#forcefeeding | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

villainsview · 26 days ago

Text

DILF in Distress

My submission for the @zineofgid 2023 edition, in which Fetch gets his ass handed to him by Jonas.

There was a chill in the air. A thrill of excitement ran down his spine as he walked the length of the long, dark and dank corridor. He pulled a hand through his hair, straightened his tie, tightened his leather gloves around his wrists, and shrugged off his jacket, hanging it over his arm as he stopped outside the door at the end of the corridor. He tilted his head left and right, the vertebrae in his neck popping softly, before grabbing the door handle and stepping inside.

The smell of blood and sweat lingered in the room. Heavy, muted breathing the only sound, until he flicked a switch. The fluorescent lights buzzed infuriatingly loud, but it was meant to add to the…experience. He smirked as he closed the door behind him with a firm bang, slowly walking towards a wall lined with various tools hanging from hooks and pegs — each more sinister than the last. Among them, a simple clothes hanger, which he hung his jacket on. He put the hanger back, turning around to face his captive as he undid the buttons on his sleeves.

“How’d you sleep…Fetcher?”

The man kneeling in front of him responded with an angered and muted growl. His teeth clenched around the wooden bit that rubbed splinters into his tongue and the corners of his mouth. Pinkish drool mixed with blood dripped uncontrollably past the bit and pooled on the floor between his knees. He flexed his fingers a bit, but only groaned in pain. They were swollen, the ropes around his wrists too tight, tying him to the ceiling, his arms raised painfully behind him. The only way to relieve some of the strain was to lean forward and try to sit up on his knees, but his thighs were lashed to his calves with tightly strapped belts, cutting circulation to his legs too.

Jonas folded back his sleeves past his elbows so they wouldn’t get dirty. It was easy to smudge pure white fabric, so it was an art to keep them perfectly clean, especially in his line of work.

Especially when he didn’t need anyone to know that he was hiding someone in the basement.

An expression sprung to his mind. When the cat’s away… But the cat wasn’t away at all. He did not claw his way to the top of the organisation just to be considered a pathetic little mouse who could only dance on the table when the boss went out. No. He was the cat, and when the master left, his claws came out, and all the stinkin’ rats better hide.

And now he’d finally caught the biggest rat, the one that had been a thorn in his side ever since he crawled in from the street. It was supposed to be a one-time job. He’d approached him because he seemed desperate enough to break the law, scraping together every penny to finance his family and a crippling alcohol addiction, taking on more shifts than was legally allowed for a surgeon. He only had to mention his possible reward to recruit him…and then things had snowballed.

He’d somehow earned the boss’ favour just like that. He got away with everything. After all his years of hard work and rising slowly to the top, this man just waltzed in and got everything handed on a silver platter. He wasn’t even under contract, he just occasionally stopped by and got whatever he asked for. Jonas tried to protest it, but the boss never listened. Do this for him and do that for him, arrange transport, deliveries, jailbreaks, and anything else the boss asked for…for him.

But when Jonas asked something he needed to think about it, he needed to weigh the options, consider the consequences, sleep on it first. Jonas had enough. He didn’t need to sleep on it anymore, he’d plotted his revenge for the past years. He’d dreamed about it many times, and now his dreams were coming to fruition.

The gloves came off. He usually wore them for protection, and secrecy. His knuckles still bruised from the last guy he beat up. It would hurt, but this captive deserved skin-to-skin contact, the authenticity of a real punch. He grabbed at his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look up, slapping his cheek with his other hand.

“It’s time to wake up, Fetcher. I brought you something special, just for you.”

He reached for the strap that kept the gag in place and loosened it, pulling it from between his teeth and dropping it on the floor. His captive lunged forward and coughed, dry-heaving a bit before spitting out some blood. Jonas stepped back and watched him, waiting for the moment when he was certain he’d woken up. Finally, he lifted his head and glared at him. His eyes filled with rage and a hunger for blood. Jonas tilted his head, surprised he could still look at him as if he wasn’t the one tied up and locked away.

“You’re so tough,” he said, “it’s been two days and you still look at me like that…”

“When Tito gets back, I hope he keeps you alive so I can kill you myself!”

“Your blood is already on my hands, Fetcher. And I’ll find what breaks you before Mr Rana returns.”

He found some bloody drool on the side of his right hand and slowly licked it off, before approaching a cabinet placed just behind his captive. He didn’t want to resort to this, but it might just be the only way, and perhaps the best way to break him into satisfying little bits. He preferred not to play around with addiction, knowing what kind of damage it could cause, but it was the only thing that was good enough for this victim in particular.

He glanced at him over his shoulder, knowing he couldn’t see what he was taking from the cabinet; a bottle with a clear liquid.

“Tell me, Fetcher, what was your go-to liquor again?”

