Obsessions Chapter 10
Okay, remember all those warnings I gave when I first started posting this thing? Well, they come into play starting this chapter.
If you've got a problem with non-con and Lex abuse, its time to start skipping the Lex/Decker parts of these next few chapters.
I kid you not, so if you're sensitive and choose to read, no comments about how terrible I am.
For those of you who can handle a little dark angst and physical violence, read on.
Chapter Ten
Decker stood there, longer than he should have, reveling in the feel of Lex limp and heavy against him. Shifted his arm from around his neck to his waist and pressed the chloroform soaked rag a little tighter over his nose and mouth, making him take in as much of the fumes as he could before they had to move. Shivering as much as Decker ever shivered, euphoria swelling and coiling inside like a nest of living things.
Mine. Mine. Mine. It was either the voices chanting in jubilation or just him. He wasn't sure. They were in accordance in this.
He could feel the heat of Lex's skin through wet clothing. Feel the slow, steady throb of his pulse under the hand he splayed across his stomach. Wet silk was an erotic barrier between his palm and the smooth skin of Lex's belly. Culmination. Years of lurid fantasy and he had him in his arms. Helpless. All that power Lex had thought he'd held about to be stripped away. He'd started the lesson tonight, running Lex around, making him accept the fact that the only choices he'd had were Decker's. The only choices he'd ever have again were one's given to him by Decker. Obey or suffer the consequences.
Decker's cock burned in his trousers. Had been hard since he'd made the second call to Lex. But it would wait. Deprivation was an old friend. Soon enough he'd indulge himself.
Decades he'd spent breaking his back, fighting the wars of the master's he'd served. Bloodying his hands, bloodying his mind until all he saw some nights was blood. He was due this. Due his own fucking private paradise, only he didn't need any damned 72 virgins, just Lex.
He shoved the rag in his pocket, got an arm under Lex's knees and swung him up. Tall as he was Lex didn't have a lot of bulk. A lot easier to handle than the boy, who'd been solid with the muscle density of a kid that worked and worked hard.
He took one more glance at the boy on the ground, who was just cooling meat now, with two bullets in his head. He'd needed Lex to see that. Needed Lex to know that all those outside things that mattered to him were gone. Irretrievably gone. And the kid might have miraculously recovered from a slit throat, but there were bits of brain matter and shards of skull, spattered in the blood soaking his dark hair and there wasn't any coming back from that.
The kid's blood had stained the carpet in the back of the SUV, but he didn't figure Lex would mind. He put him in, hesitated, snared by the long curve of neck and shoulder where the half buttoned shirt stretched away, baring skin. Laid a thumb on the big vein and felt hot blood surging through. Traced the length of it down to the juncture of collarbone. Elegant. Not one of Decker's words, but it fit Lex to a T.
He clenched his fist, drawing back, not having the time to waste here, with people on the way to find the kid. He got in the SUV, grim curve on his lips, didn't bother to adjust himself, no matter the discomfort. Pain was a good thing. Made release all the better when it was finally allowed.
He backed down the trail till he could turn, then put the vehicle into 4-wheel drive to traverse the mud, and headed towards the road the back way. It was a long way home.
He pulled the SUV into the dilapidated barn behind the house, filled with its antiquated farming equipment, long gone to rust. He hauled Lex over his shoulder, pulled the rickety barn door shut, hiding the dull gleam of the SUV, and walked to the house. Unlocked the deadbolts on the door, all of them newly installed. All of them the sort that locked from both sides, needing a key to get in or out. The house itself was mostly furnished the way the old man who'd owned it had left it. Threadbare furniture, stacks of newspaper, boxes of accumulated things that most people would have considered trash.
Decker didn't care. It was just a gateway to the sanctum below. The barn was full of trash he'd cleared out from the basement, making the space his needs required. Making a place suitable to keep a man that might have issues at first at being kept. No windows to worry about barring, just a secure metal door at the top of narrow stairs that had replaced a thin wooden one. Cement floor and walls, riddled with stress and age cracks. A bed, sturdy and wrought iron, bolted to the floor. A sink, a toilet, a shower that Decker had installed himself. Other projects he'd spent time constructing out of wood and metal. Locked metal cabinets filled with supplies to fill every need. One's to survive down here indefinitely, if the need arose. One's to teach a young, proud man the meaning of humility.
He pushed the basement door open, and maneuvered down the steps with his burden. Deposited Lex on the bed, went back up and locked the door with the keys he kept around his neck on a thin chain. He came back down, stood at the edge of the bed and stared, savoring the moment. Mission complete and victory at hand.
Sat down finally, on the edge of the hard mattress, ran a thumb over soft, half parted lips. Pressed the bottom one down to reveal the slick pink inside. Lex didn't stir. He let his fingers slide down Lex's neck, used a thumb under the tip of his jaw to tilt his head back and emphasize the arch of his vulnerable throat. He rested his fingers against the throb of pulse, shutting his eyes and letting the feel of it seep into his own veins. If he pressed harder he could interrupt the blood flow to the brain. If he kept pressing the brain would stop altogether, deprived too long of oxygen rich blood. The quiver in his gut started to pound, rhythmic beat of anticipation. He swallowed, opening his eyes and forcing his fingers down. Flicking the only two fastened buttons on Lex's shirt out of their holes.
He peeled damp silk aside. With his arms cuffed behind him, the lines of Lex's chest where taut, the delineation of his ribcage more pronounced. His nipples pink and drawn in the cool basement air.
Decker could do more than watch now. He could touch. He could reach out and catch a little nub between his fingers and tug on pliable flesh. Knead and twist until Lex made a sound, pain drawing him closer to consciousness.
It snapped Decker out of his exploration. Put him back on track.
He rolled Lex onto his side, unlocking the metal police issue handcuffs. Hard metal would bite to the bone when struggles became desperate. He stripped the shirt off, and reached for more suitable restraints. Thick leather cuffs with the added security of tiny padlocks. He fastened them around Lex's wrists. Hissed air out through his teeth, cock throbbing hot and tight in his fatigues as he cinched the leather tight. He stretched Lex's arms above his head and clipped the D rings of the manacles to short lengths of chain welded to the wrought iron spokes of the headboard.
Stripped the pants off him and had to pause and drink in the sight of him, pale and sleek as he'd always imagined, not a hair follicle on his body to mar the utter smoothness of his skin. More naked because of it. Indecent almost - - debauched and decadent, like something you'd find on a leather porn sight - - some shaved slave, bound and stretched out on display, awaiting the pleasure of his master. Only he was like this naturally.
Decker grinned slowly, figuring the rest was true enough. He ran a hand down the long, lean muscle of one calf, and fastened a cuff to the ankle. Stretched it out to the corner of the bed, clipped it to the iron footboard. Did the same with the other leg.
Then he went upstairs, pulled out his painfully hard dick and pissed. Stroked it a few times, just to take the edge off, otherwise he'd shoot his load the moment he had it out of his pants in the vicinity of Lex. Sat down after and opened a can of salvage store army rations and ate. He'd give Lex time to come out of the chloroform haze, give him time to realize his situation. Time to realize just how out of options he was, then Decker would go down and start cracking through the layers of armor he'd built up after twenty two years of living under his daddy's rule.
He had all the time in the world to ferret out the secrets and the weaknesses and use them to break Lex down, to make him malleable and willing to submit to Decker's rule.
Jonathan Kent cursed the Luthor name. Cursed Lex Luthor in particular, the taillights of the Porsche so long out of his sight he thought he'd lost him for good. The old ford engine was struggling at seventy-five. God knew how fast Lex had been sailing down a rain slick two-lane rural route. If it hadn't been for the curb all freshly torn up from somebody making a damned precarious turn on Greendale, he'd have driven right past. As it was, he slowed, rain splattering his arm and the cracked vinyl of the truck door as he peered out the open window at the tracks in the mud.
Not necessarily Porsche tire treads, but it was the only clue he had. So he made the turn, spinning tires on slick asphalt and headed down Greendale, his gut so tight with fear that he was wrong, that he would be too late, that it ached.
Damn Lex for bringing this on them. Damn him for taking an honest boy - - a good boy - - and tempting him with things that would never have crossed his mind, if not for Lex. They'd had enough damned craziness in their lives, without the Luthor's bringing their own brand of it to town.
All he'd ever wanted was for Clark to grow up safe and happy and as normal as Clark, being Clark, could hope to be. He'd always thought, in that place where he allowed himself modest dreams, that Clark would want the farm, would continue working it with a good woman and a family of his own after Jonathan was in the ground, just as he'd worked it after his father had passed.
But after the things Clark had said, the things he'd done when he'd had that damned red rock on his finger, Jonathan wasn't so sure anymore. Wasn't sure the farm would be enough for him. Wasn't sure a woman who'd give him a family to carry on the name would be enough.
