The story is very long, but could I get general feedback?

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The story is very long, but could I get general feedback?

Unread postby onearm » Fri May 08, 2020 11:48 am

Mainly looking for critique of my writing, not the content. I made this for me, since I can never find stuff I like. Here's an almost complete excerpt of what I have so far. it's still a work in progress, and I'm a beginner writer. These are all imaginary characters in a world that I've come up with, and I like to imagine myself as the submissive male. anyways, here it is:

The soldiers that are holding your arms finally release you, into a small, dimly-lit room. The freedom was temporary though, as the stockier of the two soldiers catches your upper arm. you struggle in his grip, and he growls

“you better fucking behave, alright?”

“Fuck off” you yell, throwing a punch towards him.

your fist connects with his face beneath his balaclava, leaving a shooting pain in your wrist due to the force of the punch. This staggers him a bit, leaving an opening for you to line up another attack. Before you get very far, the second soldier sweeps your legs out from under you with the butt of his rifle and in an instant, there’s a boot on your chest pinning you to the floor.

“You thought you were gonna be tricky?” The soldier says as he increases the pressure on your chest, while the guy you had punched is standing, getting his bearings.

You look to your left and notice another person in the room, someone you didn’t see at first. A gaunt figure huddled under a grimy white blanket, leaning into the corner. He’s staring listlessly ahead of him, seemingly unaffected by the events around him, save for the occasional flinch. You shout to him.

“You! can you fucking he-”

The soldier stepping on you presses the stock of his rifle into your throat, sharply cutting you off. He looks back and asks:

“You got the lock? Be quick, this one’s a mess”

“Yeah one sec, little fucker hit me good” he replies, stepping closer.

You try to push him away as he approaches, but the soldier on top of you pushes hard on your ribcage, making it hard for you to draw a breath. You instinctively grab onto his boot, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. In this distracted moment, the second soldier kneels down and wraps the end of a chain around your neck and locks it in place. After a second, both the soldiers step back. You scramble to sit up and you see that the end of the chain is attached to some pipes running along the walls.

“Alright, you gonna be good with her now?” the first soldier asks, snapping your attention back to them.

“Yep.” the second one replies.

The second, stockier soldier advances towards you as the first one leaves the small room, closing the door behind him. You start to stand up, but he quickly steps on the chain, necking you short. He suddenly kneels into one of your legs, pinning you down. You start to fight back, but you suddenly feel the chain around your neck tighten and your hands shoot to your neck.

“S-shit… what do… you fu-fucking wa-nt?” you manage to choke out, your breathing turning into wheezes.

“What do I want? Haven’t you figured it out yet?” He says lightly.

The soldier reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cheap, folding pocket knife. He flicks it open, then looks at you intently.

“You’re gonna be good, alright? I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.” The soldier growls.

You move your arm to flip him off, and in an instant the point of the blade is under your chin, stabbing at your throat.

“You fuckin’ move and you’re dead.”

You slowly, very slowly move your arm down to your side. you relax briefly, and in response the soldier lowers the knife and loosens his grip on the chain.

“Good girl. I think you’re getting it now.” he says quietly.

You hate the way he talks to you.

He puts the hand that was holding the chain on your shoulder. He slowly moves his hand down towards your breasts, taking his time to feel your contours. He puts his knife on the ground near your right hip. He moves his hands to unbutton your shirt. You take this moment to snatch his knife, and with fury in your veins you strike out at him, successfully incising along his inner arm. He’s just fast enough to avoid a cut deep enough to be serious, and he stumbles back, out of the reach of your chain. You can tell he’s furious now.

“You want to fucking test me? I’m not playing anymore” He shouts, reaching down to his hip.

He pulls a pistol from his side, pointing it at you. You put the knife down and freeze. He comes up to you and straddles across your lap. He jabs the gun into your cheek.

“I won’t fucking hesitate, okay? I’m not bluffing” The soldier says, pushing the barrel against you.

With his free hand, he starts to unbutton your shirt. He gets to the bottom and slides it off of your shoulders. He tosses your shirt to the side and grins, looking at your chest. You feel his rough hands undo your bra and feel all over your torso, taking in all your shapes and contours.

You look to the side and you catch the blanketed figure’s gaze for a second, but his eyes quickly flick downwards. Your attention is pulled forwards when you feel the soldier unbuttoning your pants. This causes you to start struggling a bit, and with that the soldier hits you in the head with the butt of his pistol, hard. The pain causes you to see stars for a second. He unzips your pants and shoves his free hand down into your crotch. You draw air as he shoves a finger inside of you.

You wince in pain as he pushes another two fingers inside of you. you so badly want to struggle, but the pistol held to your head is a stark reminder to hold still. The soldier pulls his hand from your pants and smells his fingers.

“You’re learning, good. I’ll go easy on you today. If you suck me off, I’ll spare your… other parts for now.” He says, undoing the button fly on his pants.

“Oh fuck you” You say, but as you’re looking up at him, he roughly grabs your hair and pushes your face against his groin.

He puts the barrel of his pistol against the top of your head.

“Start sucking”

You begrudgingly open your mouth, and he shoves his cock into you, nearing your throat. You gag a bit at this.

“If I feel any teeth you’re dead.”

You can feel tears streaking down your face. Your nose hurts as he pushes himself into you, thrusting over and over. After a couple minutes of this, he slows his rate down, finishing up.

He pushes you back, seemingly satisfied. You’re coughing and on the verge of tears. He puts himself away and buttons his pants back up.

“get used to it,” the soldier says, grabbing your spare clothing off the ground, “And you’re gonna have to earn these back.”

The soldier leaves the room and shuts the door behind him. You’re sobbing on the cold concrete. You feel violated. You feel used. You feel angry. Still sobbing, you turn to the other person in the room. You’re holding your chest in an attempt to cover yourself. You begin to shout at the person between sobs.

