Trapped in the Outback Pt. 01

***** This story is a gay/bi male horror-themed erotic suspense story, told in three parts. All situations, characters, details and places described are fictional, except for the giant earthworms. Those are real. *****

#dominance and submission, #restraint, #bondage, #suspense, #Australiaisfuckingterrifying

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Part I - Jaxon meets Deacon at his farm cottage in the middle of nowhere

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You always hear stories about what happens in the Australian Outback. They're a different breed out there, turned feral by the heat and isolation. All Lost Tribe from Mad Max, hopped up on silver paint, hunting hitchhikers for sport.

Of course, my Aussie mates [I'm originally from England] tell me an hour outside of town doesn't count as 'the Outback'; but what else do you call a countryside full of gum trees and wild goats as tall as men, snakes in the grass and the trees, dingoes gnawing on babies, and earthworms the size of the fucking monsters in Dune? Don't believe me about the worms? Right now, pull up a browser window and type in 'giant earthworms Australia 9ft long'. And never sleep again. You're welcome.

This story's about the mistake I made a couple of weeks ago, when I put my love of cock above rational sanity, and met what might well have been an unhinged serial killer... and had the hottest sex of my life to date.

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It started when I got a message on this kink website 'useandabuseme', from a guy saying he was in my area and wanted to meet me.

I was only on the site out of curiosity, (purely for research purposes), and I wouldn't normally take up an offer like that, being the least kinked up person I knew. But we chatted for a bit and I quite liked him. Smart, easy to talk to. He made me laugh, and he was clearly into me.

He sent me some pics, and fuck he was fit. He said he played Touch with the boys off the farms he worked on, so he was fit as well as being fit.

In his photos he looked to be in his early to mid thirties, athletic build, with medium-length brown hair and green eyes. There was a picture of him with his rugby mates, wearing a pair of shorts and a black Nike singlet. Posed holding the ball, his pecs filled out his shirt nicely, and his arms had that smooth, muscular look that suggested he either worked out a lot, or played a lot of sport. His shorts were tight enough to give the impression he had a fairly decent set of assets stowed there.

But the image I screenshotted and kept on my phone was a headshot that showed the lapels of what looked like a black utility jacket, when he was dressed up for a night on the town.

Honestly, all I cared about was that he reminded me of someone I used to know. And I'll admit, that probably swayed me to meet him more than anything else. Familiarity, when you feel as if you're a long way from home, can have a profound effect on your ability to make good decisions.

Because of where we'd met, I suggested we get lunch together in the city, thinking a first meeting in a public place was a good idea. But he lived way out of town, working as a plant mechanic on cattle stations, and my own work schedule was keeping me pinned down. Between us we were struggling to make it happen.

I suggested we cam, mostly so I could make sure he was the guy in the pictures, and to check that he seemed normal, but he said his internet wasn't that great and he couldn't get Skype to work. I guessed the NBN, Australia's national broadband network, hadn't made it out that far. The same went for phone reception. He'd be in and out of range, and whenever he'd call me I'd be in a meeting, or the phone would cut out as soon as I answered. Whenever I tried to call him, his phone would go to voicemail.

Of course that all sounds highly suspect now, but at the time I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Like I say, he reminded me of...someone... and as an introverted gamer whose aspirations included not leaving the house, I hadn't had sex with anyone in longer than I'd have liked.

Neither of us was on social media, and messaging apps were pointless when the chat was never live. So because we didn't have a better way to talk, I gave him an email address so we didn't have to message through the site.

As soon as I did that, our conversations got a lot more personal. We still talked about politics and movies—but how horny we both were, and how much we weren't getting because of our jobs, became the main focus of conversation.

It got so that every time I saw an email turn up in my inbox I'd get a little hard, and I'd open it with a hand in my lap, squeezing myself through my pants while I read it.

All this happened over maybe three weeks, and talking every day, it wasn't long before my curiosity (and general horniness) started to override my natural caution.

He sent me enough pics that I was fairly certain I was talking to a real person, and none of them reverse-searched back to anyone else.

He said he was into bondage, and I said I didn't know much about it, but was interested in knowing more.

He told me more.

