Chapter 17: The Pit’s Flood
Piss Soaks – Steel Holds
By Restrained4U
The pit pulsed, air heavy with sweat and leather, red lights flickering over concrete walls that loomed tighter since Marcus’s biometric lock sealed their fate.
Leo slumped in his chair, chaps rasping against the steel Carrera cage, cane welts itching under damp skin, eyes darting with a wild mix of frustration and jagged glee. Marcus lounged, jeans tight, boots scuffed, chest streaked with wax crust, shifting slightly, the beers from earlier pressing his bladder. Ryan sat stiff, vest creased, cap low, leather pants scuffed. Jamie leaned forward, latex uniform slick with sweat, patrol boots scuffing, exhaustion carving a bitter edge into his shadowed glare – fidgeting, full and ready to unload.
Leo took the black velvet bag from the table – Marcus’s toss still ringing – shaking it with a clink of cards sharp in the air. “My turn – guess I’ll see what this pit’s got for me,” he rasped, voice thick with a surfer’s drawl turned dark, a hint of humility softening the edge. He pulled a black card, white letters stark, reading slow, “Restrained to the shower wall, all others drench you through the grate until there’s no more to give.” He set it down – FLOOD’S DRENCH – jaw tightening as he stared at it, mind churning. Flood? Drench? Is this what I think – piss from these bastards? A twisted grin flickered, fading to a hard stare.
Marcus leaned back, a low chuckle rumbling, hand brushing his jeans. “Pit’s washing you out, wave-boy.”
Ryan’s cap tilted, a smirk curling, shifting in his seat. “Locked in tight – hope you like the taste, caged bitch. Fuck, I need to go.”
Jamie’s latex creaked as he straightened, hunger slicing through fatigue, legs twitching. “Pig-boy’s pissing on the surfer – let’s soak you good.”
Leo’s gut sank, regret creeping in as their words hit – this isn’t a dare, it’s a fuckin’ punishment, he thought, jaw clenching tighter. Not my wave – this is their filth, not mine. His hard stare softened to a flicker of dread, the card’s meaning sinking deeper than he’d braced for. Fuck – shouldn’t have burned ‘em all after Jamie’s deal. He glanced at Ryan, voice low, desperate. “Hey, jarhead – got a veto left? Trade me somethin’ – get me outta this shit, man.” Ryan’s smirk hardened, eyes cold. “Nah, wave-boy – mine’s mine.”
Marcus stood, boots thudding, grin darkening. “Jamie – go grab four lengths of rope, two longer, two shorter. Ryan – get one pair of wrist restraints, the rubber ones.” Jamie shuffled off, latex squeaking, returning with the ropes – two thick coils and two thinner strands – while Ryan fetched the restraints, black rubber gleaming under the red lights. Marcus jerked his head toward the bathroom – its steel-lined shower spilling dim light, eyebolts studding the concrete wall, a grated drain glinting below. “Move, wave-boy – let’s set you up.”
He led Leo in, boots heavy, stopping just inside the threshold. “Take off the boots and chaps – don’t want to ruin those. You can put ‘em back on after.” Leo hesitated, then kicked off his boots, leather thudding to the concrete, and unbuckled his chaps – metal cage clanking as he peeled them away, leaving him bare except for the cage, cold concrete biting his feet. Marcus smirked, taking the gear and tossing it aside, then gripped Leo’s shoulder, steering him to the shower’s center over the grate. “Kneel – right there.”
Leo dropped to his knees, concrete grinding against his skin, the steel Carrera cage shifting faintly as he settled over the grate – its rigid frame locked tight, a cold weight against his groin. Marcus grabbed one of the shorter ropes – coarse and taut – looping it under Leo’s right thigh, pulling it tight against his calf, then wrapping it twice around his ankle, knotting it firm. The rope bit into his flesh, pinning his thigh to his shin, locking his leg in a folded kneel – his left side mirrored as Marcus repeated it with the second short rope, forcing his knees wide, ass hovering just above the drain. “We wouldn’t want you running away,” Marcus growled, voice low and mocking as he tugged the last knot tight.