“Why didn’t you do anything? You just sat there idly while they fucking… ah shit...”

At first the person seemed at least somewhat engaged in what you were saying, but once you raised your voice, he lapsed back into staring into nothing, leaning into the wall. You’re thinking to yourself about the severity of your situation and it feels so hopeless.

It’s been a while now and you’ve calmed down a bit. You’re curled up on the ground, facing the corner. From behind you is the sound of chains moving, so you look back. The figure in the room with you is offering you his blanket.

You stare for a second, as you were surprised to see that he’s missing the majority of his left arm, only left with a stump a couple inches shorter than where the elbow would be. He’s in a similar state of undress as you are, except for an old pair of boxers, and that’s allowing you to see what looks like large burn scars along his side and parts of his back. There’s also much, much fresher injuries spotted along his torso. Upon seeing the bruises along his ribs, you understand why he kept his profile low earlier.

“Th-thanks” you say, with your voice wavering.

You grab the blanket from him. it’s filthy. But at least it’s something. You wrap it over your shoulders as a way to cover yourself. You take a deep shaky breath. You feel like you’ve calmed down enough to talk.

“What is this? Why me?” You ask.

No reply. You’re instead met with a sympathetic, if a bit confused look on his face.

“Can you talk? Are you allowed to?” You’re starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with him.

His eyes meet yours, and linger for a minute. It looks like he’s wanting to tell you something. He opens his mouth, and says a quiet sentence in… Czech?... no, Russian. You can’t understand, but it sounds apologetic. That explains it. You can’t imagine being in this scenario without being able to understand anything.

You slump back towards the wall. You’ve got a feeling that this is gonna be a long, long day.

You weren’t able to sleep much in the hours that were uninterrupted, but the other person in the room with you seemed to be comfortable, or as comfortable as you could be on a concrete floor. He frequently stirred, but you could tell that he’s been here a while, by the way he was able to find rest in a place like this. The door to the boiler room opens, and a soldier walks in. It’s one you don’t recognize from earlier, seems a bit younger. He’s holding a small parcel.

“What the fuck! Can I get any answers?!” You shout.

the soldier recoils, and seems a bit shaken by this, then stumbles over his words.

“I-eh-I don’t have a-any answers. I-”

“Why am I here? Why is he here?” You reach the end of the chain around your neck, holding the blanket up around you with one hand.

The soldier takes a step back towards the open doorway.

“I’m sorry, I uh, I just feed the prisoners. I’m sorry” He says, holding out the roughly postcard-sized parcel.

You look at him for a moment, not sure of what to do. you aggressively take the parcel and flip him off. You hear him apologize once more as he walks out the door and closes it behind him, not daring to look back.

You sit down, and place the parcel on the ground. The amputee in the room with you scoots towards the middle of the room, closer to the end of his chain. You move closer to him, and tear the paper holding the parcel shut. you unwrap two pieces of rye bread, one of which is the heel.

“Which do you want?” You ask, forgetting the language barrier. He does nothing except stare.

You take the heel, figuring you’d give the better half to him. He takes it and eats it slowly, savoring each piece. After a moment of sitting wordlessly, you ask,

“What’s your name? What do I call you?” No response, as expected. You try again

“My name,” you gesture to yourself “is Dace.” You then gesture to him. “what do I call you?”

“...Kirill” he says, with the word surrounded by bits of stuff you don’t understand.

You and him sit in silence, not sure where to go after that. You never realized how hard it was to absolve awkwardness without conversation. You draw the blanket tighter around you, still not used to the relative vulnerability in this state of undress. Once again, the reality of your situation dawns on you, and you can’t help but cry. Kirill goes back towards his corner, and leans back up against the wall, same as the day before. You’re not liking this new regular.

As you sit there sniffling, you begin to listen to all the sounds emitted from the furnace and machinery around you. It’s quiet. when the furnace kicks off and the fan ceases to hum, you can hear Kirill’s breathing from the corner, or the dozens of boot steps upstairs. You’re bored. Really bored. Time doesn’t seem like a factor here, there’s no windows, only concrete walls. On occasion, there’ll be a set of footsteps heading down the hall, but they fade as steadily as they appeared. As you listen, another set of footsteps go through the hall, but this time, they stop by the door. The lock on the blast door clicks, and the mechanism squeals open. You wearily look up at the person standing in the doorway, it’s the stockier soldier from yesterday.

“Get up.” He says, pulling a drag from his cigarette.

You stand, feeling the rage and fear start to well in your chest.

“Drop the blanket. You didn’t earn it.”

This time you don’t comply, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of holding power.

“Did he give you that?” The soldier asks, pointing towards Kirill.

Even though it was a rhetorical question, you answer.

“Only because unionard pigs like you can’t even give me the decency of-” You get cut off before you could finish your sentence.

The soldier had grabbed the chain around your neck, right under your throat. He rips the blanket away from you, leaving you fully exposed. Your face is right close to his, and there’s a moment of stillness. He begins to speak, but you respond by kneeing him in the crotch, which makes him recoil. The cigarette drops from his mouth.

His grip on the chain loosens, but you fall with him, the chain still hooked around his fingers. He’s able to recover faster than you, and that results in him kicking you down, now held face-down against the floor with a boot in your back.

“You really haven’t figured it out, have you? Put your hands behind your back.”

“Fuck off” you spit

“I don’t have the time to deal with this right now” The soldier says, unholstering his pistol.

He rattles with something else on his belt, something you can’t see from your current angle.

He begins, “I’m gonna count to three, and if I get to three, you’re dead. Alright?”

You say nothing.


You lay still, his cigarette smoldering near your face.

“Two” he says, cocking his pistol.

You tense, but make no moves.

“Thr-” You cut him off by quickly placing your hands behind your back.

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “Fucking bitch...”

