Chapter 21: Gear’s Grasp
Bindings Tight – Swell Breaks
By Restrained4U
The pit thrummed, a low hum vibrating through the damp concrete, red lights glinting off the steel fixtures.
Leo took the bag, his hands shook as he drew a black card, white letters stark. “Roll 1 die: rounds sidelined. Each player adds 1 piece of gear, stays on until rounds end. Avoid missed rounds, draw punishment. Roll or rot.” He slapped it down – SIDELINE’S GRIP – breath hitching. That cane fucked me – I’m not chancing more. The red bag’s punishment lingered, phantom stings on his butt searing his memory.
He flicked the die – 3 skittered across the table before settling. “Three,” he rasped, voice cracking as his gut sank. Three rounds sidelined—better than the red bag’s punishment draw. Jaw tight, heat pulsing at his temples, he muttered, “I’ll take the gear over that hell,” head dipping in resignation. Marcus smirked, shaking his head. “No dodging this, wave-boy.
Marcus stepped forward, pulling padded leather fist mitts from stainless steel hooks above the stainless-steel counter – thick black leather, lined with padding and built-in O-rings at the wrists, buckles dangling. “A king needs his pawn helpless – no fighting back,” he growled, voice low. He slid the mitt over Leo’s right hand, leather stiff, padding forcing his fingers into a fist. The buckles clicked into his wrist as Marcus fastened them tight, then repeated on the left – Leo’s hands balled, grip gone, leather creaking with each futile flex, his cock twitching harder in the chastity cage beneath his chaps, a trapped pulse straining against steel.
Ryan moved in, cap low, grabbing a coil of soft nylon rope from a stainless-steel hook – smooth and flexible. “Tying you down,” he said, nodding to Marcus. “Military training taught me knots hold better than cages – no escape.” He threaded the nylon rope through the O-rings on the mitts, looping it to the chair’s eyebolts to bind Leo’s wrists securely. The rope glided against the leather, knots pulling snug – Leo’s fists twitched, but the ties held firm. Ryan tied Leo’s ankles to the chair’s legs, rope sliding gently over his boots, locking them spread. His leather pants creaked as he knelt, dick swelling hard inside – still slick with lube from the milking machine, the bulge pressing tight, a damp streak spreading with each precise knot. Leo’s thighs tensed, chaps creaking, body taut under Ryan’s grip.
Jamie advanced, latex squeaking with each step, his grin cruel as he snatched a muzzle from the wall – black leather, swaying, unyielding straps taut and pristine. He set it on the scarred table with a soft thud, pausing by the tribute bin in the corner, a pile of their game-shed clothes – discarded jeans, briefs, socks – spilling over the edge. A wicked gleam flared in his eyes as he plunged his hands into the heap, fingers snagging on fabric until he pulled out a pair of his own cum-crusted underwear – grayed and stiff, reeking of musk and cum.
Leo’s eyes widened, defiance flaring as he snapped, “Nope – not happenin’!” His jaw locked tight, a surfer’s stubborn edge cutting through in the split-second before the pit’s grind crushed it.
Jamie’s smirk deepened as he strode forward, pinching Leo’s nose. Leo’s chest heaved, breath catching as he fought for air, resolve cracking under the pressure. Seizing the break, Jamie jammed the damp underwear into Leo’s mouth, snarling, “Call me cheat one more time, wave-boy,” his voice thick with dark triumph. The fabric stuffed Leo’s cheeks, a bitter, salty flood overwhelming his tongue as he gagged, tears pricking with humiliation. Jamie clamped his free hand over Leo’s mouth, holding the fabric tight as Leo thrashed, then snatched the muzzle from the table with his other hand. He pressed it over Leo’s stuffed mouth, leather biting into his jaw, straps tightening with a firm tug, buckling each one with precision – leather groaning as it molded to Leo’s face, embedding the fabric deeper, muffling a strained “Cheat – mmph – again!” from Leo’s throat, eyes blazing. His latex pants tented, cock hardening against the slick fabric, a faint outline pulsing with each strap’s click.
Leo sagged against the metal chair, rope creaking, mitts rendering his hands useless, the muzzle’s choke and underwear’s taste stifling him. Sweat trickled down his spine, his cock straining harder in the cage, steel biting as it swelled. Jamie chuckled, brushing the muzzle’s edge. “No more whining – I’m done with your shit,” he taunted. Marcus leaned back, a knowing grin curling slow across his face, eyes glinting under the red lights – Marcus catching Jamie sneaking in a second piece, letting it slide for now, precum seeping wider across his briefs. Ryan adjusted his cap, smirking coldly. “Semper fi – ride it out, bitch,” he drawled.
Marcus grabbed the bag, sinking into his chair. He tossed the velvet to Ryan. “Your turn, soldier,” he growled, eyes glinting, the bulge in his briefs twitching, wet and heavy with anticipation, a badge of his reign.
Leo’s game drowned silent, bound to the chair ‘til his rounds ended – a rookie out of his depth, rolling in the pit’s grip, the mitts’ embrace, the rope’s bite, and the muzzle’s choke a constant reminder of his fall.
To be continued…
