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He should have known it was a bad idea to bet on the result of a match against Orton. Everyone knew that Orton cheated,
and, not only was that not cool, it meant that he now had to fulfil his part of the deal. It was locker-room law, you made
a bet, you had to go through with it, or lose so much face that it was almost worth the shame that Orton would undoubtedly
put him through.
It started on the Friday morning, before his weekend of "belonging" to Orton even properly began.
A parcel got handed to him when he'd checked out. He didn't recognise the writing, but he guessed who it was from when, on
opening it once he reached the car, he pulled out a maid's outfit. Not a real one, but one of those fancy ones you get for
your girlfriend. At least it wasn't pleather. No, while it was black, it seemed to be made out of lycra or spandex, something
soft and stretchy anyway. And frills. It had a lot of white frilly parts, under the skirt and on the apron.
He tried
to put it to the back of his mind for the rest of the day. He even avoided putting it on until ten minutes before he had to
be at Orton's room. He had decided that putting it on in his own room and then walking to Orton's room was the better option,
he wasn't going to strip naked and put it on in front of Orton, and anyone who happened to see him and said anything, well,
he'd make sure they suffered for it.
That was when he realised the perverted depths that Orton could reach, 'cause
the label on this dress was in men's sizes. So Orton had somehow bought something like this from a shop. For the company's
reputation, he hoped Orton had paid in cash.
He knocked on Orton's door and stood waiting for him to answer. Orton
made him wait, but not for too long. Carlito was reasonably sure that it was a plan to get him angry, but he isn't that stupid.
He figured that if he went into this calm and collected, it would surprise Orton, giving Carlito the upper hand, even if it
was only for a few minutes. He'd take what he could get.
The first thing Orton did was give him a feather duster. It
was bright pink. Orton said nothing, just pointed to around the room, in an 'off you go' sort of way, and sat back on the
bed to carry on reading. It was a surprise that the prick was clever enough to read.
Carlito started dusting, amazed
that Orton was letting him off that easily. He'd been expecting something unpleasant and bathroom-related. Plus, it was a
hotel room, so whatever hidden nastiness it had, it was already going to be reasonably clean, and dusting wasn't hard work.
He was thorough; he wasn't going to let Orton claim that he hadn't kept the spirit of their bargain.
After the dusting
came the ironing. If Carlito never saw another Affliction t-shirt again, it would be too soon. It wasn't fun, but he could
live with this for a couple of days.
In fact, after his next task, which was to make Orton's bed, he was starting to
wonder why Orton had such a reputation for being an asshole. He could have been so much worse than he was being. Sure, Orton
had made him ask permission to use the john and to get a drink, but given the horror stories he'd heard about Layfield getting
Spanky in a dog lead and pulling him around with it for a day, this was a piece of piss.
His opinion started to change
later that night when it became clear that Orton expected him to stay in the room for the night. Great, now he was a live-in
maid. He tried to point out that it would be easier for both of them if he went back to his room, and then came back early.
He'd do it quietly, he wouldn't wake Orton up. He even told Orton he'd make him breakfast. But Orton wasn't having any of
it, so he was stuck on the floor, no pillow, mattress or quilt, which would have been bad enough anywhere, but the temperature
in Toronto at the end of October meant that it was not somewhere Carlito wanted to be with only a tiny maid's outfit on. Plus,
for all this was a reasonably swanky hotel, the carpet was still the same awful blue ribbed affair that you found everywhere
else. He was going to get no sleep.
He was woken up, tired and aching, by a boot to the back.
"Why weren't you
up before I was?" There was another kick, right into one of the bruises that had started to come up.
"Terribly sorry,
sir. It won't happen again."
"Too right it won't." Orton dialled-up room service and ordered Carlito into bathroom
once it arrived. The en-suite bathroom was colder than the rest of the room, and it seemed like the room service waiter was
taking far too long to get gone. Still, Carlito thought he might as well take a piss break while he could. Who knew what Orton
would have him doing next.
"You can come out now." Carlito did, pulling his skirt back down. "Since you make a shitty
alarm clock, let's see how you are at being a table." Carlito got on his hands and knees and made like a table. It was a matter
of making sure the bruise on his right knee didn't have any pressure put on it, and zoning out. Just lock his elbows out and
see how long he could last.
