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The parched earth cracked like ancient pottery underfoot. Nothing grew here anymore, not even stubborn weeds pushing through concrete.

Biff rolled onto his side, sweat cooling on his bare shoulders. The dream clung to him: Tank’s callused hand resting on his shoulder at the construction site, that low chuckle when Biff fumbled a measurement. “Easy, kid,” Tank had murmured, breath warm against Biff’s neck. The scent of sawdust and cheap coffee lingered in Biff’s nostrils even now. He groaned, pressing his face into the pillow.

A sharp pressure bloomed low in his gut. He blinked awake. Darkness pressed against the windows. Two seventeen glowed red on the clock. “Fuck,” he muttered, swinging thick legs off the mattress. The hardwood floor was cold under his feet. His erection bobbed as he stood, heavy and insistent. He didn’t bother covering himself; the apartment was empty.

Padding into the bathroom, he flicked on the light. Harsh fluorescence bounced off white tiles. He braced one hand against the wall above the toilet, the other guiding himself. A long, relieved sigh escaped him as urine splashed into the bowl. The ache in his bladder faded, but the hard heat between his legs remained.

He shuffled back to the rumpled bed. The sheets smelled like sleep and salt. Sitting on the edge, he stared at the calluses on his palms — the same hands that lifted steel beams all day. Tank’s face floated behind his eyelids again: the crinkles around his eyes, the way his shirt stretched across his back. Biff’s fingers slid down his stomach, through coarse hair. He wrapped his fist around his shaft, a shudder rolling through him.

“Just thinking,” he whispered hoarsely to the empty room. “Not yet.” He slowed his strokes, breathing ragged. Tank’s imagined groan echoed in his skull, rough and approving. Biff bit his lip, slowing again as pleasure coiled tight. “Not yet.” His hips jerked. Heat surged, unstoppable this time. Thick ropes shot across his chest and belly, some landing high on his throat. He gasped, hand still moving until the last tremor faded.

Wiping himself lazily with a discarded t-shirt, he collapsed back onto the mattress. His breathing evened out. Outside, a garbage truck clattered down the alley. He was asleep before it turned the corner.

The alarm’s harsh buzz felt like a physical blow. Six a.m. Biff slammed a heavy palm onto the clock. Morning light filtered through dusty blinds, illuminating specks dancing in the air. He stared at the dried streaks glistening faintly on his chest and stomach – tangible proof of Tank’s phantom presence. A flush crept up his neck. Coffee. Shower. Now. He scrubbed himself vigorously under the hot spray, the water sluicing away sweat and seed. The scent of cheap soap filled the cramped stall. He dressed mechanically: worn jeans, steel-toed boots, a faded blue work shirt stretched tight across his shoulders. He skipped breakfast, gulping burnt coffee straight from the pot. Its bitterness mirrored the knot tightening in his stomach.

The construction yard throbbed with noise and diesel fumes by eight a.m. Hammers rang against metal, saws whined, radios blared competing stations. Biff scanned the site, spotting Tank instantly. He was near the half-built steel skeleton, pointing upwards while shouting instructions to a crane operator. Sunlight glinted off the silver streaks in his dark hair, highlighting the powerful lines of his jaw. Biff’s palms were slick inside his gloves. He took a deep breath, inhaling dust and ozone, and walked over. His boots crunched on gravel.

“Boss?” Biff’s voice sounded unnaturally loud to his own ears, almost cracking.

Tank turned, wiping sweat from his brow with a forearm. His eyes, a startling blue against his tanned skin, narrowed slightly in concern. “What’s up, Biff? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Need to talk,” Biff managed, his throat dry. “Private?”

Tank studied him for a heartbeat, then nodded towards his makeshift site office – a converted shipping container. “Alright. Five minutes.” Inside, the air was hotter, thick with the smell of stale coffee and old paperwork piled on a folding table. The door clanged shut, muffling the yard’s chaos. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead.

Biff stood rigidly, unable to meet Tank’s gaze. He stared at a blueprint pinned to the wall, focusing on the intricate lines.

“Spit it out, son,” Tank said, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. His muscles shifted under his sweat-dampened shirt. The silence stretched.

Biff swallowed hard, tasting the morning’s coffee again, sour now. He forced his eyes up, locking onto Tank’s. The words tumbled out, raw and stripped bare: “It’s you, Tank. All these years … it’s always been you.”

Tank didn’t move. His expression remained unreadable, but his blue eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The fluorescent hum filled the thick silence. Biff’s heart hammered against his ribs. He braced himself for disgust, dismissal, anger.

Tank uncrossed his arms slowly. A small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his hand before he clenched it. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping low, rough with an unfamiliar softness: “Christ, Biff … I thought I was the only one carrying that torch.”

Biff froze mid-breath, the air catching like gravel in his throat. Tank’s eyes weren’t mocking him – they held a startling intensity, a reflection of the raw ache Biff felt each morning waking alone. The scent of Tank’s sweat cut through the stale coffee smell, earthy and sharp, mingling with the metallic tang of the container walls. Biff’s gloves creaked as he clenched his fists, knuckles white beneath the worn leather. Years of sidelong glances in the locker room, awkward silences over safety reports, the way Tank’s hand lingered when passing tools – suddenly every memory rewrote itself in blinding clarity. He’d braced for rejection, not this terrifying possibility.

“You mean …” Biff stammered, the blueprint blurring before him. “All those times? When you stayed late helping me fix my measurements? Or … or that barbeque at your place?” Tank’s rough chuckle filled the cramped space, warmer than Biff remembered.

“Thought you were bein’ polite,” Tank murmured. “Didn’t wanna scare you off. Smart kid like you …” His gaze travelled deliberately down Biff’s frame – the strained fabric across his shoulders, the thick forearms resting rigidly at his sides – then back up, lingering. A flush bloomed high on Tank’s neck, visible above his collar. “Kept tellin’ myself you wouldn’t want an old wreck like me.” The confession hung thickly between them.

Outside, a pneumatic drill stuttered violently, shaking the container floor. Neither man flinched. Tank pushed off the desk, closing the gap in two strides. He stopped inches away. Biff could see the faint grey stubble along Tank’s jaw, the creases deepened by years squinting against the sun, and the pulse hammering beneath his tanned skin. The clean scent of soap Biff had used that morning felt suddenly insignificant against Tank’s overwhelming presence – heat, sweat, diesel, and something fiercely vulnerable.

Tank’s calloused hand hesitated before raising slowly. “Been imaginin’ this,” Tank breathed, his knuckles brushing Biff’s cheekbone, tracing the line of his beard. The touch sparked a jolt through Biff’s body, electric and terrifyingly grounding. Tank’s thumb swept over Biff’s bottom lip, rough skin catching slightly. Biff’s own breath hitched sharply. The roar of the yard faded into a distant hum. Tank’s eyes darkened, fixed on Biff’s mouth. “Years,” Tank whispered, the word rough with longing. His hand slid firmly around the back of Biff’s neck, pulling him closer.

Their foreheads touched first, a solid, anchoring pressure. Tank’s breath was hot against Biff’s face, smelling faintly of coffee and spearmint gum. Then Tank’s lips met his—dry, tentative at first, then insistent, parting Biff’s with a low groan. Biff surged forward, hands gripping Tank’s hips, fingers digging into the thick leather belt. Tank tasted like salt and sunburn. Biff’s senses reeled: the scrape of stubble against his chin, the damp cotton of Tank’s shirt under his palms, the low rumble vibrating from Tank’s chest against his own. Tank’s tongue slid against his, demanding, claiming, silencing every doubt.

Biff’s back collided with the humming container wall as Tank pressed him against it, the metal cool through his thin shirt. Tank’s thigh slid between Biff’s legs, grinding firmly upward. A ragged gasp tore from Biff’s throat. Tank broke the kiss, breathing hard, his gaze locked onto Biff’s swollen lips. “Christ, you feel …” Tank trailed off, his voice thick. His hands roamed down Biff’s sides, settling possessively on his waist, thumbs rubbing circles into the tense muscles above his belt buckle.

Outside, someone yelled indistinctly. Tank didn’t glance away. “My office door’s got a flimsy lock,” he rasped, his thumb hooking under Biff’s belt loop. “We got unfinished blueprints … or we could finish this.” His eyes burned into Biff’s, promising heat, urgency, everything Biff had ever dreamed.

Biff’s throat tightened. He could hear the frantic thud of his own pulse. Tank’s proximity — the sheer physicality of him — was overwhelming. He nodded wordlessly, fingers curling into the sweat-damp fabric of Tank’s shirt. Tank’s hand tightened on Biff’s belt loop, steering him sideways toward the flimsy lock. The metallic scrape echoed sharply as Tank twisted the bolt home.

The sudden silence inside the container was deafening. Biff felt Tank’s gaze rake over him, hot and predatory. “Been waitin’ too damn long,” Tank growled, crowding him back against the vibrating wall. His calloused hand slid under Biff’s shirt, palm rough against the taut skin of his belly, tracing the coarse hair upward. Biff shuddered, arching into the touch.

Tank’s mouth crashed against his again, hungry and demanding. His teeth scraped Biff’s lower lip, coaxing a ragged groan. Biff’s hands fumbled with Tank’s belt buckle, fingers clumsy with urgency. The leather gave way, the heavy clink of metal loud in the confined space. Tank’s breath hitched as Biff’s hand pushed past denim and worn cotton, closing around the thick heat of him.

Tank swore low and filthy, thrusting into Biff’s grip. “Like that,” he rasped, nipping at Biff’s jawline. “Harder.” The scent of arousal — musk and salt and the sharp tang of Tank’s aftershave — flooded Biff’s senses.

Outside, a crane’s engine roared. The container floor vibrated violently. Tank ignored it, kicking his own boots aside with rough impatience. He dragged Biff’s jeans down over his hips, the coarse denim catching on his thighs.

Biff gasped as Tank’s hand wrapped around him, calluses dragging exquisitely over sensitive skin. Tank’s thumb swiped over the head, smearing pre-cum. “Want to taste you,” Tank murmured, dropping to his knees, the gravelly sound of his voice vibrating through Biff’s bones. His tongue, hot and wet, laved a searing path from base to tip. Biff’s head thudded against the metal wall.

Tank took him deep, swallowing him whole. Biff cried out, fingers twisting in Tank’s silver-streaked hair. The suction was relentless, perfect. Tank hummed, the vibration shooting straight to Biff’s core. Pleasure coiled tight, unbearable.

“Tank —” Biff choked out, hips jerking helplessly. Tank’s hands clamped on his ass, holding him still, forcing him to take the rhythm Tank set. The world narrowed to wet heat, pressure, and Tank’s blue eyes locked fiercely on his face. Biff’s vision blurred. He was drowning, soaring — seconds from shattering.

Outside, the pneumatic drill screamed again, drowning out Biff’s broken gasp as release tore through him. Tank swallowed, greedy, then pressed his forehead hard against Biff’s trembling thigh.

Silence pressed thick in the container after the drill’s scream faded, broken only by Tank’s ragged breaths against Biff’s thigh and Biff’s own shuddering gasps. Tank lifted his head slowly, lips slick, gaze unwavering. He ran a thumb across his mouth, a slow, deliberate motion that sent another jolt through Biff’s spent body.

“Been picturing that,” Tank murmured, his voice gravelly with satisfaction. He rose fluidly, knees cracking, and crowded Biff back against the humming metal. The air crackled with unfinished tension.

Tank didn’t wait. He seized Biff’s jaw, tilting his face up. “My turn,” he growled, guiding Biff’s hand firmly to his own straining erection. Through the rough denim, Biff felt the thick, insistent heat. Tank hissed as Biff’s fingers explored the outline. “Been hard since you walked in here lookin’ like thunder.” He captured Biff’s mouth again, deep and possessive, grinding his hips forward so Biff felt every ridge, every pulse against his palm. The taste of himself on Tank’s tongue – salty, intimate – was dizzying.

With rough efficiency, Tank peeled his own jeans and boxers down his powerful thighs. He kicked them aside, his erection springing free, thick and flushed against the dark hair at his groin. He guided Biff’s hand onto him fully, wrapping Biff’s larger fingers around his shaft.

“Feel that?” Tank rasped, thrusting shallowly into Biff’s grip. “Years of watchin’ you lug steel, sweat rollin’ down your back … Christ.” Biff tightened his fist, dragging a low groan from Tank. The skin was velvet over iron, pulsing urgently. Pre-cum slicked Biff’s fingers, warm and viscous.

Tank braced one hand high on the container wall above Biff’s head, leaning in. His breath was hot on Biff’s ear. “Stroke me,” he commanded, husky and raw. “Like you wanted to when I bent over the blueprints.”

Biff obeyed, setting a slow, firm rhythm, mesmerized by the play of muscles in Tank’s abdomen, the tremor in his thighs. Tank’s hips snapped forward, driving deeper into Biff’s fist. “Faster.” His fist clenched in Biff’s shirt. “Yeah. Just like that, kid.”

Tank’s head dropped, forehead pressing to Biff’s shoulder. His breathing grew ragged, punctuated by sharp gasps. He bit down gently on the fabric of Biff’s shirt, muffling a groan. “Gonna … gonna …” His whole body tensed, corded muscle straining.

With a final, choked thrust, release ripped through him. Hot ropes pf Tank’s sperm pulsed over Biff’s knuckles and wrist, spattering onto the dusty container floor. Tank shuddered violently, his weight heavy against Biff, spent and trembling. He stayed pressed close for long moments, breathing harshly against Biff’s neck, the scent of sex and sweat thick between them.

Outside, a radio blared suddenly – classic rock – startlingly loud. Tank lifted his head, eyes dazed but fiercely blue, meeting Biff’s gaze. A slow, unguarded smile spread across his face.

Biff stared at the sticky warmth cooling on his hand, Tank’s release stark against his skin. Reality crashed back: the thin metal walls, the shouts of the crew just feet away, the scent of diesel mingling sharply with their sweat and sex. His own spent cock pulsed weakly against his thigh.

Tank leaned in, resting his forehead against Biff’s, breath still ragged. “Damn,” Tank murmured, the word thick, satisfied. His thumb brushed Biff’s cheekbone, smearing a trace of sweat. “Always knew you had strong hands.”

Biff’s voice was a raspy whisper. “The guys … the lock …” Panic flickered beneath the lingering haze of pleasure.

Tank chuckled, a low rumble vibrating against Biff’s chest. “Screw ‘em,” he breathed, pulling back slightly. His gaze travelled down Biff’s body – the open jeans, the glistening mess on his hand, the drying streaks on his own stomach. A possessive heat flared in Tank’s eyes. “Need a minute,” he added roughly, reaching for a crumpled blueprint on the desk. He tore off a ragged corner of paper, handing it to Biff. “Here. Make yourself decent.” Tank turned, snagging his own jeans, moving with surprising grace for a man his size despite the slight stiffness in his movements.

Biff wiped his hand mechanically, the cheap paper rough. He watched Tank pull his jeans back on, the powerful muscles of his back flexing, the silver streaks in his dark hair catching the buzzing fluorescent light. Tank zipped up, buckled his belt with a decisive click, then turned back. He didn’t shy away. He stepped close again, invading Biff’s space. His large hand cupped the back of Biff’s neck firmly.

“Listen,” Tank said, voice low and intense, eyes locked on Biff’s. “This ain’t some fling. Not for me.” His thumb stroked the short hairs at Biff’s nape. “My place. Tonight. Seven.” It wasn’t a question. The command sent a fresh jolt through Biff’s exhausted body.

A sharp knock rattled the thin metal door. “Boss? Crane’s ready on Bay Three!” a voice yelled outside.

Tank’s expression hardened instantly, the raw intimacy vanishing under the foreman’s mask. He gave Biff’s neck a final, reassuring squeeze, then stepped back. “Yeah, Mike! Be right there!” he called, his voice back to its usual worksite bark. He grabbed his hard hat, slapped it onto his head, and shot Biff one last, blazing look – a promise, an anchor – before yanking open the flimsy lock.

