BABY BOY BLUE

I didn’t know how long I’d been down here. The cold didn’t bother me anymore. Or the smell. Mould, bleach, my shit bucket. All my joints had seized. My wrists bled from the cuffs. I hadn’t slept in days. I was waiting for him to hurt me. I didn’t know why he was keeping me there, keeping me alive. I wanted to go home. Or die. I wanted a real meal, water that wasn’t warm, a bed, to hear my name. I wanted to see daylight. Or moonlight. Light. I wanted a cigarette so badly I started blowing air as if the smoke was in my mouth. I hadn’t cried in a while. I don’t think I could anymore. I wanted to see my Mam, hear her voice.

I was walking home from the corner shop. The same one I’ve been going to my whole life. It was 02:39, and I wanted ice-cream. I’d just worked non-stop for six hours. My body was a little worse for wear, it was an intense shift. I felt low but wasn’t sure why, I get like that sometimes. So walking out in the middle of the night to go and get ice-cream seemed smart. There’s this lactose-free one with salted caramel in it, in these little gold and yellow tubs, that’s my favourite. He pulled up in his big, dirty, white van. One of those boxy Vauxhalls. His brake lights were both out and there was a big scratch down the side where someone had clipped him. He was tall but not unnaturally tall. Everyone seems pretty tall to me. He was just very distinctly average. He had these squinty blue eyes behind square rimmed glasses and a slick dark brown ponytail that ended half way down his back. I would’ve put him mid-forties. He looked creepy, like wouldn’t want to be approached by him in a dark alley, creepy. It was mid December, but he was only wearing a chequered white and red shirt with no coat and faded blue jeans that were all frayed at the bottom. He said he recognised me from my videos. It happens every so often; burden of fame. He got too close. His hand brushed against my arse and I couldn’t decipher if it was an accident or not. I told him to ‘back off’ and for a moment I was stupid enough to think he would. 

He opened the door to the van and I started to walk away. He grabbed me around the waist and forced me into the back, covering my mouth so I couldn’t scream. I cried and banged on the walls the entire ride. He kept telling me to be quiet and nothing bad would happen, that I’d be safe now. He took my phone and smashed it. He brought me to his apartment. The magnolia wallpaper was peeling and the brown carpets were all sticky and stained, old and matted. There was no furniture besides some dusty lamps, a crappy little folding metal table and a TV that looked like it was built in the eighties. He dragged me kicking and screaming to his basement. There were eighteen stairs that my head bounced off on the way down. He cuffed me to the radiator. Real metal cuffs. His central heating was left on. He didn’t treat the burn down my forearm, the skin was all blistered and peeling and the pain was constant. I hadn’t washed. I could smell myself and the make-up I wore for work was still sticking to me. I didn’t have a chance to change out of my uniform, I was still in leather trousers that tied like a corset up the side and this white little cropped fucking jumper. My shoes fell off in the corner shop carpark. There was no bed. Not even a mattress or blanket. I slept sitting up because I couldn’t lie down, there wasn’t room. There was smashed glass on the basement floor that embedded in my feet. He wouldn’t call me by my name. He called me Blue. 

I felt like the fucking damsel in some shitty horror b-movie. The bastard unbolted the door to the basement where he kept me. It creaked so loud, it gave me warning to prepare myself.

He had a paper plate in his hand and this shit eating grin, same as everyday, like some fucked in the head zoo keeper.

“Good morning, Blue.”

I didn’t even entertain him with a glance.“Fuck off and die.”

“Aw, is someone being Mr Grouchypants today?” He placed the plate at my feet. It was rubbery, overcooked, unseasoned scrambled eggs for the eighteenth meal in a row. How do you fuck up scrambled eggs eighteen times? “I made sure to use lactose-free milk this time so you don’t have any more…accidents.” 

He didn’t need to open his mouth for me to know he was laughing at me inside. I kicked the plate as hard as I could into the wall. He still hadn’t cleaned up the last four dropkicked servings.

He sighed, “I won’t let you starve, Blue. Tell me what you want and I’ll make it for you.”

I gargled what little saliva I had into the back of my throat and launched it into his eye. He flinched only because he was used to it. He wiped it away before walking to my rustic bucket toilet.

“Still empty. That’s three days now. I’ll go to the chemist, get you a laxative to take.”

“I’m not taking any fucking laxative.” 

He pressed his hand against my fattened stomach. I tried to pull away but I couldn’t. I was cramping so hard. “You’re bloating, that can’t be comfortable.” 

“Since when have you given a fuck if I’m comfortable.”

“I told you, I’m working on getting you a mattress. Just be patient, Blue.”

I grumbled, resting my head on my arms. “My name is Eric.”

“Oh Blue, you’re so funny.” He hooked my chin with his finger. His ugly, greasy, flat fucking face smiled at me as if we were lovesick kids on a first date. I could see his eyes, there was something missing behind them. His unfreshened breath wafted into my face. “Now, what do you want for breakfast?”

We’d done this dance countless times, like hitting my head against a concrete wall. This deranged fuck couldn’t get Blue out of his head no matter what I told him. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to say ‘I want your cock, Daddy’?”

“I’d appreciate it if you cut back a little on the profanity.”

“Blow me, you twat,” I spat out at him. 

“Blue…”

“Dickhead.”

