Sam's Reluctant Submission Series by Brad Vance

In Part I, Sam lost his ass to Derek, but kept something more important – Derek submitted him, but didn’t break him, and that’s what Derek really wanted. Now Derek wants a rematch – fifty grand for an urban manhunt, if Sam evades Derek’s crew…if he doesn’t, it’s four on one and Sam’s ass is toast! EXCERPT: Sam ducked into an alley where he knew the trash wouldn’t be picked up till tomorrow... moreIn Part I, Sam lost his ass to Derek, but kept something more important – Derek submitted him, but didn’t break him, and that’s what Derek really wanted. Now Derek wants a rematch – fifty grand for an urban manhunt, if Sam evades Derek’s crew…if he doesn’t, it’s four on one and Sam’s ass is toast! EXCERPT: Sam ducked into an alley where he knew the trash wouldn’t be picked up till tomorrow. He pushed aside a few black bags stacked next to the dumpster, overflowing as always, and pulled out a big generic Jansport backpack, worn by a million starving students around the world. His own little Camelbak fit into it neatly. The camo pack would have been as good as a red target on his back. Now soft eyes, soft minds, would see the Jansport and say, that’s not him. Not enough to fool Derek, but maybe the others. He’d already plotted his route to the rail yard, the last place they’d look for him. If that was where they were planning on taking him, well, subconsciously they’d avoid it, thinking of it as “the place we go later.” Perfect. When he got there, sure enough, there was the shack, off by the fence, disused-looking if it hadn’t been for the shiny, brand new padlock on the door. That was sloppy of you, Derek, Sam smiled. He reached inside the Jansport into a side pocket of the camo pack, and pulled out his lock-picking tools. Click clack, it was open. Sam pulled the door open and felt for a light switch. “Holy shit,” he whispered when the lights came on. “What the hell is that.” The windows were blacked out. The lights were track lights, about as much light as you’d get in a dark bar. In the place of honor under the brightest light was a big wooden X, like two giant roof beams, with leather restraints bolted into it at the four corners. For his ankles, and his wrists. On the table next to it were a variety of flogs, paddles, and dildos, and a Costco-sized bottle of lube with a pump. That was where they were going to tie him up, Sam thought. Naked, his ass presented to them, and then they’d whip him…open him up with those dildos…fuck him. Hard. All of them. Over and over. His ears rang with the blood that rushed to his head. His asshole contracted with something that wasn’t entirely fear. In front of the cross was a wall of mirrors. Where Derek could see his face, Sam realized. Contorted with pain. Where Sam could see Derek’s, snarling and smirking as he rammed Sam’s ass mercilessly again and again… Sam picked up the bottle of lube and his eyes widened. He broke into a smile. S.E.R.E. It stood for Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. One statement hammered into them by the SERE instructors was simple. “If you do the first two right, you won't have to do the second two.” There was one more initial he’d learned, off the books. Sabotage. Destroy the enemy’s ability to capture or contain you, and you definitely don’t have to do the second two. Some kinds of silicone lube were highly flammable. As long as you didn’t drop a match on a lubed up ass, it wouldn’t go up in flames. But… Sam checked the wood of the cross. Dry, cracked, someone’s old favorite, he laughed. Handed down from sicko to sicko. He took the pump off the bottle and started smearing the lube on the bottom of the cross, thick and heavy, leaving a short trail of it across the floor. Then he pulled out his little lighter and set the trail on fire. It wasn’t exactly magnesium, but it was hot, and it was fast. The cross was on fire, the wood was old and dry, and the flames would rise up, and up. He left the rail yard, jumping a fence. There in a derelict part of town, with a pay phone probably used only by drug dealers answering pages, he waited until he saw the first wisps of smoke coming out of the shack, which meant the inside was pretty well engulfed in flames. Then he picked up the phone, dialed 911 and reported the fire. Then, with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, he walked away. less

