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It was supposed to be an evening just like any other for Ollie. The otter finished his classes for the day and was returning from the gym still in his muscle shirt and athletic shorts. He was exhausted, not just physically but mentally too. Classes were challenging and draining, the last session at the gym didn't feel as good as the previous one, and worst of all, he had to deal with family. Ollie sighed. He just wanted to go back to his room and unwind, hoping that there would be nothing that could make this day any worse, except when he felt an arm going across his throat.

Immediately, the otter's claws went to the arm, but he could do little as the arm forced him back and slammed into something warm yet firm. Ollie continued to squirm and struggle, choking as he pressed harder and higher until his paws trembled above the ground. Ollie's vision was going black, and he tried clawing at the arm to no avail. His maw gasped as wide as it could open for air, offering no resistance to what happened next.

Ollie wanted to scream as he felt something shoved in, forcing his maw open. His eyes watered as it was shoved in, stretching his jaw until it hurt. The hard and rubbery object filled his mouth, his teeth digging into it as saliva drooled from his outstretched mouth. The otter felt himself slipping out of consciousness and had no energy to hold onto the arm, letting it go and letting his arms dangle on his sides. Yet just as he did, the arm relented, pinning him by the waist. The otter was finally allowed to breathe but his attempts at gasping only led to him sucking the thing further making him gag. Then, as Ollie hung his head, looking down his peripheral and seeing the curve of something bright and red just under his nose, the otter realized what it was.

The otter squeezed his eyes shut, tears trickled down his reddened cheeks. He groaned and coughed into the gag, head shaking. It was all a futile attempt to deny the growing hardness in his shorts. Ollie cried out, pathetically wiggling in his captor's hold, trying to force his cock to soften. It only made the otter realize how restrained the otter is. The weight of the gag pressed against his teeth and overfilled his maw. And worst of all, just how hard he was at the mere thought of the bright red ball gag stretching his jaws to their breaking point. How can this be? How could he get erect in a time like this?! But the only response to his question was feeling another bead of pre spurting out into his jockstrap. He only hoped that the bastard who was doing this to him wouldn't notice.

But to Ollie's horror, he felt a gloved hand moving across his toned belly, rubbing it. The otter squirmed as his instincts attempted to fight the rubbing on one of his weakest spots. He tried to scream to stop it, but the hand ignored his pleas, tracing down his pleasure trail and reaching his crotch. In a desperate attempt at blocking the assault, the otter dug his claws into the arm, scratching and pulling with all his might to stop it, only to be met with thick leather. He still tried with all his might, but Ollie couldn’t stop the hand from slipping underneath the waistband of his shorts. The hand didn't continue past that, instead, it cradled Ollie's pre-soaked jockstrap. Playing around, stroking and prodding at the damp fabric to the hard cock underneath before gripping the entire package, squeezing it tighter and tighter.

Ollie was powerless to do anything, even letting go of the arm. His limbs dangled freely, and his eyes rolled back as his guts twisted in pain from the ever-constraining grab. He threw his head back, hitting a wall of leather. His back involuntarily arched and his cock and balls ached with pain. Ollie gurgled out spit, drooling it all over himself as he was unable to stop due to the gag. If the otter wasn't in so much pain, he'd realize the irony of wanting to soften up his humiliation in his pants, only for it to be forcefully squeezed back. All Ollie wished now was for it to stop, whining and crying in a pitiful plea.

But they went unheard. The grip tightened, the palm forcing his cock soft. The thick fingers hooked and squeezed the otter's furry balls harder and harder. It was beginning to be too much. He was gasping for air in a panic, but with the gag, barely any air would reach his burning lungs. The otter started to see white as the feelings of his body began to numb and fade. All he could feel was sheer suffering. He… he was going to pass out, but no! He had to stay awake. He had to fight. He tried to get his body, his limbs, anything moving. But they were all limp. Soon, the otter's vision started to go; he couldn’t fight it and passed out into the darkness.

The otter gasped from the cold water, jolting him awake. His eyes shot open only to see a blurry white. He tried shaking his drenched body only to find his wrists and ankles burning and held taut, keeping him up in the air in an X. He tried to shout but found that abhorrent gag still in his now numb and sore jaw. Even his larger rudder of a tail was bound tightly, his powerful tail muscles useless.

“Looks the the fag is finally awake!”

The voice was mocking, sneering, yet oddly familiar. Ollie tried to make out the source of the voice, but the lights were too bright.

“Ph-plhsh.” came a meek, muffled voice. Trying to speak was too painful; he could barely move his jaw.

The figure stood closer. Ollie could just about smell him through his wet stench. Leather with hints of cherry.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Can you speak louder?”

