Note from Metal: This is a “fan imagined” conclusion to the story Corporate Takeover by lthr_jock. To start at the very beginning of this story, which originally appeared in the Prison Library back in 2020, click for Part 1.
By @bdsmsubrex
Brian woke to the familiar hum of the Blu-ray, his body encased in the leather harness and jockstrap, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with the lingering memory of Ken’s cigar smoke. His cock strained against the tight jockstrap, a constant reminder of his arousal. The supplements on the nightstand beckoned, but he hesitated, a flicker of unease cutting through the haze. He shook it off, popped two tablets, and headed to Ironworks, his mind already drifting to the next visit to Cuir Experience.
At the shop, Dave greeted him with a knowing grin, his leather vest stretched tight across his muscled chest. “Brian, you’re becoming a regular,” Dave said, leaning on the counter. “You’ve done us a solid — buying up the estate to save Boltz and this place.” Brian nodded, his chest swelling with pride, though the supplements dulled his usual sharpness. “As a thank you,” Dave continued, his tone shifting to command, “you’re to attend a weekend training with Master William, the local BDSM Master. Starts tomorrow. Be at Boltz at 6 PM sharp. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Brian replied without hesitation, his cock twitching at the thought. Dave handed him a black card with an address and a single word: Obey. Brian pocketed it, his mind already racing with anticipation.
The Weekend with Master William
Friday evening, Brian arrived at Boltz, dressed in his leather harness, chaps, and boots, his heart pounding. The club was quiet, the usual crowd absent. A tall figure emerged from the shadows — Master William, a towering man in his forties, clad in a full leather uniform, his face stern under a Muir cap, a thick leather belt adorned with cuffs and a flogger. “Strip,” he commanded. Brian complied, peeling off his gear until he stood naked, his muscled frame glistening under the dim lights.
William circled him, inspecting every inch. “You’re here to serve, slave,” he said, his voice low and unyielding. He produced a metal chastity belt, its cold steel glinting. “This will keep you focused.” Brian stood still as William fitted the belt, the tight penis tube clamping his cock, a thick butt plug sliding into his arse with a lubed push that made him gasp. The belt locked with a heavy click, the plug filling him, a constant pressure that kept him on edge. “You’ll wear this all weekend,” William said, pocketing the key. “No release unless I allow it.”
The training began immediately. Master William led Brian to a dimly lit back room at Boltz, the air heavy with the scent of leather and sweat. “Kneel,” William commanded, his voice a low growl that brooked no argument. Brian obeyed, the steel chastity belt’s butt plug shifting inside him, sending a jolt of discomfort and arousal through his core. William towered over him, his leather-clad form imposing, a glint of authority in his eyes beneath the Muir cap. He produced a sleek latex hood, its black surface gleaming under the faint light. “Head up,” William ordered. Brian complied, and the hood was pulled over his face, the tight material encasing his head, leaving only nostril holes for breathing and a wide mouth opening. The latex clung to his skin, amplifying every sensation, his breath shallow through the restricted openings.
William then fastened a thick leather collar around Brian’s neck, the studs pressing into his flesh. A heavy D-ring clicked as William attached a chain leash, giving it a sharp tug. “Move,” he said, pulling Brian to his feet and leading him through a curtained doorway into another area, the leash guiding his stumbling steps. The room was stark, dominated by a padded leather platform. A black leather sleepsack lay open on it, its interior lined with straps and tubes. “Lie down,” William instructed. Brian hesitated, the supplements and Blu-ray’s programming dulling his resistance, urging compliance. He lowered himself onto the cool leather, the plug shifting again, his cock straining futilely against the chastity belt’s tight steel tube.
William worked methodically, zipping the sleepsack up to Brian’s pelvis, the leather hugging his muscled frame like a second skin. “Arms in,” William said, guiding Brian’s hands into internal sleeves that pinned them against his sides. The zipper climbed higher, encasing his chest, shoulders, and neck, until only his latex-covered head remained exposed. William secured a heavy padlock through the zipper’s pull at the collar, ensuring Brian was trapped. “You’re here to serve tonight, slave,” William said, his voice cold and commanding. “Starting with taking our waste.”
