Flagging Red

Adult Content Warning – This book contains mature themes, explicit language, and adult situations intended for a mature audience. All depictions of sexual activity involve consenting adults aged 18 years and older. Reader discretion is advised. This work is intended for readers 18 years of age and older.

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The bar was humming with its usual Saturday-night leather energy: low red lights, the steady thump of industrial beats, the mingled scents of leather, cigar smoke, and male sweat. Rick leaned against the corner of the bar, nursing a whiskey soda, feeling the tight grip of his new black leather pants with their bold red piping hugging every inch of his thighs and ass. The full-length zipper running from front to back pressed subtly against the pouch of his Bike jock whenever he shifted his weight, a constant, teasing reminder of why he’d chosen them tonight. Over his torso the red chest harness framed his salt-and-pepper chest hair perfectly, the straps crossing just right under his open leather vest.

He was chatting idly with a couple of regulars when the front door swung open and the room seemed to shift a few degrees hotter.

Travis stepped in.

Even across the crowded space Rick knew him instantly: those same broad shoulders, that same confident stride he’d watched in dozens of scorching photos and clips on @FistDaddyTravis’s feed. Only now it was real—tall black boots polished to a mirror shine, tight black leather pants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, the thick, heavy outline of his cock and balls straining against the front. A fitted leather shirt stretched across his chest, sleeves rolled to show thick forearms, and a black leather jacket hung open over it all. The Muir cap sat low, shadowing eyes that Rick already knew could pin a man in place with a single look.

Rick’s pulse kicked hard. For the next hour he circled the room, saying hello to familiar faces, accepting the occasional compliment on his new pants, all while stealing glances. Travis never seemed to look his way, but Rick felt the weight of possibility every time their corners of the room aligned.

Then Travis moved—straight toward him. Before Rick could process it, the man was there, sliding in close behind him, chest to back, gloved hand settling possessively on Rick’s hip.

Travis’s voice was a low rumble against his ear. “You’ve got good taste in pants, boy. And in X accounts. Been watching my feed religiously, haven’t you?”

Rick stiffened, heart slamming against his ribs. “Yes, Sir.”

Travis’s gloved fingers found the zipper tab at the small of his back. “Name.”

“Rick, Sir.”

A slow, metallic rasp followed as Travis tugged the zipper downward a few deliberate inches. Cool air kissed the newly exposed skin; the tight leather parted just enough to reveal the upper curve of Rick’s hairy ass cheeks, the red piping framing them like an invitation.

*Holy fuck, this is actually happening. @FistDaddyTravis has his hands on me—in public—and I’m already dripping in my cage.*

Rick’s breath caught. He didn’t turn around right away—couldn’t, really—his body frozen in thrilled shock as Travis leaned in closer, chest brushing Rick’s back.

“Rick,” Travis murmured, gloved thumb tracing the edge of the open zipper, teasing the furred skin he’d just uncovered. “Good name for a boy who wears red like that. I’m Travis—though you already knew that, didn’t you, @FistDaddyTravis fan?” His voice dropped lower. “Tell me what you like most about my content.”

Rick swallowed hard, voice barely above the music. “Watching you open guys up, Sir… the way you take control. I’ve come to your videos so many times.”

Travis chuckled, pleased and dark. “Perfect. Then you won’t mind if I start right here.”

His gloved fingers dipped lower, unhurried, parting the thick hair in Rick’s crack with slow, possessive strokes that made his caged cock twitch violently against its prison. Each light graze over his hole sent another frustrated throb through his denied shaft, the cage rattling almost imperceptibly with every involuntary flex of his hips.

Travis leaned in closer, lips brushing Rick’s ear, breath hot. “You know what red means, don’t you?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, gloved thumb circling lazily at the top of Rick’s cleft—emphasizing the bright red piping that framed his exposed, hairy ass and the red harness crossing his chest.

Rick swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut for a second as another helpless surge of blood tried to fill his locked cock. The cage punished him instantly: a burning pinch at the head, a dull ache behind his balls, pre-cum dripping steadily now, warm and slick against his trapped skin.

He managed a small, desperate nod, cheeks flushed dark.

Travis’s fingers dragged one last slow, deliberate line through the hair before pulling away—just enough to leave Rick’s hole clenching on nothing and his caged cock straining in futile, dripping agony.

“Good boy,” Travis whispered, clearly delighted by the trembling, denied submission in his arms.

Rick’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths, the black cage biting harder with every desperate throb of his denied cock. The ghost of Travis’s gloved touch still seared between his cheeks, leaving his hole fluttering helplessly.

He swallowed hard, eyes lowered, voice thick with surrender. “Yes, Sir… I know what red means.”

Travis’s eyes darkened with satisfaction, that slow, predatory smile spreading wider. His gloved hand settled heavily on Rick’s hip, thumb dragging possessively along the red piping.

“Fuck, listen to you,” Travis growled low. “Already admitting you’ve been jerking off to my feed like a desperate little slut. Good boy.”

Rick whimpered softly at the praise, thighs trembling. “Yes, Sir. Couldn’t help it.”

Travis’s grip tightened, guiding him toward the bar with deliberate control, the occasional brush of that massive leather bulge against Rick’s thigh making him gasp.

“Let me buy you a drink, boy,” Travis said, voice rough with promise. “Something to keep that mouth wet before I put it to real work.”

Rick’s knees nearly buckled. “Thank you, Sir,” he breathed, the words automatic, submissive, eager.

They settled side by side at the bar, Travis’s body a solid wall of leather heat pressed close. When the drinks came, Travis handed Rick his glass slowly, fingers lingering, forcing eye contact.

“Drink for me,” Travis ordered quietly. “Slow. I want you feeling every second of what’s coming.”

“Yes, Sir,” Rick whispered again, taking a careful sip under that intense stare, his caged cock leaking harder with every obedient swallow.

Conversation stayed light on the surface—gear, the mixer, the crowd—but Rick’s responses grew softer, more deferential, every sentence edged with “Sir.” Travis noticed, of course, and rewarded him with low chuckles and occasional strokes of a gloved thumb across Rick’s knuckles.

