Author: admin

  • Dad’s Visit

    “Dad, that hat is too small… Just cause it’s western night doesn’t mean you need to go in costume.” I chided my old man as he sat shirtless at the table in my condo. Dad was visiting me and since I’d come out to him, he’d been nothing but supportive. But, he’d surprised me when he suggested we go out to some gay bars. 

    He’d had never made that suggestion if Mom was here too, but she had to work. As head counsel for a large, multi-billion-dollar, international corporation, she had a demanding schedule and wasn’t able to make the trip this time. I loved her, but I was ok with that. She wasn’t as adventurous as Dad and I idolized the man. Dad was a phys ed teacher and head football coach at Central High, where I became a star wide receiver. He wasn’t a typical dumb jock, he’d graduated college with a finance degree but his calling was working with and molding young folks.

    All of the girls in my grade always went on about how cool it was that my dad was hot, some of them even threw themselves at him. Secretly, I agreed, I lusted after the man for years. It didn’t hurt that his chosen career path gave him plenty of time to keep his body in tip top shape, and he tended to dress to accentuate that. Mom loved her job and loved that Dad loved his job, he didn’t seem to mind that she was the primary breadwinner.

    Now, I was 23, freshly graduated with my own degree in finance and having been a 3 year starter at wide receiver for State. I stayed in the closet for my time in school, only coming out to my family and very close, trusted friends until after graduation.

    “Fine, fine, you’re no fun, Jake.” Dad laughed as he tossed the too-small cowboy hat down. Dad was always a fun loving affable guy, it was impossible not to be charmed by the man.

    “You should probably get dressed, we’re meeting the guys in 30 minutes.” I suggested. Dad’s bearded face was plastered with a smile once more.

    “Can’t wait to meet your crew. You gotta have a good social circle.” Dad was always talking about how balance in life is important. Meanwhile, I was fixated on how sexy the gray in his beard on his chin was. The older man hauled himself up and dug through his bag to find a flannel shirt to go with his form fitting jeans, holding it up to me for approval. “Does this pass the snuff test?” He asked, leaning into how I vetoed his small cowboy hat.

    “If you iron it first, yes.” I laughed back. Dad did a double take on his rumpled up flannel and joined me in laughter. 

    “Aye aye!” He saluted me, in jest to how I would sarcastically salute and act when I was in my rebellious teenage years and I thought he was acting like a drill sergeant around the house.

    I watched Dad walk into my bedroom to fetch the iron. His 6’1 frame was packed with well-earned middle aged muscle. His big chest had dark fur that thickened towards the valley between his pecs and traveled down his solid, still-lightly-defines midsection before diving below the belted waist of his jeans. He’d always had a great bulge, but for outgoing and free with his body he was, I’d never really seen him totally naked.

    Dad looked great as we left for the bar, as usually his outfit hugged him in all the right places. The 42 year old was looking like the stud he was. It was only a few block walk to the bar, my friends were already inside. We didn’t normally go to western night, but Dad thought it would be fun and I didn’t need to twist my friends’ arms to go out.

    “Mr. Harbor! Great to meet you!” My best friend in the city, Ben hollered excitedly as he met Dad.

    They shook hands and Dad brought him in for a bro hug. The rest of my friends followed suit, most of them thought I was lucky to have such a cool dad, and I agreed.

    Dad bought everyone a round of drinks and we formed a tight circle, talking and everyone getting to know Dad better. My friends were rapt with my old man, he had that affect on people. He was engaging and genuine, he really did care about getting to know my friends – he always had.

    “You must really hit the weights, Mr. H.” Pete said, slinging his arm around Dad’s big shoulders, feeling his biceps. We had moved on to more drinks and clearly Pete was feeling frisky. I blushed at his obvious come on but Dad took it in stride.

    “Perks of the job. That and getting to see Jakey-boy here grow up.” Dad beamed with pride. “And like I said before, call me Phil.

    Over the course of the night most of my friends got touchy-feely with Dad. I was used to people fawning over him, they couldn’t help themselves. It was closing in on 1am, the bar hadn’t settled down, but my group of friends hadn’t been there for the crowd. We decided to call it a night and regroup the next morning for brunch.

    “I really like the guys.” Dad said as we strolled home, both more drunk than we wanted to let on.

    “They’re great. Sorry they kept pawing at you.” I normally wouldn’t have brought it up, but the liquor had me feeling loose.

    “I’m used to it. Hell, I like the attention.” Dad said, not in a cocky way, but in his Phil Harbor way of letting me know it wasn’t a big deal. “I have half a mind to take a go at Pete.” Dad surprised me so much I stopped walking.

    “What?” I croaked out. Dad had never indicated that he’d had any attraction to guys. Plus, he was married to Mom.

    “He’s got a great wrestler build, bet he’s great in the sack.” Dad stopped, looking at me with a drunken, wicked grin.

    “What the fuck?” I said more strongly than before as we stood on a deserted city block.

    “Jake, when you came out to me and I told you that ‘I understand’, I meant it. I’m bi, I thought you got that.” Dad explained, thinking I’d picked up something so subtle during such an emotional moment.

    “I did not get that.” I replied, emotions welling up, anger, confusion, jealousy.

    “Yeah, well, it’s true.” He said with almost a shrug.

    “But… Mom?” 

    “She knows.” He said motioning for me to come to him. “I told her when we started dating. She’s got a strong sex drive too, if you must know.” He continued as I approached him. “Let’s get back to your place and talk.

    We walked the rest of the way in silence, my thoughts racing, my head spinning. Dad pulled out a bottle of whiskey from my makeshift bar and poured us each a few fingers. We sat down and he explained how Mom wanted to try swinging early on in their marriage. They both liked it but craved something different, eventually they landed on open marriage with some ground rules.

    “Basically, we put each other first. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. We are each other’s partner in everything we do, there are just some things that we can’t do for the other sexually.” Dad explained. “I know this is a lot to take in.” He read my vacant, shocked expression. I’d get Dad to explain more later, but for now my thoughts stuck on one topic. “You ok, Jake?”

    “Pete?” I asked without thinking. Dad laughed and brought me into a hug. 

    “He’s cute! You don’t think so?” 

    “I guess I don’t think about him like that.” 

    “I won’t do anything if it makes you uncomfortable. I don’t ever want to do something that would jeapardize our relationship.” Dad reassured me. I felt better, but I couldn’t help checking him out. His flannel was half unbuttoned and I boned up in my tight fitting jeans. “Looks like you’re uncomfortable for other reasons too.” Dad verbally jabbed playfully, staring at my bulge. “A little jealous of Pete?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow before finishing his drink.

    I silently nodded before croaking out a “Yes.”. Dad had seen right threw me. I would have spiraled right away if it wasn’t forhow he handled it.

    “Hot for you dad, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised.” Dad joked, holding his arm out and flexing. The flannel shirt bulged with his motions. He noticed my expression was still serious and embarrassed. “Look, Jake, I get it. Just like before, I get it.” Dad’s tone became less playful. “I had thing for my old man too. But… you knew Grandpa, he was… he was a tough guy who didn’t let people in. I would have given anything to be able to talk like this with him. I would have given anything to get to play around…” The drinks were taking their toll on Dad’s filter. 

    He looked at me hard. I could tell he was mulling something over in his head, his expression was pensive. My brain was overwhelmed with everything that I’d learned in the past hour. It was late, I was drunk, and I was having trouble focusing on one thought when Dad spoke up again.

    “Jake… if you want to… I know I’d be into it.” Dad said softly as a devilish grin crept across his face.

    “You mean… fuck around?” I asked, and Dad winked. “Let’s go!” I lept up from the couch and ran to my bedroom. I could hear Dad laughing as he padded behind me. 

    “Jake… You’re sure about this?” Dad asked standing in the door of my bedroom, seemingly having second thoughts.

    “Most sure I’ve ever been. Plus, like you said, you still wish Grandpa would have done something with you.” I tried to bring him back, convince him again. Both our judgements were clouded by alcohol.

    Dad’s smile returned and he quickly ripped off his flannel. His magnificent body that I lusted after for years was coming into view. Perfectly muscled and hairy. I tended to go for daddy types, but Dad was the ultimate. I tore off my clothes in a flash. I was an inch or two taller than Dad’s 6’1, but with a leaner albeit muscled frame. I’d packed on muscle to the tune of being 6’2 185lbs of lean ripped ex-college football muscle.

    I was beginning to get some dark blond hair on my chest to match the treasure trail terminating above my navel which matched the wavy hair on my head. Dad beamed as he slid his jeans down, revealing that he was wearing a white jockstrap underneath. The pouch bulged and strained to contain his growing cock.

    “Glad to see you inherited the family goods, Son.” Dad said huskily, taking in my jock form and raging cock. I knew I was hung, over 8 inches, thick, and uncut. The older man pulled down his cock and his cock sprang free, rock hard. He had me beat in every way with his cut dad cock.

    “Fuck…” I breathed, bringing a grin to Dad’s bearded face. I sat on the edge of the bed, Dad sidled up to me cock first.

    “What do you want to do?” He breathed. In lieu of an answer, I opened my mouth to engulf his cockhead. “Jeezus!” He moaned as I slide my tongue along the underside of his huge cock. It was an incredible rush taking Dad into my mouth. Not only had I lusted after the man since I could remember, the taboo of it all added extra fire.

    Dad stood there, allowing me to orally explore his massive member. I considered myself a good cocksucker, but Dad was bigger than any I’d serviced before. My mouth was quickly filled to capacity and his girth hindered my ability to relax my throat, I settled for using my tongue to map the portion of his cock that I could fit in my mouth before pulling off. I glanced up at the man who made me, he matched my gaze with a hungry passion in his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, I slid my lips and tongue along the length of the underside of his rod until I met the place where his shaft met his balls. 

    I slid back and forth, the length of his cock before bathing his big, full nuts with my tongue. His bush was trimmed and his balls were shaved. I continued on, bathing his huge dad-cock with my tongue and lips before returning to sucking what I could fit in my mouth. My hands traveled up and down his built quads, hamstrings, and glutes, feeling their way over the warm flesh. In no time, I was tasting Dad’s precum, oozing onto my tongue, sweet nectar encouraging me to keep going. 

    Dad’s moans echoed off the walls of the bedroom as I worked. His big paws gently ran through my hair and down to my shoulders, encouraging me. I wanted to savor the moment, but I also wanted more. I felt his huge cock throb in my mouth as precum continued to ooze. I didn’t want to pull off as his grunts slowly grew more needy. The rush of this all was clearly getting to Dad as well.

    “Jakey… you want Dad’s load?” He growled. My cock throbbed between my legs, precum cascading down the length of my shaft as it ached. I gave my answer by gripping Dad’s muscle ass tighter, shoving what I could in my mouth, then brought a hand around to stroke the inches of shaft that I couldn’t swallow.

    A glance upward and Dad’s head flung back as his body clenched and a tsunami of cum crashed into my mouth. Wave after wave fired out, choking me during my efforts to swallow it all. He gently rocked his hips through his orgasm, as I used my hand and mouth in tandem to milk every last drop of his load that I could. Dad’s body trembled through the aftershocks of the intense nut, and he let out a big sigh as he looked down at me.

    “Jake, that was… amazing… just… wow.” He said softly, his cock still at attention, covered in cum and spittle.

    “I couldn’t agree more.” I replied, starting to jerk myself before Dad shooed my hand away.

    “My turn.” His mischievous grin had returned.

    “Dad you don’t have to-” He waved his hand to cut me off before sinking to his knees between my legs as I sat on the edge of the bed.

    He placed his strong hands on my quads, feeling the lean, strong, football conditioned muscle. His eyes zeroed in on my throbbing uncut jock cock, he licked his lips and leaned forward taking a few inches in his mouth. His tongue skillfully traced my shaft, dipping under my foreskin driving me wild. Slowly, he took more and more into his mouth before I was knocking at the back of his throat. 

    Dad serviced the portion of my cock he could fit in his mouth for a few minutes, learning my cock and what made it throb. He was clearly skilled, I wondered how many guys he’d sucked before. Then, without warning, he opened his throat and the rest of my oversized jock cock slid down his gullet. His hands ran up my thighs as I groaned, trying to hold back my load, but it was no use, I was too keyed up.

    I came hard, a firehose of cum shooting directly down Dad’s undulating throat. His practiced throat milked my cock, turning my nuts inside out as I shot the biggest load of my life. Overwhelmed, I got light headed and for a second feared I would faint before focusing on Dad’s touch. I have no idea how long it lasted, it could have been hours or it could have been seconds, but I’d never cum like that before.

    I regained my senses as Dad was still tonguing my now-too-sensitive cock. He let it fall from his mouth when I shuddered and looked up at me from between my legs. It was a trip seeing this big muscled man, high school phys ed teacher, head football coach – my dad – crouched between my legs like that. It was enough to make me hard again if I hadn’t already just cum buckets down the man’s throat.

    “Dad, that was -” Dad cut me off.

    “Jake, I hope we didn’t cross a line.” Dad cut in, his doubts creeping back in as his sexual need was met and the alcohol started to fade.

    “I loved it, Dad. I’ve wanted that for a long time.” I flashed a winning smile back at him as he got to his feet.

    “Whattaya say we call it a night. We can talk things through in the morning.” Dad suggested, having glanced at the clock seeing the late – or early – hour. 

    I agreed, I was drained both figuratively and literally. Exhaustion set in, it had been a long night even before the world changing information I learned and the reality altering orgasm from Dad’s oral service. The big furry man made his way out of the room. I hadn’t set up the spare bedroom yet, an extra bedroom set was out of my price range, but we’d inflated an air mattress in there for Dad earlier.

    “Dad! Wait… do you want to… stay in here tonight?” I asked before he was out the door. He turned, giving a hard look while thinking it through before smiling.

    “I’d like that, Son.” He said, ambling to the bed.

    We didn’t talk after that. Dad cuddled up to me, the big spoon to my little. I felt secure and warm with his muscled arms wrapped around me, feeling his chest hair on my back. It didn’t take long for us to drift off to sleep.

    The next morning, I woke up and Dad was already out of bed. He’d made coffee and was reading the news on his iPad in the living room. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and poured myself a cup and downed some water before plopping down on the couch next to him.

    “Hope I didn’t wake you.” Dad said without taking his eyes from the article he was reading.

    “Not at all.” I said, my mouth dry from the mild hangover.

    “Jake, about last night -” Dad put down his tablet and gave me his attention. I tried to cut him off before he backtracked on what we’d done.

    “Dad, it’s ok I-” In turn, he interrupted me.

    “Jake, let me talk.” Dad said firmly. “If you’d let me finish, I think you’ll be happy to know that I really enjoyed last night. I have a feeling you did too, but I wanted to check in, I am your dad. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything and I don’t want anything to sour in our relationship.” A beat passed before I realized he was done speaking.

    “I feel the same way with everything. Last night was better than I could have imagined… and I’ve imagined it a lot.” Dad was wearing a t-shirt that clung to his built upper body. His worn gym shorts left little to the imagination below. “But, I also don’t want to change anything between us… except for maybe more of last night.” I ventured.

    “Bring it here, big guy.” Dad said, pulling me into a hug. I enjoyed his embrace, fatherly, comforting, arousing. I felt myself chub in the gym shorts I’d thrown on, I was shirtless. As we broke the hug, Dad paused, looking me deep in the eyes, then leaned forward kissing me on the lips. His hand was on my neck, tracing down over my chest as our lips parted and our tongues danced. I groped the man through his shirt before we finally separated. “Think we have time before we meet up with the guys?” He asked hopefully, and my heart soared.

    Next thing I knew, I was on my knees worshipping Dad’s massive cock. It was even bigger than I remembered it from the previous night. I licked up and down before sucking what I could. Dad pulled off his shirt, his fuzzy chest and stomach on full display. I pulled off his cock for a second.

    “Dad… would you… fuck me?” I hoped that the question would bring new doubts for him, but I had to try. Dad looked surprised, he cocked an eyebrow before the ends of his lips curled up ever so slightly.

    “I had you pegged for a top.” He said dryly.

    “I am… usually. But for the right guy… and you… just, I – I need it.” 

    “No need to beg, Son. Jock tail is my favorite and you’ve got a perfect looking ass.” Dad growled. I was getting to see him in a new light, hungry, horny. He was talking to me like I was a hookup. I needed to know more about this side of him, but first I needed him to fuck me.

    Minutes later we were back in bed, I was on all fours as Dad had an index finger knuckle deep in my hole. He was skillful in the way he prodded my hole, careful to not give me too much and mindful to make it pleasurable. He quickly found my prostate, eliciting loud moans from me as I hiked my ass back onto his finger before he added another. 

    “Ready?” Dad asked, his voice seemingly deeper than normal. I looked back and saw a serious expression on his face. He playfully swatted my ass. “Turn over, Champ.”

    I flipped onto my back and Dad grabbed my legs, pulling them onto his big shoulders. His huge cock was already lubed. It glistened, looking more intimidating than before with prominent veins. When his cockhead kissed my hole we both shuddered.