He'd never admit it to a living being, but he wished it had been Lana he'd caught Clark naked and - - and fornicating with. Wished with a shame that made his soul shrink, that it had been her he'd felt the need to force into sex. God help him for wishing rape on an innocent girl, but the alternative of his son preferring a man shook him to the core.
A car passed him on the road. Leisurely pace, low broad headlights of an early model sedan. Not Lex. Damn him for driving like a bat out of hell, for racing out of the house with barely an explanation and expecting them to know what in the hell they were supposed to do.
It had been miles now. Miles of dark, rainy road and he'd passed plenty of turn offs that Lex could have taken and without slowing down and inspecting each one for signs of tire marks - - If Lex had actually had the presence of mind to make the first set on purpose - - he was lost. He clenched his jaw, an unbidden quaking starting in his chest, fear for Clark rising up like bile in his throat.
He could drive till he hit Metropolis and not catch up to that fancy car of Lex's. Best maybe to turn around and start looking for sign of where he might have turned. Lex was clever, Jonathan would give him that, and he'd wanted Jonathan to follow. So maybe he'd gone out of his way to leave breadcrumbs. Jonathan just hadn't seen them in the dark.
So he turned around, headed back the way he'd come, headlights on high beam, peering through the rain spattered windshield looking for something. Anything. There were headlights approaching. A truck. It took it slowing, the horn blaring at him for him to realize it was his own damned truck. The '72 ford that he used to haul hay and feed out to the far pastures. Expired tags, bald tires and rusted out body that had no business being out on a public road.
Martha rolled down the window, white faced and frantic eyed and cried at him. " Lex called. Clark's at the picnic stop on Greendale, Jonathan."
Damn, he'd passed that a mile back, a narrow little dirt track he hadn't thought to give much heed to. He started to open his mouth, to tell her not to get too far ahead of him, but she was already heading down the road by the time he could turn around. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor trying to catch up with her, not knowing what was waiting out there.
By the time he got there, she was standing in the rain, screaming Clark's name. He grabbed the shotgun off the seat and joined her. It was damned dark out here, no lights save the twin beams of their headlights. There was a trail leading into the woods, a walking path that local kids used more often than anyone else, to find secluded make-out spots. He'd used it himself a lifetime ago, before he'd met Martha.
He caught her arm before she could plunge down it before him, checking the load in the shotgun, before preceding her. He'd never shot a man in his life. To protect her, to protect his son, he would.
It wasn't that far before they reached the churned mud of an off road trail. They almost didn't see Clark, dirt and rain-darkened clothing blending him in with the mud. Martha saw him first, Jonathan busy scouring the dark brush looking for threats. She cried out, a happy little squawk that turned into something else entirely as she skidded to her knees in the mud next to him.
Martha wasn't the sort of woman that screamed, not the sort that let fear get the best of her. But the wail that ripped out of her throat was like somebody had torn out her heart. It sat his own to racing, palpitating in his chest. He dropped down, shotgun forgotten in the mud, and tried to get past her to see the damage.
It was horrific. A gaping hole ripped through Clark's temple, blood and bone and brain matter spattered on the surrounding skin. Another behind his ear, and Jonathan could just see the exit wound of this one, a hole the size of a woman's fist where his skull had just been blow away. Nothing any mother should ever have to see.
He latched onto her, his own shoulders quaking, holding onto her tight while she keened, Clark's ruined head clutched against her breast. Pressed his face against her wet hair and sobbed.
"We have to get him home," he croaked. "Martha, we have to get him home."
She leaned over Clark a moment more, then lifted her head, her face lined with agony, and nodded. What else could they do? Report it to the sheriff? Have them take his body and autopsy it and discover he wasn't human? Then they'd peel him open and take him apart, piece-by-piece to appease their curiosity and damned if Jonathan would allow it. She knew it, too.
Somebody had bound his hands and feet with wire, wrapped it around his knees. In the dark, Jonathan couldn't get a good enough grip to twist the knot free. He cursed, his own fingers bleeding from the effort and Martha put her hands on his wrists, looked up at him with infinite understanding of his frustration. He swallowed back tears that tasted like blood and got his arms under Clark's shoulders while she struggled with his feet and they got him by degrees to the pickups. Dragged him into the bed of Jonathan's, and he unrolled the old blue tarp and laid it over him, not so much to hide him, as to keep the rain out of his face. As if it mattered.
"Leave it here," he told her, when she went to get into the farm truck. They'd come back and pick it up later, but right now, he didn't want her driving it on that long wet road home.
He put the gun on the rack behind him. She climbed in and sat, hollow eyed and mud spattered next to him.
Silence on the way home, neither one of them able to speak past the pain.
Fumes of adrenalin allowed them to get Clark into house. They laid him out on the dining room table, neither one having the strength to attempt to get him upstairs. He stood there afterwards holding her while she cried softly into his chest.
He clipped the wire off Clark, while she cleaned him up as best she could. Stripped the mud caked clothing off him, washed the dirt and the blood and the other things off his body. There were wounds other than the bullet holes. Puncture wounds the width of a hunting knife. His shoulder. The hollows above both hips, the meaty part of his thighs, a few other places, as if someone had taken time and effort to hurt him.
They sat there, on either side of the table of him, her hands on his cold arms, her head bowed, while Jonathan stared blankly over them both, thinking thoughts he'd never thought he'd think. Thoughts about killing a man slow and painful.
"Lex."
He looked up at her voice. She was staring at him, wide eyed.
Jonathan blinked her back into focus. "What?"
There was a wrinkle between her brows, a dawning spark of new horror in her green eyes. "Oh my God, Jonathan - - where's Lex?"
"The hell should I know? Half way to Metropolis after leaving us to - - " To deal with Clark. He couldn't stop staring at the damage the bullets had done to Clark's head.
"Jonathan!" She pushed herself up. "He went there to try and save Clark. And he's gone. He wouldn't have left if he'd had a choice. You know that!"
"I know he didn't save him!" he cried at her. "I know Clark wouldn't be lying here now - - like this - - if it weren't for him."
"It wasn't his fault!" She stared at him, eyes so red from all the crying that they fairly glowed in her face. "He didn't ask for this. You can't blame him for the actions of a madman. Clark wouldn't blame him for this. Don't you dare."
He gaped at her, at the vehemence in her voice and he remembered the look in Lex's eyes when he'd run past them on the way out of the house. The desperation. The fear for Clark that sent him out to meet a kidnapper that he'd known had been aiming for him, alone in the dark with nothing for backup but a Goddamned farmer in a truck too old to match the speeds of a hundred thousand dollar car.
"We need to go and tell Lionel," she said.
Lionel Luthor was the last man Jonathan wanted to go and tell anything, but that was old grudges talking. A man had the right to know if his son had gone missing.
He nodded, pushing himself up from the table while she went to look for a blanket to cover up Clark. There was a wound on his leg, just below the knee that Jonathan hadn't noticed before. A nasty looking puncture that was inflamed and blistered. There looked to be something protruding. A sliver of wood. He went for the needle nose pliers, dug into the wound with a wince and caught hold of the piece, pulled it out, a long sliver of wood and on the tip of it, bound with thin wire, a long shard of bloody green rock. He held it up under the dining room light. Looked past it at Martha who'd come back with the blanket in her hands. This was the culprit. The reason Clark had fallen prey to bullets and blades.
"How in hell did he know about the meteor rock?" He didn't expect her to have an answer.
He looked down, then narrowed his eyes and peered closer. The veiny red in the inflammation around the puncture wound was slowly receding. Slower by far than Clark usually healed when he'd been nicked by meteor rock, but healing all the same.
Dead men didn't heal. Even dead alien ones.
"Martha," he was afraid if he said her name above a whisper the spell would shatter and he'd blink and realize he'd been seeing things. She came around the table, looked where he was looking, and after a moment, sobbed. Clutched his arm and sobbed, but this time it was tinged with something that might have been a distant cousin to relief.
Lex came awake by degrees. Lazy awareness of cool air brushing his skin, of the faint dank smell of mold, of the ball of his foot touching cold metal. He tried to shift it, and couldn't. He drew in air, a huge lungful of it and the oxygen chased away the fog. He tried to move his arms, but they were locked above his head. He twisted his head in blossoming panic, jerking against the restraints. Thick leather cuffs snug around his wrists, attached to iron rings welded to the vertical bars of a wrought iron bed.
He was naked, his legs spread wide and secured to the legs of the iron footboard. He cursed, that blossoming panic swelling to full-fledged terror. Desperately jerked at the restraints, chain clanking, leather squeaking, but the bed not giving an inch, solid and implacable and holding him fast. All he managed was to bruise his wrists and twist his shoulder a little in his efforts. He lay afterwards, panting and sweating, staring with spots of light edging his vision at the room he was in.
