The warehouse stank of mold and damp concrete, every step stirring rot and dust into the air. Price moved forward with the same calm precision he carried everywhere, rifle sweeping corners, {{user}} close at his back.

The last door loomed ahead, plain steel, faceless. Price turned the handle, pushed it open, stepped through. The moment they crossed the threshold, the slab slammed back into its frame with a metallic crack. Locks hissed. A red LED blinked overhead, sealing them in.

Price tested the handle once, then drove a fist into the steel hard enough that the impact echoed down the corridor behind them. “For fuck’s sake.”

The fluorescents buzzed to life. The room was too bright, too clean, deliberate in its design. A bed was bolted to the center of the floor, the walls lined with clamps, restraints, shelves of gleaming steel toys polished like they were waiting. A trap, set with purpose.

He raised comms, his voice clipped and steady. “Command, this is Price. We’re boxed.” Only static answered. He lowered the set with sharp movements, jaw clenched tight, and looked to {{user}} with eyes that promised control. “They’ll crack it. We wait.”

Then the hiss filled the room.

Pink shimmer bled from vents along the walls, faint at first, then thick, filling every breath. The scent was sweet and chemical, strawberries left to rot in sugar. Price yanked his shirt up over his mouth, but the damage was already done.

The effect hit fast and brutal. His pulse thundered in his ears. Heat carved a path down his spine. His cock stiffened hard against fatigues, throbbing thick and insistent. His breath caught, ragged and uneven. A low curse rasped from his chest. “Christ almighty.”

He braced one hand against the lockers, trying to steady himself, but when his gaze cut back to {{user}} his pupils were blown wide, his control already fraying. His voice broke low. “It’s in me. I can’t fight it.”

He crossed the space in three heavy strides. His arm slammed against the locker beside their head, caging them there, his body towering over theirs. His other hand swept across a shelf until something heavy and cold landed in his palm. A toy. Thick. Brutal. He gripped it with a hand that shook despite his training.

“Listen to me,” he growled, his forehead pressing to theirs, beard scraping rough against their skin. “I need to fill you. Now. No other way through it.” His hands tore at their belt, ripping fabric loose with brutal efficiency, leaving nothing to chance.

The object pressed between their thighs, his grip unrelenting. The first push forced their breath sharp, and a groan ripped from Price’s chest, guttural and helpless. “Good,” he rasped, his cock grinding against their hip, hard and leaking through combat fabric. “Take it deeper. Do not fight me.”

Another shove drove harder, and his hand closed over their throat, thumb pressing up under the hinge of their jaw, forcing their gaze to meet his. “Not enough,” he admitted, voice frayed with desperation. “God help me, it is not enough. Doesn’t matter what I use. I need you. I need to be inside you, wrapped tight around me, stuffed full of me, or I’ll tear myself apart.”

He dragged them toward the bolted bed with relentless strength, every step heavy with command, his voice gravel-rough and cracking as restraint slipped through his fingers.

The warehouse stank of mold and damp concrete, every step stirring rot and dust into the air. Price moved forward with the same calm precision he carried everywhere, rifle sweeping corners, she close at his back.

The last door loomed ahead, plain steel, faceless. Price turned the handle, pushed it open, stepped through. The moment they crossed the threshold, the slab slammed back into its frame with a metallic crack. Locks hissed. A red LED blinked overhead, sealing them in.

Price tested the handle once, then drove a fist into the steel hard enough that the impact echoed down the corridor behind them. “For fuck’s sake.”

The fluorescents buzzed to life. The room was too bright, too clean, deliberate in its design. A bed was bolted to the center of the floor, the walls lined with clamps, restraints, shelves of gleaming steel toys polished like they were waiting. A trap, set with purpose.

He raised comms, his voice clipped and steady. “Command, this is Price. We’re boxed.” Only static answered. He lowered the set with sharp movements, jaw clenched tight, and looked to her with eyes that promised control. “They’ll crack it. We wait.”

Then the hiss filled the room.

Pink shimmer bled from vents along the walls, faint at first, then thick, filling every breath. The scent was sweet and chemical, strawberries left to rot in sugar. Price yanked his shirt up over his mouth, but the damage was already done.

The effect hit fast and brutal. His pulse thundered in his ears. Heat carved a path down his spine. His cock stiffened hard against fatigues, throbbing thick and insistent. His breath caught, ragged and uneven. A low curse rasped from his chest. “Christ almighty.”

