August grabbed Dylan under his arms, his gloved hands making Dylan’s torso look tiny, and lifted him up on the padded leather surface. He laid him down on his back, holding his legs and positioning him so that his ass was right at the edge of the bench with several inches of room over his head.
“Need a hand?” Ryker asked, walking up to the bench to Dylan’s right. He looked down at the nervous human, flashing his teeth in a grin that wasn’t intended to be menacing, but which might have had a little too much teeth to be nice.
“Sure, could you grab some cuffs for his ankles?”
August lifted Dylan’s legs up, pushing his knees back until they were folded over his chest. The position exposed Dylan’s hole, and Ryker’s mouth watered.
“Yeah, of course.”
August walked over to the armoire – an antique monstrosity made from varnished walnut that fit in nicely with the dark wood floors, polished bondage furniture, and heavy burgundy drapes that dominated the playroom– and found the ankle cuffs. He also grabbed a wide leather collar in supple black leather, and a pair of restrictive bondage mittens.
When he turned around, he froze at the position August had twisted Dylan into. The boy was still on his back, but his feet had been pushed up and tucked behind his head, his ankles crossed, his legs forming a diamond shape over his torso.
He looked like a human pretzel.
“Give me the ankle cuffs,” August said, holding on to both of Dylan’s ankles. “I want to lock him into position.”
Ryker chuckled, amused and incredibly turned on, and walked over and handed August the cuffs. He put the mittens and collar on the floor for later.
“How long can you stay like this?” he asked, placing his hand on Dylan’s ass. It was pointing straight up, his spread legs exposing his hole and rendering it completely at his and August’s mercy.
“I usually do about twenty minutes,” Dylan said, wriggling as August shifted his leg to put the ankle cuff on him. “I haven’t tried much longer than that.”
Ryker stroked his hand over Dylan’s thigh, feeling the stretched muscle and marveling at his flexibility. Dylan’s ass and shoulders were both off the bench, his weight resting on the center of his spine. If Ryker pushed his ass down, he’d rock like a rocking chair.
“Is it uncomfortable?”
Dylan’s tongue poked out to wet his lip. He shook his head, the movement restricted by his tight position. “No, not really.”
“Let us know if it starts to hurt,” August spoke up, finished cuffing Dylan’s ankles and securing them together behind his neck. He gave his ankles a little shake, making Dylan’s whole body move from side to side. “Can you get out of that?”
Dylan wriggled, tucking his chin down and lifting his ass higher, but he wasn’t able to lift his feet over his head.
His cock did get right up into his face, and Ryker realized that he hadn’t been kidding when he told August he could suck his own dick.
Giving up, Dylan relaxed as much as he was able and let out a long breath. He looked up at both of them with wide eyes. “I’m stuck.”
Ryker and August grinned at each other.
“I brought the collar and mittens,” Ryker said, crouching down and picking them up off the floor. “Do you want to put the collar on him?”
He held the collar out to August.
“Fuck yes,” August said. He wrapped the collar around Dylan’s neck, pulling it tight and buckling it at his throat. He struggled a bit with the buckle, his thick gloves making it hard to maneuver everything into place, but it wasn’t long before Dylan’s throat was encircled by a wide band of glossy black leather.
“Fucking look at him.” August sounded on the verge of going feral. His voice was tinged with a rough growl and Ryker could see his fingers flexing like he wanted to let his claws out.
Ryker understood the feeling.
Grabbing Dylan’s hands one by one, Ryker folded them into fists and tucked them into the tight mittens. He laced them up and secured the built in cuffs over his wrists, and used a carabiner to fasten them to the front of his collar.
Dylan tugged on his wrists, but he was completely stuck.
“How does that feel?” August asked, pushing his finger under the collar next to Dylan’s Adam’s apple. It barely fit.
“Okay,” Dylan mumbled, sounding choked. August grinned and removed his finger, rubbing his palm over Dylan’s face and grabbing his chin.
Ryker would never get over how huge August’s hands looked on Dylan. When he spread his fingers, they covered the boy’s entire face, the tips of his thumb and index fingers stretching from ear to ear.
