Warning: the following chapter contains ideas of dependence, physical restraint, and other kinky stuff. It is mature content intended for open-minded viewing. Fuck off if it’s not your cup of tea.
Mature, not sleazy, content
Chapter One: Need
In all the stories he’d ever read, the kidnappers always used some kind of knockout drug to render their victims unconscious and unable to fight back. Taylor wished that his captors would, since it’d give him some distance from his own reality. It turned out that this was just an overused trope used to circumvent an author’s poor imagination.
Or, what seemed like hours when one was sandwiched between smelly carpet and a fat man. Eventually the van came to a stop and its occupants got out. Pride had kept our hero from cutting his long blond locks, and he cursed himself for it as his captors dragged him out of the van. Not only did it make him a target for all this in the first place, it also provided a convenient handle.
There was an imposing warehouse and a shipping container in his future, Taylor was sure of it.
When he lifted his head and found a pale blue house with a white picket fence and a small dog in the yard, he was confused. The confusion followed him through the front door and into a well-appointed house. As the toughs escorted him through the house by his hair Taylor noticed original paintings on the walls, a sculpture in the entryway, and expensive yet tasteful decorations. This house was home to a cultured and well-ordered mind.
Said mind was waiting for them at the head of the kitchen table, a steak dinner placed in front of him, and a pair of silver serving trays waiting at the foot of the table. Taylor resisted being seated, only to receive a smack that set his head to ringing a rough push onto the chair. The man at the head of the table stiffened and barked orders to the gang of toughs.
Though Taylor didn’t understand, all but two of the kidnappers left the room. The man at the table launched into a well rehearsed greeting, only the tail end of which our hero caught. Taylor didn’t care for flowery speech, and interrupted the pervert who his kidnappers had delivered him to.
“Why am I here, asshole?”
The man was taken aback for a moment before he regained composure. “You’re here because I wanted to celebrate your arrival with a nice dinner.” On cue, the thugs to either side of Taylor lifted the covers off of the silver trays.
One contained the same meal as the man at the head of the table was enjoying: a medium well slice of steak served with steamed vegetables, a scoop of yams, and a buttered roll. The other tray contained a large red ring with a leather strap running from opposite sides.
“It’s your choice, of course, but I’d like for us to enjoy a quiet dinner while I elaborate.”
“On what? My capture? What you’re going to do to me? Your reasons for being an asshat?”
“Perhaps on the plot of our little drama. And please don’t swear,” he added as an afterthought, “It’s bad for you. Now, please choose unless you’d like me to choose for you.”
Taylor pulled the plate of food towards himself, at which point the tough on the left produced a single silver spoon. Our young man took it and proceeded to cautiously pick at the dinner. He was hungry of course, but not stupid-- it was too easy to slip something into food.
“I’m happy you chose to be civilized. There’s no reason why this can’t be a pleasant process for the both of us.”
At this our enduring hero began to grind his teeth.
“In the coming weeks, there will be some changes, but I hope that we can work together and learn to understand each other.” Speaking in a tone of blatant honesty, he continued, “I plan to begin as soon as possible, and hopefully we’ll see progress in a few weeks. I’ve been told that full training should only take a year or so if we can avoid setbacks.”
A few weeks? A year? The young man on the other end of the table had no intention of staying there for any length of time.
“You’re to become my protégé and property. Of course you’ll need training in a number of fields, like service, the arts, and dependency, but now that I own you it-”
The eloquent man was interrupted by a cry of “Own this, asshole!” and a spoon full of yams. The pair of thugs restrained Taylor before he could add anything else to the barrage. Now covered in orange goop, the man at the head of the table looked… put out.
In a tone that conveyed disappointment rather than anger he firmly ordered his pair of hired hands to have the young man gaged and brought upstairs. Once they left the kitchen the master of the house seemed to deflate a little. He’d cooked the meal himself and had hoped for the best. However, being a realist, he had also prepared for the worst.
The second floor of the house had undergone major reconstruction some time ago. All of the interior walls had been knocked out, leaving load bearing pillars to serve as the four corners of a massive pen that dominated the second floor. Outside the pen was about six feet of open space on all sides, with the odd chair or love seat positioned at angles suited for viewing.
Thick vertical slats made up the walls of the pen, with one large door serving as the only access. Taylor was dragged through this door and made a surprised noise into his red mouthpiece. Littered around the pen were a number of large stuffed animals, a padded bench bolted to the floor against one wall, and a large futon decorated in childish letters and numbers in a far corner.
