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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 13

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Chapter 13: The Pit’s Prize

Latex Rises – Power Shifts

By Restrained4U

The pit growled, chains clinking.

Marcus lounged, jeans tight, boots scuffed. Jamie slumped, plugged, naked, twitching.

Leo gripped Ryan’s leash, cage pressing, chaps creaking. Ryan knelt, leather straining.

Marcus tossed the bag to Leo. “Your turn.”

Marcus tossed the black velvet bag to Leo. “Your turn,” he said. Leo caught it, fingers clawing. “My turn,” he growled, surf drawl sharp. He dug in, pulling a golden card. “Rewards card: take control of the game, new look, new you – reinvent yourself, gear up, own it,” – GOLD’S THRONE – stamped in white, Leo read.

Leo’s grip tightened, eyes blazing. “This is mine – out of this cage, dress the part to dominate Ryan, rule the pit,” he hissed, card shaking. He pictured himself in leather, boots, a Dom’s crown – unstoppable, commanding. “I’d be the badass and own this place,” he boasted, voice rising, cage straining.

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 12

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Silicone Bites – Flesh Sinks

By Restrained4U

Marcus tossed the bag to Jamie, boots firm.

Jamie caught the bag, fingers clawing the damp velvet – (Marcus’s “pig-boy” still burns – I’ll shove it back.) He dug in, pulling a black card – white text slashing – “Blindfolded, roll one die – plug size: 1-2 small, 3-4 medium, 5-6 large – worn ‘til your next turn. Others roll, highest cuffs you in the sling and inserts it.” He set it down – PLUG’S PICK – jaw tightening – (Fuck… no dodging this.)

“Roll, fuckers” he muttered, voice low and rough – (Gotta face it.) He snatched a leather blindfold from the wall – (Bring it on.) – waiting as they diced it out, gut churning – (Fuck… just hold on.)

Leo flicked a die, surf drawl rough – (Gonna break him.) “Four,” he rasped, die skittering – (Should’ve been my turn to shove it.) His leash twitched – (Next turn’s mine.)

Marcus tossed a die hard – (Cuff you tight, pig.) “Six,” he barked, grin splitting – (Hope it rips you, king.) His boots thudded – (I know this pit – every fuckin’ inch.)

Ryan shifted, cuffs clanking – (Stuck here, but I’m still in this.) “Master, roll for me – make him squeal,” he snarled – (I’d make it hurt more.) Leo flicked another – “Three,” he grunted – (Slave’s got spite.)

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 11

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Chapter 11: The Pit’s Whip

Dice Doom – Lashes Fade

By Restrained4U

Leo sat with Ryan’s leash slack, having traded any potential rewared for Jamie’s two veto cards and burned all three to dodge his last dare. Ryan knelt, cuffed and collared; head bowed beside Leo’s chair. Jamie perched in soaked briefs, eyes glinting with restless hunger.

Marcus, shirtless in jeans, snatched the black velvet bag from Leo, boots planted firm. (Pit’s mine to bend.) He reached in, fingers brushing the thick cards, and pulled a black dare – white text slashing against the dark.

He read it slow, jaw tightening, voice a rough drawl – “Everyone rolls the dice, you roll a dice – whoever rolls the same as you gets to choose a previous dare or punishment. If no numbers match, you take a punishment.”

He slapped the card down – ROLL OR RULE – its thud sharp against the scarred table, eyes glinting with a predator’s edge. (Leo’s cane, Ryan’s clamps, Jamie’s shred… someone’s picking – or the pit’s got me.) His mind ticked fast – (Match, and they choose. No match, and it’s the red bag… could be anything.)

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 10

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Chapter 10: The Pit’s Veto 

Cards Burn – Echoes Grip

By Restrained4U

The pit thrummed, steel thick.

Leo sprawled, boots wide, Ryan’s leash slack, clip swaying. Ryan knelt, cuffed, “Yes, Sir” echoing.

He read it slow, jaw tightening – voice low, grit fraying “Don the blindfold, reach into the pit’s forsaken pile – pluck a discarded dare or punishment and bend to its will. Perhaps the shadows favor you, slipping a gold reward through the dark to lift you high. Refuse, and the red bag spits two punishments to claim your soul” – BLIND OR BLEED – stamped in white.

