Hunger outweighs the need to shower. The profuse amount of sweat they’ve poured from tonight’s show did a decent job of washing off their makeup, regardless. Dusty, white crop-top unzipped, white boots unlaced, Paul sits hunched over their tiny, shared table in the hotel room, shoveling steamed broccoli, rice, and green beans into his mouth while the other man spoke. Shirtless himself, Schneider’s dark curls are haphazard around his head as he gestured with his chopsticks.
“There’s also the issue of aftermath. Did you want them to stay and watch, or should they leave after their turn?”
Paul grunts, busy accommodating the mouthful of vegetables. He makes a pinched face as he forcefully gnawed on the broccoli and rice occupying his mouth. Schneider watches him with a wry smile, amused. Paul chokes and then laughs, muffled. He hunches forward to press his forehead to his wrist, chopsticks threaded in-between his fingers.
“Eat slower, then, moron,” Schneider laughs. He refocuses on his own food; he pushes the last few pieces of sushi around on his plate, contemplating consumption. Paul manages to chew it down enough to swallow it down in one go, thickly, and with a groan of effort once his mouth is clear.
“Gonna feel that one coming out in a few hours,” he sighs. Schneider groans loudly with a laugh, which has Paul snickering in return. Schneider rolls his eyes and sets his plate down. Paul reaches out, clicking his chopsticks together as he closes in on his prey: he steals one of the unwanted sushi. He dips it in the soy sauce, and begins to lift it to his mouth, but Schneider is quicker—he snatches his wrist, earning a shocked glance from Paul’s wide eyes.
“Answer me first, Paul,” Schneider says with a cocked brow and a slight upturn of his mouth, “Don’t be an animal. We’re having a conversation here.”
Paul sighs. Schneider releases his wrist; Paul glumly sets his chopsticks down. He sits back in his chair, crossing his lean arms with a harsh exhale, cheeks puffing out.
“Why was catering such a failure today? It’s not my fault we have to eat like beasts in our hotel room ‘cause they messed up.”
Schneider runs a hand up through his curls, mimicking Paul’s position; he leans back into his chair, and stretches out his legs. Then he toes off his stage shoes, and flexes his feet.
“Yeah, yeah. So, what do you think? Can they stay, or do they have to leave?”
“It depends,” Paul answers with a shrug, gray eyes swimming up to meet Schneider’s, “Some will be fine with being watched, others not. I personally don’t care if they want to watch, I just care about everyone being comfortable. Knowing Flake, for example, will act like he doesn’t care, but I know he’d be self-conscious about some things. He may be shameless in some ways, but sex is another topic entirely. Flake is really finnicky about it. And Olli might be a bit shy, too.”
“So…” Schneider prompts, arching a brow, “Play it safe? Ask for the other two to leave—that is, if they went first?”
Paul thoughtfully rubs at his neck, scratching off makeup with a contemplative expression.
“Well, you’re the one in control. You could play it by ear. Have Flake and Olli go last. Till won’t give a shit, Richard might be a little weirded out by being watched but I think if in the right circumstance, he won’t mind either. But if Olli or Flake show hesitance, maybe then you’ll clear the room.”
“But wouldn’t that be kind of obvious? I wouldn’t want to challenge their…”
Schneider gestures ambiguously with his hand. Paul smiles faintly.
“Masculinity? I don’t think it matters at that point. As long as Flake is comfortable, I don’t think he cares how he’s perceived. I mean—they’d be getting some ass. Plus, it’s not like we haven’t seen each other in similar ways before. The amount of times I’ve witnessed Till getting it on with someone… And Richard, as well! Hearing him dirty talk some poor soul haunts me to this day.”
“Witnessing each other screw a nobody might be a bit different than this.”
“Yeah… Well, if anything, they can do whatever they want. Maybe we shouldn’t even worry about who’s fine with being watched and who isn’t. If they don’t like it, they can leave. They’re the ones that would be missing out. Not my fault if they’re self-conscious about how they fuck. Or who they’re fucking, for that matter.”
With finality, Paul reaches out to grab his chopsticks, and snatches the momentarily abandoned piece of sushi. He pops it into his mouth and begins to chew. Schneider digests this, thinking with a distant look coming to his eyes, watching the other man struggle to chew the sushi.
“Why is this rice so dry?” Paul huffs, making a face. Schneider smiles weakly.
“Food isn’t agreeing with you today.”
Another moment of silence passes. Paul swallows and then grabs his water bottle. Bringing it to his mouth, he tilts it up to heavily drink its contents, throat working. Schneider speaks up again, watching him.
“What about before? Do you want them to be there for the start—like, the warm-up. Setting it up.”
Paul turns in his chair to face the trashcan against the wall, tucked next to the dresser. He tosses the empty water bottle towards it, and just barely makes it. He faces Schneider again and drops his hands limply into his lap, crossing his legs. Then he notices he is somehow still wearing his blindingly white stage boots. He leans over at the waist to tug them off, one at a time. He drops them onto the carpet while musing thoughtfully, “Definitely not the mushy shit. I think seeing us cuddle would make them gag more than anything else we’d be doing. And it would be weird. And awkward.”
Paul continues, dropping back against the seat with a sigh, crossing a leg over his knee, “They could be there when I undress, and when you put the blindfold and gag on me. Make an example out of it, I guess. It might be a bit much if they walked into the room with me already tied to the bed. Would be a bit abrupt. Seeing me in a way they’re familiar with before easing into the kinkier side is the best way to approach it. I’d be pretty unsettled if I walked into a room and saw Flake with his ankles tied to the headboard first thing.”
“Paul! For God’s sake, don’t plant that visual in my head!”
Laughing, Paul shakes his head, idly rubbing at his ankle. He begins fiddling with the bottom of his stage pants, slim fingers toying at the baggy fabric. He goes on.
“Anyways, they can come in after the warm-up, so they can witness the set up. Might shatter a bit of the illusion, but that can come another time. Better to see us as Schneider and Paul foremost, instead of simply Schneider and his bitch.”
That has Schneider laughing aloud. Paul grins at him, eyes greatly amused, crow’s feet wrinkling.
“Schneider and his bitch,” Schneider says fondly with a laugh in his voice, “I like that.”
Chuckling, Paul rises from his seat, and then stretches with a groan, fingers laced and arms outstretched towards the ceiling. His lean arms tremble from the force of his enthusiastic stretch, abs clenched and chest pushed out past his open crop-top. Swinging his arms back down, he smiles warmly at Schneider and then gestures to the bathroom with a tilt of his head.
“Let’s finally take that shower. Come on.”
Concurring, Schneider rises. He steps over, and plants an obnoxious kiss against Paul’s head, which earns him an endearing snort. Paul pinches his side. Schneider takes his hand and they then slip into the bathroom, leaving behind that one last piece of sushi with its too-dry rice.
Anxiety that he hasn’t known in a long while twists his insides into a knot. He runs his hands through his dark hair, and then fixes it up with impatient scrapes of his nails. Leaning over at the waist, his elbows are planted upon his knees, hands over his head—he heaves a sigh. Seated on one of the couches within their home, he waits for the return of his bandmates. Schneider is out with them right now to fetch drinks and food. To butter them up for this conversation they’ll be having.
Agonizingly going over it in his head, it just seems bad. Surely, this will destroy the foundation of Paul Landers, won’t it? They won’t see him as Paul anymore—just something lesser. Why did they think this would be a good idea? Things are great right now—they’re just about to start working on their third album, in a few weeks’ time. What if this jeopardizes that? Paul knows he’s being ridiculous, spinning himself in circles, but this is something that is pretty damn monumental for him. He’s not exactly shameless, and he’s frightened of putting this much trust in the others like this. In this way. It’s different. It is. He doesn’t want them to use it against him. Or Schneider.
Shit, maybe he should just call it off? Text Schneider and tell him it’ll just be a normal night with the guys, nothing else. Forget the conversation.
Paul groans, falling back into the couch, sprawling out his legs. He closes his eyes and thinks back on the times that reassured him the other four may just be as curious as he: Till is obviously bi, at the very least. Paul outright fucked him when they were younger, back in the day. There’s one. Paul extends his thumb. He used to mess around with Flake back when Feeling B existed. That’s two. He extends his forefinger. Richard admitted Till came onto him once, when drunk, but he rejected him—yet he regrets it. So, curious, then. That’s three. His middle finger joins his forefinger and thumb. And then Olli. Olli and Schneider had made out once a lifetime ago when they were roommates. That’s four. So, thus, they are all open-minded, supposedly, to the concept of having sex with men. Flake and Till, for sure. Paul isn’t positive with Olli and Richard, but he has a reasonable belief that they wouldn’t mind toying with the idea of doing so.
Paul clenches that hand into a fist and opens his eyes. He looks up at the ceiling. It’ll be fine. It’ll just be a big pill of reality to swallow, for all of them. And a bigger one in terms of propositions. And then another massive one for him, personally—effectively destroying the image the other four have of him.
Ugh. Paul shakes his head with a grimace. He needs to stop thinking about it.
And then he hears many pairs of footsteps, and Richard’s exclaiming laugh. Till’s low rumbling of a voice. Paul’s heart leaps and he sits up straighter. He watches the door, throat tight and eyes wide. The jingling of keys, Schneider’s huffy remark to wipe off their feet, and then the door is opening after a snap of the lock and a turn of the knob. Schneider glances up to meet his gaze as the other five filter into the house. He offers him a faint smile. Paul gives him a weaker one in return. Schneider’s smile becomes a concerned, pursed frown while Richard charges in and yells, “Paul! Why didn’t you come to meet us, you jerk?!”
He drops the bags of takeout on the coffee table. Nervously grinning, Paul stands up just as Richard rounds the table to pull him into a hug. Paul grunts and then laughs, hugging him back.
“Hey, sorry. Too cold for me! I figured you could just get the food and come over while I stayed nice and warm.”
“Ass!” Richard laughs, pushing him away with a friendly shove to his arm. Paul giggles. He squeezes Richard’s bicep and then turns to meet the eyes of Flake, who offers him a nod and a little wave. Paul nods in return, and then looks over to see Till already selecting the booze from their liquor cabinet. Olli is grabbing the bags of food and bringing it over to the dining area. Richard joins Till in the kitchen to grab plates and utensils.
“Hi, Till!” Paul loudly calls, pointedly singling him out. Till waves with the bottle of vodka, back to him as he grabs glasses from the cabinet. Paul snorts. Then he feels a hand grab his wrist. He looks over to see Schneider gazing at him with intense, concerned blue eyes and a straight frown on his mouth.
“You good?” he asks softly, removing his hand. Paul smiles weakly.
“Better now,” he sighs, “Was spinning around in circles. But it’ll be fine. Let’s just do it.”
Schneider nods. He glances down at Paul’s mouth. Paul’s smile extends to a slight grin. He cocks a brow at him. Schneider huffs. He turns away and joins the others at the table. He begins organizing the place mats, the plates, their utensils, while Richard and Olli figure out the arrangement of takeout boxes. Flake is standing by Till now, talking to him as he oversees him pouring the drinks. Paul rubs his hands down over his face and decides he needs to loosen up. He steps out from between the couch and coffee table to help set up dinner.
Soon enough, they’re all arranged around the dining table, a plethora of open trays and full plates covering its surface. Varying choices of alcohol accompany every man. Paul already drank through two glasses of rum—eager to obtain some slight, minuscule amount of confidence, however he can. Schneider is often watching him, no doubt gauging his body language and behavior. Paul sometimes doesn’t like being scrutinized by him—this is one of those times. It’s not helping him relax. He forces himself to partake in light-hearted conversation, and as he continues to get the others to laugh, or he himself finds himself giggling along with the stupid topics of discussion, it does get easier. He relaxes.
After nearly half an hour of this nonsense, most of the food is consumed, and at least every person has had at least one glass of alcohol. Only then, once momentary silence begins and conversation pauses, Schneider clears his throat and speaks up, setting his fork down and reaching out to idly curl his fingers around the base of his glass.
“Listen, Paul and I had something to discuss with you all.”
Paul’s heart drops into his stomach and then his stomach tightens, uncomfortably so. He immediately loses interest in swallowing the mouthful he has at the moment, but forces it down despite that with a strain and a knit brow. The others focus their attention on the pair. Schneider is seated at the head of the table, Paul to his right. Paul keeps his eyes low, though occasionally glances towards the others. Only once the pause from Schneider became too long does Paul look over towards him.
Schneider is blushing. It seems his tongue is in a knot. Paul exhales deeply. This gives him resolve; he knows even Schneider struggles with courage when it came to this shit, from time to time. It only took Paul five years to drag a confession out of the man, after all. And then almost as long to convince him to move in with him.
Reaching out, Paul takes his hand, clenched into a fist against his lap. Schneider glances at him, eyes wary and unsure. Paul offers him a smile, and a slight nod. Schneider releases a breath. The other four have been patient. Paul glances over towards them again: Richard looks concerned, Flake is staring blankly, waiting for elaboration, Till is watching them with his hands folded together atop the table, and Olli has his eyes to his plate, poking idly at his food in very Olli-like fashion. Listening. They’re all listening. Paul takes in a breath.
“I’m sure it was pretty damn obvious at times,” he begins, smiling weakly, “But Schneider and I are together. This is our place; it’s not just mine. Well, technically it is—it’s under my name. But still. He lives here. With me. Has been for, uh, what—nearly a year now?”
He glances towards Schneider. Schneider nods, smiling weakly. Paul squeezes his hand, and then releases it. Richard’s jaw may as well have fallen to his plate, Till is smirking knowingly, and Olli is now staring at them with raised eyebrows. Flake crosses his arms, leaning further back in his chair, face unreadable. Paul tries to breathe. Schneider, thankfully, speaks for him.
“Like Paul said, it’s probably not a surprise for some of you. But this isn’t even the main topic of what we want to talk about.”
“So that’s why you never let us hang out at your place!” Richard blurts out, planting his elbow against the dining table, finger pointed towards Schneider. “It doesn’t even exist!”
Till chuckles, seemingly amused with Richard’s gullibility. Schneider frowns. Paul smiles. Schneider nods.
“You figured it out. Congratulations,” he says. Richard drops back into his chair, crossing his arms with bafflement and a shocked expression remaining on his face. So, he definitely did not suspect anything. Schneider releases a breath and sits up straight, regathering composure. Paul reaches out to grab his third glass of rum, bringing it to his mouth to take a drink—he can barely breathe, grasping for any distraction at this point. He knows what’s going to come.
“In addition, we want to invite the four of you… To…” Schneider begins, and then gestures vaguely, releasing a harsh exhale. He finds the words. “Join us, I guess. Not quite sure how to go about this. But we talked about it and decided we would like for the six of us to have an evening together. In the bedroom.”
“You want us to all fuck,” Till says matter-of-factly, spitting it out and making it quite easier on Schneider, who was always the type to put things politely, and delicately. Paul presses his lips together, schooling his face. Olli is smiling thinly, still playing with his fork absentmindedly. Flake is staring down at the contents on the table. Richard still looks rather surprised, but he doesn’t chime in this time. Paul feels his face burning. Schneider huffs a laugh.
“Yeah. But not like an orgy, or anything. More like Paul will be the focus.”
Paul raises his eyebrows, pressed lips turning up into a tight-lipped smile. He would like the ground to swallow him whole right about now. He just sits there, boiling with a red face, while Schneider continues.
“We don’t mean to spring it on you like this out of nowhere, but it felt more appropriate then going around the room asking if you all are interested in trying less vanilla types of sex.”