He places a pair of handcuffs around your wrists and ratchets them tight. He steps off your back and lets you orient yourself, but he stays out of your chain-given range. He kicks the blanket out of your reach as well.

“You made the wrong decision, with that” the soldier says, gesturing at the blanket. “you didn’t earn it, you used it anyways. You know what that gets you?”

He doesn’t give you time to respond as he walks over to Kirill. He scoots away from the soldier, but ultimately is cornered. The soldier crouches down on one knee and grabs a fistful of the russian’s hair.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” He asks, tilting Kirill’s head up to face him.

As you expected, Kirill doesn’t respond. His wide eyes just flick around, scanning the soldier’s face.

“You see that? He doesn’t even know what he did. And he’s going to get it because you accepted that”

The soldier stands up, pulling Kirill with him. They both stand, and you’re surprised to see that Kirill is a little taller than the soldier, as he seemed small enough when he was curled up in the corner. However, the soldier is much stronger than he is, so any protest is dealt with quickly. The soldier wraps the chain around a pipe and pulls it tight, so Kirill has to stand up on his toes. Any lower and his airway would be choked off. As the chain is being secured, he starts to pull at the chain around his neck, since even when he’s on his toes, he struggles to breathe.

The soldier steps back. Kirill’s breaths are ragged, peppered with the occasional light cough. His arm is up, his hand trying to pull slack into the chain. He’s struggling to stay up high enough to breathe, and he’s toppling around a bit. Small steps to try and catch balance. The soldier goes to retrieve his cigarette, crouching near you.

“You see that? you’re not just hurting yourself by misbehaving.” he says, pulling from his cigarette.

“What the hell? Why would you do that?” You shout

“To teach you something. You screwed it up for him, but I’ll give you a chance to fix it. But first, I’ve got to put this on his records.”

The soldier stands and walks over to Kirill, who is currently gulping for breath and struggling to stand tall enough. the soldier stands in front of him and grabs Kirill’s stump arm, and pushes his back into the wall with his forearm across Kirill’s chest. Something changed in Kirill’s demeanor. you could tell that he knew exactly what was coming next, and that he hated it. He wasn’t just going along with things, he was definitely struggling here.

The soldier took the cigarette out of his mouth, and tightens his grip on Kirill’s arm. He puts the cigarette out on the end of the stump, grinding it down. Kirill curses and chokes while trying to squirm out of the grip as much as the short chain allowed him, but fails.

The soldier lets go of him, and reflexively Kirill tries to stand back on his heels, to relax a second after that, but when his air is cut off, he strains to stand back up on his tip-toes. He’s audibly coughing and gagging. Looking at the end of his arm, you see about a dozen more small, roughly circular burn scars, presumably more cigarette marks.

“You want to make it up now?” The soldier asks, turning towards you.

“What are you gonna make me do? Fuck you?” You ask, and as much as you’d hate it, you just want Kirill to be able to breathe again.

“Hah. I appreciate the gesture, but there’s plenty of time for that. You’re gonna make it up to him.” He says, gesturing to Kirill.

“To him…?”

The soldier ignores you, and walks over to the end of your chain, and rattling a set of keys off his belt, he unlocks the lock holding your chain to the wall. You realize how immense of an opportunity this is, and if in the off-chance the door is unlocked, this might be your ticket to freedom, as slight as it might be. You stand as quickly as you can, and dart towards the door. You try and open the door quickly, but your force goes nowhere. your shoulder painfully hits the door, as your hands are still tightly bound around your back. You look back and see that the soldier had stepped on the end of your chain, and was quickly approaching you. His hand slams into the back of your head, pushing your cheek into the cold metal of the door.

“Oh you’re going to regret this later, trust me, you’re damn lucky I’m short on time.” He growls.

He wraps the chain short around his hand, and pulls it back, forcing you to fall backwards. You struggle to your knees, and as the soldier walks towards the wall, you manage to move forwards along with him, half dragging behind. He pulls you to kneel in front of Kirill.

“You know what to do.” He says, pulling your face right into Kirill’s crotch.

“What? You psycho, you can’t make me-” You begin, your face getting pushed even closer to Kirill’s scrawny pelvis. You can feel his cock on your cheek. You try and fight back but you struggle with your hands locked behind your back.

“You want me to let him down, don’t you?” the soldier asks.

You look up at Kirill, whose face is noticeably red as he struggles to breathe. He looks down at you, his brown eyes watery. You and him share eye contact, and you feel so much pity for the poor man standing in front of you.

“I am so fucking sorry” You say, and position your face to use your nose and nudge down his boxers.

He tries to squirm away from you, but to no avail, as he’s got no slack.

You continue to apologize as you take his average length into your mouth. You bob your head around a bit, trying to appear to do a satisfactory job, just to get it over with quicker. His length had hardened just a little, and you look up at him, and you see he is no longer clawing at the chain, and instead is ducking into his elbow, hiding his face. In between coughs and ragged breaths, you can hear quiet sobs.

After a few minutes of this with no progress, the soldier deems you close to finishing, and pushes your nose into Kirill’s hips, forcing his cock down your throat, choking you. You try to pull back and catch a breath, but the soldier’s hand keeps your head tightly against him.

“This is how he fucking feels right now, because of you.” The soldier says as you gasp for breath, your airway painfully blocked.

He holds you there for much longer than you’re able to hold your breath, so you start to struggle immensely. Kirill’s member fills your throat, forcing you to gasp and choke. After what feels like an eternity, you’re released. You recoil, gasping for air.

“I am so goddamn sorry. I am so fucking sorry man” You say, even though you know it’s falling upon unknowing ears. You’re dragged back to your spot, and chained back in place. You’re complacent this time as you just want to be left alone.

The soldier begins to walk away, without paying any mind to Kirill, whose strength is drained, and is mostly just standing as flat-footed as possible, barely even breathing, and his boxers around one ankle, as his struggling had kicked free the other.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to help him?” You ask, feeling cheated.