His vantage was limited, but what he could see was rough cement walls, spotted with age and mildew. A ceiling lined with thick beams, two sets of fluorescent shop lights and a disturbing collection of hooks and eyelets and pulleys, some draped with coiled rope and chain. There were things against the wall that looked like they'd been ripped from the pages of some hardcore eastern European porn site. Things that made him catch his breath and choke back an involuntary sob. To wrench his arms half out of their sockets in a renewed effort to free himself.
And then it hit him, while he was lying there, exhausted from futile effort, that Clark was dead. That the son of a bitch had put two bullets in his skull while he'd lain there, helpless in the mud. That Lex had misjudged everything - - had mishandled everything - - fucked everything up and Clark was dead dead dead because of it.
"Mother Fucker," he screamed, his rage and pain echoing off cold walls. Sobbed with it, clenching fists that already felt as if they were losing circulation. "You lying piece of shit."
Silence answered him. Silence and the cold, moist air of a room that was surrounded by earth. His genitals shrank from it, his skin pimpled.
A hundred images of Clark flashed across his mind's eye, a hundred instances. Those big earnest eyes, that blinding smile. The way his hands felt, big and strong and fumbling when he tried so hard to be gentle. The look of comical horror on his face when he tore a condom, the look of complete ecstasy when he sank inside him, like he'd just discovered new religion.
He pressed his face into his arm and choked on pain he hadn't felt since his mother died. That all consuming blow of loss. Utter, complete, hollowing out his insides and filling him with grief.
For a long time he lay there, shuddering, clenching teeth that wanted to chatter, under mercilessly bland florescent light. Tried his bonds periodically, but they were stubbornly unyielding.
Froze at the echoing click of a key in a lock, the creak of a heavy door opening, and the sound of heavy boots on stairs. He twisted his head, trying to see, but the bed was turned away from wherever the stairs were. It wasn't until he walked around to stand staring down at him that Lex saw Donald Decker.
"You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch! You fucking, murdering son of a bitch!" The first words started out a clench jawed whisper. The last ones ended up a scream. He arched off the bed as much as the restrains would allow, wanting this man dead, willing it so hard his temples throbbed.
Decker just looked down implacably, then walked away, out of Lex's line of vision, while he cursed him. Came back with leather in his hands. Lex hissed and cursed more when he saw what it was. A damned big black leather ball gag, attached to inch wide leather straps by shiny D-rings.
"No. No! Fucking - - No - -!!" Lex tried to twist his head, but Decker caught him by the chin, fingers biting into the hinge of his jaw, forced the thing in behind his teeth, jerked the straps tight, buckling it in place. He gagged on it, tongue trying to shove it out, slick leather this huge, unwelcome mass in his mouth.
Decker sat on the edge of the bed, weight making it dip, grasped his jaw again, and ran his thumb over Lex's lips, stretched around the girth of the gag. "Talking's a privilege you haven't earned."
Lex screamed at him, but it was eaten up by the gag.
Decker met his eyes, fingers biting into his jaw so hard they'd probably leave bruises. Lex glared back, unflinching, hating this bastard more than he'd hated anything in his life.
"What you will learn, boy," Decker's fingers loosened, moved down his neck to his chest, thumb brushing a nipple. "Is the meaning of respect."
He trapped the nipple between thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger and squeezed hard. Lex bit down on the gag.
"What you will learn, is that any power you ever had is gone." He tugged the nipple one more time, twisting it away from Lex's chest, then released it, moving his hand, palm flat, fingers spread, down his chest, to his belly. "That there are no choices left for you to make, because they're all mine. Down to when you eat, when you piss, when you sleep - - my choices." He leaned down close, lips moist against the side of Lex's mouth, tongue flicking out and tracing the line of his lips around the gag.
He turned his head, involuntary sound of distress escaping him. That burning fury in his gut beginning to be extinguished by the cold grip of fear.
Decker squeezed his cock and it felt as if it were trying to shrink up inside him. The fingers slid lower, between his legs, a fingertip prodding his hole. Decker withdrew the hand, frowning, rubbing between his fingers a little bit of dried semen. Clark's. Lex never had gotten the chance to rinse it off.
Decker leaned down, hand on the mattress next to Lex's head, lips pulled back in a snarl of rage. "You let the freak come inside you? Fucking slut. You think I'm gonna dirty my cock with that freak's spunk?"
He drew back a fist and Lex braced himself for a blow. But Decker snarled, knuckles popping from strain, before relaxing the fist, turning instead and unclipping the chain from Lex's right ankle. He unclipped the other one and as soon as it was free, Lex jerked it out of his grasp, aiming a kick for his head. Decker took a glancing blow, didn't seem fazed, leaned his weight across Lex's knees and put an end to the effort. He hooked the rings of the ankle cuffs together, hobbling him, then shifted up to do the same with his wrists.
Lex fought it with everything he had. The man wasn't Clark, he didn't have superhuman strength, but he had leverage and a lot of weight and muscle mass on Lex. The gag muffled his scream of frustration as his wrists were clipped together.
Decker dragged him off the bed with a grip on figure 8 shaped clip connecting the cuffs. He hit the floor and couldn't get his feet under him. Decker heaved him up, back to Decker's front, hauled him off his feet with a grunt and manhandled him towards what looked to be an open front shower. Just a crude little area blocked off by shoulder high cinderblocks on one side, a showerhead high on the opposite wall and a drain in the middle. There was a hook in the ceiling above the drain. Recessed hooks in the floor. And God, he knew what they were for and he bucked in Decker's grip, white panic lapping at the edges of his reason.
It didn't matter. Decker had the reach and the strength to force his wrists up and over the hook with its tongue clip. He stepped back then, letting Lex hang there, laboring to breathe when his mouth was stuffed full of leather, almost able to stand flat-footed on the floor. Until Decker unclipped his ankles and kicked his legs apart, fastening a short length of chain to the outside ring of each ankle cuff and clipping them to the recessed hooks in the floor. Then he could barely balance on the balls of his feet, his feet about two feet apart, the rest of him painfully vulnerable.
He made a strangled sound, chest heaving, muscles flinching involuntarily, trying to turn and failing, to see what the bastard was doing. A hand touched his flank. He tried to shy away, failed. It ran up his side, tracing the line of his ribs. Slipped back around to his ass and he felt thumbs parting the cheeks. Felt the cold touch of a thick liquid dribble down his crack.
He clenched his teeth around the gag, shutting his eyes, tightening up reflexively as Decker pushed something smooth and round against his asshole. Worked it a little, forcing some of the lubricant or soap or what the fuck ever Decker had poured on him, inside, then with a twist and an application of force, pushed it in. He choked on a gasp, at the sudden stretch and burn, as his body accepted it. But it wasn't the biggest thing he'd had up his ass in the past twelve hours or so, and the pain faded his body adjusting to the intrusion. Part of it was still dangling out, what felt like a rubber tube hanging between his legs.
There was the sound of running water, Decker at the sink behind him, and Lex began to get a sick feeling what the bastard was up to. When Decker came back, he had big, clear rubber bag full of water. There was a drip clip attached to the bottom, a reinforced hole at the top from which to suspend it.
Fuck.
"We'll wash him away," Decker growled in his ear. "Inside and out."
Then he hung the bag from a hook by Lex's wrists, attached the tube to the one protruding from Lex's ass and let the water flow. It wasn't even warm. Cold. And shocking and flooding his insides as Decker opened the valve wide.
Lex threw back his head, fingers clawing at air, legs jerking ineffectually at the chains holding them spread. He was cramping up from it, the rush of it stretching his bowels. He wanted to bend double, to curl up and sob. It was too much. It was going to rupture him and Decker just moved around him, watching him wrench against the restraints, until the bag was empty, and Lex felt like he was dying from the pain. Then he clamped off the tube, trapping it all inside.
Lex screamed into the gag, trying to tell him. Willing to plead now, to beg prettily if that's what it took to get it to stop. Decker moved in close behind him, he'd shed his shirt somewhere while Lex's insides had been flooding. Pressed against him, chest hair bristly and harsh against Lex's over sensitized skin. He reached around and patted Lex's belly. It sounded liquid and sloshy and when he looked down, horrified, it was distended.
"Good boy," Decker bit his earlobe. "You took five quarts. Filled you up nice and tight, didn't it? Feel the burn, stretching out your intestines? Hurts bad, doesn't it? It'll get worse longer I make you hold it."
His limbs were quaking, everything quaking. He rolled his head forward away from Decker's hot breath. Screamed, muffled and wet and shocked, when Decker's palm slapped his stomach hard. Groaned after, because the pain wasn't going away, it was growing, a hard swollen sea of it sloshing inside him.
