My daddy friend Brian had suggested that I might like to be a lad bottom for a daddy gang bang at the ‘Dads ‘n Lads Club’. Being an insatiable daddy lover and having had a fantastic session with Brian when I first visited the club I hastily said yes!

Thinking about it some time afterwards I wondered what I had let myself in for though Brian had said that to be selected as a bottom lad might not materialise for some time though being a fresh new lad on the block he thought my chance were pretty good.

I did not know if I was to be gang banged until I next visited the club. Brian accompanied me and was also going to fuck me as part of the gang bang if I was approved. Call it luck if you like but there was my name on the ‘gang bang’ door at the club together with my height weight and cock size, details I had to give previously.

My heart was pounding particularly as I had only half an hour before I had to enter the gang bang room. Brian said he would settle my nerves and buy me a drink so we went to the bar area where I could not help but look around at all the daddies wondering if they were all going to fuck me.

“Time to go” said Brian downing his drink and I followed him slowly to the gang bang room.

The room itself was bigger than the little ‘pod’ rooms Brian and I had fucked in before and I was shocked to see not only a double bed but a sling in the centre of the room. Four daddies were already in the room all stroking each others cocks and looking pretty hot and ready.

“You’ll enjoy the sling son” said Brian “It’s pretty damn hot”.

With the dress code being shorts and ‘T’ shirts undressing was an easy chore. Even so the daddies in the room were keen to help me remove my clothes an touch me up at the same time. Brian got naked too and with his help and two other daddies I was gently placed in the sling, my arsehole at the mercy of any cock.

“He’s a fucking cutie” said one guy in a very deep voice and two others agreed that I was a pretty tasty piece of arse.

A heavy set guy with a beard and medium sized cock stood between my legs and undid one of the  sachets of lube provided and began oiling his cock with it and then my arsehole. Another randy old man leant over me to suck on my dick and a third slipped his cock into my mouth whilst I could see Brian in the background on his knees sucking the fourth man who was well hung and hairy.

The man between my legs began to finger the lube in my hole, his knuckles deep up me making me moan. I was soon feeling the hot knob of his prick easing into my arsehole as the man held the sling steady.

I was so excited now and sucking the life out of the cock in my mouth whilst loving the feel of a ht mouth on my own cock. Once the man started to fuck me I was in another level of excitement especially when his knob battered my young prostate. The man fucked in a steady rhythm, his balls smacking my arse as he shagged me. He was quick to unload his spunk into me and I was pretty disappointed as I was just getting into the feel of his cock. His cum however lubed me up ready for the next daddy to fuck me. That daddy was a big dicked slim man with balding head. His prick just slid up in one stroke his balls pressing against me.

He took the sling and told the other men to leave me alone as he wanted to sway the sling so that my hole slid onto his cock and back.

His dick was so rigid that swaying the sling had me impaled onto the whole length of his cock with each sway. Feeling my arsehole sliding down his lovely big cock was mind blowing and my own dick was jerking with excitement. The swaying of the sling got faster and faster, his prick impaling me over and over again as I whimpered and begged for more.

Sadly his horny stiff cock was unable to fuck as long as I would have liked and he began to cream my hole up with a load of spunk grunting the whole  time.

He pulled from me and I felt cum seeping from my arse. He moved away from me and the man Brian was sucking took his place, sliding into me on a river of juicy cum.

I heard the door open and close and three more daddies entered the room and stripped off.

I was well into the fucking now and eager to feel every cock in the room. Brian let me suck on his big daddy dick as I was being shafted. He said he wanted to screw me next but was aware that there were now more stiff cocked daddies wanting to fuck me.

Another thick load of semen shot up my arsehole, the cock still fucking me as the man’s balls drained.

One of the new daddies with a beard came over and began to slurp and suck on my cock, his beard tickling me,  his hot throat taking in my prick.

My arsehole was flowing with spunk and gaping open for another cock. Brian pulled from my mouth, his dick wet with saliva and stonkingly stiff. He got to my arsehole before anybody else and shoved his big prick into me to the balls. The squelch of his cock entering my arse on a slick load of spunk had my dick jerking in my suckers mouth but I managed to avoid coming much to his disappointment.

“Fuck! I thought you were going to fucking feed me” he said pulling my dick from his mouth.

Brian told him to be patient and promised he’d get a good feeding by the end of the session.

“Swing the sling for me mate” said Brian “I want his hole to slide onto my cock”.

Brian stood holding his stiff prick in line with my arsehole and he told the man to pull the sling back and let go. The man did as Brian said and I found myself hurtling forward towards Brian’s cock my hole engulfing the dick to the root and balls. I hollered as the cock squelched up me and the man pulled the sling back again and once more sent my arse towards Brian’s horny stiff cock. I loved being impaled on Brian’s hot daddy dick. It was thick and long and his ‘Viagra’ obsession kept it rock solid.

I really had a soft spot for him and he a very hard spot for me.

Fuck! It was so good feeling the length of Brian’s hot cock diving into my arsehole again and again, the already cum slick hole squelching happily.

A man with a large throbbing prick told me to open my mouth and I had his length tickling the back of my throat. Now Brian was in a hard fuck mode and shagging my arse to his own shattering climax.

His sperm tossed into my arse and up into my guts and he kept fucking till his balls were cum dry.

Another daddy with an even bigger prick was on standby waiting for my arsehole to be free. Brian pulled away from me his prick still connected to my arse by a string of spermy pearls that eventually dropped onto the bed. The new cock, hard and proud slid into me easily with a squelch , my well fucked hole oozing with spunk. I was aware of another mouth on my dick and also aware of new men entering the room to fuck me.

After nine loads of cum my arsehole was fuck sore and sloppy with cum but other hot daddies were still waiting to fuck me.

“Let’s get the slutty cum dump onto the bed” said a tall muscled hunk of a daddy who probably had the biggest prick in the room.

Dropped onto the bed I was set upon by four hot daddies. My hands felt for cock, mouths licked and sucked my prick and my arsehole was once again crammed with cock, this time the biggest in the room. I was whimpering and moaning and feeding one cock after another into my mouth. Now I felt like a filthy insatiable cum dump slut and I was beside myself in my lust for cock.

My hole was stretched to the max this time and the daddies were jeering and urging the fuck on. An old man without any teeth was sucking on my balls, his cheeks drawn in with the suction. Another daddy had my cock down his throat as the fuck had me gasping. At one point I had cock in my mouth, a cock in each hand a cock up my arse and was being cock and ball sucked as well as being shagged like a greedy slut.

I was getting tired now and had lost count of the number of cocks that had fucked and loaded me with cum.

Tossed over onto my belly with my arse up I could feel the spunk running down my open thighs. The arse stretching cock had dumped it’s load up me and my battered fuck hole was a tingling, throbbing wreck of what it was when I woke up that morning.

Two randy bearded daddy bears took turns rimming out my arsehole their beards blobbed with cum their greedy mouths and tongues feeding on my arse like it was their fucking supper. Having had all the cock in the room I was now allowed a little break.

Brian came over to me and gently stroked my hair.

“Are you O.K.? Is it too much for you?” he asked.

“I’m loving it”  said.

“Good” said Brian “Because a couple of daddies here want to double fuck your arse”.

My hole twitched at the thought, two dicks in me at once? Wow! That I wanted to try.

“Actually son” said Brian “I am one of those daddies who want to double fuck you. Me and that big cocked bear over there”.

I looked across the room where the hairy bear stood wanking his ample cock to an incredible stiffness.

“I’m looking forward to it” I said.

Brian went over to the bear to speak to him and not only that  Brian knelt down and gave his cock a good sucking.

I was longing to cum, my balls aching for that uncontrollable release and spurt but I had to get double fucked first.

All the daddies seemed to be having a discussion together and then they approached me. Looking up three lovely big cocks swayed above my head. The owners of the dicks positioned me so that the hairy big cocked bear could get beneath me I was facing up, my dick already stiff and being man handled.

The hairy bear lubed my arsehole and then with a few grunts worked his rigid pick up my fuck ragged arse. Impaled on his cock two daddies lifted my legs up and Brian got between them and with a broad sexy smile at me he pushed his cock against the bear’s and worked his cock inside me.

“Wow!” said a daddy feeling my cock, “He’s got both cocks up his greedy arse”.

Brian and the bear began to shag me, my hole feeling packed with dick and throbbing like crazy.

“Let’s get two cocks in his mouth as well” said another daddy “He’ll love that”.

Two randy stiff cocks pushed against my lips, one either side of me. I opened my mouth wide and managed to gobble on both of the knobs taking both inside, my tongue sandwiched between them.

Brian and the bear were picking up some speed and fucking the moans and groans from me. My arsehole was stretching wider than ever and taking both pricks with an insatiable lust. 

Other daddies stood around wanking each other and cheering as they watched me take the cocks.

One dick exploded in my mouth the cum running from my lips. Brian licked at the cum and around the two dicks in my mouth causing the second one to cum and shot into my mouth. Brian’s tongue greedily lapped at the cum and the dicks as he forced his cock up my arse over and over again. The bear’s cock was moving slower and was soon creaming my arsehole.

My squelching hole was throbbing intensely when the two cocks slipped from me. Not only throbbing but gaping wide and pouring cum. My mouth was free of cock but the taste of spunk lingered . The daddies had fucked me and double fucked me ragged and now all I wanted was to spurt my own pent up load which churned in my balls.

Lucky for me Brian was the only daddy who stayed behind to sort me out.

“You must be fucking exhausted” he said “We creamed you over good and hard”.

“Tell me about it” I said, my sorry butt hole pulsating.

“Do you want me to suck you off son?” he asked. and my grateful over enthusiastic ‘yes!’ came quick.

Brian grabbed hold of my prick wanking it almost to orgasm. His tongue rolled up and down my shaft and wrapped around my knob head like a fucking blanket. His tongue then dipped into my spunk sloppy hole for a few ravishing slurps before he sucked half of my cock into his mouth.

I grabbed his head and held his mouth down on my cock, moaning as he sucked my helmet sore. “Fuck! I was so close and Brian new it, his mouth and hand went berserk and my balls danced like fuck in their sac until my cum was spurting. Brian took some into his mouth the rest he watched as it leaped out of my prick haphazardly. It felt so good to be coming at last and releasing my spunk and Brian sure as hell seemed to like it too as he sucked and slurped at my cock, balls and arse until I was begging him to stop.

Brian kissed me, the taste of cum driving me into another state of lust.

The Dads ‘n Lads Club was fucking fantastic in every sense and was going to be my weekly indulgence.

“Son” said Brian “You are one horny daddy cock loving cum dump”.

I licked a blob of cum from his lips.

“Yes daddy I guess I am” I said.

The following is a work of erotic fiction depicting graphic sexual scenes, based partly on my own experiences but adapted for dramatic affect, and is meant to be enjoyed by a mature, faggot hole loving, audience.

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“Rodney” – That’s Captain Faggot

It’s the summer of 1990. I’m a horny 18-year-old boy.

I can’t wait for bowling Tuesdays so that I can go to my best friend Junior’s house to watch his dad’s porn and milk his cock. I know it’s taboo, and we never really talk about it … it’s always this hidden unspeakable thing that we just never mention, no matter how many times I drain his balls.

But it isn’t until Rodney that I really know that I’m meant to be a faggot hole.

This summer Junior and I are 18, just before we start grade 11, Rodney is 19 and in going to be in grade 12. Tall, blonde and with well-defined muscles – Rodney’s a basketball player. Junior’s older sister Lisa, who is also in grade 12, is dating him.

Lisa is a pretty Italian girl with thick unusually straight hair and long pretty lashes. And like most girls at 18 has larger hips and big tits. She can’t really wear cleavage revealing tops at our uniformed Catholic high school, so she often chooses to wear very tight turtlenecks. And all the boys like her. Shit, I fucking like her. Her big tits are hot.

Sometimes, I fantasize that Lisa is the Captain’s daughter and Rodney, who is Pirate Tom Selleck’s son, shares her with his junior–pirate mates below deck… because even though I was milking Junior’s cock every week, I didn’t really fantasize about me taking cock, but about Lisa taking it.

I like how tall Rodney is. He was at least over 6 feet and towers over me. And I really like his blonde hair.

One lunch this summer in Junior’s kitchen when we were all eating Chef Boyardee, Rodney caught me staring at the fair blonde hairs on his forearm as he rested it on the kitchen table. He gave me a smirk when I looked up at him because I realized he noticed me staring. And, like a true little gay boy with a crush, I blushed and quickly turned away.

You see, I didn’t realize it yet… but he totally knew I was a cock worshipping, cum slurping hole too. Or, at least, he would come to know it.

On this Tuesday night, I arrive at Junior’s house ready to suck his dick only to find that this bowling night, unlike every other time previously, Lisa has not left their house yet and was upstairs still getting ready to go out to a friend’s.

“Junior is in the basement!” she yells at me, hearing me come through the front door.

As I make my way to the basement, I heard it – right as I was starting to go down the stairs – The Captain’s slurping and moaning… I bound down the stairs to warn Junior that his sister is still in the house only to find Rodney and a few of his basketball buddies sitting in the basement rec room watching The Captain porn… WITH Junior.

I stop suddenly, taking a moment to register the scene.

 With a room full of the popular basketball boys watching my favourite porn looking at me, all I could muster is a… “Hey.”

On the TV, the Captain is sucking Tom Selleck’s fat cock, and knowing this porn so well I know it is only a matter of moments before the rest of his crew gathers around her and joins in.

To seem cool, Junior slaps Rodney on the arm and says: “This is Rickie’s favourite scene.”

Rodney laughs and makes eye contact with me. “Well then… pull up a seat!”

With all the boys having taken the couch, love seat and recliner, I take a spot on the floor, sitting down just in front of Junior who is sitting at the end of the couch. I lean back against the end of the sofa’s arm.

Junior, sitting just behind me, nudges me with his knee and gives me his trademark mischievous smirk as the boys are focused on the Captain slurping away.

The Captain is already on her knees sucking on Tom Selleck’s fat cock. She fake-resists at first, slowly licking the head of his floppy cock.

“Put it in your mouth,” he barks and she opens her mouth and slowly starts sucking.

The camera angle switches to a higher POV angle of her on her knees getting him hard.

Cut to Tom Selleck’s face, “Look up at me,” he orders.

She looks straight up into the camera as she strokes and swallows him.

She’s using both hands to tug on him and begins sucking faster, starting to make gagging sounds as he gets harder and goes deeper.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” she manages to respond looking up at the camera, in between gags.

“That’s a good wench,” pirate Tom Selleck says, in character.

He is fully hard now, dripping from her spit.

Tom Selleck places each hand on either side of the Captain’s head and begins to aggressively smash her face down on his cock.

With her hands pressing against his bare legs, the Captain is gagging loudly, her spit splashing.

Rodney squirms in the recliner a bit, re-setting his legs. As nonchalantly as I can, I look over to see the bulge in his jeans. He feels me looking and turns towards me. “I can see why you like this one,” he says as he readjusts his cock in his straining jeans.

Just then Lisa and her friend come in, ready to go. “You guys are watching this again,” she says disgusted, “Dad is totally going to catch you, Junior… Rodney, let’s go!”

Junior pauses the video, and the boys laugh to fill the awkward and sexually charged silence as they gather themselves to leave. Rodney stands and as he passes me still sitting on the floor, he tussles my hair. “Enjoy!”

“You fucking wish you boys could get laid” I could hear Lisa saying as the group of horny boys laughed, joked and pushed each other as they left.

As soon I heard the front door close shut, I flipped around on my knees and pulled out Junior’s cock and sucked him so hard that he shot his load down my throat before he could even push play again on the video.

After that, for the rest of the summer Rodney and the boys would often come over on Tuesdays and watch Junior’s Dad’s porn with us before they would leave to go hang out for the night. And every time after they all left to do popular-high-school-teenager things, Junior and I would continue to watch porn and I would suck him and he’d fuck me until he would nut down my throat, or in my hole… or sometimes both.

Later that summer on a weekend, Junior’s dad was taking the Lisa-Rodney gang to a soccer game and then to get ice cream. The basement was filled with their sleeping bags and tents because they were all sleeping over and on Sunday morning Junior’s dad was driving them to Hamilton to catch a bus to take them up north on a camping trip for a week.

After they left us alone in the house, Junior went to grab a porn and of course, he put on The Captain video. Sure enough, it was set just before she started sucking on Tom Selleck’s fat cock. And we were primed to start our scene.

At this point, we had our routine pretty well established… Junior would put on one of his dad’s pornographic movies, he had a few of them. He would almost instantly get hard and take his impressive dick out and start playing with himself, showing off for me. When I couldn’t help but watch him, he would motion me to come closer… and I’d just start sucking. And just recently, he started fucking me.

So, with The Captain working on Tom Selleck’s cock, Junior pulled his shorts down and started playing with his dick. I sat at the other end of the couch focusing on the TV. Junior kept looking over at me, waiting for me to start watching him.

“C’mon,” he finally said, “You know you want to suck it.”

When I turned to face him, he held his hard beautiful cock at the base and shook it a few times… I couldn’t help but smile.

I did want to suck his cock. So much.

I flipped to my knees and just like The Captain, I started licking his balls, with Junior still holding on to his dick.

“Finally,” Junior moaned, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head.

With one hand I circled the base of his nut sack pulling his balls down so his cock stood up tall, and as I started to lick up and down the side of his shaft, I sturdied myself with my other had against his side.

I could hear The Captain getting more aggressive with Tom Selleck, and so I started to get more aggressive too by sucking on Junior’s big fat head, tonguing, and flicking it in between swallowing his cock. I try to get to the base of his rock-hard cock, but he was thick and pretty long. I could do it… but I had to drop my jaw as much as I could and arch my back, sticking my ass in the air to get his hard cock to go down my throat just the right way.

Just as The Captain was getting sloppier and gagging, so was I…

Junior’s dick is wet with all of my spit and I was deep throating him now with reams of phlegm lubricating my throat. The whole time I’m pinching his scrotum, and pulling on his nuts, wet from my saliva.

Junior sits up and I flip around, kneeling on the floor with my back now to the TV. I come up for air – horking a big ball of spit onto his dripping cock and jerk him hard.

I shift to get a more comfortable and effective angle for my next dive and out of the corner of my eye I see movement in the basement window. It was on the back wall behind Junior so he didn’t see him…

Rodney.

Rodney is in the backyard, crouching down and watching us through the basement window from outside.

The moment my eyes find Rodney’s and before I can react or say anything, Junior grabs the sides of my head with each hand. And I know what that means.

Junior guides my head down to his hard, sloppy cock. Whis his hand cupped under my chin, and after a few slowly guided swallows to make sure he was all the way in, Junior starts smashing my face up and down on his dick, growing faster and harder with each push.

Like always, I hold on to his thighs as he grunts and I gag. My nose is running as my face smashes against his lower stomach as he deep-hate-fucks my throat.

I don’t know why I don’t stop him to tell him that Rodney is watching… most of me is just trying to keep my jaw open and breath as he fucks my face.

“Arggh!” he yells as he starts shooting his load down my throat.

After the third or fourth spasm, I drop my jaw even more and push my face into him.

Junior puts his elbows on my head and pushes down. His cock feels like it is in my lungs. And I can feel him shoot a few more times before he lets me lift my head gasping for air.

Without looking up, I dutifully lick his cock clean – swallowing every bit of spit and jizz as I can, admittedly performing for Rodney… if he was still looking. I more than matched The Captain’s enthusiastic motivation and enjoyment.

I sit up and glance at the window. Rodney and I lock eyes again. If I didn’t know any better, I think he is liking what he’s seeing.

Not turning away this time, and mimicking Junior’s mischievous smirk, I wipe my bottom lip with the back of my hand.

Junior drops his head back and sighs, holding his sloppy dick in his hand.

Sitting back on my knees I finally make a fake quick turn of my head, “Wait… Did you hear that?”

Junior instantly sits up straight and listens just for a second before he reaches for the remote and quickly pulls his shorts up.

“… I think they’re home early,” I continue.

Junior quickly ejects the tape and starts to run upstairs to put it back.

Rodney isn’t in the window anymore.

Just as Junior had jumped back on the couch beside me and switched the channel, we hear the gang come through the front door. Laughing and still finishing their Diary Queen, they all eventually join us in the basement.

Rodney wouldn’t look directly at me or say anything to me for the rest of the night.

Later, we all watched a Friday the 13th movie (on Beta too) and now it was time for everyone to turn in. The boys started to pull out their sleeping bags and get set up in the basement, while the girls took theirs up to Lisa’s room.

“We are leaving at 6am tomorrow, so go to sleep,” Mr. Giancolo says from the top of the stairs. “No staying up all night comparing dick sizes and wanking it.”

“Where are you sleeping?” one of the guys ask me, as we start to follow Mr. Giancolo up the stairs.

With one of his hands on my shoulder, Mr. Giancolo answers for me: “Oh, when he sleeps over Rickie crashes in Junior’s room. Junior has a queen bed.”

Rodney, who was bent over laying out his sleeping bag quickly stands straight up and quickly scans us until his eyes find mine.

“Good night, guys,” I say.

Without breaking my eyes fixed on Rodney, I smile and add: “Have a good time camping.”

I can feel Rodney staring as we turn off the basement lights and go upstairs.

Junior and I took off our clothes and jump into bed with just our little boy tighty-whitey briefs on.

From Junior’s bedroom doorway, Mr. Giancolo says: “We will try not to make too much noise tomorrow morning when we’re leaving… But the same goes for you guys… no staying up all night wanking it. Ok? … Got that, Rickie?”  

“Yes Sir” I laughed.

And with that he switches off the light and closes the door, “Good night, boys.”

It felt like forever, but eventually enough time finally passes that we feel like it was safe. Junior rolls over to spoon me, pressing his cock against my ass. He is naked and pulls my underwear down, sticking his hard cock between my crack and rubbing my hole. I knew I was sleeping over, so I was ready to take him.

I slide under the covers and as quietly as I can start sucking him, trying to get him as wet as possible.

He motions me to come back up to meet his face, flips me on my stomach and rolls on top of me. The bed creaking louder and louder.

Pausing for a second to appease the bed spring gods, Junior reaches across and opens his night-table drawer. He pulls out a jar of Vaseline and scoops out a finger full. Rolling on to his side, he runs his gooey finger along my crack and finding my hole shoves his finger in.

I stifle a grunt as my body tenses.

For the longest time I thought he was always so aggressive with me because he was just a horny teenager, but over the years I learned that Junior was just aggressive. “You’re a guy,” he would say when I would wince or I would ask him to go easy. “I’m horny. Fucking, take it,” he’d bark.

And I would.

After wiggling his finger a few times and satisfied how lubed I was, Junior slips out his finger as he slides his dick in. Lying flat and rolling on top of me again, he pushes his hard cock into my hole. I arch my back under his weight and lift him up a bit. He digs his toes against the mattress and pushes his dick deeper into me, forcing me down flat again.

Pressing my head into a pillow, I muffle a groan.

Junior presses his forearm against the back of my head and holds me down, and the bed squeaks still, as he slowly pushes his cock deeper into my hole.

I groan into the pillow again, bearing the weight of him. With a slight adjustment, Junior spreads his hand to cover most of my face. One of his gooey fingers hooking the side of my mouth. I breathe hard through my nose.

With his chest pressing down on my shoulders and with his nose next to my ear, Junior whispers from behind me: “It’s like a wet pussy, man.”

I quickly exhale sharply in response, as his fingertips were holding my mouth open.

“I fucking can’t wait to get that ass on a girl,” he groans, “but for now… I like practicing on you…”

He was fucking me hard. And VERY slow. We didn’t want anyone to hear the bed creaking. At all.

“And it’s ok…. THRUST… because I know you like being a cock… THRUST… loving… THRUST… faggot… THRUST…”

I can only reply with another sharp exhale. This time, some of my spittle hits the pillow.

It was a tough dance week, and my round ass was on fire with my glutes swollen hard from all the pliés, jumps and splits. When he fucked my ass, Junior liked me ass up, so he could slap and punch my hard ass. Sometimes I would have bruises. Junior was a complete ass man. He always had his hands on my ass as he manoeuvred me into different angles or just held me by my round hard cheeks, often jiggling or slapping them.

“… cuz you fucking… THRUST… love… THRUST… dick… THRUST… so… THRUST… much…,” he mutters in between slow, deep, hard thrusts.

