Author: admin

Eric and Alex had been together for two years, their relationship a fiery blend of passion and power dynamics. Alex, the dominant one with a commanding presence and a penchant for control, had introduced Eric to the world of chastity play early on. Eric, lean and eager to please, found the denial thrilling at first—a game that heightened every touch, every glance. But tonight, in their dimly lit bedroom, things were escalating.

Alex held the Behind Barz Complete System chastity belt, a gleaming piece of 316 surgical stainless steel he’d ordered custom from the UK site. It was designed for men, with a secure cage that enclosed everything, a waistband that locked around the hips, and an innovative integrated lock that promised inescapability. “This isn’t like those cheap plastic cages you’ve tried,” Alex said, his voice low and authoritative as he knelt before Eric, who stood naked and trembling with anticipation. “This is the real deal—built for long-term wear. Hygienic, durable, and once it’s on, there’s no getting out without the key.”

Eric swallowed hard, his heart racing. He’d read online forums, Reddit threads from guys in the gay chastity community sharing their experiences. Some talked about the initial discomfort, the chafing that required constant lubrication and loose underwear. Others described how weeks turned into months, reshaping their mindset—making them more submissive, less aggressive, their focus shifting entirely to pleasing their partner. A few even whispered about “permanent” setups, where denial became a lifestyle, leading to physical changes like reduced erections or a shrunken feel from lack of use. It scared him, but it also aroused him beyond words. “How long this time?” Eric asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alex smirked, sliding the cold metal cage over Eric’s already hardening cock, adjusting the ring behind his balls with firm, practiced hands. “A month, maybe two. We’ll see how you handle it.” He clicked the waistband shut, threading the lock through the hasps. With a twist of the key, it sealed with a final, ominous snap. Eric gasped at the weight, the unyielding pressure that compressed him into submission. “There. Locked. Now, be a good boy.”

The first weeks were a blur of frustration and ecstasy. Eric wore baggy pants to work, constantly aware of the belt’s presence—its subtle clink when he moved, the way it prevented any erection, turning his desires into a constant, aching hum. Showers were tricky; he had to clean through the slots, but hygiene was manageable, just like the guys on r/chastitytraining said. At night, Alex teased him mercilessly, using Eric’s mouth or body for his own pleasure while denying any release. “Feel that submission building?” Alex would murmur during their intimate moments. “It’s changing you already—making you mine completely.”

By the end of the second month, Eric was a mess of pent-up need. His mindset had shifted, just as he’d read in those online stories: more eager to serve, less focused on his own orgasms. Anal play became his only outlet, heightening sensations in ways he hadn’t imagined. But there were downsides too—the occasional skin irritation, the phantom erections that woke him in pain, and a nagging worry about long-term effects. One Redditor had shared how after years, he struggled with erections post-removal, his body forgetting how. Another described the psychological high, the addictive horniness that made vanilla sex seem boring.

One evening, as they lounged on the couch, Alex pulled out a small bottle of threadlocker compound—strong, industrial stuff meant for securing bolts permanently. Eric’s eyes widened. “What’s that for?”

Alex’s expression was serious, dominant. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve handled this belt so well—two months without complaint. It’s time to make it permanent.” He held up the key, dangling it like a taunt.

Eric’s stomach dropped. “Permanent? Alex, wait—I thought this was temporary. I mean, I’ve read about guys who do long-term, but forever? What if I can’t… you know, function anymore? Some say it shrinks things, or you lose the ability to get hard after a while.”

Alex chuckled, but there was no humor in it. He unscrewed the lock’s securing screws slightly, applying a drop of the red threadlocker to each thread. “That’s the beauty of it. This stuff cures in ten minutes, bonding the screws so tight that turning the key won’t do a thing. No escape, no removal. Ever.” He screwed them back in, the compound already starting to set. “And no, it’s not your choice, Eric. This is what I want—for you to be locked, denied, focused only on me. Think of those stories you obsess over: the subs who say it made them better, more devoted. The frustration fades into bliss.”

Eric panicked, tugging futilely at the belt. “But Alex, please—give me a say! Ten minutes? That’s all? What if I regret it?” His voice cracked, echoing the regretful posts he’d seen from guys who pushed too far, only to find the mental toll overwhelming—depression from unending denial, relationships strained by the power imbalance.

Alex pulled him close, kissing his forehead possessively. “Regret? You’ll learn to love it. In ten minutes, this becomes your new normal. Permanent chastity, just like those brave souls online who swear it’s transformed them.” The clock ticked. Eric’s protests softened into whimpers as the compound cured, sealing his fate in unyielding steel. Deep down, amid the fear, a twisted thrill stirred—the ultimate surrender.

The stiff, ill-fitting fatigue uniforms clung to their powerful frames, stretching taut over muscle and sinew. Terrell, all 6’3” of cocky confidence, felt the rough fabric chafe against his broad shoulders, hugging his bubble butt so tightly he might as well have been naked. Beside him, De’andre, the biggest of the three, with his dark skin and hairy limbs, strained the seams across his chest. Donte, shorter but equally cut, his handsome face set in a defiant smirk, constantly adjusted the too-tight waistband.

Sergeant Miller, a white muscle daddy with a dark mustache and silver hairs dusting his arms, watched them with an intensity that burned. His commands were sharper, his drills harder, his gaze lingering a fraction too long on their sweating bodies. “You three. Move faster! Think you’re too good for this uniform? You’ll earn every stitch, believe me.” He singled them out, and the boys knew it wasn’t just about discipline. It was about their skin, their power, their undeniable presence.

Late at night, Miller would creep towards their barracks. He’d peer through the slats, his breath catching in his throat, as Terrell, De’andre, and Donte moved freely, unburdened by clothes. He saw Terrell’s smooth, glistening body and the dark curls at the start of his ass crack as he stretched, De’andre’s thick Afro pubes framing his heavy, low-hanging balls, and Donte’s black cock sway as he walked. He watched them flex, their muscles rippling under dark skin, their cocks shifting, flipping side to side with every casual movement. His own uniform grew tight as he leaned against the cool wall, one hand dropping to his fly. He would stroke himself, salivating over De’andre’s big cock, the way it flopped when he bent, or Terrell’s uncut length. He’d cum silently, a shudder wracking his body, before wiping himself clean and melting back into the shadows.

Miller had personally selected them, the final three out of twenty, citing their unparalleled physical prowess. But his true motives were far more primal. He’d seen the boys’ bulges, noticed the way their cocks moved, the way their balls hung low. They knew it too, the constant scrutiny, the hungry glares. And because of it, a plan began to form in their minds – a raucous, defiant act that would shatter Miller’s carefully constructed control once they earned their permanent positions.

The first phase began without warning. Late one night, the sounds started. Not the usual snores, but hushed giggles, then moans. Miller, patrolling, stopped dead. Feminine voices, growing louder, more frantic. “Oh fuck! Yes, right there!” a girl shrieked. Then Terrell’s deep voice, thick with Ebonics, “You like that, huh? You like this black cock?” A different girl cried out, “Oh God, De’andre, gimme that big dick! It feels so good!” Another, breathless, “Oh, Donte, you pushing it so deep… pink pussy feels better than black girls, don’t it baby?” The barracks were alive with the sounds of pleasure – beds creaking, skin slapping, the girls creaming and loaning, their cries of “black cock” echoing. Miller stood frozen, his own erection throbbing, a mixture of rage and desperate envy twisting in his gut. Night after night, the scenario repeated, the explicit sounds penetrating his sleep, his dreams. He became disoriented, day after day, the lack of rest and the torment of their defiant pleasure gnawing at his sanity. He couldn’t stop listening, couldn’t stop picturing, couldn’t stop hating and wanting all at once.

Tonight, it broke the surface. Sergeant Miller sat up in his private quarters, his eyes wide open but seeing something else entirely. A passenger in his own body, he felt a magnetic pull, an inexorable tide dragging him from his bed. He was aware, lucid in the way one is in a dream, his mind screaming a litany of protests that his limbs refused to hear. Go back to bed. What are you doing? Stop. But his body moved with a fluid, somnambulistic grace, shedding his boxers as he stepped out of his room and into the main barracks. Naked.

His mind reeled. Oh no, what the fuck am I doing? He was a ghost gliding through the familiar space, the moonlight turning his pale, muscular form into a marble statue set in motion. His feet made no sound on the cool concrete as he was drawn toward one specific bunk. De’andre’s bunk.

He saw it all with horrifying clarity. The slow, deliberate peeling of the duvet, the reveal of the man beneath. De’andre was sprawled on his back, a sheen of sweat highlighting the deep ebony of his skin. And there, nestled between his powerful thighs, was the object of Miller’s unconscious obsession. The moonlight fell upon him as if a spotlight, a perfect, divine offering. The short, well-kept afro bush, the heavy, slumbering weight of his cock and balls, foreskin relaxed. To Miller’s captive mind, it was the image of a god at rest.

A force that was both him and not him guided his hands. One hand wrapped around the thick, warm shaft while the other cupped the weighty globes beneath. From the edge of the bed, he lowered his head, his internal monologue a silent, frantic scream against the placid, zombie-like expression on his face. Then, he began to worship.

The initial touch was a jolt that pulled De’andre from the shallow depths of sleep. His eyes fluttered open for a split second, the world a blurry tableau of moonlight and shadow. He saw the impossible: Sergeant Miller, his sergeant, kneeling by his bed, mouth closing around him. Shock warred with a rising tide of pure, unadulterated pleasure. The sergeant’s mouth was hot, his technique desperate and reverent. A slow smile spread across De’andre’s face, unseen in the dark. He closed his eyes again, sinking into the fantasy, deciding to let the dream play out.

The sounds began to fill the humid air. Wet, sloppy sucking noises, punctuated by the sergeant’s desperate, loud gags as he took all of De’andre, his body shuddering with the effort. A low, guttural moan rumbled from Miller’s chest, a sound of pure, agonized release.

Across the aisle, on the top bunk, Terrel woke. He heard the rhythmic sounds, the wetness, the moans. A grin touched his lips as he peered over the edge of his bed, ready with a joke. “I thought we said no pussy tonight,” he whispered into the dark.

The grin froze on his face. His eyes adjusted, and the scene below snapped into focus. That wasn’t some girl snuck into the barracks. That was Sergeant Miller, naked, on his knees, sucking De’andre off like his life depended on it. Terrel’s mind short-circuited. Horror, confusion, and a sudden, sharp spike of arousal shot through him. He felt his own cock ping to attention, a traitorous response to the shocking tableau. He lifted his sheet, a nervous habit, and saw that his foreskin had already pulled back, the head slick and ready. Damn, he thought, a wave of heat washing over him. U ready to go den.

He moved slowly, carefully, clambering down the metal ladder of the bunk. He didn’t realize that in the bed below his, Donte had been awake the entire time, his hand moving in a frantic, silent rhythm under his own sheets, captivated by the raw, forbidden display.

Terrel approached the scene like a man approaching a wild animal. He wanted in. He reached out and tapped the sergeant’s bare shoulder. “Sarge?” he whispered.

No response. The sucking continued, more frantic now. He tapped again, a little harder. Nothing. Frustration flared. He wanted a turn, wanted to be a part of this bizarre, moonlit ritual. He drew back his hand and gave the sergeant’s tight ass a sharp slap.

The sucking stopped. Sergeant Miller slowly turned his head, his face a slack, empty mask. His eyes were open but vacant, looking straight through Terrel. A low grunt escaped his lips, an animalistic sound of annoyance, and then he turned back to De’andre, resuming his worship with renewed vigor.

“What the fuck…” Terrel breathed, stunned into silence.

A voice from the shadows made him jump. “I think the nigga sleepwalking.”

Terrel spun around to see Donte, now sitting on the edge of his bunk, his own magnificent black cock in his hand, thick and fully erect. The secret was out. Donte stood, not bothering to cover himself, and walked closer to get a better look, his fascination overriding any sense of caution.

De’andre, with his eyes squeezed shut, had heard it all. Terrel’s whisper, the slap, Donte’s diagnosis. A thrill, sharp and electric, coursed through him. He was the center of it all, the sleeping god being worshipped while his acolytes gathered. The knowledge only intensified the pleasure, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out.

Donte didn’t try to interrupt again. He walked to the empty bunk closest to the action and sat down, his back against the wall. He began to stroke himself openly, his heavy balls bouncing with each deliberate pull, his toes fidgeting in the dust motes dancing in the moonlight. The room was now charged with a new energy—a shared, voyeuristic intimacy.

There was no plan, no discussion.

With a mischievous grin, Terrel kneeled behind Miller, stroking his shaft while toying with a nipple. His hands danced over the taut, white skin, unleashing a symphony of gasps and moans from the unconscious sergeant. Terrel’s fingers then found their way to Miller’s plush ass cheeks, jiggling and massaging them with a maddening rhythm.

Miller, still in a trance-like state, bucked and writhed under Terrel’s ministrations, his cock stiffening even more. Terrel couldn’t resist – he spread the cheeks wide, baring the pink, puckered hole to the moonlight. A soft gasp escaped him at the sight. This was going to be good.

As Terrel drew nearer, his fingers lightly grazed Miller’s sweat-dampened skin, tracing the contours of his spine. The sergeant’s back arched naturally, like a bitch in heat, with a pronounced dip at the lower lumbar region. Terrel couldn’t help but marvel at the explosive white cheeks of Miller’s ass, so round and inviting.

Emboldened, Terrel knelt behind the impressive physical stature. The sergeant’s bulging biceps, corded with muscle, and the broad expanse of his back seemed to beckon Terrel’s curiosity. One hand stroking his own hardening cock while the other jiggled Miller’s plump cheek. The flesh yielded to his touch, springing back with a satisfying thud. Terrel massaged the cheeks, smacking them gently, then spreading them wide to expose the pink, pucker-like aperture within.

