Losers: Part II

That weekend, I didn’t go home. Sleeping in their bed was all I wanted. The reality of what had happened was still sinking in; it barely felt real. This was the kind of thing that happened in movies and overly-dramatic teen dramas, not boring little Wickeston.

My mom wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone, but I had no desire to text her. I sent a text to my dad instead.

Please tell Mom that I’m staying with friends for the weekend. I’ll be back on Monday.

As usual, Dad didn’t have a problem with it. Have fun, sunshine. Nice and easy. It didn’t make my mom stop texting, but at least it made me feel better about not opening her messages.

When I woke up on Sunday, Manson was still fast asleep, but Lucas’s spot on the bed was now cold. Rising quietly, I slipped on a pair of Jason’s socks and my shoes before I went downstairs. A pot of coffee had been made, and I poured a mug before I walked out to the garage.

The morning was pleasantly cooler than usual, with a late summer storm gathering dark clouds overhead that flashed with lightning. Lucas was leaning over the engine bay of a BMW, a few years older than my own car, fiddling with something.

Setting down my coffee and coming up behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my head against his back.

“Mornin’,” he said, drawing me around in front of him so he could hug me in return. He had his gloves on, and was careful not to touch me with them, although I wouldn’t have cared if he did.

“Are you really working on a Sunday?” I said, and he shrugged.

“It’s a quick job, just an oil change,” he said. “But I know I should be taking a day off. Sometimes it’s hard to turn off the work side of my brain.”

“I’m sure it helps that you like what you do,” I said, pulling over a stool so I could sit closer to him while he worked.

“That does help. I like the work, it keeps me focused.” He motioned me closer. “Don’t sit down yet. Get some gloves on. I’ll show you how to change your oil so you don’t end up with another dead engine.”

Lucas was a patient teacher. He showed me everything we would need to use first — the new filter, gaskets, and tools. Then he put a ratchet in my hand with an oil filter socket attached, and directed me on how to remove and replace the filter.

It got predictably messy. Even with gloves on, I got streaks of oil on my arms, and at one point, Lucas made me pause so he could rub a smudge of it off my chin. He insisted we couldn’t use the lift. “You won’t have a lift available when you’re changing oil in your driveway.” So I got to use a car jack for the first time in my life.

“Go on, put some muscle into it,” Lucas said, chuckling softly as he watched me awkwardly clutch the jack handle with my too-long nails. “It won’t bite you, show it who’s the boss.”

As I moved the jack stands into place to keep the car elevated, Manson walked into the garage with a steaming mug of coffee.

“Little early for work on a Sunday, isn’t it?” he said. He took a long sip of coffee, closing his eyes for a moment as he savored it.

“It’s not work, it’s life lessons,” Lucas said. “All right, so now you’re going to take your ten-millimeter hex key…”

He continued to instruct me as I lay back on the wheeled board that would let me slide under the car — he called it a “creeper.” After the oil had drained, I was about to slide myself back out when I was suddenly grabbed by the legs and pulled.

Lucas crouched there, his fingers gripped around my ankles, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Did I scare you?” he said. I tried to swat him with the rag I’d been using to wipe my hands, but he dodged it and caught my wrist, pinning me back against the creeper. I struggled a little, not truly trying to get away, but giving enough of a fuss that he had to work to keep me down.

“You’re going to get me worked up if you’re not careful, Jess,” he warned me.

“Oh, no!” I said, dramatically. “That would be terrible.” I was still lying on the creeper, and he allowed me enough room to prop myself up on my elbows. The look in his eyes was hungry, and that was exactly what I wanted to see. I teased, “You might not be able to control yourself, hm?”

His eyes narrowed as he stood, offering me a hand up. “You have a job to finish, remember? Don’t get distracted.” But he was clearly very distracted already.

I was having fantasies of him bending me over the car as I poured the new oil. Lucas stood behind me, his hands on my arms as he guided me. He stood so close; close enough that he was touching my back and when he had to adjust himself, I noticed.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look as I secured the oil cap back into place. “Am I doing a good job?” I said. My ass was wedged up against him, and I smiled sweetly. “I just want to be sure I’m pleasing you.”

Across the garage, Manson snickered at my words. “She’s trying to wrap you around her little finger, Lucas.”