Junior is under the covers in a plank over me, his elbows crossed behind my neck pressing down hard to steady his balance. All of his tall, skinny, stoner drummer muscles are flexed and he is slow-pounding me, trying not to make the bed squeak.

As he pulls back, I squeeze my asshole muscles SO tight that my hard glutes almost spit his long cock out of my hole. Junior does NOT like that his dick almost popped out of my hole, so as retribution he thrusts his cock back in so hard and deep in response that my entire body convulses. It feels like he punches me in the clit.

I’m not screaming, but I’m wincing. And breathing hard.

Junior thrusts again with the same force and hits it again and my entire body uncontrollably spasms again.

He is going slow enough I can at least recover from each hit. Only to prepare to get punched again.

I try to manoeuvre the angle of his attacks to lessen the force of impact, but it only makes him more forceful, my squirming getting him harder. Junior likes it. He likes hurting me with his big dick… and I like him hurting me with his big dick.

But… we both forgot about the squeaking bed as our wrestling intensifies.

Between every thrust, I try to get a less painful angle and Junior holding me still, pounds me so hard that I spasm. And we are so focused on the battle that we don’t notice that the mattress soundtrack is getting louder.

We both freeze when we hear a noise.

It came from outside his bedroom.

After a few seconds of NOT moving, Junior lowers himself slowly, until he is just laying on top of me. I am pinned underneath him as we are trying not breath loud and not move, but we are both panting – his warm breath tickling my ear.

We listen to see if there is someone outside his bedroom…

Nothing?

With his full weight on me, I squeeze my ass and his dick pulses twice in my ass.

After a few more moments, Junior silently inches away from me – his dick sliding out of my hole. He shifts himself to his side of the bed gently, the bed springs only slightly creaking.

After a brief pause to silence them, Junior rolls over to his side so his back is facing me so that just in case someone opens his bedroom door, he’s that much farther away from me.

I didn’t move… except to eventually slink back to my side.

Facing his back and watching Junior, I slide my fingers between my legs, shoving them in my stretched and slimy hole. I could feel how loose my hole muscles were, slipping 2, then 3 fingers in easily. I’m pretty sure he came, but there is a lot of Vaseline.

We must have both fallen asleep because I wake up with an incredible urge to pee and one of my fingers still in my ass. Junior is sleep-breathing next me. His stoner-kid’s light-heavy snore sounds softly filling the dark.

I pull my underwear up and slide off the bed.

The bathroom is right next to his bedroom, closest to the stairs. Junior’s sister’s bedroom is down the hall, with the master bedroom around the corner. There is enough moonlight spilling in the bathroom window that I can see where I’m going, so I didn’t turn on any lights. I want to stay in this half-awake state and stumble back to bed and fall right back to sleep. Besides, there is a night-light in the bathroom counter plug giving a soft glow by the toilet too.

I close the door and with my right hand brace the back of the toilet, I manoeuvre my dick out of my white Hanes with my left hand and hold it as I begin to piss. I aim for the space between the back water’s edge and the lip of the seat because it makes less noise.

I’ve got pretty good aim.

Just then, slightly above a whisper: “You’ve got pretty good aim.”

I whip my head up to see Rodney leaning against the now open bathroom door. He’s in boxers and he’s so tall that his head is almost touching the top of the door frame as he rests his head against his arm bent over his head.

I blink and he has already closed the door and is standing right next to me. Very naked.

Facing the toilet, Rodney puts his right hand around my shoulders and with his left-hand, manoeuvres his dick from a slit in his boxer shorts. My eyes are at chest level and I’m tucked under his armpit.

Rodney’s dick head pokes through his boxer’s front and his whole cock then flops out, like a snake striking from its’ cave. Rodney holds it as he pisses, aiming for the space between the back water’s edge and the lip of the seat. I’ve got better aim, but his piss shoots out with such force it splatters me and I realize I still have my dick in my hand, and I’m very naked leaning up against him with his arm around me.

I don’t move. I just watch him try not to make noise as he filles the bowl.

Rodney finishes, and with a few final shakes of his dangling cock says: “D’you like it?”

I turn my head and look up at him. Rodney’s face is blue in the moonlight and the soft glow from the night light.

“You gonna do to me what you do to Junior?” Rodney asks, giving me a Junior smirk now.

Without hesitation I grab the top of his boxers and yank them down with me, as I drop to my knees.

Rodney was on an angle to me now so with one knee just over his foot and my other knee around the back of his calf, I wrap myself around his right thick tree-trunk leg, hugging my left arm around his quad and flexing my biceps to squeeze his leg tight, like a child wrapping themself around their father’s leg.

Rodney’s leg was hard, and round and huge.

Rodney’s cock bounces into place just above my nose as it ricochets from the force of it being quickly sucked back through Rodney’s shorts as I pulled them down.

With me bear-hugging his thick quarterback leg, I shove my nose in the furry crevice between his scrotum and inner thigh and take a deep breath in.

Rodney smelled like teenage basketball player.

With a hand tugging on Rodney’s dick, I lick and suck and pull on his balls. They were hairier than Junior’s, and big. They hung low.

Rodney leans back and with one hand reaches over and locks the bathroom door. I let myself get louder sucking back all the spit I was working up on his nut-sack.

The Captain is straddled over Tom Selleck as he fucks her in the pussy, while Skinny has his long dick up her ass. 

Her tits are bouncing as Skinny fucks her ass.

A Spanish Pirate grabs her by the back of her hair and slaps her bouncing tits.

He’s tanned and has dark chest hair that are curly and round.

He spits on her tits and smacks them again.

The Captain moans.

She’s covered in spit and lube and her hair is wet.

Spanish Pirate moves in on the back of the coach, over the fucking threesome.

He bends down and spits in her face again.

He stands up and shoves his dick in her face.

It’s fat and has a large foreskin, that curves into a wrinkly tip.

It’s a bit too high and instead of reaching up for his cock she starts pulling, licking, and massaging his big balls that are in her face.

His cock doubles in size and his hood all but disappears to be replaced by a long, pink head.

He keeps hitting the top of her head with his dick as she slurps his scrotum.

“Yes…” Spanish Pirate moans in his accent, “Dis is de Captain’s balls now, eh mommy.”

The Captain doesn’t stop slurping his nuts as she looks up at him.  

I kept my gaze looking up at Rodney as I licked and pulled on his balls. Half of his face was in shadow, but I could see he was smiling.

Rodney was hard now, and I was licking and slurping the base of his cock, sticking my face between the top of his nut sack and the bottom of his shaft. His cock flopped and bounced against my face and forehead.

Rodney didn’t say anything. He just watched me worship his balls, smiling in the shadow. When he finally meets my gaze, he shakes his head as if to say “wow.”

“What?” I said in between dives… “It’s just how the Captain sucks balls.”

Pushing my head back and bending down closer to my face Rodney whispers, “Oh, you wanna be the Captain, eh?”

The camera angle switches to Spanish Pirate’s POV.

The Captain keeps her eyes up at Spanish Pirate and straight to the camera as she swallows and sucks on Spanish Pirate’s dark, hairy cock.

Spanish Pirate interrupts her and spits in her face.

Cut to The Captain. She opens her mouth wide and he spits again into her mouth.

“Dat’s a good, cock slut,” he muses.

The camera moves to a higher angle. Holding his wet cock, Spanish Pirate slaps it against her face.

The whole time, the Captain’s tits are bouncing beneath her from getting fucked by the other two guys. 

Before I could answer, Rodney takes a big haul and after collecting a big wad of spit on his tongue and spits. It covers most of my face, completely blanketing my eyes… and for a second, I don’t move. My eyes closed under a gob of hork.

Rodney laughs and with one hand wipes most of it from my eyes.

When I finally open my eyes, Rodney shoves his cock in my mouth. I jerk and pull on his fat cock with both hands as I aggressively suck on his big dick. He is long. And thick.

I keep my eyes looking straight up at him. I can feel spit heavy on my left eyelid. I can see Rodney is smiling and I’m sure it’s because I’m arching my back in the same position as Captain is when Spanish Pirate spits in her face. I know he can see my round ass in the air behind me.

I arch more and extend my tongue out like her, as I press my face into him, dropping my jaw so my throat opens up. Junior has been face-fucking me for months now, so I’ve gotten pretty good at deepthroating.

“Yes, you are fucking cock slut,” he says as he holds the back of my head and starts to slowly fuck my mouth.

Rodney gently tilts my head, guiding his dick down my throat and back again. Each time my nose hits his pubic bone, he pauses for a moment and holds me there. I gag and exhale, spittle escaping from the sides of my mouth. Each time I gurgle and keep my head still with my nose against his stomach and my chin at his balls, he squeezes the back of my head in approval as if to say: “Good cock slut for not pulling away.”

Spanish Pirate holds the Captain’s head with his hand as he starts to thrust.

Close up to Spanish Pirate’s tanned fat cock disappearing deeper and deeper in her mouth.

Spanish Pirate holds her head with both of his hands as he thrusts his cock harder and deeper down her throat. Faster and faster.

The Captain just braces herself, as Spanish Pirate fucks her face hard.

All of her holes are being fucked now and under her slurping whines, the pirates are grunting and taking turns spitting on her and spanking her. 

I try not to, but it’s hard not to make gagging noises.

Rodney thrusts his cock down my throat harder and harder until he is thrusting so deep down my throat that I’m retching and may throw up.

But I don’t move. I don’t resist. I brace myself pressing my hands against his hard quads and let him fuck my throat. My saliva splashing and running down my chin.

Spanish Pirate’ moans get louder and louder as he pounds the Captain’s face. 

After sufficiently fucking her throat, Spanish Pirate finally screams: “I’m going to cum!”

Jerking his cock hard, Spanish Pirate unloads all over the Captain’s face, her mouth open.

She wiggles her tongue quickly side to side like a snake, lapping up as much of his cum as she can.

A few thick white streams squirt across her tongue, with some of it landing on her cheeks.

“Yes! Yes!… Swallow it you cum slut,” Spanish Pirate barks.

After a few more hard jerks, he shakes his dick, splashing sprinkles everywhere.

The Captain ravenously licks and sucks his cock, trying to get every last drop, eagerly moaning and licking her fingers.

“That’s a good, cum slut,” Spanish Pirate says, smacking his cock against her tongue and face.

I can’t tell what is louder, Rodney’s stifled grunts as he pounds my face or my heaving gags and attempts to breathe.

After a few more thrusts I feel his cock swell and with both of his hands behind my neck, Rodney holds my head still as he stops thrusting. Rodney presses and holds his pelvis forward into my face, bracing with two hands, keeping his long cock down my throat. His swollen dick spasming.

I gag and try to exhale.

Air barely escapes through the small cracks between his cock shaft and the side of my mouth, and I have to intentionally direct air to go out my nose to breathe. I feel snot shoot out from the effort.

Rodney’s cock pulses and pulses in my throat, shooting loads directly into my stomach.

I try to stay there but after 2 or 3 explosions fill my belly, I can’t breathe and instinctively pull back and gasp for air. His loads continue to explode all over me. Four, five, six…

Most of it covers the side of my face, but I feel his nut-splatter land on my neck, shoulders and my chest.

Sitting back on my knees now, I open my mouth and tilt my head so his cum-bullets shoot to the back of my mouth.

Rodney’s loads fill my mouth so much that I swallow. And then swallow again.

I hold my exposed tongue under the bottom of his head and wiggle it quickly side to side, as his last slugs slide down my throat.

Without a beat, I aggressively suck and lick him, moaning and slurping it all so hungrily, like the Captain. It’s as if I will die if I don’t get every drop. And there is lots for me to lap up.

“That’s a good cum slut,” Rodney says.

With Spanish Pirate finished, the camera moves to focus on Skinny, who is behind her.

With his left hand on her waist, Skinny starts to slap the Captain’s ass over and over again with his free hand as she bounces up and down.

The Captain’s right ass cheek jiggles with each hit and is becoming a purple-red.

The camera cuts to the up close two-shot of Skinny’s cock sliding in and out of the Captain’s ass, and Tom Selleck’s dick filling her pussy.

Skinny moves his left hand from the Captain’s waist to grab the front of her throat.

This forces the Captain to arch her back, head straight up to the ceiling.

“Fuck me,” the Captain begs, “Fuck my holes.”

After I finish lapping up every drop and have sucked his cock clean, Rodney flips the back of the toilet seat down and collapses on it.

With Rodney’s cock still in my left hand and on my knees in between his legs, I spit the excess phlegm I have saved in my mouth into my right hand and wipe it against my hole. I had pretty much tightened back up from when Junior fucked me earlier, but I was quick to soften and was still slippery.

Looking him straight in the eye as I test my hole with a finger I say: “Junior fucks me too.”

I spit again and this time spin around and with my hands braced on the bathtub lip I stick my ass in the air, aiming it right at him. With Rodney sitting on the toilet staring right at it, I spread my hork on my tiny pink hole again and slip a finger in.

I look back over my shoulder.

Staring at my hole, Rodney’s eyes pop wide in shock and disbelief.

Rodney instinctively raises his right hand to my hole and with a few pokes, wiggles his long, fat finger inside too. As his finger disappears into my ass, I let out a soft groan when his knuckle hits the lip of my ass and crack.

I start to fuck myself with my finger. Rodney starts to match my motions with his own finger.

Rodney watches as our two fingers slide back and forth, plunging in and out of my hole. Rodney’s smile is even bigger now, his cock rock hard.

“Fuck my ass,” I say.

Rodney guides his dick to my ass with his left hand and aims the head of his dick to his finger, which is still buried deep in my hole. With a hand on one of my butt cheeks, I sit back down into my hand.

Rodney’s finger guides the head of his cock inside me.

Anticipating its impact, I make sure to press down into my hand and spread my asshole apart when it hits.

Rodney impales my hole. His cock makes it about two-thirds in before I just don’t open up anymore for him. And it burns. I’m way too dry.

My body stiffens and Rodney stops at my sudden tensing.

I motion him to back up and when I have enough room, slide out from under him, heading for the door. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper behind me.

Rodney doesn’t know what to do, hovering over the toilet and crunched over holding his dick in his hand where my hole used to be.

I tip toe back to Junior’s bedroom. Junior doesn’t stir.

I silently take the Vaseline jar from his nightstand and I’m back in the bathroom closing and locking the door again.

Rodney watches me as I take a generous scoop, slap it on his dick and with two hands start to rub it in, pumping the length of his long cock alternating my hands. I’m squeezing hard but the Vaseline is making it easier to slide up and down his fat cock.

I allow one of my slimy hands to rub my hole. Turning my back to him again, I start sliding fingers into my ass.

Rodney guides his cock to my hole again. This time when it lands and I press into it, his cock slides into me deep. It feels like he just pushed it all of the way and made my cock tunnel walls bigger.

“Fuuuck,” Rodney moans.

I exhale and slowly start to relax my body. Sitting back into his dick, I arch my back and spread my ass with my hands more.

My ass cheeks hit Rodney’s pelvis and he’s all the way in. I squeeze and feel the length of his shaft inside me. Releasing it all and pressing into him, I start to move back and forth.

Rodney has his left hand on my waist and his right hand on my round ass-cheek. After a few bounces, I can feel him stiffen.

“You are a fucking faggot,” he says.

After a few bounces I look over my shoulder and smack my own ass, “That’s Captain Faggot,” I say.

With one hand on the bathroom wall, and one foot on bathtub, I’m jumping up and down on him. I angle myself in such a way that his cock finds its way deep into my hole, balls deep.

Thankful for the inspiration, Rodney smacks my ass hard, but I don’t miss a beat. This isn’t even as far as a demi-plie. My legs are strong; my glutes are swollen.

Rodney smacks my ass again, but not as hard as the last time. It was too loud and I think it stung him as much as it stung me. To me, the stinging pain was a rush.

With every full sit on his dick down to his stomach, he smacks me again as he realizes with every hit my glutes flex and squeezed my hole tighter.

Smack, Squeeze … Smack, Squeeze… Smack, Squeeze… Smack-Smack-Smack, Squeeeeeze…

My hole tightens with each hit, grabbing the base of his cock.

“Fuck, it’s like you’re jerking my cock with your… Captain faggot ass hole.”

My legs are starting to burn but I don’t want to stop. I can feel him swell.

Rodney finally moves to get up and bends me over the bathtub edge. I put two hands on the edge and my left foot inside the bathtub, keeping my right foot on the tile bathroom floor. Rodney steps his left foot into the bathtub, his right foot out like mine and we’re both straddling the bathtub lip. He starts pumping me.

I lift my left leg up and press my foot against the longest tiled bathtub wall, with one arm pressing against the other wall for balance. We’re almost in the bathtub now. My legs are only slightly bent, and every muscle is flexed, as I’m bent over and sticking my ass up.

The palms of Rodney’s big hands are just below the top of my buttocks and his fingers are wrapped around the bottom of my pelvis, brushing against the top of my pubic hair tuft.

Rodney grunts with every thrust and I’m tying to keep myself still and take every push, wish I can pretty much do with how well I’ve braced myself.

Rodney starts to pump me harder, eventually hitting my clit, or g-spot, or whatever that is.

Each hit sends spasms over my body, almost knocking me off balance. After the third convulsion, he seemed to notice and stops pumping for a second… and my body keeps convulsing between his hands…

“Ugh…. Ugh…. Ugh…” I groan, as I orgasm internally for the first time.

Rodney just holds still while my body uncontrollably spasms and I try not to moan too loudly.

Even though I’m sweating, he holds me firm as the orgasm waves die down and my heavy breathing eases, and I slowly regain control of my body.

“I think you made me cum inside,” I finally say. “It’s like you were hitting my orgasm wall.”

With a laugh Rodney starts pumping me again. “Happy to oblige, Captain Faggot.”

His thrusts are slow at first, then grows to a steady rhythm again.

After a few volleys, I feel my insides just open up and my inner walls loosen.

Rodney feels it too and bends over me to plunge himself deeper, placing his left hand high on the wall and wrapping his long blonde-haired right arm around my body to hold me steady.

He pumps me harder and harder as he hugs my body against his, my round ass rubbing against his stomach.

“Oh yeah…” Rodney growls as he shoots his load inside me. I’m so loose inside I don’t feel his cock spasm at all, but he is obviously cumming. He squeezes my hips hard and hunches over me, as he pounds his nut deep inside me.

After he finishes filling my ass, Rodney pulls his dick out and steps out of the tub. I stand up too and follow him out of the tub. I turn around to face him.

For a moment we don’t say anything but catch our breathes and let our sweaty bodies cool down.

“Have fun camping,” I finally say, looking up at him.

Rodney smiles and bends down to retrieve his boxers. He pulls them on and stands ready at the bathroom door.

After I get my underwear on, Rodney opens the door a crack to see if anyone is there. He gives me one final look back and winks.

Rodney opens the door, jumps to other side, and shuts the door again. He’s gone back to sleep with the guys in the basement.

I slip my hand down my crack and feel how wet it is. His cum is everywhere. I easily slide two fingers in and finger fuck his load deeper.

I pull my fingers out and smell them, then lick my cummy fingers. My cock is rock hard, and I need to cum.

I shift over to face the toilet and with my right fingers deep in my ass, I jerk my cock with my left hand.  

I re-live every moment of what just happened with Rodney in my head. Sucking Rodney’s balls. Throating Rodney’s cock. Getting fucked by Rodney in the tub. Smelling Rodney. Tasting Rodney…

It doesn’t take long for me to shoot my load into the toilet. I hit the space between the top of the water and the bottom of the toilet bowl lip.

I’ve got pretty good aim.

---

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

---

The knock came again. Louder. More insistent.

Vincent’s smirk dissolved into a thin line. He muttered a curse and stood, the mattress creaking beneath him.

“Stay,” he whispered sharply to Tristan.

The boy lay sprawled on the bed, chest bare, tank twisted up around his ribs, briefs soaked and clinging to him. His lips were parted, eyes glassy, body trembling with every shallow breath. He didn’t move, didn’t answer.

Another knock. Then a voice.

“Hello??”

Vincent froze mid-step. He didn’t recognize it.

He adjusted his tank hastily, tugging it down over his stomach before cracking the door.

On the porch stood a man in his late twenties. Clean-shaven, neatly dressed, posture straight. His polite expression was taut with worry.

“Sorry to bother you,” the man said. “I’m Jonah. I’m with Saint Luke’s. One of the youth leaders.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “We’re looking for Tristan. He was assigned this neighborhood for collections tonight. Some of us saw him come up to your door a while ago, but he hasn’t checked in.”

Vincent’s jaw tightened. His voice came smooth, practiced.

“Haven’t seen him.”

Jonah blinked. “Really? I could’ve sworn—” He gestured toward the sidewalk. “I watched him walk up here.”

Vincent chuckled—low, dismissive. “Nope. Sorry. Must’ve been mistaken. Maybe he hit the wrong house?”

Jonah studied him a second longer. His smile was polite, but his eyes carried suspicion. “Well… alright. If we can’t find him, I may stop back by later. Possibly with the authorities. Just to be sure.”

Vincent inclined his head. “You do that.”

Jonah gave a curt nod and walked away, his shoes echoing faintly on the pavement.

Vincent shut the door. Firmly.

For a moment, silence. Then his composure cracked. He cursed under his breath, running a hand down his face. His cock still ached. The boy was right there—open, ready, perfect—and now this. Jonah. A fucking church man sniffing around his door.

Vincent turned back down the hallway, his frustration burning hotter with every step.

Tristan was still on the bed, limp and dazed, briefs soaked darker now at the tip. His arms had fallen to his sides. His chest rose and fell, his nipples still flushed from Vincent’s mouth.

Vincent grabbed his polo and khakis in one hand, yanked Tristan upright with the other. The boy gasped softly, unsteady on his feet.

“W-what’s—” he murmured faintly.

“No time,” Vincent snapped. His voice was low but sharp, urgent. He tugged the white tank back down over Tristan’s chest, smoothing it against his trembling torso before shoving the rest of his clothes into his arms.

Tristan swayed, blinking in confusion, bare legs pale and trembling under the lamplight.

Vincent cursed again, guiding him roughly toward the door. “Go. Now. Out.”

The door opened. Humid night air rushed in.

And before Tristan could speak, before he could even gather himself, Vincent shoved him outside.

The door closed behind him with a heavy thud.

Tristan stumbled on the porch, barefoot, clothes clutched to his chest. His legs were bare. His briefs clung wet and obvious beneath the thin tank, fabric plastered to the curve of his cock. He blinked slowly into the dark, taking one dazed step after another down the cracked walkway.

The night pressed in around him. Cicadas hummed. His wet briefs cooled in the air.

It took him three steps—four—before his daze cracked.

He looked down.

Tank. White briefs. Wet. Clinging to him. Nothing else. His bare thighs gleamed under the porch light. The bundle of his own clothes hung useless in his arms.

His chest lurched.

“Oh my God…” he whispered.

Panic surged sharp through his veins. He clutched the clothes tighter, stumbling faster down the street, praying no one would see.

But every step made the wet fabric cling tighter, every movement reminding him of what Vincent had left unfinished.

And he couldn’t decide what terrified him more—being seen like this, or the fact that part of him already wanted to go back.

The night air clung to Tristan’s skin, sticky and cool all at once. Each step on the cracked pavement felt unsteady, as though the ground itself tilted beneath his bare feet. His bundle of clothes pressed against his chest like a shield, but it did nothing to hide the fact that he was walking through the neighborhood in nothing but a white tank and wet briefs.

Every sound made him jolt. A distant dog barked. A car door slammed two streets away. He hugged the bundle tighter and lowered his head, praying no one would peek out of their windows.

He didn’t understand what had happened—not really. His body still burned, humming in places he’d never noticed before. His chest ached where Vincent’s mouth had been, his nipples still stiff and sensitive against the fabric. Worse, the damp cling between his legs made every step a reminder. His cock was soft now, but the briefs stuck to him, pulling tight with each movement, shame and sensation blended together.

He swallowed hard. “Just get home,” he whispered to himself.

Halfway down Willow Creek Lane, he spotted his home. A beautiful two story white and dark blue house with flowers on each side of the porch. Without thinking, he darted to it.

He stepped inside, breathing hard. Wincing at the soft creak of the hinges.

His hair stuck to his forehead, his face hot with sweat and shame. He glanced up and down the house. It was quiet. His parents were not home. Relief flooded him. He was safe. 