Orton was making a meal of his breakfast, taking twice as long as he needed to eat it,
digging the handles of his knife and fork into the back of his "table", and spilling the ice out of his orange juice so it
slid uncomfortably down Carlito's back. Carlito managed to fight off the urge to shiver, if he was going to be made to be
a table, he was going to be such a good table that Orton couldn't say he hadn't done his best. He knew what the guys in the
back said about him, that he was getting too big for his boots, hopefully paying up would shut them up for a while.
Once
Orton was done with breakfast, he took the tray off of Carlito's back, put it on the table, and then kicked his "table" over.
Carlito wasn't expecting it so he fell awkwardly.
"You make a lousy table too, falling over at the slightest thing.
You've had your rest, now get back to work." The feather duster made its return, and Carlito had to go back over the room
and the en-suite bathroom again. Once he'd finished that, Orton open a pack of toothbrushes and set him to cleaning the toilet
with one of them.
He heard Orton coming up to him as he was finishing. Orton's tread was heavier than usual, and the
shoe that kicked him in the back to get him to turn round was certainly more solid than a normal shoe.
"Yes, sir?"
"Have
you not finished with that already? You take so long to do everything. You're useless."
"If I could have five more
minutes to finish this, I'm sure it'll be clean to your satisfaction."
"Never mind that." Orton grabbed him by the
upper arm, fingers digging into the muscle near his armpit, and dragged him into the main room. "Kneel." Carlito knelt at
the foot of the bed. Orton sat down on the bed and brought one foot up so that a big black Doc Marten boot was right in front
of Carlito's face.
"You know what to do, don't you?" Carlito looked up, not blankly, because, although he wasn't quite
sure what Orton wanted him to do, he could probably guess, but he wasn't going to do *that* unless he was explicitly ordered.
Why make yourself lower than you had to be? "Go on. Lick it clean."
He'd guessed right then. He was going to hopefully
assume that these were new boots, because he thought that even Orton couldn't get away with making someone else on the roster
ill through one of his pranks.
Carlito started to lick, flattening his tongue to cover as much area as quickly as possible.
Lick, spit, lick, spit.
He’d barely had anything to drink, and the lack of moisture was making his throat ache,
and that was before Orton brought the second boot up to be done. His throat had almost given out by the time he finished.
"Well,
aren't you a good boy then." Carlito didn't have enough throat power left to give Orton the thanks he undoubtedly wanted for
his 'gracious' comment. "Aww. Is your throat sore?" Even if his throat was working, Carlito wasn't going to give him the satisfaction
of saying yes.
Orton picked up a glass from the tray at the side of the bed. He must have called room service again
while Carlito had been cleaning the toilet, because the glass was full of solid ice cubes. Orton picked one of the cubes out
of the glass, and told Carlito to open his mouth.
Carlito knew what temptation tasted like. It would have been so easy
to close his mouth around the ice cube and validate what Orton had been saying. So he didn't. Even so, the trickle of melt
water running down his throat felt so good that he didn't have the words for it. If he could just concentrate on that and
not where he was, or exactly why he hadn't had a drink in so long, it would be okay, it might even be better than that.
Of
course, Orton had to ruin that by making him close his mouth. After a few minutes, he got told to open his mouth again, and
another ice cube got added. The same procedure was followed for the rest of the cubes in the glass till his mouth was filled
with them, and that hurt, even as his throat got blessedly wetter.
Carlito spent the rest of the middle of the day
playing at being a footstool. Orton had him kneel in front of him, and rested his ankles on his right shoulder. The shoulder
hurt more than his knees did, plus the uneven weight distribution was playing havoc with his back. If he had to do this, he'd
rather have been sitting cross-legged, it would have evened the weight out and the pressure would be off his knee. At least
Orton was watching sport, something Carlito could pay attention to in order to distract himself.
Once Orton got hungry
again, Carlito got shoved into the bathroom to hide while room service was brought up. Carlito was hoping that Orton would
go to the gym at some point, because he could do with food too. If that wasn't going to happen, he could do with his stomach
not rumbling, even though it tended to when he didn't eat enough.