Gobsmacked by the sight, Terrel called out to his friend Donte, who was pleasuring himself on the adjacent bunk. “Yo, come take a look at this shit, my nigga!” Terrell exclaimed, hardly able to contain his excitement.

Donte’s eyes widened as he took in the tableau before him. “Damn, nigga, that shit looks good af. All pink and pretty and shit,” he remarked, his own dick twitching in response.

Terrell couldn’t resist any longer. Diving face-first, he began to eat Miller’s ass like a starving man, his tongue lapping at the stretched skin and probing the hole. Miller morphed into deep, guttural moans, signifying his waking arousal. He was lucid enough to feel, to want. He had a mouthful of black cock, De’andre’s, who was fast asleep on the other side of the bed, a willing participant in his own dreams.

Donte stood over them, a voyeur and a conductor, still beating his dick as he watched the scene unfold. “Yhhh, blood, I can tell this sarge liking the way u eating his booty. How it taste like, homie?”

Terrell didn’t answer with words. He let out a series of deep moans and grunts, a primal show of approval, never once moving his lips from Miller’s pink hole. He was lost in it, the taste, the texture, the way Miller’s body responded to his every touch.

The sight was too much for Donte. Curiosity gnawed at him, sharp and insistent. He couldn’t just watch. “Yo, move over, lemme get a turn. U got a nigga curious.”

Terrell didn’t budge, his focus absolute. Donte got on his knees on the bed and tapped Terrell’s shoulder. Nothing. With a bigger shove, he finally dislodged him.

Terrell sat back on his heels, gasping for air, his chin and lips glistening. A dazed, satisfied grin spread across his face. “Yo, that shit taste better than those white girls’ pussy,” he declared, licking a stray spot from the corner of his mouth.

Now it was Donte’s chance. He knelt, positioning himself behind Miller. He spread the man’s cheeks open, stared for a long, appreciative moment, and took a deep breath in. “Damnnnnn,” he hissed. He leaned forward, and with a series of loud, hungry grunts, began to devour Miller’s pink hole, his approach more aggressive, more desperate than Terrell’s had been.

Terrell, now free but still wired, moved to the head of the bed, intending to take over the dick-sucking duties. But he couldn’t find the space. De’andre was dead to the world, his head turned to the side, Miller’s mouth working on him unconsciously. Fuck it, Terrell thought. He wasn’t going to be left out.

He straddled De’andre’s sleeping face, his own weight settling over him. He gently took De’andre’s cock out of Miller’s mouth and, in one smooth motion, put his own in its place. He started to gyrate, his hips rolling into Miller’s face, while his hands found De’andre’s big, black cock, still hard and slick. Shit, Miller’s mouth is the shit, he thought with a private laugh. He looked down at his friend. De’andre still hard, might as well help my nigga out while he waits. He began to stroke his friend off in a brotherly, caring way.

De’andre, lost in the fog of ‘sleep’, didn’t understand the new optics. He just felt something soft and heavy flapping on his chest and a swift breeze on his face with each movement. His nostrils filled with a dark, sensual musk, an intoxicating scent that pulled him toward consciousness. He peeked, his vision blurry. He could see flashes of Terrell’s muscular back, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. As his vision cleared, the full picture snapped into focus: Terrell’s muscular, chocolate, hairy bubble butt swaying tantalizingly above him. With every grind into Miller’s mouth, Terrell’s balls flapped down, grazing his chest before flying back up, wafting that addictive musk right into his face.

De’andre took a deep, shuddering breath in. As Terrell grinded lower, pressing his weight onto his face, De’andre finally plucked up the courage. A long, wet tongue slithered out, slowly, tentatively, making its way up to Terrell’s hole.

The new sensation shocked Terrell. He looked back suddenly, his eyes wide. De’andre just winked and pointed a thumb at Miller. A slow, wicked smile spread across Terrell’s face. He reached over, scooped some spit from Miller’s mouth, and started wanking De’andre’s cock a bit more passionately. “I got you, bro,” he rasped. He then returned to his gyrating, now fully in sync with De’andre’s tongue on his ass and his own cock in Miller’s mouth.

All the while, Donte was still munching on Miller’s asshole, milking the pink hole for everything it was worth. Finally, he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to the man’s flesh. He got up and looked down at his dick. It was a long, thick, veiny black COCK, so hard it was pointing straight up at the ceiling, looking right back at him.

“Fellas,” Donte announced, his voice a low growl of intent. “I’m gnna breed the bitch.”

“Do you, my nigga,” Terrell grunted, not missing a beat.

From beneath him, De’andre’s muffled words were barely plausible, but he stuck his thumb up in enthusiastic agreement.

Donte made his move. He guided the glistening head of his dick to the pink, wet hole. He pushed gently, and a slick of spit was pushed back, coating the tip. He pushed a bit further. Miller, with Terrell’s cock down his throat, grunted frantically in the background. More spit began to cover the shaft. “Yo, his shit wet af,” Donte marveled. And then, with a sound like a thick rubber band snapping, he was in.

He was in. Donte gyrated his hips like a dancer, a slow, hypnotic roll that allowed the movement to slowly open Miller’s ass. Miller became entranced, feeling the cock make its way in little by little. His breathing slowed, and his moans became deeper, more guttural.

Terrell whipped his head up to look at Donte, his eyes blazing. “Yo, Donte, I think he liking dat shit. Keep doing that shit, yo! He going crazy on my dick!”

Feeling Miller’s walls finally collapse and accept him, Donte pushed deeper and deeper until he stopped. Balls deep. He moved side to side, as if to make way, his own balls swaying between his legs. Then… pow, pow, pow, pow, pow.

The sound of backshots filled the room, sharp and wet and brutal. He stopped. Miller reacted with a deeeeeep moan that echoed throughout the barrack, a sound of pure, overwhelmed ecstasy. Realizing what he’d just unlocked, Donte continued the onslaught, his face screwed up in a mask of furry and concentration. Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow, pow! Like gunshots in the hot, still night.

Terrell looked on in awe. Even De’andre stopped munching for a second, craning his neck to take in the sight of Donte destroying their sergeant.

The sight broke the spell. It was a catalyst. Terrell and De’andre returned to their tasks with ignited fury. Terrell slammed his hips down harder, forcing his cock deeper down Miller’s throat while grinding relentlessly onto De’andre’s tongue. De’andre met him with equal ferocity, his tongue darting and plunging. The room became a chaotic symphony of grunts, slaps of skin, and choked moans, all underscored by the relentless, percussive rhythm of Donte’s thrusts.

It was a race to the edge, all three of them pushing, taking, and sharing in a frenzy of raw, unrestrained lust.

“OH, FUCK!” Donte roared, his body seizing as he emptied himself deep inside Miller.

“YEAH, NIGGA!” Terrell yelled, his voice triumphant as he exploded in Miller’s mouth, his back arching.

A muffled, ecstatic cry was torn from De’andre’s throat as Terrell’s release and the frantic stroking sent him over the edge, his own release hot against his stomach.

Then, silence. The only sounds were the whirring of the fans and the ragged, desperate sound of four men gasping for breath. Limbs were tangled, bodies slick with a mixture of sweat and fluids. The air, already thick, was now electric, crackling with the raw energy of what had just passed, and pregnant with the unspoken question of what a new day, and a new night, would bring.

“Good morning,” I said to Bryn as I rolled over to cuddle him. “It’s time to wake up, sleepy head.”

Bryn’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave me a sleepy smile. “Mornin’.” He stretched his arms out, yawning widely. “What’s the time?”

“It’s time for a cuddle, and then I will go downstairs and prepare your breakfast,” I responded while getting in my first kiss of the day.

Bryn rolled over, his morning wood pressing against my thigh, and before I could say another word, his mouth found my nipple through my nightshirt, his tongue swirling around it as he began to suckle gently. His hand slid down my body to caress my arse, and I felt my arousal spike at his touch. The sensation of his warm breath and the pressure of his lips on my covered, sensitive skin sent waves of pleasure through my body.

“Do I have to go to work?” he murmured against my skin, his hand stroking me more firmly now. “Can’t I just stay here with you?”

“Nope, it’s harvest time and there is lots to do today,” I responded. “Straw bales need a home for winter and won’t get from the fields to the barn without your help.”

Bryn chuckled, his breath tickling my skin, and reluctantly pulled away from my nipple. He sat up, his cock standing tall and proud between his legs. “I guess you’re right,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “But I need to start my day with something to remember while I’m out there in the wilds of Hertfordshire.”

“Well, in that case, a hearty breakfast should provide what you need,” as I kicked the quilt off my body, revealing my green nightshirt. The soft material of the kaftan-like nightshirt clung to my curves, revealing more than it concealed.

Bryn’s gaze travelled over me, lingering for a moment, his hunger palpable. He reached out and traced the outline of my cock with his thumb through the cotton material, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “You always look so tempting in that thing,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire.

I bit my bottom lip and leaned in to kiss him, his hand sliding further down to cup me fully. His touch sent a thrill through me, making me even harder. I knew that he liked the way my nightshirts made me look and feel, the way they emphasised my submission while leaving just enough to the imagination.

Years ago, when we first moved into the rural community after I inherited the farm, there had been whispers and sideways glances. Two men living together, one so obviously effeminate, had been a novelty. But Bryn had been the one to suggest the nightshirt, a subtle yet powerful symbol of our dynamic. It was something that had started as a private act between us, a way to reinforce our roles in the bedroom, but over time, it had become a part of who we were. And somehow, the community had grown to accept it, even if they didn’t fully understand it.

“Go on, up you get and shower while I go downstairs,” I prompted him.

Bryn sighed but nodded, his hand reluctantly releasing my cock. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded into the bathroom. The smell of minty soap followed the sound of the shower turning on. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that he was thinking about me as he washed away the sweat of the night.

In the kitchen, I busied myself cooking his breakfast.  Scrambled eggs with chives and cheese, bacon and a side of toast washed down with a cup of coffee. The aroma filled the house as I listened to the steady patter of the shower upstairs. I took a moment to appreciate the quietude of the early morning, the only sounds being the sizzle of the bacon and the occasional sound that only the countryside could make.

The floorboards creaked as Bryn descended the stairs, and moments later, he emerged from the hallway, his body glistening from the shower, wearing only his usual classic white briefs. His chest was broad and hairy, tapering down to a trim waist, and his legs, muscular from months of manual labour, were sprinkled with a fine dusting of dark hair. The bulge of his morning wood in his briefs was clear, hinting at his unabated desire. He walked over to the table and sat down, his gaze never leaving mine, a silent challenge that sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.

“Looks delicious,” he said, reaching for a piece of toast as the smell of the crispy bacon filled the air. “But I might need a little something extra before I go.”

I turned to face him, the spatula in my hand, and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Bryn took a bite of toast, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “You know I love our life here. The farm, the animals, the quiet. But sometimes, I just need to feel you.”

I set the spatula down, the sizzle of the bacon a distant echo in the room. Our eyes locked, and I felt the heat between us that had never truly abated despite the years that had passed. We had been together for so long that every touch, every look, held a lifetime of meaning. At the age of 55, he was still handsome, with his salt and pepper hair and the lines around his eyes that spoke of years of hard work and laughter. And though time had etched its marks on his body, I found him more attractive now than ever before.

Likewise, Bryn loved me and worshipped my body even still, my having turned 61. I delighted in the fact that we had defied expectations, and when all our friends expected our relationship to fail, we had flourished, whilst many others fell to the side. The only person who knew every detail of our lives was Colin. He had been one of those friends, whose relationship had fallen by the wayside and in a moment of love or certainly friendship, we had offered him a labourers cottage as a home when his life fell into tatters and although he had had fleeting relationships over the years, Colin remained single, destined to remain with us, having found what he was looking for.

“I’m going upstairs to get your clothes while you eat. You can’t go to work like that, you know,” chuckling at the thought of him being seen in his white classic-looking briefs, throwing bales of straw onto the trailer.

As I turned to leave, he grabbed my wrist gently, pulling me back towards him. “What’s the rush?” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let me enjoy the moment.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Time waits for no man, including you, and you can always have me later anyway,” I declared. “I’m not going anywhere, and I have the farm accounts to do while you do the hard work. Got it?”

Bryn smirked, his eyes lighting up with understanding. He knew I had my limits, but also knew when I was just teasing. He nodded and took a bite of eggs, watching me as I walked away.

I picked out his clean work clothes from the wardrobe and brought them downstairs, setting them aside on the chair next to him. Then, I grabbed my mug of coffee, the warmth of it feeling like a comforting embrace, and stepped out into the garden, determined to enjoy the weather with my first cigarette of the day, while reviewing messages on my mobile phone.

The air was crisp and cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of the kitchen. I could hear the birds chirping, the distant sound of a tractor, and the rustle of leaves in the light breeze. It was a stark reminder of the outside world that awaited him.

Bryn finished his breakfast with a satisfied sigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood up, the chair scraping against the wooden floor, and picked up his clothes. Walking towards me, he stepped out through the French doors from the kitchen onto the patio, pausing briefly to look at me. “You’re going to make me work for it, huh?” he teased, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Work for what?” I demanded, playing with him because I knew what he wanted.

“For this. It’s demanding attention and refuses to go down,” he said, pushing his briefs to the ground, allowing his cock to spring free, thick and hard, standing proudly in the early morning light.

“And that’s my problem, is it?” as I raised an eyebrow, sipping my coffee, watching him as he strode over to me, his erection bobbing with each step. He stopped in front of me, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached out and took the mug from my hand, placing it on the small garden table next to me, which was still home to the bottle of lube from our previous outdoor encounter.

“You know I like to say good morning, and you know it’s your problem because you just can’t resist me, can you?” he murmured, pulling me up from my chair, his hands sliding around my waist. He pulled me closer, his cock pressing against my nightshirt, demanding admission. “It’s not fair to leave me like this.”