“I think a six-man fuck is pretty kinky in itself,” Richard laughs nervously, running a hand up through his gelled hair. Paul remains silent. Schneider nudges him. Paul peeks over at him, head lowered to hide his heavy blush. Schneider raises his brow at him—soften the blow. Elaborate.
Paul leans back into his dining chair with a heaved sigh, earning everyone’s stare. He gestures with a hand while saying with a collected voice he didn’t think he’d be able to summon, “Schneider and I are in one of those relationships. Don’t need to make a big deal out of it. I’m his submissive, he is my dominant—All that BDSM bullshit. We want to include you guys, if you would want to. We want the six of us to fuck around a bit. But not in the way you think. For the five of you to fuck me. One for all. Stop and go. Move it and then lose it. A receptacle. Shall I even say, the more vulgar term, a ‘fuck toy’. There you have it.”
“Paul!” Schneider guffaws, smacking him on the arm. Till is chuckling lowly now, and Richard is leaning forward, elbows against the table, hands over his lower face, watching Paul with appalled eyes. Flake’s mouth is tightly pressed, eyes still fixated on his dinner plate, his long hair falling to curtain his face. Olli is sardonically smiling, arms crossed now.
“What?” Paul snaps with a laugh, looking at Schneider with a red face and a broad grin, hands shaking, “Do we really have to drag it out? Get the spotlight out of my damn face already, and let’s move on!”
Schneider huffs. He looks at him with a tight, nervous smile and eyes which scream shut up, please. Paul obliges; he crosses his arms and pouts with a tight smile, bottom lip jutted. Schneider reaches out to gently place a hand on his shoulder, and then turns to face the others, addressing them with an apologetic expression, “This is definitely, uh, difficult to just spit out. We thought talking about it face to face was more tactful than just sending out an email. It, obviously, means enough to us to do this at all to begin with. We trust you guys. And we want to involve you. We’re… Well. The six of us. And we don’t want to exclude you. In our romantic lives, we definitely don’t need your involvement, but—we want to explore a bit more. Sexually. And you don’t have to agree, of course. You don’t have to say yes, no, or maybe. Just think about it.”
Hearing this has the whole table relaxing, just enough for Paul to relax himself. He takes in a breath, and looks up at Schneider with a weaker, more thankful expression. At least one of them can handle it well. Paul watches him, seeing the way he reaches out to take a drink of water, if only to give himself a breather. Glancing around, Paul is pleased to find a faint smile on Richard’s face, an amused smirk remaining on Till’s—Olli still seems rather amused with this whole situation, based on the very subtle perk of his lips. Meanwhile, Flake himself doesn’t seem amused. Or shocked for that matter. He just sits there silently, arms crossed, eyes downcast. This makes Paul a bit nervous.
“Who knew you two would be in a kinky relationship,” Till murmurs, his low voice shattering the silence of the four, “Paul, sure. Schneider? Mr. Prude? I’ve been proven wrong.”
Paul bursts out a laugh, while Olli grins, and Richard snorts. Schneider is the one blushing now. He shrugs.
“Who do you think was the bad influence, huh?” he defends himself, reaching out to nudge Paul on the shoulder.
“Hey!” Paul interjects with a giggle, pushing him back against the thigh, “Way to feed me to the wolves like that!”
“So, what are the terms? Elaborate,” Till speaks up, if only to get the ball rolling once more. He grabs his glass of vodka and downs the rest, while Paul and Schneider exchange glances. Paul shrugs, motioning for Schneider to speak. Schneider takes in a breath and faces the table.
“In about a month, we’ll all be in France. The first week there is when we want to do it. Not sure which day yet, but we’ll figure it out closer to the date.”
“At the studio?” Richard huffs, “A bit bold, don’t you think?”
“Well, the place has beds and doors that close, doesn’t it?” Schneider replies impatiently, which earns an exasperated, placating hand from Paul on his back that he promptly ignores, “And solitude.”
“What about Jacob, genius?” Richard snaps back, “Going to put a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the handle? Let him know we’re busy?”
Paul speaks up then with a nervous, cheeky grin and a raise of his eyebrows, “Make it seven. The more the merrier!”
Till bursts out a laugh. Paul grins at him from across the table, appreciative of his validating laughter. Schneider shakes his head, nudging Paul who giggles in return, much too pleased with his joke. Flake remains utterly silent, and Olli merely listens, content with witnessing the others discuss. Schneider meets Richard’s gaze.
“He won’t be there for the first week, remember?”
“Oh, how convenient,” Richard muses, raising a hand and slapping it down on the table, “Then we can surely squeeze in this arrangement! Shall we make it, what, after supper? Before bedtime?”
Choosing to ignore Richard’s prodding, Schneider waves him off and then goes on, continuing further elaboration.
“Like Paul said, it’s going to be a scenario where he’s the main focus. There won’t be a cluster of fucking, all at once. It’ll be one man at a time. If that sounds appealing to you, great. We’ll keep you posted on our plans when we’re closer to France. If you have no interest, just as fine. It’s up to you. No one is forcing anyone to do anything. It’s simply an open invitation, and you can accept it or not. The door will be open. Now, I really need to get another glass of rum, because I need to drink myself into a stupor.”
Still rather red-faced, Paul laughs, while Schneider stands with a scrape of his chair. Till lifts a hand and proclaims in a deep, powerful voice, “Get that man a drink!”
“Me too!” Paul blurts, rocketing up from his seat to hurry after Schneider, who seems just thrilled to escape that embarrassing dissection. Paul couldn’t agree more.
It begins. Schneider and Richard go first.
Warning for degradation, use of the word 'whore', and punishment.
The Studio Miraval property is expansive with three separate buildings for dwelling alone, not including the studio itself and the kitchen and dining area. Privacy won’t be an issue. The first few days had been spent setting up and enjoying the freedom of renting such a peaceful, and somewhat extravagant location in southern France. Exploration of the nearby coastline had been essential for Olli and Paul as well, before they really began working—surfing and windsurfing the Mediterranean waters.
But during these initial few days, the weight of what will come sits heavily over Paul. It lingers on his mind, ever since they landed in France. The day had been decided. The hour had been decided. The room had been decided. Everyone knows. Everyone has made plans revolving around it. Will I go? Will I not go? Will I take part in it, or merely observe? Do I want to be involved in something so private and exposing with the others? Do I want to see Paul in this way—in such a sexual setting?
It swarms Paul’s thoughts, keeping him awake at night, laying up in bed beside Schneider who peacefully slept away the time. What will their choices be? What if Paul couldn’t handle it, in the end? Would he have to disappoint everyone and cancel their plans, if only due to fear? What if no one even showed up to begin with? What if they all pretend nothing happened, and just progressed right into the production of their new album? Paul supposes he would understand. Better to keep things how they are than to challenge them.
The answers to these questions, to his worries, become apparent to him on that day, during that hour, in that room.
But before any of it comes to be, Schneider and Paul take an hour long shower, within the bathroom conjoined to the bedroom yet to be touched by the other members of Rammstein. A shower of kissing, of embracing, talking, and washing. Laughter and smiles. Nervous confessions and hopeful reassurances. An intimate moment of Schneider carefully, delicately shaving Paul’s genitals in preparation, kneeling before him while Paul watched with caught breath and a heart heavy with love.
The aftermath is quieter. They towel off in the bedroom, enjoying each other’s company, and the moment of silent intimacy. A passing thought crosses both of their minds: Paul won’t be leaving this room for a while.
On the dresser (which should probably be used for more respectable purposes considering its value and vintage appearance) sits a variation of sex toys, two strips of condoms of different sizes, a bottle of lube, a box of disposable gloves, a stack of towels, and a cluster of water bottles. Positioned in front of everything else lays the ball gag and the blindfold, as well as the arm restraints for the bed. The image of this arrangement often earns Paul’s weary glance.
Silently, Paul works the towel over his damp hair and sighs. Schneider momentarily leaves the room to dispose of his used towel in the bathroom, and upon returning, he approaches the smaller man and draws his arms around him. Paul leans heavily into Schneider, letting his towel drop to the floor. Schneider begins stroking a hand over the back of his head, squeezing his arm around him. Cheek upon his shoulder, Paul closes his eyes and melts into the soft, warm embrace of his partner, arms caught between their chests, hands curled against his throat.
“Let’s move to the bed,” Schneider murmurs, pulling back to search his face, cupping the back of his neck. Paul smiles weakly, looking into his loving blue eyes, and nods. Schneider leans in to kiss his brow. Paul huffs a fond laugh. Then they separate, and Schneider takes his hand. That’s when Paul notices the bottle of aftershave balm Schneider grabbed from the bathroom. Schneider guides him to the bed, and Paul climbs on.
“Lay back,” Schneider instructs. Obediently, Paul splats against the perfectly arranged pillows, effectively ruining the neat display of the covers. He grins up at Schneider. Chuckling, Schneider moves to sit beside him, one leg tucked under himself. He runs one big hand up over Paul’s shin, an affectionate stroke. Paul folds his hands together over his midsection, giving the other man a pleased little smile and hooded, contented eyes.
“You gonna take care of me?” he teases with an endearing wrinkle of his nose and a pursing smile of his lips. Schneider opens the balm.
“I always take care of you,” he replies, squeezing some of the balm onto his fingers. Paul doesn’t comment on that; he just smiles softly, in that knowing way of his. Placing aside the bottle, Schneider reaches in. Eyes downcast to his work, he focuses on gently kneading the aftershave into the soft, supple skin around Paul’s shaft, and then over his balls. Paul spreads his legs, one knee raised far, foot planted upon the bed. He gives Schneider a teasing little grin when the younger man glances up to meet his eyes. Schneider lingers longer than he really needs to; he gingerly rubs his slick fingers all around him, carefully kneading, until he retracts his touch to retrieve just a dollop more of the balm. Then he reaches down to work it into the warm, soft flesh of his taint, and then further back still, big fingers slipping in-between his asscheeks. Paul chuckles, but he says nothing. Schneider grins, coyly meeting his gaze.
Leaning over, he kisses him on the cheek, fingers still rubbing over him, and then angles his head to kiss his mouth fully. Paul unlaces his hands to reach up and clutch the back of his head. Schneider removes his fingers to instead rest his hand fully over his groin, a merely possessive touch while their lips gently pushed together, a loving back and forth that Schneider breaks by pulling away and searching in his eyes.
“Do you want to nap a bit, or just cuddle?” he asks lowly, giving his sensitive parts a departing squeeze before removing his hand. Paul is so accustomed to it, it doesn’t make him flinch. Instead, he sleepily grins and muses, “A nap. Or at least, an attempt at one. Let’s just lay in the dark a bit.”
“Sounds good. I’ll close the drapes. Get under the covers.”
As Schneider moves to stand from the bed, Paul happily does just that. Schneider sets the balm aside on a surface, and then approaches the wide window along the wall to their right.
The setting sun is soon blocked out, bathing the room in blackness. Schneider joins the other man under the thick, silken blankets of the queen sized bed. The covers are plush, and very comfortable. He sinks into them with a sigh. Paul turns onto his side, showing him his back. Schneider spoons up close behind him, winding his arm around his belly, and nuzzles into the back of his head. Paul squeezes Schneider’s forearm tenderly. Releasing a deep exhale, he closes his eyes and loses all tension. Contentment and warmth fills him. The love from his partner seeps into him through his skin. Resolve and reassurance builds within him, comfort and courage. Paul is never fully aware of it at the time, but when they begin their sessions, he can see just how valuable these moments are. Feeling safe, cherished, and adored.
For close to half an hour they lay like this, intertwined, listening to each other, feeling each other. Eventually, Paul cracks his heavy eyes open and moves to lay on his back, keeping Schneider’s arm around his waist. The sunlight peeking in through the cracks of the drapes, when coupled with his adjusted eyesight, makes it easy to see Schneider’s shadowed face in the darkness. Raised on an elbow, Schneider gazes down at him with a warm smile. He brings his hand up to stroke the back of his fingers over Paul’s cheek. Paul bites his lip, attempting to stifle a coy smile which slips through regardless. Schneider grins, eyes twinkling with adoration. He leans in to kiss his forehead. Paul lifts a hand to rest it against Schneider’s shoulder, eyes closing.
Schneider kisses a trail from his forehead, down along the strong bridge of his nose, pecking the tip, only to sweetly kiss both of his cheeks. When he lovingly presses their mouths together, Paul smiles into it and cups his face with a hand, feeling extremely soft for him in this moment. Schneider is warm and heavy, resting partially atop him now, chest to Paul’s side, arm wound around him protectively, possessively, pulling him closer while their lips moved together. Paul giggles into it. Schneider can be so intense at times. But he likes it when Schneider overwhelms him with passion.
The kiss becomes lengthy, and even then, it doesn’t cease. It doesn’t deepen, only maintaining a loving, almost chaste pursing until Paul has to pull away for the sake of breathing and giving his sore lips a reprieve. Schneider searches his face with sickening warmth and love in his gaze. Paul feels absurdly wanted by him, it’s a bit jarring even now—how much Schneider obviously treasures him. It used to worry him, how Schneider seemed to feel these emotions twice as much as him. What if it wasn’t real from his side? But it’s only apparent now that Schneider loves intensely so. Paul cannot compare himself to the other man, for they all love differently.
“Let’s get started,” Paul murmurs, stroking his thumb over Schneider’s flushed cheek, eyes downcast to watch himself do so, “We only have so much time before they’ll start knocking.”
“Assuming they do,” Schneider murmurs. Paul smirks, meeting his eyes again.
“…The only person I had little doubt in from the start was Till. I can only hope the others will bite.”
Paul lifts his head to peck him on the nose. Schneider smiles. He returns it in a firm, final press of his mouth to Paul’s, which earns him an exasperated chuckle.
Soon enough, after detangling and turning on the lights again, Paul is on his back atop the remade covers. Schneider has gathered the lube and the two toys they use most often for preparing him. They have about forty minutes before the designated time. Should be plenty of time to get him ready, excessively so.
Five minutes until the hour gives them both varying degrees of nervousness. By then, Paul has his plug in and has redressed, as has Schneider. Paul is sitting at the foot of the bed, eyes downcast to his ring on his index finger, anxiously spinning it—he wears a simple black shirt and his cargo pants with nothing on his feet. He doesn’t realize how far he’s curling his back and hanging his head until Schneider takes a seat beside him and draws an arm around his shoulders. He kisses his temple. Paul looks up at him with a weak smile. Schneider returns it and says, “Hey, it really will be fine. They won’t think less of you for this. Sure, it’ll change their perception of you, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’ll show them that you trust them enough to reveal this side of yourself to them. It’s a vulnerability they know you hate to show, but one they would appreciate nonetheless.”
Schneider has been saying this for the last few weeks in varying phrases, but even so, Paul can’t seem to drill it in his head. For him, he supposes it’s just a matter of doing it. Getting it over with. Ripping off the band-aid so he doesn’t have to agonize over it anymore. He just nods and offers Schneider a thankful smile. He leans over to kiss his cheek, and feels extremely sappy for doing so. Schneider squeezes his bicep.
At this point in time, Paul usually messes with him leading up to a session if only to play the part of a brat, but now he’s just feeling tense and quiet. It’s different this time. He’s too absorbed in his worries.
The soft knocking on the door has his heart leaping and his stomach knotting. He sits up straight, looking over towards the door. Schneider lightly scratches at Paul’s back as he stands, a departing reassurance, and then approaches the door. He pulls it open. Till is leaning against the doorframe by the forearm, casually inspecting his nails with his other hand on his hip. Paul grins.