But Lucas was looking at me as if I’d already succeeded. “I can think of a few more ways you can please me, too,” he said, cupping his hand around my throat to pull me back. We pressed up against the front of the BMW, my hands braced against it. Lucas was practically grinding on me. He bit down on my shoulder, softly at first — then hard enough to make me whimper.

“Ah, Lucas…” I reached my arm back from him, and made eye contact with Manson as I did. He was sitting on a stool, leaning against a workbench with his coffee close by. He was intently focused on us, smiling in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant. It was a pitying smile, as if he knew something that Lucas and I didn’t.

God, I loved when he watched us, it was such a turn-on. Lucas’s fingers squeezed around my throat and I groaned, grinding my ass back on him. “Mm, you’re so hard,” I said. I watched Manson’s face, eager to see his reaction as I said breathily. “You should fuck me right here, Lucas. Bend me over and split me open.”

Lucas snarled in my ear. Instantly, his hand was fumbling with my pants as if to pull them down. But Manson’s pitying smile widened into something far more sadistic.

“I don’t recall giving my toys permission to fuck,” he said. He spoke so casually, but Lucas froze upon hearing his words.

The silence stretched for several moments before Lucas hissed, “Are you going to stop me?”

Manson laughed, taking another sip of his coffee before he got off his seat. “I’ll let you play, don’t worry. But you’re going to do it on my terms.”

Lucas growled again. He couldn’t stop touching me; his hands were heavy as he gripped and caressed me. Manson tipped his head tightly to the side, eyes narrowing.

“I’m going to need to restrain you, aren’t I?” he said. His words quickened with excitement, as if the idea delighted him.

Lucas nipped my sensitive skin again and I groaned. He was grinding against me desperately, as if he knew he was running out of time. Manson stalked closer. His expression grew a little more wicked with every step. Lucas went still, and a shiver went over him when Manson reached his side.

Manson rubbed his hand slowly over Lucas’s back: up his spine, over his shoulders, as if he was soothing him. Then he settled his grip on the nape of Lucas’s neck, his fingers digging in as he said coldly, “Playtime is over.”

***

Manson marched us up to his bedroom, and made us undress each other as he watched. He barely had to touch us to exercise control. After Lucas had stripped me down, Manson ordered me to undress him in return. He made me pull off Lucas’s boots, his socks, his jumpsuit. I had to remove his underwear with my teeth, keeping my hands clasped obediently behind my back.

Manson had a short, stiff, leather crop in his hand, and he gave me a sharp tap with it every time he gave me an order. “Now open the bottom drawer on my dresser, and fetch the muzzle for me.”

Scrambling to obey, I crawled to the dresser and slid open the drawer. Various restraints made of leather and metal lay within. It took me a moment, but I grabbed the closest thing to a muzzle I could find and brought it back, carrying it in my mouth.

Lucas was on his knees at Manson’s feet, and he glowered at the muzzle as if it had insulted him.

Manson stood behind Lucas, almost straddling him with his legs. He pulled Lucas’s head back, forcing the man to gaze up at him as he said,

“You have a hard time restraining yourself,” he said, nodding, as if Lucas was a very silly thing who would struggle to understand. But Lucas was nodding his head quickly, almost desperate to agree. “So your Master has to help you, isn’t that right?” Lucas nodded again, his breath coming faster as Manson fastened the leather straps around his head. The metal cage was secured over his mouth and nose, effectively taking away his ability to bite. But Manson wasn’t done.

“Kneel there,” he told me, pointing beside the bed. I scrambled into place and waited there on my knees.

Manson went to the bottom drawer and chose another item from within, although I had no idea what it was until he’d fit it onto Lucas. Then I realized it was a cock ring. The sight of the twin black rings sitting around the base of his shaft and his balls made my mouth water.

“Disobedient puppies need to be kept on a leash,” Manson said, returning to the drawer once again. Lucas waited obediently until he returned, then took a slow deep breath as Manson strapped a thick leather collar around his neck. He attached a leash to it, allowing the leash to drag on the floor when he said, “Go. Kneel next to Jess.”

Lucas obeyed. The two of us waited there, side by side, as Manson paced in front of us. He kept tapping the leather crop against the leg of his pants, the leather hissing as it whipped through the air. Every impact made a little shiver go up my back.

My eyes remained fixed on Manson’s boots, my gaze respectfully low. The very act of paying him respect was arousing for me now. Waiting there in silence, as he decided what to do with us, made me ravenous with desire.