The soldier leaves the room, without answering. He leaves the door open.

He walks back in the room after a moment, this time holding a different set of keys and something made of fabric. He walks over to Kirill and unlocks the end of the chain that’s around the pipe, and he immediately falls to the floor. The soldier drops the fabric and locks the chain lower, to its prior position, then leaves the room. Kirill is gasping and coughing, drawing air into his starved lungs. He’s curled up now, hiding his face in his elbow. You see him shuddering a bit, as if he’s holding back tears.

After he’s recovered a bit, he pulls his boxers up and picks up the fabric, which is revealed to be a faded black t-shirt. He pulls it on over his head, and leans back into the wall, avoiding your glance. You wish that you two shared a language. You wanted to apologize proper. You just wanted him to be able to breathe.

“Hey” You say softly.

He sits up and grimaces, as if he’s going to cry again, and starts on a long, rambling sentence. You don’t understand a word of it, although it sounds awfully… apologetic? Maybe that’s not the right word, you decide. It's definitely sorrowful. He stops, and stares at you, expectantly. After a moment his shoulders slump, and his face twists back into a grimace, and he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. You can tell he’s trying hard to keep himself composed.

“I-I really don’t know what to say… I don’t want to hurt you more… I am so goddamn sorry. You get it though, right? You understand what kind of sick fucks they are, right?” You say, not really expecting a reply.

Again he just responds with a stare, and leans back into the wall, and as he does so, he mutters something, and gestures to his shirt. You’re not sure what he’s trying to say, but you realize that even though there’s the barrier between you two, it’s nice to be able to have someone to talk to, in such a lonely place like this. You can’t imagine how dull everything must have been for him before you got here. Even though you’ve only been here roughly two days, life’s been terrible. You’re so thankful for the moments of comraderie you’ve had with Kirill. It's such a shame that you’re not able to hold a conversation proper.

As you ponder this, you realize that there’s no way that he’s a prisoner of war like you are, as the militia is purely Latvian. Was he just some civilian that was abducted to play along with their sick games? As you realize this, it makes you hate the fucking union even more. You’re not sure how, but you promise yourself that you’re gonna break out of here, and take Kirill with you.

You think about how much you miss your girlfriend, and you wonder if she made it out of the raid, or if she’s ended up like you… or worse. Just thinking about her, and thinking about this situation wells tears to your eyes. You don’t like crying, especially here. It just makes you feel all the more powerless.

A bit later, you start to hear a set of footsteps from down the hall, outside of the boiler room. You hope to god that they’re not heading for this room. You wipe the tears from your eyes. Shit, they stop right outside and you can hear two voices this time. You recognize one, and thankfully it’s of the one younger soldier, the one who delivered the food.

“...Yeah it’s fucked up. Nothin’ I can do about though, not unless I want to get my ass beat… You’ll want to watch for the one that’s new here though, the girl.” You hear him say.

“Oh the girl’s the new one? From what you were describing earlier I assumed… Uh, you know” The second, unfamiliar voice responds.

“Yeah well… Krievs has got some eh… unique tastes, I guess. Not like I’m gonna make fun of *him* for it. Anyways, watch out, I’m opening the door” The first soldier says, and the lock to the door clicks, then the mechanism opens.

You sit back this time,leaning against the wall. The soldier from earlier is there, along with what seems to be a friend of his. You let him approach, getting into range of your chain. You wish you could lunge at him, grab him and get some answers, but you’ve still got your hands locked tightly behind your back. He crouches down in front of you. He sees you tense angrily.

“Hey hey hey, seriously, I want to make this easier for you.” He glances around, and waves behind him. “Close the door, will you?” he says to his friend.

He closes the door, then leans against the frame. He seems to be a bit put off by what he’s seeing, and is staring.

“Why just me? How long has he been here?” You ask, gesturing to the corner.

“What? I eh, I’m not sure. I’ve only had this job ‘bout a month and I uh-” You cut him off. You were trying to contain your rage you had towards this faction full of psychopaths, but you couldn’t.

“A month? Two fuckin’ days have felt like hell! And what do you mean you want to make it easy for me? You gonna be a freak like the others?” You ask.

“What? No look, here.” He opens the cargo pocket on his olive bdu’s and pulls out a tupperware. It looks like it’s got some sort of stew in it. “I brought you some food. They weren’t gonna send any over this afternoon.”

You look at him, unimpressed.

“And what? You’re just gonna feed me?” You make a gesture to draw attention to the fact that your hands are still bound. “As if it’s any more dignified than all the other shit”

“Look, do you want it or not? It’s still warm.” He says, running out of patience.

“Give it to him.” You tilt your head towards Kirill.

“Hey uh Larkland, I think there’s someone coming.” The second soldier in the room interrupts.

“Shit really? Fuck. here.” The first soldier (Larkland?) pushes the tupperware towards you and stands.

They both exit quickly, slamming the door shut behind them. A moment later, you pick up footsteps in the hallway. You realize that if the blanket caused that much trouble, you really didn’t want to get caught with all that. You kick the closed tupperware towards the far wall, hoping that it wouldn’t be noticed, in case it was the same bastard from last time.

The door opens. It’s a soldier that you’re not sure if you recognize or not. Maybe he was there the first day? You’re not sure. He’s pretty tall, definitely as tall as Kirill. He’s absolutely muscular, but not beefy. He doesn’t pay you much mind, sends a glance over towards you but that’s it. He looms over Kirill, who’s still huddling in his corner.

“Hey. Get up.” The soldier says with a smooth voice.

Kirill stands up, trying to avoid eye contact with the man in front of him. The soldier hands him something made of a heavy fabric, maybe canvas? It’s not very big, and it’s got some straps and buckles to it. Kirill looks weary but he takes it. The soldier turns towards you. He walks up to you, and without saying a word, he reaches out to feel you. You twist away

“What the fuck are you doing” You blurt out.

