Stockholm Syndrome

Stockholm Syndrome 4

Chapter 4

When I look back on this day, my behavior doesn't make sense to me. I don't understand why I didn't fight him harder, why I didn't try to get away again. It wasn't a rational decision on my part—it wasn't a conscious choice to cooperate in order to avoid pain.

No, I am acting purely on instinct.

And my instinct is to submit to him.

He puts me down on the bed, and I just lie there. I'm too worn out from our earlier struggle, and I still feel woozy from the drug.

There is something so surreal about what's happening that my mind can't process it fully. I feel like I'm watching a play or a movie. It can't possibly be me in this situation. I can't be this boy who was drugged and kidnapped, and who is letting his kidnapper touch him, stroke him all over his body.

We're lying on our sides, facing each other. I can feel his hands on my skin. They're slightly rough, callused. Warm on my frozen flesh. Strong, though he's not using that strength right now. He could subdue me with ease, like he did before, but there is no need. I'm not fighting him. I'm floating in a hazy, sensual fog.

He's kissing me again, and caressing my arm, my back, my neck, my outer thigh. His touch is gentle, yet firm. It's almost like he's giving me a massage, except I can feel the sexual intent in his actions.

He kisses my neck, lightly nibbling on the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder join, and I shiver from the pleasurable sensation.

I close my eyes. It's disarming, that surprising gentleness of his. I know I should feel violated—and I do—but I also feel oddly cherished.

With my eyes closed, I pretend that this is just a dream. A dark fantasy, like the kind I sometimes have late at night. It makes it more palatable, the fact that I'm letting this stranger do this to me.

One of his hands is now on my buttocks, kneading the soft flesh. His other hand is traveling up my belly, my rib cage. He reaches my chest and rubs his palm across one of my nipples, pinching it lightly. My nipples are already hard, and his touch feels good, almost soothing. Rob has done this to me before, but it's never been like this. It's never felt like this.

I continue to keep my eyes shut as he rolls me onto my back. He's partially on top of me, but most of his weight is resting on the bed. He doesn't want to crush me, I realize, and I feel grateful.

He kisses my collarbone, my shoulder, my stomach. His mouth is hot, and it leaves a moist trail on my skin.

Then he closes his lips around my right nipple and sucks on it. My body arches, and I feel tension low in my belly. He repeats the action with my other nipple, and the tension inside me grows, intensifies.

He senses it. I know he does because his hand ventures between my thighs and feels the wetness seeping from my tip. "Good boy," he murmurs, stroking my inner thigh. "So sweet, so responsive."

I whimper as his lips travel down my body, his hair tickling my skin. I know what he intends, and my mind blanks out when he reaches his destination.

For a second, I try to resist, but he effortlessly pulls my legs apart. His fingers pat me gently, then pull apart my ass cheeks.

And then he kisses me there, sending a surge of heat through my body. His skilled mouth licks and nibbles around my hole until I'm moaning, and then he closes his lips around it and lightly sucks.

The pleasure is so strong, so startling that my eyes fly open.

I don't understand what's happening to me, and it's frightening. I'm burning inside, throbbing between my legs. My heart is beating so fast I can't catch my breath, and I find myself panting.