Chapter 20: The Pit’s Shock
Current Cracks – Crown Falls
By Restrained4U
The pit pulsed, red lights carving jagged shadows across concrete walls still damp from Leo’s flood, Marcus’s biometric lock a silent jailer over their fates.
Marcus reached for the black velvet bag – boots thudding faintly as he shook it, clink of cards sharp and deliberate. “Pit’s mine – let’s see its teeth,” he growled, voice low and edged, fingers dipping in to pull a black card – white letters stark under the red glow.
He read slow, each word a gauntlet, “Bound – roll two dice for minutes, TENS unit shocks. Endure or beg – failure draws a punishment.” He set it down on the scarred table – SHOCK’S THRONE – eyes glinting with a steely glare, sweeping the room.
Marcus leaned forward, tossing the dice – 4 and 4. “Eight minutes,” he barked, voice steady, kingly defiance stiff in his frame as he sat, boots planted firm.
Ryan stood, cap tilting, gloved hands flexing. “Lose the boots and jeans – tribute ‘em to the pit,” he growled, jerking his head toward the steel hamper. “Strip, chief, then hit the bondage table.”
Marcus smirked, rising slow, boots thudding heavier as he kicked them off – both rolling short across the concrete – then peeled off his socks, tossing them into the hamper, bare feet slapping the floor. He grunted, scooped up the stray boots, and tossed them into the hamper with a thud – no walk of shame for the pit’s king. He unbuckled his belt – steel clanking – and peeled his jeans down, tossing them in, briefs tight against his thighs. “Pit’s mine – let’s see how long I last,” he snarled, striding to the bondage table under Ryan’s glare.
Leo grabbed leather wrist restraints from the wall, chaps creaking as he approached. “Time to juice the king,” he rasped, clamping the cuffs on Marcus’s wrists – leather biting tight – stretching his arms over the table’s edge and roping them down to the frame below, elbows bent, taut but not rigid. Ryan stepped up, snapping leather ankle restraints on Marcus’s bare feet, pulling them apart – not as wide as his own milking stretch – and tying them to the cage below, feet scuffing the leather slab.
Jamie stood, latex squeaking, pulling a TENS unit from a cabinet – black box, wires trailing, pads dangling. “Gonna light you up, chief,” he grinned, slapping pads onto Marcus’s pecs, just above the wax scars, then two more on his inner thighs – wires snaking to the box. He plugged it in – a low hum buzzing alive.
Ryan grabbed the control, gloved thumb hovering. “Eight minutes – Semper fi, chief. Beg, and you’re done.”
Jamie’s head snapped up, latex creaking. “Hold up – why’s jarhead hogging it? I’ve got two golds – I’ve earned a crack at him.”
Leo lurched forward, chaps rasping, cage clanking. “Fuck that – neither of you’s got dibs. I’ve been caged and pissed on – my turn to twist the knife.”
Ryan’s cap tilted, smirk hardening. “Back off – Marine precision’s why. I’ll break him clean, not fumble like you two. Helmand taught me control – eight minutes, my way.”
Jamie snorted, stepping closer. “Precision? You’re a grunt – I’m the one who’s outplayed this pit. Two golds say I can make him squeal louder than your drills ever did.”
Leo’s grin turned jagged, eyes wild. “Outplayed? You’re a thief – I’ve taken the pit’s worst, nine fuckin’ times over. I’ll ride this wave ‘til he’s begging, not you glory hogs.”
Marcus snarled from the table, voice tight. “Quit your damn yapping – the TENS unit’s the dare, not this fucking squabble.”
Leo jabbed a finger at Ryan. “Fuck your ‘Semper fi’ – let’s split it. We each take a turn, carve him up fair.”
Ryan’s jaw ticked, gloves flexing. “Split it? You’ll just fuck it up – Marine’s got this.”
Jamie snorted, latex creaking. “Neither of you’s earned it solo – I say we roll for it. Dice don’t lie.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed, chaps rasping as he shifted. “Dice? What, like some fuckin’ game night? I’m not leaving this to chance.”
Ryan smirked, cap low. “Chance beats your sloppy ass taking lead. Roll it – highest to lowest.”
Leo growled, then spat. “Fine – dice it is. But I’m watching your jarhead hands.”
Jamie grinned, latex gleaming. “Eight minutes, three turns – let’s see who cracks him first.”
Ryan snorted, cap low. “Deal – roll.”
Leo flicked a die – 5. “Five,” he rasped, grinning wild.
Jamie tossed his – 6. “Six – top dog,” he crowed, latex gleaming.
Ryan rolled – 3. “Three – fine, I’ll end it,” he growled, gloves flexing.
Jamie cranked the dial low – current hummed through Marcus’s chest, a soft ripple tickling his pecs like a lover’s tease, warm and buzzing under the wax scars. Marcus grunted, “Fuck -” muscles twitching faintly. Minute one, the pulses danced, a velvet sting that coaxed a shiver – Jamie’s grin widened, eyes locked. “Feel that chief – gold’s got a soft touch.” Minute two-point-five, he twisted it higher – current sharpened, stabbing into his chest like hot needles, a harsh jolt snapping his nipples taut. Marcus growled, “That all?” thighs flexing, sweat beading, the shift from pleasure to pain clawing his breath. Jamie shifted, latex tight, a faint bulge straining his uniform, a slick bead of precum darkening the tip.
Jamie stepped back, tossing the control to Leo. “Ride it, wave-boy.”
Leo caught it, chaps rasping, dialing it mild – shocks flickered across Marcus’s inner thighs, a tingling caress that pulsed like a slow stroke, teasing nerves awake with a dark, electric hum. Minute three, the sensation curled, almost sweet, thighs quivering as Marcus’s growl softened – “SHIT -” voice raw, caught between grit and a reluctant thrill. Minute five, Leo cranked it fierce – current tore through, a searing lash that burned his thighs raw, muscles locking in spasms (Pain’s mine – fuck ‘em). “Beg yet, throne-boy?” Marcus spat, “Never – fuck you,” sweat pouring, briefs tenting despite the agony, the shift jarring his core. Leo’s chaps creaked, his cock straining in his cage.
Leo flipped the control to Ryan. “Finish him, jarhead.”
Ryan took it, gloved thumb nudging it gentle – current flowed across all pads, chest and thighs buzzing in unison, a full-body ripple that felt like a warm hand tracing his skin, sensual and disarming. Minute six, Marcus thrashed, “FUCKIN’ HELL -” scream tearing free, body straining as the soft waves coaxed a shudder, pleasure fraying his defiance. Minute eight, Ryan slammed it max – shocks blazed, a brutal storm stabbing everywhere, chest convulsing, thighs cramping, pain drowning the tease in a flood of fire. Marcus roared, “GODDAMN!” body rigid, voice shredded as the timer beeped sharp. Jamie cut the power – hum dying – Marcus gasping, chest red and slick, thighs trembling under the pads. Ryan’s leather pants bulged, a wet streak glistening down his thigh, his post-milking nerves twitching close to the edge.
Ryan smirked, unbuckling the ankle restraints – feet dropping free. “No begging – pit’s still hungry.” Leo uncuffed the wrists, tossing the restraints aside, leather slapping the floor. Marcus hauled himself up, legs shaky, briefs clinging damp to his skin.
He sank into his chair, breath ragged, glare defiant. “Still king – took it all,” he growled, tossing the bag to Leo. Jamie chuckled, “Barely – throne’s wobbling.”
To be continued…
