obsessions Chapter 13

Okay, one more chapter with hard core non-con/violence warnings. If you can struggle though this one, things start to head back uphill from there on out.



On to chapter 13



Decker slapped him awake, grinning down with his mad eyes and his feral smile.

"Got the current all hooked up and she packs a nice little zap. I think you'll like it." Insane. Absolutely stark raving mad.

Lex blinked up, mouth so dry his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth. There was the feel of something large inside him, that he didn't remember Decker inserting.

"Please - - water." His voice was a raw whisper.

Decker's grin widened. "Sure. Got to keep your strength up for today. Got a lot of kinks to work out on the new toy."

He disappeared, came back with a plastic bottle of water, lifted up Lex's head and slipped the mouth of the bottle between his lips. Tilted it up and let him drink. He had to swallow fast or loose a great deal of the room temperature water flooding his mouth. Decker opened a second bottle, one of the protein shakes, and let him swallow that down as well.

Decker uncuffed him from the bed, recuffed him and led him to the shower. Morning ritual. Lex was getting used to the enemas. Used to the scrubbing. The pain in his penis was muted and when he looked down there were the faintest marks of mostly healed pricks in a uniform band around the base.

The thing in his ass got pulled out. He didn't even see what it was, just felt the burn as it stretched him exiting. He'd felt worse. It made him nervous that nothing replaced it, not even Decker. The man usually got his first rape of the morning in during the shower.

Decker gripped him by the cuffs and pulled him across the room to the waist high contraption that he'd built. There were a couple of car batteries sitting on a little table up by the head of the rack, with jumper cables attached to one metal leg. All it would take to send current through the entirety of the thing would be touching the positive feed to the battery stump.

God. His legs stopped working and Decker looked back with a frown, latching hold of his upper arm and jerking him forward by main force alone.

"Please. Please - - whatever you want - - I'm not fighting you - -just - - no."

"No's not in your new vocabulary, Lex. I thought I made that clear."

It was crudely constructed, Decker's rack. Thick metal pipes wielded together to form dubious support. One near the top, one that would hit him about mid back, and then nothing until the side bars swung out to form the Y-shaped leg sections. There were leather straps there made for securing his legs. Chains with clips resting across the bar near where his shoulders would rest, that draped out across the floor maybe eight feet, looped through an eye bolt secured to the concrete floor and trailed back to a winch with a handle under the rack. It wasn't exactly to medieval specification, but it hit on points here and there that would have made an inquisitor proud.

He fought it, cold stark panic lending an overtaxed body new strength.

"Wait! Wait - - you don't have to do this - -" It was useless babble, because there was no rhyme or reason to any of Decker's actions.

Decker wrapped his arms around him and hauled him bodily up, slammed him down onto it hard enough that the bar around mid-back drove the breath out of him. Decker grabbed an ankle, fastened the cuff to the waiting clip at the end of the Y-section and Lex was fucked. No way to twist free as Decker caught his other leg, forced it into place and secured the ankle cuff.

Lex hissed then, half way to hyperventilating, the damned bar biting into his back, another one at his shoulders, and nothing supporting his lower back but the bars his legs were resting on.

Decker grabbed one of the chains and attached it the outside ring of his right wrist cuff, then unfastened his wrists and clipped the other chain to the left one. He crouched down, and turned the winch and the slack in the chain drew tight. Another couple of turns and Lex felt the strain in his shoulders, felt his body draw taut. The bar across his back was sheer agony, forcing his ribcage up and out.

Satisfied with the tension on the chains, Decker rose plucked a gag from the table with the batteries, a round metal O that he wedged behind Lex's teeth. It prevented him from closing his mouth, keeping it uncomfortably wide and vulnerable. Decker dropped his head after buckling it on, and with no support past his shoulders it left him facing Decker's crotch upside down at mouth level. Decker moved to his legs then, cinching leather straps around his upper thighs and below his knees to keep his legs securely fastened to the Y-sections.

He sprang a latch that Lex heard but couldn't see and the leg supports swung loose, spreading his legs wide. Leaving him utterly vulnerable at both ends. He shut his eyes, feeling the blood rush to his head, every muscle in his body tensile taut.

"No - - no - -" It was hard to form legible words with the O-ring gag forcing his mouth open. He swung his head, staring at the batteries in dread. "What you want - -whatever you want - - I'll do it. Just don't - -" he was begging and he didn't care. He had no stance from which to negotiate. Nothing Decker wanted that he couldn't take by force.

