Breakdown Motel Part 2 (Gay BDSM Erotica) (11 page)

“Well X,” he said, reaching down to stroke
the head of the slave kneeling before him, obediently licking the
sole of his master’s foot. “What do you think of him?”

Danny paused, lifting his head to look his
master in the eye. “He’s… perfect, sir.”

Mason smiled, content. “Yes,” he mused,
taking another long draw. “Yes, he is…”

~*~

Stroke… Stroke… Stroke…

Jeff could hear the voice of his old
coxswain in his head, an echoing memory from his days spent on the
high school rowing team long ago. Back then, he used to spend every
Saturday morning on the Pecos River, rowing in tandem with the rest
of his varsity crew team as the sun came up. He had loved the
serenity of it, the pure, focused athleticism. The river was where
Jeff had learned to push himself.

Now, years later, history seemed to have
repeated itself. Jeff was rowing once more, pushing himself as he
had back then. But there was no shimmering water now, no fellow
rowers, no coxswain keeping pace. There wasn’t even a boat.
Instead, Jeff found himself in a boxy, dimly lit cement maintenance
room beneath the motel, his wrists and ankles cuffed to what
appeared to be a basic rowing machine. Of course, at Motel X,
nothing was ever what it seemed, and the rowing machine was no
exception. With a little tinkering from Gus, the seat had been
modified – a chrome dildo jutted straight up out of it. You
couldn’t see it though, not with Jeff at the helm, naked and
glistening with sweat, the dildo neatly buried up his ass as he
endured his forced workout.

He’d been at it for almost an hour now, just
as he had every other morning for the past… it felt like a month,
but he had lost track. He and the ten other slaves at the motel
were forced to take regular shifts, all part of a steady effort by
Mason to keep them in pristine shape. Jeff felt grateful for the
fact that rowing meant so much to him – he was able to use the
workouts as a way to hang on to something from his real life. He
would constantly find himself closing his eyes as he kept his
steady pace, his mind drifting back to specific races he had taken
part in years ago. He would do his best to try and relive them,
remembering each and every stroke in real time as he slid back and
forth on the machine, ignoring the gradual stretch of the dildo,
blocking out the rest of the motel as best as he could.

In this way, the forced workouts became a
kind of escape for Jeff, one of the primary ways in which he was
working to, as Danny had put it, hold on to himself, to who he
really was. He had actually come to enjoy them, in spite of the
fact that crude wiring running along the underside of the machine
meant that the dildo would electrocute him if the machine ever
stopped running, if he ever tried to take any sort of a breather.
Jeff didn’t care. Rowing was his, not theirs. They couldn’t pervert
that, not even with a dildo up his ass, not even with the constant
threat of torture. In a life as bleak as Jeff’s had become, this
was the kind of thing that constituted a victory.

In the eyes of his captors, Jeff had quickly
and efficiently been broken down into a complete slave. He was
docile, obedient, and accepting of whatever torment they chose to
throw at him. He had endured ceaseless “training” sessions with
Mason, Dwayne, Trixie, and Gus, where they would search for new and
extreme ways of expanding both his sexual limitations and his pain
threshold. He’d been fucked, fisted, beaten, defiled, and degraded,
and ever since they’d moved him into room X, Danny’s old room, he’d
taken all of it without a word of protest. He’d had his head and
body shaved, his nipples pierced with thick-gauge rings, and his
neck collared with the same ring of steel he’d seen soldered around
the necks of the other slaves. He was one of them now. He looked
like them and he behaved like them. He’d picked up the unspoken
rules of submission, learned how to please his masters and avoid
punishments. He was everything that Mason had said he would be. But
Jeff refused to be reduced to a number. He had seen Danny at his
absolute lowest, a shell of the man he had once been, an empty
slave devoid of hope or humanity. And even though Jeff had believed
him when he’d told him he was starting to feel like Danny Major
again, not just “X,” Jeff also believed that the dark place Danny
had been in before was very, very real. To Jeff, that was the true
threat, not the abuse and torment he was enduring daily. No, the
true threat was becoming what Danny had become, sinking down into
that darkness as if it were a pit of tar, slowly engulfing him and
filling his lungs.

