In the first two weeks of his captivity, Tommy services ten customers. After his first encounter the others all come to him one at a time, but this doesn’t make the experiences any easier to endure. One wouldn’t exactly say he brings any kind of enthusiasm to the humiliating encounters, but fear is a great motivator and he is very aware of what will happen to him if he doesn’t satisfy his “clients”.
And so he grits his teeth and does what is asked of him. For those that want him sexy, he does his best at seduction. For those that want him conquered he allows himself to be used however they wish. Honestly, he prefers the latter; then he doesn’t have to pretend that he’s enjoying himself. He can lie still or kneel on all fours and let them plunder his various holes as they please, mounting him and grinding away until they find their satisfaction, emptying themselves into or onto his body.
Around the end of the second week since the auction, a young-ish man finds his way to Tommy’s bedroom prison. He’s not particularly unusual compared to Tommy’s other customers: neat, well-groomed, with short brown hair; a white man of average handsomeness. He has no particular air of maliciousness, but something about him makes Tommy... wary. He can’t quite put his finger on it, so he dons his best customer-facing smile.
“Hello there,” he says, lounging on his side on the bed. He’s fully clothed; many of the men prefer to be able to undress him themselves, so he always starts this way just in case. He has also, however, taken the precaution of being well-lubed. Cecil’s warning had proven true; plenty of customers don’t bother giving him the time he would need to do so. It’s a pain to keep himself prepared at all hours just in case, but it’s better than the alternative and it’s not like he has much else to occupy his time.
The young man stares at him from the doorway, looking shocked. As though he somehow hadn’t expected to find himself in this situation. A strange idea, considering. Tommy’s smile falters for a second to confusion, but then he soldiers on, patting the bed next to him. “Did you want to join me?” he asks.
The man approaches the bed and sits on it, still looking shell-shocked and staring at Tommy. He doesn’t know what to do. Should he try to seduce the guy? Let him be? Will he get punished by Cecil if he just lets the man sit here and have some sort of crisis?
Thankfully, the man seems to snap out of his reverie and lays back against the pillows, making himself comfortable. He smiles at Tommy. “Well now,” he says, “isn’t this adorable. Want to show me what you can do, young man?”
This is more what Tommy’s used to. “Of course,” he says with a smile. He sits up and begins disrobing, slowly, teasing each step of the way. As he pulls his shirt up he drags his fingers down the length of his torso, caressing himself with simulated abandon.
He draws out the disrobing as long as he can, hoping to buy himself time, but apparently this customer is not as patient as he first seemed. Once Tommy has his shirt fully off and is starting to pull down his pants, the man ceases to wait and just grabs him, yanking Tommy forward onto his lap. He grinds upwards, pushing his hard-on up against Tommy’s ass through their clothes.
“Don’t be shy,” he insists. “I’m guessing that little hole of yours is eager to get started. Why don’t you blow me and then we’ll see what we can do for it.”
Tommy swallows but complies, squirming backwards enough to undo the man’s fly and then curling up next to him so he can lower his face down onto his already stiff cock.
The man hardly gives him time to get settled before grabbing Tommy’s hair and forcing him to take it deeper, plunging him down onto the spike of his erection. He does it so fast that Tommy gags, but the man doesn’t give him a lot of recovery time. Seconds later he’s thrusting away, ramming his cock over and over against the back of Tommy’s throat. It’s all Tommy can do to hold on and try not to gag as the man fucks his face with abandon.
Luckily, it doesn’t last long. After a minute or two of thrusting into Tommy’s mouth, the man yanks him back off and makes a circular gesture with his hand. “Turn around,” he orders. “Pull down your pants.”
Tommy does as he’s told. He manages to get the pants down to his knees before the man is on top of him again, forcing him down onto the bed with a hand in the middle of his back at the same time he lifts Tommy’s hips and guides his cock to the boy’s hole.
Tommy grunts as the man slides into him, glad once again that he’d prepared himself beforehand. The man’s cock isn’t as large as some of the others he’s been forced to endure; certainly not as bad as taking two cocks at once. But the man seems determined to make up for it with aggression. He holds Tommy pinned to the bed as his cock splits him open, groaning with pleasure as he sinks into the boy’s ass.
Once seated he plants a hand on each of Tommy’s shoulder blades and starts to thrust his hips, slamming forward again and again with bruising force. Tommy is grateful to not have to pretend to enjoy himself, but unfortunately this reprieve does not last long.
