The dim light from the hallway nearly blinded Jack.

Needless to say, he wasn’t prepared when the bright overhead lights switched on as well, the glare reflecting harshly off of the metal surrounding him.

Blinking furiously, trying to adjust to the sudden change in the light level, Jack squinted though his tearing eyes, straining to see what was going on. He felt naked and openly exposed—maybe because he was. Wayne sure knew how to make people uncomfortable.

Wayne was back—that much was apparent—and his mood had not changed. In some ways, it seemed as if Wayne had grown angrier. His hair disheveled and his movements stiff with suppressed emotion, his face set in a grim mask, the lines on it deeply etched.

Jack hadn’t thought that would have been possible for Wayne to get any angrier.

"So…how was your appointment?" Jack asked in as conversational a tone as he could manage. His voice stopped Wayne dead in his tracks, his body jerking to a stop as his head spun around, his eyes glazed and bright.

"Fine," Wayne growled, approaching Jack and kneeling beside him on one knee, his hand outstretched, hovering over Jack’s lean stomach muscles.

"Ah, what are you doing?" Jack asked, raising his head a few inches off of the mattress, trying desperately to see the other man. Jack was beginning to feel paranoid. Wayne had shown some…peculiar leanings earlier and he was praying that they wouldn’t go there again.

Wayne offered Jack a mischievous smile before pulling his hand back. "Nothing," he said, his voice low and deep. "You are the perfect specimen. Did you know that?"

Jack’s eyes widened, but since Wayne was talking he wasn’t going to argue with him. "Ah, no. Didn’t realize. The stomach muscles are the result of crunches, lots and lots of crunches. I’m sure you—"

"I don’t care about crunches," Wayne said, his voice clear and confident and totally unemotional. "My employer was right, you do not deserve to live, but I am afriad that I cannot kill you yet. There are far too many things I wish to try. I am torn between my needs and my desires…" Wayne’s voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over.

"Thanks, I think," Jack said, uncertainty finding its way into his voice. This was yet another Wayne, one whom he had not encountered before. "Really wasn’t in the mood to die. Had a bunch of things I wanted to finish."

"You think I am joking," Wayne said after a strained silence had settled over them, his words a statement rather than a question. Jack started to respond, but Wayne waved him off. "It matters not. You continue to defy me. Why is that? You continue to fight. Why?"

"Because it’s my nature," Jack said, shrugging as best he could.

"As this is my nature," Wayne agreed, nodding his head, his eyes still unfocused. "But for the first time in my life, I am undecided."

"For the first time, huh? Well, they say that there’s a first time for everything," Jack quipped, grimacing slightly when Wayne’s eyes refocused, looking him directly in the face.

"But you have not changed," Wayne said, his voice low, coming from deep within his body. He paused, seemingly puzzled for a moment, before his face cleared. "Maybe that is my sign." Wayne turned his head away, glancing out the door into the hallway beyond.

"Maybe we just need to finish this once and for all," Jack said, tiring of Wayne’s delusions and ramblings. This was torture, pure and simple.

"What would you propose?"

"Why don’t you let me go and we can forget about the whole thing?"

Wayne tilted his head, considering Jack’s words. "While I know that that is what you desire, Jack, it is not possible. You have seen too much. You know too much. You cannot leave here, that much is simple."

"You don’t leave me much of a choice," Jack said.

"No, I do not. I’ve read your file, Jack. I know what you can do. I know what you have done, that you are a far more dangerous man than you appear to be. I needed to take every precaution. I have every right to protect myself," Wayne said, turning back to face Jack. There was something in Wayne’s eyes that Jack could not identify. Something had occurred over the past few hours that had changed the man kneeling beside him. Something monumental had happened, but what was it?

"Wayne, who did you meet?"

"My employer."

"And?" Jack prompted.

"And he is no more a concern of mine, or yours," Wayne said, looking Jack directly in the eyes. Wayne’s voice dropped again, becoming a fierce growl as the strange gleam in his eyes was replaced by something far more primitive—power, anger, and lust. "But you should be concerned about me."

Jack could feel his eyes widening a little even though he tried not to show his surprise. Wayne quickly rose and moved steadily to the cabinets along the wall, opening one with a deft movement of his hand. Straining his neck, Jack could just make out what Wayne was doing.

As he pulled out various objects from the closet, he was muttering to himself, the words becoming a mantra, a chant, punctuating his every movement. "He will learn obedience. He will feel the power of my hand. He will yield. Never again will he defy me."

