Chapter Text
Ian was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that was all. It was oleander season up in Randy’s bedroom, and the plants were thirsty little wankers. Their brilliant green leaves and pink blooms added desperately needed character to the man’s mostly brown and black room. The windows lined with golden racks of plants faced the ocean, and morning sunlight streamed across an early summer lawn that was too properly watered to ever get sun-crisped.
Ian had wanted to make sure the oleanders were properly watered, too, before the asshole got home so that he wouldn’t run the risk of getting caught at it when the man was horny. Ian had, in fact, skipped working out to get up there first thing after breakfast. Trainer would slap him for deviating from the calendar schedule, which told him to do the usual morning routine of breakfast, then working out, then checking the plants before joining Medon over in the greenhouse. But a hard slap from Trainer was better than a hard cock in his mouth or up his ass.
Randy didn’t usually get in until mid-afternoon when he returned from a business trip. The problem was that nobody gave Ian the mister’s plane schedule, and he only found out that Randy had flown earlier than usual when the door to the bedroom opened.
Shit, shit, shit. Ian was about three-quarters done with the plants. He kept his back turned and continued watering, going for the ‘you can’t see me because I’m part of the furniture’ variety of hiding. When he finished the row and turned, he saw Venus kneeling inside the door, looking down at her tablet. The very dark-skinned woman was dressed up for an outing, wearing black slacks, a blue blouse with ruffles, and a golden necklace.
Her hair was new. This while’s flavor was thick twists that she wore pinned up.
It had been weird seeing her for the first time without the straight hair and dark contacts she'd had the first time he met her. He’d since gotten used to the mostly real her. Still the darkest skin he’d ever seen, but with icy blue eyes and a gaping hole where her ethics and morality ought to have been. Glimmer had informed him that her carefully arranged hair was able to change so fast because it was a weave, and every time she came back from a business trip with new hair, it felt nice to know that she was still as fake as the day he’d met her.
“Ma’am.” After Ian acknowledged her, he kept his eyes down and prepared to go past.
“Wait.” Her French accent had ruined French accents for him in general. He wanted to scrub it off her tongue. “Kneel next to me. He may want company.”
Ian gritted his teeth, then made himself relax his jaw. “Yes, ma’am. Can I stow the can, first?”
“Go ahead.” Her eyes returned down to her tablet.
Ian caught a glimpse of red and brown on the screen, and there was a punch-hard throb in his stomach. He knew those rooms even just from a glimpse. The subbasement rooms lived in his nightmares.
When there wasn’t anyone living down there, there was no reason for her to be monitoring those rooms. And there was no one living down there. Or there hadn’t been, until maybe now. Shit.
Ian stowed the watering can under the bathroom sink and joined Venus in a kneel by the door. He kept his face properly forward, but his eyes snuck down and to the side. She was definitely monitoring one of the subbasement rooms. It looked like Teacher and Trainer were carrying someone in. Fucking hell.
He was going to get slapped for speaking without being spoken to, but a slap would be worth the warning. “Is there a new pet, ma’am?”
She didn’t slap him. She didn’t answer him either. And a few minutes later, Randy rolled into the room like a hairy gelatin with a burnt stench, and Ian had other things to worry about.
“Venus—” Randy started to say, then cut himself off when he saw Ian kneeling there. The nearly transparent pale wisps he called eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “I didn’t ask for Dancer.”
Venus’s polite, precise answer sent a chill down Ian’s spine. “I apologize, sir. I had thought that since you did not use anyone on the flight, you might appreciate having someone available. Should I send him away?”
Randy chuckled. “Nah, good thinking. Leda’s getting pretty old.”
Leda, the stewardess, wasn’t any older than Venus. Probably younger. It was hard to tell with Venus, she had a timeless quality and hadn’t changed a bit since she’d fucking kidnapped him.
Well. At least he’d be saving Peaches or Song a post-flight ravishing. And if there was a new person in the basement, the old bastard would be completely fucking voracious, and the two of them would suffer enough before that was out of his system.
Considered that way, Ian was doing his part to lighten the load. If he’d known there was a new bloke in the basement, maybe he would’ve put himself into Randy’s room on purpose. Maybe not. But maybe.
“Dancer,” Randy’s voice was a heavy drawl. “Get on up here.”
“Yes, sir.” Ian’s stomach lurched, but he rose from his kneel, which tended to make his bad knee twinge more often than not these days.
The part of Ian that wasn’t one long, drawn-out, depressed sigh ran through the checklist of things the man liked. He pressed himself against Randy’s soft body as if trying to push straight through the light linen suit he had on. It was the pale blue one that made his eyes look murky, his hair sparser, and his skin less lustrous, or maybe Ian was just thinking kind thoughts about him.
