Every muscle throbbed from the stress of the position. Piers felt the ache in his lower back at the odd angle, the bar against his abdomen as uncomfortable as ever. The more he tried to wiggle free, the tighter the bindings had seemed to get. Eventually, he stopped. His body still burned from the abuse, trapped there for he didn't know how long. Presumably, it was nearing two hours and the Captain still hadn't come back. Piers wasn't sure which was worse; being found by someone else, or having Chris stumble upon him after the effects of the booze dissipated. The later seemed improbable, however, given that he was almost positive that Chris had gone back to his office to down more of the liquid.

The balled up shirt inside his mouth was fully drenched, soaked all the way through with the saliva it absorbed. As it was, the fabric made it hard to swallow but he couldn't very well spit the damn thing out with the scarf wrapped against his lips. To make matters worse, he still felt the warmth of dripping semen over the insides of his thighs, sticking to the skin as it slowly dried. The tube Chris had wound over his groin kept him achingly hard, and with no way to fix it he'd been left to endure. Every movement had his cock brushing against his stomach, enough to cause a teasing friction, but never enough to sate him.

Piers perked up at the sound of the door, but was left unable to see it from his current positioning. He could only hope it wasn't someone else… Alpha would have a field day if they found him like that.

"Making yourself comfortable, Piers?"

He wasn't entirely sure whether to be grateful or not as the padding of footsteps came closer.

"You know, I considered leaving you here to let someone else clean up the mess," Piers felt a calloused hand cup over one of his ass cheeks, "But that would be a waste." The sniper gave a muffled yelp as the hand released its hold, only to slap back down on already reddened skin from similar treatment earlier.

He heard the shift of feet, and the Captain was back in view as he bent down to retrieve the discarded belt from the pile of clothing Piers had tossed aside when he'd been given the command. The ace could do little more than watch Chris come closer, once again disappearing from his view. A wave of panic washed over him as he considered the possibilities, but the thought process didn't last long before the belt was at his throat, clamping down over his airway. His body tensed, arms instinctively tugging at the bindings in search for a way out. He could almost feel the smirk from Chris, and the thought of seeing it in close proximity as his vision blurred to black was a painful one, it twisted something in his stomach and he just wanted out.

Even once the belt was loosened and he was able to breathe again after nearly being suffocated for the second time that night, Piers wanted it to stop. This wasn't Chris, it wasn't the man he'd been so obsessed over, wasn't the hero, the legend; he was a monster. Cruel, merciless, selfish. It wasn't often that Piers Nivans got scared, but right then, even after the restraints were undone and he was yanked off the bar by the strap over his throat, he was terrified. Not due to the promise of humiliation, not because he knew he was being brutalized.

Simply put, he was just afraid of Chris.

It was already hard when soldiers had to witness someone they care about get hurt on the field or worse, but seeing them change from a selfless hero to a violent madman; it was enough to make Piers wonder just what the Captain was really capable of.

No! Piers knew he wasn't the same person. He couldn't let himself start to think like that.

A hand wove itself around to pull him tight against the muscled body at his back, strong fingers danced atop the surface of the belt before resting themselves against it, threatening to squeeze all on their own. Piers inhaled deeply, breath hitching just the slightest. With newly freed limbs, he raised them to grip at the forearm, a silent plea, all the while gentle not to anger Chris into tightening his hold. "Be a good boy now, Piers. I'm taking you back to my office." Warm breath brushed over skin, a hushed whisper with a threat evident behind the words. Piers closed his eyes at the sound. The night would be a long one, indeed.

The arm slid away from around the sniper and he was yanked off his feet by a hard pull of the belt that dropped him to the floor, hands instinctively going for the band around his throat as he was dragged by it. The hardened floor of the training room and hallways stretched at his skin uncomfortably the farther he was pulled. In a panic as he was slowly strangled, his feet kicked outward looking for something to latch onto to either slow the movements or help right himself and take the weight off his throat. He wasn't sure what caused it, but before his vision started blurring, Chris had stopped. The pressure over his air passage receded enough for him to breathe in as much oxygen as he could through his nostrils rather than his mouth, where the gag still lay firmly tightened in place. He reached a hand up to remove it, only to feel a jerk from the belt; a warning.

"Leave it," The command had him lowering the limb, struggling to steady his breathing. There was a hard kick to his side that sent him rolling over on his stomach with a muffled yell, arm clutching the abused area. Chris tugged again, a silent order telling Piers that he should start moving. The ace made an effort to stand, only to be immediately shoved back down to all fours.

