It’s incredible.
I hate him so much.
Even if I was this talented, I don’t have a grand studio where I could work on a piece this big, nor can I afford the amount of oil paint it would require.
“This one. It’s… very beautiful,” I say as we pass the painting, partially to flatter him, partially to show him I can be someone he can talk to about art. “Do you actually paint them yourself?”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I know I said the wrong thing when his eyes turn to slits, and I’m afraid he’s about to drop me on my head.
“What do you mean?” he asks, kicking a door open. The lamp switches on near-instantly as we enter a large bedroom. It looks luxurious but pretty ordinary, if it wasn’t for the lack of windows.
I swallow, but there’s no way to back out now. “That… maybe you have other things you enjoy.” I think back to the sharp teeth of the saw in the torture room. “So maybe you have a painter locked in the basement to keep up your cover?” I laugh nervously despite the throbbing pain in my leg and a sinking feeling in my stomach.
He chuckles and sets me down on the soft sheets. They’re smooth as silk, and I find myself rolling to my back. Maybe there were drugs in the cookies after all? “If I had a choice, I would rather employ someone to clean my home. The Roombas can only do so much.” With that, he leans down and pops open my zipper.
I still, my mind blank as I stare at him.
What the fuck?
“Wh-wh-wh…what are you doing?” I finally manage to choke out. I’m pretty sure I’ve developed a spontaneous stutter in his presence.
His eyes meet mine, but my protest doesn’t deter him, and I watch helplessly as he drags both my jeans and my underwear down, revealing my thin, pale legs, and my crotch. Haven’t I been humiliated enough?
“I need to check if you don’t have any more weapons.”
My face is on fire as he takes his time pulling off my shoes as well. I can’t find my voice. At least I’m too panicked to get aroused. Which, on the other hand, might be a bad thing, because I’m more of a grower. Why would I care if I impress him with my dick size? No idea, since it’s not happening either way.
He turns my shoe in his hand with an expression I can’t read. “These are really small. What is this? A six?”
I lose it. There’s only so much a man can take. “Fuck you!” I try to kick him, but he grabs my foot. Of-fucking-course.
“I’m just making conversation. No reason to get this worked up,” he says and climbs onto the bed, straddling me before I can protest. Not that it would do much against him ripping my damn T-shirt in two.
I can’t look him in the face. I clamp my lips shut while breathing hard through my nose. If I am to survive this, I have to control myself.
Reasonably, I can see how taking my stuff makes sense, how I am less likely to escape if I’m naked. But it doesn’t stop the shame from creeping in when I’m right next to this absolute god in human form. I’m short, skinny, and covered in more freckles than reasonable.
Unwanted. Unseen. Underappreciated.
I yelp, blooming with heat as he rolls me to my front, still sitting on my thighs as I bite down on the sheet.
What is happening? If this is all to check me for weapons, is he going to perform a cavity search next?
My twisted mind drifts back to the way he put on latex gloves to deal with my wound…
Okay. This is bad.Blood, please stay in my face, stop flowing down. I’m like a rabbit caught in snares, but also, this rabbit is kinky and fucked up. The silence is somehow even worse than the comment he made earlier. I’m desperate to break it so I can distract myself from the inevitable arousal caused by thisperfectman sitting on top of me while I’m naked.
And yet, my tongue twists and I can’t think of anything to say.
Time slows, and I only snap out of the shock when the zip-ties open. He pulls off what’s left of my T-shirt, and takes my backpack too. He then pulls my hands above my head, and ties them again. By the time he rolls off me, I’m getting so hot and sweaty, I don’t dare protest, because that would expose my hardening cock, making me even more of a spectacle.
“All right, I’ll see you in the morning,” he says.
My new ties leave me a bit more freedom, and I look up at him in what I can only explain as ‘distress’. Because what the fuck?
I make sure to turn in a way that hides my crotch, but when I do that, he steps closer.
