Delirium
By
Parhelion
My oddest experience? Aside from the lack of aging, you mean? Well, it started with me thrashing around on a dirty camp cot although I wasn’t really there to notice. I was, once again, off in the delirium my kidnappers had forced upon me.
Let me be clear: it wasn’t like they were trying to mistreat me or break me. They just didn’t care. I was a tool to pry what they needed out of Nero Wolfe, and so they had to warehouse me in case the genius required proof that he would get his merchandise, one live Archie Goodwin, returned somewhat intact. Since they didn’t want damage and they didn’t want trouble, I got to take drugs, lots and lots of drugs. It made it hard to keep track of what day it was, or where I was, or who had kidnapped me, or anything else for that matter. Instead, I spent most of my time lying on the small cot underneath the dirty sheets and blankets drooling and talking with the voices inside my head. I had just enough sense of myself left to be annoyed by it all.
Later, Wolfe would tell me the mix of drugs gave me visions. I, myself, would have called them the D. T. s, if anything. I wouldn’t give them the dignity of being named visions. Bits of my life kept drifting through my skull mixed up with half -remembered pieces of movies, magazines, and some of the weirder stories Wolfe had told me down through the years. That would have been okay, but pale versions of my nightmares got into the mix as well, versions I didn’t believe in because they were so stupid. It all still hurt from time to time, though, and it maddened me to boot. I felt trapped into an endless slog through a newsstand’s worth of spicy shock pulps. Every so often, events got a lot stranger than even that kind of fiction, but I was too far out of my skull to worry about what it all meant.
Wolfe had just showed up again. I have to admit, it was good to see his fat face if I ignored the fact that he had technically betrayed or hurt me every time he had appeared. I guess that was what I was supposed to be afraid of, what was meant to make him nightmarish. But, Wolfe hadn't been cooperative, of course. In fact, he was getting more and more exasperated each time he turned up. That meant I had to listen to longer and longer lectures on kidnapping, drugs, and the idiocy of the contemporary cultural influence on the subconscious of even a somewhat intelligent man, by which he meant me. I couldn’t really blame him. It was all pretty feeble, if very bizarre.
At the moment, giant alien mentalist lizards were forcing him to rape me. He wasn’t even pretending to be a mind-controlled human zombie but was scowling at me, instead, as he pulled my belt loose and unzipped my fly. “Archie, this is almost immeasurably puerile.”
“Sorry, sir.” Even to my own ears my voice sounded dispirited. “I have no idea what’s up with the lizards.” I tugged at the handcuffs passed around one of the spindles in the headboard. “And, of course, I should be able to snap this and get loose without breaking into a sweat or kick you in the face. But, instead, I’m lying here trapped by nothing in particular.”
Wolfe grunted acknowledgement and peeled my trousers and boxers down. He surveyed me, sighed his usual bushel of air, and leaned over to lick the head of my cock. It felt good. I suppose it was meant to make me feel humiliated and disgusted, but it felt good. Wolfe’s tongue gets enough exercise that he had plenty of endurance and precision to spare for working me over. Since he wasn’t really there, and even his dream self had been dragged into this, I felt guilty enough to break my usual rule of not puffing up his ego by telling him when he was being gifted.
“Mmm. Okay. Good work there, boss. Hard on the back? Maybe up and around the top a little?” He complied, and a partial silence fell for a few minutes, until I heard the giant lizards hissing in the background in a language that sounded remarkably like Serbo-Croatian. Wolfe’s breath puffed out in annoyance around me - he obviously resented coaching from space aliens - and he pulled away from what he was doing. I was full and glistening with his attentions, already far enough along that a drop of liquid was pearling out on the tip. Wolfe ran a forefinger across me, tasted it, gave me an approving look as if I were a prize batch of shad roe, and then grimaced at more lizard commentary. He got up off the bed and started undoing his belt.
“Nuts.” I squirmed around a little, trying to get comfortable. “This is going to drag on, I can tell already, and it’ll probably hurt a lot. I bet I won’t get to finish, either.”
“You have my sympathy, Archie, but there is not a great deal else I can give you aside from that. Or, rather, there is little I can give you from this point on that you will wish to receive.” He’d pulled down his own trousers and shorts past his thighs. It was a pity I didn’t have the leisure to comment on his yellow stripped silk underwear, but there were other distractions. Since I was supposed to be having a nightmare, his cock was huge, flushed dark, and standing straight up against his belly. It was impressive, but he looked down at himself and snorted.
“What?” I asked him. “It’s a little large, and riding high for your age, but otherwise it’s not all that far off the truth, and I’ve played valet for you enough times to know.”
“That is not the central issue.” Wolfe worked himself while the lizards made noises like teakettles that had been on the burner for too long. The action should have been threatening, but it struck me as petulant. “Insane though it most likely seems to you, I am annoyed by the complete lack of subtlety and originality in this nightmare. What in the world were your sources?”
