Things We Lost - 14. Chapter 14

After sending it I turned the phone off and tucked it into the pocket of the door panel. I didn't need the temptation or guilt of wanting to answer a call or text or ignoring it. I tried to relax as the car crossed a bridge and began heading south. The highway was smooth and the car was moving at a high rate of speed. I imagined Belcher was pleased to be rid of me, in a way. He'd not have to worry about me ruining his job or sending him to jail. He probably looked at his students feet all the time, but I thought that was pretty benign.

I schemed about how I'd disappear and get back to taking care of myself. After finding a place to crash I'd need to find a place for books. I would need a cooler to keep them safe from the elements. I lost myself in thought about what kind of place I could find to squat in and how difficult it would be to get back into the routine of my old life. Eventually that game grew boring and I sat up. Belcher looked at me through the rearview mirror.

“About another half an hour. Want to sit up front? Won't look so weird,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed and climbed between the seats and strapped in. “So who is this guy we're going to see?”

“Like I said, he runs a website. He's got a photo booth in his house and he does photo shoots and then sells the images or posts them for subscribers.”

“There are really that many people into feet?” I asked skeptically.

“Oh, yeah!” he said with enthusiasm. “Especially feet like yours. They are very symmetrical and just...ugh. Perfect.”

“Okay,” I said in agreement. I didn't really agree, it just seemed the thing to say. Besides if this guy wanted to pay me money to look at my feet, I'd take that all day. It beat the shit out of my last resort for money.

We passed through a toll booth and crossed the river again. The suburbs around us were dotted with strip malls on the road with housing developments stretching out behind them. They gave way to a combination of light industrial and run down, older housing. Belcher turned down a narrow side street and the older, run down homes were in plentiful evidence. Many were boarded up and others looked as if they could be at any time. There was only a single row of them as a railroad track filled the other side of the street. Under normal circumstances, this would be a great place to crash.

Belcher pulled onto the gravel on the side of the road in front of a vacant lot. He shut the car off and we climbed out. I shouldered my bag because you don't go anywhere without your stuff. Belcher could leave and I'd have nothing, though I did pause to dump the text books. I wasn't going to need math where I was going. The house had peeling paint, a patchy yellow lawn and filthy windows with blinds on the inside. Belcher knocked and after no more than a minute a man opened the door and peered out at us.

“You brought him?” he asked Belcher.

“Y-yeah!” Belcher replied and stood aside. My first impression of the guy was minor sleaze-bag. He had a few days worth of growth on his face, a stained tee shirt that read 'One In The Oven' with an arrow pointing down covered his paunch. He was in boxers and socks as he peered out the door to look at me. The light from the interior highlighted his thin hair and light bounced off the pate underneath.

“Come on in,” he said and Belcher and I entered the house, with the guy closing it quickly behind us. “Okay, okay let's get a look, here!” He rubbed his hands lightly and looked me up and down. That hadn't happened in a while, but it was no more than evaluating me for the job. Belcher stood by, nervously watching as the guy moved from side to side and then behind me, looking me over. I tried not to let out a sigh.

“Okay,” the guy said and handed a slip of paper to Belcher. “Password is good for ninety days. Enjoy, my friend.”

Belcher beamed and nodded toward me. “Good luck.” Then he turned and was gone. Glad I grabbed my bag.

“So, kid,” the guy said. “Call me Larry. It's not my name, but we don't need to get too personal, right? Right. Did he tell you about the deals?”

“No,” I replied. “He just said I could make some money on pictures.”

“Right. Hungry, by the way? I might have leftover pizza.”

“I'm good. So what are you offering?”

“Business guy, huh? Good,” he said and pointed at me with a huge smile. “I like that. So I have a couple of accounts that are heavy into feet. I sent a few of the images your friend took to them along with a price sheet for a set of pictures. What happens then is a negotiation where they tell me some specifics they want in the images.” He grinned broadly. “I like when they do that because custom work is more expensive.”

“Okay, so what's the job and what's the money?” I asked.

“One guy got back to me already. Job is easy. You'll come to the studio downstairs and get naked. You'll shower and jerk off, spilling your spunk on your foot. The side of your foot, guy was adamant. You'll have to sit down and pull your foot close, you know?” He stopped talking, waiting for my reaction.

“That's it?” I asked.

“That's it.”

“Money?”

“They wire it in. I can withdraw in the morning for you and you can be on your way.”

