CM Fic: Darkest Before Dawn Part Two
Title: Darkest Before the Dawn
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Author: (Dawn) Twilight
Summary: Sometimes bad things just happen; sometimes things get worse before they get better.
Feedback: Always welcome
Warnings: This is a dark fic. It will contain m/m sex, sexual assault of a main character and rape recovery. If this is not your kind of story, please do not read.
Notes: So I started this story almost a year ago and debated on if I should continue it or not. One friend kept asking, so here is part two and more is on the way.
Part One
Part Two
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Even though he knew it was futile, Morgan knocked on Reid’s door, calling out his co-worker’s name. “Reid? If you’re in there…open the door.”
Prentiss reached forward and tried the doorknob and when it turned, they exchanged a worried look and drew their weapons.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open and looked around the interior of Reid’s home.
Two throw pillows were propped at the end of the leather couch, a light blanket was tossed messily over the back and an empty tea cup sat atop a stack of books on the coffee table and Morgan figured that Reid had hunkered down on the sofa to ride out whatever bug that had gotten a hold on him.
They split up, cautiously holding their service weapons before them. Derek went toward the back rooms and Emily went toward the kitchen and dining area.
He heard her calling all clear as he walked around the full sized bed, noting that it was neatly made. Stationary and a pen were sitting on the nightstand along with a few wadded up tissues.
Morgan opened the closet doors, where he found the clothes were arranged by type and color and then he peered into the bathroom, but neither Reid or anyone else for that matter were there. “Clear.”
He could hear Emily’s booted footsteps as she traveled over the hardwood floors and entered the bedroom.
“I don’t see any evidence of forced entry…do you think he just forgot to lock the door on the way out this morning?”
Derek seriously doubted it, but since Reid had been under the weather, maybe he had forgotten.
“Possible,” he told her. “But not likely.” He holstered his gun and pulled out his cell phone to contact Hotch. The rest of the team were working the evidence left on Reid’s desk and looking through the security footage from the building entrance and common hallways.
Emily pulled a pair of latex gloves from her coat pocket and snapped them on. “I’ll start in the living room,” she told him. As his phone connected his call, she must have pressed the button on Reid’s answering machine because he could hear his own tinny voice repeating the message he had left for Reid earlier.
“Hotch?” he asked, moving to the living room to join Prentiss, eyes scanning for anything out of place as he spoke with his superior. “Nothing here, but we’re still looking.”
“Okay, Garcia and J.J. are still searching his computer and Rossi’s going through the open case files he's been working on.”
He caught sight of a small box sitting on Reid’s kitchen table and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. “I found the package he got on Saturday.” Morgan pulled out his gloves, but didn’t put them on; instead he folded them over the box and picked it up, seeing a gold key sitting on top of cotton padding. The kind you would find in a cheap earring or necklace box.
“I’ll send the forensic team. Keep me updated.”
“Will do,” Morgan disconnected the call, folding and pocketing his cell.
The paper wrapping sat near by and Derek carefully unfolded it, knowing the techs would look for and probably not find any physical evidence, since there wasn't anything on the box left on Reid's desk. He took a picture of the label, the box and the key to send to Garcia. Hopefully she would find something similar in a search of the databases, some other case that would render more leads and if anyone could find out where the box and it’s contents had come from, it would be Penelope. But instead of calling their resident computer wiz, he texted a message asking her to look at the photo and see what she could find.
Emily came into the kitchen holding a hairbrush in her gloved hand. “I’m bagging this so we can compare and confirm with the hair evidence we already have. What do you have there?”
He showed her the box, filling her in on what Hotch had told him and about sending the picture to Garcia.
“I’m gonna knock on the neighbor’s doors,” he told her, trusting her to continue searching and to wait on the forensic team. He didn’t want to wait…needed to be doing something… He was determined to get answers and as fast as possible. He wasn’t a wait and see kinda guy and especially not when it came to his team.
It appeared the next row home over was unoccupied, its inhabitants probably gone to work, but on the other side an elderly woman answered his knock. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Derek Morgan with the FBI," he whipped out is identification and held it up for her to see. She pulled his hand closer and studied it, looking from his picture to his face, before releasing him.
"Ina Patrick," she told him, "What can I do for you?"
