Chapter 160: Bound and Used As The Toll -1

The only safe road left through the irradiated deadlands belonged to one man - The Tolkeeper.

Travelers paid in fuel, medicine, or your body for safe passage. Kael had none of the first two left and he desperately needed to cross over.

He stopped a few paces short of the fortified shack. The red sun was about setting. Dust clung to the back of his throat.

The Tollkeeper stepped out without hurry, with his coat open, and the scar on his body catching the light. He didn’t speak at first. He just looked.

Kael felt that look like a hand on his skin. It moved from his face to his mouth, down the line of his throat, across his chest, and settled low- right on his dick.

His pulse kicked hard against his ribs. He kept his expression flat, but something in his stomach pulled tight.

"What is your mode of payment for safe passage?" the Tollkeeper asked.

"I have nothing."

A small shift at the corner of the man’s mouth. Not quite a smile. He took one step closer. Then another. Close enough that Kael could smell smoke and leather and clean sweat. Close enough that the air between them felt thinner.

"Then you’re paying the other way."

The words landed low in Kael’s gut. Heat flickered under his skin even as his mind tried to push it down.

Pride was a stubborn thing. It didn’t want to succumb, but his traitorous body was already reacting to the gaze.

The Tollkeeper’s gaze dropped again, lingering. Kael’s breathing had gone shallow without him noticing.

A faint tremor ran through his fingers. He curled them into fists to hide it.

"Get on your knees."

Kael’s jaw tightened. For a second he stayed standing, pulse hammering in his ears.

Then he lowered himself. Dirt bit into his knees as he dropped down.

The cold ground leached heat from his skin, but the rest of him felt too warm.

The Tollkeeper walked a slow half-circle around him. Boots quiet. Every step made the fine hairs on Kael’s arms lift.

A gloved hand settled under his chin and tilted his face up. The touch was firm, almost careful. Kael’s throat worked against the pressure.

He met the man’s eyes and felt something twist deeper in his stomach - fear, yes, but threaded with a sharper, unwanted awareness.

"Strip for me... slowly," the Tollkeeper said. "I want to see what I am working with."

Kael’s hands moved, he pulled his jacket first. The evening air kissed the bare skin of his arms and raised gooseflesh.

His shirt was next. He felt the man’s attention like heat on every newly exposed inch.

Then went his boots and pants - the last of his clothes.

When he was bare, his cock was already half-hard, the cool air doing nothing to soften it.

Shame and arousal tangled so tightly he couldn’t tell them apart.

His pulse thudded visibly at the base of his throat.

The Tollkeeper’s eyes tracked that pulse. Then lower. He didn’t touch yet.

He just looked, and the looking was worse - longer, heavier, deliberate.

Kael’s breath caught. He could feel every shift of air against his skin.

Leather cuffs closed around his wrists one at a time. The Tollkeeper’s fingers brushed the inside of his forearm as he buckled them, a fleeting contact that sent a ripple straight down Kael’s spine.

The collar came next - thicker and heavier than the leather cuffs.

When it settled around his throat, Kael swallowed hard against it.

The Tolkeeper then proceeded to lock the short chain from the collar to a post.

Ankle restraints followed, this forced the knee wider. The position left him open, exposed, unable to close his legs or hide the way his cock had thickened further.

A flush climbed his neck. He stared at the dirt and tried to steady his breathing. It didn’t work.

The Tollkeeper stepped behind him. For a long moment there was only the sound of the wind and the slow, measured rhythm of the man’s boots.

Then the soft drag of braided leather across Kael’s shoulders. Not a strike. Just the promise of one.

The falls trailed down his spine, over the curve of his ass, along the back of one thigh. Kael’s muscles jumped.

His cock twitched hard against his stomach.

The first stroke landed across his upper back. Heat bloomed under the skin. The second followed after a pause long enough for Kael’s nerves to tighten in anticipation.

Then came the third stroke. Each one measured, never rushed, giving him time to feel the burn settle and the next one coming.