    “Goddamn you’re hot, Jake.” Dad growled. He pushed forward, breaching my hole with his thick dad-cock.

    “Unnnnghhhh! Fuck!” I cried out as he sunk inches of his cock into me.

    “Fucking tight jock hole, Son.” Dad cooed, gently fucking passed my ass’s resistance. I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists, it was like the first time all over again. Normally it was difficult for me to bottom as I didn’t do it much. But Dad was a skilled top and my sheer lust for him won out. The sharp discomfort fell away quickly as he eased into me and I opened up for him. “That’s it, Jakey, let me in.” Dad growled as his big, thick cut cock pushed in to the hilt.

    We both moaned as Dad’s balls nuzzled into my taint. His hands roamed my body but his eyes never left mine. Dad started to pump in and out, taking his time, trying not to bust too early. My cock ached and throbbed as we gazed into each other’s eyes. Dad’s body flexed with each thrust. His cock stretched my hole.

    The taboo and our mutual lust kept us from really going at it, as we were on the edge the entire time. Dad’s bearded face contorted as he tried to hold off his orgasm. Each time his cock slid against my prostate I was closer.

    “I can’t hold it, Jake.” Dad almost whispered as I felt his cock throb. I knew he was unloading in me, the cock that made me was filling me up with his batter. Dad’s furry muscle chest heaved as his grip tightened on my legs. He gave a few uneven, jolting thrusts as his orgasm rocked his body. I grunted and growled through the pleasure, sweat beading on his muscles until he quieted down and panted to catch his breath.

    As Dad regained his senses, he saw I hadn’t cum yet, so he kept his deflating cock in me. He gently rocked it back and forth, while gripping and tugging my thick, uncut jock cock to explosion. My whole body clamped down and tensed as my nuts drew up and spewed thick ropes of molten semen. It splashed all over my bare upper body, coating my sweat damp skin with sticky seminal fluid. 

    Slowly, my spasming muscles relaxed and I came back to reality. My eyes focused on Dad, above me with a big goofy grin on his face. He rocked his cock back and forth one more time before sliding it out of my hole. His cock was deflating slowly, still mostly rigid and covered with lube and cum.

    “That was amazing, Kiddo.” Dad said, patting my flank.

    “You’re telling me.” I agreed. Then both our stomachs rumbled and we laughed.

    “So, when’s brunch?” Dad asked casually, slipping back into normal dad mode. I didn’t respond right away, I was letting the post-coital scene sear into my memory. Dad was a stud, a big, furry, muscled, ex-jock football coach stud and we’d just fucked. I knew I’d remember it forever.


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  • A Spa Day with Benefits

    We’d been in Ireland for nearly three weeks and hadn’t really started our Irish vacation; my husband got COVID before we left France and felt it from the day we arrived in Dublin.  His recovery was slow; as in weeks slow.  After he was feeling more himself we’d decided to stay for pride weekend which was a couple of days away even though our original plans had originally planned our trip ending in Cork by then.

    Pride; why the fuck not blow off some steam during the celebrations?  Kent also fielded a new very lucrative consulting assignment from a client of his that had a second headquarters in Galway.  They were having a team kickoff he would have normally done virtually but we made the decision to head west on land after Pride instead of south or to fly out and forego the rest of the country; we’d decide that after Galway.  So for the reason of the business meeting that next Monday which included a mixer where spouses and significant others were invited, we decided we both needed to look our best now didn’t we?   To say nothing of the benefits during the Pride event.  A dudes’ spa day might be in order.  

    It was Thursday when we made the decision; the parade was Sunday.  And the two day interval after a good professional face shave would get our stubble to the perfect level for … interest.  We went to the lobby in full sweat after a hard workout in the hotel gym after making the decisions.  There would be two more before the parade; the Saturday the most intense to have the best pump before we hit the street shirtless (at least).

    The very friendly young concierge knew us well and continued to be overly friendly even though we hadn’t taken what had obviously been invitations; his compliments of our post-workout sweat and pump was even more direct.  We thanked him with clear but gentle rebuff.  Then we told him we needed the works at a spa: haircuts and brow trims maybe even some tidying manscaping below the neck.  He grinned with a frightening devilishness.  “I’ve got just the man for you don’t I now?”  He reached for his cell phone and quickly sent a text.  He then said, “Much as I’d like to continue to inhale your sweat and eye-shag you he may not answer for a bit if he has a client.  I can call up when I hear from him.”  After we thanked him for continuing to know just what we needed and were turning to leave for our suite he added, “Mr. and Mr. Sherbourne I’ll see you there; and it would be a shame for you to tame your manly pelts too much.  Please give it some thought!”  We assured him we had no such intention and left with plumped egos as always.

    We were drying ourselves quite some time later when the call came; we’d … taken our time to enjoy each other before and then again in the shower.  I carefully navigated the bathroom’s marble floors with my moist feet and got to the telephone by the sinks and got the news that the “very special barber” could fit us in as a favor to Cormac the junior concierge; the implication was likewise clear that though Brendan the barber wouldn’t mind fitting us in so to speak tonight but Friday was “booked crazy busy;” basically take it or leave it.  We took it.  And before I disconnected he reminded us a bit more pointedly about our body hair.  “I hope Saturday I’ll be inhaling the sweat from the sun as it runs through your fur don’t I now?”

    “We should fuck that hot bitch before we leave Dublin,” my husband said after I disconnected the call.  We’d been on speaker.

    I didn’t disagree that the jacked young concierge looked a manly meal awaiting the consumption.   “Why don’t we tee it up when we leave Sunday for Galway for when we’re back overnight before we fly out whenever that ends up being?”

    “Or we could fuck him Sunday before we leave for Galway; and then we’d know if we wanted to fuck him again that night we’re back in Dublin?”

    I laughed.  “You want that boy’s ass bad.”

    Kent blushed, advanced on me, and kissed me until I was slumped against the sink weak-kneed.  “I want you more!” he told me.  And we were another hour before we hurriedly headed out for breakfast which had become lunch.

    Brendan the by-appointment barber and aesthetician operated from an upstairs suite off Parliament Street in the gay village.  A medium-tall black Irish stud is what Brendan turned-out to be.  I’ll confess to expecting a queeny-leaning gay for a barber but Brendan looked more like a former pro athlete turned stock-broker with a healthy dose of bro thrown in.   “Well well Corm said you two would be worth my while,” he said with an intrusively appraising and awkwardly long glance.  To be fair we were doing the same before he opened the door wide enough and stepped aside for us to pass into what seemed like a masculine-appointed salon suite.

    Looking his direction warranted a long look also.  About six feet; wide shoulders and plenty of black chest hair over milky skin visible at the v-neck of a well-fitted t-shirt that showcased an epic pec cleft and huge biceps.  Add wide huge shoulders and an exceptionally narrow waist.  His white track pants weren’t painted on but were filled-out with a very nicely-accentuated bulge in front and they were tight at his thick quads and calves; we later saw his ass was as or more impressive.   Hairy vascular and muscled arms; t-shirt arms stretched over huge shoulders, bis, and tris that looked truly excessive for a barber.   Face-wise a young Pierce Brosnan; handsome, eyes a captivating shade of azure, hair thick, dark, and wavy, and very clean-shaven.  Big wide bare feet and a visible tattoo which peeked up at the back of his neck and continued down under his shirt.

    He held position after he closed the door behind us then put out his hand to shake and introduced himself as we removed our shoes and put them neatly in a rack with many of his.  His grip was firm, his voice was deep and slow, and his second smile was even more piercingly eye-to-eye; all very reassuringly manly.  He surprised me by reaching out and running his fingers through my once-thicker wavy once-blacker hair.  “Nice.  Quite like my own.”  Then he turned to Kent and not only did the same but took a grip of his straighter hair in his fingers surprising my husband but making him grin.  “Thick.   Won’t be sayin’ I don’t like it thick,” Brendan the barber said with a grin giving it another tug.   Kent and I were both wide-eyed.

    “How are yees comfortable?” he asked.  Pointing behind us he said, “The closet’s there to take off as much as you want before the cut.  If yees decide to be stripping down I’ll join ya!”

    Kent and I were again wide-eyed but Kent recovered quicker.  “Would I be right that the haircut might not be the only service you provide?”

    Brendan’s smile returned to a grin.  “Corm my boy at the hotel filled you in on the bill of fare eh?”  We both shook our heads and before we could verbalize the answer he went on.  “Well he certainly set the stage with two fine-looking gents like you being sent my way.  All right then we’ll go the official route.  Under the sexual offenses act of seventeen it’s illegal for an individual to pay for sex while it’s not illegal for an individual,” he stopped his rapid rendition and pointed to his chest, “that would be me if you’re wonderin’ to solicit for it so long as I do it in private; the soliciting and the sex,” he said with a laugh.

    ”From the looks of your establishment here there’s more to the spa services too?”  There were in fact five doors visible out of the room set-up for barbering which we could see into.  Three of the doors were open; one to a massage room, one had a different more padded chair in it, and another that looked like it had a different type of electric adjustable table.  Those rooms all with more of a treatment feel than the hyper-masculine barbering room.

    “Probably easier,” Kent said, “to show the menu of your uh official services which I’ll bet is wide and tailored.”

    Brendan’s eyes narrowed.  “You’d be winning the bet; I’m very versatile in my offerings.  And well-distincted.”  Is that a word; even here in Ireland?  My brain often takes those turns to the anal-retentive when I should stop at anal!  “Here the spa services which are committed to menu is what yees be payin’ for and anything else is courtesy of the establishment.”

    “Then why the disclaimer?” Kent asked.

    “Safe over sorry,” he said as if it clarified which it only partially addressed the implied part of my husband’s question.

    “Are you a good barber?” Kent asked boldly.  “That’s the biggest part of what we came in for.”

    “Am I a good barber?” he responded almost indignantly.  “I’ll be having you know that I have seven very popular actors whose appearance is their trade who use my barbering services without consumin’ my er gratis services.  And four of those refuse to let anyone manscape them but for yours truly.”

    “Then maybe I should ask if you’re a good fuck,” Kent said with a wide grin.

    Brendan looked surprised but also very delighted.  He clapped a big hand on Kent’s shoulder and said, “I’m in my prime, versatile as I said in providing my services, and tailor them to my clients’ unique pleasures.”

    “So the uh dress code,” I asked.  “is that mutual not special for us?”

    “There are many men for whom me services are limited to the official menu.  But for studly gentlemen like you both I’ll be fully stripped-down: that is if yees don’t be mindin’ me unruly bliúcán pokin’ ya from time to time,” he said with a grin and a nudge with his shoulder against mine.

    “Your blehhhhh … “

    “Apologies.  Me mickey.”

    When I was still silent, Kent said, “I think he means his hard cock.”

    “Yeah you got it.”  He jutted out his bulging crotch which appeared more bulging than it had been and grabbed it firmly.  “My wee man,” he said.  “He’s seeming a bit overly interested so just be giving’ yees fair warning.  He’s also not so wee if yees get me meaning.”

    “I think it’s a compliment to us hon,” Kent said pulling me close.  To the barber he said, “I have the same problem with my cock around this stud,” and kissed my neck.

    The barber’s blue eyes became more brilliant for a moment and his grip tightened.  “I’ll sure be hoping your spa services choices aren’t the only thing I’ll be givin’ yees tonight.”

    “Out of curiosity,” I asked at risk of tamping the growing mood, “why don’t your seven hot actors avail themselves of your um ancillary services?”

    “Well let’s see now.  Four are decidedly straight; and two of those not for lack of tryin’ things out haven’t they?  One is in a long-term arrangement.  One is me ex; and that is just not a hole I want to be fokin’ in again if you’ll be excusing the frankness of it.”

    He’d stopped and I waited until I couldn’t help myself.  “That’s six; you said seven,” I challenged his tally.

    “Ah well now the last one is a wee bit personal so we’ll not be discussing him in any identifying way now will we?”

    I thought that meant we’d leave the subject but we didn’t.

    “The poor man lost his bollocks.  Cancer.  Then he got it in his prostate and that took the steering out of his rudder for good it did.  Very sad; plays the stud well on the big screen he does but that’s all it is isnt it … playin’ cuz he’s not got anything going down there to play with when the going gets to the point the poor sod.  Paid a king’s ransom for an electronic pump that malfunctioned and had him in A and E with a right dodgy problem didn’t he just?  His publicist had to give his arse up but good to keep that under wraps!”

    I wanted to say TMI but I was too busy trying to shut-out the empathetic pains I was feeling.  Kent said what I was feeling.  “I’m rather attached to my bollocks,” in a rueful tone.  “And to boners!”

    “More’s the better about that then!” Brendan agreed with the sentiment.

    Kent and I (and our third Daniel who’d intended to join us in Ireland and cancelled abruptly when Kent came down with COVID; he wasn’t flexible work-wise and couldn’t reschedule it for a few weeks later) generally didn’t wear clothes at home.  Kent told Brendan that and his eyes showed his enjoyment of the prospect.  “Then make yourselves comfortable gentlemen and then come through.  I’ll put my clothes in my own closet and be joining you there momentarily.”

    When we did go into the adjoining room without a care for being stark naked.  The barber was standing passively by a proper set-up with a professional barber’s chair, sink for hair-washing, big mirror and plenty of clippers and cans and jars all orderly-placed but cluttering the counter.  And he was stark naked as well.

    The newly-exposed parts of him were as breath-taking as the glimpse of him had promised.  Every muscle well-defined under a well-tended pelt of the same wavy black hair we’d seen on his head and arms.  Nice package; not hard at least not yet and hanging short but long enough and quite thick amid a trimmed thickly-tangled bush.

    He looked up and smiled but immediately reacted to my racing stripe.  “Well now you’ve been through it haven’t you son?”

    I was a good twenty years his senior but I didn’t react to the “son” with a cheeky “daddy” comment because he seemed sincere.  “It’s all behind us now,” I said simply.  “Still I’m not sure I’m excited about showing this at the parade Saturday,” I confessed unintentionally.

    He laughed.  “It’s to be a warm day and the parade is about pride and inclusion.  You’ve plenty to be proud of with that fine body and your manly endowments.  The scar is another sign of survival which many of our brothers have not been so lucky.”

    Kent reached over and hefted my balls and dick.  “He’s a bull by any measure my husband is,” he said and I felt myself blush.

    “You’re a right bull yourself there man!” Brendan said with his eyes on Kent’s far bigger presentation.  Then he looked up with a smile.  “Well now who’ll be going first into my care and is it just cuts and trims or facials and manscaping maybe a massage too?”  We opted for the cuts, shaves, facials, manicures, and hot paraffin for our hands and feet.  The massage we said we’d leave the decision on until after the “spa services” to allow him to gauge his energy level.

    Hours later when we were both finished and it was nearing sunset through the barber room wall of glass I came to Kent still in the manicure chair and put my head next to his looking into the mirror.  Easily one of if not the best haircuts I’d ever seen for each of us.  The services to that point had been all business despite Brendan having hard-on most of the time; the impressive thickness of his inflated state and six and a half inches if I guessed right.  I’ll admit I’d once tried to bend down to take the mouth-watering piece into my mouth if only to take care of the pre glistening at his tip but I’d been swiftly chastised and reminded that the haircut in progress at the time was the priority; I hadn’t tried again although during Kent’s time I thought that I might be of better use on my knees than across whichever room in a comfortable chair.

    The sun was low in the distance and although blocked by some buildings it was still warming the barber room as it descended; we’d been told the wall of windows was one-way glass so as not to worry about being seen from the street one floor below or from adjacent building windows.  Maybe the warmth was exaggerated by my eyes on Brendan’s very appealing form: particularly that luscious dick of his.  With my stud husband in view too over-heating was always in the offing.

    “Wow we look great,” Kent said grinning into the mirror.  “We’ll be popular at the Pride parade.  Thanks for this Brendan.”

    The barber had finished tossing the cape he’d had on Kent into the bin where mine had gone before and stepped back to us.  He reached out and hefted each of our balls and dicks one with each hand; that surprised us after the chaste proceedings until that point.  “I’ll be taking the compliment but yous two will be plenty popular however you’re coiffed!”

    “I’ve never had sex in a barber’s chair,” Kent said with a grin and his own hand stroking Brendan’s length.

    “Mmmmm and unless that’s what you’ll be wantin’ I have a more comfortable suggestion.”

    After settling our bill via his phone which Kent retrieved from the front closet we made our way following the barber through a short hall and past a well-appointed bathroom; my eyes went to the urinal though the bathroom appeared more like a home set-up.  We proceeded to a small but nicely-furnished bedroom.  A king bed dominated the small space but worked.  “Your bedroom?” I asked.

    “Only for customers and our mutual enjoyment,” he said moving in against us.

    From there it was mostly noises not words as we immediately moved together and felt and rubbed and ground and licked and sucked our way to the first fuck.  We’d dispensed with all of the preliminaries about statuses and when we’d last been checked during the haircuts; so we were good in our judgment to go bare. 

