Let’s just say the basement of Blackwood (better known as Sodom) has seen its share of secrets… but none quite like this.
In this exclusive scene from Prisoners of Sodom: The Betrayal, Austin and Mario find themselves trapped between danger, desire, and a wall of dusty files. What starts as tension turns electric, as these two men—each with his own secrets and scars—finally give in to the pull between them. It’s raw, it’s hot, and it just might be the moment that changes everything.
If you haven’t stepped into the world of Prisoners of Sodom yet, this is your invitation. Come for the power plays and psychological mind games… stay for the sex, the stakes, and the men who refuse to break.
The scene continues down below—and don’t say I didn’t warn you. 🔥
Austin settled into the ancient chair, its springs creaking in protest beneath his weight. The computer booted with a series of wheezes and clicks that sounded alarmingly like death rattles. While waiting for the ancient machine to stagger to life, he pulled the nearest box toward him, coughing as a cloud of dust billowed upward.
The cardboard was soft with age, disintegrating at the corners. Inside, manila folders were packed so tightly they might have been wedged in with a hammer. Each bore typed labels, some with handwritten notes in faded blue ink.
“Might as well start somewhere,” he muttered to himself, pulling out the first folder.
Hours passed in a blur of paper and dust. Austin developed a rhythm: open folder, scan document, type basic information into the database, move to the next. The work was mind-numbing but oddly soothing in its monotony. Here, surrounded by the forgotten history of thousands of lives, Austin could almost forget his own circumstances.
Almost.
By midday, he’d opened a dozen boxes, each more deteriorated than the last. In one, he discovered a nest of desiccated roaches, their translucent bodies crumbling to dust when he disturbed them. Another box contained hundreds of intake forms from the 1970s, the paper yellowed and brittle, smelling faintly of cigarettes.
The worst was a box tucked beneath a leaking pipe. When Austin pulled it free, the soggy bottom gave way, spilling its contents across the floor. Along with the waterlogged papers came three mummified mice, their tiny bodies preserved in the airless confines of the box, whiskers still intact, eye sockets empty and accusing.
“Jesus Christ!” Austin stumbled backward, nearly toppling his chair.
He stared at the tiny corpses, his stomach lurching. After a moment of frozen disgust, he remembered the camera mounted above the door—a silent, watchful eye recording his every move.
Austin forced himself to breathe through his mouth as he found a discarded file folder to scoop up the desiccated remains. He deposited them in a metal trash can by the desk, trying not to think about how many more such surprises might be waiting in the unopened boxes.
That’s when he heard it—the soft, deliberate tap of footsteps approaching from the corridor outside. The footsteps paused just outside the door. Austin swiveled in his chair, wincing at the betraying creak of ancient springs. His heart stuttered when he saw who stood in the doorway.
Mario.
His face was taut with urgency, his index finger pressed firmly against his lips in the universal sign for silence. His dark eyes darted meaningfully toward the camera mounted above the door, then back to Austin.
Austin’s gaze followed. The camera’s red recording light blinked steadily, its unblinking eye trained directly on him. But Mario was standing just outside its field of vision, pressed against the wall in a camera blind spot that shouldn’t exist. A cold wash of understanding slid down Austin’s spine—Mario shouldn’t be here at all.
Mario’s finger moved from his lips to point leftward, a deliberate, unmistakable gesture. Austin turned his head casually, as if surveying his next batch of boxes. Between the towering stacks of cardboard and filing cabinets, he saw it: a narrow pathway he hadn’t noticed before, winding through the labyrinth of storage toward the back of the cavernous room.
Mario nodded once. His eyes spoke volumes in that single gesture: Follow the path. Now.
Austin’s mouth went dry. With deliberate casualness, Austin stretched his arms above his head, feigning fatigue. He yawned elaborately for the benefit of whoever might be watching the feed, then rose from his chair. He made a show of reaching for a box on a higher shelf near the path entrance, as if that had been his intention all along.
“Just need to check these records,” he said aloud, his voice echoing oddly in the vast room. “Cross-reference some dates.”
Austin slipped between the towering stacks of boxes, each step carrying him deeper into the archives. The air grew thicker, stagnant with the scent of old paper and decay. Dust clung to his skin, the fine grit catching in his throat. He suppressed a cough, ears straining for any sound beyond his own careful footfalls.
The corridor of forgotten history seemed endless. The deeper he went, the more the boxes deteriorated—some had caved in, their contents spilled like abandoned confessions. Scattered among them were the skeletal remains of mice, dried and shriveled.
Austin’s fingers tightened into fists. He didn’t consider himself squeamish, but the sheer number of dead things made his skin crawl. The hush of the archives became oppressive, broken only by the occasional, almost imperceptible sound—a faint rustle inside the walls, a scrabbling noise that made his stomach clench.
Rats, he thought, swallowing hard.
