Chapter 5: The Pit’s Cane 

Strokes Break – Flesh Binds

By Restrained4U

The dungeon hung heavy, winch hook creaking.

Jamie slumped, eyes flicking to Leo’s trembling card.

Ryan’s ragged breaths rasped from the cross, weights pulling, clamps biting deep into his chest, his jaw clenched tight – but a flicker of grim hope burned in his gaze now. After Leo’s turn, those cursed clamps would finally come off, his torment ticking down as Leo’s loomed.

Marcus leaned back, arms crossed, his smirk a cold blade as the rustle of the blood-red punishment bag faded, its threat now clutched in Leo’s grip.

Leo’s fingers shook, the card’s crimson edges blurring in the dim light, white lettering stark and unforgiving. He swallowed, throat dry, and read it to himself first – Fuck, not this – his gut twisting as the words sank in. His voice came out low, cracked, barely steady as he read aloud. “Roll two dice for cane strike – strap to the table face-down, count ‘em loud, or the pit doubles it.” He let the card slip to the table – ROLL AND CANE in white – and stared at it, the range – two to twelve – searing into his skull, his breath hitching fast. Both vetoes would’ve killed this – out, safe, done, he thought, a sharp pang stabbing through him. He’d held that last card like a shield, and now the pit had him anyway, dice ready to carve his fate.

Marcus’s smirk stretched, eyes glinting with a predator’s gleam. “Dice first, roll your doom, then we’ll strap you down to sing it out. Pit’s gonna love this.” He tilted his head toward Ryan. “Jarhead’s itching for his clamps to drop – your stripes are his clock.”

Jamie leaned forward, half-smirk twitching, his dick giving a sudden twitch in his briefs, a fresh leak of pre-cum darkening the gray fabric. Fuck, this again? he thought, caught off guard by the heat stirring low dick twitching, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the stakes. “Cane’s a bitch with dice – could be a breeze or a breaking. Roll smart.” His voice stayed flat, masking the surprise at his own body’s betrayal.

Ryan’s gaze sharpened, a low grunt scraping out through gritted teeth. “Roll fast, I’m done waiting.” His voice rasped, heavy with exhaustion, the faint edge of relief trembling beneath, his body still taut under the weights.

Leo’s hand hovered over the two-silver dice on the table, their edges glinting like tiny blades. He grabbed one, rolling it in his palm, delaying the drop – then let it fall. A 3 stared up, low and mocking. Marcus chuckled, low and dark. “Three? Shit, pit’s barely warming up – give us the other one, let’s see the real hurt.” Leo’s throat tightened, his fingers snagging the second die. He shook it once, twice, then let it spill – 6. Nine total, locked in, the number sinking like a stone in his gut.

Jamie’s half-smirk faded, his eyes narrowing further, his hand dropping to his briefs as his dick twitched harder, the pre-cum stain spreading wider across the gray fabric. What the fuck’s wrong with me? he thought, surprise sharpening as the heat pulsed low, a twisted thrill creeping in despite himself. “Nine’s a slow burn – gonna feel that deep, man.” His tone stayed flat, but a faint edge crept in, sizing up the toll ahead.

Marcus stood, his smirk curling into something colder as he clapped his hands once, sharp. “Nine it is – let’s get you strapped, wave-boy. Time to pay up.” He turned to Jamie, voice cutting. “Pig-boy, grab those locking leather handcuffs and locks off the table, then get a pair of ankle restraints from the wall – move it.” Jamie rose, his semi-hard dick bulging tighter against the briefs, the wet stain glaring as he stepped forward. Marcus’s eyes flicked down, a low snort escaping. “Looks like you’re enjoying the show – keep it in check, we’ve got work to do.” Jamie’s face flushed, a hot rush climbing his neck – Fuck, he saw – his jaw tightening as embarrassment tangled with the strange heat coiling low, but he kept his mouth shut. “Okay,” he said, stepping toward the table, his tone subdued. Marcus’s eyes narrowed, voice snapping like a whip. “Wrong answer, pig-boy – say it right. “Yes Sir.” Jamie froze, then straightened slightly, swallowing. “Yes Sir,” he corrected, his voice low and tight, before turning to snatch the locking leather handcuffs and a handful of small padlocks from the table, their metal clinking. He shuffled to the wall, pulling a pair of thick leather ankle restraints from a hook.

