The comic shop back room smelled like ink and old paper when Jordan first stripped. Alex had the sketchpad open on the table, pencils lined up like tools for something dirtier than drawing. "On your knees," Alex said, voice flat and direct. Jordan dropped without hesitation, wrists already crossed behind his back. The rope came out thick and black, the kind that left marks. Alex looped it tight, cinching Jordan's arms so his shoulders pulled and his chest pushed forward, nipples hard from the cool air and the sudden helplessness.
"Look at you, already leaking," Alex muttered, grabbing Jordan's cock and giving it a rough squeeze. Precum smeared across his palm. He wiped it on Jordan's face, then went back to the rope, wrapping it around Jordan's chest in a harness that framed his pecs and forced his breathing shallow. Every tug made Jordan's dick twitch harder. Alex stepped back, flipped to a fresh page, and started sketching the pose exactly as it was: a muscled guy in full comic bondage, lines bold and exaggerated, the kind of panel that would sell out at the con.
Jordan's mouth watered. He wanted Alex's cock in it, wanted to be used while the ropes held him. "Please," he rasped. Alex ignored him at first, shading the drawing with quick, aggressive strokes. Then he stood, unzipped, and fed Jordan his thick shaft in one slow push. Jordan took it deep, gagging when Alex grabbed his hair and started fucking his face in short, deliberate thrusts. Spit ran down Jordan's chin onto the rope. Alex pulled out, slapped the wet cock against Jordan's cheek, and said, "Turn around. Ass up."
The table edge dug into Jordan's hips as Alex bent him over it. More rope circled his thighs and calves, locking his legs apart and his knees bent so he couldn't stand.
His hole was exposed, vulnerable, the way the comic heroes always ended up after the villain got hold of them. Alex spat on it, rubbed the head of his cock around the rim, then pushed inside without warning. Jordan groaned loud, the stretch burning sweet and deep. Alex fucked him hard and steady, one hand gripping the rope harness for leverage, the other still holding the pencil like he might sketch the scene mid-thrust.
Every slam drove Jordan's cock against the table, smearing precum across the wood. The ropes creaked. Alex reached under, stroked Jordan's balls, then wrapped fingers around his shaft and jerked him in time with the pounding. "You come when I say," Alex growled. Jordan nodded, desperate, the denial making his whole body shake. Alex kept going, switching angles until he nailed the prostate on every stroke. Jordan's moans turned into broken begging.
When Alex finally let him finish, it was with two fingers shoved in alongside his cock, stretching Jordan wider while the orgasm ripped through him. Cum shot across the floor in thick ropes. Alex pulled out, painted Jordan's ass and lower back with his own load, then untied just enough to flip him onto his back on the table. The remaining ropes kept Jordan's arms pinned and legs spread. Alex climbed up, straddled Jordan's chest, and fed him the softening cock to clean. Jordan licked it obediently, tasting both of them.
Alex picked up the sketchpad again, showing Jordan the finished page: a full-color panel of the bound hero, cum-streaked and used, eyes glassy with submission. "Next issue," Alex said, already reaching for fresh rope, "we do the double-page spread." Jordan's spent cock gave a weak twitch. He was ready for the next panel.
