All events are fiction. All characters are fictional and over the age of 18.
My BMW X5 purred to a stop in front of the modest two-story house, its gleaming black paint a stark contrast to the weathered pickup truck in the driveway. I cut the engine and immediately felt the familiar knot of anxiety twist in my stomach. I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror—wavy black hair perfectly tousled, blue eyes that had gotten me out of more trouble than I cared to admit, and the kind of strong jawline that made sorority girls weak in the knees.
At six feet of lean muscle earned through years of rugby, I was used to being the guy everyone wanted to be or be with. But I’d been here maybe a dozen times over the past two years, and Thom Smith’s presence still made me feel like a kid called to the principal’s office.
“We’re early,” Emma said, checking her phone. Her blonde hair caught the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windshield. “Dad’s probably still working on that deck.”
I nodded, my mind still replaying this morning’s encounter with Becky. The taste of her strawberry lip gloss lingered like guilt on my tongue. I fucking wrecked that bitch’s pussy and loved hearing her moan my name and beg for more. I’d barely made it back to my apartment to shower and change before picking up Emma for the drive to her father’s place in rural Vermont.
The truth was, I’d been hooking up with other girls since Emma and I first got together two years ago. I felt bad about it sometimes, sure, but not enough to stop. I was young, attractive, and about to graduate—why should I tie myself down when there were so many experiences waiting? Emma was sweet and beautiful, but she was also talking about our future like it was set in stone. I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment, not when I had my whole life ahead of me.
“Come here,” I murmured, reaching for her.
Emma giggled as I pulled her across the center console, her lips finding mine in a kiss that was more performance than passion. I closed my eyes and tried to lose myself in the familiar routine, but even Emma’s soft sighs couldn’t chase away the restless energy that had been building in my chest all semester. I fondled her breast and rubbed her clit against the fabric of her shorts. Maybe she’d let me fuck her in the car before her dad gets home…
The sound of heavy footsteps on gravel made us break apart.
“Shit,” Emma whispered, smoothing her hair as the driver’s side door opened without warning.
My heart hammered as I looked up into Thom Smith’s stern face. Even after two years, the man’s presence hit me like a physical force. Thom stood six-foot-six in his work boots, his broad shoulders filling out a faded flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and ink. His dark eyes swept over me with barely concealed disapproval.
“You’re early,” Thom said, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my bones.
“Sorry, Mr. Smith.” I scrambled out of the car, hating how my voice sounded younger than my twenty-one years. “Traffic was lighter than expected.”
Thom’s gaze lingered on my designer jeans and pristine rugby polo before moving to his daughter. His entire demeanor softened as Emma bounded into his arms.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“Hey, sweetheart.” Thom’s smile transformed his harsh features, making my chest tighten with something I didn’t want to name. “How was the drive?”
“Good. Chad’s BMW practically drives itself.” Emma beamed up at her father, oblivious to the tension crackling between the two men.
I grabbed our overnight bags from the trunk, hyperaware of Thom’s eyes tracking my every movement. The older man’s scent hit me as I walked past—sawdust and sweat with an underlying musk that made my mouth go dry and my stomach flip in ways I didn’t want to examine too closely. I’d never been attracted to men before, not really, but something about Thom Smith made my usually confident facade crumble. Maybe it was the way his massive frame dwarfed mine despite my own athletic build, or how his thick forearms flexed as he gestured. The man was pure masculine power, from his broad shoulders that strained against his flannel to the way his jeans hugged his thick thighs. His beard was perfectly trimmed, framing a mouth that looked like it could deliver either harsh words or devastating kisses. I found myself wondering what those calloused hands would feel like, then immediately shook the thought away.
“You can put those in Emma’s room,” Thom said curtly. “Dinner’s in an hour. Hope you’re hungry.”
The house smelled like home cooking and wood stain. I’d always been struck by how different it was from my family’s sprawling estate in Manchester. Here, everything was functional and lived-in. Family photos covered the refrigerator, and Emma’s high school trophies still lined the mantle. It was the kind of place I’d only seen in movies.