Marcus gripped Leo’s arm with a firm tug. “Up – let’s pick your poison.” He led him across the dungeon to the wall by the entry door, ropes and chains dangling in tangled rows beside floggers, whips, coiled leather, and paddles – various sizes and shapes, some leather with holes, some solid wood, all glinting with quiet threat – their shadows flickering in the dim light. Beside them stood a stainless-steel cylinder, tall and narrow, its brushed surface cold – inside, a cluster of canes jutted out, lengths and thicknesses varying from slender bamboo to stout oak, some smooth, some grooved, all poised with menace.

Marcus nodded at the container. “Pick your cane, nine’s waiting. Choose wisely.” He stepped aside, snagging four short lengths of rope, tough enough to bite and hold, as Leo stared into the steel holder. His hand hovered, trembling, brushing a thin bamboo rod – smooth and whippy – then a grooved ash cane, its texture rough under his fingers. He grazed a thick oak shaft, heavy and solid, his mind wrestling – Middle’s safe, not too thin, not the thickest – middle ground’s gotta be right, if there’s even a right with this – and settled on a mid-sized cane, not the slenderest but shy of the heaviest, a compromise he hoped wouldn’t break him. He pulled it free, its weight sinking into his palm.

Marcus glanced at it, a faint smirk tugging his lips. “That one, huh? It’ll do – nine’ll tell its own story.” His tone stayed vague, giving nothing away, as he turned and led Leo to the bondage table – sitting on top of a heavy duty cage, its edges studded with steel eyebolts glinting in the dim light. “Jamie, cuff him – wrists and ankles.” Jamie stepped up, his jaw tight, a flicker of petty satisfaction in his eyes – You had your turn cutting me bare – now I get mine locking you down, he thought, relishing the flip as he’d been stripped raw, Leo’s scissors shredding his control; now he’d bind him, chaining his fate.

He snapped the leather handcuffs around Leo’s wrists, threading padlocks through the buckles with a sharp click, then knelt to secure the ankle restraints, their straps creaking as he locked them tight. Marcus pointed at the table. “Face down, hands to your sides.” Leo handed the mid-sized cane to Jamie as he climbed on, the padding cool against his chest, stretching out as ordered.

Jamie’s grip tightened on the cane, his dick hardening further against his briefs, the pre-cum stain blooming as a rush hit him – Fuck, I’m the one holding it now – a fleeting surge of dominance swelling in his chest, his breath catching at the shift. Marcus’s voice cut through, sharp and cold. “Hand it over, pig-boy – don’t get too comfy up there.” Jamie flinched, the flush creeping higher on his face as he passed the cane over, his brief power snuffed out.

Marcus took it, twirling it once in his hand. “Count each strike loud, falter, and we start at one. Nine’s your ticket.” He stepped to Leo’s left, raising the cane, and brought it down hard across Leo’s butt – a solid thwack echoing off the walls. Leo winced, a sharp hiss escaping, but barked out, “One!” fast, his voice tight. Marcus paced slowly to the right, deliberate, letting the silence stretch, then swung again, lighter this time, a dull thud on the same spot. “Two!” Leo snapped, wincing less. The third landed mid-force, stinging across his cheeks – “Three!” – and the fourth cracked harder, biting deep – “Four!” – his voice straining but steady. Marcus shifted back left, the fifth a firm smack, steady and even – “Five!” – Leo’s wince sharper now, eyes glistening, holding it in. He circled right again, pausing, then dropped the sixth lower, a fierce crack across Leo’s thighs – “Six!” – Leo’s voice broke, a yelp slipping out, tears pricking as he fought to keep counting, the sting radiating hot.

Marcus paused, his eyes locking onto Jamie, who stood watching intently, his dick now rock-hard against his briefs, pre-cum dripping like a leaky faucet, staining the gray fabric dark and slick.

Without a word, Marcus reached out, handing the cane to Jamie, who froze, a confused look crossing his face, hesitation flickering. “Sir?” he questioned, voice low, unsure of Marcus’s intent. Marcus’s smirk tightened. “Three more, pig-boy – you wanna give ‘em to him?” A nervous grin twitched across Jamie’s face, his eagerness slipping through despite his effort to hide it. “Yes Sir,” he said, voice low but edged with a thrill, gently taking the cane from Marcus’s hand.