He crept upstairs, barefeet silent on the carpet. In his room, he finally let out a shaky breath and pulled out his phone from his pants pocket. The screen lit up with Jonah’s name.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

We lost track of you. I saw you go up to that man’s place.

Tristan’s heart jumped. His fingers trembled as he typed a reply.

I’m okay. Sorry. I didn’t feel well and went home early.

He stared at the screen, then added quickly: Didn’t mean to worry anyone.

He set the phone down on his desk, screen still glowing, and stripped out of his clothes in silence. The polo clung damply as he pulled it off, his khakis still warm from his body heat. The briefs came last—wet, embarrassing, proof of what Vincent had done to him. He balled them quickly and shoved them to the bottom of his hamper.

The shower came next. Steam filled the small bathroom, but the hot water couldn’t wash away the memory. His skin tingled where Vincent’s hands had been, his chest flushed when he caught sight of his stiff nipples in the mirror. He scrubbed hard, as though he could erase the sensation.

But he couldn’t.

By the time he pulled on his pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt, he was trembling again—but from exhaustion now. He collapsed into bed, the sheets cool against his flushed skin.

In the dark, he pressed his face into his pillow and shut his eyes. The world spun, soft and dizzy. He replayed it in flashes: Vincent’s voice in his ear, the kiss against his chest, the way his body had betrayed him with wet briefs and soft moans.

Tristan swallowed hard, turning onto his side.

He was terrified.

But part of him had never felt more alive.

Sleep claimed him slowly—uneven, restless, haunted by the touch of hands that still lingered in his memory.

And when he finally drifted off, he was still reeling.

Still aching.

Still denied.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, slicing pale stripes across Tristan’s bedroom. His eyes opened slowly, the weight of restless sleep still clinging to him. For a moment, he lay still, listening to the distant hum of the air conditioner, the faint sounds of his parents moving around downstairs.

Nothing unusual. Just another Saturday morning.

Except… it wasn’t.

His body felt different. His chest still tingled faintly, his nipples brushing against the fabric of his shirt with every small shift. His legs ached, not from strain, but from tension he’d never held before. And lower—he winced at the memory, heat creeping up his neck. The briefs shoved deep in the bottom of his hamper whispered like a secret. He still felt a pressure in his groin that he could not get rid of.

Tristan sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His parents hadn’t knocked, hadn’t asked questions. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed he’d come in late. Relief washed over him, though it was tangled with shame.

He dressed quickly—loose shorts, a faded t-shirt. Socks, sneakers. He tugged his silver cross chain out of habit, then tucked it beneath the collar of his shirt where no one could see. It pressed cool against his chest, a reminder he wasn’t sure if he wanted or not.

“Going for a walk,” he called quietly as he slipped down the stairs. His mother, busy in the kitchen, just waved without turning. His father grunted from behind a newspaper.

Outside, the morning air was already warm, the sun heavy on the pavement. Tristan started down the familiar neighborhood street, hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched.

At first, he just walked. Past trimmed hedges. Past kids on bikes wobbling down the cul-de-sac. Past a barking dog behind a fence. His sneakers thudded softly against the sidewalk, grounding him.

But the further he went, the more the silence filled with memory.

Vincent’s voice.

You don’t even know what you’re hiding, do you?

The press of rough fingers against his chest.

The way his own body had reacted.

Tristan squeezed his eyes shut as he walked. His stomach twisted.

What had happened in that house? He tried to replay it in order, but the edges blurred. He remembered drinking the water, the warmth spreading through him. He remembered lying down, Vincent’s hands guiding him. He remembered feeling things—strange, good, wrong—his body arching without his permission.

And then… the knock. Jonah’s voice. The panic in Vincent’s face. The door slamming behind him as he was shoved out half-naked into the night.

Tristan’s cheeks burned hot. He tugged at his shirt like it could erase the memory.

How close had Jonah come to seeing him like that? What if anyone else had looked out their window? The thought made him nauseous.

Yet underneath the fear, another feeling gnawed at him.

Need.

He swallowed hard, walking faster now, sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk. His body remembered Vincent’s hands, Vincent’s mouth, the worship whispered against his chest. The way his cock had swelled inside his briefs, straining and leaking until he thought he would burst—only to be left aching, unfinished.

He hated that he remembered. Hated that part of him wanted it back.

At the end of the block, Tristan stopped. He looked around—quiet houses, sunlight through the trees, the ordinary hum of a weekend morning. It should’ve calmed him.

Instead, he muttered under his breath, voice breaking:

“What’s happening?”

The cross against his chest felt heavier than ever.

A few days had passed. The sun hung lower now, glinting through the trees as Tristan walked the narrow sidewalk near the edge of town. He wore a plain gray t-shirt and loose shorts, socks tucked into his sneakers, his silver cross resting cool against his chest beneath the fabric. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets, head down, replaying last night in flashes he didn’t want but couldn’t escape.

Vincent’s voice. His hands. The burn in Tristan’s chest when he’d been shoved out into the night.

He swallowed hard and quickened his pace.

That was when he noticed the man.

Sitting on a bench near the old creek trail. Mid-40s maybe, tan skin, salt beginning to pepper his dark hair. His shirt was half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, work boots planted wide in the dust. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily in the warm evening air.

Tristan meant to pass him without looking, but the man’s eyes tracked him immediately. Direct. Heavy.

“You look lost,” the stranger said, voice low and smooth.

Tristan blinked, startled. “I—no, I’m just walking.”

The man smirked. “Walking like you’re trying to outrun something.” He tapped ash to the dirt, then nodded to the bench. “Sit. Take a breath. Won’t kill you.”

Tristan hesitated. His pulse skipped. But his legs moved anyway, and before he realized it, he was lowering himself to the far end of the bench, leaving a polite space between them.

The man chuckled softly. “Good boy.”

Tristan stiffened. His hands clutched his knees, his sneakers tapping nervously against the ground.

They sat in silence for a while, the cicadas buzzing in the trees. Then the man leaned closer, resting his elbow on the back of the bench, his knee brushing Tristan’s.

“You got that look,” he murmured. “Like you’re not sure if you want someone to stop you… or keep going.”

Tristan’s throat worked. “I don’t—know what you mean.”

The man smiled, slow and knowing. His hand slid over, warm and heavy, landing on Tristan’s shoulder. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t move away. He just stayed there, the weight undeniable.

Tristan’s breath hitched. He should’ve pulled back. He didn’t.

“Come on,” the man said quietly, standing. He nodded toward the tree line, where a faint dirt path cut down toward the creek. “Little more private down there. No one to bother us.”

Tristan’s chest tightened. Every instinct told him to run, but his legs obeyed the stranger instead. He stood, following a few paces behind, sneakers crunching in the dust.

They reached a shaded spot near the water, where brush and tall reeds grew thick. The stranger stopped, turned, and looked him over.

“You nervous?” he asked.

Tristan’s cheeks flushed. “I—I don’t know.”

The man stepped closer. His hand rose again, tracing down Tristan’s arm, then catching his wrist. He lifted it gently, pressing Tristan’s palm against his own chest, just above his open shirt.

“Feel that?” the man asked. His heartbeat thudded steady beneath Tristan’s fingers.

Tristan swallowed hard. “Yes.”

The man’s lips curled. “Good.” He guided Tristan’s hand lower, just to the top of his stomach, before letting go. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t feel it too. That ache. Here.”

His own hand slid briefly across Tristan’s abdomen, over the gray t-shirt, lingering just above his shorts’ waistband. Not pushing—just hovering.

Tristan’s groin stirred faintly. That familiar pressure returned, soft but present. He shifted on his feet, but the man caught it instantly.

“There it is,” the stranger whispered. “Don’t lie to yourself, boy. Your body’s already telling me yes.”

Tristan’s breath came shallow now. He shook his head weakly. “I—I shouldn’t—”

“But you are,” the man interrupted, his hand gliding down to Tristan’s thigh. He pressed lightly, just above the knee, then higher. “You came with me, didn’t you?”

Tristan froze, his chest rising fast.

The man stepped closer, the scent of smoke and sweat filling Tristan’s head. His thumb rubbed slow circles against Tristan’s thigh through the fabric of his shorts.

“You’re dressed so careful,” he murmured. “Like you don’t want anyone to see. But I see you.” His hand pressed a little firmer, sliding upward just another inch. “I see what you’re hiding.”

Tristan’s cock twitched faintly, a soft ache growing in his groin. He clenched his fists. “Please—”

“Please what?” the man whispered, leaning close to his ear. His breath was hot, direct. “Please stop? Or please don’t?”

Tristan squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The man chuckled, low and dark. He lifted both hands now, cupping Tristan’s face gently between them. “You’re trembling. God, I love that.”

He brushed his thumbs along Tristan’s jaw, then let his hands slide down, over his shoulders, across his chest. The gray t-shirt shifted, the silver cross chain faintly visible beneath the fabric.

“Even wearing a cross,” the man said softly. “Still hungry underneath it.”

Tristan’s chest heaved. The pressure between his legs grew hotter, heavier.

The man’s hands drifted lower, tracing his abs through the shirt, stopping just at the waistband of his shorts. He didn’t pull. Didn’t open. Just lingered there, fingers spread, the promise of more hanging thick in the air.

“I want to take this off,” the man whispered, tugging lightly at the hem of Tristan’s shirt. “And those shorts too. I want to see what you’re hiding under here.”

Tristan shuddered. His eyes opened, glassy and wide.

The man smiled, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze. “Not yet,” he said. “But soon. You’ll let me. I can see it in you.”

His hand pressed firmly against Tristan’s thigh once more, holding him there, making him feel it.

Tristan stood frozen, caught between terror and curiosity, shame and heat. The ache in his groin pulsed faintly, undeniable.

And he realized he wasn’t pulling away.

The man’s hand lingered heavy on Tristan’s thigh, thumb pressing against the fabric of his shorts. His eyes narrowed, watching every twitch, every flicker of confusion on the boy’s face.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured. “That’s good. It means you feel something.”

Tristan swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no words came.

The man’s hand slid higher, palm broad and warm, pressing into the muscle of his inner thigh now. Tristan’s cock stirred faintly, the pressure in his groin undeniable.

The man leaned in close, his breath hot against Tristan’s ear. “Tell me something, boy. You religious?”

Tristan hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Y-yes…”

The man smiled against his skin, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Of course you are. I can tell. The way you sit so proper. The way you’ve kept yourself locked up, waiting. They taught you to be afraid of your own body, didn’t they?”

Tristan’s chest rose sharply. “I… I just want to be good.”

“Oh, you’re good,” the man said, his tone almost reverent. His hand pressed harder against Tristan’s thigh, sliding closer to the heat between his legs. “But being good doesn’t mean being empty. Doesn’t mean starving yourself.”

Tristan’s eyes fluttered shut as the man’s palm cupped him through his shorts, firm and deliberate. His cock twitched again, swelling just enough to make the fabric strain. He gasped, hips jerking faintly into the touch.

“There it is,” the man whispered. “That ache. Your body’s been begging for this, boy.”

He began to knead slowly, squeezing Tristan’s bulge through the soft fabric, dragging his hand up the full length and back down again. Tristan moaned softly, a sound caught halfway in his throat, shame and relief tangled together.

“Good,” the man coaxed. “Let me feel you. That’s it. Don’t fight it.”

His other hand slid around Tristan’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies touched. The man ground against him—slow, deliberate pressure—letting Tristan feel the solid weight of his own cock through his jeans. Their hips brushed, the friction sharp even through layers of clothing.

Tristan whimpered, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Relax,” the man murmured. “Feel what you’re doing to me. You see? Nothing wrong with that. Nothing sinful. Just two bodies that know what they want.”

He rolled his hips again, grinding their bulges together through denim and cotton. Tristan gasped louder, his thighs trembling, the pressure inside him growing with every push.

“Good boy,” the man whispered, nipping at the shell of his ear. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

Tristan moaned softly, muffled, but it escaped.

The man chuckled darkly. His hand left Tristan’s crotch and slid upward, stroking across his stomach, pressing against the soft ridges beneath the t-shirt. His fingers traced the faint outline of abs, teasing upward, until he reached the hem.

He tugged it lightly. Then again.

Tristan’s breath caught.

The man’s voice softened, coaxing. “Lift your arms, boy. Let me see you.”

Tristan hesitated—only a heartbeat. Then slowly, trembling, he obeyed. His arms lifted, shy and unsteady, baring his stomach, his chest, the silver cross glinting faintly against his skin.

The man peeled the shirt upward, inch by inch, until it slipped free. He tossed it aside carelessly and looked at him in the fading light.

And then he smiled.

“God…” he whispered. His hands spread over Tristan’s bare chest, squeezing softly, thumbs brushing the pink peaks of his nipples. “You’re beautiful.”

He leaned in, voice hot, low, and certain.

“They tried to hide this from the world. But now it’s mine to admire.”

The man’s hands roamed Tristan’s bare torso, slow and deliberate, palms spreading across his chest as though memorizing it. His skin was warm, smooth, alive under the stranger’s touch. Tristan trembled, his arms lowering awkwardly, unsure of what to do with them now that his shirt was gone.

“Look at you,” the man murmured, his eyes drinking him in. “Strong chest. Tight stomach. And that chain…” His fingers brushed the silver cross that dangled against Tristan’s skin. He pinched it lightly, tugging it upward until the metal rested just above his collarbone. “Even with God pressed against you, you can’t hide what your body wants.”

Tristan gasped, his lips parting. “I—”

The man silenced him with a slow squeeze of his pec, kneading the full muscle. Then his thumb flicked across one nipple.

Tristan jolted. His back arched involuntarily.

The man froze, then grinned wide. “Well, well… sensitive, aren’t you?” He pinched again, harder this time, and Tristan moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut.

“God, you love that,” the man whispered. “These perfect nipples—so soft, so pink—just waiting for someone to play with them.” He rolled one between his fingers, watching the boy’s entire body react: chest heaving, thighs tensing, lips trembling.

Tristan shook his head weakly, but the sound that came out of him betrayed him. A moan.

The man chuckled low. “Don’t lie to me, boy. Your chest is telling me everything.” He leaned down and flicked his tongue across one nipple, wet and teasing. Tristan gasped, his hips jerking forward.

“That’s it,” the man praised. “You feel that all the way down, don’t you?”

He alternated between the two—fingers pinching one, tongue teasing the other—until Tristan was whimpering softly, his body arching up into every touch. The cross chain slid across his skin with each movement, glinting faintly as though mocking his surrender.

The man’s hand slid lower, over Tristan’s stomach, pressing into the firm ridges of his abs. He kneaded slowly, then lower still—fingers grazing the waistband of his shorts before pressing flat against the bulge straining beneath.

Tristan’s cock twitched violently at the contact. He gasped, his thighs trembling as the man began to knead.

“There it is,” the stranger whispered, stroking and squeezing through the fabric. “God, you’re thick even under these. So full.” He rubbed the head through the cotton, slow circles, smirking when Tristan whimpered. “I love seeing you like this—squirming, aching, leaking into your shorts like a good boy who’s never been touched before.”

He ground his own hips forward, letting Tristan feel the solid press of his arousal through denim, grinding against him with steady pressure. Their bulges pressed together—hot, demanding—fabric against fabric.

Tristan cried out softly, his hands finally grabbing at the man’s arms, not to push him away but to hold onto something, anything, as his body betrayed him.

The man grinned, teeth flashing. His mouth returned to Tristan’s nipples, sucking, flicking, biting gently. His hand never stopped kneading the boy’s cock through his shorts, stroking the length, cupping the weight of his balls.

“Your chest… your cock… everything about you reacts so perfectly,” he whispered hotly against Tristan’s skin. “You were built for this. Built to be worshipped. And I could do this to you all day.”

Tristan’s head tipped back, a broken moan escaping him. The pressure in his groin had returned—hotter, harder, unbearable—his cock throbbing against the stranger’s palm, his body begging for release he didn’t even understand.

The man pulled back just enough to admire him, chest heaving, nipples stiff and red, bulge straining against the damp fabric of his shorts. He grinned, eyes dark and hungry.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “And you don’t even know how far I could take you yet.”

The man’s hand never left Tristan’s crotch. His palm kneaded, rubbed, pressed in slow circles that made the boy twitch helplessly. Beneath the thin fabric of his shorts, Tristan’s cock throbbed against the dark green briefs clinging tight to him, the waistband cutting into his hips. The cotton was damp at the tip already, a patch blooming darker just like the night before.

“Feel that?” the man murmured against his chest, lips brushing over one stiff nipple before kissing it softly. “That pressure building? That’s your body begging to be let go.”

Tristan moaned quietly, his head tipping back, throat exposed. “I—I can’t…”

“You can,” the man corrected, his voice low and firm. His thumb flicked over Tristan’s nipple again, gentle but rough enough to make his chest arch. “Your body already knows what to do. You’ve just never let it happen.”

The stranger’s hips pressed forward, grinding their bulges together through layers of fabric. Tristan whimpered at the contact, thighs trembling as the man rolled against him in a slow rhythm, cock to cock, heat to heat.

“That’s it, boy. Grind back. Don’t hold it in.”

Tristan’s hands clutched at the man’s shoulders, his knuckles pale. His cock strained painfully in his briefs, the tight waistband keeping it pinned upward, head leaking freely now against the damp fabric. Every grind made him gasp, the wetness spreading, the briefs sticking tighter to him.

The man kissed his chest again—gentle, worshipful—before pulling his mouth away just enough to whisper:

“God, you react so beautifully. These nipples—” his fingers pinched lightly, rolling them until Tristan moaned, “—you love when I play with them. Don’t you?”

Tristan shook his head weakly, but his moan betrayed him.

The man chuckled. “Liar. They’re perfect. Sensitive. Just like the rest of you.”

He pinched again, harder this time, while his other hand stroked Tristan’s cock through his shorts—long, deliberate motions from base to tip. The outline of him was obvious now, thick and pulsing.

The man whispered, his lips brushing Tristan’s ear. “I can feel the wet patch through your shorts. That’s how bad you need this.”

Tristan’s hips bucked into his hand, unthinking, desperate. The waistband of his briefs dug into him, trapping his cock in place, making every throb unbearable.

“Easy,” the man coaxed, slowing the strokes just as Tristan’s moans grew louder. “Not yet. You’re not ready to finish. I want you to feel it longer.”

He grinded against him again, firmer now, their cocks straining against each other through denim and cotton, heat building between them. His fingers returned to Tristan’s nipples, rolling them until they stiffened under his touch. He alternated—stroking the chest, grinding, kneading the bulge—keeping Tristan right at the edge, never letting him slip over.

Tristan’s voice broke. “Please—”

The man smiled, lips pressing hot against his collarbone. “Please what, boy? Please stop? Or please don’t?”

Tristan moaned instead of answering, his cock jerking violently in his briefs, the wet spot spreading wider.

“That’s what I thought,” the man said, dragging his hand slowly up and down the length of his clothed shaft. “You don’t want this to stop. You love the way it feels. Every squeeze, every rub… it’s all yours.”

Tristan’s body convulsed softly, his stomach twitching, abs flexing under the stranger’s hand. The cross chain shifted against his chest with every arch, glinting faintly in the dim light.

The man kissed the center of his chest, lips brushing the silver. “Even with this around your neck, your body tells the truth.” His hand cupped Tristan’s cock firmly, grinding the wet fabric against him. “You want this. You need this. And I’m going to keep you here until you can’t take it anymore.”

Tristan whimpered, his cock pulsing wildly, straining in its damp prison. The waistband cut into his hips, his thighs shook, and the pressure in his groin grew unbearable.

Still, the man didn’t let him finish.

He worshipped his chest with lips and hands, pinched his nipples until they peaked harder than ever, ground against him with slow, steady force, and kept his palm pressed to the thick outline of his cock until Tristan’s whole body writhed in denial.

“Such a good boy,” he whispered, breath hot against Tristan’s ear. “Held right on the edge. I could do this to you forever.”

The man’s palm pressed firmly against Tristan’s bulge, stroking him through his shorts with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each squeeze dragged Tristan’s cock against the soaked green briefs, the wet fabric clinging tighter with every pulse. His waistband dug into his hips, trapping him, making every throb sharper, crueler.

Tristan’s chest heaved, nipples stiff beneath the stranger’s fingers as they were rolled and teased. His abs clenched each time the man pinched just enough, pleasure shooting down into his groin like sparks.

“I bet you’re leaking so much,” the man whispered, lips grazing Tristan’s neck. “Your cock’s screaming at me. You feel it, don’t you? The way your body’s begging me to let you go?”

Tristan’s answer came in a strangled moan, his head tipping back, throat bared. His hips bucked into the man’s hand, desperate, unthinking.

The man chuckled darkly. “That’s begging, boy. Every thrust, every twitch. You don’t even have to speak. Your body’s pleading for me.”

He ground their hips together again, slow and steady. Denim crushed against Tristan’s shorts, and Tristan gasped—louder this time, a broken sound that vibrated in his chest.

The man’s hand tightened, stroking him faster, then slowing suddenly, dragging out the torture. Tristan’s cock jerked violently in the briefs, the wet patch spreading wider, soaking through.

“Good boy,” the man praised. “Hold it. Feel how close you are. Teetering. Shaking. Your cock’s ready to explode, but I won’t let it. Not yet.”

Tristan whimpered, his fingers digging into the man’s arms. His thighs trembled, calves tight, every muscle locked in anticipation of release that never came.

The man leaned close, biting the words into his ear. “You love it. The ache. The pressure. You love me keeping you right here—ruined and leaking.”

He lightly pinched Tristan’s nipple again, rolling it between his fingers, watching the boy’s body arch helplessly, his cock twitching wildly.

“Beautiful,” the man whispered. “You’re so sensitive. So desperate. And you don’t even know how to ask for it, do you? That’s why you moan like that. Why your hips won’t stop. That’s your begging, boy. Silent, raw, perfect.”

Tristan’s eyes fluttered shut. His mouth opened, but only a breathless whimper came out. His cock strained harder, trapped in the tightness of his briefs, tip leaking freely, soaking him.

The man stroked again—long, full motions from base to head, squeezing through fabric—then stopped just as Tristan’s hips surged. The boy cried out, a broken, needy sound, his body jerking into empty air.

The man grinned. “That’s it. Squirm for me.”

He ground against him once more, steady, relentless. Tristan moaned louder now, his chest flushed, nipples red and hard, abs twitching under the stranger’s hand. His cock throbbed, wetter than ever, so close it hurt.

And still—the man denied him.

“Not yet,” he whispered again. “I want you ruined for me. Leaking. Aching. Begging with every inch of your body until you can’t take it anymore.”

Tristan’s back arched sharply, his cock twitching so hard it nearly buckled him. His breath came in gasps, hands gripping the man’s shoulders like he’d fall without him.

His whole body was begging now—hips grinding up, chest thrusting forward, voice breaking into desperate moans.

The man kissed his ear, his words hot and final. “Good boy. Stay right there. Edge for me. Be mine.”

Tristan’s cock throbbed violently, trapped in the damp prison of his briefs. The tight waistband pressed cruelly into his hips, holding him in place, making every twitch sharper, harsher. The fabric clung wet to the swollen head, and suddenly—another pulse.

He gasped.

A hot leak spread inside his briefs, soaking through to the shorts above it. He could feel it, slick and insistent, coating the sensitive tip until it burned.

His stomach clenched. His thighs shook.

It didn’t feel good anymore. Not completely. The pressure in his groin was unbearable now—too much, too sharp, like being stretched to the point of pain. His cock strained so hard against the cotton that it ached, each beat of his pulse sending a stab of need through him.

Tristan whimpered, his head rolling back. His chest heaved, nipples still stiff and raw from the man’s hands. His whole body felt hot and desperate, but his cock hurt—pleasure and pain blurred until it terrified him.

He twisted suddenly, pulling back.

The man froze, hands still hovering over his chest. “Boy?” he murmured, voice low but softer now. “You okay?”

Tristan shook his head fast, panic in his eyes. He grabbed at his shirt, snatched it off the ground, and shoved it clumsily over his head. His arms shook as he forced them through the sleeves, chest heaving.

“I—I can’t—”

He didn’t finish. He turned, sneakers pounding against the dirt as he bolted from the shaded creekside path.