His stomach betrayed him though, with an unconcealed
gurgle. "Oh, you're hungry. I'd better feed you then." Orton fed him pieces of food by hand, watching as Carlito ate them.
When Carlito had finished his "meal", Orton patted him on the head. Carlito had no idea why, but out of all the petty things
that Orton had done to get him riled, that was the one that worked. He thought it was because it was just so patronising,
and because it was the kind of thing that had happened all too often when Carlito was a kid.
Carlito's annoyance at
the gesture must have satisfied Orton because, except for making Carlito dust all the available surfaces again, Orton left
him alone for the rest of the night.
Carlito tried to wake up the next morning. He'd barely slept, because of knowing
that, if he didn't wake Orton up for the time he'd set, Orton would use it as an excuse to kick him some more. Not that Orton
wouldn't find some other excuse, no matter what, but you don't invite troubles to your door.
His back ached, worse
than before and he desperately wanted a shower, he'd been wearing the same lycra outfit for the better part of the last two
days and he was starting to smell funky. Still, if Orton didn't complain, he wasn't going to object first.
It turned
out that today Orton didn't want to be woken up, and he used that as his excuse to kick Carlito. His bruises now had bruises,
and if he were slightly more awake, he would probably worry about the dull ache from around his kidney, only, because of how
little he'd slept, he could just take it, without complaint, because this would only hurt tomorrow, and by then, he'd be free
of Orton. The deal was good until 7 pm tonight, at which point he'd have an hour to get ready and get his shit together to
get on the flight to the next place.
Orton finally finished getting his kicks in.
"Would you like me to fetch
your breakfast, sir?"
"No, you can go into the bathroom where you belong." Carlito didn't mind being shoved into the
bathroom again, timing his pissing to the noise of the room service trolley being brought in.
Carlito went down into
the table position without order or complaint. He knew it was undignified, and that he ought to at least be forced into it,
but he was starting to worry that he'd be pissing blood if he wasn't careful. Damage limitation was required, and Orton was
the kind of person who got off on other people's suffering, so he wasn't going to suffer for him.
It was pretty much
the same routine as the day before, with Orton taking forever to eat and scalding him with drips of coffee.
He was
expecting to be sent to clean again, even though there couldn't be a speck of dust left anywhere in the room, but Orton made
him get down on his knees. He took it with the minimum amount of grace he could get away with.
"Open your mouth." Orton
put ice cubes in his mouth again. "And close." This was repeated a few times, enough that Carlito's mouth wasn't as bone dry
as it had been for most of the weekend. Carlito had pretty much switched off his brain, just enjoying not being thirsty, and
trying to avoid the knowledge that Orton was getting off on controlling him, freak that Orton was.
That was why he
didn't react when it was Orton's dick instead of an ice-cube. He'd just zoned out and by the time he did react, it was too
late. He couldn't bite down because his jaws were being forced open, and he was nearly being sick with the force of it. He
could feel the coating of bile on his teeth, and he was trying not to gag, mostly because he wasn't sure that if he did vomit
and choke Orton wouldn't just dump his body out the back and move on.
He couldn't help gagging as Orton switched between
slamming into him and slamming his head down. Eventually Orton took stopped, before Carlito had to submit to the indignity
of swallowing his come.
"Right, get up." Carlito staggered up. "Face down on the bed." Carlito was shocked. Orton couldn't
be planning on doing what Carlito thought he was going to do. The guy was a freak, but not that weird. He also knew that this
would be his last chance to back out. Even with how he looked, black lycra dress and saliva and fuck knew what else down his
chin, he could make it back to his room and no one would know.
Except Orton. And he'd tell people. Not what he'd done,
and what he was undoubtedly planning to do, but that Carlito walked out on the consequences of a bet. And you just didn't
do that. People backstage thought he was a punk already and having him being a known welsher was not going to help that. He
needed people backstage onside, if he wanted to get anywhere in the business. People might, and with some of them it was a
very unlikely might, understand if he explained what it was that caused him to walk out, but that would involve anyone believing
him. If he were a girl they would, but that was because Orton was notorious for hassling any girl within a ten metre radius,
they'd never believe he'd do this to a guy.