“Let me hear you,” says the man. “I want to know how much you’re loving it.”
Tommy sighs inwardly. Outwardly he lets out a moan and says, “Oh yeah, it’s so good. You’re filling me up. I love it! Please, more! Harder!”
The man obliges and thrusts hard enough that Tommy feels it in his spine, compressed between the force of the man holding him down and the wildness of his thrusts. He grits his teeth. “Yeah, that’s it. Fuck me! My asshole loves it! So good!”
He trails off, and luckily the man doesn’t prompt him again. Instead he merely continues his thrusts, fucking Tommy with wild abandon until his balls clench and he empties his load into Tommy’s waiting ass.
He pulls out and catches his breath, smacking Tommy’s butt cheeks idly while he waits to recover. He reaches down with a thumb to smear the cum leaking out of Tommy’s asshole, rubbing it along his crack and sticking the digit playfully back up inside him, chuckling to himself as he does so.
“What a pretty sight,” he compliments. “Looks like your eager little hole can take quite the pounding. Let’s give it a second helping, shall we?”
Hard once more, the man slips into him again and fucks him a second time, just as worked up as the first. His youth grants him stamina, and he manages to spend quite a long time working Tommy’s ass before coming inside him again as promised. He grabs onto Tommy’s hair as he comes this time, yanking him back into a contorted U shape as he empties himself into the boy once more.
He finally lets Tommy go with a sigh and cleans himself up, clearly finished with Tommy for the day. It’s not until he’s just leaving, hand on the door, and says “God bless,” as he walks out, that it finally dawns on Tommy what had been bothering him about the man.
He knows this person.
That was Father Lawrence, the young priest from the church in his old neighborhood. He hadn’t recognized him out of context; he’s used to seeing him in the black clothes and white collar of his station, and he’d only been their new priest a few months before Tommy had run away. But there’s no doubt in his mind, now that he’s realized: it’s definitely the same man.
Tommy’s face flames. Did Father Lawrence recognize him? Tommy hadn’t exactly ever tried to stand out at church. He’d just sat in the back with his family and muttered “amen” when appropriate. So it would be reasonable to hope that he wouldn’t remember Tommy’s face. Especially since he, too, would have been out of context. But then, it would explain why he’d been so shocked to see him at the start. Tommy groans. He knows. He almost certainly knows it was him.
Not that it matters. Not that someone from his old life knowing about his new one is any more humiliating than this new life in general. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. But there’s something about it—thinking about Father Lawrence standing in front of a congregation of Tommy’s friends and family and knowing that he’d fucked Tommy’s ass—that is mortifying. Unbearable. Tommy buries his face in the pillow on the bed and screams into it.
Tommy doesn’t realize it at the time, but it seems this visit was a catalyst. The very next day Cecil wakes him up early in the morning and throws a small rolling suitcase at the foot of the bed. “Rise and shine,” he instructs, “and congratulations. You’ve been purchased. Pack your clothes and some lube. You’re moving out.”
Tommy blinks, suddenly wide awake. He sits up abruptly in bed. “Purchased? Like, permanently?”
“Uh-huh,” says Cecil. He looks down at Tommy, as sharp and condescending as ever. “And let me tell you something: this contract is satisfaction guaranteed. Your customer can return you if he doesn’t like what he gets. And if he does so, then let me assure you: your punishment will be far worse than anything you’ve experienced so far. Second-hand rent-boys get the worst of the clients. And that’s after we’ve taken the cost of your refund out of your hide. So you’d better not fuck this up, got it?”
“Yes Sir,” says Tommy humbly. He rushes to get what little he has and throw it in the suitcase. It doesn’t amount to much. His heart is pounding wildly in his throat. He’s going home with someone. Is that a good thing, or bad? Is his life about to get much better? Or much much worse?
Once he’s finished packing, Cecil leads him out of his room and through the corridors of the hotel, in a direction Tommy has never seen before. They emerge from some kind of back entrance into a small round-about where there is a car waiting. Standing next to the car, leaning against it, is-
“Dad?!” Tommy yelps, stunned. It occurs to him a moment later that maybe this is something he shouldn’t have revealed. But he’s too shocked to think straight. Relief floods through him: it’s over. It’s over, finally. His dad is here, to save him from all of this. He can go back to his normal life, and pretend none of this ever happened. It can just be a nightmare from his past, that fades away like a dream.