I couldn’t resist the smouldering look in his eyes. We had been together for so long, and yet, every morning was like the first time we had ever touched. “If you insist, my love,” I whispered, my resolve crumbling.

Bryn chuckled and gently guided me to the large patio table, his strong hands lifting me so that I could sit comfortably on the cool surface. My nightshirt rode up slightly, exposing my upper thighs, revealing a tantalising view of my now growing cock.

He placed a kiss on my cheek, his stubble scratching against my skin, and then leaned in, capturing my mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue pushed past my lips, exploring my mouth as his hands roamed my body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip as my hands clutched his buttocks.

Bryn’s calloused fingers found my cock, stroking it gently as we kissed, our bodies moving in a familiar dance. The fabric of my nightshirt was no match for his determination, and it was soon pushed up to my chest, exposing me fully to the cool morning air. His thumb circled my sensitive tip, and I moaned into his mouth, my hips bucking against his hand.

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting a warm glow across the garden, painting our entwined bodies in shades of gold and pink. His erection, still standing tall, nudged against my thigh, leaving a trail of precum that glistened in the light. We were lost in the moment, our breaths mingling as we explored each other’s bodies once again.

Bryn’s hand tightened around my shaft, his strokes becoming more insistent as he kissed me with an urgency that seemed to build with every beat of my racing heart. He pushed me onto my back, the table cool against my skin, and I eagerly helped him pull my nightshirt further up my body, baring my chest and stomach to the early morning.

He hovered over me for a moment, his eyes locked on my erection, and then, with a devilish smile, he lowered his head and took me into his mouth. His warmth enveloped me as his tongue swirled around my tip, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. The sensation was exquisite, his expert touch bringing me to the brink of climax with every stroke.

My hands found his hair, threading through the strands as I guided his movements. The gentle tugging and sucking of his mouth, the soft moans he made as he took more of me in, it was a symphony of passion that resonated through every fibre of my being. The sounds of the countryside faded into the background, replaced by the wet sounds of his mouth on my cock and the ragged breaths we shared.

Bryn’s eyes never left mine as he worked me with a dedication that was as much a declaration of love as it was an act of passion. I could see the hunger in his gaze, the raw desire that mirrored my own. His hand stroked the base of my cock in time with his mouth, his thumb teasing my balls in a way that had me lifting my hips off the table, begging for more.

The tension grew, my body tightening as I neared the edge. His hand moved faster, his mouth sucking harder, and I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. I whispered his name, a plea for release that he seemed to understand, his eyes never leaving mine as he increased his pace.

With a final, deep suck, I came, my body convulsing with the force of my orgasm. He didn’t pull away, instead swallowing every drop and continuing to kiss and lick me until my tremors subsided. His mouth was soft and gentle, his touch tender as he cleaned me up, his love for me as clear as the blue sky above us.

Bryn then gently pulled my body towards the edge of the table; the sound of the lube bottle being squeezed echoed through the quiet garden. He smeared the gel onto his cock, the sight of him preparing himself making me even more eager. He knew my body so well, knew exactly what I needed and craved, and I submitted to him as I waited for him to take me.

His eyes searched mine for permission, a silent question that didn’t need to be asked. We had been doing this dance for so long that the answers were written in the very air between us. With a nod, I gave him the go-ahead, and with a grin, he positioned himself at my entrance, his tip teasing my sensitive skin.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, filling me up as the early morning light painted our bodies. The feeling was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent shockwaves through me as he stretched me open. Our eyes stayed locked as he moved deeper, until he was fully seated within me, our bodies joined as one.

Bryn’s hips began to rock, his cock moving in a steady rhythm that had me moaning with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin was the only sound in the stillness of the morning, a primal beat that matched the racing of our hearts. His hands gripped the edge of the table, his muscles flexing with the effort as he held back, giving me time to adjust to his size.

He leaned down to kiss me, his breath warm and minty from his toothpaste. Our kisses grew more frantic as his pace quickened, his strokes deepening and becoming more urgent. I could feel him getting closer, his movements growing more erratic.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer as the tension built within me. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of me was intoxicating, making me feel alive in a way that nothing else ever could. The smell of him, the taste of him, the way his body felt against mine, it was all I needed to send me spiralling towards the edge.

Just as I was about to climax, I heard the sound of the garden gate opening, and I glanced over and saw Colin, his eyes widening slightly at the sight before him. He had arrived early, ready to tackle the day’s work, and had walked in on us in our intimate moment. But instead of being embarrassed or stopping, he simply nodded and moved to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Bryn didn’t miss a beat, his strokes never faltering as he continued to claim me, his eyes never leaving mine. It wasn’t the first time Colin had stumbled upon us like this. Over the years, our boundaries had blurred, and what was once private had become a part of our shared life. We had grown comfortable with our dynamic, and the presence of our third wheel had only added to the thrill.

Colin leaned against the doorpost, his eyes on us as he took a sip of his coffee, watching with an intensity that made my cheeks flush.

Bryn’s thrusts grew more forceful, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he approached his climax. I could see the desire in Colin’s eyes, the way he watched us, but I also knew that this was our moment. Our love was ours alone, even if it was sometimes performed with an audience.

As the waves of pleasure crashed over me, I closed my eyes, letting myself be lost in the feeling of my climax. Yet again, my lover had brushed my prostate and had forced my body to respond as cum shot from my cock, landing on my stomach and lower chest.

The sounds of our lovemaking mingled with the clinking of Colin’s spoon against his mug, a strange but familiar soundtrack to our morning ritual as Bryn orgasmed, his morning wood shooting its load inside me. Yet again, I was in heaven, and so was Bryn as he panted, his breathing heavy from his morning exercise.

When I finally opened my eyes, Colin was still there, his erection visible through his shorts. He took a final sip of his coffee before setting the cup down and walking over to us, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Looks like you two are already off to a good start,” he said, his voice low and husky.

“You could say,” Bryn responded. “I just had an itch that needed scratching, if you know what I mean, Colin.”

“Yep, I get that. You can’t have an itch go unscratched,” Colin responded. “But now you’ve scratched it, put Steve down and let’s start work. We’ve a lot to do today.”

Bryn chuckled, pulling out of me with a wet sound that made me quiver. He kissed me once more, then turned to Colin, his cock still half-hard as he grabbed his white briefs from the ground. “Alright, alright,” he said, pulling them up his legs, eventually tucking himself in. “But I’ll need another round after the chores are done.”

“You big brute,” I teased Bryn in response.

“You two are insatiable,” Colin said with a shake of his head, his own erection clear as day as I slipped off the table, the fabric of my nightshirt sticking to my skin from the combination of sweat and cum with Bryn’s seed dribbling down my legs.

“By the way, Good morning, Colin,” I finally greeted him, “How are you today?”

Colin’s gaze lingered on us for a moment before he took a deep breath and turned to the kitchen, “I’m fine, Steve. Just fine.” His tone was a mix of amusement and arousal as he adjusted himself. “It’s always off-putting watching you two at it.”

Bryn chuckled, stepping aside to let me sit back down. “Steve’s got a keen eye for detail,” he said, slapping Colin on the back. “He’ll sort that out for you if you ask him nicely.”

Colin rolled his eyes, his cheeks flushing slightly, but there was a glimmer of hope in his gaze. “I wouldn’t object, Bryn, if he offered,” looking at Bryn standing there in his white briefs.

I couldn’t help but smile at Colin’s reaction, knowing that our relationship was an open one with Colin. We had grown comfortable with the idea of sharing our intimate moments with him, and sometimes, the three of us would indulge in passionate encounters and in many respects, that was the secret behind our long friendship. “Well, if you’re going to be a tease with that thing pushing like made for escape, you might as well allow me to sort you out,” I said, standing up and smoothing down my nightshirt.

Colin blushed while Bryn chuckled at the thought that I was considering helping Colin in his hour of need.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Colin said, his voice thick with anticipation as he took another sip of his coffee, “and I suspect Bryn would like another coffee before starting work.”

“You read my mind,” Bryn said with a smirk, “I’m going to go and put on my work clothes and then we can all get to it, if you know what I mean.” He winked at Colin as he turned and disappeared back into the house.

Without missing a beat, I stepped closer to Colin, reaching up to lift his t-shirt over his head. His skin was warm from the morning sun, and I couldn’t help but run my hands over his chest, feeling the soft hairs and firm muscles beneath my fingertips. His eyes never left mine as I leaned in to kiss him, our tongues tangling together in a familiar dance.

As our kiss deepened, I reached for his belt, the leather feeling smooth and cold against my skin. The anticipation was palpable as I unbuckled it and pulled his shorts down, exposing the Jockey Y-Fronts that hugged his arousal. Colin’s cock strained against the fabric, and I knew that he was as eager as I was to give him the release he required.

“Lie down on the table,” I whispered to Colin.

Without a word, Colin complied, his eyes never leaving mine as he stepped out of his shorts. I could see the anticipation in his eyes as he lay back on the table, the morning sun casting shadows across his face, his cock straining against the fabric.

I stepped closer, reaching out to trace the outline of his erection through the underwear, feeling the heat emanating from his body. The scent of his arousal filled the air as I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and slowly pulled his underwear down, revealing his cock to the cool morning air. It sprang free, bobbing slightly as I took a moment to appreciate the sight of him laid bare before me.

Bryn leaned against the kitchen door frame, his mug of coffee in hand, watching us with a knowing smile. He knew this dance, had seen it many times before, and loved every moment of it. He took a sip, his eyes never leaving our entwined bodies as Colin’s cock grew even harder under my gaze.

I leaned in, my tongue flicking out to taste the precum beading at the tip of Colin’s cock. He gasped, his hips jerking upwards as I took him into my mouth, my hands wrapping around the base to steady him. The sound of his breath hitching in his throat was music to my ears as I began to suck and lick with a passion that had been building for years. His fingers tangled in my hair as I took him deeper, my cheeks hollowing with the effort as I worked to bring him to the brink.

Colin’s breath grew ragged as my mouth moved faster, my tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. His hips began to move in time with my sucks, pushing himself deeper into my throat. I could feel his muscles tightening, his body preparing for the release that was approaching.

As I felt Colin’s cock pulse in my mouth, I knew he was close. I sucked harder, my hand stroking his shaft in time with my mouth. With a muffled cry, he came, his cum filling my mouth as I swallowed, his body shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm.

Not wanting to miss any of his cum, I licked his cock a few more times, inserting my tongue into his slit, not wishing to miss the remaining fluid that had been released from his body. Colin lay there, overcome with the release he had just experienced as I pulled back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and looked up to find Bryn watching us with a knowing smile, his own cock now fully hard again, his briefs doing nothing to hide the erection that was pushing against the fabric.

“That’s it, boys. Personal services finished, now off to work with you,” I instructed them.

Colin chuckled as he slipped his Y-Fronts and shorts back on, his cheeks still flushed with pleasure. He nodded, his eyes lingering on my semi-hard cock pushing the fabric of my nightshirt as he slipped his t-shirt back on. “Thanks, Steve. You know just what I needed.”

“My pleasure,” I said, winking at him, feeling the stickiness of my cum-soaked nightshirt cling to my skin. It was a reminder of the passion we had just shared.

As I watched them both get dressed, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction and love for the two men who had become such an integral part of my, our, life. Despite the occasional awkwardness that came with our arrangement, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

With one final kiss for me, Bryn slapped me on the ass as he turned to follow Colin towards the tractor shed. “I’ll see you two later,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t work too hard!”

As they disappeared inside, I took a deep breath, feeling the cool air against my skin. The scent of sex lingered in the garden, a heady mix of sweat and desire that was as potent as any cologne. The sun had fully risen now, casting long shadows across the dewy grass, and the sounds of the farm were beginning to build around me.

“I wonder what they would like for lunch?” I asked myself, muttering, “Perhaps, something special might be nice,” and at the thought, I entered the kitchen and started to tidy up.

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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This is a true story.

My husband and I play a game where if either comes home and if there is a black bag hanging on the doorknob, you are to strip outside and put on whatever is in the bag.  You never knew if the person inside the apt was alone or if he brought a friend home to humiliate meSure enough, I came home from work on Wednesday and there was a black bag.  I stripped immediately (because he could be watching through the peep hole).  I open the bag and in it is a leather collar, a lock and a piece of paper.  I read the piece of paper.  SIR has constructed a sex slave contract.  The time period is from Wednesday until Monday night.  If I agree to this, I am to sign it, put on the collar AND then lock it.  This doesn’t seem too bad, we’ve done this before so I signed it.I am now completely naked, collared, locked and in a signed sex slave contract.  I open the door and hang my clothes up.  I walk into the living room and there is SIR in leather pants and a black t-shirt.  Sitting next to him is a friend of ours.  A friend that wants to learn about Dom/Sub, Master/slave relationships.   I’m humiliated.  He’s never done this before.  He orders me to come over to him and kneel.  He tells me that our friend Eric is here to learn, but I am to refer to him as SIR for the duration of my contract!  I greet SIR Eric.  My SIR orders me to make him and SIR Eric a cocktail.  I do as I’m told but inside I’m not happy about being naked in front of our friend who is fully clothed.  I’m humiliated that I am now fully exposed as a sex slave in front of a friend.  I had no idea that they had been discussing this for weeks!After I make the cocktails, I sit on the floor next to SIR’s boots.  I know I better behave, or I could be sleeping in the cage until Tuesday.  My SIR wants to show SIR Eric how I will follow his commands.  My SIR starts with “boy go to PLACE”!   PLACE means that I am to put my lips on SIR’s cock.  I’m not allowed to lick or suck it.  I’m just to put my lips right on the edge and stay there.  I do as I’m told.  It’s extremely hot to be right at SIR’s cock with his hot leather pants being the only thing between me and him.   He unzips his pants and pulls out his cock.  Again, he orders “boy place” I put my lips on the tip of his cock.  He grabs my collar and holds me there.  He then pulls my mouth on to his cock.  He orders me to suck his cock and his cock only.  SIR Eric is watching.  I can see his cock getting hard inside his leather pants.  I continue to suck my SIR’s cock as the two of them discuss how important it is to set up rules and orders for a boy.  My SIR asks SIR Eric if he would like to try this.  My SIR orders me to place.  He then gives a head nod to SIR Eric.   SIR Eric orders “boy place”.  I scramble over to SIR Eric’s cock as fast as I can, I know if I don’t do this right, there will be punishment.   I go to “place” at SIR Eric’s cock.  MY SIR then orders me to suck it.  It doesn’t take long for SIR Eric to cum.  He grabs my head and holds me there as he shoots his load down my throat.  My SIR then orders me to make sure SIR Eric’s cock is empty and completely clean.  I’m told I did well, and my SIR tells me to expect the unexpected until Wednesday.  There might be others waiting in the living room when I get home, so be ready!  Things were going well the next couple of days.  There were only 2 other times that there was a man waiting for me in our living room with my SIR.

