The heavy door clicked shut behind me, sealing me inside the dimly lit lounge. The air was thick with the scent of leather and something darker—musky, intoxicating, like sweat and power. My pulse hammered in my throat as I took in the room: a single lamp cast long, shifting shadows across the walls, its golden glow barely reaching the edges of the space. A low coffee table sat in the center, its polished surface reflecting the faint light, and beyond it, a wide leather couch, its surface smooth and unyielding. The kind of furniture meant for control.

I didn’t have time to study it further.

“Kneel.”

The voice cut through the silence like a blade—deep, rough, the kind of sound that curled in my gut and made my skin prickle. I turned toward it, my breath shallow. The older man stood near the couch, his broad frame blocking most of the light, turning him into a silhouette of authority. His tight pants clung to his thighs, the fabric stretched obscenely over the thick outline of his cock, the shape unmistakable even in the dimness. My mouth went dry. I knew what was coming, and my body reacted before my mind could protest, heat pooling low in my stomach.

I dropped to my knees on the couch, the leather cool and unyielding beneath me. The man didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched as I settled, my hands resting on my thighs, my spine straight. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until his boots scuffed against the floor, circling me like a predator sizing up prey.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress. “But you won’t need your eyes for this.”

A blindfold materialized in his hand—black silk, smooth between his fingers. Before I could react, he stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against my skin. His free hand cupped the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair just enough to tilt my face up. I swallowed hard, my pulse racing as the silk brushed my cheek, then settled over my eyes, plunging me into darkness.

The world narrowed to sound and touch. The creak of leather as he shifted, the faint rustle of fabric, the musk of his cologne—something rich and spiced, like aged whiskey. My breath hitched when his fingers traced my jaw, then pressed against my lips.

“Shh,” he murmured, the word a command more than comfort. “Tonight, you learn what it means to surrender.”

A shiver ran down my spine. The word hung between us, thick with promise, with threat. I parted my lips slightly, my tongue darting out to wet them, and his thumb brushed my lower lip in response, a silent approval.

Then—movement. The couch dipped beside me, the leather groaning under new weight. A body settled close, warm and pliant, their breath shallow and quick. A hand—smaller than his, softer—brushed against my arm, hesitant at first, then bolder. Fingers trailed up my neck, over the pulse fluttering wildly beneath my skin, then dipped into the hollow of my throat. I jerked, a gasp escaping me, but the older man’s grip in my hair tightened, holding me still.

“This is my other pet,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “He’ll help you understand your place.”

The sub—his sub—leaned in, his breath ghosting over my ear. “You’re so tense,” he whispered, his voice light, almost teasing. “Master doesn’t like that.”

Master. The word sent a jolt through me, my cock twitching in my pants. The sub’s hand slid down my chest, fingers deft as he found the waistband of my pants, tracing the line where fabric met skin. My breath hitched again, my hips twitching involuntarily, and the older man chuckled, low and dark.

“Eager, aren’t you?” His hand left my hair, and I heard the distinct sound of a zipper being drawn down. The rustle of fabric, the soft thud of something heavy being freed. My mouth watered. I knew what it was—what it had to be—and my body reacted before my mind could catch up, my cock hardening painfully against my pants.

The sub’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband, brushing the trail of hair leading down, then—oh god—wrapping around my cock. I groaned, my head falling back, but the older man’s hand was there again, gripping my chin, forcing me forward.

“Not yet,” he growled. “You don’t come until I say so.”

The sub whimpered beside me, his fingers stilling around my cock, squeezing just enough to make me ache. Then their other hand joined the first, working open the button of my pants, the zipper descending with a slow, teasing hiss. Cool air hit my exposed skin, my cock already thick and leaking, the tip damp against my stomach.

“Look at you,” the older man murmured, his voice rough with approval. “Already so hard for me.”

