Chapter 9: The Pit’s Leash
Surf Commands – Pride Falls
By Restrained4U
The dungeon pulsed, sweat thick.
Leo sank, Carrera locked – nine’s ache under welts, eyes dim. Marcus sprawled shirtless; jeans tight.
Jamie perched, briefs wet, envy sparking. Ryan loomed – leather pants, harness vest, boots thudding, crop in boot, cap shading a smirk.
Ryan drew a card, jaw ticking, “Each player rolls one die – highest claims your service ‘til next turn – or yield to punishment.” He flicked it – SERVE OR SINK – gut lurching (They roll? Marcus’d carve me, Jamie’s wild, Leo’s soft – easy).
“Roll,” he snarled, pride braced.
Marcus tossed a 5. “Five – could own you.”
Jamie flicked a 3. “Fuckin’ hell.”
Leo rolled slow – 6 rattled. “Six…” he rasped, shocked.
Marcus laughed. “Wave-boy’s got you – sick twist.”
Leo stood, cage snug, chest swelling – six flipping the script (Fuck this – I’m not their rag).
He stalked slowly to the clothes rack, leather and rubber glinting under the haze. Fingers grazed a harness – too Ryan – then a latex suit – too hard to get over the chastity device. He dug deeper – yanking out thick leather chaps, heavy with zippers gleaming along the inner thighs, and a pair of black, glossy biker boots from the lineup of footwear below.
Since the cage has to stay – fuck it this’ll do, at least I won’t be naked and vulnerable he figured. Slipping the chaps on, buckling the waist snug, then dragging the zippers up the inner thighs, leather clinging tight against his skin, hugging every curve with a low rasp. It hit him – like a leather version of his wetsuits, sleek and tough, molding to him like the neoprene he rode the waves in, pulling him back to the ocean’s pulse.
His dick twitched, straining futilely in the Carrera, a hot pulse of want trapped under steel – dominance rising anyway. He tugged on the boots – sleek, ankle-high, unmarred – anchoring him, surf swagger flooding back – Less bare, all me – confidence surging, Dom’s pulse hammering.
He turned – boots thudding low, striding to the room’s heart – “Ryan,” he said – voice steady, surf drawl thick – then stalled, a split-second hitch eyes sharpening -“No… SLAVE, come here,” sweeping an arm toward the space before him – grit flaring, dominance ripping free. Ryan froze at the table – boots planted, eyes slitting – hesitation cracking his stance. Leo’s chest heaved – a surge igniting – “NOW,” he roared – voice slashing the air, slamming Marcus and Jamie back. Marcus choked – “Wave-boy’s got fangs – fuckin’ hell!” Jamie’s smirk spasmed – “Leo’s snapping shit?” Ryan’s jaw knotted – pride teetering.
Ryan rose slow, boots scraping the floor, hesitating with every step as he crossed the room and approached Leo. He stopped, leather creaking, cap shadowing his face – eyes blazing defiance, boring into Leo’s, gloved hands flexing at his sides.
Leo stared back, unyielding, then snapped, voice cutting sharp, surf drawl thick, “Show some respect and bow your head, SLAVE.” Ryan’s jaw tightened, defiance flickering, but he complied, head dipping low, gaze dropping to the floor, pride wobbling under the command. Leo slowly walked around him, inspecting his new slave, boots thudding softly, eyes tracing Ryan’s leather pants, harness vest, boots, gloved hands – assessing every inch of his submission.
He strode to the gear wall, leather cuffs, collars, hoods, and steel cold under the dim light, and snagged a formidable locking collar – thick black leather, reinforced with steel, D-ring heavy and unyielding.
Returning to Ryan, wrapped the collar around his neck, locking it tight with a sharp click, the metal clasp sealing shut. The action suddenly made Ryan feel submissive, something he didn’t understand, a strange pull tightening his gut, his pride unraveling deeper.
Leo stepped back, crossed again to the wall, and grabbed a short stainless-steel leash – with a steel clip. He returned, attaching the leash to the collar’s D-ring, linking as they locked, letting it dangle in front as he strode back to the wall with restraints, surveying the various steel handcuffs glimmering on the hooks – settling on a pair of steel rigid bar handcuffs, their unyielding bars glinting cold.