    We rock-papers-scissored believe it or not to see who would have first decision about the fucking.  Brendan “won” and was all about being spit-roasted and handed us some vegan-friendly lube called Wicked; the name stoked my expectations but the vegan part was a first for both of us!  Flavored too; cherry so someone at that company had a good sense of humor.

    Brendan’s ass was perfect right down to the hairy cheeks, hairier trench, and cleanly-shaven pucker.  “Fuck that’s a nice looking cunt!  I’ll get it ready for you hon while our hospitable host gets you nice and hard to fuck it,” Kent set-out the playbook.

    The barber waved his ass at Kent and took me by surprise when he reached over to me and gave my hard-on a hard THWAK.  “FUCK!” I spat.

    “If this beauty needs more help to be ready for the shagging I’m in for a spot of bother!” the barber said with a grin.

    “Wait until it’s inside ya!” Kent warned.

    “If you find we need it me HSE medical card and my VHI card are in me sparàn up the stairs in me kitchen,” he said as he demonstratively hefted and squeezed my dick.  I hoped we would need those cards; not the least of the reasons being that I wouldn’t know what a sparàn was if I had to find it!

    “And you!” he exclaimed turning to Kent while still fondling me, “are the bigger still!  I’ll be wrecked I will.”  Kent cut in and they finished in unison.  “And it’ll be a bright day indeed whether I’m walking or being pushed.”

    We all laughed and Kent dove into Brendan’s hairy crack as the barber rolled back my foreskin and lapped at my head very gently which I appreciated.  “Your gentle tongue is much appreciated; you don’t have to be gentle with my balls.”

    He didn’t waste any time and grabbed my balls tight and yanked them so that my dick was propelled inside his open mouth.  He swallowed me with his tongue lapping my under-side and took me like a pro with only a moderate difficulty swallowing my head into his throat.  He groaned and my balls felt like the electrification of his grip doubled in voltage.  “FUCK YEAH!”

    Kent was pigging-out on the barber’s hole; slurping lewdly and groaning lasciviously.   He later told me the hole was “musky as fuck with sweat!”

    I had the barber’s head by his hair and was pumping in and out of his very welcoming throat; his gagging and sucking in breaths when I pulled out were turning me on.  Problems were his grip on my ball-bag had my pride and joy tightening and no way was I going off half-cocked so to speak.  “How’s that hole?  Ready for me yet?” I asked while slowing the pace of my thrusts and holding Brendan’s enthusiasm at bay with my grip on his locks.

    Kent came up for air with a long “Mmmmmmmmmmmmm FUCK that’s some good man-puss!”  His sopping face evidenced his enjoyment.

    “One of yas fuh Christ’s sake fuck me!” Brendan growled.

    “Looks like decision made,” my husband said and moved around and slapped his monster dick against Brendan’s pretty face.

    I took my place behind the hunky barber and rubbed my slicked dick up and down his wet hairy trench.  He moaned and bucked back when I scraped over his pucker the second time with my slippery dick-knob and I pushed into an inferno of plush tightness.

    “Ohhhhhhhhhh fuuuuuuuuck,” he moaned at first.  Then it went gutteral as I descended inch after inch and butted-up against his second passage-way.  “Nnnnngggghhhhhhhhhhh!”  And with enough more pressure to raise his pitch and volume I overcame the obstacle and my bush finally ground into his hairy trench.

    “Good, isn’t it?” My husband asked to one of us.

    I couldn’t tell to whom.  And the intensity of the grip around my eight inches had my breath; answering was impossible.

    “So.  Feckin’.  Deeeeeeeep!  He is!” the barber exclaimed breathily.  “FUCK!”

    I was startled by the final outburst at almost excessive pitch and jerked back.  “Yeah hon use that deep cunt of his!” Kent encouraged me.

    Apparently he took my withdrawal as a wind-up so who was I to deny him.  I pulled out farther and then slammed back into him.  “Aaaarrrrggggg feckin’ YES!” the barber shouted his own encouragement and ground back onto me.

    Kent shoved the barber’s head down and guided himself into Brendan’s pretty mouth to quiet him as the last outburst might be heard down on the street.   As my husband’s huge dick invaded his throat it caused his body to jerk and clench which was like a milking machine on my hard-on.  “Nnnnnnnmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” I heard myself moan as my groin and thighs slapped loudly against Brendan’s hot bubble butt.

    Kent and I wordlessly synchronized our motions so that the clenching inside the barber’s chute continued milking me just as I was bottoming-out again.  He would occasionally let our bitch-boy up for air and the sounds of his moans further stoked my simmering balls.  Then Kent pulled me forward into a deep kiss and my balls were on the verge of going nuclear.

    The changed angle had the barber bucking with each thrust and his muffled cries were loud and prolonged.  And as my body felt heat rising and my sac tightening I felt the barber shudder and then the rhythmic clenching around my dick; he was cumming.  Most any top will tell you that fucking the cum out of his partner is almost as ecstatic as feeling as actually cumming.  Seeing the bottom spew what looked like a quart of cum was all the more inspiring.  

    My balls were not to be denied their pleasure; my own body exploded and my hips were planting me and burying me in his depths as I began to expel my essence.  My mouth pulled away from Kent’s as my body jerked and he held my neck and we panted on each other.

    When I’d calmed a bit Kent touched his lips to mine and said softly, “My turn.”

    Pulling out of the barber felt like miles of dick; every nerve ending was firing and there was the squelching sound of his ruined and drenched passage.  Kent had withdrawn from Brendan’s other hole and ordered him, “Jack me and suck only the tip.  I’m gonna drench you.”

    Brendan sucked the first few inches of my husband’s massive hard-on in as he jacked the rest of him.   It seemed to go on forever; until Brendan reached with his other hand and took hold of Kent’s balls and pulled.  “Want it!” he spat with his eyes locked on Kent’s.

    Before his mouth engulfed Kent’s hideously swollen dark dick-knob again his grunt echoed and a sharp burst of cum flew directly up the barber’s nose.  As Brendan sputtered drenching blast after blast doused him and flew all over both the cock-sucker and me.  I laughed joyously as Kent convulsed and emptied himself.   Then Brendan caught Kent’s dick in his mouth again; Kent sucked in a breath and the barber moaned as I knew more was delivered.

    I bent down and took a long swipe of a cum trail along the barber’s muscle-ridged back; my husband’s taste exploding in my endorphin-enhanced senses.   Kent had pulled free and slumped back.  The barber rolled away and over onto his back; and in doing so revealed a splattered wet spot in his bed-cover that was impressive from where he’d unloaded.  I was again impressed with myself for having caused that at all much less the volume.

    “I’ll be wishing all of me special clients were so … “ he let it hang in suspense for us, “special,” he finished.

    Kent got up.  “I’m starved!” he announced.

    ”I’ll leave the obvious cheeky comment about there being plenty of meat available to you here!  I’ll be getting us some water,” he said and swung his hairy muscled legs and wide feet off the bed.  “You passed the bath on the way in,” he continued.  “Feel free to freshen-up; the twos of ya.”

    ”Join us?” I asked with my balls still buzzing.  

    Brendan was in his feet and laughed heartily and clapped my shoulder.  “If we do that we’ll be denying your poor man his dinner.”

    I was going to reiterate his earlier mention that there was plenty of beef on offer!  Kent stopped me with a look which I took to be “Let’s get moving.”  Hangry might take-over the endorphin rush if I didn’t.  


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  • Velvet Dream

    I don’t remember falling asleep. I only remember Lucis’ hands.

    That night was like slipping through silk—slow, warm, heavy. The kind of sleep that doesn’t feel like rest, but like surrender. The kind that swallows you whole.

    I found myself on a rooftop soaked in moonlight. The sky glowed the color of bruises—deep purples and black-blues, a storm just waiting to break. The city around me shimmered like a secret. Music throbbed below, but here? It was quiet. Too quiet.

    And then… I felt him.

    Lucis stood at the edge of the rooftop, back turned, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. His silhouette was sharp, dangerous, like a memory I’d buried too deep. He turned slowly, like he already knew I was watching him.

    “You came back,” he said. I blinked. “Back? I’ve never been here.”

    He smiled. That smile. Wicked. Slow. Familiar.

    Before I could ask anything else, I felt heat at my back. A breath on my neck. Then Christian’s voice—dark honey and fire.

    “You’ve always been here. You just forgot.”

    I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

    They were so close I felt them breathing me in, like they knew my pulse before I did. Lucis stepped forward, hand on my jaw, tilting my head up. Christian stayed behind me, hands sliding to my hips like they belonged there.

    “Still soft,” Lucis whispered. “Still ours.”

    I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve screamed, slapped one, ran from both.

    Instead, I let my lips part. I let Christian’s fingers slip under the hem of my shirt, slow and possessive, while Lucis’ mouth brushed mine in a kiss that didn’t ask permission.

    “Say it,” Christian growled.

    “Say you missed us,” Lucis added.

    I didn’t say a word.

    I kissed Lucis harder—and Christian pulled me tighter.

    And in that moment, I stopped wondering if I was dreaming.

    Because it didn’t matter.

    I should have woken up. But the dream wasn’t finished.

    The next night, I was back. Same city, same rooftop. Except the moon had vanished and the skyline felt like teeth.

    The rooftop dissolved beneath my feet. I was somewhere new now: a corridor of blood-red walls and velvet curtains, no windows, no doors. Just shadows that moved when I wasn’t looking.

    Lucis appeared first. He stepped from the dark like he was made of it, eyes too calm to be safe. No smile. No greeting. Just hunger in the shape of a man.

    “You keep coming back,” he said. “But not for answers.”

    Before I could respond, Christian emerged behind me again. Always behind. Always close.

    He didn’t touch me this time.

    He whispered: “You want the feeling. The weight. The pull. You don’t want to wake up.”

    I shook my head. Lies taste bitter.

    Lucis touched my face, fingers cold now. “You gave yourself to us when you dreamed of us. That makes you ours.”

    The walls throbbed like a heartbeat. The floor tilted. And I was falling again—but slowly. Like drowning in honey and ash.

    Christian pressed a kiss to my neck that felt like a warning. Lucis kissed my lips like a threat.

    I whispered, “I’m yours.”

    And they smiled. Like wolves.

    It stopped feeling like a dream.

    I stopped waking up.

    The third time, I opened my eyes to silk sheets tangled around my legs and candlelight dripping down the walls. I was in a bedroom too grand to be mine. The air smelled like smoke and spice. Familiar hands were already on my skin.

    Lucis sat at the edge of the bed, watching me with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. Christian leaned over me, shirt unbuttoned, his lips grazing my collarbone.

    “You don’t belong to the world anymore,” Christian said.

    “You belong to the dream,” Lucis added.

    I should have fought it. I didn’t.

    I arched into them. Let the shadows take me. Let the voices fill my head with soft commands and cruel promises.

    I was theirs. In the dark. In the heat. In the lie I didn’t want to wake up from.

    And when I came undone, it wasn’t with a scream.

    It was with a vow.

    Let me stay.

    They didn’t answer.

    But they never let go.

  • Trials of John Carter

    Part One: Home and Away

    Morning sunlight spilled generously across the Carter family’s kitchen, dappling the oak floor with cheerful gold. John stood at the stove, humming softly as he flipped pancakes and scrambled eggs, a pan of bacon sizzling nearby. Cooking for his loved ones was one of his greatest comforts. He cherished these rare moments at home, doing something simple and meaningful.

    The Carters weren’t super rich, but they were well-to-do. Their home was comfortable, their needs met, and there was usually room for the occasional treat or new gadget, never anything fancy, but always enough. Still, meals together like this were rare, since his parents’ work kept them out of the house most of the time.

    John’s thick dark hair fell across his forehead as he concentrated at the stove. His frame was tall and slim, defined by years as the star quarterback, quick on his feet, with muscles built for speed and agility rather than size. It surprised some people that someone so competitive on the field could be so content in a quiet kitchen like this.

    Footsteps soon padded into the room. “Morning, John! That smells amazing,” called his mother, Linda Carter, appearing in a crisp blazer as she set her briefcase by the door. Her days as a project manager started early, but this morning she lingered. Richard Carter, John’s father, came in behind her in his engineer’s jacket, smiling as he ruffled John’s hair. “We eat like kings when you’re in the kitchen, son.”

    John laughed, plating eggs and pancakes. “Don’t worry, Dad, I didn’t burn the bacon this time.”

    A few minutes later, John’s elder brother, Matthew Carter, wandered in, arms stretching above his head. At 29, Matthew was lean, but muscular from his daily workouts in the home gym. He had moved back in a year ago after his divorce when his wife cheated on him, and had settled into remote IT work and the comfort of routine. He didn’t have any kids

    “Looks like the chefs in a good mood today,” Matt said, sneaking a piece of bacon as he smiled at his younger brother.

    Linda handed Matt his mug of coffee, concern passing briefly across her face. “Rough night, Matt?”

    He shrugged, flexing an arm in mock pride. “Stayed up late finishing work and then hit the gym too long. Good thing I moved back here, or I’d never eat like this.”

    Richard grinned. “Maybe John should take you to his next practice. See if you can keep up.”

    Matt rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his reply. “He already beats me on the field; now he’s taking over the kitchen, too.”

    The family gathered at the table, sharing laughter and the easy conversation John missed most during his time away at college. They talked about the upcoming season, John’s recovery from his recent illness, for which he was back home and the latest stories from Linda’s office and Richard’s projects.

    As John finished his breakfast, Linda glanced at him. “When are you heading back?”

    “In about 45 minutes,” John replied, reaching for his bag.

    She smiled, then reminded him, “And don’t forget to tidy up your apartment when you get back.”

    John smiled, his gratitude plain. His parents had understood how much he valued his personal space and quiet. That’s why, as a special surprise for his first year of college, they had gifted him a small apartment near campus. It was their way of making sure he felt comfortable and at home, even while he was living on his own for the first time.

    “I promise, Mom, I’ll keep it tidy.”

    Richard added with a smile, ” Just remember to study as hard as you play.”

    Matt finished his coffee and stood, jingling his keys. “Come on, I’ll take you to the bus stop on my bike before I get to work.”

    The family gathered at the porch for hugs and a flurry of reminders, laughter chasing them into the bright morning. John and Matt strapped on their helmets and hopped onto the motorcycle, the quiet suburban streets blurring as they sped toward the bus stop.

    At the curb, Matt looked over. “Proud of you, little brother. Save me some pancakes next trip, alright?”

    John grinned and waved as the bus approached. He climbed aboard, carrying with him the warmth of home and the rare comfort of a breakfast together.


    Part Two – Countdown to Summer

    John Carter zipped up his duffel bag, the distant rumble of Chicago traffic floating into his modest third-floor apartment. It had a single, comfortable bedroom, an attached kitchen tucked to one side, and a small, cozy living room that doubled as both a study space and a hangout spot. Football magazines and an old game ball lined the shelves, silent reminders of last fall’s hard-fought championship season.

    Now, with only one month left before summer break, that independence felt even more precious.

    His phone buzzed on the counter.

    Liam:Up and at ’em, QB. I’ll grab you in five.

    John smirked, shouldered his bag, and headed down to the street. Liam’s old Jeep rumbled outside. Liam, linebacker and best friend, waved from the driver’s seat, his familiar grin impossible to miss.

    “You ready for the last stretch?” Liam called as John climbed in.

    John nodded, rolling his shoulders. “One more month—let’s make it count.”

    Lakeview’s quad was already busy as they crossed campus. Students swapped stories about finals, laid out blankets on the grass, and squeezed in every bit of spring before the break. John hauled his bag over his shoulder and headed to his morning classes, juggling notes and reminders about an upcoming economics exam. He drifted between buildings, exchanging nods with teammates and classmates, a familiar cadence, but always shadowed by the responsibility of leading the team.

    After class, there was barely time to grab a quick lunch before he made his way to the athletic centre for practice. The energy around the locker room was tense, there was a big game coming up. John changed quickly, tugging his jersey over his head as the sounds of the team echoed around him.

    Out on the field, spring air hung thick as the team split into their drills. John led the offense through passing routes, his voice steady as he called plays in the huddle. He fired spirals downfield, checking timing with his receivers and studying the defensive adjustments. The shouts of coaches and players mixed in the air, Liam barking at the defence, David running sharp routes but avoiding John’s eye, Conrad holding the line with his usual silent focus.

    John’s commands were crisp, his body moving on autopilot. Still, he felt the tension, David’s competitiveness simmering at every incompletion, Conrad’s stoic looks in the huddle. By the end of practice, his shirt was soaked and his arm ached from reps, but he’d kept the squad sharp, fighting for every yard in scrimmage.

    With only a month left until summer, John hoped to end strong, on and off the field, even if things weren’t as easy as they looked from the stands. What he didn’t realize was that change was coming fast, nothing in his world would stay the same for long.


    Part Three: The Shift

    The sun blazed high in a cloudless sky, pouring its golden heat over the football field. The stands throbbed with energy, roars rising and falling like a tide. John stood at the centre, nerves sparking as he scanned his teammates. Liam was already bouncing on his toes nearby, helmet in hand, grin fierce as ever. David jogged past, jaw set and eyes blazing with determination, a rival and, often this season, the receiver John trusted most for clutch plays. Conrad, the silent pillar of the offensive line, set his stance with calm focus a few yards away, his presence grounding the entire offense.

