Chapter 4

Wolferton’s south side thrummed with the pulse of warehouses and flickering neon, but Ridges Hardware Store stood as a mythic beacon, its faded “Ridges: Build Your World” sign glowing in the dusk. On Saturday, at 4:45 PM, Jake Harrow’s Honda Civic rattled into the packed parking lot, his heart a frenetic drumbeat of hunger and surrender. His cum stained faded, low-riding jeans—no underwear, his ritual—clung to his lean thighs, the denim a sacrament of the rebellion that had consumed him. His cock, half-hard, twitched at the memories of Ridges’ chaos: Aisle 12’s crowd, Tyler’s piercing in the restroom, Vince’s ropes and fists in the workshop. Vince’s text—Next Saturday, Ridges. Don’t miss it—had haunted his week, but it was Tyler’s smirk, his growled “You’re mine,” that burned hottest, a promise of ownership Jake didn’t understand but knew he craved.

Jake’s old life was a ghost. His one-bedroom apartment, with craft beer and Muffin’s judgmental stares, was a relic of a man erased by three Saturdays of slutty sex. Client deadlines dissolved, gym sessions were mechanical, failed Tinder dates with women a laughable memory. He’d spent the week lost in fevered recall—jerking off to Tyler’s silver ring grazing his hole, Cole’s thick cock, Vince’s flogger, his moans echoing in the shower as he fingered his hole, the scent of sawdust and sweat vivid in his mind. Doubt lingered: could he return to normalcy, to Muffin and emails? But his body, marked by welts and need, chose for him, pulling him to Ridges like a moth to flame.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed, casting a harsh glow over rusted shelves and plywood stacks. The air was thick with sawdust and metal, the store a labyrinth pulsing with possibility. Jake, 5’11” with messy brown hair and hazel eyes glinting with mischief, grabbed a squeaky cart, weaving through Aisle 11, feigning interest in duct tape. His fitted tee hugged his athletic frame, but his jeans were the star, slipping low as he bent over, the cool air kissing his lower back, his cock hardening at the risk. Shoppers — contractors hauling lumber, parents debating faucets—were oblivious to his secret, the cum-and-piss-stained memories of his transformation.

A rough hand grazed his hip, sending a jolt through him. Jake froze, expecting Cole, but a familiar skater drawl purred, “Back for me, pet?” He turned to find Tyler, his black store tee tight, lip piercing glinting, jeans low, the bulge of his thick, pierced cock unmistakable. His dark eyes burned with possession, and Jake’s cock throbbed, jeans slipping to expose his ass, a wet spot blooming.

“Couldn’t stay away,” Jake said, voice hoarse, his hazel eyes yielding. Tyler’s hand squeezed his ass, fingers teasing his hole, and Jake moaned, his submission instant. “You’re mine,” Tyler growled, leaning close, his breath hot. “I’ll share you, but you’re my pet. Understand?” Jake nodded, his cock leaking, the word “pet” a spark igniting his core.

“Vince has plans,” Tyler said, tugging Jake’s jeans lower, exposing his cock. “But I’m calling the shots tonight.” He gestured to the back, past the restrooms, to the “Employees Only” door, its chipped paint a portal to madness. Jake abandoned his cart, following Tyler, the fluorescents pulsing like a heartbeat. The store’s chaos faded, leaving only Tyler’s grip and the heat in Jake’s gut.

The door opened to a hidden backroom, a ritual chamber unlike last week’s storage space. Concrete floors, steel beams, a raised platform draped in black leather, chains dangling from the ceiling, a rack of floggers, cuffs, and collars—this was a temple of desire, lit by dim red lights. Vince was there, his cropped black hair and leather apron exuding control. Cole leaned against a beam, his tool belt clinking, his grin warm. Marcus, the club owner, stood by the platform, his shaved head and black leather radiating authority. Six store regulars—burly, tattooed, hungry-eyed—formed a circle, their presence electric.

“Jake, you know Marcus,” Vince said, his voice a command. “Tonight’s his stage, but Tyler’s your master.”

Tyler stepped forward, a black leather collar in hand, studded with a silver ring. “Kneel, pet,” he ordered, his drawl sharp. Jake dropped to his knees, heart pounding, as Tyler fastened the collar around his neck, the leather tight, a symbol of ownership. “You’re mine,” Tyler said, loud enough for the group, his hand gripping Jake’s hair. “I’ll share, but you answer to me.” Jake’s cock throbbed, his submission absolute, the collar a weight he welcomed.

The backroom was a crucible, the eleven men—Jake, Tyler, Vince, Cole, Marcus, the regulars—locked in, the air thick with leather and sweat. The door sealed, and Jake’s pulse raced, his body ready to be claimed, a gateway to his final surrender.

The backroom throbbed with primal energy, Ridges a cathedral of kink. Tyler yanked Jake to his feet, stripping his tee and jeans, leaving him naked, his lean frame glowing under red lights, his cock hard and dripping, the collar tight around his neck. “You’re my pet,” Tyler said, his role-play fierce, tugging the collar’s ring. “Beg to serve.” Jake’s voice was raw: “Please, master, use me.” The words burned, his cock leaking, his hole twitching with need.

Vince took over, cuffing Jake’s wrists and ankles in steel, chaining him to a beam, his body suspended, spread-eagle, vulnerable. Tyler stepped close, his thick, pierced cock out, the silver ring glinting. “Worship your master,” he growled, pressing against Jake’s hole, the piercing cold. He thrust in, rough, the stretch intense, the ring grazing that spot, making Jake scream, his cock splattering the platform. Cole tweaked Jake’s nipples, the pain sharp, while Marcus watched, stroking his thick cock, his leather pants open.

Vince grabbed a flogger, its tails teasing Jake’s chest, building a slow burn. The strokes stung his thighs, ass, cock, the pain melting into pleasure, Jake’s screams echoing, chains rattling. Tyler’s thrusts were relentless, his piercing hitting that spot, and Jake came again, his release mixing with sweat, his hole clenching. Tyler pulled out, and Cole fucked him, his thick cock deep, while Marcus pissed on Jake’s chest, the warm stream a dominant mark, shocking yet thrilling. Jake moaned, his submission deepening, the golden shower a ritual claiming, his cock throbbing as piss hit his hole.

Tyler asserted control, tugging Jake’s collar. “You’re my pet, not theirs,” he snarled, his voice cutting through. He prepped Jake for fisting, his hands slick with lube, fingers stretching—three, four, five, slow, deliberate. Jake’s cries were raw, the stretch overwhelming, as Tyler’s hand pushed inside, knuckles breaching, filling him completely. “Fuck, you’re mine,” Tyler growled, his hand moving, Jake’s hole clenching, his cock leaking. The group watched, stroking, as Jake came, his release soaking the platform, the collar grounding him in Tyler’s claim.