Stuff My Stocking: M-M Romance Stories that are Nice and Naughty (22 page)

BOBBY'S CHRISTMAS GIFT by Serena Yates

Dear Santa,

Instead of asking for something for myself this year, I saw this boy trapped crouching and naked in a cage and thought that he might need something from you more than I do. Would you make sure that he has a happy holiday season for me?

Thank you!

{PHOTO INSERT:  A naked man wearing a black leather S&M hood and harness is positioned on his hands and knees in a small cage. There are long, wooden dowels inserted between the metal bars holding his body in place.}

***************************

“What the fuck?” Greg stared at the piece of vellum paper he’d pulled from the expensive-looking envelope.

An envelope that had mysteriously appeared right next to his fireplace. Overnight. He was sure it hadn’t been there when he went upstairs last night. This morning it had sat there, quietly taunting him to open it. As though it had been delivered via the chimney.

Ridiculous!

But no amount of looking over his shoulder, or under the table, or behind the curtains had revealed a clue about the envelope’s origins. His name was on the outside, written in bold letters. Now that he’d opened it, it was clear it hadn’t even been addressed to him, though. What the hell was it doing in his living room?

He looked back down at his hands, one holding the picture that had come tumbling out, the other a short letter.

His gaze kept returning to the image. He couldn’t help himself and stared at it in horrid fascination. It showed a naked man. He looked very young, but his body was definitely that of a well developed male. His skin was slightly pink and he was crouched in an uncomfortable position inside a wire mesh cage which was high enough for him to remain on hands and knees. Wooden poles had been stuck through the square openings, completely immobilizing him. He was naked, but wore a rubber hood that enclosed his head, hiding his face. Leather straps wound around his chest and stomach, attached to a longer one running down his back.

The letter was no more helpful in figuring out this mystery. He still read it again, just to be sure.

Dear Santa,

Instead of asking for something for myself this year, I saw this boy trapped crouching and naked in a cage and thought that he might need something from you more than I do. Would you make sure that he has a happy holiday season for me?

Thank you!

--Adara.

Who was Adara? She was clearly worried about the man’s welfare. Greg sympathized. Keeping a human being in conditions like that was unacceptable. Some people might enjoy that kind of treatment, and he had no way of telling from the picture whether this man was one of them. But Adara’s letter seemed to confirm that this wasn’t a consensual situation.

It was addressed to Santa, though, so how come it had been delivered to him? He was just an artist, making sculptures of various types of materials, with a weakness for mysteries, anything sweet, and watching the occasional bit of gay porn on the Internet. But he’d never enjoyed any of the more hard core BDSM sites, and this—situation—the man found himself in only made Greg angry. Who would do something like this to another human being?

Well, it just wouldn’t do. Christmas was only ten days away, and if this Adara person was right, the man needed help. Greg may not have been Santa, he snorted at the thought, but he’d been asked for help, in a roundabout way, so he’d have to find a solution.

He looked up, staring into space as he considered what he should do. Ignoring the picture and the veiled cry for help that had come to him via Adara’s letter was not an option. He needed to find out where the man was being held, make sure he was okay, and get him out of there if he wasn’t. Not something he could do on his own, but he knew just the person to ask for help.

An hour later, having taken a shower and eaten breakfast, Greg walked into the local police station.

“Is Detective Henderson in?” Greg smiled at the receptionist. She was wearing another of her garishly colored Christmas sweaters. This one was bubblegum-green and had a bright red reindeer on the front. Its eyes seemed to follow Greg as he came closer to the desk.

“He certainly is.” The receptionist grinned. “Take a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here. He should be with you shortly.”

“Thank you.” Darned security protocols. He used to be able to just walk in to see his old friend, Paul. No longer was that allowed.

He took a seat in the waiting area.

“Greg!” Paul’s booming voice woke him from his reverie a few minutes later. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hi, Paul.” Greg got up, traversed the scanner after emptying his pockets and shook hands with Paul once he’d returned his keys, wallet and small change where they belonged.