By the time that our hero’s host entered the room, the toughs had Taylor’s arms poked through the fence and restrained via soft cuffs. The surreal quality of the white picket fence and his host’s mannerisms had faded, replaced as reality came crashing down on poor Taylor. He was frightened, terrified beyond his wits.
What he was tied to irrationally reminded him of an operating table: cold, sterile, and complete with the promise of horrible surgeries. Wide-eyed and panicked, Taylor couldn’t take anything in. Everything was foreign, everything was wrong. Through tearing eyes he saw a black shape come closer until it loomed over him, towering, imposing. He flinched at its touch, but it held firm and gentle.
When he finally came back to himself Taylor realized that he was being held by his captor. A nip on our protagonist’s ear was followed by soft words, spoken surely and with perfect diction.
“Listen closely. This is the last voice you’ll hear for two weeks, understand?” At the young man’s nod he continued, “Because of your behavior, you will spend the next three days bound here. After that, you will receive written instructions. Now, let us finish getting you ready.”
A large white plastic and fluff garment was produced, and after Taylor’s ankle cuffs were raised the diaper was slid under him and taped on. It was easy, after all the bench was a changing table and designed for such a thing.
Taylor blushed after realizing what had happened to him and what he was wearing. It was a mercy when the pair of hired toughs left, with the asshole who’d diapered him tailing behind shortly.
The first night was the hardest. The changing table was covered in a cushy mat, but that didn’t stop him from being uncomfortable, nor did the numerous stuffed animals occupy his attention. As the sun began to set and the light in the room started to fade, Taylor stared at the ceiling, bored as ever. The room was well-heated and he had no need for a blanket, but he would have welcomed a covering.
Perhaps the thing that most bothered him was that the door to his absurd lodging was left wide open, and it would remain that way the whole time he was stuck on the table, taunting him with the prospect of escape.
It was about then when Taylor heard soft music begin playing. It was a calming piano piece that was familiar, though he couldn’t place the name. A chill ran down his spine. He’d read all kinds of stories where hypnosis tapes were used to program slaves to do all kinds of terrible things. The thought of losing his own free will was all the more potent given his current situation.
As these thoughts played through his impressionable mind, two things occurred to Taylor. The first being that the music wasn’t quite perfect. Every now and then a key would sound too late, or there would be a pause as someone turned a page. The second thing he noticed was that the music seemed to be rising up through the floor. These two things meant only one thing: that the music wasn’t recorded, it was being played fresh from below.
Our now relaxed hero fell asleep, wrapped in the welcoming tones of a Moonlight Sonata.
Down at the piano the older man sighed. Dinner hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped, and it looked like he had a long way to go in training Taylor. Still, he was resolute. He’d follow his plan to the letter for the young man sleeping above him. Still, something nagged. It would be a while before he could put his finger on exactly why he felt so insulted.
The next few days became a slow, excruciating cycle for Taylor. At first, he was afraid that he’d be neglected for three whole days, but by the end of the second day he almost wished that had been the case. Five times a day his captor stopped by to check and, if necessary, change his diaper. Three of those times he carefully fed Taylor through the ring gag. Twice a day he wiped him down with a warm washcloth.
Not once did his captor speak, meet his gaze, or acknowledge him in any way.
Every night he closed his eyes and fell asleep to comforting piano music wafting up through the floorboards. The morning after his last night bound to the changing table, Taylor was sore in the extreme and ready to move.
When his host finally arrived, Taylor noticed that he held more than just the regular diaper. A large cover with small silver locks was clicked into place between over his now clean diaper. To prevent tampering, he supposed.
After the change was done, his captor deposited a small envelope on Taylor’s chest and left the nursery. There came the clack of the door closing, followed by the most beautiful sound in the world: the sound of his cuffs clicking open. It was all our hero could do to shakily rise from the changing table, remove his gag, and weakly call the man on the other side of the wall an asshat.
For the first few minutes Taylor ignored the note. He continued to ignore it for half an hour. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. It read “When you need a change, lay on the table, click your hands into the cuffs, and I will be along shortly. Until then, you have full reign of the nursery. Refrain from making too much noise, or we’ll start again from the beginning.”
The thought of spending any more time on the changing table than needed made Taylor physically ill. He moved away from it and surveyed what he had to work with. The kid’s futon in the corner of the room provided no entertainment, but promised to be more comfortable than the stiff table he’d spent the last few days on.
In frustration Taylor punted a nearby stuffed animal into the wall. Every single animal was too large to fit between the slats of his over-sized play pen, and some of them were downright huge, two of which were the same size as our protagonist. While searching for some kind of tool to unlock or cut through his diaper cover, Taylor stumbled upon breakfast.
