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Sorry for taking forever posting this chapter. Life has been hectic, but good! Here’s part 12!

The days flew by in a blur of schoolwork and after-school activities. Wes was splitting his time between football and working, to save money for Prom. I was swamped with the decorating committee and trying to keep up my grades and applying to college.

Soon it was time for Spring Formal. I had asked Wes to the Formal, since he had asked me to Prom. It was scheduled to start at 7 p.m. so as soon as I got home, I started to get ready. I took a shower and shaved and grabbed my outfit and headed over to Mona’s so I could help her get ready. As I headed over to Mona’s, I sent Wes a text that I would be over at Mona’s and to pick me up there.

I rang the bell and Mrs. Stevens answered the door. She greeted me warmly and told me to go up and help her panicing daughter. I smiled and headed up. I knocked on Mona’s door and heard her tell me to come in. I opened the door, and I looked over at Mona, who was wearing a dark green strapless dress that she topped with a light green sweater, coupled with chocolate brown heels. She was also wearing emerald studs and a chocolate diamond necklace. She wore her hair in an elegant bun to showcase her neck and jewels.

I wore khaki slacks with brown loafers and a dark green button-down with a light green tie. “Wow Andy, you’re looking very handsome!” Mona said,  seeing me in her mirror. “Same to you!” I replied.

Soon after I showed up, we heard the doorbell ring through the house. We heard Mona’s mom greet our dates. We made our way downstairs and walked into the living room to join our dates. Wes was wearing khaki’s and a yellow button-down with a green tie and light brown loafers. Tony was wearing a light green button-down with a dark green tie with brown khaki’s and dark loafers.

Mona’s Mom made us do several pictures before we headed to the Formal. We finally headed to the school and the Formal was in full swing. I walked with Wes holding each other’s hand. We walked through a gold streamer curtain and I heard Wes let out a small gasp of surprise and I looked up at him and saw a smile creep across his face. Wes stopped and took my face in his hands and bent down and kissed me.

“Babe, I love what you did and I Love You even more because I am in awe of how lucky I am to be here with you.” Wes said with so much love. I smiled and replied with a kilowatt smile, “I’m the lucky one!” I grabbed his hand and led him towards the dance floor to join Mona & Tony.

Soon music changed and everybody began to slow dance. Wes asked, while holding out his hand towards me, “May I have this dance?” I look at him and replied, “I don’t know if I should, because my boyfriend might get jealous.”

Wes grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him while wrapping an arm around my waist and I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll show you jealous!” he replied with a smirk, and I smiled while staring deep in his eyes.

“I Love You so much, you know?” I said, as I laid my head on his shoulder. I felt him kiss the top of my head and he murmured, “Yeah, I do.”

Soon after the music ended, Wes and I grabbed a couple chairs to sit and relax. Wes went to grab us drinks. Mona sank into a chair next to me and asked, “Are you having a good time?” I replied that I was. Wes and Tony walked up and handed us our refreshments and we sat and chatted with our friends and classmates.

After several hours of dancing and hanging out with friends, it was time to go. I rode with Wes, while Mona left with Tony. We agreed to go out to eat at a burger place before heading home.

After dinner, Wes dropped me off at my house. Wes got out and opened my door and walked me to my front door. I turned to face Wes and he was looking down at me with a slight grin.

“What are you smiling at?” I asked him.

“Nothing, just trying to figure out how I got so lucky.” Wes said, while wrapping his arms around my waist. Wes bent down and kissed me. I put one hand on his chest while wrapping the other around his neck. After a few minutes, I broke the kiss and looked Wes in his eyes and said, “I Love You so much, Wes.”

“I kinda like you too.” We said with a grin.

I punched him lightly in the shoulder. He kissed me one last time before he walked back to his car. I stood on the porch watching him walk to his car and hugged myself and grin. Wes drove away honking his horn three times signaling that he loved me. I waved and headed into the house. I locked up and headed upstairs, and I heard my Mom ask me if I had a good time. I poked my head in and gave a warm smile in response.

“Get some sleep, hon. You have school in the morning.” She said. I gave my Mom a kiss and headed to my room. I hung up my suit and got dressed for bed. I felt lucky to be alive and to have found someone who I can share things with.

To be continued…

Please leave comments or email me directly.

This is my first full length story, so I hope you enjoy it! Please email me ([email protected]) any feedback. Enjoy!

All characters are entirely fictional besides Byron, whom has given me his express permission to include later in the book. Please follow him on Instagram (@byronrosekelly)!

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Departure

The international terminal bustled with activity, travelers hurrying toward gates with rolling suitcases while families exchanged tearful goodbyes. Among this constant flow of ordinary movement, five extraordinary figures created a gravitational disruption that altered the very atmosphere around them.

Byron Kelly stood at the center of this constellation of physical magnificence, his departure for Australia imminent after a weekend that had transformed his understanding of his purpose. He had chosen travel attire that emphasized rather than concealed his extraordinary development—dark blue suit trousers with a soft sheen, tailored with obsessive precision to accommodate his legendary lower body, the fabric caressing every curve and contour of his thighs with devoted attention. The matching jacket had been designed with extra allowance across his substantial shoulders, yet still strained slightly when he moved. Beneath, a simple white shirt hugged his firm chest, the top two buttons left open to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, tanned skin.

Ethan and Jase flanked him, their relatively ordinary physiques nevertheless projecting quiet authority through their commanding presence alone. They positioned themselves like trainers with a prized thoroughbred, their hands occasionally making casual contact with Byron’s extraordinary development, proprietary touches that carried both appreciation and possession.

Harry and Dylan completed the group, their massive frames drawing continuous attention despite their attempts at subdued presentation. Harry’s black compression shirt stretched across his colossal chest like it had been painted directly onto his skin, each breath testing the structural limits of the material. The deep V-neck plunged daringly low, exposing the central valley between his pectoral masses, offering tantalizing glimpses of golden skin with each movement. His dark jeans clung to his massive thighs with desperate determination, the fabric pulled so taut that individual muscle fibers were visible beneath the straining denim.

Dylan, standing slightly apart, created his own disturbance field of attention. His royal blue polo—deliberately ordered two sizes too small—adhered to his torso with scientific precision, mapping every extraordinary curve and swelling of his nineteen-year-old development. The sleeves had surrendered entirely to his massive biceps, riding up to expose the full sweep of muscle that bulged with even the slightest movement. His white chinos appeared spray-painted across his lower body, the material stretched to transparency over his thighs, creating a visual display that drew covert glances from passersby of all genders and orientations.

“Final boarding call for Sydney in forty minutes,” Byron noted, his Australian accent more pronounced as thoughts of home began to resurface. “Suppose I should think about heading through security soon.” His handsome features arranged themselves into an expression of genuine regret despite the practical necessity of his departure.

Ethan reached up—having to stretch slightly to reach Byron’s shoulder—and squeezed the dense muscle beneath the suit jacket with appreciative pressure. “Not before we give you a proper goodbye,” he insisted, his voice carrying that perfect blend of affection and command that had become his signature. “Something to remember us by during the long flight home.”

Byron grinned, the expression transforming his already handsome features into something that seemed almost too perfect to be real. “As if I could forget,” he replied, his tone warm with genuine connection. “This weekend changed everything for me. I’ll never see myself the same way again.”

Jase stepped closer, his hand moving to the small of Byron’s back with casual familiarity. “You understand now,” he observed, not a question but a confirmation of shared knowledge. “What you’re really for.”

Byron nodded, his magnificent chest expanding with a deep breath that tested the limits of his tailored shirt. “To be used,” he acknowledged, the words emerging not with shame or reluctance but with the liberation of recognized truth. “To be displayed. To be enjoyed.”

A woman passing nearby slowed her pace noticeably, her gaze locked onto Byron with unabashed appreciation. She clutched her companion’s arm, whispering something that caused both of them to turn and stare. Their expressions registered immediate recognition—this wasn’t just any extraordinarily built man, this was Byron Kelly, Instagram legend, the man whose posterior had launched countless imitators and inspired fitness enthusiasts worldwide.

“Oh my God, that’s him,” the whisper carried just far enough to reach them, though the woman clearly intended privacy. “The suit destroyer! His butt is even more impressive in person.”

Byron heard—of course he heard—but maintained perfect composure, the only acknowledgment a subtle shift in his stance that presented his legendary development at a slightly more advantageous angle. The movement was so natural, so ingrained after years of being observed and admired, that it appeared entirely unconscious despite its calculated precision.

“I think someone’s recognized you,” Harry observed with quiet amusement, his own posture adjusting automatically to maximize his physical presentation. The competitive instinct never fully disappeared, even among those who had surrendered to shared purpose.

Byron chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Happens more than you’d think. Especially at airports—something about the confined space, the boredom of waiting. People notice.”

Ethan’s expression shifted to something more purposeful, a decision crystallizing in his eyes. “Then let’s give them something worth noticing,” he declared, his voice carrying that quiet authority that had proven irresistible to men of far greater physical presence than himself. “One last display before you go.”

Without further explanation, he reached into his bag and withdrew what appeared to be a small bottle. “Turn around,” he instructed Byron, the command delivered with such casual confidence that compliance seemed the only possible response.

Byron obeyed without hesitation, presenting his back to the group with the fluid grace of someone accustomed to being positioned for others’ appreciation. The movement highlighted the extraordinary development of his glutes beneath the tailored trousers, the fabric stretched to its architectural limits across the perfect hemispheres that had made him famous worldwide.

Ethan’s hands moved with deliberate purpose, fingers finding the impossible curve where Byron’s back met the extraordinary projection of his glutes. The tailored fabric, already strained to its limits, was meticulously massaged with the fragrant oil, creating an enhanced sheen that highlighted the perfect roundness beneath with striking definition. The dark blue material darkened further where the oil made contact, the wetness making the fabric gleam against the harsh interior lights of the airport, accentuating every curve and contour of the muscular development beneath without revealing it.

“You’re creating quite the scene,” Byron murmured, his Australian accent thickening with pleasure at the attention, not just from his four companions but from the growing audience of fascinated travelers. “Security’s going to intervene soon.”

“Let them,” Jase replied, his fingers joining Ethan’s in their exploration of Byron’s legendary development. “One last worship session before you go. You deserve it.”

The murmurs from onlookers grew more distinct, fragments of conversation reaching them despite attempts at discretion.

“Is that really him? The Instagram model?”

“Jesus, look at that ass. No wonder suits don’t fit him.”

“I’ve followed him for years. Those muscles are even more impressive in real life.”

Byron absorbed it all, his body responding to the dual stimulation of physical touch and public admiration. His breathing deepened, chest expanding beneath the white shirt with hypnotic rhythm. He made no effort to hide his enjoyment, his handsome features arranging themselves into an expression of serene pleasure that bordered on ecstatic.

“Gate 37 for Sydney, final boarding call in thirty minutes,” the announcement cut through their bubble of intimate display, a practical intrusion into their moment of shared appreciation.

Ethan’s hands stilled, resting on Byron’s extraordinary development with reluctant finality. “Time to go,” he acknowledged, genuine regret coloring his tone.

Byron turned to face them, his suit now bearing the evidence of their attention in dark patches that clung to his extraordinary physique with renewed dedication. His expression carried the perfect balance of gratitude and regret as he embraced each of them in turn, the contact lingering just long enough to communicate genuine connection without crossing into inappropriateness for the public setting.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he assured them, his voice carrying absolute certainty despite the geographical challenges ahead. “What we’ve discovered together—it’s too important, too perfect to end here.”