I raised one eyebrow. Only he could be a literary critic in circumstances like those. “In case you hadn’t noticed, sir, this is an Isolated Farmhouse Full of Sex-Crazed Aliens, not a Turkish Harem Ruled by a Debauched Sultan. I don’t think bug-eyed monsters go in for subtlety.”
“True,” he muttered. He clambered back onto the bed, which groaned with ominous drama. He paused to glare, first down at it and then at me.
“I think you’re supposed to be heavy.” My lips twitched. “It’s probably meant to be looming and frightening.”
“Bah.” He paused, then sighed again. “I apologize for this next action and hope you are not congested today.”
“No, I’m…damn it.” The last wasn’t a response to his comment but to him straddling my chest, which was just plain ridiculous.
“Indeed.” He leaned forwards and pinched the sides of my jaw to force my mouth open. It worked, but, then, I wasn’t fighting. I was fuming, which probably did me as much good as struggling.
Wolfe leaned forward over me, rested one arm on the headboard, and worked into my mouth. At last his looming conveyed a suitable threat, but I’d given up on worrying about the furniture giving way or him falling on me. The only possibilities that might really have been scary were apparently not sexual enough to show up in a rape nightmare. As for Wolfe making me blow him, it could have been worse. Nobody had edited reality to change him into anyone other than Wolfe, so he was clean and smelled of sex, fresh sweat, and bay rum, not too bad under the circumstances. He tasted fresh, too, although I did have to fight not to gag. Since it was a nightmare and I was supposed to be helpless, I couldn’t bite. Big deal: I probably wouldn’t have bitten in real life if we had somehow ended up like this. So, I sucked at him, tentatively, and he looked down at me in surprise. His eyes narrowed to slits, but he didn’t say anything. He just grasped both sides of my head and worked within my mouth, first gasping and then groaning. It bordered on the painful, but I was forced to go along with it. Of course. Christ, what a cliché.
After a minute or two he pulled out of my mouth and stropped himself again. I’d bet it was meant to be ominous, hinting at what would obviously happen next, but my eyes were crossing, trying to see what he was up to, and he was patting my cheek with his free hand in a manner that could only be said to be apologetic. I wheezed, “I think I have friction burns. Now I appreciate your earlier efforts on me.” Then I moved my mouth around a little, trying to ease my jaw. “ That’s tougher than it looks. Good thing you’re not really here, or you’d be crowing for a month about how much better at it you were than I was.”
Wolfe grunted, one of his amused ones, and said, “False modesty does not suit you.” He got off of my chest, for which I was grateful. He was crushingly heavy even if he wasn’t doing any damage.
I sucked in a lungful of air. “Time for the main event, where you bust down the back door?”
“If we ignore your appallingly coarse imagery, yes, you describe the instructions I am forced to execute.” He’d moved around to the foot of the bed and was briskly removing my shoes. Then he pulled my trousers and shorts the rest of the way off, spread my buttock cheeks apart, and, without warning, slid his thumb up my ass. I yelped, then swore. “I apologize for that, Archie, but the more I stretched you, the less damage I would do in real life, and I was hoping your subconscious would take that fact into account.” He grimaced. “You were at ease so I seized my opportunity.”
I tightened down around him, trying to get use to the sensation. “Watch it, sir. If you’re too thoughtful the lizards will start giving hints again.” At the moment, they were so many beady red eyes glowing in the dim of the room. There was a dry rustling behind them like the legs of a thousand spiders but I ignored it. One nightmare at a time was enough.
“Pfui,” Wolfe said, and worked his thumb in me. It was strange, having someone inside me, but endurable. I knew part of the reason I could put up with it was because Wolfe was the guy having his way with me, and I trusted him enough not to lock up. So, I tried to make myself feel betrayed before my subconscious realized I wasn’t suffering enough and turned him into some random jailhouse gorilla. Maybe I wanted to have my ass fucked by Wolfe, I told myself. That should be embarrassing enough to keep things on track.
It must have worked. Wolfe pulled out of me, slapped my thighs and buttocks a few times, which made him look sour and me roll my eyes, and then leaned forwards with his cock grasped in one hand. “Archie. I admit it is ridiculous, and most likely futile, to suggest this, but if you can relax, being sodomized will hurt less than it otherwise might.”
It was my turn to sigh as he got my legs into position. I had no doubt it was going to hurt like hell no matter what I did, but his suggestion was reasonable, so I gave it a try. It even worked, a little, helped along by the fact that, when he forced the head of his cock in through the ring of muscle, he started growling, which made me give him a startled look. He paused to return my look with one of his own, from a few inches away, and said, in a huffy tone, “I am not made of iron,” before he drove into me.
Ow. He couldn’t have proved it by me. Ow, ow, ow. He was big, damn it. I was grateful when he’d worked into me up to the hilt and went still. His balls were tight against my rear and his gut pressed against my groin and thighs. I held on to him with my legs, feeling like someone had decided to stick a Roman candle up my rear. That, of course, was when Wolfe had to ask me, “How much pain are you in?” I don’t know why he bothered since there was nothing he could do about it.
