I watch him, enjoying the show as he struggles with the fabric, his movements frantic yet graceful.
With one last glance at me—equal parts terror and anticipation—he turns and disappears into the corridor, his footsteps echoing as he flees into the maze.
My cock stirs immediately at the thought of pursuit, blood rushing south despite having just emptied myself inside him minutes ago. By the time I reach for my own pants, I’m already half-hard, the fabric refusing to cooperate as I try to contain my growing erection.
“Fuck,” I mutter, adjusting myself uncomfortably as I finally manage to zip up. The pressure against my semi-erect cock only heightens my arousal, my body already eager for the next round with my newly claimed prey.
I give Elliot a generous head start before setting off after him. The anticipation of the chase thrums through my veins, heightening every sense. The corridors of Purgatory stretch before me like a dark labyrinth, and somewhere within them, Elliot is running.
This feeling is... different. Usually, during the Hunt, there’s a detached satisfaction in the pursuit, a clinical appreciation for the game. But as I track Elliot through the maze, my heartbeat quickens in a way I don’t recognize. I find myself smiling, replaying the way his eyes had widened when I commanded him to run, how his lips had parted so prettily.
I pause at a junction, listening for footsteps. Instead of my usual focus, I’m thinking about the way Elliot felt beneath me—not just the physical sensation, but the trust in his surrender.How rare that is in our world, where everyone wears masks beyond the physical ones we don for the Hunt.
My cock throbs painfully against my zipper as I catch a glimpse of movement down a darkened corridor. I adjust myself, wincing at the pressure. I’ve never wanted a second round quite this desperately before.
Strange.
I’ve had plenty of satisfying encounters over the years, yet none have left me feeling this insistent hunger. There’s something about Elliot that gets under my skin—perhaps it’s the challenge of making him accept who he is, or maybe it’s something more.
The thought stops me cold.Something moreisn’t in my vocabulary—not with anyone I’ve pursued during the Hunt, not with my occasional liaisons with Theo. Yet here I am, practically sprinting after Elliot Chambers with an urgency that surprises me.
I slow my pace, suddenly aware that I’m rushing this. I find myself wanting to prolong the chase, to savor every moment of this game we’re playing.
My footsteps are deliberately heavy against the floor. I want him to hear me coming. That’s part of the thrill—the dread, the inevitable surrender.
A small sound echoes from around the corner—the shuffle of bare feet, quick breathing. My prey is near.
“I can hear you, Elliot,” I call out. “There’s no point in hiding.”
A sharp intake of breath answers me—a gasp that might as well be a beacon in this dark maze. I smile, adjusting myself through my pants. The knowledge that he’s just ahead, heart racing, perhaps pressed against a wall, hoping I’ll pass by... it sends blood rushing straight to my already engorged cock.
“You know what happens when I catch you,” I continue, slowing my pace to prolong his anxiety. “And I will catch you.”
I pause, listening to the rapid breathing just beyond the next turn. He hasn’t moved. Perhaps he’s frozen in place, weighing his options. Run and be chased down? Or submit now and accept what’s coming?
“I’ve got a thick, hard dick ready for you, Elliot,” I call out, my voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Ready for you to choke on. To sit on. To rub your pretty cock against while you beg me for more.”
My own words affect me more than they should.
“The question isn’t if I’ll catch you,” I say, moving forward with deliberate slowness. “It’s how many times I’ll make you come when I do.”
I hear Elliot’s breath catch, then the sudden slap of bare feet against the floor as he bolts. A smile spreads across my face. The prey runs, as he should.
But there’s something different about his flight—something almost deliberate in the way his footsteps echo. He’s making no effort to silence his movements, practically announcing his location with every slap of bare feet against cold marble.
Then I hear it—a soft, theatrical “shit!” followed by the clatter of something being knocked over. The sound bounces off the walls, a beacon calling me forward.
He wants to be caught.
I break into a sprint, my leather shoes gripping the floor with each purposeful stride. Poor Elliot, barefoot and fumbling in the dark—he never stood a chance.
I round the corner and spot him immediately, pale skin practically glowing in the dim light. He glances back, eyes widening when he sees me closing the distance.
Three more strides and I’m on him, my hand shooting out to grab the back of his neck. My fingers dig into the soft flesh,jerking him to an abrupt halt. He gasps as I pull him roughly against me, his back colliding with my chest, his ass pressing perfectly against my straining erection.
“Found you,” I growl into his ear. I tighten my grip on his neck, holding him firmly in place as I grind against him. Even through the fabric of my pants, the heat of him is intoxicating.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask. “To be caught? To be taken?” I roll my hips, making sure he feels every inch of my hardness against the curve of his ass. “Tell me, Elliot—are you ready to be fucking ruined for all other men? Because once I’m done with you tonight, you’ll never look at another cock without thinking of mine inside you.”