He didn't know what he'd done, who he'd fucked over so badly in his life to warrant this epic bitch slap karma was giving him. Unless he was getting bleed off from his father's bad deeds, which was probable, the real world reveling in the concept of original sin. Ironic really, since he'd been trying to do the right things since he'd been here. Really trying to straighten out his life, to make a difference in this shit hole of a town, even if the impetus to do so had been born from the desire to impress a boy. To ingratiate himself to a fucking fifteen year old with the most beautiful face he'd ever seen on a walking breathing human being.

Clark. Tears were making little streaks down his temples, and he didn't know when he'd started shedding them. Decker ran his hands up his body, fingers splayed wide over the taut skin of his belly. His nails grazed the jut of his ribcage. He leaned down, stuck his tongue in his navel. Thrust it a few times, a parody of fucking. Might as well, he'd violated every other hole in his body.

He came back around to Lex's head, crouched down and caught his face between his hands, covered his open mouth with his and leisurely explored the cavity with his tongue, reached down while he was doing it and gave the wench one more half turn.

Lex choked and spasmed, all he could do when his limbs were stretched so tight. He felt it in his hips and shoulder, spine, wrists and ankles.

"You're beautiful like this." Decker said, rising, moving down his quaking body, trailing a hand over tightly stretched skin. He ran a nail down the center of Lex's chest to his navel. Did it again, staring with glittering, mad eyes, like he was contemplating splitting him open. Circled him once more, just looking, then went to the battery table and casually touched positive feed to positive feed and the rack came alive with current.

Lex screamed, not even able to arch with the shock, the electricity stealing everything for the brief, blinding moment it coursed through his body. Garbled, wet sounds were coming from somewhere. Oh, from him, from his gaping mouth, drool running down the sides of his face mixing with the tears.

He made a feeble attempt at pleading. No. No. No, came out warped and unintelligible past his spread lips. Decker sighed, stroking himself through his pants.

"It's so good," he squeezed himself harder, knuckles white. "You make me so hard when your skin twitches." He bent down again, licked Lex's face, then pulled out his cock and slid it into his mouth. The head poked the roof his mouth, slid along to the back of his throat. The angle made an easy path for it to slip right down, and Decker's fingers stroked the bulge in his esophagus above the collar while Lex choked.

He thrust a few times, then pulled out without coming.

Lex's head dropped back, he couldn't keep it up, and blood rushed down, making him dizzy, the discomfort was swelling, the bar in his back, the strain on his muscles, his joints. The cuffs were pulled so taught against the swell of his palms that he couldn't quite clench his fists.

Decker was between his legs, hands running the length of his legs, stroking the tendons on the inside of his thighs. He fondled his balls, shifting them in their sack, but there was probably no stimulation on earth that could get him hard in this particular situation.

He tried to lift his head to see what the bastard was up to, but the angle was wrong and the strain on his shoulders and neck too much to keep it up for long.

"When you were a kid, just starting Excelsior, I never thought you'd turn out like this. But by the time you hit sixteen - - you hit your stride. Got confident. Grew into your body and started looking good. " He moved in close, cock rubbing between the cleft of Lex's ass. Just sliding up and down without any effort to penetrate. "Knew it too, didn't you? Fucked everything on two legs, just to piss off your daddy. You think he didn't know what you were up to?"

Decker chuckled, slid a hand up his stomach again, like he couldn't get enough of the feel of Lex stretched taut. He moved out, back around to the battery table and Lex whimpered, waiting for the shock.

It didn't come. He picked up a few things, the clink of metal, and walked back around between Lex's legs. Laid whatever he'd picked up on Lex's belly, then stroked Lex's flaccid cock, but there was no stirring it.

"He knew," Decker went on conversationally. I reported every nameless whore you fucked in the back of a club, or your car or any other place you went to practice your little rebellions. And yeah, you pissed him off, until he figured he might as well make a profit from your bad habits."

He lifted his head again, trying to see the man's face, trying to gauge how much truth was spilling from his lips.

Decker's fingers pinched the head of his penis, and something cold and metal pressed against the slit. He could barely twitch his hips, much less struggle. He made little choking noises as Decker slid it in, impaling his cock on what had to be a urethra sound. It burned like a bitch, an entirely new sort of stretch. And that notion he'd had earlier about every hole he had being violated - - well, it hadn't occurred to him that this one was an issue.

He dropped his head back, gasping, barely heard Decker talking again through the frantic throb of pulse. "Remember that party out at the Kalabash club your daddy made you go to with him, when you were in junior year at Excelsior? The one where the suit with the vintage Rolls chatted you up, slipped you a few drinks when the bartender wouldn't serve you, then took you out to the parking lot and fucked you in the back of that big old car? You remember that, Lex? You know what your daddy got for it? Insider information that made him a bundle. That was a million dollar fuck if ever there was one."