“Hey!” the man called after him. Not angry—curious. But Tristan didn’t look back.

He ran.

The humid air clung to him, sweat soaking through his shirt as his body burned with denial. His cock was still hard, throbbing with every step, the wet patch spreading in his briefs. He could feel it squelch against him, a humiliating reminder with every stride.

His heart hammered. His throat ached.

What was that?

What’s wrong with me?

The words tumbled through his head as he sprinted down the cracked sidewalk, clutching his chest. He couldn’t escape the feeling—the burn in his nipples, the ache in his groin, the slick dampness of his briefs sticking to him.

By the time his house came into view, he was gasping, sweat dripping down his temples. He slowed only long enough to slip through the door and up the stairs, praying his parents wouldn’t notice.

In his room, he collapsed onto the edge of his bed, chest heaving, clothes clinging to his skin. His cock still ached, still pulsed angrily, still trapped in its damp, strained prison. 

He undressed and the briefs were sticking to his body. His cock still semi hard. He had that pain and ache in his groin. He took the briefs off and slowly got into the shower. Letting the warm water pour over him. 

Tristan buried his face in his hands, shaking.

He’d never felt anything like it.

And he was terrified—because part of him wanted to feel it again. 

Hope everyone enjoys the second part of Tristan’s story. Feel free to let me know what you think. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. 

---

(This is something of a sequel to “Hi Bi” which was mostly from perspective of bottoming. In this one, I show the other side of my vers desire and express view from the top, so to speak.)

---

Now your sweet ass waits for me
And my erection is the key
To lock us up and to set us free
In our union by degree.

The more we fuck the more we yearn
To fuck some more and so we learn
The bars get stronger of our cage
Yet we’re more free with each new phase

Of our love making, fancy free
That locks us into harmony
And you are mine each time yet more
Than you were the time before.

Now I’m the top who straddles you
And my cock’s eye enjoys the view
Of your boi pussy looming near,
That sweet keyhole of your rear.

But that eye would do more than peek
And through the hole my key does breach
To unlock that sacred spark
At the center of your heart.

But such a key with head and shaft
So ample, suited for the task
Of alpha top in making love
To his darling bottom sub.

So now you feel me pressing in
The key into the lock begins
To glide forward on its path
To open up your heart and ass!

We find it is the perfect fit
And opens up our hearts to bliss!
Now you feel me take control
And as the Top, it is my role

In bed to show you who is boss
To show your manhood is not lost
When I make you mine this way
So with your man you wish to stay.

I thrust within to take that prize
Of a change within your eyes
To a look of certainty
That you are mine in full degree.

If you thought you were mine before,
I see you know it even more.
On and on I glide within
As we travel to that end.

I see that glimmer in your eye
And I hear it in your sigh.
As it proceeds to come out,
I may even hear it in your shouts!

Now that glimmer is a flame,
Burning bright as you call my name.
But we still have a ways to go
Till you really really know.

The heat is building by degree
And the light in love so free.
The pace increases as we go
Caught up in the river’s flow.

Now I am slapping hard and fast
My hips into your gorgeous ass
My cock is driving deep within
With each thrust, your heart to win!

You can’t resist me, nor I you
We pound together to renew
Our loving vow in action true
Toward a certain rendezvous.

The moment now is coming near
When our purpose will be clear
I’m holding onto you so tight
And driving deep to touch the light.

And I feel you want it too
To touch the light that makes us two
Into one, fused in the sun
A cozy couple having fun!

Then that crescendo reaches us
That moment with a special thrust.
My cum fills you. We both know
That deep within our love is sown.

You are mine now. I’m your man.
With lock and key, we have the plan
To lock us up and set us free
Together in sweet unity!

I kiss you now, such kisses sweet
As we both know our love’s complete
And I am yours and you are mine
Together in a plan divine

We are one forever free
Our love secured by lock and key
You’re my sweet prisoner. I am yours.
Yet set free through open doors.

Yet locked up, oh so secure
Bound by love that is so pure
Bound and freed is so much fun.
That lock and key says you’re the one!

Now I’ve taught you oh so well
You, my little infidel
How to heed your master’s call
And come with me to be my thrall.

Now I’ve given you the key
To unlock the mystery
As to whom your heart belongs.
You now sing freely that sweet song!

You know your place as my sweet sub
Bottom to your Top Dom love.
Now you are bound and freed by me
As to your heart, I have the key!

One more thing that I must add
How you’ll need to be fed.
You’ll be practiced well indeed
In the art of giving head.

You’ll look up into my eyes
As you receive your big surprise
At how much pleasure you will know
As in your mouth my cock does go.

I will feel the eager action
Of your oral satisfaction
Sucking, licking, kissing too
My ample wand of love for you!

Now my hips begin to sway
To the motion of our play
I grip your head to take control
My pole so needs to touch your soul.

And my head is delving deep
For that treasure which it seeks.
Into your mouth and down your throat
My cock is gliding like a boat

On a river to the sea
Of the love ‘tween you and me.
There your soul is merged with mine
When I arrive it will be time.

Now I thrust with urgent speed
For our souls both to be freed
To flow together like a seed
Planted in the soil of need!

Or like two seeds that merge as one
in the dear light of the sun.
Suddenly a dream comes true
There is a gush as me meets you.

The rhythm broken, I’ve arrived
The oars relax, now gently plied
In uneven strokes now calm
In sea of love where we are born.

We are born upon that sea
Born as one in love so free.
You taste my creamy salty cum
In your mouth and on your tongue.

I look down into your eyes
As you hear my happy sighs
I’m pumping still a few more times
Though we are truly satisfied.

Now you are mine, my blowjob Queen
And I your King upon this sea
You taste the salt spray of my seed,
My Ocean Queen of love agreed.

But we are Man and Man in this
Though I am alpha in this tryst
And you my beta in receiving
Cock and cum, in love’s sweet greeting!

My cock withdrawn from your mouth,
The deed is done, your pledge of troth
Is made unto your Master Dom
You are my Sub, your love in won!

You rise to kiss me, so divine
To taste my cum in kisses fine
Confirming you belong to me.
You freely are no longer free.

You’re my cock sucking bottom sub
Mastered in both acts of love
By Your Master Alpha Top
Me to whom you gave it up!

Now you’re mine by lock and key
In both ways, your destiny.
I lead, we dance in harmony
To our loving rhapsody.

[You know I like to flip and flop and sometimes tables turn.
In vers love we switch roles in time and never bridges burn.
At first my key into your lock and then your key in mine
In vers love is the way to rock. It gets us every time!]

[Desire for women and for men –
When one wants both where will it end?
Where these fit and what will be,
With open mind and heart we’ll see!]

Introduction to the series

In Montpellier’s sunlit streets, Tanguy, a reserved PhD student, clings to a fortress of routine—black T-shirts and cargo shorts all-year long, a life of logic cycling on his yellow bike across the city. But when Jaxon, a predatory colleague, senses his hidden hunger for public forced exposure, the game begins.

With Marc and Finn, his former friends turned by Jaxon in eager accomplices, they strip Tanguy’s control and clothes, thread by thread, in public challenges from cafés to festivals. Each tear of fabric, each command, pulls Tanguy deeper into a vortex of shame and thrill, his body a check-board for their dominance game, his soul a battleground of desire and dread to be seen.

Get rid of your briefs

The cool, crisp air of a late January morning in Montpellier was a stark contrast to the simmering heat Tanguy felt inside. He stood in the middle of his small apartment in a student residence on Place des Lilas, in the southeastern part of the sunny southern French city. He moved there a few years ago, finally leaving his parents’ house to enter adulthood as a university student and now a young researcher.

His blue eyes traced the lines of his body in the full-length mirror. His face, framed by a thick, reddish-brown beard, held its usual mask of calm control. But underneath the surface, a new current was beginning to run, a delicious, agonizing malfunction deep inside him. His entire life had been a fortress of routine, built brick by brick to keep out the unpredictable. His current PhD work at the MEC research lab was about predictable models and logical choices. 

When he moved from his parents’ house near Annecy to Montpellier, he threw away most of his clothes. His wardrobe was now limited to a handful of four identical black plain crew-neck T-shirts, 11-inch buttoned shorts, and a light black long-sleeve sweater. This was a physical manifestation of discipline entering adulthood, an act of intentional minimalism that was supposed to make his life more controlled. Shedding his clothes was a symbolic and physical choice to strip away layers and unleash his intimate kink. 

Today, he was fully dressed: his only black long-sleeve light black sweater over one of his identical T-shirts, his usual 5-button 11-inch black cargo shorts, and a pair of black no-show socks tucked into his worn sneakers. In a subtle nod to a symmetry of control and exposure, he had started exploring to leave sometimes the first button of his shorts undone, allowing them to sag slightly and reducing the friction against his crotch while cycling. Beneath it all, he wore a single pair of black cheap briefs, consistent with his overall plain uniform.

The phone buzzed, a digital intrusion into his reverie. It was a message from Marc Vasseur, his colleague, the friendly, gregarious one. A simple question. “Lunch today, Tanguy? There’s someone new we want you to meet.”

Tanguy typed a terse “Yes,” the word a lie.

He was anything but free. Though, he was driven by the familiar thrill and dread of exposing himself to the new, the unpredictable. The thought of a new variable being introduced into his carefully controlled equation sent a jolt of anxiety through him.

He thought back how things used to be. The group—Marc, Finn, and him—had a relationship of friendship and camaraderie, albeit not without jokes and banter. Their teasing was playful, a light prodding at the edges of his routine.

They would joke about his “yellow bike guy” persona or his minimalist black wardrobe and all-year-long shorts, but their words lacked a sharp edge. The camaraderie was real, if superficial. It was a comfortable, predictable space. Tanguy knew they saw his reserve, but they respected it, for the most part. They were academics, after all, and they shared a quiet understanding of each other’s eccentricities.

But Jaxon’s arrival had changed everything. Jaxon Garnier was the someone new that Marc wanted to introduce to Tanguy. Jaxon was a former schoolmate of Marc, now joining them for a 6-month research visiting period.

Differently from Marc, Jaxon was a harsher predator, a brand new factor none of them had accounted for. He was a catalyst, a new kind of energy that wasn’t content with the old rules. Where Marc had been a friendly tease, Jaxon was a silent, demanding force.

Since their first meeting that day, he looked at Tanguy with an unsettling intensity that went beyond simple observation. He had sensed Tanguy’s secret desire for public humiliation and shame, and he wasn’t going to let it lie. He was the one who would push them all to the brink, and Tanguy would be the first to fall.

Later, as they sat at a secluded table in a quiet corner at the campus cafeteria, the air buzzing with the low hum of conversation, the banter began. Marc, gregarious and smiling, leaned forward, his elbows on the table. Finn Lemoine, a quiet and observant postdoc fellow a few years older than them, simply listened, his gaze missing nothing. Then was Jaxon, with a wiry build and a mischievous grin, the new predator.

“So, Tanguy,” Marc began, his voice a friendly rumble. “This is Jaxon. He’s new, but he’s already a big fan of our… “camaraderie” about your uniform and over-control. He thinks we’ve been too soft on you. Says you’re still holding on to the last scraps of your old boy life.”

Tanguy felt the blood drain from his face. His heart hammered against his ribs. The world around them, the other students, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of the students crowd, all faded away. He was suddenly alone with them, and their cold, predatory eyes. Jaxon watched him with an unsettling intensity.

“What do you mean?” Tanguy managed to choke out, his voice a dry rasp.

“You’ve been so good, Tanguy,” Jaxon said, his voice a low, teasing hum.

“So compliant. You got rid of your old clothes moving to Montpellier, but you’re still a prisoner of your modesty. I guess you still have your… briefs. And your socks. You know, to keep your feet and your boyhood decent. Be consistent with your choice to be an adult man, get rid of those, too.”

Tanguy wanted to scream. He wanted to say no, to stand up, to walk away and never meet Jaxon again. But the words, the defiance, caught in his throat and resonated in his soul. He felt the cold shock of it, the humiliation, yet the thrill of something unspoken.

It was a command, not a request, leaving Tanguy no room for overthinking. He was being reduced to a variable in their own crude, psychological experiment. Yet, beneath the shame, a different feeling, hot and shameful, began to stir. A faint tingling, a pulse of excitement at the prospect of being forced to do something so brazen, here, in a public space.

“Now?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper hiding a hint of hope.

“Yes, boy. Now,” Jaxon’s voice was firm, a different tone from the usual friendly rumble of Marc or Finn. This was not a request. This was a command. “We give you five minutes. Go to the bathroom and get rid of them. Both. Your briefs and your socks.”

Tanguy stood, his body tense. He felt the weight of their gazes. The table suddenly became a small circle of dominance and submission. Tanguy stood up, then slowly, deliberately, walked toward the restroom. The walk felt like a performance, a deliberate display of a boy about to surrender. Inside the small, vaguely filthy room, he stood before the mirror, his chest heaving.

In his quest for minimalism, he had already gotten rid of every belt, leaving only the buttons to hold his shorts. So, unbuttoning the shorts in that context was a sort of continuation of his pristine choice. 

With a firm move he pushed the shorts down, exposing the briefs entirely in that public mirror. Then, he removed his sneakers, then pulled off the briefs, one leg at a time, his movements slow and agonizingly deliberate. He felt the cool air against his skin, the sudden foreign freedom of his groin, the rush of blood to his cheeks.

He then peeled off his black no-show socks, purposely so small to disappear in his shoes, leaving his calves completely bare and exposed all year round. He stood there, bare from the waist down, the coldness of the filthy floor rising from his bare soles to the groin, feeling the strange, thrilling sensation of being exposed in a public place.

He then put his shorts back on, fumbling with the buttons in the hope of covering up completely, the absence of the briefs making him aware of his manhood between the legs, trying to restore some semblance of his old self. At first, he refastened all the five buttons, then defiantly decided to leave the waist one undone, accepting the challenge of becoming a man.

The sagging made him feel uncomfortable, a visible sign of his ongoing public humiliation, but it was also a sort of relief as it reduced crotch friction and teasing. He then slipped his bare feet back into his worn sneakers, feeling the unusual absence of the comforting layer of socks.

He returned to the table, his shorts buttoned back up but hanging a little bit lower on his hips, his chest heaving. Jaxon held out a hand. “Give them to me, boy.”

Tanguy, his hands shaking, handed over the briefs and socks. He had neatly folded them to try and disguise their nature, making them a compact block of black fabric. Jaxon took them, a smirk on his face, and unfolded them with a flourish, his eyes fixed on Tanguy’s.

“You know what, Tanguy? I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to keep this crap.” His smirk widened. “I want you to throw them away. Right now. Over there.” He pointed across the busy cafeteria to a large trash receptacle near the exit.

“Don’t be discreet. We want to see you do it.”

Tanguy’s blood ran cold. He felt their eyes, their silent judgment, their victory. It was a moment of complete and utter surrender. His public humiliation was total, and yet the thrill was a live wire running through him, a current of electricity he was powerless to control. He walked, a public walk of shame, toward the trash can. With every step, Tanguy felt a hundred eyes on him, though none were. 

That act was part of the initiation to a new process. He threw the briefs and socks into the trash can, a first act of renunciation to the old Tanguy. He was a spectacle. And they, his former friends now turned to his new masters by Jaxon, were his new demanding audience.

He returned to the table. He felt their eyes on him for the rest of the lunch, a palpable weight that made his skin crawl. They spoke of other things, of their research, of the weather, but the command hung in the air between them, a silent contract for a new public game of power.

After a long afternoon of work in the office, Tanguy finally rode his bike home, the saddle a strange, new sensation against his freeballing groin. He felt an acute body self-awareness, the coarse fabric of his shorts brushing against his balls and cock with every pedal stroke. The friction, a constant, low-level caress, made his heart pound. A deep, shameful humiliation, an open wound of his public surrender, was a live thrill running through his body, and it gave him an uncontrolled hard-on. 

That public concealed erection, a shameful monument to their victory, was impossible to ignore. He tried to shift, to hide it, but the shorts, sagging low with the top button undone, offered no cover. He felt the point of his cock press against the loose fabric, threatening to peep out, a risky exposure he was powerless (and unwilling) to prevent. 

The humiliating challenge was a switch in the relationships with his former friends. Tanguy felt to have started becoming a variable in a game he could no longer control. At the end of that day, he was left with only three pairs of briefs and socks.

He was determined to face the future challenges that might take him off those and more. As such, he committed to the challenge and decided not to buy anything, but rather to slowly unravel what he already had. Every single item in his wardrobe, stitch after stitch.

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The First

A Becoming a Slave Short Story

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This new series is a collection of single-chapter short stories, each a snapshot of a different life in slavery. They are set in the same dystopian future as my previous story, Becoming Slave 172, where slavery has been legalised for convicts & volunteers. While you will be able to follow & enjoy this without having read my other works, they are intended to all complement each other. 

It should go without saying that all my stories are works of fantasy. I don’t in any way support or condone non-consensual sexual relationships, unsafe, illegal or extreme sexual practices, or any form of forced slavery or servitude.

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1 JANUARY 2026

In the years to come, future generations would come to see 1 January 2026 as a turning point in world history; but for Benji Frisk, the day that penal slavery was legalised was just another Thursday in the first year of his 3-year prison sentence for burglary.

The move had been exceptionally controversial, but since coming to power in a populist coup, fuelled by the spiralling escalation of global tensions and conspiratorial thinking, the new far-right Government in Britain had leveraged its popular support to wage an uncompromising crackdown on all forms of dissent, delinquency and criminality. Faced with a soaring prisoner population as a result, and keen to implement the most extreme form of deterrence, the idea of the Slavery Act had been born.

The idea’s genius was in its simplicity – prisoners would be sold to the highest bidder to use and own as they saw fit for the duration of their sentence; the buyers got a source of cheap labour, without having to worry about their new workers’ rights or wellbeing; the state no longer had to foot the bill for running massive prisons, and got to pocket the cash generated from the auctions to fund its policies; and most importantly, the slaves got the harsh punishments they clearly deserved, while deterring others from any form of sedition.

Of course, there had been massive protests at first by the woke lefties, banging on about human rights and other such nonsense. But once the ringleaders had started disappearing, snatched off the street by the new secret police, it hadn’t taken long for people to fall in line. The day the bill had passed, the Prime Minister had gleefully announced that alongside the trial enslavement of low-level prisoners, the protesters would make up the bulk of the first tranche of new slaves.

For 25 year old Benji, stuck inside his prison cell for months, news of the new slavery proposals had been sparse and heavily filtered through the lens of the Government propaganda.

For delinquents like him, following the conveyor belt of fate from a broken home into a life of petty crime, slavery was presented as an opportunity to atone for his mistakes and repay his debt to society through usefulness, rather than mind-numbing isolation behind bars.

But his opinion wouldn’t matter – unbeknownst to him, he’d been selected by the Government algorithm to be one of 2,000 low-risk, non-violent prisoners to be enslaved on the first day of slavery.

The morning started like any other, being woken by the guards and ordered to report for roll call, but as the convicts lined up outside their cells for inspection, the prison governor, armed with a clipboard, selected Benji and a handful of others to report to the drill yard. He didn’t recognise the others, they’d all come in pretty recently for sedition or something, whatever that meant.

Once they were gathered in the fenced off outdoor enclosure, the mid-winter sun starting to thaw the chilly concrete floor underfoot, the governor addressed them: “Right, you lucky lads have been selected for the new penal slavery scheme.”

The lads exchanged glances in stunned silence.

“As of this moment, you have been stripped of all civil rights for the rest of your sentence. Strip out of your uniforms and line up against the fence.”

Angry scuffles began to break out. The new slaves’ reluctance clearly didn’t amuse the guards, who stepped forwards, ready to force their compliance if needed.

With a deep sigh, Benji was the only one who began to willingly unzip his orange prison jumpsuit, revealing the body he took great pride in – his skin was pale and smooth, his physique lean and toned, with faint ridges of muscle across his torso. Atop his head, his short, spiked brown hair that refused to lie flat framed his sharp facial features, perfectly matching the piercing gaze of his bright green eyes.

When he was finally down to his tight, white prison-issue briefs, he looked around nervously to see whether he was naked enough. But making eye contact with the prison governor, he was met with an eye roll and a gesture to lose the briefs.

“C’mon dude, why can’t I keep the undies?”

The subtle smile of the governor was instantly replaced with a flash of incredulity, as he as he lurched forwards and backhanded Benji hard across his shocked face before dropping Benji’s underwear in one swift motion.

Stunned into silence and immobility, Benji’s hands subconsciously moved to cover his modest endowment that had been forcibly exposed. He liked to think what he might lack in size was made up for by his certain other talents in the bedroom, and his many girlfriends would hopefully agree.

“What the fuck, dude, you didn’t need to do that…”, Benji countered as he stepped out of the briefs and carefully bent over to retrieve them, treating the guards to the sight of something that more than made up for his uninspiring cock – the two round, hairless globes of his ass, either side of his tight, pink, virgin hole.

Before long, the whole cohort had joined Benji, standing naked as the day they were born, lined up against the compound’s chain fence. Some had needed to be restrained as their uniforms were cut from their bodies; others had reluctantly complied when the guards’ truncheons had come out and threatened to beat them into submission.

Benji stood defeated, the sting of the slap still resonating in his rosy cheeks – there was no point resisting, they couldn’t win. Besides, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad; surely getting to go out and work was better than wasting away behind bars?

Once the group were lined up, thick steel collars were affixed around each of their exposed necks, linked together by short sections of clinking chain, before one of the guards clipped a leash to Benji’s collar, stood at the head of the line, and led the bound team of soon-to-be slaves off in the direction of a nearby transport truck.

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By the time the transport arrived at the newly established National Slave Agency Processing Centre after a 3 hour drive, any solace Benji had found in his release from prison was rapidly wearing off. The new slaves had been stuffed into steel cages in the back of the truck, stacked 3 high on top of each other and barely big enough to shift position when the rigid steel bars began to dig into their naked flesh.

When they arrived, they were made to wait in the truck until each was collected one at a time by a processing officer – and having been the first to be loaded into the truck, Benji was the last to be collected.

When the bars of his cage were finally opened, he waited to be instructed on what to do, but no orders came. Instead, the officer wordlessly reached into the cage, clipped a leash to Benji’s collar and near-enough dragged him out of the cage as if collecting an inanimate object of little interest.

The inside of the centre was bare & sterile, the facilities shiny & new. The processing officer never acknowledged Benji as he dragged him naked through the labyrinth of corridors before finally leading him into a small, cold room, the walls and floors decorated with plain white tiles, unfurnished except for a metal table in the centre, equipped with restraints in each corner that were soon holding Benji immobile on the frigid, polished surface.

When he was finally left alone in silence with his thoughts, Benji took the chance to properly take in his surroundings. He noticed a camera mounted directly above him on the ceiling, and a few more around the room, focusing on the examination table. Whatever was about to happen to him, it would all be recorded in high definition from multiple angles.

It was half an hour later when he heard the door to the room finally open, followed by the sound of heavy booted footsteps entering the room and circling the table, far enough away to remain out of Benji’s view at first.

When the unknown figure eventually stepped forward into Benji’s eye line, he realised this was a different processing officer to the one who had led him here. Tall and well built, the officer sported long brown hair, tied back behind his head in a man bun, and a matching bushy beard. He was wearing a leather waistcoat and chaps combination that left his hairy chest and his bulging underwear on display.

“What the fuck is this place, what are you gonna do to me?”

Benji and the officer would come to know each other intimately during the slave’s stay at the centre. Ignoring Benji’s initial outburst and his ongoing chuntering, the processing officer proceeded to the first item on his agenda – a deeply humiliating physical examination.

Over the course of the next hour, every inch of Benji’s body and every orifice was painstakingly groped, manhandled and photographed, with the boy’s protests disregarded out of hand. At no point did the officer address him or even seem to regard him as a sentient being.

Benji’s only insight into the process came from overhearing the voice note commentary the officer was providing for the video recording.

“Physical evaluation. Slave specimen 345-914-850”

“Healthy physique, but possibly insufficient muscle mass for hard labour, we’ll know more after the fitness test”

“Hair is too long. Recommend a buzzcut during processing”

“No markings. Would be well suited to appropriate slave tattoos or brandings”

The prospect of his body being, to his mind, vandalised prompted another outburst from Benji: “Fuck right off, fuckin’ creep”

As hard as he tried to stifle it, the processing officer couldn’t help breaking out into a grin, before making a point of eyeing the restrained slave up and down before proceeding in even more degrading detail, fondling the slave’s genitals as he continued.