“Blue, please…”

I yelled, “Cunt, cocksucker, fucking shit, crap, piss, arse, bollocks, wanker, bastard, prick, go to hell and choke, motherfucker.”

“Don’t make me get a bar of soap and wash your mouth out.”

“Thought you liked my dirty mouth.”

“During your videos, when it is appropriate.”

I spoke slowly, loitering on every syllable. “Fuck you, Gary.”

Gary sighed, rubbing his temples. “But hey, some good news, I have the day off. We can have some quality time together like a proper couple.”

“You gonna buy me roses and take me ice-skating?” I was always told sarcasm was unattractive but Gary seemed to like me more that way.

“I thought we could watch some more of your films.”

The thought of watching anymore of my fucking videos made me wish he would kill me already. I had been brewing up a scheme of my own for the last few days, it finally seemed like the perfect time for it. “You said I could ask for whatever I wanted for breakfast.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Do you have those like shitty boxes of pancake mix? Like you used to have as a kid?”

“I think I do.”

“You can use the lactose-free milk. Maybe you could make me some.” When you find out at a primitive age that dairy tears your organs apart like an industrial shredder you learn ways to get sneaky days off school. You can use lactose free milk all you want, the powder mix is full of the stuff. This plan of mine was one of the most disgusting things I may ever do in my life, but if I could just get those cuffs off, I knew I could outrun him. I was a track star back in school.

“Give me ten minutes and when I come back we will watch some of your videos. Any requests?”

“You choose.”

“Alrighty. I’ll be back.”

I spent the time trying to steel myself until he returned. I hate to admit it, they were fucking good pancakes. Tasted like Saturday mornings with cartoons and orange juice. He cut them piece by piece and fed me. It was the first hit of sugar I’d had since I got here. I could’ve eaten ten boxes of the fuckers. I could already feel the first gentle cramp in my bloated gut.

He took the plate back to the kitchen and returned armed with his battered to shit laptop that looked like it was from 2008. It sounded like a jet engine the second he switched it on. He had a whole projection set up. One of those pull down screens you used to have in school and a dusty overhead projector that would’ve killed me if it fell from the ceiling. He clicked his tongue whilst he scrolled through his personal harddrive. 

“How about something more old school? It feels like we’re watching a lot of current content and it is throwback Thursday after all.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh now this was a good one. This is a classic,” he said with that fucking grin as he began the clip.

I was already cringing in my skin. Why would he pick this one?

Student fucks himself to orgasm before class 

God I hated that title. It couldn’t be any further from the truth but they’re right when they say kink sells. I was freshly eighteen, a drop out, so pay-per-view pedo bait seemed like my natural calling. Even when I was a student I never attended classes, I would fuck myself to orgasm and not go to class. The specification of ‘to orgasm’ makes me laugh as if any eighteen year old filming on a broken Nokia would be knowledgeable enough to edge the audience like that. The camera quality was poor, the angle was slanted and all the noise it picked up sounded like the phone was going through a tumble dryer. I didn’t know this video was even still accessible and I made the fucking thing. The first twenty seconds are me setting up, like watching me sprawl on the floor is what people pay me for. The only positive of this video is my head is out of frame so if you skipped straight to the money shots, you wouldn’t know it was me. If you recognised the repurposed school uniform I was wearing you could probably pin down Springhollow but that’d be a very niche interest. Unless you’re Gary. I could barely watch myself. I was young, new, and had no idea what I was doing. I was using this super realistic hard plastic dildo I stole from Dr Docking’s science class. I didn’t know what the fuck lube was so the first minute or so of the video was just muffled yelping as I pushed it into myself. I was masturbating with my other hand. Even how I masturbated looked adolescent. I couldn’t pace myself for shit so it was a mercifully short five minutes. It was humiliating even back then. It paid the rent but that’s about it. I remember sitting on the bathroom floor debating whether to even upload it. It was harder to watch Gary watching me than it was to watch myself. His breath shallowed and his hands twitched. He was wide eyed and open mouthed. If I weren’t here I know he’d be touching himself. The sick fucker. You couldn’t even hear my orgasm because an ambulance was driving past the house.

“God, where did you get the idea for this one?” he said when it was over, skipping back to the part where you can hear my neighbours getting divorced through the thin walls. “What inspired you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity. “What inspired me to start fucking myself and put it on the internet the day after I was legal?”

“I mean for this video specifically. It’s so gritty and grainy, it almost has found footage energy. Such a unique use of sound and camera work. It’s a real masterpiece, a proper hidden gem in your filmography. No one else was making cinema like this at the time.”

I had to stifle my laugh. “What you see there is a desperate teenager wanking for five minutes…”

“Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.”

“Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds and then spunking all over himself. I was in my childhood bedroom. I had to take all my posters off the wall and move the teddy I still sleep with at night to film that. I cried a little whilst washing my hands afterwards. I uploaded it and made just enough so I could help my Mam pay the rent. It is not art, it’s sad.” This was something I had admitted to myself long ago.

“It is not art…it’s sad?” He repeated it a few times. “It’s like anti-art? It’s a…um…an attack on the glossy nature of 21st century pornography. Just you, a one man crew. The poor quality, the muffled sound, the early release. It is meant to be dirty and raw and a little punk rock. God, that’s so smart.”

I rested my head on my arms. “Fuck me,” I mumbled under my breath. “Fuck it, sure, yes, I am the Banksy of the online sex work.”

