Jake slammed the door behind him, the rolled-up comic still clutched in his fist. The shop clerk had smirked when he bought it, some underground gay bondage comic with crude but filthy ink drawings of men strapped to tables, cocks leaking while thick ropes bit into muscle. Jake’s own cock had been half-hard the whole bus ride home. He spread the pages across his kitchen table and stared. Page three showed a bearded top lashing a bound bottom’s thighs, the bottom’s hole stretched around a fat plug, mouth open in a silent scream of need. Jake unzipped, spat in his palm, and started stroking hard and fast, eyes locked on the ink.
He didn’t hear the knock at first. When he finally opened the door, the man from the shop stood there, leather jacket open over a black tank, eyes dark. “You left your receipt,” he said, voice low. “Figured I’d bring it. Saw how you looked at that comic.” Jake stepped back without thinking. The man walked in like he owned the place, spotted the open comic, and grinned. “Name’s Marcus. You want the real thing or you just gonna jerk off to pictures all night?”
Jake’s mouth went dry. “Real thing.”
Marcus didn’t waste time. He shoved Jake face-down over the table, scattering pages. Rope appeared from his jacket pocket—thick, rough hemp. He yanked Jake’s wrists behind his back and looped them tight, the knots professional and mean. “Stay.” One word, and Jake’s cock throbbed against the wood. Marcus pulled his jeans down to his knees, leaving his ass bare. A gloved hand spread him open, thumb pressing dry against his hole. “Look at that. Already twitching like the slut in the comic.”
He worked lube in with two fingers, rough and fast, scissoring until Jake was panting and pushing back. Then the rope came again, looped around Jake’s thighs and cinched to his bound wrists, forcing his back into a deep arch, ass up and helpless. Marcus stepped back to admire his work, then landed a hard slap on each cheek. “Fuck, you color up nice.”
The comic lay open right under Jake’s face. Marcus tapped the page. “We’re doing this one next.” He unzipped, pulled out a thick, veined cock already leaking, and rubbed the head between Jake’s cheeks. No slow entry. He drove in deep on the first thrust, bottoming out while Jake gasped and strained against the ropes.
Marcus fucked like he meant to break something—short, brutal strokes that rocked the table and made the comic pages flutter. Every time Jake’s hole clenched, Marcus laughed low and smacked his ass again. “Tighter. Show me how bad you want it.”
He pulled out, flipped Jake onto his back, and retied him—ankles to the table legs, wrists stretched above his head, chest and cock fully exposed. Marcus straddled Jake’s face and fed him his cock, pushing until Jake’s throat convulsed. Spit ran down his chin. Marcus held there, letting him choke, then eased back just enough for Jake to suck properly. “Eyes on me. Good boy.”
When Marcus finally climbed off, he stroked Jake’s neglected cock once, twice, then stopped. “Not yet.” He opened his own pants fully and climbed onto the table, straddling Jake’s hips. He sank down onto Jake’s cock in one smooth motion, hole slick and tight, riding him with controlled rolls of his hips while his hand wrapped around Jake’s throat. “You don’t come until I say.” The power in his voice made Jake’s balls draw up tight.
Marcus rode harder, using Jake like a toy, ropes creaking with every bounce. When he was close, he leaned down, bit Jake’s lower lip, and growled, “Now.” Jake came so hard his vision whited out, shooting deep inside Marcus while the ropes held him helpless. Marcus followed seconds later, painting Jake’s stomach and chest.
He didn’t untie Jake right away. Instead he wiped them both down with a damp cloth, then sat beside the table, one hand resting possessively on Jake’s bound chest. “Comic’s got more pages,” he said. “You free tomorrow night?”
Jake swallowed, throat still sore, ass still throbbing. “Yeah.”
Marcus smiled, dark and satisfied. “Good. Bring the comic. We’ll do page seven.” He started loosening the knots, slow and careful now, but the promise in his voice kept Jake hard even as the ropes fell away. The comic lay open on the floor, ink still wet where Marcus’s boot had smeared it. Jake knew he’d never look at it the same way again.