He was a little taller than Randy, but not so much it made a difference for kissing him. God, he hated kissing the man, but the fucker really got off on feeling wanted, and wanted meant kissing. Randy wasn’t very good at it. He ought to go through the Trainer training school of kissing.
Now wasn’t that a thought. The boss down in a golden chair, getting the grins slapped off his face. It didn’t get Ian hot and bothered, but it did give him a warm glow and something to think about other than the inevitable comparison with licking the bottom of an ashtray that someone had poured plonk in.
When the kiss was over, the gross man pulled back. His beady little eyes gleamed. “Miss me?”
“Always, sir.” The sarcasm was there if he wanted to listen for it, which he never did.
“Your whiskers tickle. Ought to have ‘em shaved off.”
“If you’d like that, sir.” Ian had hated the beard at first, but now it was just about the only hair he had left. And it set him apart from his old life.
Ian Campbell wouldn’t have worn a beard. Ian of Yank Torture Isle wore a beard. For some reason, being a slightly different person made his present circumstances a little more manageable.
He started unbuttoning Randy’s suit jacket, sliding it off his lumpy shoulders, while the man felt him up through his pants. He liked to really dig his stubby fingers into Ian’s ass and squeeze, and he was lucky the bloke didn’t have a lot of strength in his hands. Ian took his tie next, then unbuttoned the shirt, adding a whiff of sweat to the bouquet.
Was that why the fucker liked all the flowers around all the time? He thought it’d cover his natural odor of hickory-smoked gym socks?
When the shirt was gone, Randy pulled Ian tight against him, the short fingers digging in as he ground their bodies together. Ian’s own dick responded to the friction by feeling warmly intrigued.
It had been, well, shit. A while since Ian had gotten off, and his dick had never appreciated the celibate life. He’d thought that since Randy’d gotten tired of him, he’d at least get to wank, but nope. The man definitely had some odd quirks, mostly seeming to swarm around his areas of insecurity, which were legion.
Ian opened Randy’s shirt and rubbed his hands on the man’s chest, brushing his nipples with the sides of his thumbs. Since he was in it, he was in it, might as well get it over with. “I think it’ll be hard to get your pants off, sir, with all the grinding.”
Randy let go of Ian’s ass, but he grabbed him by the back of the neck and pashed while Ian undid his belt. When Ian rubbed him through his pants, he was getting stiff too, and he moaned into Ian’s mouth.
Did the old man have a Viagra pump or something? Like an insulin pump, but for Viagra? Jesus Fucking Christ.
He pushed Randy’s pants down the slopes that hid his hips and pulled his cock from his boxers, playing with him the way he liked. Toying, fondling his balls, while Randy panted and moaned into his mouth like a horny teenager. If he could get him hard and impatient, it’d just be a blowjob. Nasty as those were, they weren’t as bad as—
Randy growled. “Pants off.”
—as getting his ass reamed.
Ian had stopped wearing a plug a while ago as sort of a combination between an aspirational statement and desire not to be constantly reminded about a couple years’ worth of rapes, but it made those occasions that Randy did get in there a little tricky. Ian still prepped because it was on his calendar, but a little stretching with his fingers wasn’t the same as being held open by a plug all the time.
He hoped Trainer got earfucked by a red-hot poker, but the man knew how to keep Randy from breaking his toys. Ian did appreciate the logic behind still being required to prep, but still sucked to have a daily enema-and-lube routine before breakfast. He’d never been so regular in his life, but prep always gave him the cold sweats. With reason.
Ian hooked the waistband of his silky black pants and slid them down. Randy took the opportunity to heel off his shoes and step out of his own downed trousers and boxers.
“Bed, sir?”
“Yeah.”
Randy was about as predictable as a Swiss watch.
Ian had developed his own routines. As he moved across the room, he immersed his mind in a deep imagination of touching himself. How nice it would feel to give himself a few strokes, toy his finger around the head of his dick like he liked. Had liked, before it had a ring through it. It no longer made sense to slide his fingertips from side to side, now he used an up and down motion over the ring, and that still felt fucking nice. He shifted his thoughts away from that to playing with Becky’s tits, which used to drive her wild. She’d been a little self-conscious about being in what she called the IBT club, but Ian thought they were real fine-looking, peaked to little points. Just right for a handful or a mouthful.
By the time Ian presented on the bed, he was aching pleasantly, and experience told him that it’d be good enough to assuage Randy’s insecurities.
A moment later, Randy’s weight shifted the bed and made it creak, and the man was behind Ian, sliding a hand between his legs, fingers caressing over his balls and then forward. It felt good to be touched, even if it was by a slime ball.
“Happy to see me?”
What Ian thought was, Yeah, real happy, mate. But, hey, a satisfied fucking rapist is a rapist not hurting my family, so I guess in that sense, sure.