So, Jeff had trained himself to take
pleasure in his workouts. The race in his mind was drawing to an
end – the finish was in sight. With a few final reps of the
machine, he brought himself and his teammates past it: a narrow
victory over a rival school. Jeff couldn’t help but smile. His
jubilation was brief, though; he quickly squelched the small
celebration, the smile disappearing from his face. Cautious
discipline was of the utmost importance to him. He couldn’t afford
to let his guard down, to ever betray the secret fact that he
stubbornly refused to be completely broken down. He was playing a
role, the role of a complacent slave, and if Mason or anybody else
at the motel suspected that he was really something else – that he
was still, in his mind, Jeff Kenton – he knew that his chances of
escape would diminish exponentially.

The majority of this fear stemmed from one
simple fact: Jeff hadn’t been branded yet. It was the one obvious
remaining characteristic that distinguished him from the other
slaves. He remembered the day Mason had Dwayne fuse the collar
around his neck. He had expected the branding then – “XI,” perhaps
– but it never happened. Now, weeks later, the absence of scar
tissue across his backside left him uneasy, as if Mason were
reluctant to trust his submission as legitimate. And although he
knew far better than to question Mason on the subject, he was
secretly desperate to have it done, to get it over with, to have
his captors mint him as an official piece of property. He wanted it
badly, a vote of confidence from his masters, a confidence that he
would hopefully be able to exploit…

At least, that was what Jeff constantly told
himself. He hated admitting it to himself, but he couldn’t deny the
nagging fear that he was deluded, that his eagerness for the brand
was really just that: eagerness. He was quite honestly terrified
that his machinations of gaining Mason’s trust only to break it in
a brilliant and daring escape were, in reality, the fantasies of
denial, the misguided workings of Jeff’s increasingly indoctrinated
brain as it struggled to grapple with the cognitive dissonance of
life as a slave, an involuntary defense mechanism designed to trick
him into accepting his fate. After all, there were times – most
notably on the days when Mason would bring Danny down to room X and
order him to fuck Jeff senseless – when it was a fate that Jeff
seemed to crave, at least subconsciously…

Jeff came to an abrupt stop on the machine,
the rotor quickly slowing to a halt. Gus’ wiring detected the
slowdown, and sure enough, Jeff felt a sudden burning jolt of
electricity begin to pour into his lower body. He clenched his
teeth and growled quietly, bearing the pain, punishing himself for
letting his mind spin into such a destructive orbit. Self doubt was
a luxury that he simply could not afford.

“I’m not losing it…” he muttered under his
breath, a slight tremble in his voice from the electricity. “I’m
not crazy…”

After a few more seconds worth of shock
treatment had Jeff biting his lip, he pulled back, jerking the
handlebar into his gut and revving the rotor back up to speed. The
electricity cut out, and within a few seconds, Jeff had resumed a
steady pace that would have made his coxswain proud. The thought
nagged at him though, just as it always did. He
liked
getting fucked by Danny. He liked touching him, kissing him,
tasting him. He liked it even when it hurt. He even found himself
liking it when the others fucked him. All of them had gotten moans
out of him, all of them had made him cum.
You will like it
,
they had always said.
You will not have a choice.
He hated
how right they were, hated the awful implications…

And as he glanced down to his lap, realizing
that his cock had grown fully erect just thinking about all of it,
well, he hated that, too.

The door, a thick slab of heavy stainless
steel with a small mesh-wire window, clanged open behind Jeff,
nearly startling him.

