(I'm now on Patreon! If you enjoy my work please head on over there to support me at https://www.patreon.com/missy63097.)
Jason's POV:
I woke up on a black leather couch, thankfully not tied and not naked. Besides that, there wasn't much furniture in the room besides another matching couch and chair, a glass coffee table, and a wall of bookshelves full of old books, many unlabeled. But the most eye catching thing was a grand fireplace, straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel. "Damn this is probably the most expensive room I've ever been in." That was actually probably wrong since I'd been to the white house before, but I didn't sleep on their couch, even if I had been kidnapped.
"So I guess that you don't live in a penthouse apartment on your journalist's salary." I heard Angel's voice from behind me. I peeked up from the couch and there he was, lounged out in a very comfortable looking desk chair with his feet on an oak desk, finished the same way as the fireplace. Yes, this was definitely straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel. I half expected him to come through the door, smoking a pipe with a cup of tea. "That's an understatement. I live in a basement that I rent as an apartment because I can't afford anything better."
That brought a bit of a smile to his face, though he covered it up shortly after. "Doesn't surprise me. They never pay people what they deserve. I read your journals. They're more detailed then what the police have on me so far. They could cause me some trouble if they ended up in the wrong hands." I nodded. It most certainly could. "So is it safe to assume that they're going to be burned and I'm going to be dead by the end of tonight?" I didn't want to die but if I cooperated I might at least get a painless death.
He didn't answer for a few seconds, only adding to my anxiety. "On the contrary, I need a mind like yours on my side, and a body like yours in my bed." If I had had a drink, it would've been all over the floor. "Well you're a lot more... forward... then I thought you would be." was all I could manage. He laughed. "You'll do it or you'll die. Simple as that. I always get what I want." His devilish grin made me believe it, and this time would be no different.
YOU ARE READING
Lost
FantasíaThis story is an erotic gay fiction that contains depictions of male pregnancy, sex, rape, kidnapping, lots of bdsm, hints of feederism, and the slow descent into Stockholm Syndrome. If some of these terms are new to you then I suggest looking them...