In Part I, Sam lost his ass to Derek, but kept something more important – Derek submitted him, but didn’t break him, and that’s what Derek really wanted. Now Derek wants a rematch – fifty grand for an urban manhunt, if Sam evades Derek’s crew…if he doesn’t, it’s four on one and Sam’s ass is toast! EXCERPT: Sam ducked into an alley where he knew the trash wouldn’t be picked up till tomorrow... moreIn Part I, Sam lost his ass to Derek, but kept something more important – Derek submitted him, but didn’t break him, and that’s what Derek really wanted. Now Derek wants a rematch – fifty grand for an urban manhunt, if Sam evades Derek’s crew…if he doesn’t, it’s four on one and Sam’s ass is toast! EXCERPT: Sam ducked into an alley where he knew the trash wouldn’t be picked up till tomorrow. He pushed aside a few black bags stacked next to the dumpster, overflowing as always, and pulled out a big generic Jansport backpack, worn by a million starving students around the world. His own little Camelbak fit into it neatly. The camo pack would have been as good as a red target on his back. Now soft eyes, soft minds, would see the Jansport and say, that’s not him. Not enough to fool Derek, but maybe the others. He’d already plotted his route to the rail yard, the last place they’d look for him. If that was where they were planning on taking him, well, subconsciously they’d avoid it, thinking of it as “the place we go later.” Perfect. When he got there, sure enough, there was the shack, off by the fence, disused-looking if it hadn’t been for the shiny, brand new padlock on the door. That was sloppy of you, Derek, Sam smiled. He reached inside the Jansport into a side pocket of the camo pack, and pulled out his lock-picking tools. Click clack, it was open. Sam pulled the door open and felt for a light switch. “Holy shit,” he whispered when the lights came on. “What the hell is that.” The windows were blacked out. The lights were track lights, about as much light as you’d get in a dark bar. In the place of honor under the brightest light was a big wooden X, like two giant roof beams, with leather restraints bolted into it at the four corners. For his ankles, and his wrists. On the table next to it were a variety of flogs, paddles, and dildos, and a Costco-sized bottle of lube with a pump. That was where they were going to tie him up, Sam thought. Naked, his ass presented to them, and then they’d whip him…open him up with those dildos…fuck him. Hard. All of them. Over and over. His ears rang with the blood that rushed to his head. His asshole contracted with something that wasn’t entirely fear. In front of the cross was a wall of mirrors. Where Derek could see his face, Sam realized. Contorted with pain. Where Sam could see Derek’s, snarling and smirking as he rammed Sam’s ass mercilessly again and again… Sam picked up the bottle of lube and his eyes widened. He broke into a smile. S.E.R.E. It stood for Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. One statement hammered into them by the SERE instructors was simple. “If you do the first two right, you won't have to do the second two.” There was one more initial he’d learned, off the books. Sabotage. Destroy the enemy’s ability to capture or contain you, and you definitely don’t have to do the second two. Some kinds of silicone lube were highly flammable. As long as you didn’t drop a match on a lubed up ass, it wouldn’t go up in flames. But… Sam checked the wood of the cross. Dry, cracked, someone’s old favorite, he laughed. Handed down from sicko to sicko. He took the pump off the bottle and started smearing the lube on the bottom of the cross, thick and heavy, leaving a short trail of it across the floor. Then he pulled out his little lighter and set the trail on fire. It wasn’t exactly magnesium, but it was hot, and it was fast. The cross was on fire, the wood was old and dry, and the flames would rise up, and up. He left the rail yard, jumping a fence. There in a derelict part of town, with a pay phone probably used only by drug dealers answering pages, he waited until he saw the first wisps of smoke coming out of the shack, which meant the inside was pretty well engulfed in flames. Then he picked up the phone, dialed 911 and reported the fire. Then, with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, he walked away. less

In Part 2, Sam lost his ass to Derek again – and loved it! Which left him wondering if he was gay after all. Maybe a three way with Jake and Eddie will help him figure that out… And when Derek calls Sam to get his help with a search and rescue effort, what sexual sparks might be generated if they clash again in a “threematch”?