A Man Without Future III

  story by Sherwin, AI assisted

 Part III - final

The cellar door burst open with a splintering crack—Max's polished shoes descending the steps while his eyes raked over Cruxee's wax-streaked thighs. "You always did have terrible timing, old friend," Destroyer growled, twisting his fingers deeper just to make Cruxee's body jerk obscenely for their new audience. Max's throat bobbed as he adjusted his tie. "Petr's freezing your offshore accounts as we speak."

Destroyer's laugh rumbled through Cruxee's spine as he withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, dragging the laptop back open to type *Spectator arrival: Minister showing interest beyond financial stake.* His free hand gripped Cruxee's throat, tilting his head back to expose the bite marks littering his neck. "You came to *negotiate*," he mused, thumb pressing again Cruxee's fluttering hole, "or to *envy*?"

Max's polished shoes scuffed stone as he stepped closer, tie twitching with his pulse. "Petr's wired three million to your Cayman account," he rasped, gaze locked on Destroyer's fingers stretching Cruxee's rim. "For *first rights*." Destroyer smirked, twisting deeper just to watch Max's throat bob. "My subs aren't currency, Minister."

"They are and have always been, as we had agreed long time ago. It was just that you didn't feel the need to keep them for yourself so far. This change surprised us. What is so special about this one?"

Destroyer's fingers stilled inside Cruxee, his free hand snatching the riding crop to tap against Max's polished shoes. "Special?" He dragged Cruxee's head back by the hair, exposing the tears streaking his wax-smeared cheeks. "Watch how he takes pain without breaking—how his cock leaks even when terrified." The crop cracked against his own thigh for emphasis. "Find me another fifty-year-old who arches into flogging like a fucking ballet."

"The more reason to share and to enjoy him to the fullest. Joe and Peter are coming every minute now to have their share too. You should be reasonable and see that things can't stay this way."

Destroyer's grip tightened on Cruxee's hair. "See how he shakes?" he murmured, fingers twisting deeper inside Cruxee's hole to emphasize the tremors. "That's not fear—that's *anticipation*." With his free hand, he flipped open his phone to a private chat titled *Meat Roster*, typing one-handed: *Available for partnered sessions - must provide own toys and aftercare.* The ping of immediate responses echoed through the cellar as Destroyer's teeth grazed Cruxee's earlobe. "Let them watch you earn your place."

Cruxee's breath hitched as Destroyer's fingers scissored inside him, the sting of wax hardening on his thighs nothing compared to the humiliation of Max's approving hum. His neglected cock twitched against his stomach—torn between terror and the shameful pride of being showcased like this. "I—I can take more," he gasped, hating how his voice cracked on the lie just as Destroyer's phone buzzed with another dom's inquiry about *weight limits for suspension play*.

"End the online session right now. Let's solve this now and forever. You know this won't and couldn't work." Max turned to Destroyer, then he looked back on Cruxee and in his eyes there was a flash of hunger, lust and cold cruelty.

Destroyer's fingers paused inside Cruxee's heat, then he moved his hand and his thumb hovered over the laptop's power button—his other hand tightening around the riding crop pressed against Max's tailored suit. "Session continues," he growled, dragging Cruxee's head back to expose the wax-streaked bite marks on his neck. "Watch him learn his place." With deliberate slowness, he reopened the forum tab and typed: *Spectator seats upgraded - interactive participation available upon request.* The chat exploded with notifications.
In that very moment, the cellar door hinges creaked again and Joe and Petr stormed down the stairs, standing by Max's side in next moment. Max reached forward and snatched the laptop from under Destroyer's hand. He pushed the switch button and then he tore off the battery. Joe and Petr both jumped on surprised Destroyer, parting him from Cruxee, who stayed boud to the butcher block, now with his asshole empty, but only for a short time.
Destroyer snarled as they pinned him against the stone wall, his muscles straining against Joe's butcher-strength grip and Petr's surprisingly nimble fingers securing restraints. "Fucking hypocrites," he spat, watching Max's polished shoes approach Cruxee's trembling form. "You want him? Then take him properly—not like thieves in the night."

"We will take him as we like, that is for sure. You can or join us and get real or you will be put to rest and just watch from the side. Your choice. What will that be?"

Destroyer's nostrils flared as Joe's knife pressed against his throat, the cold steel contrasting with the heat of Cruxee's gaze locked on him across the cellar. He could smell Petr's expensive cologne mixing with the scent of Cruxee's sweat and clove oil—could see Max's fingers twitching toward Cruxee's wax-streaked thighs. "You think removing me makes him yours?" he growled, deliberately rolling his hips against Joe's restraining grip to make his erection obvious. "Watch how he comes untouched just from my voice."