“I believe this is the proper room for the ravaging that shall commence?” Till asks with a raise of his eyebrow and a scrutinizing sweep of his eyes. Chuckling, Schneider steps aside and lures him in with a grand gesture of his arm. Till faintly grins. He straightens from the door frame and enters. Looking at Paul, he offers him the slightest smile in greeting, more of a twitch of his mouth than anything, and then immediately takes notice of the assortment on the dresser. He approaches to admire silently.
Paul exhales deeply, relaxing his shoulders and expelling some tension. Till’s presence does break some of the ice within himself. His nonchalant behavior is appreciated. And he is not surprised he begins playing with the sex toys, studying them in his big hands with an impressed expression on his rugged face.
“That one is his favorite,” Schneider comments, leaving the door open and pacing over to join Till. Paul exclaims in shock.
“Hey! Shut up!” he blurts, a hot blush erupting through his face. Schneider throws him a grin, and Till chuckles. Before anything more could be said, Olli casually slips into the room without a word, hands in his pockets. But he removes one to lift it in greeting once three sets of eyes land on him.
“’Ello,” he says, and then smoothly takes a seat in the arm chair by the window. Paul grins shakily.
“Didn’t think you would come!” he says, shoving away the nervousness within himself—he’s pleased, damn it! He’s glad they’re interested after all. It’s what they both want, he and Schneider. It never occurred to him how difficult it would be actually facing the reality. It was a delicious idea in theory—and it still is, it only takes overcoming himself. Olli smiles faintly.
“And miss the show? Not a chance.”
Paul is a bit speechless. He just laughs, though it’s mostly out of nerves. What can he even say here, when they’re assembling if only to fuck him, or witness him getting fucked? It’s throwing him out of how he typically functions as Paul. So he sits there quietly, smiling to himself weakly with his hands in his lap, feeling particularly shackled to the bed.
“Well, good,” he manages after a moment, stretching his arms out above his head, sighing, “Once in a lifetime event, you know.”
“We’ll see about that,” Schneider muses. Paul nervously giggles, rubbing at the back of his neck, his face and ears hot. Till seems to have lost interest in their collection; instead, he stands by the window, pulling open the drapes with two fingers to stare out beyond, his other hand submerged in the pocket of his black, baggy pants. Heavy silence sits over them. This is when it becomes apparent to Paul that none of them really know how to act. This is new for them all. Strange territory yet traversed. Again, they’ve witnessed each other having sex, but having sex with each other has yet to be explored (at least, in some cases).
Thankfully, the tense quietness doesn’t last; they hear the shutting of a door, and then the approach of footsteps. They glance over to see Richard peek his head in.
“Haven’t started yet? Good,” he says, and promptly steps inside. He’s wearing a t-shirt with red sleeves and an atrocious design on the front, joined by jeans. He stinks like cigarette smoke. Paul laughs.
“Should I be surprised that you strolled into this room expecting sex, wearing that trash?”
“Trash!” Richard exclaims with a scoff, looking down at himself. “It’s just a shirt, Paul! What the hell do you want me to wear?”
“Nothing would have been better,” Olli mutters from his spot in the chair, long legs now folded up, knees to his chest. Till chuckles, casting a glance towards their newest addition. Paul grins towards Olli and then gestures to him with a point of a finger.
“See? He knows what he’s talking about. He gets it!”
Richard rolls his eyes with a slight smile and says nothing, dismissing their attempt at riling him up. Instead, he crosses his arms, leaning against the wall by the door, and looks towards Schneider.
“Well, I don’t suppose we’ll be waiting on Flake. How is this going to go?”
They all turn to look at Schneider. Paul has his hands clenched together in his lap, forcefully keeping his back straight to maintain an appearance of confidence, when truly, he can’t breathe. Despite this, he tries to give Schneider a weak attempt of a smile when those blue eyes flick towards him. Schneider clears his throat, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head, and then nods. He crosses his arms.
“Right, well. We’d like you to witness what we do to set up. We debated whether or not Paul should be tied up foremost, but came to the conclusion it’s best if you’re here when he changes from himself, to the man who services me. Or, rather, all of us, for this occasion.”
Richard whistles lowly. Till is silent, merely witnessing from where he stands at the window, shoulder to the wall. Olli has his arms folded over his knees, fingers outstretched upon his lean forearms, face passive and attentive. Paul pointedly stares at Schneider’s crossed arms, a nervous smile on his face, cheeks fiery. He desperately tries to appear unbothered, but his embarrassment is steadily increasing as this moment lingers. But Schneider holding out a hand for him earns his rapt attention. He beckons him with a curl of his fingers. Taking in a breath, Paul rises from the bed. He quietly crosses the distance, head low and heart pounding up in his throat. Standing beside the other man, Paul remains silent as Schneider drapes that arm around his back.
“Paul,” he murmurs. Paul shudders. His face is on fire. He nods, turning his head up slightly towards him, but hesitates to meet his gaze. Schneider continues, voice low.
“Do you want them to watch me undress you?”
Here we go. Paul’s stomach flips, his throat tight. Schneider is patient. Paul takes in another shaky breath and nods. Schneider chuckles.
“Use your words.”
Paul is humiliated. He shyly looks across the faces of his bandmates. Richard is watching with intrigue in his eyes, arms casually crossed. Olli is smiling very faintly. Till had turned to face them fully now, leaning back against the wall. Paul can’t hold their gazes for long. He drops his eyes to the floor once more and speaks. His voice comes out quiet at first, but as these words emerge, often spoken and more familiar, his courage strengthens.
“Forgive me, sir. I want them to watch you strip me, sir.”
It’s nice finally falling into place. While his face still burns and his heart races, he realizes he can do this. This is what they’ve built up towards for a while. Evidently, with their attendance, the others want this too. They’re curious. They want to explore this path with him. Paul smiles coyly and this time he isn’t afraid to peek up and search their faces. The shocked expression on Richard’s face which ebbs into something more quietly amused. Fascinated, even. Till casually, calmly stands from the wall and rounds the room to join Richard, standing beside him now with his hands in his pants pockets. Getting situated for the show. Paul feels jittery and restless, but the fear has lessened. While it does linger, the concern of possibly ruining everything, he does trust them. And that is what matters.
Some of that anxiety transforms into excitement when Schneider moves to stand behind him. Warm, gentle fingers curl into the hem of his black shirt. He begins easing it up, exposing first his firm belly, then his muscular chest. Paul raises his arms for Schneider to strip it off of his torso, leaving himself shirtless, his short, dark hair now disheveled. Till wolf whistles. Paul bursts out a giggle, and Richard laughs deeply in that endearing way of his. Schneider is silent—focused, it seems.
Face absolutely on fire, Paul is humiliated in the more tolerable, even enjoyable, form now. Instead of ugly embarrassment and feeling self-conscious, it’s the wanted objectification. The headspace of no longer being his own man. As Schneider begins unbuttoning his cargo pants, reaching around his waist with both hands to do so, Paul not only sheds the modesty of his physical form, but of the psychological as well. Each article of clothing is the reservations of himself. Schneider knows what he’s doing. He’ll take care of him. After all, he always does.
The pants are dropped to his ankles. Paul shyly steps out of them, and Schneider leans over to grab them and toss them elsewhere. Now only in his short boxers, showing his slender legs and slim hips, Paul can’t help but grin a little coyly to himself. He’s embarrassed and shy and aroused and scared—but he doesn’t feel like running anymore.
Biting his lip, Paul keeps his hands respectfully out of the way while Schneider eases down the last piece of his individuality. All it takes is the gag, the blindfold, and the cage and then he’s nothing but a plaything. He’s half-hard. Gazing down at himself, Paul’s entire body is ablaze with a humiliated fire, and his cock is stiffening, blatantly filling out with arousal.
“Wow, about time you shared him, huh,” Richard jokes wryly, “I’ve seen this brat naked so many times but now I’m like thinking… You’ve had this to yourself all this time!”
Schneider laughs. Paul rubs his lips together, trying so hard not to grin. He internalizes his giggling. Crossing his arms across his midsection, he stands there silently while Schneider speaks.
“A world of difference the concept of consent makes, doesn’t it? He was off-limits only twenty minutes ago. You could walk up and touch him now, if you wanted to. Take that Eden’s apple. Follow the candy trail.”
“Are you the witch that will throw me in the oven if I give in?” Richard snorts, grinning, “Now I know you get obnoxiously poetic when sex is involved. I weep to imagine the dirty talk.”
Paul has to snicker at that, bringing a hand up to shield his grinning face. Till chuckles deeply, and Olli is smiling from behind his folded arms. Schneider laughs dryly, resting his hands on Paul’s hips now, pinning a challenging stare on Richard.
“I can just as easily revoke the consent. Idiot.”
“Oy!” Richard protests. Till laughs louder now, bringing a hand out from his pocket to hit the back of it against Richard’s chest.
“Richard, just go and touch him before Schneider slaps your wrist. You’re practically salivating.”
“Hey, it was the mention of candy, alright!” Richard bursts out a laugh, blushing hard himself now. Paul manages to school his expression again. He keeps his hands by his thighs, fingers curled around his thumbs. Schneider rests his cheek against Paul’s head, and begins petting at his belly. Till admires, while Richard stares.
“Come over, Richard,” Schneider says, voice firm. Richard exhales. He rolls his eyes but does as he’s told—continuing to blush, Richard uncrosses his arms and approaches. Paul peeks up at him, meeting his bashful, almost uncertain gaze with his own. He offers him the tiniest smile. Richard looks a bit awed. Schneider stops petting him, and instead grabs him by the wrists, gently. He pulls his arms behind his back. Paul’s body is totally exposed, waiting. Paul takes in a sharp breath. His heart is fluttering wildly, stomach tight with nervousness and equal arousal.
“Touch him, don’t make him wait,” Schneider insists, impatiently. Richard seems to thaw. He reaches out to place a manicured hand against Paul’s muscular chest. Paul is tense, focused entirely on that contact. That touch roams down. Fingertips stroking along the plane of his abs, down and further still, until they tease at the cusp of his pubic bone—completely smooth and bare of hair. Richard clears his throat and speaks softly, curiously.
“Do you usually shave yourself like this? I mean, for these occasions?”
Paul keeps his gaze down, face a stark red. He remains silent. Schneider huffs.
“You will direct your questions to me. He won’t be talking from this point forward unless I ask him to.”
“Oh,” Richard says softly, eyes wide and brow raised. Schneider continues.
“It’s only for these occasions. Touch him more. Both hands. But don’t touch his cock.”
Finally, that courage kept bottled in Richard seems to emerge just a bit. He steps closer, bringing his other hand up to begin roaming both along his front. Paul shudders. He watches those soft hands grope at his chest, and then stroke down along his sides. Around to his ass, squeezing firmly. Paul gasps. Blood shoots down into his gut. Richard nervously laughs, sliding his hands back up over Paul’s smooth, broad back.
“He really is like a t-toy. Can’t say or do anything, huh?”
A smirk is in Schneider’s voice when he speaks, hands tightening around Paul’s wrists.
“No. Do whatever you want. Just don’t hit him, or play with his dick. It has to be crammed into a cage soon—can’t be too excited otherwise it’ll be difficult.”
“What!” Richard blurts out with a laugh, looking quite shocked, “A cage?”
“A chastity cage,” Till speaks up then, earning a glance from both men. “Put it on now, before we really get started.”
Schneider seems to agree. He releases Paul’s wrists, detaching from him to retrieve the cage. Paul flicks his eyes up to Richard’s face, risking a glance, and Richard notices. He smiles with a sliver of teeth and reaches out to gently pinch Paul’s cheek. Paul makes a face at him, squinting. Richard laughs. Schneider returns, cage in hand. Paul schools his face, and Richard steps away.
“Woah, look at that thing!” Richard exclaims, laughing, spotting the intimidating, stainless steel cage in Schneider’s grip. Schneider grins, amused. Paul folds his hands behind his back, waiting. Schneider kneels. The other three seem to be absolutely speechless, witnessing Schneider get the padlock off the cage, separating the ring from the cage itself. He hands the cage to Paul, and Paul dutifully holds it. Thick, stainless steel ring in hand, Schneider reaches in. Handling Paul’s genitals carefully, he begins gingerly working his balls and slightly stiffened shaft through the ring. It’s a little uncomfortable, but Schneider knows what he’s doing.
Cheeks hot, Paul keeps his gaze down, silently watching as the other man delicately handled him. He successfully adjusts the ring around his genitals until they’re kept snug within it. The presence of his bandmates, witnessing this, somehow only contributes to his excitement, even if that suffocating humiliation continues to overcome him—it becomes apparent in the way his cock stiffens further, expanding and flushing right in front of Schneider’s face. Schneider chuckles. He peeks up at Paul while gently holding and squeezing his balls.
“Come, now, you pathetic thing. Stop that.”
Paul is absolutely red-faced, ears burning as well—Schneider is very good at making him feel small and embarrassed. He nods a little, pouting.
“Sorry, sir,” he whispers, eyes narrowed in shame. He can’t even begin to imagine what the others are thinking, and he’d rather not, regardless. Schneider smiles up at him and brings his other hand up to push his cock down and out of the way. He knows if he doesn’t soften, Schneider will just enforce that he go soft. So, he looks up at the ceiling, exhaling deeply, and thinks of an empty room with white walls. Man, those walls are so damn white, it’s blinding. Nothing’s going on inside this room, either. Just endless emptiness. No erections to be found. Squeezing his eyes shut, Paul forcefully focuses on this, if only to will away his developing hard-on.
It seems to work well enough. Schneider quickly takes the cage from Paul’s waiting hand and carefully works it over his cock, which he then attaches to the ring around his genitals with the padlock, effectively snapping it in place. Then he cups his fingers under Paul’s balls, weighed down with the stainless steel cage currently entrapping his softened cock, and leans out of the way to show the others. He grins and shakes him a bit—Paul’s thighs clench and he huffs audibly. Till chuckles lowly, and Richard is speechlessly staring. Casting a shy, weary glance towards their youngest member, Paul notices Olli seems quite absorbed, watching without much change in his demeanor. The only thing that remains is the tiniest, amused smile on his youthful face.
“Wait, so he’s not going to be getting off?” Richard asks, suddenly connecting the dots, looking at Schneider with shock. Schneider squeezes Paul’s smooth balls and then releases him as he stands again.
“Not through his dick,” Schneider answers, reaching out to stroke a hand up and down over Paul’s back, giving his quiet sub a faint smile. Paul peeks at him, noticing his smile, but then promptly lowers his gaze, head ducking respectfully. Schneider meets Richard’s appalled stare and explains further, saying, “He can still have orgasms. He can come five times, while we may only get off once. And he surely will. He enjoys being fucked anally.”
This statement has Richard’s head recoiling with a look of surprise on his face. Till snorts with apparent amusement. Paul bows his head further, horrifically humiliated that he just said that—But also unable to deny it. It’s true. Schneider only makes it worse by grabbing Paul by the neck, leaning in and asking lowly, “Isn’t that right, Paul?”
Paul couldn’t even begin to find his voice. His mortification renders him mute. He nods shakily. Schneider, naturally, doesn’t let that slide. He tightens his fingers around the back of his neck so harshly, it hurts. Paul flinches. Schneider leans in close to Paul and hisses into his ear.
“Use. Your. Words.”
He says this so icily, Paul curls his shoulders in fear, heart leaping. He takes in a shuddering breath.