I was hoping he’d blow his load in his trousers like most of my fans. This horny motherfucker needed more; they always needed more. 

He clicked onto a porn site he had saved on his desktop. This wouldn’t be an early video or one of my commissions. This bastard was looking for one of my alternative videos. The kind they can only put on those sites that download Chinese malware to your computer every time you hit the full screen button. The mightiest ad blocker couldn’t keep his screen clear. It was as if he was intentionally choosing the most unattractive ones. At least this one helped pay the bills for a few months.

Baby_Boy_Blue X Andr3wAldilin3 10K Subscriber Special (#MLM #18+ #Mukbang)

We filmed it for Andrew’s 10k, I only had about 8k at the time. We both used the same sites and both lived in Springhollow so it felt only natural that we did a collaboration eventually. I did a lot of brat stuff, he did soft dom stuff. It was a perfect match on paper. The video starts with a shitty animated intro he paid a guy like £20 to make. Andrew had black out curtains so the lighting wasn’t the worst. We sat on a bed that squeaked at every movement and a broken ring light illuminating us. We both began our introductions at the same time without realising, tripping over ourselves with a giggle and a quick back and forth of ‘No you go’! I look so strange in this video. It was when I was using actual semi-permanent dye on my hair but it just went a weird green colour instead of blue. Two minutes into the video and my shirt’s still on, a record for the time. I was stick thin and loved to show it off. A brief introduction led to a reveal of a store bought cake with the little red candles saying 10K already lit. With a puff we blow them out and each cut a slice. A little too sensual of moans escape as we pretend to like the dry vanilla cake and crunchy orange icing, but we hammed it up, that’s the job. We had somewhat of a plan; feed each other cake, lick the icing off each others lips and then one thing leads to the next and he fucks me for twenty minutes over the table. That was the plan. It felt right at the time but there is nothing at all sexy about two boys rubbing cake into each other’s faces. Andrew got a bit of icing in his eye and spent the remainder of the video trying to blink it out without looking like he was having some kind of seizure. To make things worse, we decided to improvise. We were pros, we had nine years experience between us, we didn’t need a script. Hot wax from a regular candle hurts but doesn’t damage the skin, I don’t know where Andrew got these candles but that was far from the case. I still have the little scars on my stomach now. I tried to make the yelps sound sexy but you can tell from how I flinched I was in pain. It took way too long to get naked so we could start smearing cream on each other’s chests. So much fucking cream. By the halfway point it was all a complete fucking mess. Sure we were laughing in the video but we weren’t laughing when we quickly learnt the cake was not lactose free and I struggled through the rest of the video trying not to shit myself to an audience of ten thousand. Andrew didn’t get the icing out of his eye in time and had pink eye for like a month. We had to change all his sheets and a whole outfit because one of us was stupid enough to crack open a wine bottle. His rug is still stained to this day. Sure, we look back and laugh at it and the video did surprisingly well. We’re both doing much better work now he’s at the top of his game in the roleplaying dark erotica for lonely middle aged women market. But Jesus H Christ watching this amateurish fuck up of a video was painful. It’s like reliving your past mistakes in your head, except it’s not in your head, fifty-thousand people have seen it and now you’re tied in a basement with a sick fuck who thinks its some deconstructed avant art piece. Everytime I opened up my mouth to try and speak, he shushed me saying his favourite part was coming up. I knew what his favourite part was. Me bent double over the table taking it from behind whilst Andrew asks me if I’m full yet.

I couldn’t watch another second of that crap. I had never been grateful for lactose intolerance until that very moment where all of a sudden it felt like my entire digestive system was about to be ripped out of me. I made sure to gasp dramatically as I gripped my stomach and threw myself forward.

“Blue?” Gary shouted in concern, pausing the video on a lovely shot of my tongue lapping up peanut butter from Andrew’s thigh. He crouched down by me and I had to fight the urge to elbow him in his smug face as he wrapped his arms around me and drew me close. “Are you in pain, sweetheart?”

“You must have given me dairy.”

“No, not possible, I was so careful.”

I yelped and snuggled against his shoulder, eyes flitting up to see how his face twisted into one of pure panic. Even the thought of potentially hurting me brought tears to his eyes and made his whole face scrunch up.

“What do I do? How do I make it stop?”

“I need to get to a toilet.”

“Right.” He let go of me and scarpered towards the bucket.

“I need a proper toilet in a bathroom.”

Our eyes met and I watched him contemplate every possible outcome. His eyes kept falling to the cuffs and then back to me.“I don’t thin-”

I screamed in mock agony. It’s one of the perks of being a pornstar, you get very good at voices. I used my most pathetic, whiney, subby, practised voice. “Please.”

“OK, Blue. Whatever you need.” He slipped the small silver key out of his pocket and unlocked the cuff at the radiator, placing it around my wrist again once it was unlooped. My shoulder cracked like old door hinges as it moved for the first time in God knows how long. “I’m going to walk you to the bathroom. I won’t watch but I’ll stay in the room with you. Then when you’re done, I will bring you back down.”

“Can I wash?”

“What?”

“If I’m in the bathroom anyway, you might as well let me wash so then you don’t have to bring me up again later on.”

“Right, yeh, of course. Can you stand?”