“I’m going to grab a shower,” Emma announced, already heading upstairs. “Chad, can you help Dad with whatever he needs?”
My stomach dropped as she disappeared, leaving me alone with Thom in the kitchen. The older man was already pulling steaks from the refrigerator, his movements efficient and precise.
“You know how to cook?” Thom asked without looking up.
“I can manage,” I lied. My culinary skills extended to ordering takeout and making protein shakes.
Thom’s laugh was sharp. “Right. Rich boy like you probably has someone to do that.”
Heat flashed through my chest. “I’m not helpless.”
“No?” Thom finally looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “When’s the last time you did anything that didn’t involve Daddy’s credit card?”
My jaw clenched. I wanted to fire back, to defend myself, but the words stuck in my throat. Because Thom wasn’t wrong. My biggest decision this year had been choosing between a BMW and a Mercedes for graduation.
“I work hard,” I said instead, knowing how weak it sounded.
“At what? Rugby?” Thom’s tone was dismissive. “That’s not work, kid. That’s playing games.”
The casual cruelty in his voice made my cheeks burn. I’d been the star player on one of the best college rugby teams in the country, but under Thom’s withering stare, it felt like nothing.
“Why don’t you set the table,” Thom continued, turning back to the steaks. “Plates are in the cabinet above the dishwasher. And Chad?” He looked over his shoulder, his dark eyes unreadable. “Tomorrow morning, you’re helping me finish the deck. Hope you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”
It wasn’t a request.
I nodded mutely and moved to find the plates, my hands shaking slightly as I opened the cabinet. Behind me, Thom began seasoning the meat, the sound of his knife against the cutting board filling the tense silence.
This was going to be a long weekend.
Dinner was a careful dance of polite conversation and hidden undercurrents. Emma chattered about graduation plans and her sorority’s upcoming formal, while I pushed food around my plate and tried not to stare at the way Thom’s hands moved as he cut his steak.
Under the table, Emma’s foot found mine, her toes trailing up my calf in a gesture that would have excited me six months ago. Now it just made me feel guilty. I forced myself to respond, sliding my hand onto her thigh and squeezing gently.
“So, Chad,” Thom said suddenly, his voice cutting through Emma’s story about her marketing internship. “Emma tells me you’re taking a gap year.”
I straightened, my hand stilling on Emma’s leg. “That’s right. I want to travel, see Europe. Figure out what I want to do with my life.”
“Must be nice to have that kind of freedom.” Thom’s tone was neutral, but I caught the edge beneath it.
“Dad,” Emma warned, but Thom continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Two hundred thousand dollars to ‘find yourself,’ right? That’s what Emma said.” He took a deliberate bite of steak, his eyes never leaving my face. “Most people your age are worrying about student loans and entry-level jobs.”
My face burned. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“Are you?” Thom leaned back in his chair, his broad chest stretching the fabric of his shirt.
“Because from where I sit, it looks like you’re running away from responsibility.”
“That’s not—”
“You’re twenty-one years old, Chad. Time to grow up.”
The words hit like a physical blow. My hands clenched into fists under the table, my rugby-honed instincts screaming at me to fight back. But this wasn’t the pitch, and Thom wasn’t an opponent I could tackle into submission.
“I think that’s enough,” Emma said firmly, her voice carrying a note of steel I’d never heard before. “Chad works hard, and he deserves to take some time for himself.”
Thom’s expression softened immediately. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He looked at me with something that might have been regret. “Long day. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
I nodded stiffly, not trusting my voice. The rest of dinner passed in stilted conversation, Emma working overtime to bridge the gap between the two men. By the time we cleared the table, my nerves were raw.
“Chad, you can do the dishes,” Thom said, standing to carry his plate to the sink. “Emma, why don’t you call your friend Jessica back? I saw she’d been trying to reach you.”
