The crate arrived unmarked at midnight, delivered by silent hands that vanished into the darkness. Inside, he waited—perfectly still, perfectly bound.
His name had been Marcus once. Now he was simply “the package.”
Thick, glossy black latex hugged every inch of his body like a second skin, shining under the faint overhead bulb. A heavy posture collar locked his head high, forcing him to stare straight ahead through the narrow eye slits of the restrictive hood. The built-in gag pressed deep, turning every breath into a soft, muffled whimper.
Heavy leather straps encircled his chest and arms, cinched brutally tight and connected by thick steel chains that ran to heavy padlocks. His wrists were cuffed behind him, pulled high into a strict reverse prayer position. Matching cuffs locked his ankles together, with just enough slack in the short chain to force him into this humiliating squat inside the wooden crate.
A black leather corset crushed his waist dramatically, accentuating the shiny curves of his hips and ass. The position they’d forced him into—knees spread wide, back straight, shoulders pulled back—made every muscle burn deliciously. He couldn’t straighten his legs. He couldn’t close them. He could barely even shift his weight without the chains rattling softly against the wood.
A long chain ran from the ring at the front of his collar, down between his legs, and up again to the heavy padlock at his chest harness, creating a constant, teasing pressure with every shallow breath he took.
He had no idea how long he’d been in the crate. Hours? Days? Time had dissolved into the constant, intimate embrace of the latex and the unrelenting bite of the restraints. Sweat beaded inside the suit, making the rubber cling even tighter. His heart hammered with a mix of fear and dark, shameful arousal.
Then came the sound of footsteps outside the crate.
The lid creaked open further. A calm, low voice spoke from the shadows:
“Welcome home, package. I hope you’re comfortable. You’re going to be staying in there a very, very long time.”
Marcus’s only reply was a soft, helpless moan into the gag as the crate lid began to close again.
The crate lid swung open with a heavy creak, flooding the dim room with harsh fluorescent light. Two pairs of polished black boots stepped into view.
“Well, well… look what the night shift dragged in,” growled a deep, amused voice.
Marcus blinked against the sudden brightness, his latex-encased body still locked in that humiliating squat. The two officers loomed over him—both tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing the dark uniforms of the city’s notoriously corrupt vice squad. Their badges glinted, but their eyes held nothing but raw, predatory hunger.
Officer Reyes, the taller one with a thick beard, grabbed the chain attached to Marcus’s collar and gave it a sharp yank. “Out you come, toy.”
Marcus groaned into the gag as strong hands hauled him forward. His chained ankles and the strict corset made movement agonizing; he could only shuffle and stumble on his knees until they dragged him fully out of the crate and dumped him face-down onto the cold concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse they used as their private playroom.
“Fuck, he’s even better in person,” muttered Officer Kane, the younger, more muscular cop. He circled Marcus slowly, boots clicking, then crouched down and ran a gloved hand over the glossy black latex covering his ass. “Look at this setup. Someone really gift-wrapped him for us.”
They didn’t bother asking questions. They never did with the “packages” that occasionally arrived for them.
Reyes unlocked the short chain between Marcus’s ankle cuffs, then roughly spread his legs wide, re-securing each cuff to heavy rings bolted into the floor. The position left him on all fours, back arched by the corset, ass presented high and vulnerable. The thick chain running from his collar down between his legs tightened painfully, pressing the built-in plug deeper inside him with every shift.
Kane produced a large pair of shears and carefully cut a neat hole in the latex right over Marcus’s hole, exposing him completely while leaving the rest of the shiny suit intact. “There we go. Access granted.”
Marcus whimpered, trembling as Reyes unzipped his uniform pants and pulled out his thick, already-hard cock. Without warning, the cop gripped the back of the latex hood and slammed into him in one brutal thrust. The sudden stretch tore a muffled scream from Marcus’s gagged mouth, his body jerking against the chains.
“Shit, he’s tight,” Reyes grunted, setting a savage rhythm, hips slapping loudly against the glossy latex-covered ass. Each thrust drove the cock deeper, sending waves of forced pleasure-pain through Marcus’s helpless body.
Kane wasn’t idle. He knelt in front of Marcus’s hooded face, unzipped, and yanked the front panel of the hood open just enough to pull the gag out. Before Marcus could even gasp for air, Kane shoved his own heavy cock down his throat, choking him instantly.
“That’s it, slave,” Kane growled, gripping the sides of the hood like handles. “You’re our new station bitch now. Every night shift, every time we need to blow off steam after dealing with scum on the streets… this is where you’ll be.”
They used him mercilessly, alternating and sometimes taking him at both ends at once. Reyes’s powerful thrusts rocked Marcus’s entire bound body forward onto Kane’s cock, the chains rattling in a steady, degrading rhythm. Sweat poured inside the latex, making it gleam even brighter under the lights. The corset squeezed his waist so tightly he could barely breathe between the two thick cocks filling him.
When Reyes finally came deep inside him with a guttural groan, he stayed buried, plugging his load in place while Kane face-fucked him to completion, flooding his throat until cum dripped from the corners of his stretched lips.
They didn’t let him rest.
Kane took his turn next, switching positions while Reyes lit a cigarette and watched, lazily stroking himself back to hardness. They rotated for what felt like hours—fucking his ass, his mouth, sometimes both at once again—using the chains and straps to manhandle him into whatever degrading position they wanted: bent over a sawhorse, suspended slightly by his wrist and ankle cuffs, or forced back into a deep squat while they took turns using his mouth.
By the time the sky outside began to lighten, Marcus was a wrecked, cum-leaking mess still locked in shiny black latex, chains dangling, body trembling with exhaustion and unwanted orgasms they’d forced from him.
Reyes crouched down, tilting the hooded head up by the collar. “Good boy. You’re officially our property now. We’ll hose you down, lock you back in the crate during the day… and every night you’ll be right here, serving your horny, corrupt masters.”
Kane smirked, already zipping up. “Welcome to the force, slave.”
Marcus could only moan weakly into the re-inserted gag as they dragged his spent body back toward the open crate, the heavy chains clinking with every exhausted movement.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