He grasped my arms and lifted me to my feet. The shards of glass still embedded in there pushed even deeper as I stepped, leaving small dots of blood behind me. My legs shook and my back desperately needed to be cracked. I squinted and pulled my head away as we climbed the stairs and stepped into the light of the hallway. His apartment was a proper shithole. All the windows were covered with thick blackout curtains that have never been opened by how thick the layer of dust seems to be. We rounded a corner and I saw the exit. It was deadbolted. He guided me through his bedroom to the small, dank ensuite. His room smelt like Old Spice and shame. There was a holy, stained mattress on the floor with no duvet, just a ripped tartan blanket. Once again there was no real furniture besides an old wooden chair that had been stacked high with what I could only assume were unwashed clothes. 

“The bathroom light doesn’t work so you’ll have to make do.”

The bathroom had no door and you could just about make out your hand in front of your face.

“Can you start running my bath while I…” I nodded to the toilet.

“Right, yeh.” He hurriedly threw a mangled towel onto the ground as the taps screeched like dying cats. There was no shower and the bath itself was grotty at best. The smell, God what a damp smell.

But his hygiene and interior decoration choices weren’t important. His back was turned. This was my chance.

I turned on my heels and ran for the door. I heard him trip and stumble as he raced to his feet, screaming my name like a fucking banshee. Running only agitated my stomach more and tore my feet apart. I saw the door. I could feel tears flooding my eyes. I undid the rusted, squeaky deadbolt. It stuck. I was jiggling it as best as I could.

“Come on, come on, fucker.”

I was grabbed around the middle and hoisted from the floor. I was so fucking close. I could see the sunlight underneath the door. I remember how he grabbed me on the street. I smashed my elbow into his nose with all I could muster resulting in a resounding crack and a loosening of his grip. I raced back to the door and threw it open. Fresh air hit me for the briefest moment before I felt him grab my hair and drag me back, his boot slammed the door. I wailed as loud as I could. I shouted everything you’re supposed to shout — ‘help’ ‘rape’ ‘fire’. I kicked out and wriggled trying to force him to let me go but for a basement wanking pervert, he was oddly strong. I don’t know if I fell or if he dropped me but the next thing I knew I was on the floor.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He’d never raised his voice at me before. I tried to calm my breathing but I’d pissed him off and I didn’t know what he was going to do with me as he picked me up and slung me over his shoulder.

He carried me back to the bathroom. He set me down on the cold, slippery floor as he stood blocking the doorway. He paced slightly, murmuring to himself and pinching his nose. As his fist promptly and harshly struck the mirror on the wall, I pulled my arms up over my head, crying out. I knew I was next. Tears were rushing down my face as I thought of my Mam and how she would react when they found…if they found my body. 

“Oh sweetheart,” his normal voice cut through my sobs. “Don’t cry. I would never hurt you. Blue?” He pulled my arms away so I couldn’t hide from him. Bloody shards of glass stuck deeply into his hand. “You are the love of my life. I would never harm you. OK?”

“OK,” I choked. I had no choice but to believe him. If I could get out of this place alive, I’d lie a thousand times.

“Do you still need the toilet?”

I nodded, suddenly aware of how violently my stomach was growling. I scrambled to my feet and sat on the toilet whilst he sat on the side of the bathtub watching the water run. “How do I…wipe?”

He undid my left cuff and attached it to a small towel rail at my side. “Don’t use too much paper.”

“Gary, I…”

“Let’s just have some quiet time, alright, Blue? Please.”

I nodded and went about my business. I fucking poisoned myself for nothing. I endured the next twenty minutes or so of grossness and agony, my bath fully drawn long ago. He didn’t look at me or speak to me. With any luck he wouldn’t want me anymore. At least then I’d be either dead or free by morning. When I was done, I stood on sore and aching legs as he cuffed my hands together once again. “I’ll go back down quietly,” I whispered, tears still thick in my voice.

“Get in your bath, sweetheart.”

I looked at the cold, discoloured water. “I don't want to.”

“Blue,” he gripped my arms and pulled me towards him.  “Get into the tub.”

“Can you take my cuffs off so I can change?”

“You tried to run away from me, Blue. I'm sorry but I can't trust you right now.”

“How can I wash if I have my clothes on?”

“I'm going to take your trousers off.”

“Please…” I tried to step away but he kept me close to him.

“I'm going to take your trousers off. Are you wearing underwear?”

I shook my head slowly. My dick had been chafing against the cheap leather for weeks now.

He coughed and turned his eyes away as he started to work the skin tight trousers off my legs. It took half a bottle of lube every time I put them on. All my fair leg hair was starting to grow back which tugged at the leather. I admit it was nice to feel some air against my skin. I stepped out of them when they reached my ankles. I could tell how badly he wanted to look at me. I suppose this was his way of being respectful. He'd already prepared a pair of fabric scissors. He cut the sides of my jumper up to the armpit on both sides before slicing the length of the sleeves until he could rip the final fraying threads holding the whole thing together clean from my body. I love being naked. I've been seen naked by thousands of people, but standing naked in front of Gary was the most uncomfortable minute of my life. His eyes were so fixated on me like I was his fucking prey. His hand trembled, fighting the urge to brush against my hip bone seeing the small deep pink scar there.

“How did that happen?”

“A scene partner misread the brief. She skipped over the simulated part of simulated flogging,” I laughed uncomfortably. It did really fucking hurt.

“You should have been protected.”

“I was, we stopped as soon as she realised and there was a medic on set. I don’t even really notice it anymore.”

