The Mole (expand below to read)
The warehouse echoed with the distant drip of rusted pipes and the low hum of the city outside its cracked windows. Agent Marcus Williams had been the perfect plant inside Viktor Kaneâs syndicate for eighteen months. Chiseled, loyal on paper, always one step ahead of the raids. Until this afternoon.
Viktor stood behind him now, tailored black suit immaculate against the delapidated space, one hand resting possessively on the traitorâs sweat-slicked abs. The man whoâd once called himself Marcus was naked except for the skin-tight, glossy crimson tights that clung to every ridge of his thighs and the obscene bulge between his legs. A heavy black latex hood sealed over his head, blinding him, muffling his breaths into hot, desperate gasps. Thick leather cuffs locked his wrists high above, chained to the ceiling beam. A spreader bar forced his ankles apart, the cold metal bar locked just above his red-hosed feet, leaving him stretched, tip-toed, displayed, utterly helpless.
âYou thought you were so clever,â Viktor murmured, voice velvet and venom. He traced a single fingertip down the deep central groove of Marcusâs eight-pack, feeling the muscles twitch and clench. âFeeding my secrets to your handlers while you run around for me like a good pretty little soldier. But moles get exterminated, donât they? Or⊠repurposed.â
Marcus tried to snarl through the hood, but it came out a broken moan as Viktorâs palm slid lower, cupping the heavy, trapped cock straining against the shiny red fabric. The material was so thin it might as well have been painted on; every vein and ridge was visible, the head already leaking a dark wet spot that Viktor smeared slowly with his thumb.
âEighteen months of blue-balling myself just to keep an eye on you,â Viktor continued, voice low and amused. âWatching you parade this perfect body around my club, knowing you were lying every time you called me âboss.â Now I finally get to have this."
He squeezed harder, milking the shaft through the tights until Marcusâs hips jerked forward involuntarily, chains rattling. Pre-cum soaked the crimson material in a spreading stain. Viktor laughed softly and stepped closer, pressing his suited chest against the agentâs bare back, the contrast of cool silk and warm, oiled muscle making Marcus shudder.
âFeel that?â Viktor whispered against the hood where the ear would be. âThatâs your new life. No more badge. No more handlers. Just my personal fuck-toy. Every night Iâm going to string you up like this, edge that fat cock until youâre crying inside this hood, then fuck you raw while you thank me for the privilege.â
He reached down and yanked the waistband of the tights just low enough to free the agentâs aching erection. It slapped heavily against the ridged abs, flushed dark and dripping. Viktor wrapped his fist around itâslow, torturous strokes, thumb circling the slick head on every upstroke.
Marcusâs thighs trembled, calves flexing against the spreader bar. A guttural, humiliated groan tore from his throat as Viktor brought him right to the edge, then stopped, squeezing the base until the orgasm died an agonizing death.
âNot yet, mole,â Viktor purred, sliding two fingers back between the firm globes of Marcusâs ass, finding the tight, oiled hole already winking and ready from the plug heâd forced in earlier. âYou donât get to come until Iâve ruined every hole you tried to hide from me. Until youâre leaking my cum down those pretty red legs and still begging for more.â
He twisted his fingers deeper, curling them against the prostate while his other hand resumed the merciless edging. Marcusâs entire body arched, muscles standing out like carved marble, chains singing with strain. The hood hid his face, but the way his cock throbbed and wept told Viktor everything.
Viktor leaned in, lips brushing the latex over the traitorâs mouth. âWelcome to your new assignment, agent. This assignment is permanent. You'll learn to become nothing but a sex toy, and be grateful for it."
He tightened his grip and started the cycle again - stroke, squeeze, deny while Marcusâs muffled, desperate cries filled the empty warehouse like the sweetest music the gang boss had ever heard.
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