“Untie me, and I’ll give you a taste.”

He only chuckled in reply, pouring himself a glass. It could’ve been water, but it had a distinct smell, so he took a careful sip. The liquid burned his throat, in a good way, perhaps a bit too much. He hissed through his teeth, suppressing a cough. He howled, putting the glass back down.

“Do you know what spirytus is?”

“A fire accelerant.”

“I suppose you could use it in that manner too…”

He picked up the bottle, reading the label while moving back to standing in front of his captive. He could see his eyes peering at the bottle suspiciously. They were both experts at torture, so of course they both knew exactly where this was going, yet Jonas just couldn’t help but to draw it out.

“A hundred and ninety-two proof,” he said, “only recently approved for sale in New York State due to the high alcohol content…and to think Siberian pilots used to drink this.”

“Keep that shit away from me.”

“No~”

Jonas grinned, pouring some over his hand before forcing his captive to look up, rubbing the alcohol on his thumb onto his lip, specifically the part where it had split after a satisfying punch.

His captive hissed in response as the alcohol stung in the wound, and tried to pull his head away, but Jonas didn’t let him. He tried to bite him, but Jonas was just a tad faster.

“Come on,” he said, “you know that never works.”

He pulled the drenched hand through his hair. Not much of the liquid had remained, evaporating quite fast. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He walked back over to the cabinet behind his captive, putting the bottle on top so he had his hands free for the next part. He had to change his captive’s position, and previous experience taught him that those were the exact moments he chose to fight like his life depended on it.

Every. Single. Time.

He yanked on the loose end of the rope that held up his captive’s arms, which released him immediately.

His captive unceremoniously fell to the side, grunting in pain as his shoulders were suddenly allowed in a somewhat more natural position.

Jonas waited a couple of seconds, just to see what he would do, but he bided his time, probably waiting for him to grab him before attempting to strike. Jonas tutted, slowly walking back over, making sure to approach from behind. He stepped on the long end of rope hanging from his wrist binds first, before grabbing a hold of his hair and yanking him back upright.

That was when he seemed to come back to life. First, he tried to yank his hair from his captor’s grip, shaking his head even when it hurt. Then he tried to turn his body away, only to be held back by the rope that Jonas stood on. He smirked to himself, letting his captive struggle for a couple of moments longer, letting him tire himself out.

“You done?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He readied his bare fist, making sure he had the right grip so he wouldn’t end up breaking his own bones when his knuckles collided with his captive’s skull. The grip on his hair prevented him from falling over after the impact, and it allowed Jonas to tilt his head back to draw out a very satisfying pained groan.

“Don’t worry, I got just the thing to numb your pain,” Jonas said, looking around, “where’d I leave that thing?”

He looked over the tools on the wall, looking for something very specific. Fortunately it was right within reach; a dental retractor with a ratchet mechanism. It was closed now, but once he put it in place it would only be able to open wider and wider… The trick, however, was to get it in in the first place without losing any digits. Jonas knew what human jaws were capable of, especially in a fight for survival, he’d seen it before. It was another reason he rarely took his gloves off, they were a last defence against a toothy deathgrip.

But not for this captive. He wanted him to feel and taste everything on his hands. The sweat, the alcohol, the blood. Jonas knew it was inevitable when he tried to pry his jaws apart without the usual safety measures, but it made the effort more worth it. Every hiss, every curse, every grip, every yank — it all had a purpose. To lock the new gag between his teeth, without losing any fingers in the process. He did manage to break some skin on his left index finger, but Jonas let him have the win since it allowed him to wrench his jaws just far enough apart to force the gag between them.

He couldn’t pick which was more satisfying. The furious growling, the snap of the buckle, or the clicking of the ratchet as he forced his jaws even further apart. He finally let his captive pull free from his grip, but only so he had his hands free to attend to the cut on his finger. He started by pouring some of the spirytus over his hand. He hissed a bit, trying to decide whether it felt bad or good. He decided to stay on the fence for now, opening a drawer to find a pack of antibiotic paste.

“That really hurt, you know?” he said, tearing the package with his teeth and spitting out the small bit that accidentally got into his mouth, “maybe I should take your teeth out if I have time left over. You’re old enough for dentures, aren’t you?”

He smirked as he listened to the angry growling behind him, paired with ruffling fabric as he picked up his struggle again. Jonas ignored him for now, trying to wrap a bandage around his finger. It wasn’t the greatest, but it would do for now. He swiped the empty wrappers into the drawer and closed it so he could open another one. There was a box with latex gloves. He pulled two out and put them on, the latex snapping threateningly against his wrist. He could feel his captive looking at him, but he wasn’t going to let him know what was about to happen. Besides, he could probably figure it out without having to see.