Cruxee's thighs trembled against the butcher block as Max's manicured fingers traced the rim of his hole—his cock twitching pathetically. The knife gleam in Joe's hand should've terrified him, but all he could focus on was the way Destroyer's pupils dilated when their eyes met—how his own traitorous hole clenched around nothing, still craving that brutal stretch.

"Of course he is ours, as much as he is yours. We will see to that. After that we will solve the problem. As you seem to have problem with us having him too, nobody will have him to make things even and just." said Max in a low voice with a cold gleam in his eyes. The echo of the statement considerably cooled down the heated atmosphere in the room.

Destroyer smirked despite the knife at his throat, rolling his shoulders to test Joe's grip. "Petr, check your offshore accounts," he said smoothly, watching the banker's brow furrow as he pulled out his phone. Destroyer's laugh rumbled deep when Petr's face paled—the discreet vibration in his own pocket confirming the encrypted transfer had already executed. "Seems I anticipated your... hospitality."

Cruxee's breath came in shallow gasps as Max's fingers got hold of his wax-covered ballssack—the Minister's polished facade cracking as Destroyer's taunts hit home. His cock slightly softened on his belly, still leaking despite the terror coiling in his gut, because god help him, the way Destroyer controlled the room even bound made his hole clench around nothing. "Sir—" he choked out, unsure if he was begging for mercy or more.

"Don't worry, Petr, I have good relations with Minister of Finance, we will solve this. We shall solve this little problem too. OK, it seems David the Destroyer won't come to reason so we will have to make sure he'd stay safe and do no more harm to himself. Fasten him securely to his "audience seat" ih the first row and let's make the show for his eyes." Said Max in a very cold voice.

Destroyer's smirk faltered for just a second when Joe's meaty hands dragged him toward the reinforced oak chair bolted to the cellar floor—the same chair he'd used to watch countless other men broken. His cock twitched against his thigh as they secured the leather restraints, the scent of Cruxee's fear and arousal mixing with the iron tang of the meat hooks above them. "You forget who taught you these knots, butcher," he growled, flexing his wrists experimentally against the bindings while watching Max circle Cruxee like a shark.

Max's polished shoes squeaked against the floor as he leaned down to whisper in Cruxee's ear, his fingers tracing the dried wax ridges on his inner thighs. "This is the end of the fun for you, toy," he murmured, tapping Cruxee's leaking cockhead with his gold signet ring. "I'm sorry to break this to you—but now you'll get what was planned for you from the beginning." Behind him, Joe tested the edge of his cleaver against his thumb.

Destroyer's muscles strained against the leather restraints, his erection pressing painfully as he watched Max's fingers tease Cruxee's abused hole. "What are you gonna do, you bastards?" he growled through clenched teeth, his hips bucking when Cruxee's answering moan echoed through the cellar. The webcam's red light blinked mockingly from the floor where Max had tossed it—its cracked lens still broadcasting audio to their encrypted forum.

"Petr, check the camera, we don't want unexpected witnesses. Joe, please, set your own camera here, we can make some money back on the recording that we will make now. Even Minister of Finances might be willing to make some extra effort to get this video as a payment." Said Max with an evil grin, his polished shoes kicking the broken laptop aside as Joe positioned a new camera on the butcher block, its red light blinking hungrily over Cruxee's trembling form.

Destroyer's nostrils flared at the scent of Cruxee's sweat and fear—his cock twitching against the leather restraints as Joe adjusted the camera angle. "Still broadcasting, butcher?" he taunted, flexing his wrists against the bonds. "Or just filming for your private collection?" His hips rolled subtly, subtly, testing the restraints while his eyes locked onto Cruxee's wax-streaked thighs—already imagining the welt patterns he'd paint there given half a chance.

Max's gold ring tapped against the butcher block as he leaned over Cruxee's trembling form, his smile all teeth. "Petr, did you bring your archery equipment? Joe, I believe you have all your usual tools of trade." A small wink of an eye towards Destroyer. "We might need those later—but first, let's have some fun with this seasoned tasty toy that was so kindly unpacked for us."

Petr's steps clicked across the floor as he uncovered a wooden cross attached to the cellar wall—the polished mahogany. "Latin cross," he murmured, testing the distance from the opposite wall. "Plenty of room for shooting angles—shall we mount him now, or let Destroyer watch his pet squirm a while longer first?" The camera's red light glinted off his Rolex as he adjusted the tripod.

