David rescued Cole off the streets and gave him a home. Now Cole is not only addicted to the drugs David gives him, but also to David. But when things take a sudden turn in his life, will Cole be able to adjust? Or will he be addicted forever?

Warnings: Noncon and Dubcon, Rape, Gang Rape, Graphic sexual content (anal, oral, BDSM, etc.), Underage sex, drinking, and drug use, Homosexuality (m/m), and Harsh language.

Enjoy ;)


My body aches. A dull ache all over. It's the first thing I notice as my mind slowly wakes. The small, full size bed I'm on creaks and I feel him move in his sleep; he's practically laying on top of me, crushing me with his weight. I'm laying on my stomach, my face turned into the pillow, and I vaguely become aware of the dirty sock still crammed in my dry mouth, something he obviously found entertaining last night. I refrain from groaning, so I won't wake him, and I try to scoot away and pull the sock out at the same time, but I realize my wrists are still bound tightly above my head to the bed frame with his leather belt, stopping me from doing both. I glance up at my hands in the dim, mid-morning light, ignoring the painful crick in my neck and see that they're swollen and bruised from the pressure- it's going to hurt like hell when the feeling comes back to them. The smell of the disgusting sock suddenly reaches my nose and I gag silently. I try to push it out of my mouth with my tongue, but he jammed it too far back and it's stuck. Gross.

As my mind continues to wake, I start feeling all of the pains in my body; the worse of those between my legs. My bladder burns too; I have to pee, bad. He moves again, rolling over slightly, then tucks his arm around me possessively and sighs in his sleep, beginning to wake up. Great. I would rather him sleep all day and me just lay here uncomfortably than have to deal with him awake first thing in the morning, but I know that's not going to happen; especially since he didn't pass out drunk or get too high last night. He had given me something, to take the edge off, and I can still feel the remnants of the drug in my system. It was something he hasn't given me before, but it made me feel good; really good. I can barely remember all of the disgusting things I know he did to me. I wish it had lasted longer though, so I didn't have to feel all of these stupid aches and pains. Maybe he'll give me some more this morning; I hope he will, I can already feel the cravings starting to nag my brain, wanting anything I can get.

He moves again, pulling my back closer against his naked body, turning me and twisting my arms painfully. I clench my teeth around the sock so I won't make any noise and disturb him. His mouth is by my ear and his morning stubble scratches my jaw, his breath hot across my skin. He makes a groaning noise and starts rubbing himself against me; he's got a morning hard-on and he presses it against my ass. Shit. I hate him in the mornings.

"Good morning, my little slut," his voice hisses into my ear, making me shiver. He chuckles. "Mmm... You made me feel so good last night, baby," he groans, "I'm gonna have to give you more of that shit soon. You were so fucking hot."

His words make me feel sick, but I stay silent and still; no need to provoke him by doing anything- good or bad. He leans up, reaches over and turns my head to look at my face, his hand on my jaw. I can feel the stickiness of my blood and his semen still on his fingers. He laughs.

"Awe, you left the sock in like a good little boy," he says mockingly as he reaches up and tugs it out.

The material sticks to the inside of mouth, making it feel like my skin rips off when he pulls it. I swallow a couple times, trying to make the moisture return to my throat, avoiding meeting his lustful eyes. He chuckles again.

"Mmm... I like seeing your throat move like that," he murmurs as he nuzzles my neck.

I ignore his comment and try to tell him I have to pee, but only a rasping sound comes out of my mouth. I cough from the dryness. He chuckles again; he always finds me so entertaining.

"Here, baby, let me help you with that."

His mouth suddenly covers mine in a rough kiss and he shoves his tongue in deep, practically choking me. He kisses me for a few minutes, enjoying himself, wrapping his hot, wet tongue around mine, while I just lay there and stare at the corner of the room where the dirty wall meets the filthy ceiling. I hate this sometimes. Finally he pulls away. I swallow; at least my mouth is wet again.

"I have to pee," I mumble, turning my head away.

"You can wait," he growls in my ear, his voice husky from the stupid kiss. Dammit.

He rolls me all the way onto my back, twisting my arms even more painfully, and moves between my legs, spreading them with his hips.

"David, please," I whine softly, "I really have to go."

"Shut up," he grumbles as he positions himself against me, "now I remember why I put that damn sock in your mouth last night; you wouldn't shut up. Now stop being a little bitch." He's such an asshole in the mornings.

Before I can protest anymore he pushes himself inside, his thrust harsh and violating. I cry out and whimper pitifully, pulling on the belt as if I could actually get away from him. It doesn't matter how many times he's done this, it still hurts every damn time when I'm not on something; and it doesn't help that he's so rough every time either.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and turns my head up so he can kiss me again. I groan into his mouth as his lips grind mine into my teeth; I can taste my own blood. My noises make him moan and thrust even harder. The pain lessens some as he rips me and I start to bleed. I try to relax, I know it hurts less when I do. He pulls away from the rough kiss and grunts and moans in my ear.