“What can I do for you?” Paul led the way toward his desk, getting them each a coffee from the small kitchen area before sitting down. “You never come to the office anymore, so I’m assuming you need some sort of help?”

Greg nodded, sipping his coffee to stall for time. Now that he was here, facing his utterly rational friend, he had no idea how to tell him about the mysterious letter. The man would probably laugh his head off.

“Come on, spit it out.” Paul grinned as he leaned back in his squeaky chair. “I can see that something is really bothering you.”

“You’re right. I’ve got a real problem on my hands.” Greg sighed as he put down the empty plastic cup. Damn, his tongue was hurting. He shouldn’t have swallowed the hot coffee so quickly.

“You’re not in trouble with the law, are you?” Paul frowned, some of his relaxation changing to tension.

“No!” God, he’d had enough of that when he was younger. “No, but I think someone else needs my help, and I can’t figure out how to find him. He looks like he’s in such trouble, and I don’t know—“

“Whoa, slow down, man.” Paul lifted his hand as if trying to stop the flow of words. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Greg took a deep breath and told his friend everything. Paul’s eyes got wider by the second. When Greg pulled out the envelope and showed him the picture and the letter, Paul whistled through his teeth.

“Man, you’re right. That man doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself.” Paul narrowed his eyes, looking at the photo more closely before returning his gaze to Greg. “You know what’s weird?”

“Other than this whole situation?” Greg was on tenterhooks. He wanted to get on with it, charge to the man’s rescue. The longer Greg thought about it, the more his vulnerability touched him.

“Yeah, well, don’t start looking to deeply. If you weren’t such a good friend I’d think you were trying to pull a prank.” Paul turned the picture so they could both look at it. “No, I think it’s weird that the cage isn’t bolted to the floor.”

“Huh?” Greg looked again.”Damn, you’re right. I didn’t even notice that.”

Paul grinned.

“Oh, stop it.” Greg blushed.

Paul was a good friend, straight and happily married to boot, but he’d never had any problem with Greg’s sexuality. Instead, he needled Greg about his attraction to men at every opportunity, claiming he wanted to help him find Mr. Right. Yeah, like that was going to happen!

“Okay, now that we’ve established that you feel attracted to the guy, I assume you want me to help you find him?” Paul waited for Greg’s nod then frowned. “There was nothing else in the envelope?”

Greg shook his head. How were they ever going to figure out where the man was being held? Even if he wasn’t a prisoner, which was a big maybe, his feeling that something weird was going on hadn’t gone away. Why would he have received the letter if the man didn’t need help?

“It doesn’t make sense for this to be difficult.” Paul scratched his head. “Whoever sent this letter clearly wanted the man out of that cage.”

Greg nodded. But how would they find him? Hartford wasn’t a huge city, but big enough to make finding one caged-up man a challenge.

Paul leaned back in his chair, playing with the photo in his hand as he turned it this way and that, as if checking different angles.

Hold on, wasn’t that writing on its back?

* * * *

Bobby was cold enough that his teeth would have chattered hadn’t the ball gag stopped his jaw from moving. Thank God his tormentors had at least removed the darned hood once they’d returned him to his ‘permanent’ cage. Not that he wanted to see anything at this point, he had his eyes firmly closed against the harsh reality of his predicament, but it was nice to have the option.

He lay on his side on the hard floor, trying to expose as little skin as possible to the cold surface that was leaking the warmth from his body with seemingly unrelenting determination. He wore handcuffs that were cutting into his skin and his feet had been bound at the ankles and knees. He was immobilized. He couldn’t have gone anywhere even without those additional restraints. His new home, the absurdly small cage in the corner of a dank basement, was securely locked.

Shit.

Why had he responded to that stupid dare? His waiter colleague, Damon, had made him sound like such a coward for not wanting to take part in the BDSM-themed Christmas party Damon’s sinister biker friends had organized. Bobby had no idea what Damon found so attractive about being tied up, flogged and probably worse. But when Damon had dared him to try it, saying he didn’t know what he was missing and wouldn’t be able to judge until he tried it for himself, Bobby had agreed to do a scene in the club Damon and his friends frequented.

