baals | (no subject)

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Hiding on Earth turned out to be quite the productive endeavor for Ba'al. He fit in absurdly easily in the world of business. While expanding into the business world he likewise expanded into the criminal world.

In the business world he's known as Hannibal Hadad. His holdings, which started in an areo-space company, expanded into real-estate, construction and string of electronics retailers.

In the criminal world he's known as simply The Boss. His criminal network, stretches into the usual suspects of guns, drugs and smuggling.

Spread across both the business and the criminal side are oddities. On their own, they just seem strange. Together, something big is being built. Something high tech. It could be anything from missiles to fighter jets. Whatever it is he's taking great pains that the government and the larger criminal underworld don't know what he's doing.

Seeing as he's making an effort to hid it. He shouldn't let the recently hired undercover FBI agent anywhere near himself or anything important. He could just feed him false leads down the chain. But... quite frankly, he's bored.

After a couple months, he calls him to his office. Enough time passed to not be suspicious and give Mike time to make a reasonable impression.

Ba'al's office is a modern minimalist style. All clean lines and simple shapes. No unnecessary furniture. As for himself, he's always wearing some designer suit or another. He's standing and looking over some papers on his desk when Mike enters. The papers are Mike's personnel file.

"Ah, yes. It's good to finally meet you. Michael, is it? Or Mike?" He holds out a hand to shake, which he won't last too long or too briefly. "You've been doing excellent work under Johnathan."

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Ba'al lets out an amused chuckle and just grinds the coarse twine further. "You will have learned when I decide you have and you have not." He weaves the remainder of the twine tightly around his soft dick. The last bit he run tightly across the head and right over the hole there. Another level of resistance for the build up to push past.

"Honesty will be rewarded," Ba'al says in a strangely soft voice. "But first you'll learn of punishment." He steps away to get something from out of view. He returns to slide a large glass measuring cup onto the desk. He centers it right about where the cum will drip. "When this is filled, I will grant you relief."

He takes a seat at the desk and just watches. Though he occasionally reaches up to cup his swollen balls and give them an encouraging squeeze.

Edited 2018-09-02 03:03 (UTC)

With each new twist of the twine, Mike let out a small sound of protest. He couldn't help it. He was so sensitive, he could feel each individual fiber scratching at him. The loudest tore out of him as that one strand settled over the tip. His chest heaved against the ropes, making his nipples rub harder. He gave another valiant fight, trying to wrench himself free of the ropes, but he only managed to chafe himself.

Pure horror spread across Mike's face, color draining from it. Even if he weren't all stopped up by twine squeezing him shut from all angles, filling that thing up would take hours. How was he supposed to even get a drop out? Even if he could feel that pressure building with every passing moment.

"No! Please! I'll do anything, just...please. I've learned! I swear!"

His begging didn't last long, finding it difficult to keep talking with the way the ropes pressed into his chest. He thought the pressure was going to tear him apart from inside. But before that first touch, it built up enough to push past the several stages of twine. Only when it burst out, it met that final gate and spread in several directions. Only about half of it landed in the cup, the rest splattering on the desk. Perhaps most humiliation of all was that there was no orgasm with it, nothing but the constant leaking finally bursting out.

The periodic fondling didn't help matters. The pressure or the humiliation. But at least after that first little explosion, they happened a bit faster. Not nearly fast enough to fill the cup in any decent amount of time. Here and there, he'd try begging again. Strained offers to prove himself.

"Such a mess," Ba'al scolds, already making plans for Mike to clean up every last drop. Most of the time, he makes sounds of disgust when the cum splatters outside the cup. And then some of it misses so badly it splatters onto Ba'al's shirt. He looks very displeased and gets up. His shirt is pulled off and discarded but he doesn't put on a new one. He opts to stay shirtless.

At the next burst of cum, Ba'al gathers the majority of it in his hand before it can even get near the cup. He pulls Mike's head back by the hair with his other hand then clamps the cum filled one over his mouth. "Swallow," he fully intends to hold his hand there to force him to. He keeps his hand there, mostly because he's tired of hearing him beg. "You will clean all of this up," Ba'al breathes into his ear. "Every last drop."