He lightly held my arm as he guided me towards the bath. I stepped in slowly, only to be greeted by freezing cold water. I flinched away.

“The boiler's been broken for a while now, haven't got the cash to fix it just yet. I'll get you some nice warm clothes for after, I promise.”

I sucked my breath in and sank into the tub. I was already shivering, breaking out in goosebumps. But it brought my body a small relief to be washed clean of make-up, blood, piss, shit, sweat, fluids I didn't even want to know.

“Can you wash me?”

“W-wash you?”

I raised my hands, rattling my chains at him.

“If I do that you'll run.”

“I won't, I promise you, Gary. I won't.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

I could feel my chest lightening as he reached for the key in his pocket and removed my cuffs. I maintained eye contact as I grabbed the rough, yellow sponge from the side and started to clean myself. I moved slowly but thoroughly, scrubbing as hard as I dare. The soap he had smells like the kind my grandma has in her bathroom. All the fake tattoos I plaster onto myself were rubbed and washed away. I tugged out the fake piercings in my navel, nipples, eyebrow, nose and ears seeing the deep red marks they'd left. Most of the make-up caked onto my face had worn away but some stubborn eyeliner ran off into the water when I rubbed my face. I pinched my nose and plunged my head under, the cloud of blue hair dye swirled around me. I wished the water was boiling hot so I could melt my skin and start again.

I almost felt like myself, almost. Or at the very least I looked like him. 

The water darkened with the amount of grime I washed from my skin. “Do you have any shampoo or anything?”

He didn’t answer me. He stared at me like he'd just seen a ghost. 

“Gary?”

“Who are you?”

“It’s me? Eric?”

“You’re a liar.” He stood up and turned away from me. “You lied. You’re not Blue.”

I didn’t realise how different I must look out of costume to someone who had never seen me that way. “Blue is just a character I play in my videos, he is not real. My name is Eric Ruiz. Blue is fictional, he’s a costume, I’ve been telling you this.”

“Out.”

“What?”

“Out of the bath, now.” He almost growled. 

Before I was even out, he left and closed the door, dragging something in front of it on the other side, trapping me.

I exhaled like I had held my breath all my life, and let myself sink onto the floor. I couldn’t breathe. I kept my hand over my mouth so I didn't scream. I held myself tightly. I felt dirty. Disgusting. Half-way between like I’d been caught in the act by my Mam and the weird morning after when you wake up in a room you don’t know with a guy whose name you can’t quite remember. His clunky, inelegant footsteps were returning. I took a moment. There would be a time for me to break down but it was not there and not then. I rose again onto my scarred and stabbed feet. In the sink I found the biggest shard of shattered mirror with a lovely, jagged, sharp edge. I held it so tightly my palm was sliced and the blood spilled onto the floor. 

“Fuck.” I mopped it away with my foot. 

I tried every breathing technique my shrink taught me. None of them were doing shit. I was either about to throw up, pass out or both. I hadn’t decided, all I knew was I needed to be ready for whatever came through that door.

Whatever was blocking the door shuffled across the floor as it slowly opened just a crack. A slightly less ratched white towel was dropped in followed by a pair of blue boxers, some thick black jeans and a knitted maroon pullover that would clearly be too big for me. 

“Ninety seconds and counting,” he said, closing the door again.

I grabbed the towel and started to dry myself off. My hair was still a half-blue, greasy mess and I had more acne than I did when I was fifteen. I don’t think I’ve ever had that much facial hair in my life.

“Thirty.”

I pulled the crusty boxers on. I’m not sure I’d ever worn boxers before but they’re surprisingly comfortable even if they did have Gary’s smell on them. Knowing he had almost definitely jizzed over me in those boxers somehow made the situation even worse somehow. The jeans were loose but they’d recently been through a tumble dryer so at least they were warm. I couldn’t figure out how to get the jumper on with my cuffs so I knocked on the door, sliding my make-shift weapon into the jean’s back pocket.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t get the jumper on. My hands…”

He opened the door, still refusing to look at me, and removed my cuffs completely. I ran my hands over my freed wrists. They were bruised and cut so deeply, I had to stifle a cry. I tugged the jumper on, wrapping my butchered hands in the excess of the sleeves. I offered him my wrists to put the cuffs back on but he didn’t. He placed his hand on the small of my back and ushered me towards the living room.

“Sit.” He pointed towards a large stain on the floor next to the flimsy, metal fold-up table. 

My knees cracked loudly as I sat crossed legged. He cuffed one hand and placed the other around the table leg. 

“Why are we in here?” I barely managed to whimper. 

“You’re hurt. I’m willing to overlook your appearance. It must take time for you to look so beautiful for me. I’m sorry I acted that way. I never meant to scare you.”

I didn’t acknowledge his apology. There was one of those small first aid kits on the table. The type that isn’t actually useful. Still if there was anything even mildly antiseptic in there I’d take it. “You know what would really help?”

“If you say a cigarette…”

“Please, just one, I won’t ask again.”

“It’s a really disgusting habit, Blue. Addiction is a valid mental illness. Consider this rehab, I want to help. Lung cancer is no laughing matter.”

I let out only a little grumble, not particularly wanting to antagonise him whilst he was holding metal tweezers dangerously close to my shredded, infected feet. “Can you at least put the TV on? I’m a screamer. We don’t want the neighbours to hear us, right?”