"I need to ask you a few questions about your neighbor a few doors down,” he pointed toward Reid's home, "and to ask if you have seen anything out of the ordinary in the past few days or weeks."
"Oh dear, is Spencer in trouble?"
"You know Spencer Reid?"
She nodded, looking beyond him to the front steps of Spencer's place and then to the SUV he and Emily had arrived in. "Yes, in passing. He's a lovely young man...helps me carry my groceries in from time to time...helps me catch Stinky when he gets away from me on our evening walks...he works for the FBI too, doesn't he?"
"Yes, ma'am...he's a colleague of mine and he's missing, so I was hoping maybe you have notice something...a car or someone that doesn't belong on your street..."
"I'm sorry, dear...my eyes are not the best and I hardly go out during the day unless I have a doctor's appointment. In fact, I only go out once a week for my groceries and hair appointment and I walk Stinky around the block in the evenings...he does his business in the back yard during the day..."
When his phone buzzed he pulled it from his pocket, thinking that his baby girl had outdone herself, returning his text so quickly.
He also pulled his business card and handed it to Reid's neighbor. "Thank you, ma'am. If you can think of anything that might help or remember anything at all that might be related, please give me a call."
As he made his way toward the home on the other side of Reid's, he flipped open his phone and called up the text.
What he saw on his display screen stopped him in his tracks…he immediately recognized the huddled form of his friend, took in the bare skin and binding ropes, the hood over Reid's head and the naked form positioned possessively behind him and then the digital photo display blinked twice and disappeared.
He must have run the rest of the way back, because Emily startled as he busted through the partly opened doorway to Reid’s home.
“Call Garcia,” he shouted, dropping his cell to the kitchen table. “Tell her to search my cell for incoming texts…it’s gone…it’s gone…”
He knew Emily must have thought he had some how lost his marbles on the short trip down the street to question the locals, but to her credit she yanked her own cell from her pocket and relayed the info to whoever she was talking to. “She’s running a check now…but what’s gone?”
“Reid,” he told her. “Reid.”
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Spencer’s head was still steadily pounding, a spot behind his right eye pulsed with each quicken breath he took.
He didn’t know where he was or what had happened. One moment he was gone and the next he was back to this reality, wherever that was.
Something soft was still covering his eyes and he strained to hear something...anything.
The fine hairs on his arms stood and he was so sure that someone was in the room with him, but he couldn’t hear them…no quiet breathing this time, just a deep silence that he had never experienced before.
He tried to shift positions, to turn on his side, but his senses couldn’t detect what was up and what was down.
After a second of squirming, he realized he was kneeling, his knees ached and felt scraped from the hard concrete floor and his hands rested on something smooth between his bent knees.
His upper body was bent over and his head rested on the cool ground, he could feel the cold seep into his heated cheek even through whatever covered his face.
He couldn’t move his hands from whatever he was holding, they were somehow tethered but he could run his thumbs over the curved surface and into the indentation that ran along the top. The rest of his fingers were splayed over the downward curve and he decided he was holding a bowl, made from…wood or maybe bamboo.
When he tried to rise from his kneeling position, he found that something around his throat kept him in place and he started to panic, bringing his rear end down toward his heels, thinking he could tip onto his side, maybe curl up.
But then something smacked him hard across the ass and he yelped, jerking forward and away from the sharp stinging sensation.
"Who are you?" he cried, "Where am I?" Another blow caught him off guard and he tilted to the right where another slap jerked him back forward on his knees, nearly the position he started in.
He panted heavily through his mouth and waited but no more hits came.
He jumped when someone touched him on the small of his back and then fingers found there way to his dangling sack.
When he jerked forward a blow came again and he realized that if he would just stay still, stay where his assailant wanted him the spanking would stop.
The hand on him moved again, cool and slick against the heat rising from his skin from the hits to his rear and his ass was pushed upward, forcing him to bend forward a little more until his forehead was resting on the ground again.
"Who…who ar…are you?" he stuttered, breathing shallow in an effort to calm down, but his mind was racing, searching for and then rejecting scenarios to get him out of this situation.
He was at a disadvantage.
He didn’t know who had taken him or for what purpose and then he let loose with a muffled chuckle, manic little laughs that told him he was losing what little control he had over himself.