The soldier immediately slaps you across the face. Hard. You fall onto your back. He advances closer to you, not really leaving you room to sit up.

“The only thing I hate more than a whore with a cunt is a whore that can talk. Got it?” He snarls.

“Fuck you. I’ll say what I want” You reply.

The soldier sighs and under his breath you hear “Cannot believe they brought literally the most…” He looks back towards you. “You’re a militia piece of shit, aren’t you? Is that why they got you?”

Before you can answer, not like you’d say anything helpful, he feels your chest, pushing you onto the ground. He roughly runs his hands around your contours, moving down your body towards your crotch. You start to squirm away. He pushes you down harder, and you start kicking your legs. One kick lands squarely onto his face, not as hard as you would have liked. He recoils a bit, but not much.

“God I hate you.” The soldier pulls out his pistol. “You really like playing the hard way, don’t you?”

You catch a name scrawled on the bottom of the magazine in his pistol, “Krievs”. This must be the guy they were talking about earlier… The details seem to line up. His fingers brush over your snatch, but he doesn’t go any further. He wipes his hand on his pants.


Your eyes flick over to the corner, where you see Kirill standing, shirtless. In its place, is some sort of sleeve that goes over the end of his stump arm, and wraps around his torso to buckle under the opposite armpit. Attached on the end of the sleeve was a metal D-ring. Krievs follows your gaze, over his shoulder.

“Good. I’m done with you anyways.” He says, holstering his pistol and standing up.

You say nothing, not sure what to do. He walks up to Kirill, and checks the tightness of the strap. Kirill flinches away from his touch, as if he was gonna get hit. Krievs points towards his boxers.

“What’re you doing there?”

Kirill mumbles something in Russian, seemingly used to this routine.

“Oh prodolzhi prodolzhi! Oh ne cevodna!” Krievs mocks him. “Fucking do it.” He forcefully points downwards again and Kirill flinches.

Kirill tentatively bends over and removes his underwear, then glances towards you, as if to check if you were watching. Upon making eye contact he covers himself with his hand. Krievs chuckles at this. He rubs himself up against Kirill’s body, and he grabs his only wrist and pushes it back, further securing him against the wall.
“Fuck, it’s been too long, huh?” Krievs says. No reply from the other party.

Krievs pulls himself away from Kirill’s naked form, and his eyes graze his body. There’s an obvious bulge in his pants.

“Who marked you up?” His fingers tenderly draw across the bruises on Kirill’s neck, in a disgusting act of mock love. His movements are contrasted by how tense Kirill is. He’s standing stiff, his eyes following Krievs’s fingers.

Krievs momentarily rests his hand on Kirill’s shoulder, and slowly turns him around. After a moment of Kirill standing tensely, he roughly pushes him into the wall. Kirill quickly moves his arm behind him, used to this routine. Krievs grabs a pair of handcuffs from his belt, and connects one cuff to the D-ring on the end of Kirill’s stump. He grabs Kirill’s wrist and brings it up into a lopsided, almost reverse-prayer pose, locking his wrist into the other side of the handcuffs. He lets go of him, enjoying the view. Kirill’s looking down towards the ground, avoiding looking at you.

Krievs pulls on the chain, making Kirill first step backwards, then lean back into his chest. You can’t help but look up at his face, and you’re kind of surprised that there’s not more emotion there, he just looks resigned. You hate that he’s been subjected to this long enough to not even react to being physically violated like that. Krievs continues to feel up the Russian, much too sensually and almost… loving. It’s sickening.

Krievs reaches down, and firmly grabs Kirill’s cock. He recoils at this touch, but it just results in him leaning closer to Krievs’s chest. Krievs is grinding against him, with this chin on Kirill’s shoulder. He suddenly turns and pushes Kirill down, onto the concrete. The movement was quick, and takes him off guard. He’s not able to catch himself, and lands mostly face-first. He cusses slightly at the impact, then rolls onto his back, curling up in pain. There’s blood actively running down his face from his nose. it was definitely hit hard.

“Ah ah ah. You know what you’re supposed to do.” Krievs coos, gently guiding Kirill back onto his stomach.

Kirill has his head tilted to one side, cheek against the ground. He’s facing away from you, but you can see a little blood smeared on the ground. Krievs undoes his belt, then unbuttons his fly. He fishes out his sizable member, and positions his hand on Kirill’s hips, pulling them upwards. There’s no protest from the Russian. You hate how complacent he’s been conditioned to be in all this.

You want to look away, but you just can’t. Krievs lines himself up, and pushes himself up against Kirill. It takes a moment for his girth to fit in, but once it does, he doesn’t take his time, and sinks himself balls-deep in the first thrust. You can tell Kirill wasn’t expecting this, as he gasps and tries to writhe away, but Krievs has an iron grip on his narrow frame. Krievs goes at it hard, and amid the slaps, you realize you can hear Kirill sniffling and occasionally gasping in pain. Krievs lifts one hand from Kirill’s hips, and still moving, just slower, he unbuttons his shirt. After a bit, the thrusts slow down, and Krievs leans down against Kirill, his bare chest against Kirill’s back, then holds himself there. He allows Kirill to slump down, fully lying against the concrete floor.

Krievs eventually pulls himself out, and kneels behind Kirill. Kirill curls up, lying on his side again. Krievs gently guides Kirill to a sitting position. Kirill hangs his head, not moving much.

“Hey. Why are you crying? You were great. Tight as always.” Krievs says, gently holding Kirill’s bloodied face in his hands, caressing his cheek with his thumb.

After a moment, Krievs’s demeanor changes dramatically.

“Quit crying.” He firmly says. Kirill’s questioning eyes meets Krievs’s.

Krievs hits Kirill across the face, eliciting a sharp grunt from him.

“I’m done with you.” Krievs stands up, pulling up his pants, and he rebuckles his belt.