Emma looked between us uncertainly. “Are you sure? I can help—”
“Go ahead, sweetheart. Chad and I can handle this.”
As Emma disappeared into the living room, I found myself alone with Thom again. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, the air charged with tension that made my skin prickle.
“Soap’s under the sink,” Thom said, moving to lean against the counter. His arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps strain against his shirt sleeves.
I rolled up my sleeves and began rinsing plates, hyperaware of Thom’s eyes on me. The older man’s presence was like a gravitational pull, making my movements clumsy and uncertain. I couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of my eye—the way his arms crossed over his chest made his biceps bulge against the fabric, and I caught a glimpse of dark hair peeking out from his collar. His stance was all confident masculinity, feet planted wide, radiating an authority that made something deep in my gut clench with want. The musky scent of him was stronger now in the enclosed space, mixing with the lingering smell of aftershave and something uniquely Thom that made my head spin. I wondered if he’d smell like that all over, wondered what it would be like to press my face against that broad chest and breathe him in.
“You know,” Thom said after a long moment, “I used to play rugby too.”
I glanced up, surprised. “Really?”
“State championship, two years running.” There was pride in Thom’s voice, but also something else. “Course, I didn’t have the luxury of playing for four years. Had to get a job after high school.”
“Because of Emma?”
Thom’s jaw tightened. “Because life doesn’t wait for you to be ready. Emma’s mom made her choice, and I made mine.”
I turned back to the dishes, not knowing what to say. The idea of Thom as a young man, facing the same crossroads I was avoiding, made something uncomfortable shift in my chest.
“You think I’m a spoiled brat,” I said finally.
“I think you’re a kid who’s never had to face real consequences.” Thom’s voice was quiet but firm. “And I think my daughter deserves better than someone who’s going to run away the moment things get complicated.”
The words hit their mark, and my hands stilled in the soapy water. Because Thom was right. I had been running from complications my entire life, and Emma was just another problem I didn’t want to deal with.
But standing here in Thom’s kitchen, watching the man’s reflection in the window above the sink, I realized I might be running from something else entirely.
Something that scared me more than any rugby opponent ever had.
“I’ll help you with the deck tomorrow,” I said quietly, my voice steady despite the chaos in my head.
Behind me, Thom was silent for a long moment. “Good,” he said finally. “We start at seven.”
I nodded, knowing that tomorrow would change everything between us.
I just wasn’t sure I was ready for how.
Later that night, after Thom had gone to bed, Emma crept into my room. I was already shirtless, having changed into just my boxer briefs, when she slipped through the door with a mischievous smile.
“We have to be quiet,” she whispered, but her eyes were already roaming over my torso with undisguised hunger.
I
knew exactly what she was looking at. Years of rugby had carved my body into something that made girls stop and stare—defined abs that Emma loved to trace with her fingertips, broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, and arms that showed the results of countless hours in the gym. My chest was smooth and muscled, the kind of physique that looked good in team photos and even better without a shirt.
Emma’s hands found my chest the moment she was close enough, her palms sliding over my pecs with familiar reverence. I’d lost count of how many girls had touched me like this—it had to be over thirty by now—but Emma’s touch was different. She worshipped my body like it was art, her fingers mapping every ridge and valley of muscle with dedicated attention.
“God, you’re perfect,” she breathed, pressing her lips to my collarbone. Her hands traveled down to my abs, fingertips dancing across the defined ridges. “I love how hard you are everywhere.”
I pulled her closer, my hands finding the small of her back as she continued her exploration. This was familiar territory—I knew exactly how to touch her, how to make her gasp and arch against me. My mouth found hers in a kiss that was part performance, part muscle memory.
But even as Emma’s hands roamed my body and her soft moans filled the quiet room, I couldn’t shake the image of Thom’s disapproving face. The man was probably just down the hall, and something about making out with his daughter under his roof felt like the ultimate act of disrespect. Not that it stopped me—if anything, the forbidden nature of it added an extra thrill.