The analytical part of his mind insisted he explore all possibilities, find a solution, and talk his way out of whatever this was. The hysterical babbling coming from the other part of his brain informed him he wasn’t being rational, that he couldn’t possibly find a solution since he had no facts and that no one had even talked to him, so how could he talk his way out of whatever was about to happen.
And he knew…knew what was about to come and he recoiled from that fact, nervously rocking his body a little on his knees.
Tears of fear and frustration started to leak from his tightly pressed lids and then he whispered, “please…please don’t do this to me.”
His nose was so stuffed up that he hardly recognized his own pleading voice and he could feel sweat breaking out over his flesh, feel a fine trickle start at the small of his back and roll up his spine as his body trembled in anticipation of the violation that was sure to come.
He was shaking so hard he forgot to keep his ass up and knew from the zipping sound that he was about to be smacked again.
He didn’t know if his legs could hold him there, but whatever he was hit with left his skin stinging and raw, so he leaned forward and pressed his face to the ground, presenting his ass to whomever was behind him.
He waited, knowing he was about to be assaulted, knowing that someone was about to hurt him…but then…nothing happened.
The blanket of silence settled over him again.
He held the position, hoping that would appease his captor and he would be left alone, but as he waited and strained to hear anything, he became suddenly aware of a presence very close behind him and he tensed again, asking. "Wh…what are y…you doing?"
He remained as still as possible but couldn’t help the whole body shudder that consumed him when two hands suddenly soothed down the tingling skin of his butt, "Sor….sorry…," because he didn't want to be hit again. His ass was cupped and petted and something cool and wet dribbled over him. "Please…st stooop”
But despite his pleas, the hands moved in small circles, smoothing his heated skin, almost comforting and for a while, nothing else happened.
A little later, the hands moved and ran along the crease of his ass and another sob escaped his trembling lips, but he tried not to lose control of himself, tried to breathe through his panic, panting again as he swallowed hard. “I can’t…please, don't hurt me….don’t make me…please don’t make me…”
He was babbling and he knew it, but maybe his words would get through. He had to hope that by talking to whoever had him, would make them see him as a person and not a plaything.
The hands moved on and pulled on his testicles, tentatively touching his soft cock.
“No, no, no, no, no…”
They caressed him and then pulled and stroked experimentally.
A familiar surge went through his groin, and in his nervousness he thought that maybe he was gonna pee on whoever was touching him, but then to his utter horror, his cock filled and hardened and the urge to pee went away.
He shook his head, sick dread settling in his gut like a rock, but there was no denying that his body was responding to what was being done to it.
The hand lingered on him for some time, stroking and squeezing and pulling and in his fear he wished that his attacker would just get it over with already, that was until something wet and sticky touched his hole.
“NO!" He rocked forward, trying to get away, "No, please don’t, please…” His body shook with each intake of breath, but no matter which way he tried to move, the steady pressure at his hole remained and he could feel a finger sliding in, his muscles clenching and pushing against the unnatural intrusion, but that didn’t stop the fingers progression.
Reid’s analytical brain told him he should be thankful that he was being opened gently and not plundered by something a lot bigger then a finger. But that other side of him, the side that was steadily falling apart told him this couldn’t be happening…not to him…it’s not real, it couldn’t be.
It’s a dream, a nightmare…I'm still sick and having a vivid and horrible nightmare.
He could feel the finger squirming in his rectum, feel it flex and stroke at his lining and then it was pulled out, another joining the first and he gasped, "Stop...,” but still both worked within him, scissoring and bumping at him, making him jump from a jolt of unexpected pleasure, but it still hurt and he couldn't reconcile how that could be.
Feel that? his mind jabbered, …that’s no dream…
“SHUT UP!” he screeched, trying to move forward and away from the roaming fingers, but the hand that still held and stroked his cock squeezed him hard.
“Oh god, oh please…stop.” He was losing whatever self control he still maintained and then he told himself that was probably what the freak wanted him to do.
But why?
Who has me?
What have I done to…
The fingers left him with a squishy sucking sound and he vomited a little into his mouth, but quickly swallowed the foul bile back down and took a deep breath as something bigger then fingers pressed at him.