    From the first snap, the game was a test of everything they’d built. John’s throws cut through the humid air, finding David on sideline curls and deep slants. David’s hands were sure, even when pressure mounted. Liam prowled the defence, landing hits that seemed to shake the turf. Conrad anchored the line, reading blitzes and adjusting blocking schemes with minimal words, just a look or a nod, and the rest fell into formation.

    Each quarter ratcheted up the intensity. David battled double coverage but still made acrobatic catches, flashing that grin in the huddle before locking eyes with John, their silent camaraderie forged over hard practice and shared drive. Conrad’s arms strained as he held back the rush, sweat pouring over his brow, but he didn’t yield an inch, shoving through every down to give John the extra heartbeat he needed.

    In the game’s final minutes, John scrambled from a collapsing pocket. Conrad cleared a path, brute force and balance, and John fired a laser to David, touchdown. The sidelines erupted. Liam led a charge onto the field, howling with triumph, David pounding John’s back as the noise washed over them. For an instant, everything felt right.

    That night, the team packed into a frat house for a post-game party. Music blasted, the air thudded with bass, and everywhere John went, people smiled, slapped backs, or handed him drinks. He nodded, smiled, but he didn’t feel like staying long.

    Then he saw her.

    In the corner of the room, almost too still to belong in the chaos, stood a girl with jet-black hair and glowing green eyes. She didn’t look like a student; didn’t look like anyone he’d ever met. And yet, he couldn’t stop staring.

    Something about her didn’t fit, but in a way that drew him in.

    Without thinking, he walked over.

    “Hey,” he said, trying to mask his curiosity.

    She turned slowly. “Hey,” she said back, her voice soft, but with something strong in it.

    They talked. Quiet conversation amid the loud music. Her voice held a pull. Before he realized it, they were closer. Their eyes locked. And then she kissed him.

    It was gentle. Strange. Almost electric.

    Then everything tilted.

    A wave of dizziness rushed through him.

    He tried to pull back, but the world spun. His legs gave out. The last thing he heard was his heart pounding in his ears before everything went black.

    The next morning, John awoke to a blinding headache and an urgent need to pee. He groaned, his body aching as he stumbled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. The room spun as he flipped on the light, the harsh glow illuminating the small, cramped space. He fumbled with his pants, his bladder screaming for relief, and made his way to the toilet. But as he stood there, something felt… off. He froze, his hand hovering over the seat, a sense of dread creeping into his chest.

    Slowly, he looked down, his breath catching in his throat. Where his penis should have been, there was nothing but smooth skin. His heart pounded as he reached down, his fingers trembling as they explored the unfamiliar terrain. A soft, sensitive fold greeted his touch, and he felt a wetness that made his stomach churn. Panic set in as the realization hit him like a freight train, he had a vagina.

    Confusion and terror warred within him as he sank to the toilet seat, his hands shaking. He had no idea how this could have happened, no clue what had transpired after he blacked out at the party. All he knew was that his body had changed, and the implications were staggering. He thought of the team, of the life he had known, and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. How could he explain this? How could he hide it?

    The questions swirled in his mind as he sat there, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He had always been proud of his body; of the strength and masculinity it represented. Now, he felt violated, his identity shattered.

    As he sat there, the surreal reality sinking in, John knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t let anyone find out. He had to figure out what to do, how to undo this curse, but for now, all he could do was sit and pee like a girl, the weight of his new, bewildering existence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

    The morning light filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room as John sat there, his mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The world he had known was gone, replaced by a strange new reality that he couldn’t begin to comprehend. As he finished and stood, his legs felt weak, his resolve fragile. He had always been the one in control, the one who faced challenges head-on. But this… this was different. This was a battle he wasn’t sure he could win.

    With a heavy heart, he left the bathroom, his steps slow and uncertain. Something had changed him, but it hadn’t taken away his determination. He would find answers, no matter the cost. But for now, he had to keep his secret, had to pretend everything was normal.

    To be continued..


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  • The Moonlit Pact

    Disclaimer: ⚠️ This story is a work of dark fantasy fiction for mature audiences (18+). It features intense sexual themes, psychological descent, supernatural eroticism, generational curses, and scenes involving hypnotic consent. All characters are fictional and over the age of 18. Reader discretion is strongly advised.


    Elian, a 21-year-old tech-born skeptic, inherits more than just memories after his father vanishes. A mysterious family curse tied to desire, transformation, and ancient surrender begins to awaken in his blood. And as his body responds… so does the forest.

    Elian had always been ordinary — or at least, he tried to be.

    Elian was born where everything blinked.

    Screens. Alarms. Smart mirrors.

    His city, Nurovia, didn’t believe in superstition — and neither did he. Magic, curses, old gods? Childhood stories. He was raised on logic, simulation pods, and interactive porn. He was straight, dated girls in college, coded erotic AI on the side.

    raised by a soft-spoken mother and a father whose presence lingered only in photographs. His dad had vanished when Elian was three, All he had left were fading pictures and his mother’s refusal to answer certain questions.. 

    “Your father was… drawn to things,” she once said cryptically. “Things he should’ve left buried.”

    He didn’t believe in spirits, fate, or “curse bloodlines.” He believed in simulation porn and sleek hands on AI thighs.

    But then… his body betrayed him.

    Something in him… didn’t behave.

    When a male friend touched his shoulder, it stayed with him for hours. Sometimes his groin responded. Sometimes he got hard from nothing, his mind blank, but his body desperate. He hated it. Denied it. Masturbated with guilt.

    There was always a dream pulling him elsewhere — a hunger he couldn’t name.

    At night, he’d wake up sticky, breathless. His sheets wet, thighs trembling. Always from the same dream: dark woods, a tall figure, fingers trailing down his spine, whispering a name that wasn’t his.

    At 21, it got worse.

    The dreams began.

    A glowing man in a forest.

    A voice whispering, “You’re almost ready.”

    Generations of men kneeling, offering their seed to the same luminous being — and becoming it.

    It started again the day he turned twenty-one.

    After his mother’s death, Elian returned to the basement of their old flat and discovered his father’s trunk.

    Dust choked the old room. But behind the cobwebbed trunk, he found a wooden box, locked and sealed with wax. The initials: D.A. — his father’s.

    Inside: sketches identical to his dreams. Notes. Research. A map to Greydale, fevered handwriting.

    “The forest calls bloodlines. I was taken. Not unwillingly. I left a part of myself behind — and something inside me in return.”

    Sketches filled the margins. Men bent backwards in vine-wrapped ecstasy. Their expressions of pleasure bordered on pain. Every page hummed with heat.

    He stared at one that looked like him. Same eyes. Same body. Mouth stretched open, eyes rolling back.

    His hand trembled. One final note:

    “I bought time. You were born marked. I’m sorry, Elian.”

    That night, Elian woke moaning. He had cum in his sleep. Again.

    For days, he searched. Buried in blogs and PDFs, he found whispers of the same thing — men across decades describing dreams, trances, and transformations near the Moonwood Forest.

    They all mentioned the Red Moon. They all vanished after their final posts.

    He wasn’t alone.

    But he was desperate. No answers. Just warnings.

    So Elian decided:

     If no one will tell me what I am… I’ll find out myself.

    He packed his bag.

    And left everything behind. He went out to find his dad and some answers, Elian thought.

    He didn’t knew this all was a trap, The Forest, The Being was making him do such things which lead him going to Greylade.

    He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. The dreams were starting again. Stronger.

    That night, he woke outside the hut. Barefoot. Shirtless. His hands were covered in sap.

    And he’d been walking toward the jungle.

    He didn’t remember it.

    Every night, it pulled stronger.

    Every night, someone from the village stopped him. A woman shouting. A boy grabbing his arm. A whisper: “Don’t go under the red moon.”

    and people asked him to go back before it’s to late. 

    He also realises that no one’s there to give him the answers so He decided to go back. 

    But it was the night of Red Moon.

    The red moon rose.

    He came out of his but and saw a golden Beam.

    He followed it as it looked something similar he’d seen in his dreams and journal.

    And no one stopped him.

    The forest didn’t just welcome him — it obeyed him.

    Vines moved aside like curtains. The grass bent under his feet. Birds chirped in rhythm. The trees creaked like ancient throats singing for his arrival.

    “What is this…?” Elian whispered, heart pounding.

    The clouds above split, revealing a radiant full moon. His skin tingled. He felt… seen. Desired.

    Something shifted beneath him.

    Vines moved.

    Like snakes, they caressed his legs, slithered up his thighs, gently pulling him into the air. His legs parted instinctively, his breath catching as the vines slid beneath his clothes, unweaving them,

    Chirrppppp!

    The vines pulled his clothes making him naked with graceful authority.

    “Ahh—!” Elian gasped. “Wait—what are you doing!?”

    He dangled there, nude, glowing, trembling—not with fear, but with something feral and wet in his belly.

    He was naked, suspended in air, legs spread.

    Elian blushed violently. “No—stop! Please—what the fuck is happening—!”

    But the vines soothed him. Warm. Pulsing. They cradled him like arms. He should’ve screamed.

    But his body was aching.

    Then… it appeared.

    A shape from the trees. Shadow with golden eyes.

    Tall. Glowing. Not man. Not beast.

    The forest hummed.

    “You came,” the voice said, inside his mind. Deep. Timeless.

    “You opened the line again.”

    “Wh-who are you?” Elian stammered.

    “I am what your father made love to,” it said. “And you are his pact reborn.”

    It placed one hand on Elian’s chest. Elian arched, moaning. A wave hit him—erotic, unbearable, holy.

    “You were never meant to find your father. You were meant to finish what he couldn’t.”

    He hovered over Elian — and entered him, slowly, perfectly, deeply.

    Elian’s moans echoed through the trees. His fear melted into heat. Into hunger.

    He cried out, his eyes rolling back, voice shaking:

    “Ahh—God—!” he cried.

    His cock stiffened instantly. Pulsing. Dripping.

    “What—why do I feel like this?!”

    “You are awakening,” it said. “The forest remembers you. Your blood. Your seed.”

    It knelt between Elian’s legs.

    “No—wait! Please—” he tried to squirm.

    His mind shattered in pleasure.

    It was like centuries of need finally touched him.

    The being lifted him higher. Vines spread his cheeks, slowly, reverently.

    Elian whimpered. “I can’t—I shouldn’t—”

    But he didn’t finish.

    The being entered him.

    Slowly.

    Smoothly.

    Like it belonged.

    His spine arched. Eyes rolled back. “Ohhh fuuuuckk—!”

    He clenched around it, body trembling. Pain faded into desire. Desire into surrender.

    Memories burned away. His name. His purpose. His past. All gone.

    “I’m… yours,” he whispered. “Take it… take all of me…”

     “More… please don’t stop… I need it…”

    Each thrust changed him.

    His skin shimmered. His voice deepened. Wings sprouted. His cock lengthened, hardened, godlike.

    The being began shrinking, becoming human again — the curse transferring.

    Elian’s memories began to vanish. His purpose. His name.

    The being smiled.

    “Just like your father.”

    They moved in rhythm. Like mating animals under the blood moon.

    The forest moaned with him. Echoed. His cries of pleasure reached the village.

    Children woke up. Women prayed. Men covered their ears.

    The being poured into him — not just physically, but spiritually. Elian’s skin glowed. His eyes turned gold.

    “You accept me, body and soul?” he asked.

    “Yes!” Elian moaned. “Take me, gods, take me!”

    By dawn, he was no longer human.

    He stood in the clearing, naked, radiant, vines curled around his ankles like loyal pets.

    All that remained was the hunger. The lust. The need to take.

    He began to buck back against the being. “More,” he groaned, shaking. “Please, more…”

    By midnight, it was over. The moaning stopped.

    The villagers, silent in their homes, said only, “It has claimed another. Just like his father.”

    The next morning, the jungle lay still.

    Elian awoke, naked and alone in the glade. He blinked at his golden skin, felt his new wings unfurl behind him, stretching.

    He could hear the whispers of every creature.

    He could feel the trees breathing.

    He was no longer man.

    He was the Being now.

    The curse had completed.

    A vision came—faint but clear. A girl in the city. Rubbing her belly. Smiling.

    His girlfriend.

    Elian’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

    “Next target,” he whispered.

    He had forgotten everything—but the hunger remained.

    Was he the last?

    Or just the next?

    Months later, back in the city, Elian’s former girlfriend ran her hands over her round stomach, humming softly.

    Inside her, the fetus glowed faint gold.

    She didn’t notice.

    But he did.

    From far away, wings cloaked in moonlight, Elian watched—no longer man, no longer memory, only curse.

    And he waited.

    Because the forest is patient.

    And so is the hunger.

    🕯️ The End Or the beginning.

    The End.


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  • The Acquisition: A Record of Compliance, Pleasure & Ownership

    Cleansed by Submission

    © Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica

    I was dreaming of warmth. Of sunlight, I think—some flickering image of a dock, my childhood dog Charlie barking, wind teasing the water. But the warmth shifted. Grew oddly specific. Wet. Spreading across my chest.

    Then a scent. Sharp, unmistakable. And before I could fully surface from sleep, a low voice reached through the haze.

    “Wake up, Blake.”

    My eyes flew open. I tried to stand up, but the cage didn’t allow for that. My forehead bumped the bars and I blinked into the morning light, disoriented, until another warm stream struck my skin.

    Sean.

    He was standing in front of the cage, naked from the waist down, calmly urinating through the bars like it was nothing. His aim was deliberate. The stream hit my chest, then stomach, then slowed… and suddenly redirected toward my face.

    “Up. Now. Kneel and open your mouth.”

    I scrambled, bones aching from the confined night, heart thudding. My body moved before thought caught up. I turned, pressed my chest against the cool steel, angled my head up between the bars. He didn’t wait for confirmation.

    The stream found my lips.

    I opened.

    It clearly wasn’t about thirst. It wasn’t about any desire to perform the act. It was about the moment—being marked again, first thing in the morning, before my thoughts had even formed into full sentences. Before I’d spoken a word. My body responded, that now-familiar clench deep in my gut, the cage already pressing tight against morning wood I didn’t control anymore.

    Sean’s piss was warm, a little bitter. With the tip of his soft cock settled comfortably in my mouth all of his stream found its target. But I didn’t flinch. I kept my lips parted and let him finish.

    Only when the stream tapered off did he speak again, voice calm and casual. “Good. You’re learning.”

    He stepped back and pulled up his boxers. He hadn’t even taken his shirt off. Just pulled down his underwear, relieved himself on and in his slave, and moved on with his day.

    I stayed there, panting slightly. My face was damp. My chest was slick. My knees hurt. But I didn’t move.

    Not until he said, “Out.”

    He unlocked the latch and I crawled forward. Sean didn’t offer help. He just stood to the side, watching as I unfolded my stiff limbs onto the hardwood floor. I felt cold air against my wet skin, felt shame rise unbidden—but not resistance. Never resistance.

    He walked past me, already heading for the bathroom.

    “Shower. Use the same routine as yesterday. Don’t make me correct you.”

    I followed on trembling legs.

    I stepped into the bathroom, already bracing for his presence. Sean didn’t shut the door. Of course he didn’t. He leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, wearing a grey fitted tee now that barely concealed the muscle underneath. His joggers hung low on his hips. He looked like any man about to hit the gym. Except no one at the gym watched their co-worker strip naked and rinse off their morning piss.

    I slid back the curtain, stepped into the tub, and turned the water on. Lukewarm. I didn’t dare make it hot.

    “Start with your hair,” Sean said, voice mild. “Same as yesterday.”

    I obeyed. Fingers in my hair, working in the shampoo from scalp to roots. I did it slowly, deliberately, knowing he was watching every movement. I tilted my head back, let the water run down my face and back, rinsing the sleep, and the humiliation, away.

    But not really. Nothing washed away.

    “Now your neck. Under the arms. Don’t skip.”

    I didn’t.

    The room filled with steam, but I was still cold. Not physically. Something deeper. A kind of internal nakedness. My skin felt too thin. Every time I brought my hands to my body, I imagined his eyes tracking the motion, storing it, judging me.

    I moved to my chest, then stomach. I avoided my cock—it was still locked away, a humiliating, permanent reminder. I focused on the areas he’d expect. Inner thighs. Behind the knees. Feet.

    “Ass,” he said.

    I turned slightly, giving him a better angle, and reached back. The position exposed everything, spine curved, cheeks parted, balance precarious. But I knew better than to complain.

    “Wider,” Sean said.

    I shifted.

    “Better.”

    He said nothing else for a while. I finished rinsing, then stood there dripping.

    “Come out,” he said eventually.

    I stepped from the tub onto the mat, reaching for a towel.

    “Leave it.”

    I let it drop.

    Sean looked me over like I was a freshly scrubbed animal at market. Then he came forward. His hands were warm. He took a cloth and dabbed under my eyes, along my jawline, down my collarbone, not drying me, not really. Just touching.

    “You’re clean enough now.”