His breathing turned ragged. Sweat gathered at the small of his back despite the cool air.

Every time his hips shifted forward without permission, the Tollkeeper waited, letting the ache build, until Kael was trembling with the effort of staying still.

When the flogging finally paused, the Tollkeeper moved in close. Heat radiated off his body.

He slid his hand into Kael’s hair and drew his head back until the collar pressed firm against his throat.

His other hand reached around and closed around his cock.

Kael’s whole body jerked. The grip was steady, almost gentle at first, then tighter.

He began to stroke him slowly, deliberately dragging his thumb against the head of his dick with each stroke.

Pressure was already building up on Kael’s cock and this made his thighs to shake.

His pulse roared in his ears. He was so close so fast it scared him - the sharp, helpless climb, the way his body strained toward a release he already knew wouldn’t be allowed.

The Tollkeeper noticed that he was on the edge, almost about to cum, and stopped stroking immediately.

Kael made a broken sound he couldn’t swallow. The Tollkeeper held him there, right on the edge, thumb still pressed under the sensitive head, denying the final stroke.

Seconds stretched. Kael’s cock throbbed in the man’s fist, leaking desperately. His breath came in short, uneven pulls.

"No, you don’t get to cum" the Tollkeeper said quietly against his ear. "Not yet, and maybe not at all."

He released him. The sudden absence of touch was almost worse.

Kael’s hips twitched once into empty air before he forced them still.

Shame burned hotter than the marks on his back.

The Tollkeeper walked around to the front again. He hooked two fingers under the collar and lifted Kael’s face. Their eyes met.

Kael’s were glassy, pupils blown. His mouth was parted. He could feel how wrecked he must look and hated that part of him didn’t care.

"Next group comes before full dark," the Tollkeeper said.

"They’ll see you like this. Hard, marked and waiting. If they want to look longer, they can. If they want more, they ask me. And if they pay enough, I’ll let them." His thumb brushed the corner of Kael’s mouth, lingering.

"You stay exactly as you are. Clear?"

Kael’s voice scraped out, rough. "Clear."

The Tollkeeper held his gaze a moment longer, something unreadable moving behind his eyes.

Then he stepped back, turned, and walked toward the shack.

Kael stayed on his knees in the dirt, his wrists still locked, the heavy collar was still on, his skin, still hot and singing from the flogger.

His cock ached, untouched and denied.

Every small shift of the evening wind against his oversensitive skin made him shiver.

In the distance, the low growl of engines was already starting to rise.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

----

The engines sound grew louder, the next group must be close by.

Kael kept his eyes closed as long as he could. The sound carried across the deadlands in a low, uneven growl - two vehicles, maybe three.

His pulse climbed with every second. The collar sat heavy against his throat.

Every small shift of his weight made the chains answer with a quiet metallic click.

The marks across his back and ass still burned in slow waves. Between his legs he was still hard, the ache sharp and unanswered.

He could hear the sound of boots scuffing in the dirt outside the shack. Then came the Tollkeeper’s voice, calm and low.

"Stop there. Toll."

Voices answered. They were rough, tired, edged with the kind of caution that never quite left people who still moved through the deadlands.

Kael opened his eyes.

Three men. Dust-caked coats, rifles slung but not raised.

One of them carried a dented fuel can. Another had a small med kit strapped to his pack.

They looked first at the Tollkeeper. Then their eyes found Kael.

Their gaze dropped and stayed there - on the collar, the spread of Kael’s knees, the flushed, neglected length of his cock.

Heat flooded Kael’s face and chest. His stomach clenched. He wanted to close his legs, but the restraints made it impossible.

The Tollkeeper stepped into their line of sight, not blocking Kael so much as framing him.

"Fuel and meds is for safe passage through my land," he said. "Anything more, would have to be paid for."

One of the travelers, who had not stopped staring for a second said,

"That’s a fine specimen."

"He’s the demonstration." The Tollkeeper’s voice stayed even. "You can admire him, free of charge, but you don’t touch unless you do the needful. Are we clear?"