Lex went cold, the pain from the rod in his dick vying for dominance as he absorbed what Decker was saying. That Lionel had known what he was doing was a given. That he knew details was disturbing. That he'd decided to use it to his advantage - - that he'd arranged for a pick up - - sold him for the chance to make a stock market coup - - well, maybe it wasn't quite so shocking a notion after all. Fuck. Just - - Fuck.

Decker tightened his grip around the stalk of Lex's cock and squeezed, compressing his flesh around the intruder. He shut his eyes and panted through the pain.

"Wasn't the only time," Decker slid another something cold and hard over his penis, pushed his nuts through another metal ring and started twisting little screws to tighten them up. Mild constriction at the base of his cock, another ring about half way up, another under the head. Not a problem now, but if he did get an erection it would hurt like a bitch.

"I can count off at least two three other times he arranged for some guy to pick you up - - or let you think you'd done the picking. It wasn't like you were choosey back then, huh? 'Cept for the old man. Remember him? What was he, some big ass banker that your daddy was trying to get a loan from for those towers he was building in Chicago. Fat, wrinkly old geezer he brought home to wine and dine. What was his name? Gletchner?"

Lex vaguely recalled. He'd still been living in the penthouse then - - it had been weeks maybe before he'd talked his way into his own place. His father had brought the man home, introduced him. Insisted Lex sit down and learn a little of how casual business was conducted. There'd been brandy, which Lionel didn't mind him drinking if it was in his company. He'd only had problems with the clubbing and the consumption out on the town where a son of his might be caught illegally partaking and the bad press might fall back on him.

The old banker had been fat and disgusting, and there had been no sex or mention there of. God, no. He must have left soon after, because he honestly didn't recall much more than the initial meeting.

The rustling of Decker's pants snapped him back to the present, the press of his cock against his ass, then the slow push inside. He'd lubed himself up, and it was an easy entry. The man sighed, thrusting a few times, long and deep.

"Your daddy dosed your drink himself," Decker said. "Had that smarmy little manservant he had at the time help get you upstairs and let the fat old perv fuck you in your own room. While he sat down there and drank his brandy and conducted a little business over the phone. Ain't that something? But those towers went up in Chicago, didn't they. Got interest rates on those loans like you wouldn't believe."

Breath that was already constricted stalled in his lungs. Stuttered back with the rhythm of Decker's thrusts. Betrayal. Betrayal on a scale beyond trying to fuck over his attempts to build his own company, beyond sleeping with his lovers, beyond even making a little profit off a liaison that Lex really had thought he'd initiated himself. Drugging and selling him for special consideration on a billion dollar loan. In his own house - - where he was supposed to have been safe, but never really had been.

Tears were flowing again and he couldn't stop them. Everything shattering and slipping away, and God it hurt - - despite everything his father had ever done, every cruel word, every Machiavellian lesson - - he hadn't expected this. The pain in his body was suddenly a very welcome distraction.

"If you weren't such a filthy slut, maybe he wouldn't have done it." Something in the man's voice changed, the conversational tone edged out by a tense sort of rage. Flash flood reversal like a switch had been flipped inside his head. Lex felt a curl of dread. The thrust of his hips became harder, his fingers began biting into the flesh of Lex's thighs. "If you weren't such a dirty whore, I wouldn't have had to track down those cheap lays of yours and slit them open. Wouldn't have had to take out that boy you seemed to like so much. Your fault, Lex. All your fault. I made him scream while we were waiting for you. Want to hear all the places I stuck that knife?"

Oh, God. God. God. Please no. He didn't want to hear. Didn't want to know. Didn't want to live with the guilt that he'd done this to Clark. His fault. Decker was right on that count. His trouble that had sucked Clark in and snuffed him out.

Decker pulled out abruptly. Stalked around the rack mumbling softly to himself, fatigues spread low around his hips, cock hard and bouncing as he walked.

He crouched by Lex's head, unbuckled the gag and gripped his face tight between his hands.

"Tell me what a dirty whore you are."

Lex blinked at him, upside down. Whatever shreds of sanity the man had had in his eyes before were gone now. There was just that fanatic gleam, like he was an apostle on a mission from some twisted god. Maybe he thought he was.

"Say it, Lex!" he roared. "Tell me what you are."

"I'm a dirty whore." He was too exhausted not to. It didn't matter anyway.

