Obsessions Chapter 11

Here's the next chapter of Obsessions.

More heavy duty Non-con/violence warnings.



Chapter eleven

The lights glared down, the faint buzz of fluorescents the only sound in the basement aside from the harsh hiss of Lex's breath. Fire licked at his shoulders. Insistent, ever increasing, like acid eating away at his joints. It spread up his arms, and into his pecs, seeping into his musculature. His legs were trembling, muscles straining to keep him that fraction of an inch high enough to keep the pressure off his shoulders. Failing when exhaustion overcame him, and the increased strain stained his vision red with agony.

And it didn't end. Constant, keening pain. Time passed like nails down a chalkboard. Slow and excruciating. If he hadn't emptied his stomach off the side of the porch at the Maplethorpe house when Clark had first gone after the fucking psychopath, he might have ended his misery the most undignified way possible, choked on his own vomit.

As it was, when the pain got so bad it induced nausea, the only thing he was able to cough up was bile. It ate at his throat, acid and vile, but he was able to swallow it back down and breathe.

They had to know he was missing by now. The Kent's had to have let someone know - - please God. They had to be looking for him. His father would have brought in the authorities. Would have his own people searching. This wasn't one of those life lesson sort of situations that he might sit back and let Lex work out on his own.

There was a point when exhaustion and pain began to erode thought. When his brain began to conserve, shutting out all the extraneous things, all focus narrowed down to red tinged suffering and the effort to keep from just sagging forward and dragging his arms out of their sockets.

He didn't hear the steps when Decker came back down. Didn't notice the man's presence at all until he unhooked the chain holding his wrists. And the sudden release of tension as his arms dropped down out of their locked position brought on a whole new world of agony. He fell onto his side, shrieking into the gag, shoulders, back, legs all one cohesive whole of spasming muscle. When it eased enough that he could see and think beyond the hurt, and pant into the gag instead of scream, Decker unclasped his ankle cuffs from the thigh bands. Pulled him up and off the bed with an arm under his elbow and God, it hurt, shoulders still burning.

His legs splayed out from under him, cramping from holding the same position for however many hours he'd been there. Decker just hauled him back up and dragged him to a corner where there was a tattered armchair next to an end table. There was a small, threadbare area rug under it, and it was the only thing that saved Lex's knees when Decker threw him down. Decker shoved him forward, against the seat of the chair and Lex leaned there, concentrating on breathing, head spinning with exhaustion. When his hands were uncuffed, he didn't have the strength to fight it. His wrists were recuffed to the outside rings on the straps around his thighs.

Decker pulled him back off the chair, moved around and sat down in it, legs spread, boots on either side of Lex's knees. It wasn't hard to figure out what was coming. He swayed, odd little blank spots in his thinking, brain misfiring from the burning pain of cramped muscles and chronic lack of sleep.

"You look good on your knees, Lex," Decker laid a hand on his skull, and Lex summoned energy he hadn't thought he had and jerked way, glaring. Decker just grinned at him and gripped the back of his head. "Look good naked."

The man looped a finger through the ring on the back of the gag strap and pulled Lex back until he was leaning awkwardly, supported by Decker's hand, because God knew he hadn't the strength in his back at the moment to support himself at this angle. Decker's other hand slid down his stomach, rubbed his hairless pubic mound. "Always ashamed of this, weren't you? Bald all over. That why you never fucked most people more than once? 'Cause once they saw how naked you were under all your pretty clothes, you were ashamed to go back for a second round?"

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Lex thought at him, hating the bastard even more because there might actually have been a grain of truth in there. That this man, hidden in the shadows all those years, watching him, had picked up on.

"Nothing to be ashamed about," Decker told him, still petting him, big fingers grazing his penis, slipping down to knead his aching balls still trapped in the spreader. "I never seen skin so pretty as yours."

He drew Lex back towards, him, reaching up with the other hand to unfasten the buckle at the back of Lex's neck. Then he eased the leather ball gag out from behind Lex's teeth. His jaw was so stiff he could barely close it. He dropped his head, panting and drooling a little. Decker wiped it off with a thumb, tilted his chin up and looked him dead in the eye.

"You're gonna use that pretty mouth and you're going to suck me.