On Saturday morning, My SIR tells me that we have been invited to a Sex Slave Ceremony at a friend’s apt.  The boy that was becoming a slave was formally signing a contract and then being locked in chastity all in front of 20 leather men.  My SIR tells me that I am to wear my chastity device, he doesn’t trust me to not play with “his cock” at the party.

Saturday night comes and we are getting ready.  Once dressed, my SIR orders me to “place”.  I get on my knees in front of my SIR’s leather covered cock.  He holds the leash to my collar and pulls it tight to his crotch.  He then leans down and reminds me that he is in control.  He whispers, “Do you trust me boy”.  I quickly replied YES SIR.  He pulls my leash to stand up and we’re out the door and in a cab on our way to the ceremony.

We arrived at their high-rise apt building. As we walk past the doorman with my SIR holding my leash, he smirks and just knows where we are going and waves us along.  We get to the front door of the apt and knock.  The host comes out to greet us.  As the three of us are standing there, the two SIRs just look at each, smile and nod.  My SIR looks at me and orders me to strip!  He orders it again!  STRIP BOY, take everything off before we enter.  YOU are going to be the naked bartender tonight. My SIR knows I’m not a fan of being naked let alone naked in front of others.  My body begins to shake as I take everything off!  I’m naked in the hallway.  I’m reduced to total submission to MY SIR.  He pulls me into ceremony.  There are 20 men in full leather all staring at me.

The room is quiet.  My SIR says, “boy place”!  My SIR tells the crowd that they are allowed to touch and feel me, but for anything else, they need to ask him.  It was bad enough being naked in front of a crowd but now I’m going to be touched and fondled by strangers.  As I take their orders and serve them their drinks, my cage, balls, collar and everything else about me is inspected, touched, and pulled on.

As the night goes on, I can see my SIR across the room, and I see a couple of men talking to him.  I’m nervous because I know I’m about to be whored out . . . . . . .

In the bustling heart of Downtown, where the air was a blend of car exhaust and the sweet scent of blooming flowers, Dr. Charles “Chuck” Hartman hurried through the corridors of his small but well-managed clinic. His stethoscope swung rhythmically against his chest, a metronome to his brisk pace. His patients adored his charming smile and confident demeanor, which was as reliable as the ticking of a clock. Above all, they appreciated his punctuality, a rare trait in a doctor. As he approached the end of a long workday, the anticipation of a quiet evening at home with a good book and a cold beer grew stronger.

The reception area was unusually calm for a Friday evening. The last of the patients had been ushered into their respective rooms, and the nurses had begun the meticulous task of organizing medical charts. Dr. Hartman checked his watch – a sleek Rolex that gleamed in the artificial light – and nodded to his assistant. “Send in my final patient, will you?” he said, his voice a gentle rumble that carried an unmistakable hint of fatigue.

The assistant, a young woman with a penchant for efficiency, quickly tapped some keys on her computer and stood. “Doctor Hartman,” she called out, her voice echoing down the hall, “your five o’clock is here.”

Moments later, a man in his mid-60s strolled in, his snow-white hair a stark contrast against the navy-blue blazer he wore. His square-set jaw and trim beard spoke of a life lived with purpose and discipline. Rusty, as his name tag read, looked more like a retired military general than someone in need of a doctor’s care. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room, taking in the diplomas and certificates that adorned the walls, a silent nod to Dr. Hartman’s expertise.

“Rusty,” the doctor began with a smile, extending his hand. “What brings you to my clinic today?” He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity. The man’s physical presence was something to behold, his muscular frame and upright posture belying his age. It was like shaking hands with a marble statue that had somehow come to life.

The man’s grip was firm, almost too firm. “Just the usual, Doc,” Rusty replied, his voice a gravelly drawl. “Time for a tune-up, if you catch my drift.”

The doctor nodded, his curiosity piqued. “Alright, let’s get you into a room,” he said, leading the way. As they walked, the silence grew heavier, filled with the unspoken understanding that this was more than just a routine check-up.

Once everyone had left for the day and the clinic had been secured, Dr. Hartman settled into his office chair, feeling the leather embrace him like a well-worn baseball glove. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. This was it – the end of his work week. Or so he thought.

When he opened the patient’s file, the words “prostate exam” leaped out at him. He had to suppress a chuckle; it wasn’t every day a man like Rusty walked in for such a procedure. Most of his patients were middle-aged women with minor ailments and the occasional hypochondriac. But Dr. Hartman knew better than to underestimate anyone. He cleared his throat and called out, “Rusty, the room is ready.”

The door to the exam room opened, and the square-jawed man entered, his steps measured and deliberate. Dr. Hartman gestured to the exam table. “Take a seat,” he instructed, trying to keep his gaze from lingering on the muscles that rippled beneath Rusty’s shirt. “So, tell me,” the doctor began, “What brings you in today?”

Rusty’s eyes met his, unflinching. “Well, Doc, I’ve heard that getting checked out down there can save a man’s life. Can’t be too careful, right?” His voice was steady, yet there was an underlying seriousness that made Dr. Hartman sit up a little straighter.

The doctor nodded solemnly. “Absolutely. Prostate health is crucial. Let’s get started.” He took his own advice and opened his lab coat, revealing his own well-defined muscles, a testament to his dedication to fitness. Rusty’s expression remained stoic as he began to strip down to his underwear, his physique putting the doctor’s to shame.

With a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, Rusty folded his clothes neatly and placed them on the chair. “Now, Doc,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “you wouldn’t want me to feel like I’m the only one being vulnerable here, would you?”

Surprised by the request, Dr. Hartman raised an eyebrow but didn’t miss a beat. “Alright, Rusty,” he said with a chuckle, “you drive a hard bargain.” He began to remove his own shirt, exposing a broad chest that was the result of countless hours at the gym. “Fair’s fair,” he added, his tone light, trying to diffuse the sudden tension in the room.

Rusty watched, his expression unreadable, as the doctor continued to undress. The air grew thick with an unspoken challenge, the dynamics of power and vulnerability shifting between them. It was clear that this was no ordinary doctor-patient relationship.

As the last of his garments hit the floor, Dr. Hartman felt a peculiar mix of self-consciousness and excitement. He’d never had a patient ask for this before. It was unorthodox, but he had to admit, the idea of matching strength with the legendary Rusty had a certain allure. He turned to his patient, who was now lying on the exam table, his own underwear the only barrier between them.

“Alright, Rusty,” Dr. Hartman said, his voice firm. “Let’s do this.” He approached the table, his stethoscope now around his neck, his bare feet sinking into the soft, sterile mats that lined the floor. His heart was racing, but his hands remained steady as he began the comprehensive examination.

The room was filled with the sounds of the doctor’s instructions and Rusty’s deep breaths. The tension grew palpable as the doctor listened to Rusty’s heart and lungs, felt his abdomen, and checked his reflexes. Each movement was precise, a dance of professionalism and something… more.

Finally, Dr. Hartman reached for the latex gloves, his gaze meeting Rusty’s. “Ready?” he asked, his voice a whisper. Rusty nodded, his eyes never leaving the doctor’s. The moment of truth was upon them, and both men knew it was more than just a medical procedure that was about to unfold.

The exam itself was thorough and professional, despite the unusual circumstances. Dr. Hartman’s touch was gentle, his movements efficient as he palpated the area in question. Rusty lay still, his face a mask of concentration. But there was an unmistakable energy between them, a silent dialogue that transcended the cold, clinical setting.

As the doctor finished, Rusty let out a sigh of relief. “Looks like I’m good to go,” he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He sat up and began to dress, his eyes never leaving the doctor’s face. “Thanks for the thorough check-up, Doc,” he said, his voice filled with a newfound respect.

Dr. Hartman nodded, his own heart still racing. He had done his job, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed in the room. He handed Rusty a clean pair of gloves. “Why don’t you return the favor?” he said, his tone a mix of challenge and curiosity.

Rusty’s smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, his voice low and gruff. He took the gloves and stepped closer to the doctor, his movements now mirroring Dr. Hartman’s earlier examination. The air was charged with a strange anticipation, and the doctor found himself holding his breath.

Their eyes locked as Rusty’s gloved hands began to explore, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his formidable strength. Dr. Hartman felt his own muscles tense, his body responding in ways that had nothing to do with medicine. The room seemed to shrink around them, the rest of the world fading away.

When Rusty instructed Dr. Hartman to bend over the examination table, the doctor felt a peculiar mix of trepidation and excitement. He had never had a patient take the reins quite so… personally. Yet, there was something undeniably compelling about the man’s confidence. With a deep breath, he leaned over the cold, metal edge, his bare chest pressing against the crinkled paper.

Rusty’s hand was firm and steady as it reached out, grasping the bottle of medical lubricant that sat on the stainless steel tray. He squirted a generous amount onto his gloved fingers, the sound echoing in the sterile silence of the room. Dr. Hartman felt the cool liquid dribble down the cleft of his buttocks and pool at his anus. His body tightened involuntarily, bracing for the unknown.

“Just relax, Doc,” Rusty murmured, his voice soothing despite the situation’s unorthodoxy. The doctor felt the tip of a finger press against his opening, the lube easing the way. It was a gentle intrusion, a promise of what was to come. The pressure increased, and with a slow, deliberate push, Rusty breached his barrier. Dr. Hartman gritted his teeth, his muscles protesting the unfamiliar sensation.

But what followed was not the cold, clinical touch of an anal probe. Instead, it was the blunt, unmistakable pressure of something much larger. His eyes widened in shock as he realized the truth – Rusty had not stopped at his hips. His heart raced as he felt the unmistakable presence of the older man’s erection pressing into him, thick and insistent.

With a powerful thrust, Rusty buried himself to the hilt. Dr. Hartman’s groan was a mix of surprise and pleasure, his body stretching to accommodate the unyielding length. The initial shock gave way to a strange, thrilling sensation, as if he was crossing a line he never knew existed. His mind raced, trying to reconcile the professional detachment he had always maintained with the raw, carnality of the moment.

Rusty’s hands tightened on his hips, holding him in place as he began to move. Each stroke was slow and deliberate, a masterful dance of control and submission. The doctor’s world narrowed to the rhythm of their bodies, the slap of flesh on flesh, and the burning pleasure that grew with each thrust. He felt the tension in his muscles give way, his body responding to the intrusion with a primal need to be filled.

The room was a haze of white-hot sensation, the scent of antiseptic and latex mingling with the musk of arousal. Dr. Hartman’s eyes squeezed shut as Rusty’s pace increased, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The doctor’s own hand reached down to grip the side of the exam table, knuckles white with the effort to stay still.

The sound of their breaths filled the air, punctuated by the occasional grunt from Rusty and the doctor’s soft moans. The exam room had transformed into a cocoon of desire, the line between doctor and patient, professional and personal, blurring beyond recognition. It was a transgressive act, one that would change the course of their lives forever.

The doctor’s thoughts swirled in a tornado of confusion and excitement. He had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, yet so alive. Rusty’s movements grew more urgent, the tempo of his thrusts increasing. The doctor’s body responded, his hips moving in counterpoint to Rusty’s, a silent agreement to this unexpected intimacy.

The tension grew, a coil winding tighter and tighter in his gut. He could feel his climax approaching, a wave of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. Rusty seemed to sense it, his grip on the doctor’s hips becoming bruising as he pounded into him, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

The moment came with a cry that was part pleasure, part surprise. Chuck’s body jerked as he came, his orgasm tearing through him like a tempest. The head of Rusty’s cock struck his prostate with the precision of a maestro, and the resulting spasms of pleasure were so intense that he feared his heart might give out. His cum shot out in ropes, painting the sterile metal of the exam table with sticky white streaks.

Rusty groaned in response, his own orgasm triggered by the doctor’s involuntary clench. The older man’s thick, hot seed filled Chuck to the brim, and the excess spilled out, mingling with his own. The sound of their breaths filled the room, ragged and desperate, as they both rode the crest of their shared pleasure.

As the intensity of their climaxes ebbed, the reality of what they had just done began to set in. The doctor felt a strange mix of satisfaction and embarrassment. He had never allowed a patient to touch him so intimately, much less take him like this. But there was something about Rusty, something that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

They remained in that position for a moment, Rusty’s cock still lodged deep within him, both men panting and trembling. Then, with a final, gentle thrust, Rusty withdrew, the absence leaving Chuck feeling both empty and exposed. He stood, his legs shaky, and turned to face his patient, unsure of what to say or do next.

The silence stretched out, taut as a bowstring, until Rusty finally spoke. “Guess I owe you one, Doc,” he said, his voice a low rumble filled with amusement. He tossed the soiled gloves into the medical waste bin and began to dress, his movements casual and unhurried.

