The warehouse smelled of oil, rust, and leather. Marcus had been stripped, searched, and collared before he even understood the full weight of his mistake. The men who took him were professionals; they didn’t speak much, only gave short orders and used their hands when he hesitated. Thick leather cuffs locked his wrists behind his back, connected by a short chain that forced his shoulders into a painful arch. Another strap circled his chest and arms, pinning them tight. A spreader bar between his ankles kept his legs wide and helpless.
He was shoved to his knees on a stained mattress in the center of the room. A single bulb swung overhead, casting harsh shadows. The leader of the crew, a broad-shouldered man named Kane, stepped in front of him. Kane’s boots were polished black, his jeans already tented.
“Open,” Kane said, voice low and flat.
Marcus shook his head. A gloved hand gripped his hair and yanked. The pain forced his mouth open; Kane’s thick cock pushed past his lips without ceremony. Marcus gagged, eyes watering, but the grip on his hair didn’t ease. Kane fucked his mouth in slow, deliberate strokes, using him like a hole that existed only for this purpose. Spit ran down Marcus’s chin onto his bare chest. Every time he tried to pull back, the chain between his wrists jerked tighter.
When Kane finally pulled out, Marcus was gasping. Kane wiped his cock across Marcus’s face, marking him with pre-cum and spit.
“Still think you’re straight?” Kane asked.
Marcus didn’t answer. He couldn’t. A second man, younger and leaner, moved behind him. Marcus felt slick fingers push between his spread cheeks. He clenched, but the spreader bar and the cuffs made resistance pointless. Two fingers worked inside him without mercy, scissoring and twisting until his hole loosened. The burn turned into something hotter, deeper. His own cock, traitorously, began to fill.
Kane watched it happen. “Look at that. Body knows what it wants even if the mouth lies.”
The fingers withdrew. Marcus felt the blunt head of a cock press against his hole. He tried to twist away, but the cuffs and bar held him open. The man behind him pushed in with one long, steady thrust. Marcus cried out around the gag of his own clenched teeth. The stretch was brutal, too much, yet his cock twitched and leaked onto the mattress.
They took turns. Kane used his mouth again while the other man pounded his ass. Every thrust rocked Marcus forward onto Kane’s cock. The chain linking his wrists clinked with each impact. Sweat slicked his skin; the leather cuffs chafed. He lost track of how many times they switched, how many loads were pumped into him or across his face and chest.
Hours blurred. At some point the spreader bar was removed and he was flipped onto his back, legs folded and strapped to his chest. Kane sank into him again, slower this time, grinding deep while he stared into Marcus’s eyes.
“You’re going to come on my cock,” Kane said. “And you’re going to thank me.”
Marcus shook his head, but his body betrayed him. Kane wrapped a gloved hand around his aching cock and stroked in time with his thrusts. The orgasm hit like a punch. Marcus’s hole clenched around Kane’s cock as ropes of cum striped his own stomach and chest. Kane followed seconds later, flooding him again.
When it was over, Kane didn’t release him right away. He left Marcus bound and dripping, lying on the mattress while the others cleaned up. Kane crouched beside him, ran a thumb through the mess on Marcus’s chest, and pushed it between his lips.
“Next time you won’t fight so hard,” Kane said quietly. “Next time you’ll beg for the chains.”
Marcus closed his eyes, tasting salt and leather. The cuffs still held. His body ached in every place they had used him. Somewhere beneath the shame and exhaustion, a dark, undeniable heat still pulsed.
He knew they weren’t finished with him yet. And part of him, the part he refused to name, already wondered how much more he could take before the fight left him completely.