“Penis is below average. Balls small and round. Recommend it be kept in strict chastity for its whole sentence”

“Dude, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you… please, you don’t need to do that…”, Benji pleaded, his tone changed at the prospect of even his bodily freedom being stripped away.

One of the precursors to the Slavery Act in ramping up criminal deterrence had been to impose chastity on prisoners as a punishment for misbehaviour behind bars. Benji had only been unlucky enough to fall foul of the prison authorities once, but his 2 weeks caged had just about driven him insane. It was not long after Benji’s enslavement before the steel cages became standard uniform for all remaining prisoners and parolees.

But the most humiliating point of the exam came towards the end, not helped by the knowledge that it was being recorded for posterity.  After Benji had been flipped over to lie on his front, the officer had roughly inserted his index finger into Benji’s ass, lubed only with spit, before withdrawing it and forcing it into the boy’s mouth to be sucked clean, causing the slave to gag.

“Tight pussy. Probably virgin. Authorised for sexual use, no limitations”

Much as he wanted to, Benji was too stunned to object – he was straight! They couldn’t force him to take it up the ass, what the fuck kind of system were these creeps running?!

But the finger in Benji’s mouth was soon replaced by a mouth spreader gag that confirmed all his worst fears. His plump, pink lips were ratcheted open until his mouth was powerless to resist any invasion, before the processing officer uncovered and idly rubbed his growing 7” shaft from beneath his tight underwear.

“Good teeth. Recommend they be kept for now”

Without any further fanfare, the officer stepped forward and pushed his erect member into the boy’s mouth, much to his wide-eyed horror, thrusting several times until he reached the back of the slave’s throat as it choked and gagged.

“Poor gag reflex. Recommend intensive training programmes for both oral and piss”

As the processing officer tucked his cock back into his uniform and finished making some notes, a single tear rolled down Benji’s cheek – what on earth had he gotten himself into.

When the examination was over with, the still-gagged Benji didn’t have to wait long before the processing officer reappeared with a box of more equipment – first up, his pubes and armpits were lathered in shaving foam and stripped away using a cut-throat razor.

The presence of the blade in such close proximity to his privates was enough deterrence for Benji not to fidget or resist. The round orbs and crack of his backside would get the same treatment later when he was flipped over.

Once the hair was gone, the freshly shaved areas were lathered with another gel, inflicting an intense stinging on the irritated skin. The processing officer never bothered to explain any aspect of the procedures, but Benji would eventually realise the gel had destroyed the hair follicles, preventing his pubes from ever re-growing.

Finally, the officer turned his attention to Benji’s head hair. Manhandling the boy’s head from side to side, the officer sheared away Benji’s light brown locks in big clumps before going back over his head to neaten up the buzzcut.

As the processing officer stood back to admire his handiwork, he began to tidy away his implements and undo Benji’s restraints. The decision on any further changes or modifications would be down to the slave’s new owner. For now, it was time for the slave to be fed and securely stored away overnight.

As Benji was dragged from the examination table, he was roughly pushed to the ground before feeling the officer’s leather boot pressing his head to the floor. When the boot was eventually removed, it was clear Benji was expected to keep the degrading position on his knees, his forehead pressing against the cold tile floor, meanwhile his hands were being cuffed together behind his back.

When he had finally been secured to the processing officer’s satisfaction, he was left alone in the centre of the room while a dog bowl of slave gruel was prepared for it.

Recipes for slave gruel varied and would be refined and perfected over time, but the basic ingredients were stodgy, unflavoured oats, reinforced with protein powder and the necessary minerals and vitamins for the slave’s basic health needs. Some owners would chose to mix in their piss or cum, or include their leftovers, but such flourishes were an unnecessary hassle for the processing centre.

Eating the gloopy gruel from the dog bowl on the floor, without even the use of its cuffed hands, was a frustrating and messy experience, but having not eaten all day, the new slave greedy gulped down the insipid mixture as best as he could before the empty bowl was kicked out from under his gruel-covered nose by the officer’s shiny leather boots.

The slave was ordered to kiss and lick the boots in thanks for its meal, the earthy taste of boot polish providing an almost welcome dash of flavour compared to the bland gruel, before he was finally dragged off by the collar to a bare steel cage sitting in an unlit alcove to the side of the room.

As it was roughly shoved into the cage, encouraged by a swift kick to its exposed rump, the officer finally spoke directly to his new captive:

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ve got a fitness test and a psych exam. If you’re not at your best, you’ve got a short and painful life to look forward to…”

With that, the door to the cramped cage was unceremoniously slammed shut and padlocked before Benji was left shivering in the cold, dark alcove.

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12 HOURS LATER…

Benji stood panting, fighting to regain his breath, as his lithe body glistened with sweat under the bright spotlights. For what felt like forever, the trainer had pushed him to his physical limits of endurance on the treadmill to which his thick steel collar was chained.

He had been awoken after only about 6 hours of restless sleep by the buzz of the blindingly bright lights clicking to life, dazzling his sleepy eyes before he heard the sound of the cell’s thick metal door being unlocked. After being released from the cage, a leash was clipped to his collar and he was wordlessly dragged out of the cell and off down the gloomy corridor, to the seemingly identical cell he was now in, filled with gym equipment.

Benji was happy enough with his athleticism, he’d even competed at county-level in sprinting during his school days, but the unrelenting Hyrox-style fitness test that followed had left his body burning with lactic acid all over, every ounce of his energy sapped by the rapid switches between weights, bursts of energy, and long endurance challenges.

When the session finally concluded with a 5km run on the treadmill, every fibre of his muscles screamed out for him to give up, but every time his pace started to wane, the sharp lick of the trainer’s bullwhip against his exposed back and ass forced him to carry on until he had finally completed the distance and been allowed to stop, crumpling into a heap on the cold tile floor as soon as he was unchained.

Aside from the periodic barrage of degrading insults and the barking of instructions from the trainer, he had been given no feedback on how he had performed, but simply surviving the challenge felt like an achievement.

No sooner had he begun to get his breath back, than the leash was again clipped to his collar, and he was dragged back to his cell on his hands and knees, his aching muscles scrabbling to keep up. But the relief of finally being able to rest, strapped immobile to the metal examination table in his cell like the previous day, was palpable.

When the processing officer finally re-entered the room, Benji was so exhausted that he couldn’t have offered a shred of resistance even if he had wanted to. As the processing officer ran his rough hands over the boy’s bound, sweat-soaked body, he began to speak to the slave.

“You know that you deserve this, don’t you, slave? Delinquent scum like you needs to be punished. You’re here because this is what’s best for you. You deserve to be degraded. You deserve to be humiliated. You burgled those innocent people’s houses. You stole from them. So now, we’re going to steal your future as payback.”

“Just remember, when you feel the crack of the whip against your back, while your new owner’s cum dribbles down your legs from your sloppy hole, you will only have yourself to blame”

As the officer spoke, the restrained Benji tried but failed to stifle a breathy whimper. But it didn’t go unnoticed by Benji or the officer that as he listened to the degrading monologue, his exposed cock had begun to stiffen and then twitch, prompting the officer to swat the boy’s balls as Benji’s cheeks glowed red in embarrassment.

The psychological evaluation that followed was equal parts degrading diatribe and invasive questioning. The officer had probed the slave’s past misdemeanours, his past jobs, his upbringing and family life, his relationships and sexual history – seemingly no topic was off limits, and the defeated Benji offered no resistance.

By the time the processing officer stopped pacing the room and sat down in the corner to finish his notes, the mysterious man knew every detail of the slave’s life, no matter how small or seemingly irrelevant. The summary of the psych exam, alongside the results of the fitness test, physical exam and copious number of degrading photos and videos taken during the processing would form the basis of the slave’s catalogue entry when he reached the auction house the next morning.

The final act before Benji could be unchained and thrown back into the cell’s metal cage for the night was to finally deal with the elephant in the room – the 4.5” of exposed slave cock that had remained stubbornly hard throughout. Benji couldn’t figure out why his body was reacting the way it was – he was straight, and he had never gotten aroused by pain or humiliation before. But maybe it was a sign? Maybe he was meant to be in this situation?

Either way, it wouldn’t be a problem for much longer. After being dispassionately brought to a ruined orgasm by the processing officer’s rough, calloused hands, the boy’s deflating member was soon being stuffed into a nub-sized steel chastity cage, the rigid metal bars adorned with spikes to punish any further arousal. The final finishing touch for the new slave specimen, ready to be sold at auction.

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1 WEEK LATER…

Slave 850 woke the same way it did every morning since being purchased by the Blossom Hills Farming Corporation – by a bucket of stone-cold water being thrown over its naked body, chained up in the stall of the former stable that was now it’s home.

The icy water did at least soothe the glowing red welts across its ass, the result of a harsh caning from its new overseer the previous day for having fainted in the field, the pain of which was exacerbated by the rough anal fuck it’s virgin hole had received afterwards, not to mention the lingering sting from its branding on its left butt cheek, inflicted on its first day at the farm.

Today would be the same as yesterday, and the day before – chained by its collar & cuffs to the yoke of an old-fashioned plough, it would be forced to till the farm fields naked & barefoot. It cursed the exceptional marks it had scored in its fitness tests that had made it stand out amongst the pasty hippie protesters being auctioned off alongside it.

But for the remaining 2 years of its sentence, it would endure. It didn’t have any other choice.

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Next Time: We take a trip to the auctions, as newly enslaved Tom discovers what fate has in store for him…

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

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Burning in Secret

Character Descriptions

Daniel

• Build: Athletic but softer compared to Lucas and Adrian. Slim waist, wide hips, and a round, thick ass that draws eyes every time he bends over.
• Height: 5’11”
• Muscles: Defined abs, lean chest, but it’s his ass that gets worshipped — perfectly shaped, bouncy, and tight as a newborn.
• Cock: Average 8.5″, but thick at the base.
• Hole: Virgin at first — gripping tight, burning, crying out when first entered. Later stretched, puffed, swollen, and red after taking both Lucas and Adrian. Known to milk them dry.
• Energy in bed: Submissive but fiery — begs for more even while crying from the pain.

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 Lucas

• Build: Classic jock — broad shoulders, abs carved like stone, thighs thick from endless training.
• Height: 6’2”
• Muscles: Veins down his arms, chest hair lightly dusted, perfect V-line.
• Cock: Thickest of the group — 9.5″, girthy enough that Daniel always gasps when he pushes in.
• Ass: Muscular bubble butt, firm, tight — but Lucas rarely bottoms. Still, when Adrian pushed into him once, he nearly lost control.
• Energy in bed: Dominant, rough, possessive — pins Daniel against walls, fucks him reckless, doesn’t care who hears.

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Adrian

• Build: Rougher edge — tattoos, muscles bulkier than Lucas, arms thick enough to cage Daniel easily.
• Height: 6’0”
• Muscles: Big chest, tree-trunk thighs, heavy hands that leave bruises when he grips.
• Cock: Longest — 10.5″, uncut, vein running down the side. When Daniel first saw it, he cried that it was too big to fit.
• Ass: Surprisingly fat and soft for his build, round and meaty — and though he’s dominant, Daniel broke him once, claiming him, leaving his hole raw and puffy.
• Energy in bed: Brutal and animalistic — takes control until Daniel flips him, proving he was born to bottom.

---

Emma (Daniel’s Ex-Wife)

• Build: Petite but curvy in all the right spots. Slim waist, wide hips, ass round and bouncy — the kind of body that always made heads turn.
• Height: 5’7”
• Looks: Long dark hair, sharp cheekbones, always dressed to stun even when casual.
• Tits: Perky D-cups, soft and full — Lucas used to glance, Adrian used to imagine, Daniel had once worshipped them.
• Ass: Juicy and firm, but nothing compared to Daniel’s thick, soft roundness. This is why Lucas + Adrian shifted obsession away from her and locked in on Daniel.
• Energy in bed: Demanding, moaning loud, but ultimately couldn’t satisfy Daniel’s hunger for men.

---

Sofia (Emma’s Best Friend)

• Build: Taller than Emma, slender with dancer’s legs, toned thighs, perky butt — tight and athletic, like a model.
• Height: 5’9”
• Looks: Blonde streaks in her hair, playful smirk, eyes that scream trouble.
• Tits: Modest C-cups, but her nipples are always hard and obvious through thin tops.
• Ass: Tight bubble butt, high and firm, not as thick as Emma’s but perkier.
• Energy in bed: Teasing, experimental — the type who’d watch Daniel with Lucas/Adrian and secretly wish she was part of the chaos

---

– Rekindled Fire

The air in Emma’s kitchen felt thick that evening, almost electric. The clatter of dishes and the hum of the refrigerator filled the silence between conversations, but for Daniel, every sound blurred into the background. His eyes kept straying to Lucas—Emma’s younger brother, his brother-in-law, his forbidden desire.

Lucas leaned against the counter, casual as ever, but Daniel knew better. The way his arms flexed when he crossed them over his chest, the way his shirt clung to his torso, revealing just enough of the abs that rippled underneath—it wasn’t casual at all. Lucas knew the effect he had. He always had.

“Pass me the glass?” Emma’s voice snapped Daniel out of his trance.

He blinked, startled, and quickly handed her the wine glass, avoiding her eyes. Emma didn’t notice his slip—why would she? She trusted him. She loved him. That was the problem.

But Lucas noticed. Lucas always noticed.

A sly smirk tugged at the corners of Lucas’s lips as his gaze lingered on Daniel, dragging slowly over his broad shoulders, the lines of his chest beneath the fitted shirt, and lower still. Heat prickled under Daniel’s skin, and he turned sharply, reaching for a dish towel just to keep his hands busy.

Later, when Emma disappeared upstairs to check on something in the bedroom, the silence in the kitchen shifted. It wasn’t silence anymore. It was tension.

“You’ve been staring again,” Lucas murmured, voice low and teasing.

Daniel stiffened. “No, I haven’t.”

Lucas stepped closer, the smell of his cologne sharp and clean. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Daniel swallowed, throat dry. “Lucas, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” Lucas’s words brushed his ear, sending a shiver down Daniel’s spine. “Don’t notice how hard you’re breathing? Don’t point out the way your hands shake when you’re around me? Or don’t say out loud what you’ve been thinking since the first time I caught you looking at me like that?”

Daniel closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “You don’t understand what this is doing to me. To us.”

Lucas’s hand brushed his, just the lightest graze, and Daniel almost dropped the towel. “I understand perfectly. I want you. And you want me.”

The words dug deep into Daniel’s chest. They were true, too true. Every moment he spent near Lucas twisted the knife of guilt deeper, but the ache of desire was sharper still.

He forced himself to step back, creating distance. “Emma’s upstairs,” he hissed.

Lucas’s smirk faltered, just slightly, replaced with something softer, something hungrier. “I know. That’s the only reason you’re fighting me off right now.”

Daniel turned away, gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles whitened. His mind was a battlefield, torn between loyalty to his wife and the fire that Lucas stoked inside him with every word, every glance.

By the time Emma returned, cheerful and oblivious, Daniel had composed himself again. Dinner carried on, laughter filling the house, but beneath the table Daniel could still feel the lingering ghost of Lucas’s touch.

---

The next few days were torture. Every family meal, every casual visit turned into a silent war of glances and unspoken words. Daniel tried to bury himself in work, tried to remind himself of his vows, but at night, when Emma lay sleeping beside him, he couldn’t stop replaying the way Lucas’s eyes had looked—dark, daring, burning.

And Lucas wasn’t making it easy.

One afternoon, Daniel came home to find Lucas fixing a leak under the sink. His shirt was off, sweat glistening down his abs, jeans hanging dangerously low. Daniel froze in the doorway, pulse quickening. Lucas looked up, catching him staring.

“Pipe’s a mess,” Lucas said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, but his grin was wicked. “Want to give me a hand? Or are you just gonna stand there watching?”

Daniel’s breath caught. He should walk away. He should. But his feet betrayed him, carrying him closer until he knelt beside Lucas. Their shoulders brushed as they worked in silence, the contact burning like fire.

At one point Lucas shifted, deliberately pressing his thigh against Daniel’s. Daniel jerked, hitting his head on the cabinet.

“Careful,” Lucas said, his voice dripping with amusement. His hand lingered on Daniel’s back longer than necessary as he helped him steady. “Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”

Daniel shoved the wrench into Lucas’s hand and stood abruptly, desperate to escape before he lost control.

“Thanks,” Lucas called after him, laughter in his voice. “But next time, maybe don’t run away so fast.”

---

That night, Daniel sat alone on the back porch, a glass of whiskey in hand. The stars blinked overhead, but he barely saw them. His thoughts were consumed by Lucas—his body, his smile, the way his touch lingered like a brand.

Emma came out, wrapping her arms around him. “You’ve been quiet lately,” she said softly. “Is everything okay?”

Daniel forced a smile, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Yeah. Just work stress.”

She believed him. She always believed him.

But as Daniel held her, guilt churned in his chest. Because even then, his eyes drifted to the house, to the window where he knew Lucas might be watching, smirking, waiting.

And Daniel hated himself for the truth that burned inside him.

He didn’t want to stop.

He didn’t want to let Lucas go.

 – Close Calls

Daniel’s days had fallen into a rhythm of danger. Every morning started with Emma’s smile and ended with Lucas’s shadow lingering in his thoughts. He told himself he could hold the line—that the tension could be contained. But the problem with temptation was that once you tasted it, it never really left.

And Lucas knew exactly how to push him.

---

It started innocently enough—another family lunch, sunlight streaming through the dining room windows. Emma was chattering about her plans for the garden while Lucas sat across the table, lazy grin on his lips. Daniel tried to focus on his wife’s words, but every time Lucas stretched, every time his shirt rode up to reveal a sliver of toned stomach, Daniel’s pulse quickened.

Halfway through the meal, Emma excused herself to take a phone call. The moment she was out of earshot, Lucas leaned forward, his voice a low murmur.

“You’re staring again.”

Daniel stiffened. His fork clattered against his plate. “Don’t start.”

Lucas’s grin widened. “I don’t have to. You’re doing all the work for me.”

Daniel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. That dangerous spark in Lucas’s eyes held him captive.

“Stop,” Daniel whispered, more plea than command.

Lucas tilted his head, studying him. “Why? You want me to stop, but your body doesn’t. You can’t keep lying forever.”

Before Daniel could answer, Emma’s footsteps echoed back down the hallway. Lucas leaned back, casual again, smirk hidden behind his glass of water. By the time Emma returned, everything looked normal—except for Daniel’s racing heart.

---

The next close call came later that week. Daniel had just finished showering, towel slung low around his hips, when he stepped into the hallway—and nearly collided with Lucas.

“Sorry,” Daniel muttered, but Lucas didn’t move. His gaze slid over Daniel’s wet chest, his sculpted abs, the trail of water dripping down to the towel’s edge.

“You’re going to kill me, walking around like that,” Lucas murmured.

Daniel’s breath hitched. “Emma’s downstairs.”

“And?” Lucas stepped closer, close enough that the heat from his body brushed against Daniel’s damp skin. “You think she’s going to come up here right now?”

Daniel’s back hit the wall. Lucas’s hand braced beside his head, trapping him.

“You drive me crazy,” Lucas whispered. His fingers ghosted over Daniel’s arm, down his side, pausing at the curve of his hip just above the towel. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

Daniel’s grip tightened on the towel, every nerve on fire. He wanted this—God, he wanted it—but the fear of Emma catching them froze him in place.

“Lucas…” His voice cracked. “We can’t.”

Lucas leaned in, lips so close Daniel could taste his breath. “You keep saying that,” he whispered, “but one of these days, you’re not going to mean it.”

Then he pulled away, leaving Daniel trembling against the wall, fighting to steady his breathing before Emma noticed anything.

---

But the most dangerous moment came one evening when Emma hosted a small gathering with friends. The house buzzed with laughter and music, glasses clinking in the living room. Daniel tried to play the good husband, chatting politely, smiling at the right times. But from across the room, Lucas’s eyes never left him.

When Daniel slipped away to the kitchen to refill drinks, Lucas followed.

“Don’t,” Daniel hissed the moment they were alone.

“Relax,” Lucas said smoothly, stepping closer until their bodies brushed. “They’re all distracted.”

Daniel’s pulse pounded in his ears. “You’re going to get us caught.”

“That’s half the thrill.” Lucas’s hand brushed Daniel’s lower back, fingers tracing lightly over his muscles.

Daniel bit back a groan. His body betrayed him, leaning into the touch even as his mind screamed at him to resist.

And then—footsteps.

Emma’s voice rang out from the hall. “Daniel? You in here?”

Daniel shoved Lucas back, heart racing. He quickly grabbed the drinks and turned just as Emma entered, her smile warm and unsuspecting. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said too quickly, forcing a smile. “Just grabbing these.”

Emma nodded, taking one of the glasses from his hand. Behind her, Lucas smirked, hidden from view.

Daniel wanted to scream.

---

That night, after the guests left and Emma fell asleep, Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He felt trapped in a storm of his own making—guilt clawing at him, desire gnawing deeper with every stolen touch.

He looked at Emma’s peaceful face, guilt twisting in his chest. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved a husband who was fully hers, who didn’t wake in the middle of the night haunted by the image of another man’s body.

But when Daniel closed his eyes, it wasn’t Emma he saw. It was Lucas. Always Lucas.

And Daniel knew it was only a matter of time before the line they were dancing on snapped completely.

– Against the Wall

The house was too quiet.

Emma had gone upstairs to take a long bath after dinner, humming to herself as she carried her robe past the kitchen. Daniel had watched her disappear with a smile plastered on his face, his insides twisted into knots. He’d done this act so many times he’d started to forget which parts of it were real.

Now he stood in the kitchen, trying to distract himself with dishes, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing as he scrubbed at a stubborn pan. His heart should have been steady—his wife was home, safe, happy. But all he could think about was the weight of someone else’s stare.

Lucas leaned lazily against the counter, beer in hand, eyes fixed on Daniel.

“You’re awfully tense for a man washing dishes,” Lucas said casually, but his voice was thick with something heavier, darker.

Daniel froze, jaw tightening. “Go sit in the living room.”

“I like it better here.” Lucas smirked, tilting the bottle to his lips. His gaze lingered on the line of Daniel’s shoulders, the way his shirt clung to the sculpted muscles beneath. “Besides, it’s not the dishes I’m watching.”

Daniel set the pan down too hard, the clang echoing in the kitchen. He spun to face Lucas, voice low and desperate. “Stop it. Not here. Not now.”

Lucas pushed off the counter and stepped closer. “Why not? She’s upstairs. The water’s running. You think she’s going to come down here in the next ten minutes?”

“Lucas—”

“Don’t act like you don’t want this.” Lucas’s voice dropped to a growl, his hand brushing Daniel’s hip. “You’ve been shaking every time I get near you. You’re mine, Daniel. You’ve always been mine—you’re just too scared to admit it.”

Daniel’s breath hitched. His back pressed against the cabinet, trapped. His hands twitched at his sides, torn between pushing Lucas away and pulling him closer.

“I can’t—”

“You already did.” Lucas’s lips crashed against his, and Daniel broke.

The kiss was fire, brutal and hungry. Dishes clattered as Daniel’s hands shot up to clutch at Lucas’s shirt, dragging him closer. Lucas’s tongue pressed into his mouth, claiming, demanding, and Daniel gave in, moaning into the kiss as weeks of restraint shattered in an instant.

Lucas spun him, shoving him against the wall. Daniel gasped as the cool tile pressed into his back, his towel slipping dangerously low on his hips. Lucas’s hands roamed greedily, squeezing his chest, sliding down his abs, gripping his thick ass.

“Fuck,” Lucas groaned into his ear, biting the lobe. “Baby, you’re so tight—like a newborn baby. I’ve dreamed of this.”

Daniel’s knees buckled. “Lucas, we—Emma—”

Lucas’s mouth silenced him again, tongue pushing deeper, rough and reckless. Daniel whimpered against him, his body trembling with every touch. His cock strained against his pants, aching for release, and Lucas felt it, grinding hard against him.

“God, you’re perfect,” Lucas growled, sliding his hand between them. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

Daniel’s hands clawed at Lucas’s shoulders. “We can’t do this here—she’s—”

“She’s upstairs,” Lucas cut him off, lips brushing Daniel’s throat. “And you’re right here. With me.”