Emma’s fingers traced the V-line that disappeared beneath my boxer briefs, and I groaned softly against her mouth. She knew exactly what she was doing, knew how to make me forget everything else. For a moment, I lost myself in the familiar dance of hands and mouths, in the way she gasped my name when I found that sensitive spot on her neck.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man sleeping down the hall, and how wrong it felt to be here like this in his house, with his daughter, when all I could think about was the way his dark eyes had looked at me across the dinner table.
I woke up before dawn, my internal clock still set to rugby practice schedules. Emma was still asleep beside me, her blonde hair spread across the pillow like silk. I’d already arranged for her to spend the day at the luxury spa in town with her childhood friend Melissa—Dad’s credit card made things like that easy. A full day of treatments and lunch would keep her busy and happy while I dealt with whatever Thom had planned for me.
The kitchen was already filled with the smell of coffee when I made my way downstairs. Thom stood at the counter, wearing a faded t-shirt and work jeans, looking like he’d been up for hours.
“Morning,” he said without looking up from his mug. “Hope you’re ready to work.”
“Absolutely.” I poured myself coffee, trying to project confidence I didn’t feel.
“Good. We’ll start after Emma leaves for her spa day.” Thom’s eyes found mine over his coffee.
“Thoughtful of you to arrange that for her.”
I couldn’t tell if there was approval or sarcasm in his voice.
By nine, Emma was gone with promises to text me throughout the day, and I found myself following Thom into the backyard. The partially built deck stretched across the back of the house, raw lumber and power tools scattered around like the remnants of a construction site.
“Strip down,” Thom said matter-of-factly, already pulling his t-shirt over his head. “It’s going to be hot work.”
My mouth went dry as Thom’s torso was revealed in the morning sunlight. Jesus Christ. The man was built like a fucking Greek god—if Greek gods worked construction and had full sleeve tattoos. His chest was broad and densely covered with dark hair that tapered down to his abs, which were thick and defined in a way that spoke of real work, not gym vanity. His right arm was covered in intricate black ink from shoulder to wrist, the designs seeming to move as his muscles flexed.
I pulled off my own shirt, hyperaware of how pale and pretty-boy smooth I looked next to Thom’s rugged masculinity. Sure, I had muscle—rugby had given me a body that made girls swoon—but next to Thom, I felt like a college kid playing dress-up.
The next few hours were a masterclass in humility. Despite hitting the gym five times a week, I couldn’t keep up with Thom’s pace. He lifted boards that took everything I had, his movements efficient and powerful in ways that made my carefully sculpted physique feel ornamental. Sweat dripped down his hairy chest as he worked, the salt-and-musk scent of him growing stronger in the heat.
Every time he brushed past me—reaching for a tool, guiding my hands to the right position on a board—that intoxicating masculine smell hit me like a drug. It was spicy and salty and purely male, mixed with sawdust and something that was just essentially Thom. I found myself stealing glances when I thought he wasn’t looking, watching the way his back muscles moved, how his tattoos seemed to come alive with each motion.
“You’re not half bad at this,” Thom admitted around noon, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “For a rich boy.”
The backhanded compliment shouldn’t have pleased me as much as it did.
By 11 o’clock, we’d made serious progress on the deck frame. Thom cracked open two beers from a cooler he’d brought outside, tossing me one as he collapsed into one of the lawn chairs he’d dragged over.
“Game’s on,” he said, nodding toward the small TV he’d set up on the back porch. Some college basketball match was playing, the announcers’ voices mixing with the sound of birds and distant traffic.
I settled into the chair beside him, hyperaware that we were both still shirtless, both sweaty and breathing hard from the morning’s work. The beer was ice-cold and perfect, but I was determined not to look weak in front of Thom.
When he opened his second beer, I did the same. When he poured himself a shot of whiskey from a bottle that appeared from somewhere, I held out my hand for one too.