When the cup is nearly full, Ba'al releases his mouth. One hand tightly squeezes around Mike's balls while his other pulls and toys with his soft dick. He rolls it between his finger, grinding the twine into his flesh. The whole time, he's making sure the next load goes anywhere but the cup. He's more than a little tempted to get some on himself and forcing Mike to clean it up but Mike hasn't yet earned the right to touch him.

Letting out a muffled protest, Mike tries to pull away from the hand. He tries to keep himself from swallowing. But with how much he salivates in response to the salty substance on his lips and tongue, he can't help but to comply. He also can't help the look of fierce defiance he levels at the man. This went well beyond even a psychopath's treatment of a subordinate. Not for the first time, he dreaded that Hadad already knew the truth.

"You're a--" But whatever insult he'd intended to sling at the man was cut off with a sharp cry as his balls were squeezed. He wasn't just sensitive, he didn't just ache anymore. With all of that pressure and the irritation of the twine, it may as well have been a blow from a hammer. And that was mild compared to the handling of his cock. He fought to keep himself quiet, but he was yelling and sobbing after a few moments, tears leaking from his eyes. He tried to beg for it to stop, but each new touch ended it before he could get a full word out.

"Shh, it'll be over soon." Ba'al assures him though his tone sounds almost mocking.

His hands remain where they are, squeezing and rubbing. With each new burst of cum he milks his cock. This time he is being helpful and aiming the cum toward the cup. He keeps it up relentlessly until the cup is finally full.

"There we are," he lets out a content sigh. He carefully unhooks the ropes and lowers Mike to his knees on the desk. In his version of mercy, he unties the twine and slowly unwraps him. Dragging the twine across him the whole way.

"Open your mouth." And if Mike doesn't comply, he grabs his face and forces his mouth open. "Swallow all this and I will let you rest." He holds up the cup and drips a small amount onto his lips.

By the time Mike was let down, he was trembling and shaking. His face was red and wet, and he seemed to have given up his fight. In fact, he just sits on the desk, hoping for a moment of relief. But the twine dragging over him doesn't allow it. He's too exhausted to fight it, just letting out whimpers, his face contorted from how much it hurts.

He manages a few breaths once it's done, his shoulders sagging. It was the most relief he'd felt since this began. He might be leaking, but at least he wasn't being squeezed.

But that relief is short lived as Hadad gives the order. He of course doesn't comply, looking up in startled confusion. He tries to avoid the hand, but bound as he is, he can't move much. Horror follows, seeing the cup. It's to his lips before he can protest. He coughs and sputters, fighting with all he had to get free of it.

The cum is simply poured into his mouth. Ba'al makes sure his head is pulled back far enough that he has no choice but to swallow. Well, it's possible he could choke to death but that's easily fixed. The cum is poured steadily so there's always just a little too much to swallow properly. Yes, he did set Mike up to fail. Frankly, he just wants to see him choke on his own cum. Once the last of it is poured, he clamps his hand over his mouth once again. He leans in close to whisper, "Don't worry, you'll learn to like it."

His hand is soon replaced with a knotted rope, gagging him but also making it impossible to completely close his mouth. "Now... let's get you cleaned up." He just takes hold of the ropes around his shoulders and carries him to the bathroom. Where he's dumped face down in the empty tub.

Sheer stubborn self preservation kept him from choking on it completely. He was forced to swallow, even as it spilled from the sides of his mouth. Even as his stomach turned and threatened to throw it all back in Hadad's face. The moment the cup was gone, he was spitting and coughing, fighting the urge to throw up.

It didn't help matters when he was picked up, the ropes digging into him once more. He was done begging. For now. Fury had started to build inside him. Stoked by his determination and the sheer injustice of the situation, it burned bright. It gave him what he needed to hold his tongue. He just needed once chance. The smallest opening. Eventually the ropes would be loosened. Then he could get out.

His ideas for a plan faltered as he landed in the tub, on his stomach. He let out a grunt of pain as his still sensitive cock was trapped between him and the tub, the ropes around him digging into it. But a worse prospect loomed ahead of him. Water didn't mix well with being so tightly bound.

The water is turned on. Ba'al doesn't hold him down, he'll happily let him try to save himself. Maybe if he somehow wiggles his way out of the tub, he'll let him sleep in the bed.