He tugged at Daniel’s pants, yanking them down just enough to expose him. Daniel hissed, the rush of cold air on his skin only heightening the heat pooling in his stomach.

Lucas pressed forward, pinning him tighter against the wall, their bodies locked together. Daniel’s cries came muffled against Lucas’s mouth as he was taken—fast, rough, every thrust echoing with danger. His abs tightened, sweat beading at his temple as he clung to Lucas desperately.

“Fuck me like it’s the last night in this world,” Daniel gasped, voice cracking, tears of lust in his eyes.

Lucas froze, groaning at the words. “Say it again.”

“Please,” Daniel begged, clinging to him. “Please, Lucas—I want you to fuck me like it’s the last night in this world.”

Lucas slammed into him harder, teeth sinking into Daniel’s shoulder to keep from shouting. Daniel’s head fell back against the wall, mouth open in a soundless cry as his ass clenched tight around Lucas.

“God—you’re so fucking tight—” Lucas groaned, holding him up as Daniel’s legs threatened to give out.

Daniel sobbed softly, overcome. Every thrust sent sparks down his spine, guilt and ecstasy blending until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. His whole body shook as Lucas fucked him reckless, hard, dangerous—every second a gamble, every sound a risk of being caught.

And that danger only made it hotter.

---

Upstairs, water still ran in the tub. Emma hummed faintly, oblivious.

Downstairs, Daniel’s world was unraveling.

His climax tore through him suddenly, violently, his nails raking down Lucas’s back as he cried out, muffled against Lucas’s lips. Lucas followed moments later, buried deep inside him, shuddering with a guttural moan.

For a long moment, the kitchen was filled only with their ragged breathing, the sound of water running faintly overhead.

Then reality crashed back.

Daniel shoved Lucas back, chest heaving. “This—this can’t happen again.”

Lucas smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. “It already did.”

Daniel’s legs trembled, his body aching with the aftershock. He grabbed for his pants, shame rising fast as the sound of Emma moving upstairs reached his ears.

But no matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew one truth:

He’d never be able to stop now.

– The Hotel Room

Daniel couldn’t breathe inside the house anymore. Every glance from Emma, every simple conversation, was like a knife pressing into his chest. He’d never been a liar by nature—but now, every word out of his mouth was half-truth at best, deceit at worst.

And Lucas was the reason.

That kiss in the kitchen had wrecked him. That reckless moment against the wall had pulled something from deep inside him—something raw, forbidden, and unstoppable. He could still feel Lucas inside him when he closed his eyes at night, still hear his voice in his ear whispering, Baby, you’re so tight…

It should have been a one-time mistake. Instead, Daniel found himself parked outside a downtown hotel the very next night, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. He’d told Emma he had late paperwork at the office. She’d kissed his cheek and wished him luck.

Now he was sitting in the dark, heart pounding, waiting.

The passenger door opened. Lucas slid in, dressed in a fitted black shirt that clung to his lean frame, jeans hugging his hips. His eyes burned with that same fire, the same reckless pull Daniel had no defense against.

“You came,” Lucas said simply.

Daniel swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Lucas’s hand slid to Daniel’s thigh, firm and possessive. “You did.”

---

The hotel room was dimly lit, the city glow bleeding in through half-drawn curtains. The silence inside was heavier than the night outside. Daniel stood near the bed, nerves stretched thin, his broad chest rising and falling as he stared at Lucas.

Lucas locked the door, then leaned back against it, eyes dragging over Daniel like he was memorizing every line of him.

“You’re even more beautiful when you’re guilty,” Lucas said, voice low.

“Don’t,” Daniel muttered, but there was no conviction behind it. His abs flexed as he clenched his fists, trying to steady himself.

Lucas pushed off the door and crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until he was standing toe-to-toe with him. “You want me.”

Daniel’s jaw worked, breath shaky. “I can’t—”

Lucas silenced him with a kiss—not brutal this time, but slow, coaxing, sweet in its danger. Daniel groaned into it, hands shaking as he finally let go, clutching at Lucas’s waist and dragging him closer.

The kiss deepened, tongues sliding together, heat pooling fast between them. Lucas’s hands explored him shamelessly, running down his arms, his chest, squeezing his tight abs like he owned them.

“God, Daniel,” Lucas whispered against his lips. “I want to take my time with you tonight.”

Daniel shivered, his thick body trembling under the touch. He felt both powerful and helpless—towering over Lucas in muscle, yet undone by his hands.

Lucas pushed him gently back until Daniel’s legs hit the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat, staring up at Lucas with wide, storm-tossed eyes.

“Lay back,” Lucas ordered softly.

And Daniel did.

---

Clothes came off slowly this time, not in the frantic rush of stolen moments. Lucas peeled Daniel’s shirt away, exposing the sculpted ridges of his chest and stomach. Daniel flushed, muscles tightening as Lucas’s hands skimmed over every cut line of his abs, tracing down to the waistband of his jeans.

“You’re perfect,” Lucas murmured, climbing over him. “All of this—you’ve been hiding it from me for years.”

Daniel gasped as Lucas kissed down his chest, lips hot and wet against his skin. He groaned when Lucas’s tongue flicked over his nipple, his big hands gripping the sheets to keep from crying out.

“Lucas—”

“Shhh,” Lucas soothed, kissing lower, down the trail of dark hair over Daniel’s stomach. He unbuttoned his jeans with infuriating slowness, tugging them down inch by inch, until Daniel’s thick cock sprang free, swollen and leaking.

Daniel covered his face with one hand, mortified by his own need. “Fuck…”

Lucas smirked, wrapping his hand around him, stroking firm and slow. “Look at you. Hard as stone for me. You can’t hide it anymore, Daniel. Not from me.”

Daniel’s hips jerked helplessly into his hand. His thick thighs trembled, and his deep voice broke into little whimpers he couldn’t control.

“You’re so damn tight everywhere,” Lucas whispered, sliding lower. His tongue replaced his hand, hot and wet as he swallowed him down.

Daniel choked on a cry, hand flying to Lucas’s hair. His back arched off the bed, abs tightening into rigid lines as Lucas worked him with slow, steady sucks. His thick ass clenched, whole body quaking.

“Fuck, Lucas—I can’t—” Daniel’s voice was wrecked already.

Lucas pulled off, licking his lips, eyes burning. “You’re going to take me tonight. All of me. Slow.”

Daniel’s heart stuttered. His chest heaved. He should have said no. He should have walked out. But instead he nodded, trembling, eyes wide like a man about to lose himself completely.

---

Lucas slicked himself and spread Daniel open carefully, slowly. Daniel’s breath hitched, every muscle coiling, his tight hole twitching against the first press.

“Relax, baby,” Lucas whispered, kissing his jaw. “You’re so tight—like a newborn baby. I’ve got you.”

Daniel let out a broken sob as Lucas eased in, inch by inch, stretching him open in ways he’d never been before. His abs rippled with strain, his thick hands clutching at the sheets until they nearly tore.

“God—Lucas—” he cried, his voice shattering. “It hurts—it—”

“Shhh,” Lucas soothed, kissing the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I know, baby. Just breathe. I’ve got you. Let me in.”

And Daniel did.

The burn gave way to pressure, the pressure to fullness, until Lucas was buried deep inside him. Daniel’s head fell back, his thick neck strained, his chest heaving as tears streaked down his face.

“Fuck…” he gasped. “Lucas… you’re… inside me…”

Lucas groaned, holding him close, their sweaty bodies pressed tight. “Yeah. And I’m not leaving you. Not tonight.”

---

The pace was slow—agonizingly slow. Lucas rocked into him, steady, deliberate thrusts that made Daniel cry out every time. His thick ass clenched, his body shuddering as pleasure finally drowned out the pain.

“Baby, you’re so tight,” Lucas panted against his lips. “Like you were made for me.”

Daniel sobbed, kissing him back desperately. His huge frame trembled beneath Lucas’s leaner body, all his power stripped away by the intimacy of being taken like this.

“I can’t—I can’t hold it—” he gasped.

“Yes, you can,” Lucas growled, thrusting harder, deeper. “You’re mine tonight, Daniel. Say it.”

Daniel broke, tears spilling as he whispered, “I’m yours… I’m yours, Lucas. Fuck me like it’s the last night in this world.”

And Lucas did.

The bed rocked, headboard slamming against the wall as Daniel’s deep cries filled the room. There was no holding back, no danger of Emma hearing them—just raw need, unrestrained. Daniel’s body shook violently as he came, thick ropes spilling across his stomach, his abs flexing with the force of it.

Lucas followed, collapsing against him, buried deep, moaning into his neck as he emptied himself inside Daniel.

For a long time, neither of them moved, sweat cooling on their skin, their bodies locked together.

When Lucas finally pulled back to look at him, Daniel’s face was wrecked—eyes red, lips swollen, tears dried on his cheeks.

And yet, for the first time, he looked… free.

– Shadows in the House

The morning after the hotel felt unreal to Daniel.

His body was sore in ways he hadn’t expected, every step a reminder of how completely Lucas had claimed him. Every time he sat, his tightness throbbed in memory. His mind kept replaying the words he’d whispered in the dark—Fuck me like it’s the last night in this world—and the way Lucas had answered that plea without hesitation.

But now, sitting at Emma’s breakfast table, none of it showed on his face. He smiled when she set a plate in front of him, thanked her for the coffee, listened as she rambled about her clients and their endless demands.

Still, he caught Lucas’s eyes across the table once. Just once. It was enough.

Lucas’s look was raw, unreadable—equal parts hunger and guilt. Daniel had to grip his mug tightly, heat creeping up his neck. He shifted in his seat, his sore body betraying him.

Emma noticed.

“You okay, babe?” she asked, tilting her head.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Lucas nearly choked on his orange juice.

---

Suspicion had a way of growing in silence. Over the next few days, Daniel felt Emma watching him closer, her questions sharper. He’d come home late and find her on the couch, awake, asking if he really had so much work stacked on his desk.

He gave her the same answers—careful, practiced—but guilt made them sound thinner each time.

Lucas wasn’t helping. He’d gotten bolder. A touch on Daniel’s back when Emma was just in the other room. A whisper against his ear when they brushed past each other in the hallway.

Baby, you’re so tight… I can still feel you around me.

Daniel would flush scarlet, his thick frame trembling with the memory. He wanted to shove Lucas away. He wanted to drag him into the nearest room and beg for more. Both wants clashed inside him until he could barely think straight.

And then Adrian walked back into their lives.

---

It was a Sunday afternoon when Emma dragged Daniel to a small café to meet an old friend. Daniel hadn’t thought much of it—until he walked in and saw him.

Adrian.

He was taller than Daniel remembered, broader, with a calm self-assuredness that drew eyes without trying. His hair was longer, jaw sharper, and his gaze when it fell on Daniel was electric.

Emma grinned. “You remember Adrian, don’t you? We went to college together. He just moved back into town.”

Daniel shook his hand, trying not to flinch at the firm grip, the way Adrian’s eyes lingered just a fraction too long.

“Of course,” Daniel said smoothly. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Adrian replied, voice low, steady. There was something in it—something that made Daniel’s stomach twist with nerves and… something else.

---

Over the next weeks, Adrian was everywhere. Emma invited him to dinners, to game nights, to barbecues. He fit seamlessly into the rhythm of their home.

Too seamlessly.

Daniel caught him watching sometimes—subtle, measured, like he was cataloging every flicker of emotion between Daniel and Lucas.

And Adrian was bold in his own quiet way. When Emma left the room, his hand would brush Daniel’s arm just a little too deliberately. When Daniel laughed, Adrian’s eyes would soften, like he was savoring the sound.

It was dangerous. Daniel knew it. But the danger only added to the pull.

---

The breaking point came one night after another tense dinner. Emma had gone to bed early, complaining of a headache. Lucas had retreated to his room, silent but smoldering.

Daniel had gone to the porch for air, his thick chest heaving as he leaned against the railing, staring at the dark.

Adrian followed.

“You don’t look happy,” Adrian said quietly.

Daniel huffed a bitter laugh. “It’s complicated.”

Adrian stepped closer, the night wrapping them in secrecy. His hand brushed Daniel’s, just a whisper of touch, but enough to make Daniel shiver.

“You don’t have to explain,” Adrian murmured. “I can see it. You’re carrying too much.”

Daniel turned his head sharply, muscles tense. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adrian’s eyes darkened. “Don’t I?”

The silence stretched, heavy and hot. Then Adrian leaned in, his voice a whisper against Daniel’s ear.

“I know what it’s like to crave something you’re not supposed to have. To want it so bad it burns through you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Daniel’s heart hammered. His thick abs tightened, his breath coming fast. He should’ve walked away. He should’ve shoved Adrian back.

Instead, he whispered, “You’re not wrong.”

---

The kiss was sudden, hungry, pulling the air from Daniel’s lungs. Adrian’s hands gripped his sides, sliding over the ridges of muscle, pulling him flush against his body.

Daniel groaned, clutching at Adrian’s shirt, his thick ass pressing back against the porch railing as Adrian caged him in.

“Baby,” Adrian rasped, already hard against him. “You’re so tight—I want to fuck you like it’s the last night in this world.”

Daniel broke on a whimper, head falling back. “Adrian—”

Inside, a floorboard creaked.

Daniel froze. Emma.

Adrian didn’t stop. His lips dragged down Daniel’s neck, teeth grazing. Daniel bit back a cry, his entire body trembling.

If Emma opened the door now, she’d see everything.

The danger, the suffocating thrill of it, made Daniel even harder. His cock strained against his jeans, his abs clenching as Adrian’s hand pressed firmly against him.

“God—you’re gonna get me killed,” Daniel hissed.

Adrian smirked against his skin. “Or saved.”

---

Inside the house, Lucas lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the muffled voices on the porch, the low rumble of Daniel’s tone, the softer pull of Adrian’s.

His hands clenched into fists.

He already knew.

And he wasn’t sure which burned more—jealousy, or the fear that Emma was about to piece it all together.

– Adrian’s Claim

Daniel told himself he wouldn’t let it happen.

He lay in bed that night, thick arms folded over his chest, abs tight as stone, trying to will his body to sleep. Emma was asleep beside him, her breathing soft and steady. But his mind wasn’t quiet. Not with Lucas’s stare lingering from across the dinner table, not with Adrian’s words burning in his ear—”I want you to fuck me like it’s my last night in this world.”

His cock was hard just thinking about it, straining against his boxers. He pressed his palms over his face, groaning into the dark.

And then he heard it.

A soft knock. Barely there. Coming from the back door.

Daniel’s heart leapt into his throat. He slipped from bed, careful not to wake Emma, and padded through the hall, his thick frame tense with every step.

When he opened the door, Adrian was there.

His eyes were dark, hungry.

Daniel’s voice was barely a whisper. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Adrian stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His hand cupped Daniel’s jaw, firm, tilting his face up. “And yet here I am.”

Before Daniel could protest, Adrian’s mouth was on his, rough and demanding.

---

The kiss turned frantic, desperate, Daniel’s back hitting the kitchen wall. Adrian’s hands roamed—over his abs, down his waist, gripping his thick ass hard enough to make Daniel gasp.

“God, Daniel,” Adrian groaned against his lips. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Daniel’s resolve cracked. He clutched at Adrian’s shirt, pulling him closer, grinding against him until their cocks strained between them.

“Baby,” Adrian rasped, “you’re so tight. Like a newborn baby. I want to feel every inch of you.”

Daniel shuddered, head falling back against the wall. His voice broke in a whimper. “Fuck me, Adrian. Fuck me like it’s the last night in this world.”

Adrian didn’t hesitate.

---

Clothes came off in frantic tugs, shirts and jeans pooling on the kitchen floor. Daniel’s abs gleamed with sweat under the dim light, his thick thighs trembling as Adrian pressed him harder into the wall.

Adrian’s fingers slid between Daniel’s cheeks, teasing, testing. Daniel gasped, nails digging into Adrian’s shoulders.

“Please,” he begged, voice rough. “Don’t make me wait.”

Adrian smirked, positioning himself. “You’re begging so pretty, Daniel.”

The first push made Daniel cry out, his whole body arching. His hole clenched tight around Adrian’s cock, every muscle straining.

“God—” Daniel choked, gripping the wall. “It hurts—”

Adrian kissed his jaw, thrusting deeper, voice thick with lust. “Shh… you’re perfect. So tight, baby. I’ll make it good.”

Tears pricked Daniel’s eyes as Adrian stretched him open, his hole aching, burning—and yet the pleasure surged stronger with every thrust. He moaned helplessly, body trembling, cock dripping against his abs.

Adrian groaned, gripping Daniel’s ass harder, slamming into him with reckless force. “You’re mine tonight. You hear me? Mine.”

“Yes,” Daniel gasped, legs trembling. “Yours—fuck—I’m yours—”

The sound of skin on skin echoed dangerously loud in the kitchen. Emma slept just a few rooms away. Lucas’s door wasn’t far. The risk only made Daniel moan louder, biting his lip to muffle the cries.

“Baby,” Adrian panted, pounding harder, “I swear, I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

Daniel’s cry was broken, desperate. “Do it. Do it, Adrian—fuck me like you’ll never get the chance again!”

Adrian drove into him harder, each thrust shaking Daniel against the wall, his thick ass slapping under the force. Daniel’s abs clenched, sweat dripping as he sobbed with pleasure, hole squeezing tight around Adrian’s cock.

The orgasm tore through him without warning. Daniel came hard against his own abs, thick ropes splattering across his muscles, his whole body convulsing with release.

Adrian groaned, thrusting deeper, grinding hard. “That’s it, baby—fuck, you feel so good—”

With a final slam, Adrian spilled inside him, hot and pulsing, filling Daniel until he sagged against the wall, panting and trembling.

---

For a long moment, there was only their ragged breathing, the smell of sex clinging to the air.

Daniel clung to Adrian’s shoulders, sweat slicking their bodies together. His hole ached, stretched, cum dripping down his thigh.

Adrian kissed him, softer now, forehead pressed against his. “Told you I’d save you.”

Daniel closed his eyes, guilt and pleasure twisting in his chest. “Or damn me.”

And just as the words left his lips—

A floorboard creaked.

Daniel’s blood ran cold.

He whipped his head toward the hallway. The sound had come from Emma’s room.

Adrian smirked, still buried deep inside him. “Looks like we almost got caught, baby.”

Daniel swallowed hard, his whole body shaking. He didn’t know if it was fear—or the thrill—that made his cock twitch again, already half-hard despite everything.

– The Edge of Truth 

Daniel sat in his car outside Lucas’s apartment, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. He hadn’t gone in. Not this time.

Instead, he sat there with Adrian’s taste still lingering on his lips, shame curdling in his stomach. It was one thing to give in to Lucas—his dangerous, intoxicating brother-in-law. But Adrian? That had been a mistake. It had to be.

Yet when he closed his eyes, he remembered Adrian’s mouth, the way he moaned while taking him apart, the way he whispered dirty promises into his ear.

And worst of all? He’d liked it.

Daniel dragged a hand over his face, whispering to himself. “What the fuck am I doing?”

The answer didn’t come.

When he finally went home that night, Emma was waiting. She sat on the couch, arms folded, eyes red from crying.

“Where were you?” she asked flatly.

Daniel froze. “Work. I stayed late.”

Emma’s laugh was humorless. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? You come home smelling like cologne that isn’t yours. Your shirt’s wrinkled. Your eyes are guilty.”

He swallowed. “Emma—”

“Don’t.” She stood, pointing a finger at him. “If there’s something you’re hiding, Daniel… I will find out.”

The air between them was so heavy it crushed him. He stumbled to the bedroom without answering, heart pounding, skin clammy. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she discovered the truth.

And yet, when his phone buzzed later that night with a message from Lucas— “I need to see you.” —Daniel’s hands shook as he typed back: “Tomorrow.”

---

The next day, Daniel met Lucas in the gym’s locker room. Empty. Dangerous. Perfect.

Lucas slammed him against the lockers, his eyes wild. “You didn’t come last night.”

Daniel shivered. “Emma… she knows something. I couldn’t risk it.”

Lucas grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Let her suspect. Let the whole fucking world suspect. I don’t care. You’re mine.”

Daniel’s breath hitched. His whole body burned with want. And yet the guilt gnawed at him. “Lucas… Adrian—he…”

Lucas stiffened. His jaw clenched. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

Daniel’s chest heaved. The words spilled anyway. “He touched me. He fucked me. And I let him.”

The silence after was deafening. Lucas’s grip trembled, his eyes burning like fire. For a second Daniel thought he’d hit him.

Instead, Lucas kissed him—hard, brutal, punishing.

“You’re still mine,” Lucas growled against his mouth. “I don’t care who else touches you. I’ll claim you again and again until you can’t even remember their names.”

And in that moment, Daniel wasn’t sure if he was terrified or addicted. Maybe both.

---

– When Masks Crack

Emma had always been sharp. But now, her suspicion had teeth.

She started watching Daniel more closely. Asking little questions, noticing little things. Why was his tie crooked? Why was his phone face-down on the counter? Why did he flinch when Lucas walked into the room during family dinners?

Daniel felt her eyes on him constantly. He knew she was circling, waiting for the moment to pounce.

One night, she cornered him in the kitchen.

“Daniel,” she said softly, too softly. “Are you happy with me?”

His throat tightened. “Of course.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Then why do I feel like you’re somewhere else every time you kiss me?”

He couldn’t answer. His silence was all the proof she needed.

---

Meanwhile, Adrian wasn’t gone.

He showed up at Daniel’s office, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place. His smirk was infuriating.

“You’re avoiding me,” Adrian drawled.

Daniel’s pulse spiked. “I have to.”

Adrian closed the door behind him, stalking closer. “Funny. That’s not what you said when I had you crying under me.”

Daniel’s cheeks flushed, his breath stuttering. “Adrian—don’t—”

Adrian leaned close, whispering in his ear. “You’re too sweet to resist, Daniel. That tight little hole of yours… it still belongs to me, whether you admit it or not.”

Daniel’s knees almost buckled. He hated how his cock twitched at the words.

But before Adrian could push further, his phone buzzed. Lucas.

The text made his blood freeze: “Come to me. Now. Or I’ll tell her everything.”

Daniel’s heart raced.

He was being pulled apart, torn down the middle. Lucas’s fury on one side, Adrian’s hunger on the other, Emma’s suspicion closing in around all of them.

And Daniel knew—when the truth came out, it would shatter everything.

– Claimed Again

Daniel’s head was a storm.

Emma’s voice still rang in his ears, her words sharp and shaking with betrayal: “I don’t even know who you are anymore, Daniel.” And Adrian’s heat still lingered on his body, his cock and tongue carving a claim into him that Daniel couldn’t deny.

But even after all that, when night fell, there was only one place his body wanted to go.

Lucas.

The thought of him burned hotter than guilt, hotter than fear, hotter even than Adrian’s lingering taste on his tongue. Lucas was dangerous. Lucas was wrong. But Lucas was his.

He didn’t even knock this time. He burst into the apartment like a man possessed.

Lucas was sitting on the couch, shirtless, sweat dripping from his abs like he’d been working out. His head snapped up when Daniel came in, eyes narrowing, dark and sharp.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Lucas growled, standing, muscles tense. “You think you can keep running between us like this? First Adrian, now you show up here—”

Daniel’s lip trembled, his voice breaking. “I don’t care. I don’t care about him, I don’t care about Emma, I don’t care about anything right now. I need you.”

Lucas stopped, breath catching. His jaw clenched hard, like he was fighting himself. “Daniel…”

“Please,” Daniel whispered, stepping closer. His hands shook as he touched Lucas’s chest, feeling the hard ridges of his abs, the way his heart raced under his skin. “Please. I need you to fuck me.” His voice cracked into a sob. “Fuck me till I catch a cold.”

Lucas’s cock twitched so hard it hurt. His fists balled at his sides, trying to resist, but he couldn’t—not when Daniel was looking at him like that, begging, broken, desperate.

“Goddamn you,” Lucas groaned, grabbing Daniel and crushing his mouth against his.

It was frantic, filthy, a kiss that tasted of fury and surrender at once. Lucas shoved Daniel back against the wall, ripping at his shirt, his hands roaming over his chest, his abs, his waist.

