Chapter 2: Gagged on Command
The heavy black curtain fell shut behind Jonas, muffling the synthwave heartbeat of the main club into a distant, dull throb. He stood in a short, dark hallway that led to a single steel door, slightly ajar. The air here was different—sharper, cleaner, with an undertone of antiseptic beneath the lingering scent of leather and sweat.
He pushed the door open.
The room was smaller than he’d imagined, intimate and oppressive. The walls were painted matte black, absorbing the weak light from a few carefully placed fixtures. One wall was lined with shelves holding an array of intimidating implements—crops, paddles, coils of rope, things he couldn’t name. In the center of the room, dominating the space, stood the St. Andrew’s cross.
It was larger than it had looked from the bar. Rusted iron, or perhaps cleverly painted to look that way, its beams forming a stark X. Thick, padded leather cuffs dangled from each arm and leg position, buckles open and waiting. Blacklights in the corners made the white rigging tape on the floor and the edges of certain tools glow with an eerie, ultraviolet menace.
Kage stood beside it, his back to Jonas, wiping his hands with a white towel. He was even bigger up close, the muscles of his back and shoulders moving like separate animals beneath his skin and ink. He tossed the towel onto a small table and turned.
Those green eyes pinned Jonas where he stood. There was no warmth in them, only a cool, analytical scrutiny that felt more invasive than any touch.
“Close the door,” Kage said. His voice was a low rumble, no longer competing with music or crowd.
Jonas obeyed, the click of the latch final and deafening. The silence in the room was a living thing, broken only by the hum of the lights and the frantic rhythm of his own heart.
“Jonas.” Kage said his name as a statement. “Eighteen.A senior. Never been with a man. Never been with anyone.” He took two slow steps forward. Jonas fought the instinct to retreat. “You watched my scene. You got hard watching it.”
It wasn’t a question. Jonas’s cheeks burned. He nodded, a tiny, helpless jerk of his chin.
“Why are you here?”
The question hung in the air. All the rehearsed lines, the vague ideas of ‘exploring’, evaporated. Under that gaze, only the raw, shameful truth remained. “I… I don’t know,” Jonas whispered. Then, stronger: “I wanted to see. I wanted to feel… something real.”
Kage’s expression didn’t change. “This is real. It’s not a fantasy. It’s sweat, and pain, and obedience. It’s letting go of every fucking thing you think you are.” He closed the remaining distance. He smelled of clean sweat, leather, and the faint, sharp scent of the antiseptic wipes. “Do you want to let go, Jonas?”
Tears pricked the backs of Jonas’s eyes, born of terror and a yearning so deep it cracked something inside him. “Yes.”
“Say it properly.”
“Yes, Sir.” The honorific fell from his lips instinctively, fueled by a thousand hidden dreams.
A flicker of something—approval?—passed through Kage’s eyes. “Clothes.Off. Fold them. Place them on the bench.”
Hands trembling, Jonas complied. His fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, the zipper. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, toeing off his shoes and socks. The air was cool on his naked skin, raising goosebumps. He folded each item with nervous precision, aware of Kage’s silent observation. When he was done, he stood, shivering, hands instinctively moving to cover himself.
“Don’t.” The command was a whip crack. “You cover nothing from me. Not ever. Arms at your sides. Look at the cross.”
Jonas forced his hands down, his slim body on full display. He looked at the iron X, its purpose now terrifyingly clear.
“Come here.Position yourself. Back against the wood. Right wrist here.” Kage guided him with sharp, impersonal touches, fastening the first leather cuff. It was cool and supple, buckling snugly around his wrist. He did the same with Jonas’s left wrist, then each ankle, spreading him into a taut, spreadeagled X. Jonas was stretched, vulnerable, every inch of his front exposed. The rough, cold iron pressed against his shoulder blades and the backs of his thighs.
Kage stepped back, surveying his work. He picked up a collar from the table—thick, black leather with a heavy D-ring at the front. He approached, and Jonas flinched as the cold leather circled his throat. The buckle fastened with a definitive click, not tight enough to restrict his breathing, but tight enough that he could never forget it was there. A leash was clipped to the ring, and Kage draped the end of it over one of the cross’s arms.
