If the pandemic left us something good… it was delivery. It's not just food arriving at your door anymore. Now, you can order exactly what you need for a night of total perversion: rope, duct tape… and if you’re lucky, a young, sweaty delivery boy with rank feet and a defiant attitude. Exactly what we got when Dylan, our next “order,” rang the bell. It all started with a simple picture on the app. Four stars. A cocky smile, messy hair, and that look of a young guy who thinks he can handle anything. We knew right away—we had to get him. The lust was already building long before he showed up. When he rang the doorbell, we set the trap. Antony, always ready, waited like a predator in silence. And the moment Dylan stepped inside, the scene changed completely: he wasn’t in a house anymore—he was in his own prison. We took him down, tied him up, and within seconds he went from being just another delivery guy… to being our prey. Bound. Subdued. And still carrying that fire of rebellion that turned us on so much. That resistance… was delicious. That attitude, the way he cursed through clenched teeth… it only fueled our desire to play with him. His rage, his helplessness, the fire in his eyes while we held him down… it drove us wild. Naturally, the first thing we checked were his feet. And that’s when we hit the first jackpot: thick, sweaty socks with a sharp, authentic stench… exactly what we were hoping for. The smell was strong, filthy, addictive. The moment we pulled them off, the scent hit us like a punch—and we loved it. We couldn’t stop sniffing, licking, worshipping those big, masculine, disgustingly sweaty feet that were somehow still incredibly soft. And since he wouldn’t shut up, we did the obvious: stuffed one of his own socks into his mouth. Watching him bite down on that damp, sour fabric—his own foot sweat—was the beginning of his humiliation. He growled around it with rage. All we could hear now were grunts… and moans, slipping out betraying from his own body. As we tied him into different positions to show him off better, his body started revealing itself as a real treasure. Young, firm, soaked in that wild scent of the street, of work, of raw testosterone. We stripped off his t-shirt and found hairy, musky armpits dripping with sweat—absolutely intoxicating. And when Antony, curious as ever, started exploring a little further, he found the second surprise: beneath those tight boxer briefs, Dylan was getting hard. He couldn’t help it. His boner—thick, rock solid, throbbing—was growing fast, like his body already knew what it was made for. In that moment, we knew: this was just beginning. The boy who came to deliver a package… was about to become one. We won’t lie—changing his position got harder every time. Dylan squirmed, fought, groaned. But we knew you'd want to see him from every possible angle, every humiliating posture, every frame that exposed that young, sweaty, defeated body. So we did it. Each new pose left him even more vulnerable, even more degraded than the last. We were dying to see him fully naked, to finally get a clear view of that boner pressing hard against his briefs… but we also learned to enjoy the slow build-up. Because there was something just as arousing as stripping him: watching the anger, the frustration, the look in his eyes every time he tried and failed. His body already belonged to us, and deep down… he knew it. That made it even hotter. Antony took his time. He made him suffer with pleasure. He sniffed those huge, dirty, manly feet, breathing in the scent of pavement, sweat, submission. He spread peanut butter along the soles and licked every inch like it was a delicacy served on an altar. And while his tongue worked over that soft, salty skin, Dylan’s boner betrayed him… there was no hiding it anymore. It didn’t matter how much he struggled. Dylan was ours. His body… his scent… those feet… belonged to us now. With each new pose, each layer of clothing we peeled away, the lust grew. And when we finally pulled off his boxer briefs, it was all laid bare: that powerful, thick, throbbing boner, standing tall, shameless, like it was begging for attention. We couldn’t look away. We couldn’t not want it. No matter how much he tried to insult us through the gag, his body was saying something else. A true monument of raw youth, hard, firm, pulsing with a need he didn’t want to admit. His body, despite all resistance, was betraying him. And we… we couldn’t hold back. In that moment, it became crystal clear: we were going to make him cum. No matter how. No matter how many times. We wanted to see him give in. We wanted to drain every drop. And believe us—we were going to push him to that edge. Tied up with his arms overhead, legs spread, exposed, humiliated… and still, that boner stood firm. But something had shifted. He stopped insulting us. He stopped fighting. His voice, muffled behind the sock, began to change. Begging. Pleading. Pleasure tangled with frustration. The inevitable surrender. Antony knelt in front of him like an expert, working his mouth slow, precise, savoring every drop of precum like it was a reward. Dylan wasn’t even speaking anymore—just tense moans, shaky breath, hips bucking out of control. There was no more resistance. Only need. His body twitched at every touch. At one point, his hips even thrust forward on their own, seeking more. It was just a moment—almost unconscious—but we saw it. And in that second, we knew: he was broken. His body needed us, even if his pride hadn’t caught up. We tied him on his back, completely conquered, his skin dripping with sweat, his feet still sweaty, his boner throbbing harder than ever. Antony didn’t stop. He stroked him, licked him, pushed him right to the edge… And then it happened. Dylan’s entire body seized up. His moans grew deeper, his chest arched, his breath shattered… and finally, he came. A violent, hot, explosive cumshot, shooting out of him like a surrender. A release so intense, it marked him forever. From a street delivery boy… to a cum dispenser, right into our mouths. But we didn’t let him rest. As soon as he came, his dick was left exposed, sensitive, twitching. That slick, flushed head… was too tempting to ignore. A hand went right back to it, teasing it gently, turning his climax into a new kind of torture. Dylan writhed, weak, trying to pull away from the touch that now felt unbearable. He groaned, whimpered behind the sock, his body twitching with every stroke to his spent dick. His instinct was to run… but the ropes still held him tight. We weren’t done yet. While his cock twitched post-cum, our tongues returned to his feet. We licked between his toes, kissed his arches, inhaled the full scent of his used-up body. And he couldn’t escape. Not from us. Not from himself. He lay there, exhausted, trembling, still angry… but too drained to speak. His soft dick still exposed, his body broken, surrendered, defeated. And we just watched him. In silence. Satisfied. That delivery company may have lost a driver that night… But we gained a brand-new toy. And trust us… this was only his first drop-off.