Ethan nodded, reaching up to grasp Byron’s perfect jawline with proprietary confidence. “You’re ours now,” he confirmed, the statement so matter-of-fact that it brooked no argument despite its extraordinary implication. “Distance changes nothing.”

Byron smiled, the expression transforming his handsome features with genuine warmth. “I know,” he agreed, absolute certainty in his tone. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With final embraces exchanged and promises of continued connection secured, Byron turned toward security. His extraordinary physique commanded attention with every step, the oil-darkened patches on his suit creating a roadmap of where hands had worshipped moments before. The crowd parted before him like water around the bow of a ship, conversations pausing mid-sentence as he passed.

As he disappeared beyond the security checkpoint, Ethan turned to the others, satisfaction radiating from him despite the departure of their Australian companion.

“One goes, but our collection remains strong,” he observed, his hands finding Harry and Dylan with automatic familiarity, touching, positioning, claiming with casual confidence.

Jase nodded, their gazes meeting with perfect understanding—owners discussing their prized possessions, curators admiring their exclusive exhibition, collectors with a shared appreciation for physical perfection.

“Time to head home,” Ethan announced, his voice carrying that quiet authority that transformed suggestion into command. “We’ve got plans to make.”

With a final glance toward the security checkpoint where Byron had disappeared, the four turned and walked toward the exit, their extraordinary presence continuing to disrupt the atmosphere of the terminal with every step.

I was nervous, certainly, not that I hadn’t had sex with men, three more times actually since my first in a public toilet cubicle but I’d never been so bold as to drive to a car park, a well-known place for such things. I knew this because a guy online had been told so and we’d been chatting long enough for me to know he wasn’t making it up.

So here I was, having followed his advice although he wasn’t going to be able to make it, he’d told me, in this occasion.

I sat there while watching various comings and goings, clearly not all for the reasons I was there but taking the time being mid-evening and twilight I guess they probably were. A man approached my car and leaned in asking if I wanted to suck him off. I couldn’t resist the offer and said yes, he got in the passenger side and opened his jeans telling me to pull it out, so I did. I peeled down his shorts and a dangerously thick and hairy cock popped out, proud, red and trickling precum.

Instantly I felt the bulge in my own trousers increase even more. I wrapped my fingers around his bare cock which was now thick and very veiny; he was quite a heavy-set and well-built man. Leaning down I felt him put his hand on the back of my head and I touched it with my lips. The smell served only to further arouse me. I felt the pressure of his hand on my head as the tip of his wet cock slipped between my lips and I tasted him for the first time and started instantly sucking him, too fast as it turned out and he forced me to slow down. I was still not very practised at this but I hoped I was learning.

His cock tasted of warmth, if that’s possible and soon I was devouring it and his ever-present precum with relish. I had found a rhythm he liked as I felt his hips move in unison. Breathing wasn’t easy but I got the hang of it as I couldn’t have got away now even if I’d wanted too, he firmly held my head right where he wanted me.

He grew thicker as I sucked him and clearly he was good at edging because he held back cumming so I just had to keep sucking.

Just then I felt as though we were being watched. We were, another guy appeared by my window. I couldn’t stop sucking his cock as he wouldn’t let me as I felt this other guy’s reaching in and began unfastening my top button and awkwardly pulling down my flies. He had pulled my closest leg out to make it easier. I felt his hand reach into my boxers and pull my cock out which I knew was now raging hard. He started wanking me. They were both beginning to feel like a tag team, had they planned to do this with whoever they hooked up with. Whatever it was I was the lucky recipient, especially as I’d never before had two men using me at the same time.

His cock twitched in my mouth but he wouldn’t cum so I just had to keep taking it, sometimes he even pushed my head down harder making it hit the back of my throat. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold out long before shooting my lot, I tried but he clearly was very practised and knew how to make me, then I did, I felt my cock give up its sperm in one immense spur followed by plenty more dribbling out and down my shaft and his hand.

Still the guy who’s cock was in my mouth hadn’t cum. I sucked harder feeling my mouth struggling to know what to do next when I felt his hips stiffen and him breathing change, he exploded in my mouth while making sure I stayed on it the whole time being forced to swallow every drop. I did my best gulping while plenty also escaped messily over my hand which was resting on his inner thigh.

I was relieved, it was tiring, but also pleased I did it. I wiped my mouth with some tissues as I sat up, turned and saw the man outside poking his cock through the window. It was his turn and he expected me to suck him off too. I did, I felt I had too now.

He too grabbed my head and positioned it so his cock went cleanly in, then instantly started fucking my used mouth. He wasn’t as big but was longer, maybe 7 or 8 inches, though this may be just my imagination after the fact. He didn’t seem bothered about lingering or edging for very long as I sucked my second cock today within minutes of each other. He was very verbal, praising me, calling me names, saying things like, “yeh, suck it slut”, and, “you’re getting good at this, aren’t you”. I’m not sure I remembered exactly but it was pretty much that. I was truly finding it addictive once I got over the initial aroma of each cock so close up. I even worked out how to roll my tongue around the head while he fucked my mouth.

While I did this the other guy was rubbing my groin, trying to make me hard again maybe as I’d become floppy after my orgasm. He was right, faster than ever before after cumming I felt an erection coming again, taking its time but still growing. The standing man said again, “take it slut”. I did encouraged even more by once again being wanked. I couldn’t believe I would cum again so soon after already having done so but I did, not as powerful as the first but still, the sensation that absorbed my hips were the same.

It was bliss, and as I did the standing man cum in my mouth, another load of sperm trickling down my throat, I took it, most of it this time. I was exhausted, gobsmacked at what had just happened. He got out of the car and joined the other guy leaving me with the words, “if you come here again, next time we’ll spit roast you well and good, cockslut”. It took me a moment to register at first what that would entail, and then that from the tone and expression they were absolutely serious, this was a promise.

I thought, I had probably not come back then, but then I thought, actually, I know I will, I have to now and they knew it.

~~Sylla

The morning dew glistened on the blades of grass, giving the yard a fresh, vibrant look that belied the humidity that was sure to come. I stepped out onto the porch, the wood planks cool under my bare feet, and took a deep breath of the early summer air. The chorus of birds and the distant sound of a rooster crowing filled the quiet, rural landscape. I was about to grab the newspaper from the driveway when a dusty police cruiser pulled into view, breaking the moment’s tranquillity.

Officer Jenkins climbed out, his boots thudding against the gravel. He tipped his hat as he approached, his badge glinting in the early light. “Boy, did you or your folks hear anything unusual last night?” His eyes searched my face, a mix of concern and hope.

“No, sir,” I replied, shaking my head. “My parents are away for the week. It’s just me here.”

Officer Jenkins nodded, scribbling something into his notepad. “Well, the Thompsons over at the next farm reported some of their farm equipment missing. Thought I’d check in with the neighbours, see if anyone saw or heard anything out of the ordinary.” His gaze drifted over the field that separated our properties, as if the answer might be hiding just beyond the line of tall, swaying cornstalks.

“I’m sorry I can’t help,” I said, feeling a twinge of unease. Thefts were rare in our tight-knit community, and the idea that someone might be prowling around at night was unsettling.

He gave a curt nod, his eyes still on the horizon. “No trouble at all. Just keep an ear out, will ya? And if anything seems off, don’t hesitate to give us a call.” He handed me a business card, the edges slightly worn from frequent use. “By the way, nice nightshirt, boy,” the officer said. “Don’t often see guys your age wearing nightshirts.”

I felt a flush creep up my neck as I took the card, realising that the outline of my body was visible underneath the cotton material. “It’s…uh…my mom’s suggestion I wear them,” I mumbled, taking refuge in the lie. “She likes me to stay cozy and warm at night, and she says it’s better than wearing boxers.”

Officer Jenkins chuckled, his moustache bobbing up and down. “A mother’s wisdom,” he said with a knowing smile. “Can’t argue with that,” his laughter was good-natured. “What’s your name, boy, and how old are you?”

“Steven,” I answered, “and I’m eighteen years old. Why?”

Officer Jenkins cleared his throat, his eyes darting away from the unintentional show. “Perhaps next time you might consider wearing some tighty whities under the nightshirt because your look is a bit distracting if you get my meaning.”

My cheeks burned hotter than a July sun. “Yes, sir. I’ll keep that in mind,” I responded, knowing it was too late, though, as my body started responding to the conversation.

Officer Jenkins coughed, turning his gaze away and shifting his weight. “Well, I’d better be getting back to my rounds. You just keep that card handy and let us know if anything catches your eye. Or ear,” he added with a wink, which made me wonder if he had noticed my predicament as my erection continued to grow.

“I will do, Officer Jenkins,” I replied.

Officer Jenkins couldn’t resist what he was seeing. The sheer fabric of my nightshirt did nothing to conceal my burgeoning arousal, and his eyes kept flicking downward despite his best efforts to remain professional. His gaze was like a moth drawn to a flame, and the tension between us grew thick.

“Mister, I-uh, I mean Steven,” he stuttered, clearing his throat, “that’s quite a sight for this time of day young man. I haven’t seen anything that big for a long time,” he said, trying to make it sound like he was referring to something else entirely, but his voice was thick with something unmistakable.

I blushed, my heart racing as I clutched the porch rail. I knew he was referring to my growing bulge, and the power I suddenly had over him was intoxicating. “I’m sorry, it’s just that, uh, the air is a bit cool.” I hoped my voice didn’t betray my excitement.

Officer Jenkins’s eyes lingered for a second longer before he took a step back, his cheeks reddening. He coughed again, clearing his throat. “Ah, yes, well, the mornings can be quite brisk.” He tapped the brim of his hat with his pen, his hand shaking slightly. “Look, I shouldn’t be saying this, but you’re a man now, and it’s natural for things to, uh, happen.”

My heart thumped in my chest, the blood rushing to my face and other places. “Thanks, Officer,” I murmured, feeling both embarrassed and strangely validated. His words hung in the air, charged with something more than just awkward small talk.

Officer Jenkins took a deep breath, visibly composing himself. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Steven,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “It happens to the best of us.” He took another step back, his eyes never leaving my crotch. “But maybe next time, you should, uh, consider wearing something a bit less… revealing.”

My cock was now fully erect and sticking out, tenting the cotton material of my nightshirt. The fabric strained against the hardened flesh, leaving nothing to the imagination. The cool air brushed against the sensitive skin, making me shiver slightly as precum was now leaking into the fabric, forming a damp patch that Officer Jenkins could see.

Officer Jenkins’ gaze remained locked on the growing bulge, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Steven,” he said, his voice hoarse and filled with a mix of surprise and desire, “you’re something, aren’t you?” The way he said it made it sound like both a compliment and a question, his eyes flicking up to meet mine for the briefest of moments before dropping back down to my crotch.

Leaning against his patrol car, I felt the metal’s coolness seep through the fabric of my nightshirt and onto my bare skin. The boldness that had overtaken me grew stronger as I watched the older man struggle with his composure. “Officer Jenkins,” I purred, my voice laced with the confidence of a teenager who had suddenly realized his power, “it seems like you’re enjoying the view.”