Daylight flooded in, along with the cacophony of the yard. Tank strode out without looking back. Biff stood frozen amidst the scent of sex and stale coffee, the torn blueprint crumpled in his fist, the echo of Tank’s command – Tonight. Seven. – thrumming louder than any pneumatic drill.

The sudden brightness stung Biff’s eyes. Outside, the familiar chaos felt alien. The shouts of the crew, the clanging steel, the roar of engines – it all pressed in, sharp and jarring against the lingering intimacy of the container. He hastily zipped his jeans, fingers fumbling.

The drying stickiness on his hand felt alien, a stark physical reminder that collided violently with the sight of Mike waving a clipboard at Tank near the crane cab. Tank’s posture was pure foreman – shoulders squared, head tilted upwards, pointing decisively. Not a trace of the man whose breath had hitched against Biff’s neck moments ago.

Biff forced his legs to move. Stepping out was like entering a furnace after a blizzard. Dust coated his tongue. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, walking stiffly towards the skeletal frame where his crew was bolting girders. The heat radiating from the steel beams was nothing compared to the flush burning his neck and cheeks.

“Hey, Biff!” Carl yelled from the scaffold above. “You okay? Look like you seen a ghost!” Carl’s grin was wide, oblivious.

Biff cleared his throat, the sound rough. “Fine,” he managed, grabbing his welding helmet with hands that felt strangely distant. “Just hot.” He snapped the helmet down, the familiar darkness offering a brief sanctuary. Behind the tinted visor, he watched Tank across the yard.

Tank climbed effortlessly onto a low platform near the crane, shouting instructions. His movements were powerful, economical. Biff’s gaze traced the line of Tank’s shoulders under the damp shirt, remembering the tremor that had run through those same muscles when he’d come. The memory burned hotter than the welding arc Biff ignited, fusing steel with hands that still trembled slightly.

The hours crawled. Every clang of a hammer echoed Tank’s promise: Tonight. Seven. Biff caught fleeting glimpses – Tank’s profile silhouetted against the afternoon sun, the way he wiped sweat from his neck with the same hand that had gripped Biff’s hip.

Once, their eyes locked across a stack of I-beams. Tank’s gaze held his for a heartbeat, intense and unreadable, before he turned sharply to bellow at a rookie mishandling a load. That brief connection sent sparks down Biff’s spine.

At lunch, Biff sat alone on a discarded pallet, picking at a cold sandwich. The yard buzzed around him, voices blending into white noise. He flinched when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Tank stood beside him, holding two steaming paper cups. “Coffee,” Tank stated gruffly, thrusting one into Biff’s hands. His fingers brushed Biff’s knuckles deliberately, lingering a fraction too long. “Black. Two sugars.” He knew.

Biff stared at the cup, the ordinary gesture loaded with intimacy. Tank didn’t sit. “Bay Four’s lagging,” he said loudly for nearby ears, but his eyes softened as he added, almost inaudibly, “… Counting the minutes.” He strode off before Biff could reply, the phantom heat of his touch lingering.

The final whistle screamed at five-thirty. Biff shoved his tools into his locker with frantic haste. He could feel Tank watching from the foreman’s office doorway. As Biff slammed the locker shut, Tank moved past him towards the exit, a blueprint tube under his arm. He paused, leaning close as if checking a clipboard. His whisper was rough velvet against Biff’s ear: “Don’t be late.” The scent of his sweat and diesel clung to Biff long after Tank strode away.

Dinner was a blur – a tasteless microwave meal wolfed down standing in his cramped kitchenette. Biff showered again, scrubbing away grime and nervous sweat. He hesitated over clothes: worn flannel? Clean tee? He settled on fresh jeans and a faded black t-shirt that stretched tight across his chest.

Seven. The word hammered in his skull. He drove through the fading twilight, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Tank’s neighborhood was older, quieter – sturdy brick houses with climbing roses. Tank’s porch light glowed yellow under a mossy awning. Biff’s throat tightened as he knocked.

The door swung open. Tank stood there, out of workshirt and boots. He wore soft grey sweatpants and a thin white undershirt that clung to his powerful shoulders. His feet were bare. The harsh site foreman was gone; his eyes held a startling softness.

“Made it,” Tank rumbled, stepping aside. Warmth spilled out – the smell of leather, wood polish, and something simmering. Inside was unexpectedly neat: dark wood furniture, framed photos of bridges on the walls, a plaid couch sagging from use. A record player spun low jazz.

Tank closed the door. The lock clicked, solid and final. He turned, his gaze travelling slowly down Biff’s frame, lingering. “Been picturing this all damn day,” Tank admitted, voice thick. He closed the distance. His large hands settled firmly on Biff’s hips, pulling him flush. Chest to chest. Biff could feel Tank’s heat, the solid wall of muscle beneath the thin cotton. Tank’s thumb traced the defined ridge of Biff’s hip bone through his jeans.

No blueprint this time. Tank’s mouth covered his, hungry and deep. The kiss tasted faintly of beer and mint. Tank’s hands slid up Biff’s back, pulling the t-shirt loose from his jeans waistband, large palms mapping the skin beneath.

“Ain’t even got you a beer yet,” Tank murmured against Biff’s jaw, his stubble scraping as he worked his way down Biff’s neck. He nipped lightly at the tendon. Biff gasped, fingers digging into Tank’s thick shoulders. The faded cotton of Tank’s undershirt felt thin, stretched taut over sculpted muscle. Beneath it, the heat was astonishing.

“Don’t need it,” Biff choked out, arching into Tank’s tongue tracing his collarbone.

Tank chuckled, low and dark. His hands slid lower, gripping the swell of Biff’s ass through denim. “Need somethin’ else?” He ground his hips forward. The thick ridge of Tank’s hardening cock pressed insistently against Biff’s thigh, even through the soft sweatpants. The sheer proximity – the raw, undeniable proof of Tank’s desire – sent a fresh wave of heat flooding Biff’s groin.

He grabbed fistfuls of Tank’s undershirt. “Bedroom?” The word came out ragged.

Tank pulled back just enough to meet Biff’s eyes. His blue gaze burned, predatory. “Too far.” With a practiced twist, he hooked a foot behind Biff’s ankle and pushed. Biff stumbled backward onto the worn plaid couch. Before he could catch his breath, Tank was on him, knees bracketing Biff’s hips, pinning him deep into the cushions. The springs groaned.

Leather and sweat filled Biff’s nose as Tank crushed their mouths together again. His hands were everywhere – wrenching Biff’s t-shirt over his head, calloused palms dragging roughly over Biff’s hairy chest. Tank paused, his gaze devouring the thick muscle, the dark trail leading down. He leaned down, tongue laving a broad stripe from sternum to navel. Biff hissed, fingers tangling in Tank’s silver-streaked hair.

“Been starin’ at this chest through your sweaty shirts for years,” Tank growled, biting gently at a nipple. Biff bucked beneath him. Tank grinned fiercely, grinding his erection hard against Biff’s straining jeans. “Like that? Good.” His hands flew to Biff’s belt buckle. The rasp of leather, the clink of metal – impossibly loud. Tank yanked jeans and briefs down Biff’s thick thighs in one rough motion. Cool air hit Biff’s exposed cock, already slick at the tip. He was achingly hard.

Tank sat back on his heels, straddling Biff’s hips. His gaze travelled slowly down Biff’s naked body – the hairy thighs, the thick shaft flushed and straining upward – then back to Biff’s face. His own erection tented the grey sweats obscenely. He licked his lips. “Christ, Biff,” he breathed, voice thick with awe. “Perfect.” He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, peeling them down slowly, revealing himself inch by thick inch.

Biff’s breath caught. Tank was thick, uncut, pulsing against his own dark curls. Tank leaned forward, pressing his bare chest flush against Biff’s, skin sliding against skin in a slick, sweaty glide. The scratch of hair, the solid weight of muscle – Biff groaned, arching upward. Tank captured his mouth again, biting at his lips as he ground their cocks together. Heat and friction ignited instantly.

Tank broke the kiss, panting. He grabbed Biff’s wrists, pinning them above his head against the worn couch cushion. “Stay,” he commanded roughly. His free hand slid down Biff’s trembling belly, fingers wrapping tight around both their shafts. He squeezed. Biff gasped, hips jerking helplessly. Tank’s thumb swept over both weeping heads, smearing pre-cum slickly between them.

“Feel that?” Tank growled, tightening his grip, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Years of wantin’ this.” He began to stroke them together – rough, urgent friction. Skin rasped against skin, slicked by their own arousal. Tank’s calloused palm dragged exquisitely over Biff’s sensitive ridge.

Biff cried out, thrashing against Tank’s grip. Tank’s fingers dug harder into Biff’s wrists. “Hold still,” he rasped, hips pumping faster, grinding their lengths fiercely together. His sweat dripped onto Biff’s chest, hot and salty.

Tank’s rhythm became frantic, desperate. His breath hitched in harsh gasps. “Gonna … Gonna …” he choked out. His eyes locked fiercely onto Biff’s, blue fire burning away the last shreds of control.

Biff felt the impossible tension coiling, tightening unbearably low in his belly. Tank thrust hard, grinding down one last time. A ragged shout tore from Tank’s throat as release slammed through him. Hot ropes of Tank’s sperm pulsed thickly over Biff’s chest and belly, splattering against his collarbone, dripping onto the coarse hair.

The sight, the feel, the primal scent flooding his senses – it shattered Biff. His own climax ripped through him violently, untouched. Jets of sperm erupted from his piss slit, arching high to mingle with Tank’s mess across his chest. He arched off the couch, shuddering uncontrollably, Tank’s grip on his wrists the only anchor.

Tank slumped forward, forehead pressing wetly against Biff’s sticky sternum. His chest heaved. Slowly, he released Biff’s wrists, his trembling fingers tracing the cooling streaks on Biff’s skin. “Mine,” Tank muttered, voice thick and satisfied.

Outside, crickets chirped in the twilight. Inside, the scent of sex hung heavy, and Tank’s weight pinned Biff deep into the couch springs.

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I wasn’t planning anything big. A few friends, a crate of beer, some laughs. That’s how I feel best, in the chaos of a house party, when the sound of cans being opened one after another mixes with loud music and silly conversations about everything and nothing. Almost everyone was there, even those who usually refuse “because of the gym in the morning.” And then there was him. Tayler.

I don’t know why he came. We know each other from the gym, we’ve talked a few times. Sometimes we exchange a few words about our training plans, sometimes about TV shows that we both pretend to watch anyway. But he came. He was wearing a sweatshirt with nothing underneath, so every time he reached for chips or adjusted his hood, his muscles blew my mind. And not only that.

He was sitting a bit off to the side. Laughing with the others, but never too loud. Sometimes he glanced at me. Or maybe I just imagined it. At one point, a friend handed me a gift in a plastic bag. “For your lonely nights,” he said, and everyone burst out laughing. Lube, condoms, and a pink dildo. Perfect. Just what I needed for someone like Tayler to think I’m a total pervert. I shoved it all under the table, pretending it was funny.

The party was slowly coming to an end. People were getting ready to leave, someone suggested an after-party, but I’d had enough. They left only cups, crumbs, and spilled beer on the counter. And Tayler. He stayed. He said he would help clean up. He didn’t say much. He walked around the kitchen with a damp cloth, then collected the cans into a plastic bag. When he finally stood in front of me, my heart raced.

“This is for you,” he said. He handed me a clean, white piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“A birthday card. But… a little different.”

I looked at him questioningly.

“I’ll grant you seven wishes. Any wishes you want. No kidding.”

I fell silent. He just smiled. And waited.

I looked at him as if he had just said he would give me his body for the evening. Maybe… that’s what he said?

“Any wish?” I asked cautiously, trying to sense if he was teasing me.

“Mhm. But only seven.” He leaned his hip against the counter and raised his eyebrow slightly. “The first one?”

I swallowed. The words spun around in my head like a carousel, too fast, too crazy. But he said it himself. I had a choice. I had the power. And there he was, standing in front of me: my straight crush from the gym.

I sat down on a chair. Slowly, as if it were a scene from a movie, I looked him straight in the eye.

“I want you to sit naked on my bed,” I said quietly. “…smell my boxers… and jerk off next to me.”

Silence. For half a second. Maybe less. And then… nothing. No resistance. Tayler just nodded, grabbed the bottom of his sweatshirt, and in one smooth motion pulled it over his head, then pulled down everything he had on below.

I froze.

He was naked. Completely. Every muscle, every detail of his body that he had previously hidden under layers of fabric was now in plain sight. He didn’t take his eyes off me as he crossed the room and sat down on my bed as if it were his everyday routine. As if he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Which one?” he asked calmly.

I pointed to the boxer shorts I had thrown next to the bed after the gym. He picked them up. Slowly, he pressed them to his face. He inhaled the scent. He closed his eyes. He trembled slightly.

I watched his body tense with this small gesture. I watched his abdominal muscles twitch, his cock already rising, even though he hadn’t even touched it yet.

I couldn’t believe this was really happening. But I wasn’t dreaming. I was breathing heavily. And I had a hard cock begging to be freed.

Tayler moved his boxers over his face again. He inhaled the scent like something forbidden, as if he couldn’t believe he was doing it. And then he looked at me. Straight on. Without shame.

I sat up straighter in my chair, not taking my eyes off him.

He started slowly. He ran his hand over his neck, running his fingers through his short hair. His muscles tensed with the gesture. Then he slid his hand lower, over his chest, strong and evenly hairy, down to his nipples, which were already hard.

That was the moment. Without words. I pulled down my shorts and boxers. My cock sprang out, all tense, wet with pre-cum. I touched myself, just once, and almost moaned.

Tayler saw it. And he kept playing. He stroked his thigh, then reached between his legs with his other hand and ran his fingers over his balls. He was still holding my boxers in his hand. He was breathing heavily, deeply, so that his chest heaved with every breath.

“I like the way you smell,” he murmured.

I almost couldn’t believe he said that.

And then he wrapped his hand around his cock. He tightened his fingers. A deep, confident movement, from the base to the very tip. Slowly. I watched him squeeze it with his thumb, turn his hand, his abs trembling with tension.

We were a meter apart. Naked Tayler on my bed. Me, with my cock in my hand, my mouth slightly open, barely breathing.

It was like watching live porn. But not an actor. Someone who had been turning me on for months. Someone who was supposed to be straight, but now sat here, exposed, submissive, with my boxers on his face and his dick in his hand.

At that moment, nothing else existed but us.

Tayler quickened his movements. His hand tightened more firmly, his body trembling in a rhythm that could no longer be controlled. His eyes were half-closed, but sometimes he opened them and looked straight at me. As if checking to see if I was still watching. If I still wanted him.

I was watching. I couldn’t stop.

The muscles in his thighs tensed as if his whole body was preparing for one irreversible moment. His stomach rose with each breath, heavy and deep. When he reached for my boxers again and pressed them to his face, he sighed louder, long and drawn out, as if with relief. As if it was the scent he needed to come.

His moan was short and hoarse.

I saw his body tense up sharply, his hips twitching, the last strokes of his hand making his cum spill onto his stomach. One shot, then another, and a third. He trembled, braced his hand on his thigh, breathing fast, almost silently.

And then… he smeared it across his chest.

I don’t know if he did it for me or out of habit. But I couldn’t take my eyes off him. It was wild. Intimate.

I was right there with him. My hand moved in the same rhythm as his had earlier. My cock throbbed in my fingers, the tension bursting in my stomach. A few strokes, a glance at him, and I shot my load, shiny, sticky, naked.

I moaned softly. I shook. And he watched.

“That was wish number one,” he said calmly, as if nothing had happened. “What’s next?”

The smile he gave me then was confident. But in his eyes… there was uncertainty. As if he had just crossed a line he had only thought about before.