Dr. Hartman stared at him, his mind racing. This was not how he had planned to end his workday, and certainly not how he had ever imagined conducting a prostate exam. But as he watched Rusty button his shirt, he knew that he didn’t regret a single second of it. In fact, a part of him was already eager for the next time.

The doctor took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “Well, Rusty,” he said, his voice a little shakier than he would have liked, “I suppose we’ll just have to schedule another appointment to discuss the results.”

Rusty’s eyes twinkled. “Looking forward to it, Doc,” he said, and there was something in his tone that made Chuck’s pulse quicken all over again. As the man left the room, the doctor couldn’t help but wonder if he had just embarked on the most unconventional patient-doctor relationship of his career.

*****

Two weeks had passed since that fateful evening, and the memory of their encounter had become an ever-present undercurrent in Dr. Hartman’s thoughts. His days were filled with the usual flurry of patients and paperwork, but it was the quiet moments that brought the vivid images of Rusty’s powerful body and demanding touch rushing back. The anticipation of their next appointment had become a sweet torment, a secret thrill that no one else knew about.

When the clock finally ticked down to five, the clinic emptied out with the usual flurry of goodbyes and the click-clack of heels on the polished floor. The doctor took a moment to straighten his tie in the mirror, his reflection revealing a man who looked more like a college student than a doctor in his mid-30s. He could feel his heart thud against his ribcage as the door to his office swung open.

Rusty strode in, looking as robust and self-assured as ever. The doctor’s eyes traveled over the man’s physique, noticing how the fabric of his shirt stretched tautly over his chest, hinting at the strength beneath. “Good to see you again, Doc,” Rusty said, his voice a gruff purr.

“Likewise, Rusty,” Dr. Hartman replied, his voice steady despite the racing of his pulse. “How have you been?”

The older man shrugged, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Can’t complain,” he said. “But I think it’s time for that follow-up you mentioned.”

Without waiting for a response, Rusty began to undress, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The doctor felt a familiar stirring in his loins as the muscular frame was revealed, a canvas of tanned skin and sinew. It was as if the universe had conspired to place him in this very moment, with this very man.

As Rusty lay on the exam table, the doctor approached, his eyes lingering on the older man’s cock, which was already beginning to thicken with arousal. He felt a thrill of power at the sight, knowing that he was the cause of such a potent reaction. But it was also mixed with a hint of trepidation, the memory of their last encounter reminding him of the unpredictable nature of their arrangement.

“Ready, Doc?” Rusty’s voice was a challenge, a question that held the promise of a world of pleasure and pain. The doctor swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “More than you know,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving Rusty’s.

The air grew thick with anticipation as Dr. Hartman donned a fresh pair of gloves, the snap echoing through the silent room. Rusty’s gaze remained fixed on him, the intensity of his stare making the doctor’s skin prickle with excitement. The doctor stepped closer, his own erection straining against the fabric of his scrubs.

The exam began with a tenderness that surprised both men. Rusty’s eyes fluttered shut as Dr. Hartman’s lubricated fingers explored his anus, the doctor’s touch gentle yet firm. The older man’s breaths grew ragged, his hips lifting slightly to meet each probing digit. It was a delicate dance, a silent negotiation of power and trust.

But the tenderness was short-lived. Rusty’s hand shot out, grabbing the doctor’s wrist and guiding him deeper. “I didn’t come here for a massage,” he growled, his voice a command that sent a bolt of desire through Chuck’s body. The doctor’s eyes widened, but he didn’t resist, his own need for control slipping away as he succumbed to the raw desire that pulsed between them.

The room was alive with the sound of their harsh breaths and the rustle of the exam paper beneath them. Rusty’s grip on the doctor’s wrist tightened, his hips bucking as the doctor’s fingers danced over his prostate. The doctor could feel his own erection growing painfully hard, straining for release.

With a suddenness that took his breath away, Rusty sat up and spun him around, pushing him onto the cold, unyielding surface of the exam table. Dr. Hartman’s heart raced as he looked down at the older man, who was now lying beneath him, his eyes blazing with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Strip,” Rusty ordered roughly, his voice a gravelly command that sent a shiver down Chuck’s spine. The doctor’s hands trembled slightly as he complied, his clothes falling away in a heap at his feet. He was acutely aware of his own nakedness, his vulnerability laid bare in the stark, clinical lighting.

“Now, climb up here and straddle me,” Rusty instructed, his voice low and urgent. The doctor obeyed without question, his legs shaking as he positioned himself over the older man’s thick, erect cock. The heat of it was like a brand against his thigh, a promise of the pleasure to come.

As Rusty guided him into place, the doctor felt the tip of his cock brush against his entrance, sending a bolt of electricity through his body. He gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as Rusty’s hands gripped his hips, holding him steady. “I want you to ride me this evening,” Rusty murmured, his breath hot against Chuck’s skin. “Cum all over my chest, like the wild animal you are.”

The doctor’s eyes snapped open, his pupils dilated with a mix of fear and desire. He had never felt so wanted, so… claimed. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through him, and he leaned forward, bracing his hands on Rusty’s broad shoulders. He took a deep breath and lowered himself onto the older man’s cock, the feeling of being filled so completely nearly overwhelming.

The sound of Rusty’s groan was like music to his ears as the older man’s cock slid into him, inch by agonizing inch. The doctor’s body protested at first, but he soon found a rhythm, his hips moving in a sensual grind that had the muscles in Rusty’s arms tensing. The man beneath him was a force of nature, his body demanding and unyielding.

The room was filled with the sound of their harsh breaths and the wet slap of flesh on flesh. Each thrust sent a shiver of pleasure through Chuck, his body responding with an instinctual need to move, to take more. His muscles clenched around Rusty’s cock, the sensation so intense that he could feel every vein, every pulse.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, it was as if time had stopped. There was nothing but the two of them, locked in this dance of dominance and submission. The doctor’s hands roamed over Rusty’s chest, feeling the powerful muscles contract and release beneath his touch. It was intoxicating, a heady cocktail of power and need.

Rusty’s grip tightened on his hips, his eyes never leaving Chuck’s. “That’s it, Doc,” he murmured. “Take it all.” And with each word, the doctor felt himself losing a little more of his grip on reality, falling into a world where the only thing that mattered was the pleasure that Rusty could give him.

Their rhythm grew more frantic, their bodies moving together in a silent symphony of desire. The doctor could feel the pressure building inside him, his orgasm drawing closer with each powerful thrust. He threw his head back, his eyes squeezed shut, the tension in his body coiling tighter and tighter.

And then, with a cry that was almost a scream, he came. His body spasmed, his muscles clamping down on Rusty’s cock as he rode the wave of pleasure that crashed over him. He felt the warmth of his release splatter across the older man’s chest, the salty tang of it mixing with the scent of sweat and sex. Rusty bucked as he shot his bolt, filling the doctor’s chute to overflowing once again.

The room was silent except for their ragged breaths, their hearts hammering in unison. Rusty’s eyes remained on him, his gaze filled with something that looked a lot like pride. And as the doctor collapsed onto him, his body boneless and spent, he knew that he had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

But as he felt Rusty’s arms wrap around him, holding him close, he realized that he didn’t care.

The doctor took a moment to compose himself, his heart still racing from the intensity of their encounter. Rusty’s words hung in the air like a challenge, a declaration of intent that was as surprising as it was thrilling. He had never allowed a patient to get this close, to invade his personal space in such a way. But the idea of spending the night in the arms of this enigmatic man was too tempting to resist.

With trembling hands, Dr. Hartman began to gather his clothes, his mind racing with the implications of what was to come. The silence between them was thick, pregnant with the promise of something more than a simple doctor-patient relationship. He could feel the older man’s gaze on him as he dressed, the heat of it a palpable thing that made his skin tingle.

“I don’t normally do this, Rusty,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Rusty’s laugh was low and knowing. “That’s what makes it so much fun,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now, let’s get you dressed, Doc. I’ve got a nice, big bed waiting for us.”

The doctor felt a flush rise to his cheeks, his cock twitching at the thought of what was to come. He had never been so eager to leave work, to leave the safety and order of his clinic for the uncharted territory of a man’s arms. But as he locked the door behind them, the weight of the world slipped away, leaving only the thrill of the unknown.

*****

The drive to Rusty’s home was a blur of neon lights and the throb of the bass from the radio. The doctor couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so alive, so … wanted. His heart pounded in his chest, his palms slick with anticipation. What was it about this man that made him feel so alive, so reckless?

When they arrived at Rusty’s apartment, the doctor felt a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. He had been to patient’s homes before, but never like this. The place was surprisingly neat and well-kept, the scent of leather and old books filling the air. It was a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the clinic, and he found himself drawn to the warmth and comfort it offered.

In the bedroom, the lights were dim, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The bed was massive, the covers thrown back to reveal crisp, white sheets that seemed to call out to them. Rusty took his hand, leading him to the edge of the bed with a firmness that was both reassuring and thrilling.

“Strip,” Rusty ordered, his voice a low rumble. The doctor’s hands trembled as he complied, his clothes falling away to reveal his naked body. He felt a strange mix of vulnerability and power as Rusty’s gaze roamed over him, his eyes dark with desire.

The older man stepped closer, his own clothes joining the pile on the floor. His body was a testament to a life well-lived, each muscle etched with experience and strength. Dr. Hartman couldn’t help but stare, his mouth watering at the sight.

Rusty climbed onto the bed, his movements fluid and graceful despite his size. He lay back, his arms open in a silent invitation. The doctor’s legs felt like jelly as he approached, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never felt so much like prey, so much like he was being claimed by something wild and untamed.

And as he slid into bed beside Rusty, their bodies entwined, he knew that he was giving himself over to something that was beyond his understanding. But in that moment, all that mattered was the heat of the man beside him, the beat of his heart, and the promise of the night ahead.

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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“You’re really serious about this, huh?” Young Josh smirked, leaning back against the wall of the green room. His arms were crossed, and his eyes glinted with amusement as he looked down at the thirty-something man on his knees in front of him, nervously fidgeting with the pulled up sleeve of his expensive-looking monogrammed shirt.

The man’s voice trembled as he spoke, but there was a desperate earnestness in his words. “Yes, I’m dead serious. I-I’ll give you two thousand dollars to humiliate me. Please. In the worst ways you can think of. Make me your joke, your punching bag—whatever you want. Just… do it on stage. I need it.”

His plea hung in the air, raw and unapologetic, as he remained on his knees, his face flushed with shame and longing.

Josh let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, man. You’ve got some… well, actually, no, doesn’t sound like you’ve got balls at all.” He chuckled, his voice dripping with mockery as he looked down at him. “Why? Why would you even want that?”

His tone was laced with amusement. He clearly relished the moment, dragging it out as he waited for the man’s response. The air between them crackled with tension.

The man’s face flushed a deep red, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. “Because I’m an inferior faggot. And you… you’re a straight god. I worship guys like you. I just want to be humiliated by you. Please.”

Josh let out a loud, derisive laugh, the kind that echoed through the green room and made the man’s face burn even hotter. He leaned down slightly, his smirk turning into a cruel grin as he looked at the man kneeling before him. “So what’s your name, faggot?” he asked.

“I’m… Greg…” the older man replied. 

Josh chuckled before speaking again “Two grand, you said? You’re really that much of a hopeless loser, huh?” he sneered, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. But don’t come crying to me when the crowd tears you apart.” Josh straightened up, still chuckling to himself as he scratched his balls. 

Greg’s face lit up with a mix of excitement and disbelief. The thrill of Josh’s agreement was making his heart race. “For real?” he squeaked, his voice trembling with eagerness as he looked up at the young comedian. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! I’m so grateful!”

Josh let out a low chuckle, clearly amused as he pulled out his beat up phone. “Fuck yeah, you bet!” he said. He opened the Venmo app and held it out to Greg, his smirk widening. “Send me the cash first, though. Let’s make this official.”

“Of course!” Greg whispered, his heart now pounding in his chest as he remained on his knees, obedient and humiliated. With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone and quickly sent the payment to Josh. “There, I… uhm… I took the liberty of sending you $2,500,” he added, his voice barely audible but laced with urgency. “The extra $500 is a… a thank you for doing this for me.”

Josh glanced at his phone, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he confirmed the payment. “Damn, you really are one desperate faggot,” he sneered, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Tipping me on top of paying me for roasting your ass? Shit, man, you just keep getting weirder.”

Greg’s face burned even hotter, his eyes downcast as he muttered, “I just… I want to show my appreciation.”

Josh let out a sharp laugh. “Appreciation? Nah, man, this is pathetic. But hey, your money’s good. Now get ready, fag, ‘cause I’m about to make you the star of the show—just not in the way normal people like. This is gonna be lit.”

_______________________________________

Earlier that evening, Greg Nox had been lingering backstage, as he often did. He wasn’t a comedian or even a performer. He was just… there. A wealthy man in his late thirties, with no need for a job, dressed in a crisp suit that cost more than most people’s monthly rent, volunteering at a small Comedy Central venue in Miami. Well, volunteering is not really appropriate in this case. Not only was he not getting paid, but he had insisted on paying the venue a hefty sum to let him be there. To let him clean up, run errands, and hover awkwardly in the shadows, watching the young, confident comedians who took the stage night after night. It was a great way to spend time around straight gods, the object of his worship.

It was Josh Zayne who caught his attention that particular night. Eighteen years old, cocky as hell, and already oozing raw talent. Greg had seen him perform a couple of times before, and the submissive man simply couldn’t get him out of his head. Josh was lean, handsome, with messy dark hair and a wicked grin that could charm anyone. His jokes were sharp, heavily laced with homophobia, and his delivery was flawless, hitting harder because of it. Every punchline felt like a jab, every smirk a reminder of his dominance. He was everything Greg wasn’t, everything Greg venerated.