“You’re driving me insane,” Lucas growled against his lips, biting hard at his lower lip until Daniel gasped.

“Then ruin me,” Daniel whispered back, eyes wet. “Make me yours again.”

Lucas didn’t need more convincing. He lifted Daniel by the thighs, carrying him down the hallway and throwing him onto the bed. In seconds, clothes were gone, skin against skin, Daniel’s body trembling with want.

Lucas spread his legs wide and buried his face between them, tongue plunging into his hole, licking and sucking like a man starving.

“Lucas—ahhh, fuck—” Daniel screamed, clutching the sheets, arching off the bed. His whole body quaked as Lucas devoured him, tongue fucking him, lips sucking until wet noises filled the room.

Lucas pulled back for a moment, his chin glistening, his eyes dark. He growled low against Daniel’s trembling hole:
“Baby, your pussy tastes like a refreshing glass of water. I could live off this.”

Daniel’s face went red, his cock dripping, his body clenching around nothing. “Please—please put it in me—”

Lucas spat on him, spread him wider, and slammed in with one brutal thrust. Daniel screamed, nails clawing at the sheets as Lucas filled him, stretching him so deep his vision blurred.

“God, fuck, you’re still so fucking tight,” Lucas groaned, gripping his hips hard. “Like a newborn baby, like you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Ahhh, Lucas!” Daniel cried, tears streaming down his face, his body locking around him. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Lucas pounded into him, hips slamming so hard the bed frame rattled against the wall. Every thrust made Daniel scream louder, his voice breaking into sobs of pleasure and pain.

“Say it again,” Lucas gritted, leaning down to kiss his neck, his chest, his shoulder.

Daniel’s voice cracked, desperate and raw:
“Fuck me till I catch a cold!”

That broke Lucas. He growled and fucked him harder, deeper, slamming into him like he wanted to carve his name inside him.

The room filled with the sound of skin slapping, of Daniel’s desperate cries and Lucas’s guttural moans. Sweat dripped from both of them, their bodies slick, tangled, desperate.

Daniel’s back arched, his hands gripping Lucas’s arms so tight his nails left scratches. “Lucas—I’m gonna—I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Lucas growled against his ear. “Cum while I fuck you.”

Daniel sobbed as he came, shooting across his abs, his whole body convulsing under Lucas’s relentless thrusts. And Lucas followed right after, slamming deep one last time and spilling into him, groaning loud as his body shook.

He collapsed on top of Daniel, both of them panting, drenched, trembling.

Daniel’s arms wrapped around him, clinging like he’d never let go. His voice was weak, broken, but full of need. “Don’t ever leave me, Lucas.”

Lucas kissed his forehead, jaw tight, chest still heaving. His voice was rough, dark, but honest.
“You’re mine, Daniel. Even if it kills us.”

– The Fallout

The house was heavy with silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the suffocating silence that follows after something breaks—like glass shattering on the floor and leaving shards everywhere, too sharp to sweep up.

Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, shirt half-open, hair damp with sweat, chest still heaving as if his body hadn’t caught up with the disaster his heart had just witnessed. The sheets were tangled behind him, a messy imprint of betrayal, of choices that could no longer be hidden.

Emma stood in the doorway. She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t thrown anything. She hadn’t collapsed into tears the way Daniel thought she might. Instead, her voice was cold, flat, cutting in a way that almost hurt more than if she’d slapped him.

“I knew,” she said. Her arms were folded across her chest, but her hands trembled. “Not the details. Not…this. But I knew.”

Daniel opened his mouth, but no words came. His throat felt raw, his tongue heavy. What was there to say? That he was sorry? That it wasn’t what it looked like? Lies. They would only make the scene crueler.

Emma’s gaze slid to Lucas, who stood behind Daniel, shirtless, unapologetic, breathing just as heavily. She stared at him, not like a sister, not like family, but like a stranger she wished she had never met.

“You,” she whispered. “My brother. My own blood.” Her voice cracked for the first time, but she swallowed it down and turned back to Daniel. “And you—my husband.”

Daniel’s chest tightened until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Emma…” His voice was hoarse. “Please—”

“No,” she cut in, sharp and final. “Don’t. You don’t get to beg now. You don’t get to explain.”

Lucas shifted, his jaw tense, but he didn’t speak. His silence said enough—he wasn’t sorry. He wasn’t ashamed. If anything, his presence radiated a twisted kind of claim, as if Emma’s discovery only cemented what he wanted: Daniel, no matter the cost.

Emma exhaled slowly, as though forcing herself to stay calm. “I won’t fight. I won’t scream. But I won’t stay either. I’ll have the papers sent to you. You’ll hear from my lawyer.”

The word—papers—hit Daniel like a blade. It was too real, too final. His stomach knotted, bile rising. “Emma, please, don’t do this. We can—”

Her eyes snapped to him, blazing now, her mask slipping. “Don’t you dare ask me to forgive this. You’ve been lying to me in my own home. You’ve been sleeping with him under my roof.” Her voice cracked, and this time, tears filled her eyes, though she blinked them back furiously. “I gave you everything, Daniel. And you… you gave yourself to my brother.”

Daniel’s body ached with guilt. He reached for her, but she stepped back. The rejection stung more than any slap could have.

Lucas finally spoke, his voice low, rough. “He doesn’t belong to you anymore, Emma.”

The words dropped like poison into the room. Emma stared at Lucas, stunned, and then gave a short, bitter laugh. “You really believe that, don’t you? That you can just take what isn’t yours? That you can ruin lives and call it love?”

Lucas didn’t flinch. His hand brushed Daniel’s shoulder, possessive. “I don’t call it love. I call it truth.”

Emma’s lips tightened. She looked back at Daniel one last time, her expression filled with something worse than anger—disappointment. A quiet, bone-deep kind that told him he’d lost more than her trust. He’d lost the version of himself she believed in.

“Goodbye, Daniel,” she whispered.

And then she turned, walking down the hall, her footsteps echoing until the front door slammed shut.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Daniel felt the tears burn hot in his eyes, but he pressed his palms against them, trying to stop himself from breaking. His chest heaved, his throat thick with the cry he wouldn’t let out.

Lucas stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his hand sliding against Daniel’s back. “She’s gone. You’re free now.”

Daniel jerked away. “Free?” His voice cracked. “You think this is freedom? I just lost my wife, Lucas. I lost everything.”

Lucas’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “You didn’t lose everything. You still have me.”

Daniel turned on him, eyes blazing with a fury that barely masked his grief. “You’re the reason I lost her!”

The words cut deep. Lucas flinched, but only for a moment. Then his expression hardened again, cold and unyielding. “You wanted this as much as I did. Don’t put it all on me.”

Daniel’s shoulders slumped, his fight draining away. He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking. He didn’t even know if he was angry at Lucas, at himself, or at the mess of desire that had led him here. All he knew was that Emma was gone, and the echo of that slammed door felt like the end of everything.

Minutes passed—hours maybe. Time lost meaning.

It was only when a soft knock rattled the doorframe that Daniel lifted his head.

Adrian stood there, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Rough night, huh?”

Daniel’s stomach dropped. Adrian’s presence was like a shadow creeping back in, a reminder of another secret, another betrayal Emma never knew about.

Lucas stiffened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Adrian smirked faintly, ignoring Lucas. His gaze locked on Daniel, steady, deliberate. “I heard the storm. Thought you might need someone to…calm it.”

Daniel swallowed hard, his throat dry. His whole body was trembling, torn between grief, guilt, and the magnetic pull of the two men standing before him.

Emma was gone. The marriage was over.

But the danger? The desire? That had only just begun.

– The Papers

The knock at the door was sharp, professional, without hesitation.
Daniel had been expecting it, but when it finally came, it still felt like a blade pressed against his chest.

He opened the door to a courier in a pressed uniform, clipboard in hand. “Delivery for Daniel Morgan,” the man said flatly, holding out a slim, sealed envelope.

Daniel took it with trembling fingers. His name was printed across the front in Emma’s neat, unmistakable handwriting. The sight of it made his throat close. He signed without reading, barely mumbling a thanks before shutting the door with a soft click.

The envelope was heavier than it should have been. Heavy with finality. Heavy with everything he had destroyed.

Lucas was sprawled on the couch, shirtless, arms behind his head, as though the collapse of Daniel’s marriage meant nothing at all. He glanced at the envelope and smirked. “Let me guess. The end of your fairy tale?”

Daniel’s glare was sharp enough to cut. “Don’t.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Not now.”

But Lucas only shrugged, his jaw tense, his eyes betraying the possessiveness he couldn’t hide. “She was never going to last, Daniel. We both knew it.”

Daniel turned away, sinking into the armchair across the room. His hands tore at the flap until it ripped open. Papers slid free, crisp and cruel, stamped with the seal of the court. Words blurred as he scanned them, his chest tightening with every line: Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. Grounds: Irreconcilable differences.

But it wasn’t the legal jargon that broke him. It was Emma’s signature at the bottom. Precise. Final. A piece of her he could never take back.

His chest shook as he pressed the papers against his knee, staring down at the ink. She hadn’t even left a note. No plea. No explanation. Just a signature, as if he were nothing more than a contract she had voided.

The tears came then, unbidden, hot and humiliating. He bent forward, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

Lucas stood, crossing the room. His shadow loomed over Daniel, steady and unrelenting. “Stop crying for her,” he muttered, crouching low, voice rough. “She let you go. I never will.”

Daniel lifted his head sharply, his eyes raw, furious. “You don’t get it, Lucas. I loved her.”

The words hung between them, heavy and sharp. Lucas flinched, but his jaw hardened again. “Then why are you here—with me? With Adrian?”

As if summoned by his name, the door creaked open again. Adrian leaned against the frame, calm as ever, his presence as invasive as smoke in a closed room.

“Papers, huh?” he drawled, eyes flicking to the crumpled envelope. “Guess that makes you officially available.”

Daniel’s breath caught. He felt exposed, raw, torn apart by both men’s gazes. Lucas glared at Adrian, his fists curling. “This isn’t your moment. Back off.”

But Adrian ignored him, stepping inside, his eyes locked on Daniel. “She’s gone, Daniel. That life is gone. Stop killing yourself over it. You can’t go back.”

Daniel’s chest heaved. His grief was still sharp, still bleeding, but Adrian’s words struck a brutal truth. There was no undoing what had been done. No mending what had been shattered.

Emma had signed him away.

And now, he was caught between the two men who refused to let him go.

Lucas crouched closer, his hand gripping Daniel’s knee. Adrian stood tall behind him, watching, waiting, a predator patient for his chance.

Daniel shut his eyes. The papers slid from his lap, fluttering to the floor.

And for the first time, he realized the divorce wasn’t the end of his story. It was only the beginning of another one—darker, messier, tangled with desires that would never let him escape.

 Part 1 

Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the envelope still lying torn on the nightstand. The divorce papers had come earlier that morning, stamped, signed, and final. Emma was gone.

The silence pressed down on him. For years, that marriage had been his shield, even when it felt like a cage. Now it was gone, leaving him raw, exposed, and trembling.

The door slammed open.

“Daniel.”

Lucas’s voice was sharp, guttural. His eyes burned with a fury Daniel had never seen before—possessive, wounded, and desperate all at once. He didn’t knock, didn’t wait. He crossed the room in heavy steps, fists clenched at his sides.

“You just let her walk away?” Lucas growled, his jaw tight. “You think that means you can walk away from me too?”

Daniel shook his head, words choking in his throat. “Lucas, I—”

But Lucas didn’t let him finish. He grabbed Daniel by the collar, yanked him up off the bed, and slammed him against the wall. The drywall cracked faintly under the impact. Daniel gasped, but his body lit up at the roughness, at the need radiating off Lucas’s skin.

“You’re mine,” Lucas snarled, pressing his forehead to Daniel’s. “I don’t care what papers she sent. I don’t care if Adrian’s been in your bed. You belong to me.”

Daniel’s breath hitched. He wanted to fight it, deny it, but the truth pulsed in his chest—Lucas had always owned him.

Lucas’s hands roamed roughly down his chest, digging into his abs, then gripping Daniel’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Say it,” he ordered.

Daniel’s lips parted, but nothing came out—only a shiver.

Lucas’s hand slid lower, cupping Daniel through his sweats, squeezing. “Say it, or I’ll fuck it out of you.”

Daniel whimpered. His knees buckled as Lucas shoved the fabric down and spun him toward the wall, pinning his chest flat against it. Lucas’s breath was hot on his ear as he whispered, “You’ve been acting like a mess. Let me remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

The first thrust was brutal, a claim more than a kiss. Daniel’s head fell forward, lips parting in a moan that filled the room. His fingers clawed at the wall, trying to hold himself steady as Lucas’s hips slammed into him, relentless.

“You’re mine,” Lucas repeated, each word punctuated by a rough thrust. “Mine. Not hers. Not Adrian’s. Mine.”

Daniel’s voice cracked, breathless and broken. “Lucas—”

“Say it!”

Daniel’s body arched back against him, needing the pressure, the heat, the dominance. Every inch of him was on fire, every nerve lit up. He turned his head, gasping, whispering the words that had been buried inside him for too long.

Chapter 13 – The Final Claim

The divorce papers were gone. Emma was gone. That chapter of Daniel’s life was shut and buried, and what rose in its place was this—darkness, hunger, and the kind of obsession that burned hotter than love ever could.

Lucas was the first to storm in. He didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate, just shoved Daniel against the bedroom wall so hard the frame shook. His lips crashed onto Daniel’s, teeth cutting his lip open. Blood mixed with spit, and Daniel moaned into it like he’d been waiting for this kind of violence.

“You’re mine,” Lucas growled, voice shaking, fury and lust tangled together. He dragged Daniel down onto the bed, pinning him flat, ripping his shirt open to expose the thick muscle and abs underneath. “I don’t give a fuck who touched you. Who claimed you. You’re mine.”

He shoved Daniel’s legs apart, not even waiting, grinding his hard cock against him. Daniel gasped, nails dragging down Lucas’s back, already arching for more.

But before Lucas could sink in, the door slammed again.

Adrian.

His eyes were wild, jaw clenched. He took in the scene—Daniel sprawled, Lucas on top of him—and his rage boiled over. “That’s it.”

In two strides, Adrian was on them, yanking Lucas back by the shoulder and throwing him against the wall. The tension exploded into chaos—Lucas swung, Adrian shoved harder, fists threatening to fly—until Daniel’s voice cut through the storm.

“Stop,” he demanded, voice broken but sharp, dripping with need. “If you want me… then take me together. Break me apart. Tonight, I’m yours. Both of you.”

That was all it took.

Lucas ripped his pants off, thick cock already dripping, and forced Daniel onto all fours. Without hesitation, he slammed inside—hard, raw, rough. Daniel’s scream tore out, his body clenching, tight as if untouched. Lucas’s teeth sank into the back of his shoulder, and he pounded without mercy.

“You take it so damn tight—like a newborn,” Lucas hissed, rutting deeper, faster, claiming him with every brutal thrust.

Daniel clawed at the sheets, crying out, body shaking under the relentless assault. “F-fuck… Lucas…”

Then Adrian moved behind him. Watching, breathing heavy, cock already red and throbbing. He grabbed Lucas by the hair, yanking him back mid-thrust. “Move. Now.”

Lucas smirked, pulling out with a wet slap, cum dripping down Daniel’s hole. “Fine. But you better make him scream.”

Adrian didn’t wait. He lined himself up, bigger, angrier—and drove in all at once. Daniel’s cry turned guttural, body convulsing, hole stretched raw, blood mixing with slick.

“Take it,” Adrian snarled, pounding into him like he wanted to split him in two. “Take it like a man.” His thrusts were merciless, hips slamming, balls slapping hard.

Daniel collapsed face-first into the sheets, sobbing and moaning at once, voice breaking with every stroke. His ass was red, puffy, wrecked, dripping with cum and blood.

Lucas wasn’t done. He climbed up onto the bed, shoving his cock into Daniel’s mouth, choking him deep. “That’s it. Cry for us. You were born to be used like this.”

Daniel gagged, tears streaming, spit running down his chin, hole being split open from behind while his throat was fucked raw from the front. His whole body shook, sweat soaking his skin, muscles flexing and breaking.

Adrian leaned down, lips by his ear, growling through his thrusts. “You were born to bottom. This hole—” he slammed in harder, tearing a broken scream from Daniel “—was made for me.”

Lucas shoved even deeper down Daniel’s throat, his words ragged. “And no matter what—” he came first, flooding Daniel’s mouth, hot cum spilling down his throat “—you’re still mine.”

Adrian was relentless, rutting until Daniel’s hole was red, swollen, dripping. Finally, he buried himself one last brutal time, groaning deep as he released, cum and blood leaking out around him, staining the sheets.

Daniel’s body gave out, shaking, legs trembling, chest heaving. He collapsed, wrecked, unable to move. Lucas and Adrian stood over him, panting, both dripping sweat, both staring down at what they’d done.

Daniel turned his head, cheek pressed into the mattress, lips split, voice hoarse but steady.

“This is it,” he whispered, broken and owned. “No Emma. No lies. Just us. And I’ll take every second—even if it kills me.”

Neither Lucas nor Adrian answered. They just crawled in beside him, tangled bodies, cum-slick and ruined, none of them able to walk, none of them willing to let go.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t sane.

But it was theirs.

Epilogue – The Morning After

The room reeked of sweat, sex, and blood. Sheets twisted, torn, stained with everything they’d poured into Daniel’s body.

He woke first. His throat ached raw, his lips split, his hole burning, stretched beyond repair, red and swollen. Every muscle screamed when he tried to move. He couldn’t. Not really.

Lucas was beside him, half-asleep, one arm thrown possessively over Daniel’s waist like he was a prize that could never be stolen. Adrian lay on the other side, jaw clenched even in sleep, his hand still wrapped tightly around Daniel’s thigh as if holding him in place.

Daniel’s chest rose and fell, shallow, trembling. He remembered everything. The violence. The words. The way they’d taken him—harder, rougher, more brutal than anyone ever had. And how he’d given in, begged for more, until he was nothing but wreckage beneath them.

He should’ve felt broken.

But instead… he felt claimed.

Slowly, painfully, Daniel turned his head toward Lucas, pressing his lips against his shoulder. Then toward Adrian, whose grip tightened even in sleep as if he could sense Daniel’s movement.

They had him. Both of them.

Emma was gone. That life was gone.

This was his reality now.

Daniel closed his eyes, letting the pain settle into something almost sweet. He couldn’t walk. He could barely breathe. But he was theirs.

And that was enough.

---

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---

Part One

My mother first told us stories about the Ghost Lights when I was young. My brother Nathaniel had come home from school one day in tears, having heard stories from the older boys at recess, fantastical tales of monsters and murders and mysterious disappearances in the old Idabel Swamp.

One version told of an ancient creature, worshiped and revered by the indigenous peoples who used to live in these lands, beasts of great size and violent temper who would fiercely defend the last piece of sacred land against white invaders. Another told of an angry Witch, exiled by the townfolk at the beginning of the century, in the town’s earliest days, who’d sworn to exact her revenge by snatching up the town’s children and bringing her enemies’ bloodlines to a tragic end. Yet another claimed that the Devil himself took up residence in the swamp, anxious to entice boys and girls who snuck off into the swamp into corruption, damnation, and ruin, though it seemed that this version mostly got told from the pulpit on Sunday mornings. 

These stories were mostly fun and games for the respectable, middle class folk who lived in town, no more than cautionary tales designed to warn children from wandering off into the swamp and getting lost – or to prevent good Christian folk from sneaking away for any funny business far from the prying eyes of neighbors. But we didn’t live in town, and we sure weren’t what folks would consider respectable. We were poor and lived in a small, two-bedroom house on a few acres that backed up right against the borders of the wetlands, placing the horrors of Idabel Swamp quite literally in our backyard.

To console Nathaniel, my mother poured us each a tall glass of lemonade and sat us down at the kitchen table, my brother in her lap. At almost eleven, four years older than me, I hadn’t seen my brother cry in a long time, and I remember being quite shaken by the sight. But my mother was unfazed, however, smoothing his hair as she whispered reassurance in his ear. 

When he finally settled down, my mother asked us, would we like to know the truth about Idabel Swamp? 

I nodded with excitement, my brother with reluctance. 

“The swamp is an ancient and magical place,” she began, “like all the great places on earth. A place unbothered by man for thousands and thousands of years, so peaceful and sacred that time begins to falter and the spirits of the past can get caught in the present. There are no monsters, no witches, no Devils out there. Those are just tall tales told by small men who like to see others afraid. Your Pa goes fishing in that swamp all the time, have you ever heard him talk about seeing a monster? Or the Devil?” Nathaniel shook his head where it was nestled against her shoulder. “No, of course not. And you best believe if your Pa ever came across a monster, it’s the monster I’d be worried for.” She gave a sad laugh. 

“There are ghosts in the swamp, but they mean no harm. They’re just memories of people like you and me. They watch over us like lights in the darkness, spirits of the loved ones who keep us safe and give us direction whenever we feel lost. That’s the thing about spirits and ghosts; they’re just people. It’s like meeting someone from another town or even another country, only they’re from another time, just passing through ours like an overnight train” her eyes burned with excitement. “No, the only thing in that swamp to be afraid of are mosquitos and a couple of snakes, but you boys already know to be careful around those.” 

She sat Nathan up on her knees and looked him in the eyes. “Now it won’t be long before your Pa’s gonna want to take you fishing with him out there, so you promise me that if you ever get scared, you just close your eyes and take a deep breath and remember where home is, remember that I’m here and I’m looking out for you and I love you. Okay?”

Nathaniel nodded again. “So there aren’t any monsters, just lights?”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Just lights, baby.”

“Then why does everyone tell such scary stories?” Nathaniel asked, punctuating his question with a pitiful sniffle. 

“Because the swamp is something they don’t understand,” she replied gently, her eyes falling on mine. “And people always fear what they don’t understand.”

My mother was like that, always able to say the right thing at the right moment, always able to find wonder and magic in the harsh world around her. She’d grown up in town and married my father when she was just seventeen. He’d been eight years older than her, an age difference not uncommon in those days. I never did know the whole story of how they met or how they’d fallen in love or how my father managed to steal her away from town for our little homestead near the swamp, but whatever the circumstances, I don’t think her family had approved, given we’d never really known them.

My parents’ marriage was a mystery, one that never made a lick of sense to me. In my eyes, they couldn’t be any more different. My father was stern and serious, distant on his best days and cruel on his worst. His father had bought this farm and built the house sometime in the late 1920s, shortly after he’d married my grandmother. My father had come along a few years later, and he’d grown up in the house with his little brother, my Uncle Tommy – in the same room I now shared with Nathaniel. From what little he talked about his childhood, he and Tommy had been expected to work from the minute they got home from school till the sun went down. This was in the days when small farms like ours were common, long before big companies started buying up all the land, and my grandfather made it his sole purpose to keep their little farm alive. 

When he finished school my father began helping with the farm full-time. Tommy, on the other hand, moved to the city to go to college, an act of betrayal my father had never gotten over. When my grandparents passed away, Pa continued to look after the farm, never doubting his decision, like a man called by God into some holy vocation. He worked all day, managing to rear a modest enough crop to keep us fed and sell leftovers in town for a little income, and he appeared only at dusk with the expectation of a hot supper and a quiet house. 

During the days, I stayed indoors with my mother, helping her with household chores as I became old enough to contribute. This upset my father, whom I remember more than once accusing her of trying to turn me into a girl, but I always enjoyed the work. And I enjoyed the time with her. She filled our house with laughter and music, always telling stories of when she was a girl or singing a song she loved, though she never could quite remember all the words. But when my father came in, those tunes and tales vanished, and she made herself a good wife – quiet and obedient. 

As a child, the only memories I have of my father speaking to us was to say grace at the table or to read Scripture to us before bed. He was deeply religious, as his father had been before him, but he carried a deep distrust of the local church, saying he didn’t need any of those “spoiled, stuck up townfolk” anywhere near his business. And so he safeguarded the family religion and led it himself. My mother was religious in her own way, she prayed with us and quoted Scripture, but for her religion was something warm and life-bringing. She could tell us Bible stories with the same glint in her eyes other parents might have telling tales of knights and dragons; she spoke about the world God made with wonder and admiration. But she let Pa lead, and didn’t put up a fuss when he wouldn’t let her take us to church. I could tell she was sad, but I think she mostly missed the music.  