And I think he liked it.

---

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Tamed by the Prison Gang

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?”

My girlfriend speaks into the telephone while staring at me through a thick panel of glass.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be able to handle it.” I give a weak smile.

I try to sound strong, but I’m increasingly unsure of myself. I’ve been in prison for less than a week, and it’s already taking a toll on me.

“Time’s up, Asher.” A burly guard approaches and grabs my shoulder.

“I’ll visit again soon.” My girlfriend waves and hangs up the phone, a sense of concern present in her caring eyes.

I rise as the guard escorts me back to my cell…back to my personal hell.

As we walk the cold, gray halls, I wonder how I got to this point. How did my life unravel so quickly?

I had a calm, middle-class upbringing. I was a hard worker and a student in my first year of college. I never dreamed I’d get involved with the wrong crowd though. The guys I met on campus always seemed so friendly. They invited me to parties and helped me hook up with girls, but I didn’t realize they were just using me.

I knew they sold drugs, so it wasn’t a huge surprise when they asked me to get involved. They packed my trunk with guns and narcotics and asked me to drive to a nearby campus in another state.

Like an idiot, I agreed. I figured it would be a way to repay them and stay in their good graces.

But everything fell apart during a routine traffic stop. I was caught and convicted of being a drug mule. It turns out my college bros were involved in a much larger trafficking operation, and from the judge’s perspective, I was just as guilty as them. It didn’t matter that I had no criminal record. He threw the book at me and sent me to the toughest prison in the state. I’m stuck in this godforsaken place for at least the next few years. I wonder how I’ll survive…I’m not cut out for this lifestyle.

“Hurry up!” The guard’s voice is aggressive as he escorts me to my cell.

We move down the grim hall of the cellblock. The surroundings are overwhelming. The tall imposing walls are made of concrete and steel, housing cells stacked three levels high. The scent of sweat and disinfectant hangs heavily in the air, making it difficult to breathe. My heart pounds with anxiety as I stare into the distance—this place seems to stretch as far as the eye can see.

Inmates in orange jumpsuits loiter near the bars of their cells, eying me and hurling taunts and insults as I move.

“Hey, sissy boy!”

“Yo! What’s this little fucker doing here?”

“Looks like a bitch!”I lower my eyes to the ground to avoid making eye contact with them. It’s true—I’m skinny and frail compared to these beastly men. It feels like I’ve left Earth and stepped into an entirely new universe—a world where status is determined solely by physical strength.

And I’m at the bottom of this new hierarchy.

“Get inside.” The guard shoves me into my cell and locks the bars behind me.

The concrete box is bleak, tiny, and dirty. A stained sink and toilet, a set of bunk beds, and a barred window make up the entirety of my new home. The echoing sound of shouts and clanging metal filters in through the iron bars at the front, bathing the space in a heavy sense of chaos and danger.

“Back already?” My cellmate stares at me while he lies on the lower bunk.

His name is Rick, and he’s the only person I’ve met since I arrived. Tall, burly, and intimidating, he’s a lifelong veteran of the prison system. He lies in his underwear, displaying his lean, muscular physique and extensive collection of tattoos. The image of a dragon is branded onto his skin, curling up his neck and covering half his face. His shaved head shines in the dim light as he sits up and focuses on me with his intense blue eyes. I feel myself flinch as I meet his gaze.

He leans forward and rests his arms on his knees, causing his tight biceps to flex into fleshy orbs. His physique reminds me of an Olympic swimmer—hard and powerful without being overly bulky. He’s streamlined and fierce, with striated muscular sinews visible beneath his pale skin.

“Y-yeah. Apparently, they’re strict on the visitation time limit.”

“You’re so cute. Just a little baby after his first arrest.” He flashes me a mocking smile. “I can take

care of you though. Just follow Uncle Rick’s lead, and you’ll make it out of here just fine.”

“T-thanks.” I gulp.

I’ve only been here a few days, and Rick hasn’t talked much. I’ve largely kept to myself, but maybe it’s time I start trying to make friends. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to have some allies in a place like this.

“You look like you want to say something.” He stares at me, raising an eyebrow.

“O-oh, um…I was just thinking, maybe we should get to know each other better.”

“What? You think this is like speed dating?” He scoffs. “Are you a queer?”

“N-no!” My voice shakes.

“Hm…that’s a shame.” He lies back down on the bed, and I can’t help but notice the massive bulge in his tight underwear. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Well, what are you doing time for? I got tricked into transporting drugs and weapons across state lines. My college buddies got me to do it for them. I was a fucking idiot.”

“Classic.” He chuckles. “I’ve been arrested more times than I can count. This latest is for breaking and entering. I was raiding houses to get some fast cash. The judge was sick of seeing me, so he really cracked down this time. I’m gonna be here for a long, long time.”“Oh…damn.”

His story actually puts me at ease. At least I’m not sharing a cell with a murderer.

“But not all guys here are like me.” He turns toward me, seeming to read my mind. “You’d better be careful. There are some really bad dudes in this place. If you stick with me though, you’ll be ok.”

“T-thanks, man.” I climb up onto the top bunk and lie down.

“Don’t mention it. I have a soft spot for fish like you.”

“Fish?”

“It means a fresh inmate—somebody new to this world.”

Rick launches into a lesson on prison slang. I feel like I’m back in one of my college classes, but I don’t have anything to take notes on. I’ll have to work hard to memorize all this…

We chat until the guard arrives to escort us to the cafeteria—or “chow hall” as Rick calls it. It’s a wide, overcrowded room with long metal tables arranged in a grid pattern. The concrete walls have been painted with a dirty, institutional green color that does little to brighten the atmosphere. The air is saturated with the smell of overcooked food and the sound of prisoners cursing.

I feel curious eyes lingering on my skin as I follow behind Rick. He might not be as beefy as many of the other inmates, but he’s tall and has a commanding aura. As we move through the cafeteria, I feel like a tiny puppy trailing behind its master.

“I can introduce you to my gang if you want.” Rick looks down at me while we wait in line to get our food.

“You’re in a gang?”

“Yep. It’s the closest thing to a family you’ll get in this place.” He looks out into the crowd and points. “That’s Damien. He’s the one in charge.”

I stare at the tall, muscular man. His tan, chiseled face wears a stern, almost bored expression while he lounges at a table surrounded by other orange-clad inmates. His sleeves are rolled up to show thick, brawny forearms—one of which is coated in tattoos clearly made by an unskilled prison artist. He has cropped brown hair and deep green eyes that scan out over the cafeteria with a sense of ownership. He has a stately, almost refined aura that seems to mask something much more sinister. It’s obvious this is a man who shouldn’t be trifled with. It’s strange, but I feel drawn to him. I can’t help but crave his approval…

“Y-yeah. I’d like to meet him.” My palms sweat as I observe the gang.

“Alright. Just play it cool. Damien has a temper on him, but he’ll treat you well if you show respect.”

We get our food, and Rick leads me over to the group.

“Yoooo! Guys, I found a little fish who wants to meet the crew.” Rick slaps me on the back as we approach Damien’s table. “This is Asher, my new cellmate.”I smile weakly as the men all turn and stare at me with cold, emotionless faces.

“Have a seat,” Damien breaks the awkward silence, moving aside to allow us a space beside him.

I sit at the table, my heart pounding. Each one of these guys is at least twice my size. I don’t belong here…but at some level, I want to. I want to be accepted. I want them to like me.

“So, what’re you in for?” Damien looks down at me with those piercing jade eyes.

“Drug trafficking…”

“Gotcha. Well, you’re in good company. I’m in for multiple charges of theft and assault. Once I get out of this shithole, I’m going back to the street gang I founded.”

“That won’t be for a long time.” A shorter, stocky man cuts in.

“Shut the fuck up, Hudson.” Damien flashes him a dirty look.

Hudson might be shorter than the other guys, but he has an equally intimidating aura. His long black hair is pulled back to reveal a handsome, masculine face set with dark brown eyes and bushy eyebrows. His pecs bulge slightly from his jumpsuit, giving him a tank-like aura.

“I’m in for arms dealing. Been smuggling for years.” Hudson looks at me with a bizarre sense of pride. “And I still have connections. I can even get shit smuggled into the prison. That’s why nobody fucks with us.”

“It’s not all because of you.” The guy beside him cuts in.

He’s younger than the others and seems roughly my same age. Broad-shouldered and fit, he has a much cleaner appearance than his comrades. His blond hair and blue eyes seem to shimmer in the dim fluorescent light, giving him an almost angelic aura. He seems wholly out of place among this gritty group…but as his lips curl into a smile, I detect something sinister. There’s something dark and dangerous bubbling beneath his charming exterior.

“I’m Jack.” He locks his enigmatic gaze into mine. “I got busted for running a drug trafficking ring.

I’d source the goods from international suppliers, then deal at college campuses. Sounds like you’re familiar with my line of work.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I laugh awkwardly.

So, this is the gang—Damien, the career gang boss; Rick, the lifetime street thug; Hudson, the arms smuggler; and Jack, the drug dealer. It’s kinda fucked up, but I feel embarrassed that my crime isn’t more severe. I look like a chump compared to these hardened criminals.

“So, uh, what would it take to join up with you guys?” My voice shakes as I speak.

“You want to join the gang?” Damien raises an eyebrow.

I stare up into his intelligent, commanding eyes. He has a forceful presence that inspires simultaneous respect and fear. There’s something about him that pulls me in…I’m ashamed to admit it, but he’s everything I’ll never be. Strong. Handsome. Confident. I’d do anything to be associated with him. Maybe I could even learn from him and improve myself.“Y-yeah.” I sit up in my seat, trying to display confidence.

“You won’t be useful. You’re too scrawny. Sorry.” He looks down at his food and begins eating.

“W-what?! I can be useful—I promise!” I stare at him with dismay.

“Damien, we could use a bitch. Our last one got released, and I’ve been missing the service,” Rick cuts in.

“B-bitch?!” The word slips from my mouth as I slouch down.

“Hm…” Damien hesitates for a moment. “Alright, Asher. You can join the gang as the group bitch.

You up for that?”

“I-I don’t understand.” My mind begins to reel.

“You’ll be our toy—our fucktoy. You’ll run errands and work our cocks.” His green eyes focus into mine as a wolf-like smile forms on his lips. “I know you’d like it. You give off serious queer vibes.”

“I’m not a queer!”

“Don’t fuck with me.” He leans in and grips my face with one of his powerful hands, forcing me to lock into his intimidating stare.

My heart thunders in my chest as I gaze up at this larger male. There’s a strange smell in the air. It’s something thick and dirty. I think it’s Damien…it’s his sweat.

I stay immobilized as he grips me, my chest heaving as I take in his pungent odor. It’s strange, but with each breath, it becomes less unpleasant. In fact, it almost smells nice. And his hand…it’s so big and strong. I couldn’t get away right now even if I wanted to. This man is in complete control.

I’m definitely straight, but something feels strange about this. I want Damien’s approval, and I’m willing to do anything to get it—even if that means debasing myself.

“A-alright. I’ll do it.” My eyes glaze over as I continue breathing in his natural musk.

“Yeah…that’s right. I can feel you trembling.” He moves his face closer to mine as the other gang members watch on. “But prove it to me. Show everyone that you want it. This can be your homo ‘coming out’ party. Let everyone see what you are.”

“Y-yes…Damien.” My voice is quiet and dreamy.

Something’s happening to me. I can feel my dick growing hard in my jumpsuit. This is so weird. I’ve never felt like this before…but he’s so strong. His authority is overpowering. I need to do what he says.

He releases my face, and I stand, instinctively knowing what he wants me to do.

I fall down onto the hard ground, kneeling before him as he turns around in his seat. His legs sprawl out toward me, and I take one of his feet in my hands. Gradually, the chatter in the cafeteria grows silent. Everyone is looking at me…I can feel hundreds of eyes boring into my skin.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Damien looks set to burst with laughter as he leers down at me.My hands move on their own, pulling off his shoe and removing his sock. His bare, elongated foot sits in my lap, a light dusting of brown hair on the top. It feels like my brain is running on autopilot. I’m doing what Damien wants…I’m showing that I can be loyal.

Carefully, I raise his foot toward my mouth and hesitate, staring at the glistening, sweaty skin. It has that same scent I smelled at the table…but it’s stronger. His natural aroma makes my body relax. It’s beginning to smell so soft and comforting…it’s better than my girlfriend’s perfume.

I lean in and place a loving, innocent kiss on the sole of his dirty foot, displaying absolute subjugation to this powerful man.

“Yeah. Lick it. Lick up and down.”

My pink tongue slips from my lips as I lower toward his foot once more. It makes contact as the metallic taste of sweat causes my mind to spin. His flesh gives off potent fumes that cause me to feel slightly drunk. Part of me knows I should be repulsed by this act…but I’m not.

In fact, my dick is hard as a rock. It’s making a tent in my orange jumpsuit while I lick up and down, relishing in this bizarre act. Everyone in the cafeteria is watching me, but I don’t care. Damien is the only man in the world now.

I move higher and take his toes in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the nubs and lapping up the complex flavor. It tastes so good…

“Just like that. That’s perfect.” Damien gazes with a strange mix of amusement and disdain. “Only queers like this shit. You aren’t straight—you’ve been lying to yourself this whole time.

“Mmmmm…” A dirty grunt is my only response.

I can see Damien’s cock growing hard through his orange jumpsuit. It seems he enjoys bringing other men to heel. And why wouldn’t he? He’s a career crime boss…he was born to lead.

And I suppose I was born to follow.

He watches me with those sharp green eyes as a smile forms on his masculine face. Each time my eyes flip up to meet his gaze, I feel my heart flutter. He approves of me…he wants me in his gang.

“D-Damien…” I pull back from his foot. “Please let me join the gang. Please let me be your bitch.”

“Goddamn! You’re a good little boy.” He slips his hand between his legs and rubs the enormous cylinder now visible. “Alright—I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you, sir.” I feel my eyes begin to water as unfamiliar emotions swell within me.

“You see this, everyone? Looks like our crew has found a new bitch. He’s off limits—his pussy belongs to us now,” Damien calls out to the onlookers.

“Not until you’ve collared him!” Someone shouts.

“Collared?!” My voice trembles with confusion.“Yeah, Asher. The ‘Collaring Ceremony’ is the most infamous prison ritual.” Rick steps toward me and crouches down. “It’s how we claim a new bitch. It bonds you to the gang.”

“I-I don’t understand…”

“Hudson—do you have the strap?” Damien looks toward his stocky follower.

“You bet, boss.” He rises and pulls up his pant leg, revealing a band of brown leather tied around his calf.

He unties the strap and tosses it to Damien. The leader rises and steps toward me, staring down as I continue kneeling on the dirty floor.

“If you really want to be our bitch, you have to display obedience at all times. You have to make it publicly known that you’ve been claimed.”

“How do I do that?”

“By wearing this collar. You’ll wear it all day, every day. You may never remove it.” He pulls the leather strap taut in his hands. “Think of it like a wedding ring. You’ll be married to the gang.”

My head is still spinning from inhaling so much of his sweaty scent. I feel so calm and relaxed right now. Damien has a level of confidence that just pulls me in. I want to trust him.

“Alright…I’ll do it.” I feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

This is fucked up, but my cock is screaming out with arousal. I need to please these men. I need it more than anything else in the world. I hope my girlfriend never finds out about this. Once I’m out of prison, everything will go back to normal. This is just a temporary thing—I’m sure of it.

“C’mon, guys.” Damien motions to the gang.

Rick, Hudson, and Jack all approach. They fully encircle me as everyone in the cafeteria gathers around, trying to get a good view. It’s absolutely silent—you could hear a pin drop.

“Asher, say it again—what do you want to become?” Damien leers down and speaks with commanding authority.

“I want to become your bitch, sir!”