Manson stopped in front of me, and tucked his fingers under my chin to lift my head. I gazed into his eyes as a hot visceral feeling crept into my stomach.

“Open up,” he said.

He fit a black ball gag between my teeth and strapped it around my head. It wasn’t too large, and there were holes in the ball so I could breathe with ease. Manson had a proud smile on his face and he traced his fingers over my lips, spread around the gag.

“I love you, angel,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing my forehead. The words made me squirm with pleasure; I would have smiled if my mouth hadn’t been preoccupied.

Mason moved over to Lucas next, who lifted his caged face as Manson reached down. He hooked his fingers through the bars of the muzzle, giving it a little shake. Lucas looked at him like he was in awe, like he wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t.

“I love you, pup,” he said, his voice so tender that Lucas shivered.

“I love you too, sir.” His voice was so much softer than I was used to hearing it. He adjusted his position, straightening his back, sliding his knees out so his legs were spread wider. A thick pearly-white drip streaked down the head of his cock, some of it clinging to the shiny metal of his piercing.

“Both of you, turn around,” Manson said. “Remain on your knees, face the bed, hands on the mattress.”

As I stretched out my arms on the bed, I was vibrating with excitement, trembling with need. A few moments of silence passed, punctuated only by that slow thump, thump, thump of Manson’s boots behind us.

“Who wants it first?” he said, and he didn’t need to elaborate for me to know he was talking about the leather crop.

Before I could whimper my acquiescence, Lucas said, “I do, sir.”

The snap of the whip’s impact came so fast I flinched in surprise. Lucas released a low groan, his hands flexing and clenching.

“Thank you, sir. Another, please.”

The crop snapped again, but the impact was different. A high-pitched gasp burst out of him as Manson laughed softly and said, “Aw, did I get your balls with that one? Sounds like it hurt.”

“Fucking hell…thank you, sir,” Lucas gasped like he was drowning. The tremor that went through him made the whole mattress shake.

A finger traced down my spine. “Your turn, angel.” The stiff leather tapped lightly against my ass. “Are you ready?”

Nodding, I tried to brace myself for the impact. But Manson didn’t strike right away; he waited, and paced some more. When my guard slipped for a moment and I readjusted myself, that was when he whipped the crop down.

It stung, a sharp biting impact across my back. Then it came again, on my thighs. Then again, across my butt.

My words of thanks were garbled by the gag. Manson kissed my shoulder, right where my skin stung from the lash. “You look beautiful when you suffer for me.” He pressed two fingers inside me, my arousal making his fingers slick. “That’s what I like to feel, angel. You’re so wet for me.”

Leaning heavily against the bed, I lost myself in that perfect feeling of his fingers plunging into me.

“If you want pleasure, then it’s going to hurt,” he said, his body warm and heavy as he pressed against my back.

When his fingers withdrew, I held my breath. The crop whipped down again, but the pain was pleasure and I shivered all over. Then came a familiar metallic sound, and Manson came close again. But it wasn’t his fingers that rubbed over my clit. The thing that touched me was hard metal, and slightly cold.

“Do you remember this feeling?” he said. I did. I could never forget the sensation of his knife handle touching me, rubbing me, probing me. When he’d fucked me with that knife at the Halloween party all those years ago, I’d been so shocked at myself for liking it.

Now? None of my desires shocked me anymore. I liked extreme pleasure, I liked pain, I liked every new and unusual sensation between.

Manson probed the handle into me. Leaning forward, I rested my head against the mattress as I zoned out, lost in a stupor of sensation. Lucas was watching me with a rapt, starving expression. His hands were clenched into fists, and I whimpered his name, but the gag made it impossible to understand.

He understood anyway, because he cursed under his breath and determinedly turned his face to stare dead ahead.

“Lucas doesn’t like watching as much as I do,” Manson said, so damn conversational while I was falling apart. “Drives him wild that he can’t touch. Can’t bite.” He shot a self-indulgent smile over at Lucas. “Self-control is hard, isn’t it?”

Withdrawing the knife and leaving me quivering, Manson held it up in front of Lucas’s muzzled face. “You see how wet she is? Her pussy feels so fucking good.”

Manson reached over, dipping his fingers into me again. Then, using my arousal like a lubricant, he slowly pressed a finger inside Lucas. “She’s so slick, isn’t she?” he said; his expression almost maniacally pleased as Lucas bent over the mattress. His jaw was clenched tightly within the muzzle, as if he was struggling to keep his noises inside.

