Duncan awoke again with a jolt. He was breathing fast, his body was sweating. He remembered now. He’d been reading a magazine and listening to music then he’d heard a noise behind him. Suddenly a handkerchief was smothering his face. The smell had made him retch.
Then nothing...
Nothing...
Until this dream!
Or this hideous reality!
‘Please,’ Duncan prayed to any god that might hear him. ‘Please let it be a dream.’
Duncan floated away. His brain was too groggy to make any sense. The music, the smell, the laughter of his mates, all merged together along with the look on the man’s face and his confidently spoken words.
“I’m going to fuck you tonight – and I’m going to make you come harder than you’ve ever come inside a cunt.”
The words again tormented his mind. Then Duncan tensed... The man hadn’t said all of that. Not in the toilet. And the voice seemed so real, even though this had to be a dream.
“Can you hear me?”
The question smacked his brain and made it jolt. Yes! Yes, Duncan could hear him; but he didn’t want to. He wanted to reach out and turn the voice off; he wanted to wake up and find himself alone in his bedroom. He’d wanted to get an A, but he’d only got a B. What the fuck is reality anyway? He thought he knew and had done a good job, but there was obviously something he was missing.
Duncan opened his eyes again. He thought his head was clearing, but everything was strange. His eyes were definitely open but he couldn’t see a thing. He tried to get up so he could find a light, but his body seemed too heavy to move. Perhaps he’d had an accident and severed his spine! Perhaps he’d gone blind! Perhaps he’d suffered brain damage which rendered him a vegetable who could do nothing other than hear voices in his head. Panic set in. He tried out his vocal cords and a groan escaped his dry parched lips.
“You’re awake then!”
Yes! He might not have got an A, but he still knew what was real... That was the same voice, and this was no dream.
“HELP! SOMEBODY! HELP MEEEEE!”
“There’s no point in shouting. Nobody’s going to hear you.”
He felt a rough hand so gentle on his cheek then it move to his brow to wipe away the sweat. He was shivering but he wasn’t cold. He was incredibly thirsty. His mind was racing with so many questions. Was he still in his flat? Had he been taken somewhere else? Why was it so dark? Why couldn’t he move? Was he actually paralysed?
He tested that one out... No! His muscles were reacting. He could feel restraints on his arms and his legs. He was lying on his back and his limbs were widely spread. He was certain he was naked! Oh fuck oh bloody fuck!
“Where am I? What’s happening?” he shouted out in panic.
“You’re with me. We’re alone. That’s all you need to know,” the man replied; his voice strangely soothing in the dark. “Are you thirsty?”
“Yes,” Duncan replied without questioning why he was so parched.
“Here. Drink this. It’ll bring your body fluids back into balance.”
Contact was made with his lips – a glass he surmised. It felt cool and inviting, but still he flinched and twisted his head away.
“Don’t worry. It’s safe enough. I don’t want to poison you.”
The glass found his lips again and was tilted upwards. Liquid made contact. Duncan hesitated, but then opened his mouth to allow for a taste. There was no warning smell that might suggest danger; and annoyingly it made sense what the man had said – why would he want to poison him. Duncan was here for another reason which required him to be alive – at least for the time being. The liquid wasn’t unpleasant, so Duncan swallowed some down. No immediate reaction, so he took some more.
“Drink it all. It’ll do you good,” the man encouraged.
Duncan was so thirsty, he complied. The glass was tilted further back and he swallowed it all down.
The man wandered off. Duncan could hear him nearby busying himself – he could hear him very clearly even though not much noise was made. His mind was clearing very rapidly - the drink obviously having a positive effect.
A couple of minutes later the man came back to him. Duncan sensed him approach, acutely aware of the sound he made and the odour of his body which he had not registered before. It wasn’t unpleasant – musky... manly. It was that last part which disturbed.
Then he felt the touch of the man’s fingers on his hips. With little apparent purpose, the fingers spread and brushed over the ridges of Duncan’s fluttering hard ripped stomach. Duncan was surprised how responsive his skin was to the touch of the fingertips, the tactile sense heightened in the dark, making the contact strangely erotic. Along the flank of his youthful body the fingers trailed, edging along his well defined pecs before lightly tormenting the sensitive skin under his arm. Tremors of fear and anger ran through him, Duncan felt so helpless and annoyingly aroused.
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