“Why do you want it? What are you willing to do for the gang?”

“I want it because you’re all so strong…and I’m so weak.” I look up, shifting my gaze from one aggressive gang member to the next. “I’ll do whatever you desire. I’ll do anything just to be close to you guys. I’ll do anything to please you.”

“God, just look at him. His dick is leaking through his jumpsuit.” Jack points at my cock.

I look down and realize he’s right. A dark island of moisture has materialized at the tip. I’m seeping precum for them.

“He’s a natural slut. I can smell it on him.” Hudson inhales deeply, appearing to sense something invisible in the air.“Yeah, he needs this. He was born to serve real men.” Rick folds his arms and smiles.

“You have the approval of the gang.” Damien steps behind me. “Now swear the oath—do you promise to devote your life to the group? Do you swear absolute loyalty and obedience to me? Will you keep these vows even after leaving prison?”

That last line makes me sweat with anxiety. Does this mean I’ll be forever bound to Damien? I’ll never be able to leave his side? I’m sure a guy like him would hunt me down if I ever broke this promise.

This isn’t something to take lightly.

But he makes me feel so weak. I’ve only just met this man, and he’s already pulled me in and claimed me. I need this…I need to obey.

“I do.” My voice rings out in the quiet chamber.

I feel the leather strap slip around my neck as Damien ties it tight.

“Then you’re one of us now. You’re our prison bitch.”

Excited murmurs spread throughout the crowd of onlookers as they witness this perverse wedding.

“T-thank you.” I smile.

“It’s not over yet.” Damien scoffs and steps in front of me. “You need to be branded. You need to be branded with our seed.”

“What?!”

“Queers are naturally drawn toward powerful men. That feeling you experienced when sniffing and licking my feet was only the beginning. Drinking cum will cause you to crave service to more powerful males. Your body will process the semen like a drug, building an addiction that will remain with you for life. This fluid bond will mark you as our property.”

The members don’t wait for a response. Instead, they begin stripping down. My eyes widen as they toss their orange clothes aside, revealing their hulking, sweaty bodies.

Damien’s physique is just as rough and rigid as his face. Like an ancient Greek statue hewn from marble, his muscles are full and rounded with proportions akin to a professional bodybuilder. One of his thick, beefy arms is coated in harsh tattoos depicting guns, knives, and skulls. The violent imagery is a testament to his criminal past. His cock is the real weapon here though. Long and thick, it has an enormous purple vein that runs from the base up to its pink mushroom head. Hanging low and heavy like a rifle, his dick has an almost frightening appearance.

Rick’s body is much leaner, and from this angle, I realize his dragon tattoo curls from his face, down his neck, onto his back, and around one of his legs. I can only imagine the pain tolerance necessary to get something like that branded onto your skin. His cock is thinner than Damien’s, but his massive testicles hang low, giving him a distinctly virile appearance.

Hudson is short and thick. A coat of curly black hair blankets his beefy trunk. He might be stocky, but he’s still intensely muscular and gives off a rough, gritty appearance that reminds me of the men yousee in biker gangs. His dick is wide and girthy, and the shape causes me to shudder. I can only imagine what it feels like for a woman when he breeds…

And Jack, the prison gang golden boy…his young physique is just as radiant as his face. His broad shoulders and narrow waist give him the appearance of a college athlete. This guy wouldn’t be out of place back at my old university. I can imagine girls clinging to him, begging to feel his powerful arms hold them tight. I doubt he’s into cuddling though. His meaty, tan penis already has a bead of precum sliding down the underside. The pink tip of the organ is dilated and hungry. It looks like it’s ready to swallow me whole.

As the gang members surround me, I feel myself shrink down low as I kneel. I feel so tiny and defenseless right now. Each of these men is powerful enough to break every bone in my body, and the prospect of being bound to them horrifies me.

And excites me.

These are real men. These are men who take what they want—and they want me. I’ll do whatever they command. If they wish to brand me as their property, then I’m prepared to accept that. Being desired by men like this is a true honor.

“I’m ready. Make me yours.” I gaze up at them, feeling the makeshift leather collar digging into my skin.

“Beg for it. Beg for it like the dirty animal you are.” Damien grips his dick and begins slapping it against my cheek.

“Woof…?” I instinctively bark like a dog.

“You can do better than that.” Jack grabs me by the throat, his fingers sending a sharp pain deep into my skin.

“Arf! Arf!” I stick out my tongue and begin panting excitedly. “Woof! Woof! Woof!”

“That’s a good dog. That’s a good little bitch.” He releases me, leaving a red imprint of his fingers on my skin.

“It’s ok to touch yourself. We know how good this feels for queers.” Hudson smirks. “Go ahead— show how much you love us.”

I slip my hand between my legs and begin rubbing my cock through my jumpsuit. Deep shockwaves of euphoria race from the rod and up into my abdomen, causing my muscles to relax. With each stroke, I feel my anxiety melting away. I don’t need to worry—real men are in control. I can just shut off my brain and let them make the decisions. Prison life is going to be so simple…it’s going to be so pure.

The men all spit into their hands and begin jacking their cocks while they stare down, watching me touch myself through my clothes. Beyond this initial circle of gangsters, I can see the other inmates getting naked as well, masturbating while they watch this filthy display of ownership.

This is the collaring ceremony.

Everyone in the prison is going to cum while watching me be defiled by these stronger men.And I like that. I want it.

I’m a bitch.

A soft, innocent smile forms on my lips as I gaze up at my masters. The sight of their cocks…it’s triggering something inside my brain. It feels so good to jack off while looking at their big dicks. They’re so strong and potent. They’re so much bigger than mine.

These men deserve worship.

“Woof!” I open my mouth and stick out my tongue. “Woof! Woof!”

“Good boyyyyyy!” Damien laces his fingers into my hair and pulls my head back, forcing me to hold my mouth open beneath their cocks.

“Just relax and drink it all down, Ash. This is what you were born for.” Rick smiles.

Only my closest friends ever call me Ash…but I suppose that’s the case now. This is my newfamily…no, I’m more akin to a pet. I’m the treasured family bitch.

Jack is the first to ejaculate. His brilliant, gleaming cum spurts from the tip of his flawless penis and sends a streak across my cheek. He angles his tip downward and begins depositing the load into my mouth. I stay obediently frozen, allowing him to release everything his body has been holding in.

The act of letting a man cum in my mouth causes sensory overload. Thick, bitter fumes waft up into my nose, causing me to feel dizzy and lightheaded. The scent has a vaguely chemical odor like pool chlorine. The taste though…it’s surreal. It’s hot and slimy with a muted sweet and salty flavor. I roll it over my tongue as he spews, allowing it to stimulate my tastebuds.

“Move over. It’s my turn.” Hudson pushes Jack aside and rests his fat cockhead against my tongue.

A rope of greasy, faintly yellow ooze blasts from his dick and begins mixing with Jack’s pristine ejaculate. I just stare up and obediently let Hudson use me as his cumdumpster. I don’t swallow.

Instead, I allow his bitter cum to pool with Jack’s sweet load, creating a strange cocktail of flavors.

“Grrrg!” I let out a bizarre noise as cum accumulates at the back of my mouth.

“You’re doing a good job, Ash. Just relax and accept this.” Rick moves in and begins cumming as well.

His semen is added to this masculine potion, further escalating the intensity of the flavor and aroma.

And then Damien steps in close, pushing them aside and angling his godly cockhead into my mouth.

“That’s right, Ash. Keep touching yourself. Touch yourself to the taste of alpha male semen. You’re just a weak little queer. Each of our loads contains more testosterone than you’ve got in your entire body. Drink enough of it, and maybe our power will rub off on you.”

He throws his head back and laughs as a thin, watery jet of ooze bursts from his dilated tip and gushes into my open mouth. I stay frozen as my master unloads inside me. He tastes stronger than the others. His cum is so sweet.It’s delicious.

The sublime flavor sends a shiver across my skin as I touch myself. My little cock begins contorting and spraying in my underwear, soiling my clothes with lust. The undulating pleasure causes my eyes to roll back in my head, and I instinctively swallow, taking in the prison gang’s beautiful gift.

The heavy mixture of cum slithers down my throat like a snake. I can feel their body heat being transferred into me as the warm semen drops into my stomach. It hangs heavy in my abdomen as I open my mouth for air. With each gasp, I can still taste their cum on my breath.

Damien keeps cumming, spraying his sperm across my face and matting my hair with his essence. I just stare up at him and smile sheepishly.

“Good boy…good boy,” he whispers.

All around me, I can hear guys in the cafeteria grunting as they cum. Their semen rains onto the floor as they pleasure themselves to the sight of my domestication. I feel honored to be able to bring pleasure to this many men.

“Feels…strange…” I mutter as the room begins to spin.

That’s right, Ash. Feel the power of semen. Feel it festering in your stomach. Your little queer brain is being activated—we’re unlocking your full potential. Your body was designed by nature to respond to this…it was designed to force you to serve more powerful men.”

His words swirl as a bizarre sense of affection wells up within me. My heart flutters as I gaze up at his penis. This feeling…I’ve only ever felt it when I’m around my girlfriend.

I’m in love.

I’m in love with his penis.

I’m in love with his cum.

I reach out and hug Damien’s leg, beginning to hump his calf as my dick continues to spray in my underwear.

“Goddamn! Look at how fucking dirty he is!” Hudson laughs.

“He’s gonna make a great bitch.” Jack smirks.

“Remember, Ash…this is for life. You belong to the gang now. You can never leave.” Damien looks down and smiles at me affectionately while I hump his leg like a filthy beast.

“Yes, masterrrrrr!” I drunkenly slur.

I feel so good…and I still feel good even after my dick stops cumming.

Letting go of Damien’s leg, I fall back and kneel before my new owners, gazing up at them with a sloppy smile strewn across my cum-stained face. As I glance down at the milky island of slime seeping through my soiled jumpsuit, I’m forced to accept a harsh reality—I love men.

“I-I’m a…queer.” The words drip off my tongue as my new family encircles me.“Shhhh…don’t think about it too hard.” Damien strokes my wet hair. “Just turn your brain off and

let us do all the thinking. Be a good boy, and we’ll keep feeding you our cum. That’s what you want, isn’t

it?”

“Yes, Damien.” I lock into his brilliant green eyes. “I belong to you.”

“That’s right.” A loving smile spreads across his harsh face. “You’re mine forever.”

—

“Yeah, Ash. All you gotta do is deliver the chewing tobacco and collect the payment.” Hudson looks at me with an air of annoyance. “And make it quick.”

He thrusts the tobacco into my hands, and I hide it behind my back.

It’s been roughly a week since my filthy collaring ceremony, and I’ve finally started adjusting to prison life. The daily ritual has grown familiar—wake up, have breakfast in the cafeteria, shower, exercise in the prison yard, have lunch, sit in my cell, have dinner, then sit in my cell some more. It’s a monotonous grind, but service to the gang keeps me motivated. It’s strange, but working hard for these guys gives me a sense of purpose and belonging that I’ve never known before.

And they’re happy to take full advantage of my eager attitude.

It isn’t uncommon for the five of us to huddle in the corner of the cafeteria at lunch while I suck their cocks. Cum from the gang is the perfect dessert after a meal, and the complex substance still makes my head spin like it did the first time. In fact, the effect has only grown more intense. With each passing day, I feel myself slipping deeper and deeper into my role as the prison bitch. Just like I promised, I never take my leather collar off. It’s a public symbol of my status beneath real men.

Today though, I’ve received a rare opportunity to please Hudson. He’s smuggled in some tobacco and needs me to deliver the goods to a rival gang and collect payment. As I walk across the cafeteria during breakfast, I feel my heart pounding. There’s something ironic about becoming a drug mule again ehind bars, but if this is what the gang wants, then I’m willing to do it. Being used by men is becoming a recurring theme in my life…

“H-hey.” I tap on the shoulder of the rival gang member as he sits eating breakfast.

The burly, bearded man whirls around and scowls at me with angry eyes.

“I-I brought what you ordered.” I hold out the tobacco.

His harsh expression softens as he takes the illicit item and reaches beneath his seat. He grabs several packs of dried instant ramen noodles and hands them to me.

While I walk back toward Hudson, I muse at the strange status instant ramen has in the prison system. Cash is banned here, so these packs of noodles have become the de facto currency. Whenever my girlfriend deposits money into my commissary account, I immediately use it to buy ramen and give the packets to Damien. It’s the most tangible form of wealth transfer possible behind bars, and it’s a symbol of dedication to my alpha male.

“It’s done.” I return to Hudson and hand him the ramen packs.“Nice. Great job, Ash.” He smiles and pats me on the back.

“Yeah, man. I’ve been impressed with how hard you’ve been working.” Jack lounges at our breakfast table.

“Yep. You’re doing good work.” Damien nods in my direction. “At this rate, we’re gonna become the richest gang here.”

My heart soars at their praise. Maybe becoming a drug mule isn’t such a bad thing. Damien deserves to be the richest man in this underground economy, and I’ll do whatever I can to help him get there. Standing by his side and being valuable to him…it’s an intoxicating feeling.

“Time to hit the showers.” Rick hops from his seat. “Let’s go.”

I follow my owners down a dirty, bleak corridor toward the shower room. The sound of running water echoes off the concrete walls as we approach and disrobe. The showers have no stalls or curtains for privacy—only a row of showerheads on the wall. The closest thing I have to privacy in here is the steam shrouding my body, but it doesn’t do much.

Despite being collared by the gang, I still feel the eyes of other men on my slender body whenever I strip down nude. My frame is so much smaller than the other inmates here, and I get the vibe it reminds them of the women they used to fuck. It’s a simultaneously flattering and unsettling feeling.

“Hey babe.” An older man with a deep scar across his face steps behind me and slaps my ass while I enter the shower.

“Back off, asshole.” Damien steps in and puts a heavy arm around my shoulders, pulling me in

against his naked body. “This one’s mine.”

“Y-yeah. Sorry, Damien.” The man lowers his eyes and scurries away.

I feel a rush of gratitude as Damien leads me over to the shower heads. As water runs down my body, I can’t help but notice my gang members eyeing me. The act is mutual though. My eyes linger as the liquid runs down their tight, muscular physiques. Each guy has a rugged, unique build, and I feel so tiny standing here beside them.

I’m tiny in more ways than one.

My little dick grows hard each day in the shower. It’s impossible to hold back an erection while being this close to my naked, bonded alpha males. They often get hard around me too, and the contrast between our reproductive organs is striking. My cock is pale and thin, while theirs are dark and wide. It’s perhaps the most obvious sign of our biological differences. I have the dainty cock of a sissy, while they have the vascular cocks of real men.

I pick up the soap as my inflated dick sways like a blade of grass on a windy day. While I lather up, the bar pops from my hand and lands on the ground with a loud clattering noise.

My heart skips a beat and I freeze up. I’ve heard enough prison stories to know what comes next.

“Relax, bro.” Jack slaps me on the back. “This isn’t some sort of porno. Pick up your soap.”“Y-yeah…” I let out an awkward chuckle, bending down while they all examine my exposed asshole.

But nothing happens, and I resume my shower. Ever since I got here, I’ve felt a level of vulnerability I’ve never experienced before. Things are improving though. The more time I spend around these men, the more comfortable I become. They’re protecting me.

They’re protecting their property.

“Yo, Ash!” Damien calls out. “Work my muscles.”

“Yes, sir.” I move in close and begin spreading soap foam up and down his ripped back.

Washing the gang members has become something of a ritual. Near the end of our showers, I always take time to give them each a heavy massage. It’s a sort of deeply intimate body worship that makes us all feel good. Damien is always my favorite. Even now, I feel myself getting a bit giddy as my fingers run over the thick bands of muscle on his back.

He turns around and presents his chest, and I begin running my palms up and down his pecs, staring with glazed eyes at his dark brown nipples. There’s something so emasculating about admiring another guy’s chest like this…but I like it. It feels good to give these men the attention they deserve.