“I-I’m sorry, sir. Yes, sir, I do.”
“You do… what?”
Paul is boiling with embarrassment. He can’t talk. It takes a moment. He takes in two harsh breaths, hands in fists by his sides. Schneider is giving him so much leeway right now. At this point, typically, he would be pinning him to the bed and spanking him for not answering him right away. Paul is thankful he’s being patient. It takes him some time to gather the courage, but he manages it.
“I do like getting f-fucked in the ass, sir,” he whispers, voice tight and ashamed. Schneider releases his neck. Paul relaxes, shoulders dropping and head lifting slightly again, heart racing and stomach absolutely in knots. Schneider pets his hair and directs a simple, pleased smile towards the others.
“See? He may not be able to get hard, but he’ll still enjoy it.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Olli speaks up then, a dry comment that has Till bursting out a deep laugh, and Richard looking over towards the youngest with a grin. Paul presses his lips together, hands clutched in front of himself, anxiously twisting his fingers. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s blocking the view of his naked body until Schneider gently grabs him by the wrist and pulls lightly—Paul freezes, becoming aware of his unintentional mistake, and instead folds his hands behind his back. The others haven’t noticed; Richard is laughing and saying, “Is that what you’re bringing to the table tonight, Olli? A few clever quips and that’s all?”
“Maybe. But based on the pace of which this is moving, I’ll fall asleep before getting the chance to do anything else.”
“I think that’s a subtle suggestion towards you, Mr. Dom,” Till murmurs with a grin, watching Schneider from across the room. Schneider places his broad hand in the center of Paul’s back and nods. He strokes him there lightly, which has Paul closing his eyes and basking in it.
“You’re right. Let’s move onto the next step.”
The hand then slides from his back, and Schneider is stepping away. Paul keeps his hands behind his back, head turned slightly down, hiding his red face as much as he can. Meanwhile, Schneider retrieves the ball gag, and the blindfold. He steps up behind Paul. Paul lifts his head without being instructed, opening his eyes to glance between Richard and Till. They’re watching silently. Paul gives them a meek little smile, cheeks hot. And then Schneider is clicking his tongue and tapping Paul on the shoulder. Paul opens his mouth. His eyes become ashamed as Schneider brings the ball gag around to fit it into his mouth, and then fastens the straps behind his head. It’s a smaller ball gag, simply because Paul always thought the bigger ones looked ridiculous. He closes his teeth and lips comfortably around it. His face is on fire. His cock pulsates in the cage. Aching to get hard. A roaring of blood, with nowhere to go.
“Good boy,” Schneider murmurs. Till releases a low hum of assent. Paul’s first noise of the night slips: he whimpers, knocked out of him with the relief of being given that phrase, and the shock of hearing Till’s obvious agreement. Richard is apparently rendered speechless, and Till is definitely enjoying this.
“Aw, that was sweet,” he murmurs deeply with a chuckle, “Been waiting to hear that since this started.”
The grin in Schneider’s voice can be head when he replies, saying, “Oh, absolutely. It’s just a matter of time before he stops trying to be the tough guy like he is now.”
Paul cracks his eyes open and looks at Richard for help, swallowed by his embarrassment, his face burning. Richard is staring at him, an amazed grin on his face, eyebrows raised. Paul squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t look at them anymore.
“I think he’s getting overwhelmed,” Olli murmurs from his perch, observing, “Don’t make the poor man cry.”
Low laughter births in the room. Paul’s heart is pounding. He never thought it was possible to be this horrifically humiliated, and yet somehow get off on it simultaneously. His belly is pulsating with heat, pooling like lava inside of him. A whine sits perched in his throat. He twists his hands behind his back, nails digging into his palms. He growls around the gag, without quite meaning to. Thankfully, instead of becoming angry, Schneider laughs.
“Alright, alright. I’m putting on the blindfold now,” he says, a gentle warning. Paul nods shakily. Schneider does as he promised: he carefully brings the blindfold around his eyes, fixing it on his face, and then tightens it in the back. He leans past Paul’s shoulder to scrutinize as he adjusts it over his eyes, correcting its placement until it’s sitting comfortably on his nose. It’s a blindfold that almost never slips off or out of place in the middle of sex; that’s why they like it. Too many times their past blindfolds were pushed out of place, granting Paul the one thing it should be revoking.
Paul is blanketed in darkness. Now, all he can do is feel, and listen. It gives him comfort, actually. It strips away the weight of vision. He doesn’t have to make eye contact, or avoid eye contact, or see their faces, or their grins, or their pleased gazes. It’s freeing. He releases a deep exhale. Schneider strokes at the back of his neck lovingly, knowingly, and scratches lightly at the buzzed hair there, fingers slipping up into his closely cropped hair. Paul shudders, and releases a pleased rumble in his throat.
“Who would like to go first?” Schneider asks simply. The question is a lot more bearable to Paul now that he’s submerged deeper into the pit of submissiveness, of giving himself up completely. His face is aflame and his heart is still beating quickly, but now he thrives on it. The shame is bittersweet. The degradation thrilling. Paul’s body aches with arousal, coursing through him. His groin is tight with this need to become erect. It’s uncomfortable—his cock straining against the bars of the cage. But he is used to it. He just stands there silently, hands behind his back. The pause becomes too lengthy. No one steps forward. Schneider hums.
“Shall we pull straws?” he jokes. Paul hears Till speak, his voice lovely and deep. It has him shuddering.
“You break him in. Show us how it’s done, how you handle him, so we can follow your example.”
Rubbing at Paul’s back almost absentmindedly, Schneider says with realization in his tone, “Oh, you’re right. Best to do it that way.”
Paul is buzzing with excitement, looking forward to what will come. At this point, the concern of maintaining appearance is absent. While shame and humiliation always lingers, he’s no longer scared, or uncomfortable. All he wants is to get fucked. Schneider gives a departing stroke of his fingers down the length of Paul’s spine. Then he curls those same fingers around his bicep. Softly, he murmurs to him, “Get into position.”
Stomach tingling with excitement, Paul nods dutifully. Schneider guides him by that hold on his bicep, leading him to the bed for him to shakily climb on. The covers are plush and thick under him. The rougher sensation of towels stroke against his hands and knees as he crawls over to the head of the bed. He lowers his shoulders and cheek to the pillows, arms tucked close to himself, keeping himself raised on his knees. His face is on fire, his chest tight with embarrassment. The fact he’s displaying himself as such, with nothing to hide—he’s so ashamed. And he completely forgot he still had the plug in.
“Oh my God, has that thing been in this entire time?” Richard bursts out with a short laugh. Paul hides his face in the pillows, humiliated. Schneider’s hand finds his backside, and squeezes one cheek while saying with a smile in his voice, “He’s gone longer periods of time with it in, Richard.”
“What—oh my God, you weren’t kidding!” Richard chuckles, “He does like it!”
“We wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the case,” Till murmurs, chiming in if only to point out Richard’s obtuseness. Schneider grips the rectangular handle of the plug, nestled comfortably between his asscheeks. Paul turns his face out of the pillow to focus on breathing. Just as Schneider begins slowly pulling it out, Paul bears down, pushing, with a deep exhale. It slides out with a wet sound and a soft noise from Paul. He hides his face in his arm. Till whistles lowly. Richard seems speechless, indicated by his silence. The sound of Schneider putting it aside on the dresser, and then retrieving a bottle of lube.
Paul feels himself left wide and open. He wants to turn away, to drop onto his side and hide it, but he can’t do anything now that he’s waiting for Schneider. Bashfulness overcomes him. He just focuses on the ball gag on his mouth, teething at it nervously, brow knit from behind the blindfold.
“Can I…?” Richard begins, regaining Paul’s attention. Schneider seems to have returned to the bed; his voice is closer.
“Don’t have to ask. He’s here for us to share.”
Paul steels himself—so Richard wants to touch, then. And touch he does: two hands stroke down his back, fingers outstretched, soaking in the contact, appreciatively. Paul shudders. Slow and steady they move. Gentle, soft along his sides. It feels nice. Paul enjoys it, not only because it’s a tender touch, but because it’s Richard. He murmurs quietly around the gag, a noise of approval. Richard giggles nervously from behind him. Then that touch descends, and descends, until he’s groping two firm handfuls of his ass, erupting a flustered blush across Paul’s face, even up to his ears.
“He’s so cute,” Richard laughs, “And his ass is perfect.”
“Absolutely,” Schneider agrees with a blatant grin in his voice. Finally—they agree on something. If he weren’t so incredibly flattered and embarrassed in this precise moment, Paul would’ve found it amusing. Richard squeezes his ass hard once more, and then those hands continue their journey. Descending over his lean thighs, worshiping his freckled skin, stroking across the fair hair found here. Paul remains silent, basking in it.
It seems Richard learned not to ask: Paul jumps slightly when careful fingers close around his hanging junk. Richard’s fingers are confident, but gentle, as he fondles his smooth balls and even tickles along the flesh of his cock through the bars of the cage. Richard breathes a laugh and then speaks lowly, continuing to hold his sensitive bits in a big, warm hand.
“Damn. This is really—I don’t know. Crazy. I can’t believe Paul wears this kind of shit. That you put it on him. I mean, this is a cage on his dick. A cage.”
Paul does truly enjoy being objectified like this, with Richard casually inspecting him, but he’s stunned by how much shame this is giving him simultaneously. He’s frozen, speechless. Schneider chuckles.
“We don’t see it that way anymore. He’s played many shows with a cage on.”
“With this thing on?!” Richard exclaims, removing his hand. Paul relaxes slightly.
“Impressive,” Olli’s soft voice pipes up then, though he soon falls silent again. Paul just listens, simply waiting for them to move on already. He hears the clatter of something being lifted from the dresser while Schneider continues.
“No, not metal cages. Typically smaller, more compact ones. With silicone or resin. He has this really cute pink one,” he adds, laughing, “It looks adorable on him. It embarrasses him pretty badly.”
“I have to see that,” Richard bursts out with a laugh. Paul can barely listen to this. Till speaks up, chiming in, “I’d enjoy seeing that as well.”
“Next time, then,” Schneider muses. Paul is jolted out of his sizzling state of humiliation when he hears Schneider adjusting the bed restraints either side of him. And then his wrists are gently grabbed. Paul lifts his head, attentively extending his arms, propped up low on his elbows. Schneider’s fingers around his wrists are comforting. Paul wants to whine at him (stop teasing me in front of the others!), but withholds the urge. It would only prove to be embarrassing. Schneider promptly fastens his wrists to the headboard with cuffs. Paul tests them; they’re very tight, he can barely pull his arms to himself. Not that he’d feel the urge to move. He goes limp against the pillows again, relaxing. The bed dips by his right leg. He anticipates it when a gentle hand touches his ankle, and then the ankle cuff follows. Soon, all his limbs are tied down, and he merely lays there, still partially raised on his knees, shoulders to the bed.
“Beautiful,” Till murmurs. Paul blushes, deeply.
The pop of a cap—Paul’s heart lurches. Heightened arousal and excitement builds and builds. He’s already puffing through his nose, restlessly waiting. And then wet fingers begin wiping down over his hole. He sucks in a breath. A pause, and then another stroke of those wet fingers—a thick application of lube. Paul feels it, cool and wet on his hot skin between his asscheeks. Schneider closes the bottle again. Paul feels the bed dip by his side. He hears Schneider murmur lowly to him.
“Are you ready?” he asks. Paul never hears that one anymore. A special occasion warrants it, he supposes. He nods eagerly into the pillow. Schneider pets at his hair, humming with fondness.
The bed shifts, and Paul waits. He hears the undoing of a belt, followed by a zipper and the sound of pants meeting the floor. He seems shameless in shedding the rest; a shift of cloth, and then his shirt joins the rest.
“For the sake of not obscuring anything,” Schneider says, “I ask that you, at least, take off your pants when you fuck him. I want everyone to see.”
He doesn’t wait for affirmation from the others. He just climbs onto the bed behind Paul, indicated by the mattress dipping and the broad hand cupping around his hip. Schneider shifts up close behind him, until his legs are pressed against his, and his cock is perched in the crevice of his asscheeks. Paul is panting now, exhales harsh and shaky from his nose, his hands clutching at the covers, belly sucked in and burning with smoldering arousal. Paul is totally absorbed with the feeling of Schneider’s hot cock against him. Gripping his shaft, Schneider rubs the head up and down between his asscheeks. Paul’s legs clench. An intense shot of arousal burst in his belly.
He lets the length of his cock slide over him, back and forth. A slow, torturous glide over his slickened hole until Paul growls and kicks his leg. Till’s laugh startles him—he definitely moved closer. He’s to their immediate right, probably leaning against the wall beside the bed.
“Really not having it today,” he murmurs, amused. Schneider chuckles.
“Impatient brat as always,” he says almost fondly, continuing to tease him—he’s now circling the head against his hole, the knuckles of his fist pressing into his asscheek. Paul shudders, burning for it, wanting it. Schneider goes on.
“You just want it all immediately, don’t you? Next time you throw a fit like that, you’ll regret it. You need to be still, and patient. This is for my enjoyment. Not yours. I thought I taught you better than this.”
Paul curls his shoulders, turning his head to press his face into the covers, embarrassed. Schneider’s right. He’ll be better. He’ll be a good boy.
He doesn’t complain anymore. He just lays there, partially kneeling, while Schneider continues rubbing against him—the slick sounds are far from quiet in the silence of the room. Paul waits, letting him do as he wished, until Schneider murmured a low good boy and then began to sink in. Paul lifts his head, but holds his tongue. The sound teeters there, built up in his throat and ready to expel in a groan of surprise and pleasure alike. But his shame is too great. He stubbornly remains quiet as Schneider pushes in, slow and steady, until his pelvis is flush to his ass, and his hands are clutching at his hips, pulling him back into it. Paul had breathed consciously through it all, bearing down on him to make the insertion much easier. It doesn’t hurt. It just feels good. The thick, hot length of Schneider inside of him, pressing into places that have no right to feel so amazing.
“Oh, it’s going to be like that, huh?” Schneider chuckles. Dread blooms in Paul’s gut. Schneider can read him too easily. Remaining quiet, his face burns with arousal and worsened humiliation. A pause, and then Schneider adds, obviously directed to the room, “He’s playing the tough guy. He’ll be moaning like a whore soon enough.”
The soft huff of a laugh from Richard—who also lingered close by, it seems—reaches Paul’s ears. He clutches tightly at the covers. He still can’t quite believe that this is happening. The other three are watching him get fucked by Schneider, tied up and left to his mercy. He can’t do anything. He truly is Schneider’s bitch, isn’t he? What are they thinking, really, witnessing this? Surely, they’re just as appalled as him?
But as this thought passes, he can’t help but wonder: where is Flake?
Schneider begins thrusting before this somber thought pulls him further out of this headspace. Knowing Paul’s limits well, he doesn’t hesitate. His hips smack against Paul with enough force it has his balls hitting against him, his thighs meeting Paul’s fully. Paul can’t repress it this time: he releases a tight groan he fails to withhold. It comes out muffled around the ball gag, a burst of sound. The tell-tale sound of Schneider fucking him is far from quiet—it fills the room unashamedly, an audible display of how he’s currently being taken, claimed, and used solely for Schneider’s pleasure. The connection of their lower halves, his own noisy huffing, the wet sound of Schneider’s cock moving back and forth over his lubed skin.