He crouches down next to the tub, crossing his arms on the rim. And just to add a little bit of hope that Mike's cover isn't complete trash he says, "Did Rossi send you to get close to me? Used your debt as leverage?"

At first Mike doesn't want to move. He knows it's going to hurt like hell on his cock, trapped the way it was. His teeth dug into the rope between his teeth, steeling himself. As the water level started to creep up, he waited. Just a little water under him would soften the rope and lubricate his skin against the tub. It would make it harder to gain leverage, but it would be far less painful.

The question is what sparked him to move. There was no safe way to answer. If he said yes, that would put Briggs in serious danger. With all he'd seen he had a gut feeling Hadad would rather murder a man than pay him. But if he said no, Hadad wouldn't believe him. Either hurt him further or still take it out on Briggs. Instead, he acted as though he hadn't heard the question in his desperation. Before the words were fully off Hadad's lips, he was moving.

It wasn't the most graceful of maneuvers. Rocking and thrashing in the shallow water. But unless Hadad stopped him, he would land on his back, at the cost of slamming his elbow on the hard tub and tweaking his shoulders. On top of the agony of grinding his still sensitive cock between the tub and ropes.

Once Mike manages to flip himself, Ba'al pushes him toward the incoming water. Far enough to get his face under it. He'll only hold him there for thirty seconds or so then moves him back. For now, he keeps a finger hooks in the rope harness, right where the nipple ropes come together, to keep him above the raising water.

"Whatever the case, it will be easier to kill him." Ba'al continues regardless, even if Mike actually didn't hear him. "Unless, of course, I use him for another purpose." He gets the same dark look in his eyes as before. "Do you think he would be useful to me?" he doesn't expect an answer but he hopes to see him nod yes or no.

The tub should be getting close to half full. Ba'al makes sure to keep him just elevated enough to keep most of his head above water. But he periodically let's him drop and inch before pulling him back up. Just to remind him how fast the water is rising.

Mike barely had time to hold his breath before his head went under. And he learned far too quickly that the rope in his mouth was going to make things incredibly difficult. Water seeped in between his lips and the coarse fibers. When he was pulled up, he started coughing and gasping. He shook his head, trying to keep his sodden hair from making things worse.

Even as his mind whirled in panic, angles to keep Briggs out of trouble cropped up. Half formed ideas he needed to hold on to. He tried to speak around the gag, but the added water made it impossible to get even halfway intelligible.

Every time he was dropped slightly, he'd look to the man holding him, true panic registering in his eyes. He was clean! He didn't need it anymore. After about the third slight drop, his panic reached a point that it shifted tracks. Frantic desperation surged up inside him. The man held up by a single point. His own position was precarious but not impossible. With the right twist and leverage he could easily have his bound legs under him. From there getting out of the tub would be as easy as throwing himself out of the tub. It would be about as graceful as a seal hauling itself from the water, but he had to try.

He waited, and just as he felt that drop, just when simple physics ensured the man would have the least grip on the ropes, he moved. He surged toward Hadad, flinging himself and a fair amount of water at him, trying to throw him off balance.

In general Ba'al doesn't like surprises but in the case, it's welcome, if annoying. He could simply push him back into the tub but he opts to use his momentum against him. Ba'al shifts to the side, completely drenched, and pulls Mike the rest of the way out of the tub. He immediately shoves him on to his back.

"Well, that was fun." Ba'al comments sarcastically. He doesn't hold Mike in place and is willing to let him wiggle away or do whatever else he can do with his limited movement.

"I suppose you deserve some truth before you're willing to give up your secrets." He waits for Mike to look at him then he flashes the whites of his eyes. The glow unnaturally for a few seconds. "I am not quite human."

For a moment, Mike lay on the floor, just dragging in frantic breaths. He couldn't believe it actually worked. He wasn't drowning. He wasn't being stepped on. He was out of the tub. Unfortunately, in the rush, he hadn't realized he'd had help.

He didn't have time to worry about getting his mouth free. He sits up, his stomach flexing and straining to get himself up onto his knees. He casts around the bathroom for something within reach that could be used against the ropes. The odds were slim, but he didn't have many options.

His search was ended as soon as it began, because he slowly turns his gaze up at the man.

