Oliver hadn’t shut him down immediately.
Hadn’t pulled away fast enough.
Hadn’t made it clear.
He wasours.
“You thought he was available,” I said.
Sam swallowed. “Yes.”
Hudson leaned down near his ear. “He isn’t.”
Sam flinched as if the words themselves were a threat.
I glanced back at Oliver, who was watching us through watery eyes. A tremor climbed his body, broken moans calling out to us.
“Tonight,” I continued calmly, addressing the outsider as I stood to full height again, “you’re going to learn something.”
“Please, man, I didn’t—”
I rolled my eyes, then turned, walking to Oliver.
As I neared, Oliver began tugging against his restraints in an effort to lean closer to me. When I reached him, stroking up and down his thigh, he relaxed, letting out a muffled keening sound from behind his gag.
“I know, little one,” I murmured softly to him. “Let me get this off.” I hushed his mournful-sounding cry and unbuckled the gag. Oliver was still biting down on the rubber, so it didn’t fall off immediately. I stroked his cheek. “Drop it, pet. Give Master the bone.”
It took him a few seconds until the command registered, but as soon as it did, he unclenched his teeth and let the gag drop into my waiting hand, a few rivulets of spit following after it.
“Good boy,” I hummed. “Do you need something?”
Oliver licked his lips, his chest expanding. He nodded and let out a small, quiet, “woof.”
Hudson moved in behind me, his hand settling on Oliver’s shoulder, thumb brushing over one of the fresh bite marks we’d left earlier. Our pup leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering half-closed, that soft “woof” still echoing in the air like a plea. He was wrecked—beautifully so—his small body trembling from the machine’s endless assault, pussy no doubt swollen and loose from hours of abuse. The scent of his arousal hung thick in the basement, mixing with sweat and the faint metallic tang of fear coming from the chair across the room.
Sam’s eyes were wide, darting between Oliver and us, his cuffed hands flexing uselessly against the metal arms. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but the restraints held him firm, the chair like a throne for his impending humiliation.
“Time to come down, pet,” I crooned, my voice low and soothing as I unbuckled the belts around Oliver’s thighs. He whimpered when the pressure eased, his legs quivering in the stirrups, toes curling against the padded rests. Hudson worked the wrist clips next, freeing his arms while I knelt to release his ankles. The dildo slid free with a wet pop as I lifted him off the seat, Oliver’s pussy clenching around nothing, a fresh gush of his juices trailing down his inner thighs. He sagged against me immediately, boneless and needy, face burying into my chest with a desperate nuzzle.
“Shh, we’ve got you,” Hudson murmured as our pet whined pitifully.
Together, we eased him down, his bare feet hitting the cool floor. He wobbled, knees buckling, but we held him steady, ourhands roaming possessively—mine over his chest, pinching a nipple lightly to draw out a sweet little moan; Hudson’s sliding down to cup his ass, fingers teasing the cleft without mercy.
Oliver’s gaze was glassy, fixed only on us, the world beyond his Masters erased by the hours of reeducation he’d just gone through. No recognition, no curiosity—just pure, animal want for our touch, our cocks, our commands. Perfect.
Sometimes I wished we could keep him like this twenty-four-seven. But then again, what would be the fun in that? As much as I loved this dumb, empty-headed version of him, I wouldn’t trade the spitfire in him for anything.
We guided him across the room, his feet shuffling, body pressed between ours. Sam watched every inch of the approach, his breathing ragged, face paling further as Oliver came into clearer view—marked, dripping, and utterly claimed.
“Look at him, Samuel,” I said, positioning Oliver right in front of the chair, close enough that our pet could feel the heat from the intruder’s body if he cared to notice. But he didn’t. Oliver’s head lolled against my shoulder, a soft whine escaping as Hudson’s fingers dipped between his legs, stroking through the slick mess coating his pussy lips.
Sam jerked in his bonds, chains rattling. “Oliver? What the hell have you done to him?! Let him go!”
Hudson laughed, a dark, rumbling sound, as he pumped two fingers into Oliver’s hole, drawing out a moan from our pup. “He’s exactly where he wants to be. Aren’t you, little one?”
Oliver nodded frantically, hips bucking into Hudson’s hand, chasing the friction. “Please.” His eyes stayed locked on Hudson’s face, then flicked to mine—pleading, adoring, empty of anything else.
I tilted Oliver’s chin up, forcing him to meet my gaze fully. “Do you know this man, pet? The one who touched you at the club?”