He’d known he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t give in to Damon’s needling. Realizing that Damon could make things very difficult at work if he didn’t stay on his good side, he’d figured that it would be safe since there would be other people around, and what possible real harm could they do to him in public?

God, he’d been naïve.

Once they’d tied him up, they gagged and hooded him. A short drive later he’d been unloaded and carried into a fairly well-heated room. His clothes had been cut from him, some sort of leather contraption with two straps was put on his body. He’d tried to fight them, but they’d punched him in the head, telling him he was supposed to enjoy this. The pain had finally convinced him he’d be better off doing what they told him for now. He’d been made to crawl into what he’d been told was a cage. They hemmed him in with what felt like wooden poles so that he was crouching uncomfortably.

The sound of cameras taking pictures had made him blush all over. After endless minutes of imagining his naked picture turning up on the Internet, he’d been told there was more ‘fun’ in store for him tomorrow. The fact that they’d left the butt plug in didn’t bode well as far as he was concerned.

They’d finally freed him from the cage, only to walk him down some stairs, practically immobilizing him before putting him in this ‘permanent’ cage. When they’d taken the hood off, Bobby blinking even in the low light of the flashlights they’d used, Damon had been nowhere to be seen.

There was absolutely nothing he could do. Despair was only a breath away, but he wasn’t going to give in. They couldn’t keep him here forever, could they? He must have drifted off to sleep eventually, because the next thing he knew was the sound of the door scraping open, followed by booted footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Hey, wait a minute, Greg. You can’t just go down there on your own.” The voice sounded angry. “We need to secure the area first.”

“Fuck securing the area. It’s pitch dark down here. Why would any of those idiots be hiding here instead of getting drunk with the rest of his buddies? Besides, I just know the man’s down here, and from what those idiots told us, he’s not having a good time.” The second voice, Greg’s, was deeper than the first and much closer now. “We can’t leave him in whatever situation he is for a minute longer.”

Yes!
Bobby would have screamed his agreement had the stupid ball gag not been preventing it.

He opened his eyes to a sliver of light from a small, grimy window right under the ceiling above him. The bright beam of a flashlight came from the direction of the stairs, a pair of booted feet turning into strong jeans-covered legs, slim hips and a broad chest as the man called Greg made his way down the steps. Swinging the flashlight in an arc, he stayed where he was for a moment.

“Shit, it’s dark and cold in here.” Greg shuddered. “And it stinks.”

The beam of light hit the edge of Bobby’s cage.

“Fuck! There’s another cage down here, Paul.” Greg moved the flashlight so that it shone onto Bobby’s legs then his torso, moving up toward his face.

“Hold on, I’m coming down there.” Paul rushed down the steps.

Bobby closed his eyes, wanting to die of shame. He was naked and dirty, tied up like an animal. And Greg had looked so good. Tall, broad-shouldered with a ruggedly handsome face, he had spiky blond hair and kind brown eyes. He was Bobby’s dream man come to life. Had he met him under different circumstances he’d have hoped for a date.

He shook his head. It didn’t really matter, as long as he made it out of here. Whoever these two men were, they didn’t sound like they wanted any part of the cruel trick Damon and his friends had played on him. Keeping his eyes squeezed firmly shut, Bobby held his breath to find out what the two newcomers would do.

“Looks like it’s him.” Greg started walking toward the cage.

“I’ve got the keys.” Paul came closer as well. “At least they gave them up before the patrol car took them out of here.”

Patrol car? Shit, are they cops? How much trouble am I in?

“Hey, are you awake?” Greg’s voice was close to his face.

Bobby nodded, still refusing to open his eyes to look the handsome man in the eye.

“Okay, hold on. We’ll get you out of here as quickly as we can.” Greg’s footsteps retreated back toward the stairs. “We need a blanket down here, please.”

“Sure, hold on.”

Keys rattled near the cage’s door, and the three industrial-size padlocks were opened before the cage door squeaked as it was swung back. A soft thunk near the stairs was probably the blanket arriving.