“I’m…I’m not gonna say it. You can’t make me say it.”
Evan was coated in sweat, the marks on his back turning dark as the welts grew across. He’d lost track of the hours at this point, it had simple melded together into a blur of pain and pleasure–Barrett lashing him, Mick taunting him and fucking him with his dildo, promising him a real cock if he’d just admit it–admit that what Evan wanted, what he reall wanted, the reason he’d come back, was to be their boy, for real. But Evan wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction, if he could help it.
Barrett was panting a bit, and snapping the whip he was currently bringing down on the boy’s back. He cracked his neck and grunted, while Mick leaned in a bit closer to Evan, bringing his face close. “Boy–you don’t get it, do you? I don’t need you to ask for it, anymore. I just need you to admit it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Boy, now you’re just being obstinate.”
“I’m not your fucking boy, you fucker! Now let me the fuck out of here, you can’t fucking keep me in here, you’re asses are going to be in jail for the rest of your fucking life.”
“You gotta stop pretending boy, because now this is just silly. It was funny, at first, but now your daddies are starting to get…tired of your fatherfuckin’ shit.”
“You can’t do anything else to me, you dumbfuck, this is all you got. And you made me fucking like it! What the fuck did you expect?”
Mick just glared back.
“Jus’ fuckin’ show the boy, Mick,” Barrett said, frustrated, “I know ya like the reveal of it ‘n all, but he ain’t gonna git it ‘til he sees it.”
“Shut up Barrett.”
“Mick, yer just as fuckin’ bullheaded as the damn boy!”
“Not fucking in front of him!” Mick said, whirling on Barrett.
The argued for a bit, giving Evan a chance to catch his breath and try and regroup. It was…true, in a sense. He enjoyed this. He’d cum…fuck, he didn’t know how many times, but he didn’t want this to stop, he wanted his daddies to keep abusing him all fucking night long–
No–No, not daddies, why had he thought that?
“Fine, fucking fine, whatever–you’re fucking right, alright?” Mick said, and walked back to where Evan was bound to the cross, and he undid the chains holding him to the wooden cross. “Barrett says we could all use a little break, boy, so why don’t we all go have a drink? Then we can have some more fun.”
The bar–if they took him back to the bar, maybe he could escape out the door, if he was quick. He feigned exhaustion…but he didn’t have to fake much. His legs were rubbery, his back was screaming, and he still couldn’t really stand up straight because of the chain running from septum to glans. Still, the dim light of the bar was still a revelation to him, after so long in the red. Barrett went to the bar to get a round, while Mick directed Evan over to a table and sat him down, where Evan found he had a clear view of himself in a mirror stretching along the wall…and when he saw the image of himself there at the table with Mick, his jaw dropped, and he hauled his way out of the chair and over to the glass.
“The..what the fuck did you do to me?”
“I told you boy–I don’t need you to say it anymore,” Mick said, “We’re just waiting for you to admit it, finally.”
It wasn’t him, in the mirror. Not the person he’d been, at least. He was six inches shorter, or so, and quite a bit fatter. Arms and belly soft, the chain running tight against the curve of his gut to the smaller cock underneath the overhang. “I’m not…I’m not their boy, though…” he muttered to himself.
“Boy, git o’er here, ‘n sit down. Ya gotta take a break.”
“O…Ok daddy,” Evan muttered, and turned to where his daddies were sitting at the table, Barrett with three beers for them all, Mick looking like someone had spoiled his whole fun, and Barrett smiling warmly at him. He walked over, trying to sort out all of the thoughts and narratives in his head, but before he could get to his seat, Barrett grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms around his boy, Evan gritting his teeth in pleasure at the sting of his daddy’s sweat against his flayed back.
“Feel good, boy?”
“Y-Yeah daddy…”
“That’s a good boy. Ya doin’ a’ight? Daddy wasn’t too rough, was he?”
“Daddy…ya…ya know ya can’t be too rough with me…right?”
Mick scowled a bit at them both, “My way is more fun, you know.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Barrett said, “but I think the boy’s been through enough, for a bit.”
“No way daddy! You can whip me some more, can’t you?”
“Heh–of course boy,” Barrett said, pulling his chubby pain pig closer. “I bet daddy Mick o’er there will lighten up once he gits his thick arm buried up that boy cunt, right boy?”
Evan looked at the door to the bar–he’d…he needed to leave, didn’t he? He’d planned on running, but why? He could remember…something, a vague something, but it had dissolved in the mirror behind him. He looked back at the mirror, and he thought, for a moment, he caught a glimpse of a man in the mirror, pounding at the other side, screaming, but a smack on the thigh from Barrett brought him back to what mattered, back to his daddies. “Yeah! Yeah, daddy Mick, you wanna fist me? I wanna feel that big fist in my hole way more than my dildo!”
Mick’s glower softened a bit, and he nodded. “Sure boy, I’ll fist you for sure. Fist you so fucking hard you spurt a load of boycum right out without even touching that cock of yours.”
Evan grinned, and bounced a bit on Barrett’s knee, rocking on the dildo as they drink, and when they finished, they went back into the red, and by morning, even the mirror had forgotten Evan had existed.
Bracken's Corner 