Bound and Branded on the Pallet

The rough splinters of the pallet dug into my bare back as Coach—yeah, that silver-haired daddy with the glasses and perpetual hard-on from the gym—pinned my neck down with one meaty paw, his other hand wielding the black marker like a weapon. Warehouse air thick with sawdust and his musky sweat hit me hard, my blindfold hood yanked tight enough to make my world pitch black, wrists chained wide, ankles buckled into those blue straps splaying me like a fuckin’ sacrifice. “Hold still, boy,” he growled low, voice gravelly from years of barking orders, his knee shoving my thighs apart wider.

I was rock hard already, cock slapping my abs, pre-cum smearing sticky trails. Shit, the vulnerability hit deep—heart pounding, every nerve screaming for his touch. He chuckled, breath hot on my collarbone, starting his filthy artwork right there: “Property” scrawled bold across my pecs, thick lines claiming me. His fingers grazed my nipples as he wrote, pinching hard enough to arch me off the wood. “Fuck… Coach, please,” I whimpered, voice cracking, that subby slut inside begging even as my hole clenched empty.

He shifted, shorts tenting huge now, straddling my thigh—felt his bulge grind deliberate, leaking through the fabric onto my skin. Marker dipped lower, circling my navel: “Cumdump” in jagged letters, his free hand palming my balls, rolling them heavy. “That’s right, greedy little pig,” he muttered, thumb smearing my slit, forcing out more slick. I bucked, chains rattling, the metallic clink echoing off gray walls stacked with pallets and tools. His scent overwhelmed—salty pits, faint bleach from his shirt clinging damp.

Down he went, marker teasing my pubes: “Daddy’s Hole” arrowed straight to my ass. He slapped my cock sideways, stinging sweet, then yanked my hips up, exposing everything. “Gonna brand this tight pussy next.” Internal fire raged; I was his canvas, throbbing wreck. Dropping the marker, he shed his shorts—felt the heat of his fat, veiny dick slap my thigh, foreskin peeled back, musky head weeping. “Open,” he commanded, shoving it past my lips. I gagged eager, tongue swirling salty pre, deepthroating sloppy as he face-fucked, balls smacking my chin. “Good boy… swallow it all.”

Pulled off gasping, he flipped me rough—face down now, ass up, chains twisting. Spit hit my hole, then his tongue dove filthy, rimming deep, beard scraping cheeks. “Tastes like mine already.” Fingers breached, three quick, stretching raw. Then his cockhead nudged—bare, forbidden thick—thrusting in balls-deep, raw-dogging my guts. Wet slaps filled the room, sweat dripping from his gut onto my back, every pound hitting prostate fireworks. “Take it, marked slut!” he roared, railing harder, my moans muffled in wood.

I shattered first, untouched, cum splattering pallet in ropes. He followed, flooding my hole creampie-hot, grinding deep. Pulled out leaking, smeared the mess back in. Collapsed beside me, panting, his hand tracing his writing possessively.

But little did I know, that was just the warm-up—his crew was waiting outside with the real tools…