This time, though, the man wasn’t just going to settle for a few deferential and servile phrases to get a demeaning reaction out of this boy, like he had done a million times before with the straight gods who had crossed his path. No, this was something he had been thinking about for a long, long time. Dreaming was actually a better word for it. Josh was simply perfect to turn his fantasy into reality and the thought of doing it for real was completely electrifying.

So when Josh walked backstage half an hour before his set began that night, Greg approached him hesitantly. “Hey, uh… I saw you a couple of weeks ago. You’re phenomenal. Do you need anything? Water? A towel?”

Josh glanced at him, clearly not recognizing him. “Nah, I’m good, man. Thanks.”

But Greg didn’t walk away. He stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, until Josh finally looked at him again. “Uh… you okay?”

“I… I was wondering if you could do something for me,” Greg blurted out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“When you go on stage next… could you humiliate me? In front of everyone? I’ll pay you. Two thousand.”

Josh’s eyes narrowed with amusement and puzzlement. “Man, what the fuck you talking about?” he sneered.

Greg knelt before the young man and said, “I’ll send it to you right now. Please!”

—

Josh sauntered up to the mic, the spotlight catching his messy dark hair as he flashed a cocky grin at the rowdy crowd. “Yo, what’s good, my guys?” he started, his voice dripping with that laid-back, young swagger. “Name’s Josh, I’m 18, and honestly? My biggest flex is probably how much I love absolutely wrecking some chick’s throat with this fire-ass schlong I’m packin’. Like, it’s my main personality trait. Anyone else relate or nah?”

The audience erupted into cheers and laughter. It was the perfect opening considering the crowd. It was Spring Break and the only people there were a bunch of college boys at different stages of inebriation, hollering, guffawing and egging him on. Josh smirked, clearly basking in the chaos he was about to unleash. “Oh, and I guess I’m a comedian too,” he added with a smirk, “From the one and only… uh, let’s keep it real, my hometown is lowkey a dump. It’s basically a gas station with a Walmart attached—you do NOT wanna visit that place, trust me. But hey, I glowed up and made it out, so here I am, ready to make you laugh—or piss you off. Either way, I win.”

The crowd chuckled and  whistled, fully hyped by Josh’s unapologetic bravado, with a couple of drunk frat bros shouting, “That’s facts!” Josh grinned his cocky demeanor perfectly in sync with the rowdy vibe in the room. He waited for the noise to die down, his smirk growing wider as he leaned into the mic.

“Alright, alright,” Josh said, strutting across the stage like he owned it. “So, uh… yo, this is legit wild, here’s what just happened backstage.” He paused, letting the anticipation build as he scanned the crowd with a sly grin. “Some dude—like, full-on CEO vibes, suit, looks like he’s flexing a yacht or some bougie shit—comes up to me and is like, ‘Yo, I’ll Venmo you two racks if you roast me on stage.’ Two. Thousand. Dollars. Like, what the actual fuck? Can y’all even?”

The audience cracked up as the college boys cackled in disbelief. Josh smirked, soaking up the energy like it was his personal fuel. “Bro, I know. Dude’s got more money than sense—or dignity.” Everyone roared with laughter, and Josh felt a rush of adrenaline. This was the perfect crowd to pull this off. “Turns out,” he continued, pacing the stage with exaggerated nonchalance, “this guy’s got… what’s the word? A kink? Yeah, he’s got a kink for being humiliated. He literally paid me to call him an inferior faggot in front of all you fine folks.”

The crowd howled with laughter again, cheering Josh on. He glanced offstage and saw Greg standing there, his face bright red but his eyes wide with excitement.

“Get him up here!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Yeah, bring him out!” another voice joined in.

Josh grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he gestured dramatically toward Greg. “Alright, ladies and—well, let’s keep it a buck, it’s just the boys in here tonight, right?” Josh said. He scanned the hundred or so college dudes, who were already hyped and hollering back at him. “No cap, this is the straightest vibe I’ve ever seen, fuck yeah! Like, where’s the diversity? Oh wait, that’s coming in hot in a second, trust me.” He chuckled, then leaned into the mic, his voice full of mock formality. “But I digress. Allow me to introduce you all to a very special guest. Let’s give it up for the biggest simp in Miami, guys! Greg the Inferior Faggot!”

The room exploded into cheers, laughter, and whoops of excitement, clearly loving Josh’s brazen delivery. Greg hesitated for a moment offstage, his face beet red but his heart pounding with a mix of fear and exhilaration. Josh waved him forward impatiently. “Come on, Greg, don’t keep your adoring fans waiting! Get your fag ass out here and take your place center stage!”

The crowd went wild as soon as he walked onstage, shouting and laughing as they took in the sight of this well-dressed thirty-something man standing awkwardly under the spotlight.

“Alright,” Josh said, turning to Greg. “So, uh… tell us again why you’re here?”

Greg cleared his throat, his voice shaky but loud enough for the mic to pick up. “Because… because I’m an inferior faggot. And I worship straight gods like you.”

The college dudes lost it and Josh couldn’t help but laugh too. “Yo, y’all hear that?” he said with sarcastic disbelief as he gestured dramatically toward Greg. “This dude—this fancy-ass suit-wearing fag—just said he worships me! Like, me! An 18-year-old kid who’d probably be out there skullfucking his daughter right now if this loser even had one. Bro, what kind of pathetic loser energy is that?!”

The audience roared even louder, some of them doubling over in hysterics while others shouted insults at Greg. Josh shook his head, his grin widening as he milked the moment for all it was worth. “Yo, bros, I’m still tripping off this! Like, this dude—this actual faggot—paid me two grand to roast his ass on stage! Two stacks! Bro, for something I normally do to guys like him for free! Am I right?” He paused, letting the crowd react, and they erupted into cheers and laughter. “Pathetic,” the boy repeated.

“I mean, for real, Greg? You could’ve just rolled up to me and been like, ‘Yo Josh, pretty please, call me a faggot,’ and I would’ve done it on the spot—shit, I would’ve slapped you around a little while I was at it. But nah, bro, you had to fucking pay me for it.” The crowd was losing it, howling with laughter as Josh strutted across the stage, his voice filled to the brim with that brash, I-can’t-believe-this-shit energy. “You’re legit setting the bar for fags everywhere so fucking low, it’s basically underground at this point.” He shook his head, smirking as he turned back to Greg, his tone mockingly pitiful.

Greg stood there, his face burning with humiliation but his heart racing with euphoria. The laughter, the jeers, the way Josh looked at him like he was nothing—it was exactly what he’d paid for—and this butch, rowdy, clearly fag-hating crowd couldn’t get enough of it. Everything was absolutely perfect.

“Alright,” Josh said, turning back to the crowd. “let’s get this fag show on the road, what do you guys say?”

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction. It involves sexual relationships between men and between adult family members. If you are offended of this subject matter, if you are a minor, or if you are in a place where it is illegal to read this type of literature, stop reading now. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note 1 (9/8/25): This is my first submission, so any and all feedback from readers and/or suggestions for future plot arcs are highly encouraged. The goal here is a compelling story with both the hottest encounters and strong characterization. Really want to try something new here and could use the encouragement. More chapters to come; you’ll see some bread crumbs thrown in here. While this first chapter is bisexual in nature, the anticipated direction is more gay-male. Feedback can also be emailed to [email protected]

Author’s Note2 (9/13/25): Wow! Thanks for the phenomenal feedback so far, both in the comments and by email. So proud to see it’s the most-read story of the week with over 3200 reads so far. Chapter 2 is in the works. Thanks again.

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Chapter 1: What Happens In Rome…

“Dad, I hope you’re done packing!” I called out as I entered the foyer of my father’s home. It had been years since I set foot in here. After my parent’s divorce, a frosty distance set in between my father and me. When I came out to him as bi a few years after college, that ensured that he never saw me the same again. But I’m on the cusp of 40 now, living my own life of luxury with my husband, and Dad and I have mended fences pretty well from a distance. Now that he’s retired early at 60, I offered to take him on the trip to Europe he had always dreamed of. Who knew it was going to change us forever?

My stepmom glided into the foyer to greet me. “Hey Matthew!” she gushed.

“Hi Audrey” I smiled, kissing her cheek. “Where’s Dad?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Dad announced, ambling in from the kitchen, dragging a massive suitcase behind him. Richard Harding looked as fit as ever in a hunter green polo slightly open at the collar, revealing a tuft of dirty blond chest hair. He gave me a tight bear hug. His biceps felt firmer than I remembered.

“Damn, Dad, have you been working out?” I joked, slapping his deltoid.

Taking a closer look, I noticed his bulky arms were stretching the sleeves of his polo and his shoulders looked broader than usual.

“Well, I gotta fill my days somehow,” he retorted. “Can’t just sit on the couch every day, right?” he added, leaning toward my stepmother.

“Mhmm,” she purred, rubbing his left shoulder.

“All right, enough you two,” I teased. “Let’s hit the road, Dad.”

After some quick goodbyes and a pleasantly smooth walk through the airport, we were high above the Atlantic in adjoining center seats, en route to Paris-Charles de Gaulle. Dad delighted in sitting in business class for the first time in his life, taking pictures on his iPhone of every little detail–his champagne glass, the linen tablecloth, selfies with me behind him. He took great pleasure in charming the flight attendants too, no hard feat for him. He was a ladies’ man throughout my childhood, flirting with students’ moms as the coach of our high school’s football team. He had recently divorced my mom back then and still sported a visibly toned body underneath his uniform. The stay-at-home moms lapped him up. I wasn’t on the football team thankfully, so at least Dad wasn’t going around dating my own friends’ moms. Compared to my brother Justin, I was the more bookish and creative son, so I was often either at the library or jamming with my garage band, instead of watching Dad making his own moves on the sidelines.

Twenty years later, I couldn’t help but think that Dad was now in another prime of his life after retirement, and I was happy to help him enjoy it. When I thought of the secret plan I had set for us, I felt my heart thump a bit louder.

Three hours into the flight, Dad turned to me, removing his horn-rimmed glasses to rub his eyes.

“All right, champ. I’m going to try to get some sleep here. See you in Par-ee.“

As he got some shut-eye, I took a closer look at him. He had a bit more gray in the temples, a touch of steel in his burnished bronze hair. The lines around his eyes had deepened too, but they just added an air of wisdom, as did the new beard he was trying out. His collar was still comfortably open, and I noticed his nipples pointing straight at attention underneath the dark green cotton. It was cold in the plane as usual.

Before I knew it, I woke up with a start just as we landed in Paris, and our European adventure began. It was a whirlwind tour. Days of crisscrossing the city. A monument here, a monument there. Dad took a chance on new cuisine. I splurged for us both in some shops. Paris was followed by Amsterdam, Munich, Prague. Dad recited facts from his guidebook that I pretended not to already know. All the while, I kept getting more excited for our last destination: Rome.

I knew I wanted us to go out with a bang. For these last few days, I got us a suite on the top floor of a five-star hotel near the Villa Borghese, overlooking the old city. After several days of sleeping on adjacent beds, I knew Dad would relish having separate bedrooms — at least at first. And the suite looked just as I pictured it: a spacious lounge with an amber-lit terrace at the far end and a lavish bedroom with ornate French doors on either side of the lounge.

Dad and I sat on the cream upholstered couch in our pajamas, with the TV on as background noise and a midnight nightcap in front of us, recounting the events of the day. I double-checked a message on my phone for the confirmation. It was go time.

“So, Dad, I was thinking…” I trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“While we’re away, this is a good chance for me to play around a bit.” I added a pause. “So, I invited a local girl to come over.”

What Dad didn’t know was that I’d seen Sofia a few times before on previous trips to Rome. She was a great lay, with bangin’ tits, a tight ass, and penchant for satisfying every kink. That’s why I knew she’d be game to play along with the plan.

Dad looked at me stunned.

“It’s OK,” I said, seeing the gears turning in his mind. “Steven and I have an arrangement. If one of us is traveling, then as long as we stay safe, we can… well, we can have our own fun.”

Dad still stared at me silently, maybe wishing he had such an arrangement of his own with Audrey.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I am. So… you might want to head to bed early,” I continued, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV.

“You mean someone’s coming here now?”

“She should be here in about ten minutes.”

“Wait, ‘she’?”

“Yeah,” I said, enjoying the look of confusion in his eyes.

“I did tell you when I came out that I was bi, remember?”

Silence.

“I do remember that…” he replied slowly. “I guess I just always assumed that, since you were with Steven, that you kind of made a decision.”

“No, Dad,” I replied, feigning annoyance. “I still fuck some pussy on the side.” 

Dad was dumbfounded, again surprised by the blunt talk, though I noticed his mouth twitch into a half-smirk.

“All right,” he said, still incredulous, slowly rising from the couch. “Well, have fun.”

Once he ambled over to the doorway of his bedroom, I added, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep the noise down.”

With his hand on the doorway and his back to me, he shook his head, stifling a chuckle, then he turned in for the night, closing the door gently behind him.

After a few minutes, I heard a knock on the front door.

“Ciao, Sofia,” I murmured, as I let her in. Sofia looked just the same as when I met her six years ago — petite with wavy, dark brown hair and almond-shaped, green eyes.

“Ciao, bello,” she purred, planting a kiss on each cheek. “We have fun tonight, si?” She looked at me hungrily with a devious smirk.

In the weeks leading up to this trip, I had been messaging with Sofia, giving her a taste of how tonight might go down. She was always game for anything. And one night years ago, she let slip that she was always interested in seeing father and son cock. The night of that revelation, as Sofia snored lightly beside me, the satin sheets twisted within our legs, my mind started racing.