Marcus took the rubber restraints – one for each wrist – snapping the right cuff on, the black band squeezing Leo’s skin. He grabbed one of the longer ropes, threading it through the cuff’s metal loop, then stretched it up and out, tying it off to an eyebolt high on the shower’s right wall – Leo’s arm yanked upward at a sharp angle, shoulder straining, muscles taut. He repeated it on the left – cuff biting Leo’s wrist, rope pulling tight to an eyebolt high on the opposite wall – arms splayed in a rigid V, chest thrust forward, cage locked helplessly below. Kneeling, spread, and stretched – Leo couldn’t twitch, his body a pinned X under the grate’s shadow.
“No dodging this flood,” Jamie growled, latex squeaking as he stepped back, shifting side to side, eyeing the setup with a jagged grin. Marcus unzipped his jeans, belt buckle clanking, grinning dark as he gripped himself, boots planted wide. “Pit’s king starts the wash – open your fuckin’ mouth,” he barked, lunging forward to slap Leo’s cheek – his palm cracking against dry skin. Leo flinched, ropes creaking, jaw twitching before parting slow, lips trembling under the command.
Marcus aimed – a hot, steady stream arced through the grate, hitting Leo’s open mouth dead-on. The acrid flood splashed his tongue, bitter and warm, filling fast – his cheeks puffed, eyes squeezed shut as it spilled over, dribbling down his chin in thick rivulets. He gagged, letting it pool ‘til it brimmed, then spat hard – a spray of piss splattering the concrete, mixing with the puddle under his knees. The stream soaked Leo’s chest, running down his cage, heat seeping into faded cane welts as he twisted, grunting through clenched teeth. Marcus laughed, low and guttural. “Can’t handle the king’s load, wave-boy? Choke on it.”
Ryan stepped up, unzipping his leather pants, squaring his stance. “Semper fi – open wide, caged bitch,” he snarled, backhanding Leo’s other cheek – a quick, stinging slap, jerking his head sideways, ropes groaning. Leo’s mouth fell open, dazed, and Ryan let loose – a thick, forceful jet blasted in, slamming the back of his throat. It surged, salty and sharp, swirling over his tongue – Leo’s eyes watered, throat flexing as it overflowed, cascading down his neck, soaking his hair into a dripping mess. He spat it out, a choked “Fuck!” erupting as piss sprayed wide – then Ryan leaned in, hocked deep, and spat – a wet wad smacked Leo’s cheek, clinging before oozing down slow. “Swallow or spit, jarhead don’t care – take it all,” he smirked, relief flashing dark, stream pounding his faded cane welts, pooling beneath in a steaming swirl.
Jamie unzipped his latex pants, grinning jagged, latex gleaming as he shifted closer. “Pig-boy’s turn – open that hole, drown in it,” he rasped, slapping Leo’s face with a wet smack – fingers curling against his jaw, forcing it wide over piss-slick skin. Leo’s lips parted, trembling, and Jamie aimed – precise bursts hit his mouth, a tangy rush flooding in, coating his tongue in a sour wave. It filled fast, brimming over – Leo’s cheeks bulged, piss leaking from the corners. He spat – a thick gush arcing out – then Jamie spat, a glistening string landing on Leo’s lips, dripping into his mouth as he thrashed, “Shit – stop!” muffled by the flood. “Spittin’ my gift? Take this, surfer slut,” Jamie taunted, finishing with a splash across Leo’s thighs, shaking off the last drops.
Marcus stepped in again, jeans open, grin wider. “King’s got more – open up,” he growled – Leo’s mouth cracked open, resigned. The second wave hit, a steady pour filling his mouth – hot, relentless, pooling ‘til it overflowed, running down his torso. He spat, a ragged grunt breaking free – Marcus spat, a fat gob smacking Leo’s chin, sliding thick over his jaw. “Fuckin’ waste – markin’ you proper,” he sneered, stream fading as he emptied out.