Did having me there make it harder to submit? Did it tear him between wanting to maintain his vicious persona, and wanting to be a good boy for Manson?

“Do you want to fuck her?” Manson said.

Lucas nodded quickly, then winced in pain and said, “Yes, sir. I do.”

“You’re going to have to earn it.”

Manson braced his hand against the back of Lucas’s neck, pinning him bent over the bed. He fingered him until Lucas’s cock was twitching, pressed into the side of the mattress, dripping with need. It was so difficult to wait for my turn; it was sheer torture to listen to Lucas’s desperate sounds and not touch myself.

When Manson climbed up on the bed, he dragged Lucas with him. Manson straddled him on the mattress, his knife in one hand as he grasped Lucas’s cock with the other. He didn’t stroke him; he didn’t even squeeze hard. But Lucas’s entire body twitched, his eyes fluttered closed and he groaned. The sound was fraught with desire and his hips bucked up, desperate little pleas dropping from his lips.

“Manson, please, fucking please, just —”

He went rigidly still when Manson tapped the cold, sharp tip of the blade against his cock.

“Jess.” Manson’s voice instantly commanded my attention. “You may remove your gag.” He tapped the blade again as I obeyed, his fingers squeezing and slowly stroking along Lucas’s shaft. Working the stiffness out of my jaw, I respectfully set the gag on the bedside table before I returned to my position. Manson was nodding in approval, his thumb rubbing a slow, teasing circle over Lucas’s head. “Who does this cock belong to?”

“To you, Master,” I said quickly.

Manson smiled. “That’s right. Good girl.” I got such a rush of endorphins at that simple declaration. “See, pup? She understands. She gets how it works, although it admittedly took a while to get it through her thick little head. You…belong…to me.” He tapped the blade to punctuate his words, and Lucas flinched with every touch.

Lucas’s breath was coming in quick, deep gasps. “I’m yours, sir,” he said, whispering it like a prayer. “Don’t let me forget…don’t…”

Manson kissed his chest, pressing his lips right over his heart. He reached for the bedside table, opened the drawer, and withdrew a small disinfectant wipe from within. Tearing off the paper wrapping with his teeth, he used it to wipe the blade down, speaking to Lucas all the while.

“Of course you’re not allowed to forget,” he said. “No matter how many years go back, no matter how old you are, no matter where we go, you will always be mine. Always.  No one and nothing will take you from me.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Lucas’s. Lucas was panting, his chest heaving, his fingers knotted tightly in the sheets. “Don’t ever forget. I take care of what’s mine.”

Manson lifted the blade and carefully pressed the tip into Lucas’s skin. He took his time, carving something into his side, below his ribs. I saw every emotion that flashed through Lucas’s eyes. I saw the moment of pain as his lip curled, his entire being shivering as he bared his teeth. Then ecstasy washed over him, and his eyes almost rolled back. He pulled at the sheets as if he wanted to tear them apart.

Manson hummed with pleasure as he worked. “You bleed for me, you come for me, you live and die for me. Understand?” Lucas nodded rapidly, closing his eyes as Manson stroked him with one hand and cut him with the other.

Manson lowered his head and took Lucas into his mouth, eliciting a guttural moan from his victim. Manson took him deep and slow; his lips parting as he lifted his head again and trailed his tongue up the shaft. The sound that came out of Lucas when Manson’s tongue lapped around his piercing made my insides clench.

Manson’s initials — M. R. — were carved into Lucas’s side in shallow cuts. Blood dripped slowly down his tattooed skin, his chest heaving as Manson sucked him. Unable to look away, unable to touch myself, and not daring to speak, all I could do was kneel beside the bed and watch, torn between fascination and longing.

When Manson lifted his head, he looked right at me. “Come up here, angel. Lie on your back, hands above your head.”

Lucas moved aside, and I lay down with my arms extended toward the headboard. Manson retrieved multiple pairs of restraints from the drawer — leather cuffs connected by short lengths of chain. He locked my wrists to the headboard first, taking his time to touch and tease me as he did. Then he bound my ankles too, cuffing them to the headboard so I was left folded almost in half, exposed.

It was a good thing I was still flexible, otherwise this position would get difficult quickly.

The position gave me a clear view as Manson teased the knife handle over me.