A distant clink sent a chill down his spine. He froze. Then another sound—this one unmistakable. Metal shifting.
His gaze snapped toward the back wall just as an old ventilation grate trembled, the bolts groaning against decades of rust. The cover popped free with a metallic clatter and swung open. For half a second, the darkness behind it yawned like a mouth, gaping and endless. Then Mario emerged.
He stepped down onto the concrete floor, dust cascading from his shoulders.
Mario’s gaze locked onto him, dark and unreadable, but filled with something deeper, something urgent. And then, before Austin could utter a single word, Mario closed the distance between them and captured him in his arms.
The kiss wasn’t careful. It wasn’t tentative. It was hungry, raw, and unchecked. Mario’s hands gripped Austin’s face, rough palms anchoring him as his lips crashed against Austin’s with a fervor that stole the breath from his lungs. Heat seared through him, obliterating every thought, every lingering shadow of fear.
He melted into Mario’s embrace, and Mario kissed him like he was afraid this moment would be stolen away. His mouth was demanding, insistent, tasting of longing and something darker. Nothing mattered except this—Mario, solid and unyielding against him, the sharp press of his stubble against Austin’s skin, the way he exhaled a ragged breath between kisses, like he had been holding it all inside for too long.
Austin’s knees nearly gave out. His hands slid up Mario’s back, feeling the tension there, the muscles wound tight with barely restrained emotion. He wanted to say something, anything, but words felt pointless in the face of this. Instead, he let himself drown in the moment, let the cold, dust-choked air and the eerie whisper of the past dissolve around them.
Mario broke away first, just enough to press his forehead against Austin’s. His breath was warm against Austin’s lips, his grip still firm, like he couldn’t bear to let go. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, edged with something unspoken.
“I had to see you.”
Austin closed his eyes, swallowing against the thickness in his throat. “I know.”
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the whisper of distant scurrying in the walls, and the lingering taste of longing on Austin’s lips.
Then Mario’s hand slid down to clasp his wrist. “We don’t have much time. There’s so much we need to say, but…” Mario took Austin’s hand in his, then pressed it against his erection. Austin gasped and realized his own cock was painfully hard. “Austin, there’s been no one else since I’ve been here in Sodom. You’re the only man I want.”
Austin’s breath caught in his throat. The surrounding archives seemed to recede, the dust-laden air electrified with tension. He felt Mario’s pulse hammering beneath his fingertips, matching the frantic rhythm of his own heart.
“This is insane,” Austin whispered, even as his hand pressed more firmly against Mario’s bulge. “If anyone finds us—”
“They won’t,” Mario growled. His eyes, dark and intent, never left Austin’s face. “I’ve been mapping this place for months. The camera feeds have blind spots—deliberate ones. Someone designed it that way.”
Austin’s mind raced, trying to process this information while his body burned with need. “Why would they—”
Mario silenced him with another kiss, gentler this time, but no less urgent. “Later,” he breathed against Austin’s lips. “I’ll explain everything later.”
His hands were already working at Austin’s belt, fingers deft and purposeful. Austin felt himself being guided backward until his spine met the cool metal of an ancient filing cabinet.
“Here?” Austin breathed, half-disbelieving, half-desperate.
Mario’s answering smile was wolfish in the dim light. “Here. Now.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I’ve thought about this since I saw you in the cell across from mine. Dreamed about it.”
The confession broke something open in Austin’s chest. Caution evaporated as he pulled Mario closer, his hands sliding beneath the other man’s shirt to find warm skin stretched over taut muscle. The feeling of skin against skin was electric, addictive.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Austin breathed.
Time compressed, folded in on itself. Their movements became urgent, frantic even, clothes pushed aside rather than removed completely. Mario’s mouth traced a burning path down Austin’s neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where neck met shoulder. Austin bit back a moan, acutely aware that the sound might carry in this cavernous space.
“I want to hear you, love,” Mario murmured against his collarbone. “But not here. Not yet.”
The promise in those words—of a later, of somewhere else—sent another surge of heat through Austin’s body. Mario’s hand slipped between them, wrapping around them both, and Austin had to press his face against Mario’s shoulder to muffle the sound that threatened to escape.
Mario dropped to his knees, unzipped Austin’s pants and pulled out his aching cock. He gazed at it for a long moment, as if it were a momento of the time when they were both free on the outside. Then he took it in his mouth.
Mario’s mouth was warm and wet, a shocking contrast to the cool, stale air around them. His lips slid down Austin’s length with ease, his tongue tracing patterns that made Austin’s vision blur. Austin’s fingers tangled in Mario’s dark hair, not guiding, just anchoring himself to something solid as waves of pleasure threatened to buckle his knees.
“God, I’ve missed this,” Austin whispered, his voice barely audible even to his own ears. The sight of Mario on his knees before him, eyes closed in concentration, cheeks hollowed with each deliberate pull, was almost too much to bear.