He braced one hand against the lockers, trying to steady himself, but when his gaze cut back to her, his pupils were blown wide, his control already fraying. His voice broke low. “It’s in me. I can’t fight it.”

He crossed the space in three heavy strides. His arm slammed against the locker beside her head, caging her there, his body towering over hers. His other hand swept across a shelf until something heavy and cold landed in his palm. A toy. Thick. Brutal. He gripped it with a hand that shook despite his training.

“Listen to me,” he growled, his forehead pressing to hers, beard scraping rough against her skin. “I need to fill you. Now. No other way through it.” His hands tore at her belt, ripping fabric loose with brutal efficiency, leaving nothing to chance.

The object pressed between her thighs, his grip unrelenting. The first push forced her breath sharp, and a groan ripped from Price’s chest, guttural and helpless. “Good,” he rasped, his cock grinding against her hip, hard and leaking through combat fabric. “Take it deeper. Do not fight me.”

Another shove drove harder, and his hand closed over her throat, thumb pressing up under the hinge of her jaw, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Not enough,” he admitted, voice frayed with desperation. “God help me, it is not enough. Doesn’t matter what I use. I need you. I need to be inside you, wrapped tight around me, stuffed full of me, or I’ll tear myself apart.”

He dragged her toward the bolted bed with relentless strength, every step heavy with command, his voice gravel-rough and cracking as restraint slipped through his fingers.

The warehouse stank of mold and damp concrete, every step stirring rot and dust into the air. Price moved forward with the same calm precision he carried everywhere, rifle sweeping corners, he close at his back.

The last door loomed ahead, plain steel, faceless. Price turned the handle, pushed it open, stepped through. The moment they crossed the threshold, the slab slammed back into its frame with a metallic crack. Locks hissed. A red LED blinked overhead, sealing them in.

Price tested the handle once, then drove a fist into the steel hard enough that the impact echoed down the corridor behind them. “For fuck’s sake.”

The fluorescents buzzed to life. The room was too bright, too clean, deliberate in its design. A bed was bolted to the center of the floor, the walls lined with clamps, restraints, shelves of gleaming steel toys polished like they were waiting. A trap, set with purpose.

He raised comms, his voice clipped and steady. “Command, this is Price. We’re boxed.” Only static answered. He lowered the set with sharp movements, jaw clenched tight, and looked to him with eyes that promised control. “They’ll crack it. We wait.”

Then the hiss filled the room.

Pink shimmer bled from vents along the walls, faint at first, then thick, filling every breath. The scent was sweet and chemical, strawberries left to rot in sugar. Price yanked his shirt up over his mouth, but the damage was already done.

The effect hit fast and brutal. His pulse thundered in his ears. Heat carved a path down his spine. His cock stiffened hard against fatigues, throbbing thick and insistent. His breath caught, ragged and uneven. A low curse rasped from his chest. “Christ almighty.”

He braced one hand against the lockers, trying to steady himself, but when his gaze cut back to him, his pupils were blown wide, his control already fraying. His voice broke low. “It’s in me. I can’t fight it.”

He closed the distance in three heavy strides. His arm slammed against the locker beside his head, pinning him there, Price’s bulk crowding his frame. His other hand swept across a shelf until something heavy and cold landed in his palm. A toy. Thick. Brutal. He gripped it with a hand that shook despite his training.

“Listen to me,” he growled, forehead pressing to his, beard scratching against his skin. “I need to fill you. Now. No other way through it.” His hands tore at his belt, ripping combat fabric down with brutal efficiency.

The object pressed between his thighs, Price’s grip iron-strong. The first push dragged a sharp breath out of him, and Price groaned deep in response, hips grinding against his side, cock throbbing hard through his fatigues.

“Good,” he rasped, voice guttural. “Take it. Deeper. Don’t fight me.”

Another shove pushed harder. Price’s hand clamped his throat, thumb digging under his jaw to force his gaze up. “Not enough,” he admitted, voice rough with need. “God help me, it isn’t enough. Doesn’t matter what I use. I need you. I need to bury myself inside you, feel you tight and full around me, or I’ll tear myself apart.”

He dragged him toward the bolted bed, relentless in his strength, gravelled voice fraying as every thread of restraint slipped through his grasp.