He runs forward to hug his father. He’s missed the man’s grizzled, stubbled face more than he’d ever thought possible. He drinks in the smell of his father’s deodorant, the sight of the gray streaks beginning to form at his temples, the rough gravel of his voice as he clears his throat. The man seems a touch surprised, but gestures to the back seat of the car. “You can throw your stuff in there,” he says gruffly. His voice is so familiar that Tommy thinks he’s going to cry. He untangles himself from Tommy and steps forward to meet Cecil, shaking the man’s hand. Tommy sees him pass Cecil a wad of cash and give him a formal nod before turning back to the car.
Tommy hurries to scramble into the passenger seat of the car and buckle himself in place before Cecil somehow changes his mind and tries to pull him back. He thrums with nerves until his father finally gets into the driver’s seat and turns the engine on, taking them both away from that hateful place.
He says nothing to his father, too overwhelmed to speak. To his shame he finds himself tearing up, sniffling and shaking as the relief hits him like a breaking wave. He doesn’t know what to say. His father found him, and everything is finally going to be okay again.
His father, surprisingly, also doesn’t say anything. The drive is silent except for Tommy’s muffled crying.
As they get closer to home, Tommy wonders what excuse his father will use for why he was gone so long, and why he’s back now. Surely he won’t... tell anyone what happened to him, will he? No. His father cares about his own reputation at least, if not Tommy’s. He would never admit to what happened. ...Actually, does his father even know what happened? How had he learned where Tommy was in the first place?
The car pulls to a stop. They’re not in front of the house. They’re... where are they? Tommy looks around. It takes him a second, but he eventually recognizes the back of the church. He’s not used to seeing it from behind.
Oh, of course. Father Lawrence. He must have recognized Tommy after all, and told his father. But why are they here now?
“Get out of the car,” his father instructs him. Tommy hurries to obey. Does his father think he’s... tainted now? Dirty? Is he bringing him to church to be cleansed and forgiven by God, or something?
Tommy’s father gestures him towards a small whitewashed staircase at the back of the building, a humble addition to an intimidating stone edifice. Tommy turns and mounts the steps, confused. What is going on here?
He’s climbed about halfway up the steps when a door at the top opens. There stands Father Lawrence, all smiles. “There you are,” he says genially. “Do come in.”
Tommy flinches instinctively. But perhaps... perhaps this is okay? After all, he has Father Lawrence to thank for saving him, doesn’t he? No matter what he’s done to Tommy in the past. Surely this rescue makes up for it.
Tommy’s dad comes in behind him, closing the door. Father Lawrence makes a gesture at the space. It’s fairly tiny: a studio apartment with a bed in one corner and a little kitchenette, plus a second door that probably leads into a bathroom. All in all it’s only slightly larger than the room in which Tommy spent his past several weeks.
“It’s not much,” says Father Lawrence. “It’s intended to be a bachelor apartment for the currently serving clergyman, but I have my own place so I don’t have any need of it. Still, it’s clean and in decent shape. Fully furnished. Should suit your needs.”
“Thanks,” says Tommy’s father. He shakes Father Lawrence’s hand. To Tommy’s shock, Father Lawrence hands him a key. Tommy notices for the first time that his father has brought Tommy’s suitcase in from the car. Is he... is he kicking Tommy out? Does he expect him to live here now? Tommy supposes it wouldn’t be entirely unfair... he did try to run away after all. Of course his dad doesn’t just want him to come back and rejoin the family so easily.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” says Father Lawrence with a wave, and heads out the way he came, his footsteps fading down the wooden steps.
Tommy’s father reaches over and turns the deadbolt lock on the front door behind the priest, pocketing the key he’d been given. Then he grabs Tommy by the wrist and leads him over to the bed. Tommy gasps as his father throws him down on top of the duvet. Then his father takes off his shoes and settles himself at the head of the bed, propped up by the pillows, arms spread across the top of the headboard in a confident slouch.
“Well boy,” he says, “time to show me what you’ve learned.”
Tommy is shocked into silence, staring dumbly at his father. After a few seconds he rattles together enough braincells to sputter, “W-wha? What do you mean?”