After half a week of eating mushy, not quite solid food the plate of scrambled eggs and sausage was heavenly. No fork or ketchup was provided, but none was needed.
Spirits significantly brightened, Taylor soon found that his greatest enemy was boredom. He had ten or so days to burn before he’d be able to interact with his captor, and it was difficult for the young adult to go an hour without some kind of stimulation or activity to indulge in. Thankfully, the place was stocked with a small set of crayons and a pad of paper which would help to occupy the time between meals, changes, and bedtime.
Every time over the next few days that Taylor tried to talk to his erstwhile companion he was ignored. Their eyes never met, no matter how much Taylor tried to force communication. He even tried to go several days without a change, and learned why it was a terrible idea. Eventually he settled into a kind of rhythm.
Taylor was in the middle of drawing a new picture, this one of a certain asshat getting hit by a truck, when said asshat came up the stairs and said the first words our hero had heard in far too long. Of course Taylor had mumbled to himself regularly, but it was different when someone else spoke. The cultured tones carried something more than meaning: they conveyed acknowledgement.
“How are you doing?”
Taylor didn’t respond because a part of him didn’t want to give this man the satisfaction while another part wanted to savor someone else’s words.
“Let’s talk about need.”
Our protagonist refused to speak, but he did give his host a look.
Unperturbed, the taller, older man continued.
“Lying, cheating, stealing, and all manner of unsavory behaviors have at their root an unfulfilled need. One could say that all human suffering results from needs that are ignored, misunderstood, or not valued. One thing that I want is to set you free of need, and therefore free of suffering. Another devil, anxiety, is founded in the uncertain. I can’t predict the future, but I can say that you’ll be able to set your watch and warrant on my assistance, morning, noon, and night.”
Our hero couldn’t raise his gaze off the floor. His kidnapper was… swearing fealty? It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. “I don’t need any of this, including your help.”
“That’s not for you to decide, all you need to do is speak a need plainly and I will fulfill it for you.”
“What do you get out of this?”
There was a pause as Taylor’s captor considered. “I get an object of beauty, one whose form flawlessly follows its function.”
Protagonist or not, there was only so much Taylor could assimilate at a time. He put the thought out of his head, and tried something that came to mind. “Then… I need to get out of here.”
“No, right now you want to get out of here. Although, I will say that you’ll need dinner soon. Give what I said some thought, alright?”
Dinner was unremarkable, and Taylor was disappointed not to hear any music that night.
Over the next two days, something troubled our hero. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt as if there was an elephant standing in the room, one that slowly grew as time went on. It should have been obvious, but it was too far removed from Taylor’s mindset.
He found himself getting easily distracted, as the seed of thought grew within him.
He need only speak a need plainly, and it would be met.
It was the kind of thing that royalty and only people with money could provide. Then, Taylor’s mind wandered to how his captor could afford the situation. Renovating the house mustn’t have been cheap, but someone with a ton of money wouldn’t be living anywhere near the suburbs.
After one more day it… became difficult to think. Reasoning out his situation was beyond our protagonist, he only knew that he felt as if he were drowning, or being made to accommodate a feeling too large for him. It was a need, one that was as a tide which only kept rising. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, it became obvious. He had no need to speak, it was plain to anyone who looked at him.
Still, the captor made him ask before he took any action, and his cruelty was such that he placed one of his own needs before Taylor’s. He had finally figured out what had been nagging at him the whole time.
“Before I help you, you must do one thing for me little one.”
Speech had left Taylor, but he’d have been willing to eat a week old soy shake to get started. He nodded his head slowly, his gaze distant.
“Ask me what my name is.”
It took a moment for his gaze to focus back on the present, and even then, his speech was unsure. “Wh-what is your n-name?”
“I’m Dominic. Pleased to meet you.”
Dominic was good to his word. Taylor had only to ask to have his needs met, and he was made to ask for everything that happened that night. He received what he needed, not what he wanted. Somewhere in the haze, there was objection and indignity, but they were at the bottom of the sea Taylor was drowning in.
That night, he asked for everything.
The morning came eventually, and with it came breakfast like clockwork. Our hero was found hiding under a fort constructed of futon and stuffed animals. Concerned, Dominic gazed though the slats of the nursery walls.
“How do you feel?”
Some two minutes later, a small voice hiccuped and responded. It was hard for Taylor to admit.
“I feel… dirty.”
End Chapter 1.
So… how was the “rape” scene?