The Life on Mars Anonymous Pornfest
Please Note: I've declared the Pornfest over (as I can't be bothered to keep the prompt list up-to-date!) So any new prompts posted will be deleted. However, I do encourage you to post any anon fic in response to the existing prompts and comment on the lovely responses that we've already got
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Which is obviously a laugh because they were surprised less than a second after stepping through the unassuming door of the empty house by the informant's muscle, guns and back-up.
Now Sam is handcuffed, kneeling in the middle of the almost empty room. Blood welling from a cut on his temple. Gene has been forcibly sat in a heavyweight chair facing him, a hired thug on either side, hands on his shoulders, keeping him in the chair. Though it is obviously the threat of violence against Sam that keeps him there really. A third thug has a gun trained on Sam and has already shown that he's willing to use it. The black tom's body lays bleeding a few feet away and as much as Sam is terrified he can still muster up a little sympathy for the poor creature who got in the way of this botched job.
They are waiting, that much is obvious. Though waiting for what, Sam doesn't know. It reminds him of tableaux as the curtain pulls up, just waiting for the main character to walk on and say his opening line.
And as he thinks that, the play opens.
"Well, well. Thank you, Gene. I had wondered if you would hold up your end of the bargain."
Footsteps click nearer behind Sam, but he resists looking, any move on his part at the moment is assured to end in death. He instead stares at Gene to see what cues his Guv can give him. But Gene is closed off. Pale, shaking. If Sam didn't know better he'd think Gene was frightened.
The man is behind him now, caressing his head, Sam swallows down the rage and bile, waiting, just waiting for the cue. Fingers bite down on his neck, holding him in place.
"Such a pretty boy, Gene. You've done me proud. Just what I asked for."
Sam frowns now, this isn't how the script is supposed to run.
"You've got what you wanted, William. Now I can go, yes?"
Gene isn't looking at Sam, instead looking at the man stood behind him. Sam is bewildered. "What's going on?"
"All in good time, young man. Gene, I'm afraid you're going to have to stay a little longer. Tie him to the chair, lads."
Gene struggles, but the two men are bigger than him and are prepared for battle. Gene gets in a couple of punches, they get in more as more rope than is possibly necessary bind him down.
"Right, now you're as snug as a bug in a rug, lads, help me with this one."
Sam tries to struggle too as the two men pick him up, binding him to a steel table set in the middle of the room. His efforts are as futile though, as he finds himself sprawled across the piece of furniture, his hands now cuffed to the far legs, the chill of the table creeping into his body through the thin shirt he is wearing.
"Well, you've no need for those," William chuckles, binding his head with some kind of fabric, cutting off his sight. "All you have to do is listen and feel." Hands now undo his trousers and Sam kicks back, hitting something solid with a satisfying thunk.
"Now, now. There was no call for that," and his legs are held still as his trousers are pulled down and off before his ankles are tied to the other table legs, spreading him open, naked and vulnerable.
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