But what Ian said was, “I’ve missed you, sir.”
It served the double purpose of stroking his ego and making him less likely to be interested in the future, but the cost was that it put some other unfortunate in his place. Terrible catch-22.
Randy’s hand retreated, then both of his hands stroked up over Ian’s ass and spread his cheeks. “No plug?”
“No, sir. There’s only one thing I want in me.”
Becky with a strap-on. That was what he usually thought about. He’d had some conflict about whether it was fair to bring his girlfriend into things, but it worked, and he had to survive.
Randy’s fingertip circled his pucker, pressed in experimentally. Ian focused solely on the sensation and made himself relax into it. As a thing of pure physicality, it felt good to be touched there.
The finger retreated. Randy’s voice was starting to fill with the heavy pauses he got when he was horny. “You just want to get off.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘no,’ sir.”
Ha ha.
“Long as it’s. With me in you.”
Like a Swiss watch.
Randy had a thick cock. It was good in the way it hit all the right places inside when Ian tilted his hips right, bad in the sense that Ian hadn’t been wearing a plug and the guy would sometimes just shove his way in there whether it hurt Ian or not. Not a kind and generous lover, dear Randy. But he wasn’t in a mean or impatient mood that morning, so he eased into Ian, giving him enough time to relax into opening.
In his imagination, it was Becky who rocked into him with a strap-on, and it was for her that he made his pleasure vocal. She always loved it when she made his sexy animal noises, as she called them. Before her, he hadn’t been a very loud lover, but after they’d gotten their own place and sex was no longer a polite secret they kept from flatmates, he’d learned that she found his noises as sexy as he found hers.
Ian moaned and arched into the pleasure stroking across that delicious place inside him. He shifted one elbow to where it could account for the rocking and freed up his other hand to stroke himself. It turned out that anal sex was really fucking nice when you got over the squick of it, and the p-spot was the real deal. He just wished he’d found out some other way.
Even though the massive room ate sounds different than how their apartment had, in Ian’s mind, he was with Becky.
His pleasure built until it burst, the pulses throbbing out through his entire body in a way that was a hundred times better than just wanking. But after, he was left panting while an unattractive middle-aged man fucked his ass.
It was always hard to imagine he was with Becky after he came. He was just a bloke getting fucked by an old rapist, and the strokes across his spot were a too-intense startle that made his abs spasm with alarm rather than pleasure. He waited until Randy was on his way out to shift his hips, so the fucker didn’t hit it quite so dead-on. And then Ian endured until the guy finally came in him, grunting and rocking against him, then pulling out and leaving Ian feeling open, empty, violated, and angry.
Anger was purely a Torture Isle Ian emotion, and it hadn’t come to him easy even here.
Randy slapped Ian’s ass, and the echo of the impact informed him that he was going to be sore. “Out.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks for letting me cum.”
Used and dismissed. Like clockwork. And now Ian was going to take a fucking shower, which wasn’t on his calendar, but not even Trainer was so much of a hardass that he’d hit Ian for showering after.
Ian didn’t look at Venus as he climbed off the bed and made a beeline for his pants. She didn’t look at him, either.
Meanwhile, Randy flopped onto his side on the bed, panting like a winded boar. “So. How long?”
Now that sounded like an interesting question. Ian pulled his pants up his legs more slowly than he would have otherwise.
Venus didn’t answer immediately. She probably wanted him gone, but she was the one who had put him there in the house, in the room, so he didn’t give a shit what she wanted unless it was phrased as a command.
He took even more time pulling his pants up over his hips. While the silence stretched, he made his slow, languid way to the door.
“Well?” Randy sounded miffed.
Venus answered. “It will be hard to say, sir, until Trainer has had time with him awake, and an estimate for us.”
Ian opened the door and pulled it shut behind him, his heart racing from more than the sex.
There was indeed a new guy in the basement. Song would need to know right away, he’d need as much head’s up as he could get. Things were always worse on Handler’s pets when Trainer had a new bloke starting. The rivalry between those two was longstanding, vicious, and littered with collateral damage. Peaches would want to know, because that was just how she was. Lush would tell Glimmer, and one of them would warn Lily. She hadn’t had to deal with his attention in a while, but Ian had come across Randy going at it with Steak up against a fridge, once, and he knew that nobody was permanently out of reach of his dick unless they were out of the house.
Shit, Ian had to tell Steak. Maybe a brief stop in the kitchen on his way downstairs. Heavy was, well. Gone. Azure wasn’t back, yet, which Ian couldn’t think about just then. And that was all of their little family, minus the new member. Hopeful new member. Who would likely find out that he had arrived shortly and in the worst possible way, the poor bloke.