Cruxee's breath came in ragged gasps as he realized what was happening and what awaited him in the next few moments. The Latin cross loomed behind him like a guillotine, but worse was the way Max's gold ring tapped against his twitching hole while Joe tested the cleaver's edge. "Please—" he choked out, unsure if he was begging for mercy or for Destroyer to break free and claim him properly.

"A bit of fun never hurts I think," said Max, the buckle of his leather belt ringing as he pulled down his trousers and positioned himself between Cruxee's spread thighs. "David can watch, this way he won't miss most of it." His fingers dug into Cruxee's wax-streaked hips. "As the toy is so suitably prepared, we shall probably loose no more time and start enjoying it." Behind them, Joe's cleaver gleamed under the cellar's single bulb.

Max spat on his rigid and quite impressive cock now freed from his underwear and pushed it's head into Cruxee's defensless butthole, while tightly holding his penis and occasionally biting his sore nipples. After the first two or three thrusts, he slowly picked up speed and fucked Cruxee's ass with pleasure and gusto. When Joe saw this, he couldn't hold back any longer and quickly joined in. He pulled his shorter but nicely thick penis out of his fly and approached Cruxee's head. He grabbed his hair, pulled his face down to his crotch, and shoved his penis between his violently opened lips. Petr hesitated for a moment, wondering how to take advantage of the situation, but finally took a leather flogger from one of the hooks on the wall and began to rhythmically whip Cruxee's stomach and chest with it.

Destroyer's wrists strained against the leather restraints, veins bulging as he watched Max's hands brace against Cruxee's thighs—the Minister's hips pistoning with brutal efficiency while Joe's meaty fingers forced Cruxee's jaw wider around his cock. The scent of sweat and precum thickened the cellar air as Petr's flogger cracked against Cruxee's nipples, each strike syncing perfectly with Max's thrusts. Destroyer's cock throbbed in the air, his breath coming in ragged growls as he tested the restraints—noticing with grim sadness how Cruxee's swollen hole got brutally used whenever their eyes met across the cellar's dim light.

Cruxee's throat burned around Joe's girth, his gag reflex long since overridden by the Minister's brutal pace rearranging his insides—yet worse than the pain was the way his cock leaked steadily onto his stomach, betraying his shameful arousal. Petr's flogger bit into his overstimulated nipples just as Max angled upward, hitting that spot that made his vision whiten—and god help him, he arched into it, his muffled moans vibrating around Joe's shaft while his traitorous body welcomed every violation getting him yet closer to the ending.

"Watch him beg for it," Max sneered over his shoulder at Destroyer, his manicured fingers digging purple bruises into Cruxee's hips as he picked up speed. The camera's red light blinked steadily—Petr adjusting the angle to capture Cruxee's ruined face—while Joe chuckled around a mouthful of Cruxee's hair. "Three million buys more than flesh," Max panted, "it buys the way his hole sucks me deeper when I mention slaughter."

"Petr, come and take my place," Max groaned, slowing his thrusts to savor Cruxee's clenching heat. "I don't want to come yet—want to save it for when we mount him on that cross." His gold signet ring scraped Cruxee's perineum as he pulled out, glistening with lube and sweat. "Unless you'd prefer him turned around? Those welts do look exquisite from behind."

Joe's thick fingers tangled in Cruxee's sweat-damp hair as he pulled him off his cock with a wet pop—his other hand already unbuckling his belt. "Turn him," he growled, flipping Cruxee onto his stomach after untying him, with practiced ease. Than the toy was fastened again. The butcher's calloused palms spread Cruxee's welted cheeks, thumbs pressing against his twitching hole. "Will prepp him proper for you, Petr—just needs a little spit." His tongue dragged a filthy stripe up Cruxee's crack.

And so Peter took Joe's place, and Joe began to abuse Cruxee's anal opening again. Bloodstains began to appear on his balls as repeated fucking slowly tore Cruxee's hole apart.
Max took the flog from Peter and stood over Cruxee so that he could see David directly. This way, with every blow, he could watch Destroyer's face contort with rage and helplessness.
But it wasn't just anger. In those fleeting moments when his gaze met Cruxee's tortured eyes, there was also a flash of compassion and perhaps even desire and pity.

Destroyer's muscles strained against the leather straps, his erection still painfully hard as he watched Cruxee's body absorb each brutal thrust. "You're forgetting something, Max," he growled through clenched teeth, his voice dripping with venom. "Cruxee isn't just another piece of meat—he's *mine*. And I always get what's mine." His wrists twisted subtly against the restraints, testing their give.