Ryan moved next, leather pants open. “Round two – take it,” he said, slapping Leo’s cheek – a quick crack over slick skin, jaw jolting open. The jet pounded in, thick and fierce – Leo’s throat bobbed, swallowing a quick gulp, warm and wrong. His eyes widened – Should be disgusting… but fuck, I liked it? – a twisted heat sparking as it spilled over, matting his hair, streaming down his spine. He spat the rest, a raw growl tearing out – Ryan spat again, a sharp shot hitting Leo’s nose, oozing slow. “Weak shit – or maybe not,” he laughed, last of it soaking Leo’s neck ‘til dry.
Jamie closed in, latex gleaming, grin razor-sharp. “Pig-boy finishes – open wide,” he rasped, slapping Leo’s face – his palm snapped against wet skin, forcing Leo’s mouth ajar. Sharp bursts blasted in, a sour tang swirling – Leo tilted his head back, throat working fast, gulping as much as he could. It surged, filling his mouth, spilling past his lips – his cheeks bulged, swallowing hard with wet, desperate gulps as it poured down his chest. That heat flared – his own piss erupted mid-swallow, a hot gush surging inside the Carrara cage, leaking through the slits in steady trickles, cock twitching against steel. He coughed, spitting the excess – a thick spray splattering concrete – but savored the sour bite he’d downed. Jamie stepped back, shaking off the last drops, then spat – a wet glob landing on Leo’s chest, sliding slow. “Fuckin’ hell – you’re pissin’ yourself, lovin’ it,” he rasped.
Leo’s body sagged, ropes creaking, knees slick – breath heaving, spit and piss dripping, hair plastered. Marcus smirked, eyeing the cage’s trickle. “Wave-boy’s into it – drinkin’, drainin’, and marked.” Ryan chuckled, cold. “Started the spit, broke the bitch – spit-soaked pig.” That twisted thrill pulsed – Leo’s tongue lingered on the mix, a shudder of dark joy despite the shame, his own piss mingling below as he knelt, humiliated yet now hard beneath the cage’s grip.
Jamie zipped up his latex pants, a slight twinge stiffening his groin – his dick half-hard, a dark glint in his eye from breaking Leo. Ryan tucked his leather pants closed, a faint bulge pressing as he grinned, turned on by the mess they’d made. Marcus crouched, undoing the wrist restraints – rubber snapping free as Leo’s arms slumped, wrists chafed raw – then untied the thigh-to-ankle ropes, coarse strands unraveling slow, leaving Leo trembling on his knees in the puddle. “Shower up, wave-boy – put your chaps and boots back on, then get to the table,” Marcus growled, standing tall. He turned to leave, then glanced back, smirk curling. “Oh, by the way – ain’t no hot water.”
Leo sagged, ropes gone, alone in the steel shower – spit and piss streaking his skin, cage dripping. He dragged himself up, legs shaky, and twisted the shower knob – a cold blast hit, sharp and biting, slicing the filth from his hair in icy rivulets. His skin prickled, cane welts stinging under the frigid spray – defeat sank in, heavy as the chill, yet that twisted heat lingered, a faint pulse beneath the shame. He grabbed a rough towel from a hook, scrubbing off – grit scraping his raw skin – then stepped out, water pooling at his feet. He pulled on his chaps, leather rasping over damp thighs, the cage clanking as he buckled them tight, and yanked on his boots, laces creaking – each move slow, a beaten slump in his shoulders.
He shuffled back to the table, soaked hair plastered flat, cage still slick – Marcus, Ryan, and Jamie lounged in their chairs, fresh beers in hand, foam glinting under the red lights. Marcus had cracked open a stash from the fridge, tossing cold ones to the others – they sipped slow, smirking as Leo collapsed into his seat, reeking and defeated. “Fuckin’ pit – still here,” he muttered, a twisted grin cracking faint, spit and piss streaking faded cane welts, eyes darting low.
Marcus tossed the bag to Ryan, boots thudding as he sat, wax crust cracking faintly on his chest. “Your turn, jarhead – pit’s thirsty.”
To be continued…