When the glasses were nearly empty, Travis leaned in, lips brushing Rick’s ear.

“This bar’s fine for teasing,” he murmured, voice dark and filthy. “But I need you somewhere private, boy. Somewhere I can unzip the rest of those pants, lock you down, and turn that pretty red flag into a wide-open reality.”

Rick’s breath hitched, a soft, needy sound escaping before he could stop it.

“Please, Sir,” he whispered, the plea raw and immediate. “My place is just a block away. Short walk… I’ll do anything you want there. Anything.”

Travis’s grin was slow, triumphant.

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Lead the way, boy. Time to earn every second of those fantasies you’ve been begging for.”

Rick grabbed his leather jacket from the coat check, shrugging it on quickly as they stepped out into the crisp night air. The street was quiet, the distant hum of the city barely cutting through the thud of their boots on the sidewalk. Every stride Rick took made the black chastity cage shift and tug viciously: the tight base ring sawing at the swollen root of his balls, the short, rigid tube crushing his shaft flat so that even the smallest twitch of arousal felt like it was being ground against unyielding plastic. Three weeks of denial had left his cock hypersensitive; the constant friction of the inner spikes and the vented tip rubbing his slit raw meant thick ropes of pre-cum had been oozing non-stop since the bar, pooling warm and sticky against his trapped head before dripping down to coat his aching balls in a slick, humiliating glaze. Each step smeared that mess further, cooling in the night air, then warming again from his body heat—an endless, maddening cycle that had him walking with a subtle, desperate stiffness.

They walked close at first, but after half a block Travis deliberately dropped back. Rick felt those eyes boring into him like brands.

“Fuck, that ass,” Travis growled, voice thick with hunger. “Skin-tight leather showing off every clench, red piping screaming ‘use me.’ Bet that cage is killing you right now, boy—every step grinding that useless dick against its prison while your hole twitches for something useful.”

Rick whimpered audibly, the words hitting like a lash. His trapped cock surged, slamming against the confines of the tube; the spikes bit in, the ring yanked his balls downward, and a fresh gush of pre-cum pulsed out, soaking through the front of his jock and making the leather pants cling even tighter.

The condo tower loomed. In the empty lobby they called the elevator, and the moment the doors sealed them inside, Travis took control.

A gloved hand pressed firmly between Rick’s shoulders, forcing him down until his knees thudded to the carpet. Travis stepped in, fisting Rick’s hair and yanking his face flush against the massive bulge straining his leather pants. The heat radiating through the tight hide was scorching; Rick could feel the thick vein along Travis’s shaft pulsing against his cheek as Travis ground forward.

“You’re my bitch tonight,” Travis snarled, rolling his hips so the heavy ridge dragged over Rick’s lips and nose. “My locked-up, leaking fuckhole. Feel how hard you’ve made me? That’s what a real cock feels like, boy—while yours stays crushed and dripping in its little black cage.”

Rick moaned helplessly into the leather, the vibration sending another futile surge through his denied dick. The cage felt impossibly smaller now, the tube pinching cruelly as his shaft tried to swell, the ring pulling his balls so tight they throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Pre-cum poured out in a steady stream, running down his thighs inside the pants, warm and shameful.

“Yes, Sir,” he gasped against the bulge. “Your bitch… please.”

The elevator chimed. Travis hauled him up, smirking at the way Rick swayed, cage swinging heavily between his legs.

Inside the condo, boots and jackets were discarded in a trail leading straight to the bedroom. City lights painted the room in soft glow as Travis backed Rick against the foot of the bed, big hands roaming possessively.

“One thing before we start, boy,” he said, voice dropping to that calm, serious tone that made Rick’s stomach flip. “We use the traffic light system tonight. Green means good—keep going. Yellow means slow down, check in. Red means full stop, no questions. You say the word, everything pauses. Got it?”

Rick swallowed, nodding quickly, the simple clarity of it grounding him even as his pulse raced. “Yes, Sir. Green right now.”

Travis’s approving smile was small but genuine. “Good boy.”

Travis’s palm slid down the front of the skin-tight leather pants and cupped the rigid outline of the cage with deliberate force. His fingers traced every unforgiving edge—the thick base ring biting into swollen flesh, the short tube compressing Rick’s shaft into a flattened, aching stub, the tiny padlock tugging with every desperate twitch. He squeezed, rolled, twisted just enough to make Rick cry out and double forward.

“Goddamn,” Travis breathed, voice raw with lust. “Look at this pathetic little prison. Balls bloated and purple, cock trying to burst out of a tube way too small for it. You’re absolutely dripping, aren’t you? Three weeks locked, leaking like a broken faucet, and still you wore that red harness begging someone to ignore this useless nub and fist you senseless.”

*He knows. He’s seeing exactly how desperate I am—and he likes it. Fuck, I’m so humiliated… and so proud he’s the one who found me like this.*

Rick’s knees buckled; he clutched at Travis’s leather shirt, panting. “Yes, Sir… three weeks. It hurts so bad… aches constantly… please—”

Travis pressed harder, grinding the cage in his palm until Rick sobbed, another thick spurt of pre-cum forcing its way through the slit and soaking Travis’s glove through the leather pants.

“Perfect,” Travis growled, biting Rick’s neck. “Strip. Everything off except that soaked jockstrap and the harness. I want to watch this locked cock bob and drip while I decide how deep I’m going to open that greedy red-flagged hole tonight.”

Travis leaned back just enough to keep Rick pinned with his stare, gloved hand still idly rolling the cage through the leather, drawing another broken whimper from deep in Rick’s chest.

“Got anything cold to drink, boy?” he asked, voice gravel-rough.

Rick’s throat worked around a swallow. “Yes, Sir… beers in the fridge. Or I can make you whatever you want.”

Travis squeezed the cage once more, hard enough that Rick’s vision sparked white at the edges, then let go. “Beer’s perfect. Ice-cold.”