I took to waiting until I was home before I read his messages. Otherwise, my afternoon meetings got embarrassing.

He asked if I was into humiliation and I joked, 'Why would you want me to humiliate you?', and he went quiet on me for a couple of days.

It felt like a power play, but when he next got in touch he apologised and said he'd been out of 4G range for days. He was extra horny after that.

Hey Jax, I just spent three days working on a diesel generator next to a barn where they were milking cum out of bulls for artificial insemination. Can't imagine why, but I thought of you. :-P

We have to meet soon, before I literally bust a nut. Speaking of busting a nut, my truck's blown the head gasket and I won't have transport for another week while it's being repaired. But I need to see you. We need to make this happen. I've been dreaming about fucking you every night. You just look and sound so hot. I want to see you on your knees, feel your mouth on my hard dick and watch you swallow my cum. And I make so much cum. You'll be drinking from dusk till dawn.

I'll admit, I masturbated to this before I read the rest of the email.

I had to grab some tissues and wipe the mess off my stomach before I carried on reading.

Can you drive up this week? The other guy that shares the place with me will be away on Thursday night and I'll have the cottage to myself. We can find out if we turn each other on as much in person as we do when we chat.

I really need to see you, Jax. You're all I can think about. You down on your knees, your hands tied behind your back, your mouth full of my cum.

My hands tied behind my back... yeah, I'd never agreed to that. But then, I had said I was curious about bondage, and as far as kink went that was pretty mild. Not something I was into personally, but I didn't mind that I was the focus of some good looking jock's fantasies. It was hot to think I turned him on that much, and he hadn't even met me.

I picked bits of tissue off my stomach as I carried on reading.

I know you said you only want to suck cock, and I'm cool with that. But if you want to go further, I'd love to turn you out and fuck that hot, out-of-bounds ass of yours. I know you'd love it. I know how to take you bi boys who won't take a cock, and fuck you till you're begging for more.

That made me nervous. He knew my policy with men was suck-and-be-sucked only, or, if he really wanted it, I didn't mind fucking him. But there was no way I was taking his huge cock in my arse. His huge, veiny, smooth cock.

At this point, I had to pause and masturbate again. I was starting to get sore by the time I read on.

Anyway, I'll be in range tomorrow sometime during the day, so let me know what you want to do.

He gave me his address and directions on how to find the cottage once I was off the main road, and signed off Deacon.

So that's how I found myself driving out into the middle of nowhere, the Thursday before last.

It was about half six by the time I got off work, showered and dressed up in my Hot Topic best, and started the hour's drive into the countryside.

It got cold early, and I had the heater blasting and the stereo cranked. The covers band I sang with wanted me to learn half a dozen Aussie songs, since I hadn't grown up with them, so I was listening to Cold Chisel, Aussie Crawl, INXS and Icehouse on repeat.

The sun was setting as I got close to the farm where Deacon was staying, and I found myself driving down a rural road lined with gum trees and hedges, with wire fences running along either side. The houses were all set back a good K or two from the road, the access via concrete drive entrances and wooden gates every couple of kilometers.

There were no road markings or streetlights, but while the road was only just wide enough to squeeze two cars, a full moon was rising, and the road was relatively straight, so I felt happy gunning the motor.

So I was fanging it along this dark country road, singing along with some Aussie hit with a catchy chorus, when all of a sudden something white sprang out of the trees and bounded across the road. I slammed on the brakes, while the goat (I think it was a goat; maybe a tall sheep), cleared the fence and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the road.

The Civic came to a stop with its arse in the middle of the road and its nose on the dirt shoulder. And then, I shit you not, five seconds later the lights of a fucking semi-trailer were bearing down on me.

I barely had time to spin the wheel and gun the accelerator, before the truck drew even with me, veering towards the shoulder on the other side of the road with its horn blasting.

A rumble travelled up through the car as the truck hit the dirt verge and then righted itself and carried on.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I pulled the car onto the gravel and sat there for a second, processing how close I'd come to being compacted. The truck had come out of nowhere. The goat, or whatever it was, must have drawn my attention away from a bend up ahead.