He looked up, his eyes wide, and took a step back. “Now, hold on, son,” he stammered, but I could see the hunger in his gaze as it travelled over my body. “I’m just a man, and I can appreciate beauty when I see it,” he said, his voice gruff with unbridled desire.

I leaned in closer, the fabric of my nightshirt brushing against my cock. “There is no one here, Officer Jenkins,” I whispered, my voice filled with a seductive lilt that I didn’t even know I had. “If you want to… relax a little, I won’t tell anyone.”

His eyes searched mine, a war raging behind them. Duty and desire, both fighting for supremacy. The silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring, until finally, his shoulders relaxed, and a knowing smile played on his lips. “Well, I suppose a man can only take so much,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. My pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the sudden thrill of the situation. I had never done anything like this before, but the excitement was palpable. “Turn around, Steven,” he instructed, his tone firm but not unkind.

I complied, feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs clamp around my wrists as he secured them behind my back. The sensation sent a jolt through my body, and I couldn’t help but let out a small gasp. His hands lingered for a moment, brushing against my skin before he stepped back, his eyes scanning my now-vulnerable form as I remained bent over the hood of his patrol car.

Officer Jenkins stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift the hem of my nightshirt. His eyes widened as he revealed my nakedness to the early morning light. He let out a low whistle, his breath warm against my thigh. “You are so beautiful, Steven,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and a hint of hunger. His calloused hands roamed over my body, tracing the contours of my hips and the firmness of my ass, sending waves of pleasure through me.

As his hands moved higher, his touch grew bolder, cupping my cheeks before sliding up my spine to my neck. His grip tightened slightly, a silent command for me to arch my back and push my ass further out. I complied, the fabric of the nightshirt now bunched around my chest, leaving my cock and balls hanging in the open. The cool air brushed against my sensitive skin, making me shiver and my cock twitch with anticipation.

He leaned in, his breath hot on my ear as his other hand reached around to grasp my erection. “It’s a good thing I found you first,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over the precum-covered tip. “This would’ve been a real distraction for any other officers.” His grip grew firmer, and he began to stroke me in slow, measured movements that had my knees threatening to buckle. The metal of the handcuffs bit into my wrists as I pushed back into his touch, my body betraying my inexperience and desire.

His hand left my cock and travelled up my torso to cup one of my nipples, squeezing it. “So soft,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over my nipple, which grew hard under his touch. “But you’re not just all softness, are you?” His hand travelled down to my cock again, and he gave it a firm squeeze, making me gasp. “You’re all man,” he said with a chuckle. “I can tell by the way you’re responding to me.”

The sound of his zipper was loud in the stillness of the morning, and I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder to see his erection spring free, thick and heavy as his trousers and tighty whities slipped down his legs. My heart raced as he positioned himself behind me, his cock pressing against my thigh. “Is this what you want, Steven?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

I nodded, my breath coming in short gasps. “Yes,” I managed to croak out, the anticipation building to a crescendo. “I want you to fuck me, Officer Jenkins.”

The words hung in the air, a declaration of my willingness to submit to him, to this moment of unexpected and illicit passion. His hand moved away from my cock, and I felt the blunt head of his erection nudge against my hole. He leaned in closer, his breath hot on my neck as he whispered, “Then brace yourself, because I’m about to make your nightshirt-wearing days a whole lot more interesting.”

“You stay there,” he ordered as he kicked his shoes off and struggled to kick his trousers and tighty whities free from his ankles. He eventually became naked from the waist down as he opened the trunk of his patrol car and took out the first aid box. “I think we need some lubrication young man,” as he squeezed some KY Jelly onto his cock, spreading it with his fingers down his member.

I was ready for him when he returned to my body, slumped over the hood. “You don’t need this anymore, young man,” as he ripped the nightshirt up. “God, you are beautiful,” he said as I positioned myself more, waiting for him as he lined up behind me.

With one swift motion, he started to push into me, and I let out a sharp cry as my body adjusted to the intrusion. It hurt as he pushed again, the handcuffs digging into my wrists, the pain mixing with the pleasure in a way that was both exquisite and terrifying as he filled me more, pushing gently but forcefully in. His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place as he began to thrust in and out, the sound of our skin slapping together echoing through the quiet farmstead.

Each thrust brought a new wave of sensation, the pressure building inside me until I thought I might explode. His breath grew ragged, his movements more urgent, and I knew he was close. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice thick with lust.

“Yes,” I moaned, my voice shaking. “I’m going to come,” feeling his cock pressuring my g-spot with each thrust of his thick cock.

He was now thrusting deeper and with conviction as my climax started to grow. His body was tense with his growing orgasm, his urgency becoming more insatiable as I enjoyed his efforts and then I felt it, the tension snapping, as I felt him fill me with his hot seed as I couldn’t hold back my climax, spilling my cum onto the hood of the car and the remains of my cotton nightshirt, my legs trembling with the force of my orgasm. The world around us faded away, leaving only the two of us, bound together in this moment of passion and power.

As we both caught our breath, the reality of what had just happened began to seep back in. I felt a strange mix of exhilaration and fear, knowing that I had just crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. Officer Jenkins leaned over me, his hands still gripping my hips, his breath coming in heavy gasps. “That was… unexpected,” he said, his voice filled with both satisfaction and a hint of amusement.

I couldn’t help but feel a thrill at his words, despite the situation. “It was… amazing,” I admitted, my voice still shaking from the aftershocks of my orgasm.

He chuckled, his grip loosening slightly as he pulled out of me. The feeling of emptiness was almost as intense as the pleasure had been. He stepped back, his cock still glistening with our combined release. “It’s not every day a boy offers himself up like that,” he said, his tone one of admiration. “You’ve got some fire in you, Steven, some real fire which I love.”

He reached into the trunk of his car again, this time pulling out a clean handkerchief to wipe himself clean. “You’re something special,” he said, his eyes appraising my still-shaking form. “And I think I’d like to get to know that fire a little better.”

I felt a shiver of excitement at the thought, even as the fear grew. What if someone found out? What if my parents came home early? But the thrill of the moment was too intense to let those thoughts take hold. I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes, Officer.”

He uncuffed me gently, the metal cold against my wrists as the blood rushed back into them. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, his tone kind. “And then we can talk.”

Now my arms were free, the remains of my nightshirt fell to the ground and I was now totally naked as I took the handkerchief from him, feeling the warmth of his cum on my skin as I wiped away the evidence of our encounter. My body was still singing with the aftermath, my legs wobbly as I stood upright. I watched him as he pulled his tighty whities back up, tucking in his still-hard cock with a grin as he slipped on his uniform trousers, restoring his presence as a police officer with the final act of tying his laces on his shoes.

Officer Jenkins turned to face me, his eyes searching my face. “What do you say, Steven? Would you like me to help you keep an eye on things around here while your folks are away?” The question hung in the air, a silent promise of more to come.

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “Yes,” I said, the word a whisper. “I’d like that.”

He nodded, his smile growing wider. “Good boy,” he said, patting my cheek. “Now go inside, clean up, and put some clothes on, and I will call by later to check you are safe and sound.”

With that, he turned and climbed back into his cruiser, the engine roaring to life as he drove away, leaving me standing in the driveway, the remains of my nightshirt at my feet. The world had shifted on its axis, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. But as the dust from his tires settled, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of excitement at the prospect of our secret arrangement, my thoughts racing with the possibilities of what the rest of the week might hold.

Will Continue with Part Two

Stuart

Easygoing and charming, Stuart has always been a gentleman, navigating life with quiet resilience. He enjoys attention but has struggled with feelings of inadequacy, especially when comparing himself to others.

Personality: Kind, introspective, and loyal.

Stephen

Loud, quirky, and confident,  Stephen’s personality often irritates people but hides a deep loneliness. His brashness masks insecurities about intimacy and connection.

Personality: Bold, humorous, but emotionally complex.

---

Stuart begins his apprenticeship at the engineering company at age 18, where he meets  Stephen, who started just a week earlier. Despite their equal positions,  Stephen takes on a bossy role, which Stuart tolerates to avoid conflict.  Stephen’s loud personality contrasts with Stuart’s laid-back demeanour, creating an odd dynamic that intrigues Stuart.

Stuart notices  Stephen’s confidence and wonders if it stems from the fact he is obviously well-endowed, a detail that fascinates him despite considering himself straight. Meanwhile, Stuart flirts harmlessly with the older women in the office, enjoying their playful teasing but feeling hurt when they call him a “pussy cat” instead of dangerous.

By their late 20s, Stuart is single while  Stephen dates Karen – a vibrant woman who seems mismatched with  Stephen’s immature behaviour. At a party hosted by  Stephen, Stuart observes how  Stephen treats Karen more like a trophy than a partner, lifting her dress to show off her stockings. Karen scolds him sharply, revealing cracks in their relationship.

Karen strikes up a long conversation with Stuart at the party, leading to hours-long phone calls after  Stephen gives her his number. Eventually, Karen confesses she has split from  Stephen and asks Stuart out on a date. Though hesitant about following in  Stephen’s footsteps – and concerned about living up to Karen’s expectations – Stuart agrees.

Their relationship is rocky from the start, although Stuart’s personality is more suited to Karen his lack of prowess in bed compared to Martin causes issues. Stuart can’t help but ask Karen if Martin is a big as he looks. Something she rather cruelly confirms is true. Stuart can’t help but smile, he feels humiliated by Karen’s teasing about his size but strangely aroused. Their relationship flounders and they go their separate ways.

Oddly enough, dating Karen brings Stuart and  Stephen closer as friends at work. Despite their differences, they develop mutual respect.

Life moves on; both men leave the company and lose touch over the years. Stuart experiences failed relationships but eventually stops dating altogether. Stuart is curious about men but does not know how to initiate a connection.

Stephen remains single and elusive about his romantic life. Their paths diverge until the pandemic hits.

During lockdowns in their 60s,  Stephen unexpectedly calls Stuart after obtaining his number from a mutual friend. Their weekly phone calls become a lifeline as they navigate isolation and fear together. Though still loud and irritating at times,  Stephen’s genuine care shines through.

Stuart begins noticing subtle comments from  Stephen – offhand remarks that could be interpreted as flirtatious or suggestive. He wonders if there’s something deeper behind them but hesitates to confront the possibility of romantic interest.

As life returns to normal post-pandemic,  Stephen invites Stuart out for dinner – a gesture that feels significant after years of friendship marked by ups and downs. Over the meal, they reminisce about their shared history and discuss how their lives have unfolded differently than expected.

In a vulnerable moment during dinner,  Stephen admits he’s struggled with loneliness and has always admired Stuart’s ability to connect with people effortlessly. Stuart confesses his curiosity about  Stephen – about his confidence all those years ago and whether there was more beneath it than he realised.

Stephen asks Stuart back for a nightcap and Stuart agrees.

Stuart sits in the armchair of  Stephen’s cosy lounge, the soft glow of a table lamp casting warm light across the room. The faint hum of music played in the background, creating an inviting atmosphere. Stuart’s heart raced as he watched  Stephen move confidently around the small coffee table. He can’t help but smile when he notices that Stephen looks as big as always. He couldn’t help but wonder if tonight would change their relationship forever.

Stephen handed Stuart his drink, their fingers brushing briefly. The touch sent a jolt through Stuart, who quickly took a sip to steady himself.  Stephen settled onto the sofa opposite him, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and intent.