Ollie screamed. His junk was squeezed in a torturous grasp. His damp shorts and jockstrap provided no protection. The fingers rolled around, pressing into his balls, threatening to crush them.

“Sorry, can’t hear you.”

The assailant squeezed harder. Ollie’s eyes rolled back into his head. His mind was going blank, he couldn’t control his own body. Tears streamed down his face. All he could do was struggle and scream. The mysterious figure said something, but Ollie couldn’t hear it; the only thing in his mind was pain.

And just as suddenly as it was, the grip was gone. Ollie cried a sigh of relief, hanging his head low. It still hurt, everything still hurt, but it was less, for now. He just wanted to go home, but what’s worse, despite everything, he felt his cock throb and get erect.

“Someone enjoyed that, didn’t he?”

Ollie whined, his cheeks reddened. No, he didn’t enjoy that! He shouldn’t…

The otter shook as the hand touched him again on his drenched muscle shirt. It gripped it tight, pulling it, stretching it, and dragging the otter with it before the bounds held the otter firm. The pull did not relent, but the shirt dug into the otter. It was almost a relief when the fabric finally tore, yet it still left the otter red. But the otter knew it wasn’t the end. He offered no resistance as his shorts were pulled down, leaving his soaked jockstrap, barely concealing the hardening cock within. Ollie shook and shivered. He opened his eyes and stared at his humiliation. His cock betrayed him, now being full at mast, that glove hand groping and stroking it over the jock. The otter could only hang his head in shame.

“Want to cum, little fag?”

The voice burnt his ears and made his cock throb. His balls were aching, and not merely from the assault earlier. Work and studies meant he went some time without relief. But he wasn’t broken yet. Ollie merely hung his head in non-response even as the forced masturbation grew faster.

“Sure little fag?”

Ollie did not reply.

“Have it your way then.”

Ollie’s ears perked up, his eyes widened in fear. There was a sound of a switchblade, and the feeling of a cold, sharp steel against his abs. He struggled, groaning, trying to swing away from it. In two clean cuts his final modesty fell to the ground, his cock throbbed and bobbed in the air, a bead of pre formed at its tip. The otter squirmed once more to break free, but he froze.

His heart in his chest, that cold knife was just at his cock head. Ollie was afraid, more afraid than he ever was. His cock was too and it softened up, as if trying to retreat. It was an agonising amount of time that his cock went completely flaccid, the knife following it until it shriveled completely. But there was little relief once the knife was gone, as his entire soft package was grabbed. The other hand shoved something over his junk while the one grabbing it pulled them tautly through it before releasing. A tight, steel ring held his cock and balls firm.

He cried through the gag. The ring, although it didn't cut off any blood, was tight, pressing his tender sack. Blood tried to rush to his shaft, but the ring meant it could only reach a half chub at most, still meaning that unless the otter was once again soft, there was no way that the ring would come off easily. He felt another tug and pull towards the floor, this time from the ring. A clang of a lock, the sounds of chains, and a constant pull confirmed to the otter that the ring must’ve been chained to the floor now. He tried to squirm, but even the slightest buckle of his hip made him yelp. The chain was taut, eliminating what little movement the otter had.

Ollie wanted it to be over. Why him of all people? It didn’t make sense! He didn’t owe anyone any money, nor did he get into any trouble. He was just a regular otter. What did he do to deserve this?

The only answer was something cold and tight being fitted over his cock. Something that squeezed and pushed the cock into his body. Something that wouldn’t let him be erect. There was another click, the hands left his body, but the pressure would not relent. It was a prison, a chastity cage. His now imprisoned cock throbbed with need, desperate to get out. A glob of pre spurted out of the only hole in the cage, right over his urethra. It was painful, yet it was stimulating. The irony was that with the realisation he wasn’t going to orgasm, a need to built up.

Ollie squirmed, struggled, and moaned. He wanted out, he wanted to go home, he wanted to cum. But, at that moment, he realised something else. He wanted more.

But he had to fight it! He had to…

He had had enough.

He finally looked up, eyes wet with tears, to face his torturer. One last plea for mercy. But he could finally make out who the figure was. Two of his own pathetic, broken-down reflections stared back at him from two red circles.

“God, you’re a cute fag. Can’t wait to break you completely, Ollie.”

No.

The lights behind the shadowy figure dimmed, letting Ollie finally see who it was.

Bing.

One of his closest and most trusted friends, standing with a wide grin. There was no trace of the nice and helpful binturong he knew in that face, only pure sadism.

Ollie screamed.

There was no discernible word, just a pure guttural sound of fear, of betrayal, not just from the realisation of who was behind it. No, the realisation caused something far more humiliating.

He came. There was no pleasure, no relief.

His tears dripped onto the cage and floor, joining the slow dribble of the otter's ruined orgasm.