Over and over, Wayne uttered those four sentences. They were barely audible over the rustling noises he made as he dug though the cabinets, pulling items free.

The pile beside Wayne’s feet got larger and larger and was mainly comprised of leather—thick leather restraints.

The pit of fear in Jack’s stomach continued to grow as the pile increased. He knew that Wayne had finally gone off the deep end. Someway or somehow, Jack had to escape. If Wayne got his way, well, Jack didn’t want to think about what might happen if Wayne got his way.

"Wayne," Jack said clearing his throat. "What happened to your employer?"

"He doubted me," Wayne replied between the hypnotic sentences of his chant.

"He doubted you?"

"Yes, and disrespected me," Wayne answered, turning to Jack with an evil smile. "Much in the same way that you have and for that, you will pay. You will learn obedience. You will feel the power of my hand. You will yield. Never again will you defy me."

"I don’t think so," Jack said, his eyes firm and determined, his tone as hard as forged steel.

Wayne didn’t answer but approached Jack with various leather bindings in his hands. Instead of kneeling down at his side, Wayne knelt with one knee on either side of Jack’s left leg.

Worry shot through Jack. "Wayne, what are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"You will learn obedience. You will feel the power of my hand. You will yield. Never again will you defy me." Wayne’s voice had become cold and unemotional.

Great, Jack thought, his head thumping back to lie on the mattress. Wayne had gone dark-side on him. Jack tried to ignore the sensations of Wayne’s hands along his upper thigh, but it was very hard. Extra sensitive on his skin, every movement of Wayne’s hands was exaggerated until Jack thought he could stand it no longer.

He nearly sagged in relief when he felt the leather biting too tightly into his flesh. It almost made the lighter sensations more bearable. His relief was only temporary, however, as Wayne moved over, this time pawing at Jack’s right leg in much the same manner as he had done with the left.

Jack closed his eyes and held his breath, willing Wayne to hurry.

Even though it might have only taken a minute, to Jack it was an eternity.

Wayne wasn’t done apparently.

Moving up closer, his knee nearly touching Jack, Wayne slid his hands beneath Jack’s back, sliding a leather binding around him until it could be clinched tightly closed at his waist.

Wonderful, Jack thought sarcastically. He had a belt but no pants. Lovely.

Wayne rose to his feet once again, striding back to the pile he had created, fingering though it. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he turned to the closet once again, digging deeper until he found what he was searching for.

Jack’s eyes widened when he saw what it was—a full leather mask designed to fit tightly against the victim’s face, with several straps and fasteners along the back. This one barely had a slit opening for the nose and there was a plastic bit that served as an additional gag.

This was so not happening.

Wayne glanced from the mask in his hands to Jack several times before speaking. "You will wear this."

"Over my dead body."

"That would be counterproductive."

"Get used to disappointment."

"Why must you be difficult? Why must you defy me?" Wayne asked, his voice singsong and whiney. When Jack refused to comment, Wayne spoke again, his voice resigned as he dropped the mask at Jack’s side. "Very well. I would rather not have to do things the hard way," he said striding from the room. A few beats later, Wayne returned, a needle and ampule in his hand.

Jack’s eyes widened when he caught sight of what Wayne carried and fear shot through him as Wayne kneeled at Jack’s side and easily filled the syringe with the clear liquid.

This was so not happening.

"Wayne…" Jack said, his voice quivering a little. "Wayne, come on, you don’t have to do this, do you?"

Wayne paused, his eyes locking with Jack’s. "You give me little choice." He put a meaty hand on Jack’s face, prepping the needle.

Jack hated the words that he knew were going to come out of his mouth, but to be so helpless again—he couldn’t do that. Wayne could do anything to him—anything at all—and Jack would have no way to do anything about it. "I’ll cooperate," he whispered, his voice harsh. "Just…don’t use that stuff, please." Jack closed his eyes, shutting out the man towering over him.

Jack knew he’d given away a piece of himself, but he hadn’t seen any other way. It was a matter of self-preservation. He really hadn’t given up. He was just biding his time, leaving himself open to other possibilities, other ways to escape. If he was paralyzed, he couldn’t do that. He told himself that, over and over again.

Jack opened his eyes once he felt Wayne’s hand leave his face. Wayne’s eyes were filled with disbelief and something else that he couldn’t place.