“So,”  Stephen began with a playful smirk, “what do you think of my little bachelor pad? Not bad for an old guy, eh?”

Stuart chuckled nervously. “It’s nice – cosy. Definitely feels like you.”

Stephen leaned back, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “You know, I’ve always admired how easygoing you are, Stuart. You’ve got this way of making people feel comfortable… even me.”

Stuart raised an eyebrow, unsure how to respond. “Well, I guess that’s just who I am.”

Stephen tilted his head, his gaze softening. “It’s more than that. You’re kind. Genuine. I’ve always liked that about you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Stuart felt his cheeks flush as he fumbled for something to say. “Thanks,  Stephen. That means a lot.”

Stephen smiled and stood up suddenly, crossing the room to dim the lights further. The shadows deepened, and the music seemed to grow more intimate. When he returned to his seat, he didn’t sit back down on the sofa but instead perched on its edge, leaning slightly toward Stuart.

“You know,”  Stephen said quietly, his voice lower now, “I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately… about how we’ve reconnected after all these years.”

Stuart’s breath caught in his throat as  Stephen’s eyes locked onto his own. There was something unspoken in that gaze – something Stuart had been too nervous to acknowledge until now.

“I’ve missed having someone I can talk to,”  Stephen continued softly. “Someone who really gets me.”

Stuart nodded slowly. “I’ve missed that too.”

Stephen reached out then, his hand brushing against Stuart’s knee – a tentative touch that sent a shiver up Stuart’s spine. He didn’t pull away.

“Can I tell you something?”  Stephen asked.

“Of course,” Stuart replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve always wondered… if there was more between us than just friendship,”  Stephen admitted, his thumb lightly tracing circles on Stuart’s knee.

Stuart felt his heart pounding as he searched for words. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,”  Stephen said gently. He stood up and extended a hand toward Stuart. “Come with me?”

Stuart hesitated for only a moment before placing his hand in  Stephen’s. The warmth of  Stephen’s palm against his own was both reassuring and electrifying. Stuart had never held a man’s hand before but on this occasion it felt so right.

Stephen led him upstairs to the bedroom – a simple yet inviting space with soft lighting and crisp linens on the bed. Once inside, he turned to face Stuart, took his hands in his and pulled him closer.

“Are you okay?”  Stephen asked softly.

Stuart nodded, his nerves melting away under  Stephen’s tender gaze. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

Stephen smiled and leaned in slowly, giving Stuart plenty of time to pull away if he wanted to. But Stuart didn’t move – he closed the distance between them until their lips met in a gentle kiss.  Stephen’s lips were surprisingly soft and Stuart enjoyed their touch.

The kiss deepened gradually, Stuart could feel  Stephen’s rough stubble and that excited him.  Stephen’s hands slid down to rest on Stuart’s shoulders before moving to unbutton his shirt with deliberate care. Each touch was slow and sensual, as if  Stephen were savouring every moment.

“You’re such a hunk,”  Stephen murmured against Stuart’s lips as he slipped the shirt off and let it fall to the floor.

Stuart felt vulnerable yet exhilarated as  Stephen continued undressing him piece by piece, pausing often to kiss newly exposed skin – his collarbone, chest, and then Stuarts pert, sensitive nipples.  Stephen firmly undid Stuarts belt and zip, his trousers falling to the floor. Stuart stepped out of them his hardness clearly on display in his black briefs.

Stephen stepped back briefly to admire him before pulling off his own shirt and guiding Stuart toward the bed. Stuart lay down his legs open as  Stephen slipped between them. Stuart felt exposed – not just physically but emotionally – and yet he didn’t feel afraid. For once in his life, he allowed himself to let go completely, surrendering not just to  Stephen but to the moment itself.

Stephen guided his every move, coaxing him onto all fours, Stuart hesitated briefly before obeying – a gesture that felt so natural. He could feel heat rising through him as  Stephen pulled his briefs down around his ankles and explored him with his tongue. Every touch grounding him deeper into this new reality where vulnerability wasn’t weakness but strength. Opening himself fully to  Stephen was unlike anything Stuart had ever experienced – raw, exhilarating, and profoundly intimate. It wasn’t just about desire; it was about trust and connection – a willingness to be seen completely for who he was without shame or fear. It was truly wonderful.

Decided to keep it going. Let me know if you enjoy it!

---

I don’t know how long I spent staring at the piece of paper. I kept on checking each digit, their sequence, everything, trying to find something, anything that would turn this into a big misunderstanding. I started dialing, thinking I was simply misremembering Andrew’s phone number, but as soon as the first couple of digits were typed, he popped up on my phone, and I stared again, this time at the screen.

My brain simply couldn’t, wouldn’t process the fact that my son had given me a blowjob. For fuck’s sake, possibly many, many blowjobs. Was he the skilled one, the cocksucker that I was hoping would be waiting for me on his knees with his mouth open, when I decided to come here tonight, or was it his friend Seth? Oh god… Which one had I fucked? Did I fuck my own boy tonight?

My mind was spiraling, I couldn’t believe how horribly this night had turned out. I barely paid any attention to the men coming out of the building one by one every couple of minutes until I realized that sooner or later, the boys would come out, and I couldn’t be here when they did. I started the engine and drove off. I played some music on the radio, trying to distract myself on the way home, trying to think of anything else, of nothing, to just go blank and forget, but all I could think about was the feeling of my cock in that glory hole, sliding down that throat, that warm, wet, skilled throat and praying that it did not belong to my son. That this was his first night there. Because that would be so much better than knowing, that my favorite cocksucker on this goddamn planet, was my 19-year-old son. That just the thought of his lips enveloping my rod in the dark room, behind that wall were giving me the erection that I was pretending not to have right now.

I made it to the house eventually. I opened my son’s messages. He had heart-reacted to what I suggested for dinner. I looked at the number again and compared it to the one on the note. It was still the same. I started typing, wondering if the confrontation would be easier like this or in person, but quickly deleted the little I had typed. What was I going to say?

I put my phone away and instead got to cooking. An hour or so went by as I prepared the dinner until I heard the door unlock. The moments leading up to him entering the kitchen were long and painful. I had to confront him about it. I knew I had to. What we did, unknowingly or not, was wrong, and we had to talk about it. But then he entered, a big smile on his face and greeted me, and I just couldn’t say it. I couldn’t start the conversation. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. But it could hurt me, and it did.

Over the following days and weeks, that secret was all I could think about. I dreamt about it often. Me in that room, sliding my dick in the glory hole, only for the wall to disappear and leave me looking at my son as he sucked my cock. I’d wake up with my underwear soaked in cum almost every morning. I would catch myself thinking about it when I masturbated or watched porn. I even went to the gloryhole once again, only to find myself both relieved and disappointed, when I didn’t recognize the mouth on the other side, and leave guilty, knowing who I had imagined being there instead.

I tried and tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t, it was going to eat me alive.

Two weeks after the incident, I bought a prepaid card and after debating it for a couple more days, I texted my son.

«Hey, are you the guys from the gloryhole? »

It was late in the night, so I didn’t know if he would reply now, or when he saw Seth again, in case they wanted to communicate with me together, but the answer came shortly.

«hey man, yeah, but we’re not together right now. i’m andrew, and my buddy is seth. »

«Nice to meet you, Andrew. I’m Mathew. I’m the guy who went straight after the guys that fucked while you two blew them. »

«yeah dude, i know 😉 we don’t give our info to just about anyone. »

My cock was rock-hard immediately as I read that message. They enjoyed my cock… my son and his friend enjoyed my cock, so they gave me a way to contact them, so that I could fuck them again.

«i’ve noticed you’re a bit of a regular, one of my favorite regulars if i’m being honest. always have a tasty load for me, and my buddy really enjoyed the pounding you gave him. »

I stared at the second message for a couple of minutes. This answered all of my questions. It was indeed my son, who had given me head all those times, but I had not fucked him. We hadn’t crosse that line. I had gotten what I needed to know; I could block his number from the card and carry on with trying to find a way to just move past this whole ordeal. But I didn’t.

«I myself would be lying If I said I didn’t hope it would be your mouth I sink my cock into every time I visit.» Send, and a moment later:

«You deepthroat me better than my wife ever did.» I pressed send before I even knew what I had typed. I felt so ashamed, knowing what I was saying, but my cock was harder than it had ever been, and the combination of anonymity and arousal allowed me to ignore the depravity of the situation if not forever, then just for a while.

«you married? » his reply was slow this time

«No, divorced. »

«good. i know there’s probably some married guys I’m sucking off, but I don’t like having it confirmed. »

My mind went instantly to my rather messy divorce after finding out my wife had cheated. I know that no matter how hard I tried to be here when he needed me, Andrew still took it pretty hard.

I questioned myself again. What the hell was I doing. This was so inappropriate, so horrible of me to do. What kind of father was I?  Then came another text:

«anyway. gotta be honest, we don’t usually do this, but the way you fucked seth, i was kinda jealous, and i didn’t know how long it would be till the next time you’d pop in so i decided to try this. »

I stared at the message, refusing to reply. I had to stop. He’s still a kid, he doesn’t know better, shit he doesn’t know anything, but I did. I couldn’t let this go on any longer. I couldn’t take advantage of him in this way and keep on calling myself his father. This was wrong, and I knew it. I opened the chat again, navigating the app, trying to find the block option but then the phone vibrated, and a picture appeared in the chat. My eyes darted to it automatically and saw my son lying on his bed, on his stomach in front of his mirror. I could see his wide, athletic back in the bottom of the photo. The pronounced V shape leading my gaze up the screen where his perked ass cheeks stood on full display in all their thick, bubble beauty, and just above them, in his mirror, his spread legs guiding my eyes towards his pink hole, surrounded by gentle fuzz, winking at me through the screen.

«think you might have some unfinished business here»

I looked at the block button, and then at the picture. I should have blocked him then and there and forgotten about this. But I didn’t. Instead, I reached into my pants and started stroking my cock, which felt like it was going to explode any second now. My boxers were soaking wet with precum, my shaft twitching in my hand.

«I might have to agree with you.»

«You should know something though. I’m 45.»

«hot… i’m 19, and my buddy is 20, is that alright, daddy?»

It had been years since he had called me that, and never in this context, but God, I swear it unlocked something in me. As soon as I read it, my balls tightened and filled my underwear with hot, sticky cum, that I am ashamed to admit, I wished I was shooting inside my son’s hole, whichever one he’d offer.

«No, boy, it’s perfect. Say hi to Seth from me. We’ll talk more. »

I had just had my first gay encounter, yet I had never felt more masculine or virile. It was as if I had reached the pinnacle of what a man could achieve. My apex. Driving home and hardening again in my pants, I decided to stop off at a bar for a pint and to cool off. 

I strutted in. In a perfect world, I’d be able to share my conquest with my fellow bros sitting at the bar, showing them the degrading pictures of my cock down the faggot’s throat. The video where he declared himself to be my property, flexing his toned arms while handing me money. We’d laugh and high-five, bonding as men who fuck, own and exploit those who need us. Our conversation would arouse the jealous females, and they’d clamor to hang on to our shoulders, join in, and hope to be taken home and ravaged themselves. 

In an even more perfect world, the waitresses would all be Hooters girls or sissies, strutting around in tight clothes, debasing themselves to earn our attention, and serving us our drinks. Fags would be chained to the bottom of the bar, offering up their mouths. We’d fuck their throats, ignoring them while talking about how our investments were doing or about the game on TV. 