He shook his head and tried to pull away, but no matter what he did, the pressure remained and he could feel himself stretching around a hard rigid object, feel it inch into him until the rounded end bumped his prostate. Another bolt of extreme…something zipped up his spine, pleasure outweighing the pain this time.
And the object didn’t move in and out of him like he expected would happen. Instead the end bumped and rubbed over the bundle of nerves deep in him and then something tightened painfully around the base of his cock.
The thing stopped for a few seconds or maybe minutes, but he kept his mouth shut.
Spencer knew his words couldn’t help him now…he was just going to have to endure and hope that he would be able to survive, that when this was over the person who had him wouldn't kill him.
A strange thought tickled the back of his brain, which was surprisingly quiet.
Why would his attacker hesitate or stop?
What was the man…could it be a woman? What was his assailant doing when he or she stopped?
He strained to hear, but no sounds reached his ears and before he could consider the puzzle further, the thing in him started to rub at the lining of his rectum again, bumping and stroking his prostate in a firm and steady circular motion.
He once read a book about Sadist practices and it helped him now to think about the passages, he could see the text behind his lidded eyes.
The thing in him wasn’t a dildo, it was an instrument used to milk the prostate, to deny orgasm in a traditional sense.
He didn't know why this person would want to use one on him, but with each swipe the instrument pressed harder and moved faster and a cold sweat broke out over his body, he could smell the musk of his own armpits and feel unbearable pressure building deep within him. It felt like it was going on and on, that the sensation would never end and now he was panting, his whole body vibrating with unleashed tension and his toes curled.
He suddenly realized he was rocking back against the base of the thing in him so he tried to stop moving, told himself that it didn’t mean anything…it was just his body’s natural response to what was happening to it.
Time moved on, pressure building in his spine, moving down his belly and into his groin and he ached, he hurt…but his shaky legs still pressed him back and the throb of his cock made him whimper and moan, jabbering pleas to stop or to just get it over with.
The fingers or whatever around the base of his cock tightened as his balls drew up and he cried out, because he couldn't help the feeling, the need to find his release.
Whatever was around his penis tightened again and it hurt...but it also felt good and Spencer could not make sense of what he was feeling, only knowing he wanted to come and then the pressure around him was gone and something was happening…something he had never felt before.
A hand pushed his ass up even more and the bowl or whatever it was between his legs was adjusted because he could feel his cock placed over the rim and then bright lights flashed behind his eyes, he could hear a roaring in his head and himself moaning loud and long as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through him.
His cock pulsed and squirted fluid and he realized they wanted to collect what was coming out of him.
Heat infused his head and the blood rushed back to his cheeks, he could feel them burning hot with shame.
He gulped for breath, asking, "Why," but he knew he wouldn't get an answer.
Silence ruled as his hands were released and he was rolled to his side where he pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his shaky arms around them.
The devise was still buried deep in him and he bore down, trying to push it out, but he didn’t think it moved and he was afraid to touch it.
So instead he turned his face from side to side, but he couldn’t dislodge the hood or whatever it was over his head.
Feeling like he was alone again, he carefully reached up and felt that it was attached to whatever encircled his neck.
A collar?
It felt like smooth metal and his fingers couldn’t find any seams or release mechanisms, just one tiny indentation, but he didn’t know what it could be.
His back and knees ached and he wanted to sit up, but first he reached down and touched himself, feeling like something was still wrapped around him, but his penis was flaccid, and his hand suddenly stilled when he touched his hairless skin.
He had been shaved.
His hands moved back between his legs and felt his testis, they were a little sore and felt bigger then they should, tender to the touch, but the real pain was pulsing in his anus, so he took a deep breath and reached back and grasped the curved handle sticking out of him.
His fingers ran through something wet and his stomach clenched, but he swallowed it down, because he couldn't let himself get sick with the hood over his head.
His fingers ran over the base of the toy and he carefully pulled downward, feeling it slide out a little, but he stopped because his rectum spasm and clenched around the device holding him open. He knew the tissues inside were probably swollen and the lubricant used not sufficient to ease it out painlessly, but he wanted the thing gone so he pulled harder, feeling it inch out of his body, pulling free with a burning pop and he flung it across the room, but he didn’t hear it landing like he expected.
He strained to hear anything at all…
His own beating heart worked overtime, pounding in his breast and then he thought… maybe he wasn’t alone after all.