Krievs turns Kirill around, and removes the handcuff from his wrist. He unbuckles the strap holding the sleeve on, and removes it. He wordlessly leaves the room, locking the door behind him. Kirill lightly touches his nose, wincing slightly. Thankfully the blood had stopped, but it had been smeared over his face and down his chest. Avoiding your gaze, he collects his clothing and pulls it back on. His eyes look bright compared to the darker dried blood around them. As he leans back into his corner, curled up, you swear that you’re gonna kill the sick bastard that did this to him.

Kirill’s pulled his shirt up over his head, covering his face. He’s crying underneath. Not wanting to stare, you draw your gaze away from him, sweeping it across the room. You spot the forgotten tupperware of stew in the corner. You scoot towards it, and it’s just in reach. You manage to kick it closer, and you push it towards the middle of the room. You hope it’s not too cold by now.

“Kirill. Hey.” You say.

He inhales deeply, and looks up, pulling his shirt from his face, wincing as it slides over his nose. His eyes are red from crying. He scoots towards you, but is hesitant to take it. He sits cross-legged in the middle of the room.You nod it towards him. He eventually takes it, and looks at you, making eye contact.

He says some short words you don’t understand, but it sounds thankful, then pauses, “...Dace”.

He remembered your name. You smile, and for the first time, he cracks a genuine crooked smile back. It’s slight, but it is refreshing to see after all that. Makes you feel hopeful that he’s not completely broken. He turns his attention back to the small clear container, and sets it on the ground. He pushes down, struggling to have the bottom grip the floor enough for him to unscrew the top.

When this doesn’t work, he moves it to his bare thigh. He’s able to make the bottom catch enough grip here, and the top loosens. He sets the lid down and brings the container up to his face and smells it. When he brings it up to his lips, he eats quickly. you guess it’s probably the most food he’s had at a time for a while.

He leaves some left, and offers you the rest. You gesture to again draw attention to the fact that your hands are cuffed. He frowns, unsatisfied with that. He pours some onto the lid, to where it would be easier for you to lean over and eat from it yourself. He sets it down closer to you. You’re really hungry, and as much as part of you really wants to stay adamant, to try and preserve some dignity, but you figure you’re already naked, chained up, and tossed in some concrete room, so how much lower can you get?

When you move closer to accept it, Kirill scoots further away, and faces away from you. It’s interesting what shreds of dignity are preserved between you two. You appreciate it nonetheless. Just eating makes you realize how hungry you really are. The stew is sub-par, with some overcooked chunks of mystery meat and potato, but it sure beats a single slice of bread. Some selfish part of you wishes you just took it all for yourself, but you quickly push that thought down.

Once you’re done, you sit up. You wish your arms were free. You want to scour your corner for something, a small rock or piece of wire, just something you could scratch the floor with. See if Kirill knew tic-tac-toe, or any of the small unnamed pen-and-paper games you knew. You decided next time you’ll be a little more complacent, earn yourself some freedom. Then you’ll be able to hopefully interact with Kirill a little more.

“Kirill” You say, drawing his attention back to you. He turns around.

You nod towards the empty tupperware. He looks down at it, then pushes it towards you. You move and awkwardly kick the lid of the container towards the door, successfully landing it to where when the door open, it’ll hopefully be pushed aside. After a second, you look at the larger side of the tupperware and look up at him. He catches on to what you’re trying to tell him more quickly than you were expecting, and he pushes the container across the floor, landing it closer to the hinges than you were able.

There’s awkwardness between you two, and you’re not sure of how to resolve it. Eventually he ends up scooting back to his corner, just like normal. After a little while, you follow suit. You and him sit in silence for a while. You again focus on the sounds of the furnace, and you’re glad that at least you’re somewhere warm. The boiler room is better than some room in the perimeter of the building, you guess.

Kirill interrupts the silence with a single word, and leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes. You realize it’s been a long fucking day, so you soon follow suit. As your thoughts wander as you fall asleep, you realize what he said earlier was probably ‘goodnight’ or something equivalent. it makes you happy to think that. The lull of the building sends you to sleep.

You wake up naturally, and it feels later in the day. But for all you know, it could be the middle of the night. You look over at Kirill to see if he’s awake yet, but you can’t really tell. He’s still, but maybe just staring down towards the floor. You chance it.

“Good morning.” You say, not too loudly in case he was still sleeping.

He lifts his head, and after a moment of silence, he responds.

You decide to try and mimic him. “Dohbree oochro” You say.

You think you see just the faintest hint of a smile on his unfortunately still-bloody lips. He corrects you,

“Do-bro-ye. U-tra.” He clearly enunciated.

You try again. “Dobroyeh utrah”

He flashes a smile, just barely more visible than before. Even though it’s positive, he seems to be afraid to fully emote. He seems to be satisfied with your pronunciation.

“Your turn.” You say. “Good morning”

“Goo’d myorn... ink” He says, struggling with the last syllable.

“Good. Mor-n-ing” You draw it out a bit excessively, but you stress the ‘ing’ ending.

“Good Mor’nin-g” He says, doing much better this time, but still adding a bit too much stress onto the G.

But it’s understandable, so you give him a thumbs-up. You can see him mouthing the syllables to himself, trying to devote it to memory. You realize you’d better do the same, make sure you remember it.

As you’re both sitting silent in your corners, the door opens. It’s another soldier that you don’t recognize. You figure you don’t need to bother remembering him, they’re all gonna treat you the same anyways. He enters holding an armful of clothing. You notice that your plan with the tupperware worked, as the parts are now behind the door. He wordlessly drops the clothing between you two. You wonder if he’s not talking since he assumes you’re Russian as well, or if that’s just how he is. Intrigued, you decide to keep up the illusion that you’re not Latvian, just to see how you’re treated differently.