I was so lost in my fantasies that I almost thought the familiar face at one of the table’s was a figment of my imagination. It was the cleaning woman I had seen at the fag’s house: Gina. I smiled and grabbed my Blue Moon from the bartender. I walked over to Gina. “This table taken?” 

Intrigued, she said, “I’m meeting my friend soon, but you’re welcome to sit.” As I pulled out the chair from the table and took a seat she added, “You never did say how you knew Zack.” Zack? Oh, right, the fag. Sometimes I forget his name. 

I thought of how Zack was strutting around like he owned the place when we first met while Gina kept house. I smiled devilishly, thinking of how I’d remade him. “Well, I’ll tell you how I met him. But you have to promise to keep it between us.” Her eyebrow raised.

---

“$50 a week, times 4 weeks is $100, times 12 months is $1,200,” raced through my mind as I fruitlessly tried to find a combination of short-shorts and crop-top that didn’t make me look like a total fool. $1,200 was doable. Not ideal but… worth it? Then, the thought of giving money away for nothing made me retch. 

Having orgasmed, my submissive dedication was fading. I thought of using the pants Alex left me for work and refusing his orders. Lord Alex, I mean. Certainly, having nutted himself, he’d also have gotten bored of checking on me. My chances of running into him in public were slim to none. I’d send the cage check pic and then put on regular clothes…

Almost like he could read my thoughts telepathically, I got a text. “Going out tonight? Show me what you’re wearing.” At first, I sighed. Then, I started straining in my cage yet again. He wanted to keep controlling me. He’d be relentless. 

My worst fear was that the top of my thong would ride up my ass and my friends would see. I settled on a pair of jorts that weren’t too frayed and tight enough around the waist that it was unlikely to happen. I put on an old college t-shirt that now had deep armholes, barely covering my pecs and crossing my belly button. I donned the pink cap and put it backward on my head.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. The outfit would maybe pass if I were going to the beach or a crazy frat party. But it would be out of place and eyebrow raising at my planned dinner with friends. I resolved that I’d tell them I forgot my change of clothes at the gym.

I took a picture of my outfit for Lord Alex and he replied with, “Haha. Good fag. Show me you’re caged and plugged.” Fuck, I forgot about the plug. I produced it from my sink, where I had cleaned it, took a squirt of lube, adjusted the thong, and reinserted it. I sent Lord Alex another video with my caged nub out over the top of the jorts and twirling around to show him the plug. 

“You’re something else, slave,” Lord Alex texted. “Take another pic in the bathroom when you go out so I know you’re not cheating.”

The stimulation of the plug and my Lord’s continued demands caused me to strain all over again. Subspace reactivated, I grabbed my things. My shorts were so tight that I couldn’t fit my wallet, keys, or phone in my pocket. I’d have to carry them. 

I arrived at the restaurant. It was a bit fancier than I remembered. Luckily, the hostess did not turn me away when I said I was meeting friends. Instead, she looked me up and down, looked amused, and said, “Right this way.” 

My friends Johnny, Mike, and Greg were seated at a table in the center of the dining room. They all stood up as I met them, awkwardly shifting the items I was carrying around in my hands and setting them down at the table’s empty seat. 

“Woh, there, tiger– it’s dinner, not spring break,” Johnny, my most bro but well-meaning friend, said with a forceful hand-in-hand shake.

I shook my head and performed my rehearsed speech: “I forgot my change of clothes at home. I came right from the gym.”

“Damn. I wish I had your dedication, it’s really working for you, man,” he said, appraising my body. 

“You’re really riding that ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service line,” Mike, bespectacled, always the critic, and surprisingly fit underneath his baggy jeans and nerdy graphic Marvel tee, remarked. 

“I thought that the bridal shower over there ordered a stripper,” Greg, our group’s younger, skinnier and most innocent member said. 

I laughed. My phone vibrated. It was Lord Alex. “Cage check.”

“Just need to use the restroom before I sit down,” I said. They looked befuddled as I had only just arrived.  

“We’ll order you a beer,” Johnny said, diffusing tension, as I made my way to the men’s room. 

There were a couple stalls and a urinal. I went inside one stall, pulled down my shorts, and took a pic for Lord Alex, who immediately replied.

“Good faggot. Now strip, except for the hat. Get on Grindr. Find a man to suck to completion. Send pic with cock down ur throat.” 

My heart sank. Adrenaline was rushing. My mind was saying no, but my fingers were scrolling to the app. I opened up Grindr. 

There were 2 men less than 1000 feet away, both with anonymous profiles. On autopilot, I texted both and said, “Hey Sir, may I suck your cock? In the bathroom.”

The first didn’t reply. It felt like hours were passing, thinking that every second was making my friends more curious about what was up with me. 

Finally, a ping. The other close-by guy said, “Oh really?” Then, “Are you a good boy?”

“Yes Sir,”  I said as I disrobed, struggling because of the tight-fitting garments, and trying to hang my clothes on the little hanger attached to the door. “I’ll knock twice,” I read as I readjusted the pink cap on top of my head.

Seconds later, I heard the door open. I saw some baggy jeans and New Balance underneath the stall. I froze as the figure did the tell-tale knock. 

I opened the stall. It was Mike, who threw his head up in validation. “I knew I had to check Grindr from the second I saw that outfit.” He stepped in the stall and closed the door behind him as I sank to my knees. I had always wondered about Mike and, honestly, was not surprised. I had wanted it to be one of my friends. It was as if I had manifested it, just as I manifested Lord Alex at my doorstep. 

Mike unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants furiously. Mike had always been sort of the group geek. Now he was towering over me. His biceps looked surprisingly bulging in his Marvel shirt. When did he get so manly?

“You’re wearing a cage? Oh my god, that’s so hot.” 

“You can’t tell the guys about this,” I said. 

“I had no idea you were gay,” he said. He whipped out his cock and started slapping my face with it. It was almost over six inches, hard as a rock, and surprisingly thick. “And you’re like, really gay.”

“Ugh,” I said between the slaps as I handed him my phone. “Please take a picture with it down your throat.” 

“Need proof for whoever has the key?” he asked. 

“Yeah.” This earned me a slap that stung like hell.

“That’s, ‘Yes, Sir.’” Mike said. He moaned in ecstasy as I wrapped my lips around his cock and went balls deep. 

“Yeth, thir,”I said with a mouth full of cock. I looked up as he held the phone in my face.

“Arch your back and widen your knees. I want your plugged ass and cage in it,” he said with a hint of amusement as he fucked my throat steadily. I made his desired adjustments. “Hell, yeah,” he said, pleased. He set the phone down on the toilet paper roller. “You’re going to send that to me too,” he said. 

I nodded as he grabbed the sides of my head and upped his speed. 

“Fuck. I can’t believe it. Zack Taylor, a faggot. Look at you now, bitch,” he said. For the second time that day, I was glugging like a porn star just like Lord Alex liked. “You’re going to be doing this a lot now, aren’t you?”

“Yeth, thir,” I repeated. He erupted three large spurts of cum down my throat and stifled his orgasmic grunt. 

“You better hurry back. The guys already think something is up with you,” Mike said, zipping up his pants. He gave my face a playful slap, shook his head with a smile on his face, and left. 

I quickly dressed. I looked at the photo Mike took. I was on a dirty bathroom floor with nothing but my pink cap, which matched the shade of my face with my watery, bulging eyes and blush. My caged clit was clearly visible. I was just like all the pathetic fags I had aspired to be on Twitter.

I sent the picture to Lord Alex and Mike. Lord Alex responded with a “Ha Ha” emoji. Followed by an ominous, “You’ll never guess who I ran into.” 

I returned to the table as the waitress was bringing our drinks.

“There he is!” Johnny said as I sat down. “Feeling okay?” 

“Yeah, I did cardio today… always… makes me gotta go,” I said trying to hide my embarrassment. 

The other guys all had their beers and the waitress put down a glass of white wine in front of me. I squinted in puzzlement. 

“Oh, I let her know you said you wanted a white wine spritzer instead. And ordered that salad you wanted,” Mike said from across the table. 

“Thanks,” I said. I knew I must have looked like a sweaty mess as Mike gleamed. 

Johnny raised his mug for everyone to cheers. “To bro night. Love keeping up this tradition with you boys!” I gingerly held the stem and clinked my wine glass against the thick mugs, so as not to break it. I strained in my cage, thankful to Mike for reinforcing what I knew: they were men. They were the bros. I was not. They deserved beer. I get cum down my throat. And white wine spritzers. 

This is my first full length story, so I hope you enjoy it! Please email me ([email protected]) any feedback. Enjoy!

All characters are entirely fictional besides Byron, whom has given me his express permission to include later in the book. Please follow him on Instagram (@byronrosekelly)!

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The Investigation

The police station hummed with the quiet efficiency of a Monday afternoon—phones ringing at intermittent intervals, the soft clicking of keyboards, occasional bursts of conversation from the break room. Troy Calloway sat at his computer terminal, shoulders hunched forward, the fabric of his uniform shirt straining across his substantial back as he leaned closer to the screen. The fluorescent lighting cast harsh shadows across his strong features, emphasizing the determined set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes as they scanned the database before him.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Troy knew it was against protocol to use police resources for personal investigations, but the events of the past few days had left him with a burning need for answers. The images from The Velvet Stag haunted him—Max Schett on all fours, his magnificent physique transformed into furniture, his dignity seemingly abandoned. Those neon green compression shorts, stretched to their absolute limit across glutes so impossibly developed they created their own topography beneath the straining fabric. The material had been pulled so taut it appeared translucent in places, revealing hints of the extraordinary musculature that had earned Max his reputation throughout the town.

Troy’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, a momentary hesitation born not from doubt about his course but from the technical reality that every search would leave a digital footprint in the system. If someone checked the logs…

“This is a legitimate inquiry,” he muttered to himself, rolling his thick shoulders to release some of the tension that had accumulated there. “Public indecency complaint. Just following procedure.”

The justification rang hollow even to his own ears. A man posing shirtless on a display podium wasn’t a crime. Neither was kneeling on all fours while fully clothed, no matter how provocative the clothing or how suggestive the context. But there was something happening in his town—something that felt wrong, that disrupted the natural order as Troy understood it. Men like the Schetts, with their god-like physiques and apparent disregard for social norms, couldn’t just do whatever they wanted without consequences.

His fingers began typing: ETHAN.

The system whirred, processing the request, before presenting him with a message that triggered a flicker of frustration across his features: NO RECORDS FOUND.

“Damn it,” Troy hissed, the words barely audible even to himself. Of course there wouldn’t be anything—the database only contained information on individuals with prior arrests or official interactions with law enforcement. This “Ethan” character was operating below the radar, manipulating these muscle-bound specimens while maintaining a clean record himself.

Troy tried another approach, typing HARRY SCHETT with deliberate keystrokes.

Again, the system returned nothing.

His thick fingers drummed against the desk, a physical manifestation of his growing frustration. Only one name remained, and typing it presented a risk. If Maxwell Schett had any record at all, accessing his file would leave a digital timestamp of Troy’s search. If Max were ever brought in for questioning in the future, no matter how minor the offense, that digital footprint could prove difficult to explain.

But he couldn’t stop now. The need to know, to understand what was happening, overrode his professional caution.