    He stepped back. “Do the morning prep.”

    I moved to the counter without needing further instruction. I opened the cabinet and laid out what he required, his toothbrush, toothpaste already applied in a neat line. A clean face towel folded just the way he liked. Deodorant uncapped and waiting. Hair product open, ready to use. Razor, should he decide to shave. Mouthwash, poured precisely to the fill line in a glass.

    When I turned back, he was watching.

    “Not bad,” he said. His tone was neutral, but I felt the flicker of satisfaction in my chest all the same.

    Sean stepped forward, eyeing the container of styling cream I’d set out. He dipped two fingers into it and motioned to the stool in front of the vanity.

    “Sit,” he said simply.

    I obeyed, still damp. My bare ass met the cool wood of the seat. Sean stood behind me, his reflection visible in the mirror. His eyes were fixed on my hair, his expression unreadable.

    He began working the product into my hair, slowly, deliberately, molding the strands with a precision that felt oddly intimate. His fingers combed through me like they had every right to. Like my head was his to shape, like I was a doll to be arranged for display.

    “You looked better like this yesterday,” he murmured, pressing my hair into a familiar side part. “We’ll keep it this way.”

    He didn’t ask if I liked it.

    He didn’t need to.

    His hands lingered a little longer than necessary, smoothing, adjusting, controlling. I sat perfectly still, heart hammering, breathing shallow. No one had styled my hair for me since I was a child. Not even lovers. It was too vulnerable, too personal. But Sean didn’t treat it like a kindness.

    It was a claim.

    He stepped back, inspected me once more in the mirror, then nodded faintly.

    “Good.”

    Sean’s fingers gave one final pass through my hair before pulling away. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched me in the mirror like he was appraising his work. Or maybe like he was appraising me.

    I sat motionless, trying not to shiver. The last traces of shower water still clung to my skin, cooling now in the morning air. I expected him to step away. To say something dismissive and tell me to get breakfast ready. That would’ve been routine.

    Instead, I felt his hand on my shoulder. Firm. Still damp with the hair cream he’d used. His grip tightened slightly as he leaned forward, and I caught the shift in his breathing before I saw it.

    I stood when he released me, legs stiff from sitting so long. That’s when I saw it.

    Sean was hard.

    Painfully hard, judging by the shape pressing forward beneath his joggers. The grey fabric didn’t hide much. It clung to the outline of his cock—thick, long, pulsing visibly with each slow breath he took. His eyes were half-lidded, gaze dragging down my body like he was starving.

    He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at me with a mixture of hunger and restraint, like something inside him had been simmering all morning and was now rising to a boil.

    “I usually like breakfast first,” he said at last, voice smooth. He stepped closer, the bulge in his pants almost brushing my stomach. “But this morning…”

    His hand found my jaw. He tilted my head up, not hard, just enough to make sure I was looking at him.

    “This morning I’m hungry for holes.”

    My breath caught.

    He smiled faintly, almost amused at his own phrasing, but there was no warmth in it. Only heat.

    “I’ve let you get away with too much ritual,” he added. “Time to remind you what all that cleanliness is really for.”

    Then he turned and walked out of the bathroom.

    I followed.

    We crossed the hall into his bedroom, sunlight filtering in through the half-closed blinds. The bed was unmade—his side mussed from sleep, the other untouched. I wasn’t allowed in it. Not at night.

    He stopped at the foot of the bed and turned to face me. Wordlessly, he pushed his joggers down, stepping out of them without ceremony. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already glistening at the tip. It was even larger than I remembered from last night. Or maybe it just looked more threatening in the daylight.

    “On the bed. On your back.”

    I climbed up without hesitation, the sheets cool against my skin. I lay down flat, staring at the ceiling until his face came into view above me.

    “I’m not going to make this pretty,” he said. “This is about hunger. About satisfaction. You exist for that.”

    I swallowed hard. My heart was thudding against my ribs, but I nodded.

    “Yes, Master.”

    That earned a slow smirk. Then he climbed up between my legs.

    Sean didn’t pounce. He settled. That was somehow worse.

    He knelt between my legs with the unhurried poise of a man already confident in the outcome. His cock—thick, ruddy, and heavy with heat—rested briefly against my stomach, a warm, living weight. My own caged erection throbbed beneath it, unseen and irrelevant.

    He leaned forward, one hand braced beside my head, the other cupping my jaw.

    “Mouth first,” he said softly. “You clean the plate before you get the meal.”

    I opened.

    Sean didn’t feed it to me right away. He brushed the tip across my lips, back and forth, letting his arousal smear against my skin. I caught the bitter tang of precum, the faint salt of sweat from the base. He hadn’t showered since pissing on me. The scent made my head spin, sharp, earthy, inescapably male.

    “Wider.”

    I obeyed.

    He pressed in.

    It wasn’t a gentle motion, but it wasn’t brutal either. Controlled. Measured. Sean pushed until his cock filled my mouth, stretching my jaw wide, settling against the back of my throat. I fought the reflex to gag, focused on breathing through my nose.

    “Don’t fight it,” he murmured, fingers lacing into my hair. “Let it happen.”

    He began to move. Slowly at first, small thrusts, dragging himself across my tongue. The taste of him coated everything. Sweat, skin, musk. I focused on each breath, on relaxing my throat, on being useful.

    “You always suck cock better in the morning?” he asked. His voice was low, amused. “No wonder I skipped breakfast.”

    He started fucking deeper.

    The pace quickened—not violently, but insistently. Like a man who hadn’t eaten all week and was now letting himself indulge. My throat began to protest. My eyes watered. Saliva spilled from the corners of my lips, coating my chin, mixing with the precum already slicking his cock.

    Sean’s grip on my head tightened.

    “No hands,” he said. “Just lie there and take it.”

    I did.

    He thrust slowly at first, savoring the initial resistance of my throat. His cock filled my mouth inch by inch, pushing past my tongue, stretching the corners of my lips until I couldn’t close them fully around him anymore. I gagged, once, and he paused, not with concern, but calculation. Measuring.

    Then he kept going.

    The next time I gagged, he didn’t stop. He fed himself deeper, one long, smooth stroke that planted him fully in my throat. My eyes watered instantly. I struggled to inhale through my nose, tried not to panic. I knew this. I’d done this.

    The pain behind my jawbone faded into a kind of numb burn. My lips ached. My throat pulsed around him with every shallow breath I managed to draw. Sean’s scent, clean sweat, lingering piss, thick arousal, clung to my skin, clung to the back of my tongue.

    He began to use me in earnest.

    The rhythm he settled into was relentless, just controlled enough to stop short of brutality. He wasn’t punishing me. He was feeding on me. Sliding in and out with increasing confidence, using my face like he was testing the limits of what I could endure.

    The sounds were obscene, slick, wet, raw. Every thrust forced a new stream of spit from my lips, drooling down my chin in thick ropes. My face was a mess, but I didn’t try to wipe it away.

    He didn’t want me clean.

    “Fucking hell,” Sean muttered above me, voice strained. “You take it now. You don’t shy away from it anymore.”

    I couldn’t respond.

    My hands were balled into fists at my sides, more from tension than willpower. My knees were bent awkwardly against the mattress, my chest heaving as I fought to time each breath between strokes. My throat wasn’t just sore, it was open, trained, owned.

    He gripped both sides of my head now and started thrusting faster, harder, like something inside him had snapped. No more taunts. No more training tips. Just the sound of skin meeting skin, of his groans growing louder as I gagged and moaned and fought not to pass out.

    I wanted it.

    God help me, I wanted it.

    To be used this way. To be his relief. To make him come not because he was being pleasured but because he was so far above me he could take whatever he wanted from my mouth.

    Then—just when I thought he might lose control entirely—he pulled back.

    Not all the way. Just enough so that the head of his cock rested on my tongue, leaking and twitching, my spit coating him from base to tip.

    “Breathe,” he said, rough and low.

    I sucked in air through my nose.

    He didn’t let me up.

    “Keep me there. Don’t swallow. Don’t close your lips. Just hold me.”

    I obeyed. My mouth stayed open. My lips parted in a slack oval around the flare of his head. He pulsed against my tongue, each throb sending a new bead of precum into my mouth. My saliva pooled under my tongue, thick and warm.

    Sean looked down at me like I was a possession well-used.

    He stayed like that for a long moment. Long enough to feel the ache in my jaw deepen. Long enough to make my eyes start to water again. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

    Then, at last, he pulled back, slowly, carefully, dragging himself across my raw tongue like a man savoring the final bite.

    My lips clung to him involuntarily. I couldn’t help it.

    “Jesus,” he muttered.

    And then, finally, he flipped me.

    Sean didn’t say a word when he flipped me. He just gripped my hips and turned me like he was resetting a pillow, no care for grace, no ceremony. I landed chest-down on the mattress, face buried in the wrinkled sheets, my legs bent awkwardly beneath me.

    “Spread,” he said.

    I did. Slowly, on instinct. I bent my knees, let them fall open until I was exposed. Vulnerable. Presented.

    I felt him shift behind me, one hand planted on my lower back, the other moving down to part my ass.

    There was no sound for a moment but our breathing.

    Then I heard him spit.

    It hit skin, wet, fast, familiar. I flinched only a little. He did it again. A second wad, this time landing right on my hole. The warmth of it, the weight, made me freeze.

    His thumb followed immediately after, rubbing the spit in, not gently but not carelessly either. Just enough to slick the surface, to make himself welcome.

    “That’s all you get,” he said, almost to himself. “You’re trained now.”

    I nodded into the mattress. Or tried to. The pressure on my back kept me pinned.

    I felt the head of his cock press against me next. Thick. Unforgiving.

    He didn’t ram it in. He pushed. Slowly. With the same patience he’d shown with my mouth earlier, but none of the softness. He applied steady pressure, inch by inch, forcing me open on his spit and his will alone.

    It still hurt but it felt so good too.

    Like being filled beyond what I thought I could take. Like my body was being shown its real purpose by someone who didn’t need to prove anything anymore.

    My breath came in sharp gasps.

    I gripped the sheets in both hands, knuckles white, thighs trembling. My hole stretched around him, burned at the edges, then… gave way.

    He was in.

    “Fuck, Blake,” Sean breathed, suddenly tight-voiced. “You’re so fucking tight still.”

    He didn’t give me time to adjust.

    He pulled halfway out and pushed back in, faster now, testing the fit. My ass clenched instinctively, and he groaned low in his throat.

    “I said relax,” he growled. “You’re not supposed to fight me. You’re supposed to welcome me.”

    He grabbed both sides of my hips and adjusted his angle. This time, when he drove in, he hit deeper—deeper than I thought possible. My mouth opened against the sheets, a sound escaping I didn’t recognize. Pain? Shock? Something worse?

    Something better?

    He began to fuck me in earnest.

    Sean set the rhythm like he was laying track. Measured at first. Intentional. Each thrust drove deeper, spreading the ache until I stopped trying to contain it. I let my head drop into the mattress, body slack except where his cock commanded tension.

    He leaned forward, chest grazing my back. His hands slid up from my hips to my sides, then down again. Not tender. Not rough. Just aware. Like he was reminding me that this body belonged to him now—rented flesh he had no intention of giving back.

    “This is how I want you,” he said low, close to my ear. “Open. Obedient. Fucked before you’ve even had a meal.”

    His thrusts deepened.

    I moaned. Not on purpose. Not performative. It just happened. A long, guttural sound that left my throat before I could mute it.

    “Yeah,” he said. “That’s right. You feel that. You feel me.”

    I did.

    Every stroke carved the thought of him deeper into me—erasing hesitation, scraping pride from my insides. The spit had mostly dried by now. My hole clung to him with every pullback. My body ached to be full, even as it struggled to keep up.

    Sean straightened, one hand sliding up my spine, tracing the knobs of my vertebrae like keys on a piano.

    Then he slapped my ass. Once. Hard.

    “Don’t let that hole slacken,” he warned.

    I nodded, breath caught.

    He slapped the other cheek—less force, more ownership.

    “Good boy.”

    Something twisted inside me when he said that. Not quite pleasure. Not quite humiliation. Just… surrender.

    I stayed down, stayed open, stayed quiet except for the stuttering breaths forced from me with each thrust.

    He owned the rhythm. He owned the air.

    He owned me.

    Sean set the rhythm like he was laying track. Measured at first. Intentional. Each thrust pushed deeper, spreading the ache until I stopped trying to contain it. I let my head drop into the mattress, body slack except where his cock demanded tension.

    He leaned forward, chest grazing my back. His hands slid up from my hips to my sides, then down again. Not tender. Not rough. Just precise. Like he was confirming every part of me still responded to him. Still bent where he wanted. Still fit around him exactly how he liked.

    His hips snapped forward. I gasped.

    “You feel just as tight as you were last night,” he went on, more to himself. “Or maybe I’m just harder now. Hungrier.” He chuckled at his own little joke about breakfast.

    I moaned, low and involuntary. The sound echoed in the mattress. I couldn’t hold it in. Couldn’t hold anything in. Sean wasn’t just filling me—he was hollowing me out to make more room for himself.

    He braced a hand between my shoulder blades and drove in harder. His thrusts weren’t wild, they were deliberate. Confident. Like he knew exactly what he was taking from me and exactly how much I could give before something in me gave way.

    Then, suddenly, he stopped.

    Buried to the hilt, he stayed there. Just breathing. Letting me feel every inch of him pulsing inside me.

    One of his hands slid across my lower back, up to my shoulder. His palm rested there, warm, grounding.

    “I want you to think about this,” he said quietly. “How deep I am. How full you are. How right this feels now.”

    He pulled out an inch, then slammed back in, not brutally, but hard enough to jolt a cry out of me.

    “That’s your purpose, Blake.”

    He didn’t move again. Just stayed there, deep and thick and maddeningly still, his breath brushing my neck.

    Sean withdrew slowly, agonizingly slow, dragging his cock out inch by inch like he was peeling himself from inside me. I almost whimpered at the loss. My hole clenched involuntarily, slick and sore, still open and wanting.

    He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood behind me, breathing heavily, letting my body miss him.

    Then his hand came down, flat against the small of my back, then lower. Not a slap. A press. A firm, anchoring palm that told me not to move.

    “You’re doing well,” he said, voice rough. “But I want to see your face.”

    He stepped back.

    “On your back. Legs up. Hold them.”

    I rolled over, body sluggish and boneless. My thighs trembled as I lifted them, ankles parted. I reached behind my knees and pulled them back toward my chest, exposing myself completely.

    I’d never felt more exposed than I did in that moment.

    Naked. Caged. Sweaty from being used and still holding the pose I knew he’d find most satisfying.

    Sean stared down at me like he was seeing something pure. Something broken in just the right way.

    Then he climbed back onto the bed, one knee between mine, guiding himself with one hand.

    “You’ve never looked better than this,” he said.

    He rubbed the head of his cock along my hole, teasing it, letting the swollen tip catch on the stretched entrance that was already red and used. He smeared the mix of spit and precum around, just enough to keep me pliant.

    Then he pushed in again.

    The stretch was sharper this time. Deeper. My new position forced him in at a different angle, one that made my breath catch in my throat.

    He started thrusting slowly, working himself back into the rhythm. My legs trembled in my hands, muscles straining to keep them up. But I didn’t let go. I wouldn’t.

    “Look at you,” he said. “Holding yourself open like it’s nothing. Like your only job is to be fucked.”

    He reached up with one hand and stroked my inner thigh, slow, almost affectionate. But there wasn’t just warmth behind it. There was also possession.

    “You’re not allowed to touch your cock,” he said. “But you can ache. That’s part of the deal.”

    He adjusted his hips and thrust harder. I cried out.

    “I want to hear you,” he said, thrusting again. “No more holding it in.”

    I obeyed.

    My voice broke in the air between us, moans slipping out with every push. I didn’t care how it sounded. I didn’t even know if it was pain or pleasure anymore. Just sensation. Just fullness.

    Just him.

    Sean’s rhythm had changed.

    It wasn’t just the angle or the position, it was the pressure behind every thrust now. A growing force. Purposeful. Final.

    He drove into me like my body was something he’d ordered and waited to unwrap. My back arched involuntarily with each impact, thighs burning as I struggled to keep them spread, lifted, held. The muscles in my arms trembled from the effort. My breathing was ragged.

    My cock was caged and aching, pressed between my pelvis and stomach, leaking onto my skin in thick, frustrated dribbles. Every thrust into my hole sent a matching throb through my shaft, unbearable, electric, cruel.

    I couldn’t take it.

    “Please—” I gasped.

    Sean didn’t slow.

    “Please, Master—let me cum.”

    That stopped him.

    The next thrust never landed.

    He stayed buried deep inside me, cock twitching, breath catching in his chest.

    Then he pulled out, not gently this time, but sharply, like yanking a plug from a drain.

    Before I could react, his hand cracked across my face.

    Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to shock. My head turned with the impact, cheek stinging. My mouth fell open, and I froze—legs still in the air, thighs spread wide, hole wet and gaping.

    A second slap landed across the other cheek.

    Not punishment. Correction.