Lex managed the barest curve of a smile. "Sure."

He'd bite the fucker's cock off.

Decker's fingers tightened on his jaw. "I will knock your ass out the moment I feel teeth, and when you wake up, you'll have your balls stuffed in your mouth. You don't need balls to fill my needs, boy. Might make you more manageable without. Do you doubt me?"

Lex tried to jerk his chin away. Failed. Glared back at Decker until the man asked again, slow and serious, the look in his eyes that of a man that never bluffed. "Do you doubt me?"

He remembered the things in the report his father had shown him and didn't doubt at all.

He swallowed, shook his head minutely. "No."

Decker held his gaze a moment more, then nodded, released his jaw and unfastened his pants. Lex hadn't gotten a particularly good look at his cock before, but it bobbed in excruciating detail before his face now. Maybe 7 and a half inches long with a flared mushroom head that was already tight and shiny and purple. The veins were big and dark under ruddy skin. Lots of dark pubic hair that disappeared in a thick trail under his shirt.

"Open up," Decker suggested, fist around the base of his cock, aiming it towards Lex's mouth.

"You know they're out in force looking for me right now, don't you?"

Decker narrowed his eyes, moved his free hand to the back of Lex's neck. The cock head nudged his lips. "If I want you to use your mouth to talk, I'll tell you."

Charming. "They know it's you. My father probably has all those army shrinks who know you inside and out profiling you as we speak."

His reflexes were slow enough he didn't see the blow coming. Not a hard hit, just a solid, openhanded slap across the side of his face. "I told you, the right to talk is earned."

"Fuck y - -" Was as far as he got before he got slapped again. Harder this time, almost enough to knock him over. The sting in his cheek was starting to numb. There were lights dancing at the edges of his vision.

Decker grabbed his jaw, fingers biting into the hinge, forcing his mouth open, jerked him forward with the other hand on the back of his head. The big head of his cock slipped past his lips and his teeth probably did scrape, but he had no control over it, as Decker rammed it down his throat. No complimentary moment to get used to the intrusion, just his nose pressed against Decker's thick pubic hair, his throat chafing as the cock head opened it, shoved halfway down his throat, him gagging and choking, gag reflex going into overdrive.

"That's your problem, Lex," Decker said holding him there, while he suffocated, no air able to pass the obstruction in his esophagus. "You think you're entitled. Think you can do what you want and ignore simple rules."

He pulled out, let Lex draw half a strangled breath, and shoved back in. "You ignore my rules, you suffer for it. You keep suffering until you learn how to obey."

Out again, and Lex gasped, feeling light headed from near asphyxiation. Lecture apparently over, Decker grasped the sides of his face, thumbs still pinching into the hinge of his jaw and proceeded with a thorough skull fuck.

It didn't take him long to come. A dozen thrusts or more and his semen was filling Lex's throat, burning as it went down from the abrasion of an unexpected and particularly rough deep throating.

Decker pulled out, and Lex doubled, stomach heaving, bile and come trying to surge back up his throat. He clenched his teeth, biting back a sob of purest frustration and disgust.

"What the fuck do you expect to gain from this?" he cried, voice as raw as his throat felt. "If you worked for my father, you know he won't give you a dime." Which was as true and lamentable a statement as Lex had ever uttered, because Lionel Luthor didn't deal with extortionists. He might spend a fortune hunting them down, but he wouldn't bend to their demands.

Another slap, and this one did knock him over, and he lay there, cheek pressed to the rug, head spinning until Decker pulled him back up again. "I gave you fair warning, Lex. Told you to keep your damned mouth shut. Now you learn the price of disobedience."

He reached for the gag, and Lex hissed through his teeth, pulling away, trying to deny it.

"No - -no --" Useless protest. Decker forced it back into his mouth, cinched it tight, then hauled him to his feet. He had marginally more strength in his legs, but he still swayed. He wasn't able to quite straighten up, wrists locked around the area of mid-thigh. Decker dragged him along anyway, pushed him face first against a roughly made version of a Saint Andrew's Cross, constructed of 2 x 6's bolted to the cement wall. A homemade bondage scaffold complete with eye rings for securing arms and legs. Fuck. Just fuck.