MAXWELL SCHETT.

The screen flickered, then populated with information that sent a jolt of anticipation through Troy’s substantial frame.

There it was—a record. Not the bombshell he’d hoped for, but something: a speeding ticket from three years ago. Troy clicked through to the full report, his broad chest expanding with a deep breath that tested the limits of his uniform buttons. The anticipation faded quickly as he scanned the sparse details. It was hardly the crime of the century, just a routine traffic stop for exceeding the speed limit by twelve miles per hour.

But then, a detail caught his eye—a note from the attending officer mentioning a passenger in the vehicle. Someone intoxicated who had “talked back” during the stop. The passenger wasn’t charged with anything, but his name appeared in the report: Declan Kavanagh.

“Kavanagh,” Troy repeated, testing the unusual surname on his tongue. No additional information was provided—no age, no address, nothing that would immediately help his investigation. But it was a lead, however tenuous.

Troy stood, his powerful thighs causing the fabric of his tactical pants to pull taut across their impressive girth. The seams strained against his substantial development as he shifted his weight, a subtle reminder of his own dedicated physical conditioning. He reached for his phone, tucked securely in his pocket, but the device was wedged tight against the dense muscle of his leg, requiring him to stand and adjust his stance to extract it.

Once freed, the phone offered a potential avenue that the official database couldn’t provide. He opened Facebook, typing “Declan Kavanagh” into the search bar. Several profiles appeared, but one immediately captured his attention—a man who appeared to be in his early forties with a physique that screamed serious bodybuilder.

The profile picture showcased a torso of extraordinary proportions. A black t-shirt clung desperately to a chest that seemed engineered rather than developed, each pectoral creating a hemisphere of such impressive projection that deep shadows formed beneath their substantial overhang. The sleeves were stretched to their molecular limits around biceps that bulged with veins snaking beneath paper-thin skin. The neck of the shirt had been stretched out of shape by traps that rose like mountain ranges from impossibly broad shoulders.

“That’s got to be him,” Troy muttered, clicking through to examine the profile more thoroughly.

The page was a monument to physical development—photo after photo of Declan in various states of undressed display. In one image, he wore khaki green boxer briefs that appeared painted onto his lower body, the fabric strained to the point of structural failure across thighs so massively developed they forced his stance unnaturally wide. The separate heads of his quadriceps were clearly visible beneath the stretched material, creating ridges and valleys that caught light with almost artistic precision.

A video showed Declan in a blue button-down shirt, the buttons fighting a losing battle against his chest’s impossible volume. As he raised his arm to flex a bicep that seemed to belong to a different species of human altogether, the sleeve’s seam split with an audible rip, exposing a bulging mass of striated muscle that peaked with shocking height when fully contracted.

Troy scrolled through more content, searching for any direct connection to Max Schett, but found nothing immediately obvious. No photos together, no tagged posts, nothing to confirm that this was definitely the same Declan from the traffic stop report.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his short-cropped hair in frustration.

Then, on impulse, he clicked through to Declan’s friends list and ran a search for “Ethan.” Nothing. But as he was about to close the page, another familiar name caught his eye—Harry Schett.

“Got you,” Troy whispered, satisfaction spreading through him like warmth. The connection confirmed his suspicion that this Declan was indeed the same person mentioned in Max’s file. They moved in the same circles, knew the same people. It wasn’t concrete evidence of anything untoward, but it was another thread in the increasingly complex tapestry he was uncovering.

He clicked through to Harry’s Facebook page, which proved to be an extension of his provocative Instagram presence. The same carefully posed shots showcasing his extraordinary development, the same barely-contained physique threatening to burst from clothing deliberately chosen to emphasize rather than conceal.

But then—something new. Something that made Troy’s breath catch in his throat.

A shared post from The Velvet Stag—the very image that had started Troy down this rabbit hole. Max Schett on all fours, his neon green compression shorts stretched obscenely across glutes of such extraordinary development they seemed to defy anatomical possibility. But now, Harry had added his own caption:

“Best night of my fucking life! Which item of furniture would you like to see this straight guy used as next? Answers to Ethan Thomas.”

And there it was—a tagged profile. A direct link to the mysterious Ethan who had been at the center of this strange web.

Troy’s heart pounded against his ribs with increased tempo as he clicked through to Ethan’s page. The profile was surprisingly ordinary at first glance—a young man in his twenties with an unremarkable build, nothing like the muscle-bound specimens he appeared to associate with. But the employment section contained the information Troy had been seeking:

Current Employer: The Chapel (Bartender) Other Employment: Muscle Stud Owner

“Muscle Stud Owner,” Troy repeated, the words feeling foreign on his tongue, yet somehow perfectly encapsulating what he’d witnessed. The pieces were falling into place, forming a picture that was both clearer and more disturbing than he had anticipated.

He leaned back in his chair, the furniture creaking in protest beneath his substantial weight. His mind raced with implications, with possibilities, with the next steps in his investigation. This wasn’t just about public indecency anymore—this was about control, manipulation, the exploitation of men whose physical development had somehow made them vulnerable to Ethan’s influence.

Troy closed the browser, clearing the history with practiced efficiency. He would need to approach this carefully, strategically. No more official searches that could be traced, no digital footprints that might alert his targets.

It was time for old-fashioned police work. Surveillance. Questioning. Building a case methodically and thoroughly.

As he stood, his uniform straining across the substantial development of his thighs and chest, Troy felt a renewed sense of purpose. He would restore order to his town, protect men like Max and Harry from whatever hold this Ethan had over them.

And he knew exactly where to start.

The Chapel.

The Gym

Dan had had a long day observing Cetian operations—he was supposed to be learning what it was that made Cetians such effective warriors. But all Dan had so far seen was pretty standard military ops. If there was a secret sauce so to speak to their training, he hadn’t really seen it yet. Well, except maybe for his experience last night…He had purposefully designed his schedule such that he could hit up the station gym when Bark said he was going to be “training”. 

Dan finally found the gym after a half hour of wandering around the station asking for directions—Cetians were responsive if not non-emotive when asked for help. Dan entered the clean, dimly lit locker room entrance for the gym with some trepidation—not knowing what to expect. The room was large and simple, with cubbies and Cetian marines in various states of dress and undress—the only exit from the locker room was to a shower. Dan recognized a younger marine he had been observing earlier in the day—an olive-skinned soldier probably in his mid-20’s with curly black hair, in the process of undressing.

Dan saddled up to him: “Hello soldier.”

The soldier acknowledged him without smiling—smiling was not evidently not common here, though folks weren’t necessarily unfriendly.

“You’re the visitor from Earth, right?” He had an accent Dan guessed was Portuguese—he must have been from Earth too. 

“Yessir. I’m guessing you’re from there too—Brazil?”

The soldier nodded and Dan could see him remembering his home land, perhaps wistfully.

“Do you miss it?” Dan asked, as he quickly took off his shirt, revealing his impressive bulk and washboard abs, lightly dusted with brown fur. He noted to soldier looking at his physique.

“No,” he said flatly. “I have everything I need right here.” With that the soldier took off his briefs, revealing a thick long hooded cock with an enormous bulging vein running from tip to base. He shook his cock while eye-locked with Dan, airing out the meaty appendage and then cocked his head expressively.

“Fuck man.” Dan said.

The Brazilian cocked his eyebrow, then turned to walk to the showers, revealing an impressive giggling bubble butt.

Dan wasn’t exactly sure how this gym worked—he didn’t see any other exit accept the showers, so he followed the soldier into the communal shower, and took a pole opposite the soldier, watching him efficiently rinse, lather (he tugged his horse cock for a good 30 seconds, making eye contact with Dan) and then rinse. The soldier locked eyes again before walking to the opposite end of the shower through an arch. Dan followed.

The arch led to a corridor that was lit by candles. There was a toweling off station. Dan followed the soldiers moves, drying off his body, and then like the soldier tossed the towel into a bin and continued walking down the corridor, completely naked.

Dan and the solider entered the gym, which can only be described as a catacomb. The hallways was dark—the ceiling arched and low and comprised as the same black tile as the floor. The hallway was lit by candles in alcoves. Dan was confused—where was the gym?

As they walked, they began to pass by a series of rooms accessed through the dim hallways. One contained simple benches with weights—several marines were lifting iron, all naked. The next contained a small water feature and seemed to be a meditation or rest chamber—several marines lay on the black tile, their heads resting on simple wooden blocks. Again, all were naked. And several had erections and were slowing fondling themselves.

As he explored this admittedly unconventional gym, Dan became conscious of his thick swinging meat—it was beginning to get aroused. Dan looked lustfully at the perfect ass of the Brazilian solider in front of him, as it bounced as they walked. They passed several soldiers in the hallway—all naked. Dan could tell that several of them were eyeing his cock—it was probably the biggest on the whole station. Dan was beginning to get even harder, but he was also really disoriented and lost. He was about to ask the Brazilian where he was going, but then the Brazilian silently turned and walked into a room—this one had a taller ceiling than the others, and several Cetian marines were scaling up a wall naked, hanging from simple wooden holds nailed into the wall. Rock-climbing naked on a space station? No thank you, thought Dan.

Dan kept wandering through the maze, casually stroking himself off as he did. He noticed that as he got deeper into the gym labrynth the rooms started to get more and more sexual, and by an by he started to hear cheek clapping and moaning from the rooms head of him. His hard-on was raging and swollen, but he wanted to get a pump on before busting his load in some Cetian man pussy. So he stopped at a room that had a bench press set and then started loading up his bar. By coincidence, the Brazillian past by the arch for the room, his cock semi and looking engorged. He stopped at the arch and looked at Dan and then grabbed his meat and giggled it.

Dan smiled. “Done with your climb?”

“Yes. Do you need a spotter?”

Dan appreciated the offer, genuinely. “Why sure soldier, thank you.”

The Brazilian muscle God walked over to Dan, his fat cock with the impressive bulging vein swaying as he walked over. He walked behind Dan and stepped above his face to help him unrack. His weighty, low-hanging testicles actually brushed his face as he got his assist to lift up.

Dan did a couple sets, each with increasing wait—and each time the soldier’s massive balls rest on his face, momentarily. In his last set, Dan pushed to muscle fatigue and he couldn’t push the barbell off his chest. The Brazillian had to re-rack the weight, in doing so, and as Dan gasped in fatigue, the Brazilian’s fat testicle grazed his open mouth and then descended into his mouth. Dan looked up surprisingly. The Brazilian shoulder was stroking his now fully aroused cock—inches above his face. The Brazilian crouched lower and Dan took the whole massive, sweet tasing testicle into his mouth. Instictively, even though he had never sucked balls before, Dan opened his mouth further and began tongue massaging the weighty testicle. The Brazilian moaned and then stood up, turned around and straddled Dan’s face.

Dan looked very surprised. He had fucked man hole sure, gotten blown, and heck last night even for the first time had kissed a man. But he wasn’t a cock sucker.

Too late. As Dan’s was thinking he wasn’t a cocksucker, he realized that the Brazilian’s meaty schlong—with its prodigious hood of pink foreskin—was already pushing into Dan’s watery mouth. To his surprise, he liked how it tasted—it tasted like sex, muscle and power. The thick foreskin was juicy with delicious precum. The Brazilian pushed his dick to the back of Dan’s throat—it was only about a third of the way in, and Dan gagged.

