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Chapter 42 - PC Play Time.

Rex had been waiting along with the two other boys that had been chosen for that afternoon’s ‘Playtime’ session. The three of them had been standing around, cooling their heels, for more than twenty minutes now while the Master was detained on some other business. Rex hoped that maybe - just maybe - the Master would cancel today’s session. Okay, so it wasn't likely, but he could still hope, right?

He was hoping extra hard that afternoon too. He didn't think he'd make it through Playtime in one piece that afternoon. Not after being offered up as a party favor to the Master’s guests at the impromptu soirée that Bellweather had hosted the night before. Those fuckers had been just short of brutal. Rex tried not to think about the hours he'd spent strapped into the sling with one swine after another violating him, but it was difficult to ignore his raw, chafed wrists, the nasty cigarette burn on his stomach, or the constant ache in his ass. He knew he'd been torn - he'd seen the blood when he'd finally been set free and stumbled off to clean himself up - but he had no way of knowing how bad it was. He didn't dare complain about it. Those who complained were automatically punished. But he really could use a couple days off to heal, instead of being selected as one of the afternoon’s Playtime toys.

Just when he was starting to think he might actually escape, however, they heard clomping on the stairs signalling the Master’s imminent arrival. Rex sighed as he dropped to his knees with the other boys and assumed the required subservient posture. He should know not to hope - it only made the let down later even worse.

*Hahahaha*

Bellweather was laughing jovially when he entered. That was always a good sign. You really did NOT want to have to spend time with the Master when he was in a bad mood. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all?

Then Rex caught a glimpse of the man that the Master had been talking to and laughing with and realized it was actually going to be worse than he’d expected. The esteemed Senator Stockwell - who asserted vociferously that he wasn’t gay but who nonetheless rarely passed up an opportunity to take advantage of any of his friends’ male PCs - was notoriously rough on the boys he did grace with his attentions. Everyone in the household agreed that the Senator was one of their least favorite of all the Master’s many guests. Rex had had the misfortune to have experienced the Senator’s zeal first hand a couple of times already and it had never been fun. But considering how sore he already was, Rex was pretty sure that Stockwell would rip him to shreds.

“Thanks for lunch, Howie. It was delicious,” the Senator was saying, while his host shamelessly disrobed. “I really should get going though. I’ve got a town hall meeting tonight that I need to prep for. Gotta try and look knowledgable for my constituents. I can’t just baffle them with bullshit all the time, you know.”

Both men laughed boisterously for a moment or two but then the Master put out a hand to stop Stockwell from leaving. “Not so fast, Jim. No reason to hurry off. You really should stay and have a little fun first.” When Stockwell made noises of reluctance, Bellweather pressed his plea. “Come on, Jim. You know you want to stay . . . I thought Rex here was one of your favorites? You’re not going to let an opportunity like this pass you by are you? I’m sure your voters wouldn’t begrudge you an hour or two of fun after all the hard work you put in on their behalf. Right?”

“I really shouldn’t,” Stockwell responded even while eyeing the three naked boys kneeling in a line along the far wall with evident desire.

“Of course you should! In fact, I think you have to - it would be rude of you to turn down my offer of hospitality.” Bellweather landed a playful punch to his friend’s arm. “Come on. You need to let loose a little, Jim. Just consider it necessary stress relief. Now, tell me which one you want and let’s get started.”

“Fine. Twist my arm, why dontcha!” *hahaha* “But, since you insist,” Jim chuckled along with Howard, and sidled closer to the array of boys. “I DO have a bit of thing for your Rex, here. He’s just so . . . I mean, not that I'm really into guys, you know, but this one is so pretty, it's almost like fucking a girl.” Stockwell ran his fingers through Rex’s shoulder-length, dark brown curls, letting the strands feather through his fingers until his hand cupped the back of the boy’s head. Then he clenched his fist hard and yanked backwards. “Except Rex’s ass is still tighter than the best virgin pussy.” He suddenly let go with a shove that sent the boy’s head flying backwards until it collided loudly with the wall. “On the bench, boy!” He ordered, calmly unbuckling his slacks as he sauntered along behind the boy who was scrambling toward the apparatus.