“I meant how much.”

“Oh. Well, I take a cut for my time, expertise, equipment and space—”

“All of which means squat without a subject. How much you offering?” I said in a bored tone.

He stiffened and placed his hands on his hips. “I like you. One fifty.”

My heart jumped and I pursed my lips to control my facial features. “One hundred fifty bucks? For what you described?” With that I could set myself up well.

“That's the deal. Like I said, payment when the bank opens tomorrow. What do you say?”

“I say let's get this done,” I told him. He clapped his hands and rubbed them before leading me through the house, which was as poorly kept as the outside, and through a door in the kitchen that led to the basement. At the base of the stairs the entire scene changed. Drywall had been put up and the entire downstairs looked more like an office space. There were two doors to my immediate left and then the space opened up to reveal a shower stall in the corner with a toilet beside it, a variety of props for sitting or leaning on and silvery umbrellas for directing light. A roll-up sheet was attached to the ceiling and a scene was currently down – a background for picture shooting.

He dashed around and set up the umbrellas and a camera on a tripod as well as hanging a hand held around his neck. I presumed the mounted camera was for video.

“Okay, so here's the way we'll go. You strip down and hop in that shower. We'll do some shots there. Then you get out, I'll snap some more shots. You dry off and put on this soccer uniform and gear, okay?” He pointed to a table that had a jersey, shorts, cleats and long socks. “There is a jock strap in there, make sure you put that on. Then, we'll do a slow remove of everything. You get yourself hard, you get ready to blow and spunk on the side of your foot. Just like that, we make money.”

Nodding that I understood I asked if he wanted to start then. He smiled and said he was. I stripped and climbed into the shower. The clicking of the camera made me aware it was there but it was reasonably easy to ignore. After getting clean I stepped out and let him take more images, moving as he directed me to. It took longer than I'd have expected and I started to sweat under the hot lights and feel slightly nauseated. I dried off and crossed over to the table with the uniform.

“If you're thirsty there is water there. Sure you're not hungry?” he asked.

I shook my head and picked up the jug of water and poured a glass. I drank half of the glass right away and was glad to be away from the hot lights.

“Make sure you stay hydrated,” he said absently as he looked at the preview shots on his camera. “Lights will dry you out.”

I didn't reply but drained the rest of the glass then poured more. I did feel little hungry and figured I'd hit him up for some of that pizza when this was over. I dressed in the uniform and drank the second glass of water before heading over to the background with a sports field showing.

“Okay, so just let me put this greenery down,” he said, dragging over a rug of fake grass. He placed a small bench on it and backed away. “All right my friend. Let's get to work.”

I followed his prompts. He took several shots with the full uniform on and the lights seemed hotter than before. I began to disrobe, shirt first then toeing off the cleats like Belcher had had me do earlier. Then it was rolling down the socks and removing them, spreading my toes out and all that silly stuff. As the shoot wore on I started to feel a little tired. It was expected, I guess. I hadn't eaten since lunch and I'd certainly had a full day – and these lights were not helping. I wasn't sure how late it was, but definitely past the time Beth and Emily would have had us sit down for dinner. A pang of loss hit me and I shrugged it off as best I could.

“I feel little tired. I think I need some more water,” I said.

“Sure, stay there,” he said and brought me a bottle of water from a cooler. It was nice and cold compared to the pitcher I'd drunk from earlier and I swallowed the liquid and then held the cool bottle to my forehead for a moment before polishing it off.

“Okay my little money-maker, ready for the money shot?” he asked gleefully.

I nodded and still felt a bit sluggish. I pushed down the shorts and followed his direction again as he took pictures. I got aroused by forcing myself and then sat down naked on the fake grass. It seemed to take forever for me to get close to a climax, but I followed his feverish instructions to make sure I came on the side of my foot. He snapped photos faster than I'd have though possible. I yawned.

“Perfect. Okay, let me toss you a towel. You want a sandwich or something? I have to get this stuff onto my computer and start editing so your part is done, my friend!” he said cheerfully.

“Sandwich sounds good,” I said. He tossed me the towel I'd dried off with earlier and I wiped my foot clean.

“Okay. Hey, look, I'll put your stuff in this room here, okay? We have to wait until morning so why don't you crash in there? I'll grab you a sandwich.” He was in motion as he spoke, taking my bag and the clothes I'd come in and entering one of the two doors I'd seen before. I struggled to my feet and felt dizzy. Something was wrong.