"You know you like this, don't act like you don't."

His words make me sick, mainly because I know they're true sometimes. But it hurts this morning and I don't have the drugs flowing through my veins; that's the only time I can really like it, but I know I'm supposed to pretend, just to make him happy. With a cry of pleasure he explodes inside of me, making me gasp from the stinging of his cum getting in my fresh cuts.

"Fuck!" He exclaims as he lets all of his weight drop heavily on my chest, his dick still nestled deep inside of me. "Damn, Cole, you're so fucking tight," he murmurs, running his hand up and down my side, clumsily caressing me.

"Great, can I pee now?" I mumble, my breathing ragged and hindered from his bulky chest on mine. He snaps his head up and glares down at me. Shit.

"What's with the attitude this morning? Huh?" He asks, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him again. I stare up at him, trying to gauge his mood by his voice and eyes.

"I just really have to go, David," I whisper, going for the 'pitiful kid' act that normally makes him give in when he's in a fairly good mood. He glares at me, but then smiles a mean smile.

"Fine, since you were such a good lay last night. Give me a kiss first."

I hide my grimace of disgust and lean up some to meet his mouth. Might as well get it over with, he always gets what he wants anyways. The kiss lasts longer than I want it too, as usual, but he finally pulls away and sits up between my spread legs, slowly pulling out of me and making me gasp a little. I suck precious air into my almost collapsed lungs.

"Damn your hands look bad," he mumbles as he reaches up and pulls on the tight belt.

He has to pull back hard to get it off because my wrists are so swollen. I let out a yelp of pain when he finally releases me and I clutch my throbbing hands to my chest. Shit that hurts! I wait a few seconds as the throbbing slowly turns into painful stinging, like I have my freaking hands shoved in an ant bed. He's already in the bathroom showering, I can hear him humming; at least someone feels good this morning.

I get up on shaky legs and cringe at the feeling of warm liquid running down my thighs as I limp to the bathroom. Gross. I'm reminded of how rough he was with me last night by a horrible soreness all over my body. I stumble into the steamy room, barely making it to the toilet, and finally get to pee. Sweet relief.

"Jesus, you got blood all over you," he says, poking his soapy head around the shower curtain.

"Because of you, asshole." I want to say as I glance back at him, but I keep my mouth shut; no point in pissing him off this early.

I finish quickly and turn to go, but before I can escape he reaches out with a wet hand and grabs me, pulling me into the shower with him.

"I can shower after you're done," I grumble as he pushes me under the scalding water.

"Yeah, but it's more fun this way," he teases, grabbing the wash cloth and soap.

The water does feel good on my aching muscles and I relax a little, watching the blood tinted water run down the drain, but then he's pressing me against the cold wall and scrubbing me.

"You'd think you'd stop bleeding after this long," he comments as he washes my ass roughly.

"Ow!" I snap at him, trying to turn away from his rough touch.

He turns me around quickly and slams my back against the tiled wall, hard, making my head crack against the tile, then he backhands me across my face. Apparently he's not in as good of a mood as I thought he was.

"Your little attitude's going to get your ass beat this morning, you want that?" He snarls down at me.

"No, I'm sorry," I mumble quietly, holding my stinging cheek and looking down submissively. It's stupid to fight him. I learned a long time ago not to push his buttons, especially when I'm vulnerable in front of him; like being naked and wet.

He glares at me for a few seconds longer then turns me back around and slams me into the wall again. My face smacks the tile painfully and I cry out, clutching my mouth. Blood pours from between my fingers, spattering the side of the tub. He laughs.

"Shit, did I knock your teeth out?" He asks, turning me back around and pulling my hands from my mouth so he can see the damage. He rolls his eyes. "You're fine, I just busted your lips," he says, patting my cheek with a sneer like it's no big deal.

My whole face throbs. Shit that hurt. I put my hand up to my mouth again, trying to subside the pain, but he pulls my hand away again.

"Quit being a pussy. Put your hands against the wall."

God, I hate him sometimes.

He turns me around yet again and grabs both of my wrists to hold them up above my head. He starts to wash me again, seeming to enjoy rubbing his hands over my thin body. I lean my head against the wall, watching the blood slowly drip from my lips onto the white porcelain.

"Your skin bruises so fucking easy," he comments casually, running his big hands down my bruised and welted back.

I wince, his touch making me remember what he used the belt for last night before he decided to tie my hands up; I think he gets his kicks out of hurting me more than the sex sometimes. He presses me against the wall harder with his body. God, I hate him!

"I wanna fuck that tight little ass again," he hisses in my ear. I groan.

"Please don't," I whisper, my face pressed against the cold wall, spattering it with droplets of blood. He chuckles.

"Fine." He turns me around and starts to push me to my knees. Shit. "If I can't have your ass then I want your little mouth," he says holding the base of his cock.