‘The Bench’ in question was probably Rex’s least favorite thing about his life as a PC - which was really saying a hell of a fucking lot, because being one of Bellweather’s boys wasn't exactly a picnic on the best of days. This bench, though, was the kind of torture device that would have given Torquemada and his Inquisitors hard ons. The basic shape of the bench was similar to a gymnastics pommel horse, with the padded ‘seat’ being broader and not so wide. However, Bellweather had had the thing customized to fit his particular needs, in ways that made it truly atrocious. To start with, he'd added a number of stout leather straps that allowed one’s victim to be belted securely in a variety of different positions.

Stockwell ambled up behind Rex and manhandled the boy into place so that he was draped over the bench on his stomach. Then the man quickly cinched the waist strap tight, holding the boy in place with his torso dangling over the side. Stockwell kicked the boy's legs wider, made some adjustments to the equipment, and then quickly buckled additional straps around each of Rex’s thighs, so that his legs were immobilized. Next, the Senator came around the front of the bench and secured Rex’s hands so they were cuffed to the base of the bench, low down to the floor, effectively doubling the boy over in half with his ass up in the air. With a tap to the electronic floor pedal, Stockwell caused the entire apparatus to rise upwards on its hydrologic hinges, so that the boy was displayed at the perfect height for his user. Unfortunately, this meant that Rex was basically dangling in the air with even his toes unable to reach the ground, thus rendering him totally helpless while leaving his entire backside completely exposed. The only part of his body that he could move much at all was his head, assuming he wanted to look at anything during the torture that was about to commence.

Rex had, of course, meekly submitted to all of this, even though he detested the bench and Stockwell and knew he was about to be violently misused. It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter and resistance would only end with him getting even more hurt. But inside he was screaming. He hated these men. He hated the absolute indifference with which they treated him. He hated that he had no control over anything in his life, not even his own body. He pretty much hated his life in general these days. But unlike some of the PCs at Bellweather’s he refused to let that hate turn into depression. He intended to hold onto his hate, no matter how exhausting that was. His job - at least as far as Rex saw it - was to survive. So he said nothing and let the scabby Senator strap him over the bench without so much as a peep.

Once Stockwell had his victim where he wanted him, he quickly pushed down his pants below his hips, lubed up his dick and shoved it into Rex. There was no preparation or warning, let alone an attempt to go easy. Not that the boy expected any such consideration. But shit it hurt! Despite the fact that Jimmy wasn't exactly well endowed, the abrupt assault upon his still tender hole made it feel like he'd been skewered by a red hot poker. And despite his resolve to remain silent, a very vocal cry was torn from him.

“Quiet!” Stockwell demanded, reinforcing his order with a vicious slap to the back of Rex’s head.

Rex swallowed the rest of his screams, biting his tongue until he tasted the coppery tang of blood in an effort to remain silent. He wasn’t quite as successful at holding back the tears that leaked out the sides of his tightly closed eyes, but with his head hanging down almost to the floor, nobody would see that anyway. Not that Stockwell would bother to look - he was far too busy pounding into the boy’s ass as hard as he possibly could and wouldn’t have taken the time to look.

The whole time that his guest had been busy with Rex, Bellweather had been having his own fun with the other two boys. ‘Buster’ and ‘Prince’ had been getting their own workout. The Master had Prince down on the bed on all fours and was fucking him from behind while directing Buster to rim him. It was one of the PC owner’s favorite positions and the boys were so used to it that they didn’t really have to put much attention into the proceedings. Bellweather would remind them every so often to focus by whipping them with the riding crop he liked to keep on hand for just such purposes. So, basically, it looked like business as usual in the Play Room that afternoon.

Despite their activities, Bellweather and Stockwell managed to keep up their conversation throughout. That was another of the things that Rex hated - the complete disregard these men had for the boys they were using. They didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge the acts of depravity they routinely committed. For all the notice they took of the boys they were fucking, the three naked PCs might not have even been there.

“Damn it, Prince, squeeze me,” Bellweather complained, interrupting Stockwell’s discourse on the status of his reelection campaign. “Shit! This one’s getting so loose it’s like fucking an airplane hangar. No. Fucking. Resistance. At. All!” The Master growled as he slammed into the boy so hard with that last thrust that the young man crashed into the headboard of the bed.

“Good thing you’ll be getting that feisty little blond back pretty soon. Hopefully Kinney hasn’t stretched him out too bad for you. It’s a shame that you didn’t get to take his cherry, but I’m betting, from the ass on him, that he’ll still be good for a few months,” Stockwell tried to console his buddy.