“Okay, here we go,” the man said as he took hold of my arm, and began to steer me. I stumbled and tried to pull back from him, but my coordination was wildly off. I fell down awkwardly on one knee. “Easy handsome,” he said. “No bruising, okay?”

My body felt heavy and my mind was growing more and more sluggish. He half-carried me into the room which had a small single bed in it and no other furniture. My things were on the floor. He dumped me onto the bed and I fell on my side, lacking the coordination and balance to stay upright any longer. I felt him lift my legs and place them on the bed.

“You sleep now, handsome. You're going to make me a lot of money.”

~TWF~

My eyes fluttered slowly. My lids felt sticky and my eyes like they had sand in them. My head throbbed dully and I took a few breaths as I tried to come fully awake. I opened my eyes to a room I didn't recognize with no light except what came in from under the door. I started to sit up and my muscles tightened and a soreness registered that brought a short spike of clarity.

I'd only felt that soreness a few times. I moved gingerly and reached around to my backside and felt dried spunk on my skin. Shit. That asshole had drugged and raped me. I looked around and spotted the lump on the floor that was my bag. I turned my legs and became aware of a pressure on my ankle. A slight metallic clinking noise sent a chill through me. I reached down, following my shin until I reached a small band attached to my ankle with a chain attached. Oh, fuck. This just got a whole lot worse.

I stood slowly and squatted, feeling the ache in my backside and growing angry and scared. I felt the length of chain, light chain, and followed it to a ring set into the floor. With that chain around my leg I couldn't even pull on shorts. I was a prisoner. Panic rose in me and I forced myself to breath and think. My mind was still cloudy but steadily clearing. I needed my wits about me and fast.

I regretted, now, leaving my phone in Belcher's car. Of course, my rapist probably would have gone through my bag to ensure I didn't have something like that to get help with. I sat down on the bed and tried not to be overwhelmed with hopelessness. Hot tears ran down my face and I conjured up an image of Tris. My heart only broke further as the only picture of him I could draw was the last time I'd seen him and the fight with his parents.

I closed my eyes and took slow breaths. I thought of Tris's scent and focused. Slowly I felt some peace return and my heart began to slow. My bladder was becoming an issue but I wasn't sure how I'd solve that. One thing at a time. With a slight shiver I knelt down and pulled my bag to me. My heart sank as I realized the bag was empty, only left to tease me. I tossed the bag and crawled over the floor to feel the ring my chain was attached to. It had screws on a plate that bound it to the concrete floor. I worked my way up the thin chain to my leg, looking for potential weaknesses. I felt around the ring on my ankle, trying to feel how it was attached. It was closed with a nut and bolt and I had an idea that might be the weak spot, if I could get enough of a grip on the nut. The end of the bolt stuck out about a quarter of an inch and was pretty mean to my fingertips as I struggled to get a grip.

I worked it until my fingers felt raw, but it didn't budge. Despair ripped through me and I had to still myself with slow breathing and reaching for the memory of Tris's scent to center me again. I squashed a tear as I thought of him and suddenly had to work very hard to master my emotions. I had to move, I thought, and so I repeated my examination, trying to steady my shaking hands. The chain felt light, like something you'd use to chain a dog in a yard or something. Though the wire wasn't wide, the ends were twisted together and there was no give for me to weaken it by movement.

I froze as I heard a door close upstairs. The floor creaked as someone crossed a room. A door opened and I heard footsteps descending wooden stairs. I moved onto the mattress and pressed into the corner, hunched with my back to the wall.

A key scraped along the doorknob and then light flooded the room.

“Oh, you're awake!” the guy who told me to call him Larry said. “That's good. You have to get cleaned up!”

I squinted at him, holding up a hand to block some of the light. He stepped into the room and held up a small device in his hand and an electric spark jumped from one metal point to another. A stun gun. Damn it.

“I've got to move you. Try anything fishy and I zap you. Ever gotten bit by one of these? Hurts like a bitch. You'll piss yourself for sure. Understand beautiful?” he asked in a smarmy, superior tone.

I nodded slowly, my eyes now adjusted to the light. He was dressed much as he had been the night before, except his tee shirt had changed. He stepped into the room and leaned down toward the ring on the floor. He withdrew a metal strip about three inches long and one inch wide from a pocket or perhaps it had been in his hand and I hadn't seen it. He pushed in at the base of the ring and it detached. Pocketing the key he took the end of the chain in hand and backed out of the room.