The Brazilian fucked Dan’s mouth for a few thrusts, those huge meaty balls slappy Dan’s chin. Then he pushed as far back to Dan’s throat as he could—by now Dan was gagging less—but he still could only get about half of it down Dan’s throat. So the solider reached down to Dan’s head and carefully tilted his head back, better aligning Dan’s throat to the marine’s thick brown shaft. Dan gurgled and then the Brazilian’s shaft pushed through all the way down Dan’s gullet. The Brazilian’s huge testicles were smashed next to Dan’s chin and his throat had swollen to take the cock. Dan was in shock—from never sucking a dick to getting skull fucked. But the sensation was insane. He couldn’t breath at all, which added to the intensity. He thought he might cum himself, but before he could focus on what was going on with his own rock hard cock, the Brazilian pulled out—allowing Dan to gasp for air—but then began roughly skull fucking Dan. Just as Dan thought he was going to pass out—or his throat was going to burst open—he felt the Brazilian’s cock swell and he felt an enormous load shoot directly down his throat. The Brazilian forced the meaty cock all the way down his throat and rested their as he drained his load into his throat. Dan felt himself passing out and tapped the Brazilian furiously. The Brazilian pulled out and allowed Dan to gasp for air. Strands of semen still connected his open mouth to the still hard trouser snake just above his face. Dan’s throat burned from the Brazilian’s hot acidic cum. The Brazilian carefully squeezed his still huge cock from base to tip to squeeze out the remaining cum – which he then flicked directly into Dan’s eye.

“Welcome to Tau Ceti,” The Brazilian smirked and then walked off.

Dan was dumbfounded. He came here to breed the soldier he had fucked last night, but ended up sucking dick—getting facefucked no less—for the first time. He shook his head and laughed and rubbed the burning cum out of his eye—first time for everything.

But what to do with this rock-hard cock? He thought. He set out with renewed fervor to find Brock, the soldier from last night. And it didn’t take long—he just had to follow the sounds of clapping cheeks, which eventually brought him to an arch that entered into a cathedral-like room with vaulted ceilings and candles all over the ground. The room was different from any other in the maze—it felt sacred. And upon entering the sacred room, Dan was hit with the smell of cum. There Bark was, the soldier from last night, bound and bent over a Charlie horse and an enormous, muscular black soldier was pummeling him from behind—Bark’s muscled thighs were dripped with loads of previous soldiers. Watching were several Cetian soldiers patiently waiting their turn. 

A thick ring of foamy cum was collected at the base of the top’s girthy cock. His cock made sloppy penetrating noises with each thrust—you could hear the many loads deep inside the bottom’s. The pace of the top’s thrusting quickened. The bottom kept his steely, determined face as the top howled and punched the bottom’s muscular ass as he violently came inside him. The top pulled out, exposing a perfect pink gaped hole leaking goopy cum—he walked to the ass-up bottom’s face and the bottom eagerly swallowed up the massive cock, cleaning it, including lapping up all the foamed other guy’s semen from his balls and stomach.

The top departed, and the cumdump turned around to see who was next. Dan thought he could make out the tiniest of smiles when the bottom recognized him waiting in line. The next guy up was a younger marine – probably 19 or 20 – with a rock hard cut 7 inch cock. He jackhammered a quick load into the bottom, then walked around to get his still rock hard cock cleaned. There were three guys in front of Dan, all muscled and hard, but they want pretty quick, so that in only five or so minutes, it was Dan’s turn. As he walked up to the bottom the hole quivered and winked—he had just been fucked by an Arab guy with balls the size of tennis balls. Watching all those guys cum in his favorite bottom on the station had gotten Dan really randy.

“I wanna fuck that gape man.” Dan commanded.

The bottom compiled and pushed out, exposing a perfect rose bud gape and in the process loudly farting a stream of cum out. Dan instinctively reached out and cupped his hands. He got an entire two hands worth of cum and it was only a fraction of what had cum out. He walked around to the bottom’s front and offered the cum for him to drink. The bottom nodded and dutifully swallowed the cum, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp underneath his square jaw. Dan returned to the bottom’s rear and his hole was still gaped open, the perfect wet pink open hole offered up for Dan’s taking. Dan pushed all of his fat rock hard member in, in one aggressive motion and began jack hammering the marine mercilessly. Dan had never felt a pussy this wet – there was so much DNA lubing his cock, and the hole was making incredibly sloppy farting noises as it penetrated.

Dan’s fat cock—the biggest in a station of huge cocks—was having an effect on Bark. He started to moan in a low-guttural howl in a way he hadn’t with the previous tops. And his asshole opened and protruded even more, inches away from his body, gripping Dan’s massive cock with increasing quivering intensity. Dan thought he was going to last longer but he couldn’t not cum. He screamed and let loose and cum shot out of either side of his fat cock. Dan sighed heavily in shock, his cock still in Bark.

A figure he hadn’t noticed came up to Bark—he was cloaked and had serious grey eyes and a square jaw.

“Very impressive visitor. We need to speak. Your assets have not gone, unnoticed in the station.” The man squeezed Dan’s girthy still rock-hard cock, still inside bark. “Come to the chapel tomorrow at 7. You are to be inducted into a very special order.”

Day One

The mountain air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth as Zack and Kyr trekked along the winding trail toward the cabin. The sun hung low, painting the peaks in shades of gold and amber. Zack, with his broad shoulders and tousled dark hair, led the way, his hiking boots crunching against the gravel. Kyr trailed just behind, his lean frame moving with a quiet grace, his hazel eyes flickering toward Zack whenever he thought he wouldn’t be noticed. They’d been best friends since middle school—two scrappy kids who’d bonded over dodgeball and late-night video game marathons—but now, at 23, Kyr carried a secret that gnawed at him: he was hopelessly, achingly in love with Zack.

The cabin came into view, a rustic single-story retreat nestled among towering pines. It was small, with weathered wood walls and a slanted roof, the kind of place that promised solitude. Inside, there was a modest kitchen, a lumpy couch, and—most crucially—one large bed dominating the single bedroom. Kyr’s stomach flipped at the sight of it. Three nights. Three nights sharing that bed with Zack, the guy he’d fantasized about for years. Zack, oblivious as ever, dropped his backpack by the door and stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned abs. Kyr swallowed hard, averting his gaze.

They spent the first day fishing at the nearby lake, the water shimmering under the afternoon sun. Zack cast his line with practiced ease, his biceps flexing beneath his t-shirt. Kyr tried to focus on his own rod, but his eyes kept drifting to Zack—specifically to the way he kept shifting his weight, adjusting his jeans with a subtle grimace. By the time they switched to hiking, Zack’s fidgeting had grown impossible to ignore. He’d pause mid-step, tug at his waistband, and mutter under his breath.

“Dude, what’s up with you?” Kyr finally asked, keeping his tone light as they trudged up a steep incline. “You got ants in your pants or something?”

Zack barked a laugh, but it was tight, edged with frustration. He stopped walking, running a hand through his hair. “Man, I’m just… fuck, I’m pent up, alright? My girl dumped me two months ago, and I haven’t had pussy since. Jerking off’s not cutting it anymore. I’m losing my damn mind.”

Kyr’s heart thudded so loud he was sure Zack could hear it. Two months. No wonder Zack was a walking bundle of tension. His mind raced, a dangerous idea forming before he could stop it. “I’d, uh, be happy to help a brother out anytime,” he blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Zack froze, then cracked up, clapping Kyr on the shoulder. “Unless you’ve got a pussy hidden away somewhere, I’ll pass, bro. Nice try, though.”

The rejection stung, even if Kyr had expected it. Of course he’d say that, he thought, forcing a grin to mask the ache in his chest. He’s straight. He’s always been straight. Get it through your thick skull, Kyr. They finished the hike in companionable silence, the banter flowing as easily as ever, but Kyr’s mind churned. He’d spent years burying his feelings, convincing himself friendship was enough. But hearing Zack admit his need—it lit a spark of hope Kyr couldn’t quite extinguish.

That night, they climbed into the bed, the mattress creaking under their combined weight. Both were down to their briefs—Zack in black Calvins, Kyr in faded blue cotton. Kyr tucked his legs under the blanket, praying Zack wouldn’t notice the stubborn, thin 4.5-inch erection he was fighting to hide. He stole glances at Zack’s outline in the dim light, the fabric of his briefs stretched tight over what looked like a serious package. Was Zack half-hard, or was he just that big? Kyr’s mouth watered, his imagination running wild with images of peeling those briefs down, tasting the salt of Zack’s skin.

“Dude, you okay?” Zack’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with amusement. “You’re drooling like a damn dog.”

Kyr jolted, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Just tired, man,” he mumbled, rolling onto his side to hide the flush creeping up his neck. Zack chuckled and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Kyr lay there, heart pounding, listening to Zack’s steady breathing until exhaustion finally dragged him under.

Day Two

The second day dawned bright and cold, the mountain air seeping through the cabin’s thin walls. They hit the trails again, fishing poles slung over their shoulders, but Zack’s restlessness had worsened. He’d barely slept, Kyr could tell—his eyes were shadowed, his movements jittery. Without the privacy to relieve himself, Zack’s frustration was a palpable thing, radiating off him in waves. Kyr noticed every twitch, every curse muttered under Zack’s breath, and it fueled a reckless determination in him.

They traded jabs all day, Kyr testing the waters with half-joking offers. “You sure I can’t fix that little problem for you, bro?” he’d say, waggling his eyebrows. Zack would roll his eyes, shove him playfully, and say, “Keep dreaming, perv.” It was their usual rhythm, but Kyr couldn’t shake the feeling that Zack’s laughter was a little too forced, his glances lingering a beat too long.

By evening, they were sprawled on the couch, a shitty ‘80s B-movie flickering on the ancient TV. The screen was a paradeOfficially parade of big hair and bigger tits, the kind of softcore nonsense that barely qualified as entertainment. Kyr barely registered the plot, his attention snagging on Zack beside him. Zack’s chest rose and fell faster, his lips parted as he stared at a curly-haired blonde peeling off her top. His hand rested on his thigh, fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to move them.

Kyr’s pulse spiked. Before he could second-guess himself, he lunged, tackling Zack off the couch. They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, wrestling like they had a hundred times before. Zack’s laughter rumbled against Kyr’s chest as they grappled, rolling across the rug. Kyr’s leg brushed Zack’s groin—accidentally, he swore—and Zack froze, shoving him off with a grunt.

“Time out, dude,” Zack said, sitting up, his face flushed. “I’m, uh… fuck, this is embarrassing. I’ve got blue balls bad, man. I need relief, like, yesterday. Sorry if I’m screwing up the trip.”

Kyr’s mind went into overdrive. This was it—his shot. He wasn’t proud of it, but desperation clawed at him, drowning out reason. He’s your best friend. Don’t fuck this up, his conscience hissed. But his dick had other ideas. He sat back, feigning a dramatic sigh. “Bro, if it’s my duty as your wingman to help you out, I will. Seriously. If you can’t enjoy this trip because of this, either we fix it, or we pack up and go home.”

Zack blinked, his brows knitting together. “Dude, what? You’re a guy. I’m a guy. Wouldn’t that be… you know, gay?”

Kyr forced a laugh, leaning into the absurdity to keep it light. “Only if I take my socks off and don’t say ‘no homo.’ C’mon, we’re tight enough for me to do you this solid. No big deal.”

