Azure

The first sensation to bleed through the black void was the cold. It was a damp, seeping chill that worked its way through his hide, raising gooseflesh along his powerful flanks and shoulders. He was pressed against something hard and unyielding—tile, his mind supplied sluggishly. The scent hit him next: a cloying mixture of old mildew, sharp bleach, and something metallic, like rust. His head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache behind his eyes.

He tried to move, to shift his weight, but his limbs were locked in place. Thick, coarse ropes bit into his wrists and ankles, pinning him spread-eagled against the wall. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through the fog in his brain. He strained against the bonds, his muscles bunching uselessly. The ropes didn't give an inch.

His head was encased in something smooth and suffocating. Latex. It clung to his face, molding over his muzzle, his ears, his eyes, plunging him into absolute darkness. A thick, ball-shaped gag was wedged firmly between his powerful teeth, stretching his jaw and muffling his attempted cry of outrage into a pathetic, guttural grunt. The rubbery taste filled his mouth, mingling with the metallic tang of his own fear.

He was naked, exposed, and utterly helpless. The cold air of the room kissed his vulnerable flesh, a stark contrast to the stifling heat building inside the mask. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the awful silence. Where was he? How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was walking home, the city lights painting the wet pavement… then a sharp, pricking sensation in his neck, and darkness.

A sound echoed in the small, tiled space. The soft, deliberate tread of padded feet. They circled him slowly, the sound moving from his left to his right. He tensed, every muscle in his body screaming for a fight he couldn't have.

"Awake, are we? Good." The voice was a low, sultry alto, dripping with amusement and a predatory purr that made the fine hairs on his neck stand on end. It was a she-wolf's voice, confident and utterly in control. "I was beginning to worry my little concoction was a bit too strong. But then, for a stallion of your… impressive build, a little extra is always necessary."

He grunted again, a sound of fury and fear trapped behind the gag. He felt a hand, surprisingly human-like in its touch, trail down his chest, over his taut abdomen, and lower still. Her fingers were cool and deliberate, exploring the terrain of his body as if he were a piece of art to be appreciated.

"Such power," she murmured, her voice closer now, right by his ear. He could feel the warmth of her breath against the latex. "All of it, mine to command."

Her hand reached his groin. He flinched, a full-body tremor of revulsion and violation. She chuckled, a low, throaty sound. Her fingers ghosted over his flaccid length, then cupped the heavy weight of his testicles. Despite the terror gripping his soul, a traitorous twitch ran through him.

"Ah, there we are," she purred. "Even terrified, the body remembers what it's for."

She moved away, and he heard a faint scraping sound. He was then unceremoniously shoved forward. His hips and groin slammed into the wall. He felt a pressure, a sharp, tight ring against the base of his shaft. She was forcing him into something. A hole. He struggled, bucking his hips, but her strength was astonishing. With a final, brutal shove, she forced him through.

The sensation was painfully constricting. A tight, unyielding circle of wood, or perhaps hardened resin, squeezed around the base of his cock and the top of his heavy scrotum. It was a vice, a shackle that held his most vulnerable parts fast. He was trapped, presented, his entire equine manhood pushed through the wall into the unknown space beyond. The pressure was immense, trapping blood and heightening the sensitivity of every nerve ending.

He stood there, panting, sweat beading under the latex mask. The muffled hum of a fluorescent light was the only sound for a long moment. Then, he felt it. A puff of warm, moist air against the sensitive tip of his glans.

A wet, hot tongue flicked out, tracing the slit.

His body reacted instantly, violently. A shudder wracked his frame as his cock began to swell, engorged and thick, straining against the suffocating grip of the hole. It was a humiliating, involuntary response, his primal nature overriding the terror in his mind. He hated it. He hated her. He hated his own body for its betrayal.

The mouth closed over him.

It was a sensation beyond anything he had ever known. Hot, wet, and impossibly deep. There was no hesitation, no gagging, just a powerful, rhythmic suction that threatened to pull him apart. Her tongue was a masterful instrument, swirling around the thick corona of his glans, then laving down the entire thick length of his shaft. She took all of him, her throat muscles working, milking him with a practiced, relentless skill that was both terrifying and intoxicating.

He groaned, the sound a low, tortured moan against the gag. His hips began to move of their own accord, a gentle, then more insistent, rocking motion against the wall. He was lost. His mind screamed in protest, but his body was a slave to the overwhelming pleasure she was inflicting upon him. The darkness of the mask amplified every sensation, every pull of her lips, every flutter of her tongue, every deep, throaty swallow. He could feel the sheer size of him stretching her, a fact she seemed to revel in.