Decker kicked his ankles apart, secured one, then the other, assuring limited ability to fight it when he loosed Lex's arm and forced it to the apex of the right beam. Lex fought him anyway, mindless panic that got him nothing but a fist in the kidney, driving the air out of him, letting Decker drag his arm up and lock it in place. He followed suit with the other. Which left Lex spread eagle and yanking ineffectually at the cuffs, belly pressed into the intersection of wood, everything else dangling.

How was he supposed to deal with the bastard when he wouldn't let him talk long enough to reason? And he could reason, he could reason very prettily, if he could just get his equilibrium long enough to choke back the rage and the frustration and the burning need to see this man dead. And the fear. The fear wasn't making it any easier to come up with calm rationalizations, even inside his own head.

He heard the slither of leather, like the sound of a belt sliding out of the loops of a pair of pants. Vaguely familiar. Lionel had on occasion, when he'd been deep in his cups and mourning the loss of a wife and the burden of a disappointing heir, had a penchant for employing a similar method of discipline. Never on bare skin though. Never more than a strike or two before he realized what he was about and shut himself down.

Lex shut his eyes and tried to relax his jaw. Tried to find a calm place. A place where he could take this and not disgrace himself. Jerked when he felt Decker's hand between his legs, cupping his genitals, fondling overly sensitized, trapped balls. The smooth, hard feel of leather touched them, Decker stroking him with the looped belt.

God. Oh, God. He began to loose the rhythm of his breath and he hadn't been hit once yet.

"Five lashes for every time you've spoken out of turn." Decker said, moving the edge of the belt up between the crack of his ass, over the flat butt of the plug stretching his insides, trailing it up his back. "One between the legs for each time you've been disrespectful. I won't hear foul language from you."

Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh - -

He gasped into the gag at the sound of the first strike. It hit him across the swell of his ass. It took a second for the sting to register, and then it hit hot and sharp. The pain from the second one came faster, and he bit into the gag, choking back the scream.

The crack of the leather echoed in his head, always preceding the burn of pain. He tried to calculate how many times he'd spoken, how many tonight that Decker could call him on - -three ?- - and the one aborted 'fuck you'. Fifteen lashes? He tried to count, so he could keep track - - but the shock of each impact shredded his concentration. He thought it had far gone beyond fifteen, so there might be discrepancies between his count and Decker's. He couldn't keep the scream from battering against the gag when the belt caught him across the small of the back and felt like it had torn right through his skin into flesh and bone beneath.

That was nothing compared to the pain that shot through him when the belt lashed up between his legs, snapping against exposed genitals. That pain rushed up, like a fist slamming him in the gut from the inside. Huge and swelling and dulling out the fire in his back.

Again, and he was suffocating from it, not able to get enough air through the gag, heaving and choking and trying to press his body through the wall to get away. A third time - - a fucking third time and he didn't remember saying the words that earned that one - - and it was too much, and everything tilted, a black wall of agony, bile in his mouth, coiling in his throat.

He must have passed out. He was sagging against the cross, when he came to, back on fire. Balls throbbing. Throat burning and raw. His vision was blurry. His face was wet. So much for not disgracing himself. Brilliant plan.

The pressure on his wrists was making his hands numb. He didn't think he could get his legs under him if he tried. Pain and exhaustion were at bitter odds.

Decker moved behind him and he flinched. The man didn't even touch him and he jerked, heart thudding in his throat.

"When I hurt you, it's for your own good." A finger lightly trailed a welt on his back and he sucked in air, recoiling mentally. There was no place physically to escape.

A thick, folded cloth pressed across his nose. One inhalation told him it was more of the chloroform. A second and his head was spinning and the fumes were sucking him down. The last thing he heard was Decker whispering.

"Now you can sleep."

And he did.


Lex was soft. His pain thresholds easy to break. But then, he wasn't a solider. He hadn't been trained to endure torture and deprivation. Physically, he could be broken. Mentally he would be more of a challenge. There were different levels that a man retreated to, when he was trying to escape pain. A smart man would swallow his pride and play at obedience to avoid punishment. But it would be an act and inside his head, he'd be rebelling. Holding onto hope and resentment, plotting retaliation. And though Lex was young and hot headed, he was clever. He'd do what needed doing eventually, to avoid the pain.

