By Linc

The boutique hummed with quiet luxury, sunlight fading through tinted glass as Tyler strode in — 28, lacrosse jock, tank top clinging to a sweat-slick chest from a neighborhood jog, shorts slung low on his hips with casual swagger. His damp hair was tousled, his grin easy as his eyes roamed the showroom’s sleek steel displays.

“Weirdest store I’ve seen yet,” he muttered, half-laughing at the thought of furniture this bizarre.

Behind the counter, Liam — mid-thirties, athletic, dark hair swept back — watched him with an amused eye. A black button-up hugged his frame, sleeves rolled high to reveal corded forearms. “First timer?” he asked, voice smooth as silk, sizing Tyler up like a prize.

Tyler chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, just looking. Caught a glimpse through the window — thought it was a joke.”

“Not a joke,” Liam said, grin widening. “High-end build–aircraft-grade aluminum, wheels for mobility.”

“What, like handcrafted Italian leather?”

“Better,” Liam countered smoothly. “Yacht-grade vinyl. Cooler on the skin, tougher than hide — the same finish they use on private yachts and jets. All the luxury, none of the upkeep.”

Tyler shrugged. “How comfy could it really be?”

“Ever tried one?” Liam gestured him over to a matte-black chair, cushioned in that soft vinyl, four wheels tucked under the frame like a hand truck’s skeleton. “Sit,” he invited, patting the seat. “No rush. Just feel the padding first.”

Tyler eased down, the vinyl cool against his thighs, molding to him like a lover’s grip. “Damn… that’s nice,” he admitted, shifting.

“Easy to clean, too–spills, sweat, whatever,” Liam said, hand hovering near. He picked up a thigh buckle, demonstrating its one-handed release. “Simple. Want to try it?”

Hesitant but curious, Tyler fumbled the strap, buckling it over his right thigh, then unbuckling. “Not bad,” he said, a smile creeping in despite himself.

“Behind your legs, the padding feels like a leather glove on your calves,” Liam coaxed. “Even tight, it’s comfortable.”

Tyler pressed his calves into the vinyl, a shiver running up his spine. He pushed harder, testing, until Liam’s firm hands guided him down. “Relax,” Liam murmured. Tyler let his muscles slacken, the padding embracing his legs like a leather cloud.

“Normally the strap does the work. Want to feel it?”

Tyler nodded. Liam fastened the calf strap with expert ease, then snugged the thigh. Tyler flexed experimentally; the pressure felt good on his burning muscles.

“One more?” Liam suggested, nodding to the loose leg. Tyler agreed. In moments, both legs were cinched, padded restraints hugging close. Liam slipped away, murmuring something about grabbing product literature, leaving Tyler to settle in.

Alone, Tyler fidgeted. He caught his reflection in a nearby mirror — his broad chest awkwardly framed by the chair’s angles. Heat surged; he yanked off his tank top, dropping it to the floor. The chest straps drew his attention, buckles tucked far to one side. He wrestled with them, and finally they clicked, pinning his pecs tight so each breath made his nipples graze the vinyl. The tension carried a strange relief, like sliding into a broken-in leather harness.

Dripping sweat, he buckled his left bicep, then his elbow — muscles bulging against the straps. He undid the elbow, reassured by the release, then cinched it again. The wrist strap followed, snug and firm. His heart raced as he tugged against the chair; it held.

When Liam returned, his grin was wicked. “Looking good,” he teased. “Might be a future classic for you.”

Tyler startled, but Liam only waved a damp cloth. “Relax — it’s like gym equipment. Wipe down when you’re finished.”

Tyler exhaled, tension easing at his host’s casual tone.

“Arms look jacked like that,” Liam observed. “Better than curls.” Tyler flexed, transfixed by the bulge of his veins. While he admired himself, Liam guided his right arm into place, tightening bicep, elbow, then wrist straps with steady hands. “Now both sides ripped,” he said approvingly.

“Selfie?” Liam offered, already lifting Tyler’s phone. He snapped a few — Tyler sweaty, panting, grinning despite himself–before setting it aside.

“Almost time to let you out,” Liam murmured. Then, after a beat: “Wait — something better.”

Before Tyler could respond, a silicone gag pressed past his lips, thick and filling. “Wai — nomf — ” he garbled, but Liam was too quick. The keeper strap buckled tight behind his head, silencing him. Drool welled instantly, sliding down his chest.

Tyler thrashed, muffled protests buzzing in his throat, but Liam only wheeled the chair back, the casters humming smoothly as he steered him into a dim storage room.

“Wear it out,” Liam said simply, locking the door.

Tyler jerked against the restraints, muscles firing, every vein standing out as he tested for weakness. The chair didn’t yield. The padded straps hugged him with implacable calm, swallowing every thrash into silence.

Liam’s shoes clicked once on the floor as he turned the key. “Wear it out,” he said, almost kindly, before the door shut with a heavy finality.

The lock snapped.

Tyler froze, breath ragged behind the gag. Drool spilled down his chest, pooling cold against his skin. He bucked once more, harder, but the chair held him steady — unyielding, patient, waiting.

The room was dark. The hum of the showroom beyond faded into nothing.

And in that nothing, the only sound was his own pulse hammering in his ears, the vinyl beneath him clinging like a second skin.

Metal would like to thank the author, Linc, for this story and for this image!