"Not this time, I'm afraid. This cutie is sexy and would suit us all, but we won't make any exceptions. Especially since you've caused us a lot of trouble now."
Joe's cleaver flashed under the cellar lights as he traced Cruxee's welted shoulderblades—the blade's edge parting sweat-slick skin without breaking surface tension. "Always said you got too attached to the livestock," he grunted, positioning himself behind Cruxee's spread thighs while Petr's Rolex glinted against the tripod. "Gonna enjoy watching this one squeal when I separate the prime cuts." His calloused thumb pressed Cruxee's twitching hole like a butcher testing meat tenderness.

Cruxee's scream muffled around Joe's renewed thrusts—his vision swimming with black spots as Max's flogger cracked across his back now marked by Joe's cut, while the butcher block upper surface brushed across his welted nipples. Yet even through the pain, his cock dribbled pathetically onto the butcher block, betraying how Destroyer's furious gaze locked onto his made his insides clench around Joe's girth. "P-please—" he choked out around a mouthful of Petr's cock, unsure if he was begging for death or for Destroyer to break free and reclaim him.

Petr took his cock out of Cruxee's mouth and walked to the tripodd to adjust it, his Rolex gleaming under the cellar lights while he framed Cruxee's ruined body. "Frontal angle captures the tears better," he murmured to Max, fingers tracing the blood-streaked welts on Cruxee's back. "Though perhaps a close-up of Destroyer's face when we make the first incision would fetch the highest bid—Minister of Finance does enjoy seeing powerful men broken." His polished shoe nudged Cruxee's limp cock against the butcher block.
"Lets move him to the cross. We can tie him there back to the room for a while. I would like to enjoy his ass while he is standing... or maybe hanging - depends on his abilities and strength left. Then we can turn him around and have fun." Said Petr after stepping back and examining Cruxee's posture and wounds.

Max's gold signet ring scraped against Cruxee's teeth as he pried his jaw wider, forcing eye contact with Destroyer while Joe's cleaver hovered over Cruxee's spread thighs. "You should thank us," he purred, dragging Cruxee's tongue along his ring like a whetstone. "We're giving your pet exactly what he's been begging for—his worthless life serving one final purpose." Behind them, Petr's camera whirred softly, its red light blinking in sync with Cruxee's ragged breaths.

The mahogany cross creaked under Cruxee's weight as Joe lashed his wrists to the horizontal beam—his welted back arching involuntarily when Petr's nails scored fresh tracks down his thighs. Blood mingled with sweat on the floor beneath him, Destroyer's growls sharpening as Max adjusted the tripod to frame Cruxee's trembling cock against the polished wood. Somewhere in the cellar's shadows, a phone buzzed with encrypted bids.

"Now I'm going to enjoy you a little..." Petr murmured as he positioned himself behind Cruxee's spread legs. His fingers traced the torn edges of Cruxee's hole with clinical precision before thrusting in without warning, the iron taste of blood on his tongue when he bit Cruxee's shoulder. "...this is how I like it. Nicely stretched out on the cross, your ass nicely positioned, defenseless, open... hopefully I won't hurt you too much." His grin flashed against Cruxee's sweat-slicked skin as he set a brutal pace.

Cruxee's scream tore through the cellar as Petr's cock split him open further—each thrust grinding against raw nerve endings while Joe's cleaver glinted in his peripheral vision. Yet even through the agony, his swollen cock dripped steadily onto the cross wood, betraying how Destroyer's enraged gaze locked onto him made his insides spasm around Petr's girth. "P-please—" he choked out.

"Just take it, suffer and hold on... it won't be long now," Petr breathed in rhythm with his thrusts as his movements became erratic, plunging deeper with each snap of his hips. Cruxee's body trembled violently, slick with sweat and blood, as Petr suddenly arched—lifting Cruxee's entire weight onto his cock with a guttural cry before flooding his torn channel with thick semen. As he withdrew, ropes of viscous white streaked with red spilled freely down Cruxee's thighs onto the cellar floor.

"If you're done with him, Peter, we'll take care of him for a while," Max said dryly, rolling his sleeves higher to expose forearms corded with tension. "Joe, let's turn him over and tie him up properly. Then he's yours for a while." His smile didn't reach his eyes as Joe's massive hands untied Cruxee's wrists, flipped him against the cross—the butcher's fingers working quickly to knot fresh ropes that forced Cruxee's spine into a cruel arch, exposing his welted chest and weeping cock to the cellar's stale air. Destroyer's lips peeled back in a silent snarl.

The rough fibers of the rope burned against Cruxee's already raw wrists as Joe cinched them tighter behind the cross—his body suspended between agony and shameful arousal when Max's thumb pressed against his leaking slit. "Please—" he gasped out again, but the plea dissolved into a shuddering moan as Max's fingernails scraped down his oversensitive shaft—his cock twitching violently under the dual torment of pain and Destroyer's searing gaze locked onto him like a brand.

