The stranger doesn't answer, so naturally I think I'd gone mad and imagined the whole thing.
Maybe it was a form of fungus in the walls that was making me hallucinate and see and feel things that weren't there. When a season of infected crops infected the locals, a strain of ergot was said to have started the Salem Witch Trials. But I didn't think I'd been down here long enough to start feeling the effects at such an extreme level.
"Are you still there? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you off!" I call out, and I twist myself in the direction of what I think is the staircase leading back upstairs. "I'm not actually expecting to have sex while I'm tied down here; I don't know why I said that. I suppose I'm just lonely and looking to fill the void in my heart. My parents died a few months ago; I was their only child."
I suspected that if the stranger hadn't left already, then he was running for the hills now. Nobody wanted to hear some rich brat's sob story about how he was fighting against the odds. But I'm surprised yet again when footsteps start across the concrete floor, back towards me.
I couldn't see anything combined with the darkness and the tie around my eyes, but I could feel them standing there inches from me, which was the most bizarre sensation. I didn't know if they were a man or a woman, or even if they were one of the poets or a security guard who'd come in and decided not to concern themselves with a routine college hazing.
I feel a hand gently touch my face, as they had done earlier, but this time I'm hyperaware of every little detail in their fingers when they brush my cheek feather lightly. They were rough fingers, and the hand took up most of my face when they grasped my chin firmly and raised my head.
Was it Virgil?
I couldn't remember how large his hands had been, and I didn't know him well enough to assume that he'd worked hard enough at some point to form calluses on his hands. It couldn't have been Ovid because he didn't look like he'd done a day of manual labor in his life, let alone had hands as large as the strangers holding my face.
The stranger's breath caresses my face, sweet and warm. My lips parted spontaneously, a deep and ancient instinct threatening to take over. They begin to move downward, fingers touching a path down the center of my chest, then belly as they near, embarrassingly enough, the hard-on that I'd sprung in just a few short junctures of teasing.
I waited with bated breath, the coldness of the basement combined with the enigma of the stranger on their knees, while I dangled blindly, making my skin positively electric.
"Get on with it!" I finally pant and twist my hands in Lucan's rope. "Do something!"
The stranger takes it as a personal challenge, and all at once, my underwear are being pulled down and they seize my thighs in their big hands to keep me steady. The sensation is maddening—the heat, the pressure of their fingers—and then all at once something hot and wet engulfs my straining erection and I call out sharply in the darkness when teeth and tongue begin to work their magic.
A part of me knows that it's a man that I'm inside of.
It's a man's tongue that licks the bead of pre-cum from my uncut cock and the stubble on his face occasionally grates against my groin when he goes down on me as deep as he can go.
"O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done!" I whisper, teeth chattering, partially from the cold and partially from the pleasure threatening to drag me under. "The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won. The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting—Oh, Christ!" I jerk my head back and whimper when the stranger lavishes love on the underside of my manhood in the form of deliberate thrashing with his tongue.
I feel the sudden urge to see the stranger's face, to look into his lust-filled eyes, and to see the desire to fuck me into oblivion there. My balls hang heavy as the stranger works, eager to be squeezed while being pumped to a glorious end by those massive hands.
I had never taken a man before, though my thoughts had sometimes strayed in that direction and I had imagined being subjected to taking multiple partners like Dionysus at a drunken orgy.
A door slams somewhere in the distance and all at once the stranger's gone, ripping free in an instant. The cold immediately slaps at my soaking wet cock and I gasp sharply. "Wait!" I shout hoarsely into the darkness, "Where are you going?!"
Footsteps slap against the concrete and the stairs squeak fiercely when the man runs back upstairs, leaving me there fully naked now and just about to blow my load with no end in sight. My God, if whoever was upstairs came in now and saw me in such a state, God knows what they would think of me. A common slut who'd gotten hard at the prospect of being fucked by a stranger? The Poets wouldn't want me after that.
I wriggle my hands against Lucky's ropes and twist until skin tears and a bit of blood rises to the surface. Grunting in pain, I pull down as hard as I can and begin to slip free.
My hands, all at once, rip from the knots and I pitch forward, falling quickly and crashing into what can only be described as a wall or a stack of wooden boxes that immediately crumple under my weight when I fly forward.
"Dante?" Virgil's voice floats down from the top of the staircase. "Are you alive down there?"
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