"You will cooperate? Willingly?"

Jack nodded, unsure of his voice.

Wayne nodded, placing the syringe next to the mattress on the floor. He rose, walking to the closet and retrieving the stun gun, before returning to unlock Jack’s restraints from the hooks on the floor. Jack kept himself absolutely still. Wayne’s fingers fumbled as the cuffs were unlocked, finally releasing Jack’s limbs and dropping the restraints in a pile.

Wayne’s voice, when he spoke again, was filled with curiosity, but held a note of glee. "Let us see just how cooperative you will be," he said, picking up the stun gun and activating it. "Leave your hands where they are and do not fight me."

Jack nodded, his eyes wide, watching as the stun gun descended, lightly touching the skin above his navel. He closed his eyes tightly as the agony ripped through his body, clenching his hands into fists, trying to control the pain. It took nearly all of his strength to leave his hands lying above his head. He thought that he was strong, but in the back of his mind, a small voice was taunting him, telling him that he’d given up, that he’d broken.

That anguish was worse.

Wayne removed the device and the pain subsided. "Very good, Jack," Wayne said, a note of amazement in his voice. "But, I’m still not convinced."

Jack’s eyes snapped open, watering slightly, and he tried to blink back the tears of pain and failure. "This time, I want you to watch. Keep your eyes open."

Jack nodded. Lifting his head a little so he could watch as Wayne tortured him. As the device touched the skin of his stomach, this time just below his bellybutton, Jack nearly leapt out of his skin. He couldn’t bear to look, but he forced his eyes to stay open and his head to stay up, watching as his skin turned red from the assault and began to welt. He bit down on his lip, trying to hold in his cry.

It felt as if it went on forever.

Once Wayne pulled the device away, Jack was gasping for breath, his muscles tense and strained from his exertions.

Wayne rose to his feet with a smile on his face and a gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Very good, Jack. So you can obey directions when it suits you, can’t you?" Jack nodded, finally getting his feelings back under control.

But when Wayne moved to put the restraints and the stun gun away, leaving Jack on the mattress alone, Jack realized that he was free—and the syringe was lying on the floor only a few feet from his hands.

Jack saw an open door of opportunity and instinctively took it.

As Wayne’s back was turned to him, he rolled slightly, holding in the grunt of pain as his muscles were forced to move, as he tried to reach for the needle.

Wayne, though, had expected something like this and pounced on Jack even before his body was halfway off of the floor, grabbing him and slamming him back onto the mattress—hard.

"Now, now, Jack. I thought you said you’d cooperate," Wayne said, his voice highly pitched, his face darkening into a scowl. "Now, you’ve made me angry and you’re going to have to pay for what you’ve done." Wayne picked up the syringe, holding it high in the air, the clear serum glinting in the light.

Jack’s eyes locked on the needle above his head, dread filling his mind.

"I wish I didn’t have to do this," Wayne said, flicking his fingernail against the side of the needle in an attempt to get the bubbles out. "But it might prove easier for me in the long run." Wayne’s left hand shoved Jack’s head to the side, holding him still.

"Oh, God, no," Jack protested, his voice weak. "Please, I’ll cooperate. I really will," he pleaded. He tried to struggle, but he had no leverage, nowhere to go, nowhere to move.

Wayne looked down his nose at Jack, his eyes as hard as steel. "You had your chance, Jack. I’d stay still if I were you," he suggested sweetly.

"You bastard," Jack said, gritting his teeth, fighting the only way he could. "You son of a bitch. Is this the only thing that makes you feel like a man? You’re a pathetic—AGH!"

The serum hit Jack’s nerves, immediately sending pain shooting down his neck. He felt like he was on fire from the tip of his head to the soles of his feet.

Once it passed, Jack’s limbs seemed to grow heavier until he couldn’t even lift his pinkie finger.

"The dose I gave you should last into tomorrow night sometime. It’ll give you time to consider what you’ve done."

"You sadistic son of a bitch," Jack grunted, his eyes still watering slightly from the pain.

"It was your choice, Jack," Wayne said, rising to throw out the ampule and the syringe. He returned to kneel at Jack’s side and his hands roughly turned Jack over onto his chest, his hands and legs flapping strangely with no coordination.

Wayne held the leather mask open in his hand, the sides pulled apart while his other hand twisted into Jack’s short hair, pulling his head roughly backwards. Whether it was from the pain of the drug or from the sensation of hundreds of hairs being pulled to the breaking point, Jack screamed in agony, allowing Wayne to slide the gag in easily.