From a nearby table, William retrieved a soft, thick silicone tube, its end slightly flared. He forced Brian’s mouth open wider, the latex hood stretching, and slid the tube deep into his throat. Brian gagged, his eyes watering as the silicone filled his mouth, pressing against his tongue and throat, leaving no room for resistance. William connected the tube’s other end to a modified toilet bowl mounted against the wall, its drain rigged to feed directly into Brian’s mouth. “Anyone who pisses in that bowl, you take it,” William said, his tone final. “No choice, slave.” To demonstrate, William stepped to the bowl, unzipped his leather trousers, and let a stream of warm, acrid piss flow into it. The liquid surged through the tube, flooding Brian’s throat. He choked, swallowing reflexively, the bitter taste overwhelming, his body trembling with humiliation and a perverse arousal that made his cock pulse uselessly against the steel cage.
William stepped back, zipping up. “Enjoy the party, slave,” he said with a smirk, turning to leave. Brian lay helpless, the sleepsack immobilizing him, the padlock ensuring no escape. The latex hood muffled the sounds of the club, but he could hear footsteps approaching, the low hum of voices growing louder as the party began. One by one, men — some familiar faces from Boltz, others strangers — used the bowl. Each stream forced its way down the tube, relentless, filling Brian’s mouth and throat. He struggled to keep up, gagging with each surge, the taste and heat overwhelming his senses. His body fought the intrusion, but the sleepsack and tube left him powerless, his submission absolute.
Yet, with each swallow, a twisted arousal grew. His cock throbbed violently in the chastity belt, the tight steel preventing any release, the butt plug pressing deeper with every involuntary clench. The latex hood amplified his isolation, reducing him to a vessel for their waste, his world narrowed to the tube, the piss, and the relentless pressure in his groin. Hours passed, the flow unending, his mind a haze of degradation and need. The supplements’ lingering effects and the Blu-ray’s programming deepened his submissive state, his body betraying him with every pulse of arousal, his dick straining to break free from its steel prison.
Saturday was relentless. William strapped Brian into a heavy leather straightjacket, the straps biting into his skin, his arms crossed and locked behind him. A leather hood with only a mouth hole was secured over his face, plunging him into darkness. “You’re a toy now,” William growled. “Open your mouth.” Brian complied, and soon a procession of men — William’s trusted circle — used him. Thick cocks filled his mouth, cutting off his air, forcing him to focus on breathing through brief gaps. Others took his arse, the plug removed only for their use, each thrust grinding against his prostate, his cock straining uselessly in the steel cage. The hood muffled his groans, his world reduced to the rhythm of cocks and the creak of leather. By night, William locked him in a leather sleepsack, the material encasing him like a second skin, his body suspended in a steel cage. The plug was reinserted, larger now, stretching him painfully. Sleep came fitfully, the Blu-ray’s whispers replaced by William’s voice in his mind: Submit. Serve.
Sunday morning, Brian was released from the sleepsack, his muscles aching, his mind a haze of submission. William stood before him, holding a thick leather collar studded with D-rings. “You’ve done well, slave,” he said, his eyes piercing. “I want to collar you, train you as mine. But you choose.” He handed Brian a small lockbox containing the chastity belt’s key and another key. “Take this off, think it over. This key allows you to unlock your butt plug, while the key to your belt is in this lockbox. Text me if you decline and I will give you the code to the lockbox within a day. Five days. Return to Boltz with your answer.” Brian nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, and left, the metal belt still locked, the plug a constant reminder.
The Awakening
That night, Brian skipped the supplements and smashed the Blu-ray, its plastic shards scattering across the hotel room. A spark of clarity pierced the fog, his old instincts flaring. He excused himself from the morning’s meetings, ignoring Quentin’s concerned glances, and stormed to his room. He called his R&D head. “I want a full breakdown of those supplements. Now. And check for psychoactive compounds.”
By evening, Brian was at Ironworks, but not to lift. He confronted Chris, demanding to know if he’d heard of Geoff’s supplements. Chris shrugged, admitting he’d seen similar “miracle drugs” in bodybuilding circles, often laced with unlisted stimulants. “You’re looking huge, though,” Chris added, eyeing Brian’s leather-clad frame. Brian ignored the compliment, his mind racing. He drove to Cuir Experience, bypassing Dave’s welcoming grin to demand answers. “Who’s supplying the gear? The supplements? The Blu-ray?” Dave, caught off guard, admitted Geoff had been a regular, dropping off packages and asking about Brian’s visits.
