Chapter 162: Bound and Used As The Toll -3

The tall one reached him first. His rough, calloused hand slid into Kael’s hair and tilted his head back.

The man studied his face for a second - glassy eyes, his parted mouth, the flush high on his cheekbones - then pushed two fingers past his lips.

Kael’s tongue met them on instinct. The man made a low sound of approval and pressed deeper, slowly, testing his gag reflex.

At the same time one of the others dropped to a crouch beside him.

His hand closed around Kael’s cock without warning. It was hot, dry, tighter than the Tollkeeper’s had been.

The first stroke wrung a broken noise out of Kael that the fingers in his mouth turned into a muffled choke.

The third man moved behind him. His palms settled on the welts across his back, not striking, just mapping the heat there, then sliding down to grip the flesh of his ass and spread him open for the cool evening air.

Kael’s body jerked against the restraints. The collar chain snapped taut. Every nerve felt scraped raw.

The hand on his cock worked him in steady, greedy pulls while the fingers in his mouth fucked deeper, and the man behind him kept his ass cheeks spread, digging his thumbs into the sore muscle.

Shame and unwanted heat tangled so tightly he couldn’t breathe around them. His cock throbbed in the stranger’s fist, already leaking harder.

The edge that the Tollkeeper had denied him earlier came rushing back fast and vicious.

The Tollkeeper watched from a few paces away, with his arms loose at his sides, his expression was unreadable.

He didn’t intervene. He simply observed the way Kael’s hips twitched helplessly into the stroke, the wet sounds of the fingers in his mouth, the fine full-body tremor that started in his thighs and climbed.

The man working Kael’s cock leaned in close, breathing hot against his ear.

"Fuck, look at you. Already this close."

Kael’s answer was only a choked sound around the fingers still pressing down on his tongue.

His vision had gone tight at the edges. Every slow, deliberate pull dragged him nearer to the release he knew he wouldn’t be allowed.

The man behind him released one cheek to reach under and roll his balls in a rough palm, squeezing just short of pain.

The dual sensation ripped a raw, desperate noise out of Kael’s throat.

The tall one pulled his fingers free and wiped them across Kael’s cheek, leaving a smear of spit.

"Open your mouth wider for me," he ordered, in a low voice.

Kael obeyed. The man stepped in, freed himself, and fed the head of his cock past Kael’s lips.

The taste of salt and skin flooded his tongue. Kael’s jaw stretched. The man didn’t force deep - not yet - he just held there, letting Kael feel the weight of it, the heat, while the hand on his own cock never slowed.

The Tollkeeper’s voice cut across the scene, calm and absolute.

"He doesn’t come. Not for you. Not until I say."

The man stroking Kael immediately eased off, switching to lighter, teasing pulls that kept him straining without relief.

Kael’s hips stuttered forward anyway, chasing friction that was no longer enough.

A broken, frustrated sound vibrated around the cock in his mouth.

The man using his throat groaned and pushed a little deeper, one hand tightening in his hair to hold him steady.

Kael’s world narrowed to sensation: the stretch of his lips, the relentless, insufficient friction on his cock, the ache in his spread knees, the collar locked short so he couldn’t even drop his head without the chain pulling.

Every breath was thick with the smell of the men around him. Every heartbeat throbbed in the ignored length between his legs.

The Tollkeeper stepped closer. He crouched slightly so he could speak near Kael’s ear while the others continued.

"Feel that?" His voice was quiet, almost mild. "Three of them. And you’re still mine to decide. You take what they give. You stay hard. You don’t finish. That’s the price of the road."

Kael’s answer was only the helpless, wet sound of his throat working around the cock sliding over his tongue.

His eyes had gone unfocused. Tears of strain gathered at the corners but didn’t fall.

His cock jumped in the teasing grip, dripping steadily now onto the dirt.

The man behind him released his ass only long enough to deliver one open-handed slap across a welted ass cheeks.

The sting flared bright and sharp. Kael jerked hard against the chains.

The man at his mouth used the motion to push deeper, and the one stroking him finally tightened his fist again - full, firm pulls that dragged Kael straight back to the edge and held him there, trembling, open, completely unable to move away from any of it.

The Tollkeeper watched the exact moment Kael’s control started to fracture - the full-body shudder, the desperate noise he couldn’t swallow, the way his thighs shook with the effort of not coming.

Then, still calm, he spoke again.

"Enough. Hands off him."

The three men obeyed at once. The sudden loss of touch left Kael swaying in the restraints, cock dark and aching, spit-slick mouth open and panting. The cool air against his oversensitive skin made him shiver hard.

The Tollkeeper straightened. His eyes moved over Kael once, thorough and assessing, before he looked at the three travelers.

"You’ve had your fun. Take the road. Don’t come back this way without something better to trade."

They didn’t argue. They fixed their clothes in silence, collected what little they had left, and returned to their vehicles.

Engines turned over. The sound faded into the deadlands until only the wind remained.

Kael stayed exactly where the chains held him - kneeling, marked, dripping, denied again.

His breath scraped in and out of his chest. Every welt pulsed with residual heat.

His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat, untouched and desperate.

The Tollkeeper stepped in front of him once more. He didn’t speak immediately.

He simply looked down at the wrecked picture Kael made, and something dark and satisfied moved behind his eyes.

Then he reached out and brushed a single gloved thumb across the wet head of Kael’s cock again.

Kael’s whole body flinched.

The Tollkeeper’s voice was quiet.

"Still not finished."