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Part Three
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Author: (Dawn) Twilight
Summary: Sometimes bad things just happen; sometimes things get worse before they get better.
Feedback: Always welcome
Warnings: This is a dark fic. It will contain m/m sex, sexual assault of a main character and rape recovery. If this is not your kind of story, please do not read.
Notes: So I started this story almost a year ago and debated on if I should continue it or not. One friend kept asking, so here is part two and more is on the way.
Part One
Part Two
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Even though he knew it was futile, Morgan knocked on Reid’s door, calling out his co-worker’s name. “Reid? If you’re in there…open the door.”
Prentiss reached forward and tried the doorknob and when it turned, they exchanged a worried look and drew their weapons.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open and looked around the interior of Reid’s home.
Two throw pillows were propped at the end of the leather couch, a light blanket was tossed messily over the back and an empty tea cup sat atop a stack of books on the coffee table and Morgan figured that Reid had hunkered down on the sofa to ride out whatever bug that had gotten a hold on him.
They split up, cautiously holding their service weapons before them. Derek went toward the back rooms and Emily went toward the kitchen and dining area.
He heard her calling all clear as he walked around the full sized bed, noting that it was neatly made. Stationary and a pen were sitting on the nightstand along with a few wadded up tissues.
Morgan opened the closet doors, where he found the clothes were arranged by type and color and then he peered into the bathroom, but neither Reid or anyone else for that matter were there. “Clear.”
He could hear Emily’s booted footsteps as she traveled over the hardwood floors and entered the bedroom.
“I don’t see any evidence of forced entry…do you think he just forgot to lock the door on the way out this morning?”
Derek seriously doubted it, but since Reid had been under the weather, maybe he had forgotten.
“Possible,” he told her. “But not likely.” He holstered his gun and pulled out his cell phone to contact Hotch. The rest of the team were working the evidence left on Reid’s desk and looking through the security footage from the building entrance and common hallways.
Emily pulled a pair of latex gloves from her coat pocket and snapped them on. “I’ll start in the living room,” she told him. As his phone connected his call, she must have pressed the button on Reid’s answering machine because he could hear his own tinny voice repeating the message he had left for Reid earlier.
“Hotch?” he asked, moving to the living room to join Prentiss, eyes scanning for anything out of place as he spoke with his superior. “Nothing here, but we’re still looking.”
“Okay, Garcia and J.J. are still searching his computer and Rossi’s going through the open case files he's been working on.”
He caught sight of a small box sitting on Reid’s kitchen table and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. “I found the package he got on Saturday.” Morgan pulled out his gloves, but didn’t put them on; instead he folded them over the box and picked it up, seeing a gold key sitting on top of cotton padding. The kind you would find in a cheap earring or necklace box.
“I’ll send the forensic team. Keep me updated.”
“Will do,” Morgan disconnected the call, folding and pocketing his cell.
The paper wrapping sat near by and Derek carefully unfolded it, knowing the techs would look for and probably not find any physical evidence, since there wasn't anything on the box left on Reid's desk. He took a picture of the label, the box and the key to send to Garcia. Hopefully she would find something similar in a search of the databases, some other case that would render more leads and if anyone could find out where the box and it’s contents had come from, it would be Penelope. But instead of calling their resident computer wiz, he texted a message asking her to look at the photo and see what she could find.
Emily came into the kitchen holding a hairbrush in her gloved hand. “I’m bagging this so we can compare and confirm with the hair evidence we already have. What do you have there?”
He showed her the box, filling her in on what Hotch had told him and about sending the picture to Garcia.
“I’m gonna knock on the neighbor’s doors,” he told her, trusting her to continue searching and to wait on the forensic team. He didn’t want to wait…needed to be doing something… He was determined to get answers and as fast as possible. He wasn’t a wait and see kinda guy and especially not when it came to his team.
It appeared the next row home over was unoccupied, its inhabitants probably gone to work, but on the other side an elderly woman answered his knock. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Derek Morgan with the FBI," he whipped out is identification and held it up for her to see. She pulled his hand closer and studied it, looking from his picture to his face, before releasing him.
"Ina Patrick," she told him, "What can I do for you?"