He returned to Ryan, seizing his wrists, snapping the cuffs the metal clinking as they locked making Ryan’s dick start to harden. Leo walked around Ryan again, checking him out further, boots thudding low, eyes lingering on Ryan’s leather-clad form, then pausing as he glanced at the riding crop tucked in Ryan’s boot.
He reached down, fingers closing on the handle, yanking it free with a sharp tug, leather whispering against leather. “Kneel,” Leo commanded, voice low and edged, surf drawl slicing through. Ryan’s defiance flared – he stood firm, gloved hands clenched in the steal handcuffs, jaw tight, refusing to move. Leo’s gaze hardened, crop tapping his thigh, then swung hard, smacking Ryan across his leather-covered ass – crack echoing in the pit, the sting biting deep through the pants. Ryan winced, defiance sinking – knees hitting the concrete heavy, gaze locked down, pride crumbling under the sting. Leo loomed over him, voice low and edged – “Good boy.”
Without a word, he set the riding crop against his shoulder and plucked the cap from Ryan’s head, fitting it low over his eyes, much the way Ryan wore it. Ryan’s gut twisted – That’s mine… fucker’s stripping me bare, piece by piece. Pit’s his now – cap, crop, me. Should’ve vetoed this shit.
Leo took hold of the leash and said “Stand” turned, boots thudding, and led Ryan across the pit, stopping before Marcus. “Kneel,” Leo ordered, pointing at Marcus’s booted feet – “kiss his boots and thank him for introducing you to the pit.” As Ryan sank to his knees, steel rigid bar handcuffs clanking behind him, he noticed Marcus was hard, the bulge straining against his jeans. Ryan pressed his lips to Marcus’s scuffed boots, first one, then the other. “Thank you for introducing me to the pit,” he muttered, voice low and rough, head still dipped. Marcus looked up at Leo, eyes wide, a mix of shock and awe flickering across his face. Fuck me – the pit’s flipped hard, and wave-boy’s got Ryan leashed like a dog.
Leo tugged the leash, “Stand” he commanded and turned Ryan toward Jamie. “Look at this,” he said, voice low and taunting, surf drawl thick – “all this time, Jamie’s been sittin’ there in his briefs, soaking ‘em with precum ‘cause of you. Least you can do is honor his tribute – taste it.”
Ryan hesitated, looking up at Leo, reluctance burning in his eyes, not wanting to move. Leo’s gaze hardened, crop tapping his thigh. “Do it,” he commanded, voice sharp and unyielding. Ryan’s shoulders slumped, and he reluctantly dropped to his knees before Jamie. He leaned in, tongue brushing the wet, precum-stained fabric of Jamie’s gray briefs, licking slow, the salt and heat hitting him. Jamie’s cock twitched hard beneath, straining tighter – not just from the contact, but from Ryan’s submission, broken and laid bare.
As Jamie’s cock hardened, Ryan’s focus shifted – from the slick precum to the growing bulge, savoring it, even craving it, sensing its size and wanting it more than he felt he should. His dick strained, hard and free, shame burning hotter as the pit’s grip tightened.
Fuck, what’s this? he thought, a flicker of shame twisting with the pull. Leo gave Ryan a light smack with the riding crop. “Stop,” he said, voice low and firm, crop tapping once more. “Stand” Leo ordered.
He turned, leading Ryan back to his chair, boots thudding steady. Leo sat, leash in hand, and pointed to the floor beside him. “Kneel,” he said, voice flat and firm, “lick my boots”, with hesitation Ryan kneeled down and started licking Leos boots.
Leo this go on for a few minutes then before stopping him and said “head down, show respect.” Ryan complied, sitting back on his knees, head lowered. “Yes, Sir,” he murmured, quiet and resigned, surrendering to the pit’s new order. Leo reached for the black velvet bag, snagging it from the table with a slow, deliberate grip. “my turn” he said, surf drawl thick with a dark edge, fingers dipping into the bag.
…to be continued