“Don’t remind me. I’m still pissed off at Kinney for stealing the boy out from under my nose like that. Even getting him fired wasn’t enough revenge,” Bellweather groused, pulling out of the disappointing Prince and roughly pushing that boy off the bed before he turned to Buster and started fucking the replacement PC. “Besides, I still have to wait almost two months for the end of the ninety day payment period to expire before Kinney will have to give up the boy. By then the blond might be looser than Prince here. I mean, really, most PCs have a maximum shelf-life of six months, tops. After that, they’re really only good for household work and as landscaping staff. I only bring the older ones out for big parties and when I have a guest I don’t particularly care for.” *hahaha*

Stockwell joined in the laughter. “Well, I can reassure you that Rex here is still nice and tight,” Jimmy confirmed as he thrust in one more time, using enough force to rock the bench even with its large stabilizing braces that were bolted to the floor. “It’s good to know I still rate the cream of your seraglio, Howie.”

“Of course, Jim. Only the best for my real friends.” Bellweather chuckled, the laughter fading into a moan as he apparently hit the perfect rhythm in his fucking of Buster’s ass. “Now THAT’S what I’m talking about. Come on, boy. That’s it. That’s the way,” he crooned, throwing his head back and giving himself over to the pleasure of the fuck.

Just as the sounds from Bellweather’s side of the room started to crescendo, there was a discreet knock on the door and Duke - the most senior PC the Master owned and the man who also acted as the PC Manager for the house - sidled unobtrusively into the room.

“Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes!” The Master yelled as he came. Still breathing hard, he pulled out of the boy, picked up a nearby towel to wipe off his dick and then turned to see what brought Duke in.

“Sorry to disturb you, Master, but Mr. Simon Craswell is here to see you,” Duke spoke up, keeping his head bowed deferentially so that he wouldn’t risk looking Bellweather in the eye.

“Simon? Good man! Send him on down, Duke. I’m sure old Simon won’t mind joining us for Play Time!” Duke started to move off, but was halted by Bellweather before he got more than a couple steps. “On your way out, take Prince here to the detention room and bring me a couple replacements. I’ll see to Prince after I’m done with my guests.”

“Yes, Master,” Duke replied emotionlessly as he signaled to the unfortunate Prince and then followed the boy out of the room.

While they waited for the new arrival to join them, Bellweather came over to see how Stockwell was fairing. Unlike Bellweather, who liked to get off as fast as possible and then move on, the Senator was known to draw out a fuck for as long as he could. So, while Bellweather was already done with his first round and resting up for his second go, Jimmy was still eking out his first fuck, to the detriment of Rex’s sore ass.

“How’s it going over here, Jim? You need a hand? I could always have Buster stick a finger or two up your ass if you need help getting off,” Howard teased his friend.

“Thanks, but no thanks. You know I don’t go for that shit, Howie,” Stockwell retorted, a bit angrily, apparently tired of the often repeated jibe that Bellweather always seemed to try out on him. “Besides, I’m doing just fine on my own. I don’t like to rush things. It’s always better when you take your time.” He emphasized his point by slapping Rex’s ass with his hand in a stinging blow that caused the boy to buck against his restraints. “Although, things might go a bit faster if the boy seemed a little more enthusiastic. He’s not very lively today. The way he’s just laying there, it’s almost as boring as fucking my wife.” *hahaha* “He’s not even hard. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he wasn’t enjoying himself.” *hahaha* Both men laughed at that one. “You sure this one hasn’t already reached the end of his usefulness, Howie?”

“You better not be giving Jimmy any problems, Rex,” Bellweather warned sternly. “You know better than that, boy. Now, buckle down and show my friend a good time, or you’ll regret it.” Bellweather used the riding crop he was still holding to punctuate his order, bringing the whip down with a biting slash across the breadth of the boy’s back. “Here you go, Jimmy.” He handed over the whip to his guest. “Use this on him every so often and you should get a little more responsiveness.”