Grudging obedience wasn't what Decker wanted from him. Oh, it would do for a start, but what Decker needed, what Lex needed to adapt to this new life Decker was gifting him with, was acceptance of it. Absolute submission. Unblinking welcome of whatever use Decker chose to put him. He'd welcome the pain eventually. Beg for things he couldn't conceive of now, once Decker had utterly destroyed the man he was now.

It would take more than breaking his body for that. There were men he'd worked with during his time in the service that could fuck with a hostile's head without ever touching him. Without ever making him scream. It was effective, but it took time and there were other techniques that let a man get his hands dirty. Head games had never been Decker's preferred method for breaking a man. Getting to the mind through the body was a more satisfying sport. The body and the mind were symbiotic in that the one would eventually shatter if you put enough pressure on the other.

He spread ointment on the worst of the welts once he had Lex down from the cross and back onto the bed. He hadn't been gentle with his use of the belt and there was blood where it had struck the same spot repeatedly. Lex had fine skin. Fragile skin and he marked easily. Decker didn't want scars. He might mark him later, a brand of some sort to remind him who he belonged to. Decker was meticulous with his things, and though his weapons and his gear were worn from hard usage, they were never anything but oiled and honed and spit shined, in perfect condition to do his bidding.

He removed the gag, pulled out the big plug and felt his stomach flutter in excitement as the flared end of it stretched the swollen lips of Lex's asshole wide to accommodate its exodus. The leather ball spreader came off more gingerly, the leather biting into the swollen flesh. He shifted them in his hand, gently. Rolling them a little in their bruised sack. Lex didn't stir through any of it, deep in the grips of the anesthetic.

Decker liked his struggles, loved his body writhing under him, but he liked this too. The sublime feeling of a body limp and lax and completely his to arrange.

He crossed Lex's wrists, clipped the cuffs together and attached them over his head to one of the vertical headboard supports. Laid a hand on the back of his naked skull. Licked the thin skin and tasted the faint salty flavor of sweat. Licked at the fading marks on the back of his neck where the gag strap and buckle had bit into his flesh.

He'd let him sleep a few hours, before waking him. He'd keep him from a regular sleep cycle, keep him exhausted and keep him disoriented enough not to know when rest would next be allowed. The lights would never go out and he'd lose his sense of time. It wouldn't take long. Decker had seen men crumble from that subtle pressure alone.

He'd shower him again when he let him wake. Clean him out again on the inside. Give him water, but no food. A few days without and he'd be more malleable, less able to put up a fight if he tried. And he needed to know Decker was stronger than him, more capable. That Decker could take him with or without restraints if he wanted.

The voices in his head were quiet, somewhat mollified by the infliction of pain. By the punishment. It was a relief almost, not to hear them whispering at the edge of his thoughts. He bit at the sharp jut of one shoulder blade. Left an imprint of teeth next to the welt that diagonally intersected it. Beautiful.

He was hard and there was no reason to deny himself anything when it came to Lex. Not anymore. He slapped a little of the ointment on his cock head and sank in. Almost like fucking a corpse, with the utter lack of response. Better, though, when the cavity he was plowing was warm and throbbing in time with a pulse. He shoved in as deep and as hard as he could, the skin of Lex's ass so hot from the whipping that it likened to burn Decker's balls and his stomach when he pressed tight. He dug his fingers in, leaving white imprints in reddened flesh. Grunted with the exertion of it, until his balls tightened and he came. Emptied himself deep in Lex's guts, and sighed in satisfaction. That was four loads of his Lex had inside him. Three up the ass, one down the throat. It made Decker feel warm, satisfied in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. A feeling of accomplishment that he hadn't truly experienced since he'd been booted out of the military and his missions had become so much less grand in scale.

He spread a little lube on the plug and twisted it back in. He wanted everything trapped inside, wanted it to saturate Lex from the inside and kill everything that freakish boy he'd let fuck him might have stained. And tomorrow after he let the enema stretch Lex's belly until the skin was thin and taut, and he rinsed it all out, he'd start all over and fill him up again.

He thought it was a ritual he might grow to love.