I couldn’t see him, but I felt him—his presence looming, his heat radiating against my face. Then his cock was there, the thick, heavy weight of it brushing my lips. The scent of him hit me first—musky, salty, intoxicating—and my mouth watered. The sub’s fingers tightened around my shaft, stroking slowly, maddeningly, as the older man’s cock pressed harder against my lips.

“Open,” he commanded.

I obeyed.

My lips parted, and he pushed in without warning, the broad head of his cock filling my mouth, stretching my lips wide. I gagged around the intrusion, my throat convulsing, but his hand tangled in my hair again, holding me in place.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take it. All of it.”

The sub’s hand moved faster on my cock, his thumb swiping over the slick tip, spreading the precum in slow, torturous circles. I moaned around the older man’s cock, the vibration making him groan, his hips rocking forward, feeding me more of his length. He was huge—thick, uncut, the foreskin sliding back as he thrust deeper, the ridge of his crown hitting the back of my throat. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, my nose pressing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, my breath coming in ragged bursts through my nose.

“Fuck, you take cock so well,” he growled, his grip tightening. “Just like a good little slut.”

The words sent a bolt of heat straight to my groin. The sub’s fingers left my cock, trailing lower, over my balls, then—oh god—brushing against my ass. I tensed, a muffled sound escaping me around his cock, but the older man just chuckled, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Relax,” he murmured, his free hand cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Let them in.”

The sub’s fingers pressed harder, slipping between my cheeks, finding my hole. I whimpered, my body clenching instinctively, but the older man’s cock twitched in my mouth, a silent warning. Then—wetness. The sub’s spit, slick and warm, drizzling over my entrance before their finger pressed in, breaching me in one smooth motion.

I cried out, the sound muffled around his cock, my body jerking. The stretch burned, but the sub didn’t stop, his finger twisting, working me open as the older man fucked my mouth with slow, deep thrusts.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough. “Take it. Take both of us.”

The sub’s finger sank deeper, crooking inside me, and my cock throbbed, aching, desperate for touch. But his hand was gone, leaving me empty, my hips rocking helplessly, chasing friction. The older man’s cock pulsed against my tongue, his breath coming faster, his grip in my hair bordering on painful.

Then he pulled back, his cock slipping from my lips with a wet pop. I gasped, my chest heaving, my mouth still open, my lips swollen and slick with spit.

“On the floor,” he ordered, his voice a dark growl. “Ass up. Now.”

Hands—his hands—gripped my hips, hauling me off the couch. I stumbled, blind and dizzy, but he guided me down, pressing my chest to the cool floor, my ass in the air. The sub’s fingers returned, slipping back inside me, stretching me wider, preparing me. I moaned, my cock dripping, my body trembling with need.

Then the older man was there, his cock pressing against my hole, thick and relentless. He didn’t ask. He didn’t warn me. He just pushed, his crown breaching me in one rough thrust, stretching me open, filling me completely.

I screamed, the sound raw and broken, my fingers clawing at the floor. He was huge, his cock pounding into me with brutal precision, each thrust driving the air from my lungs. The sub’s fingers twisted inside my ass, their other hand reaching beneath me, gripping my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his hips slapping against my ass, the sound obscene in the quiet room. “Take it. Take my cock like the slut you are.”

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. There was only the stretch of him inside me, the burn of the sub’s fingers in my ass, the slick drag of his hand on my cock. Pleasure coiled tight in my gut, my orgasm building, inevitable—

Then he pulled out.

I whimpered, my body clenching around nothing, my cock throbbing in the sub’s grip. A wet splat hit my back—his cum, hot and thick, dripping down my spine. The sub’s fingers slipped from my ass, his hand leaving my cock, and I was left trembling, empty, my body aching with denied release.

The older man’s breath was ragged, his hand coming down to grip my hip, his fingers digging in possessively.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice a dark purr. “But we’re not done yet.”

And just like that, the promise—and the threat—hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I shivered, my skin slick with sweat and his cum, my body still humming with need.

I had a feeling this was only the beginning.