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He comes to himself flat on his stomach, hands trapped at his sides, his legs hanging loose, bent at just the wrong angle to get any ground when he tries to move. All is dark before him and when he tries to shout, to make a noise, he’s muffled, something around quieting him, something between his teeth and digging into his head. He wriggles, trying to get enough leverage to get himself up into a sitting position, only to freeze when something, someone, settles a hand on his ass.
There’s voices suddenly, barely audible, indecipherable. He tries to yell but no one responds, not with whatever is between them and whatever is in his mouth. Squirming gets no reaction as well, though he hears something like a laugh at how his bare feet scramble for purchase against the ground. The hand on his ass pets him, soothing, and another slips into the trembling grasp of his own, waiting for a squeeze. When he gives it, tight and hard, both pull away. He tries to shout again, trying to prevent them from leaving, only for a the sound to stop as a sharp pain suddenly strikes through him.
Fuckers just spanked him.
He kicks out, infuriated, only for another hit to land, then another and another, every time he tries to writhe or fight until he just knows his ass is bright red under his jeans. Until he gives up for now, panting, frustrated.
Fingers hook into his belt loops and he suddenly is very very aware of how trapped he is. Hands grab his legs, preventing him from struggling as his pants are pulled down, exposing him. Someone out there whistles and he feels himself flush, embarrassed. The panties are tight, they were meant to be, meant to show off how fat his cunt is, meant to give a clean view of his cock as they ride up between his lips. Meant to be sexy, a little treat for the end of the day, cheap enough to rip off while still being all red and enticing, but now he just feels silly, exposed, asinine.
The hand comes back, harder this time in a clear attempt to watch everything jiggle against their confines, dragging a gasp from his mouth. Another hit lands on his hole, another on his cock, the grip on his legs spreading him so he’s easier to hit, trapped with nothing to do but take it. More and more and more until he’s trembling, shaking, twitching in a futile attempt to escape from the relentless sensation.
He’s soaking wet in an embarrassingly short amount of time, the hits coming back sticky and soaked. The rumble of mocking pleasure he hears is heavy, wanting, the slaps finally subsiding in favor of fingers sliding past the thin elastic line of the panties to feel over his hole, to dip and pull and test just how stretched he is. Very, being the answer, dripping with slick and lube. When the fingers disappear he wriggles, confused, having expected more.
Then the panties are yanked hard enough to snap and something is pressed against his hole, thick and hard and startlingly cold, tapered to a point but seemingly endless. He clenches around it instinctively, nearly screaming at how deep it goes with almost no give, forcing him open relentlessly until he’s got no choice but to collapse into whatever he’s trapped in, mind fully locked onto whatever is bullying all the way to his core. It’s not a cock, not shaped like how it is, a yelp dragging from him as it’s twisted and several bumping ridges grind against his inner walls, his teeth biting into the leather of whatever is on his face to keep him from making any other loud pathetic noises.
And then it starts to vibrate, and he loses that battle immediately.
The sound of laughter is distant, a muffled echo as he thrashes, rattled all the way inside and rapidly, violently, approaching his peak. The grip on his legs releases, letting him move to his heart’s content, trying to get away, trying to get closer, trying to do anything but sit there and take it. His stomach clenches, his muscles go tight. He throws his head, keening, and suddenly there’s a sound of ripping tape and something lands heavily on his back. Suddenly the space he’s in feels much, much smaller. Instinctual panic rips through him and he throws a hurried sign before he can think about it. Immediately everything behind him comes to a halt, the toy turned off, a hand twining with his free one. He squeezes it twice, then twice more, and then there’s a flurry of movement as he’s unstrapped from the hole and gently pulled free, back onto the ground. Headphones are pulled carefully off his head, calloused hands cupping his jaw.
“Kyle, kill the overhead. Simon, I’m going to take your blindfold off, that okay pet?”
He nods, desperately needing to see. The elastic clips his ears as it’s pulled off, but then he’s looking at John’s worried face and their blessedly spacious commons, Kyle and Johnny lurking nearby, and finally the calm begins to return.
“Want your muzzle off kitten?”