    Sean’s face hovered above mine now, dark with fury. His cock still pulsed against my thigh, slick and flushed, but his voice was cold.

    “You don’t get to ask that.”

    I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. My lip trembled. My whole body had gone still, except the cage, which pulsed with need between us like a betrayal.

    “You just came last night,” he said. “You think I forgot that?”

    His hand gripped my jaw, squeezing just enough to make it hard to speak.

    “You come when I decide it’s time,” he hissed. “And you beg only when I let you. Do you understand?”

    I nodded quickly, heart racing. Shame burned hotter than my cheeks.

    “I asked you a question.”

    “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

    “Say it again. Like you mean it.”

    “Yes, Master. I understand.”

    He stared at me for a long moment, then released my jaw.

    “Hold your legs.”

    I obeyed instantly, hands locking under my knees once more, exposing my still-throbbing hole like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just overstepped. Like I hadn’t just been reminded—forcefully—who I belonged to.

    Sean leaned forward and lined himself up again.

    “Now take your fuck like a good boy.”

    And with that, he drove back into me.

    Sean didn’t ease back in.

    He claimed me—shoved himself deep in one punishing thrust that knocked the air out of my lungs and erased whatever pride had been left hanging in the corners of my chest. My mouth opened in a silent cry. My whole body shook, not from pain, but from the clarity of knowing: I’d crossed a line, and now I was being put back in place.

    He set a brutal rhythm.

    Not reckless. Not wild.

    Just relentless.

    His hips slammed against the backs of my thighs, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room like punctuation. Each thrust filled me completely, down to the root, down to that aching, overstretched part of me that now pulsed around him with instinctive need. Every time he bottomed out, I thought it might be the last. That he’d finally finish. But he didn’t. He kept going. Working me like a tool that still had more to give.

    “Keep those legs up,” he growled. “You don’t get to collapse now.”

    I nodded weakly, arms trembling, sweat dripping from my forehead into my eyes. I couldn’t wipe it away. My muscles were screaming. My cock throbbed behind its cage like it might break itself in protest.

    Sean adjusted his angle, shifting one knee up onto the bed for better leverage. The next thrust hit something inside me that sent my back arching off the mattress.

    He grinned.

    “There it is,” he muttered. “Your spot.”

    He hit it again.

    And again.

    Each time, my eyes rolled back. My fingers clenched around the backs of my knees. My hole spasmed around him uncontrollably.

    His sweat dripped onto my chest. His breath came faster, harder. I could feel him teetering now—close. So close. His thrusts were shallower, tighter, like he was trying to milk the last seconds of control from his body before release.

    My hole burned. My abs were locked. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t beg again even if I’d been allowed to. My mind had gone quiet—blank except for the steady chant repeating behind my eyes:

    Take it. Take it. Take it.

    Sean groaned, deep and guttural.

    He was almost there.

    Sean’s rhythm broke down into stuttering bursts, less pattern, more need. Each thrust landed with urgency now, his body vibrating with tension. I could feel it in his cock, swollen to its thickest, pulsing so hard inside me it felt like it had a heartbeat of its own.

    His hands gripped my thighs tighter, thumbs digging into the soft flesh just beneath my hips, holding me exactly where he wanted me—open, exposed, perfectly fucked.

    “Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck, Blake—fuck, you’re mine.”

    His voice cracked on the last word.

    He slammed in again, balls tight against me, grinding now rather than thrusting, chasing the final stretch of friction that would push him over. His cock throbbed violently, and I felt it then: the shift. That unmistakable moment when a man stops controlling the experience and surrenders to the explosion building in his spine.

    Sean came with a growl.

    The sound tore from his throat, low and feral, his hips locked tight against mine as he spilled into me, thick, hot, pulsing again and again with brutal insistence. His cock twitched deep inside, flooding me with a warmth I could feel spread through my gut like a claim made physical.

    He didn’t move.

    Not at first.

    His chest was flush to mine now, body trembling with aftershocks, forehead pressed to the side of my neck. I could feel the heat of his breath, the weight of him, solid, sweat-slicked, grounded. His cock stayed inside me, buried to the base, thick and slowly softening.

    I didn’t speak. Didn’t shift. I just lay there, arms still hooked under my legs, held open, used.

    Owned.

    His breathing slowed.

    Then I felt his lips move against my neck. Not a kiss. Not quite. Just the brush of his mouth, followed by a murmur.

    “You’re such a greedy bottom,” he said quietly. “Always wanting more dick.”

    His voice was flat, but not indifferent.

    He stayed inside me a moment longer.

    Then finally, with one last shallow thrust, he slid out, slowly. Carefully. His cock left my body wet and empty, and I clenched involuntarily at the loss.

    Sean didn’t comment on that. He just sat back on his knees and looked down at me—spread, sweating, filled.

    Silent.

    Waiting.

    Sean sat back, still breathing hard, sweat glistening on his chest and shoulders. His cock hung heavy between his thighs—softening, streaked with spit and rimmed with the last traces of cum. My hole ached, raw and pulsing, still parted from the stretch of him. I didn’t move.

    He studied me in silence. Then, finally, his voice:

    “Roll over. Carefully.”

    I obeyed.

    The movement was slow. My arms trembled. My spine bent awkwardly as I unfolded myself and turned onto my back. I could feel his cum shift inside me, thick and unmistakably present. My thighs stayed parted, open like I’d been trained.

    Sean leaned forward and placed two fingers against the inside of my thigh. Then lower.

    I flinched slightly when his fingers pressed against my entrance.

    He didn’t speak.

    He just pushed two fingers inside.

    His cum coated them immediately. He slid in deeper, scooping it out, then drew his hand back.

    He looked down at his fingers. Then at me.

    His expression didn’t change.

    “Open,” he said.

    I did.

    He pressed the fingers into my mouth, slowly, letting me taste what he’d left behind. I closed my lips around them automatically, tongue swirling over the salt and musk. It wasn’t just about taste. It was about submission. About knowing that even his release wasn’t mine to waste.

    He pulled his fingers free with a wet sound and wiped them casually on my chest.

    Then he stood.

    His cock dangled in front of my face now, glossy, wet, beginning to soften but still heavy with the memory of what it had done.

    “You know what to do.”

    I pushed myself up on one elbow and leaned in.

    My tongue made the first pass, slow, from base to tip, gathering sweat, spit, and the last remnants of cum. I licked him clean with deliberate strokes, my lips following, pressing softly against the skin that had just violated me so completely. I worked under the head, then around the crown, then down along the shaft, until no trace remained.

    Sean watched me do it, silent.

    He didn’t praise me.

    He didn’t need to.

    When I was done, I knelt back on my heels, head bowed slightly.

    The taste lingered in my mouth. The ache lingered in my body.

    And I waited for whatever came next.

    Sean’s cock slipped from my mouth with a quiet wet sound. I stayed still, kneeling on the mattress, face flushed and chest streaked with spit and sweat. I could still feel the slick heat inside me, gravity pulling it downward, threatening to leak.

    But Sean wasn’t done.

    He stepped closer again, fingers brushing my thigh, then sliding down between my cheeks. His touch was casual—clinical, almost—but the way his fingertips circled my hole felt anything but indifferent.

    “You’re leaking,” he said quietly. “What a wasteful little hole.”

    He knelt, just slightly, and spread me with one hand. I sucked in a breath as two fingers slipped inside again, deeper this time. The cum that had started to slide free was scooped back, gathered like it still belonged to him.

    He pulled his hand back, fingers coated in his own release.

    “Look at me.”

    I looked.

    He held his fingers in front of my face.

    “Open.”

    I obeyed.

    The taste was familiar now—bitter, salt-heavy, still warm from my own body. I sucked his fingers clean without hesitation, letting my tongue work between them, licking up every last trace. I didn’t gag. I didn’t flinch. I swallowed, then looked up at him again, ready for more.

    But Sean simply stood and stretched.

    “That’s enough.”

    He turned toward the ensuite, already stripping off his shirt as he walked. He didn’t look back.

    “Wipe up anything still dripping,” he called over his shoulder.

    Sean simply stood and stretched.

    He turned toward the ensuite, already peeling off his shirt as he walked. Muscles flexed in his back, glistening slightly in the morning light. He didn’t look back.

    At the doorway, he paused.

    “And Blake?”

    I looked up, still kneeling.

    “Make us breakfast.”

    His tone was flat, final.

    Then he disappeared into the steam, the sound of the shower starting a moment later.

    I stood slowly. My legs trembled as I stepped down from the mattress. The ache between my cheeks pulsed with each step—dull, swollen, unmistakably used. I reached for the towel folded on the low dresser and brought it between my legs. I pressed it there gently, wincing as I dabbed away the remaining slickness.

    It was a strange thing—wiping up evidence of someone else’s pleasure from your own body.

    But it didn’t feel wrong.

    It felt… earned.

    I carried the towel to the hamper, folded it once, and dropped it in.

    Then I turned toward the hallway. My body was still naked, my hair still exactly the way he liked it, and my stomach growled quietly.

    Breakfast.

    For both of us.


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  • Jock’s First Lesson

    The dorm room was a shadowed cage, lit only by the faint orange glow of a streetlamp slicing through the blinds. Owen, a 20-year-old baseball jock, lay face-down on his creaky dorm bed, his 6-foot, 185-pound body a sculpted masterpiece from years of swinging bats and crushing gym sessions. His blond hair, usually a cocky mess, clung to his sweaty forehead, and his tanned skin shimmered under the dim light, every cut of his pecs, six-pack, and thick thighs popping like he was carved from stone. His navy gym shorts hugged his bubble butt, the straps of his black jockstrap peeking out, teasing the eye. His 8-inch cock, trapped against the mattress, pulsed with a mix of fear and heat he couldn’t shake.

    His wrists were bound tight behind his back with athletic tape, the rough edges digging into his skin just enough to remind him he wasn’t going anywhere. His own sweaty boxers, yanked off in a blur, were stuffed in his mouth, the musky taste flooding his senses as he tried to breathe through his nose. Owen’s hazel eyes flicked toward the door, heart hammering like he was facing a 95-mph fastball. He was alone—for now—but the rumors about the “Coach” were screaming in his head, each one more twisted and electric than the last.

    Three weeks ago, the baseball team’s locker room was a steamy haze after a grueling practice. Owen, shirtless in his jockstrap and shorts, was wiping sweat off his chiseled abs when Jake, a 6’2” pitcher with a buzzcut and a cocky smirk, leaned against the lockers. “Yo, Owen, you hear about this ‘Coach’ dude?” Jake’s voice was hushed, his brown eyes glinting. “They say he’s been hitting up sorority girls, sneaking in at night, tying ‘em up with their own thongs. Leaves ‘em screaming for more.”

    Owen laughed, adjusting his jockstrap to hide the twitch in his shorts. “Sounds like some frat bro’s wet dream, man. What, he’s just breaking into houses and banging chicks?” But his voice wavered, and he turned to his locker to cover it.

    “Nah, it’s real,” said Ethan, a lean shortstop with dark curls, toweling off his ripped torso. “My girlfriend’s roommate got hit. Said this dude’s huge—6’8”, jacked as fuck, and packing serious heat. Tied her to the bed, made her beg for it. There’s an audio clip, bro. You hear it?” Ethan pulled out his phone, playing a muffled file—high-pitched moans, a girl’s voice gasping, “Please, oh God,” and a deep growl saying, “That’s it, take it all.” Owen’s gut tightened, his 8-inch cock stirring despite himself. “Bullshit,” he muttered, but he couldn’t stop listening.

    Two weeks ago, Owen was at a frat party, red Solo cup in hand, the house pulsing with music and bodies. His tight tee showed off his sculpted arms, and he was chatting up a cheerleader when a group of lacrosse bros started talking nearby. Ryan, a beefy attackman with a man bun, was half-drunk, gesturing wildly. “I’m telling you, this ‘Coach’ guy’s a fucking legend. My buddy’s sister got ‘coached’ last week. Said he tied her wrists with her own scarf, fucked her till she couldn’t walk straight. She’s got this audio—sent it to her friends.” Ryan fumbled with his phone, and a clip played: a girl’s moans, desperate and raw, mixed with a deep voice purring, “You’re mine tonight, sweetheart.”

    Owen sipped his beer, his heart pounding. “That’s fake as hell,” he said, but his eyes lingered on Ryan’s phone. Connor, a lanky midfielder, laughed nervously. “Fake or not, girls are lining up for this dude. He’s gotta be hung like a horse, right? Who’s got the balls to do that?” The bros laughed, but Owen caught their uneasy glances, like they were all wondering if the Coach was watching. Owen adjusted his shorts, his cock betraying his cool-guy act.

    Ten days ago, Owen was in the campus gym, spotting his buddy Tyler, a compact gymnast with a shredded build. The clank of weights filled the air as Tyler racked a barbell. “Yo, Owen, you heard about this ‘Coach’ shit?” Tyler said, wiping sweat off his brow. “My ex said her friend got hit by him. Dude’s, like, 6’8”, pure muscle, and a total beast. Tied her up with her own leggings, left her a mess. There’s this audio clip going around—sounds like a fucking porn shoot.”

    Owen grunted, helping lift the bar, his biceps flexing. “Yeah, I heard. Probably some creep hyping himself up.” But his voice was tight, and when Tyler played the clip—moans, a girl begging, “More, please,” and that same deep voice growling, “Good girl”—Owen’s jockstrap felt way too snug. “Girls are eating it up,” Tyler said, shaking his head. “But, like, who is this dude? He’s gotta be some pro athlete or something, right?” Owen nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, picturing a massive shadow slipping into a room.

    A week ago, Owen was in the dining hall, tray loaded with protein, when he overheard a group of hockey bros at the next table. Matt, a burly center with a shaved head, was talking low. “My girl’s friend got ‘coached’ last weekend. Said this dude’s a fucking giant, tied her to the headboard with her own bra. She’s got this audio—sent it to half the sorority.” Matt played it on his phone, volume low: a girl’s gasps, a rhythmic slapping sound, and a deep voice saying, “You’re taking it so well, princess.” The table went quiet, the bros exchanging looks.

    “Dude, that’s insane,” said Dylan, a wiry winger, his fork frozen mid-bite. “How’s he not getting caught? And why do these chicks love it?” Matt shrugged, smirking. “Guess he’s just that good. Bet he’s packing some serious heat.” Owen shoveled food in his mouth, trying to ignore the heat pooling in his gut. He told himself it was just gossip, but the audio stuck with him, that voice echoing in his head.

    Three nights ago, Owen was back in the locker room after a late practice, his blond hair wet from the shower, a towel slung low around his hips, showing off his treasure trail. Jake and Ethan were there, along with a few hockey guys who’d crashed the baseball team’s gym time. The vibe was tense, the air thick with sweat and whispers. Ethan leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yo, Owen, you hear the new shit about the ‘Coach’? It’s not just girls anymore. They say he got a dude. That gymnast, Cody. Cocky fucker who’s always flexing in the gym.”

    Owen’s stomach dropped, but he played it cool, wrapping the towel tighter. “No way, bro. Cody? He’d knock a guy out.” Ethan shook his head, pulling out his phone. “Listen to this.” He played the clip—muffled, desperate “gah, gah” sounds, unmistakably a guy, choking and struggling, followed by that deep, familiar voice: “Take it, pretty boy.” The locker room went dead silent, every jock frozen. Jake’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. That’s… Cody?”

    “Nah, can’t be,” Owen said, but his voice cracked. His cock twitched under the towel, and he turned away, pretending to dig in his locker. Ryan, the hockey bro from the party, piped up. “Heard Cody got in the dude’s face, talking shit. Coach tied him up, fucked his throat raw. Cody’s been weird since, skipping practice.” The bros exchanged looks, half-scared, half-thrilled. “Straight or not, that’s some power move,” Ethan muttered, and Owen caught the same spark in his eyes he felt in himself—fear, yeah, but also a twisted curiosity.

    Now, taped to his bed, Owen’s body was a live wire, every muscle taut as he waited. The door creaked open, and the “Coach” filled the frame—6’8”, a wall of lean muscle in a black tank top that clung to his sculpted pecs and veined biceps. His gym shorts strained against his thick thighs, the bulge of his 8.5-inch cock impossible to miss. His dark eyes locked on Owen, a smirk curling his lips like a predator sizing up prey.

    “Pretty boy,” the Coach growled, his voice matching the audio clips perfectly. “Heard you’ve been laughing off my rep. Thought you were too tough for this, huh?” He stepped closer, boots thudding, and Owen’s heart jackhammered. The Coach’s hand tested the tape on Owen’s wrists, then slid down to smack his ass through the shorts, the sting making Owen’s cock jump. “Nice jockstrap, jock. Wearing it for me?”

    Owen’s muffled groan was caught by the boxers in his mouth, his body betraying him as it arched slightly. The Coach chuckled, leaning down, his breath hot against Owen’s ear. “You’re all the same, you cocky jocks. Act straight, talk big, but you’re dying to know what it’s like to be owned.” His hands roamed—gripping Owen’s shoulders, tracing his spine, teasing the waistband of his shorts. Every touch was a power play, stoking the fire in Owen’s core, making him squirm against the binds.

