Page 9 of His Pet

Did I mention my porn watching? I know what goes on between a Master and their pet in a place like this. Pain. Humiliation. Sex.

Fuck, this isn’t a dream at all, is it? That crazy guy with a knife—Mikhail?—kidnapped me, and he what? Sold me to this man?

Cameron, my mind helpfully supplies. His name is Cameron.

I should be panicking. I really should, but the part of my mind that’s screaming in terror is still oddly muted, letting me drift around the panic on the waves of the post-orgasmic haze. They must have given me some drugs, and I haven’t shaken them off yet. Still, I should probably try to fight or run or do something, anything other than just lie here and let a complete stranger molest me. Even if the molesting was mind-blowing.

No. I can’t think like that.

“Please, let me go.” My words sound pathetic even to my own ears. “You have the wrong person. I’m not even gay.” Maybe I am, but I’m sure as hell not about to come out to the man who just sexually assaulted me.

“I assure you I have the right person,” Cameron replies with a cryptic smile. “You’re perfect, pet. Such a good boy. You just need someone to please. Someone to praise and appreciate you.”

I’m not gonna lie, having someone appreciate me would be awesome, but the rest of the deal is unacceptable.

Even though it’s pointless, and frankly, ridiculous because I’m still drugged up to my eyeballs and Cameron’s twice my weight, I fight. I try to, anyway.

I roll off the table, managing to catch myself on it when my legs refuse to carry my weight. When Cameron reaches for me, I stumble away. Realizing I’m in no condition to walk, let alone run, I jab an elbow into his face when he grabs me.

It’s laughable how easily he overpowers me. I want to say it’s because of the drugs, but the truth is I’ve never been physically strong. I’ve always been a wimp, as my father lovingly—or so he thinks—calls me before ruffling my hair like I’m five years old.

I squirm under Cameron’s weight as he pins me to the table. His grip on my hair is painful and my cheek is squished to the solid wood, yet my body relaxes. What kind of weird reaction is that?

Cameron’s breath fans my ear. “Don’t hurt yourself, pet.”

His erection presses against my ass, sending conflicting signals to my brain. It’s flattering that he’s aroused after giving me a blowjob, but the idea of him fucking me is terrifying. Even merely pressed against me, he feels huge, and I’ve never had anything in my ass before. I haven’t even tried playing with that part of myself because it felt strange. Forbidden.

If Cameron tries to shove that baseball bat-sized dick inside of me, he’ll split me in half.

“Please.” I didn’t even realize I’ve been crying, but the wood beneath my cheek is wet. “Please. I don’t even like men,” I repeat as if that argument could somehow convince my captor to let me go. I don’t know what else to say. I have no money I could bribe him with, and neither does my family. I don’t have any powerful connections I could call in favor with. I can’t fight him, and I doubt he’d react well to me threatening him with police and jail.

Fuck! What do I do?

“I don’t care who you like, Justin.”

The way Cameron rolls my name on his tongue like he’s caressing it makes me swallow hard. My cock, the stupid traitor, tingles with renewed interest despite being well and completely spent.

“Your preferences don’t matter. You’re mine now, so you only need to be attracted to me, and I think we’ve got that part covered, don’t we?”

“No!” I protest vehemently, unsure whether I’m trying to convince Cameron or myself. It doesn’t work on either of us. I’m still gay, and Cameron laughs.

“I should punish you for lying, but I know what it’s like to be in the closet, so I’ll let it slide. This time. Next time, you will tell me exactly how you’re attracted to me and how you crave my cock.”

I grind my teeth together to stop myself from blurting out something stupid. I need to be smart here. Play along until I get a chance to escape, but be careful about it. If I did a one-eighty turn right now and started agreeing to everything Cameron says, it would just rouse his suspicion. I’ll just have to act like a scared and mostly agreeable captive. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’m already terrified, and my body seems on board with anything Cameron has planned.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” My voice breaks on a whimper. As the drugs slowly leave my system and my mind clears, the gravity of the situation starts hitting me for real. “I just want to go home.” My home isn’t the best place to live in, but I’d take my father’s disapproving stare and my siblings’ teasing over being held captive and raped any day.

Would you, though?

I shut that train of thought down before it gains any traction. Nothing about this situation is consensual and whatever arousal I feel is purely my body’s natural reaction to physical stimulation. People can orgasm while being raped. Besides, I was drugged. I thought it was a dream. If I had known the truth, I would never have enjoyed it.

Wouldn’t you, though?

Ugh, shut up, I scold the annoying voice. I have more important things to focus on right now, like how to survive this, preferably without getting raped, because that’s where the situation is no doubt heading.

Cameron is shirtless, and his bare chest feels better than it should when pressed against my back. His cock rubs against my ass every time he moves, the rough material of his jeans abrading my skin. Pinpricks of pain erupt from my scalp as he tightens his hold on my hair and pins my wrist down with the other hand.

I hate the moan that breaks free when my captor licks the shell of my ear. “You’re not going anywhere, my little pet. In fact, you’re never leaving this room again. Not alive, anyway.”