Several times that night, he'd felt genuine fear. But it a mild worry compared to the utter dread that flooded through him in that moment. The sickening fear of having his entire reality shifted at its very base. It was like his head was filled with static, trying to resist the very idea of it all. It was his imagination. The light. The strain. It was getting to him.

But still, he was trying to make for the door. He twisted, trying to fling himself towards it. He squirmed, inching between knees and shoulders, trying desperately to get to something. Anything. That could free him.

It's more entertaining to let him try to escape. And Ba'al may just enjoy watching him struggle. He does nothing to disturb him as he tries to make his way toward the door.

After a while, he comes over and runs a hand through Mike's hair. "Don't worry. I have no intention of letting you die permanently." He digs his fingers into Mike's hair to pull him up right. "But make no mistake, I will kill you."

He carefully removes the rope gag, just to loop it around his neck and pull it tight. Slowly, he begins to twist the rope tighter. He has no plans on stopping, he just keeps tightening it. He feels like he needs to prove a point about just how easily he can both kill and revive. The whole time, he makes soothing sounds into his ear. Shushing him. "Just relax. I'll take care of everything."

He tried to not think about why the man--the monster--wasn't stopping him. He just had to keep going. He had to do whatever he could to escape. He turned his attention to what came next. How he could alert someone on the outside. End the mission. This was beyond them. He needed an immediate extraction.

But before he got too far, physically or in his plan, he was dragged up onto his knees. Protests were on his lips the moment the gag was removed, but he barely got more than a word out before the rope dug into his throat. Only then did what Hadad had said hit him. His heart hammered in his chest, knowing this was it. He had know way to fight. No means of escaping. It had all been leading to this.

He tried to keep his neck tight, to keep the rope from strangling him completely. That might have been useful with constant pressure, but this was ever-increasing. This wasn't the lack of breath from hands around his throat. It wasn't even the strangulation of a noose. This was a makeshift garrote. He was dimly aware of the rope cutting deep into his neck, his face turning hot and purple as blood flow was restricted. His mouth moved, trying to close and opening again, in desperate attempt to move air past the rope. But only when it became physically impossible to do so, he would keep fighting. Struggling and pulling at the ropes. Trying to pull free.

Even in the face of certain, inescapable death, he would not give up.

The next thing Mike will know, besides a brief memory of waking up inside the sarcophagus, is that the room is far colder than where he was. It smells different and very clearly of motor-oil and metal. Next, he'll find his eyes completely covered with a blindfold. It doesn't even let in a hint of light. His mouth is covered with a simple layering of duct tape. Enough to keep him from most sounds but not a complete gag. He could scream into it and be heard by someone in the room.

Of course, he's restrained and in a none too comfortable position. He's on his knees with his arms strapped back. His wrists connected to his ankles as well as each other. Something metal pushes against his back to keep his back arched. Leaving the front of him entirely exposed. They'll be a brush of something across his chest. It crinkles, giving away that it is a tarp.

There are distant voices. They sound like they're on the other side of a door. One of the voices will be very familiar. A sound of a garage door opening then sliding back closed announces someone's arrival. There's a single set of slow measured footsteps.

Death had been certain this time, there was no denying that. He'd been too aware as it came over him, as he felt himself slipping away. Even once darkness engulfed him, he faded. After that, everything was a blur. Memories or dreams, he couldn't quite be sure. He remembered sun on his face, the flash of something red, a clock. But it all slipped through his fingers until there was nothing.

How long was there nothing? Minutes? Days? Years? Reality came back to him pieces. The first piece was different from the rest. Warm, pleasant, somewhere he wanted to stay. He felt good. But then all was darkness again. And his knees hurt. His back ached. The darkness wasn't from death or sleep any longer. He could feel the cloth on his face. He tried to shake it off. He tried to move. And suddenly his reality slammed back into him.

The meeting! He tired to fight his bonds, tried to see what was going on. He doubled his efforts hearing those footsteps. Briggs! Why couldn't he have just let the mission burn? Because Briggs didn't give up, and Mike had led him into a trap trying to save his own skin.

He screamed, as loud and as hard as he could behind the tape. It trailed off into something like a sob. He paused only long enough to draw in enough breath to try again. He'd burn himself, if he had to. Blow his cover and let that monster have him, so long as it meant no one else got hurt.