"Crawl."

What? It seemed almost inconceivable, yet the tone of the voice was more than enough to indicate the truth. Chris really expected Piers to drop to a new low. He wasn't a toy or a slave, but that's all the drunk Captain seemed to perceive him as.

Another jerk nearly had Piers face planting the floor at the roughness put behind it. Chris was intent on humiliating him in more ways than one; not that he hadn't already done so a number of times that night.

You've got to be kidding me!

Begrudgingly, Piers placed one palm after the other, followed by movements from his knees that led him forward like some sort of dog on a leash. He'd play hell trying to forget that later.

Chris gave the occasional pull along the way that would generally indicate that he wanted Piers to move faster just to witness him squirm. Piers had no idea that the night would drag on for so long, or that his Captain would have focused so much attention towards him; all of the unwanted sort, a word he'd never thought he'd use in reference to Chris.

What little relief that came with finally reaching the office didn't last long. The moment the hard floor turned into carpet beneath him at the open frame where they'd come inside, Chris slammed the door behind them and practically resorted back to dragging him the rest of the way over to the center of the room. Piers was forced face down on the floor by a boot to his back, rough hands gripped over the lengths of his arms to twist them behind him and re-secure the limbs with the one of the tubes the Captain brought along with them. Chris moved down to the sniper's feet, tying them at the ankles with the second tube. Piers groaned from behind the gag; he couldn't walk, he couldn't even crawl anymore now. He was quite literally immobilized - again.

Thick arms wrapped around his body to flip him over and onto his back, his own weight crushing down on his restrained arms. Chris lifted the bound pair of legs to place them on a shoulder, out of the way as he lowered his zipper. He wasn't done with the ace yet. His thick, already hardened cock was pulled free and Chris didn't wait before stabbing his meaty length into the bleeding pucker he was so fond of abusing, making it a point to attack the torn hole with more ferocity the louder the ensuing screams grew.

Piers tossed his head back against the floor of the room with his arms tugging at their binds in search of a way out, only to have the restraints dig painfully into the flesh of his wrists, marking him as he was pushed and pulled across the floor, skin burning from the friction against the carpet of the office. Chris wasn't aiming to please him; he wasn't thrusting purposely toward that spot inside that had Piers actually enjoying it as he did in the hours before. It was needy movements and hungering jabs that sought out the heat from tightened walls, all in a desire for self satisfaction.

The position did nothing to help the case for Piers, with legs bound to each other and forced upright, his muscles were further tightened against the invading length that slammed in and out of the entry way in a bruising pace.

But then there it was again.

A twist of his hips from the impact of balls against his ass had the tip buried inside him unintentionally brushing over that sweet bundle of nerves that ate away at the pain. The hand that kept his legs lifted over his Captain's shoulder had squeezed, fingers digging against the skin that already had it turning a purple-ish hue from under the pressure. It hurt, everything hurt; yet that pain somehow seemed to intensify the pleasure that for a second time that night, had managed to build itself despite his current predicament.

Chris was grunting, a series of loud pants resounded from his open mouth with every plunge inward toward the heated depths of the hole he used solely as a means for release. The noises came more frequently with each thrust, his body heat rose from the growing pleasure as he was intent only on driving himself over the edge.

Piers arched off the floor, back straining at the movement as his fingers clenched inward to rest against his palms in closed fists. The bindings stung against his skin, sure to have cut off the circulation by now but he didn't care; he couldn't bring himself to focus so much on the pain as he was the pleasure of being so roughly impaled. His mind was a mess again, jumbled between wanting more and wanting out. Piers was being used, regarded as little more than a human sex toy to be tossed around and throttled in whatever way was preferred. Yet the reoccurring feeling that washed over him with every brush against his prostate had a hidden lust awakening inside, begging to be sated. He hated being caught in between, hated the mixed desires and inability to settle on one or the other.

But it was still Chris.

That perfectly toned body glossed over in thick, raw muscle that forced him into submission. Did he want it? He couldn't give a straight answer. Yes, he wanted Chris, but not like that. Not like that…

Yet, he couldn't help the way his own body betrayed him, craving to push back against the pounding length that threatened to split him in half with wanton cries muffling themselves behind the fabric over his mouth.

Then Chris was pulling away, abandoning the rhythm of his hips into twitching ass muscles to take up a position near the ace's side. Piers caught himself before he could openly whine at the loss as the air tickled at the span of his stretched pucker just before his bound legs were dropped from the solid shoulder where they fell to the floor.

