**Bound in the Shadows**

The air in the homeless camp was thick with the scent of sweat, damp earth, and unwashed bodies. I knew better than to wander alone at night, but hunger had driven me deeper into the maze of tents and tarps than I should’ve gone. That’s when Johan found me.

He was older, built like a fighter—broad shoulders, rough hands, a smirk that made my stomach tighten. I’d seen him around before, always watching, never speaking. But tonight, he didn’t give me the chance to run. One second, I was stumbling through the dark, the next, his hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me into his tent.

“You’ve been staring,” he growled, shoving me onto the pile of blankets that served as his bed. “That’s dangerous, kid.”

My heart pounded as he pulled out a length of frayed rope from his bag. I tried to scramble back, but he grabbed my wrist, twisting it behind me with brutal efficiency.

“Please,” I gasped, but he just laughed, his breath hot on my neck as he tied my hands together.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “You don’t beg until I tell you.”

The rope bit into my skin as he secured me, tight enough that any struggle only made it worse. His knee forced my legs apart, and I let out a shaky moan when I felt his hand palm my cock through my jeans. I hated how quickly I hardened under his touch, how my hips jerked up without thinking.

Johan smirked. “Knew you wanted this.”

His fingers dug into my waist as he yanked my pants down, my dick springing free, already leaking. He spit into his palm and stroked me roughly, his grip tight enough to make my toes curl.

“Fuck,” I whimpered, hips twitching up into his fist.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grunted. I gasped when his other hand slid down, fingers pressing against my hole. Dry, rough—I hissed at the burn.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Johan snarled, shoving a spit-slick finger inside me anyway.

I arched, throat working against a whine. It hurt, but my cock still throbbed, shame and need twisting together as he worked me open.

“You take it well,” he mused, adding a second finger, stretching me wide. His breath was uneven, his own dick straining against his jeans.

Before I could brace, he had me flipped onto my stomach, my tied wrists pinned beneath me. The sound of his zipper was loud in the dark, then his cock was nudging against me, thick and hot.

“Please,” I choked out.

“Told you not to beg yet,” he growled, slamming into me with one brutal thrust.

I cried out, my body bowing under him. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just fucked into me like he owned me, his hips slapping against my ass. Every thrust punched a noise out of me—gasps, whimpers, moans. The pain faded into something filthy, electric, and soon I was pushing back against him, my cock dripping onto the blankets.

Johan’s hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. “You love this,” he hissed, slamming deeper. “Fucking whore.”

I couldn’t deny it. My dick ached, untouched and desperate.

Then his hand wrapped around me, jerking me in time with his thrusts. The orgasm hit me like a punch—my whole body locked up, cum splattering the blankets beneath me. Johan groaned, his rhythm faltering before he buried himself deep with a growl, filling me up.

He pulled out, giving my ass a rough smack before untying me. “Don’t come back unless you want more.”

I didn’t answer. Just stumbled out into the night, still shaking, still aching.

And knowing I’d be back.