A third drawer was opened, individual items wrapped in plastic, stolen ages ago. Jonas couldn’t quite remember where they got them from, it was probably in his records somewhere, but for now it didn’t matter. He slowly unwrapped the item, the plastic wrapping crinkling loudly throughout the room.

“You must be so thirsty,” Jonas mused, “don’t worry, once I’m done you can finish the whole bottle.”

There was a thud behind him, he didn’t have to turn around to know his captive had fallen over in a sad attempt to escape. Jonas chuckled as he turned, fingering the item he just unwrapped in his hands. His captive was on his side, numbed fingers trying to reach the knots keeping the rope around his wrists together. But even if he could reach them, he didn’t have the strength to pry them loose.

“Oh my, Fetcher~ I’d almost think you were scared…”

The glare he responded with was still impressive, despite his state, despite his situation. His eyes still spelled murder, the blood trail on his chin expressed a hunger for more. In a different world Jonas could’ve learned a thing or two from him. But they weren’t in that different world. They were right here, right now, and he was so close to breaking him.

He stepped back over to his captive, grabbing him by his hair and pulling him back upright. This part was always a bit tricky, especially when they struggled. It had gone wrong before. Jonas wasn’t sure it would be so bad if it went wrong again this time, it would just be better if it didn’t. More drawn out.

He yanked on his hair again, tilting his head back. The item he unwrapped? A rubber tube. His captive was never going to swallow that spirytus on his own, so he had to bypass the whole swallowing bit altogether. And it was exactly that first bit that was the most complicated. It didn’t help that he didn’t have any lubricant, so pretty much everything was working against him, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

“Stop fighting, you know what could happen if I enter your lungs instead,” Jonas said, yanking on his captive’s hair in warning, “and I’m not going to lie, I can’t always tell the difference. You know I never went to medical school, so I’m willing to admit you’re probably better at this kind of stuff than I am.”

The only reply he got was a strangled yell, followed by gagging as he slowly pushed the tube deeper and deeper. He knew he wasn’t being gentle. He wasn’t trying to be at all. The gagging and the resulting laboured breathing were music to his ears…and hey! He was breathing, and it didn’t seem to be coming through the tube.

“Ah. Looks like I still got it,” Jonas said, patting the man on his forehead, “now why don’t we celebrate…with a drink?”

He had to drag his captive back a little, before he was able to reach the bottle of spirytus. He stood on top of the loose end from the ropes around his captive’s wrists again, maintaining a tight grip on his hair to keep him still. He was trying to shake his head an awful lot, making it hard to try and connect the bottle to the end of the tube. Note to self, bring a funnel next time. Some of the clear liquid spilled past the tube, into his mouth and over his face. Judging from the strangled roar it burned his eyes like it burned in Jonas’ wound earlier. Oops. But the bottle was pouring straight into the tube now, so it should be all good.

Slowly, his captive’s struggle subsided, whether he was getting tired or succumbing to the alcohol was unclear. It had been twenty minutes so either was possible. It didn’t really matter anyway. When the bottle was empty Jonas threw it into a corner, breaking it into pieces. He would clean that up later…or perhaps use it. He stopped contemplating the idea when his captive groaned weakly, so he looked back down at him. He wasn’t fully conscious, so he couldn’t tell whether he was broken or not.

“Isn’t that just so much better?” Jonas said quietly, patting his cheek. A tired glare briefly flashed over the man’s face, but he seemed to be having trouble focussing. Jonas smirked, it seemed he could plan another session for tomorrow. He began pulling out the tube, slowly, savouring his reaction. Every gasp, every retch, every convulsion.

“Hush, try not to vomit, I just had my shoes polished,” Jonas said, before pulling out the last length. His captive coughed, and he heaved, but he kept it all in. It was a struggle, a last desperate attempt for some decency, but a successful one…unfortunately.

Jonas tutted, and shoved him to the floor. He threw the tube in the same corner as the bottle and took off the latex gloves, throwing those after it too. He checked his finger, blood dripping from underneath the bandage and down his arm. He followed the red line down his arm and to his elbow where it slowly soaked into the fold of his sleeve, a bright red stain slowly encroaching on the white fabric surrounding it. He sighed, glaring back down at his captive.

“You just had to have the last laugh, didn’t you, Fetcher?”

He scoffed, picking up his leather gloves and shoving them in his pocket, he took his jacket off the hanger and swung it over his shoulder, a finger hooked around the loop in the collar. He picked up the glass he’d poured himself earlier, smudging it with the blood from his finger and took another swig before giving his captive a last look. He wanted to burn this pathetic image of him in his mind, a mental photograph to cherish forever. A rat, caught in a trap, slowly dying as it continued to squeak and struggle with no one coming to its aid, nor anyone willing to put it out of its misery. He smirked, raising his glass at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow…if you’re still alive by then.”

24 notes · View notes