Paul really tries to hold back his noises. It’s difficult—caught in his throat, fighting to come out. Small, tight grunts easily stifled by the gag, Paul struggles. He would rather not act like such a whore right out of the gate, but he dimly thinks it’s a bit late for that. But he doesn’t want to descend further, to show them how much of a slut he really is. It doesn’t matter either way.
Schneider stops, pulls out half-way, and spanks him hard, soundly, over his asscheek. The loud crack fills the room, followed by Paul’s pained gasp. Lurching forward, Paul is taken off guard by it. Pain ripples through his backside, a searing burn. Ow—he really put force in that one. It only means he really is angry with him. Paul knows better. He know he disobeyed him, by pretending to be something he isn’t. He shrivels, curling into the pillows shamefully.
“Listen to me, Paul,” Schneider growls, grabbing a painfully hard handful of that same asscheek, earning a flinch, “It’s pointless hiding your nature. It’s going to emerge either way. You can’t stop it. Trying to hide it only shows defiance. You are not allowed to defy me. Do you understand?”
Ashamed, Paul nods slightly into the pillow, hiding his face. Schneider gives a final warning; another harsh spank, smacking the full width of his hand upon him, fingers outstretched to deliver as much pain as possible on a wider margin. Paul whines, and feels himself begin to absolutely fall apart—he crumples forward into the pillows, going limp as the humiliation utterly consumes him.
Schneider readjusts his posture behind him and then grabs onto his hips, nails digging in, and begins to pump his hips against him. Slow at first, though soon to increase in pace and in force, until the bed is jostling. Schneider’s pelvis is striking against him so intensely, it jerks Paul’s entire body, the restraints around his ankles pulling at him. The crack of their skin is embarrassingly loud. Schneider is right—he can’t do it anymore. His thrusts are too powerful, too deep inside of him. And it feels fucking good. The way his body sings praises, rewarding him, thinking that he’s only enacting a normal human function, but instead, he’s getting fucked hard. It’s too much. Paul sobs around the gag and starts to groan openly, hands unfurling, clawing at the covers.
“Good boy,” Schneider laughs, breathlessly now, “You love it. I know you do.”
Paul braces himself against his elbows, and starts shoving back into it. Schneider’s hips clash against his ass with such powerful force, his balls hit against him with every thrust, and Paul’s caged junk swings forcefully along with it. It hurts just enough to be perfect. Paul moans deeply in pleasure, head craned up and eyes rolling back from under the blindfold. Fuck—Schneider knows him too damn well, knows what he needs too flawlessly. And his cock is just the right length, the right girth to make it so damn good without being excessive. And Schneider knows that, as well. He isn’t afraid to readjust his big hands around his hips if only to begin tugging him back into the ruthless snap of his hips—practically pounding into him without concern for his well-being.
Gutturally moaning, Paul becomes weak, and gelatinous. He sinks forward into the bed, dropping into the pillows, and merely takes it, letting Schneider plow into him hard and fast. He starts crying out around the gag, loud, muffled moans that fill the room. The cage around his cock jingles continuously, the padlock hitting against the bars. Paul doesn’t even register how noisy he’s being. He’s shaking so fucking bad, and his cock is angrily pulsing, straining painfully against the bars of the cage. Every thrust is a hard pass over his prostate due to the position—doggy style drives him goddamn crazy. He’s sobbing in pleasure by the time Schneider finally tires out. He slows substantially, until it’s now a gradual, deep back and forth. Pre-cum drips slowly, liberally from the opening slot at the tip of the chastity cage around Paul’s swelling dick, pooling atop the towels below them.
To the base every time, Schneider sinks in, until Paul is grunting harshly around the gag, his legs twitching with every deep insertion. Schneider’s hands roam upwards. Stroking up over his heaving belly, to grope firmly at his chest, only to pinch his hard, dark pink nipples between his fingers. Paul jolts, gasping. Schneider chuckles. Warm lips kiss over his back while he continues pulling and pulling at his nipples, harder and harder. Paul groans in agony. Schneider bites at the freckled skin of his shoulders, catching the flesh between his teeth while he ground firmly into him, rotating his hips against his ass. Paul lurches, whimpering loudly around the gag. Fuck, that hurts. He’s biggest around the base. Paul squirms with every forceful, deep push back into him, Schneider’s groomed pubic hair tickling his ass based on the depth of those thrusts.
“Shut up,” Schneider murmurs, “Don’t complain.”
Paul moans softly. He sniffles, and takes in a deep breath. The total denial of his feelings and well-being inexplicably worsens his arousal. He loves feeling like this. Totally objectified, like he’s nothing but a worthless toy to use and discard. Paul realizes he’s becoming delirious, sinking further and further into the depths of depravity, but he finds he just doesn’t fucking care anymore. He just wants everyone to fuck him. To have a turn and enjoy his body.
Schneider rests his lips upon Paul’s shoulder and continues this torturous, slow pace of pulling out, and slowly sinking back in all the way, until every last centimeter is inside of him, his balls pressed to his taint, evoking a grunt of pain-laced pleasure from his sub every time.
The others seemed to have been rendered silent, merely watching, hypnotized by this image of Paul getting put rightfully in his place. An energetic, demanding, bold, and sometimes cocky man reduced to a shaking, whimpery thing as he’s getting fucked. The visual of Paul laying on his belly, tied to the bed, unable to do anything but take it—completely unable to look away from this display. But they don’t remain silent for long.
“He’s—” Richard begins almost hesitantly at first, and then finishes with a weak laugh, “He’s dripping so much, Schneider.”
“Like a faucet,” Till adds lowly, amused, “Must be a perfect position for hitting his prostate.”
“It is,” Schneider breathlessly says, continuing his slow, deep thrusts, “He’s not far off. He’s clenching tight around me.”
Paul moans in agony, delirious. The others just watch as he shakes wildly, hands in trembling fists against the bed. His entire body is bursting with fireworks, his belly pulsing with amazing pleasure. Each slow pass over his prostate is insanely good. The feeling of Schneider’s cock working inside of him, a fiery back and forth, taking pleasure from him while also delivering it unto him. Sparks of ecstasy ping-ponging throughout him, a deep burn that settles at the lowest point in his belly. When Schneider fucks him slow like this, he can feel every centimeter, he can savor every sensation, and drown in it.
And then Schneider straightens up again, curls his hands around Paul’s waist, and begins thrusting once more. Hard, deep smacks of his hips against him, driving into him with the full length of his cock, letting him feel it all as it slams back into him over and over again. Curling his feet back over Schneider’s calves, trying to mindlessly pull him closer somehow, Paul desperately moans around the gag, sharp sobs of agonizing pleasure.
Those guttural moans transform into desperate whimpers. Schneider’s enthusiastic thrusts become faster and rougher, ruthlessly pounding into him now. Paul begins releasing the most desperate noises beyond himself, unable to function, unable to process how pathetic he sounds, unable to control his body as Schneider fucks him hard. Sweat pours down their skin. Schneider is breathing heavily from behind him, but it’s left unheard by the other man. Paul loses sense of everything else but the unbelievable pleasure coursing through him. Schneider is absolutely destroying him, and he can’t do anything to stop it—not that he would ever want to.
He can’t take it anymore. He’s so sensitive everywhere, especially from where Schneider is currently fucking him. Every thrust is like a red, hot fire poker in his belly, an electric tingling from the deepest core of him. He’s moaning deliriously, but he can’t even hear it anymore, can’t even begin to search for a filter.
“Look at him shaking!” Richard gasps in shock, and only then does Paul register his entire body is trembling uncontrollably, hands and legs quivering especially hard. But all concern is wiped clean—the building fire inside of him engulfs him. Feet curling tightly around Schneider’s clenching calves, thighs shaking wildly against Schneider’s, he falls apart. A broken, ragged moan bursts from his throat, though his noises die off immediately after, his throat tightened from sensation. He even holds his breath.
Paul’s entire being blanks out. An orgasm so powerful, he forgets how to function, his mind a wiped slate. A guttural groan seeps out of him as his plentiful semen drips out thickly from the cage, pooling among the mess of pre-cum already laying upon the towels. Schneider continues pumping into him throughout it, thrusting into him soundly, firmly, while Paul clenched up tight around his cock, spilling his cum. And then he slows down once Paul goes limp against the pillows, laughing softly.
“Undeniable now, isn’t it, Paul?” he teases breathlessly, continuing to rock into him in long, deep thrusts that has Paul twitching with every slide back in, “You came simply from getting fucked. And I know you will again.”
Paul hears this, and the shame does flare up weakly, but he’s so dazed, all he can do is lay there and recover. He’s panting hard into the bed, drool soaked into the pillow from the gag. Schneider, he distantly realizes after coming back to himself, is breathing harshly as well. The tiniest grunts in his throat, a telling indication. His body is shaking against him, his hands gripping tightly around his waist. The way Schneider thrusts into him a few more times, jarring and spasmodic, has Paul finally realizing. He’s coming already?
He must have been plenty aroused as well, long before taking him. Having their bandmates watch them fuck, after displaying Paul in such a manner—undressing him, putting on the chastity cage, gagging him, blindfolding him—like he were a piece of meat. He came much faster than he typically does. Paul can barely even fathom how pleased it makes him that he made Schneider finish so quickly. Schneider buries into him deeply, earning a low groan from the bound man, and basks in the feeling for a moment longer before sliding out.
Paul feels big hands on his ass, groping him there, before spreading him open. Still out of it, Paul barely feels the humiliation when it comes. He’s sure he’s left plenty gaping from the combination of his plug, and the way Schneider just fucked his brains out. He lets Schneider play with him, though he’s far from able to do much else, regardless. He only lurches when Schneider spanks him again, a hard whip of his hand against the same asscheek he spanked before. He gropes his ass firmly, and then laughs.
“Look at all that cum on the towel. Jesus, Paul.”
Okay, that one stung. Embarrassment finally flares up again now that his brain is back in functioning order.
“Did he… Can you really come like that, even with the cage on?” Till asks, this time displaying his lack of knowledge in this arena. Paul listens to Schneider’s harsh breathing, and the way he takes in a shuddering breath before speaking.
“Yeah. You said it earlier, Till. The position stimulates the hell out of his prostate. That’s why it was chosen for this occasion.”
Paul feels the bed shift; Schneider is rising. He paces across the room to grab one of the water bottles. He cracks it open, and takes a long drink from it. Paul tenses up, surprised, when he feels another hand that does not belong to Schneider rest on his lower back. It strokes up along the slope of his spine, across the tracks of sweat found there. Paul shudders. Schneider wipes his face off on one of the folded towels and speaks again, further elaborating, “I’d be surprised if you didn’t know this, but guys can come two ways. Through their ass, and through their dick. You don’t even have to be erect to get off. So, Paul did come, but not through his dick.”
“Wow,” Richard speaks up, seemingly amazed, “I didn’t know that! What the hell… So, you mean… He could come again, right now, if you took the cage off?”
So, that hand belongs to Richard then, based on the proximity of his voice. He begins petting lightly at Paul’s sweat-dampened hair, and it feels quite nice. Paul relaxes into the covers, his brain tingling with enjoyment. He rests his belly down for just a moment, but then immediately raises his hips again—would rather not have a mess of his jizz clinging to his stomach. Gross. A grin is in Schneider’s voice when he speaks.
“Yes. Don’t even have to take the cage off, really. I’ve made him come with it on before. It just hurts to do so.”
“Interesting,” Till supplies with genuine intrigue in his tone. Meanwhile, Olli has noticeably not said anything—dazedly, Paul supposes he’s just fine with watching and not providing input now that they’ve progressed into the actual act of sex. The hand on his hair slides back down. Further and further it goes, until curious fingers go where they haven’t before: Richard touches between his asscheeks, and then tests his fucked hole with a fingertip. Paul makes a flustered noise around the gag, tensing up. Richard laughs lowly with disbelief.
“Schneider… Look at him. Look at his poor ass! I can’t believe you just did that to him. To Paul.”
“You can do that to him,” Schneider answers calmly. Paul hears him promptly drink more water with a crunch of the water bottle. He’s entirely focused on the fingers lightly touching over his hole. Feeling the slickness of lube, the heat and texture of him, only to then, cautiously, sink inside. Paul gasps softly around the gag, sliding his knees further apart. Two of Richard’s fingers inside of him, sunken in to the last knuckle—he can’t believe it. Paul is shaking again, he’s so extremely flustered and turned on, an unbelievable mixture born from the fact one of his best friends, the same idiot who he often clashes with on and off stage, is fingering his ass.
“He’s so… Hot inside,” Richard murmurs with awe, almost cautiously sliding his fingers back and forth inside of him—undoubtedly getting them a bit messy with what’s been left behind. Paul moans quietly around the gag, a muffled hum. He begins shyly pushing back into it—he hears the way Richard sucks in a surprised breath. Till speaks up.
“Just go on and fuck him already. You’ve been eating him up this entire time. Stop stalling, Richard.”
“You’re right,” Richard remarks, “I’d rather do it before you, because you’d destroy this nice ass before I did anything to it.”
“Yes. I would. Now, go on. The longer you wait, the longer I wait.”
“Paul prefers without a condom when it comes to us,” Schneider speaks up then, which reveals he had returned to the bed, indicated by the proximity of his voice, “But it’s your choice. If it concerns you, Paul doesn’t go without one with anyone else. Just me.”
Richard removes his fingers. There is no reply for Schneider. Only silence, filled by the sound of Richard undressing. Paul waits impatiently, clutching at the covers, nervously fidgeting his fingers. Then the bed dips behind him. Richard’s legs rest snugly against his own. Paul whimpers.
“More lube?” Richard asks quietly from behind him. Paul pushes his hips back; Richard’s cock pokes him soundly against the ass. Richard’s hands naturally find his hips, curling around them and holding him. Paul moans.
“Not necessary,” Schneider says, “The lube I used and my own cum should be enough.”
Paul wiggles his ass back against Richard’s pelvis. His pubic hair tickles him, his cock sliding against his asscheek. Richard laughs.
“He’s so impatient!” he giggles. Paul burns hotly in the face, though the slap of humiliation isn’t as bitter as it once was. It only makes his belly tighten with arousal. A hard, broad spank to his ass shocks him, and has him grunting sharply. Richard gropes him there, and then spanks him again. Paul lurches forward, clenching his asscheeks, and whines. Schneider chuckles. Paul feels him take a seat beside them; the bed dips. A big, warm hand strokes over his shoulder blade, up to caress his hair. Paul shudders. God—Schneider sitting right there, watching this happen. Paul feels comforted by this, but also amazingly turned on.
“Nice and pink now, isn’t he?” Till laughs. With a final, firm strike to Paul’s ass, earning another flinch, Richard chuckles. He spreads him open. Paul gasps when he spits thickly onto him. Schneider continues petting at his hair.
“I’m right here, Paul,” he murmurs, just as Richard grips his cock and teases his fucked hole with the head. It sends a tingle up Paul’s spine. Paul focuses on Schneider’s voice, though the sensation is unbelievable, especially when he knows it’s Richard.
“Richard is going to fuck you,” Schneider continues, petting him, “If you ever want out, you know the signal.”
Schneider takes his clenched hand, gently unfurling his tightened fingers. Paul whimpers. He squeezes Schneider’s hand. Schneider returns it. This makes Paul feel cared for. That Schneider is here for him, despite appearances. It reassures him.
Then, finally, Richard pushes in, smooth and careful. Paul lifts his cheek from the bed, moaning. Fuck—he’s so sensitive! Schneider left him overworked and used. He twitches forward reflexively, attempting to move out of it. Richard’s hands immediately pull him back, gentle but firm, insistent.