And that was the thing, if he just went along with it, Orton wouldn't tell
anyone, it would be just as bad for his reputation, and Carlito would never tell anyone because it would destroy him, so it
would be safe.
So he went to the bed, even though he knew he'd regret it, but it was easier to deal with self-hatred
than people bitching backstage.
"You're so easy." He could hear Orton's footsteps and his heavy breathing. He hadn't
been wrong about Orton getting off on humiliating people. "I'm going to put on a condom. Who knows where you've been." Carlito
could say the same back, or worse still, he knew Orton had been everywhere.
The crotch of the maid's outfit was pulled
to one side. Carlito felt something wet and oily land on his ass, right on the join above where his asshole was.
"I
was debating whether or not to use lube, I'm not sure a whore like you deserves it, but then I thought, why let you ruin my
experience."
Carlito wasn't sure what to expect, sure he'd done it like this with girls before, but then he'd been
the one putting his dick in their asses, and he'd looked after them, and done everything he couldn't expect Orton to do.
Not
that Orton was doing what Carlito had expected him to, Carlito had expected quick and painful, and had braced himself for
it. Instead, Orton was taking his time and being careful, the fucker wanted him to enjoy it. It would have been the final
insult.
Orton kept on and on, like he was a machine, but Carlito wasn't giving him anything to work with, and for the
first time this whole hellish weekend, he could feel Orton getting frustrated, he was starting to pull at Carlito's hair and
shove him down further into the mattress with each thrust. Carlito could cope with this, his body would hopefully respond
less.
Finally he felt Orton spasm inside him and collapse on top of him. Orton managed to land with his left elbow
in Carlito's kidney and his right forearm across the back of Carlito's neck. It was uncomfortable but at least Orton wasn't
doing anything to him anymore.
They must have stayed like that for a while, the time dragging heavily on Carlito because
he had no means of knowing what time it was, and therefore how long he had left, and not knowing what Orton was going to do
to top this, because Orton had been increasing the unpleasantness of what he'd been doing each time.
Finally Orton
moved off him, not without shoving him hard into the bed.
"Stay there." Carlito did, because he didn't think it could
get any worse. Orton came back, with something that was making a buzzing sound.
"Open wide." Orton patted the back
of Carlito's thighs, so Carlito did what he was told. Orton put the vibrator into him. "Don't even think of moving or else
I'll cuff you to the bed and leave you here." Carlito thought he was lying, hoped he was lying, but after all of this he wasn't
sure enough to risk it.
He could feel his dick getting hard because of the constant stimulation. He tried to think
round it, tried to be bored of it, but it didn't help and he could feel moisture leaking from his dick, felt it because he
was stuck lying in it, undeniable evidence of his shame.
The inevitable happened, and now he really was bored of the
damn thing, because it kept going and he couldn't. It hurt. It really hurt, because while Orton had started out gentle he
hadn't finished that way, and then he'd stuck this thing in there and it just wouldn't stop.
Carlito thought he'd finally
become accustomed to it when Randy ripped it out of him.
"Up!" Carlito could barely stand. Orton walked him to the
door, handed him his room card back and locked the door behind him, saying "I'll see you around". Carlito was standing in
the hotel hallway wearing a maid's outfit with his underwear scrunched up and cutting in to him and he didn't know what to
do. All he knew was that one more second in these clothes was too long. He stripped off and left the lycra and cotton where
it lay. Yes, if someone saw him he was going to be in serious trouble but he couldn't stand them any longer.
He managed
to walk to his room, figuring that running might attract attention, and went straight into the shower. He had an hour to be
ready, checked out of the hotel and waiting for Hardy to drive them both to the airport. He was travelling with Jeff because
Trish was staying with family in Toronto, chilling out now that she had retired. When he'd originally heard about her retiring,
he'd been, if not upset, because it was her life, then maybe disappointed because they might have had something, together,
but now he was glad she couldn't make it because he thought that that would have broken him, because he was sure he wasn't
ready for human contact, but Jeff was usually happy talking into silence.
He wasn't sure he would be ready though,
not to see people. What if they could see what Orton had done to him, see what he'd made Carlito do to him. And even if they
didn't, Orton would be there tomorrow night, knowing all of that, waiting for him. Carlito didn't know how to prepare for
that.
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