Slowly, I lean in and place a delicate kiss between Damien’s pecs.

“Yeah…good little bitch.” He strokes my hair. “Our cum is working its magic on your tiny homo brain. You can feel the addiction taking hold, can’t you?”

“Mmmhmm,” I grunt and look up into his beautiful green eyes.

“Hey, Damien—don’t hog the bitch! Give us a turn!” Jack shouts.

Damien laughs and rinses off as I proceed with my ritualistic massages. My hands knead in and out of each gang member, savoring the unique features of their bodies. Our cocks are all so hard right now.

This is such a deep form of male bonding.

Unfortunately, our shower sessions never last as long as I’d like, and we have to exit and dry off before our scheduled time in the prison yard.

Once we’re dressed, we’re herded through the halls like cattle toward the outdoor space in the center of the prison complex.

Each time I enter, I’m hit with a wave of sensory stimulation. The hot sun shines down past the soaring concrete walls and watchtowers, bathing the expansive yard in its heat. To my left, the sound of a basketball smacking against concrete echoes while inmates compete. To my right, a group of men are lifting weights, emitting loud grunts as the metal barbells land against the hard pavement. Directly in front of me, a group stands in a circle, watching and cheering as two prisoners shout and look set to fight.

“This way.” Damien leads me toward the weights.

I watch as the guys all strip down to their underwear, allowing the hot sunlight to sink into their flesh. Damien smirks as he catches me eying the thick snake between his legs, and I feel my cheeks flush.I’ve never been much of a weightlifter, and I think I’d prefer to just watch the guys. None of them bother asking me to join in, so I think it’s expected that the bitch just stays on the sidelines.

“Ash—rack our weights and get us water,” Hudson calls out as he lifts a heavy set of dumbbells.

“Yes, sir!” I trot over to the water cooler and begin filling cups.

I return and pass them out like a good water boy. I then proceed to place their weights back on the rack once they’ve finished. It takes both hands for me to lift the dumbbells, and I still struggle to move them. It’s incredible that the guys are able to lift this much weight.

But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Standing in their underwear and pumping iron, their muscles repeatedly tighten and relax, showing off their masculine strength. Thick veins bulge from their tattooed skin each time they lift, forcing my cock to pulse with longing. Their skin gradually becomes drenched in sweat, causing the sunlight to reflect and further accentuate their musculature. Something about this public display of strength causes my knees to wobble. I feel my brain turn off and I enter that same sort of dreamlike trance I felt during my collaring ceremony.

I move forward and place my fingers atop Damien’s dense, rounded bicep as he curls. His tan skin is so soft, slick, and warm…

“You like that, Ash? You like feeling a straight man’s muscles?” He chuckles under his breath.

“Yes, sir. I can’t believe how hard it feels.” My eyes stay transfixed on the beautiful shape as it

flexes in and out with a hypnotic rhythm.

Up. Down. Up. Down. With each pump, I feel myself slipping deeper and deeper into that trance.

It’s like I’m in the ocean, struggling to stay above the water. The waves just keep coming, and I slowly sink beneath the surface, drowning in masculine energy.

“Go ahead—kiss it,” Rick calls out as he watches.

A thin sheen of oily sweat glitters atop Damien’s tan skin as I lean in. My lips make contact with his fiery flesh as my tongue lightly laps at the perspiration. It has a metallic, alluring flavor. I can’t get enough.

I extend my tongue and begin licking up and down the muscle, shamelessly worshiping his body while other inmates stop and point. I can hear their amused laughter, but I don’t care. Damien needs to be admired. He needs to be praised like the god he is.

“Just like that. Feel my sweat activating your homo instincts. Let yourself go deeper down this rabbit hole for me.” He keeps lifting, and I keep licking.

“Do you think it’s time to take the next step?” Jack asks. “He’s progressing a lot faster than our last bitch.”

“Yeah, I think he’s ready to begin breeding.” Damien looks down at me and smiles affectionately.

“B-breeding?!” I pull back and stare up at him with wide eyes.“Yep. You know how good it feels when you drink our semen? You know how happy and warm it makes you feel? That’s only the tip of the iceberg. There’s a whole new threshold of pleasure waiting for you once you start taking cum anally.”

“I-I’m not sure about that.” I step backward, feeling myself sweat with anxiety.

“Don’t worry, Ash. It’s natural for guys like you to take cock in your ass. You see, the walls of your intestines are absorbent. This allows the hormones and pheromones in our cum to directly enter your bloodstream…it allows the chemicals to directly enter your brain.”

“My brain…?” I start to feel a bit woozy. It’s so hot out here, and my cock is growing so horny…

“Yeah. It takes your addiction deeper. It’ll make you physically dependent on the gang.” He sets down his weights. “And even better yet, your prostate is located along the walls of your anus. When you get fucked, you’ll start to feel really good. Your body is designed by nature for this. You’re a hole and a tool for real men. Giving yourself to us is your destiny.”

“You’ve always been a weak queer—hell, that’s why you got arrested in the first place,” Rick cuts in. “It’s inevitable that you’d end up in a place like this. It’s inevitable that stronger men would take you in and begin to use you.”

“It’s true. We learn about homos like you out on the streets. We love breeding queers when we can’t get quick access to pussy.” Hudson smiles and steps in close.

“They say the more you get fucked, the better it feels…you could end up with your very own boypussy.” Jack looks down at me with his sparkling blue eyes.

“Boypussy…?” My voice grows soft and dreamy.

My legs quiver and I feel myself slowly sink down onto the hot concrete. I look up at these hulking, sweaty men as my hardened cock twitches with thirst. Their words sound so foreign and perverse…but deep down, I know they’re true. Everything they’ve been making me do has been a form of training.

They’ve been slowly teaching me the truth of this world. They’ve been nurturing my queer instincts and guiding me toward this moment.

I need this.

I need to breed with men.

“Yes…master.” I glance around at all of them. “Masters…”

“He’s ready.” Damien smirks. “Let’s begin the process.”

“Stand up,” Rick commands.

I obey, rising as he grabs my shirt and pulls it over my head. The hot sun burns into my pale skin as Jake moves in and pulls my pants down. I kick off my shoes and remove my socks. Standing before them in my underwear, my thin little cock pokes up beneath the fabric. There’s already a moist dot of precum seeping through from the tip. Other inmates step in and begin watching the spectacle unfold. I can hear them cracking jokes, but I just focus on my owners. They’re the only guys here who matter.

Hudson slips his rough fingers into my waistband, pulling my underwear off and allowing my little cock to bounce free. The tip glimmers in the sunlight, and I can feel myself blushing. Up in the watchtowers, I notice the prison guards staring. Everyone is about to see me be deflowered. They’ll see me surrender my anal virginity.

“Get down on the ground.” Damien begins rubbing his bulge through his underwear.

I fall to my hands and knees, the rough pavement causing pain to burn on my skin. I don’t mind though. The sexual arousal pulsing through my body is too extreme. I’m too focused on performing for my owners.

Wearing nothing but my leather collar, I look up at my masters. Their cocks grow to full length as they rub their bulges, and it isn’t long before they’ve stripped nude as well.

“Woof! Woof!” I automatically bark and arch my back as their cocks come into view.

Everyone in the prison yard has now stopped to come over and watch this scene progress. I bet every guy here wishes they could be Damien. He’s the leader of the pack. He’s the king of this underworld.

“Turn around for me. Show me that tight, pretty hole.” He spits into his palm and begins working his penis.

I move in a circle and arch my back like a slutty porn model. Reaching back with one hand, I spread my cheeks to reveal my delicate, pink entrance. This is the first time my ass has ever seen the sunlight, and the warm sensation fills me with a sense of serenity.

“Damn. That’s so tiny and tight.” Damien kneels down beside me.

He spits into his palm again and swipes his hand up my asscrack, smearing my opening with saliva.

The jarring movement causes my hole to pucker and my hips to thrust forward. I move back and try to relax, marveling at the extreme sensitivity of my hole. Damien must be right…it’s incredible how sensitive my ass is. Maybe homos like me really are supposed to have boypussies…

“At the start of each new breeding session, it’s important to proceed slowly. Your body has to be physically seduced and relaxed. It’s like unlocking a door—you’ve gotta be opened up.” He gently runs his fingertips in a circular motion around my asshole.

“Mmmm…” I let out a strange, pleading whimper. I want my master to open me up. I want him to open my pussy.

He lets out a quiet laugh before applying pressure to his fingertip. The delicate bliss I’ve been

experiencing rapidly morphs into a burning pain as his digit slips inside me. I pull forward slightly and wince as my muscles tighten.

“Shhhh…just relax.” Jack kneels beside me and begins petting my hair. “It’s ok, boy. We’ll keep you safe.”The pain in my ass escalates until Damien has fully pressed in to his knuckle. Once his pressure stops, there’s a brief pause where my hole just clamps down around his finger.

But as he begins extracting, the pain resumes. He repeats this act, fingering my ass while my eyes begin to water with discomfort.

My body begins to acclimate though, and with each insertion, the pain diminishes until there’s nothing left but a delicate filling feeling.

“Woof!” I begin panting and leaning back onto his finger.

“Perfect. You’re ready to try two now.”

He pulls out before reinserting two fingers this time. The pain returns and the process repeats. Bit by bit, he teaches my asshole to accept him. He’s eventually able to perform a scissoring motion with his fingertips, opening my hole and allowing the warm outdoor air to caress my bowels.

“Damn! I can’t wait to feel that wrapped around my cock.” Hudson stares into the void of my gaping ass.

“You’ll have to wait your turn.” Damien gives my asscheek a slap.

“Arf!”

“You’re ready, boy. You’re ready to mate with your man.” Damien props himself up on one knee and places his pink, inflamed cockhead against my entrance. “Just relax and focus on how good it feels to make another man happy.”

My virgin orifice strains as the wide, bulbous head of his penis begins its advance. There’s a moment of resistance before I consciously relax my hole and feel his tip slip inside. It pops in with ease, and I feel my rim automatically close around it, naturally suctioning against his cockhead.

“Fuck yeah! Nice and warm.” Damien grips my asscheeks so hard they begin to turn red.

I look up and realize most of the inmates are touching themselves. I even see a few guards massaging their swollen bulges. It makes me happy to know I’m being put on display. I’m like a trophy for Damien. He can use me to demonstrate his authority to the other prisoners.

His pressure amplifies, and I feel his dick beginning to sink inside me. A deep, intimate pain radiates from my core as he irreverently sheathes to his balls.

“Arrrrgggghhhh!” I cry out.

“Don’t worry. You’re ok.” Jack strokes my cheek.

Damien mimics the same process he used with his finger, slowly extracting his mammoth penis before reinserting. Each time, the discomfort lessens until I begin to feel something else. There are two sensations at work here—a stretching around my rim, and a warm, sexual pleasure further inside. They both work in tandem to create an overpowering experience that causes all thoughts to empty from my mind. My eyes grow glassy and unfocused, and I feel a thin trail of drool beginning to seep down onto my chin.This feeling in my ass…I’ve never experienced anything like it before. It’s fuzzy and unfocused, but it grows stronger with each pump of his cock. This must be the feeling of a prostate massage. It’s reminiscent of when I jack off, but I have zero control over it. It’s a pleasure that’s fully dependent on Damien. My thirst for even greater intensity causes me to start leaning into his thrusts and sitting back on his cock. My body is moving by itself…everything that’s happening right now is so natural and pure.

This is the act of an alpha breeding his queer.

“Yeaaaaaah! Sit on that cock! Sit on it like the fucking cockslut you were born to be!” Hudson calls out as he feverishly jacks his dick.

“Awoooooo!” I howl up at the sky in a display of euphoric passion.

My virginity is being peeled away one penis pump at a time, and it feels absolutely divine. I’m owned! I’m property! I’m pleasing men!

Damien’s pace accelerates, causing my body to jolt forward with each thrust. My hair bounces against my forehead as he ravages me, building into a rough, frenzied fuck. I realize it’s probably been ages since these men have fucked a woman—or even a prison bitch. I’m providing them with a sense of relief that they desperately need…and that fills me with pride.

In. Out. In. Out. His pace picks up until he pushes in to his balls. I feel an undulating quiver against my rim, and I realize he’s started the process of insemination. I stay motionless on my hands and knees, my brain completely switched off as his genes are inserted into the deepest reaches of my body. I know I’ll never be the same after this. I’m becoming bonded to these men at the most primal level possible.

Pump.

Pump.

Pump.

A squishy noise rings through the air as my audience of prison inmates begins whipping out their cocks and masturbating to the live porn show before them. I’m becoming a prison porn star!

Damien’s legs quiver as he squeezes his final droplets inside me. He pulls back, allowing his dick to fling up against his abs, sending a shower of cum droplets raining onto my lower back.

“Fucking beautiful.” He gives my ass a playful squeeze. “Great job, Ash. You’re a perfect hole.”

“Woof! Woof!” I wag my gaping asshole excitedly.

“Move over.” Hudson pushes him aside and grips my waist, forcefully shoving his cock inside my body.

He doesn’t bother to lube himself, but he doesn’t need to. Damien’s residual saliva and his huge load are more than sufficient to keep my ass wet. Hudson’s short, fat dick spreads my ass wide, causing me to feel stretched to the point of tearing in half. I just gaze up at the sky, a silly smile plastered on my face as the sensation washes over me. I feel…so…gooooooooooood!

“Yeah, little bitch! Take this cock! Take this rifle in your asshole!” He pumps hard and aggressively, causing my body to tremble with adrenaline.He fucks and fucks, but he doesn’t last long. Sheathing to his base, he begins aggressively cumming, adding his seed to the growing seminal cocktail in my ass.

Rick is next. His long cock probes me deeply, and I realize each guy’s dick has its own distinct

feeling. It’s like every penis has a unique personality. Each one creates a different sort of stretching sensation, but they all cause that fuzzy warmth inside me to continue building.

“C’mon, Ash. Close your hole for me. Make me feel good.” Rick runs his hands down my back as he slowly fucks.

I obey his command, squeezing my sphincter and trying my best to satisfy him.

And I succeed.

His sperm begin swimming up my bowels as he blows his load, and I feel a sense of pride and accomplishment wash over me.

“Time for a proper breeding.” Jack moves in. “Don’t worry, Ash. I’m a lover. These guys will fuck you, but I’ll make love.”

As Jack gets into position, I can’t help but wonder how many college sluts he’s mounted and bred.

Now, he can add me to that list. I’m just another of his conquests. He’s like a stud at a ranch, and I’m his mare. I exist to absorb his semen.

His tan penis enters my ass as an excited chill runs over my skin. Once fully inside, he collapses atop me, pressing his powerful pecs into my shoulder blades. His muscular arms wrap around my core, locking me into a dirty, sweaty hug as he begins to fuck like a dog in heat.

“Woof! Woof!” I cry out while my eyes roll with euphoria.

We’re like filthy beasts. All the weightlifting must’ve gotten his testosterone pumping—he fucks like an animal.

“Break that little queer!”

“Show him who’s boss!”

“Force him to worship you with his ass!”

My audience cheers and hurls filthy, aroused commentary as I’m bred. I barely register them though. All I can focus on is this building happiness in my abdomen. It’s grown so intense…I can feel it spreading across my body, coating me in its soothing warmth.

And then I feel something strange.

My asshole clamps down and my cock begins to tremble. The base of my dick starts pulsating as I look down between my legs, staring in shock as cum erupts from the tip.

It rains onto the concrete as my vision goes blurry and my entire body trembles in Jack’s arms. This isn’t a normal orgasm…no, this is a hands-free orgasm that’s been given to me as a gift. This is a gift from my alpha pack.It’s like an electric current is racing from my dick, up into my chest, and then out into my limbs. It feels like my body is growing detached from my brain. I can’t even think anymore. I don’t even remember my own name. I’m just a being of pure pleasure.