"What a nice piece of meat we have here." Joe muttered to himself as he tied Cruxee's ankles to the vertical beam of the cross so that his feet were about 30 cm above the ground. "It won't be long before I have you nicely laid out on the table. But first, Petr will practice his archery a little, and I'll try out a few new knives." He winked playfully at Cruxee, but his smile sent a chill down Cruxee's spine as he pulled a curved boning knife from his apron pocket.

The cellar lights flickered as Max adjusted the camera angle, his Oxfords crunching on broken glass from Destroyer's shattered laptop. Petr loaded his compound bow with practiced ease, the fletching brushing Cruxee's bleeding nipple before he stepped back—while Destroyer's restraints creaked ominously, his fingers working unseen at the leather straps where Joe's cleaver had nicked them earlier. Somewhere in the shadows, a phone buzzed with another offshore transfer notification.

"Hold still now," Joe murmured, his boning knife tracing the hollow of Cruxee's throat—downward in one smooth motion that parted skin without severing arteries. Blood welled in the shallow cut, dripping between Cruxee's heaving pecs as Joe chuckled. "Just a taste before the main course." Behind him, Petr's arrowhead gleamed silver with Cruxee's reflected sweat.

"Joe, you'd better step aside a little," Petr warned Joe as he moved a little closer to the opposite wall to give himself enough space. He slowly drew the bowstring and carefully aimed. For a moment, he moved the tip of the arrow in circular motions, keeping everyone watching on tenterhooks. Suddenly, he released the arrow with a twang of the bowstring, and almost at the same moment, the arrow stuck high in Cruxee's left thigh, just a short distance from his genitals.

The pain exploded like white-hot lightning through his thigh—yet worse than the arrow's bite was the way his cock jerked against the ropes, betraying his shameful arousal under Destroyer's burning gaze. His breath came in ragged gasps as blood trickled down his leg, mingling with the sweat and semen already slicking his thighs. "D-David—" he choked out before another arrow whizzed past his ribs, pinning his wrist to the cross with a sickening thud.

"May I try my luck, Petr? Would you lend me your bow?" asked Max with a sweet smile, wiping Cruxee's blood off his signet ring onto his tailored trousers. He took the compound bow with ceremonial slowness, running a finger along the fletching still damp with Cruxee's sweat. "Such delicate craftsmanship—perfect for ensuring our merchandise stays... intact enough for Joe's final preparations." His gold cufflinks glinted as he nocked another arrow, aiming between Cruxee's spread thighs.

Joe's laughter rumbled through the cellar as he stepped back to admire Max's stance, wiping his boning knife clean on Cruxee's hair. "Careful now, Minister—don't damage the prime cuts before I've had my fun." His calloused fingers traced the shallow cut on Cruxee's throat, smearing blood down his sternum. "Though I do enjoy watching them squirm when the arrows pierce close enough to make their cocks jump." He winked at Destroyer, who sat silently seething in his restraints.

Max pulled the bowstring taut, then a little more, and held his breath for a moment as he concentrated. Then he released the arrow, and it instantly pierced Cruxee's lower abdomen, just above the base of his penis. Cruxee's scream tore through the cellar as his body convulsed against the ropes—his cock twitching violently despite the agony, sending fresh streaks of precum down his thighs. "Such a delicious reaction," Max purred, running his tongue along the fletching. "Almost makes me want to keep him alive... almost."

The arrow's entry burned like molten iron—yet even as his vision blurred with pain, Cruxee couldn't suppress the ragged moan tearing from his lips when Joe's fingers circled his weeping cockhead. His back arched involuntarily, driving the arrow deeper, as Destroyer's furious gaze locked onto his writhing form. "D-David—" he gasped again, unsure whether he was pleading for mercy for himself or for the sadist, knowing, that it is becoming too late for him to finally break free and claim him properly as there will soon be nothing left to be claimed.

"Now it's my turn," Petr said almost courteously, taking the bow and arrow from Max with a banker's precision. He stood in shooting position, exhaling slowly as he calculated trajectories—the arrowhead glinting before release with a sharp twang. It struck just right of Cruxee's bellybutton, buried deep enough to make his abdominal muscles spasm around the shaft while his cock dribbled pathetically. "Then it's your turn again," he murmured to Max, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

"Max, let me enhance him a little for you. I'll make a spot for you to aim at," Joe said with a wicked smile. He took one of his Japanese knives and faced Cruxee. He licked his balls, then took Cruxee's cockhead in his mouth, making him rigid again despite the agony. His tongue traced the blood trail up Cruxee's torso, avoiding arrows, until he reached the right nipple—biting gently, licking it erect. "This was the last sensation you had through your nipple," Joe observed Cruxee's pain-twisted face. "No, wrong—*this* will be." The knife flashed, severing the nipple cleanly. Cruxee's scream echoed off the cellar walls as Joe pocketed the trophy.