“You sure about that?” Thom asked, one eyebrow raised.
“I can handle my liquor,” I said, which was mostly true. Rugby parties had taught me to drink with the best of them.
The whiskey burned going down, but I managed not to cough. Thom’s approving nod was worth the fire in my throat.
By the third beer and second shot, the world had taken on soft edges. The sun felt perfect on my skin, the game was exciting enough to cheer for, and Thom’s presence beside me felt less intimidating and more… intoxicating.
“You know,” Thom said during a commercial break, his voice carrying a note I’d never heard before, “you’ve been staring at me all morning.”
My blood turned to ice water, the alcohol-induced confidence evaporating instantly. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb, pretty boy.” Thom turned to face me fully, his dark eyes intense and unreadable. “Think I don’t notice when someone’s checking me out?”
I opened my mouth to deny it, to make some excuse, but the words wouldn’t come. The whiskey had stolen my ability to lie convincingly.
“I—that’s not—”
“Yeah, it is.” Thom leaned closer, and suddenly the space between our chairs felt like nothing.
“Question is, what are you going to do about it?”
Before I could answer, before I could even process what was happening, Thom’s hand was fisting in my hair and his mouth was crashing against mine.
The kiss was nothing like kissing Emma, or any of the thirty-plus girls I’d been with. It was rough and demanding, all stubble and teeth and the taste of whiskey. Thom’s lips were firm and commanding, his tongue pushing into my mouth with an authority that made my knees go weak. I should have pulled away, should have protested, but instead I found myself kissing him back with a desperation I didn’t understand.
“Spoiled little prince,” Thom growled against my mouth, his grip tightening in my hair. “Probably never worked a day in your life, have you? Just coast by on daddy’s money and that pretty face.”
His words should have stung, should have made me angry, but delivered between rough kisses they only made me harder. There was something intoxicating about his disdain, the way he could make me feel small and desired at the same time.
“Bet you think you can have whatever you want,” he continued, his mouth moving to my neck, teeth scraping against my pulse point. “Including things that don’t belong to you.”
I couldn’t form words, couldn’t think past the sensation of his hands on my skin, his mouth marking me in ways that would probably show tomorrow. This was wrong on every level I could think of, but I couldn’t make myself care. Not when Thom Smith was kissing me like he wanted to devour me, even while telling me exactly what he thought of my privileged existence.
The intensity between us built like a storm. My hands found his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath sun-warmed skin. No. I can’t be kissing another dude—and definitely not my girl’s dad.
I pushed him away, but Thom came back and wrestled me onto the ground. Fuck! He was so much stronger than me and whatever I drank made my limbs go week. He shoved his tongue back into my mouth and completely conquered me. I weakly lay there and let him have his way with me while my own cock was rock hard and throbbing.
Everything about this moment shattered every assumption I’d had about myself. I’d always been so sure of who I was—the confident rugby star who could have any girl he wanted. But here, pressed against Thom’s powerful frame, I realized I’d been lying to myself for years.
This wasn’t just curiosity or the alcohol talking. The way my body responded to his rough hands, the way something deep inside me yielded to his commanding presence—this felt more real than anything I’d ever experienced with Emma or any of those other girls. Also, my head was spinning—it felt like I was high on something. I was unnaturally aroused and hot. Shit felt so weird.
God, what does this make me? The thought crashed through my mind as Thom’s stubble scraped against my jaw. I’d spent my whole life playing a role, being the golden boy everyone expected me to be. But this raw, desperate need I felt right now—this was who I really was underneath all the performance.
The realization terrified me
When Thom finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my chest tight.
“Well,” he said roughly, his voice hoarse. “That was unexpected.”
I stared at him, my mind reeling. Everything felt different now—the afternoon sun, the half-finished deck, the taste of whiskey still on my lips.
I felt warmth of the living room, the soft carpet beneath my back, and the weight of Thom’s fucking insane hulk of a body pressing down on mine. The game was still on, but it was nothing more than background noise as our attention turned to something far more primal.
