Page 1 of Corporate Bondage

Prologue

(Keith)

The open palm connected with my cheek so hard that my face turned under the impact. My cheek throbbed, and the area would develop into a bruise by tomorrow. For now, I remained stoic, unfeeling even through the ache. I saw the slap coming before we even reached the cheap motel and could have avoided it. I had seen the loathing in the fucker’s eyes the moment he had slowed at my feet and wound down his car window. The despicable glare he had aimed at me was not personal. I’d run into his kind a time or two and usually avoided them, but tonight I was desperate for money.

He had no idea who I was and couldn’t care any less. If not me, he would have just picked up someone else for the night. At least this way I would walk out of this motel room with more in my pocket. Even if that meant having less of me. A boy learned what he had to do to survive, and I wasn’t ashamed of that. It kept me from stealing and provided a roof over my head, so I didn’t have to sleep on the streets again.

To him, I was the embodiment of the shame he could not live with, but which he could not do without. He craved what I was. Even now his breathing deepened under the excitement filling his eyes and dilating his pupils. Or was that the effect of the drugs I’d watched him sniff before he opened the car door?

“What the fuck are you standing there looking at, boy?” he sneered and grabbed me by the back of the head. “We don’t have all night. Get on your fucking knees and make me happy.”

I didn’t protest as he pushed me roughly to my knees. He kept a tight grip on my head as if he thought I would run away. If I thought he would find humor in the situation I would have laughed. I wasn’t going anywhere tonight without a portion of my landlord’s rent. I couldn’t stand the old goat’s sweaty body pressing me into the mattress. Once had been enough.

With ease, I had his pants and boxers down to his knees. His cock was already hard, long too, but not very thick. I’d barely taken a glance at it before he brought my head forward with such a jerk I gasped.

“That’s it, you fag. Open up.”

I opened and fought against my gag reflex as his tip slipped down the back of my throat. He pressed my face to his pelvis, grinding his cock deep as though carving a one-way street to paradise.

The insults started, as he hurled labels at me, not seeing the irony in the situation. It made him exactly what I was. I didn’t argue, didn’t protest, but allowed him to have his way. When he grunted, with his eyes closed, and spilled his load down my throat, I did choke then. His quick release was unexpected, and my disappointment mingled with relief. He wouldn’t pay me much for such a short time, but I was relieved I would get to leave. Something about him filled me with trepidation. After living on my own for the past two years, I’d learned to respect my instincts.

His eyes flew open and he released the back of my head. I rose to my feet, using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my wet lips. I swallowed, uncaring about the substance flushing down my system. I never thought about stuff like that. Okay, maybe at first, but it had been a long time since I was bothered by it. I just wanted my cash to go.

“If that’s it, can I get my money to go now?” I asked him as he fastened the button of his pants.

Maybe I had spoken too soon, but I was trying to get out of there before he started to feel the regret. He raised his head to stare at me, and my heart skipped a beat. I was too late. The pleasure in his eyes diluted and bred animosity so strong I was ready to forget the money and just go.

“It’s all your fault.” His voice was strangely calm as he kept his cold eyes pinned on me while grasping the end of his belt to finish dressing.

“Look, it’s no big deal,” I said, trying to reassure him. “You’re not gay just because I blew you.” I meant to sound convincing, but my tone came out sarcastic with even a snort at the end.

That was a big mistake. I had seen the slap he had given me earlier coming. When he jerked the belt out of his pants and lashed me across the face with the buckle, that I didn’t see, or I would have at least deflected. I fell to the floor, wincing but didn’t cry out in pain. My body’s trained response was to react silently to physical discomfort.

Before I could climb to my feet, he did the favor for me, grabbing me by the shirt front and tossing me onto the bed. The wind knocked out of me when I hit the overused mattress.

“Fucking slut!” he growled and pounced onto the bed, his fist connecting with my right cheek.

“What the fuck, man!” I growled, trying to push him from my body. I wasn’t by any means slender. Two years ago I would have been too scrawny to fight back, but I’d come into my own over the past year, hitting a growth spurt I was now thankful for.

Despite my strength, he was a big guy as well, and one with the advantage. He abandoned his attempts to strike me as I blocked him. I reared my head up from the bed, trying to push him off me, but he saw an opportunity and looped the belt around my neck.

His face was red from exertion, his eyes manic as he tightened the belt around my throat, cutting off my air supply. I grasped the belt to force some of the pressure from my neck, but he was too strong. I’d always flippantly stated to whoever asked that I didn’t fear death, and in fact, it could be a sweet relief. Having the life choked out of me gave me a new perspective on life. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. There was still too much I hadn’t accomplished. One day I had to get out of this shitty lifestyle and make something of myself. I couldn’t go out as just a fuckboy strangled by a client with a guilty conscience.

So, I fought for my life. Releasing my hold on the belt meant he was able to tighten the noose he had formed. Choking and gasping for air, I frantically clawed my hand down my body and into the waistband of my pants. The bastard should have checked me before he insisted I get into his car.

My hand fumbled clumsily as my body jerked in panic. Closing my eyes, I remembered my mother’s smiling face, the way she brushed back my hair from my forehead.

“Keith, honey, you make me so proud.” And all because I had drawn her two stick figures on a piece of paper with our names scrawled haphazardly below them. The lifestyle I had been living wasn’t one that would have made her proud. I needed to live. For her.

Grasping the knife, I fiddled to get it open, cutting my finger in the process. With the last of my energy, I raised my hand and plunged the knife in his neck. The man howled in anguish and released his hold on me. Though coughing and gasping for breath, I pulled out the knife before he could get his hands on it. He dropped to the bed on his back, screaming and clutching the wound which spurted blood. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I attacked again, plunging the knife over and over and over. Twelve years of frustration, and everything I had bottled up inside me exploded.

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