Jamie stood there a moment, admiring the cane again – its mid-sized weight, smooth grain – like he had when Leo first handed it over, but now it was his, and this time he’d wield it. He swung it through the air a few times, the swish cutting sharp, a surge of power hardening his grip. Stepping up to the bound Leo, he took a whack at his ass – a quick, firm slap. Leo jumped, straining against the ropes, and rasped, “Seven!” Marcus’s voice sliced in, cool and cutting. “You can do better than that, think he’d go easy on you?”

Jamie’s jaw tightened, and he swung the cane through the air again, the swoosh louder now, stepping to the other side of the table. He laid a hardy slap across Leo’s ass, the crack ringing out – Leo jolted, barking, “Eight – FUCK!” – his voice raw. Jamie paced back to the left, the ninth swing harder than any before – WHACK – the cane biting deep into Leo’s reddened flesh. “Nine!” Leo strained out through clenched teeth, a choked sob breaking free, tears streaking as he held on, the count complete.

Marcus watched, then stepped forward, voice low. “Return it to the cylinder, pig-boy – its work’s done.” Jamie nodded, “Yes Sir,” and walked to the steel holder, swinging the cane once more through the air, the swish echoing as he savored it one last time. He slid it back among the others, and with his back to the group, he reached down, fumbling to adjust his hard-on, a futile tug against the soaked briefs to hide the bulge.

Turning back, he saw Marcus leaning down beside Leo’s face on the table, his tone soft, almost tender – a stark shift. “You did good, wave-boy – took it like you had to. Nine’s no joke.” He brushed a hand over Leo’s shoulder, a rare flicker of care in his eyes, knowing the toll it took.

He straightened, looking at Jamie. “Untie him, remove the restraints, put it all away.” Jamie didn’t speak, a pang of pity hitting him as he looked at Leo – broken, spent, the fight caned out of him. He worked silently, untying the ropes from the eyebolts, their knots slipping free, then unlocked the ankle restraints, the leather creaking as it loosened. He moved to the wrists, clicking the padlocks open, peeling the cuffs off Leo’s raw skin, gathering everything in a pile to return to the wall and table.

Marcus hauled Leo up, steadying him as he stood, legs shaky, then turned to the group. “Back to the table, boys – sit.” Jamie and Leo trudged over, Leo wincing as his striped ass hit the cold leather chair, a sharp hiss slipping out.

Marcus stepped to Ryan, his sinister dominance snapping back like a switch flipped. One by one, slow and methodical, he removed the half-pound weights from the clamps, savoring Ryan’s every twitch – each slight shift tormenting his raw, chafed nipples. Ryan’s breath hitched, a low groan scraping out as the final weight clinked to the floor. Marcus locked eyes with him, voice cold and firm, edged with a gruff nod. “Removing these’ll hurt worse than wearing ‘em – held up good, soldier. Best way’s like ripping a bandage off. On three.”

Ryan took a deep breath, bracing, chest heaving as Marcus gripped both clamps, the metal cuffs locked to the St. Andrew’s cross glinting. “One…” Marcus drawled, slow and deliberate. “Two…” His hands squeezed the right clamp open, yanking it free, then the left in sync – Ryan’s scream ripped out, “Holy Jesus Mary – FUCK!!” – before Marcus finished, “…Three.” Marcus chuckled, tossing the clamps onto the bondage table with a clatter. “Told ya so,” he said, grinning as Ryan panted, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath.

Marcus reached up, hands rubbing and tweaking Ryan’s raw nipples, drawing a fresh wave of torment – Ryan thrashed against the metal restraints, snarling, “FUCK FUCK FUCK!” – his body jerking to escape the torture.

Marcus lingered, the seconds stretching like hours for Ryan, then stopped, stepping back. “Debt’s paid, jarhead,” he said, unscrewing the bolts on the metal cuffs securing Ryan’s wrists and ankles to the cross by hand, each turn slow and deliberate, the steel grinding as it loosened. As the last screw fell, he grabbed Ryan’s arm, slinging it over his shoulder to steady him until his legs found ground, then guided him back to the table. Ryan sank into his chair, grimacing, his tactical pants tight against a hard-on he hoped stayed unnoticed.

Marcus surveyed the group – Leo’s striped, wincing wreck; Jamie’s soaked, flushed tension; Ryan’s raw, panting relief – his eyes lingering on each, giving them a moment’s break. Then he picked up the black velvet bag, tossing it to Ryan with a dark grin. “Pit don’t take breaks, your go.”

…to be continued