“Do you want more, angel?” he said, and I nodded as I watched the metal thrust into me. With the handle inside me, Manson lapped his tongue over my clit before he closed his lips over me. My cuffs strained against the headboard as I writhed, but they still held me firmly in place.

“That feels so good,” I whimpered.

All I could do was lie there and take it. Manson brought me right to the edge before he stopped. He set aside the knife and moved back, tugging Lucas over by his leash. He grabbed the muzzle, jerking Lucas’s face close as he said, “I’m going to fuck your ass while you fuck her. Look at her. Don’t close your eyes.”

When Lucas faced me, his eyes glazed like he was drunk. He was floating through that headspace of perfect submission: no thoughts, no fears, only the pure bliss of giving up control. I wished I could touch him, run my fingers over his chest, draw him to me.

“God, you look so beautiful,” he said. His eyes closed for a moment as Manson moved behind him, his cock pressing against his entrance. But he quickly opened them again, keeping them locked on me as Manson entered him.

At the same time, he lined up his cock with my pussy and pressed inside.

“You’re like heaven,” he whispered, and I didn’t know if he meant me, or Manson, or if it even mattered who he meant. He was right. This was the only heaven I wanted.

“Don’t give up on me now, pup,” Manson teased, pulling the leash taut as Lucas shook inside me. “Go on and fuck her…and take my cock deeper.”

Lucas groaned as he moved. He thrust into me, and as he drew back, he bared his teeth slowly exhaled.

“Shit…” He said the word like both a curse and a desperate plea.

Manson wrapped the leash’s length around his hand and said harshly, “Take it like a fucking man. Fuck her like you mean it.”

Squirming in my binding, it took every shred of self-control not to start begging. My pussy was throbbing for more; the thick feeling of Lucas inside me making my toes curl. But the two together were going to drive me mad with lust. Watching them, it was easy to understand why Manson was such a voyeur. It was fucking delicious.

I drank up the eroticism of their touches, their tension, their anticipation. It affirmed me, encouraged me. It ignited that sadistic side of my brain when Lucas groaned in pain, every muscle taut as he endured. But it also lit a fire under my masochism, filling me with yearning.

“Fuck me, Lucas,” I groaned. I was dizzy with pleasure, practically vibrating with need. “Fuck me hard, please. Make it hurt.”

“Fucking hell.” Lucas’s fingers dug into my thighs as he watched himself sink into me. He found his rhythm, fucking himself on Manson’s cock and fucking me at the same time. He braced his hands against the headboard, gripping the bars so tight that the veins stood out sharply in his arms.

Manson’s head tipped back, pleasure contorting his face. “There’s my good boy. How does that feel?”

“Fucking amazing.” Lucas’s words shook, his eyes narrowed and desperate as he watched my face. He reached down, rubbing my clit with his thumb. My pleasure rocketed to a feverish height, my muscles tensing and straining against the chains.

Looking up at him from between my spread legs, I whimpered, “That feels so good, Lucas, you’re going to make me come.”

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he gasped, and I groaned with utter abandon. His teeth were bare within the muzzle, and he leaned down — only to snarl with despair when he realized he couldn’t kiss me… or bite me.

Manson tugged on the leash and jerked him upright. “Someone is a very whiny dog today. Maybe you should have been a little more careful defying me, hm?” Lucas nodded rapidly. “Because I always get what I want, don’t I?” Another rapid nod. He was fucking me mercilessly and my muscles were locked up in bliss. “Who owns you, Lucas? Say it.”

“You do, sir.”

I came so hard that I held my breath. Lucas kept touching me, fucking me, and the pleasure drew out to an ungodly intensity. My legs were shaking, and I was left gasping, so eager for Lucas to come inside me, I mindlessly begged for it.

“She wants you to fill her up,” Manson said, growling the words in Lucas’s ear. “Look at her face, look how badly she wants it. Are you going to give her what she wants, pup?”

“Yes, sir.” He dissolved into a moan as Manson moved, rolling his hips into him. Manson fucked him hard, inserting his fingers through the bars of the muzzle. Lucas took the digits in his mouth, sucking them with a desperation that made him close his eyes again.

The force of Manson fucking him drove him into me. His cock swelled, and with a vicious groan, he came inside me. Manson clung to him, the sound of his hips slapping against him growing more erratic until Manson shuddered, his eyes squeezing closed in bliss.