Chapter 22: Paddle’s Toll
Leather Stings – Pride Cracks
By Restrained4U
The pit thrummed, a low hum vibrating through the warm concrete, red lights glinting off the steel fixtures like blood-flecked eyes.
Ryan caught the bag, leather pants creaking as he shifted, cap low over his buzzed auburn hair. His fingers brushed the velvet, cards rustling inside pulling a black card – white letters stark under the dim light. “Paddled upside down – roll four dice, total strikes by others, suspended by restraints. Make a noise, draw punishment.” He slapped it down – ROPE’S FALL – jaw tight, then grinned wide. “Pit’s my bitch – roll high, I’ll eat it.”
He swept all four dice from the table and flicked them with a cocky snap. They rolled, clattering sharp – 6, 5, 4, 3 – settling at 18. “Eighteen,” he barked, chest puffed, voice booming, “Semper fi – king and cop can’t break me.” Marcus chuckled low, stepping to the steel cabinets along the wall, unlatching one with a click – the stash gleaming. He pulled out a pair of leather ankle suspension restraints – thick, black, padded cuffs with steel D-rings, built to hold a man upside down. “Kick off the boots and vest, leather – king warms you up,” he growled, tossing the cuffs to the warm concrete with a thud. “Back on when you’re humbled.”
Ryan smirked, kicking off his boots – one, two – black socks clinging to his feet, leather jeans hugging his calves. He shrugged off his leather vest, peeling it from his shoulders and tossing it aside with a soft thump onto the concrete, baring his chest as he stood. “Humble this,” he taunted, slapping his exposed pecs, skin taut under the red glow. Marcus knelt, buckling the restraints around his ankles – leather creaking, D-rings clinking as he cinched them tight over the socks. Jamie advanced, latex squeaking, grin cruel as he grabbed a short rope coil from a hook. “Cop breaks you,” he taunted, hands bare and quick, binding Ryan’s wrists with a knot, securing them to a low eyebolt on the concrete floor.
Marcus clipped the restraints to the winch overhead – gears whirred as he cranked it, lifting Ryan smooth and steady – feet rising, head dipping, leather jeans stretched taut across his thighs, cap tumbling off, blood rushing to his skull as the pit spun red under the glow.
Marcus grabbed a paddle from the wall – wide, wooden, heavy, its grain scarred from use. “Nine’s mine,” he growled, stepping behind Ryan’s dangling frame – 18 split down the middle. The first strike landed soft – a dull tap on the thick leather jeans, barely a ripple. Two – firmer, a thud echoing off the warm concrete. Three – steady, sinking deeper, a slow burn building. Four – harder, paddle cracking sharp, jeans creaking. Five – solid, heat blooming. Six – thicker, ass tensing. Seven – firm, a grunt swallowed. Eight – stinging, leather groaning. Nine – Marcus swung full, a deep smack, grinning, “King warms you up.”
Jamie snatched his own paddle, latex gleaming under the red lights. “Nine’s my break,” he rasped, voice thick. His first hit cracked hard – a jolt through the leather, Ryan’s bulge twitching inside the tight pants. Two – harder, wood biting deep, sting radiating. Three – brutal, whip-like snap, leather groaning. Four – vicious, ass throbbing, cock pressing tight. Five – savage, rocking him forward, legs swaying in the restraints. Six – merciless, heat searing, breath hitching. Seven – crushing, jeans straining. Eight – ferocious, a wallop that jolted his frame. Nine – Jamie swung full force, a thunderous smack, “Latex cop breaks you,” his uniform tenting as he stepped back.
Ryan’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding, breath shallow through his nose – upside down, the pit blurred red, blood pounding his ears. Seventeen strikes in – Jamie’s eighth – a ferocious wallop slammed his ass, heat exploding through the leather, and a low “fuck” slipped out, raw and guttural, barely audible but there. The winch stilled – Marcus smirked, “Pit’s got you,” as Jamie sneered, “Thought you’d eat it, Corps – latex cop broke you.”
Ryan’s chest heaved as Marcus lowered him, restraints slackening, socked feet brushing the warm concrete with a soft scrape. Jamie untied his wrists, rope falling loose, and Marcus unbuckled the ankle cuffs – Ryan stood, ass ablaze, jeans creaking as he shifted weight, heat radiating up his spine. Jamie tossed him the red bag – he caught it, yanking it open, drawing a red card from inside, white letters stark against red. Pit’s Volt Cage – “Locked in the Pit’s Volt Cage until game ends – high-tech chastity delivers random jolts to cock and balls, soft to sharp, no pattern, key with another.” His eyes narrowed as Marcus pulled a steel case from the drawer, unlatching it with a click. Inside – a matte-black cage, wires snaking from its base, red LEDs glinting like embers.
“Pit’s latest toy,” Marcus rasped, holding it up, “Locks you down, fries you up – soft buzzes to sharp stabs, whenever it wants. Key’s mine ‘til end.” Ryan’s fist tightened, staring at the card – Volt Cage. His gaze flicked to Leo – caged, slumped, silent, enduring. He’s handling it – Marine’s tougher. Corps ran wire in Helmand – shocks seared his back, but he walked. This, though – random, sharp, cock and balls, ‘til end? Leo’s cage didn’t zap – static defeat, not this live-wire hell. Semper fi – can I lock it down, ride it out? His ass throbbed, pride stung – 18 strikes humbled him, this could shatter him. Not my junk – not fried ‘til the end.
He snarled low, “FUCK THAT,” slamming two vetoes onto the table, leather gloves smacking wood, resolve hard. “Not zapped,” he growled, grabbing his boots and jamming them back on over his socks. He snatched his vest from the concrete, shrugging it over his shoulders, leather creaking as it settled, then scooped up his cap, planting it firm on his head, the pit’s warm floor radiating beneath him.
Jamie grinned, latex creaking as he edged closer, “My shot now, jarhead.” His arousal strained against the glossy fabric, a subtle swell catching the red light’s gleam. Marcus settled deeper into his chair, briefs clinging damp and tight, a restless pulse beneath the surface. “Pit’s tightening its jaws – kings crumble slow,” he rumbled, gaze sharp, a ruler still holding court amid the dark.
Ryan’s defiance smoldered, vetoes spent – a Marine battered, tested, and laid raw, the pit’s heat pressing harder, its edges honed for the next strike.
To be continued…