I’m just a hole.

My homo cum continues to squirt out as Jack pushes in hard and begins unloading his sperm. My ass catches his beautiful cum so that it can be assimilated into my body. Meanwhile, my useless semen just gets dumped onto the dirty prison pavement. My gang’s semen has a purpose—to breed women and condition homos. My semen is nothing more than a tribute to show men my devotion.

“B-b-boypussyyyyyyyyyy!” The word escapes my lips as my mind spirals.

“Yeaaaaah! You have a pussy now!” Damien shouts. “And it belongs to us! We’ve got a prison boypussy!”

“Urrrrgggghhhh!” I let out a euphoric groan.

I feel so happy. I’ve become a bitch! I want to keep training my new pussy so that I can continue making them happy! That’s all I care about anymore.

My cock runs dry shortly before Jack extracts himself. I collapse onto the hot pavement, staring up at the sky while my chest heaves with exhaustion.

Beneath me, I can feel cum dribbling from my ass. I make a conscious attempt to close my hole, eager to keep as much of their precious seed inside as possible. Already, I can feel a sense of calming docility washing over me. Is it the effect of the hormones in their semen, or is it just a post-orgasm high?

It’s impossible to know for certain.

“Go ahead and tell your girlfriend about this.” Damien crouches down beside me. “Tell her what a good boy you’ve become.”

“Master…” I look up into his beautiful, shimmering jade eyes.

“You’ve become such a good, obedient little boy, Ash.” He laces his fingers into my hair as a look of approval washes over his face. “I’m proud of you.”

My heart soars at his words. I know this is only the beginning of my journey by his side. When I was collared by the prison gang, I swore a lifetime oath. I promised to remain forever loyal, even once we’ve all escaped this place.

With each passing day, I’ll only grow more dependent on their cum. I’ll grow more dependent on the comforting satisfaction of service to alpha males. I’ll never be able to leave these men—and I’ll never want to. I’m a boytoy, and they’ve opened my eyes to my true purpose.

I was born to serve cock.

I was born to worship masculinity.

I’ve been tamed.

1. The Brosecution Rests

The common room of Delta Kappa Phi was dank with testosterone, sweat, and the tang of last night’s beer. The shades were shut, to block out the kind of late day heat that made it hard to focus. As always in Bro Court, shirts were optional, and most bros had ditched theirs in favor of maximum skin contact. Tan backs gleamed in the dim light—the kind of easy, abundant muscle that made the college gym look like just high school. There were enough cocky grins to power the campus WiFi for a year.

Tacked to the wall was a repurposed lawn sign, four truths scrawled across strips of tape in sloppy sharpie handwriting:

IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE:

• Consent is king—everything else is negotiable.
• No skipping leg day.
• We stan a slut—orientation irrelevant.
• Bro Code is law—except when it’s not.

At the front, behind a makeshift bench constructed from a door and two stacks of textbooks, Judge Chadwick—third-year, pre-law, giant pink dildo-gavel in hand, robes open over his own bare chest and boxers—presided. 

“Order in the court!” Chadwick barked, banging the silicone gavel with three dull thuds. “This is Bro Court, where the jury is always hung.” Six bros in mesh shorts and mismatched socks—the jury itself—snickered and elbowed each other. 

Tyler, the defendant, sat hunched in a threadbare La-Z-Boy, his compact wrestler build curled tight, grinding his jaw like he was chewing through a protein bar. His dark hair was damp at the temples—either from nerves or the heat—and he kept tugging at the hem of his shorts, as if he could pull himself out of trouble. He swallowed hard, eyes darting around the room full of seasoned bros who already seemed to know the rules better than he ever could.

Details of the “crime” had already been aired in full, thanks to the brosecution’s recap: Receiving oral favors from another bro’s visiting brother—without proper notification, prior consent, or, worst of all, the courtesy of a group invite. Section 69 of the Bro Code. 

Across the room, Chase glowered, arms folded, jaw clenched. He didn’t need to say another word. Everyone knew the case was his beef, and that his and his brother’s reputation were now tangled up with Tyler’s.

The whole thing would’ve been a joke, if not for the way the room pulsed with nervous energy. Bros shifted, feeding off the drama and the charge in the air.

And then there was the house defense.

Durning sat at Tyler’s side, legs spread, one arm slung over the back of his chair like he owned the place. He was the embodiment of a cornfed buck: thick, sunburned, blond hair that refused to lie flat, tank top stretched across his chest, red suspenders snug over husky shoulders. His expression was lazy, almost bored, eyes half-closed. 

How he’d gotten through pre-law this far was anyone’s guess.

On the floor at his feet, a beat-up stack of index cards—some blank, some smeared with something dark, one with a visible “DO NOT EAT” printed in marker.

Tyler shifted uneasily, scratching the back of his neck. “Honestly,” he whispered. “I’m just a pledge. I thought I read the Bro Code right. Section 69 sounded like something else, not this… blowjob drama.”

Durning leaned in, an easy grin on his face, as he replied in a hush, “Son, let me tell you—they’re all numbered Section 69. Every damn one of ‘em. It’s the sacred law of this house.”

Chadwick cleared his throat. “The brosecution has made its case. We now call for the defense.”

Durning didn’t move at first. He let the silence stretch, soaking up the collective anticipation. Then, with a slow grin, he straightened up and fixed his gaze on the jury.

“Now, y’all know I ain’t much for fancy talk,” he drawled. “My LSAT score was lower than my bench press. But I do know a thing or two about what’s right. And I know that sometimes a man finds himself in a situation where his mouth’s full before his head catches up.”

A wave of snickers and groans rippled through the room. Tyler flushed, but Durning went on.

“I’ll be brief, your honor. Not because this case is simple—though Lord knows, it is—but because it’s hot as Satan’s pucker in here and I reckon none of us want to sit around debating the vagaries of etiquette when there’s a fridge full of beer waiting.”

There was a round of agreeing grunts. 

Durning chuckled, snapping his suspenders with a sharp crack that made a few bros glance up. His pecs flexed on the recoil. 

“So let’s get to the bottom of this. I promise, by the time I’m done, every one of you will be begging for a taste of the milk of justice.”

The bros hollered. Tyler’s face went even redder than Durning’s shoulders. The trial was on.

---

2. The Defense Begins

Durning shuffled his messy stack of index cards. Sweat beaded on his sunburned brow, dripping onto the card labeled “OPENING ARGUMENT (MAYBE).” He cleared his throat slow and deliberate.

“Your Honor, gentlebros of the jury, I’d like to call my first witness—the accused himself: Tyler,” he said with a teasing drawl, pausing just long enough to let the words settle as Tyler shifted uneasily in the La-Z-Boy. “Boy, don’t look so scared. Sit up straight. Spread those shoulders—show off that fine, young form. You wrestle, son?”

Tyler blinked, uncertain. Golden skin, taut muscles, briefs flashing bright blue above the waist of his shorts. His nerves spread his thighs wider than confidence ever could, though a few bros in the jury seemed to take notice.

He caught Chase’s glare for a beat, then looked down quick—too much attention for a guy who just wanted to be invisible.

“Um… yeah. So, it was Saturday. Party weekend. Chase’s brother, Dylan, was visiting. Everyone was hammered. We were playing King’s Cup, and then, uh… next thing I know, Dylan’s on his knees in the downstairs gameroom. Said he wanted to ‘thank me for the beer.’ I didn’t—”

Tyler swallowed hard. “Didn’t know he was Chase’s brother when I handed him the beer. Thought he was, like, some pledge from another house.”

Durning grabbed a random beer bottle off the floor and raised it high. “I submit into evidence: Exhibit A.” He gestured grandly, voice dripping with solemnity. “Let the record show: generosity is a virtue in this house.”

A few bros snorted. One called out, “Hell yeah it is!”

Durning snapped a suspender sharply. “Now, Tyler, boy,” he said, voice slow and serious, “this was in the game room? At any point was it a nintendblow?” 

Tyler blinked. “What?”

Durning clarified, “You know—head while gaming?” A beat. “Any platform.”

“No. No! He asked if I wanted a Boris Johnson,” Tyler said, voice steadying. “I thought it was a drink or something. Then he was on me, giving me dome. What was I supposed to do?”

Durning nodded sagely. “Now, did you, at any point, extend an invitation to the rest of the house?”

Tyler shook his head. “No, man. It just… happened. I didn’t even know we had a ‘group invite’ rule until last night.” He turned to the judge. “I’m just a freshman.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the room. Chadwick banged his dildo-gavel for order, but nobody was really paying attention.

Durning shuffled his index cards, found one that said “IMPORTANT?” and squinted at it. “Now, let’s hear from the aggrieved party. Chase, would you mind joinin’ us up here and sharing your version?”

Chase stood, rolling his shoulders. His camo cargo shorts hung so low beneath the perfect speedo tan line sliced across his hips that a hint of dark pubes peered out. He made a show of stretching, the muscles in his back and arms flexing for the room, and a few bros whistled.

He glared at Tyler, then faced the jury, jaw set, lips parted just enough to show off his perfect teeth. “My brother comes to visit, right? Just wants to experience the legendary DKP hospitality. He goes missing for half an hour in the middle of the party, and when he comes back, he’s got—” Chase broke off, glare intensifying, “—this look on his face… I’m like, ‘Bro, what happened?’ His lips were all red and wet looking, brotein on his breath, and next thing I hear is Tyler got his crown polished. And suddenly everybody’s talking about Section 69. I mean, what happened to basic respect?”

“And you? Where were you during all this?”

Chase’s jaw tightened more. “Unemployed.”

“Son?”

“No blow job. No hand job. No job at all. Unemployed.”

The jury heads collectively shook in sympathy, their eyes roaming Chase, caught on the deep V of his abs, and a couple of bros shifted, tightening their shorts.

Durning looked consternated, running a hand over his damp blond brushcut, raised arm revealing a thatch of pale pit hair. His bicep flexed, as if he were thinking hard. “Chase, here at DKP we value consent.” A sly grin spread before a hoot burst out from the sofa. “Would you say your brother was coerced in any way?”

Chase’s eyes flicked away and his jaw tightened. “No.” Finally, in a rough whisper he spat it out, “He’s… he’s a filthy slut.”

A sharp gasp rippled through the room. From the far side of the common area came a low, “Oh damn.”

Judge Chadwick snapped upright, eyes suddenly sharp. He snatched the dildo-gavel off his lap and banged it loudly against the desk. “Let me remind y’all—there will be no slut shaming! In THIS house we stan a slut.” 

The room went instantly silent.

“This,” Durning said, slapping a palm on the table, “is grounds for a mistrial.”

He fanned out his cards like a Vegas dealer. He rifled past cards titled “Bust Up a Chifforobe?”, “My Cousin Vinny Defense”, and “You Can’t Handle the Truth”. Finally, he paused, plucked one out, and held it up to the judge with a flourish: “Slut Defense.”

“In the matter of Bro v. Wade, the court found that irresistible slut energy is a recognized threat to bro code everywhere!”

The judge held up a hand to stop him, scanned the card, grimaced. “What’s on this thing?”

Durning’s brow furrowed. He rubbed his thumb in the dark smear on the card and put it in his mouth, sucking gently. He swirled it, licked his lips, savoring it. “Oh—this one’s barbecue sauce, Y’Honor.”

Tyler groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I left the black frat for this…” Chadwick muttered under his breath, pressing his thumbs against his closed eyes.

Durning grinned, cocky. “I’d like to request summary judgment: not guilty, on account of the brother’s notorious reputation as a… libertine, shall we say….”

The judge didn’t even blink, but lazily slapped the dildo-gavel down. “Denied. Broceed.”

Durning winked at the jury, who were now openly adjusting themselves. “Hold on, boys. We’ll get there.”

And with that, the room’s tension thickened—equal parts amusement and raw, fraternal energy. The defense had only just begun.

---

3. The Blow-by-Blow

Durning licked his lips, shuffled his cards, and called out, “Your Honor, the defense calls Amir to the stand.”

Amir heaved himself up from slow, lazy push-ups on the common room floor, the pelt of his hairy chest trimmed, muscles pumped under deep sun-kissed skin. He tossed a lazy grin around the room like he was onstage, then settled into a beanbag, sinking in, cracking his neck with an audible pop. Stretching his arms wide, he revealed a faded tattoo sprawled across his bicep—a blazing sun wearing sunglasses, colors blurred. Endless Summer.

One of the pledges whispered to another, “Is he like… thirty?”

Durning leaned down and clapped Amir on the shoulder with an open hand, his southern drawl softening for a second into a fratcent that matched Amir’s vibe. “’Bout damn time, bro. Git ‘er done.”

Amir smirked, nodded, and gave Durning a quick fist bump. “Mahalo, my bro.”

Durning’s voice went low and lazy, but you could hear the grin in it. “‘Mir, you were there. Tell the court what you saw. Give us the blow-by-blow, as it were.”

Amir smirked, cocking his head with an upchin. “Whatever, bro.”

Durning leaned in, voice low and thick. “Let’s set the stage. The brother, Dylan. In your unbiased opinion, how’d he look? Nice lips?”

Amir grinned wide. “Yeah, real plush. Like he could suck the paint off a wall.”

Durning nodded, fingers twitching. “And the hair? Could you get your fingers in it? Get a good grip?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Amir said, mimicking with his extended hands, drawing an imaginary head down onto his crotch. “Thick and blond—real bro mane. You could hold on tight.”

Durning shook his head, chuckling low. “Sounds like a real bro-lita situation, don’t it?”

The jury laughed, Chase shifted in his seat, arms crossed.

Amir’s eyes glinted, feeding off the attention. “Dylan was on his knees, going at Tyler like it was the world’s last cock. Tyler’s head was back, hands in Dylan’s hair, hips pumping. Bro looked like he was seeing stars.”

A murmur rippled through the room, a few bros licking their lips, others palming their bulges.

“The boy, Dylan… was he on just one knee?”

“A Tim Teblow? Nah. Both knees.”

There were nods from the jury.

Durning leaned forward, index cards forgotten. “Let’s get specific for the record. Did Dylan lick the head? Give it a swirly?”

Amir nodded eagerly, grinning wider. “Oh hell yeah. He tongued the slit, real slow—like he was tasting it… savoring it. Then he gave it a full swirly around the crown. You could see Tyler’s toes curl.”

The jury groaned, one bro actually biting his knuckle.

Durning smirked, pacing slowly. “Alright, Amir—how was the wrist action? You know, the jerking part.” He mimicked the motion with a slow, exaggerated twist of his hand.

Amir chuckled, nodding. “Smooth. Steady. Like he knew exactly what he was doin’.”

Durning leaned in, voice dropping an octave. “Did he hold the balls? You gotta hold the balls, son.”

“Oh yeah,” Amir said with a wicked grin. “Both hands sometimes. Firm grip—no slack. Like he wasn’t lettin’ go till he got what he came for.”

The jury leaned in, flushed faces, bulges growing taut.

Durning kept going, voice buttery and relentless. “Was it wet? I mean… good and wet. I know YOU know, ’Mir.” He clapped Amir on the back.

Amir shook his head, emphatic. “Slurping wet. Spit running down his chin. Like, drips falling on Tyler’s thighs. It was so loud, I thought the whole house would hear. Here, it sounded like—” He cupped his hands to his mouth, making a long, obscene schlorping sound, cheeks bulging, tongue flicking out. “Pure sloppy toppy, bro.”

Durning smirked, shifting gears. “So—he put some guac on brother Tyler’s knob?”

Amir slowly smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Yeah.”

He leaned forward and mimicked going down on a cock, making a low, guttural “guac guac guac” sound with his throat.

The room burst into laughter. Several bros squirmed, one hand disappearing into shorts, another just squeezing himself through mesh. Chase sulked.

Durning winked at the jury, barely containing a smirk. “Sounds like a pro. Now—did he go deep?”