“Thanks, Howie,” Stockwell took the crop and used it to deliver a few practice switches to the boy’s back and buttocks, causing the PC to writhe and grunt at every strike. “That’s much better.” He ran his hands over the boy’s stinging back, thrusting in and out with a renewed fervor now. “Shit that looks hot. All those bright red marks on that unblemished skin . . . Although it would be even better if he were blond like the one you’re getting from Kinney. Now, that skin must show off a mark to perfection.” Just to test out his theory, Stockwell gave the boy one more good stripe with the crop, then moaned erotically and upped his fucking pace.

The discussion of how to mark your slave’s skin to the best advantage was interrupted at that point by the advent of Simon Craswell. “Jim. Howie. Nice to see you both,” he greeted those already in the room. “Sorry to intrude, Howie. I didn’t realize you were busy. I can come back if you prefer,” Simon apologized as he approached, his shoes appearing in Rex’s line of vision as he neared the bench and came to a stop next to Bellweather’s bare feet.

“Nonsense, Simon. Nonsense! If anything, you got here just in time to join us. The more the merrier, I always say,” Bellweather greeted his friend gregariously. “Come on in and pick out a boy for yourself. I just finished with Buster over there - he’s probably good for another go if you don’t mind sloppy seconds. *hahaha* But I also had Duke bring in some fresh stock as soon as he told me I had another guest. Let’s see . . . Oh, yes, Fido here is good if you’re in the mood for a little spicy Mexican treat. Or, if you like ‘em a little more vanilla, Lucky isn’t a bad choice - although he’s a bit tame for my tastes, you know.” *hahaha* “Your choice, old friend.”

“Hmm. That’s a tough call, Howie. They all look so tasty. How do you pick with all this on offer all the time?” Craswell responded, his tone making him sound like a kid in a candy store, unable to choose from among the tempting treats.

After a minute or two, during which time Rex assumed the newcomer was checking out the options, Craswell announced that he rather liked the look of Fido’s cock and asked if the boy was allowed to top. Bellweather immediately acquiesced. The Master was known to like a dick up his own ass on occasion and had probably purchased ‘Fido’ for just that purpose. That boy WAS ridiculously well hung. So Craswell’s request wasn’t at all outside the norm for the residence. If only, Rex thought, Bellweather would let him top for a change. Unfortunately, the man seemed to like Rex’s ass a bit too well and he wasn’t nearly as well endowed as Fido, so no topping for him.

There wasn’t much conversation for a few minutes after that. Rex assumed that Craswell and Bellweather were busy getting their new toys arranged to their liking. Rex was too distracted by Stockwell’s frequent and overly generous use of the riding crop to care much about what was going on over on the bed. The fiendish fucker seemed quite turned on by the way the whip caused Rex to squirm even though the boy tried not to. He quickly realized that every time he twitched away from the crop, Stockwell got even harder and jammed into him with more vigor. Fucking sadist. It was almost impossible to force his body not to respond to the pain though.

“That’s it, Boy. Fight me! Just like that!” Stockwell was murmuring through his increased pleasure. “I like it when they fight. And they always do in the end . . .”

Thankfully, before Stockwell got too carried away with his flogging fun, the conversation between Bellweather and Craswell intruded on the moment. “. . . So, I’m guessing you didn’t just come over for an afternoon fuck, Simon?” Bellweather teased.

“No. Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” Craswell’s voice was breathy and uneven as he spoke, apparently due to the excellent fucking Fido was giving him. “I actually came over to pass on some information I thought you might be interested in.” *Mmmmmm* “Oh yeah. Fuck that’s good.”

“News?” Stockwell prompted, pausing in his pummeling as soon as he heard this cue.

“Yeah. You guys remember that newbie at Lapointe’s last auction? The one that bought the blond you’d been interested in, Howie? Guy by the name of Brian Kinney?” Craswell asked, then paused for a minute to moan even louder.

“What about Kinney?” Bellweather demanded, trying to refocus Craswell on the conversation.

“I ran into him last night at the Gallery. Him and his little PC,” Craswell announced to the surprise of all. “It turns out that PC he bought himself is a pretty darn good artist, if you can believe it. My partner, Bloom, ‘discovered’ him and had a bunch of the boy’s artwork on display at the gallery for our First Thursday Exhibit last night. The kid’s work was selling like hot cakes, too.”

That definitely got Stockwell’s attention. He stopped fucking Rex altogether at that point. “What do you mean, ‘like hot cakes’?” Jimmy asked pointedly.

