CW: captivity whump, threats of death, forced nudity, gore, forced drugging.
Camping always comes with its risks; disease-carrying mosquitoes, bad weather, predatory animals looking for food, wild fires, etc. Things that every camper rolls the dice in dealing with on each trip.
Most of these things can be expected depending on where the campsite is and can be planned for accordingly; bugs spray or citronella candles, checking local weather forecasts, bear spray, etc. Not much you can do about wild fires except get out of the way.
James had always loved camping, always at peace in the forest as opposed to the hustle and bustle of city life. Out there, at the campground, he could breath easy and decompress.
He checked his phone one last time just to confirm that the forecast showed fair weather. Satisfied, he turned it off and shoved it deep into his pack, having planned to forget about it until he left in a week.
There had never been a problem on any of his prior camping trips...well, there was rain on one, but it only lasted a few hours. He never had a reason to plan for anything other than bad weather; the campground he usually visited never had any predators, just small forest critters and birds, maybe an eagle if he was lucky to spot one.
So when a pair of hands shot out from the darkness behind him while at his campfire, he had nothing to defend himself with, save for a collapsible cooking pan which he used to try to swing at his assailant. It connected and his attacker muttered angrily under his breath.
"You little shit! You'll pay for that!"
James thrashed and tried to fight until an odd-smelling cloth got forced over his nose and mouth. It wasn't long before he lay limp in the arms of a complete stranger.
A predator.
When he woke up, he found himself completely stripped in a cold, dank room, chained to the wall opposite the door by the heavy steel collar locked snuggly around his neck.
Besides the door, a bucket, a security camera in an upper corner of the room, and a drain in the middle of the concrete floor, it was completely barren. It was also rather cold. It might not have been so bad were it not damp, but it made the cold seep deep into the scared young man's bones.
The door opened and he finally saw the face of his captor; a tall, grizzled man with a bruise on his forehead above his left eye. The man grinned and shut the door behind him.
"Well well well, looks who's finally awake!" He said with a sinister chuckle.
James quickly tried to curl up in a corner, trying to cover himself and get as far from this man as possible.
"Aw, you're even cuter when you're scared!"
The man approached and took a knee in the middle of the room, eyeing his prize.
"Wh-What do you w-want from me?" James asked meekly, failing horribly at covering himself so his cheeks burnt red with embarrassment.
The man tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow.
"Isn't it obvious?"
James shook his head quietly.
"I want you, pretty boy. Just you."
The man's words only added to James' already fearful trembling...along with the cold.
It's not the first time he's been found attractive by older men, a few even mistook him for a young woman. He had also been hit on a number of times and had a stalker at one point, but the stalker turned out to be a harmless admirer.
Nothing like the towering man knelt down in front of him. Someone so dangerous.
James' mind raced with all the things that the man could have wanted him for...nothing pleasant, he imagined.
"I've been watching you for a while, you're a creature of habit. You're at the same campground, same spot every weekend. Almost like that spot is your second home."
James went paler than he already was. This man had been stalking him? For how long? Questions he wanted answered but decided with better judgment to not ask at that moment.
"Now, you're probably wondering what I'm going to do to you..." no shit "it's simple, you're going to be my fuckable pet. Obey me and be loyal, and you'll be just fine. That means no disobedience, no trying to escape or call for help, and you'll survive."
Survive? What the fuck did that mean? Was he also a killer?
"What d-do you mean...s-survive?"
The man reached behind him and produced a large, shiny bowie knife, rotating the handle in his hand.
"What do you think I meant?"
Yep. He's a killer. Well that was one question answered.
"You get three strikes, don't waste them. Third strike, and you'll be fertilizing my garden. Clear?"
James wasted no time in nodding in response, opting for remaining silent.
The man reached over and patted his new pet's head with surprising softness despite his calloused hands. And despite his fear, James was very touched-starved, so he was tempted to lean into the warm touch. He did, however, let out a soft whimper, making his owner smile down at him.
"Attaboy. You'll do just fine here."
James' captor then stood up and sheathed the knife, cocking his head to the side as if to look at James from a different angle.
"I gotta go, pup. If you behave tonight, we'll see about getting you a blanket and maybe some food."
With that, the man turned toward the door, opening it and shutting off the light.
"W-Wait-..." James said quietly, not loud enough for his owner to hear him as the door closed behind him, locking the pet alone in the dark.
So there he stayed, sobbing quietly in the darkness, waiting for the next day and whatever it may bring.
Upstairs, Victor tossed the keys onto the coffee table before lowering himself into his favorite chair; an old leather recliner that had been in that cabin since his father was a child, smelling of leather polish and old pipe tobacco.
He smiled to himself as he picked up his book and reading glasses, thinking about his newest acquisition, how pretty he is, and what his first punishment should be for hitting him with the camping pan.
As he started to read, the taxidermied heads of his previous failed pets sat mounted to the wall above the fireplace, frozen in time and still attractive from the day they used up their third strikes, watching their master read from beyond the grave.