The sharp sting of whiskey still lingered on my tongue. I was drunk, yes, but then, I realized there was something else at play, a potent cocktail of lust and confusion as I realized Thom had orchestrated this seduction!
Thom must have slipped something into my drink or there’s no way I’d be this helplessly aroused. “What the fuck,” I slurred, my words heavy with both intoxication and desire. “What did you do to me?”
Thom smirked, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he straddled me, his massive frame casting a shadow over my own athletic build. “Just a little something to help you relax, college boy,” he growled.
Before I could protest, he pinned my hands above my head, the cold metal of handcuffs snapping shut around my wrists. I was at his mercy, and my cock twitched in anticipation, betraying my shock and arousal. He leaned in again, his beard brushing against my cheek as he claimed my mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue demanding entry as he ground his hips against mine. I moaned into the kiss, my body responding to the rough handling.
Thom pulled back, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he took in my flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “You like this, don’t you?” he taunted, he hand gripping my jaw tightly. “You like being manhandled by an older man.” I tried to deny it, to hold onto some semblance of dignity, but my traitorous hips bucked up against him, seeking friction. Thom chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made my stomach clench with need.
“Fuck you,” I hissed, though the words lacked conviction.
“Oh, I plan to,” he replied, his voice dripping with promise as he released my jaw. Thom slapped my cheek firmly, shocking me a bit with the sting and then he moved down my body. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my underwear, and with a swift, brutal motion, he tore them from my body, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. I gasped, my cock springing free, hard and aching for his touch. He didn’t make me wait, his large, calloused hand wrapping around my shaft as he pumped me roughly.
“Look at you,” he sneered, his grip tightening as he jerked me off. “Such a pretty boy, getting all worked up for daddy’s cock.”
I shuddered at those words, the degradation somehow heightening my arousal. My head thrashed from side to side as he worked me over, his hand expertly coaxing me closer and closer to the edge. But he was far from done with me.
Without warning, he lowered his head and swallowed my cock whole, his lips sealed tight around the base as he took me deep into his throat. I cried out, the sensation overwhelming as he bobbed up and down, his tongue swirling around my sensitive tip with each pass.
“Fuck, Thom, fuck,” I chanted, my voice nothing more than a series of ragged gasps. He hummed in response, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure shooting through my body. My legs shook, my balls tightening as he sucked me with ruthless abandon. He knew exactly what he was doing, reducing me to a quivering mess.
“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” he pulled off with a lewd pop, stroking my cock as he looked up at me with a wicked gleam in his eye. “You’re going to shoot your load down my throat like the good little slut you are.”
“Goddammit,” I cursed, feeling the pressure building at the base of my spine. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come.” He smirked, his hand moving faster as he took me back into his mouth, his beard tickling my sweaty pubes. I couldn’t hold back any longer, my orgasm tearing through me as I exploded into his waiting throat. “FUCK!!! OH SHIT!!! Nooo…uhg…nooo…fuck..c-c-cumming!!! AGHH CUMMING!!”
Thom swallowed every drop, his eyes never leaving mine as he milked me for all I was worth. As the waves of pleasure began to ebb, he released my softening cock and climbed back up my body, Thom’s beard scratching deliciously against my smooth skin as he kissed me hard, forcing me to taste my own release on his tongue.
“You think we’re done?” he asked, his voice a low growl as he reached for something beside us. I heard the click of a bottle, and then the cool sensation of lube being drizzled over my ass. “I’ve got a lot more in store for you, college boy.”
I tensed, a fresh surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins as he massaged the lube into my tight hole, his fingers slick and insistent. “Relax,” he commanded, his thumb pressing against my entrance. “You’re going to take every inch of my cock, and you’re going to fucking love it.”
“No…please! Let me go. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll ask my dad for money, just please don’t fuck me, sir! I’m not some fucking faggot”
Thom ignored my protests and grinned while he continued press his finger into my virgin boy hole.