Fury replaced the haze. Brian pieced it together: Geoff’s plan wasn’t just a business venture — it was a coup. The supplements dulled his mind, the Blu-ray reprogrammed his desires, and the leather subculture was a distraction to keep him docile. He returned to the hotel, packed his bags, and flew home that night, leaving the chastity shorts and harness behind. At Watling Inc.’s headquarters, he locked himself in his office, poring over Geoff’s paperwork. The medical workups were flawless, but the funding sources were murky — shell companies linked to Geoff’s associates.
Brian called an emergency board meeting, presenting evidence of Geoff’s manipulation. The board, already wary of Brian’s recent behavior, hesitated, but his old authority won out. He fired Geoff’s allies in the company and froze the supplement project, ordering a full investigation. The lab confirmed the supplements contained trace psychoactive drugs, designed to enhance suggestibility. Geoff, confronted with the evidence, fled the country, his business venture collapsing.
A New Pact
The following weekend, Brian stood outside Boltz, the lockbox in his hand, the metal chastity belt still locked around him. His corporate victory had restored his control, but the weekend with William lingered, a pull he couldn’t ignore. He pressed the buzzer and entered, finding William waiting in the same leather uniform, his presence commanding. “Your decision, slave?” William asked, holding the studded collar.
Brian exhaled, his old self warring with the desires William had awakened. “I’ll take your collar, Sir,” he said, kneeling. “Give me the lockbox and the key.” Brian complied. William’s eyes gleamed as he fastened the collar around Brian’s neck, the leather tight, a D-ring clicking against the studs. “Good boy,” William murmured, locking it with a padlock. “Now, let’s train you properly.”
That night, William’s training was intense. Brian, still in the chastity belt with its butt plug, was strapped into a straightjacket, the leather creaking as it hugged his muscled frame. A leather hood with only a mouth hole was secured, plunging him into darkness. William had invited fifteen trusted members — men from Boltz and the gym, including Ken and the Twins. One by one, they approached, their cocks filling Brian’s mouth, cutting off his breath. He gagged, struggling to time his breaths, the plug shifting with each movement, his cock trapped in the steel cage. The men took turns, some rough, some slow, their hands gripping his hooded head. Ken’s Scottish brogue cut through, “Good slave,” as he thrust deep, leaving Brian gasping. The Twins, their massive forms looming, took turns, their cocks stretching his throat. By the end, Brian’s jaw ached, his face slick with sweat and spit, his body trembling with unfulfilled arousal.
The next day, William released Brian, handing him the bluetooth lockbox with the butt plug key. “For daily cleaning,” William said, “The Box will unlock every morning, use the key to unlock your butt plug and clean yourself, lock it back up and put the key back into the box and shut it. You will video record it and send me the video once you are done.” Brian nodded, “Yes, Sir.” William upgraded the plug, now a centimeter wider, the penis tube slightly shorter and tighter, ensuring constant pressure. Brian drove home, the collar hidden under a scarf, the belt a secret beneath his suit.
A Dual Life
At Watling Inc., Brian was the old titan — sharp, ruthless, commanding. He led meetings with precision, Quentin no longer needed to cover for him. The company thrived, Geoff’s betrayal a fading memory. But when the workday ended, Brian’s other life began. At home, he stripped, buckled on the leather collar, and inserted a large penis gag, its rubber filling his mouth, silencing him. The chastity belt remained, the plug a constant presence, upgraded monthly by William to stretch him further. Each evening, he reported to William at Boltz or a private dungeon, submitting to ropes, chains, or the cross, his body a canvas for William’s commands.
Brian reveled in the contrast — ruling by day, serving by night. The collar, hidden under high-necked shirts, was a reminder of his pact. William’s training honed his submission, his body adapting to cocks and plugs with ease, his mind finding peace in surrender. The Twins, now friends, supplied clean steroids, his muscles growing to competition size. Brian never competed, but the gym remained his sanctuary, balancing his dual existence.
His focus split between Watling Inc. and William’s dungeon. The leather subculture, once a trap, was now his choice — a life of control and submission, perfectly balanced.
The end
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Click for Part 1
Metal would like to thank the author @bdsmsubrex for writing this conclusion! And also thanks to the original author, lthr_jock, for inspiring it!
To read more stories by lthr_jock, click here.
To read more stories by @bdsmsubrex, click here.
