The First Supper, Part Three

He's bent over the table, knees locked, wrists cuffed behind his back. The steel collar bites into his throat when he tries to lift his head. A thick, veined cock presses between his ass cheeks—slow, deliberate, spreading him open. He groans through clenched teeth, the sound raw, almost angry. Every inch sinks deeper, stretching him until his hole burns, but he stays quiet like he was told. The big dick fucks him in steady strokes, hips snapping forward, skin slapping skin. His own cock hangs untouched, leaking onto the floor. The weight on his back pushes him flat. The cuffs rattle when his fists clench. Sweat slides down his spine. When the thrust finally bottoms out, he chokes on a moan he can't swallow. The collar tightens again. He stays there, full, shaking, waiting for the next order.