Chapter 18: The Pit’s Grind
Steel Bites – Will Stands
By Restrained4U
The pit thrummed, red lights carving jagged shadows over concrete walls slick with the echo of Leo’s drenching – Marcus’s biometric lock a silent jailer.
Ryan slumped in his chair, leather vest creased tight, cap low over a cold smirk – leather pants scuffed, a faint bulge fading from breaking Leo in the shower, defiance simmering beneath a fresh beer’s buzz.
Marcus lounged, jeans taut, boots scuffed, wax crust flaking on his chest – picking at the last stubborn flecks with a finger as he sipped his beer slow, kingly ease in every pull, the red glow catching clean skin where the wax had been.
Jamie leaned forward, latex uniform slick, patrol boots thudding soft, exhaustion etched into a jagged grin – half-hard thrill lingering from soaking Leo, his edge raw and reckless.
Leo sprawled, chaps rasping against the steel Carrera cage, cage dripping, a twisted grin cracking faint through defeat.
Ryan reached for the black velvet bag from Marcus’s toss – fingers steady, shaking it with a clink of cards. “My turn – let’s see what this pit’s got up its sleeve,” he growled, voice low and rough, a glint of relish in his eye, pulling a black card, white letters stark under the red glow.
“Roll two dice – minutes bound and blindfolded, mechanical grind pushing your limit. Can’t outlast it, and you’re marked for oblivion.” He set it down – MECH’S GRIND – eyes narrowing, cap tilting as he paused, jaw tight. Edged for minutes – can I handle this shit? Could play one veto, swap it for a punishment – probably worse, some fucked-up whip or heat. Still got one left then. Or burn both, skip it clean, but I’d be dry. He flexed his fists, leather creaking, a hard grin breaking. “I’m Marine strong – total control over this body. I can handle it,” he said, rolling – 4 and 4, 8 – standing tall.
Marcus chuckled, dark and slow, setting his beer aside – clink – as he stood, last wax crumbs dusting off his chest, leaving it bare under the lights. “Jarhead’s gettin’ ground – over to the bondage bed,” he directed, jerking his head at the leather slab.
Leo stepped up, chaps rasping, fetching leather wrist restraints and a hood from the wall. He yanked Ryan’s cap off, planting it on his own head with a smirk, then pulled the hood over Ryan’s bare skull, voice rasping low. “Here we are again, jarhead – under my control, no cap to hide behind,” his ego flaring, a jab sharpened by the hat swap. Blindness hit, Ryan’s breath quickened as Leo clamped the wrist restraints on, leather biting tight around his wrists.
Jamie moved in, latex squeaking, undoing Ryan’s leather pants – fingers deft, pulling them down just enough to free his semi-hard dick and balls, then guiding him to lie back on the bondage bed, leather creaking under his weight.
Marcus grabbed rope from a coil, boots thudding as he approached. He stretched Ryan’s arms over the table’s edge, elbows bent, threading the rope through the wrist restraints and pulling it down tight – tying it to a bar on the cage beneath, locking his arms firm, unable to lift. Then he roped Ryan’s legs, looping coarse strands over his boots, spreading them wide and knotting them to the table’s sides, boots scuffing as the tension bit.
Marcus stepped over to a cabinet, pulling out a black gear box with two tubes snaking from it and a power cord trailing behind. He carried it back to the bondage bed, setting it on the floor with a thud, then plugged it into an outlet, the cord stretching taut.
He returned to the cabinet, grabbing a clear cylinder, a pair of latex gloves, and a tube of lube, boots echoing as he strode back. He connected the cylinder to one of the tubes, laying it across Ryan’s chest, then picked up the second tube – the suction control – reaching down to flip the machine on. A low mechanical hum filled the pit.
Marcus snapped on the latex gloves, the rubber stretching tight over his hands, then squirted a small dollop of lube onto his gloved fingers. He reached down, stroking Ryan’s semi-hard dick, a hefty grip on his thick shaft, slicking it up slow – a low moan slipped from Ryan’s throat, relishing the feel. “We ain’t even started yet, jarhead – better control yourself, or this’ll be over before the grind begins,” he taunted, voice dark and thick. Ryan’s cock stiffened under the touch, now hard and glistening.
Marcus took the cylinder from Ryan’s chest, sliding it over his lubed-up dick – the suction kicked in, latching on with a wet grip. “Leo – start the time, eight minutes,” he barked, as the cylinder sucked tight, Ryan’s breath hitching sharp.
Marcus fiddled with the control tube – easing it to a teasing pulse, a light tug that toyed with the edge, then cranking it up, the suction swelling to a heavy, relentless pull, yanking hard at Ryan’s cock, pulsing back to a slow tease, then slamming full force again, a brutal rhythm under his grip.
Eight minutes loomed – the grind pulsed, metal and suction churning steady, Ryan’s cock throbbed, red and slick, thighs flexing, body straining against the ropes and restraints.
A ragged moan broke from his throat, pleasure twisting through the strain, then another, deeper, as the suction teased light and slammed heavy. “Fuck – can’t – hold it – much longer,” he groaned, voice raw and desperate, hood muffling the pit.
Leo laughed, sharp and wild, “Wave’s got you leakin’ – gonna bust already, jarhead?”
Jamie’s grin widened, latex creaking as he leaned in, “Guess you’re the pig-boy now – squirm harder, grunt.”
Marcus adjusted the suction, a slow tease cutting to a fierce yank, smirking low, “King’s runnin’ this – break or beg, you’re mine either way,” eight minutes dragging brutal and slow.
Marcus cut it at eight, yanking the cylinder free – Ryan’s cock twitched, hard and unyielding.
Jamie untied the ropes, unhooked the restraints, and gripped Ryan’s arm, helping him sit up, latex squeaking against leather.
Leo took the hood off, smirking under Ryan’s cap – Ryan snatched it back, planting it on his head, growling low, “Keep dreamin’, wave-boy – this ain’t your game.”
He stood, legs shaky, working his hard, lubed dick back into his pants – fingers careful, so close to cumming he moved slow, tucking it in with a wince, buckling up under the pit’s red glare.
They moved back to the table – Ryan grabbed his beer, taking a long sip, breath steadying as he fought to regain his composure.
Marcus smirked, boots thudding as he settled deeper. “Eight minutes down, jarhead – pit’s waitin’ for pig-boy’s move,” tossing the bag to Jamie.
To be continued…