I thought back to certain moments that hadn’t passed my mind in years — memories from my adolescence just when I started becoming conscious of my own dick size, around the time my dick and balls got big enough that they grazed the toilet seat. Memories like starting to notice the outline of Dad’s bulge as he walked around in briefs after a steamy shower. Or swiping a pair of his briefs from the laundry to see how his dad meat stretched out the fabric, leaving a firm pouch in the front. Daring to put that pouch on my face. To take a whiff. To try a lick. To think about how I was growing a man’s cock myself. I shook those thoughts from my mind and dozed off. But the memories kept coming back. Then after one drunken conversation with my uncle Patrick last year, which he’s likely forgotten, I learned the last bit that I needed to know to put this plan into action.

Sofia and I were now in my bedroom, and I shut the door firmly enough for Dad to register the click. Just for him to know that his son was about to fuck and get his dick wet yards away from him. Sofia and I kissed gently until I lowered myself to sit on the foot of the bed. Rubbing my hands along the inside of her thighs and up her tight white skirt, I could feel the lace on her pussy was soaked. I rubbed her clit through the fabric and felt my cock stirring to attention.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” I whispered in Italian. “We’ll pretend to have a little bit of our fun here to get him in the mood, right? And get loud, baby. I know that turns him the fuck on. Then you’re going to go out there and do your thing.”

“I’ve been waiting for weeks, amore,” she cooed, sliding off her silk top and displaying her full breasts under a black lace brassiere. Sofia straddled my lap, and she started whimpering like she was already midway in the throes of passion — an impressive performance to her credit. She thrust her hips into mine and knew just where to grind her crotch.

“Oh fuck baby,” I cried out. “I missed this pussy. Get it wet for me. That’s it, rub my cockhead with that clit.”

Thinking about Dad hearing his big boy getting some action and probably getting a bit horny himself spurred me even further. Minutes passed with waves of filthy talk ringing across the suite. Sofia pulled out all the stops. I said the dirtiest things with abandon, knowing it was pumping my father’s cock right up.

“Ah Matteo, si si si,” she cried out.

“Yeah, I’m filling you up good,” I said, stifling a laugh, still with my sweatpants on. “Hold it inside there. I want to feel it all, baby.”

Then we knew it was time. It just took one nod from me. Sofia gingerly got off my lap with a wide grin and shuffled out of my bedroom. I walked over to the French doors of my bedroom and pulled the sheer curtain aside to look into the lounge. I watched Sofia as she crept across the sitting area to Dad’s bedroom, fully naked. She opened his door slightly and slipped inside.

I heard Dad exclaim quietly. Sofia’s soothing voice calmed his surprise. “Ciao, Riccardo,” I heard her say. “I’m Sofia, Matteo’s friend. He said you might like some company. Well, it looks like you were already awake, weren’t you?”

Sofia spent the next few minutes working her magic, convincing Dad that she just wanted to make him happy, that I had already paid her for the full night, and that I thought he might like to have some fun with her. After a few moments of silence punctuated with the sound of kissing (or sucking?), I gathered that Sofia sealed the deal.

I tiptoed out in the sitting area once I calculated that Dad would be well occupied, and then I could hear the unmistakable sounds of sucking even louder. Mindful of each step, I ambled to the French doors of his room, with gossamer, beige curtains behind the panes of glass. The single bedside lamp across the room cast shadows of Dad and Sofia against the curtains. No clear silhouettes, but faint shadows danced against the curtains as my father and my bait writhed into each other. I heard giggles, whispers.

Inching the door open, with barely a squeak, I peeked in. I only saw Dad’s profile as he lay halfway down the bed, Sofia’s hair swaying in his face. She had just stopped sucking my father’s cock, I gathered, and was now lowering herself onto his lap.

Peering further around the door’s edge, I saw Dad’s broad chest, his dark pink nipples, then Sofia’s legs as she straddled him. I took a moment to stare at my dad’s naked hips, a part that I so rarely see, even on our boys’ trips to our local beach. I felt my cock stirring, watching Sofia slam her ass down onto his crotch, her large natural breasts swaying with their weight. A few more moments. Then I swung the door open.

Dad bolted upright when he heard the door squeak, and put his hands on Sofia’s arms. He was stunned silent, while Sofia roared with laughter.

“Matteo, are you feeling jealous?” she feigned.

“Matt, I–, she–” Dad stammered.

“It’s ok, Dad,” I reassured him. “What happens in Rome stays in Rome, right?”

“I… I just… I hope you don’t bring this up to Audrey. We’ve already been dealing with some hard times and–“

“Dad, relax. I don’t care. I told you that Steven and I have our own fun, right?” I said comfortingly, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed. “Besides, Sofia’s great. I don’t blame you for wanting to get a piece of that ass too.”

Dad’s grip on Sofia’s arms loosened as he calmed down. He must have thought that I walked in so that I could snag him for fucking behind Audrey’s back. I realized this was it. This was the last bit of leverage I needed.

“You know, I haven’t busted a nut in about two weeks since I had to sleep next to you, Dad. I might want Sofia back, so I could go for round two tonight.” I was lying. I hadn’t cum yet with Sofia tonight. I was saving my load up for this moment. But Dad didn’t have to know. “Actually, she’s looking pretty fucking hot right now.”

I slowly walked over to the bed, while Sofia smiled smugly at me and sat expectantly. 

“Audrey won’t have to hear about this,” I continued.

Positioning myself right behind Sofia as she straddled Dad, I nuzzled her neck, then squeezed her tits to show them off to my father, twisting her smooth brown nipples, I took a quick peek at Dad on the bed. His eyes were closed, Maybe he was wondering if this was all a dream, his mind fuzzy with horniness as his dad cock throbbed inside a new Italian pussy.

Dad’s hands were now behind his head, showing off the twin thick bushes in his pits, fully untrimmed and golden-brown. My mind flashed back to the manly scent he’d emit after his long days on the football field — and my visits to his laundry hamper right after on game nights. Then I placed my hands on Sofia’s shoulders, gave a squeeze, and slowly spun her around to face me. She giggled, swinging her legs over Dad’s knees, revolving her tight pussy around Dad’s throbbing cock. Now facing me, her legs dangling over the foot of the bed, she continued riding on Dad’s lap.

“Oh fuck,” Dad cried out, squeezing an ass cheek in each of his hands.

“That’s right, Sofia,” I cooed. “Keep riding my old man.” I got closer to Sofia and put my hand in her hair and cradled her head to hold her balance.

“Your papa is big like you,” she said teasingly.

“I think you mean I’m big like papa,” I replied, more so for my father to hear.

“Geez, Louise,” Dad muttered.

“What’s that, Dad? You’re surprised I got my fat cock from you?” I said, egging him on.

After a pause, he muttered, “I figured you must have, Matt.”

“Guess I never thanked you for it,” I laughed.

Turning my attention back to Sofia, I ran my hands down the sides of her waist as she slowly pulled down my loose sweatpants. My dick was already rock hard and bounced to attention when the waistband dropped.

“Give it a stroke,” I whispered to her.

Then I fixed my gaze on Dad’s ballsack down below, full, smooth and bouncing as he fucked away. I could see the shape of each of my father’s balls dancing inside that velvety sack. When he stopped thrusting for a second at a time, they hung so low that they rested on the white bedsheet.

A crazy thought came to mind. While Sofia kept stroking my cock, now slick with gobs of precum, I looked into her eyes and put my finger to my lips.

Then I slowly reached for Dad’s sack and bluffed, “Damn Sofia, you really like balls don’t you?” loud enough for Dad to hear. Then I made contact, cupping them in my hands while Dad thrusted away.

Sofia just giggled and said “Mhmm.”

Dad exclaimed, “Oh baby, that feels good.” He thrust faster and the balls that made me slapped harder into my hand. “Play with them, Sofia,” he panted.

“Yeah, Sofia,” I smirked, looking down at my hand. “Play with my daddy’s balls.”

Then I ran my fingertips from the bottom of Dad’s sack, up the bottom of his shaft, and over Sofia’s wet clit. My father moaned again. Then I put my left hand in Sofia’s hair and moved my right hand from my dad’s balls to her mouth, palm down. She got the hint and opened up.

Smirking, I rubbed my dad’s man musk on her tongue. She stuck her tongue out further for a second go, and I massaged Dad’s balls again and swiped my hand on her tongue, this time horizontally. I did that for a few more rounds, feeding ballsack musk to tongue as Sofia kept playing with my cockhead and Dad trained his eyes on the ceiling.

I slowly stepped onto the foot of the bed, putting one foot on either side of Sofia’s legs until my cock was eye level with her. She licked the underside of my throbbing dick and slowly put the flared head inside her mouth, looking up at me. I glanced at Dad right below me — a bird’s eye view as I saw him squirming underneath Sofia’s ass.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. 

His eyes popped wide now, silently watching my Italian friend bobbing her head right underneath my trimmed bush. We were now sharing the same girl, I thought — dad and son, one in each hole. I pulled Sofia’s head closer into me and felt my thick member go down her gullet as she gagged rhythmically. “Funny,” I thought. “Here Dad and I are sharing Sofia and we haven’t even fully seen each other’s dicks. That makes it OK, right?”

Dad’s gaze was fixated on the back of Sofia’s head, probably imagining what her head was blocking right on the other side. Meanwhile, I scanned down Dad’s body and got a closer look at what this former athlete was working with now.

His chest was still full and broad, two massive pecs with quarter-sized nipples the shade of dusky pink. A full blanket of trimmed golden chest hair and a hairy trail down his firm abdomen. He didn’t have the six pack that I recalled from long days at the beach from decades ago, but you could tell this was the torso of a well-built man — a slight paunch but firm. I craned my head a bit further and saw his natural, untrimmed dad bush inside the cleft of Sofia’s asscheeks. Then I felt another burst of precum shoot down my dick.

At that moment, I saw Dad grimace and his breath quickened. “I’m close,” he muttered softly, almost to himself.

I then leapt off the bed and stood once again in front of Sofia as my Dad was pummeling her pussy even harder. Sofia leaned forward into me and we held each other’s arms as she let Dad have his way with her.

“Si si si, papa,” she squealed. “Put your babies inside me,” she added in Italian.

“Arghh!” Dad roared, his hands like a vise around Sofia’s hips. “Arghhh!” 

His pace abated once he surely finished his fifth squirt or so. 

His steely-gray eyes looked into mine briefly, and he flopped his head back onto the pillow, riding the wave. I gently pushed Sofia backwards until her back was on Dad’s torso, her feet higher in the air, and l looked down at her well-spent pussy, my dad’s bulging cock still deep inside.

Dad’s heavy sack was now tight against the base of his cock, and as I lifted Sofia’s legs even higher, Dad’s cock slowly pulled out of Sofia’s slick hole, lubed up with his own cum and surely some leftover saliva of mine from when I fingered Sofia earlier in my room.

I estimated each inch of Dad’s member as it slid out of her pussy. “Two inches. Four inches. Six inches,” I thought. “Damn. Seven inches–“ until Sofia’s pussy lips reached my father’s swollen and bulbous cockhead, which to my surprise had a ringed foreskin just around the rim of his mushroom. 

His semi flopped forward and hung heavily in front of his quivering balls. With each second, his foreskin crawled back down his pulsating glans, bit by bit.

Sofia and Dad were panting on the bed, and Dad’s arms wrapped around Sofia’s abdomen, holding her close to him as he caught his breath. This whole time, my dick was throbbing, put on the edge by Sofia’s incredible blowjob — until I saw Dad’s heavy white load dripping out of Sofia’s pussy, down onto his cock and painting the plush carpet underneath.

That image alone made me ready to bust. I pinned Sofia’s legs further back near her head. While Dad held her tight, I rubbed my cockhead around her creampied pussy twice and slid my cock inside her in one fluid motion, using Dad’s still-hot cum as my lube.

“Oh fuck, Sofia!” I cried out. “Fuck, Dad! I’m fuckin’ her, Dad!”

My vision blacked out for a second and stars danced in front of my eyes as I shot my most powerful cumshot in a quarter-century. Sofia’s nails indented into my back. Her moans reached a fever pitch, as the three of us — dad, bait, and son — were pounded into the mattress by my hips.

A brief moment of silence, radiating heat. I got off of Sofia and swiftly left the room to avoid any awkward post-coital talk with my father. As we planned earlier, it was Sofia’s job to smooth that out. She later recounted to me that Dad was quiet for the next few minutes, still awake and contemplative, gently urging Sofia to leave. Sofia ignored his entreaty and helped herself to one of the luxurious bathrobes in the room and sidled next to Dad. She told him that she enjoyed the experience like none other, and that she always wanted to please a father and son at the same time.

Of course, she left out that she and I had been talking about this for months.

By the time the sun rose, Dad had resolved to sweep the experience out of his memory. But I wasn’t too worried. As I knew well from Uncle Patrick’s revelation last year, this wasn’t Dad’s first time sharing a woman with another man.

When I woke up the next morning, Sofia had already left and Dad was brewing coffee in the sitting area of our suite.

“Good morning,” I yawned, as I walked into the lounge in the late morning, wearing a matching bathrobe.

Dad acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

I flopped onto the couch, letting the robe slide over my thigh with the sunlight streaming in through the terrace doors. We chitchatted about how we should spend our last day in Rome. “Maybe lunch in Trastevere?” I suggested.

“That works for me,” Dad said.

The room stood still, as Dad stirred his coffee absentmindedly at the counter. He cleared his throat.

“So Matty, how did you meet Sofia anyway?” he asked casually, with his back to me. “Do you just find her on one of those escort apps?”

“No,” I smiled. “I fucked her brother.”

**To Be Continued**

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For the entire next week, I lived as if in a trance.

Every moment when I wasn’t busy with something specific was immediately filled with him, with the image of Alex standing naked in the shower, drops of water running down his six-pack, his hand moving rhythmically along his hard cock.

I saw it when I closed my eyes.

I heard his moans as the water ran from the tap.