The water came on, luke warm, hit him in the face and chest as the showerhead came to life. There was a retractable nozzle and Decker used it to wet him down. Squirted liquid soap in his hands and started sliding them across Lex's body, leisurely, like he was going to take his time at it, while Lex was about to burst. He made a keening sound, foreign in his own ears, like someone else was making it, cramping, shuddering, twitching as unwelcome hands traveled the length and breadth of him. Spent a great deal of time around his genitals, between his legs, around the protruding enema tube.
"Ready to let loose?" Decker was back at his ear, tongue worming its way inside the shell. Lex nodded, desperate assent, humiliation overridden by pain.
When Decker pulled the plug, and his body expelled the water, the reprieve was almost orgasmic.
Lex dropped his head, exhausted, gasping, muffled sobs of relief. Decker sprayed him off with the showerhead nozzle and the discharge swirled down the drain between his feet. He moved around to stand before him, lifting his chin so he had to look him in the eye.
"You're still dirty. One more time."
He sobbed, straining against restraints and Decker started the process all over again. He hung there writhing and cramping, while Decker stood a foot in front of him, consuming his pain, idly squeezing himself through wet fatigues.
It went on for eternity - - or ten minutes or so, before Decker gave him relief. Rinsed him off again, while Lex sagged, legs trembling so bad they couldn't hold his weight.
There was the sound of a zipper. The rustle of wet cloth. The heat of Decker close behind him. He stared forward, at the wet cement under the shower head and told himself he wouldn't make a sound. Wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. Not from this.
When Decker shoved inside him, it was fast and shocking, soap easing the way only marginally. Lex bit down on the gag, swallowing the cry, swallowing the burn. Decker felt big, but not as big as Clark.
Clark. Clark. Clark. Clark thoughts shattered his defenses. The mental anguish opening the floodgates and letting the physical rush in. He felt Decker inside him, hard and hot and unrelenting. Fingers digging into his hips, slamming into him like he was waging war. Scraping him raw it felt like, each time he pulled almost out and rammed back in. Bitterly unwelcome invasion.
With Clark, the stretch of pain had been something to relish - - now it was ripping him to shreds. He wanted to vomit, held it back with the desperate fear that Decker wouldn't notice and he'd choke on it, trapped behind the gag.
Decker was talking dirty to him, a litany of panting words that Lex only half heard beyond the slap of flesh and the overwhelming thud of his own blood in his ears. He'd heard more creative.
"So hot. So tight. You like that? Like my big tool? Take it. Take it all, boy."
Decker's hand slid around and gripped Lex's cock. It was soft and not even the graze of Decker's swollen glans against his prostate caused more than a twinge in his belly and surge of unwelcome sensation in his balls.
Decker twisted, hard, and Lex arched, sucking in air harshly through his nose, nowhere to escape. "What? You could get hard for that freak, but not for a real man? What's wrong with you?"
Another wrenching squeeze and Lex couldn't hold back the cry. Decker cried out after him, clenching his hand around Lex's cock and balls while he strained inside him, balls flush against him as he came.
When he was done, softening inside him, Decker curled an arm below his ribs, hugged tight enough to force air out of his lungs, said softly in his ear. "I'll let you hold on to my spunk. I'll feed it to you, both ends, morning, noon and night, until it's in your blood, boy."
Lex bit down hard on the gag, knuckles popping as he clenched his fists.
There was no strength left to fight when Decker took him down. He almost crumpled when his weight hit his legs. Decker caught him, an arm around his waist and half carried him back to the bed. Pushed him face down, kept him that way with a knee to his back while he stretched his arms and secured each wrist to the bedposts.
Sat at the edge then, and began unlacing his boots. Sat them aside. Stripped off damp socks, army green, then stood up and kicked off wet pants. Laid them across the end of the bed, army neat in the way he folded them. A precise man. A man that had routine drilled into him. He walked naked, beyond Lex's limited scope of vision. There was the sound of metal doors opening the sound of things being shifted about.
Lex squeezed his fists, fighting against the utter gibbering panic. If he lost all control of the fear it would eat him up. Turn him into something he didn't want to be. Didn't want to give this man the satisfaction of seeing. He'd been that thing - - that fear riddled child, after the meteor shower - - when the nightmares kept him from sleeping, when his father's bitter scorn had convinced him he was irreparably damaged. And he'd curl in safe shadowed places and hide from the world. Mortified, terrified, weak.
Decker came back, things in his hands. Leather things. Lex couldn't see the pertinent details. Decker shoved his thighs apart and settled on the mattress between his legs. Ran a hand over his ass, up the small of his back, the back of his head, down again, tracing muscle and bone, all over his body until Lex was flinching and sweating, stomach curling in repulsion each time Decker's hands moved to a new place.
Finally he separated a strap from his little pile of goodies. Two inches thick with a buckle and a D ring. He slid it around Lex's upper thigh, fastened it tight. Did the same with the other thigh, then folded his legs back, connecting ankle cuffs to the bands on his thighs with a short lengths of chain.
He couldn't straighten his legs, couldn't do anything but lay there on his belly, panting, blinking faint traces of wetness of his lashes.
"You're flexible," Decker said approvingly. "Pliable. It'll make things easier on you."
Right. Because the bastard was all about making his life easier. He choked back a helpless laugh. Pressed his face into the mattress when he felt the man reach under him and draw out his genitals. Big, rough padded fingers stroked his balls, then tugged them down, and fastened something hard and leather around the base of his scrotum, stretching them painfully away from his body, then another strap up the underside of them, separating them into two tight little balls of pressure and discomfort. He had to turn his cheek to the mattress to breathe, spots of pain dancing behind his closed lids.
He hated the feeling of Decker leaning down, and sucking one into his mouth more than he did the pain of the constriction. Decker moved to the head of his cock, half chewing on the soft head. And somebody needed to fucking tell him teeth and penis were not the sort of combination utilized if you were trying to spur an erection, if that's what he was even aiming for. It hurt like hell and Lex made a distressed sound in his throat, and tried to squirm away. Decker pulled back and slapped him sharply on the ass. Again, hard enough that the sound echoed off the walls.
"Disobedient little prick," Decker growled at him. And the only thing Lex could figure was that he was pissed that he hadn't gotten him hard. As if that lack were some great surprise.
"Just so you know, the lube is for my comfort, not yours." Decker said, before spreading his cheeks and smearing a drop of gel on his hole.
He speared it inside with a poke of his finger that made Lex tighten his fists. Then he felt the smooth head of Decker's cock press against him, before the man leaned his weight forward and shoved it in. Loose as he was from the last fucking, there wasn't that much resistance. Just another burning stretch that made him fight to hold back a groan, then Decker was inside him, bearing down, hands gripping his ankles, pressing his calves flush to his thighs as he fucked.
It went on longer this time, the man having shot his first enthusiastic load in the shower and having more control of his stamina now. The bed didn't rock, too securely bolted into place for that, but the box springs squeaked with each thrust, and Lex's body kept getting inched forward, until Decker would tighten his grip and drag him back down.
Decker came again, with a grunt, more of the man's sickening warmth spilling inside him. When he pulled out, Lex laid there, wetness that wasn't sweat wetting the sheets under his cheek. Hating himself for the weakness.
Something cold and hard nudged against his burning hole. Small at the tip, flaring larger than anything he'd taken so far at the base and he choked and cried out as Decker twisted it in. When it was in all the way, he felt the cool tapered seat of a butt plug pressed tight against his cheeks.
Decker patted his ass like he was a dog who'd performed to par.
"So you won't lose a drop. Been a long day. A good day." Decker said. "Time for me to sleep." He leaned over Lex and unclipped one wrist, then the other, drawing them behind him and fastening the cuffs together. Pulled him up till he was on his knees in the center of the bed, wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed himself close against his back. "Not you though. You haven't earned sleep yet."
He stood up on the bed, reached overhead and unfurled one of the chains hanging from a hook and pulley system on the ceiling.
Brought it down and hooked it to the clip between Lex's cuffs, pulled at the other end, drawing the chain through the pulley and wrenching Lex's arms up behind his back. He choked on a scream, bent forward, unable to rise and relieve the pressure on his shoulders by the straps locking his ankles to his thighs. The angle he was leaning made the plug inside him press uncomfortably against the walls of his rectum.
"Too high?" Decker asked conversationally, securing the other end of the chain to a hook on the headboard. "Pains good. It'll keep you alert."
Lex moaned into the gag, shoulders already screaming in discomfort. It was a struggle to find that exact position that the bonds would allow him that offered the barest hint of relief.
Decker leaned down, jerked his head back by the ring on the back of the gag strap, and looked him in the eye. "Tonight was just you and me getting acquainted. Tomorrow the real lessons begin."