He turned and stalked out of the bedroom, heavy boots thudding down the hall. Halfway to the kitchen he threw back over his shoulder, “While I’m gone, get this bed ready for some filthy hole-wrecking. I want every fucking thing laid out and waiting when I walk back in. Don’t make me wait.”

“Yes, Sir,” Rick gasped, the words scraping out raw.

The moment Travis vanished, Rick moved fast, hands shaking with adrenaline and need. He yanked the thick black waterproof blanket from under the bed and snapped it open, the heavy vinyl landing with a loud slap across the mattress. The crinkle filled the room as he smoothed it flat, knowing it would soon be soaked with lube, sweat, and whatever else Travis forced out of him.

From the bottom drawer he pulled his kit: pump bottle of thick Crisco-style elbow grease, a quart of pre-mixed X-Lube that sloshed thick and viscous in its bottle, boxes of black nitrile gloves in XL, stacks of thick towels. Then the toys—lined up by size like soldiers waiting for war: a fat plug to start, a veined monster dildo that always made his gut clench, and finally the heavy silicone fist, knuckles gleaming, wide enough that just looking at it made his hole spasm and his caged cock leak another helpless ribbon of pre-cum down his thigh.

Pants finally stripped off and tossed aside, Rick climbed onto the bed naked except for the soaked Bike jock and red harness. The cage jutted forward obscenely—short black tube slick with three weeks of denied slime, swollen purple head bulging against the end, balls hanging heavy and aching below the tight ring. He could feel every heartbeat throbbing in his trapped shaft, every pulse making the spikes bite deeper.

He dropped to all fours in the dead center of the blanket, knees spread wide, back dipped low, face pressed to the vinyl so his ass lifted high. The thin straps of the jock cut between his hairy cheeks, framing his twitching hole perfectly—already slick with nervous sweat, clenching and relaxing in greedy little pulses at the thought of what was coming.

The hallway boots returned, slow and deliberate. Travis paused in the doorway, two sweating bottles of beer dangling from one hand. Cold condensation dripped from the glass onto the floor as he took in the scene: the gleaming blanket, the arsenal of lube and toys, and Rick—trembling, displayed, hole winking shamelessly in the lamplight.

Travis’s tongue dragged slow across his lower lip. His voice dropped to a guttural growl that Rick felt in his balls.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Look at this hungry fist pig, already drooling for it. Ass up like a goddamn offering.” He cracked open one beer with a sharp hiss, took a long pull, throat working as he stared. “You’re gonna be gaping and ruined by the time I’m done with you, boy.”

Rick exhaled the last deep hit of poppers in a long, ragged shudder, the sharp amyl burn lingering like sweet acid in his lungs and throat. The rush crashed over him instantly, a euphoric tidal wave that set his entire body alight: blood pounding like war drums in his ears, veins dilating wide until his skin flushed crimson-hot and tingling, every pore prickling with electric sensitivity. His muscles turned to molten liquid—shoulders sagging heavy into the vinyl blanket, thighs quivering uncontrollably, and most intensely, his sphincter melting into utter surrender. The tight ring of muscle bloomed open wide and effortless, pulsing in slow, greedy waves that made his hairy rim flutter visibly, wet and slick with spit, begging for invasion. The room spun in dizzy euphoria, colors sharpening to vivid extremes—the black vinyl gleaming under lamplight, Travis’s leather-clad form towering like a shadowed god. The air thickened with scents: the acrid poppers bite mingling with raw cock-musk, warm leather, and the faint salty tang of his own pre-cum. His caged cock surged futilely against its prison, the inner spikes sinking deeper into swollen, hypersensitive flesh, the ring yanking his bloated balls with cruel precision. A thick, syrupy ribbon of pre-cum spurted out the vented tip, splattering hot and sticky against his trapped sac before dripping in slow, humiliating trails down his inner thighs, cooling in the air and making his skin goosebump.

Travis closed the distance in a single predatory step, his furnace-hot body pressing flush against Rick’s spread cheeks—the coarse hair on his thighs rasping against Rick’s smooth skin, the heavy weight of his leather pants still hanging open like a frame for the monster between his legs. That fat, flared cockhead—ten inches of veined, rigid steel, uncut foreskin peeled back to reveal a glistening, pre-cum-smeared crown—nudged insistently at Rick’s loosened, spit-wet pucker. The blunt pressure was immediate and overwhelming: a heavy, burning tease right at the entrance, the broad tip stretching the sensitive rim just enough to make it yield wider on pure instinct, the poppers amplifying every micro-sensation into firework bursts of need.

“Ready, boy?” Travis growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through Rick’s spine and straight to his denied cock. One gloved hand clamped down on Rick’s hip like a vice, leather creaking, fingers digging bruises into flesh hard enough to leave marks Rick would feel for days.

Rick’s mouth parted, the word “Yes—” barely a hoarse whisper forming on his tongue, when Travis snapped his hips forward with brutal force.

In one aggressive, merciless thrust, Travis buried himself balls-deep.

Rick’s breath exploded out in a raw, guttural cry, his back arching violently off the bed as that massive cock speared into him—thick shaft splitting his hole wide open, the burning stretch searing every inch like molten iron forging him anew. The poppers transformed the invasion into pure, mind-shattering ecstasy: his loosened walls swallowed the intrusion greedily, rippling and clenching spasmodically around the invading girth, every bulging vein and ridge dragging across hypersensitive nerves with electric friction. Ten inches plunged deep in a single, unrelenting drive, the flared head punching past his inner ring and bottoming out hard against his gut, filling him so completely that Rick felt stuffed, claimed, ruined in the best way. His hole burned with the raw stretch—no lube beyond spit, the friction hot and primal—but the chemical high turned pain into blinding pleasure, his prostate lighting up like a live wire on that first brutal hit.

