Beneath the Shadow of Sin – Chapter 4: The Stranger’s Den – by Aarav Anthem

Beneath the Shadow of Sin – Chapter 4: The Stranger’s Den – by Aarav Anthem

Ethan’s stomach churned as the truck rumbled down a quiet street, the neon glow of the city fading into the dim sprawl of industrial lots. Marcus drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Ethan’s thigh, a possessive weight that made Ethan’s skin crawl and burn all at once. The radio blared classic rock, but Ethan barely heard it over the thud of his own heartbeat. They were headed to Jack’s place, a “favor” Marcus had mentioned with a smirk that promised trouble. Ethan didn’t ask for details; he’d learned by now that questions only tightened the noose.

Jack’s house was a squat, brick building tucked behind a chain-link fence, its windows dark except for a faint flicker in the basement. Marcus parked and cut the engine, his green eyes glinting in the streetlight. “Behave yourself, kid,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Jack’s a good friend. You play nice, and maybe I’ll let you off easy tonight.” He squeezed Ethan’s thigh, hard enough to bruise, and stepped out of the truck.

Ethan followed, his legs heavy, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Jack greeted them at the door, his shaved head gleaming under the porch light, his grin too wide for comfort. “Well, look at you, Ethan,” he said, clapping Marcus on the shoulder. “Kid’s even prettier up close.” His eyes raked over Ethan, lingering on his chest, his hips, and Ethan fought the urge to bolt. Jack’s house smelled of motor oil and stale beer, a stark contrast to the polished cruelty of Marcus’s presence.

They descended a narrow staircase to the basement, the air growing cooler, heavier, with a faint musk Ethan couldn’t place. The room was dimly lit, concrete walls lined with old tools and a worn leather couch in the corner. Two other men were there, both in their forties, one lean with a graying beard, the other stocky with a scar across his cheek. They nodded at Marcus, their eyes settling on Ethan with a hunger that made his skin prickle. “This the kid?” the lean one asked, his voice gravelly.

“Yep,” Marcus said, his tone proud, almost proprietary. “Ethan’s gonna show you boys a good time.” He pushed Ethan forward, a hand on his lower back, and Ethan stumbled, catching himself against the couch. The men chuckled, and Jack handed Marcus a beer, the clink of bottles a casual counterpoint to the tension coiling in Ethan’s chest.

“Relax, kid,” Jack said, stepping close. He was broader than Marcus, his arms thick from years of wrenching engines, his breath sharp with whiskey. “We’re just here to have some fun. You’re gonna like it.” He gestured to the couch, where the other men were already seated, their jeans unbuttoned, hands resting on their thighs.

Ethan’s mouth went dry, his eyes darting to Marcus for some sign of mercy, but his father’s smirk was unwavering. “Go on, Ethan,” Marcus said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Show ‘em what I taught you.”

Ethan’s knees trembled as he sank onto the couch, the leather creaking under him. Jack stood in front of him, unzipping his jeans with a slow, deliberate motion. “Let’s see what you got, kid,” he said, freeing his cock—thick, veined, already hard. Ethan’s breath hitched, his body caught between fear and the shameful heat pooling in his gut. He glanced at Marcus, who nodded once, his eyes dark with expectation.

Ethan leaned forward, his lips brushing Jack’s cock, the musky scent overwhelming. He took it into his mouth, slow at first, tasting the salt of skin and precum. Jack groaned, his hand settling on Ethan’s head, fingers digging into his scalp. “Fuck, Marcus, you weren’t lying,” Jack said, his voice rough. “Kid’s got a mouth on him.”

Marcus chuckled, sipping his beer, his eyes never leaving Ethan. “Told you. He’s a quick learner.” The other men watched, their hands moving to their own cocks, stroking lazily as Ethan worked. The basement was a haze of low groans and the wet sounds of Ethan’s mouth, the air thick with a primal energy that made his head spin.

Jack’s hips rocked, pushing deeper, and Ethan relaxed his throat, letting the man use him. The stocky man, Scar, stood and moved behind Ethan, his hands tugging at Ethan’s jeans. “Let’s see the rest of you,” he muttered, pulling the denim down to Ethan’s ankles. Ethan tensed, his heart pounding, but Jack’s grip kept him in place, his cock still buried in Ethan’s mouth.

Scar’s hands were rough, spreading Ethan’s cheeks, and Ethan flinched as a finger probed him, slick with spit. “Tight little ass,” Scar said, his voice a low growl. He pressed in, one finger, then two, stretching Ethan with a burn that made him whimper around Jack’s cock. Marcus watched, his expression unreadable, but Ethan could feel his father’s gaze like a physical touch, commanding, owning.

“Give it to him,” Marcus said, his voice calm but firm. Scar didn’t hesitate, replacing his fingers with his cock, the intrusion sudden and intense. Ethan gasped, the sound muffled, his body rocking between Jack’s thrusts and Scar’s slow, deep pushes. The pain was sharp, but it melded with a twisted pleasure, his own cock hardening against his will.

Jack’s groans grew louder, his hand tightening in Ethan’s hair. “Fuck, kid, I’m close,” he said, his thrusts erratic. Ethan sucked harder, desperate to please, to end it, and Jack came with a grunt, his cum flooding Ethan’s mouth. Ethan swallowed, his throat burning, as Scar’s pace quickened behind him, each thrust driving Ethan forward.

Scar’s hands gripped Ethan’s hips, bruising, and he came with a low curse, his cock pulsing deep inside. Ethan shuddered, his body overwhelmed, his own release spilling onto the couch without a touch. The men laughed, a coarse sound that echoed in the basement, and Ethan collapsed, his face flushed, his breath ragged.

Marcus stepped forward, clapping Jack on the shoulder. “Told you he was something special,” he said, his voice proud. He looked down at Ethan, sprawled and spent, and smirked. “Clean up, kid. You did good.” He handed Ethan a rag, his eyes glinting with something darker—pride, possession, maybe even a hint of jealousy.

The other men zipped up, grabbing beers and joking as if nothing had happened, but Ethan felt their eyes on him, marking him. Jack leaned down, his breath hot against Ethan’s ear. “You’re coming back, kid. We got plans for you.” He straightened, tossing Ethan’s jeans back to him, and Ethan dressed in silence, his body aching, his mind a storm of shame and confusion.

In the truck on the way home, Marcus was quiet, his hand back on Ethan’s thigh, a silent claim. “You did alright,” he said finally, his voice low. “Jack’s got some friends who’ll pay good money for a kid like you. We’re gonna make this a regular thing.”

Ethan stared out the window, the city lights blurring past. He wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight of Marcus’s hand, the memory of the basement, kept him silent. He was slipping deeper into his father’s world, and the worst part was the part of him that didn’t want to escape—the part that craved the heat, the pain, the surrender.

Back home, Marcus pulled Ethan close, his lips brushing Ethan’s ear. “You’re mine first, though,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to cup Ethan’s ass. “Don’t forget that.” He let go and walked inside, leaving Ethan standing in the driveway, the night air cold against his skin, the weight of his choices heavier than ever.

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