"I need to ask you a few questions about your neighbor a few doors down,” he pointed toward Reid's home, "and to ask if you have seen anything out of the ordinary in the past few days or weeks."
"Oh dear, is Spencer in trouble?"
"You know Spencer Reid?"
She nodded, looking beyond him to the front steps of Spencer's place and then to the SUV he and Emily had arrived in. "Yes, in passing. He's a lovely young man...helps me carry my groceries in from time to time...helps me catch Stinky when he gets away from me on our evening walks...he works for the FBI too, doesn't he?"
"Yes, ma'am...he's a colleague of mine and he's missing, so I was hoping maybe you have notice something...a car or someone that doesn't belong on your street..."
"I'm sorry, dear...my eyes are not the best and I hardly go out during the day unless I have a doctor's appointment. In fact, I only go out once a week for my groceries and hair appointment and I walk Stinky around the block in the evenings...he does his business in the back yard during the day..."
When his phone buzzed he pulled it from his pocket, thinking that his baby girl had outdone herself, returning his text so quickly.
He also pulled his business card and handed it to Reid's neighbor. "Thank you, ma'am. If you can think of anything that might help or remember anything at all that might be related, please give me a call."
As he made his way toward the home on the other side of Reid's, he flipped open his phone and called up the text.
What he saw on his display screen stopped him in his tracks…he immediately recognized the huddled form of his friend, took in the bare skin and binding ropes, the hood over Reid's head and the naked form positioned possessively behind him and then the digital photo display blinked twice and disappeared.
He must have run the rest of the way back, because Emily startled as he busted through the partly opened doorway to Reid’s home.
“Call Garcia,” he shouted, dropping his cell to the kitchen table. “Tell her to search my cell for incoming texts…it’s gone…it’s gone…”
He knew Emily must have thought he had some how lost his marbles on the short trip down the street to question the locals, but to her credit she yanked her own cell from her pocket and relayed the info to whoever she was talking to. “She’s running a check now…but what’s gone?”
“Reid,” he told her. “Reid.”
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Spencer’s head was still steadily pounding, a spot behind his right eye pulsed with each quicken breath he took.
He didn’t know where he was or what had happened. One moment he was gone and the next he was back to this reality, wherever that was.
Something soft was still covering his eyes and he strained to hear something...anything.
The fine hairs on his arms stood and he was so sure that someone was in the room with him, but he couldn’t hear them…no quiet breathing this time, just a deep silence that he had never experienced before.
He tried to shift positions, to turn on his side, but his senses couldn’t detect what was up and what was down.
After a second of squirming, he realized he was kneeling, his knees ached and felt scraped from the hard concrete floor and his hands rested on something smooth between his bent knees.
His upper body was bent over and his head rested on the cool ground, he could feel the cold seep into his heated cheek even through whatever covered his face.
He couldn’t move his hands from whatever he was holding, they were somehow tethered but he could run his thumbs over the curved surface and into the indentation that ran along the top. The rest of his fingers were splayed over the downward curve and he decided he was holding a bowl, made from…wood or maybe bamboo.
When he tried to rise from his kneeling position, he found that something around his throat kept him in place and he started to panic, bringing his rear end down toward his heels, thinking he could tip onto his side, maybe curl up.
But then something smacked him hard across the ass and he yelped, jerking forward and away from the sharp stinging sensation.
"Who are you?" he cried, "Where am I?" Another blow caught him off guard and he tilted to the right where another slap jerked him back forward on his knees, nearly the position he started in.
He panted heavily through his mouth and waited but no more hits came.
He jumped when someone touched him on the small of his back and then fingers found there way to his dangling sack.
When he jerked forward a blow came again and he realized that if he would just stay still, stay where his assailant wanted him the spanking would stop.
The hand on him moved again, cool and slick against the heat rising from his skin from the hits to his rear and his ass was pushed upward, forcing him to bend forward a little more until his forehead was resting on the ground again.
"Who…who ar…are you?" he stuttered, breathing shallow in an effort to calm down, but his mind was racing, searching for and then rejecting scenarios to get him out of this situation.
He was at a disadvantage.
He didn’t know who had taken him or for what purpose and then he let loose with a muffled chuckle, manic little laughs that told him he was losing what little control he had over himself.