I felt his gaze on my skin, even though I was alone.

In class, I couldn’t hear what the teacher was saying.

During meals, I sat in silence, oblivious to the conversations around me.

And at night… at night I did things that I tried to erase from my memory afterwards.

I lay in the dark, my hand sliding over my body, imagining it was his hand.

Every quiet moan I made was a reflection of the one I heard before I ran away.

I tried to justify myself.

“It’s just curiosity,” I repeated in my mind. “Nothing wrong.”

But every time, I knew I was lying.

It wasn’t curiosity. It was a need.

Growing, burning, until finally I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Once, we passed each other in the hallway.

Alex just raised an eyebrow, smiling almost imperceptibly.

And I… for the rest of the day, I felt that gesture like a touch.

That was enough to understand that if I ever found myself alone with him in that locker room again, I wouldn’t run away.

So I decided to do what I feared most.

“Accidentally” stay after PE, just like last time.

I pretended nothing had happened, but every night I went back there, to that pair, to his gaze, to the sound of his moan.

I stayed after PE, pretending I had to pack my bag.

When the door closed with a dull echo, silence filled the room like a thick fog.

I was alone.

Exactly as I had planned… and yet my body reacted as it did when I ran away, I was trembling, my palms were sweaty, and my breathing was uneven.

There was a familiar smell in the air, a mixture of soap, sweat, and damp towels.

Somewhere in the distance, from around the corner, I heard the sound of water.

Not a normal, calm sound, but one that instantly took me back a week.

I felt adrenaline rush through my veins, igniting every nerve.

I slowly moved forward.

Step by step, as if I were approaching a place that was both a curse and a dream come true.

Each step echoed off the tiles, betraying me, but I couldn’t turn back.

And then I saw him.

Alex stood naked under a stream of hot water that ran down his muscular arms and sculpted chest.

His body glistened in the light of the lamps, and there was something in his eyes that made me freeze.

On his lips was that same teasing, cocky smile as last time.

As if he knew I was coming.

As if he had been waiting for me all along.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said in a calm, low voice, without even looking away from my eyes.

My stomach clenched and my throat went dry.

I felt like I was trapped in a snare I’d set for myself.

I wanted to say something, but no sound came out of my mouth.

I stood motionless, and he… looked as if everything was going exactly as he had planned.

Alex took a slow step toward me.

The steam in the air thickened, wrapping around us like a curtain, and I could feel my heart climbing up into my throat.

A drop of water ran down his neck, then along the line of his torso to his sculpted abdominal muscles, stopping just above his crotch.

I couldn’t look away.

He looked… inhumanly perfect.

His gaze didn’t waver for a moment.

He was confident, calm, as if he knew my every thought before it even formed in my head.

He stood so close that I could feel the warmth of his body mingling with the hot steam from the shower.

“Do you just want to watch like last time?” His voice was quiet, but it sounded louder than ever in my head.

He took another step, almost brushing me with his shoulder.

“Or maybe this time… you’ll touch?”

My breathing quickened and my legs trembled as if after an intense run.

There was only one word in my head: run.

But my body… my body wouldn’t listen.

This is the moment, I thought. The moment I’ve been waiting for, even if I didn’t admit it to myself.

I pulled my shirt over my head, the fabric sticky with moisture and sweat.

I threw it on the bench next to me, and then…

Slowly, trembling, I unzipped my shorts and slid them down.

Not because he told me to.

Not because I had to.

But because I wanted to.

Alex watched with the same calmness that was more overwhelming than a scream.

Now only a few inches separated us, and the steam around us was so thick that I felt as if the world outside this place had ceased to exist.

Alex didn’t take his eyes off me as he slowly raised his hand.

For a moment, I thought he was going to push me away, that it was just a game… but his fingers wrapped around my hand, warm, confident, brooking no opposition.

He pulled it down, guiding it slowly over his wet abdominal muscles until I touched his cock.

It was hard, throbbing, moist from the hot water and pre-cum.

My fingers trembled and my breath caught in my throat.

Alex leaned in, his lips close to my ear.

“Don’t just look. Feel,” he whispered.

I didn’t pull my hand away.

On the contrary, I tightened my fingers and moved them along its length.

Alex let out a low, throaty moan that pierced me from within.

I could smell him, soap, sweat, something wild and masculine.

His hips began to move to the rhythm of my hand, faster and faster, more confidently, until the air became heavy with steam and tension.

“Yes…” he gasped, clenching his fingers around my wrist. “Don’t stop.”

A moment later, his body stiffened.

Alex threw his head back and a low, drawn-out moan escaped his throat, echoing off the tiles.

I felt hot, thick streams of semen fall onto my fingers, mixing with the drops of water.

It was so intense that for a second I forgot who I was and where I was.

Alex looked at me from under his half-closed eyelids, his eyes shining with triumphant certainty.

And I… I looked at my hand, at the proof of what had just happened.

At that moment, I knew I had crossed a line from which there was no turning back.

Yesterday, I was just a voyeur.

Today… I became part of the game.

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I was driving past Don’s new home, and thought it would be nice to see how he was getting on. I was greeted by a handsome man, only about 10 years older than myself. Toby, Don’s uncle was over 6’0″, with a muscular physique and piercing green eyes, but what set my pulse racing was that he was only wearing skimpy, shiny shorts, that barely covered his package. His penis lay across his right groin, straining at the flimsy material. Managing to bring my eyes back to his chiseled face, I introduced myself and was welcomed in. 

Don sat naked in a big armchair (they obviously had the same dress code as us). Seeing me, he jumped up, hugged and kissed me. We chatted for a while, but I couldn’t avert my eyes from Toby’s shorts. He noticed and rubbed his crotch, making a thick mushroom head rise above the waistband. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” suggested Don, Toby came behind me and slid my T-shirt off, tweaking my nipples as he did so. Don knelt in front of me and relieved me of my trainers and sweatpants. A damp patch had already appeared on my boxers, so they came off as well. He then shimmied around behind me and dropped Toby’s shorts, cradling his balls and stroking his long, fat cock. I watched in amazement as he deep-throated his uncle. We went to bed.

I lay between them, holding Toby’s engorged penis and kissing Don. We shuffled around until we all had a dick to suck. Don’s  was quite big enough for me. We shifted again. Don and I got on all fours alongside each other. We felt Toby’s hot breath on our rings as he blew on them and rimmed us. Next, we were finger fucked with lubed fingers. I held Don’s hand and bit my lip as the mushroom pushed at my backdoor, breaking through my sphincter. He gripped my waist and he filled me, then began pumping. It felt like a vacuum as he pulled out, only to be plowed again. After a while, he transferred his attentions to his nephew, then back to me. Back and forth for half an hour. He emptied inside me. Don licked him clean, then took his turn inside me. Smaller than his uncle, and lubricated with cum, he fucked easily and my erection returned. He sped up and I beat myself, making a mess of the duvet as I received my second load. Don gave me his dick to clean. 

We had coffee. I could see by the way they looked at each other, that it was more than lust. By the time I arrived home, Louis wondered where the fuck I’d been. I undressed as usual and sheepishly, I told him about my encounter. His dick grew as I went through the lurid details. He kissed me, running his fingers into my crack. My hole was still leaking. We didn’t even go to bed. He bent me over the dining table and fucked me like there was no tomorrow. By the time he had finished, juices ran down my legs and I was exhausted.                

Donovan

Donovan threw his keys on the table. His studio apartment welcomed him with creaking floorboards, an unmade bed, and stacks of books set haphazardly. The quick shower he had taken at the gym did little to soothe his sore body; the intense workout Cole had put him through made him question his capabilities. 

His cock was still plump from the teasing he had endured.

He tossed his bag on the small loveseat he had placed at the end of his bed. A large flat screen faced a small table covered in scribbled notes and discarded soda cans. 

He slumped on his bed heavily and stared at the ceiling. 

His mind wandered back to Cole’s beautiful features, and instantly his cock sprang to life. He slipped his tired fingers under the band of his briefs and wrapped them around his rod. The heaviness of his nuts drove him to take off his clothes completely after only a few strokes. He now lay naked on his sheets, imagining Cole’s lips placing soft kisses on his collarbone. His chaste fantasy then turned into something perverted, and soon Cole’s lips were around his manhood. He imagined them slowly pulling back his foreskin to reveal his cockhead. 

As the thought came to him, he slowly pulled it back. His knob was red, sensitive from the denied pleasure it had experienced. He spit in his hand and lubed it up gently. 

He flinched, but forced himself to tease it until it was too much. He stopped and let his foreskin roll over his head, the sensation enough to get him close to cumming. Slow stroke turned into long and hard ones, pulling on all 8 inches fiercely. His panting filled the room, his thoughts drifting to his gym buddy as he nearly climaxed. 

But in a frustrating turn of events, his hand stopped moving, leaving his boner screaming and raging red. His balls were tight and ready for release. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck,” he muttered. 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to lie to Cole if he came. He realized he didn’t wish to disappoint him, that somehow, he had no right to. 

Donovan headed to the shower and let cold water pour on him. His hand mechanically reached out for a quick stroke, but he resisted the urge, as hard as it was. He went to bed that night with a new feeling he didn’t quite understand; he had never submitted to anyone before. 

But in a sense, it felt right. 

°°°

The following day, Cole texted him as if nothing had transpired at the gym. Donovan hesitated and chose not to open the message at first, but when it vibrated a second time, he typed in :

“What’s up?”

The following conversation quickly led to Donovan agreeing to meet Cole at a local café. 

He dressed in casual jeans, pulled out a fitted white T-shirt from his drawer, and slipped into worn but comfortable sneakers. He then picked up a warm jacket and headed out into the chill winter morning. He walked to the café. Cole was already sitting there by a window, waiting while reading a small book. Donovan grinned; his friend was so casually handsome that something stirred in him. 

The heated air that escaped the café when he came in was close to salvation. He breathed a long sigh of relief and greeted the staff before sitting in front of Cole. 

“How’ve you been? Slept well?” He asked without looking up.

Donovan shrugged. “Just the usual, I was a bit restless.” 

The shadow of a smile was at the corner of Cole’s mouth. 

Fucker. Donovan thought.

“On my part, I slept fairly well. Yesterday was intense,” he closed his book and put it aside. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Guess so,” Donovan mumbled, looking down. 

He could feel Cole’s gaze on him, fully aware that they had shared something intimate that broke the bounds of friendship. Donovan had never felt so small, but he didn’t feel threatened. He knew Cole wouldn’t do anything to harm him, and yet, there was something dangerous about him.

A hunger that triggered a reaction Donovan had never had before. 

His dick swelled slightly, and he shifted in discomfort. 

And at that moment, the waiter, a young man around their age, stopped at their table.

“We’ll have two green teas, with a hint of mint,” Cole said.

Donovan looked up, ready to object. But a glance in his friend’s direction made him agree. 

“You don’t mind tea?” Cole asked.

“I’d rather have chosen coffee, but tea works,” He laced his fingers together on the table. “You’ve never done that before.” 

Cole chuckled. “Done what?”

“Ordered for me, without,” he paused. “You know, without asking.” 

“I figured you’d like the tea, I know you like me taking care of you,” Cole smirked again, cocksure as always. “I’m sure your not so little friend agrees with me too.” 

Donovan’s face flushed red in seconds, and his pants were now uncomfortably tight. How he wished he could’ve blown his load the previous night. Then, he wouldn’t be in this situation. Shamefully aware of his own erection, he put both his hands between his legs in an attempt to hide it. 

“What’s this all about?” Donovan said a bit too loudly. “Do you get off of this?” 

“It’s satisfying, for sure.” 

The waiter returned with the tea, two empty cups with a steaming pot whose sweet scent tickled Donovan’s nose. 

“Thanks,” he said, then focused back on his friend. “But what am I to you?” 

There was desperation in his voice; it betrayed his usual bravado, his cocky attitude crumbling with an ease he’d have scoffed at in the past. His cock had always held power over him, his sex drive so high he had once fucked multiple guys in a single weekend. If there was one thing he had never done before, it was to keep his cum contained for another’s sake. 

He was trapped, and though it was infuriating and frightening, he could not help but feel it was right. 

“Someone I’m interested in,” Cole served the tea, taking his time to fill both their cups. “Someone who intrigues me, someone who needs to be controlled.” 

The last word rang in Donovan’s ears. 

Control. 

What does it even mean? 

“I’ve been managing pretty well on my own, dude.” His erection had subsided, a pang of anger born from his friend’s arrogance sweeping away the strange feelings that had kept him restrained. “Whatever dominant streak you have, I could wrestle out of you in a single match.”

Cole sipped on his tea. “I know that, and I’d love to see you in a singlet.” 

“Is that a challenge?” Donovan smirked, playfulness overriding his irritation. 

“Might be.” 

Donovan sighed and sipped the tea, knowing it had cooled down even if steam was still rising. It was a bit sour, but he chose not to add sugar. Outside, droplets of rain began sprinkling the high windows of the café. 

“When’s the date?” Cole said after a while. 

“What… date?” Donovan shot hesitantly.

“The wrestling date, you’re the one who offered. I’ll take you up on it.” 

“Man, I was just,” Donovan was about to respond, he’d said it without thinking, but reconsidered quickly. “Tomorrow, after class, I’ll show you who’s boss.” 

“That works for me.” 

“Good.”

“Don’t forget to keep your balls full, and bring a singlet,” He emptied his cup. “You’ll look fantastic all fluffed up in it.” 

Donovan’s breath caught in his throat; he could feel his sack weighing in his briefs as his cock filled up again. A wet spot was spreading, and the need for a good wank was becoming inevitable. The voice in his head objected to his lewd fantasies, reminding him that if he did, the betrayal would destroy his chances of tasting Cole’s cherry. 

But he wasn’t sure if he could last another day. 

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