Travis didn’t pause, didn’t give Rick a second to adjust—he took immediate, savage command. His hips pulled back slow at first, just enough to drag that thick length halfway out with a wet, sucking slurp, Rick’s walls clinging desperately, trying to pull him back in. Then Travis slammed forward again, harder this time, the impact jolting Rick’s entire body forward on the bed, his caged cock swinging wildly and rattling like a broken toy. The room erupted with obscene sounds: the wet, fleshy slap of Travis’s leather-clad hips colliding against Rick’s sweat-slick ass cheeks, the heavy thud of his pendulous balls smacking Rick’s taint with each punishing drive, the squelching suck of cock plunging into spit-lubed hole over and over. Travis fucked with raw, animal abandon—no rhythm at first, just feral thrusts that varied in speed and angle, grinding deep one moment to mash against Rick’s prostate and send lightning bolts of pleasure-pain exploding behind his eyes, then shallow and rapid the next, teasing the rim until Rick’s hole fluttered and gaped helplessly.

Sweat poured down Rick’s back, soaking the red harness straps that dug into his chest, his salt-and-pepper hair matted and wild. Each thrust drove the air from his lungs in broken, needy gasps—”Ah! Fuck! Sir!”—his fists clawing deep furrows into the vinyl blanket, knuckles white and aching. The cage tormented him relentlessly: every inward slam made his trapped cock surge uselessly, the spikes biting cruelly into swollen flesh, pre-cum gushing in frantic pulses that soaked his jock pouch and ran in warm rivulets down his legs. He could feel Travis’s gloved hands everywhere—one gripping his hip for leverage, the other sliding up to fist Rick’s hair, yanking his head back to arch his neck and expose his throat, forcing him to feel every dominating inch.

Travis leaned over him now, chest pressing down, leather shirt creaking against Rick’s sweat-drenched back, his breath hot and ragged in Rick’s ear. “Take it, you greedy fist pig,” he snarled, voice thick with lust, hips pistoning relentlessly—deep, grinding strokes that bottomed out with a wet thud, twisting just enough to make Rick’s walls spasm and milk him. “This hole’s mine now. Feel how raw I’m fucking you? No mercy for a locked-up slut like you—gonna breed you deep before I fist you open even wider.” His heavy balls slapped harder, the scent of their mixed sweat and musk filling the air, Travis’s cock throbbing thicker inside him, pre-cum slicking the way for even more brutal drives.

Rick could only surrender, his body a vessel for Travis’s aggression—moans spilling out in helpless, wordless pleas, his hole clenching greedily around every veined inch, the poppers high fading just enough to let the raw burn creep in, making the pleasure sharper, more intense. He was Travis’s red-flagged bitch, fucked raw and owned, every thrust pushing him closer to that edge of ecstasy without release.

Travis’s hips kept hammering forward, a brutal, piston-like rhythm that shook the bed and made Rick’s body rock helplessly with every impact. His hole had surrendered completely now—swollen, slick, and gaping beautifully around the invading shaft, the hairy rim flushed deep red and pulsing greedily with each withdrawal.

He pulled out all the way again and again, letting Rick feel the sudden, aching void before slamming back in to the root with a wet, filthy smack. Rick screamed in raw pleasure, voice cracking, drool spilling from his open mouth onto the vinyl as his prostate took the relentless pounding.

“Listen to you, you fucking whore,” Travis snarled, sweat dripping from his jaw onto Rick’s back. “Screaming like a cheap back-room slut getting bred for the first time. This greedy cunt is swallowing my raw cock like it’s starving—look how it gapes when I pull out, begging me to wreck it deeper. You’re nothing but a locked-up, red-flagged fist pig, boy. A desperate, dripping hole that lives to get ruined by real men.”

Rick sobbed yes, pushing back shamelessly, his caged cock swinging and leaking in frantic ropes.

Travis sped up, thrusts turning savage, hips blurring as he chased his edge. “That’s right, bitch—take it. Take every thick inch like the cum-dump you are. Been dreaming about this on my feed, haven’t you? Jerking that pathetic caged nub night after night, wishing some hung leather daddy would come along and turn your slutty ass into a loose, leaking sleeve. Well here I am, whore—using you exactly how you deserve.”

Rick’s moans turned into broken, animal cries, knuckles white as he clung to the bed for dear life.

“Fuck—gonna flood this filthy hole,” Travis growled, voice ragged, balls drawing up tight. “Pump you so full of my load you’ll feel it sloshing in your guts for days. Mark you inside like the breeding bitch you were born to be—”

Rick clenched hard, milking him, silently pleading for the hot rush.

But at the absolute brink, Travis ripped out with a guttural roar, cock slapping heavy and slick against Rick’s ass, shaft throbbing violently as he squeezed the base in a white-knuckled grip. His whole body shook with the effort of holding back, pre-cum oozing in thick strings from the flared head.

“Turn the fuck around, cum-rag,” he barked, chest heaving. “On your knees. Open that whore mouth and taste your nasty hole on my cock. Clean every drop of your ass off me like the eager pig you are.”

Rick spun instantly, dropping hard to the floor, mouth watering at the sight of that massive, glistening shaft—ten inches coated in spit, pre-cum, and the raw, musky flavour of his own stretched hole. He lunged forward, lips stretching wide, sucking greedily, tongue lapping hungrily at every veined inch to savour the filthy proof of how thoroughly he’d been used.

Travis’s cock softened slightly in the wet heat, the urgent swell easing, but Rick didn’t slow—he bobbed desperately, throat working, saliva dripping down his chin as he worshipped the slick, ass-flavoured length like it was his only purpose.

Travis tangled a gloved hand in Rick’s hair, guiding him roughly. “Good little cleanup slut,” he sneered. “Keep sucking, pig. We’re nowhere near done.”

Then he pulled Rick off with a wet pop, voice dropping to a dark command.

“Back on the bed. All fours. Ass high and spread. Time to turn that pretty red flag into a wide-open rose for my fist.”