“Oh, God,” Richard laughs, “He’s so hot and wet inside. Schneider—what the fuck. I’m inside of Paul right now. I still can’t believe you arranged this.”
Schneider is sweeping his thumb back and forth over the back of Paul’s hand. He just chuckles, and doesn’t say anything. Paul focuses on the touch.
Slowly, Richard begins to rock his hips. The wet noises are ungodly—it sounds like Paul had just been filled with another man’s cum. Paul moans weakly. Richard shifts slightly forward, until their thighs are aligned and his pelvis is pushed snugly against Paul’s ass. He resumes thrusting, slow at first, carefully pumping his shaft into him again and again. Paul feels Schneider’s cum rush out of him, thickly dripping down his balls to join the mess on the bed. Richard exclaims, a noise of shock, and laughs.
“I can feel you dripping out of him!” he announces with a grimace, soon to make another sound of disgust. He continues thrusting throughout it, though in an infuriatingly slow pace that sends uncomfortable tingles up and down Paul’s body. It’s frustrating, and Paul is becoming impatient. Till speaks lowly.
“And I can see it. We should pay the maid handsomely—those sheets will not be salvaged.”
Paul’s face and ears burn with his shame. And it only worsens as these humiliating sounds continue—Richard pumping his cock into him, sliding over wet skin, coupled with the slickness of lube and Schneider’s semen. It is hot, but when it’s the other three hearing this, Paul feels particularly whorish and debauched.
Soon, Richard readjusts his hands around his waist, and finally begins thrusting into him harder and deeper, until his hips are clapping against him and he’s groaning aloud. He’s already noisier than Schneider. And it’s really sexy. Paul moans with him, clutching white-knuckled at Schneider’s hand, using the other as leverage to shove back into it. It makes their fucking that much more intense, until Richard is slamming into him without concern, discovering that Paul can take it without evidence of pain. The lock on the chastity cage clinks noisily against the metal bars with every jostle of their bodies.
Crying out, muffled around the gag, Paul squirms throughout it, wanting to contribute but pulling away as much as he can due to his overworked nerves. His ass pulsates, sore and sensitive, begging for reprieve that doesn’t come. Richard keeps pulling him back into it, not letting him wiggle away—not that he could go far, considering the restraints. Schneider seems to notice his uncomfortable squirming.
“Stop trying to pull away,” Schneider murmurs, clutching a gentle fistful of his hair, “Stay still.”
Paul sobs, but obeys. He pushes back against Richard.
“Sh-should I slow down?” Richard asks a bit breathlessly, though he is already doing so regardless. He reduces his hungry thrusting to a careful, slow rock of his hips, running his hands up and down over Paul’s clenched belly and chest, concerned. That feels really good. Paul moans weakly. His body is at a constant hum of overstimulation, his ass tingling with an extremely uncomfortable degree of sensitivity. Schneider huffs a laugh.
“No. He’s just overworked. It’s simply a hill to cross over. If you pound it out of him, he’ll end up coming again. You honestly don’t have to worry about his well-being at all. If it really became unbearable to him, he’d let me know. Go on; fuck him harder. He’ll enjoy it. His discomfort is mostly a show.”
Embarrassment seems to be a constant presence for Paul. He curls up in shame, ducking his head into the pillows. Schneider pets at his hair placatingly. Richard huffs.
“Alright. I guess you’d know more than me.”
“Just a bit.”
Again, Richard resumes thrusting. The feeling of his pelvis smacking against him, his balls meeting his taint, those soft hands clutching at his waist, pulling him back into it—Paul tries to focus on that, rather than the overstimulation. But it’s just too much. His cock, while not as big as Schneider’s, passes over his prostate easily, working in and out of him, stroking across abused nerves again and again. Paul is moaning in agony, squirming his legs shakily against Richard’s, tugging at the restraints connected to his ankles. Richard is huffing nosily behind him. His thrusting becomes faster and harder, snapping into him now, as he’s blatantly losing control. Paul claws at the covers with his free hand, the other clutching tightly at Schneider’s.
“Fuck,” Richard laughs—he stops suddenly, pulling out entirely. Schneider chuckles. Paul pauses, breathing hard, unsure if he came or not. The sound of Richard stroking at himself fills the room, as he pants and says breathlessly, “Paul, stop trying to make me look bad.”
Till laughs lowly. Paul almost laughs as well. Finding the bratty side of himself again, Paul wiggles his ass teasingly. That just makes Richard scoff with a sharp laugh and then, in retaliation, Paul earns himself a hard smack to his ass. He flinches forward, grunting. That stung! As always, Paul has to one-up Richard. He shoves his hips back against him in attempt to push him off the bed, feeling challenged and daring. Richard laughs aloud while Schneider snaps, “Hey! Stop that shit right now!”
A hand grabbing around his caged cock and pulling, albeit without much force, has Paul grunting loudly in shock, and a little bit in pain. He whimpers, scared. Schneider squeezes his balls, a warning. Richard and Till have gone silent, merely observing as Schneider handles his most fragile parts, snarling lowly into his ear, “You know better than that, you useless whore. Don’t act cute just because they’re watching.”
Silence hangs thickly in the room. Paul whimpers, feeling very small and ashamed. Devastatingly humiliated that he called him such a thing in front of the others. Schneider releases him and addresses Richard, saying sternly, “Go on. Next time he pulls something like that, you need to spank him. Show him who’s in control.”
“Wow, Paul’s got it tough,” Till chuckles, “No slack allowed whatsoever.”
“No,” Schneider agrees, amusement in his tone. A moment of hesitation, and then Paul feels Richard rub the slick head of his cock up and down between his asscheeks. It has him moaning quietly. Then Richard pushes back in. His hands find his belly again, cupping around it gently, embracing him as he began thrusting into him once more. Paul is silent for a minute, made mute by his frustration in disappointing Schneider, by the fear of facing repercussions later for acting out, but the sensations easily redirect his attention. He begins moaning again, while Richard thrusts deeply, slowly into him. Richard’s soft lips are kissing over his back now. Paul is pleasantly surprised when Schneider’s touch strokes up and down lovingly over his forearm, before taking his hand again. Paul weakly squeezes; Schneider returns it.
“G… Good boy,” Richard murmurs quietly into his skin, kissing him again. Paul groans in reply, extremely appreciative and embarrassed alike to hear Richard call him that. Richard rises from him, no longer leaning over his body. Instead, he grasps his hips again and begins thrusting harder, faster. The wet noises begin again, undeniable and quite filthy. His thighs and pelvis smacking against Paul’s, the crack of skin amplified as he winds up and up, until he’s fucking him hard and Paul is moaning continuously around the gag, pushing back into it. The overstimulation has faded a bit, and now it only feels really good again.
On particularly brutal thrusts, where Richard drives into him fully seated, snapping against him, Paul flinches forward and grunts in shock, though he pushes back into it once accustomed, and lets Richard do as he pleased. At that point, Richard is shaking against him, and his thrusts become erratic and desperate. He’s huffing and moaning, gasping Paul’s name as he is overcome with his orgasm, pounding it out of himself and into Paul, who pushes back into it just as eagerly. The pace of his thrusting had edged Paul closer and closer to his own apex, but dies down exponentially when Richard buries into him entirely, stilling, and fills him with a breathless groan. For a moment, he says nothing—he continues pushing into Paul, gasping for air. Once it dies down and Richard is himself again, he takes in a breath and laughs softly.
“God,” Richard breathes as he worked his hips against him a few more times, hands gripping firmly at his sides, “I’ve—I’ve never done that before. I mean—fucked a guy. Wow. I’m… I’m glad it was with Paul.”
Paul blushes heavily. Schneider laughs.
“Well, you were lucky then. Didn’t have to deal with an inexperienced bottom who couldn’t take the brunt of it.”
Richard seems a bit dazed. Only then does he slowly, almost reluctantly pull out, hands stroking down to Paul’s ass as he says amongst his panting breaths, “But—with Paul. Holy shit! I just fucked Paul!”
“You didn’t just fuck him,” Till says, grinning, “You pounded the hell out of him, and then finished inside of him. Well done.”
“Shut up!” Richard bursts out nervously, laughing, “I’m still coming to terms with it!”
“Kindly come to terms with it elsewhere. My turn.”
That has Paul burst out a muffled giggle around the gag. Till chuckles as well, hearing his adorable laughter. Schneider pets at Paul’s hair, which calms him down again. Richard scoffs.
“Yeah, yeah, alright. Give a guy a second.”
With a departing squeeze to Paul’s ass, Richard then rises off the bed. Paul smiles weakly around the gag. Richard steps around—he surprises both Paul and Schneider by leaning over, hand planted upon the bed, to place a kiss to Paul’s head. Paul happily blushes, heart fluttering. He makes a noise and tries to raise his hand, but the restraint tugs it back with a jingle of the cuff hook. Richard chuckles. A soft, warm hand takes his. Stomach clenching with relief and joy, Paul whimpers, resting his cheek back down against the spit-soaked pillow. Richard’s thumb strokes over his skin. He squeezes his hand, and then slides his away, leaving Paul yearning for more comfort, for more loving contact from the other man. Instead, Richard leaves, undoubtedly to clean himself up and get some water.
Till and Olli go next.
Warning for rough spanking.
Paul’s hips and thighs ache from keeping himself raised for so long, but he’s not sure if Schneider would punish him for resting. At this point, he would bear the feeling of his cum clinging to his stomach. Paul’s decision is made for him: a broad hand finds the small of his back and roughly pushes him down.
“Lay down,” Till commands lowly, and Paul has no choice but to slide his knees out and lay upon the soiled towel. While it’s a nice reprieve for his sore thighs, he grimaces a bit at the cold cum against his skin. He tries to take weight off his caged cock; it pulls a bit at his balls when he lays upon it like that. He feels big hands grope at his asscheeks, and then slide down to squeeze his thighs. While Till begins admiring his new toy, Richard stands off to the side, cleaning off his cock with one of the folded towels, observing. Olli, as always, has remained silent and watchful, but nonetheless interested, sitting in his chair.
Continuing to recline by Paul’s side, Schneider watches Till touch his sub. He repeatedly strokes at his freckled thighs, and then slides back up to firmly squeeze his ass in his hands, pulling his asscheeks apart to admire. Paul murmurs around the gag, enjoying the slightly rough appreciation. Till’s hands and the way they grope at him border just on the cusp of painful.
“Don’t start quite yet,” Schneider says, earning Paul’s weak attention, and a pause from those massaging hands. Till must have given Schneider a curious look, though affirmative in nature. He continues lightly stroking his hands over Paul’s lower back and hips while Schneider rises from the bed. He gives Paul’s hand a departing squeeze. Paul listens to him cross the room, and then lift something from the dresser. Returning to the bed, Schneider sits beside him and murmurs, “Get up on an elbow, Paul.”
Paul obeys; he shakily moves to prop himself up on his elbows, wrists pulling the restraints taut. The crack of a cap being twisted off a water bottle tells him enough. He waits patiently. Schneider’s fingers touch the back of his head, unfastening the gag, and then it slips from his mouth. Paul takes in a breath, licking his wet, pinkened lips. His chin is soaked with saliva. He’s thankful when Schneider gently wipes off his face with a folded towel, but the surprising touch and texture makes him flinch slightly. He huffs a laugh, smiling weakly.
“Here,” Schneider says, lowly. As he presses the lip of the bottle to Paul’s open mouth, Paul distantly pays attention to Till’s hands continuing to massage at his back and thighs. It feels good. This moment of pampering is nice. Schneider carefully tips the water bottle up. Paul begins drinking greedily with great thirst—he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, he’d been so occupied with other, more pressing things. He drinks and drinks, breathing hard through his nose, until Schneider touches the bottom of his chin with two fingers, and then he stops. Schneider lifts it away, and screws the cap back on. Paul wants him to know he is thankful, but knows better than to speak. Instead, he opens his mouth, waiting. As expected, the gag is lifted and fit into his mouth again, soon to be refastened in the back.
“Good?” Schneider asks, mindful of any pinched skin as he adjusts it on his head. Paul nods. Schneider strokes a thumb over his cheek. Paul nuzzles into his hand. Schneider huffs a fond laugh.
“You can continue,” he says, towards Till.
“Pass me the towel,” Till replies. Schneider seems to do so—Paul feels it tickle his thigh. Till spreads him open with one hand, and then the towel is passed repeatedly between his asscheeks. Paul huffs a light, muffled laugh from the tickling sensation.
“Don’t like the mess?” Schneider asks. Till wipes Paul up a moment longer then tosses the towel onto the floor.
“Not when I plan on putting my mouth there. Other than that, it’s appreciated.”
“Oh—yes, agreed,” Schneider laughs. Paul likes the sound of that. Till is particularly good with his tongue. Paul spreads his thighs further apart, welcoming. Till chuckles.
“It seems Paul approves.”
Schneider says nothing; he holds Paul’s hand again. Paul happily makes a sound in his throat and squeezes his fingers. Schneider strokes his thumb over the back of his hand. Till takes a seat at the foot of the bed, indicated by the creak of the frame and the dip of the mattress. Till’s hands find him again. Groping firmly at his asscheeks, working them open to admire his pinkened, well-fucked hole, only to release him again. Massaging at his thighs, and then back up to his ass to squeeze again, and spread him open. Paul’s cock pulsates, throbbing in the cage. He likes this. Makes him feel worshipped and toyed with all the same.
Removing his hands from Paul’s cute ass, Till pauses. Paul waits, unsure what he intends to do next, yet still excited. The broad palm of Till’s big hand rests over one perky asscheek. Rubbing in circles, slowly. Paul hums lowly. The entire room seems hypnotized, watching this display with held breath—Till has always been good at building suspense. Leaving people guessing, only to surprise them soon after. Paul is just beginning to feel impatient when Till gives one final squeeze to his asscheek, and then lifts his hand. Without warning, he strikes it down over nearly his entire cheek, his hand wide enough to cover the majority of it. Paul lurches, and yelps around the gag. Shit—that hurt! Till can put so much power in much too easily, without even trying. His hand really is quite heavy, and big enough to deliver pain on a larger canvas.
A firm squeeze of those broad fingers, hard enough that it actually hurts and has Paul flinching, and then another clap of that hand over his asscheek—Paul’s legs and stomach clench, his hips jolting forward into the bed. Till strokes his touch over Paul’s inner thigh fleetingly, and then spanks him again. An almost casual smack of his heavy hand over the same asscheek, developing a low, intensifying burn along the skin. Paul fidgets his hands and feet, curling his toes into the covers, clutching at Schneider’s hand tightly.
Till stops messing around. Paul anticipates it now. He gives one final grope to his smarting asscheek, and then begins spanking him with more tempo, more focus. Five quick, stern spanks to the same cheek, the crack of skin piercing the room, punctuated by Paul’s grunts of pain, and then the skin really begins to burn. Paul whimpers during Till’s next pause. And then once more, those blunt fingers grip and squeeze his pulsating asscheek so hard, Paul kicks his leg and cries out weakly around the gag. Till’s next strike is twice as hard now. A firm clap of his hand over this abused asscheek, with enough force it has the pinkened flesh rippling, and Paul crying out in pain.