The police were at the farm again. In the company of the FBI this time, asking more questions and pressuring them about Clark.

Lies came out of their mouths that Jonathan cringed at. They'd never used religion to cover any of Clark's secrets, but they used it now, excuse for not allowing them to take him away to the hospital or allow their doctors to come and give him more than a cursory look. Martha had read on the internet about parents able to refuse care on the basis of religious beliefs - - and winning when the authorities tried to force the issue in court.

It made Jonathan sick to his stomach to pretend - - to use his God in that way - - but what choice did they have?

Four days and Clark hadn't woken. The wounds had finally healed. All the little ones had closed up with in the hour. The entrance wounds on his skull had taken a little longer. The big ones where the bullets had ripped out the other side of his skull, where bone was missing in chunks - - those were slower to mend. But they did. Four days and his body was whole, but he showed no signs of waking.

Four days that they'd been fending off authorities desperate to uncover any clue they could about Lex Luthor's whereabouts.

Short of telling them the parts about Clark's powers, they'd told them everything else that had happened. What Lex had told them, what they'd seen on their own. Beyond that, all they could do was sit and watch Clark and hope the damage done inside his skull healed as thoroughly as the rest of his body. Hoped that he was the same boy he'd been before, because growing back brain matter and retaining what had been held within might be two different things.

Four days and he tried to get his work done, drove himself to exhaustion doing things that needed doing and couldn't half finish in a day what they'd been able to accomplish in a morning with Clark's abilities to help out. It kept him from thinking though, from letting him fall into a pit of worry over his boy. He'd drag in at night and have an extra beer or two with supper, and try not and talk about what if's with Martha, who was trying damned hard to hold it together. Martha who'd done her crying and was dry eyed and resolute.

It was Martha that had been on the phone with the school, explaining that Clark was sick and couldn't come in. Martha who'd turned away Chloe and Lana from coming to see him, promising them with a smile that Jonathan had no idea how she'd managed, that she'd have Clark call them when he was feeling better.

Pete they let come in, because Pete knew and Pete might be able to help with the cover story if this dragged on too long. But the boy looked traumatized after seeing Clark, pale with bandages wrapped around his head to hide the healing wounds, and sat down at the kitchen table after with his hands shaking while they tried to explain what had happened. Tried to explain their hopes that Clark would come out of this.

The boy didn't understand as much as he pretended. Pete just saw a friend he'd thought pretty much invulnerable lying there paler than Clark had ever been in his life, quieter than he'd ever been, stiller than it was possible for a body to get and not be dead.

Martha might have quit her crying, but sometimes out in the field, Jonathan felt the hot sting of tears when he thought about it.

He worried about Lex to, in that part of his brain not taken up with concern for his own boy. Never would have thought he'd sit up nights with a care for what a Luthor was going through - - but it had been four days and no sign of him. He figured he was probably dead. Probably buried somewhere out in the Kansas back country, if what the bastard that had taken him had done to Clark was any indication. And Jonathan didn't wish that on him. Despite what he and Clark had been up to - - and he didn't want to think about that and have angry thoughts about a kid that was either dead or wishing he were - - he didn't wish it on him.

Not after he'd traded himself for Clark.

The police had found his phone out beyond the picnic shelter. Found his wallet in the trashcan. The rain had washed away any other evidence and thank god for that, because a lot of Clark's blood had spilled. They didn't need them testing that and figuring out there was a boy here they needed to take a closer look at regardless of his parent's wishes.

They'd been shown pictures of the man who'd done it. A man Jonathan's age for God's sake, that had served his country. They hadn't recognized him, but Pete said that Lana had ID'd him as coming into the Talon a lot over the past months. Said she was shaken pretty badly, knowing she'd been waiting the table of psychopathic killer all those weeks. Said he'd mostly come in when Lex had been there, stalking a kid less than half his age.

It made Jonathan's stomach turn. Made him buy a second shotgun, so he could have one in the truck and one in the house. If word reached this bastard that Clark was still alive, Jonathan didn't know what he might do. Didn't know whether he was the sort of man that wouldn't stand to leave a job unfinished.

One way or another, he'd protect his family best he could.

To be continued . . .