Rick eased back onto the bed with deliberate grace, the thick waterproof blanket crinkling loudly under his knees and palms as he crawled forward. The vinyl was already warm and slick from his sweat and pre-cum, clinging slightly to his skin as he settled into position. He dropped onto his elbows, forehead pressing into the cool, faintly plasticky surface, and arched his back deeply—lifting his ass high with unmistakable pride. His hairy cheeks spread wide on their own, the thin black straps of the soaked Bike jock cutting deep lines into his flesh, framing his swollen, well-fucked hole perfectly. The rim was flushed dark red, glistening with residual spit and the slick remnants of Travis’s raw pounding, twitching visibly in the lamplight, still loose and hungry. Cool air kissed the sensitive, exposed skin, making him shiver and clench involuntarily, while the red harness straps dug into his chest and back with every breath, a constant reminder of the flag he’d flown tonight. Between his thighs, the black cage swayed heavy and relentless—tube slick with hours of denied leakage, the swollen head mashed painfully against the end, a fresh bead of pre-cum stretching in a long silver thread before snapping free and splattering onto the blanket below.

Behind him, Travis’s boots thudded slow and heavy across the hardwood, each step vibrating through the floor and up into Rick’s knees. The sharp, unmistakable snap of nitrile gloves stretching over thick fingers cracked through the room—once, twice—echoing like gunshots in the charged silence. Rick’s breath hitched at the sound, his hole fluttering in conditioned response, a Pavlovian spasm that made his rim wink open and closed. He stayed perfectly still, patient, every sense tuned to the man behind him: the faint creak of Travis’s leather pants as he shifted, the lingering musk of raw sex hanging thick in the air, the subtle metallic tang of the gloves mixing with the chemical bite of lube still in the bottle.

The pump bottle gave a wet, viscous squelch—three long, deliberate squeezes as thick X-Lube poured into Travis’s gloved palms in heavy, syrupy ropes. The sound was obscene, intimate: slick liquid sloshing, then the slow, deliberate rub of gloved hands warming it, coating every finger until they gleamed wet and shiny under the low light. The faint, clean scent of the lube—slightly sweet, slightly medicinal—cut through the heavier notes of sweat, leather, and ass.

Travis settled one big, gloved hand on the small of Rick’s back—warm latex pressing firm and grounding, the texture smooth yet grippy against sweat-damp skin. The other hand moved lower, and the first touch was feather-light: cool, thickly slick fingers tracing Rick’s swollen rim in slow, reverent circles. The lube was cold at first contact, a shocking contrast to the heat radiating from his abused hole, but it warmed instantly, spreading in glossy layers over every fold and hair. Travis took his time, coating the puffy outer ring generously, letting the gel sink in until Rick’s rim shone slick and inviting.

One finger breached him—slow, deliberate, impossibly gentle after the savage fucking. The nitrile was smooth and unforgiving, sliding deep on a thick cushion of lube with a soft, wet sound that made Rick’s toes curl. Travis twisted it carefully, spreading the slick inside, opening him with patient strokes that coaxed rather than forced. Rick exhaled a long, shaky moan, pushing back just slightly, thighs trembling as the gentle burn bloomed into warm, melting pleasure.

A second finger joined—scissoring wide, stretching him further, the lube squelching softly with every careful movement. Travis paused, letting Rick’s walls flutter and adjust, thumb stroking soothingly along the slick rim, tracing the sensitive skin until Rick’s breath evened out again.

Then a third—slow push, slow twist, knuckles pressing gently against the ring before easing deeper. Another deliberate pause, the room filled only with Rick’s soft, needy whimpers, the wet sounds of gloved fingers working lube into tender flesh, and the steady, approving rhythm of Travis’s breathing behind him.

“That’s it, boy,” Travis murmured, voice low and velvet-rough. “Feel how gentle I’m being now? Opening this pretty, wrecked hole nice and slow… getting you ready for what’s coming next.”

Travis kept his rhythm steady and deliberate, four thick gloved fingers now plunging deep into Rick’s sloppy, lube-soaked hole with increasing speed. The nitrile gleamed wet under the light, coated in thick strands of X-Lube that stretched and snapped with every withdrawal, the wet squelching growing louder, more rhythmic. Rick’s swollen rim gripped and released around the digits, flushed deep crimson, the dense hair matted flat and shiny.

Rick arched his back harder, a raw, desperate moan tearing from his throat as he pushed his ass upward—tilting his hips shamelessly, feeding his greedy hole straight onto Travis’s hand like an offering. Inside, the sensation was electric: four fingers spreading him wide, dragging across his velvet walls, the thick lube turning every stroke into slick, molten heat that radiated deep into his gut. His prostate throbbed with each pass, a heavy, swollen knot of fire that sent waves of pleasure-pain pulsing through his pelvis, making his caged cock leak in helpless, rhythmic spurts.

Travis watched every twitch, every shudder—the quiver in Rick’s thighs, the curl of his toes, the way his breath hitched and stuttered. His free hand stayed warm and reassuring on Rick’s lower back, thumb tracing slow circles. When Rick’s moans edged toward overwhelmed, Travis slowed, voice soft and caring.

“You good, boy? Everything feeling right?”

Rick could only grunt deep in his chest—a low, affirmative rumble—and nod frantically, face buried in the blanket, sweat dripping from his brow.

Travis’s smile was audible in his voice. “That’s my boy.”

He quickened again, four fingers pumping faster, twisting deeper, knuckles bumping Rick’s rim on every thrust. The internal stretch burned sweet now—Rick feeling every ridge of those fingers scissoring inside him, opening his chute wider, the lube sloshing warm and heavy in his depths, coating his inner walls until he felt slick and weightless inside.

Travis reached for the poppers again, pressing the bottle firmly under Rick’s nostril. “Big hit. Breathe it in deep.”

Rick inhaled hard—long, greedy pulls that scorched his lungs and exploded behind his eyes. The rush hit like lightning: blood roaring, skin blazing, and most intensely, his sphincter dissolving into pure liquid heat. Deep inside, his muscles went slack and euphoric, the ring blooming open effortlessly, inner walls softening into warm, pulsing silk that fluttered and begged.

Travis felt it instantly—the sudden give, the greedy suck of Rick’s hole pulling at his hand. He tucked his thumb tight against his palm, formed a smooth cone, and pressed forward with steady, unrelenting pressure.

