that still pounded: the anus a deaf fire that made him moan when he moved, the swollen pussy dripping a last thread of traitor moisture, the clitoris beating with a yearning that Poison had awakened and denied. I hired him because I needed this, he reflected on the quiet of noon, hot tears surpassing his cheeks as his fingers came down by instinct, roaring the sensitive entrance just to retreat with a slack. My life was controlled, calculated - accounts in tax havens, meetings where I pretended to be the untouchable man. But this body... curves that betray me, a void that cries out for being filled with pain and surrender. I looked for him to kidnap me, he'll take my pride until there's only raw pleasure left, a submission that made me feel alive. And he... he did. He broke me, he took care of me in the pieces, and now it hurts more than any blow. The sadness then wrapped him up like a lead blanket, a weight that sank him in bed for days - the world outside turned with urgent e-mails and ignored calls, but he lay still, the body curing to a grudgingly: ointment in the red wrists that relieved the burning but not the echo of the strings, salt baths that calmed the inflamed vulva, making the water scum a temporary balm against the vacuum that Poison had left. Physically, the marks fade in two weeks - bruising yellowing like dead leaves, the anus recovering its softness with creams that were itching at first, the sensitive skin responding with a tingling that was half relief, half longing -. But emotionally, healing was a dark maze: nights of insomnia where sleep brought flashes from the basement - the clap of a pat, the heat of a cock invading, the sadistic rashes that had made him moan like a broken animal.

He cried in silence, his chest oppressed by a loneliness that was worse than kidnapping; he touched himself in the shower, fingers sinking into the vulva with a desperate urgency, but orgasm came empty, a warm jet that did not fill the hole, only made him cry stronger. I miss it like a poison that saved me, I thought, curled in bed with the sheets that smelled of colony face and absence, I yearn for a knot in the throat that asphyxiated it. Therapy in stolen sessions - an anonymous therapist who heard his lies half about "an intense weekend" -, walks in the garden where the wind licked his skin as Poison's tongue would never do it again, poetry books that read as unsent letters. Little by little, the soul was reclaimed in fragments: forced laughter in business dinners, a new suit that shrouded the hips without pain, dreams that became less feverish, replaced by a tolerable vacuum. But sadness persisted as an underground current, a deaf pulse that made him look at the deep web in the early days, looking for echoes of Poison without daring to call.

Months later, in March, the surprise came as a thunder in the restored routine - meetings on Wall Street where his voice no longer trembled, solitary dinners in expensive restaurants where wine no longer knew tears. The symptoms had started subtle, such as whispers of the treacherous body that he knew so much: morning nausea that bent him over the sink, a bitter acid rising up his throat like the memory of swallowed semen, attributed to the residual stress of the "incident." The fact that he was nailed to the couch after work, a weight on the bones that made his hips - still sensitive to the friction of office chairs - hurt with a new type of language, not the burning of the healed wounds, but a deep tiredness that made him sleep 16 hours in a row, dreaming of swollen vientres and possessive hands. His breasts, always small and firm, became sensitive to the scroll of the shirt, nipples that were stung with a sweet pinch when they dressed, as if they remembered Poison's suctions but now swollen, more full. The belly, flat and tense, began to be rounded in a soft curve that the mirror returned to it as a lie - a subtle bulging under the skin that made it press the palm there in the showers, feeling an internal heat that was not pleasure, but something alive, beating. What is this?, he wondered in the previous weeks, the clitoris beating with less urgency, his pussy wet by hormonal whims that wet him at inopportune times, like in a joint where the coffee aroma made him dizzy. The sadness was intertwined with these changes: days when the yearning for Poison became acute, a void in the chest that was confused with the stomach discomfort, nights where he wept touching his belly, imagining that it was his seed that filled him again, not an echo of rape, but a broken promise.

The discovery was a solitary ritual in the marble bath, the pregnancy kit purchased in an anonymous pharmacy with trembling hands, the white plastic lying on the counter as a pending verdict. Two pink lines emerged minutes later, a silent cry in the soaked mirror. Pregnant, he thought, panic and wonder stirring his guts like an echo of those days in the basement, nausea coming up again, but now with a name. His seed, planted in me for many times, whispering like a tender curse... has taken root. I carry your son, a bond that doesn't break with contracts or disappearances. Tears fell, not of fear, but of a renewed possession - the body that had betrayed him now tied him to Poison forever, a belly that would swell with something of his, a living reminder that the kidnapping had been real, the absolute surrender. He collapsed on his knees on the cold ground, his hand over the incipient bulging, feeling the heat as a shared pulse, and the sadness was transformed into something new: a duel for the lost, but also a balm, the final healing in the form of life that grew where pleasure and pain had melted. I hired him to break up, and he gave me something eternal, he reflected, the crying giving way to a trembling smile. He then looked in the shadows of the deep web, the reverse ad beating on his fingers:

I'm looking for you, Poison.
Come back. This time, forever.

The world above continued to turn - fortunes, facades - but inside it, the basement reborn, a home of chains and longs where Poison, wherever he was, would feel the pull. The game was over, but the obsession was just beginning, a bond of flesh and blood that none could undo.