He leaned over and switched it on. It was the lunchtime news where they don’t report anything actually important. It was January 5th. I missed Christmas. I missed New Year. I’d been there for twenty-seven days. How long had to pass before the police stopped looking for you? 

I was glad I was in pain. I was glad he was careless and heavy handed as he squeezed the glass out of my feet and dabbed rubbing alcohol onto the gaping, open wounds. It gave an excuse to start sobbing. The bastard tried to cuddle me.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Blue…I know this must be a lot to take in. But trust me. I know what’s best for us.”

“What fucking ‘us’? There isn’t an ‘us’, Gary. You’re in love with a fucking character.” It felt good to yell. “Just let me go home. I want to see my Mam. You stole my fucking Christmas, she loves Christmas.”

“I’m not ready to give up on us yet. We can fight for this. Love is always worth fighting for.”

I changed tact seeing the sincerity in his eyes. The fucker was genuinely delusional. “I have a really really good legal team, you could probably be out again in a year or two.”

“Blue. Don’t be scared. We can make this work. I–” he stopped abruptly, eyes panning to the television with volume too low to hear.

They’d gone to some kind of press conference. A big stage with phone number posters behind it, a microphone set up and a bunch of journalists snapping photographs of a white haired woman who looks like hell as she steps onto the stage.

“Mam?”

He grabbed the remote, finger hovering over the power button.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

He turned the volume up and left me there. I could hear him scurrying about down in the basement but I leaned into the TV. Mam looked awful. She’d lost weight and had huge eye bags and she wasn’t wearing acrylics, she always wore acrylics. 

“Thank you everyone for coming. It’s been overwhelming to see the support of #BringBlueHome over the last month. Eric would love knowing how many people care about him. People keep asking me if I am aware of what my son does for a living. I am. It’s not what any parent wants for their child but I am still so proud of what he has built. He’s taken the cards he was dealt and used them to his advantage. I’m sure most of you have read a recent article that has caused much speculation about my little boy. I shouldn’t have to stand before the world and beg for empathy when my son is missing. But if that’s what it takes for someone to care then I will. His name is not Blue, his name is Eric. Eric Ruiz, the same as his Grandfather. He is not a prostitute, callboy or escort. It is true he works in the pornography industry but he does not solicit sex. Even if he did, would that negate the need to help him? My boy could be in danger and people behind their keyboards are saying he deserved it and that no one will miss him and they call him all these awful awful names. He’s my baby boy. He’s my only son. There have also been rumours about Eric’s relationship with his father. It is true that Eric’s father no longer takes much interest in his son’s life but for the first seventeen years, he raised that boy as well as any father can and he fears for him just as much as I do. He’s so funny, my Eric. He’s got this beautiful big smile and a kind heart and he’d never hurt anyone. He used to cry when he stepped on an ant. Some of you seem to have already made up your mind on who Eric is. You are entitled to that. But I know my boy. I know him to be more than the shallow character people paint him as. So Eric, my little boy, if you are out there, if you are watching this please come home to Mummy. We love and miss you so much. Thank you.”

As tears streamed down her face she left the stage and the feed cut back to the newsroom with some middle aged white woman with a funny haircut talking about inflation.

I hadn’t heard Gary re-enter the room until he switched the TV off. He was holding some semi-clean bandages that he wrapped around my feet.

“Did you see her? My Mam? Did you see what you’ve done to her? How the fuck can you sleep at night?”

“She never protected you the way I will.”

I pulled against the cuff trying to throw myself at him. “Say that one more time, I fucking dare you.”

“Once we’re in a better place, things will be different. I’ll never make you do those things for other men. It will just be us, no interference.”

“Do you think someone forced me to do this? I like what I do. I make more money in one stream than you do in a month by lying on my back, pretending to moan and masturbating.”

“But I gave you that life. You wouldn’t have that career if not for me, remember?”

“Everything I have, I have because of me and my Mam.”

“Do you know how much I’ve donated to your streams over the years?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I don’t keep count of every donation. 

“Just shy of twenty-five grand.”

My jaw went slack. The shitty apartment and packaged food all started to make sense. He lived like this because of me. “That’s…why would you do that? That’s fucking insane.”

“Because I love you, Blue.” His sweaty hand caressed my face. “Come on, let's go back down, I have a surprise for you. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” He released me from the table leg, gripped my arm and hoisted me to my feet.

I kept my feet firmly planted against the rough carpet. “Why are you making me wait?” 

“Wait for what?” 

“You’re going to hurt me, aren’t you?” 

“What? Blue, I would never, I love you, I would never hurt you.” He turned me to face him. He lifted my chin up with his fingers.

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Blue, I swear on my mother’s grave, I am not going to hurt you.” 

“You will. I see it in your fucking eyes, when you look at me I’m not a human being.” I shook my head and tried to pull away but he held me tighter until I could feel his nails digging into my arms.

“Blue, listen to me, I am not going to hurt you, no one is going to hurt you.” 

“Don’t make me suffer.”

He made me move my feet with a sharp jolt as he took me back down to the basement. I wondered if throwing myself down those rickety stairs would be enough to kill me. I doubted it.

He had the projector set up for our next home movie. He even made fucking popcorn. He handcuffed me again to the radiator but let me readjust to a better position this time. I had just blown my best chance of ever getting out of there. Now I was back slouching amongst empty paint cans, unlabelled boxes and spilt cleaning products…fuck.