That monster thing was just part of being dead, right? His memories warped with the stress of everything.

Given the information Briggs had, he knew that Mike was in danger of losing his cover if he hadn't already. He wouldn't have dropped a name like Odin Rossi if it wasn't serious. The worst part, from his point of view, is that Mike was right about Hadad. Where ever Mike was, Briggs needed to get him out of there. He's in too deep without a tac team or proper back up.

With how off the books this was, Briggs had to do some convincing and string pulling to get a tac team on stand-by. There wasn't anywhere close to the meeting place they could set the team up. Which was smart on the part of Hadad but very irritating for Briggs. The closest they could get was roughly half a k out, and even then the roads were not to their advantage. It would be no easy straight shot in SUVs to surround the building. The building, a new development, was on a slight hill with open space in all directions.

Everything screamed trap.

So, Mike stepped into something big. After much protesting, he tells everyone he's going in alone. Don't worry, everyone knows the go signal. Mike might not even be there. It'll be fine.

It will not be fine.

He slipped into his usual mask of calm yet vaguely cheerful. He'll go in. Confirm Mike's whereabouts. If Hadad is actually willing to pay of fictitious debts, he'll demand to see Mike. He'll find a reason.

The moment he got there and just spoke to Hadad, he knew it was bad. Everything about the guy was calculating and deliberate. Right down to word choice. He saw all the tactics he used in play with this man.

After a bit of wordplay and back and forth Hadad agrees to take Briggs, or rather Mr Rossi to him. Everything still screamed trap which was all the more reason he needed to get Mike out of there.

As soon as he heard the muffled scream, Briggs tapped his watch and sent the go signal. Seconds later he had to lock down his surprise when he moved the tarp aside. He throws out the idea of staying in character a moment later.

Briggs immediately goes to pull the tape away from his mouth. "Jesus, Mike! What happened?" he manages to keep his voice. He's certain they're being watched and listened to. The tac team should be here any second. As soon as he hears--No. No, he's leaving him tied up and on some perverted display. It might get him shot, but he cuts the ropes at Mike's wrists. "Can you walk?"

Had this been before the bathtub, Mike may have still had a bit of shame left when the tarp was pulled aside. He couldn't see who it was, but all he felt was dread. He didn't care if they saw him like this, he just didn't want them dragged into this mess. It only got worse hearing Briggs' voice. Even before the other agent touched the tape, Mike was trying to warn him off. Shaking his head and trying to talk through it.

He growls in pain as the tape pulls at the stubble on his face, but it was fleeting. "Rossi." He said the name sharply, hoping to get his point across. Briggs couldn't break cover under any circumstances. "You gotta get outta here! PLEASE! What I owe's not worth it. He wants you!"

The moment his hands are free, he tears down the blindfold and shoves at Briggs. "GO! I'm--my debt's not worth it!"

It gets the point across, Briggs just doesn't like it. "I'm not--" He should've heard the tac team by now. Fuck. He has to keep his cover.

Okay. Work with what he knows. Leaving is a non-option. There has to be something he can use. He doesn't have much time to work with. The sound of the garage door starting to open prompts him to move. It's stupid and crazy and maybe has a sliver of a chance of working. Briggs surges forward and grabs Mike by the throat. The actual physical contact isn't meant to harm but it has to look like it. He flexes his arm muscles as if trying to choke him.

The door is nearly open. Briggs and Mike will be clearly seen by anyone on the other side of that door.

He jerks Mike's head up to look at him. "I own you," he says in a half growl. All his body language is coming off as assertive and dominant. Except for micro-expressions around his eyes. It's something only Mike can see at this angle. He's trying to convey an apology with it. This is a stupid and desperate idea but it's all he's got.

"I decide how much you're worth." All trace of micro-expressions is gone. There's some guilty truth behind his words that he locks down. "You belong to me."

"Prove it," Hadad's voice. He's standing in the doorway, flanked by armed guards. "Prove it and he's yours."

Shit. Shit. Shit. He needs to buy time. He lets go of Mike's neck and turns to the voice. "That's it?" He sounds cocky, like it's a simple ask.