The pressure built, a hot, coiling knot in the pit of his stomach. His hefty balls, trapped and squeezed by the tight gloryhole, ached with a deep, profound intensity. He was close, too close. He tried to pull back, to fight the inevitable, but he was pinned, and her mouth was a relentless vortex.

"That's it, stallion," her voice, muffled now by his own flesh, vibrated through him. "Give it all to me. Fill me up."

With a final, desperate grunt, his control shattered. A massive orgasm ripped through him, a violent, convulsive flood of release. Hot, thick ropes of seed pumped from him, jetting deep into her throat. He felt her swallow greedily, her throat muscles contracting around him, taking every last drop. His body shuddered, his powerful legs trembling as the aftershocks rolled through him.

He sagged against his bonds, utterly spent. His cock, now slick and softening, remained trapped in the hole. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his own ragged, muffled breathing and the distant hum of the light. He hoped, prayed, that it was over.

He was wrong.

He felt her mouth leave him, the sudden coolness on his wet skin a shock. Then, he felt her tongue again, teasing, licking, coaxing him. The slow, deliberate lapping started at the base, where the hole bit into his flesh, and worked its way up.

"Oh no," she whispered, her voice now clear from the other side. "We're just getting started. One round is merely an appetizer for a goddess."

To his horror and shame, he felt himself stirring again. His weary flesh, over-sensitized and aching, began to harden once more under her expert ministration. It was slower this time, a painful, throbbing erection that felt raw and used.

"I think," she said, her voice laced with a cruel sweetness, "we need to make sure you remember who you belong to now."

He felt something rough and fibrous wrap around the base of his thickening shaft, just behind the wall. It tightened, cinching down hard. Rope. He felt another loop go around his heavy scrotum, pulling his balls down, making them even more prominent and sensitive. The constrictions were agonizing, pushing even more blood into his straining cockhead.

Then came the cold, metallic touch against his aching testicles. He heard a soft click. A heavy weight settled there.

"A gold ring," she announced, her voice filled with possessive glee. "So everyone knows who this magnificent cock belongs to. You are my property now, my prized steed."

Her mouth returned to him, and this time, it was even more intense. The ropes and the ring created a new level of pressure, a maddening friction with every move she made. The pleasure was sharper, more desperate, and edged with a distinct, undeniable pain. He was being stretched, bound, and used like a piece of equipment, his grunts of discomfort and pleasure indistinguishable behind the gag. Darkness was his entire world, a world filled with nothing but the suffocating latex, the bite of ropes, and the feeling of her devouring him.

He couldn't fight it. His body was a runaway train, hurtling towards a cliff. The orgasm, when it came, was cataclysmic. It was a blinding, white-hot explosion that felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside out. He screamed against the gag, his entire body bowing against the ropes as a seemingly endless torrent erupted from him. It was more than the first time, a testament to her cruel efficiency.

He was left panting, trembling, a hollowed-out wreck. His vision swam with black and grey spots behind the mask. Surely, this was the end. He had nothing left to give.

Then came a new sensation. An intense, searing cold against his scrotum, just below the gold ring. It was a pain so sharp and focused it stole his breath. He arched his back, a choked, high-pitched squeal escaping the gag. It felt like being branded with dry ice, a paradoxical burn that sank deep into his flesh. He could smell a faint, acrid scent, like ozone and singed hair.

"There," she cooed from the other side, her voice filled with a chilling finality. "My name, etched onto my property. A permanent reminder."

He hung against the ropes, defeated, branded, and marked as hers. A single tear escaped his eye, tracing a hot path down his cheek inside the suffocating mask. The cold on his balls subsided to a vicious, throbbing ache.

Just as a sliver of hope that the ordeal was finally over flickered within him, he felt it again. The wet, hot touch of her tongue, gently licking the branded, tender skin. Then, the impossible heat of her mouth closing over his still-throbbing, over-sensitive cockhead. She began to suckle gently, her actions now almost tender, a horrifying contrast to the violation she had just inflicted.

He let out a low, despairing groan. It wasn't over. It was never going to be over. Trapped in the dark, bound and claimed, he was simply a tap for her to draw from, again and again, until she decided she was done. And as her mouth began to work on him once more, pulling him inexorably back towards another agonizing peak, he understood with chilling certainty that her appetite was truly immortal.

external image: files.catbox.moe