“I mean like almost selling out on the first night of the show,” Craswell explained, before he was once again distracted. “Oh, fuck, yeah. Good boy, Fido. Good boy!”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Bellweather commented. “Simon . . . Simon, this is important. Could you please focus a little for a minute. Fido, stop for a second,” the Master directed. “Listen, Simon, I was actually hoping to get that boy back from Kinney, and it sounds like this art sale thing could mess up my plans. Jim and I need to know everything you can tell us about Kinney and the boy right now.”

“There’s not much else to tell,” Craswell replied and judging by the tone of his voice he seemed a little miffed that Bellweather had interrupted his fuck just to hear more gossip. “The kid’s artwork is pretty good - although I didn’t think it was as great as everyone who was raving about it said. But about ninety percent of what we had displayed last night sold - which means Kinney should net maybe ten to twelve thou after our gallery’s cut. It was pretty amazing, actually, especially for a completely unknown artist like that. Bloom said something about how the novelty of having a PC as the artist had spiked the interest.”

“Shit!” Stockwell cursed, striking Rex with the crop in exasperation over this news. “This is not good, Howie. If Kinney can sell the boy’s artwork for that much money, he might be able to raise the rest of the purchase price that way. This is going to ruin all our plans.”

“Fucking A! I want that boy, Jim. I should have had him from the start. I can’t let Kinney keep him. I just have to get that boy back,” the Master growled.

“I want you to get him back too, Howie. Trust me. You don’t know how much I want that too,” Stockwell replied, so distracted that he was now just standing there and drumming his fingers nervously on Rex’s butt cheek instead of fucking him. Finally, the Senator spoke up, authoritatively. “Well, we’re just going to have to change our plans. We can’t risk waiting another two months until the end of the ninety day purchase period. There’s too much of a chance Kinney will somehow come up with the full bid price if we wait. We’re going to have to do something now. We can’t let that PC keep making artwork for Kinney to sell.”

“But what can we do?” Bellweather asked petulantly.

“We have to get that PC away from Kinney right now.”

“But how?” Bellweather sounded totally confused. “We can’t just TAKE him. He’s legally Kinney's property, at least until he defaults on the bid.”

“If you don’t, you can just kiss the boy’s ass goodbye, Howard,” Stockwell reasoned. “Besides, until that bid price is paid in full, Kinney’s claim to the boy isn’t absolute. As the second highest bidder, you still have a legitimate claim to the kid as well. So would it really be that wrong for you to just hang onto the kid - keep him safe, so to speak - until the bid payment period expires? I mean, after that, he’d be your property anyway, right? You’d just be taking possession of the kid a little early is all,” the wily Senator rationalized, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as well as his friend.

His argument was readily accepted by the Master though. “That’s true! I have every right to that boy if Kinney doesn’t pay the bid price. Until he’s paid in full, the boy is as much mine as anyone's. If Kinney somehow manages to pay the bid price off, I could always return the boy, right? But if he doesn’t come up with the money, the kid would be mine anyway, so where’s the harm?” Bellweather jumped right on the bandwagon. “But how do we go about this? We’d need to be . . . Careful.”

“Obviously,” Stockwell agreed, resuming his assault on Rex’s ass as he silently thought through the permutations of this development. “Kinney seems rather taken with this boy. The only times I’ve seen them out in public together, he’s kept the kid pretty close at hand. It’s not going to be easy to get the PC away from him.”

“That’s stating it mildly,” Craswell piped up again, seemingly unfazed by the discussion of stealing someone else’s PC. “You should have seen them at the gallery. Kinney was hovering over the boy the whole fucking night. That PC wasn’t allowed more than a step away from his owner the entire time I was there. If you want to get ahold of the kid, you’re going to have to do it sometime when Kinney isn’t around. But, from what Sidney was saying, the kid doesn’t go anywhere; it sounded to me like he stays holed up in Kinney’s loft pretty much all day and just paints while his owner is off at work.”

Rex heard some grunting ensue and assumed that Fido was back at his duties pleasuring Craswell’s ass, which impression was confirmed when the man groaned loudly and discontinued his commentary.

“Okay. So we just need to find a way to get into Kinney’s place sometime during the day when Kinney’s gone. Too bad he’s no longer working at VanGuard all day; that would have been the perfect time to get the boy. But no matter. I’m sure we can find some time that Kinney’s not around. How do we get inside though? Short of breaking and entering, I mean,” Stockwell thought aloud as he absentmindedly continued to fuck Rex.