I checked my phone's GPS. The place I was looking for wasn't much further, just a couple of kilometers up the road, so I floored the car again, pumped with adrenaline, keen to get to Deacon's as quickly as possible.

But as I pulled onto the metal road that led up to the house, something about the car didn't feel right. And by the time I turned off the main farmhouse driveway onto the rutted track that led to the cottage, it was obvious I had a flat.

I pulled up next to a small building built from stone. Despite the age of the place, the tin roof was shiny, and the brick chimney running up the outside was a lighter colour than the coal storage bin next to it, indicating it'd been replaced. At the far corner of the house I could see the corrugated steel curve of a water tank, shining in the moonlight.

There was a pile of firewood in the carport, and a hatchet lodged in a stump that suggested someone had been chopping kindling, and smoke was rising from the chimney.

I checked my phone. Just on half seven. Aaand he was right—there was no reception out here.

I turned off the engine and sat in the car for a moment, wondering what the fuck I was doing, meeting a stranger out in the middle of nowhere. The only conclusion I could come to, was that I was mentally impaired, possibly from being so incredibly horny all the time.

I flicked to the photo I'd saved of Deacon on my phone, taking one last look at the fantasy before I met the real thing, and tried to prepare myself for disappointment.

As I got out of the car, there was a noticeable list to the right. I switched my phone's screen on and shone it down at the right front wheel. Definitely going flat. I checked the right rear wheel. Same thing. I crouched and shone my phone over the tyre and found a couple of ragged puncture holes. Not good. I had a spare tyre in the boot, but not two. I'd need to get a tow.

And then the door opened. "Jaxon?"

"Yeah, hi," I called back.

Deacon jogged down the front steps, and his shoes crunched gravel as he strolled towards the car. I couldn't see his face, as he was silhouetted against the security light, and felt a stab of nervousness.

But as he got close, I could see he was everything his pictures had promised. The nervousness turned to anticipation. He was even better looking in person than in his photos. I guess he'd made an effort for our first date, if you could call it that. I wanted it to be more than a hookup.

"Everything alright?" he asked, and his voice sent a nice little thrill through me. He reminded me of a theatre student I'd had a thing for when I was at university.

As sexy as he was, I couldn't help glancing down at his bulge. Even in the dark, I could see he was packing a massive weapon in his jeans. I dragged my gaze back to his face and he grinned as if to say, Yeah, I know. That look in his eyes made me want to drop to my knees right there. Tear his jeans open and suck him right there on the gravel, in the dust.

"Hey Jax, thanks for coming all the way out here."

He held out his hand and I shook it. "Nah, come here." He laughed and pulled me in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and gave me a pat on the back.

He smelled like wood smoke, and there was a faint hint of cologne on his collar. I realised I recognised it.

"Fierce," I said.

"What?"

"You're wearing Fierce," I said. "Abercrombie used to spray it on the clothes in their stores. We bought a jacket there once..."

I realised this was a bad time to be leading with stories about my ex, and shut up.

"You like it then?"

He hugged me tight against him with one arm while his other hand slipped down to squeeze me through my skinny jeans. God that felt good. It'd been too long since I'd last been pressed against another warm body. He nuzzled my neck and I turned into him for a quick kiss on the mouth, just a hint of tongue.

He squeezed me again. "Someone's a bit fucking turned on," he said, a grin in his voice.

"Maybe." I grinned back. I didn't want to admit how much, but at that moment he could have fucked me over the bonnet of the Civic in front of a CNN news crew, and I'd have agreed to it.

He let go of me and glanced down at my lopsided Civvie. "You got a flat?"

"Two," I said, distracted, still debating whether or not he'd be into me blowing him right there.

He nudged the front tyre with his foot. "Yeah, that's not good."

"The back's the same," I said. "Looks like I ran over something. I got run off the road by a semi trailer, so probably something on the verge."

He winced. "Well that's fucking inconvenient. Sorry about that, mate."

"Not your fault."

Deacon leaned into me and pressed his lips against mine. I let my lips part, and his tongue slipped into my mouth. It was all those emails he'd sent me, and the way he walked like he had testicles the size of tennis balls, the way he smelled. All my natural self consciousness went out the window, and his hand squeezing me through my jeans had me horny as hell.