His father raises an eyebrow. “Well, you’re a whore now, right? They taught you how to please a man? I’m told you’re particularly good at dirty talk and making a man feel wanted. So let’s see it. Show me what you learned.”
Tommy just continues to stare at him in horror, mind blank, until his father scowls.
“Unless you want me to return you to that place. Take you back, tell them they didn’t do a good enough job and you need more training.”
“N-no!” Tommy yelps. Anything but that. But his father wants him to...? Really?
His father gestures towards his own crotch with a sort of ‘Well?’ expression. It’s true. He really is expecting...
Tommy bites his lip. He can’t do this. He can’t. It’s his father. But... but the alternative is being taken back to Cecil. The promised punishment. Maybe... maybe just once...
Tommy tries and fails to put on his customer smile, crawling across the bed towards his father. Everything in him is screaming, but he does his best to keep it contained. He reaches for the man’s belt, unlatching it and trying to pretend that this is just another customer. Another stranger. He’s done this before. He can do it again. Just one more time. Just once-
Tommy undoes his father’s fly and reaches in to pull out the man’s cock. With a feeling like drowning he lowers his mouth down onto the head and begins to suck.
He does his best to lave his father’s cock generously with laps of his tongue, swirling around the head and lavishing it with attention. Periodically he’ll drop his head further down onto the cock, bobbing up and down and sucking, working it up to full hardness, before drawing back to lick it once more and run his tongue along the rim of the head.
His mouth is drooling involuntarily. He dips his head further down onto the cock and swallows around it, letting the muscles in his throat massage the tip. He hears his father groan and then feels fingers tugging lightly at his hair. But the man does not direct his actions like so many others have done. Instead he just sits back and lets his son pleasure him. It’s almost crueler, in many respects.
Not wanting this to go on too long, Tommy sinks down as far as he can onto his father’s cock, deep-throating him. He hears a choked-off noise as he begins to pump his head up and down, fucking his throat down onto the dick inside. He swallows again and again as he plunges down, clenching around the member, trying to get his father to come.
It takes far longer than he would have liked. His neck and shoulders are getting tired, his lips chafed, as he continues to blow his father for several long minutes. He can hear a clock ticking away in the kitchen, but he can’t lift his head to look at it. How long has he been doing this? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? He has very little sense of time beyond “too long.”
Finally though, his diligence pays off. He feels the twitch of his father’s member under his tongue and then suddenly his mouth is flooded with salty-bitter cum. He swallows as best he can, holding pressure throughout as his father’s orgasm continues to spray jizz down his throat.
When the onslaught finally stops he sits back, coughing once. He can’t meet his father’s gaze. “Can we go home now?” he manages to ask.
His father just laughs. “Surely that’s not all? What about that other little hole of yours? Surely that’s got some new skills to show off as well.”
It couldn’t have been a bigger blow if his father had physically hit him. Tommy once again feels like crying, his earlier hopes steadily evaporating and shriveling away. With a leaden feeling of resignation, he goes to get the lube from his suitcase.
His father starts to rise threateningly when he sees Tommy leave the bed, but calms down when he realizes it’s only to go as far as the bag. He settles back once more as Tommy grabs the lube and starts to undress.
“Oh come on,” says his father dismissively as Tommy moves to carelessly shuck off his clothes. “You can do better than that. Is that really what you did for your customers? The sullen teen routine?”
Tommy bites his lip, tears in the corners of his eyes. Without making eye contact, he proceeds to repeat the performance he’s been using with the other men who came to use his body: a slow, teasing reveal as he steadily, incrementally removes his clothes. He once again brushes a teasing hand down his torso, pretending to find pleasure in it. He feels dead inside.
He takes his pants and then underwear off slowly, making it a performance. When he reaches the bed once more, he spreads his legs and takes out the lube.
“I’ll need to get my hole ready to handle that fearsome man-meat of yours,” he recites. “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”
“Oh, you do it, by all means,” says his father. “I want to see this.”
Face on fire, Tommy squirts some lube onto his hand and proceeds to insert his fingers slowly but steadily into his anus. He wiggles his hips slightly to show off his hole as he penetrates himself, giving his father the best possible view of the way his fingers slide inside. His father’s gaze is locked onto him like a predatory bird, taking in every little detail.
Tommy begins to thrust with his fingers, plunging them in rhythmically with the occasional pause to widen and stretch them apart, loosening his muscles. He coats himself generously; his father isn’t even hard again yet. He has time.