"Again."

"I'm a dirty whore."

"And what happens to dirty whores?" Decker's spittle hit him in the face.

"I don't know." Bare whisper.

"They get punished. They get punished and then they burn."

Decker released his head, went for the batteries and current lanced through the rack. Lex screamed until his throat bled, and when unconsciousness wrenched him in its teeth, he preyed he wouldn't wake up.

Even unconscious the current still made Lex's body lurch. But his head was hanging limp and his mouth was slack. The only slack part of him, stretched like a strung bowstring on the rack. It was the only thing that soothed the voices clamoring in Decker's head for him to keep shooting voltage into Lex's body. That urged him to take a sharp knife and score a line down the center of that taut belly so he could see the glistening meat under the skin.

He pushed the voices aside, reminding them, dead was dead. And there was only so long he could enjoy a corpse. And Lex had value. Lex was precious to him, even if he was sullied past the point of redemption. Lex was his, in a way that no other living thing had ever been. His to make suffer and crawl and pay for his willful degradations. To pay for his father's betrayal.

Grind him under his heel and turn him into something barely human, the voices whispered. Shatter his beautiful mind and he'd be more than obedient, he'd be broken. A smooth skinned, groveling fucktoy that Decker could enjoy until the voices got their way and he snuffed out the light behind the eyes. They clamored now, urging it. Needing it, suggesting all the varied ways he could carry it out and make it linger.

Dead was dead, he reminded himself, aware on some level that the voices were getting stronger.

Decker drew in deep, calming lungfuls of air.

He needed to go out. Find some one deserving, and quench his need for blood. Get it out of his system to keep from permanently damaging Lex. Lex's boy had been cathartic. Puncturing his firm flesh and blowing out his skull had appeased the clamoring in Decker's head, but that had been almost three weeks ago, and the pressure was building again. Maybe even Lionel Luthor finally deserved that visit. Finally deserved personal payback for his betrayal. Decker had been waiting, wanting to have Lex for a good long time, let the old man suffer wondering - - but maybe he'd waited long enough. Maybe he'd let the old man know what he'd been doing to his son. Whisper a few details before he took him out.

He yanked on his still hard cock. Stepped over the chains stretching Lex's arms and shoved his dick into his slack mouth. Fucked it ruthlessly, until the grip of his throat made him come. He pulled out not wanting Lex to choke on his come when he wasn't awake to swallow and spilled on his face. Let his head drop and thought that he needed some sort of support for the neck, to hold the head up when he wasn't using the mouth, if he was going to keep him on the rack for hours on end. And he liked the rack. Liked the way Lex's body looked on it. Thought it might be his favorite new piece of equipment.


Things were starting to blur. Vision, thoughts. It took a series of slaps to make him focus and even then it was hard to get past the cloying static clogging his brain.

He swayed, all his weight on his wrists, leather biting into flesh, legs unable to hold him up. He half recalled Decker stringing him up. Had barely been aware of the rape when the man thrust into him. The world was spinning and the pain was distant today.

Decker wasn't happy with his passive reaction, slapped him a few more times, trying to get reaction. Hit him in the soft parts of his body with a closed fist, until he whimpered brokenly and swam in and out of blackness. Welcome void since sleep of late had been elusive and erratic. Filled with lurid nightmares broken only by the constant starts of terror when he thought he heard the step of the man on the stair.

He didn't remember how long Decker had been at him yesterday - - last night? - - a multiple of days?- - perfecting his rack, but Lex thought it might have broken something in him. Something integral. He'd been able to keep his head above water before, even if it had been a struggle. He was drowning now. And it was black and rancid and he couldn't find the strength to fight it any longer.

He'd been a mess when Decker finally pulled him off the rack. Something a little less than human, voice just gone from the screaming, higher mentality ripped away. Spasming uncontrollably on the floor at his tormentor's feet while the man called him names and made him repeat them until he almost believed them himself.

He'd wept. Halfway between miserable awareness and plague filled sleep, he'd wept, a legion of horrors whirling in his head. Not least among them, his father's betrayal and his own culpability in Clark's death. Clark would have been the only one who cared enough about him personally to give a shit if he never came back. God knew Lionel could find a woman and sire another heir if push came to shove. If he weren't already in the process, impatience getting the better of him. Just as well, Lex had always been a disappointment anyway. How long before he stopped looking entirely? Gave Lex up for dead and went on with his life? Had he already? How long had it been? He had no idea.