No!!! Shit!! I can’t believe I just let another man penetrate my shit hole. I wanted to pulverize the little fucker. Why the fuck was Emma’s dad doing this to me? I told myself to resist, that I couldn’t let myself become a faggot. But yet it felt so good and I was so high on whatever Thom gave me. I whimpered, my body fighting against the intrusion even as my dick started to harden again.
Thom chuckled, adding more lube before pushing a finger inside me, stretching me open. “That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice softening slightly as his worked another finger into my ass.
“Just let go and feel.”
I moaned, the initial discomfort giving way to a strange, unfamiliar pleasure as he crooked his fingers, hitting a spot inside me that made stars dance behind my closed eyelids. “Oh, fuck,” I gasped, my hips rocking in time with his movements.
“You’re such a slut for it, aren’t you?” he murmured, adding a third finger and scissoring them apart, opening me up further. “You can’t wait to have my fat dick in your ass.”
“No,” I protested, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want it. I’m not gay. I don’t want you to fuck me.” He withdrew his fingers, leaving my ass feeling empty and needy. I heard the rustle of fabric, the metallic rasp of a zipper, and then Thom was were positioned at my entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against me.
“Look at me,” he ordered. I refused, and he slapped me hard. He grabbed my jaw and repeated his order. I obeyed, my eyes locking onto Thom’s as he began to push forward. The burn was intense, a sharp contrast to the pleasure that had come before. I bit my lip, my fingers curling into fists as he invaded my body, his cock stretching me wider than I thought possible. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, his forehead resting against mine as he gave me a moment to adjust to his size.
I felt a tear trickle down my cheek as I struggled to adjust to the pain of the invading cock. Slowly, he began to move, his hips retreating before thrusting forward again, each stroke deeper than the last. The pain mostly faded, replaced by a mounting pleasure that was entirely new to me.
The drugs were starting to make me more and more aroused. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in closer as Thom established a steady rhythm, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside me with unerring accuracy. “Touch yourself,” he commanded. I spat at Thom, “Fuck no! You dirty bastard–you’re going to fucking pay for this. Thom slapped me hard three times, then spat a loogie that landed on my sweaty forehad. After that, I didn’t hesitate, my hand, still handcuffed, wrapping around my erection as he fucked me with long, powerful strokes.
Thom smiled. “I want to feel you come again while I’m buried inside you.” I stroked myself in time with his thrusts, the dual sensations of Thom’s cock in my ass and my hand on my dick driving me wild. I fucking hated myself for getting so turned on. But I knew that the sooner I came, the sooner the bastard would stop fucking me.
“I’m close,” I warned, my body tensing as I approached the precipice. “Come for me,” he growled, your own movements becoming more erratic as Thom chased his own release. “Come on my cock, you dirty boy.” With a hoarse cry, I obeyed, my orgasm ripping through me as ropes of cum spurted from my cock, painting my chest and stomach.
Thom followed me over the edge, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled my once-virgin ass with his own release. We lay there for a moment, panting and sweaty, his body draped over mine as we both came down from the high.
Eventually, he reached up and released the handcuffs, rubbing my wrists gently as he pulled out of me. I lay there, dazed. I fucking couldn’t believe Emma’s dad just did that to me. The shithead took my anal virginity. And I had never even been with another dude before! And I came–twice!
“Fuck,” I said, the word summing up the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that were still coursing through my body. The drugs Thom slipped me were making me drowsier and drowsier, until I could barely remain conscious… The world seemed to spin. I was so fucking dizzy. My eyelids grew so heavy…I slowly drifted off to sleep…
When I woke up, I found myself chained to the wall of what I would later learn was Thom’s underground bunker that was converted from a bomb shelter. I was so groggy and had zero memory of anything that happened that day. Never in my wildest imagination did I predict that later that day I would be brutally gangfucked by my girlfriend’s dad and a bunch of his swarthy construction worker buddies.