Inside, Kyr was screaming. Please say yes. Please, please, please. Zack rubbed the back of his neck, his expression warring between doubt and desperation. Finally, he exhaled, a sound of surrender. “What the hell, man. If you’re up for it, I think I need it. Just… don’t make it weird, okay?”

Kyr nearly passed out from the rush of adrenaline, but he played it cool, nodding like it was nothing. “Alright, sit on the couch, legs apart. We’ll watch the hot chicks on TV, and I’ll handle it.”

Zack shrugged, still hesitant, and settled onto the couch, spreading his thighs. The movie droned on, the blonde now topless and giggling. Kyr knelt between Zack’s legs, his hands trembling as he reached for the button of Zack’s jeans. He popped it open, slid the zipper down, and Zack’s cock sprang free, smacking Kyr square in the cheek. Eight-and-a-half inches of thick, uncut perfection, already swollen and leaking precum. Kyr couldn’t stop himself. “Looks like someone’s eager,” he teased, voice low.

Zack’s face went scarlet. “Shut up, bro. You said no weird shit.”

Kyr grinned, wrapping his fingers around the base. It pulsed in his grip, hot and heavy, the skin velvet-smooth over steel. He stroked slowly, savoring the weight, the way Zack’s breath hitched. Precum beaded at the tip, and Kyr leaned in, parting his lips to take the head into his mouth. The taste—salty, musky, unmistakably Zack—hit him like a drug. He sank lower, inch by inch, until his nose pressed into Zack’s coarse pubes, the scent flooding his senses.

Zack groaned, head tipping back against the couch. “Fuck, dude…” His hand landed on Kyr’s head, tentative at first, then firm, guiding him deeper. Kyr’s throat tightened around the intrusion, but he reveled in it, swirling his tongue along the shaft, teasing the sensitive foreskin. Zack’s moans grew louder, raw and unrestrained, spurring Kyr on. He bobbed faster, hollowing his cheeks, his own cock straining painfully against his jeans.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna cum!” Zack gasped, both hands clamping onto Kyr’s head. He thrust up, burying himself deep as his cock throbbed, unloading two months of pent-up frustration in thick, hot spurts. Kyr swallowed greedily, the flood overwhelming but intoxicating, his own orgasm ripping through him unbidden. He came in his pants, a sticky mess he barely registered over the euphoria of Zack’s release.

When it was over, Zack pulled Kyr off, their eyes locking in a charged, breathless moment. Kyr’s brain short-circuited. “Guess I don’t need protein for my workout,” he quipped, instantly regretting the lameness.

Zack gave弱 laugh, breaking the tension. “Yeah, uh… I’m beat, man. Thanks for… that. I’m gonna crash.” He stood, avoiding Kyr’s gaze as he shuffled to the bedroom.

Kyr’s stomach sank. I fucked up. He hates me now. The cum in his belly felt like lead as he trudged to the shower, washing away the evidence but not the dread.

Day Three

The third day dawned gray and heavy, the sky a blanket of clouds that mirrored the tension between them. Zack was aloof, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a quiet distance that sliced through Kyr like a blade. They went through the motions—fishing at the lake, hiking the trails—but every silence felt like a judgment. Kyr’s chest ached with regret. He’d crossed a line last night, and now his lifelong friendship hung by a thread. He can’t even look at me, Kyr thought, casting his line into the water with more force than necessary. I’m such an idiot.

Zack, meanwhile, was a storm of confusion. He’d woken up with the memory of Kyr’s mouth on him, the wet heat, the way his throat had gripped him tighter than any girl ever had. It wasn’t just good—it was the best damn blowjob of his life, and that terrified him. He wasn’t gay. He liked women—tits, curves, pussy. That was his thing. So why couldn’t he stop stealing glances at Kyr? Why did his eyes linger on the way Kyr’s shirt clung to his chest, or the subtle sway of his hips when he walked ahead on the trail? Zack’s dick twitched at the thought, and he cursed himself, adjusting his jeans for the hundredth time that day.

The hike back to the cabin was a slog, the air thick with unspoken words. Kyr tried to lighten the mood, tossing out a weak, “You’re quieter than a monk today, bro,” but Zack only grunted, his jaw tight. By the time they stumbled through the cabin door, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the interior dim and shadowed. They collapsed onto the couch, the TV flickering to life with some random sitcom Kyr didn’t care to identify. The awkwardness lingered, a third presence in the room, until Kyr couldn’t take it anymore.

“So, uh, you owe me for last night, huh?” he said, forcing a grin, hoping to claw back some normalcy.

Zack scoffed, a flicker of his old self breaking through. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out: “Bro, just be glad you don’t have a pussy, or I’d have rocked you ragged.”

Kyr’s heart stuttered, but he seized the opening, his voice teasing. “You know there’s more than one type of fuckhole.”

The room went still, the air crackling with something new—dangerous, electric. Zack’s breath caught, his eyes darting to Kyr’s, then away. They sat in silence, the TV’s laugh track a mocking backdrop to the tension coiling between them. Kyr’s mind raced. Did I push too far? Is he pissed?Zack’s fingers drummed on his knee, his thoughts a chaotic spiral. He’s joking. He’s gotta be. But… fuck, what if he’s not?

Finally, Kyr stood, stretching with an exaggerated yawn to break the spell. “Well, guess I’m gonna hop in bed. We’ve got a lot to pack tomorrow for the trip back.”

Zack mumbled, “Yeah, cool,” but his eyes followed Kyr as he walked toward the bedroom. The jeans hugged Kyr’s ass just right, the fabric stretching over the roundness, and Zack’s throat went dry. He’d never noticed how… feminine Kyr’s hips were, how they swayed with each step. His dick stirred, a traitor to his mantra of I’m straight, I’m straight. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought, and followed Kyr, his footsteps heavier than necessary.

In the bedroom, Kyr stripped down to his briefs, the faded blue cotton clinging to his lean frame. He bent over to toss his shirt aside, and the fabric stretched taut, outlining his ass in a way that made Zack’s breath hitch. At 5’7, Kyr was shorter than Zack’s 6’1, his build slighter but defined—especially his chest, where his pecs swelled softly, almost like small breasts. Zack’s stomach flipped, butterflies warring with panic. What the hell is happening to me?

Kyr straightened and brushed past him toward the bed, their bodies grazing for a split second. That fleeting contact—Kyr’s hip against Zack’s groin—was a match to gasoline. Zack’s restraint snapped. He grabbed Kyr’s arm, spun him around, and crashed their lips together in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. Kyr froze, then melted, his hands clutching Zack’s shoulders as they stumbled around the room, banging into the dresser, the wall, the bedframe. Their briefs strained against dueling erections, the friction a maddening tease.

They broke apart, panting. Kyr glanced down at Zack’s massive tent, a grin tugging at his lips. “Excited, are we?”

Zack leaned in, his voice a gravelly whisper against Kyr’s ear. “About that other fuckhole you were talking about…”

Kyr’s eyes widened, then darkened with hunger. He shoved Zack onto the bed, ripping off his black Calvins with a ferocity that nearly tore them. Zack’s cock sprang free, 8.5 inches of thick, uncut heat, already glistening with precum. Kyr kicked off his own briefs, his thin, 4.5-inch dick bobbing as he knelt between Zack’s legs. He dove down, taking Zack’s cock into his mouth with a sloppy, wet enthusiasm—spit dripping down the shaft, coating it in slick lube as he sucked and slurped, his tongue flicking over the sensitive head. Zack groaned, hands fisting the sheets, the messy sound of it driving him wild.

Satisfied with the glistening sheen on Zack’s dick, Kyr pulled off with a wet pop, climbed up, and straddled Zack’s crotch. His knees dug into the mattress on either side, his small cock brushing Zack’s abs as he positioned himself, Zack’s slick tip nudging his tight entrance. Their eyes locked, a silent dare passing between them. Zack’s hands gripped Kyr’s hips, trembling with need, and pulled him down. The first breach was slow, a wet, stretching burn that drew a hiss from Kyr’s lips and a groan from Zack’s throat. “Fuck, you’re tight,” Zack rasped, his fingers digging into Kyr’s flesh as he sank deeper, inch by searing inch, until Kyr’s ass pressed flush against his pelvis, a faint queef escaping that made them both laugh, sharp and breathless.

Kyr braced his hands on Zack’s chest, the coarse hair tickling his palms, and started to move. He thrust downward, taking Zack fully, the thickness stretching him to the brink of pain and ecstasy. “Goddamn, you’re huge,” he panted, rocking his hips in a rhythm that built slow and deliberate. Zack’s head tipped back, his moans raw and unrestrained. “Fuck, bro, you feel so good.”

Kyr’s pace quickened, his thighs flexing as he rode Zack with abandon, high-pitched moans spilling from his lips in a keening wail that echoed off the cabin walls. The sound—sharp, almost girlish—snapped Zack’s attention downward. Kyr’s thin, 4.5-inch dick bounced with each thrust, slapping against Zack’s taut abs with a wet, rhythmic smack-smack-smack. It was tiny, delicate, unmistakably feminine in its slender shape, and the sight hit Zack like a freight train. Holy shit, that’s hot, he thought, his cock throbbing harder inside Kyr’s tight heat. The contrast—his own massive, masculine shaft buried deep, and Kyr’s dainty little prick flopping against him—drove him wild, a primal surge of lust he couldn’t explain.

Kyr cringed inwardly—I sound like a chick—but Zack’s darkened eyes and ragged breaths told him it was working. Zack’s hands slid up, cupping Kyr’s pecs, squeezing the soft mounds. “Your pussy’s so fucking good,” he growled, the words unfiltered, his gaze flickering back to Kyr’s slapping dick, the feminine vulnerability of it pushing him closer to the edge.

That praise ignited Kyr. He slammed down harder, grinding in tight circles, Zack’s cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside him while his own cock kept smacking Zack’s abs, leaving faint streaks of precum. Sweat beaded on their skin, the air thick with the musk of sex and pine. Zack’s groans turned guttural, his hips bucking up to meet Kyr’s thrusts. “Oh shit, oh fuck, I’m gonna blow!” he yelled, hands clamping onto Kyr’s waist.

“Me too!” Kyr cried, slamming down one last time as Zack’s cock hit his prostate dead-on. They erupted together—Kyr’s cum shooting in wild, hot ropes across Zack’s chest, chin, and the sheets, his thin dick twitching with each spurt; Zack’s orgasm exploding with such force that Kyr felt every pulsating pump, the thick, hot jets blasting inside him with a relentless intensity that stretched his walls. The sheer power of it stunned them both, Zack’s release surging longer and harder than ever, leaking out around his shaft in a creamy mess, dripping down his balls as Kyr’s ass clenched with every forceful spurt.

They collapsed, sweaty and sticky, Zack’s softening cock slipping free with a wet pop and a loud, mortifying fart from Kyr. His face flamed, but Zack’s laughter rumbled beneath him, warm and genuine. Zack pulled him close, kissing him slow and deep, tasting the salt of their exertion. “How was it?” Kyr murmured, voice hoarse.

Zack smirked, brushing a thumb over Kyr’s swollen lips. “Give me twenty minutes, and we’ll try another position.”

Kyr grinned, nestling into Zack’s chest. “There’s so many positions, bro. We’ll be at it all night.”