Clark wouldn't have stopped. Clark wouldn't have given up on him, no matter how much he might have deserved being given up on. Clark always came back. Always forgave him. Always made him forget the questions burning a hole in him, when he looked at him with those big eyes and that brilliant smile.

Clark was dead. Bits of bone and brain spattered across his perfect face. And there was no one coming.

"What's the matter, fun time with the rack spoil you for everything else?" Decker wanted to know. "You like the feel of electricity running through your body?"

Metal touched his skin, soft part of the belly above the hip and Lex only half saw the shape of the prod before the jolt hit him.

He spasmed, rattling the chains and sobbing Clark's name.

It pissed Decker off. His face twisted and he raged. "Stop calling that fucking freak's name."

And maybe he had a little resistance left in him after all, or maybe it was just a perverse need for punishment, but when Decker hit him again with the prod, he threw back his head and screamed Clark's name again, the one sacred thing he'd had in his life more precious than money or power. Decker could strip him of everything else, pride, humanity, make him crawl and beg, but he couldn't take that away.

Clark had taken to standing in the yard. Had wandered out one day and just stood in Martha's flowerbed, face turned up to the sun and stood. Over three weeks and he still wasn't responding to much of anything. Not speaking, not eating, not even sleeping now that he was awake - - if you could call what he was awake - - eyes as distant as a person's eyes could be.

They could get him to move with a little firm pressure on his arms, but that was about all they do with him. It was like his mind had shut down and put his body on autopilot. Catatonic, Martha called it. Jonathan fretted he'd never come out of it.

He'd sit there at night, when they'd gotten Clark inside, watching his boy stare at nothing, and just mourn. Clench his hand around his beer and curse the fate that had done this to them. Curse the man that had.

Until Martha would come and ease the empty long necked bottle out of his hand, and spur him into motion, into doing what needed doing, getting Clark upstairs, washed up and into bed, even though he never closed his eyes. Waste of time, but it made Martha feel like she was accomplishing something. Made her feel like they were making some sort of headway, even though Jonathan feared that they weren't.

Chloe kept coming by, even though they'd asked her not to. She'd heard from God knew what sources at the sheriff's station, about Clark being in shock. About them trying to talk to him and him not responding. She'd brought Lana with her the first time, and they'd thought, well, why not try and see if the presence of the girls, of Lana in particular, might be enough to spur some reaction out of Clark. It wasn't like the sheriff and the federal agent hadn't already seen him and documented his condition. And all the wounds were gone, healed like they'd never been.

So they'd brought them in, let them sit there and talk at Clark while Clark stared through them. Lana had been upset. Visibly upset and shaken. But Chloe had sat there with a frown line between her brows and kept talking. Stubborn and persistent and worried, what with Clark paying her no heed.

Lana didn't come back the next time with her. And Clark had been outside when she'd driven up, standing with his face to the sun like a statue in the back yard.

"I just want to talk to him," she'd argued when Jonathan had asked her to just give them time to deal with Clark on their own. "If I keep talking at him, he'll eventually get annoyed and tell me to stop."

She was desperately concerned about her friend and it broke Jonathan's heart. Still there was nothing normal about this state Clark was in and ingrained habit made them cling to their privacy and secrecy when it had to do with Clark.

Pete came a few times, but Clark's vacant stare spooked the boy into stuttering apologies and cutting visits short.

When child protective services came by in the shamed-faced company of Sheriff Ethan, sicced on them by either the federal authorities or the school system, or hell, even the doctor that had come by at the urging of the authorities early on, Jonathan got pissed. Martha had to take hold of his arm and physically haul him into another room when the holier than though little shit had threatened to get a court order and have Clark removed to a facility better suited to dealing with severe trauma cases. He wouldn't even have put it past Lionel Luthor being behind it, that bastard's own security having been at the farm repeatedly trying to get information out of them about Lex's kidnapping. And wouldn't Lionel Luthor just love having Clark somewhere beyond the protection of his parents, to poke and prod at will.

The social services rep left, promising court proceedings, and they'd sat there afterwards, white faced and desperately trying to figure a way out, short of pulling up roots and running. They wouldn't see Clark in a 'facility' of any sort. The first time they tried to put a needle in him, they'd discover just what a special boy they had in their grasps.

It was not long after that Martha noticed Clark cocking his head to this side, then that, pupils dilating and shrinking, as if he were hearing things they weren't.

"What's he doing?" She asked and Jonathan shook his head, at a loss.

Then Clark turned, sudden focus in his eyes and stared sharply to the west. His lips moved, and they barely heard the whisper.

"Lex."

And then, fast enough to make their clothing whip, he was just gone.

To be continued . . .