I grabbed the waist of his jeans and tried to yank them open while we kissed, and he caught my hands.

"Easy tiger, let's go inside. It's fucking freezing out here."

I honestly hadn't noticed, but now that he mentioned it, our breath was misting in front of our faces.

Inside the fire was lit, and the room felt cosy. I pulled off my jacket and Deacon hung it on the back of the door, then gestured for me to have a seat while he walked around the breakfast bar into the kitchen and fetched a bottle of Scotch and a couple of square crystal tumblers.

I dropped down on the couch and took a look around. It wasn't a big place. There were three doors off the lounge—I was guessing leading to a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom—and that was it.

Deacon handed me a tumbler of whiskey and I took a sip. It tasted like the good stuff, smoke, peat. Not what I'd expected from a guy living in a farming cottage all the way out here.

"Laphroaig?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yep. You can taste the smoke, can't you?"

"Tastes like a burning hospital," I joked, and he laughed.

He swilled the liquid in his glass. "So, look at you." He took a sip, savoring it on his tongue. "This goth thing's a good look for you. I wasn't sure, I mean, it looks a bit slutty in your pictures, but then... you pull off slutty so well."

I glanced down into my drink, my face burning in embarrassment. He'd asked me to dress like this. Otherwise, I'd have worn a shirt.

"How old are you?" he asked. "Out of curiosity."

"Twenty-eight," I lied. I'd just turned thirty, but any age with 'twenty' in it always sounded better to me. And what was a couple of years between friends? Besides, I never saw the sun—I could pull it off.

He grinned at my obvious discomfort. "You don't look a day over twenty-seven."

Fuck's sake. I shook my head and laughed down into my glass. He was killing me and he knew it.

He dropped down on the couch opposite me and I took a proper look at him.

He'd said on his profile that he was thirty-six, but if he was, he didn't look it. On top of sandy hair and green eyes, he had a healthy, tanned, muscular body.

He wasn't stocky, but you could see he loved his sports. It was in the tightness of his biceps and the tautness of his thighs. His t-shirt stretched tight across his pecs, with a few curls of light brown hair showing at the V of his neckline. I'd already checked out his arse. He had a great arse.

"So, this is me casa," he said, glancing around, encouraging me to do the same.

I stopped gawking at his body and took in the room properly. The couches we were sitting on were covered in brown velour and stacked with pale canvas cushions printed with monochrome images of wild animals. Roos and deer, rabbits and dingoes.

The coffee table looked as if it was made from wooden pallets, but sanded and finished to take it from junk to naked-wood chic. It had thick rusted iron rings screwed at regular intervals along all four sides which had a rope threaded through it, giving it a nautical effect. On the table were a couple of lit bowl-style candles that cast a gold-orange glow into the centre of the room.

The open fireplace was made from the same stone as the outside of the cottage, and there was firewood stacked up beside it in a raw-wood crate that matched the style of the coffee table.

Above the mantle hung an ornamental sword that looked like an antique fencing rapier.

A baseball bat and a rugby ball sat in one corner, along with a golf club. This guy really loved his sports.

The rest of the room was lined with bookshelves made from unpainted wood, with a lot of what looked like old science fiction books stacked there, and the odd ornament. I noticed a couple of photo frames and got up to take a closer look.

I could feel Deacon's eyes on me, checking me out as he sipped his drink and watched me look around.

I picked up a picture of him with his arm around a younger guy.

"This your ex?"

"My brother," he said. "Aaron. He was my best mate."

"Was?" I said.

"Family feud," said Deacon. "We don't talk anymore."

I didn't ask anymore about that. Too soon to pry into his family life. I picked up the other frame. "This your sister?"

He shook his head. "No, that's my ex."

The woman in the photo was very pretty. She had a heart-shaped face, and reddish brown hair that fell down past her shoulders. She was wearing a flowered sundress and was sipping a beer as she grinned into the camera. I could see the reflection of the phone taking the picture in her sunglasses.

"How long since you broke up?" I asked, getting that old familiar sinking feeling. Usually when a man had pictures of his 'ex' on his shelf, she was actually a wife who had no idea he fucked men on the side. I had no interest in being part of that.