To be continued . . .
If you've got a problem with non-con and Lex abuse, its time to start skipping the Lex/Decker parts of these next few chapters.
I kid you not, so if you're sensitive and choose to read, no comments about how terrible I am.
For those of you who can handle a little dark angst and physical violence, read on.
Chapter Ten
Decker stood there, longer than he should have, reveling in the feel of Lex limp and heavy against him. Shifted his arm from around his neck to his waist and pressed the chloroform soaked rag a little tighter over his nose and mouth, making him take in as much of the fumes as he could before they had to move. Shivering as much as Decker ever shivered, euphoria swelling and coiling inside like a nest of living things.
Mine. Mine. Mine. It was either the voices chanting in jubilation or just him. He wasn't sure. They were in accordance in this.
He could feel the heat of Lex's skin through wet clothing. Feel the slow, steady throb of his pulse under the hand he splayed across his stomach. Wet silk was an erotic barrier between his palm and the smooth skin of Lex's belly. Culmination. Years of lurid fantasy and he had him in his arms. Helpless. All that power Lex had thought he'd held about to be stripped away. He'd started the lesson tonight, running Lex around, making him accept the fact that the only choices he'd had were Decker's. The only choices he'd ever have again were one's given to him by Decker. Obey or suffer the consequences.
Decker's cock burned in his trousers. Had been hard since he'd made the second call to Lex. But it would wait. Deprivation was an old friend. Soon enough he'd indulge himself.
Decades he'd spent breaking his back, fighting the wars of the master's he'd served. Bloodying his hands, bloodying his mind until all he saw some nights was blood. He was due this. Due his own fucking private paradise, only he didn't need any damned 72 virgins, just Lex.
He shoved the rag in his pocket, got an arm under Lex's knees and swung him up. Tall as he was Lex didn't have a lot of bulk. A lot easier to handle than the boy, who'd been solid with the muscle density of a kid that worked and worked hard.
He took one more glance at the boy on the ground, who was just cooling meat now, with two bullets in his head. He'd needed Lex to see that. Needed Lex to know that all those outside things that mattered to him were gone. Irretrievably gone. And the kid might have miraculously recovered from a slit throat, but there were bits of brain matter and shards of skull, spattered in the blood soaking his dark hair and there wasn't any coming back from that.
The kid's blood had stained the carpet in the back of the SUV, but he didn't figure Lex would mind. He put him in, hesitated, snared by the long curve of neck and shoulder where the half buttoned shirt stretched away, baring skin. Laid a thumb on the big vein and felt hot blood surging through. Traced the length of it down to the juncture of collarbone. Elegant. Not one of Decker's words, but it fit Lex to a T.
He clenched his fist, drawing back, not having the time to waste here, with people on the way to find the kid. He got in the SUV, grim curve on his lips, didn't bother to adjust himself, no matter the discomfort. Pain was a good thing. Made release all the better when it was finally allowed.
He backed down the trail till he could turn, then put the vehicle into 4-wheel drive to traverse the mud, and headed towards the road the back way. It was a long way home.
He pulled the SUV into the dilapidated barn behind the house, filled with its antiquated farming equipment, long gone to rust. He hauled Lex over his shoulder, pulled the rickety barn door shut, hiding the dull gleam of the SUV, and walked to the house. Unlocked the deadbolts on the door, all of them newly installed. All of them the sort that locked from both sides, needing a key to get in or out. The house itself was mostly furnished the way the old man who'd owned it had left it. Threadbare furniture, stacks of newspaper, boxes of accumulated things that most people would have considered trash.
Decker didn't care. It was just a gateway to the sanctum below. The barn was full of trash he'd cleared out from the basement, making the space his needs required. Making a place suitable to keep a man that might have issues at first at being kept. No windows to worry about barring, just a secure metal door at the top of narrow stairs that had replaced a thin wooden one. Cement floor and walls, riddled with stress and age cracks. A bed, sturdy and wrought iron, bolted to the floor. A sink, a toilet, a shower that Decker had installed himself. Other projects he'd spent time constructing out of wood and metal. Locked metal cabinets filled with supplies to fill every need. One's to survive down here indefinitely, if the need arose. One's to teach a young, proud man the meaning of humility.
He pushed the basement door open, and maneuvered down the steps with his burden. Deposited Lex on the bed, went back up and locked the door with the keys he kept around his neck on a thin chain. He came back down, stood at the edge of the bed and stared, savoring the moment. Mission complete and victory at hand.
Sat down finally, on the edge of the hard mattress, ran a thumb over soft, half parted lips. Pressed the bottom one down to reveal the slick pink inside. Lex didn't stir. He let his fingers slide down Lex's neck, used a thumb under the tip of his jaw to tilt his head back and emphasize the arch of his vulnerable throat. He rested his fingers against the throb of pulse, shutting his eyes and letting the feel of it seep into his own veins. If he pressed harder he could interrupt the blood flow to the brain. If he kept pressing the brain would stop altogether, deprived too long of oxygen rich blood. The quiver in his gut started to pound, rhythmic beat of anticipation. He swallowed, opening his eyes and forcing his fingers down. Flicking the only two fastened buttons on Lex's shirt out of their holes.
He peeled damp silk aside. With his arms cuffed behind him, the lines of Lex's chest where taut, the delineation of his ribcage more pronounced. His nipples pink and drawn in the cool basement air.
Decker could do more than watch now. He could touch. He could reach out and catch a little nub between his fingers and tug on pliable flesh. Knead and twist until Lex made a sound, pain drawing him closer to consciousness.
It snapped Decker out of his exploration. Put him back on track.
He rolled Lex onto his side, unlocking the metal police issue handcuffs. Hard metal would bite to the bone when struggles became desperate. He stripped the shirt off, and reached for more suitable restraints. Thick leather cuffs with the added security of tiny padlocks. He fastened them around Lex's wrists. Hissed air out through his teeth, cock throbbing hot and tight in his fatigues as he cinched the leather tight. He stretched Lex's arms above his head and clipped the D rings of the manacles to short lengths of chain welded to the wrought iron spokes of the headboard.
Stripped the pants off him and had to pause and drink in the sight of him, pale and sleek as he'd always imagined, not a hair follicle on his body to mar the utter smoothness of his skin. More naked because of it. Indecent almost - - debauched and decadent, like something you'd find on a leather porn sight - - some shaved slave, bound and stretched out on display, awaiting the pleasure of his master. Only he was like this naturally.
Decker grinned slowly, figuring the rest was true enough. He ran a hand down the long, lean muscle of one calf, and fastened a cuff to the ankle. Stretched it out to the corner of the bed, clipped it to the iron footboard. Did the same with the other leg.
Then he went upstairs, pulled out his painfully hard dick and pissed. Stroked it a few times, just to take the edge off, otherwise he'd shoot his load the moment he had it out of his pants in the vicinity of Lex. Sat down after and opened a can of salvage store army rations and ate. He'd give Lex time to come out of the chloroform haze, give him time to realize his situation. Time to realize just how out of options he was, then Decker would go down and start cracking through the layers of armor he'd built up after twenty two years of living under his daddy's rule.
He had all the time in the world to ferret out the secrets and the weaknesses and use them to break Lex down, to make him malleable and willing to submit to Decker's rule.
Jonathan Kent cursed the Luthor name. Cursed Lex Luthor in particular, the taillights of the Porsche so long out of his sight he thought he'd lost him for good. The old ford engine was struggling at seventy-five. God knew how fast Lex had been sailing down a rain slick two-lane rural route. If it hadn't been for the curb all freshly torn up from somebody making a damned precarious turn on Greendale, he'd have driven right past. As it was, he slowed, rain splattering his arm and the cracked vinyl of the truck door as he peered out the open window at the tracks in the mud.
Not necessarily Porsche tire treads, but it was the only clue he had. So he made the turn, spinning tires on slick asphalt and headed down Greendale, his gut so tight with fear that he was wrong, that he would be too late, that it ached.
Damn Lex for bringing this on them. Damn him for taking an honest boy - - a good boy - - and tempting him with things that would never have crossed his mind, if not for Lex. They'd had enough damned craziness in their lives, without the Luthor's bringing their own brand of it to town.
All he'd ever wanted was for Clark to grow up safe and happy and as normal as Clark, being Clark, could hope to be. He'd always thought, in that place where he allowed himself modest dreams, that Clark would want the farm, would continue working it with a good woman and a family of his own after Jonathan was in the ground, just as he'd worked it after his father had passed.
But after the things Clark had said, the things he'd done when he'd had that damned red rock on his finger, Jonathan wasn't so sure anymore. Wasn't sure the farm would be enough for him. Wasn't sure a woman who'd give him a family to carry on the name would be enough.