Kirill moves nervously towards the pile of clothing, keeping his eyes on the soldier, who had just lit up a cigarette. He stays as far away as possible. You realize he’s probably pretty skittish around cigarettes now, seeing what his… What did the guy call it? His records? You shake off the thought and scoot towards the pile. you can see Kirill’s sorted out a pair of pants, and some ratty socks.

After a bit of you just sitting there, not able to dress yourself because of the handcuffs, The soldier looks down at you.

“What the fuck is it… Oh.” He walks closer to you, and fumbles in his pocket. He pulls out a key.

He walks behind you and unlocks your cuffs, doing the task with familiar, cold, efficiency. You stretch out your arms and flex your wrists. God, it hurt to be restrained so long. You look through what’s left of the clothing on the ground. All that’s left is a long-sleeved button-up that’s a bit too big, a pair of pants, and a single sock. You dress yourself as best as you can, but leave the sock.

The soldier grabs your wrist, and re-attaches a cuff around it. Damn. You don’t fight this time, since you’re mainly just intrigued about what’s going on. Kirill seemed used to it. You catch yourself, as that honestly doesn’t mean much. At least this time your wrists are cuffed in front of you. And not drawn as tightly.

The soldier pulls out another key, this time you recognize it as the key, the one for the padlock that keeps the chain around your neck. Goddamn you want to try and lunge for it, but you start to think about what you would even do if you got it… couldn’t unlock it in time, probably.

No way of fighting off the soldier. But what if you were able to wrestle his gun from him… then take the key… Ah, but you don’t even know the layout of this place. Even in the best case scenario you’d only have a few rounds, and the initial shot for the soldier would cause all sorts of trouble… Fuck. You’ll get out some day, but it won’t be today.

The soldier had already unlocked Kirill, not even bothering to handcuff him. After all, you realize, how would he? You wonder if Kirill ever tried to bolt. If you were him right now, you definitely would. He’s completely unrestrained, the door’s cracked… he’s even fully clothed. You understand why he specifically wouldn’t though.

The soldier walks up to you and unlocks the chain from around your neck, letting it drop to the floor. You want to dart out the door, but you go through the scenarios you thought of earlier, and again are discouraged. The soldier manipulates his rifle so the sling holds it in front of him, to be more accessible. He points towards the door, and Kirill takes the lead, surprisingly. As he slowly walks towards the door, the soldier steps in front of him, opening it all the way. He lets you and Kirill pass though, and directs you to your right.

He leads you and kirill down relatively barren concrete hallways, narrow with some pipes. You’re definitely on the lowest floor. Still no windows. You wish you could see outside. It's depressing. Eventually, you three stop at the end of a hallway. to your left, it opens up into a larger room. directly in front of you is a small bathroom. The soldier steps to your side, and opens the door.

He catches your shoulder as you pass. He unlocks one side of your handcuffs, leaving your hands free. He releases you shortly after and pushes you into the room. It’s all tile, roughly 15 feet square. There’s a mirror, a sink with some basic supplies, a toilet, a showerhead in the corner, and a bar with some towels over it. The soldier closes the door behind you, leaving you and Kirill in there alone.

He immediately walked over towards the mirror, looking at his bloodied face. A lot of it had flaked off by now, but it stuck in more stiff areas. He takes off his shirt, and sets it down next to him. He also removes his socks, assumably to not get them wet later. He turns on the sink and waits a moment for the water to get warm. As he splashes water on his face, You walk over to examine the shower.

You’d really rather not undress in front of him, but what’s 5 minutes compared to the previous days. You’re just about to undress, but you realize you haven’t got any soap. You walk over towards Kirill. He sees you approach in the mirror, and steps to the side. The sink has splashes of watered-down blood in it, but he seems to have kept his mess to the basin of it, rather than the sides, keeping the supplies clean. You grab the bar of soap and retreat quickly, not wanting to bother him too much.

You walk back over to the shower and undress, then you step under the showerhead. You turn the handle, not exactly sure how it works. It’s only got one handle to pull. You pull it towards you and find out it’s only got one temperature setting. Fortunately, it’s not too cold, just about lukewarm. You begin to wash yourself. It feels nice to be able to take care of yourself for once. To wash the built-up grime off.

Once you deem yourself clean enough, You turn off the water. You walk over to grab a towel and pat yourself dry. You glance over to check what Kirill’s doing now, and he’s still occupied in the mirror. You find this a bit odd, but you suppose that maybe he was taking his time shaving. You drop your towel, and dress yourself again. It feels a bit dirty putting on those grimy clothes right after a shower.

You hang your towel back up, and walk over to the sink to replace the soap. As you start to move closer, you realize Kirill’s nose is bleeding again, and kind of quickly. He’s clutching near his face, with fresh blood spilt down his arm. You can see a deeper-looking scab on top of his nose, off to the side. It looks like he started to shave, but maybe bumped his nose in the process? his face is a bit patchy with lopsided stubble.

“Shit. That’s gotta be broke.” You instinctively say, forgetting the barrier.

He just looks at you, not sure what to do. You grab a towel and move it towards him, as an offer to help quell the bleeding. He suddenly flinches, as if you were moving to hit him. Some of the blood cupped in his hand spatters on the floor. He pauses for a second, still recoiled, but calms his breathing and slowly straightens himself back up.

“Woah-God I’m sorry. You’re okay” You tell him, immediately backing down and using small body language.

He says something you don’t understand, and looks sad. You again offer him the towel, this time much more slowly, and you don’t gesture out as far. He shakes his head at the offer, and points towards the door. You’re not exactly sure what he’s getting at, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want the towel. You would offer a piece of your clothing, or one of his socks off the ground, but if that got infected, he’d be screwed.

Would they even give him medical attention? You look down at the remainder of his one arm, scanning the twisted scar tissue as if searching for answers, and you feel sick wondering about when that happened. You hope for his sake it was before he got captured. You want to help him. He’s turned his attention back towards the sink, just seemingly waiting for the blood to stop by itself. You’re trying to think of what to do when the door suddenly opens. Kirill jumps a bit at this.

