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The heavy oak box was Edward Elric's entire world, a prison of splintered wood and shadows. The air inside was thick and stale, smelling of sawdust and his own sweat.
He had been stripped before being forced inside, and the rough wood scraped against his bare skin with every shift of his body. The front of the box had been cut away, creating a rectangular opening that was level with his face, while the back had a similar, smaller hole, perfectly positioned for his ass to hang out, exposed and vulnerable. The sides of his wooden prison were pockmarked with several other circular openings, glory holes of varying sizes, each one a gateway to an anonymous tormentor.
Before the first arrival, a cool, slick substance was pressed against his entrance, coating him thoroughly.
A finger worked the lubricant deep inside him, a surprisingly intimate preparation for the degradation to come. The first to arrive was his father, Van Hohenheim. Edward heard the distinct shuffle of his heavy boots on the stone floor outside and a familiar low chuckle that sent a shiver of dread and something else, something darker, down his spine. A thick, calloused finger prodded his slick, exposed ass, testing the give of the prepared muscle. Edward flinched, a muffled curse dying in his throat.
"A fine piece of work, son." Hohenheim's deep voice rumbled from outside, laced with a condescending amusement that made Edward's teeth grind. "Always knew you had your uses."
The preparation made the initial breach smoother, but the size was still a shock. Hohenheim's cock, thick as Edward's wrist, slid inside with a single, powerful thrust.
Edward cried out, the sound muffled by the unyielding wood of the box. The stretch was immense, a deep, overwhelming pressure that was magnified by the slick ease of the movement. Hohenheim gripped his hips hard enough to bruise, his nails digging into the pale skin, and began to move.
Each thrust was a deep, punishing stroke that slammed Edward's hips against the rough edge of the hole, scraping his skin. The lubricant allowed for a brutal, rhythmic pistoning that was agonizing and yet, beneath it, a traitorous heat began to coil in his gut. His body, despite his mind's screaming protests, was responding to the overwhelming stimulation.
As Hohenheim set a relentless pace, another figure approached the front of the box. Through the opening, Edward saw a pair of military boots and the crisp blue fabric of an Amestris officer's uniform. Colonel Roy Mustang. He looked down at Edward, a smirk playing on his lips as he unzipped his pants.
"Fullmetal." Mustang's voice was smooth as silk, but his eyes were dark with an unsettling hunger. "Time to put that smart mouth of yours to better use."
He pushed his semi-erect cock through the opening. It brushed against Edward's cheek, hot and demanding. Edward squeezed his eyes shut, refusing, but a hand shot through the opening and tangled in his hair, yanking his head forward.
"Open up." Mustang commanded, his voice dropping to a low growl.
With a choked sob, Edward complied. Roy slid into his mouth, filling it completely. The taste was musky and overpowering, a stark, masculine flavor that made him gag. Roy began to fuck his face in earnest, his hips moving in a counter-rhythm to Hohenheim's punishing thrusts from behind. Edward was trapped, impaled from both ends.
Just then, two figures approached the side glory holes. From the left, a soft, hesitant voice spoke.
"Brother...?" It was Alphonse. But this was his younger brother, his face pale and his eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. His hand, slender and warm, reached through the hole. "Is this... okay?" He whispered, his fingers gently stroking Edward's side.
From the right, another hand emerged, long and artistic. "I... if he is doing it." Alfons Heiderich's voice said, laced with his gentle German accent.
His gaze was fixed on Edward, filled with a strange, solemn empathy. Edward didn't have to answer. Hohenheim's particularly brutal thrust made him cry out around Roy's cock, and both men took that as their cue.
They pushed their own erect cocks through the holes in the box. They were hard and hot, pressing against Edward's palms where they rested on the wooden floor.
Groping blindly, his mind hazy from the dual assault, Edward found them. He wrapped his automail hand around Alphonse's familiar length, the cool metal a stark contrast to his brother's feverish skin. He gripped Alfons with his flesh hand, feeling the subtle throb of his pulse. The act of holding them, of feeling their immediate, visceral reactions to his touch, was dizzying. He began to stroke them, his movements clumsy at first, guided by their shudders and gasps from outside the box.
The sensations were overwhelming. The punishing rhythm in his ass, the choking intrusion in his throat, and now the responsive, living heat of two cocks in his hands. He was a conduit for their pleasure, a central point in a web of raw, carnal energy.
The lubricant made the sound of Hohenheim's fucking wet and obscene. Roy was grunting now, his control slipping as he chased his release. Alphonse let out a high, breathy moan, his hips twitching forward, fucking Edward's automail hand. Alfons was quieter, but his cock was leaking steadily, coating Edward's fingers with slick fluid.
The symphony of pleasure and pain was short-circuiting Edward's brain. His vision swam, and he could feel his own cock, trapped and ignored inside the box, twitching and leaking pre-come onto the wood below.
The dual stimulation of stroking Alphonse's hardened length while Roy used his mouth was intoxicating. The scent of male arousal filled the small space, mixing with the smell of sawdust.
That was the final straw. The sheer, unadulterated decadence of the moment sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through Edward's body.
He came with a violent shudder, his orgasm ripping through him with the force of a tidal wave. His ass clenched down hard around Hohenheim.
The sudden, convulsive tightening was too much for Hohenheim. He slammed in one last time, deep and hard, and Edward felt a flood of hot liquid pulse inside him, marking him from within.
Roy followed almost immediately, pulling back slightly before spilling himself down Edward's throat, forcing him to swallow or choke.
In his hands, Alphonse and Alfons climaxed almost simultaneously. Alphonse cried out his name, a broken sound, as he spilled himself over Edward's cold automail fingers. Alfons shuddered silently, his body tensing as he coated Edward's other hand with his warm release.
For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing. Then, one by one, they withdrew. Mustang zipped up with a satisfied sigh.
Hohenheim gave a last, contemptuous pat to Edward's abused ass.
Alphonse and Alfons pulled back, their fingers disappearing from the holes. Edward was left alone in the dark, his automail and flesh hands sticky with the evidence of their pleasure, his own body battered and dripping with the proof of his degradation and shattering pleasure.
The box smelled of sex and sweat and shame. He was a wreck, and yet, a dark, insidious part of him wondered, with a sickening lurch of anticipation, who would come to the glory holes next.