“I may be biassed but this is one of my favourites.” Gary said with a little too much enthusiasm.

I recognised it instantly. Finally, a video of mine that I was at least somewhat proud of, or at least I was able to watch without throwing up in my mouth. My 100k special, anything goes, the chat room can ask for whatever and I give them what I want. I like to think I’ve cultivated a somewhat respectable following, in that I trusted them not to ask me to do anything too dangerous. This was only about eight months ago, I’m basically an A-lister by this point. They started small: take your shirt off, touch your nipples, lick your fingers and rub your cock, put a finger inside yourself, moan about how good it feels — nothing I wasn’t unaccustomed to. Honestly it was maybe the most fun I’d ever had on a stream. I’d heard horror stories from other stars being asked to do horrible shit but my chat has always been on a similar wavelength. I was a fucking idol. I met all their seedy little demands. They’d never hurt me. Well, most of them would never hurt me. Most of the requests were just ways to get me off. They wanted to see me pleasured which was more than fine for me. Those people have issues but I created a space where their desires could be recognised in a safe, healthy, profitable way. Maybe Mam was right about being so proud. I made £300 from a guy asking me to drink some water because I looked dehydrated. That really made me laugh. I guess it’d been twenty-seven days since I last laughed. Gary had taken even that away from me. My community, my Mam, my whole life. He had distilled me down until there was only Blue as if he were at the core of my being. He didn’t see me as a human or a performer. He saw what he wanted to see. A fucking whore blurred by his disgusting illusion of so-called love. He made me physically fucking sick. 

What was once one of my crowning glories as a streamer would now be soured forever as he turned the volume up and told me, with glee in his eyes, 

“This is the best part.”

I’m preparing to slide a manageable six inch dildo into myself when the donation sound dings. £180 from BabyBlueDaddy with the request Look in the camera and say ‘Gary, I love you.’

I look into the lens and blow a quick kiss.

Gary, I love you, thank you for being here, I appreciate it.

My heart stopped in my chest. I shook my head gently. “Gary, no, that’s not real, it’s just a request. I’m a performer, it’s my act, I do the bit I get the money, yeh? It’s like buying groceries or going to the cinema. It’s not…”

“You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it, right? You said you loved me! You said so!” He rewound the video, playing the clip again. “See?”

“I have told thousands of lonely, sad people that I love them but it is not romantic love, it is not sexual love. You have to understand that.”

Gary paused the video. I could hear the cogs in his head turning and just like that, something clicked. “So it’s all been a game to you?” He turned to look at me, eyes squinted and rageful. “Did you ever love me?”

“No. No. Blue doesn’t love anyone. Blue doesn’t even love himself. Neither does Eric.”

There was a moment of silence. I saw him ball and unball his fists. His breathing was ragged. He laughed for a second before snorting as if he was about to burst into tears. “What do I have to do to make you love me?”

This was my chance. If the last month was how he treated me when he was in love with me, I would rather risk dying than find out what he was going to do when he doesn’t. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, no, I can’t trust you, you keep fuc–,” he slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair he sat in, “flipping lying to me.”

“Uncuff me then.”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head rubbing his temples.

“We can’t make love if I’m chained up, can we?” I don’t know why I blurted it out. Normally I’d feel bad praying on someone this clearly fucked in the head but if there’s one thing I know how to do it’s seduction. “I didn’t love you before I got here. But over this last month, you’ve taken such good care of me.”

He stiffened, like a stream buffering, “I have?” 

I didn’t even notice my voice slip into a higher pitch, with drawn wispy breath. Perhaps it was time for Gary to meet Blue. “You did so well. Such a good job. And I know I was very, very bad. But I want to be good now. Good for you. I need you to take care of me in a different way.”

He got up from his chair and started to approach me. “Is this another game?”

“It can be if you want to play.” I eased my thighs open. “I haven’t been touched in so long. I need you, Gary. Why watch old videos when you can have the real thing?”

“Blue…” he fidgeted, covering his clearly hard cock. I was in.

“I’m really horny, Gary. Please, don’t make me beg.” I let my eyes linger on him, panting, salivating. “Unless you want me to beg.”

“Oh God,” he whispered, crouching down to my level. 

I snaked my tongue across his bottom lip. “Put me on my back.”

“Huh?” He was blinking furiously and stuttering, like he was trying to shake off a spell.

“I want to see your face whilst you fuck me.”

“Right, yeh, of course, just let me.” He struggled with the lock in his flustered state but I was soon able to wiggle my hands free.

“There isn’t room here,” my eyes scanned to the far side of the room where all the cleaning supplies are. “Lay me down over there.”

I slowly moved my hips as I crawled backwards to the perfect spot and laid flat against the freezing concrete floor. I let the jumper ride up, exposing my stomach. He crawled over to me and lifted the shirt higher, exposing my chest. He rubbed it eagerly like it’d grant him three wishes.

“I’m yours,” I whispered. “You can use me however you want, I won’t say no. I just need you inside me.” I let my fingers fall down my torso.

He straddled me, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. If I fucked this up it’d really be over. I could barely reach the opened, half-full bottle of industrial powdered bleach.

“Eyes on me, Gary, I want you to look at me when you put your cock in me.”

As soon as his eyes were open and wandering to my face, I whipped my head to the side and emptied the chemical into his aroused, sweating face. 

