Chapter 4 Hayes
Hayes
Sam wasn’t what I expected.
I’d built him up in my head over the past few hours. Specifically, as someone who could potentially steal Oliver away. Looking at him now, it was laughable that I’d ever thought that.
He looked disheveled and scared.
Weak.
A man like that could never satisfy our pet.
He worked at a pizza joint, for god’s sake, so he didn’t even have a way to provide for Ollie.
And honestly, if he tried to take him by force like we had, Oliver would be able to fight his way out.
He knew enough tricks from living with us, watching us work.
He was no match against us, but that was a different ball game.
I couldn’t believe this was the man who had dared to put his hand on Oliver’s waist.
Pathetic.
Hudson and I dragged him into the room, his sneakers scraping against the concrete. He struggled once, only for a few measly seconds, before Hudson tightened his grip and slammed him down into the metal chair bolted to the floor.
As Hudson cuffed each of his limbs to the chair, my eyes sought out Ollie.
And there he was—sweaty and soaked, with a little bit of glitter still defiantly clinging to his skin. The collar sat snug around his throat, and our marks bloomed like bruised petals across his body.
His eyes looked dazed, no doubt reflecting the emptiness inside his head.
Sam followed my line of sight.
And then he saw Oliver.
His face drained of what little color he had left.
“W-what the fuck—” he choked out.
Hudson rolled his eyes, roughly jerking the man’s ankle to where it needed to be, then cuffing it to the chair leg. “Language, Samuel,” he admonished mildly.
Sam thrashed harder now. “This is insane! I didn’t do anything!”
I stepped forward slowly, making sure he could see my face clearly.
“You bought our husband a drink,” I said evenly.
His confusion was genuine. “I didn’t know he was married!”
“That,” I replied, “is not the point.”
Oliver made a muffled sound.
Sam’s gaze flicked back to him again, horror deepening as he took in the machine, the restraints, and the obvious state Oliver was in.
“What are you doing to him?” he whispered.
Hudson chuckled, “Correcting his behavior.”
I crouched in front of Sam, so that we were eye level. “You touched something that belongs to us,” I said quietly.
Sam shook his head violently. “I didn’t know! I swear, I didn’t—he didn’t say—”
“He didn’t say what?” I asked.
“That he was married!”
I let the silence stretch.
Because that was the part that burned.
Oliver hadn’t shut him down immediately.
Hadn’t pulled away fast enough.
Hadn’t made it clear.
He was ours.
“You thought he was available,” I said.
Sam swallowed. “Yes.”
Hudson leaned down near his ear. “He isn’t.”
Sam flinched as if the words themselves were a threat.
I glanced back at Oliver, who was watching us through watery eyes. A tremor climbed his body, broken moans calling out to us.
“Tonight,” I continued calmly, addressing the outsider as I stood to full height again, “you’re going to learn something.”
“Please, man, I didn’t—”
I rolled my eyes, then turned, walking to Oliver.
As I neared, Oliver began tugging against his restraints in an effort to lean closer to me. When I reached him, stroking up and down his thigh, he relaxed, letting out a muffled keening sound from behind his gag.
“I know, little one,” I murmured softly to him. “Let me get this off.” I hushed his mournful-sounding cry and unbuckled the gag. Oliver was still biting down on the rubber, so it didn’t fall off immediately. I stroked his cheek. “Drop it, pet. Give Master the bone.”
It took him a few seconds until the command registered, but as soon as it did, he unclenched his teeth and let the gag drop into my waiting hand, a few rivulets of spit following after it.
“Good boy,” I hummed. “Do you need something?”
Oliver licked his lips, his chest expanding. He nodded and let out a small, quiet, “woof.”
Hudson moved in behind me, his hand settling on Oliver’s shoulder, thumb brushing over one of the fresh bite marks we’d left earlier.
Our pup leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering half-closed, that soft “woof” still echoing in the air like a plea.
He was wrecked—beautifully so—his small body trembling from the machine’s endless assault, pussy no doubt swollen and loose from hours of abuse.
The scent of his arousal hung thick in the basement, mixing with sweat and the faint metallic tang of fear coming from the chair across the room.
Sam’s eyes were wide, darting between Oliver and us, his cuffed hands flexing uselessly against the metal arms. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but the restraints held him firm, the chair like a throne for his impending humiliation.
“Time to come down, pet,” I crooned, my voice low and soothing as I unbuckled the belts around Oliver’s thighs.
He whimpered when the pressure eased, his legs quivering in the stirrups, toes curling against the padded rests.
