Chapter 5: The Brickhouse's Turn
The afternoon sun cut through the high windows of the empty arena, heating the canvas as Marcus worked through his stretches, the memory of Sasha’s and the others’ hands on him still a fresh brand on his skin. Tessa “The Brickhouse” Morgan emerged from the shadows beneath the bleachers, her boots silent on the concrete floor before she stepped between the ropes, her gaze fixed on him with an unsettling blend of appraisal and contempt. “Heard you’ve been the new communal toy,” she said, her voice a low gravel as she closed the distance, her calloused hand shooting out to grip his throat not with rage, but with a cold, testing pressure. She drove him down onto the sun-warmed canvas, her powerful thighs straddling his chest, and leaned close, her freckled face blocking the light. “Let’s see if you can take a real beating,” she whispered, her other hand already working at the buckle of her gear.
With a sudden, coiled twist of his torso, Marcus bucked, the unexpected force of his athlete’s hips breaking her balance and sending her rolling to the mat with a grunt. He scrambled onto his knees before her, his breath ragged, the black leather of his tights straining and shining over the full curve of his ass as he presented himself, not in submission, but in defiant challenge. “Fuck,” Tessa spat, her icy gaze raking over the sight, the sleek material highlighting every muscle as he stayed poised on all fours, and a hungry, twisted smile split her lips. “Now you’re just begging for it.” She launched herself at him, her fingers clawing into the shiny leather to yank him back against her.
He tried to squirm from her grasp, a frantic crawl toward the ropes, but her fingers hooked deep into the waistband of his leather tights. She hauled him backward with a brutal, practiced yank, the strained material digging into his hips and peeling down just enough to expose the deep, smooth cleft of his ass to the harsh light. “Well, fuck me,” Tessa grunted, her breath hot on his skin as she stared at the revealed flesh, her grip tightening. “No briefs, no boxers—just you, packaged in leather, ready to be used.” She spat a thick glob of saliva directly onto his exposed hole, the wet sound obscene in the quiet arena.
The spit trailed a glistening path down his skin as her other hand seized the strained leather at his lower back. With a brutal, upward heave, she gave him a vicious wedgie, the material screeching as it buried itself deep into his cleft, lifting him onto the balls of his feet. “Stay the fuck still,” she growled, leaning over his bent form to hawk another gob of spit onto his now-taut, shiny cheeks, the saliva dripping slowly over the leather digging into him. The leather tightened mercilessly with every shallow breath he took, a perfect, painful violin.
The material, already straining, shrieked as she reefed it upward with all her power, the leather strap becoming a brutal, slicing cord that lifted his entire frame off the mat. "You like that, you leather-wrapped little shit?" she grunted into his ear, her bicep bulging as she maintained the excruciating pressure, feeling his body taut as a bowstring. A ragged gasp tore from his throat, part pain, part something else, his earlier defiance dissolving into raw sensation as the world narrowed to that searing, central point of contact. She held him there, suspended by the cruel wedge of his own gear, for one endless, humid second before releasing her grip, letting him crumple forward onto the heated canvas with a sharp, shuddering exhale. "Now," she said, her voice thick, one hand already unbuckling the strap of her own customized gear, "we get to the main event."
Now," she said, her voice thick, one hand already unbuckling the strap of her own customized gear, "we get to the main event." She leaned over his trembling form, her braid brushing his leather-clad back as she hissed her plans into the sweat-damp air. “I’m gonna keep you right here in these pretty, tight pants, hauling this leather so far up your crack you’ll taste it, while Sasha and Elena and every girl in the back files in to watch.” Her finger traced the obscene, deep line the wedgie had carved. “They’re gonna see me fuck this aching hole of yours raw with this strap until you scream, and then they’ll take turns making you come on your own face, you desperate, gorgeous jobber.”