He'd never admit it to a living being, but he wished it had been Lana he'd caught Clark naked and - - and fornicating with. Wished with a shame that made his soul shrink, that it had been her he'd felt the need to force into sex. God help him for wishing rape on an innocent girl, but the alternative of his son preferring a man shook him to the core.
A car passed him on the road. Leisurely pace, low broad headlights of an early model sedan. Not Lex. Damn him for driving like a bat out of hell, for racing out of the house with barely an explanation and expecting them to know what in the hell they were supposed to do.
It had been miles now. Miles of dark, rainy road and he'd passed plenty of turn offs that Lex could have taken and without slowing down and inspecting each one for signs of tire marks - - If Lex had actually had the presence of mind to make the first set on purpose - - he was lost. He clenched his jaw, an unbidden quaking starting in his chest, fear for Clark rising up like bile in his throat.
He could drive till he hit Metropolis and not catch up to that fancy car of Lex's. Best maybe to turn around and start looking for sign of where he might have turned. Lex was clever, Jonathan would give him that, and he'd wanted Jonathan to follow. So maybe he'd gone out of his way to leave breadcrumbs. Jonathan just hadn't seen them in the dark.
So he turned around, headed back the way he'd come, headlights on high beam, peering through the rain spattered windshield looking for something. Anything. There were headlights approaching. A truck. It took it slowing, the horn blaring at him for him to realize it was his own damned truck. The '72 ford that he used to haul hay and feed out to the far pastures. Expired tags, bald tires and rusted out body that had no business being out on a public road.
Martha rolled down the window, white faced and frantic eyed and cried at him. " Lex called. Clark's at the picnic stop on Greendale, Jonathan."
Damn, he'd passed that a mile back, a narrow little dirt track he hadn't thought to give much heed to. He started to open his mouth, to tell her not to get too far ahead of him, but she was already heading down the road by the time he could turn around. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor trying to catch up with her, not knowing what was waiting out there.
By the time he got there, she was standing in the rain, screaming Clark's name. He grabbed the shotgun off the seat and joined her. It was damned dark out here, no lights save the twin beams of their headlights. There was a trail leading into the woods, a walking path that local kids used more often than anyone else, to find secluded make-out spots. He'd used it himself a lifetime ago, before he'd met Martha.
He caught her arm before she could plunge down it before him, checking the load in the shotgun, before preceding her. He'd never shot a man in his life. To protect her, to protect his son, he would.
It wasn't that far before they reached the churned mud of an off road trail. They almost didn't see Clark, dirt and rain-darkened clothing blending him in with the mud. Martha saw him first, Jonathan busy scouring the dark brush looking for threats. She cried out, a happy little squawk that turned into something else entirely as she skidded to her knees in the mud next to him.
Martha wasn't the sort of woman that screamed, not the sort that let fear get the best of her. But the wail that ripped out of her throat was like somebody had torn out her heart. It sat his own to racing, palpitating in his chest. He dropped down, shotgun forgotten in the mud, and tried to get past her to see the damage.
It was horrific. A gaping hole ripped through Clark's temple, blood and bone and brain matter spattered on the surrounding skin. Another behind his ear, and Jonathan could just see the exit wound of this one, a hole the size of a woman's fist where his skull had just been blow away. Nothing any mother should ever have to see.
He latched onto her, his own shoulders quaking, holding onto her tight while she keened, Clark's ruined head clutched against her breast. Pressed his face against her wet hair and sobbed.
"We have to get him home," he croaked. "Martha, we have to get him home."
She leaned over Clark a moment more, then lifted her head, her face lined with agony, and nodded. What else could they do? Report it to the sheriff? Have them take his body and autopsy it and discover he wasn't human? Then they'd peel him open and take him apart, piece-by-piece to appease their curiosity and damned if Jonathan would allow it. She knew it, too.
Somebody had bound his hands and feet with wire, wrapped it around his knees. In the dark, Jonathan couldn't get a good enough grip to twist the knot free. He cursed, his own fingers bleeding from the effort and Martha put her hands on his wrists, looked up at him with infinite understanding of his frustration. He swallowed back tears that tasted like blood and got his arms under Clark's shoulders while she struggled with his feet and they got him by degrees to the pickups. Dragged him into the bed of Jonathan's, and he unrolled the old blue tarp and laid it over him, not so much to hide him, as to keep the rain out of his face. As if it mattered.
"Leave it here," he told her, when she went to get into the farm truck. They'd come back and pick it up later, but right now, he didn't want her driving it on that long wet road home.
He put the gun on the rack behind him. She climbed in and sat, hollow eyed and mud spattered next to him.
Silence on the way home, neither one of them able to speak past the pain.
Fumes of adrenalin allowed them to get Clark into house. They laid him out on the dining room table, neither one having the strength to attempt to get him upstairs. He stood there afterwards holding her while she cried softly into his chest.
He clipped the wire off Clark, while she cleaned him up as best she could. Stripped the mud caked clothing off him, washed the dirt and the blood and the other things off his body. There were wounds other than the bullet holes. Puncture wounds the width of a hunting knife. His shoulder. The hollows above both hips, the meaty part of his thighs, a few other places, as if someone had taken time and effort to hurt him.
They sat there, on either side of the table of him, her hands on his cold arms, her head bowed, while Jonathan stared blankly over them both, thinking thoughts he'd never thought he'd think. Thoughts about killing a man slow and painful.
"Lex."
He looked up at her voice. She was staring at him, wide eyed.
Jonathan blinked her back into focus. "What?"
There was a wrinkle between her brows, a dawning spark of new horror in her green eyes. "Oh my God, Jonathan - - where's Lex?"
"The hell should I know? Half way to Metropolis after leaving us to - - " To deal with Clark. He couldn't stop staring at the damage the bullets had done to Clark's head.
"Jonathan!" She pushed herself up. "He went there to try and save Clark. And he's gone. He wouldn't have left if he'd had a choice. You know that!"
"I know he didn't save him!" he cried at her. "I know Clark wouldn't be lying here now - - like this - - if it weren't for him."
"It wasn't his fault!" She stared at him, eyes so red from all the crying that they fairly glowed in her face. "He didn't ask for this. You can't blame him for the actions of a madman. Clark wouldn't blame him for this. Don't you dare."
He gaped at her, at the vehemence in her voice and he remembered the look in Lex's eyes when he'd run past them on the way out of the house. The desperation. The fear for Clark that sent him out to meet a kidnapper that he'd known had been aiming for him, alone in the dark with nothing for backup but a Goddamned farmer in a truck too old to match the speeds of a hundred thousand dollar car.
"We need to go and tell Lionel," she said.
Lionel Luthor was the last man Jonathan wanted to go and tell anything, but that was old grudges talking. A man had the right to know if his son had gone missing.
He nodded, pushing himself up from the table while she went to look for a blanket to cover up Clark. There was a wound on his leg, just below the knee that Jonathan hadn't noticed before. A nasty looking puncture that was inflamed and blistered. There looked to be something protruding. A sliver of wood. He went for the needle nose pliers, dug into the wound with a wince and caught hold of the piece, pulled it out, a long sliver of wood and on the tip of it, bound with thin wire, a long shard of bloody green rock. He held it up under the dining room light. Looked past it at Martha who'd come back with the blanket in her hands. This was the culprit. The reason Clark had fallen prey to bullets and blades.
"How in hell did he know about the meteor rock?" He didn't expect her to have an answer.
He looked down, then narrowed his eyes and peered closer. The veiny red in the inflammation around the puncture wound was slowly receding. Slower by far than Clark usually healed when he'd been nicked by meteor rock, but healing all the same.
Dead men didn't heal. Even dead alien ones.
"Martha," he was afraid if he said her name above a whisper the spell would shatter and he'd blink and realize he'd been seeing things. She came around the table, looked where he was looking, and after a moment, sobbed. Clutched his arm and sobbed, but this time it was tinged with something that might have been a distant cousin to relief.
Lex came awake by degrees. Lazy awareness of cool air brushing his skin, of the faint dank smell of mold, of the ball of his foot touching cold metal. He tried to shift it, and couldn't. He drew in air, a huge lungful of it and the oxygen chased away the fog. He tried to move his arms, but they were locked above his head. He twisted his head in blossoming panic, jerking against the restraints. Thick leather cuffs snug around his wrists, attached to iron rings welded to the vertical bars of a wrought iron bed.
He was naked, his legs spread wide and secured to the legs of the iron footboard. He cursed, that blossoming panic swelling to full-fledged terror. Desperately jerked at the restraints, chain clanking, leather squeaking, but the bed not giving an inch, solid and implacable and holding him fast. All he managed was to bruise his wrists and twist his shoulder a little in his efforts. He lay afterwards, panting and sweating, staring with spots of light edging his vision at the room he was in.