“Actually . . . I might be able to help you on that one,” Simon spoke up again, mid-fuck of his own, then got distracted again. “Yes, Fido. Yes. Oh, fuck, YESSSS!” After a minute or two of erotic groaning and moaning - the sound of which seemed to egg on both Stockwell and, from the sounds emanating from the bed, Bellweather too - Craswell continued. “I think I might know someone who can get you access to Kinney’s loft. I ran into the daughter of an old friend at the gallery last night and it turns out the woman is a friend of Kinney’s. She wasn’t too thrilled about Kinney’s purchase of the PC Artist. From the way the bitch was talking, she would probably be happy to help you get rid of the boy.”

“Really? That sounds like it might have possibilities,” Stockwell sounded hopeful. “If this woman can get us inside the building at least, I think it should be possible to get the boy away from there without causing a scene . . . Let me think on this a bit, gentlemen. I’m sure we can come up with a workable plan.”

Stockwell seemed buoyed by this latest development and while he was ‘thinking’ he renewed his attentions to Rex with alacrity. By that point, Rex’s ass had gone completely numb. He was sure that was probably a bad sign, but at least it didn’t hurt as much right at that moment. However his flogged back was now aching almost as much as his ass had been earlier. And, now that Stockwell seemed focused on him again, it was undoubtedly going to get worse very quickly. That fucking riding crop was being used rather indiscriminately.

“Come on, Boy. Show me what you’ve got.” He smacked the whip down extra hard over a patch of skin that had already been hit repeatedly, eliciting a whimper from Rex but nothing more. “Damn it! Do something! Don’t just lay there!”

“Problems, Jim?” Bellweather’s voice neared, echoing with concern for his friend.

“This boy just fucking lays there like a limp rag. He isn’t even hard,” the man complained, swacking the PC again and again, but Rex was so tired that Stockwell got nothing more than a twitch with each strike.

“Here, try this,” Bellweather suggested helpfully, bending down to disconnect one of the spare leather straps from the bench and then wrapping it around Rex’s neck before handing the ends to Stockwell. “I find that a little bit of ‘breath play’ helps in situations like this. Give it a try. The boy will get hard in spite of himself. It works like a charm.”

“No, Master, please . . .” Rex broke his silence to plead, only to have his words choked off as the man standing behind him pulled the ends of the strap tight.

That got Rex moving. He thrashed his head from side to side, frantically pulling at the restraints holding his hands immobile, but getting nowhere, of course. The strap around his neck only got tighter as he struggled. Just when the edges of his vision started to get blurry, the strap went slack and Rex gratefully gulped in a lungfull of air. He could hear Stockwell laughing now, and felt the excitement that was transmitted through his increased rhythm.

“That’s MUCH better, Howie. Thanks. You a really are a man after my own heart.” *hahaha* “We both like our fucks to fight a little, don’t we. It really does enhance the experience.” Stockwell turned his focus back to Rex. “Now, boy, it’s time to get serious. Show me what you’ve got.”

So saying, he rammed into the boy’s ass as hard as he could and pulled the strap tight again, choking off the cry that Rex couldn’t hold back at the double assault. He kept thrashing and straining against the leather straps even though he knew it was futile. The instinct to fight was irresistible. He didn’t want to die. He had to find a way to breathe.

One more time, the strap was released and he was able to suck in some air. Rex realized that, despite everything, he was starting to finally get hard. Great. That would only egg on the bastard trying to kill him. Even his own fucking body was betraying him now.

The third time Stockwell pulled the strap tight and cut off his air, Rex knew it was all over. Stockwell was so turned on by the fact he’d finally got a response out of Rex. It was clear he was close to his climax. Rex could feel the blackness taking over, but as he slowly lost consciousness he heard Stockwell crowing with delight and felt the sticky heat of the cum washing through his rectum. Maybe it was a good thing he was about to pass out. If he was still awake when the man removed that fucking strap from his neck, he might not be able to stop himself from saying or doing something in retaliation. And that would not help him with his goal of surviving.

“Ahh! That’s better,” Rex vaguely heard Stockwell’s voice through the oxygen-deprivation haze. “Now, let’s figure out how we’re going to kidnap your newest PC, Howie.”