The collar clicked shut around Marcuss throat with a sound that sealed more than flesh. It was cold iron lined with soft leather, heavy enough to remind him with every breath that he no longer belonged to himself. Master Veyr stood over him in the dim stone chamber, the only light coming from a single iron sconce that threw long shadows across the walls. Veyrs hand remained on the back of Marcuss neck, fingers pressing just hard enough to keep him on his knees.
You will speak only when spoken to, Veyr said, voice low and even. You will obey without hesitation. Your body is no longer yours. It is mine to use, to mark, to break if I choose. Marcuss cock twitched at the words, already half-hard from the simple act of kneeling naked on the cold floor. He kept his eyes lowered as he had been taught during the first week of his captivitynow his training.
Veyr tugged the leash attached to the collar, forcing Marcuss head up. Their gazes met. Veyrs eyes were dark, unreadable, yet they carried an intensity that made Marcuss pulse race. Crawl to the bench, Veyr ordered. Marcus obeyed, palms and knees scraping against rough stone. The bench was padded leather, bolted to the floor, equipped with thick leather straps at wrist and ankle level. He climbed onto it without being told, stretching out on his stomach, arms extended, legs spread. The position left his ass exposed, vulnerable.
Veyr worked in silence, buckling the straps tight until Marcus could not move more than an inch. The restraint sent a rush of heat through himhelplessness was the core of his surrender. A gloved hand traced the curve of his spine, then lower, parting his cheeks. A slick finger pressed against his hole, circling but not entering. Marcus bit back a moan. He knew better than to make noise yet.
The first strike of the crop landed across both cheeks without warning. Fire bloomed across his skin. Another followed, then another, each one precise, building a ladder of pain that climbed higher with every blow. Marcuss breathing grew ragged. His cock pressed against the bench, leaking steadily. Veyr paused only to run a palm over the heated flesh, soothing and claiming at once. Count them, he commanded.
Four, Marcus rasped. The crop descended again. Five. By twenty his voice shook, yet his body arched into the strikes, craving more. Veyr set the crop aside and replaced it with his fingers, two of them pushing inside Marcus without mercy. The stretch burned, mixing with the lingering sting of the crop until Marcus could no longer separate pain from pleasure.
Veyr fucked him slowly with those fingers, curling to press against the spot that made Marcuss vision blur.
When Veyr withdrew, Marcus heard the soft sound of a buckle and the rustle of clothing. Veyrs cock, thick and hard, pressed against his entrance. There was no further preparation. Veyr pushed in with one steady thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Marcus cried out, the sound raw. Veyr gripped his hips and began to move, deep and relentless. Each thrust drove Marcus harder against the bench, the straps holding him open and helpless. Veyrs voice was a dark murmur above him. You exist for this. For my cock. For my use. Say it.
I exist for your cock, Marcus gasped. For your use. The words tasted like surrender, and the taste was addictive. Veyrs pace increased, skin slapping skin, until the rhythm turned brutal. Marcuss orgasm built without permission, the pressure coiling tight. Veyr reached beneath him, wrapped a hand around his cock, and stroked once. Come, he ordered. Marcus shattered, spilling across the bench in hot pulses while Veyr continued to fuck him through it. Only when Marcuss body trembled with aftershocks did Veyr drive deep one final time and fill him, claiming him from the inside.
Later, Veyr released the straps but left the collar on. He guided Marcus to a low pallet in the corner of the chamber. Rest, he said. Tomorrow we begin the next phase. Marcus lay on his side, ass sore, hole slick with come, the collar a constant weight against his throat. He closed his eyes and felt the power exchange settle deeper into his bones. He was no longer a man who had wandered into this world. He was property nowmarked, used, owned. The thought sent a quiet thrill through him, and he slept with the taste of obedience still on his tongue.