“Come on, sexy. Come out here.”

I climbed off the bed slowly and shuffled out of the room. He pointed toward the toilet and I sighed in understanding. He was going to watch me go. Watch me clean up. Debase me like an animal. I shuffled to the toilet and relieved myself before I got the sudden urge to sit down and I just made it. My bowels let loose with gas and I knew I was pushing lube and his spend from myself. The thought made me sick.

After I was done he told me to shower. I cleaned up, feeling his eyes on me and for the first time I felt creeped out by that kind of observation. Before today my body was something I could use to help me stay alive and in relative comfort. I could make deals with guys like Belcher that really weren't bad at all. Guys who wanted to blow a young guy or, like Belcher, something benign that they got off on like playing with a person's feet. Actually getting fucked had always been a last resort. It required placing myself at the mercy of someone else. It's hard to fight back if someone gets rough while pinning you down with their body weight.

Now my looks and youth were helping to make me a prisoner as someone else wanted to possess me. Once upon a time Carson's goon had wanted to whore me out because of my unusual appearance. I wanted the freedom to choose who touched me, especially like that. Done, I toweled off and stood still, waiting for the next degradation and mentally preparing myself to resist.

“So, gorgeous, you are a popular guy. I sent that video to one of my subscribers and he's paying big bucks for a shot at you. Shooting all over your foot was the clincher for him.” He paused and glanced down at my feet. “I don't really get it. Not when there are other things about you to play with.” He circled me casually, stun gun casually held in his right hand. He moved in behind me, running a hand from the small of my back down over one side of my butt. I flinched.

“He's flying in. Don't you feel special? Someone is willing to hop a flight and pay through the nose to get you in bed.” He moved back into my field of vision, letting his fingers drag along my hip. “You should smile more. You look so fucking sexy when you do.”

I looked away and he roughly grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “This guy will be here in a few hours. I know he's going to like you. I sampled the merchandise last night. I bet you can feel how I wrecked your hole, can't you? Such a lovely little cunt you have,” he said with a chuckle and patted my cheek.

My mind raced. I felt broken inside, but I couldn't give up. I felt hopeless pressing in and yet a tiny part of me kept looking for a way out.

“Wake up, slut,” he-who-wasn't-Larry said and smacked my cheek enough to sting. I brought my gaze to his face and he smiled meanly. “I said, get down and suck. Until that old codger pays for you, you're ass is mine. And, you know,” he said with a vicious chuckle. “After he leaves, your ass is mine again. And again. You're going to be my favorite fuck toy.” His expression grew hard. “Now get down there and blow me.”

With a sinking heart I knelt in front of him. Maybe it would be better if I got him to zap me, maybe near the heart? I'd heard stories about people dying because of those stun guns. He pushed forward and I pressed my lips together and frowned at the smell. He hadn't cleaned since he'd raped me. He slapped me hard on the side of the head and I tottered. He grabbed my hair and I struggled, hitting him on the hip with a closed fist as I flailed. Suddenly my shoulder lit up with pain and I lost control of my body.

I fell heavily on my side, twitching and unable to force myself into motion. I'd never felt so helpless and scared and that made me wild with anger. I was conscious of my field of vision changing but not how it was happening. I couldn't think. Then my jaw was forced open. He groaned and called me names as he grabbed my hair and tried to choke me. Disgust filled me and I tried to pull away, but I was feeble. Regaining control, but feeble. He pushed hard and I coughed and choked as he held me in place. I pushed back weakly and he let me go, falling to the floor and spluttering.

“Oh, Belcher did good with you, kid,” the guy said. “Still need a little breaking, but we can work with that. Now, back on your bed, slut. You're gonna make daddy money.”

~TWF~

The old man was kind and gentle. Tender, even. The skin of his hands was paper dry and felt odd and uncomfortable. He lingered on my feet, working up his appetite and my stomach roiled with awful anticipation. Kind though he was, his eyes told me how badly he craved me and it filled me with despair. How could a person still be sexually excited when their 'partner' was unwilling and chained up? I didn't want to let him have me, but I had no choice. I gritted my teeth and tried not to cry until it was over. Afterward he whispered gentle words and paid me compliments, yet I felt sore and dead inside. Eventually I was left in the dark again. That didn't last. Not-Larry came in less than an hour later.

He wasn't tender. Not even a little.