    The Coach didn’t rush, savoring every second of control. “Look at this body,” he murmured, smacking Owen’s thigh, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Built like a fucking god, but you’re mine tonight.” His hands kneaded Owen’s muscles, teasing but never crossing into anything too raw, keeping him on the edge of sensation. The boxers muffled Owen’s moans, his 8-inch cock throbbing painfully against the bed. The Coach’s voice was relentless, taunting, “Bet you’re thinking about that gymnast now, huh? Wondering if you’ll break like he did.”

    When the Coach finally cut the tape and yanked the gag free, Owen gasped, his chest heaving, his blond hair a sweaty mess. The Coach tossed his shorts back, smirking. “Sleep tight, pretty boy. I’ll be back.” Owen collapsed, his body buzzing with shame, fear, and a heat he couldn’t deny. The rumors were real—and he was hooked.

    Owen stumbled back to his dorm under the cold November sky, the West Michigan campus quiet except for the crunch of leaves under his sneakers. His head was a fog—too many beers at the frat party, or maybe something else? He remembered laughing with his baseball bros, the thump of music, and then… nothing. A black hole where memories should’ve been. His 6-foot, 185-pound frame felt heavy, his blond hair a sweaty mess as he fumbled with his keycard and collapsed onto his dorm bed, still in his navy gym shorts and black jockstrap. The last thing he recalled was the door clicking shut behind him. Then, darkness.

    Now, he was wide awake, heart jackhammering, his chiseled body sprawled face-down on the mattress. His wrists were bound tight behind his back with athletic tape, the rough edges biting into his tanned skin. His own sweaty boxers were stuffed in his mouth, the musky taste choking his ragged breaths. His 8-inch cock, trapped against the bed, throbbed painfully, a mix of fear and heat coursing through him. The rumors about the “Coach”—that 27-year-old, 6’8” mountain of muscle who’d been “coaching” girls and maybe even jocks—flooded his mind. Was this him? How the hell did Owen end up like this?

    A creak broke the silence—someone moving behind him. Heavy footsteps, deliberate, like a predator circling. Owen’s hazel eyes widened, darting toward the shadows. He tried to speak, to demand who was there, but the boxers muffled his words into a pathetic grunt. He squirmed, muscles flexing against the tape, trying to twist his head to see. A massive hand slammed down on his back, pinning him to the bed with ease. His bubble butt, framed by the jockstrap under his shorts, arched instinctively, and a low, young man’s voice rumbled through the room, dripping with dominance.

    “Easy, pretty boy,” the voice growled, smooth and dangerous. “You’re not going anywhere. Time for your first real lesson.” Owen’s cock jumped, his body betraying him as the voice continued, hot and filthy. “Been watching you, Owen. All that jock swagger, that tight ass. Tonight, I’m gonna coach you right—teach you how to take my dick in that pretty mouth of yours.”

    Owen’s breath hitched, his mind screaming to resist, but his body was on fire, his 8-inch cock straining against the mattress. The Coach’s hand pressed harder, fingers digging into Owen’s sculpted back, keeping him pinned like a prize. “You’re gonna learn to open wide, stud,” the Coach purred, his voice a mix of command and tease. “Bet you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you? All those rumors about me breaking jocks like you.”

    The footsteps moved, and suddenly the Coach stepped into view, standing right in front of Owen’s face. Owen’s eyes flicked up, and his breath caught. The Coach was a fucking vision—6’8”, a wall of lean, chiseled muscle wrapped in a tight black tank top that hugged his massive pecs like a second skin. His biceps and triceps bulged, veins popping under tanned skin, every flex a testament to raw power. A black mask covered his face, leaving only his sharp jaw and piercing dark eyes visible, glinting with predatory hunger. His soft gray sweatpants hung low, the outline of his huge cock unmistakable, thick and heavy even at rest.

    Owen’s gaze locked on the Coach’s chest, the way the tank top stretched over every ridge, then drifted to those sexy, pumped arms. The combination—massive pecs, sculpted biceps, and that air of total control—hit Owen like a drug. His hazel eyes betrayed him, wide and glassy, screaming he was ready even as his mind hesitated. His cock throbbed harder, tenting his shorts, and a low moan escaped through the gag.

    The Coach smirked, catching every flicker of Owen’s expression. “Look at you, jock,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “Getting hard just looking at me. I’m gonna be a good coach, Owen. We both know you want this, don’t we?” He leaned down, his masked face inches from Owen’s, those dark eyes boring into him. Owen swallowed nervously, his throat working around the boxers, his body trembling with a mix of fear and need.

    The Coach’s hand moved, slow and deliberate, yanking the sweaty boxers from Owen’s mouth. Owen gasped, coughing, his lips wet and parted as he sucked in air. The Coach didn’t wait, hooking his thumbs into his sweatpants and sliding them down. His 8.5-inch cock sprang free, thick, straight, and rock-hard, the head glistening as it bobbed inches from Owen’s face. Owen froze, mesmerized, his eyes locked on the massive shaft, the veins pulsing, the sheer size overwhelming. His tongue darted out, licking his lips instinctively, a reflex he couldn’t control.

    “There you go, you little slut,” the Coach growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Knew you were ready.” He reached out, delivering a sharp, sweet slap across Owen’s cheek, the sting sending a jolt through his body. Owen’s cock twitched, precum soaking his jockstrap, his hesitation crumbling under the Coach’s dominance. “Open up, pretty boy,” the Coach commanded, guiding his thick cock to Owen’s lips, brushing the head against them, teasing. “Time to learn how a real jock takes it.”

    Owen’s mind was a storm, his straight-bro pride clawing to hold on, but his body was betraying him, screaming for surrender. His 6-foot, 185-pound frame, chiseled from years of baseball, lay pinned face-down on his dorm bed, wrists bound tight behind his back with athletic tape. His navy gym shorts clung to his sculpted bubble butt, the black jockstrap underneath framing it like a prize. His 8-inch cock throbbed against the mattress, leaking precum, a humiliating testament to the heat flooding his veins. The sweaty boxers that had gagged him were gone, yanked out by the Coach, leaving his lips wet and parted, trembling as the 6’8” mountain of muscle loomed over him.

    The Coach, a 27-year-old god in a black mask, stood in front of Owen, his tight black tank top straining over his massive pecs, veins popping along his sculpted biceps and triceps. His gray sweatpants were down, his 8.5-inch cock standing thick and straight, the glistening head brushing Owen’s lips. The Coach’s hand gripped Owen’s blond hair, tilting his head back, forcing his hazel eyes to meet the dark, predatory gaze behind the mask. “Good boy,” the Coach murmured, his voice a filthy promise, low and dripping with control. “Let’s start your training.”

    Owen’s breath hitched, his lips quivering as the Coach’s cock nudged against them, hot and heavy. Part of him wanted to yell, to fight, but the heat in his gut, the ache in his own cock, held him captive. The Coach’s grip tightened, his thumb brushing Owen’s jaw, coaxing it open. “Open that pretty mouth, jock,” he growled, his voice a velvet blade. “Time to show me what a star like you can do.”

    Owen’s lips parted wider, hesitant but helpless under the Coach’s command. The Coach didn’t rush, savoring the moment, guiding his thick cock past Owen’s lips with a slow, deliberate push. The head filled Owen’s mouth, warm and slick, the musky taste overwhelming his senses. Owen’s eyes widened, a muffled moan escaping as his tongue brushed the underside, instinct taking over despite his racing mind. His cheeks hollowed, lips stretching around the girth, struggling to take…

    The Coach’s hand in Owen’s hair tightened, guiding him with a firm, unyielding grip. “That’s it, pretty boy,” he purred, his voice dripping with dominance. “Suck it like you mean it. Show me how bad you want this.” Owen’s body trembled, his chiseled abs tensing as he worked his mouth, lips sliding along the shaft, his tongue swirling tentatively. The Coach’s cock was thick, veins pulsing, and Owen’s hazel eyes flicked up, meeting that masked gaze, the sight of those massive pecs and chiseled arms making his cock twitch harder in his jockstrap. His face burned with a mix of shame and heat, his moans vibrating against the Coach’s skin, sending a shudder through both of them.

    “Fuck, you’re a natural,” the Coach growled, his free hand gripping Owen’s shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle. “Look at that tight jock mouth, taking me so good.” Owen’s body reacted, his 8-inch cock throbbing painfully, precum soaking his shorts as he sucked harder, lips gliding, cheeks hollowing with effort. His bound wrists strained against the tape, muscles flexing, his bubble butt arching slightly as he rocked against the bed, chasing friction. The Coach’s words hit like a spark, each one stoking the fire in Owen’s gut. “Knew you’d be a slut for this, jock,” the Coach taunted, his voice low and filthy. “All that swagger, and here you are, drooling on my dick.”

    Owen’s mind was a blur, pride warring with the raw need coursing through him. His tongue worked faster, sloppy and desperate, the Coach’s thick shaft filling his mouth, stretching his jaw. He gagged softly as the Coach pushed deeper, testing him, but Owen didn’t pull back, his lips tightening, sucking with a hunger that shocked him. “Good fucking boy,” the Coach praised, his hand guiding Owen’s head, setting a slow, relentless rhythm. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you? Getting owned by a real stud.”

    The Coach’s grip tightened, his hips rocking forward, pushing his cock deeper until Owen’s nose brushed the coarse hair at the base. Owen’s eyes watered, his throat working around the thickness, gagging but not stopping, his body screaming yes even as his mind reeled. His cock was rock-hard, leaking steadily, the jockstrap soaked as he ground against the mattress, every nerve on fire. The Coach’s voice was a constant, filthy stream, each word a lash. “Take it all, jock. Every fucking inch. You’re mine now, you hear me? My pretty little slut.” Owen’s muffled moans grew louder, his body trembling, his sculpted thighs clenching as he fought the urge to buck harder against the bed.

    The Coach’s pace quickened, his massive hand controlling Owen’s head, pushing him to take it deeper, faster. “Look at you, choking on it like a champ,” he growled, his masked eyes glinting with hunger. “Knew you’d break for me, Owen. Knew you’d love it.” Owen’s face flushed, his lips stretched wide, saliva dripping as he worked, his tongue swirling, desperate to please despite the shame burning in his chest. His body was a live wire, every thrust of the Coach’s cock sending jolts through him, his own cock pulsing with need.

    The Coach’s hand tightened in Owen’s blond hair, his hips rocking as he savored the sight of the jock’s lips stretched around his 8.5-inch cock. With a low, predatory chuckle, he leaned over Owen’s bound, 6-foot frame, his massive chest casting a shadow across the dorm bed. “Let’s see what else you’re hiding, pretty boy,” he growled, his voice dripping with dominance. His free hand slid down Owen’s back, fingers grazing the sweat-slick ridge of his spine, then hooked into the waistband of Owen’s navy gym shorts. He tugged them down slowly, expecting to find a pair of tight boxers clinging to the jock’s legendary bubble butt.

    Instead, the shorts slid past Owen’s hips, revealing nothing but bare, chiseled muscle—the perfect, tanned globes of his ass framed by the straps of his black jockstrap, leaving everything exposed. The Coach froze for a split second, his masked eyes glinting with raw hunger. “Fuck, jock,” he purred, his voice thick with approval. “No boxers? Just this slutty jockstrap? You’re begging for it, aren’t you?” His hand smacked Owen’s bare ass, the sharp sting echoing in the room, making Owen’s body jolt, his 8-inch cock throbbing harder against the mattress, precum soaking the sheets.

    Owen’s muffled moan vibrated against the Coach’s shaft, his cheeks burning with shame and heat as his ass arched instinctively under the touch. The Coach’s fingers kneaded the firm muscle, teasing the straps, his grip possessive. “Look at this perfect fucking ass,” he taunted, smacking it again, the sound mixing with Owen’s choked gasps. “Built like a goddamn trophy, and it’s all mine tonight.” Owen’s hazel eyes watered, his body trembling with a mix of hesitation and need, his cock pulsing as the Coach’s words and touch drove him to the edge, every nerve screaming for more.

    The Coach’s breath hitched, his chiseled pecs flexing under the tight black tank, his biceps bulging as he gripped Owen’s hair tighter. “Gonna paint that pretty face, jock,” he growled, his voice rough with impending release. “You ready for it?” Owen’s eyes flicked up, wide and glassy, his body screaming yes even as he hesitated, his lips never stopping, sucking harder, wet and sloppy. The Coach pulled back suddenly, his hand pumping his thick cock, aiming it at Owen’s flushed, sweat-slick face. “Open up, jock, show me your tongue!” he commanded, and Owen’s lips parted instinctively, his tongue darting out, his hazel eyes locked on the Coach’s masked face.

    With a low, guttural groan, the Coach came, hot ropes of cum splattering across Owen’s lips, cheeks, and jaw, marking him like a prize. Owen’s 6-foot, 185-pound frame shook, his 8-inch cock throbbing in his jockstrap, his face a mess of heat, shame, and raw need. “Fucking perfect,” the Coach purred, his voice a velvet blade, smearing the slick mess across Owen’s lips with the head of his thick cock, claiming every inch of him. “Look at you, all marked up like my bitch.” Owen’s moans were raw, his chiseled body arching, his bound wrists straining against the athletic tape as the Coach’s words burned into him, searing as much as the cum dripping down his flushed face.

    The Coach leaned closer, his 6’8” frame looming, his black tank top straining over his massive pecs, veins popping along his sculpted arms. His masked eyes glinted with predatory hunger as he dragged a thick finger through the sticky mess on Owen’s cheek, gathering a heavy drop of his cum. “Open that pretty mouth, jock,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. He pushed the finger past Owen’s trembling lips, the salty, thick taste flooding Owen’s senses. Owen moaned, a deep, desperate sound, his tongue swirling around the Coach’s finger, sucking instinctively as his hips bucked against the bed, chasing the electric aftershocks of his own orgasm. His precum-soaked jockstrap clung to his throbbing cock, his muscular thighs clenching as he ground down, every nerve screaming to prolong the high.

    “Fuck, you’re greedy,” the Coach taunted, his finger pumping slowly in Owen’s mouth, mimicking the rhythm of what they’d just done. “Look at you, lapping it up like a slut.” Owen’s hazel eyes fluttered, half-lidded with need, his blond hair a sweaty mess as he sucked harder, his moans muffled and raw. The Coach’s other hand gripped Owen’s jaw, holding him in place, smearing more of the cum across his lips, painting him with slow, deliberate strokes. “My pretty boy, marked and begging for more,” he purred, his voice dripping with control, each word sending a jolt through Owen’s core.

    With a sudden, effortless move, the Coach grabbed Owen’s bound shoulders, flipping the jock onto his back with a grunt. Owen’s chiseled abs flexed, his tanned skin glistening under the dim dorm light, his bound wrists pinned beneath him. The Coach’s hands moved fast, hooking into the straps of Owen’s black jockstrap and yanking it down, the fabric peeling away to reveal a glistening puddle of Owen’s own cum, hot and thick, pooling across his defined six-pack and treasure trail. The Coach’s smirk widened behind the mask, his eyes glinting with wicked delight. “Look at this fucking mess you made, jock,” he growled, his voice thick with approval. “Came so hard for me, didn’t you?”

    He scooped up the warm, sticky cum with one massive hand, his fingers slick as he smeared it over his own 8.5-inch cock, still hard and pulsing. The sight made Owen’s breath catch, his lips parting, his body trembling with a mix of shock and craving. The Coach leaned in, gripping Owen’s blond hair again, tilting his head back. “Time for round two, pretty boy,” he said, his voice a filthy promise. He guided his cum-slick cock back to Owen’s lips, the head brushing against them, the mix of their releases hot and overwhelming. “Taste yourself on me,” he commanded, pushing past Owen’s lips, slow and deliberate, filling his mouth again.

    Owen’s moan was guttural, his tongue swirling over the slick shaft, the taste of his own cum mingling with the Coach’s, driving him wild. His hips bucked off the bed, his cock twitching despite the fresh release, his body a live wire under the Coach’s control. “That’s it, jock,” the Coach growled, his hand guiding Owen’s head, setting a slow, relentless rhythm. “Suck it clean, you filthy little slut.” Owen’s eyes watered, his face flushed, but he didn’t stop, his lips tightening, his tongue working desperately, every move a surrender to the Coach’s dominance. The Coach’s massive frame loomed, his chiseled arms flexing, his voice a constant stream of filthy praise, pushing Owen deeper into the haze of need.


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  • Cruised By The Straight Fitness Trainer

    Everyone loved Matts classes.

    He ran a weight session at this boutique gym I had been going to, and you always had to book to get into his class. Mainly, as the classes were so good. He had this fun, but he also pushed you hard. So, you know you were gonna get a good work out in.

    But also, he was hot. Like, really really hot. He was in his early thirties, with dark hair, tanned skin and the kind of muscles you only get if you have been going to the gym every day for years. Big arms and pecs with perfect abs and a very sexy v-line. He would wear these low-cut tank tops and tight-fitting shorts in class, and seeing his rippling body covered in sweat every class was enough to make me keep coming back. At the end of each class, he would stand at the door as you leave and give you a high five, and my heart did a little flutter every time.