His gut twisted – boots rooted, card shaking in his grip. Nine lashes tore me apart – butt’s still sore from that cane. Ryan’s clamps, 10 pounds, screamed ‘til they bled. Leo’s weights, 2.5 on his balls, he groaned through it. Jamie’s hoist and shred – naked, trembling in his briefs. Fuck – I’m fucked either way. His mind raced – I could play my final veto card, but then I’d pull not 1 but 2 punishments. But there’s one reward card… could I get lucky and pick that? His eyes darted to the table – cards sneering, “Nine lashes, bare back” half-buried, “Nipple clamps, 10 pounds” peeking, “20 pounds by your balls” glinting cold – his cage pulsed, leash slackening, doubt clawing like a wave pulling back. One veto – Burn it, pit’s death; do it, I’m done.

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 09

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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).

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 08

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Chapter 8: The Pit’s Chains 

Sling Stretches – Steel Claims

By: Restrained4U

The dungeon pulsed, tension thick.

Marcus slumped, rope scars red, boots rooted, shoving the bag to Leo. “Your go – pit’s waiting.”

Leo grabbed the bag from his chair, shaky hand digging in – Fuck, what’s it gonna be? He pulled a black dare card – white lettering stark – voice cracking as he read aloud. “Sling’s Embrace – Will You Yield to Its Lace? Roll two dice – minutes tied in the sling, legs spread, parachute stretcher on, half-pound weights added each minute – or quit and prove your manhood’s frail, stripped away for good.” He dropped it – STRETCH OR SUBMIT – gut sinking – Two dice… shit.

Marcus leaned forward, smirking – He’s shaky – “Step up, wave-boy, or play that last veto card – your call.” Leo gripped the table – Ryan’s owning this… – “I’ve got this, man,” he muttered, voice thin – veto untouched. Ryan’s smirk curled – “Finally get to ride that swing set you admired earlier, wave-boy.”

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 07

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Chapter 7: The Pit’s Knots 

Rope Reigns – Leather Rules

By Restrained4U

The dungeon pulsed, sweat thick.

Marcus slumped shirtless, jeans scuffed, boots firm—rope marks raw, eyes defiant.

Ryan loomed, leather creaking, crop in boot, cap shadowing a smirk.

Jamie leaned forward, briefs soaked, envy sharp. Leo sat hunched, jock pinching, hands fidgeting.

Marcus dipped into the bag, pulling a black card with a slow flick. His grin widened as he scanned it, eyes glinting with the words: Bound to Escape – Can You Slip the Pit’s Hold? Take the knots, roll the dice – break free in time, or endure double the strain if you fail. His mind ticked over – Rope’s my bitch… pit’s got nothing on me – confidence surging as he tossed it down, voice smooth and cocky. “Dare card – ‘Bound to Escape – Can You Slip the Pit’s Hold? Take the knots, roll the dice—break free in time, or endure double the strain if you fail.’ Dice decide how long I’ve got – two to twelve. Fail, and it’s double that under strain.” He leaned back, arms crossed, oozing confidence – I’ve tied knots tighter than this punk’s head… escaping’s a breeze.

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Story

The Pit’s Grip – Part 06

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Chapter 6: The Pit’s Gold 

Cage Locks – Power Shines

By Restrained4U

The air clung thick, winch hook echoing.

Jamie slumped, flushed, eyes darting. Leo sat hunched, striped ass raw, wincing sharp.

Ryan settled stiffly, chest heaving, nipples throbbing, socks scuffing where boots once sat.

Marcus slid the bag to Ryan. “Pit don’t take breaks – your go.”

Ryan’s hand froze over the bag, his buzzed auburn hair damp with sweat, eyes narrowing. Fuck this – not again, not yet, he thought, the memory of weights tugging his chest still clawing at him, nipples screaming from Marcus’s tweak. He’d endured – grit held – but the pit’s jaws lingered too close, his breath shallow as he hesitated.

Marcus tilted his head, a faint smirk curling. “What’s the hold-up, soldier? Pit’s waiting.”

Ryan grunted, low and rough, and dipped his hand in, fingers brushing the cards – black dares heavy with dread – then pulled one free, slow, reluctant.

The card gleamed gold, black lettering stark against it.

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