Purely on instinct, Mike's hands go to Briggs' arm. For a split second, it was the first meeting with Bello all over again. That unshakable feeling that Briggs might find him out. Or might actually be dirty. He still wasn't entirely sure, his loyalties still torn. But now was not the time to dwell on the battle between Briggs and the Bureau. Right now he had no choice but to trust the man holding him. Even if he was dirty, he was far more trust worthy than Hadad.

"No!" The protest came out strangled, more in his own panic than the hand around his throat.

Hearing those words from Briggs, however, made his stomach clench. He pushed it down, focused on the here and now. He could deal with emotions later. Seeing that look in the other's eyes was enough, for now, to convince himself the words were just an act.

"I'm...I'm not worth it! Please! My debt's not worth more than your life! He's bigger, worse than Bello!"

He could distract Hadad and the guards some how. Give Briggs a chance to get away. He knew there'd be a team nearby, there had to be. Someone to get Briggs out.

The team should have been here by now. Something is wrong. Hearing no gunshots is somewhat reassuring. Did Hadad have something jamming his signal? The team would've moved in when they lost contact.

"Shut up! You don't get a say in this." Briggs said with irritation, which isn't altogether fake. He takes a very calculated stance in front of Mike, keeping himself between Mike and the others.

Despite what Briggs said, everything Mike said registered. Worst than Bello. Bigger. Must be a global organization, very likely to have connections to government. That could mean the tac team isn't coming. Unfortunately, despite all of that it just makes him more inclined to stand his ground. He wouldn't make it far even if he did run. Better to go down trying to get them both out.

"I have enjoyed his company," Hadad says of Mike. "But if he truly is yours, I see no reason for him not to be returned." It sounds overly reasonable to Briggs which makes the hairs on the back on his neck stand up. But he'll roll with it.

"Great! I'll just take him and get out of here."

"Prove it." Hadad reiterates. "Then, you may go."

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?" Briggs still sounds calm, if a little aggravated. He knows where this is going, he could hear it in Hadad's voice and with the way he said enjoyed. A part of him is a little too excited about the prospect but he can't think about that now.

"Must I spell it out? Fuck him, or do whatever it is you do with him." Hadad and the guards close the door behind them and stand there expectantly. "And, yes, do it here." Hadad waves a hand which prompts the guards to aim their weapons at both of them.

Briggs turns to face Mike. His body language is according to his cover but his expression shows concern. He won't do anything unless Mike shows some sign of agreement. He also takes the moment to show him he still has his knife tucked against his wrist. It's not much, but he holds it where Mike can grab it without being noticed.

Part of him wanted to shove Briggs aside and lay into Hadad for even suggesting it. As depraved as people were, most criminals didn't work like that. At least not the ones he dealt with. He could even do it without breaking his cover, since he clearly had experience with criminal types. But that part of him was too small to make a difference.

He had to do something that would give his would-be rescuer a chance to get out. If anyone could slip free of Hadad's grasp, it was Briggs. But he was sticking to his no-man-left-behind ideals far too hard for that to happen. There was only one way to give him a chance. It would hurt them both, in different ways, but it was the only option he had.

At the look Briggs gave him, he shook his head. He had no way to explain or apologize for what he was about to do.

"He's won't do that," Mike said, stepping out from behind Briggs. There was tension in his voice, as he nervously eyed the men with weapons. This was a gamble, and he could end up dead for good. "I lied, okay? I don't actually owe Rossi anything." He kept the knife hidden against his own arm as he moved a step closer. "I'm a federal agent and he's my CI." With some effort, he traded the tension for burning conviction. "And I can't let you hurt him!"

He rushed at Hadad as soon as the words were off his lips, raising the knife. He was aiming right for the man's chest, though he knew it would never land.

The guards shoot, but not at Mike. A protest behind him was cut short with the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground.

Ba'al, or rather, Hadad can take care of himself. His hand comes up to block the knife, not caring if it happens to go through his hand, he can fix that later. The point is to get control of the hand with the knife. His other hand, predictably, goes for his throat. The eye glow returns as he uses Mike's momentum to turn him. For no other reason than Ba'al wants him to see the dead body of the person he was trying to protect. And in case there was any doubt, there's a bullet wound right between Briggs' eyes, which are still open.

"I appreciate your honesty," he tells him, almost soothingly.

Then to the guards: "Get rid of that and clean this up."