    Of course, he was straight. He had a gorgeous girlfriend I had seen a few times around the gym, and I had recently heard they just had a kid together.

    The class was full of guys, a lot of them gay (I am sure going for the same reasons as me) so the changing room after class was always rammed. I got very self-conscious being around all these very toned, buff guys so would hold back a bit after class until it got quieter.

    I am not in bad shape myself; I go the gym four times a week and also enjoy running so I have pretty decent body for a guy in his early thirties. I don’t have a six pack, but I do have a nice, toned stomach and am particularly proud of my ass. I admit it’s my favourite part to work on in the gym, so I have a nice bubble butt which does get a lot of compliments. But some of the guys here work out every day, so I prefer waiting to strip off till there’s less people in the changing rooms.

    The showers are located just off the main changing room, down a little corridor. There is a line of four shower cubicles facing another four opposite. I know from some of the guys around the gym the end ones can get a bit cruisy during busy times. As much as I do find that hot, I don’t get involved. Again, a bit too self-conscious but also, I generally like going for a date before getting down to business. But I had been tempted a few times when I had been going through a particularly dry spell, and I hadn’t hooked up with a guy in a couple weeks, so I was feeling the horn.

    On this particular day Matts class had been hard, harder than normal. He really pushed everyone. We were all dripping in sweat after and Matt was wearing a white tank top that had gone fully see through with sweat, so his pecs and rippling abs were on full display. I had to really focus so as not to get a hard on. At the end of class, we all shuffled out, and I couldn’t help but swoon a bit when he looked me in the eyes as he high fived me. Why is this straight man so hot?

    I headed upstairs to the cafe to grab a post workout shake and wait for the changing rooms to quiet down after the class rush.

    After about fifteen minutes I headed back down to the changing rooms. As I went in, I was glad to see there were only a couple guys finishing off getting changed. I went to my locker and got my stuff out then stripped down, grabbed a towel, and headed off to the showers.

    The showers were empty, my favourite. Means I can have a nice long hot shower undisturbed. I took one down the end and hung my towel over the frosted glass doors. The doors to the shower cubicles are two frosted glass doors with a gap down the middle. This means if you look across you can see a little into the other shower. If someone else is there you can catch glimpse of them, and there have been times I’ve enjoyed a sneaky little look at a hot guy showering across from me.

    I turned on my shower and started lathering up my body under the hot water. Damn that felt so good, my muscles were sore from class. I was enjoying the feel of the water on my skin when I heard someone coming into the showers. I didn’t think anything of it until they walked all the way to the end and started going into the cubicle across from me.

    Considering all the other showers are free it seemed an odd choice.

    Like I said I hadn’t got off in a while, but I wasn’t into cruising here, so I just I carried on soaping up my body. After a minute though I couldn’t help but have a look to see who had gone into the shower across from me. I could see a naked body under the steam of the shower. Wow, they had an amazing body. I could just see their rock-hard ass and muscly back and broad shoulders, then they turned, and I saw an insane rippling six pack and a handsome face.

    Holy shit it was Matt.

    Matt the gorgeous straight trainer was showering across from me. As I had this realisation his hands moved from where he had been soaping himself and I caught sight of his thick meaty cock. It was huge, swinging there between his thick things.

    I realised I had stopped breathing and was just standing staring, I quickly resumed cleaning myself. The trainers do use the showers sometimes; I just hadn’t seen him in here before. I had heard he normally just left after classes and went home as he didn’t live far. But here he was, naked, right across from me.

    Now I knew he was straight so nothing would happen, but the fact I get to see his naked body and that amazing cock would fuel my wanks for a long time. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but I had to steal a few more glances. My cock was already starting to get hard, so I tried to take deep breaths to calm it down.

    I turned back around so I was facing towards his shower and could see him again through the door cracks. He was cleaning his body all over and he was facing me so I could see his abs and cock again. His hands started rubbing his cock…and kept rubbing it.

    Was he getting hard?

    He was pulling at his cock and was using his other hand to massage his abs. Fuck this is so hot.

    Then I saw him look straight at me.

    Oh shit. Busted.

    I froze.

    I had no idea what to do.  I was caught staring.

    But he didn’t stop rubbing his cock. He was now looking straight at me while rubbing his dick, and it was getting hard. I don’t know how, but it kept getting bigger. It had to be like nine or ten inches when at full hardness.

    I was rock hard now, standing with the water running down me just watching as he started properly jacking himself off.

    What he did next blew my mind.

    Without saying anything he took one of the doors and opened it, so I had a much clearer view. I was completely mesmerised. I followed his lead and opened one of the doors of my shower and started wanking my cock.

    How the fuck was this happening?

    We were both standing facing each other, only a few feet away, with our showers running while jacking our cocks. This god of a man looking me straight in the eyes. I started to get bold, so I turned and started rubbing my ass, showing it off to him. He started jacking harder, really working his cock which had now reached a good ten inches.

    I spread my cheeks and started fingering my hole, showing it off to him. Fuck he made me act so slutty. I moaned as I slid a finger in. He was now staring at my hole, his face pure concentrated lust. I slid a second finger in as I was jacking my cock too.

    He started groaning quietly, this low rumble I could just hear it over the sound of the water. He was wanking his huge cock all the way from the base to the head, now using both hands. Then suddenly his head flew back, and he shot an almighty load of cum which flew across and hit me on my ass and lower back. I never seen cum shoot so far! He kept jacking as the wave of orgasm hit him, his cock shooting out so much cum. Fuck this guy’s balls were full.

    He slowly came to a stop and shook the last of the cum dripping from his monster cock onto the floor. He didn’t look at me once as he stepped back into the shower and closed the door.

    I didn’t know what to do, this perfect man’s cum was on my ass and lower back and I just watched him orgasm while jacking off to me. I closed my door too and stepped in but made sure the water didn’t wash of his cum.

    He cleaned his body and then turned off the shower and dried himself off. Then left the shower cubicle and headed off to the changing room without so much as looking at me.

    I stood there in shock. Did that just happen, or did I just have the most intense sex dream in the shower? I felt my ass and there was his cum, it happened. I scooped it off my ass and back and looked at it in my fingers. I smelt it, fuck that smelt good. Then I took my fingers and licked a bit of the cum. I tasted the sweet saltiness of it. Fuck.

    I was feeling so kinky that with the rest still on my fingers I slid them back inside my ass and fucked myself with his cum, as I jacked my cock and blew my own huge load against the shower wall.

    I was completely dazed after I shot. One of the most intense orgasms I had ever had.

    I cleaned myself under the water and then dried off and headed out of the showers and back to the changing room.

    It was empty. I went to my locker and got changed.

    As I headed out, I didn’t see him anywhere.

    I was confused. I know he was straight but what was that? We didn’t actually touch he just jacked off in front of me. I honestly didn’t care what he was, maybe just a horny guy that needed to get off and I was in the right place at the right time. And as much as I don’t normally do anything like this, I knew I would do anything for that man.

    My main thought was will it ever happen again? I highly doubted it.

    But as I left, I made sure to go to the front desk and book onto his next class.

    And I will be back at the end shower cubicle; in case he wants round two.


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  • Welcome to the Club

    Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction and intended for mature audiences only (18+). It contains explicit content, themes of erotic humiliation, identity transformation, and consensual power exchange. All characters are fictional and over the age of 18. Reader discretion is advised.


    The Mirror Message

    Ethan’s head throbbed like it had been split open by a hammer.

    His eyes cracked open to a faint blue glow spilling in from half-drawn curtains. It wasn’t his room. That realization hit first. This bed was too wide. The ceiling was too white. And he was—his heart froze—completely naked.

    He shot up with a gasp, only to feel his stomach churn. The headache from hell collided with the nausea of a night blurred by alcohol.

    Then he saw it.

    Scrawled in red lipstick across the mirrored closet door:

    WELCOME TO THE CLUB!

    His chest tightened. “What the fuck?”

    He grabbed the blanket and pulled it over his bare body, trying to recall what happened. Graduation party. House full of students. Booze. Shots. Maybe someone handed him something stronger.

    He blinked again and noticed something on the floor. His clothes were nowhere to be seen. Whoever undressed him had been careful. And deliberate.

    A whisper of fear curled in his gut.

    He limped to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed water on his face. A fading hickey stained his neck. His lips were raw. His ass… he flinched. It felt sore. Too sore.

    “No, no, no…”

    He tried to recall—had he… had someone…?

    Panic clawed at him as possibilities raced through his mind. Did someone take advantage of him?

    Or worse… did he want it?

    He wanted to go back to his home but he was naked! He started looking for clothes to his surprise……

    He spotted a filthy boxer shorts under the bed it was 3 pant size shorter than his but he had no other option to wear it to go out.

    He wore it tight, skinny he felt aroused but disgusted at the same time.

    He borrowed the hoodie and wore it too, his nipples could be seen pumped from the tight hoodie and bulge from his shorts.

    Later that day, he got tested. Every possible thing—HIV, STDs, anything. The clinic was quiet. No judgment. Just cold silence. His results came back: Negative.

    He should’ve felt relieved. Instead, he felt hollow. Something about that night remained buried in his brain like a locked door. And someone else had the key.

    That key would come soon.

    The first message came three days later.

    An anonymous number. No name. No context.

    Your little secret is with me, Sissy Boi 💋”

    He stared at it, ice flowing through his veins.

    Was it a prank? Someone from the party?

    But then came the second message.

    You looked so pretty bent over. Should I send the video to your mom?”

    He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He paced his dorm room, locked the door, sat in the dark. Over and over, he asked himself: Did I agree to it? Was I drugged?

    The next morning, a package arrived at his doorstep.

    No name. Just his room number.

    Inside: a pink thong. A chastity cage. A handwritten note.

    “Put them on. Take a photo. Send it. Or everyone finds out who Ethan really is.”

    He almost threw it away. Almost blocked the number.

    But fear makes cowards of even the brightest minds.

    And Ethan—brilliant, scholarship student, future tech analyst—put the thong on. Struggled with the cage. Snapped a trembling photo.

    And sent it.

    That was the first mistake.

    Not the photo.

    The obedience.

    Narrator : “You obey someone,” the voice would later say, “and they make you more.”

    More photos followed. More tasks. Ethan was made to wear panties under his jeans. To walk around campus in tight shirts. Sit in class, presenting his academic projects, knowing he had a plug inside him.

    His body obeyed before his mind accepted it.

    Somethings were changing in him or maybe something was changing him.

    Now he used to stare at the bois, with the fear who is anonymous?

    But to his surprise his eyes just locked out on their large bulge. He used to shake his head but again he found himself looking at the same spot.

    Because deep down, something about it stirred… something. A desire he had spent years burying under straight-A grades and football jerseys.

    The anonymous texts weren’t just exposing him.

    They were stripping him.

    Layer by layer. Until Ethan wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

    And then came the live task.

    Another package. This one heavier. A Bluetooth-controlled plug. A cheap webcam. A script.

    The message read:

    Sissy Boi goes live tonight. Set it up. Read the script. And smile.”

    He was trembling when he pressed “Record.” His voice cracked as he read. His thighs shook. But he did it. He performed, shame burning through him like acid.

    He thought it was a private humiliation. A punishment.

    He didn’t know someone else was already watching.

    Recording.

    Uploading.

    Sharing.

    For the rest of the year, Ethan was caught between two selves.

    In class, he was still the shy topper. Glasses. Hoodies. Hardworking. Silent.

    But alone, in his room, the texts shaped him. Bent him. Anonymous tasks turned into patterns. Rituals.

    One day, he walked past a group of students laughing at a meme.

    His heart stopped.

    It was him.

    Face blurred. Plug visible. Bent over. Moaning.

    The caption: When the GPA hits, but so does the prostate.

    But by then, it was too late.

    Because the next message was waiting.

    You’re ready, Sissy Boi.”

    To be continued..


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  • Private stripper

    You can touch me

    Now it was a smiling Ivor that came home every day. He greeted me warmly and I could notice how he was calmer with me and more confident.

    As he was taking off his T-shirt, I told him something about this and he answered.

    -When I heard of your offer, Dennis, I thought you were just a dirty man and that’s why I first refused your offer -now he kept his smile as his pants were again coming down. Now it was wonderful to see his daily erection with me-, but you made me calm when you told me I didn’t have to give you sex and now I’m convinced of your sincerity and that’s good for now I can see that I work as a private stripper, not as a bitch.

    -Of course you’re no bitch, Ivor -I told him already cumming when once again I saw his perfect ass- and I’m glad you have no problems in working for a gay man.

    Later of course I once again saw his cock and we had our usual coffee afterwards and one more time I jacked off looking at his nudity later.

    So he got used to these private shows and as he stripped, he even asked me questions.

    -Do you fuck me when you wank over me, Dennis?

    -Well, I do -I told him shy at first.

    -Good to know for since now I’m your worker, I wouldn’t object to these simple things. And I’m thinking of hard works like miners and it’s easier to work as a stripper, even for a boy, yes, for fortunately I’m getting to know you and you’re a charming man and I’m even starting to love seeing you jacking off and cumming.

    -Thank you, you hot Ivor.

    And my neighbour and I soon knew many things about each other and I liked his personality and he told me he also liked me increasingly more and I believed him.

    One day I told him, he could come dressed in the clothes he used to wear in Salem. But he told me that in that bar he had many different clothes that they lent him and once he lost his job there, he didn’t have them. But one day he told me he’d gone to a leather shop and bought some clothes just to take them off before me and give me fun. One day he came totally clad in leather and I was hornier than other times but the day I liked him more was one Monday when he came to my house dressed as a cop, even with a nightstick and handcuffs. That day as he took off his clothes, I imagined he was arresting me for something, for as he stripped, he really was in the role of a hardened cop and his face looking sternly at me was a hot fantasy when I was fancying I was the suspect that he’d soon take to jail. It was such a pornographic picture that once I came and we were having our coffees, I told him that I’d rather see him today all the time with his policeman clothes on, just with open shirt, but with handcuffs in his hands too. And a quarter of an hour later, I told him that now he could whip his cock out and jack off before me. He smiled at me but did it and both of us masturbated comfortably together, me looking at that hot half naked cop before me till I screamed in utter fun when I came and of course Ivor kept on jacking off knowing I would also love to see him cumming, and finally I saw him, my God! Today I had a lot to thank him for and knowing that he did the cop strip tease for me many more days.

    One other day when he was already naked and we were having coffees and I was jacking off a second time looking at him, he also told me.

    -Tell me all the things you fantasize about, Dennis, please. Curiously they make me horny.

    -Well Ivor, I’ll tell you. Of course I touch you everywhere and you also touch me, we kiss as boyfriends, I also suck your cock, you fuck me and well…

    -I also suck your cock, isn’t it?

    -Well, yes you do, but in my fantasies, you love doing it.

    -Good.

    But the next day, when he was stripping, he added.

    -You can touch me.

    -Oh, can I?

    -Absolutely anything you want, I mean it, Dennis.

    And I started shyly, thinking that sooner or later, he’d ask me to stop. But he never did and even smiled at me. I felt fire touching his hot chest. I was running down my hands trying to reach his genitals, still hidden, when he gently approached his lips to mine and kissed me. I had to shoot a first load that day. I was not expecting such a thing.

    -You’re my friend now, Dennis, and allowing you to touch me and kissing each other can also be daily. I like it and wanna give you more fun.

    But as he kept on stripping, I continued touching everything. I thought he would think of me that I was a freak when I also touched lustfully his feet, but as I did, he smiled kindly and told me.

    -Of course, Dennis, I told you that you’d touch everything.

    Still I couldn’t believe that when he pulled down his pants, I’d be allowed to touch his hot dick and hot balls I had so many times wanted to touch. I would have liked to also jack him off but wasn’t sure he would feel comfortable and I didn’t. But later he turned and told me with a bright smile that I could touch his ass. I looked at him in awe but finally dared touch his glorious buttocks and moved my hand all around his bum for minutes till he turned and kissed me again.

    Thus we were for three months but one day he told me.

    -They’ve opened a new bar for strippers called The Pretender and I’ve found a new job there. It’s a bar for everybody, I mean both boys and girls are admitted so you can also go to The Pretender and watch me strip there.

    -Ok, Ivor, I know that sooner or later I’d lose you. Unless of course you’d like to have two jobs and keep on coming to my house.

    -Dennis, I’ll keep on coming to your house, but cause I’ve really learnt to appreciate you and sincerely, you made me horny, for after years stripping, I’ve really found someone really horny at my body. So I’ll keep on coming to your house and will keep on being your private stripper, but it will be for free. And of course after now, touch me whenever you want, I really like your erotic hands down my body, kiss me every day, I’ll keep on masturbating here for you to have fun with and everything.

    -Thanks, Ivor, you’re a wonderfully sexy boy and a wonderful friend.

    I soon got used to go to The Pretender and watch him in his new job, but fortunately that hot boy kept on being my private stripper.


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