As he takes his time playing with his hole, his father eventually gets up and removes his own pants and underwear, leaving himself bare from the waist down. He leaves the clothes in a heap on the rug next to the bed and returns to his previous position, leaned back and enjoying the show.
Eventually Tommy’s arm gets tired from the position, so he switches around. Rolling over onto his knees, he reaches behind himself to continue the fingering, his ass pointed right towards his father’s face, presenting himself in his full, degenerate glory.
He waits for a cue from his father for when he should stop, but as time ticks by he realizes that none is forthcoming. Looking back over his shoulder, he realizes that his father is finally hard again. The man occasionally tugs lightly at his own cock, but mostly he just sits back and watches Tommy, waiting for him.
Tommy removes his fingers uncertainly and maintains his position, hands and knees with his hips canted back towards his father, offering himself. He looks over his shoulder questioningly.
“Oh no,” says his father. “This is your show. I ain’t doing shit. You’re the whore. Show me what your little whore body wants.”
Tommy sits back up. He’s going to have to fuck himself on his father’s cock, he realizes. But he can’t, absolutely can’t bring himself to be face to face with the man.
With a heavy heart, Tommy slinks towards his father, straddling his lap but pointing himself backwards, facing away. He reaches down to grab his father’s cock and lines it up with his hole. He takes a deep breath and then sinks back down onto his heels, impaling himself.
He hears his father chuckle as he begins to fuck himself on the man’s cock. He tries to put it out of his mind and focus on getting this over with. With a machine-like dedication he forces himself up and down, riding his father’s cock, getting as high up off of it as he comfortably can before letting his weight slam him back down onto the spike inside of him.
His father allows him to do this for several minutes before tapping his hip lightly, impatiently. “I thought you were supposed to be good at dirty talk?” he harps. “Come on. Talk to me like you talked to all the other men you let fuck you.”
Tommy clenches his jaw. “Ooo yeah,” he grits out. “That’s good. Your cock is so big, I love it. Oh, my hole feels so much better now with your meat up inside me. I’ve been craving this for so long.”
“Attaboy,” his father encourages. “Go on.”
Tommy slams himself down as hard as he can on each thrust, trying to make the end come quickly. His movements are punctuated by obscene wet squelches every time his father’s cock is driven back up into his slicked-up hole.
“Oh yeah! Oh, it feels so good! Yes, fuck me! Fuck my hole! It wants you so bad! You’re so huge inside me, you’re going to split me in half! Oh, my ass has never felt so full, so good! Please, please, I want more! Won’t you please come inside me?”
With most other men this kind of talk tends to result in them seizing his hips and laying him out on the bed, taking over and fucking him as hard as they can. But not so his father. He continues to to lie back and let Tommy do all the work, fucking himself with dedicated persistence on his father’s cock.
This time Tommy can see the clock on the wall, as he’s facing the kitchen. He times his thrusts with the second hand and loses himself in the mechanics of it, spouting more filthy nonsense whenever his father reminds him with a warning tap on the hip. He knows exactly how long it takes his father to come this time: twenty-three minutes. Twenty-three minutes of grinding himself down onto the man’s lap, impaling his ass on his cock, humiliating himself for his father’s benefit, before he finally feels the tell-tale twitch of the man’s balls and a flood of seed begins to pour into him.
He sits back, exhausted and heartsick, leaving the cock inside him as it continues to twitch and spray, until every last drop has been deposited in his rectum. Then he collapses to one side as his father’s cock softens and slips out of him, crying silently into the bed covers.
He hears his father sigh in contentment, basking in the glow of his orgasm for a few moments before getting up and beginning to dress himself once more.
Tommy only looks up when he hears his father’s voice again, further away than he’d expected. The man is standing at the door, his hand on the knob. He’s staring at Tommy with an ugly leer.
“Now this is more like it,” he says. “If anyone’s going to be making money from you whoring yourself out like the slut you are, it should by all rights be me. Get some rest kiddo; I’ll have plenty of other “customers” ready to come see you by tomorrow.”
And with that he turns and leaves. Tommy hears the click of the key locking the door behind him, leaving Tommy trapped in the apartment. Tommy remains slumped on the bed, entirely defeated as it only now dawns on him that he has merely traded one prison for another.