International Manwhore – Part 17 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

I waited until the sound of Adrien’s footsteps faded down the corridor—calm, measured, like he had zero worries I’d actually get anywhere—before I started moving.

The suite was stupidly luxurious, which made it stupidly useless for escape. No vents big enough to crawl through, no loose panels in the ceiling, no hidden service doors. The glass wall to the deck was one-way privacy tint; I could see out, but anyone looking in would just see a mirror. I’d already tried the biometric pad again—red light, mocking blink, nothing. My bare ass was getting cold from standing around naked, but I refused to put on his clothes. Wearing Adrien’s linen felt like surrendering before I’d even started fighting.

I needed something, anything to get out.

I started in the bathroom. Marble everywhere, rainfall shower big enough for four, heated towel rack, the works. My eyes landed on the toilet-roll holder—a sleek chrome bar mounted to the wall. I pried at it with my fingernails. Nothing. Then I spotted the tiny set screw on the underside. I grabbed a nail file from the drawer (Adrien apparently kept a full grooming kit stocked for guests), wedged it in, twisted. The screw came loose after a minute of swearing under my breath.

The bar slid out. Inside: a thin metal spring coiled tight around the inner tube. Jackpot.

I yanked the spring free, heart pounding like I’d just cracked a safe. It was stiff, maybe three inches long when stretched out, stainless steel, strong enough to maybe—maybe—short a circuit if I could jam it into the right spot on the biometric pad.

Next: the desk. Drawer one had pens, notepads, a fancy letter opener. Drawer two: a charger cable, some fancy noise-cancelling earbuds still in the box, and—yes—a thin metal paperclip. I unbent it, twisted the end into a tiny hook.

Back to the door. I crouched naked in front of the panel, spring in one hand, paperclip in the other. The red light stared at me like it knew I was full of shit.

I stretched the spring as far as it would go, hooked the paperclip through one end, and tried to wedge the other end into the tiny seam around the scanner. If I could bridge two contacts, maybe trip it open. Or at least make it spark and reset. I’d seen enough shitty action movies to think this could work.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. My dick swung heavy between my thighs every time I shifted—still soft, still sensitive, reminding me I was literally ass-naked trying to MacGyver my way out of a billionaire’s sex dungeon at sea.

I twisted the spring. Nothing. Pushed harder. A tiny click—hope flared. I jiggled the paperclip, felt something give—

The whole panel beeped once, sharp and angry. Red flashed three times fast. Then—nothing. Still locked.

“Fuck!” I hissed, yanking the spring back. It snapped out of my fingers, coiled across the floor like a pissed-off snake. I lunged after it, dick slapping against my thigh, balls swinging, whole body flushed with frustration.

Behind me the door hissed open.

I froze, crouched like an idiot, spring in one hand, paperclip in the other, ass in the air.

Adrien leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, still in those low-slung linen pants, eyebrow raised so high it nearly disappeared into his hairline.

He looked down at me, then at the spring, then at my dick—which had inconveniently started to thicken from the adrenaline and the sheer humiliation of being caught like this.

A slow, filthy smile spread across his face.

“You made a cock ring?”

My face burned. “No, it’s not a fucking cock ring!”

He stepped inside, door sliding shut behind him with a soft click. “Looks like one to me.”

I scrambled to my feet, clutching the spring like a weapon. “It’s a lockpick. Or… a circuit jumper. Or something. I was trying to—”

He closed the distance in two strides, plucked the spring from my fingers, and held it up between us. Then—without breaking eye contact—he reached down, wrapped the coiled metal around the base of my dick, and gave it one firm twist.

It fit. Perfectly. Snug enough to trap blood, loose enough not to hurt. My dick jumped, thickening fast, veins standing out as the makeshift ring squeezed just right.

Adrien’s thumb brushed the underside of the head, once, teasing. “Perfect fit.”

I sucked in a breath. “This doesn’t mean—”

He tugged lightly on the spring. My hips jerked forward on reflex. “Doesn’t mean what, mon cœur? That you’re hard again? That you’re dripping already?” His voice dropped. “Or that you’re going to let me fuck you right here against the door while you pretend you’re still fighting?”

I opened my mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

He stepped closer, body heat rolling off him, linen pants brushing my thighs. One hand cupped my balls, rolling them gently while the other kept tension on the spring. My dick throbbed, tip leaking a clear bead that slid down the shaft and caught on the metal.

“Adrien—”

“Shh.” He kissed me—slow, deep, tongue sliding in like he owned the inside of my mouth. I kissed back before I could stop myself, hands fisting in his hair, body arching into him.

He broke the kiss, turned me around so my chest pressed to the door, ass out. The spring stayed on, tight and perfect, keeping me hard and aching. His fingers traced down my spine, over my ass, then pushed between my cheeks. One finger circled my hole—still tender, still slick from last night—and slipped inside easy.

I hissed. “Fuck.”

He added a second finger, opening slow, stretching me open while his other hand reached around and stroked my dick in time with the thrusts. The spring made every stroke feel tighter, fuller, like he was jerking me through a vise.

“You could’ve just asked,” he whispered against my ear. “I’d have let you out. Eventually.”

I laughed—breathless, broken. “Bullshit.”

“Maybe.” He crooked his fingers, nailed that spot. My knees buckled. “But this way is more fun.”

He worked my ass open with three fingers now, slow and thorough, thumb pressing my taint while his other hand twisted the spring just enough to make my vision spark. I was leaking steadily, pre-cum dripping onto the teak, dick so hard it hurt.

“Please,” I heard myself say. “Fuck—Adrien—”

He pulled his fingers out. I literally whined at the emptiness. Then he was behind me, pants shoved down, tip nudging my hole. He pushed into my hole slow—one long, steady slide until his hips met my ass and he was buried to the root.

I slapped a palm against the door, forehead pressed to the cool surface, trying to breathe around the fullness. He didn’t move at first—just stayed deep, letting me feel every inch, every throb.

Then he started fucking me. Slow at first, long drags out and hard snaps back in, the spring keeping me rigid and desperate. Every thrust jostled it, sending jolts straight to my balls. His hand reached around again, stroking me in time, thumb swiping over the tip on every upstroke.

I was moaning like a shameless whore—his name, curses, pleas—didn’t even know what I was saying anymore. Just that I needed more, needed him deeper, needed to come so bad I could taste it.

He sped up, hips slapping against my ass, balls smacking my taint, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet suite. The spring dug in tighter with every thrust, trapping the orgasm building low in my gut.

“Come for me,” he growled against my ear. “Let me feel it.”

I broke. My whole body locked up, dick jerking in his fist as I shot hard—thick surges splattering the door, dripping down the wood, my ass clenching around him like it wanted to keep him forever. Vision whited out, legs shaking, breath punched out of me in ragged gasps.

He fucked me through it, relentless, until I was oversensitive and whimpering. Then he pulled out, spun me around, and pushed me to my knees.

“Open.”

I did. Mouth wide, tongue out. He stroked himself twice—fast, rough—and unloaded across my tongue in heavy, salty blasts. I swallowed without thinking, throat working, tasting sea and him and something that made my dick twitch again even though I was spent.

He hauled me up, kissed me messy and deep, tasting himself on my lips.

When we broke apart he rested his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

“You still want out?” he asked, voice rough.

I laughed—shaky, wrecked. “Maybe later.”

He smiled against my mouth. “Good answer.”

This was obviously just a ploy to gain his confidence, I told myself—pure strategy, nothing more. Even as his juices slowly dripped out of my ass, warm and thick, sliding down the inside of my thigh in lazy trails that made my hole flutter every time I shifted.