The knuckles breached him.

Rick’s entire body seized as Travis’s fist slid inside in one slow, inexorable glide—the widest stretch flaring his rim to its limit, a burning ring of fire that morphed into blinding fullness as the hand popped past and settled deep in his gut. Inside, the sensation was overwhelming: Travis’s fist a hot, solid mass filling him completely, pressing against his inner walls from every direction, the gentle curve of knuckles nudging his prostate into a constant, throbbing ache of ecstasy. He felt stuffed beyond capacity—his gut heavy and distended, a deep, intimate pressure that radiated through his abdomen, making his breath come in short, shocked gasps. Every tiny shift of Travis’s wrist sent waves rolling through him, his chute rippling and clenching helplessly around the intrusion, the thick lube sloshing warmly with the movement.

Rick let out a deep, guttural grunt of pure, animal approval—raw and satisfied, his back bowing as he pushed back for more.

Travis stilled, letting him adjust, feeling the frantic flutter of muscle around his wrist. “Still with me, Rick? You okay?”

Rick nodded hard, a shaky, eager motion, sweat dripping from his temples.

Travis began to move—slow, deliberate twists at first, turning his fist gently inside the velvet heat. Rick felt every millimeter: the slow grind against his prostate sending deep, rolling pleasure through his core, the subtle shift of knuckles stretching different spots inside him, the warm slosh of lube coating his depths. Travis read him perfectly—watching the clench of his hole, the tremor in his thighs—and gradually picked up the pace: deeper twists, short controlled punches, then rhythmic thrusts that made Rick’s inner walls quiver and his moans rise into desperate, pleading cries, the fullness inside him building to an almost unbearable, perfect intensity.

Travis’s fist moved with exquisite control, gradually building speed—short, deliberate thrusts that grew smoother and deeper, the thick glove sliding through Rick’s velvet heat on rivers of warm lube. Nothing sudden, nothing rough; just a steady, relentless rhythm that stirred Rick’s insides like a slow tide.

Deep in his gut, the sensation was pure, overwhelming bliss: Travis’s knuckles grinding slow circles against his swollen prostate, sending heavy, throbbing waves of pleasure radiating outward until his entire pelvis felt molten and alive. The fist filled him so completely that every tiny shift pressed against his inner walls from every angle, a constant, intimate pressure that made his abdomen feel deliciously bloated and heavy, his chute stretched into a perfect sleeve around the invading hand. Warm lube sloshed softly inside him with each motion, coating his sensitive depths, turning the stretch into slick, liquid ecstasy that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Rick floated in absolute heaven—eyes rolled back, breath coming in soft, open-mouthed gasps, every nerve singing with the filthy joy of being so utterly owned. The fist inside him was everything: a hot, solid core that made his body hum with surrender, his denied cock leaking helplessly as the deep fullness pushed him toward an edge he couldn’t crest.

Then, just as gradually, Travis eased back—slow withdrawal, knuckles dragging tenderly against Rick’s inner walls, teasing every raw nerve until the widest part stretched his rim one last time. With a slick, wet pop, the fist slipped free.

The sudden emptiness crashed through him like a physical void—his gut aching with the loss, inner walls fluttering desperately around nothing, cool air rushing deep into his gaping chute and tickling the slick, exposed pink flesh inside. He felt hollow, needy, his swollen rim pulsing uselessly, craving that perfect fullness again.

Travis’s gloved hand settled gently on his lower back. “Ready for more, you filthy fist pig?” he growled, voice dripping dark lust.

Rick swallowed hard and found his voice—soft, trembling, utterly submissive. “Please, Sir… more. I need more.”

Travis laughed low and filthy. “Begging already, you pathetic cum-rag? That wrecked cunt is gaping like a hungry whore’s mouth, sucking air and dripping lube, and you still need deeper? Fuck yes—I’m gonna punch this sloppy sleeve till it’s ruined for anything smaller than my arm.”

He pumped fresh lube into both palms—heavy, viscous squelches—coating his gloves until they dripped thick strands. Without pause he pressed forward again, the same hand sinking smoothly past the wrist and deeper this time, knuckles grinding into untouched territory that made Rick’s gut bloom with fresh, burning fullness, the pressure radiating hot and heavy through his core.

Rick moaned long and filthy, relief flooding him as the stretch returned even more intense.

Travis twisted hard once, then withdrew completely. He swapped hands seamlessly—fresh left fist now—and punched back in, deeper still, the new angle pressing against different spots inside that sent lightning bolts of pleasure shooting up Rick’s spine. The cycle repeated: slow, deep penetrations, brief holds, then full withdrawals. Each pull-out left Rick’s hole gaping wider—inner walls slick and pink, visible for seconds before fluttering shut—soft wet gushes of air rushing in and out, loud and shameless, the sound alone making his face burn with humiliation and need.

Travis’s pace shifted—the aggression building fast: longer strokes, harder punches, fists driving in with wet slaps that buried him to mid-forearm, the deeper stretch making Rick’s gut feel impossibly full, his prostate screaming with every impact.

Rick felt the change and cried out, voice shattering. “Sir—fuck—Sir!”

“That’s right, you nasty fucking pig,” Travis snarled, voice raw and vicious. “Feel me wrecking this greedy, loose cunt? Punching deeper than any cock could reach, turning your insides into my personal fuck sleeve. You’re just a worthless fist whore now—gaping wide, sucking air like a desperate slut every time I pull out. I’m gonna ruin you, boy. Punch-fuck this red-flagged hole till it stays open forever, till you feel empty without my arm buried in your guts.”

Rick’s body convulsed uncontrollably—thighs spasming violently, back rippling with shocks, every brutal thrust sending tsunami waves of raw, internal ecstasy crashing through him. Deep inside, the fist owned him completely: grinding, stretching, filling him to the brink, his prostate a throbbing epicenter of bliss, his gut heavy and sloshing with lube and pleasure. Words deserted him entirely; all he could choke out was a broken, breathless chant—“Yes, Sir… yes, Sir…”—each one punched from his lungs on every deep, aggressive thrust, utterly lost in the filthy, overwhelming heaven of being Travis’s destroyed, fist-stuffed slut.