The analytical part of his mind insisted he explore all possibilities, find a solution, and talk his way out of whatever this was. The hysterical babbling coming from the other part of his brain informed him he wasn’t being rational, that he couldn’t possibly find a solution since he had no facts and that no one had even talked to him, so how could he talk his way out of whatever was about to happen.
And he knew…knew what was about to come and he recoiled from that fact, nervously rocking his body a little on his knees.
Tears of fear and frustration started to leak from his tightly pressed lids and then he whispered, “please…please don’t do this to me.”
His nose was so stuffed up that he hardly recognized his own pleading voice and he could feel sweat breaking out over his flesh, feel a fine trickle start at the small of his back and roll up his spine as his body trembled in anticipation of the violation that was sure to come.
He was shaking so hard he forgot to keep his ass up and knew from the zipping sound that he was about to be smacked again.
He didn’t know if his legs could hold him there, but whatever he was hit with left his skin stinging and raw, so he leaned forward and pressed his face to the ground, presenting his ass to whomever was behind him.
He waited, knowing he was about to be assaulted, knowing that someone was about to hurt him…but then…nothing happened.
The blanket of silence settled over him again.
He held the position, hoping that would appease his captor and he would be left alone, but as he waited and strained to hear anything, he became suddenly aware of a presence very close behind him and he tensed again, asking. "Wh…what are y…you doing?"
He remained as still as possible but couldn’t help the whole body shudder that consumed him when two hands suddenly soothed down the tingling skin of his butt, "Sor….sorry…," because he didn't want to be hit again. His ass was cupped and petted and something cool and wet dribbled over him. "Please…st stooop”
But despite his pleas, the hands moved in small circles, smoothing his heated skin, almost comforting and for a while, nothing else happened.
A little later, the hands moved and ran along the crease of his ass and another sob escaped his trembling lips, but he tried not to lose control of himself, tried to breathe through his panic, panting again as he swallowed hard. “I can’t…please, don't hurt me….don’t make me…please don’t make me…”
He was babbling and he knew it, but maybe his words would get through. He had to hope that by talking to whoever had him, would make them see him as a person and not a plaything.
The hands moved on and pulled on his testicles, tentatively touching his soft cock.
“No, no, no, no, no…”
They caressed him and then pulled and stroked experimentally.
A familiar surge went through his groin, and in his nervousness he thought that maybe he was gonna pee on whoever was touching him, but then to his utter horror, his cock filled and hardened and the urge to pee went away.
He shook his head, sick dread settling in his gut like a rock, but there was no denying that his body was responding to what was being done to it.
The hand lingered on him for some time, stroking and squeezing and pulling and in his fear he wished that his attacker would just get it over with already, that was until something wet and sticky touched his hole.
“NO!" He rocked forward, trying to get away, "No, please don’t, please…” His body shook with each intake of breath, but no matter which way he tried to move, the steady pressure at his hole remained and he could feel a finger sliding in, his muscles clenching and pushing against the unnatural intrusion, but that didn’t stop the fingers progression.
Reid’s analytical brain told him he should be thankful that he was being opened gently and not plundered by something a lot bigger then a finger. But that other side of him, the side that was steadily falling apart told him this couldn’t be happening…not to him…it’s not real, it couldn’t be.
It’s a dream, a nightmare…I'm still sick and having a vivid and horrible nightmare.
He could feel the finger squirming in his rectum, feel it flex and stroke at his lining and then it was pulled out, another joining the first and he gasped, "Stop...,” but still both worked within him, scissoring and bumping at him, making him jump from a jolt of unexpected pleasure, but it still hurt and he couldn't reconcile how that could be.
Feel that? his mind jabbered, …that’s no dream…
“SHUT UP!” he screeched, trying to move forward and away from the roaming fingers, but the hand that still held and stroked his cock squeezed him hard.
“Oh god, oh please…stop.” He was losing whatever self control he still maintained and then he told himself that was probably what the freak wanted him to do.
But why?
Who has me?
What have I done to…
The fingers left him with a squishy sucking sound and he vomited a little into his mouth, but quickly swallowed the foul bile back down and took a deep breath as something bigger then fingers pressed at him.
He shook his head and tried to pull away, but no matter what he did, the pressure remained and he could feel himself stretching around a hard rigid object, feel it inch into him until the rounded end bumped his prostate. Another bolt of extreme…something zipped up his spine, pleasure outweighing the pain this time.