The powder did an excellent job sticking, burning its way into his eyes. The sick fuck’s screams were more relieving than the best orgasm of my life. He clutched his face, white like a clown with a trickle of blood streaming down from beneath his palms. One of them, white with powder and red with blood, started reaching out. For me? A weapon? A cure? Doesn’t matter. My body sprang alive as I slivered out from under him. He felt me go and began to screech out for me with grasping hands and bleeding eyes.

“No! No, don't go! Don’t leave me! I love you, Blue!”

I took a moment to watch him squirm. A second too long. A blue iris surrounded in a sea of red glared at me and his hands lunged towards me. Twenty-seven days of abuse left my body less nimble than I would’ve liked and he grasped hold of the jumper loosely fitting on me. I felt the fibres snap as he tugs me towards him. I went low, quickly slinking my arms and head through their holes and left Gary holding an empty jumper, confused to the sound of me racing up those stairs. My heart sank before I looked up and I felt a wave of relief as the door was left unlocked. The last thing I heard from downstairs before I slammed the door was Gary wailing “Blue!” in an almost animalistic scream. The recently cleaned wounds on my feet were an aching memory as I raced towards the exit, bashing my shoulder on the wall as I rounded a corner and saw my prize.

I threw my whole body weight into unlocking the sticky deadbolt on the front door. My hands were cut where the metal had eroded and rusted but I pulled it open and stepped outside. I was struck by a violent January frost that I had only tasted less than an hour ago. My whole body went cold. The way the sun reflected off the thin veil of snow was blinding. I breathed in the air, real air, icy but clean. I ran out into the road of some residential cul-de-sac, almost slipping on the snowy wet pavement. I began to scream for help, fire, rape, running between the houses spamming doorbells and knocking loudly.

Three houses down from Gary’s hovel, a young woman cradling a baby opened her door.

“Do you mind? I had just gotten her down.”

“My name is Eric Ruiz and a man named Gary Adamson who lives down the street has been holding me in his basement for a month and… I want to talk to my Mam and…”

“Holy hell, you’re the missing hooker.”

“Call the fucking pigs,” I shouted, brushing past her, inviting myself in.

She closed the door and rushed the baby to the nursery joint to her living room. She went into another room to make the call. I was at somewhere called Poppy Court Estate. When she returned she brought a thick pink hoodie and gave it to me.

“God, you must be freezing, you poor thing.”

“Are they coming?”

“Police, ambulance, your mother, you’re safe now. They’ll be here in ten minutes they say. Can I get you something to drink, some water or?”

“Do you have anything with alcohol in it?”

She patted my shoulder and went to the kitchen, returning with half a drunk bottle of Jack Daniels, honey too. She was an angel.

I didn’t even bother asking for a glass. I sipped straight from the bottle. It tasted even worse than it normally does but fuck me did it feel right. “You don’t smoke do you?”

“I quit nine months ago.” She inclined her head towards the nursery.

“Right.”

“You know, just this morning the papers were saying you’d been trafficked to some Manillan sex dungeon. Are you, like, alright? Are you hurt?”

“Well they were half right.”

It’s then we heard the shrill cry from outside. The voice made my hairs stand on end and my whole body tense.

“Blue! Blue, where are you?”

The woman peeked through her curtains and saw Gary stumbling down the street aimlessly. He fell to his knees. 

“Is he coming? Does he know I’m here? He’s going to fucking kill me.” I ducked down behind her sofa.

“You’re alright, Blu–Eric. Eric. He can’t get you here.”

The whole street came out to watch. They were filming out of their windows and huddling on their doorsteps. Funny how no one seemed to want to open the door when they heard a young man begging for help.

I clamped my hands over my ears and stayed hidden, at one point it was almost like he was right outside the door before moving on. I tried not to cry until the blaring sirens drowned out his screams.

There was an ambulance, three police cars and a little yellow mini with the bumper smashed in.

“Mam!” I shouted before she was even out of the car.

I shot out of the front door and sprinted right towards her. 

“Oh my baby.” She took me into her arms and squeezed me like she’d never let me go.

“I was so scared, Mam.”

“I know, honey, I know.” I heard the tears spring into her voice. “Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“I’m OK, Mam.”

I held her for what felt like an eternity and not long enough. I felt a hand on my back as a paramedic started to talk to me. I couldn’t hear a word she said. My eyes focused on Gary, pinned down by two cops, tasers poised and ready. Even then he was calling for me.

“You’re safe, baby, Mam’s here,” she said, kissing my forehead.

“Blue,” a new voice yelled. A man in a cheap suit with a microphone sprinted into my eyeline. “How does it feel to officially be the most followed creator on MyFans?”

“I’m what?” His words didn’t even sound real.

Another microphone and another and another were all shoved in my direction. The blinding glare of camera flashing forced me to bury my head in my Mam’s shoulder once again. Their shrill voices all blended into one.

Blue, what do you have to say to people who think this is a stunt? Blue, is it true you’re HIV+? Blue, what do you have to say about the rumours that you and Andrew Aldiline are romantically involved? Blue, is it true you were targeted by sex traders? Blue, do you think the government needs to implicate better protection for online sex workers? Blue, what do you have to say to your growing copycat models? Blue, do you have a message for those accusing you of queerbaiting? Blue, what did you have to do to get out of there?

 Blue, what did he do to you?