I turn my head away, but he grabs a fistful of my tousled, chin length hair and turns me back painfully. I glare up at him, the water splashing off his body into my eyes. He grins down at me and puts his penis closer to my mouth, nudging my lips with the tip.

"Come on, be a good boy and maybe I'll shoot you up later," he says softly.

My eyes widen. Why does he have to use it as a bribe? I open my mouth obediently, the promise of the sweet release of the needle making me act as if a were a puppet on a string. His smile grows as he slides in between my throbbing lips. He pushes in further, deep into my throat, making me gag. I put my hands up on his thighs to stop him from choking me, but he does anyway, forcing himself as far back as he can go, using my hair to hold himself in. He starts fucking my throat forcefully, not caring about how bad he's choking me or how loud I gag or how hard I push away from him. He's going to kill me one day.

"Shit, Cole! I can't get enough of you!" He says huskily, throwing his head back and moaning.

His dick thrusts once more and he holds it there and shudders, cumming in the back of my throat. I can feel it slide down, hot and thick, making me sick. He finally lets me go and pulls out. I fall to my hands and knees and vomit into the running water. Bile, semen, and blood run down the drain while he laughs at me.

"You're such a little pussy, kid," he says, kneeling down and pulling me back to my feet.

I'm shaking like I'm freezing even though the water is still hot. My throat hurts. I hate him so much sometimes. I can't stop the stupid tears that are falling and I push away from him, stumbling out of the tub. As soon as my feet hit the floor I slip and fall, landing painfully on my hip and arm.

"Fuck!" I scream, slapping my hands on the tile in frustration, my tears falling even harder. He's suddenly there, picking me up and wrapping me in a big towel.

"Damn, that looked like it hurt," he murmurs in my ear as he carries me to the bed. I'm sobbing pathetically by the time he sets me down; angry at him, angry at myself, angry at the whole damn world.

"Jesus, Cole, calm down," he says gently, running a hand through my wet hair, acting like the David I first met on the street two years ago when I was thirteen; the one who convinced me to come home with him and fed me and let me sleep on his warm couch, not the one who got me hooked on drugs and rapes me almost every fucking night. He sits beside me for a few minutes, petting me tenderly in a fatherly way, until my tears and sobs have quieted.

"You're so cute when you cry, baby," he says quietly, smiling a stupid smile. I glare up at him. He would think I was cute if I were dead on the floor too, so what does it matter? Asshole.

He stands and starts getting dressed, luckily his obsession with tormenting me in the mornings only lasts so long. I watch him wearily, extremely aware of every tiny pain in my body. He leaves the bedroom, ignoring me now like I don't even exist. I get up and pull on one of his old t-shirts and a pair of pj pants that are almost too big, then venture into the living room.

He's in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal at the table. Gesturing to a second bowl across from him, he lets me know he was nice enough to pour me some. How nice of him to think of me after raping me twice this morning. I plop down in the chair and start shoveling bites into my mouth, not caring what it tastes like, or that eating hurts my lips and throat, just thankful he's actually letting me eat this morning; after all he could have just left me tied to the bed like he's done before.

"Thanks," I murmur, feeling the need to be somewhat appreciative. He chuckles.

"No, thank you, baby," he says and winks at me. I try hard not to roll my eyes.

He lights a cigarette and offers me one. I take it gladly, knowing the nicotine will make the damned shaking go away. I finish eating quietly, cig in one hand, spoon in the other, and I can feel him watching me. I try to ignore him, but its hard with the way he stares at me hungrily.

Once I'm done I take both of our bowls and toss them into the sink, mumbling something about washing them later as I walk past him to the living room. I throw myself onto the old, sagging couch and curl up, leaning my head back on the arm rest, closing my eyes, enjoying the rest of my cigarette. A few minutes later I can feel him standing over me and I cringe, but open my eyes a peek to look up at him.

"What?" I ask hesitantly, hoping he's not still horny; I swear the guy could fuck all day and not stop once.

"I'm going out," he tells me in his calm 'normal David' voice.

"Okay?" I question since he's acting like he wants to say something else. He pulls something out of his pocket. The syringe shines in the light from the window.

"Want it?" He asks, his sneer back in its rightful place.

I sit up quickly, holding out my arm like a little kid waiting for some candy. He chuckles and grabs my twig like arm firmly, pulls a tourniquet out of nowhere, pops the cap off the needle, finds my vein expertly, and pushes the precious liquid in nice and slow so it doesn't burn. I can't help the small sigh that leaves my lips as I feel the familiar warmth rush through me. He chuckles, like always, and reaches down and pats my cheek roughly.

"Be a good boy. I'll be back in a little while." Then he leaves.

I lean back and let the heroine flow through me, erasing all of those pesky aches and pains and unwelcome thoughts. I love this. And he gives it to me, so I guess I love him too. He's not so bad. I drift off thinking of his smile.


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