Didn’t gag, just held there and hummed. Tyler’s hands gripped the arms of his chair tight, moaning loud enough to shake the whole damn room.”

“I hate to be indelicate,” Durning added, shaking his head. “But the law demands I ask… while he was choking it down, did he… lick the balls?”

Amir smirked. “Windshield wiper? Sure did.” He stuck out his own tongue, sliding it back and forth to demonstrate.

A low chorus of “Fuck…” and “Jesus…” spread through the room. Chadwick gripped the dildo gavel so hard his knuckles paled.

Durning waited, wiping his wet brow, cheeks a deeper shade of red. “Hoo boy, it’s getting hot in here… or maybe that’s just me.”

The room broke into ragged laughter and nods.

Durning let the silence stretch, then went for the kill: “Did Tyler finish? Did Dylan swallow?”

Amir’s grin was pure filth. “Tyler finished hard. I saw his whole body tense up, hips twitching. Dylan didn’t stop, just kept sucking, swallowed every drop of that throatmeal—didn’t spill a bit. When he pulled off, he licked his lips clean. Tyler couldn’t even talk, just slumped back, totally spent.”

A ripple of excitement buzzed through the crowd. Even Chase, tight-jawed and red-faced, couldn’t help shifting, his shorts tented like they were hanging on a peg, waistband low on his hips.

Durning turned to Chadwick, hands resting behind his back. “At this point, y’honor, I’d like to enter a plea of insanity.”

Tyler shot up. “WHAT?”

Durning gave him a mischievous side eye. “Because this brother Dylan was insane for our bro Tyler’s hog.”

Tyler put his face in his hands. “Can I throw myself on the mercy of the Court?”

Chadwick didn’t even bother with the gavel. “Denied. Broceed.”

Durning finally leaned back, fanning himself with limp cards, letting the moment hang. “No further questions for this witness, Your Honor—unless someone needs a towel.”

He looked around the room, eyes twinkling. “Now, just so we’re thorough—get the whole wet, throbbing inch by inch of the thing—who else here witnessed the, ah, event?”

A dozen hands shot up, eager.

Durning’s pecs flexed as he snapped his suspenders. “Looks like we just getting started, boys.”

No one laughed this time. The whole house was perched on the edge, waiting for release.

Durning, satisfied, let them stew, knowing the real show was coming next.

---

4. Oral Arguments

The common room buzzed with the accounts of a dozen bros who’d already spilled every filthy detail and every guttural sound from that infamous night. Sweat slicked their backs as the heat pressed in. The jury twisted in their seats, eyes glazed, hands twitching like they couldn’t wait to act.

The brosecution tried to object twice, grumbling that these were facts already nailed harder than a girl on prom night. But Judge Chadwick, eyes distant and glazed in a horny haze, just said, “Court’ll accept it.” His lip hung open, eyes drooping.

Every testimony piled on more tension. The room grew hotter, tighter. Now, with the jury hungrier than ever, Durning stood center stage. He pulled a half-full protein shake from behind the chair, took a long, loud slurp—lid off, straw at maximum bro volume—then grinned. “Alright, now we’s fueled for justice.”

His voice was thick as he smacked his lips, but his eyes glittered. “In the spirit of Section 69, and for the sake of justice, this court will now observe a full and fair recreation of the events. Chase, present yourself for the record. And Tyler… on your knees.”

Chase flushed but obeyed, dropping into the La-Z-Boy, erection straining at the fabric of his camo shorts. Tyler dropped to his knees, his own shorts marked with a damp map. He looked at Durning who gave a slow nod.

“Start slow,” Durning said, voice low and teasing. “Mimic it—show us how Dylan done it. No need to rush.”

Tyler parted lips, tongue flicking at the tight fabric containing Chase’s cock. He leaned in, hesitant, then lapped it with the flat of his tongue.

Chase seemed to gulp. The tent in his shorts pulsed, pushing up to meet Tyler’s lick.

“Feel that heat?” Durning grinned. “Wanna go further? Chase—look at those cherry lips. Help your boy out. Shorts down, man. Let’s see that prize.”

Chase’s eyes twitched, but he tugged waistband low, letting the cargo shorts slide down his tan legs. His cock sprang free, thick and glistening with precum, just inches from Tyler’s mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Durning groaned, tossing his index cards over his shoulder with a flourish. “Forget the paperwork. Let the record show: oral arguments are best made without pants.”

The room held its breath, but Durning moved along. “There we go. Tyler, get your mouth on it. Show us what started this whole mess.”

Tyler gave a slow lick along the slick shaft. His tongue traced slow, deliberate patterns, swirling around the crown, dipping deep into the slit, dragging a trail of hot spit down to the manscaped balls.

The jury leaned in, hooked and helpless as the tension snapped tighter.

Durning’s eyes gleamed, voice soft. “That’s it, son. Use your hands too—don’t just ride the tongue. Give these gentlemen the full show.”

Tyler’s hands wrapped the base, squeezing gentle pulses as lips sank deeper. The slick pop of his mouth pulling away echoed loud, followed by a wet swallow that had the jury leaning in as if they could taste it themselves.

Durning pressed in close, eyes glowing. “That’s right. Get him nice and wet. Let those boys see how it went down.”

Tyler’s mouth stretched, lips sliding like silk over Chase’s cock, letting his spit lube the length of it. Tyler pushed at his own waistband, shoving shorts down enough to bare himself. The wet schlorp and slurp of the blowjob, and the smack of Tyler’s hand beating his own cock, filled the room. 

Chase’s abs clenched, fingers just grazing Tyler’s hair. 

A few bros shifted, gulping, hands in their shorts, digging in.

Durning’s hand hovered, nearly brushing the back of Tyler’s head—coaxing. His voice dropped to a growl: “Don’t hold back, son. Get him deep. Show me how Dylan done it—make it messy.”

Tyler obeyed—lips sliding down the thick shaft till his nose buried against the scented bush. His tongue flicked fast along sensitive skin, then swirled slow, soaking the whole length and swallowing it.

The room thickened, pulses quickening as the demonstration went on.

Seeing Chase’s body tensed, hips twitching involuntarily as he fought the building wave, Durning’s hand hovered, just a breath away from Tyler’s head, fingers gliding in time with his bobbing rhythm. “Don’t you stop now, son, don’t you dare stop. I’m tryin’ to get you off here, and you’d better get him off if you know what’s good for you.”

Durning’s eyes locked onto Chase’s, his voice dipping into a slow, provocative drawl. “Now, Chase—look at you. Right now, that boy’s got your cock deep in a hot, wet throat, pumpin’ like he owns it. You gonna stop him? Pause the action just to go ask for permission?”

He leaned in closer, the grin spreading wider as he let the silence stretch, watching Chase fight the urge behind a clenched jaw and tightened fists.

“Tell me, brother,” Durning teased, voice thick with amusement, “does the law really say you gotta call timeout when your cock’s being worshiped? Or does it say you ride that wave ‘til the drop?”

Chase’s breath caught, muscles trembling under the weight of temptation, abs clenching and hips rolling forward on their own accord.

His eyes squeezed shut, voice a whisper but clear as a bell: “St… don’t… don’t stop… don’t stop…” His hands tangled in Tyler’s hair, threading fingers through sweat-damp curls.

Tyler doubled down, lips sealed, humming around the base. Chase’s control snapped; he bucked, hips jerking, body shuddering as he shot—a thick, heavy load, in surge after surge. Tyler choked, tried to gulp it all down, snorting as cum filled his mouth, spurting from the corners.

Durning’s gaze never wavered, voice a firm whisper now: “That’s it. Suck him like a man dying of thirst. Swallow it down, boy.”

Tyler’s throat bobbed in hard, wet gulps—struggling but determined. When the torrent passed, he pulled back, gasping, cum-thick spit shining on his mouth and chin.

Durning stepped in without missing a beat. He caught a thick, slick bead from Tyler’s puffy bottom lip on the edge of one card. He let the light catch the glistening pearl as he held the card high, for everyone to see.

“Exhibit B, Your Honor—the evidence in question.”

Tyler wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then grabbed his own cock and stroked himself hard, three rough times, and came in thick, desperate spurts across the carpet, his body quaking.

Durning winked at the sticky mess beneath him. “And let’s mark that as Exhibit C.”

The jury sat wide-mouthed, a few bros groaning at the sight, hands pressed on their own thick bois.

Even Judge Chadwick stared, slack-jawed, his hand drifting from the dildo-gavel to his own throbbing erection, forgotten in his lap.

Durning stood over the chaos, flushed and hard, snapped his suspenders over the heft of his pecs, voice solicitous: “The defense will make its closing argument. If y’all ready.”

---

5. The Verdict

Durning stood center stage, the heat of the room wrapping around him. With deliberate slowness, he peeled off the wet tank top that clung to him like glue, suspenders dropping to his sides. He let it fall to the floor with a soggy thud. 

The room practically gasped as his sunburned pecs flexed, the angry stripes left by his snapping suspenders crossing his reddened nipples. A golden trail of hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts, catching the light and drawing hungry gazes.

His gaze swept over Chase and Tyler—both wrecked, cheeks flushed and breaths shallow from everything that’d gone down—then turned to the jury.

“Look, I’m just a simple country bro,” Durning drawled, “but it seems to me just common sense this whole mess ain’t about who threw the first punch or broke the rules. No. It’s about what any decent bro does when temptation knocks hard.”

He rubbed a heavy pec, slow, teasing, flexing the muscle until it rippled under his palm. The jury shifted in their seats, breaths hitching, eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and anticipation. You could almost hear the collective drool pooling in their mouths.

“Even Chase—yeah, the guy throwing stones—lost his cool right here in bro court. You saw him get caught up. If the one pointing fingers can’t keep his dick in check, how can we hold Tyler to a higher standard?” He nodded at Chase, who shifted in his shorts, resting on his half-spent semi.

Durning finally produced the best defense any bro court could offer. “Because, let’s face it—we all know—any bro would’a done the same. Temptation that fierce? No man’s coming out clean.”

A low murmur of grudging agreement rippled through the crowd. Bros nodded, grinned, some openly stroking the tents in their shorts.

“And now, since everything’s even-steven,” Durning continued, sweat streaking his sides, “and these boys here is done with their misbehavin’ and infractions and grudges…” He turned to Tyler and Chase, voice dropping. “You is done, ain’t you, boys?”

Tyler mumbled, “Yes, sir.” Chase nodded curtly. Durning gave both a slow nod and a wink.

“Then I say, in the spirit of brotherhood and fraternity, let’s put all this behind us.” He raised his hands like the lawgiver himself.

The whole house was brought right to the edge. Bodies tilted forward, breaths held tight, hands twitching, needing something to grab onto. There wasn’t a dry crotch in the house.

Judge Chadwick raised the dildo-gavel, robes swinging open to tightened boxers. He scanned the jury, one by one, heads nodding eagerly, eyes bright and wide, bodies coiled with anticipation.

“This court,” Chadwick declared, voice cracking with excitement, “is here to uphold the sacred bro law of pleasure—the unshakable right to get off, so long as everyone consents. And with that said, on the grounds that any bro would’ve done the same—the defendant is found… not guilty.”

He brought the dildo gavel down with a booming thud that echoed off the walls.

The room erupted. Beers popped open, cheers crashed like thunder.

Bros surged, no longer content to merely watch. The salty mix of sweat, cheap beer and the sound of smacking lips filled the air.

Judge Chadwick, dildo gavel abandoned, was lost—a mouth latched onto his neck, hands roaming under his robe, fingers digging into his chiseled abs ands into his boxers.

Amir lay face down on the carpet, two pledges under him, his boardshorts around his hairy thighs. 

Tyler caught Durning’s eye and grinned, cheeks flushed. “Best verdict ever,” he muttered, seeing his defense attorney with new eyes.

Durning’s grin deepened. With a slow, teasing flourish, he let his shorts fall. His cock sprang free—thick, swollen, dripping a long string of pre-cum. The sight of it made Tyler lick his lips. Chase noticed too.

“There is just the matter of my legal fees. The Quid Bro Quo, as it were.”

Before Tyler could respond, Durning’s hand guided the back of his head, pulling him down onto his slick, hard cock. “You’re gonna go far in this house, son,” he gasped, as his length sank into that sweet, warm mouth.

Tyler’s hands gripped Durning’s hips, steadying himself, while Chase’s mouth latched onto Durning’s—tongue sliding wet and slow, hands roaming, one grazing a nipple still tender from the snapping suspenders, sending a sharp, delighted shiver through his body.

“Mind the teats, boys,” Durning rasped, between shudders.

Around them, the bro code rewrote itself in hungry mouths, aching cocks and broken rules.

Judge Chadwick—gasping as he pulled himself out of a standing blowvation, now wearing nothing but his half-fallen robe and a solitary sock—banged the bent dildo-gavel with a decisive smack.

“Bro Court is officially adjourned—’til the next puck forgets the group chat invite.”

END

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I LOVE YOU BOTH.

Now it was me fucking Ned. I had to do my best to give my sweet son what he obviously wanted but it was easier for me when I was fucked before even if I knew well that Ned had been fucked many times, and not only by my brother.

All I could do is covering him in kisses and assuring him I’d always be with him, he could count on me for anything after now, even to constantly have sex with each other. My dick was now only an instrument to convey to him how I loved him. But I was not aware of the strong impression I was causing on his young heart. I suddenly heard him crying.

-Oh, what can I do now?

-What d’you mean, Ned?

-I love you both now, dad.

I started then crying my eyes out. I came instantly in his sexy eyes and broke down. I could only stutter.

-Then call me Nevil.

-Nevil, I love you too but I haven’t stopped loving Marvin.

-The only thing I can do now is talking to my brother. You’re in an emotional crisis now and there’s no other chance than sharing you. I mean, you need both of us. I already promised you that I’ll talk sweetly with Marvin and will first tell him everything that’s happened between you and me today. But I’m willing to even become a new lover for you, Ned.

He sobbed all day and I had suggested to him that we could both spend a whole day naked together. Later and since I was sure he would feel terribly lonely in bed I told him that we should sleep together. And naked we went to bed and gave one more blowjob to each other.

The next day, I heard a WhatsApp message and it was from my brother. In it he told Ned that he’d gone away for some days, didn’t say where. But it was four days later than a new WhatsApp informed Ned that he had returned to his country house. It was then that I kissed Ned fondly as if I were already in love, which I probably was, and told him that now I was gonna drive to his house and talk to my brother.

---

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

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Chapter 1: A little show

Jake got out of the cab, slightly stretching his tall 6’2 frame. He had just flown in from Liverpool to Barcelona, taken a train and then a cab to a midsize town by the sea. He was here for a four-week-holiday job in a hotel that was open only during the summer months.

He had just celebrated his 25th birthday and finished his maths degree. Every day after Uni, Jake swam at the pool around the corner from his place. He wasn’t a professional swimmer but loved it like nothing else in his life. The daily exercise had given him a swimmer’s body: broad shoulders sat on top of a defined torso. From his slender waist grew endlessly long muscly legs.

As he was standing in front of the cab, he was wearing worn-out chucks, tiny vintage rugby shorts and a cropped black tank top. His undersized clothes made him look even more like a giant – and he loved showing off his imposing body like that.

His blond wavy hair crashed in unruly waves over his large eyes and a set of dark bushy eyebrows. His skin was smooth and he looked young and new to the world. And yet his square jaw and strong Roman nose lend something sharper and more mature to his features. Like someone at the edge of growing into his full manhood.

The hotel was a beautiful white-washed mid-century building, four stories tall with large windows and balconies facing the sea, that stretched out directly in front of the hotel. It looked quite posh, for a lack of a better word. He had read reviews of the hotel and nearly all of them had been raving, praising the staff that went beyond and above the please the customers. Last year, one guy had written: “They really want to make sure that you are having the best time. Even if it means really quite hard work for them. 10 out of 10. 😉 Will be back next year.” Jake had found the smiley odd but didn’t give it another thought. All the other reviews had been normal and warm. It all seemed fine to him, he had concluded.