Hudson worked the wrist clips next, freeing his arms while I knelt to release his ankles.
The dildo slid free with a wet pop as I lifted him off the seat, Oliver’s pussy clenching around nothing, a fresh gush of his juices trailing down his inner thighs.
He sagged against me immediately, boneless and needy, face burying into my chest with a desperate nuzzle.
“Shh, we’ve got you,” Hudson murmured as our pet whined pitifully.
Together, we eased him down, his bare feet hitting the cool floor.
He wobbled, knees buckling, but we held him steady, our hands roaming possessively—mine over his chest, pinching a nipple lightly to draw out a sweet little moan; Hudson’s sliding down to cup his ass, fingers teasing the cleft without mercy.
Oliver’s gaze was glassy, fixed only on us, the world beyond his Masters erased by the hours of reeducation he’d just gone through. No recognition, no curiosity—just pure, animal want for our touch, our cocks, our commands. Perfect.
Sometimes I wished we could keep him like this twenty-four-seven. But then again, what would be the fun in that? As much as I loved this dumb, empty-headed version of him, I wouldn’t trade the spitfire in him for anything.
We guided him across the room, his feet shuffling, body pressed between ours. Sam watched every inch of the approach, his breathing ragged, face paling further as Oliver came into clearer view—marked, dripping, and utterly claimed.
“Look at him, Samuel,” I said, positioning Oliver right in front of the chair, close enough that our pet could feel the heat from the intruder’s body if he cared to notice.
But he didn’t. Oliver’s head lolled against my shoulder, a soft whine escaping as Hudson’s fingers dipped between his legs, stroking through the slick mess coating his pussy lips.
Sam jerked in his bonds, chains rattling. “Oliver? What the hell have you done to him?! Let him go!”
Hudson laughed, a dark, rumbling sound, as he pumped two fingers into Oliver’s hole, drawing out a moan from our pup. “He’s exactly where he wants to be. Aren’t you, little one?”
Oliver nodded frantically, hips bucking into Hudson’s hand, chasing the friction. “Please.” His eyes stayed locked on Hudson’s face, then flicked to mine—pleading, adoring, empty of anything else.
I tilted Oliver’s chin up, forcing him to meet my gaze fully. “Do you know this man, pet? The one who touched you at the club?”
Confusion flickered briefly in those dazed eyes, then nothing. He blankly glanced at Sam for a split second before looking away, pressing closer to me. “No, Master,” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked from the gag and screams. “Don’t know him. Only want you… please…”
Sam’s mouth fell open, a strangled noise escaping. “Oliver, it’s me—Sam! From the club! I bought you that drink—”
But Oliver ignored him completely, tugging at my shirt with needy fingers, whining low in his throat. “Masters… need cock… fill me… please…”
Hudson’s fingers withdrew, wet and shining, and he smeared the fluids across Oliver’s lips.
Our pup sucked his fingers clean eagerly, tongue lapping without hesitation, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
Sam’s protests died to a whimper, his face twisting in disgust and something darker—jealousy, maybe, or unwanted arousal at the display.
“See?” I said to Sam, my tone casual as I stripped off my belt, the leather whispering free. “He doesn’t even remember you. You’re nothing to him. But us? We’re everything. He doesn’t exist without us.”
Hudson nodded, already unzipping his jeans. I followed suit, shoving my pants down just enough to let my own length out, heavy and aching for our pet. Oliver’s breath hitched as his small hands reached for us both, stroking clumsily along our shafts as we positioned him.
We turned him sideways, facing Sam directly, so the man had a front-row view.
Hudson knelt first, spreading Oliver’s thighs wide—one leg hooked over his shoulder—and dragged his tongue through the soaked folds of our pup’s pussy.
Oliver cried out, fingers tangling in Hudson’s hair, pulling him closer as his hips rolled forward.
“Oh my god, yes, yes—lick me, Master,” Oliver begged, voice breaking. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” His cunt clenched visibly. His tiny dick was swollen and red as he ground against Hudson’s mouth like he couldn’t get enough.
Sam squirmed, averting his eyes, but I grabbed Oliver’s hair and yanked his head toward the chair. “Show this man how you come for us, pet.”
Oliver’s unfocused gaze landed on Sam again for a mere split second before rolling back as Hudson sucked his clit hard, teeth grazing just enough to make him arch.
I fed my cock into Oliver’s mouth then, the wet heat enveloping me as he hollowed his cheeks, sucking sloppily, spit spilling down his chin.
He moaned around my length, vibrations shooting straight to my balls, his tongue swirling over the head with desperate enthusiasm.