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The last things you remember are a large hand grabbing your shoulder from behind, in the parking lot by your apartment; a pinching feeling in your neck; and someone's hot breath against your ear as they mutter, "there we go, babydoll - nice and easy" - after that, it's all darkness.
When you come to, it's in a fairly empty warehouse, hands chained behind your back. Your ankles are cuffed on either end of a black spreader bar, your torso rests on a cold steel bench (or desk? It's hard to tell, but it runs from your hip to your clavicle), and all you have on are beat-up running shoes and the raggedy black crop top you'd worn to hit the gym, earlier. Your shorts are conspicuously missing and you can feel the cold air against your sex, prompting a shiver that makes your chains rattle.
You can hear a low, dark chuckle and heavy footsteps - but when you look around the room, all you see are empty cargo containers. Fear tightens your chest, even as your nipples harden - there's no way this scenario ends without someone or something inside you, and that's as terrifying as it is arousing.
Your thoughts are interrupted by leather-gloved hands spreading your ass cheeks to expose you to their owner, letting a little of your slick drip to the floor. The stranger squeezes you, rumbling appreciatively.
"Haven't done a damn thing to that pretty pink pussy, and you're already wet for me, sweetheart? 'S almost too easy." He drawls.
"Okay, first off, fuck you." you snarl, feeling your cheeks heat up - you've never been easy in your life! You open your mouth to continue, but your train of thought derails when two gloved fingers dip inside you, curled and searching. The other hand clamps around your hip like a vise, hard enough that you can almost feel the bruise forming… and there's that fucking laugh again, velvety and dark like chocolate.
"That's funny, baby - looks to me like you're the one who needs a good railing." His fingers curve to brush over your G-spot and you twitch involuntarily, leaning into his hand. He snickers, pulls back, then presses deep into it with a coy "Oh, right there?" and you can't help but clench around him with a small groan.
"You don't have to do this," you plead, switching tactics. "I haven't seen your face, you could just let me go. I won't call anyone or say anything."
That merits an outright cackle, apparently. Quickly, the hand on your hip moves to hold your jaw open, so he can slip his wet fingers between your lips. You can taste yourself on the leather, and something about that makes you whimper. The stranger hums in approval, and closes the distance between you to grind a barely concealed hard-on against your dripping slit. "If you' wanted me t' use that mouth so bad, ya' could've just asked, sugar. Don't have to do everything the hard way -"
You try to bite him, but he's too fast and your teeth click on air. The man sighs roughly. "Okay, doll. Hard way it is."
He shifts, gripping your throat firmly as he leans in and his chest presses against your back. The zippers and body armor scrape at exposed skin as his other hand swoops around to slap your clit three times in rapid succession, and his teeth sink into your right shoulder.
Yelping, you try to flinch, but there's nowhere for you to move between his hand around your throat, his body weight on top of you, and the hard metal slab underneath. When you try to move your legs, hoping to kick him or something, you dimly realize that the spreader bar's chained to the ground with next to no give. All that you accomplish is some clinking and jangling, which only makes him bite down harder, prompting you to wail.
Slipping three leather-clad digits in this time, the stranger grinds his palm against your clit and mouths his way up your neck to nip at your ear, then smugly purrs, "No one's comin' to save you, baby - these walls are soundproof and I got all night."
He sucks at your ear and his thick fingers stretch you with slow, deliberate thrusts that rub over that spot he'd found earlier. The man's still grinding against you, and you can feel the mess you're making - your arousal leaking onto his pants more with each movement of his fingers, soaking him enough that the fabric no longer tents around him, it clings.
His grip on your throat is constant and grounding - restricting airflow enough to get you higher, but not enough to knock you out. You can feel yourself getting close, but when you try to speak, all that comes out are mewls, "oh"s, and "please"s.
"That's right, sugar, let me hear ya'." The stranger growls encouragingly, continuing his ministrations. You whine and shake your head, stomping one foot as best you can - but he just laughs at you and refuses to speed up. You don't know how much time passes, only that things start to feel hazy around the fourth time he gets you off, and you start to relax.
He finally releases your throat and pulls away. There's a pitiful whining noise and you're shocked to realize it's you, though you have no time to think about it - your ears register ripping foil and the snap of latex. When his fat cock pushes at your entrance, you finally put two and two together - you'd know that head anywhere. It's him.
Forgetting your restraints, you try to push back against Jason without success and let out a frustrated keen.
This time, though, he doesn't make you wait, just slides into your slick heat with one savage stroke. He pistons in and out of hard, like a goddamn machine, until you're moaning in stereo. Each time Jay's hips stutter, he pulls out to fuck you with his fingers long enough to back himself off the edge before slamming in again without warning. This repeats until you gasp out, "yellow."
"Easy, pretty baby, you're doin' so good. You want me to finish an' call it a night?"
You nod, humming affirmatively, and that's all it takes - his thrusts speed up, becoming erratic, frantic until he's pulsing in you with a yell.
When Jason manages to stand and take off your restraints, you feel like a damn ragdoll and nearly fall over. He whirls you to face him and cradles you against his chest, running finally un-gloved fingers through your hair and murmuring praise.
You don't remember how you get home, but you wake up in bed to the sound of him puttering around your kitchen and the smell of fresh pancakes.