Such a sound seemed to be the final factor of which convinces Till. He shifts closer, hooks his free hand around Paul’s waist, stabilizing him, and then begins beating his hand down over the seat of his ass. Piercing cracks of his palm meeting Paul’s backside is continuous and loud—Paul screams. Till is rough, and merciless. He spanks him repeatedly, a hard strike of his big hand over his asscheeks, now alternating between them, watching them clench and ripple under his delivery of pain. Paul is squirming wildly by then, crying out and sobbing around the gag—he lets go of Schneider’s hand to begin pulling at the covers, a futile attempt to crawl away from this unasked for punishment.
“Stay still!” Till commands in a low growl, becoming impatient with the twisting of Paul’s hips, the shaky jerking of his legs and rolling of his back. He stops spanking him momentarily, waiting. Paul sobs. Trembling, he goes still. His cute ass is now flushing a red. Till gropes at him, fondling his smarting asscheeks with firm squeezes that has Paul flinching and whining sharply. Schneider watches with a thin smile on his face, resting one hand on Paul’s forearm. Richard and Olli are noticeably silent, witnessing this display.
Again, Till resumes spanking him. Paul’s muffled shrieking joins the cacophony of Till’s hand beating over his ass. Without reprieve, Till sweeps the full width of his large hand across each asscheek, alternating between them with every five strikes, harder and harder, making Paul flinch and buck forward into the bed, his thighs and ass clenching, back rippling with tension. Even then, Till spanks him and spanks him, until Paul is wildly fidgeting again and screaming for mercy. The squirming has him nearly missing twice, so Till, evidently, decides to fix this. He gets up, climbing over Paul’s kicking legs, and sits down on him. Paul sobs, pleading in a muffled babble, trying to reach back and cover himself, but his hands uselessly remain suspended at a fixed length, the restraints pulled tight. He screams petulantly, kicking his feet and jerking against the restraints—begging him to stop. Till sits patiently, waiting for him to calm down.
Richard provides no input, watching with concern and mild shock from where he stands beside Olli, one half-drank water bottle clutched in a hand. Olli, meanwhile, has found the carpeting quite interesting.
“Stop it,” Till murmurs, as Paul continues to wiggle around desperately, pleading in hitching sobs that reach uncaring ears. Paul, indeed, stops. He pants heavily around the gag and through his nose, going limp against the bed. Glancing up to meet Schneider’s amused gaze, Till speaks lowly.
“He would let you know if this is too much, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes,” Schneider confirms, voice low with apparent arousal, “Part of the fun is making him cry. He doesn’t hate it as much as he’s pretending. You could spank him until he’s bruised.”
Paul moans weakly, agonized. Till chuckles. Paul sniffles wetly. His nose is running obscenely, and his eyes are pricking with tears. Till’s massive hard-on is smothered against his legs, felt easily through his pants. Paul loves that he can feel it. At least that’s telling him something: Till is getting off on this. Knowing that has Paul enjoying it more. But even so—his ass is on fucking fire. A throbbing, pulsating burn. While it does contribute to a heat deeper in his core, creating this curious bubbling cauldron of arousal in his gut, it fucking hurts. Paul sniffles loudly again. He’s getting snot all over the pillow. Gross.
And then a violent, brutal spank across his smarting asscheek easily regrasps his attention. He jolts harshly against the bed, flexing his feet and grabbing at the covers. The fiery ache in his ass heightens, throbbing. He moans weakly. Till waits just a second, and then continues.
With one hand planted against Paul’s back, keeping him still, he uses the other to alternate between his asscheeks. Five focused strikes of his hand upon one, harder and harder, until Paul is screaming again and thrashing underneath his weight, pulling at the restraints, and then he switches to the other. Tears have sprung, now leaking from Paul’s clenched eyes to soak into the blindfold while he sobs around the gag. Till is merciless. As Paul begins to really try and wiggle out of it, Till just bears down on him harder, until it begins to hurt from how much he’s crushing his legs. That successfully stills him enough—he really struggles to remain laying there while Till beats his hand over the seat of his ass. He can only withstand another six or so hard strikes of his heavy hand before he’s crying out sharply and trying to reach back once more, a reflexive urge to shield himself from this punishment.
It hurts so fucking bad—he can’t take it anymore—please, please, please stop—
A chanting mantra in his head amongst his sobbing cries, while Till shows no signs of ceasing this. He moves off of his legs again, kneeling beside him quickly, wrapping his muscular arm around his back and leaning into him, keeping him pinned to the bed with his weight. The next dozen strikes are truly awful. He whips his hand against his ass with continuous force, just teetering on the line of too fucking much. Paul’s screams fill the room easily, and may as well be heard throughout the building—he isn’t aware of this. He’s aware of the tears and snot on his face, the searing, agonizing burn in his ass, the way Till is crushing him with his weight, keeping him pinned. Only after he’s reduced to a sobbing, hiccupping, disgusting mess does Till finally stop. He gropes at him again—three times, he grips his ass in his hand, squeezing so hard Paul flinches forward and cries out. Till laughs lowly. He actually laughs.
“You can scream all you want,” he murmurs, kneading at his throbbing asscheeks, “But your body is more honest than you, Paul.”
Paul is so dazed, he barely deciphers what he said. He just moans softly, pained. Paul focuses on his breathing, jagged and hoarse. He realizes, vaguely, that he’s trembling beyond his control. The greatest sensation of all is the unbelievable burn in his ass. He can only imagine what he looks like now.
And then bold, explorative fingers touch at his straining cock through the cage, pinned to the bed between his thighs. Paul lurches, whimpering. A fingertip presses to the bulging head of his cock through the bars, rubbing over the slit. Paul grunts sharply. It feels good, but the way his cock pushes against the bars, when worsened by the pleasure, hurts. Till lifts his fingertip, admiring the way his plentiful pre-cum clings to his skin, chuckling. Paul lays there silently, trembling. Another swipe of a fingertip over the slit of his cock, earning another flinch from him, and then Paul hears him lick it off his finger. Paul squirms, unbearably aroused. His cock aches.
A moment of Till shifting on the bed, once more moving in-between Paul’s legs, getting situated. Those broad hands find his ass again. Paul whimpers sharply, fearing another round of spanking. Till gropes him harshly, undoubtedly admiring the red flush that had been beaten into his skin. Paul shudders, scared. Instead of a succeeding spanking, he feels Till shift, and then the puff of air against his backside. A tongue, hot and wet, licks along a stripe of skin across his searing asscheek. Paul tenses up, gasping. Schneider huffs a soft laugh beside them.
Repeatedly, that tongue lathes across the trembling skin of his burning ass, covering the reddened flesh with a placating stroke. Paul goes limp. It does hurt slightly, but it mostly feels nice and soothing. Till’s broad hand is cupped lightly around his hip. The other is cradling his caged cock now, his thumb pressed into his smooth balls. Paul breathes heavily around the gag, melting from the lovely sensation of Till licking over his backside repeatedly. And then that tongue slips in-between his asscheeks, and begins licking over his asshole.
Paul lifts his head, a shocked moan pulled from his throat. Till grumbles lowly with pleasure as he licks and licks and licks over him, until Paul is moaning continuously, and spreading his thighs as much as his restraints will allow. Till squeezes his hand around his caged junk and keeps Paul rooted through that touch alone. His tongue is so damn big and hot—Paul is quivering already. Till lathes his tongue across his taint and up again to his hole. Working it continuously over his sensitive rim, Till can easily push it inside. Paul wasn’t tight to begin with.
Groaning, Paul clenches his toes, legs quivering. The sensation is indescribable—Till’s tongue is big and hot, thrusting in and out of him. Whimpering, Paul lays there, immobilized by so many things. The fear of being punished, the possessive grip around his sensitive parts, the pleasure of Till working him over. The need to give in, to be nothing but Till’s toy. While the sensitivity intensifies to a point of discomfort, he fights back the urge to squirm away. His hands are shaking now, fingers quivering, legs trembling on either side of Till. And still, his cock leaks pre-cum, as Till demonstrates by ducking his head down between his clenched thighs to rub the length of his tongue along the bulging head, pushing uselessly against the cage. Paul twitches, gasping sharply. Till rumbles lowly, a sound of both amusement and enjoyment.
In five more strokes of his tongue, he drinks the beads and clinging strings of his pre-cum from his trapped cock, from the bars themselves. Paul is whimpering and groaning in discomfort around the gag, twisting his hands in the covers, digging his toes into the bed, withstanding the incredible urge to twist his hips out of it. But then, Till stops.
Rising up again, he refocuses on another part of him. He brings his face in-between his asscheeks and mouths wetly over his hole, licking over it slowly, with the full width of his tongue. Paul groans. Till pushes his tongue inside of him. Paul sobs. Those big hands grip his asscheeks and pull them apart, allowing for deeper penetration with his tongue. He begins sliding it in and out of him, a wet, slick noise that fills the room alongside Paul’s low moaning.
A muffled plea erupts from him, desperate. He shakes the restraints. Till licks over his taint and pinkened, wet hole thrice more before pulling back with a low laugh.
“Impatient brat,” he muses, rising up with a creak of the bed, bringing his thick fingers in to circle them over his sensitive hole. Paul jolts from that—it sends a shot of pleasure into his belly. Till kisses slowly, tenderly up over his freckled back while rubbing his fingers against him firmly. Paul gasps, trembling wildly. Fuck—even that feels good. Till knows how to make his toes curl. His fingers are firm and big, sinking into him slowly. Paul catches his breath, tensed up and waiting, continuing to involuntarily quiver as the nerves throughout his body struggle to compensate for all this sensation he’s feeling. Till slides three fingers in and out of him deeply, leisurely. A slow back and forth that has Paul humming in pleasure. Till bites and mouths over his shoulder blades while he works his fingers inside of him.
It seems Richard and Olli have nothing left to say. Based on their silence, Paul can only guess they’re just as amazed by Till’s performance as he is. Till knows just how to play with his toys. Schneider, meanwhile, has been stroking at Paul’s hair, but even then Paul barely registers it.
Those fingers are slipped out of him. Till spreads him open again, sitting back, and spanks his fingers flatly over his hole, hard enough it has Paul lurching with a yelp. He groans around the gag, twisting his hips as much as the restraints allow—that fucking stung. A lot. His asshole throbs from the strike. Paul almost laughs, he was so shocked by that move.
Till chuckles. He gropes firmly at his ass with a hand while moving to stand from the bed. Paul hears the unbuckling of a belt and the following slide of zipper. He holds his breath. Till drops his pants to the floor, joined by his underwear. Shit—Paul is genuinely excited. He only wishes he could see Till’s cock, hard and ready for him.
“If it becomes too much,” Till murmurs to him, voice guttural and rumbling with arousal, climbing back up onto the bed, “Don’t be afraid to tell me.”
Paul realizes he’s addressing him.
“I’m going to fuck you,” Till says, those big, roughened hands clutching around his hips, pulling him back into place, “Because, as arranged, you’re nothing but our toy for the evening. But that doesn’t mean you should be hurt. I don’t like breaking my toys. Got it?”
Paul nods. Schneider huffs lightly, a soft laugh.
“You’re too kind, Till.”
“This will be the last time I state such a thing,” Till replies, shifting up closer behind Paul, letting his thick cock rest between his asscheeks, hands tight around his hips, “Next time, he won’t be given a warning.”
Paul rubs back against him; a firm circle of his hips, letting his shaft rub across his backside. Till huffs. He gropes a painfully hard handful of one of his asscheeks, earning a flinch and a soft whine. The sting in his burning backside flares up again. Till spreads him open. Paul jolts slightly, surprised when he feels a cool, wet substance poured onto his crack—the lube. Well, at least there’s that. He’s sure he could take it easily without it, though it does make it more fun—the slicker, the better. He silently appreciates the considerate gesture. Though he’s unsure if it was Schneider or Till who thought of it.
Then Till swipes the thick head of his cock down between his asscheeks, fist tight around himself, and guides himself inside, in one steady slide. Paul groans. Till curls his hands around his hips again. He carefully rocks his hip against him. He’s thicker than he is long. It doesn’t hurt, but it is a snug fit that Paul has to focus on breathing through. The thrusts become smoother, easier. Till tests the waters; he snaps against him a dozen times, balls deep every time. His heavy balls smack against him in such a lewd manner, it has Paul blushing and secretively enjoying it. Till’s careful effort in getting him accustomed to his size makes this easier—it doesn’t hurt. It just feels good, teetering on the line of too much. Regardless, Paul is moaning with every hard thrust of Till’s hips, meeting his ass with a resounding clap of skin. Paul doesn’t even realize he had risen onto his knees, if only to push back into his thrusts.
Two broad hands meet the small of his back and shove him down again. Paul flattens upon the towels with a grunt. Till shifts higher up over him, kneeing his legs apart, and braces his elbows on either side of the smaller man. His heavy body smothers him, body hair tickling his skin. Paul groans—he likes feeling this encompassing weight upon him. He’s nearly crushing him; it’s harder to breathe. It creates another layer of desperation, and further demonstrates how unimportant his comfort is. Paul grunts in strain, eyes clenched from under the blindfold, hands in fists.
This position makes for deeper penetration. Every drop of Till’s hips upon him has his cock driving far into his ass. Paul cries out, choked, with every thrust. Till is calm and controlled on top of him, hands resting lightly over Paul’s tensed forearms, fingers stroking across sweat-dampened skin while he pumped his hips. The manner of how Till fucks him truly makes Paul feel like nothing but a toy. Till rests his full lips upon Paul’s flexing shoulder, kissing in such a feather-like caress while he continuously drove the full length of his cock into him, his balls hitting against his own with such force, following every drop of his hips.
A low grunt rises out of Till, a rumble close to his ear that sends a shudder up his back. The hand which once stroked at his forearm slides inwards, if only to close around his throat. He squeezes just enough to seem possessive and degrading, without cutting off air or blood flow. He speaks lowly, a pleasant, deep murmur.
“Such a good, little slut. So pretty and small, perfect for my cock. I could keep you here for hours. I’ll fill you now, and then—”
He pauses, adding emphasis with a forceful push of his hips down against Paul’s ass, roughly burying his cock into him while grunting, earning a shocked, muffled cry from the other man. He speaks, continuing.
“Take some time to recover while Olli has his turn,” he murmurs with complete control in his voice. He resumes thrusting into him, consistent in how deep and hard he pushes down into him, evoking tight grunts from Paul with every thrust.
“Then have another go,” Till says lowly, “Even if you beg me to stop. You’d be so sore and tired. But I don’t care. I’d still fuck you, because you’re just a fucktoy who has no say, no control. What you want doesn’t matter at all.”
Paul moans genuinely, a low, shaking groan that has Till chuckling with amusement. He clenches his big hand around Paul’s throat, holding him firmly as he begins fucking him harder. Snapping his hips down against him, Till plows him into the bed, his bigger thighs smacking against Paul’s with enough force to shove him against the mattress. Paul is a running faucet of noise, whimpering sharply and groaning and sobbing in pleasure around the gag, dripping with saliva, eyes watering purely from the onslaught of pleasure, of agonizing overstimulation. His head is a fog, exacerbated by the hand squeezing around his throat. Till is huffing against the back of his head like an animal.
And then he stops. He pulls out entirely, slowly, until his cock slips out of him with a vulgar sound that turns Paul on more than it should. He sweeps the thick head up and down against his hole and taint—it evokes a sharp moan of pleasure from Paul, and a jolt of his legs. Till hums in quiet agreement. He continues teasing him with the tip of his cock, rubbing it into him, before slowly pushing back in. Paul pushes his hips back into it, meeting Till’s pelvis halfway.
