By Jackson Amacher
Dylan was gagged, handcuffed, his ankles chained to the concrete floor, and his ass still sore from a double-fucking. Yet Dylan felt like the most powerful guy in the room right now.
The Reds were turning on each other. Even before Colton had shouted down an offer that one of the six Reds could go free if he stripped and subdued the others, Rex had stripped Mark naked and tied him next to Colton. That’s one down, five to go.
The Reds, Dylan remembered, for the most part were not athletic types. Rex got to choose team members last, after all. Rex was, by far, the strongest guy left. He could take any of them in a fight.
So, that’s why the other four ganged up on their Supreme Leader almost immediately. They knocked him to the floor, right by Dylan’s feet. One of them sat on his chest, while the others started got his boots and pants off, leaving Rex wearing only boxer briefs and his shirt.
But Rex wasn’t going down without a fight. He could reach the latches that held Dylan’s feet to the floor. And he unlatched Dylan.
Dylan’s attention, for about an hour, had been laser-focused on one item in the room: the ring of keys that had fallen from Mark’s pocket when Rex dramatically demonstrated Mark’s treachery. Dylan leapt forward, bent down, and grabbed the keys with his handcuffed hands.
The Reds saw what Dylan was up to. They realized the danger of being trapped in a basement with a muscular wrestler and MMA fighter. Two of them rushed Dylan immediately. But a roundhouse kick from Dylan knocked one of the charging Reds against each other, and they both collapsed to the ground.
Dylan got his handcuffs off. He held them out now, wielding them like a weapon. Now, everyone was on the ground, and unarmed, except Dylan.
Dylan grabbed a broom and expertly swung it around his body like a bo staff.
The Reds remained on the ground.
Daniel was in pain. It started in his dick. Flush with blood, it wanted to be erect, but helplessly pushed against the giant metal tube it was encased in. And that tube was padlocked to an iron ring, tightly wrapped around his balls. The pain extended from his balls back into his body; Daniel felt like he’d explode if he didn’t get relief soon.
Mark. That idiot. Mark had promised him the key. But somehow Mark had gotten caught. And Colton locked him in the basement. So now the key was in there, too. Daniel didn’t care what he had to do to get it, who he had to make a deal with, what they wanted to do with him. Getting released was everything.
Daniel flung open the basement door. There, standing at the top of the stairs, was Dylan. Under his arm, he carried a big roll of clothes. In his other hand, a broom.
“Deal’s a deal. I stripped all of them. Here are their clothes. I’ll be going, now,” Dylan said, holding the clothes out to Daniel.
“The key! Where is it?,” Daniel shouted, not taking the roll of clothes.
“The one that unlocks restraining bolts? I’m taking that. I left the other ones down there,” Dylan said.
Daniel rushed past Dylan, bounding down the stairs. He saw the key. He grabbed it.
Shrugging, Dylan left, letting the door close and lock behind him.
Dylan remembered how, early that morning, in the parking lot, Mark had made fun of him by saying that maybe he could clothe himself in an animal skin. Almost correct, Mark!, Dylan thought.
Dylan unrolled the roll of clothes he was carrying, and helped himself to Mark’s boxer briefs and pants. He didn’t want to wear a Red shirt, so he remained shirtless.
Dylan walked outside and saw Colton and Charlie, naked, still strapped to each other, seemingly fucking, yet not.
“What the fuck is happening here?,” Dylan asked.
In the basement, Daniel finally had his key. But he had not freed himself. Not yet.
Before Daniel was a gorgeous sight. Six Reds. All stripped naked. All handcuffed, exactly as they had once handcuffed Dylan, with their hands locked behind their backs at their shoulder blades. All latched to the floor. All gagged. All sweating profusely in the summer heat made worse by Colton turning on the winter furnace. They were not blindfolded, however. And when they saw Daniel, their eyes grew with terror.
They had wanted to be rescued. But not like this. Not by Daniel. Anyone but Daniel…
They were shy about their bodies. Daniel could tell, from their red cheeks and stomachs, from how they vainly tried to move their legs to cover their dicks. They were humiliated. Mortified. They hated being seen like this. They never, ever thought they’d end this game being naked and tied up. Daniel could see that in their faces. And that turned Daniel on more than anything else.
Of course, some of that embarrassment had to also come from realizing how badly they’d just screwed up. How they’d just fallen from being the six guys who were masters–undisputed, absolute masters over the lives and bodies of every other senior in their class–to being sad, naked, prisoners. Prisoners of their former slave.
For the moment Daniel ignored Rex and Mark, the two fittest prisoners. He went to Hugh. Daniel laughed at Hugh. He moved his finger slowly up Hugh’s stomach, then jiggled its fat. He saw Hugh’s face clench with shame and embarrassment. Then he casually lifted Hugh’s limp dick from his body and let it fall back down. Hugh looked like he could die.
Daniel walked down the line of naked men, and felt each of their dicks. As if to say: These are mine now, not yours. You get no say in what happens, from here on out.
Rex was taking it the worst. He was struggling to free himself. His dick wobbled and slapped his thighs as he tried to pull his hands free from their cuffs. Those are handcuffs, Rex, thought Daniel. They don’t come loose just because you’re a strong guy.
Save that strength. You will need it.
Daniel took the key. At last, he freed his dick and balls. He tossed that awful cock cage to the floor. His aching, swollen balls fell down and slapped his leg; his dick stood perpendicular to his body.
The six Reds stared at it, then hung their heads.
Metal would like to thank Jackson Amacher for sharing this story!