Jack tried to spit it out as he had tried once before, but it was impossible. The fight was gone. As Wayne tightly fastened the mask’s straps behind Jack’s head, everything became dark and quiet.

Jack could feel the fear and the stark terror welling up inside him. But in his head, Wayne’s words rang true: it was his choice. He could have cooperated lying there like a lump on a log, letting Wayne have his way—and at first he had been prepared to do so. But when he saw the syringe, the opportunity, he couldn’t resist, he chose to do something to save himself—but had ended up damning himself in the process.

Jack’s world was now reduced to what he could feel and barely hear.

As Wayne moved away, Jack nearly sobbed.

He was truly alone.

Once Wayne was able to get the mask on, things moved quickly.

His nose twitched at the smell of his victim—the vomit and the piss finally combining with the smell of Jack’s fear. A quick shower would fix that problem, Wayne thought, rolling Jack roughly off of the mattress.

Pulling out the garden hose once again, he turned the adjustable nozzle to its highest setting and started spraying, flipping Jack over halfway through to make sure everything was clean. After an initial scream of pain—muffled as it had been into the gag and mask—Jack had gone quiet his comments reduced to groans and grunts.

Putting the hose away, Wayne smiled to himself and reached for a small rough towel. This had possibilities, he thought. If the cold water hadn’t awakened Jack’s nerve endings, then this definitely would. Wayne could imagine the sensations running through Jack as he scrubbed the towel over his skin—akin to rubbing a rough cloth over heated sunburned skin—and he relished every one of Jack’s moans of pain.

He’d rather have it this way, Wayne realized absently, his hands moving methodically, nearly finished with his task. Jack’s cooperation earlier—while originally desired—was anticlimactic. He’d rather have him fighting and screaming. It brought him so much more pleasure when they finally broke—and they all did eventually; some just took longer than others.

Once Jack was dry, he could continue with the rest of his tasks.

Wayne secured Jack’s hands down along his sides first to the binding cuff at the top of each thigh and then with the waist restraint. Moving down Jack’s body, he quickly strapped his knees and ankles together. He didn’t want to have to worry about doing this once Jack was no longer paralyzed.

Knowing what the drug did to his victims, Wayne used the opportunity to play. Running his hands along Jack’s exposed skin, Wayne relished the low grunts of displeasure they elicited from the man. He was finally in control and Jack would learn the hard way.

But when he had heard Jack’s choked-off sob earlier, once the mask had settled into place, Wayne knew he’d won—that he’d gotten through Jack’s defenses—and he flushed with pride. But he also knew that he wasn’t done yet. This time, Jack would have time to think about what he’d done to himself—and he’d be all the more pliable when the time came for the final phase of Wayne’s project.

He was glad Jack had chosen to do things the hard way. It was much more rewarding.

Wayne sat back on his heels, gazing thoughtfully at the bound man before him. What was stopping him from putting him in the net now? Wayne thought. Nothing really.

And it would be easier to do now, rather than later.

He rose and returned to the cabinet, his hands easily finding the object in question. It was a leather body bag—made from widely placed strips of leather. The bag, once secured, hooked to the ceiling with the chains on either end.

Laying it out on the floor, Wayne rolled Jack into it pulling it closed around him and fastening each and every strap as he went along the whole length of Jack’s body. Instead of using the attached chains, however, he chose to use the same steel cord he had used several days before. He could use the motor to lift Jack to hang from the ceiling.

With a silent nod, he quickly grabbed the cording and secured both ends of the bag in place, effectively folding Jack in half. Attaching it to the device in the ceiling, he flipped the switch and watched as Jack’s body rose off the floor, a groan coming from the bound form. Finally reaching the appropriate height, Wayne flicked the switch off and gazed at the swinging shape before him.

Shaking himself, he turned, locked the cabinet doors and moved to the door, his hand lightly patting the swinging figure before him.

He closed and locked the door behind him and as a side thought turned off the light.

There was no need to waste electricity and Jack wouldn’t need it.

Wayne raised his arms above his head, enjoying the feel as they stretched. He’d had a long and busy day. He was looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

He yawned widely and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand before heading up the stairs. He would be back down here late tomorrow. That should give Jack enough time to think about what he’d done. And, at that point, if he hadn’t learned his lesson, he’d kill him.

It was as simple as that.