His vantage was limited, but what he could see was rough cement walls, spotted with age and mildew. A ceiling lined with thick beams, two sets of fluorescent shop lights and a disturbing collection of hooks and eyelets and pulleys, some draped with coiled rope and chain. There were things against the wall that looked like they'd been ripped from the pages of some hardcore eastern European porn site. Things that made him catch his breath and choke back an involuntary sob. To wrench his arms half out of their sockets in a renewed effort to free himself.
And then it hit him, while he was lying there, exhausted from futile effort, that Clark was dead. That the son of a bitch had put two bullets in his skull while he'd lain there, helpless in the mud. That Lex had misjudged everything - - had mishandled everything - - fucked everything up and Clark was dead dead dead because of it.
"Mother Fucker," he screamed, his rage and pain echoing off cold walls. Sobbed with it, clenching fists that already felt as if they were losing circulation. "You lying piece of shit."
Silence answered him. Silence and the cold, moist air of a room that was surrounded by earth. His genitals shrank from it, his skin pimpled.
A hundred images of Clark flashed across his mind's eye, a hundred instances. Those big earnest eyes, that blinding smile. The way his hands felt, big and strong and fumbling when he tried so hard to be gentle. The look of comical horror on his face when he tore a condom, the look of complete ecstasy when he sank inside him, like he'd just discovered new religion.
He pressed his face into his arm and choked on pain he hadn't felt since his mother died. That all consuming blow of loss. Utter, complete, hollowing out his insides and filling him with grief.
For a long time he lay there, shuddering, clenching teeth that wanted to chatter, under mercilessly bland florescent light. Tried his bonds periodically, but they were stubbornly unyielding.
Froze at the echoing click of a key in a lock, the creak of a heavy door opening, and the sound of heavy boots on stairs. He twisted his head, trying to see, but the bed was turned away from wherever the stairs were. It wasn't until he walked around to stand staring down at him that Lex saw Donald Decker.
"You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch! You fucking, murdering son of a bitch!" The first words started out a clench jawed whisper. The last ones ended up a scream. He arched off the bed as much as the restrains would allow, wanting this man dead, willing it so hard his temples throbbed.
Decker just looked down implacably, then walked away, out of Lex's line of vision, while he cursed him. Came back with leather in his hands. Lex hissed and cursed more when he saw what it was. A damned big black leather ball gag, attached to inch wide leather straps by shiny D-rings.
"No. No! Fucking - - No - -!!" Lex tried to twist his head, but Decker caught him by the chin, fingers biting into the hinge of his jaw, forced the thing in behind his teeth, jerked the straps tight, buckling it in place. He gagged on it, tongue trying to shove it out, slick leather this huge, unwelcome mass in his mouth.
Decker sat on the edge of the bed, weight making it dip, grasped his jaw again, and ran his thumb over Lex's lips, stretched around the girth of the gag. "Talking's a privilege you haven't earned."
Lex screamed at him, but it was eaten up by the gag.
Decker met his eyes, fingers biting into his jaw so hard they'd probably leave bruises. Lex glared back, unflinching, hating this bastard more than he'd hated anything in his life.
"What you will learn, boy," Decker's fingers loosened, moved down his neck to his chest, thumb brushing a nipple. "Is the meaning of respect."
He trapped the nipple between thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger and squeezed hard. Lex bit down on the gag.
"What you will learn, is that any power you ever had is gone." He tugged the nipple one more time, twisting it away from Lex's chest, then released it, moving his hand, palm flat, fingers spread, down his chest, to his belly. "That there are no choices left for you to make, because they're all mine. Down to when you eat, when you piss, when you sleep - - my choices." He leaned down close, lips moist against the side of Lex's mouth, tongue flicking out and tracing the line of his lips around the gag.
He turned his head, involuntary sound of distress escaping him. That burning fury in his gut beginning to be extinguished by the cold grip of fear.
Decker squeezed his cock and it felt as if it were trying to shrink up inside him. The fingers slid lower, between his legs, a fingertip prodding his hole. Decker withdrew the hand, frowning, rubbing between his fingers a little bit of dried semen. Clark's. Lex never had gotten the chance to rinse it off.
Decker leaned down, hand on the mattress next to Lex's head, lips pulled back in a snarl of rage. "You let the freak come inside you? Fucking slut. You think I'm gonna dirty my cock with that freak's spunk?"
He drew back a fist and Lex braced himself for a blow. But Decker snarled, knuckles popping from strain, before relaxing the fist, turning instead and unclipping the chain from Lex's right ankle. He unclipped the other one and as soon as it was free, Lex jerked it out of his grasp, aiming a kick for his head. Decker took a glancing blow, didn't seem fazed, leaned his weight across Lex's knees and put an end to the effort. He hooked the rings of the ankle cuffs together, hobbling him, then shifted up to do the same with his wrists.
Lex fought it with everything he had. The man wasn't Clark, he didn't have superhuman strength, but he had leverage and a lot of weight and muscle mass on Lex. The gag muffled his scream of frustration as his wrists were clipped together.
Decker dragged him off the bed with a grip on figure 8 shaped clip connecting the cuffs. He hit the floor and couldn't get his feet under him. Decker heaved him up, back to Decker's front, hauled him off his feet with a grunt and manhandled him towards what looked to be an open front shower. Just a crude little area blocked off by shoulder high cinderblocks on one side, a showerhead high on the opposite wall and a drain in the middle. There was a hook in the ceiling above the drain. Recessed hooks in the floor. And God, he knew what they were for and he bucked in Decker's grip, white panic lapping at the edges of his reason.
It didn't matter. Decker had the reach and the strength to force his wrists up and over the hook with its tongue clip. He stepped back then, letting Lex hang there, laboring to breathe when his mouth was stuffed full of leather, almost able to stand flat-footed on the floor. Until Decker unclipped his ankles and kicked his legs apart, fastening a short length of chain to the outside ring of each ankle cuff and clipping them to the recessed hooks in the floor. Then he could barely balance on the balls of his feet, his feet about two feet apart, the rest of him painfully vulnerable.
He made a strangled sound, chest heaving, muscles flinching involuntarily, trying to turn and failing, to see what the bastard was doing. A hand touched his flank. He tried to shy away, failed. It ran up his side, tracing the line of his ribs. Slipped back around to his ass and he felt thumbs parting the cheeks. Felt the cold touch of a thick liquid dribble down his crack.
He clenched his teeth around the gag, shutting his eyes, tightening up reflexively as Decker pushed something smooth and round against his asshole. Worked it a little, forcing some of the lubricant or soap or what the fuck ever Decker had poured on him, inside, then with a twist and an application of force, pushed it in. He choked on a gasp, at the sudden stretch and burn, as his body accepted it. But it wasn't the biggest thing he'd had up his ass in the past twelve hours or so, and the pain faded his body adjusting to the intrusion. Part of it was still dangling out, what felt like a rubber tube hanging between his legs.
There was the sound of running water, Decker at the sink behind him, and Lex began to get a sick feeling what the bastard was up to. When Decker came back, he had big, clear rubber bag full of water. There was a drip clip attached to the bottom, a reinforced hole at the top from which to suspend it.
Fuck.
"We'll wash him away," Decker growled in his ear. "Inside and out."
Then he hung the bag from a hook by Lex's wrists, attached the tube to the one protruding from Lex's ass and let the water flow. It wasn't even warm. Cold. And shocking and flooding his insides as Decker opened the valve wide.
Lex threw back his head, fingers clawing at air, legs jerking ineffectually at the chains holding them spread. He was cramping up from it, the rush of it stretching his bowels. He wanted to bend double, to curl up and sob. It was too much. It was going to rupture him and Decker just moved around him, watching him wrench against the restraints, until the bag was empty, and Lex felt like he was dying from the pain. Then he clamped off the tube, trapping it all inside.
Lex screamed into the gag, trying to tell him. Willing to plead now, to beg prettily if that's what it took to get it to stop. Decker moved in close behind him, he'd shed his shirt somewhere while Lex's insides had been flooding. Pressed against him, chest hair bristly and harsh against Lex's over sensitized skin. He reached around and patted Lex's belly. It sounded liquid and sloshy and when he looked down, horrified, it was distended.
"Good boy," Decker bit his earlobe. "You took five quarts. Filled you up nice and tight, didn't it? Feel the burn, stretching out your intestines? Hurts bad, doesn't it? It'll get worse longer I make you hold it."
His limbs were quaking, everything quaking. He rolled his head forward away from Decker's hot breath. Screamed, muffled and wet and shocked, when Decker's palm slapped his stomach hard. Groaned after, because the pain wasn't going away, it was growing, a hard swollen sea of it sloshing inside him.