Travis eased the pace to a slow, almost reverent rhythm—his fist gliding back and forth inside Rick’s ruined, sloppy mancunt with no sharp edges, only smooth, flowing strokes that felt like a lover’s caress from the inside out. Every twist was deliberate, tender: a gentle clockwise roll that cradled Rick’s swollen prostate and coaxed deep, aching waves of warmth through his core; a slow pull that let his inner walls cling lovingly to the retreating arm before easing back in, filling him again with perfect, patient care. The thick lube warmed and sloshed softly with each motion, turning the stretch into a constant, intimate embrace that made Rick feel held, cherished, utterly safe even in his complete vulnerability.

*God, he’s so deep inside me… not just my body, but everywhere. I’ve never let anyone this far in—never trusted like this. It scares me how much I need it, how much I need him seeing me like this, broken open and still wanted.*

Travis’s dark eyes never left Rick’s—locked in a gaze so deep it felt like he was seeing straight into Rick’s soul, reading every flicker of emotion written across his sweat-drenched face: the flutter of eyelids when pleasure crested too high, the soft parting of lips on a silent gasp, the way tears of overwhelming sensation gathered at the corners of Rick’s eyes and slipped down his temples. Travis drank it all in, his own expression softening from raw dominance into something warmer, more possessive in the gentlest way—pride, affection, a quiet awe at the trust Rick was giving him so completely.

*He’s looking at me like I’m precious. Like I’m his. Fifty-something, caged, hairy, sweaty mess that I am… and he’s still here, still holding me together from the inside. I feel so exposed, so raw—like he could shatter me with one wrong move, but he won’t. He’s choosing not to. That’s… that’s everything.*

With his fist still buried deep—forearm seated snug and steady inside the pulsing heat—Travis reached over to the nightstand again, fingers closing around the cold, sweating beer bottle. Condensation dripped cool onto his leather sleeve as he brought it to his lips, taking slow, deliberate sips, throat working visibly while his other arm stayed perfectly attuned to Rick’s body. He played Rick’s hole like a cherished instrument: tiny adjustments that drew out soft, trembling moans, lingering holds that let Rick feel every inch of connection, gentle rocks that stirred the deepest places and made Rick’s heart ache with how seen he felt.

*I’m crying and I don’t even care. This isn’t just fisting anymore—it’s him holding the most vulnerable part of me, literally in his hand, and still treating it like something sacred. I’ve waited my whole life for someone to look at me the way he’s looking at me right now.*

Rick’s chest rose and fell in shallow, overwhelmed breaths, tears slipping freely now—not from pain, but from the raw intimacy of it all. Travis was inside him in the most profound way, and yet the look in his eyes said I’ve got you, you’re safe, you’re mine, and it undid Rick completely.

Travis took the last slow swallow, the faint clink of the empty bottle returning to the nightstand the only sharp sound in the quiet room. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still locked on Rick’s, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“There you are,” Travis murmured, voice low and warm, laced with quiet wonder. “Letting me all the way in. You’re so fucking beautiful like this, Rick—giving me everything. I’ve got you, boy. Always.”

*He means it. I can feel it in the way he’s holding me—steady, careful, like I’m worth protecting even when I’m split wide open. I’m his. Completely. And for the first time in years, I’m not afraid of what that means.*

His fist moved in one more slow, tender twist, cradling Rick from the inside as their gazes stayed fused, the moment stretching into something deeper than lust—raw, vulnerable, and achingly intimate.

Travis’s eyes darkened with that final, hungry spark as he shifted gears again. The slow, intimate rhythm vanished—replaced by raw, aggressive punch-fucking. His arm snapped back and slammed forward in short, brutal strokes, fist driving deep into Rick’s totally blown-out hole with wet, forceful slaps. Lube frothed white around his wrist, squirting out in messy spurts with every punishing thrust. The room filled with the obscene symphony of flesh on latex, air gushing in and out of Rick’s gaping rim, and Rick’s own broken, uncontrollable cries.

Rick’s mind fractured into pure subspace—a floating, weightless haze where thought dissolved and only sensation reigned. Deep inside, every punch felt like thunder rolling through his core: the fist a blazing comet slamming past his rim, stretching him impossibly wide, then filling him so completely that his gut felt heavy, bloated, owned. His prostate exploded with each impact—sharp, electric bursts that shot up his spine and melted into warm, endless waves, turning his pelvis into a throbbing furnace of bliss. The world narrowed to that relentless rhythm: empty… full… empty… full… the sudden void when Travis pulled back leaving him aching and desperate, cool air kissing raw inner walls, then the glorious, burning rush of being stuffed again, deeper than should be possible. Time lost all meaning; pain and pleasure blurred into one perfect, overwhelming white light. He was nothing but hole, nothing but need, floating in total surrender, tears streaming because it was too much and exactly enough.

Rick convulsed helplessly beneath him—thighs spasming violently, back arching off the bed, face twisted in overwhelming ecstasy. His entire body shook with each impact, prostate screaming under the relentless assault, inner walls rippling and milking the invading arm in frantic waves. Sweat flew from his skin; tears streamed down his temples. He was spent, utterly spent—every ounce of energy drained into the endless pleasure, his mind floating in white-hot subspace, teetering on the edge of complete, total surrender where even his own name felt distant.

Travis read it all in Rick’s glazed eyes and trembling body. With a low, possessive growl, he delivered a final series of hard, deep punches—each one bottoming out, knuckles grinding against Rick’s deepest spots—then slowly, deliberately pulled his fist all the way out for the last time.

The withdrawal was exquisite torture. Rick’s ruined hole stayed wide open, a perfect, slick rose blooming in the lamplight, pink inner walls pulsing visibly, cool air rushing deep inside. In his subspace fog, the emptiness felt like falling—his body clenching around nothing, aching for the return of that perfect fullness, a soft, broken whimper escaping his lips as reality flickered at the edges.