The sudden absence of sensation—then overwhelming pain—made Cruxee's remaining nipple tighten involuntarily. His torn hole clenched around nothing as his cock jerked against the ropes, leaking fresh precum mixed with blood. He wanted to beg Destroyer to make it stop, but the words stuck in his throat when he saw the raw hunger in the older man's eyes—a look that said *mine* even as Joe's blade glinted near his remaining nipple. His body betrayed him again, trembling with arousal despite the mutilation.

Max exhaled sharply as the arrow struck true—burying itself in the raw wound where Joe's knife had severed Cruxee's nipple moments earlier. Blood sprayed across Joe's apron as Cruxee's scream dissolved into wet choking sounds. "Such precision," Max murmured, running his fingers along the taut bowstring. "Almost poetic—though I suppose we should leave *something* intact for Joe's knife work." His polished Oxford tapped against Cruxee's dangling foot as he turned toward Destroyer. "Still broadcasting, old friend?"

Destroyer's wrists flexed against the straps—leather groaning where Joe's cleaver had nicked them earlier—as he tracked the blood dripping from Cruxee's mutilated chest. His nostrils flared at Max's taunt. "Wouldn't you rather know how many offshore accounts I've drained since you walked in?" he growled, lips peeling back to reveal teeth stained with his own bitten-through lip. His cock twitched visibly when Cruxee's remaining nipple tightened under Joe's blade.

Max just smiled contemptuously and turned back to Joe. "Joe, will you open his ballsack? I haven't cum yet, and since his ass is now unavailable, I need another hole to shoot my load into." His gold cufflink scraped against Cruxee's thigh as he traced the arrow embedded there. "Unless Destroyer here wants to confess where he hid our three million first." The cellar lights flickered—casting shadows that made Cruxee's trembling cock seem to nod in agreement.

While attention turned to Destroyer's defiant glare, Joe—with clinical precision—severed Cruxee's remaining nipple in one swift motion, pocketing the trophy beside its twin. Blood pulsed rhythmically down Cruxee's ribs like a macabre hourglass counting down his remaining moments. "There," Joe murmured, licking his blade clean. "Now you're symmetrical. Much prettier for the Minister's... deposit." He winked at Max before pressing two fingers into the fresh wound, making Cruxee's cock jump again.

The pain was a white-hot scream drowned beneath the sound of Max's laughter—yet worse than the mutilation was the way his hips bucked involuntarily toward Joe's touch. "D-David—" he choked out, not sure if it was a plea or an apology, his cock twitching pathetically as blood pooled between his thighs where Max's arrow still quivered.

"No, no confession? No plea? Fine. Whatever you want. Actually, I'm glad. This fun is worth the money." Max nodded to Joe, who bent down to Cruxee's crotch and cut the skin of his scrotum with a small sharp knife. The surface of one testicle peeked out of the opening, and Joe stroked it with his fingertip, causing Cruxee to jump quickly on the cross. Max's breath hitched as he unbuttoned his trousers. "Such responsive meat—Destroyer, you really outdid yourself this time."

The moment the tip of Max's penis began to pierce Cruxee's scrotum, his vision darkened and he cried out in pain—a guttural scream that dissolved into wet choking sounds as his stomach churned violently. Through the red haze of agony, he realized with sudden clarity that it was too late—his body already beyond salvation, just as he'd secretly wished when he first sought out Destroyer. The thought was strangely liberating, allowing him to surrender completely as Max's thrusts accelerated, his cock tunneling through violated flesh like a butcher's hook through tenderloin.

After a few final, brutal thrusts, Max arched sharply—semen flooding Cruxee's ruined scrotum in thick pulses that spilled past the knife wound when he withdrew, dripping obscenely onto the cellar floor. He wiped his bloodied cock lazily across Cruxee's thigh before patting the mutilated chest, fingertips deliberately probing the arrow wound where Cruxee's right nipple had been. "There, done," Max sighed contentedly, adjusting his cufflinks. "Now we just need to roast it a little before the carving begins." His wink at Destroyer was pure malice as he stepped back to let Joe approach with a bundle of wood.

Joe was already walking toward the cross with his arms full of wood that had been stored in the next room and was intended for the fireplace. "If David wants to spare his pet further suffering, I can bleed him... maybe he'll lose consciousness before he starts to burn." He said in a conversational tone and winked at Peter.