Chris leaned over him, hand reaching for his own cock to stroke along the length in a fast pace, groaning once white juices started to shoot from the slit in ropes that were aimed at the bound body under him, lathering the lean frame with splatters of cum that had Piers turning his head away as he was covered in it. The sniper shifted, his skin tingled under the coating of heated fluids.

The S.O.U. Captain moved again, this time to reach toward the make-shift cock ring that had remained in place the entire time, fingers immediately set toward undoing the knot that released the sensitive organ from its hold, only for a hand to place a tightened grip over it and pump along the flesh once, twice, before pausing at the tip of the leaking prick. Piers felt his nostrils flare with every heavy inhale as he lifted his head to watch the hand over him that sat teasingly idle.

"You have to work for it, soldier."

Piers felt a shudder at the words. Chris really was out to humiliate him. The sniper forced himself to swallow with difficulty, all in thanks to the rag that sat over his tongue. He hesitated, contemplating momentarily on whether to fight with his dwindling sense of control or go against his better judgment and fully give in; the latter of which he found himself wanting to do much more than he'd like. His body was already against him, muscles tightening with the desire to reach a release.

A sudden squeeze over his cock made the choice for him, shattering any resolve he may have had prior to it as his body bucked upward with a thrust into those enclosed fingers. The grip never made a motion to assist, and only on occasion offered another squeeze the faster he lifted his hips in a desperate pace for relief that he'd been secretly longing for since he was first left bent over that bar and tied in place hours before. It didn't take long before he already hit his breaking point, body jerking as squirts of cum left his tip to land across his own stomach where the fluids mingled with those from his Captain. The hand over him chose to move then, helping to milk him for every last drop until he was a sweaty, pleasantly fucked mess. His skin gained a tint of red from both the exhaustion and the humiliation that he willingly exposed himself to.

Chris however, didn't offer him much time to come down from his high and was already on his feet, grabbing at the belt to once again drag Piers across the floor until his back was firmly situated against the front of the Captain's desk, facing the door. Chris lifted the end of the belt he held in his hand to trail it over the top of the surface and behind it, where he tied the end to the handle of a drawer. The belt held firm, tight, and narrowed the amount of air flow entering the ace's lungs, but didn't cut it off completely. It did however, prevent Piers from squirming too much at the risk of suffocation.

The Captain walked back around to the front, putting his softened cock back into the confines of his pants before he crouched down next to Piers with a hand that dipped over his sticky coated abdominals. "You look perfect like this, tied up like some animal on a leash." Gruff, harsh, the sound of the voice had Piers looking away. There was a soft snort from the Captain, "And there's no room for any back talk with that scarf blocking the way." Piers closed his eyes, listening to the rustling of clothes as Chris stood back up. He didn't want to face him anymore, not now.

"Goodnight, Piers."

Not again!

Hazel eyes reopened at the words, head turning despite the train of thought he held moments ago. Chris couldn't possibly mean what he thought he did. The night as a whole was unexpected, but even in his drunken state the Captain couldn't just leave him there, not this time - not without a promise of returning. If Chris didn't come back, didn't let him free...

Something twisted deep inside of him. He couldn't let that be it, couldn't let Chris just keep him there where he'd be found out and everything, all of it, would blow up in his face more damaging than any bomb. Yet restrained as he was, his options were so few in number that there may not have been an easy way out. He'd have vouched to take any way out, hard as it might have been, if it meant the past would stay in its rightful place. He'd already been struggling the entire time, if the bonds didn't loosen enough before, he couldn't expect them to then, either.

Piers didn't have much more time to think about it after there was a resounding smack as his head was redirected back the way it came by a pressure to the side of his face that sent the world darkening into black. He was able to hear the feint sound of retreating footsteps, then an opening of a door that followed in their wake before everything faded away into a state of unconsciousness...

Knock, knock, knock

"Captain Redfield?"

That voice, it was so familiar...

Piers heard the door as it creaked open a second time, unsure of just how long he'd been there.

"Captain, are you- Oh!"

Young, naive, cheery.

His skin paled.

"Lieutenant Nivans! Sir! A-are you... Are you okay?"

There was a hand over his shoulder, shaking him. Eyelids fluttered briefly before fully opening, vision still slightly blurred. There was a tug on the scarf as it was pulled loose, allowing him to spit out the soaked fabric that had been stuffed into the confines of his mouth. Piers blinked, gaze settling in on the figure at his side as he flexed his jaw, trying to work the tension out of it.

Beanie. Goggles.

"...Finn?"

Things couldn't have gotten any worse from there.