And the object didn’t move in and out of him like he expected would happen. Instead the end bumped and rubbed over the bundle of nerves deep in him and then something tightened painfully around the base of his cock.
The thing stopped for a few seconds or maybe minutes, but he kept his mouth shut.
Spencer knew his words couldn’t help him now…he was just going to have to endure and hope that he would be able to survive, that when this was over the person who had him wouldn't kill him.
A strange thought tickled the back of his brain, which was surprisingly quiet.
Why would his attacker hesitate or stop?
What was the man…could it be a woman? What was his assailant doing when he or she stopped?
He strained to hear, but no sounds reached his ears and before he could consider the puzzle further, the thing in him started to rub at the lining of his rectum again, bumping and stroking his prostate in a firm and steady circular motion.
He once read a book about Sadist practices and it helped him now to think about the passages, he could see the text behind his lidded eyes.
The thing in him wasn’t a dildo, it was an instrument used to milk the prostate, to deny orgasm in a traditional sense.
He didn't know why this person would want to use one on him, but with each swipe the instrument pressed harder and moved faster and a cold sweat broke out over his body, he could smell the musk of his own armpits and feel unbearable pressure building deep within him. It felt like it was going on and on, that the sensation would never end and now he was panting, his whole body vibrating with unleashed tension and his toes curled.
He suddenly realized he was rocking back against the base of the thing in him so he tried to stop moving, told himself that it didn’t mean anything…it was just his body’s natural response to what was happening to it.
Time moved on, pressure building in his spine, moving down his belly and into his groin and he ached, he hurt…but his shaky legs still pressed him back and the throb of his cock made him whimper and moan, jabbering pleas to stop or to just get it over with.
The fingers or whatever around the base of his cock tightened as his balls drew up and he cried out, because he couldn't help the feeling, the need to find his release.
Whatever was around his penis tightened again and it hurt...but it also felt good and Spencer could not make sense of what he was feeling, only knowing he wanted to come and then the pressure around him was gone and something was happening…something he had never felt before.
A hand pushed his ass up even more and the bowl or whatever it was between his legs was adjusted because he could feel his cock placed over the rim and then bright lights flashed behind his eyes, he could hear a roaring in his head and himself moaning loud and long as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through him.
His cock pulsed and squirted fluid and he realized they wanted to collect what was coming out of him.
Heat infused his head and the blood rushed back to his cheeks, he could feel them burning hot with shame.
He gulped for breath, asking, "Why," but he knew he wouldn't get an answer.
Silence ruled as his hands were released and he was rolled to his side where he pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his shaky arms around them.
The devise was still buried deep in him and he bore down, trying to push it out, but he didn’t think it moved and he was afraid to touch it.
So instead he turned his face from side to side, but he couldn’t dislodge the hood or whatever it was over his head.
Feeling like he was alone again, he carefully reached up and felt that it was attached to whatever encircled his neck.
A collar?
It felt like smooth metal and his fingers couldn’t find any seams or release mechanisms, just one tiny indentation, but he didn’t know what it could be.
His back and knees ached and he wanted to sit up, but first he reached down and touched himself, feeling like something was still wrapped around him, but his penis was flaccid, and his hand suddenly stilled when he touched his hairless skin.
He had been shaved.
His hands moved back between his legs and felt his testis, they were a little sore and felt bigger then they should, tender to the touch, but the real pain was pulsing in his anus, so he took a deep breath and reached back and grasped the curved handle sticking out of him.
His fingers ran through something wet and his stomach clenched, but he swallowed it down, because he couldn't let himself get sick with the hood over his head.
His fingers ran over the base of the toy and he carefully pulled downward, feeling it slide out a little, but he stopped because his rectum spasm and clenched around the device holding him open. He knew the tissues inside were probably swollen and the lubricant used not sufficient to ease it out painlessly, but he wanted the thing gone so he pulled harder, feeling it inch out of his body, pulling free with a burning pop and he flung it across the room, but he didn’t hear it landing like he expected.
He strained to hear anything at all…
His own beating heart worked overtime, pounding in his breast and then he thought… maybe he wasn’t alone after all.
CMCMCMCM
Part Three