Destroyer remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight his molars creaked—yet his eyes never left Cruxee's shuddering form, tracing the way blood seeped between his thighs where Max's seed still dripped. His fingers twitched against the restraints, the leather straps groaning ominously where his hidden knife had sawed halfway through.

"I think that before things start to heat up, we should stabilize David's pet a little more so that it doesn't jerk around too much," said Petr, picking up a bow and arrow and slowly walking into firing position. He carefully placed the arrow, slowly, almost lazily, pulled the bowstring, and aimed without haste. There was no doubt that this arrow would end up between Cruxee's thighs. The moment Peter released the arrow, Cruxee cried out. The shaft of the arrow trembled for a moment high between his thighs, sticking out of his cut scrotum. Miraculously, it did not hit either testicle.

The leather straps holding Destroyer groaned dangerously as his wrists twisted—the hidden blade now three-quarters through the restraint. His nostrils flared at the scent of Cruxee's blood mingling with fresh semen, his pupils dilating when Cruxee's cock twitched pathetically against the arrow shaft. "You always were a shit archer, Petr," he rasped, voice hoarse from suppressed rage. "Missing the jewels like that—almost like you want him *alive*."

Blood loss made the world tilt sickeningly—yet Cruxee's cock still strained upward when Destroyer spoke, betraying him even as Joe stacked kindling beneath his dangling feet. The pain of Max's violation faded beneath sudden, desperate clarity: the way Destroyer's jaw flexed when Petr missed his testicles, the possessive fury in those dark eyes. "P-Please—" he gasped, not even sure what he was asking for anymore. His remaining nipple tightened instinctively under Joe's gaze.

The idea of the fire burning his flesh was making him scared sick. He really dreaded fire. He wished to die sooner through the blood loss and the wounds, but at the moment it seemed unlikely, to his utter desperation.

Destroyer's hidden blade finally severed the last fibers of the restraint with a nearly imperceptible *snap*—just as Joe struck the match. The cellar lights flickered again, casting shadows that made Cruxee's arrow-pierced scrotum twitch obscenely. "Three point two million," he growled, watching Max's head whip around at the exact sum embezzled. "Transferred to Liechtenstein thirty-seven minutes ago."

"You think I don't know that? It was a nice try, and under different circumstances it would have been quite painful, but we knew you would do something like this and took countermeasures. Now you should think about whether it's worth losing your life for. Peter is aiming his bow at you, and this time it won't just be a painful but non-fatal part of your body. If you let yourself be shot, your pet will die a long and painful death, even more so than before. We'll keep the fire going so that it roasts him slowly, but not so big that it suffocates him quickly. But you can spare him. Joe will give you a spear, and you can give your toy a coup de grâce. Or you can entrust it to one of us. But if you do it yourself, you'll be sure," Max smiled.

The scent of burning kindling filled Destroyer's nostrils as he watched Cruxee's legs tremble—not from fear but from that damned, persistent arousal even now. His fingers twitched toward the spear Joe offered, the polished wood cool against his palm. "You always did overestimate your position, Max," he murmured, rolling the shaft between his fingers before suddenly driving it through Joe's throat instead—blood spraying across Petr's bowstring as the cellar erupted into chaos.

Cruxee's vision swam as Destroyer moved—too fast for a man his size—wrenching Petr's bow away mid-draw. The sudden spray of arterial blood across his chest was warm, shockingly intimate, and his cock throbbed against the arrow shaft still embedded in his groin. *This* was the savage dominance he'd secretly craved when he answered that discreet Craigslist ad weeks ago—the one listing "extreme play partners wanted."

The smoke curling up from the kindling beneath his feet smelled like pine and childhood camping trips gone wrong. Destroyer's boot crushed Max's windpipe with a wet crunch, but Cruxee barely heard it—his remaining nipple tightened instead, remembering how Destroyer's teeth had grazed it hours earlier during their first private session. Blood loss made his thoughts drift: perhaps if he'd been stronger, worthier, he could've stayed chained in that cellar forever, serving as Destroyer's personal punching bag and cocksleeve. Now it is too late for that.

Destroyer wiped Joe's blood off the spear onto Max's ruined Oxford shirt, his breathing steady despite the carnage. The scent of burning wood mixed with Cruxee's musk—that unique blend of fear and arousal still clinging to his skin even now—made Destroyer's cock twitch against his slacks. He'd known from the moment Cruxee knelt without hesitation in his foyer that this one was different: not just meat, but *potential.* The way his torn scrotum still twitched around Petr's arrow proved it. "Should've kept you locked in my wine cellar," he murmured, stepping over Petr's convulsing body toward the cross.

