The single bulb overhead swung slightly, casting long shadows across the concrete walls. Marcus sat bound to the metal chair, wrists zip-tied behind his back, ankles strapped to the legs. His shirt had been cut open hours ago, leaving his chest bare and heaving. The man who had taken him circled slowly, boots echoing.
You keep fighting, the captor said, voice low and even. Thats fine. It changes nothing.
He gripped Marcuss jaw, forcing eye contact. Marcus tried to turn away, but fingers dug in harder. A gloved hand slid down his stomach, unbuckling his belt with deliberate patience. Marcus bucked, chair scraping, but the straps held. The captor yanked his pants and underwear down in one motion, leaving him exposed.
Marcuss cock lay soft against his thigh at first, but the captors hand wrapped around it anyway, stroking with firm, practiced pressure. No, Marcus spat. Dont touch me.
The captor only smiled faintly and kept moving his fist. Slow, steady pumps. He added spit for slickness, thumb dragging over the head on each upstroke. Marcuss body betrayed him; blood rushed south despite every mental command to stop. The shaft thickened, lengthened, until it stood rigid and flushed.
Look at that, the captor murmured. Already leaking for me.
He worked the cock with both hands now, one twisting at the base, the other focusing on the sensitive crown. Marcuss hips jerked involuntarily. Pleasure built against his will, a tight coil low in his gut.
He clenched his jaw, trying to will the sensation away, but the captors grip was relentless. Pre-cum beaded and was smeared down the length.
When Marcus was close, thighs trembling, the captor stopped. He waited until the edge faded, then started again. Marcus cursed, voice hoarse. The second time the orgasm approached, the captor pinched the base hard, denying it. Marcuss cock pulsed angrily, denied release.
Beg, the captor said.
Fuck you.
The cycle repeated. Stroking until Marcuss breath came in ragged gasps, stopping just before climax. Sweat ran down his chest. His cock throbbed, angry red, veins prominent. On the fourth denial, the captor added a slick finger behind Marcuss balls, pressing firmly against the prostate from outside. Marcus shouted, hips snapping forward despite himself.
The fifth time, the captor pushed two fingers inside him without warning, curling them against the gland while his other hand pumped the shaft in quick, tight strokes. Marcuss resistance shattered. His orgasm hit like a blow, cock jerking violently as thick ropes of cum painted his stomach and the captors glove. He groaned through gritted teeth, body convulsing in the chair.
The captor didnt stop. He kept stroking through the sensitivity, fingers still working inside. Marcuss cock stayed half-hard, forced back to full erection within minutes. Another orgasm built, this one sharper, almost painful. He came again, smaller spurts, muscles locked.
Hours blurred. Each time Marcus thought he had nothing left, the captors hands dragged another climax out of him. By the fifth forced orgasm, Marcuss voice was raw from shouting. Cum streaked his abs, thighs, even the floor. His cock ached, oversensitive, yet still responded.
The captor finally freed one of Marcuss hands, guiding it to his own cock. Finish it yourself or I start over.
Marcuss fingers closed around the shaft. He stroked angrily, desperate for the ordeal to end, while the captor watched with dark satisfaction. When Marcus came the final time, it was dry, body shuddering with nothing left to give.
The captor leaned close, lips at Marcuss ear. Were not done yet. Rest while you can.
He left the room, leaving Marcus bound, spent, and already dreading the sound of returning footsteps.