The water came on, luke warm, hit him in the face and chest as the showerhead came to life. There was a retractable nozzle and Decker used it to wet him down. Squirted liquid soap in his hands and started sliding them across Lex's body, leisurely, like he was going to take his time at it, while Lex was about to burst. He made a keening sound, foreign in his own ears, like someone else was making it, cramping, shuddering, twitching as unwelcome hands traveled the length and breadth of him. Spent a great deal of time around his genitals, between his legs, around the protruding enema tube.
"Ready to let loose?" Decker was back at his ear, tongue worming its way inside the shell. Lex nodded, desperate assent, humiliation overridden by pain.
When Decker pulled the plug, and his body expelled the water, the reprieve was almost orgasmic.
Lex dropped his head, exhausted, gasping, muffled sobs of relief. Decker sprayed him off with the showerhead nozzle and the discharge swirled down the drain between his feet. He moved around to stand before him, lifting his chin so he had to look him in the eye.
"You're still dirty. One more time."
He sobbed, straining against restraints and Decker started the process all over again. He hung there writhing and cramping, while Decker stood a foot in front of him, consuming his pain, idly squeezing himself through wet fatigues.
It went on for eternity - - or ten minutes or so, before Decker gave him relief. Rinsed him off again, while Lex sagged, legs trembling so bad they couldn't hold his weight.
There was the sound of a zipper. The rustle of wet cloth. The heat of Decker close behind him. He stared forward, at the wet cement under the shower head and told himself he wouldn't make a sound. Wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. Not from this.
When Decker shoved inside him, it was fast and shocking, soap easing the way only marginally. Lex bit down on the gag, swallowing the cry, swallowing the burn. Decker felt big, but not as big as Clark.
Clark. Clark. Clark. Clark thoughts shattered his defenses. The mental anguish opening the floodgates and letting the physical rush in. He felt Decker inside him, hard and hot and unrelenting. Fingers digging into his hips, slamming into him like he was waging war. Scraping him raw it felt like, each time he pulled almost out and rammed back in. Bitterly unwelcome invasion.
With Clark, the stretch of pain had been something to relish - - now it was ripping him to shreds. He wanted to vomit, held it back with the desperate fear that Decker wouldn't notice and he'd choke on it, trapped behind the gag.
Decker was talking dirty to him, a litany of panting words that Lex only half heard beyond the slap of flesh and the overwhelming thud of his own blood in his ears. He'd heard more creative.
"So hot. So tight. You like that? Like my big tool? Take it. Take it all, boy."
Decker's hand slid around and gripped Lex's cock. It was soft and not even the graze of Decker's swollen glans against his prostate caused more than a twinge in his belly and surge of unwelcome sensation in his balls.
Decker twisted, hard, and Lex arched, sucking in air harshly through his nose, nowhere to escape. "What? You could get hard for that freak, but not for a real man? What's wrong with you?"
Another wrenching squeeze and Lex couldn't hold back the cry. Decker cried out after him, clenching his hand around Lex's cock and balls while he strained inside him, balls flush against him as he came.
When he was done, softening inside him, Decker curled an arm below his ribs, hugged tight enough to force air out of his lungs, said softly in his ear. "I'll let you hold on to my spunk. I'll feed it to you, both ends, morning, noon and night, until it's in your blood, boy."
Lex bit down hard on the gag, knuckles popping as he clenched his fists.
There was no strength left to fight when Decker took him down. He almost crumpled when his weight hit his legs. Decker caught him, an arm around his waist and half carried him back to the bed. Pushed him face down, kept him that way with a knee to his back while he stretched his arms and secured each wrist to the bedposts.
Sat at the edge then, and began unlacing his boots. Sat them aside. Stripped off damp socks, army green, then stood up and kicked off wet pants. Laid them across the end of the bed, army neat in the way he folded them. A precise man. A man that had routine drilled into him. He walked naked, beyond Lex's limited scope of vision. There was the sound of metal doors opening the sound of things being shifted about.
Lex squeezed his fists, fighting against the utter gibbering panic. If he lost all control of the fear it would eat him up. Turn him into something he didn't want to be. Didn't want to give this man the satisfaction of seeing. He'd been that thing - - that fear riddled child, after the meteor shower - - when the nightmares kept him from sleeping, when his father's bitter scorn had convinced him he was irreparably damaged. And he'd curl in safe shadowed places and hide from the world. Mortified, terrified, weak.
Decker came back, things in his hands. Leather things. Lex couldn't see the pertinent details. Decker shoved his thighs apart and settled on the mattress between his legs. Ran a hand over his ass, up the small of his back, the back of his head, down again, tracing muscle and bone, all over his body until Lex was flinching and sweating, stomach curling in repulsion each time Decker's hands moved to a new place.
Finally he separated a strap from his little pile of goodies. Two inches thick with a buckle and a D ring. He slid it around Lex's upper thigh, fastened it tight. Did the same with the other thigh, then folded his legs back, connecting ankle cuffs to the bands on his thighs with a short lengths of chain.
He couldn't straighten his legs, couldn't do anything but lay there on his belly, panting, blinking faint traces of wetness of his lashes.
"You're flexible," Decker said approvingly. "Pliable. It'll make things easier on you."
Right. Because the bastard was all about making his life easier. He choked back a helpless laugh. Pressed his face into the mattress when he felt the man reach under him and draw out his genitals. Big, rough padded fingers stroked his balls, then tugged them down, and fastened something hard and leather around the base of his scrotum, stretching them painfully away from his body, then another strap up the underside of them, separating them into two tight little balls of pressure and discomfort. He had to turn his cheek to the mattress to breathe, spots of pain dancing behind his closed lids.
He hated the feeling of Decker leaning down, and sucking one into his mouth more than he did the pain of the constriction. Decker moved to the head of his cock, half chewing on the soft head. And somebody needed to fucking tell him teeth and penis were not the sort of combination utilized if you were trying to spur an erection, if that's what he was even aiming for. It hurt like hell and Lex made a distressed sound in his throat, and tried to squirm away. Decker pulled back and slapped him sharply on the ass. Again, hard enough that the sound echoed off the walls.
"Disobedient little prick," Decker growled at him. And the only thing Lex could figure was that he was pissed that he hadn't gotten him hard. As if that lack were some great surprise.
"Just so you know, the lube is for my comfort, not yours." Decker said, before spreading his cheeks and smearing a drop of gel on his hole.
He speared it inside with a poke of his finger that made Lex tighten his fists. Then he felt the smooth head of Decker's cock press against him, before the man leaned his weight forward and shoved it in. Loose as he was from the last fucking, there wasn't that much resistance. Just another burning stretch that made him fight to hold back a groan, then Decker was inside him, bearing down, hands gripping his ankles, pressing his calves flush to his thighs as he fucked.
It went on longer this time, the man having shot his first enthusiastic load in the shower and having more control of his stamina now. The bed didn't rock, too securely bolted into place for that, but the box springs squeaked with each thrust, and Lex's body kept getting inched forward, until Decker would tighten his grip and drag him back down.
Decker came again, with a grunt, more of the man's sickening warmth spilling inside him. When he pulled out, Lex laid there, wetness that wasn't sweat wetting the sheets under his cheek. Hating himself for the weakness.
Something cold and hard nudged against his burning hole. Small at the tip, flaring larger than anything he'd taken so far at the base and he choked and cried out as Decker twisted it in. When it was in all the way, he felt the cool tapered seat of a butt plug pressed tight against his cheeks.
Decker patted his ass like he was a dog who'd performed to par.
"So you won't lose a drop. Been a long day. A good day." Decker said. "Time for me to sleep." He leaned over Lex and unclipped one wrist, then the other, drawing them behind him and fastening the cuffs together. Pulled him up till he was on his knees in the center of the bed, wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed himself close against his back. "Not you though. You haven't earned sleep yet."
He stood up on the bed, reached overhead and unfurled one of the chains hanging from a hook and pulley system on the ceiling.
Brought it down and hooked it to the clip between Lex's cuffs, pulled at the other end, drawing the chain through the pulley and wrenching Lex's arms up behind his back. He choked on a scream, bent forward, unable to rise and relieve the pressure on his shoulders by the straps locking his ankles to his thighs. The angle he was leaning made the plug inside him press uncomfortably against the walls of his rectum.
"Too high?" Decker asked conversationally, securing the other end of the chain to a hook on the headboard. "Pains good. It'll keep you alert."
Lex moaned into the gag, shoulders already screaming in discomfort. It was a struggle to find that exact position that the bonds would allow him that offered the barest hint of relief.
Decker leaned down, jerked his head back by the ring on the back of the gag strap, and looked him in the eye. "Tonight was just you and me getting acquainted. Tomorrow the real lessons begin."
To be continued . . .
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