“You are a canvas,” Kage said, his voice close to Jonas’s ear.His breath was hot. “Tonight, I make the first mark.”
He walked to the shelves, selecting a long, flat strip of black leather. A strap. He returned, standing to Jonas’s left side. He didn’t speak. He simply drew his arm back and brought the leather down across Jonas’s upper thigh.
The crack was immense in the quiet room. A line of pure, white-hot fire bloomed on Jonas’s skin. He cried out, a shocked, strangled sound.
“You will be quiet unless you are answering a direct question or using your safeword,” Kage stated, his voice calm. “The word is ‘red’. Do you understand?”
Tears streamed down Jonas’s face. He nodded frantically. “Yes, Sir.”
The next stroke landed on the other thigh. Then across his ass, his lower back. Kage worked with a methodical, relentless rhythm, painting stripes of heat across Jonas’s pale skin. The pain was searing, blinding, each impact jolting through his frame, shaking him against his restraints. But beneath the fire, something else was stirring—a strange, electric buzz in his veins, a feeling of being truly, intensely alive. His cock, which had shrunk in fear, began to stir again, thickening against his belly in a confusing betrayal.
Kage noticed. He paused, the strap hovering. He reached out and wrapped his large, calloused hand around Jonas’s erection, giving it a rough, impersonal squeeze. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is screaming.”
He dropped the strap. He unfastened his own pants, pushing them down just enough to free his cock. It was as Jonas remembered from the platform—thick, veined, and heavy, already fully erect. Beads of pre-cum glistened at the tip. He fisted it, giving a few slow strokes, his eyes locked on Jonas’s terrified, fascinated face.
He stepped closer. The thick, hot head of his cock slapped against Jonas’s cheek, once, twice, leaving sticky, wet trails. The smell of him was musky, primal.
“Open wide, toy.”
Jonas hesitated for a fraction of a second. Kage’s hand fisted violently in his floppy blonde hair, yanking his head back against the cross. Jonas gasped, and in that moment, Kage shoved the broad head past his lips.It was too much. It filled his mouth, stretching his jaws, a salty, bitter taste flooding his tongue. He gagged instantly, tears springing anew.
Kage didn’t stop. He pushed forward, his grip on Jonas’s hair unrelenting, feeding more of his monstrous shaft into Jonas’s mouth. “Relax your throat,” he commanded, his voice a dark growl. “Take it.”
Jonas choked, drool dripping down his chin. He tried to obey, to will his muscles to loosen, but it was an instinctive, panicked rebellion. Kage pulled back almost entirely, then thrust back in, deeper this time, fucking his mouth with a brutal, steady rhythm.
“That’s it. Get it wet. Get used to it. This is what you came for.”
The leash on Jonas’s collar went taut as Kage used it for leverage, pulling him forward onto each thrust. Jonas’s world narrowed to the smell of leather and sweat, the taste of skin and pre-cum, the overwhelming pressure in his mouth and the sharp ache in his scalp. His jaw ached ferociously. Yet, through the humiliation and the physical strain, a dark, filthy current of arousal surged. He was being used, completely and utterly. He was a thing for this man’s pleasure. The realization unmoored him, broke something loose inside.
He managed a muffled groan around the cock in his mouth, a sound of submission.
Kage fucked his face with slow, deep, piston-like strokes for what felt like an eternity, then pulled out with a slick pop. Jonas gasped for air, his lips swollen and bruised, saliva coating his chin and chest.
Without a word, Kage released the cuffs on Jonas’s ankles. “Bend over. Grab the lower bars.”
Jonas’s legs were wobbly, striped with angry red welts. He stumbled forward, gripping the cold iron bars of the cross’s lower half, presenting his ass, which still burned from the strapping. He heard the squirt of a lube bottle, felt a cold, wet drip between his cheeks.
Then, Kage’s blunt, slick fingers were pressing against him, circling, before one pushed firmly inside.
Jonas cried out, back arching. The intrusion was shocking, unfamiliar, a sharp, burning stretch. Kage worked the finger in and out, then added a second.The burn intensified. Jonas buried his face against his arm, breathing in ragged sobs.
“Relax,” Kage said, his voice closer now. A third finger pressed in, stretching him brutally, scissoring. “Or this will hurt more than it needs to.”