I gave him an incredulous glare. “Don’t mind me,” I gritted out from between my teeth. “Just because I’m being sodomized by a hippopotamus is no reason to worry. I’m a tough guy.”
“Are you trying to make matters worse? Your subconscious, manifested as these supposed aliens, is enacting a series of unimaginative pornographic clichés. Don’t help.” He pulled out of me and plunged back in. He grunted involuntarily and did it again. The burning ache was giving way to burning heat. I was stretched out around him to the point where I felt like I might rip apart but teetering on that ragged edge was great. Now the sensation rippling outwards from my ass and groin was pleasure.
I frowned and thrashed around a little. “Hey, I don’t get it. This doesn’t hurt anymore.” I pushed up into him. “It feels good.”
“You are most likely meant to be revolted and horrified that you can take pleasure in the passive role in involuntary homosexual sodomy,” Wolfe said. His eyes had narrowed and his face had flushed.
He was enjoying himself whether he wanted to or not, I could tell, and I grinned at him as his hips continued to work against me. “Why should I be revolted? It’s only a dope dream. Delirium doesn’t count, even when it feels good.” Dangerous to admit to myself at that point, but true.
“Your stunning pragmatism,” Wolfe’s voice was ragged because he was now pounding into me roughly, “is an amazing shield, even against your own self, it seems.”
I snorted and writhed luxuriously as he pushed my knees back until they were pressed against my chest. As fat as he was, the logistics of that should have been impossible for a couple of novices and improbable at any time, but not under these circumstances. In my delirium the position left me wide open and his cock driving into me was doing something deep inside me that was making my own cock jerk and my pulse pound. “Hell, maybe I’ll get a climax out of this after all.” My voice sounded like a stranger’s in my own ears. “Christ. Yes, Wolfe. More, damn it.”
“Yes, of course, Archie,” he grunted, and somehow managed to pick up the pace. There was an angry hiss from the shadows. “Your tight, hot sweetness. You are my virgin field to reap, plow, and seed.” Pathetic phrasing, if interesting concept; obviously, the lizards had demanded abuse. His eyes as he spoke were both darkly amused and lustful. My cock twitched and my balls tightened.
I could tell the grin on my face had turned wild, but it was also sincere. “Yeah, sure. Nice job with the degradation there, sir.” God knows how I got all that out.
“Jackanapes,” Wolfe said, and leaned forward to kiss me. It put more of his weight on me but, by that time, being pushed back into the mattress hard felt good. Our tongues dueled lazily. The fine fabric of his clothes and his hairy skin rubbing against me was the last little bit of sensation that I needed.
“Fmnk!” I yelled as I came. Not exactly memorable, but you do better with a mouth full of someone else’s tongue. I could feel myself spending between us as he relentlessly ground on top of me and within me, and it was wonderful. I won’t say it was the best peak I’d ever had, but it was in the top five. Okay, it tied for first place. I came in repeated surges, for long enough that the room seemed to be turning red, roaring filled my ears, and I groaned. Good thing the rule against biting him was still in place.
By the time I’d caught my breath he was moving again, having freed his mouth the better to pant. “So, what’s it going to be? In, or out?” I asked him.
Wolfe didn’t have the breath to spare just then to let me know what he thought of that particular crack. He settled for growling. It sounded pretty tortured or pretty ecstatic: they tend to be about the same thing at the point where he was at.
What the hell. It was Wolfe, after all. Maybe if he wasn’t actually in my mouth--I craned around and managed to bite him where the muscle and fat of his neck curved into the muscle and fat of his shoulder. That did it.
It was in, and something within my chest and gut twisted hard in pleasure at the thought. I ignored that something and concentrated on not going deaf as Wolfe bellowed and spilled.
After it was all over, I said, dutifully, “Oh, I am crushed, shattered, and humiliated. Especially crushed.”
“Shut up, Archie,” Wolfe said, his voice low, warm and l--well, I was delirious, as I’ve said. He pulled out of me gently and slowly, rolled to one side, and looked over the side of the punt at the red-brown water of the river. Overhead, bright feathered birds shrieked at us in voices that sounded like tortured women.
“I wouldn’t try to wash in that, if I were you,” I said, glumly. “Piranhas.” I shook my hands, trying to get the circulation going again, as Wolfe stared suspiciously out at the jungle on both banks of the river and yanked at his underwear and trousers. “I hope you’re not scheduled to throw me overboard. I hate piranhas.”
Now for the strange part. After Wolfe, Saul, and Fred rescued me and brought me home - and Saul told me later, Wolfe never let on how he knew where to find me - Wolfe supervised while I was cleaned up and slid between the sheets of my own bed. The drugs had worn off and I was done puking, so I could finally get some real sleep. When I was about to nod off, he leaned over me to check my condition one last time. It was very late and he had removed his tie and loosened his collar. There, shadowed but visible, I saw it, the mark of teeth on his skin where his shoulder met his neck. My gaze jerked back up to meet his, eyes wide, and he scowled at me. But, I will affirm it on a stack of plant records, he was blushing, too. Go figure; I can’t, to this day, and I’ve tried.