The soldier looks a little thrown-off when he sees the blood, But sighs and starts to gesture for you all to leave, not seeming to care that Kirill is actively bleeding.

“Please. Just give us five-” You start,

“Shut up.” He interrupts.

“Just let him shower quickly or something, Look at him.”

“No. Hurry up.” He reaches out towards your wrist, to grab the handcuffs dangling there.

You try to pull your hand out of the way but he catches the chain. You seriously consider fighting back and pushing your way past him, even the way he casually just had his rifle hanging around his body right now, right in front, no hands on it. But you resist. You really don’t want them to come to expect that of you, even though they probably already do.

You let him cuff your other hand, and you step out of the door when he instructs. Behind you, Kirill bends over to grab his shirt and socks off the floor. He follows you shortly behind. The soldier leads you back towards the room. On your way, you pass another soldier, and as he walks by, he makes a snide remark about the soldier leading you. All you catch is something along the lines of ‘still stuck taking Stumpy for walks’. He doesn’t respond to it. You reach the room, and the soldier follows you and Kirill in, shutting the door behind him. Kirill just immediately walks towards his corner and sits in the middle of the floor, holding his shirt to his nose.

The soldier turns towards you.

“Pick up your chain” He says.

You just barely start to open your mouth, but he interrupts you, “I didn’t tell you to talk. Just pick up your chain.”

You begrudgingly comply. You drag it over and hand it to him. He locks it around your neck, then unlocks your handcuffs. You’re not sure if that was a fluke, but you’re glad nonetheless. The soldier nearly forgets to lock Kirill back up, but catches himself and walks over to him. You think you’re starting to like this guy. You hope that if you cooperate well enough, he’ll slip up some day.

After he leaves, you turn your attention towards Kirill. You move towards him. It looks like he’s stopped the bleeding for the most part, but there’s still some coming.

“Can I see it?” You ask, reaching your hand towards the shirt he’s holding.

This time he lets you, and you gently remove the shirt, pausing as it unsticks slightly. Kirill winces as you do, but you eventually pull all the fabric away. Now that you’ve got a good look at it, you can tell that his nose is deformed just slightly. Seems like everything on this man is crooked. His grin, his stubble, his arms, and now his nose. You feel bad thinking it, but it’s almost endearing how pitiful he is. You wish you were better at first aid, all you know to do is keep the wound clean, but nothing for anything specific like this.

“Can you clean it more? That bump there?” You gesture around the main part that looks crooked, and he feels at it with his fingers.

He makes eye contact, but just looks unsure. You wish you could reassure him, but you’re pretty much just as unknowledgeable as he is.

You hand him back his shirt and sit back down. He lays his shirt out beside him, smoothing it out. A bit of blood trickles down his lip, and he sniffs to draw it back in. He looks down and touches it briefly, then looks at his fingers to verify it was blood. He wipes it on his shirt, to try and keep his pants clean.

You look over and notice a small piece of a broken metal U bracket sitting along the seam between the floor and the wall, caught under a pipe. Perfect. You reach over and grab it.

“Hey, Kirill” You say.

Between you two, you push the corner against the concrete, and scratch a tic-tac-toe board into the floor.

You put an X into one corner, and hand him the broken bracket. After a moment, he puts an O in the middle. So that’s how he is. He hands the metal back to you. After playing this game for a couple more turns, you and Kirill were at a tie. Even with an uneventful ending, the game was absolutely the highlight of this whole time you’ve been here. You’ve enjoyed bonding with Kirill, but the past day or so the contrast between what constitutes a good time here compared to when you were free is depressing.

You and him continue playing, game after game. The novelty pretty quickly wore out, and it got to where you and Kirill have quit putting thought into it, turning mindless.The game slows, and after Kirill had put his final mark in the cement, he moves his attention to the floor beside where all the scratched hash marks were, and starts scratching some lines into the ground. Curious, you watch him.

He scratches a crude, simple drawing of a landscape. Just a tree, a sun, and a horizon line. After drawing it, he lingers on the last line, then sets the metal down. You pick up the piece with intent to add some stick figures to the drawing, but you’re interrupted by the door opening. It’s Krievs. He sees Kirill and frowns.

“You’re filthy.” He says, “Get up”

Kirill hastily stands, and grabs his shirt off the ground on the way up. He starts to put the shirt on but Krievs steps forwards and stops him. He instead hands Kirill the same garment as before, the sleeve. He holds his shirt between his knees, and puts the sleeve on. He stands tense as Krievs reaches out and holds his chin, tilting his head to the side to examine his nose.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up nice. Put your shirt on.” Krievs says to him, guiding his hand to his shirt.

After Kirill puts the shirt on, Krievs unlocks him, and turns him to face away from him. You and Kirill share a glance, and at first he looks resigned, but there’s a slight bit of fear in his eyes. He blinks and looks away. Krievs grabs his wrist and uses a pair of handcuffs to again lock his arm twisted behind his back, his wrist pulled up to the end of his stump.

Krievs turns him around again, and this time just looks at Kirill’s body, his eyes grazing his figure. After a minute, he snaps back to action, and wraps his arm across Kirill’s shoulders, as if they were close friends. The two walk out of the room, with the door closing behind them. and just like that, you’re alone. It feels even more alone and desolate, especially compared to the activities you were just doing. You wonder where he’s being taken, and when he’s coming back.
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Re: The story is very long, but could I get general feedback

Unread postby Marigold » Sun May 10, 2020 8:54 am

It's quite good and well written, and developing nicely. However, and this is a regular complaint of mine, no-one can last as long as your two prisoners have without needing to both pee and poo. Your story is not realistic without this happening, and they were even taken to a bathroom and didn't use the toilet which was present.
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