Jonas tried. He focused on the heat of his striped skin, on the metallic taste in his mouth, on the sheer, overwhelming reality of it all. Kage’s fingers curled, probing, and a jolt of unexpected, intense sensation shot through him. Jonas yelped.
“Good,” Kage murmured. He withdrew his fingers.
Jonas heard him slicking his cock again. Then, the blunt, huge pressure was at his entrance. It felt impossible.Terrifying.
Kage’s hands gripped Jonas’s hips, his thumbs digging into the bruised flesh. “Breathe out.”
Jonas exhaled a shuddering breath, and Kage pushed.
The world split open. A white-hot spike of pure, rending pain drove up his spine. He screamed, a raw, broken sound. Kage didn’t stop. He pushed forward with relentless, millimeter-by-millimeter pressure, filling Jonas with an unbelievable, burning thickness. Jonas saw stars, his knuckles white on the iron bars, his entire body screaming in protest.
When Kage was fully sheathed, he stopped, letting Jonas shudder and gasp beneath him. The pain was a living thing, a solid, stretching ache that consumed his entire lower body.
“It’s in,” Kage said, his voice tight with strain. “All of it. Now, you take it.”
He pulled back and thrust forward again.
Jonas’s cry was choked. The pain was still immense, brutal, but on the second thrust, a fraction less so. On the third, a ghost of that earlier, electric sensation flickered deep inside him, buried under the hurt.
Kage set a punishing pace. Each drive of his hips slammed Jonas against the hard iron of the cross, the impact rattling his bones. The wet, slap of skin on skin, the ragged gasps, the creak of the leather cuffs around his wrists—it was a symphony of violation. Kage’s grip on his hips was iron, sure to leave bruises. He fucked with a focused, animalistic intensity, grunting with each deep plunge.
The pain began to mutate. It blended with a profound, degrading fullness, with the heat of his own shameful erection bouncing against his belly. The coil of pleasure he’d felt from Kage’s fingers was struck again, and again, sparks flying in the dark void of his sensation. A broken, moaning sob escaped him, not entirely of pain.
“That’s it,” Kage growled, his rhythm becoming harder, faster. “Your virgin ass is fucking mine now. You feel that? You feel how deep I own you?”
Jonas could only whimper, his body utterly possessed, moving with the force of Kage’s thrusts. The pleasure sparks caught fire, spreading, until they were a roaring inferno that rivaled the pain. It was too much, all of it—the stretch, the burning, the shocking, unwanted ecstasy coiling in his gut. He was crying openly, drooling, completely shattered.
Kage’s thrusts lost their rhythm, becoming wild, erratic. He slammed in one final, devastating time, burying himself to the hilt, and a hot, guttural roar was torn from his throat. Jonas felt a pulsing, liquid heat flood his insides, a claim that went deeper than skin.
For a long moment, Kage stayed there, his weight heavy on Jonas’s back, both of them panting, dripping with sweat. Then he pulled out slowly.
The sensation of emptiness was almost as profound as the filling. Jonas’s legs gave out. He slid down the face of the cross, collapsing onto his knees, his wrists still bound above him. He hung there, spent, leaking, his body a map of pain and shocking new sensations.
Kage fastened his pants. He walked to the table, picked up a bottle of water, and came back. He uncapped it and held it to Jonas’s bruised lips. “Drink.”
Jonas drank, the water the cleanest, most beautiful thing he’d ever tasted. Kage then produced a key, unfastening the cuffs and the collar. Jonas crumpled to the floor, a heap of trembling limbs and welts and drying come.
Kage looked down at him, his expression still unreadable. He tossed a clean towel beside him. “Clean yourself up. Your clothes are on the bench.” He turned and began wiping down the cross with an antiseptic cloth, his movements efficient, devoid of tenderness.
The act was over. Jonas lay on the cold floor, the raw, throbbing ache between his legs a brutal testament. He had come here wanting to feel something real. He hadn't understood the cost. As he pushed himself up on shaking arms, watching the man who had just wrecked him clean up as if it were any other task, he knew nothing would ever be the same. And he wasn't sure if the hollow terror in his gut was regret, or the terrifying first pang of an addiction.