Last week, in No Way Out, Wyatt can't get Shy out of his mind. Spotting Randy's car gone, he decides to make his move. Crossing the street, he meets the ice cream truck, buys two cones, and shows up at Shy's door. See what happens next... And don't forget to check in on the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale!
No Way Out #6
Shylor was responsible for keeping the house spotless, despite the fact that Randy could well afford to have a housekeeper. But he pushed the duties off onto Shy, who reasoned that it was a privacy issue. Randy didn’t want anyone to see the blue room, or any of his assorted toys.
The trainer’s name was Tony and he came twice a week, on Randy’s schedule, and never went beyond the decked-out gym in the lower level, which had its own entrance.
The dietician, Joanna, was a tight-lipped young woman who went about her duties and never ventured an opinion, or spoke unless spoken to. She prepared their meals in the morning, everything strictly portioned, every calorie accounted for. It was up to Shy to see that they were finished to Randy’s satisfaction. Shy didn’t care for the regimen, didn’t see any reason that he should follow such a diet, but he didn’t question Randy’s orders. Those were the rules and he obeyed them.
Despite his best efforts to put him out of his mind, Shy’s thoughts often returned of their own volition to the handsome man who lived just across the street. Wyatt Findley. The name rolled off Shy’s tongue when he daringly whispered it to himself. In Randy’s absence, of course. Although he was sure they’d never be allowed to see one another again, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. In his mind’s eye, Shy dressed him in white armor, seated him upon a prancing black steed with blazing eyes. Made him into someone who’d carry Shy away, release him from his prison of shame. A prison of his mother’s making.
But such daydreams were futile, and only led to an ache in his heart that nothing could assuage, not even the furtive touches of his own hand, secretly masturbating in the bathroom to the image of Wyatt. Scouring any trace of his actions afterward, carefully masking the telltale scent with the bleach that Randy insisted he use. Putting his own rules to good purpose.
The night they met was still fresh in Shy’s mind. Time had crawled with infinite slowness, tied to the chair, unable to move, the butt plug in place as a reminder of what his purpose in life was. To pleasure Randy. To be ready for him whenever Randy wanted him. To wait through the times when he did not. Such as tonight.
At first, he figured Randy would leave him tied up for a short while, to drive home the lesson, then he’d come back and fuck him hard. Any moment he expected to hear the key in the lock of the blue room, feel Randy’s presence, even if he couldn’t see him, thanks to the blindfold.
But he didn’t return. After a while, Shy realized he wasn’t going to. At least, not for a good long time. This was his punishment. If he was lucky, it wouldn’t get any worse. There were far worse things than being tied up.
Shy dozed off and on during the night, but never for long, invariably startling himself awake. His muscles ached, and he longed to stretch them, to find another position, but that was impossible. He was helpless until Randy chose to return. And even then...
What if he didn’t return? Shy pushed the thought aside as ridiculous. No way would Randy abandon his house and his possessions. They meant too much to the older man. And Shy was one of those possessions. Randy would not allow him to come to harm; he had too much time and energy invested in his training.
Had Randy ever loved Shy? At first, Shy had deluded himself that was the case. But now? Not so much.
But what if something happened while Randy was out? What if someone broke into the house? Would the intruder free Shylor, or take advantage of his helplessness to loot the house? Or, worse still, what if a fire broke out? Shy would be unable to do anything other than go up in flames.
Would that be his chance for freedom?
Reality hit home when Shy was awakened from a fitful sleep by the sound he’d been anticipating, and a drunken Randy had stumbled into the room, demanding Shy service him. He’d fumbled with the knots, releasing him. Shy fell from the chair, his limbs unable to respond, despite Randy’s belligerent orders. Randy had kicked him when he didn’t immediately leap to attention, and Shy bore the blows without complaint. Once the blood returned to his extremities, they’d gone to the bedroom. He went down on Randy, and pretended that it was Wyatt he held in his mouth, Wyatt whose cock he gave pleasure to.
He whispered Wyatt’s name into Randy’s flesh as he felt him come. “What did you just call me?” Randy asked, and Shy held his breath in horror, but Randy rolled over and fell asleep without another word. The next morning, it was obvious he had no memory of the incident, and Wyatt’s name never passed Shy’s lips again. At least, not in Randy’s presence.
He had just started the dishwasher when he heard the doorbell. Probably a delivery for Randy. Those weren’t uncommon. Clients often sent gifts to the house. Randy welcomed them, although he was adamant about not allowing those same clients onto the premises. He winced and dined them elsewhere. A favored few even received invitations to Randy’s favorite clubs. At those times, he frequently commanded Shy’s presence and he would accompany Randy, and do whatever he told him to do.
He opened the door, expecting to see the retreating back of a delivery driver in brown uniform—they didn’t require signatures and seldom waited to acknowledge receipt—but was startled to find the object of his wet dreams standing on his doorstep, bearing two ice cream cones, wearing a sunny smile.
Shy’s heart stopped, his eyes widened in panic. Oh God, what if Randy came home...
“Get out of here,” he whispered in desperation.
to be continued
Now go visit the other Briefers!