Mario worked Austin’s cock with an intensity that bordered on reverence, alternating between deep, engulfing strokes and teasing flicks of his tongue that made Austin’s toes curl inside his cheap prison shoes. When Mario’s hands gripped his hips, pinning him against the filing cabinet with unexpected strength, Austin felt the cool metal press against his back through his thin shirt, a grounding counterpoint to the heat building low in his belly.
The room around them faded to nothing—the dust, the decay, the watchful cameras, all of it receded beneath the tide of sensation. There was only Mario’s mouth, the slick sounds of pleasure, and the ragged cadence of their breathing.
Just as Austin felt himself approaching the edge, Mario pulled away. His lips were swollen, eyes dark with need as he rose to his feet in one fluid motion. From his pocket, he withdrew a small plastic tub, unscrewing the cap with trembling fingers.
Vaseline.
“Commissary,” he muttered, the word rough at the edges. “Cost me a bundle, but…”
Austin cut him off with a desperate kiss, tasting himself on Mario’s tongue.
With deft movements, Mario pushed Austin back and freed himself from his uniform pants, his erection jutting between them. He dipped his fingers into the vaseline, coating himself generously, his eyes never leaving Austin’s face.
“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated through Austin’s chest.
Austin complied, bracing his forearms against the filing cabinet. Behind him, he heard Mario’s breath catch, felt rough hands on his exposed skin as his pants were roughly pulled down to his knees. The cool air against his bare skin made him shiver—or perhaps it was anticipation.
There was a moment of pressure, a burning stretch that made Austin wince, his body tensing at the intrusion. Mario paused, one hand stroking soothingly down Austin’s spine.
“Breathe,” he whispered, his lips brushing the nape of Austin’s neck. “Just breathe.”
Austin drew in a shuddering breath, his body gradually yielding to Mario’s gentle persistence. Each exhale released more tension, allowing Mario to sink deeper.
“That’s it,” Mario murmured, his voice strained. His fingers dug into Austin’s hips, leaving crescent-shaped impressions that would bloom into bruises by morning. “God, you feel even better than I remembered.”
The words sent a jolt through Austin’s body, clenching around Mario and drawing a hiss from both of them. The dusty air of the archives seemed to thicken, charged with electricity and desperation. Austin pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the filing cabinet, its surface fogging with his ragged breaths.
“Give it to me,” Austin pleaded, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears. “Hard. Rough.”
Mario’s response was immediate—a slow withdrawal followed by a deliberate thrust that sent stars exploding behind Austin’s eyelids. The careful rhythm quickly gave way to something more primal, more urgent. Mario’s hips snapped forward with increasing force, each thrust driving Austin against the filing cabinet with a muted metallic thud that seemed impossibly loud in the hushed archives.
Austin bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. The sensation was almost too much—Mario filling him completely, stretching him open, hitting that spot inside that made his legs tremble and his vision blur. It had been so long since they’d been together like this. The separation had hollowed him out, left him aching and incomplete. Now, with Mario’s body joined with his, Austin felt something vital clicking back into place.
Mario’s breathing grew ragged, his movements more erratic. One hand snaked around Austin’s hip to grasp his neglected cock, which leaked steadily against the metal cabinet. The touch was almost unbearably intense, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through Austin.
“I won’t last,” Mario warned, his voice breaking on the confession. “You feel too good. It’s been too long.”
“Me neither,” Austin gasped. Mario’s thrusts became harder, deeper, each one striking that perfect spot within Austin that made his vision swim. The cabinet rattled softly with their movements, the sound blending with their muffled groans.
Austin felt the pressure building, coiling tight at the base of his spine. His body trembled on the precipice, hovering at the edge. Mario’s rhythm faltered, his grip tightening on Austin’s hip as he buried himself deep.
“Oh Austin, mi amor…”
Austin felt the hot pulse of Mario’s release, triggering his own climax. He bit down on his forearm to muffle his cry as pleasure crashed through him in waves, his body clenching around Mario, drawing out every last sensation.
For several heartbeats, they remained frozen in place, connected and trembling. Mario’s forehead rested between Austin’s shoulder blades, his breath hot against sweat-dampened skin. His arms encircled Austin’s waist, holding him close as if afraid he might dissolve into the dust-laden air.
“I missed you,” Mario whispered, the words so soft they barely disturbed the silence.
Austin closed his eyes, savoring the weight of Mario against him, inside him. “I missed you too.”
Mario’s mouth pressed kisses against the back of his head, and Austin thought his heart would give out. Then Mario pulled his cock out of him, turned Austin around, and stared straight into his eyes.
“Why the hell are you in Sodom, Austin? What the hell did you do?”
Read Prisoners Of Sodom today. It’s available at all major online bookstores as well as Cruz Publishing. This is an ongoing dark gay romance serial with new episodes releasing twice monthly.
Ian O. Lewis and Luke Jameson 