Sometimes, in the afternoons while my father was at work and Nathaniel was at school, I’d catch her looking out the window at our land – a fertile little meadow that flooded easily when it rained and served as suitable breeding ground for endless mosquitoes in the hot nights of summertime – with a hint of sadness, and I wondered as I got older if she ever missed her life in town, the one she had lived and the one she never got to.

I never got the chance to ask her.

She died when I was ten. As Autumn turned to Winter, she got sick, and before the year was out, she was gone.

My father, true to his distrust of the religious authorities in town, refused to organize a funeral or have her body interred in the churchyard. Instead, we dug her a humble grave in the back corner of our land, just out of reach of the swamp. Pa read scripture – something out of Revelation – and showed little emotion as we began to fill the shallow hole. 

I’d been inconsolable, crying for days and hardly able to leave my bed, until finally my father came in, hit me, and told me that if I didn’t pull myself together and get back to my chores I’d have no place under his roof.

And so, at ten years old, I took over all the work my mother had been responsible for around the house – cooking, cleaning, laundry, tending to the chickens, and helping when it was time to harvest crops. For years, I’d wake up at dawn to prepare breakfast, go to school for the day, then come home in the afternoon and get straight to work on supper. Nathaniel would often be up before dawn to accompany Pa fishing in the swamp, then head immediately into the fields after school to help tend the crops. It was exhausting work, and I’d often get scolded for falling asleep during class.

I never made many friends at school, nor did Nathaniel. People called us the Swamp Children, and often teased us about living so near the Devil. One time I got into a fight with a boy at recess. He asked me if we didn’t have a mother anymore because she ran off into the swamp to become a witch. I jumped on top of him and punched him again and again until Nathaniel and another boy pulled me away. I’d managed to get a black eye in the process, and when my father asked me what happened Nathaniel told him I got into a fight. My father hit me with his belt and said if I ever caused trouble like that again he’d really give me some bruises. 

Later that night, I laid in bed and cried quietly, afraid I might wake Nathaniel and he might tell Pa I was crying and Pa might come in and beat me again. That day changed things between Nathaniel and me. We’d never been close, not really; he had always spent more time with Pa growing up while I’d spent time with my mother, but he’d always been my big brother, in a way. My mother had always made a point of reminding him so. “Now you take care of Thomas,” she’d say, “You’re his big brother and he needs you.” But that night, laying there in my bed crying, I realized that it was he and Pa against me, it had been since my mother died. 

I had noticed other changes in Nathaniel. He’d grown quiet and harsh, rarely showing any emotion or tenderness, much like Pa. He also started getting taller; his shoulders got broader, his voice got deeper, and his muscles started to grow from his work around the farm. He started growing hair in places I didn’t have any, like on his chest and under his arms and below his belly button. We had always shared a room and rarely had the luxury of privacy, so these changes were noticeable. One day, I asked him how come he was getting hair on his privates, but he just told me to shut up and stop looking at him while he was undressed. 

I tried, but I couldn’t shake a sense of confusion and curiosity. I’d seen Pa come in on particularly warm evenings when he’d taken his shirt off, and he had hair on his chest too. Now Nathaniel was getting some, and I wondered – Did Pa also have hair on his privates? Why didn’t I have any? Was it because I didn’t work outside with them in the fields? Why was I different? Was something wrong with me? 

I spent that night tossing and turning, feeling a sense of loneliness that threatened to crush me in my bed. As soon as the first, gray light of morning began to gather outside my window, I quietly rose from my bed, found my shoes, and slipped out of the house. I wandered aimlessly for a bit, weaving in and out of the rows of grain and corn that ran the length of our property, drifting further from the house and nearer to the swamp. Having reached the end, where the ground dropped quickly down into the waiting arms of water, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I listened to sounds of the early morning – the chorus of frogs, the chirping of crickets, the occasional buzzing of insect wings that hopped across the surface of the water. 

After a few minutes of this, just as I was about to make my return to the house and begin my morning chores, a new sound appeared: the crisp, clear chime of something like bells, echoing out faintly from deep within the trees. My eyes snapped open, and I gazed out into the swamp, still shrouded in darkness as if resisting the approach of morning. I concentrated hard, watching and listening, being drawn further and further into the cacophony of sounds and darkness, until I heard it again, the high ringing of bells. As the sounds appeared, I thought I saw the faintest trace of light floating behind a far cluster of cypress trees, like a lightning bug dancing above the water. Only, instead of the cold yellow of a lightning bug, this glowed with the warm amber light of a torch or a lantern. It lasted less than half a second, quick enough I wasn’t even sure whether I’d made the whole thing up in my exhaustion from the sleepless night. Nevertheless, I continued to stare into the dark until my eyes hurt and I realized the sun was nearly up and I was about to be late starting my chores. 

So with all the self-control I could manage, I pulled myself away from the water’s edge and returned to the house to begin my day. Things carried on as normal, but the echo of bells and the image of a dim, dancing light remained in my head for quite some time.

– – – 

When I turned thirteen, my father told me to join him fishing one morning, saying it was high time I learned to navigate the swamp. I was excited. I hadn’t been included in any of his and Nathaniel’s work for years, and I would often daydream about the wonders of the swamp on mornings when they’d be gone fishing. I felt my time had come, that I was finally a man. I also hoped that time in the swamp would bring about a change in my body, that I’d begin to look more like Nathaniel and less like the pale, hairless child I was. With Nathaniel nearly a fully grown man himself, I felt the distance between us more than ever, and I was over the moon at the idea of being invited to join them for man’s work. 

Our trip into the swamp was hardly eventful. We left before dawn, taking one of the two canoes we had moored at the back of our property, silently slid through the waters to one of the areas my father frequented. He showed me a system of cloth rags he’d tied to various tree branches to serve as a trail marker back to our property; he taught me to fix bait onto the fishing line, how to best cast the line without scaring the fish off, how to know when to start reeling in without losing the catch. For the first time I saw a new side to my father. Out here, in the swamp, he seemed at peace. It’s not that he was more gentle or uncharacteristically kind; but he seemed calm, at one with the environment. It was one of the few times I felt I could be relaxed around him. I understood why. The swamp was enchanting, as if something in its very air made us at peace.

We returned home, and my father told me to remember what he’d shown me in case he or Nathaniel were ill, so I could make myself useful when needed. He never asked me to go with him again.

But after that, I made it a point to escape into the swamp whenever I had the chance. On Saturdays, Pa and Nathaniel would often go to town to sell produce and get whatever food and supplies we needed for the week. They’d often be gone several hours, sometimes they wouldn’t return until supper, and I used that time to explore.

I started by retracing the routes Pa had marked with the cloth rags, and for a while I didn’t do much on my expeditions, just tie up my boat and listen, picking apart the different sounds of the swamp, the timbre and cadence of the different creatures that lived there. As I explored, I began to see these creatures more and more, birds in the trees and turtles resting on logs and the occasional snake slithering across the surface of the water. I loved watching them go about their business, curious and determined, as if unbothered by anything. For a place that the stories so often associated with death, it all felt incredibly alive.  

Eventually I became more courageous and would venture away from my father’s carefully marked trails. I started small, keeping the familiar landmarks in sight, until one day, grabbing an old shirt from my wardrobe and tearing it into strips, I began to plant my own trail markers and push further into the swamp. On these adventures, I discovered all sorts of sights – a fallen tree covered in moss and mushrooms, a long tunnel of low cypress branches so thick that going through it felt like twilight. One day, I even discovered an island. It was small, only about forty feet across, and contained a large tree in the center that covered the soft, grassy soil in cool shade.

Back home I dug out an old pad of paper and a few pencils, and I began to draw these places I’d discovered and the creatures that resided there. I spent hours teaching myself to draw – trying to capture the shapes and shadows of the trees, the texture of the animals – and over the years I got pretty good. I began to stage scenes for these creatures and write little stories to accompany my drawings, simple tales of the animals and the adventures they got up to. I would imagine where a bird flew off to after leaving a nearby branch, or where a turtle swam home to after a long day on the water. I began to visit my little island every Saturday, and there I would create – writing and drawing and dreaming the day away, listening to the music of the swamp and, every once in a while, the chiming of distant bells.

Out there, forging trails of my own invention through unfamiliar territory, I felt freedom in a way I’d never experienced, freedom to think and dream and say and do whatever I wanted without anyone else around to dismiss or discredit my ideas. These trips into the swamp became sacred to me as the years went by. They were the only thing in my life that wasn’t determined for me by my father and Nathaniel, the only place where I felt myself truly come alive, the only place that I could call my own.

– – –

That is, until one Saturday morning, I arrived at my island to find it occupied. It was the Spring just after my seventeenth birthday, and I was excited to resume my Saturdays in the swamp after what had been a particularly cold winter. I grabbed my things and headed to the canoe as soon as Pa and Nathaniel left for town, excited at the prospect of having the day to myself. So imagine my surprise when, upon approaching my tiny island refuge, I saw a small aluminum fishing boat pulled ashore, and next to the boat, laid out on a large, brightly colored beach towel, was a person – a boy – looking right at home, his arms outstretched, hands behind his head, naked except for a pair of cutoff denim shorts. 

   He must have heard the sound of my canoe, because he sat up quickly as if startled. He looked to be about my age, maybe a bit older. He was tall and lean, with tan skin and shaggy blond hair that felt out of place, almost exotic. A simple black necklace curved about his shoulders and the nape of his neck, weighed down by a small arrowhead that rested against his smooth chest. 

In my surprise, I froze stiff in the canoe and felt my breath hitch in my throat. The sunlight reflected off his straw-colored hair, and a swirl of butterflies appeared in my stomach. My mouth went dry. I was about to turn and flee when I heard him speak. 

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Jonathan.”

I tried to speak but couldn’t seem to formulate any words. “Thomas,” I finally managed to croak.

He looked at me curiously, his brow scrunched together, his head cocked to the side.

“Where’d you come from?” he asked.

I cleared my throat as a wave of defensiveness swept through me. “My house,” I said sternly. 

“No way,” his eyes lit up. “You live out here? Is your house on stilts or something? I’ve heard of people who lived in swamps on stilts but I never knew anybody who actually did!”

I was taken aback by his excitement. “Um, no,” I muttered. “My family’s land backs up to the swamp. Couple miles that way.” I pointed back over my shoulder.

“Oh,” he looked disappointed.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

“I put my boat in about a mile or so that way, just by the old bridge,” he said nonchalantly, gesturing over his right shoulder.

“Oh,” was all I could reply. In all my years by the swamp, I had come to think of it as singularly ours, my family’s, and more recently, as I’d journeyed further away from our little corner of it, I’d come to think of it as mine. It had never occurred to me that other people may be puttering around their own little corners of Idabel Swamp.

“Yeah, I got this old boat from a buddy’s dad for five dollars…” he continued, while I tried to wrap my mind around this unexpected visitor. In that moment, something in me shifted, and I felt a sharp sense of loss. I knew, logically, that the swamp didn’t just go on forever, but in my imagination it had remained this vast and wonderful wilderness, a land of creatures and spirits and stories from my childhood. But before me was living, breathing, talking proof that this land of enchantment existed only in my mind. 

At the same time, however, a realization dawned on me. Maybe I wasn’t as alone as I’d thought. I always felt a little like I lived at the end of the world, cut off from everyone and everything. But here, before me, in a chance meeting on a sunny Spring morning, was someone new. 

“…and so I decided that I’d get out here and see it for myself.” He looked at me, proudly, expecting a response, clearly unaware I hadn’t been paying him any attention.

“Oh,” I said again. My eyes met his, a piercing blue unlike any I had ever seen, and I felt my stomach once again curl into knots. 

“Anyways,” he went on, looking away self-consciously. “I found this little spot and thought it would be a nice place to spend an afternoon.”

“It is,” I agreed. “I’ve been coming here for years.”

“Oh,” he sounded surprised, then looked around himself as if noticing something he hadn’t seen before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude or anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” I heard myself saying. “You’re welcome to stay. Surely there’s room for two.”

He smiled and scooted over on his beach towel as a gesture. I pulled my canoe ashore, staying several feet from the spot he’d claimed, and made my way up to my usual seat at the base of the tree. It was strange, at first, sharing a space I’d become so used to having to myself, but after a little while I found his presence strangely comforting. He didn’t try to talk to me at first; he just went back to his sunbathing. I was trying to finish a sketch I’d started the previous day – a family of turtles sitting down to dinner, a plump roasted fly and a small salad plated before each of them. It was a silly thing I’d started, drawing the animals acting like people, writing out stories of them as families and parents and children. 

  I found myself getting distracted, though. From where I sat, I could see Jonathan’s long, lithe body stretched out in the sun, his skin drawn tight over his rib cage, his stomach gently rising and falling with his breath, a small trail of hair reaching from his belly button down into the waistband of his denim shorts. I’d never seen anyone besides Nathaniel in such a state of undress, and I found myself entertaining the same curious thoughts I used to have when I was younger, seeing Nathaniel change before bed, wondering how my body compared to his. 

My body had changed, finally, around the time I was fourteen. I had gotten hair under my arms and on my privates, which had gotten bigger and seemed to have taken on a mind of their own. Whether it was from my time in the swamp, I never really knew, though I suspected it was just a thing that happened at that age, as that’s about when it happened to Nathaniel. I remember that day I first noticed those hairs sprout, the wave of relief that had flooded through me. The pang of excitement. I was finally becoming a man. But it brought on a few surprises. Many mornings I’d wake to find my member sticking straight up, forming a tent in my bed sheets, and though I never knew why I always felt embarrassed, hoping Nathaniel hadn’t seen. I wondered if that ever happened to him. 

And now, staring at Jonathan laid out in the sunshine, my curiosity was as alive and potent as ever, but this time bringing along something new. Something like longing. 

Jonathan stretched and yawned noisily, snapping me out of my daydreams. I went back to drawing in my notebook, trying to act as if I’d forgotten he was there. To my relief, he didn’t turn around or look my way; instead, he reached into a canvas bag laying against the hull of his fishing boat and pulled out a book. He leaned back, propped up on one arm, and thumbed through the pages until he found his place. 

“What are you reading?” I asked after a few minutes, unable to contain my curiosity.

He turned to look at me with a friendly smile, as if relieved to finally break the silence that had settled between us. “It’s called One Hundred Years of Solitude,” he replied.

I was struck by the title. “Sounds sad,” I said, though mostly to myself.

“It’s about a family who lives in an isolated town in South America and the changes in society and political conflict that starts to threaten their way of life. And a lot more than that, but yeah, that’s it in a nutshell.”

“Is it any good?” I asked. 

“Very,” he said enthusiastically. “I’ve really enjoyed it.”

“I don’t read much,” I said absentmindedly.

“Well I’m about to finish it. You can borrow it if you want,” he said.

“Really?” I asked skeptically. 

“Sure,” he said, and we settled back into a comfortable silence. I returned to my drawing, he to his book. A little while later, he closed the book and sat it on the blanket at his side. I could see his eyes were closed as he lifted his face to the sun, and for a minute he just sat there, a contented half-smile on his face. Suddenly, he hopped to his feet and walked the book over to me, extending it out before him like a peace offering. Or an invitation. 

I took the book from his hands and thanked him. 

“What are you working on?” he asked, eyeing my notepad.

Hesitantly, I showed him my drawing of the turtles at the dinner table. He looked at the image for what felt like an eternity, then he threw his head back and laughed. I felt my cheeks go hot. “I love it! They’re adorable,” he said, sitting down next to me. I felt his bare arm against mine. “Do you have more?” 

And I showed him. I flipped through my notepad and showed him all the drawings I had. I told him how I often came to the swamp to get away from home, and how I began to draw, and how over time I started taking the animals I drew on little adventures. “It’s silly, I know.”

“No, it’s not silly,” he said, gazing at a drawing of two birds having a picnic on a branch. “They’re wonderful.” I blushed and tried to dismiss his compliment. “I mean it, they’re really good! You should put these in the paper.” 

I met his eyes and couldn’t help but return his smile. “Thank you,” I said, feeling suddenly shy. “I’ve never shown them to anyone before.”

We talked for a while after that, resting against the tree. He told me he lived in Wallace, the next town over, and started to explore the swamp after buying his fishing boat just before the Winter. He told me that today was the first day he’d come across the island and that he felt like an explorer when he brought his boat ashore on strange lands for the first time. He was about to graduate high school, and wanted to move to St. Louis in the Fall where his uncle had offered to get him a job at a bank. He’d only ever been out of Wallace one time, when he’d gone to Little Rock with his family for a weekend trip, and for years now he’d been dreaming of moving to a bigger city as soon as he had the chance. 

He was smart and funny and talkative, which I found comforting. I wasn’t used to being around other people, and I wasn’t sure I knew how to fill a conversation. But Jonathan was happy to talk for the both of us; he told me stories about his little sister, about books he’d read for school and music he loved listening to when his parents weren’t around, about places in the world he’d learned about and where he’d want to go if he ever had the chance to really travel. I asked him about his favorite books and he told me about a few he’d read that he really loved. Books with poetic titles and exotic settings. He told me that one day, when he had a house of his own, he wanted a library full of books and a big chair where he could sit and read for hours. I told him that sounded nice. 

It was surreal, this day spent in the company of someone who, in another life, could’ve been a friend. As the afternoon progressed and I noticed the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, I told him I needed to get home.

“You said you come here on Saturdays, right?” he asked me as I climbed into my canoe. I nodded. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around then.”

He flashed a smile as I pushed off from the shore of our tiny island, and all I could do was mumble in agreement, blinded by his smile. 

That night I dreamt of blue eyes and golden hair, of tan skin disappearing beneath faded, blue denim.

To Be Continued…

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My name is Michael and I am 18 years old, 175 cm, 65 kg, black hair, dark green eyes,  nice body due to MMA practice for 2 years. Swimming and Running are also my hobbies, therefore I have a nice lean body with my muscles well defined. 

Girls tend to look at me and I have had a few girlfriends, very beautifull by the way.  Our looks made us the perfect couple. But…my mind was not on chicks, my mind was on men, older men. I have always fonded mature older men, maybe because I was living with my single mother. I never had a role model for a father, so I dreamed about it. Wanted to know someone older who could teach me about life. I love my mom but there are certain conversations we do not have…

I jerked off a lot, even in school and sometimes I would imagine my teachers, older, wiser, more mature. I would cum so hard… one of my teachers for Sports Education was Paul, he was in his 50s, very nice body, he hit the gym for sure. He was  1,85 cm of height, large muscles and very defined, bodybuilder style. Brown hair and amazing hazel nut brown eyes. He was a dream of a men, he was very strict on his classes but with a good heart and he was funny sometimes. I wanted to stay as long as possible in his classes and I would stay to help out in the end of classes to colect all the balls and take them to storage with my teacher Paul. We would talk briefly about school, he would always thank me for the help, but my eyes and mind were always on him, his body, his muscles, his hair. I would look at his crotch and try to imagine what kind of dick he would have…next stop, the urinals for a wanker and I would imagine Paul in every way possible.

One friday afternoon we had our class and it was volleyball, it went great and we had mixed teams. Maria was trying to hit on me while we were playing, jumping around, laughing a lot, always making eye contact, it was fun, I didnt do much but to playalong. 

At the end of class, there was a lot to clean up, balls were spread around the gym and I went to pick them with a shoping car and took them to storage. Teacher Paul asked me for help to remove the net, since school was finished and no more classes would take place untill monday.  We had 2 nets to remove, fold and take to storage. I was happy I could spend time with Paul and look closely to his every move. He was wearing black shorts and a white Tshirt. I was in heaven as he was reaching for the nets, I could see his body so well. Today I could see his Buldge since he was so stretched out. I was in heaven. 

We started talking about school and Teacher Paul came with a conversation about how Maria was very happy and looking silly at me. I said I knew that but my mind was not on her right now. Teacher go:

 T. You have a girlfriend hum?

Me. no not at the moment!

T. But she is very good looking and she was crazy for you.

Me. I noticed that of course but my mind is somewhere else.

T. She must be preety for sure

Me. Who says it is a she? I said with a grin…

T. Wwwhhhaaatttt? Really???

Me. I like girls but my mind is on something different right now… as I aproach my teacher closer.

 He looks on disbelief and not knowing what to say. I lean closer and I gave him a kiss. I was blushed in red, he was without reaction so I placed my hand in his crotch. 

T. What on earth are you doing? He asked very confused.

M. I am telling you that my mind is on something else! and I squeeze gently his crotch that starts to go a bit harder. 

T. Ahhhhh. Oh my god. He moans

I take the chance and I push his shorts down and it reveals an amazing cock 19 cm large, brown full of veins cock still going big

I get ob my knees and I start to touch it, push and pull, push the skin of his head and I locked it and Paul moaned, I take the chance and I put it in my mouth, he moans with disbelief…

T. We cant do this

M. I already am doing it. Should we lock the door? As I keep his dick in my hands

T. No. I can listen if someone enters the Gym.

I started sucking Paul again, up and down and he was liking it, I loved the smell of his cock, his body.  I looked up while sucking and he was moaning and placed his hands on my hair. I was bobbing up and down leaving him wer with saliva. I was in heaven sucking my teacher. To feel his dick in my mouth it was so good…

Unexpectadly, while I was sucking him, he remove his dick out of my mouth and lift me up, without saying a word he lay me down on a desk on my back, removed my shorts and started to suck my already full of precum cock. It was amazing, the feel of his mouth around my dick, it was great. He was insaciable as he was sucking hard and fast bobbing his head up and down, he was grabing my nuts as he was sucking me. It felt so good. 

He stoped and said

T we can not take long now.

M where can we cum? I need to cum, otherwise I can not leave school with this hard on. 

He grabed a couple of vests

T we should cum in these. I will wash them later on.

And so it was. We were jerking each other and we kissed more. We came, shots and shots of cum in the vests. I was in heaven, my body shaking so much…

He said to me

T you need to go and we need to talk next week. His face was more serious now

M ok Teach . We will talk next week 

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And so this part ends. Hope you have enjoyed it and I am sorry about any errors in English (not my main language).

More to cum later

I had a profile on a gay bdsm site and found a Manin his 70s  looking for a slave for an afternoon of play. He was only about 2 hours away and messaged him about what he wanted. He mentioned the play would be safe but I wouldnt know what the play was about. He offered to meet me in a coffee shop to see if we connected and make me gain some trust.  He said just ask for Ed when I arrived at the cafe. We planned a Saturday and I drove to the city and met him at a coffee shop at 2 pm. When I walked in the place was empty with a older man sitting by himself. I went up and asked if he Ed and he said he was. We chatted for a bit and he said he wanted me for safe man on man play but I wouldnt know what it was about. I agreed to go back to his house so I followed him there in my car. We entered his house and he told me to strip and get on the couch on all fours facing his kitchen. He had a blanket on the couch so I stripped as he watched. I got on the couch and he walked over undid his fly and pushed his cock into my mouth. He was uncut and not huge but he was very hard. I sucked him and he asked me if I was ready to do what he asked. I nodded as I sucked him then he called out “Ben hes ready”. I heard a door open down the hall behind me and I could hear someone coming towards us. I turned back and saw an over weight man about 40 walking towards us with a sweat pants and sweatshirt. Ed said you will do what I tell you correct? I said yes. Ed turned my head and pushed his cock into my mouth again and told Ben to finger and lube me. I fely cool lube being applied to my hole and a finger go inside of me, I then felt two fingers then three, Ben was gentle but firm. Ed said get on a condom and fuck him. I heard Ben getting undressed and the rip of a condom wrapper. I felt Ben get on the couch behind me and felt his cock head on my hole as he pushed inside of me. Ben was huge and he opened me so wide. I groaned and Ed  kept his cock in my mouth. Ben fucked me hard and fast for a few minutes then I felt him cum inside the condom with a massive gush. Ben yelled out so loud and stayed inside of me for a minute or two and I felt him going soft. He pulled out just as Ed who took his cock out of my mouth and shot his load on my face. Ben was getting dressed as Ed grabbed a towel and he said  to me clean your self up. As I wiped my face off I noticed Ben was a huge man maybe 300 pounds. I smiled at him but he had no reaction to me. Ed said get dressed and get out. My son and I  will contact when we need you again. I got dressed and left knowing i submitted to a father and son and I still get excited about doing it.

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