The firelight flickered across Cruxee's ruined body—highlighting the way his remaining nipple pebbled instinctively when Destroyer's shadow fell over him, the arrow shaft trembling obscenely between his thighs with each shallow breath. Destroyer's fingertips trailed through the blood streaking Cruxee's ribs, pausing to circle the mutilated right nipple wound—claiming even the absence as territory. Somewhere beyond the cellar door, Max wheezed through a crushed windpipe, but neither man glanced his way; Cruxee's pupils dilated as Destroyer's thumb pressed into the arrow wound, his cock twitching weakly against the ropes despite the agony.

The pain should have drowned everything—yet the wet slide of Destroyer's thumb probing his ruined nipple sent electric currents straight to his groin, his cock dribbling pathetically around Petr's arrow. He wanted to beg for mercy and demand worse simultaneously, his voice reduced to ragged whimpers when Destroyer's other hand encircled the arrow shaft and twisted experimentally—mixing white-hot torment with perverse pleasure that made his vision blur at the edges.

Destroyer exhaled sharply through his nose at Cruxee's response—the way his hips jerked despite the arrow skewering his balls, the desperate tremble in his thighs as firelight licked at his soles. "Should've gagged you sooner," he murmured, pressing two fingers into the gaping scrotal wound until Cruxee's scream dissolved into wet choking sounds. The scent of burning pine mingled with blood and precum, and Destroyer's cock strained against his slacks—half-hard despite the carnage—as he watched Cruxee's remaining nipple pucker instinctively under his gaze.

With a brutal twist, he snapped the arrow shaft still embedded in Cruxee's scrotum, pulling the torn flesh free with a wet pop. Max's drying semen provided slick lubrication as Destroyer guided his own thickening cock into the violated opening, biting Cruxee's surviving nipple hard enough to draw blood when the smaller man arched violently. "Fucking *take it*," he growled, hips pistoning ruthlessly—each thrust sending fresh rivulets of blood down Cruxee's thighs while flames crept closer to their ankles.

The fire's heat licked at his calves now, but worse—far worse—was the way his mutilated groin clenched instinctively around Destroyer's cock, betrayal and surrender merging as tears streaked through the blood on his face. His hoarse scream dissolved into something closer to a sob when Destroyer's teeth reopened the nipple wound—the pain somehow sharpening the pleasure radiating from his ruined scrotum, his cock twitching pathetically against his stomach with each brutal thrust.

The arrow shaft embedded in Cruxee's thigh snapped against Destroyer's hipbone with each violent thrust—firelight glinting off the jagged wood like some perverse trophy. Destroyer's fingers dug into Cruxee's ribcage hard enough to leave bruises that would never fade, his growls syncing with the crackling of encroaching flames as Max's semen mixed with fresh blood between them. Somewhere beyond the cellar door, Petr's wheezing breaths slowed—but neither man noticed, their world reduced to sweat-slick skin and the delicious friction of torn flesh clinging to Destroyer's cock with every withdrawal.

Once he felt the cumming is near, he withdrew his cock from Cruxee's groin and stepped back. He took in the whole ruined body on the cross, every detail of it, then stared for a moment into Cruxee's tortured yet devoted eyes. He took the spear and positioned its tip to Cruxee's still erect cock. With one strong thrust he pierced the cock through, driving the spear deep into Cruxee's abdomen. At that moment, his penis erupted like a volcano, spewing a flood of semen onto Cruxee's thighs and stomach.

The spearhead burned worse than the creeping flames—white-hot agony radiating from his skewered cock up through his ruined abdomen—yet somehow his balls still tightened instinctively when Destroyer's fingers brushed his mutilated scrotum. Blood bubbled past his lips in wet coughs, his vision tunneling to the possessive fury in Destroyer's eyes as his own traitorous hips bucked weakly against the wooden shaft still embedded in his flesh.

"You served me well, thank you!" Destroyer growled, yanking the spear free with a wet schlick before lifting it high—the tip gleaming red under flickering firelight. One last swing sent it crunching between Cruxee's ribs directly into his shuddering heart, the sudden stillness of Cruxee's body more intimate than any kiss.

The cellar smelled of iron and pine smoke, Cruxee's blood pooling around the shattered cross where Destroyer stood panting—the last drops of semen were still dripping from the tip of his penis. Somewhere in the wreckage, Max's phone buzzed with encrypted bids for the video footage, but Destroyer was already composing a Craigslist ad in his head: *Experienced Dom seeks durable plaything for long-term cellar sessions. Must enjoy pain, fire, and total surrender.*