Another nod, and the leather straps are carefully undone, freeing him entirely. For a second he just sits there, mind clicking back down. Johnny comes to kneel beside him, pressing up into his side, giving him heat and warmth to center himself. John’s hands shift to hold his head entirely, letting him relax into his grip, fingers soothing where the straps rested.
“Color?”
“Yellow. Somethin’ shifted. Got too small.”
It takes a bit of effort to bite down on the instinctual shame of that, the embarrassment over ruining their fun. He knows they’d insist he comes first anyways. Knows he’d do the same.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Kyle duck to look into the padded hole, “Shit, some of the blankets came loose. Told you we should’ve used nails.”
“Ye want t’be the one t’explain why we needed th’nails?”
“Boys,” John’s voice is low, steady, a thrum that soothes and sighs, “Want t’stop princess?
“No just…” He knows they should, really. It’s the smartest, most reasonable thing. But he doesn’t want to, not that he’s cooled down, not with their one successfully planned night together in months already fucked by his stupid bloody claustrophobia, “Here instead? Let me suck y’off?”
“Of course sweet. Soap, get t’business.”
Johnny nudges him up higher onto his knees, just enough to worm under him and pull him back down onto his face, a nice contrast to the softened cock that fills his line of vision. It strikes a little guilt through him, seeing it flag, but soon enough a hand settles in his hair, letting him take his time and settle his hands against his furry thighs, ducking to get his mouth where it needs to be. It takes effort to even get his jaw open around the head, mind going soft and dizzy as he’s pulled slowly to the root, so thick he has no choice but to focus everything on it, on breathing around it. The hands that were holding him slip to pet his hair, to cup his head and hold him close.
A warm body presses up against his back, hands coming around to pluck and play at his nipples, at the rings he’d swapped in for today, “Maybe next time we have you on your back. Hook these to somethin’ above you. Get one of those clips that can clip t’your cock too, make you stay in place or get ‘em yanked.”
John’s laugh rumbles through him, tickling the back of his throat as he’s held there, “Kyle, focus.”
“I am focusing,” A mean twist, making him jolt, making him gag and grind down into the tongue that darts deeper to soothe him, “Fuck ‘is face harder if you want t’complain.”
They lose themselves in it, a multi-backed beast focused solely on him, on giving him what he wants and needs. All thoughts are lost under the waves of it, of rolling himself into Johnny’s mouth as Kyle conducts him like an orchestra, of staring up into John’s hungry eyes as he fucks harder and harder into his throat, cooing sweet things to him as his vision starts to go spotty and black. There’s nothing but cotton in his head as he’s crushed into the curls at the base, not even able to taste as John comes right into his stomach.
His orgasm comes right on the heels of his first gasp of air, back arched and hips nearly flat as Johnny knocks his nose into his cock and holds him there, fingers digging sweet bruises into his thighs. Kyle keeps him soaring, pinching and pulling and laughing in his ears as Johnny goes off like a shot beneath him, a yelp into his depths drawn out by a wave making his legs go crushingly tight around his head.
When he’s finally pulled off, pulled towards the bed, it’s with the sight of Johnny flat on his back and panting, a wet spot staining his jeans. It’s with finally spotting the big bright purple tentacle monstrosity also on the floor by him—all ridged and bumped and very tempting for another day. Then his vision is filled with a very pretty man straddling his chest, equally pretty cock in hand.
Fuzzy, all he can really manage is to barely shove his tits together, more just something nice to look at than anything of note. It still makes Kyle moan, setting about stripping his cock like he’s on a mission.
“So sweet love, so gorgeous.”
It only takes a few strokes, head bumping against one of the rings and getting one last little whimper out of him before he’s painted up to his nose. His tongue darts out to taste, earning triplicate groans.
A warm towel gently scrubs him clean a minute later, John leaning down to kiss him before pulling him more into his arms. Their Sergeants join soon after, settling their weights over and around him, warming him and grounding him. Eventually they’ll have to get up, will have to shower and clean up the mess, but for now he’s happy to be at the bottom of a pile, loved and content.
They can try again next time.