Rick couldn’t move, couldn’t speak—only lay there limp and trembling, chest heaving, lost in the echoing fullness and sudden emptiness, drifting in the warm, floaty afterglow of total submission.

Travis moved quickly, gently but firmly. He hooked his hands under Rick’s thighs and pulled him to the very edge of the bed, lifting Rick’s legs and draping them over his broad, leather-clad shoulders. Rick’s ass hung open and exposed, gaping invitingly, lube and sweat glistening on his swollen rim.

Travis’s cock—rock-hard again, thick and veined—slapped heavy against Rick’s entrance. With one smooth push, he sank balls-deep into the sloppy, fist-wrecked heat.

“Fuck,” Travis groaned, voice rough with lust. “Listen to that sloppy mess. Your hole’s nothing but a loose, dripping sleeve now—takes me like it’s been waiting for cock all night.”

He started slow for only a moment, letting Rick feel every inch sliding through the ruined channel—Rick’s subspace mind registering it as a warm, perfect slide into the void, his walls fluttering weakly around the new intrusion, pleasure blooming fresh and deep.

Then Travis ordered, low and commanding, “Squeeze for me, boy. Bear down—show me you still got something left.”

Rick whimpered, summoning the last scraps of strength from his floaty haze. His battered muscles clenched weakly around Travis’s shaft, fluttering and gripping as best he could, the effort sending soft sparks through his over-sensitized depths.

Travis’s eyes softened for a heartbeat, a proud smile breaking through. “Good boy,” he murmured, thumb stroking Rick’s calf. “Such a perfect fucking boy.”

Then the gentleness vanished. Travis gripped Rick’s thighs hard and fucked him—hard, fast, relentless. His hips snapped forward in a punishing rhythm, cock slamming deep into the loose, sloppy heat, balls slapping wetly against Rick’s ass on every thrust. The bed rocked; the room filled again with the raw sounds of skin on skin, lube squelching around Travis’s pistoning shaft.

Rick felt Travis swelling thicker inside him, thrusts turning erratic, breath coming in harsh growls. With the very last shred of energy he had left, Rick cried out—voice hoarse, desperate, pleading—“Please, Sir… pump me full… breed your faggot’s sloppy ass… please, fill me with your cum…”

Travis’s eyes flashed, jaw clenching as the words pushed him right to the edge. His pace turned savage—one, two, three final, brutal thrusts—and then he slammed in to the hilt, burying himself deep as his cock pulsed and erupted, flooding Rick’s wrecked hole with thick, hot ropes of cum.

He pumped his load deep—hot, heavy spurts flooding Rick’s guts, coating his inner walls, marking him from the inside out. Each pulse felt endless, Travis’s hips grinding forward instinctively to force every drop as far as it would go, his balls drawing tight against Rick’s ass as he emptied himself completely. The warmth spread through Rick’s core like liquid fire, filling the emptiness left by the fist, claiming him in a way that made his spent body shudder one last time.

Both men were utterly spent—Travis’s chest heaving, leather shirt clinging damp to his skin, thighs trembling from the exertion; Rick limp and boneless beneath him, muscles twitching in aftershocks, breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Emotionally, Rick was shattered open—raw, vulnerable, floating in a haze of total surrender, tears still drying on his cheeks from the overwhelming intimacy and ruin.

Travis eased out slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound, a thick trickle of cum immediately leaking from Rick’s gaping, swollen hole. He stood for a moment, catching his breath, eyes drifting to the row of toys still laid out on the dresser. With a tired but satisfied smirk, he stepped over and selected a medium-sized silicone plug—smooth, black, thick enough to keep everything sealed but not cruel after the night’s destruction.

Without adding any extra lube, trusting the mess already inside, Travis returned and pressed the tapered tip against Rick’s spent, sloppy rim. One firm, steady push seated it fully—the plug sliding home with a soft, wet pop, locking his load deep inside.

Rick whimpered faintly at the sensation, too drained to do more than accept it, the fullness a comforting, possessive weight.

Travis leaned down, brushing sweat-damp hair from Rick’s forehead, voice low and rough with affection and command.

“You’re keeping that plug in for the rest of the night, boy. My cum stays right where it belongs—deep in your wrecked hole. Feel me every time you move.”

Then, without a word, Travis stripped off his leather shirt and gloves, tossing them aside. He climbed onto the bed, sliding in behind Rick and pulling the exhausted man into his arms—chest to back, big-spoon style. One strong arm wrapped around Rick’s waist, hand splaying possessively over the base of the plug, applying gentle, steady pressure that kept everything sealed and reminded Rick exactly who he belonged to now. The scent of leather, sweat, and sex clung to Travis’s skin as he nuzzled into Rick’s neck, lips brushing damp salt-and-pepper hair.

“You were perfect tonight,” Travis murmured, voice soft and warm against Rick’s ear. “Took my fist like you were made for it. Opened up so beautifully for me… gave me everything. I’m proud of you, Rick. So fucking proud.”

Rick, deep in subspace and emotionally raw, felt fresh tears prick his eyes—quiet, happy ones of total release. He melted back into Travis’s chest, a broken little sigh escaping as the strong arms held him together. For the first time in years, he felt completely safe, completely seen.

Travis pressed a slow kiss to the nape of his neck, then another to his shoulder. “Sleep now, boy,” he whispered. “Tomorrow morning you’re gonna text me a picture of that plug still locked in place before you even think about taking it out. And next weekend… I’m coming back. Gonna fist you deeper, keep you open longer, turn that pretty red flag into something permanent.”

Rick managed the faintest, blissful nod, voice gone, body limp in Travis’s embrace.

Travis smiled against his skin, holding him tighter. “Good boy. Mine now.”

In the quiet aftermath, with Travis’s cum sealed deep and the steady rise and fall of his chest against Rick’s back, Rick finally drifted off—wrecked, plugged, bred, and for the first time in a long time, utterly, perfectly at peace.