Unlike Paul and Schneider anticipated, Till does not resume thrusting. He gradually, slowly slides out once more—and playfully teases some more. He slaps his cock against the wet skin between his asscheeks, and then sweeps the head back and forth over his hole. Paul whimpers, enjoying it, yet also wanting more. Till is simply playing with him.
The way he lifts himself up and angles his hips away to spank Paul soundly over the ass surprises him completely—Paul lurches, whining. That hurt so bad. His backside is a throbbing fire, still burning from the previous round of punishment it received. Till’s hand is heavy and merciless. His horniness blatantly heightens his aggression, his enjoyment in tormenting him. He begins beating his wide palm against his asscheeks, alternating between them with resounding cracks of skin that pierce the room. Screaming around the gag, a sobbing cry that makes no difference to Till, Paul is squirming wildly again. Twisting his legs as much as he is able, the noisy jingling of the restraints joining the cacophony of Till’s spanking. Five more brutal strikes of his big hand against Paul’s red ass and then Till climbs back over him. He grips his cock, sweeps it between his trembling asscheeks, and sinks back inside. Paul groans, raw and weak. Schneider reaches out to resume petting his hair, enthralled with this performance of Till truly claiming him.
Again, Till begins thrusting. He fucks him roughly now. Snapping his hips down upon him, he pounds him into the bed while Paul struggles to regather himself, hands in white-knuckled fists, body shaking uncontrollably. The sounds ripping from him emerge pained and pleasured alike. A mixture of agony. Till is brutish in how he takes Paul now, pinning him to the bed, with his full weight bearing down upon him. Relentlessly, he thrusts his hips against him. He seems to be changing the angle of which he moves against Paul, until he finally manages to find that sweet spot: Paul coils up like a spring as euphoric pleasure begins to spark in his belly. Each hard thrust passes over his prostate—again, he’s flooded with an onslaught of sensation. He feels sore and used, but the sensitivity contributes to the pleasure in a bittersweet way.
Moaning gutturally around the gag, Paul is locked up with pleasure, body trembling and still as he lays there and takes Till’s hard fucking. The passing of his thick cock through the overworked rim of his hole, only to push firmly into his prostate, crossing over it to penetrate him deeper—Paul is rendered speechless. Long webs of pre-cum trickle down from the opening in the cage, a flow of glistening substance to ultimately soak into the soiled towel, smothered to his belly and hips. His moans become tight grunts, and even those become silence. He’s shaking harshly—his hands are tremoring with incredible force, legs locked up to a point of pain. But the pain is a shadow when compared to the overwhelming destruction of his orgasm. Even as he clenches up tight around Till, while his body is wracked with the powerful earthquake of euphoria, Till pounds into him throughout it, his hips heavily, sharply smacking down against him, until another agonized groan rips from Paul’s throat.
It seems Till had been in similar state: he’s snarling now, clutching at Paul’s smaller, shaking body, snapping into him a half dozen more times before stilling. Laying upon him, Till pants. He huffs, basking in the sensation of achieving orgasm, of claiming Paul so thoroughly as he did. Continuing to smother him with his body, shaft buried into him completely, heavy balls flattened upon his taint, Till enjoys this moment. He begins to move shortly after; he withdraws halfway with a raise of his hips, and then sinks back inside. Paul’s legs jolt, trembling.
A low, breathless laugh breaks that prolonged silence.
“You’re ruthless, Till,” Richard murmurs. Till says nothing. Schneider is smirking, now resting a broad hand upon Paul’s limp wrist.
“Satisfaction is impossible to achieve with Paul,” he muses, watching Till rock his hips slowly against the smaller man, his face buried into the back of Paul’s neck, obviously sharing this intense moment with him, post-orgasm but wanting more. Schneider goes on, watching this with pleasure, “You never want to stop.”
Paul groans softly. Till is still thrusting into him, albeit now calmly and leisurely. Then, he seems to get his fill. He rises up with a creak of the bed, leaving Paul’s asscrack slick with lube and a mixture of cum. Till spanks him soundly on the ass, and is promptly rewarded with a high, sharp whine from Paul. He shifts closer on one knee to wipe his dick off on that same asscheek, leaving behind a thick streak of cum which once clung to his shaft. Schneider chuckles.
“Made good use of him,” he muses, reaching up to stroke at Paul’s short hair dampened with sweat. Rising from the bed, Till gives a departing stroke across Paul’s arm. He then trudges over to the dresser and grabs a water bottle. Paul lays there in this mess of semen, feeling it rush out of him to join his own on the soiled towel. Paul shifts, moving his arms and legs to reduce the feeling of stiffness—his thighs ache from the intensity of his orgasm, and how harshly they had clenched up.
“Lift your hips,” Schneider murmurs to him. Paul takes a second; his hips are weak and shaky, legs a bit numb. But he manages it, trembling like a lamb. Schneider slides out the dirtied towel, and fixes up the second towel which had laid below it. He rests a warm hand upon the small of Paul’s back, an indication—Paul drops heavily upon the bed again. Paul is so drained. His orgasms are giving him fatigue, if anything. And his ass is still burning. Fiery externally, aching and tingling internally. He sinks fully into the soft mattress, eyes closed, mouth weak around the gag. Schneider is stroking that loving hand up and down over his back.
“Do you want more water?” he asks softly. Paul shakes his head, though he appreciates the concern. A moment of silence passes, save for the noisy drinking of water from Till. And then Paul hears someone shift, and the creak of a chair. The undoing of pants, and the soft sound of clothing hitting the floor. Paul holds his breath. Richard whistles lowly in appreciation.
“Way to go, Olli. Stepping up. Show us how it’s done.”
Olli chuckles adorably, as he tends to do when he’s nervous. He doesn’t reply.
Paul focuses on the sound of quiet footfalls approaching the bed. And then a hand rests lightly over his side—it’s warm, and welcome. Based on sound, it seems like Richard takes the armchair Olli once sat in, and Till mumbles about taking a piss. Soon, the bathroom door is opened and they all can collectively listen to him urinating—meanwhile, Olli has quietly moved onto the bed, kneeling behind him now. Paul patiently lays, soaking in the gentle petting of Olli’s broad hands. He squeezes at his hips, his thighs, and then up again to stroke his outstretched fingers across the freckled skin of his back. It feels quite nice. Paul melts.
Those same hands curl around his hips once more and pull upwards carefully, until Paul understands and uses the balance of his elbows to rise up on his knees, albeit shakily. The padlock to his cock cage clinks noisily against the bars during this shift of position. His legs are a bit weakened from this prolonged position—Till forcing him to lay had been appreciated.
Olli shifts closer on the bed, until his legs are pressing to Paul’s, and his erect cock is resting upon his ass. Paul waits with great anticipation. They’ve never done anything like this before. Paul is pleasantly surprised that Olli is acting so bold. That he isn’t as expressive of his inexperience as Richard was, or his bashfulness in doing something so sexual with him. He’s very composed.
“Familiar with this arrangement, Olli?” Schneider pries quietly, seemingly echoing Paul’s wonders. Olli is silent a moment. He runs his hands back and forth, slowly, along Paul’s sides.
“It’s not foreign,” he murmurs, “But it’s not familiar.”
The burning questions sits in all of their mouths. Only one of them is able to voice it.
“Okay—when, with who?” Richard blurts from where he sits upon the armchair. Meanwhile, Till has returned to the bedroom with a polite, quiet click of the bathroom door. Olli huffs.
“Surely, you don’t need to know everything about my life.”
“So you’re saying you at least fucked a guy before?” Richard prods, “Just so we’re clear.”
“Yes. Now, be quiet, Richard, thank you.”
Till chuckles at that. Richard giggles, too, amused with Olli’s evident timidity. Paul squirms his hips back against him, impatiently. Those gentle hands grope at his hips, and then slide down to run across that cute little butt, before one withdraws. Paul’s belly is tingling all over again with the sparks of excitement—he’s about to get fucked by Olli! That hasn’t happened before. The most he’s done with this man is cuddle in the cabin of a boat when they’d go boating together, away from the others, when it was just the two of them. This is somehow special. Paul always found Olli very cute and good-looking, but unapproachable when it came to proposing more sexual acts.
Olli sweeps the head of his cock between his asscheeks. Paul wonders what his erect dick looks like. He’s only seen things in the shadowed darkness of shared rooms. He wants to see it fully. He supposes he’ll discover the size soon enough. And so he does: Olli pushes in slowly, deeply, to the hilt. Paul shudders, moaning weakly around the gag. This intrusion forces out more of the mixed cum; it rushes down his taint, to drip off his balls. Olli shifts closer behind him, gripping his hips, and begins to pump into him. Calm, yet deep, rocks of his hips against his ass that has Paul groaning in appreciation.
He’s not as big as Schneider, but he’s, at least, longer than Till. The angle is slightly off; the great difference in their height makes it difficult. Paul finds it feels weird, this angle. He grunts with every deep press in, and relaxes with every pull out. Olli’s hands roam. They worship the soft skin of his back and sides. But the act of fucking itself isn’t as good due to the angle. Paul is squirming, attempting to raise up higher somehow, to meet Olli’s pelvis equally.
“Have him lay down,” Schneider murmurs, “It’ll take care of the height issue.”
“Oh. Right,” Olli says softly. He pulls out. He presses a hand to the small of his back. Paul shakily lowers back down, letting his legs slide out on either side of the younger man. Olli follows suit—he moves to partially lay atop him, and shuffles a bit down to obtain the optimal arrangement. Then he raises his hips off Paul to grip his cock, sweep the wet head down between his slick asscheeks, and sink back inside. Paul groans. That’s better, for sure. It has Olli sheathing himself into his ass much easier, much smoother, to a point where he can rest upon him and let him feel the full length of his cock with no bothersome angle to compensate for. Paul gasps, jolting. The full length of him breaches a deeper part of him, one that hurts just slightly, enough to make Paul feel further degraded—like his pain doesn’t matter, that all he’s there for is delivering the others pleasure. Which is true.
“There you go,” Schneider chuckles, “That’s good.”
Olli moves to lay on top of him entirely. His chest meets his upper back, his chest hair tickling his skin. He braces his elbows upon the bed on either side of Paul. The weight of Olli bearing down on him, while not quite as intense as Till’s, is a little suffocating but enjoyable regardless. He forces Paul’s legs further apart with a careful push of his knees. Then he begins to thrust down against him, the soft clap of his hips meeting his ass filling the room, heightened by Paul’s moans and the wet sound of his shaft sliding repeatedly into a hole already filled with multiple rounds of sex.
The muffled groans of pleasure erupting from Paul are weak and broken, but laced with blatant enjoyment all the same. His ass still hurts from Till’s doing, and every little smack of Olli’s slim hips against his searing backside is a perfect reminder. The way his cock works in and out of him, deeply with every single thrust, brings back that tingling ache, that subtle burn of being fucked far too much. Paul is shaking already. His cock is pulsating, angrily straining against the bars of the cage. Pre-cum seeps plentifully from it, weeping from the opening of the cage.
Olli’s moans are soft and breathless. He’s already noisier than Till and Schneider. It’s nice to listen to. Paul tries to hold his tongue to hear them better, but the way Olli picks up the pace, snapping down against him with force and hunger, flings that attempt right out the window—Paul is back to groaning openly in delight, pleased that Olli is willing to fuck him hard like the others.
The shocks of pleasure with every pass over his prostate is too much. After three previous rounds of sex, he’s much too sensitive. While it feels quite good getting fucked in general, his overworked asshole and prostate throb with a need for a break. He’s crying out in agonized pain and pleasure. Olli presses his face into the crevice of Paul’s neck. His facial hair tickles his skin. He’s puffing against him, breathing hard as he maintains this pace. His grunts and moans are quiet, but heard easily by Paul now due to their close proximity. He listens with pleased elation—he thrives on making the others feel good. That’s all he wants.
This lasts for a while. When compared to Richard’s underwhelming pace and Till’s intense but bearable stamina, Olli is continuous, savoring. He slows his eager thrusting to something slower, deeper. A firm back and forth—a gradual pull out, a deep, almost rough push back in, to the point he forces Paul’s hips to the bed and his balls are pressed against him. Paul grunts with every reinsertion. Olli is shaking and huffing, groaning under his breath, lips laying mindlessly upon a freckled shoulder. Paul, if anything, enjoys the full body embrace. The way Olli is soaking him in as much as he can. Occasionally kissing over his ear and the back of his head, down to his shoulder again. It almost feels like making love.
For ten minutes, Olli is unrelenting. A continuous slow, deep fucking that leaves Paul sore and trembling. He must be one of those types that takes ages to come from penetrative sex. Paul is getting so squirmy and restless among this unhurried pace, he almost wants it to stop—it’s starting to hurt from overuse. Olli only speeds up his pace when approaching that apex. Snapping down into him again and again, shoving the full length of his cock into his ass with a degree of severity which has Paul grunting in pain-laced pleasure. The crack of skin when accompanied by their joined moans, varying in volume, and the vulgar noise of Olli’s shaft pumping into him makes it pornographic.
And then Olli rises up off Paul, one hand planted upon the bed. Reaching down, Olli spreads him open, grabbing a handful of one of his asscheeks. He bows his head, watching as he drove his cock into him. Paul is lowly moaning around the gag, thoroughly enjoying this rough fucking, knowing Olli is about to come. Olli’s thrusting becomes uncoordinated and shaky. In a dozen finishing snaps of his hips, each one clumsier and rougher than the last, he climaxes with a gasping moan.
His long, lean legs are trembling against Paul’s. Paul wants to reach back and pet him, to be able to praise him for fucking him so well and enjoying his body—but instead, he just lays there silently, breathing hard as Olli sits buried inside of him, their lower halves locked together. And then he shifts: he rises with both hands planted against the bed, sliding his knees up, until he’s practically sitting on Paul’s ass—somehow keeping his shaft inside of him during this change of position. Paul grunts, faintly flinching with a grimace. The depth of which Olli sits in him, when moving about like that, hurts. Yet, in a way that pleases him. Even Olli is degrading him now, by sitting on him nonchalantly, maintaining a deep penetration while showing how insignificant Paul is. He’s under his whims.
Those big hands stroke up over his sides, slicked with sweat. He drags his short nails down his skin—if only to evoke sensation. It doesn’t hurt, it has Paul shuddering. A light trail of his nails up his sides, and then Olli strokes the full width of his hands along his back. Settling his hands against Paul’s shoulder blades, he uses him as leverage to begin rocking his hips down against him. Paul kicks his feet, gasping sharply.
“Good boy,” Olli murmurs under his breath. Paul moans weakly, nearly a purr of appreciation from hearing such praise. Schneider chuckles, watching with great amusement as Olli resumed pumping into him. A deep, firm rolling of his hips that has Paul squirming and whimpering around the ball gag. Pinned by the entirety of Olli’s weight, Paul can only lay there and let him do as he pleased. The slick sounds of his shaft working into him is wet and loud in the quietness of the room. Paul is dazed and appalled by Olli’s composure, by his drive to keep going despite reaching orgasm. Not even caring that the others are watching.
He only stops after his half-hard cock accidently pops out of him, with a flinch from Paul and a grunt from Olli. A gush of cum follows. Paul shudders. Olli gets up off of him. He rests one hand on his back, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Paul releases a weak noise, and hides his face in the pillow. Schneider laughs.
“I think you did a good job of flustering him.”
“It wasn’t that hard,” Olli muses. He pets at Paul’s damp hair and then rises off the bed with a creak.
Paul whines into the pillow. The others laugh, contributing to his burning face and heightened sense of humiliation.