“Time’s up,” Gus said loudly, speaking as if
the workout was intended as anything other than a punishing
exercise. He flicked a switch on the wall, not for the lights, but
for the dildo. Jeff obediently came to a stop, the dildo disarmed,
and sat still while Gus unlocked his ankle cuffs and then helped
him off of the dildo, up onto his feet, hunched over with his
wrists still cuffed to the handle. Carefully clipping the end of
along steel pole to Jeff’s collar, giving him almost total control
of the slave’s movement from a safe distance, Gus then removed the
wrist cuffs from the machine before quickly and deftly recuffing
them behind Jeff’s back. Grinning as he called Jeff “Officer
Bitch,” his favorite nickname for the numberless slave, he ordered
him through the door and up the stairs, pushing him along via the
pole.

“Gotta get your sweaty ass cleaned up,” Gus
muttered, careful not to drop the toothpick that dangled from the
corner of his mouth. “Big day in store for you…” The two emerged
from the stairwell, out into the hot, dusty morning air. Usually,
workouts were immediately followed by “playtime,” Mason’s cloying
name for the time spent with Danny in room X under the watchful eye
of the camera, or sometimes with Mason sitting in the corner of the
room, quietly observing and directing the action as he saw fit. But
Gus jerked Jeff away from room X, and over towards the dungeon.

“Got a special guest coming to play with you
today,” he said happily. “And that’s just the
start
…”

~*~

Thirty minutes later, following a blistering
wash from Gus’ fire hose-esque high-power sprayer, along with a
series of ice cold enemas, Jeff was finally alone again, hogtied
and dangled from a hook in the center of the ceiling. His arms were
bound behind his back with thick rope, creating the harness point
that tied upward to the hook in the ceiling. His legs were folded
backwards and forcibly spread apart. The padded leather table had
been removed from the room, leaving Jeff as the sole centerpiece.
He closed his eyes and hung his head, taking advantage of these
restful moments by himself, the calm before whatever storm his
captors had planned for him.

He heard the door open, but he didn’t lift
his head, didn’t open his eyes. Shutting the world out for just a
few extra seconds was the kind of secret defiance he had learned to
cherish. Of course, they’d reduce him to the eager, submissive slut
they wanted him to be, just as they always did. He wouldn’t fight
it. But he wouldn’t embrace it, either. Not until they forced him
to.

“Always had you pegged as a faggot,” a deep,
familiar voice grumbled. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in weeks,
and hearing it was enough to get him to open his eyes and look
up.

It was Sheriff Fox, standing across the room
from him, arms crossed, admiring the sight of this naked slave on
display. Jeff hadn’t seen him at the motel since the night he’d
foolishly arrived. From what he’d gathered, Fox was careful to
minimize his involvement with the motel, only daring to venture out
when the situation demanded it. As he stepped forward, grabbing a
fistful of Jeff’s hair and jerking his head taut and upright, the
two of them locking eyes, Jeff could only wonder what had brought
him here today.

Wordlessly, staring deep into Jeff’s eyes
with a knowing smirk plastered across his face, Fox unbuttoned his
pants, reaching within to pull out his chubby cock. It was limp,
but slightly engorged, making for a sizable mouthful as he pulled
Jeff’s face down over it, the slave obediently parting his lips and
taking it in.

“That’s it,” Fox cooed. “Get it nice and
hard like a good little fag bitch.”

Jeff had become quite the experienced
cocksucker in his time at the motel. Trixie, in particular, had
come to enjoy visiting Jeff in his room for regular “face fucks,”
and had taken pride in teaching him to deep throat, if you could
call it teaching. He barely remembered what it was like to have a
gag reflex, and as the sheriff’s cock grew fully erect, the slave
unemotionally took it down into his throat, sucking it and
massaging it with his tongue like a seasoned pro, operating on
instincts that had been forced into him.

“Eager little fucker, ain’t ya?” Fox said
through a breathy chuckle, happily starting to buck against Jeff’s
face, drilling his cock in as deep as he could with each slight
throat. “Mason’s done good work on you…”