Eli woke slowly, stretching under the soft weight of the duvet, the morning sun already casting golden strips across the floor. His body felt lighter than the night before -- freshly showered, skin smooth, still carrying the faint scent of the soap. But beneath that surface calm, every inch of him remembered.
He'd gone to sleep clean, but not untouched. Not even close.
His throat was a little sore. His hips ached faintly from being held down and pounded, again and again. His ass still felt the dull, blissful echo of being stretched open -- used and filled. Even now, alone in his bed, he could almost feel them -- fingers on his neck, voices in his ears, praising him as he trembled, spent and smiling.
Last night hadn't been a dream. He'd given himself to the men, obedient and open. They had taken their time with him. They had made a show of him. They had made him theirs.
Eli ran a hand over his chest, bare and warm beneath the sheet. His cock stirred lazily, not fully hard -- more like curious. Anticipating.
He rolled over toward the nightstand. A folded tank top sat there waiting for him, laid out just before he'd fallen asleep, along with soft, almost indecently short athletic shorts and something small and gleaming beside them.
A plug.
And a note:
"Breakfast in ten. Shorts. Plug. Tank. Be proud to be ours."
-- M
He bit his lip, nerves dancing under his skin. But beneath them was something stronger -- the thrill of being wanted, molded, seen.
Eli sat up, reached for the tank top, and pulled it over his head. The cotton clung to his frame like it was made for him, the single word across his chest in bold white letters: OBEDIENT.
He looked at himself in the mirror. And smiled.
Eli stood slowly, his heart beating a little faster now, pulse fluttering in his neck. The room was quiet, but the moment felt charged -- like the silence just before something wicked and wonderful.
He took the plug in hand and knew what he had to do.
It wasn't large -- just enough to keep him aware, to stretch him gently, a constant reminder of where he belonged. Of who he belonged to.
He bent over slightly, resting one hand on the bed, and eased it in with practiced care. The stretch made him gasp softly, even after last night. It slid in smoothly, the base pressing flush against his hole. He clenched around it, then relaxed. Already he could feel the subtle weight of it, every shift of his hips tugging at his insides.
Then the shorts.
They were soft and nearly sheer in the sunlight -- pale grey, low-slung, and scandalously short. When he tugged them up over his thighs, they barely covered anything. His cheeks peeked out at the bottom, and the fabric clung tight over the base of the plug, the outline betraying everything.
He checked himself in the mirror one more time. His nipples were slightly visible through the fabric. His face flushed just from the sight.
He stepped out into the hallway and headed down the stairs, every step sending a small pulse through his core. The plug shifted inside him with each motion, his breath catching every few seconds. The hostel was already stirring -- footsteps on the floorboards, voices echoing faintly down the corridor.
And then he stepped into the breakfast area. It was a modest spread -- coffee, fruit, some pastries -- but Eli barely noticed. He felt heat crawl up his neck the moment he entered. There were at least a dozen people already eating, mostly men, some of them clearly the same ones who had been there last night.
One of them -- the tattooed man who had cum down Eli's throat while laughing with a friend -- looked up from his coffee and smirked. Another, wearing sunglasses indoors, gave him a low whistle and murmured something under his breath.
Eli didn't dare look away. He walked slowly toward the table where the Daddies sat: Marcus, Ben and Jordan, all dressed casually, coffee mugs in hand, relaxed like any group of older friends enjoying a morning together.
Except they were watching him like he was prey.
Marcus raised an eyebrow in approval, setting down his mug. You're on time," he said softly. "And dressed correctly."
Eli nodded, lips parted slightly. "Yes, Sir."
"Good boy."
He stepped closer to the table, and Marcus leaned back in his chair casually, letting one arm drape low -- then not-so-subtly reached behind Eli and gave his ass a firm squeeze. His fingers found the plug's base instantly through the shorts, pressing in just enough to make Eli gasp and tremble.
Marcus smirked. "In place."
Eli nodded again, cheeks bright pink now. He could feel the other men's gazes on him -- some curious, some knowing.
Jordan patted the seat beside him. "Sit and eat, pup. You'll need your energy for later."
Eli sat slowly, carefully, trying not to let the pressure of the plug show on his face.
But the heat between his legs, the weight in his gut, and the ache of being stared at so openly -- that was impossible to hide.
Eli sat with his thighs pressed tightly together, doing his best to sip orange juice without letting the plug distract him too visibly. The three Daddies sat across and beside him, watching with calm amusement as he tried not to squirm.
He could still feel the eyes of other guests on him -- some subtle, some not. One man kept glancing at Eli's tank top every few seconds, probably reading the word OBEDIENT over and over again. Another, further back, openly licked his spoon while staring at Eli's legs.
But it was Marcus who finally spoke, voice low but firm. "You did well last night," he said, setting down his mug. "You gave yourself to us completely. That's not something we take lightly."
Ben nodded, his expression softer but no less intense. "But there's a difference between being used and being trained."
Eli's breath hitched. He swallowed, looking from one Daddy to the next.
Jordan leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming. "Today is about obedience. Not just when you're being fucked, but in public. In small, humiliating ways. In moments that make you blush and ache and beg to be owned."
Eli shivered.
Marcus reached into his pocket and slid his phone across the table toward Eli. "Let's start with something simple."
On the screen was a note:
"Go to the lobby toilet. Lock the door. Strip completely. Take a full-body picture -- cock, hole, face. Then come back here and show it to us. Don't get caught."
Eli stared at the screen, lips parting.
Jordan gave a quiet chuckle and added, "Think of it as a warm-up. We want to see if you can obey without question. And if you fail -- well... we'll just have to punish you in public, won't we?"
Eli stood slowly, trembling, and nodded.
"Yes, Sirs."
The hostel lobby was still quiet when Eli padded down the stairs, phone tucked in his hand, nerves buzzing under his skin. He passed a couple of guests lounging on the couches, one of them looking up just long enough to scan his outfit and smirk knowingly.
The men's restroom was just off the hallway, near the check-in desk. Eli pushed the door open and peeked inside. Empty.
He slipped in and locked the door in the stall behind him, heart hammering now. The stall was clean and bright, with a large mirror over the sink and just enough space to get what the Daddies had asked for.
He took a deep breath, then pulled the tank top over his head. The fabric left his skin tingling. The shorts followed, along with the tight jock beneath -- leaving him completely naked except for the plug still snug between his cheeks.
Eli stepped in front of the mirror, holding up the phone. He posed the way he knew they liked -- legs apart, shoulders back, cock soft but exposed, face flushed with shame and arousal. He looked helpless. Owned.