The hotel wasn’t listed on any of the booking sites and it specifically catered to single people, which suited Jake as he didn’t want to be surrounded by screaming kids for four weeks. His job interview had been with the owner: a Spanish guy in his early 50s, named Andrés. He had asked him more questions about his personal life than about professional qualifications and had waved off questions about specific tasks with a smile: “Don’t worry. It’s all easy. You’ll manage the bar and the pool area. And do some odd jobs here and there. Nothing that requires a degree. Not your math degree anyway. And I can already see that you’ll be perfect.”

After he had told an Italian guy, who was manning the reception, that he had arrived, the owner came to greet him. Andrés grabbed Jake’s hand with both of his. A strong and firm handshake. He then showed Jake to his room in the staff quarters at the back of the hotel: “This is your base for the next for weeks, make yourself comfortable. And if there’s anything you need, just let me know or ask one of your colleagues. It’s a lively bunch this year. You’ll enjoy it. Work starts tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of the day.” And with that, he was off.

After Jake had unpacked his stuff and moved some of the furniture in the small room to make it cozier, he had gone into the bathroom to take a long shower. When he felt like he had finally washed off all the sweat and grime from travelling, he walked out of the bath, took the large towel and dried himself in front of the large mirror in the middle of the room.

He loved his body. And he loved how easy it was for him to change it. He had added gym sessions to his swimming regime over the last couple of months and when he flexed his arms now, they became alive with muscle. His chest had grown almost instantly so that all his T-shirts now stretched tightly over bulging, rock-hard pecs. Jake turned around. His bum was as pale as a sheet of paper but perfectly round and tight. It had always looked great in his swimming trunks but lately, with his sessions in the gym, it had grown bigger so that his trunks were having a hard time, keeping all of it in. He was pure marble with only a slight trail of hair from his belly button to his crotch.

It was a different story in the front. Jake had always been uncomfortable about his cock. His five inches weren’t very tiny – but not very big either. And on his body, only a massive dick looked alright, he often thought. He sometimes glanced over to some of the other guys in the showers who proudly showed off the swinging logs between their legs.

But he had learned to deal with it: He had started to trim his thick, soft pubes to make his dick look bigger. And he knew how to please the girls with his experienced fingers and his soft searching tongue. He was probably a better lover than most big-dicked guys, simply because he had to be more inventive, more attentive to their needs. And girls loved him for that, even recommended him to each other during drunken nights out: “He went down on me for halve an hour last week! Forget fucking. I can come just by looking at him when he spreads himself out down there between my legs.”

A couple of months ago he even bought a cock sheath. It was a kind of hollow rubber dildo that you slipped over your own dick to make it longer or girthier – or both. He had asked the girl that he was seeing at the time, whether she was up for trying it out. Afterwards she had said, that it didn’t make a big difference to her. But he had felt powerful when he had looked down and seen how his enhanced dick pushed inside of her, how it slowly opened her up. He had brought her to massive orgasms many times before, but he had only now filled her out the way she wanted to be filled out, he secretely felt.

The thought of this experience made his cock twitch. He tossed the towel aside and grabbed his dick. With his other hand, he was groping his pecs, then stroking his hard, flat stomach. He wondered whether he would be having lots of sex during his time here, whether there would be single girls on the team. His sex drive had been crazy recently. As he started to jack off, he looked at his body in the mirror, at the way the tension was rolling over all over his body through his muscles. He stood in front of the mirror, legs proudly apart, and it made him look like a powerful, dominating machine, built to perform. He came with a long groan, splashing a huge, dripping load on the mirror, all over his own image.

He fell exhaustedly onto the bed and dabbed the fresh sweat from his body with the towel. When he turned his head, his curls rolled over lazily to the side. It was then that he looked through the open window to the other side of the courtyard – just catching sight of somebody’s silhouette at a window. After a short moment, the shadowy figure moved aside and the curtains were slowly closed. Jake was unsure of what that person would have been able to see but felt that he didn’t care much. Nobody knew him here. And he had worked hard for this body. No shame in showing it off a bit.

His thoughts turned to how he got here in the first place. He had desperately needed a job to tide him over until he would figure out his next steps. A friend from Uni had recommended the job to him. “It’s quite full on. Or can be. But I think you can take care of yourself. Anyway, they would love you there. It’s not very well paid per se. But there are lots of special jobs here and there that you can do for some of the guests. And that brings in quite some extra cash. But don’t worry… I think the opportunities will probably be flying in your face.” He had patted him on the shoulder and wished him good luck.

With that, Jake drifted off into a long afternoon nap, lying naked on his bed.   

Hi, this is a new project of mine, with a difference writing style from my old work, I hope you will like it. All characters in this story are adults, over 18 years old. 

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Sam’s POV

The thing about our house is that it always smells like something good. Like, genuinely, ridiculously good. This morning, it was bacon and coffee, a combo so perfect it should be illegal. The smell weaves its way through the floorboards, up the stairs, and basically yanks you out of bed by your nostrils. It’s my mom’s superpower. She doesn’t just cook; she makes the whole house feel right. Dad says her coffee could convince a bear to start doing taxes, and he’s not wrong. I stumbled downstairs, my brain still half-asleep, and the scene in the kitchen was straight out of some wholesome TV commercial.

Mom was at the stove, humming a tune I didn’t recognize, her back to me. The morning sun slanted through the window over the sink, catching the little wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail and turning them into a golden halo. She’s turning 39 this year, same as Dad, but sometimes, in light like this, she looks exactly like the pictures in their wedding album. She turned when she heard my feet creak on the last step, and her face broke into that smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like you just won something, even if all you did was manage to wake up.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, her voice as warm as the steam rising from her coffee mug. “Bacon’s almost ready. Your friends are on their way.”

Dad was at the table, already halfway through a plate that would feed a small army. He’s the other half of the perfect picture. If Mom is the heart of our family, Dad is the frame—solid, dependable, and built to last. He’s a contractor, but not the kind that just bosses people around from a clean truck. His hands look like they’ve been in a lifelong argument with wood and steel, and have won every time. The knuckles are scarred, the palms are thick with calluses, and there’s usually a faint line of grease or dirt under his nails that never quite washes out. He’s broad in the shoulders and thick through the chest, the kind of guy who looks like he could lift the front end of his pickup if he got a flat. He just grunted a “mornin’” at me, his mouth full of eggs, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. That’s Dad-speak for “I love you, now pass the ketchup.”

I had just sat down when the unmistakable rattle and roar of Jake’s ancient Ford Bronco echoed up the driveway. A few seconds later, the back door slammed open and in they came, Jake and Tyler, my two best friends. They’re my age, eighteen now, same as me. We all had our birthdays back in the spring, so this is officially our first summer as ‘adults,’ or whatever. And like always, they acted like they owned the place. Because, on weekends, they pretty much did.

“Mrs. H!” Jake boomed, flashing a grin that could charm a snake out of its skin. He swept in and gave my mom a one-armed hug, stealing a piece of bacon right off the tray she was holding. “You are an angel sent from breakfast heaven.”

Mom just laughed, swatting his hand away playfully. “You boys are going to eat us out of house and home one of these days. Tyler, honey, grab a plate.”

Tyler, who was always a bit quieter than Jake but had this intense, focused energy about him, just nodded, his eyes already locked on the food. “Smells amazing, as always.”

They’re like the brothers I never had. We’ve been inseparable since we were kids, a three-man wolf pack navigating the treacherous wilderness of our small lakeside town. They’re the reason my social life isn’t just me arguing with people online about video games. They make everything an adventure, even something as simple as Saturday morning breakfast. That’s when they sprung their plan on us. Or, more accurately, on my dad.

“So, Mr. H,” Jake started, leaning back in his chair with a calculated casualness. “We were driving by the lake path yesterday, and, man, that old treehouse is looking… uh… nostalgic.”

Tyler snorted into his orange juice. “Nostalgic is one word for it. ‘Condemned’ is another.”

Dad’s jaw tightened just a little. The treehouse was his project, built for me years ago. It was our fortress, our pirate ship, our spaceship. But time and the brutal lakefront winters had taken their toll. The wood was starting to rot, and the whole structure listed to one side like a drunk sailor. Dad had been muttering about tearing it down or fixing it up since March, but he never seemed to get around to it.

“It’s on the list,” Dad grumbled, not looking up from his plate. That was his standard response for any household project he was avoiding.

“Well,” Jake said, pressing on. “We figured, three strong young backs are better than one, right? We’ve got nothing to do today. Let’s go out there, patch it up. A little manual labor never hurt anyone. Plus, it’s a good excuse to drink some of your beer.”

This was where Mom jumped in, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, Robert, that’s a wonderful idea! You boys are such lifesavers. I was so worried one of those storms would just take the whole thing down.” She turned to Dad, her expression so bright and hopeful it was basically a weapon. “It’ll be fun! A project for you and the boys.”

You could see the conflict on Dad’s face. He’s a proud man; he doesn’t like asking for help, and he especially doesn’t like being told what to do with his own projects. But saying no to Mom when she was using that voice was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a pool noodle. It just wasn’t going to happen. He let out a long, slow sigh, the sound of a man surrendering to fate. A tiny muscle twitched in his cheek. He looked from Jake to Tyler, a strange, unreadable expression on his face that I just figured was his usual grumpy-but-secretly-pleased look.

“Fine,” he muttered, pushing his chair back. “Finish your food. I’ll get the tools.”

An hour later, we were trekking down the path toward the lake. The air was already thick and humid, the kind that makes your shirt stick to your back before you’ve even started working. Dad was in the lead. He had on a thin, grey t-shirt that was already showing a dark patch of sweat between his shoulder blades. Below, he was wearing a pair of loose, thin short-shorts, the kind that stopped about halfway up his big tree-trunk thighs. They fit him in this weird way, where it was like the only thing holding them up was the sheer size of his ass. I mean, they were baggy everywhere else, but in the back, the fabric was stretched so tight across those two huge, round mountains of his, you could see every single muscle flex when he walked. And because the material was so thin, I dared to look—I mean, I couldn’t help but notice—that there weren’t any underwear lines under there at all. He must have been going commando. I guess it makes sense, though. They looked super comfortable for working in the heat.

As we walked, I fell back a bit, content to just watch them. It was kinda cool, seeing my dad with my friends like this. He’s always been friendly, but over the past few months, ever since that time they helped him in the basement, Jake and Tyler had become his friends, too. They had their own rhythm, their own way of talking. I was just happy to be part of it.

Jake slung a heavy arm over my shoulder, pulling me in close. His shirt was already damp, and he smelled like cheap deodorant and the sausage he’d eaten for breakfast. He nodded toward Dad’s back, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. Dad was walking a few paces ahead, the toolbox swinging in his hand, and those thin shorts he was wearing… well, they clung to his thighs and rode up high in the back, outlining the curve of his ass with every step.

“Your old man’s got that front-and-back combo locked down, huh?” Jake murmured, his voice a low rumble next to my ear. “Like a damn milkshake machine up top and a full-service bakery down below. Non-stop service.”

I giggled, not really getting it. “He’s strong, I guess.”

Tyler, walking on my other side, let out a sharp snort of laughter, wiping a line of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Strong ain’t the half of it, man. That oven’s prime for rising dough. Gotta be kept hot and ready at all times.” He winked at Jake over my head. “Remember how we ‘assisted’ him with that plumbing issue a couple months back? Down in the basement?”

Oh yeah, I remembered that day. It was just a couple of months back, right after we’d all finally turned eighteen. It felt like their first real ‘adult’ project, helping Dad out like that. Mom and I were about to watch a movie when the water heater started making this awful groaning noise. Dad went down to check on it, and Jake and Tyler, who were already over, insisted on helping. About ten minutes later, Tyler called up, saying my dad needed a specific kind of ‘sealant’ from the hardware store to fill a hole and that it was a two-person job to hold a leaky valve, so Mom and I should go. It took us over an hour to find the right stuff. When we got back, the three of them were sweating buckets, and the basement smelled weird, kinda salty and sour, and the groaning from the tank hadn’t stopped.

“Yeah, you guys fixed the hole on the tank, right?” I said, proud that I remembered the term.

Tyler’s grin widened into something sharp and feral. “Oh, we secured the ‘hole’ alright. Your pap was all ‘hell no, I can handle it myself’ at first, but once we figured out the right recipe to get things flowing…” He trailed off, pulling out his phone and starting to swipe through his photos. “Got a little clip of our technique, actually. For ‘training purposes.’”

Suddenly, Dad stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t turn all the way around, but his whole body went rigid. The muscles in his neck corded. “Put that away, Tyler,” he said, and his voice was low and gravelly, like stones grinding together. It was a tone he rarely used, the one that meant he wasn’t kidding. The skin on the back of his neck turned a deep, blotchy red.

Jake just laughed, a loud, booming sound that echoed through the quiet woods. He slapped Dad hard on the back, right between the shoulder blades. “Relax, big guy! Just admiring your handiwork. We’re all on the same team here.”

Dad flinched at the slap but started walking again, faster this time, like he was trying to outrun the conversation. Jake and Tyler fell into step behind him, their banter picking up a new, relentless pace. It was like they had their own private language, one I was only getting bits and pieces of.

“Seriously, though,” Jake said, loud enough for Dad to hear clearly. “Those glutes are bringing all the boys to the yard. Someone’s gotta be shoving a loaf in that oven today, right? Get a second rise going before lunch.”

“Hell yeah,” Tyler chimed in, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity as he stared at Dad’s retreating form. “Multiple batches if we’re lucky. We brought enough batter for the whole neighborhood. Gotta keep layering it on, nice and thick. Fill it up until it overflows, that’s the only way to do a proper bake.”

I frowned, trying to piece it together. They were obsessed with baking analogies. It was weird, but they were always joking about food. Maybe they were just really hungry. “Are you guys talking about Mom’s sourdough? She is making some later.”

They both looked at me, and for a second, their smiles faltered. Then Jake burst out laughing again, even harder this time. “Yeah, buddy. Exactly. Your mom’s sourdough. We’re just… really excited about it.” He winked at me, a slow, deliberate gesture. “We love making sure everything is properly… kneaded.”

Throughout all this, Dad’s face was on fire. I could see the color creeping up past his collar, a tide of angry red. He kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead, his jaw working silently. He looked like he’d swallowed something bitter. I felt a little bad for him. He’s always been kind of modest, and they were really laying it on thick. It was sweet that they thought he was so cool, but maybe it was embarrassing for him.

When we finally reached the clearing, the treehouse looked even sadder up close. It sagged on its main support beam, a tired old man leaning on a cane. Rotted planks hung loose, and the whole thing was covered in a green film of moss.

“Alright,” Dad said, his voice strained as he dropped the toolbox with a heavy thud. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He ran a callused hand over a patch of moss-eaten wood and sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “The main beam is solid, but the floorboards are shot,” he announced, his voice all business now, as if trying to erase the weird conversation from the path. He pointed up at the platform. “See that rot? We put all our weight on one spot, the whole damn thing’s coming down on our heads. Two at a time, max. No exceptions. One guy to hold the new board in place, one guy to nail it down.”

It made perfect sense. I nodded sagely, feeling like part of the crew. Safety first.

“I’ll go up first, get the lay of the land,” Dad said, grabbing a pry bar from the toolbox. He looked between Jake and Tyler, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second too long. “Jake. You’re with me first. Get the big crowbar.”

My job was designated as ‘ground control.’ I was in charge of the important task of sorting screws into different piles and passing tools up the ladder when they yelled for them. It felt official. I was the quartermaster of this whole operation.

Dad climbed the creaking ladder, his movements sure and steady. As he hoisted himself onto the platform, those thin shorts pulled tight across his ass. Jake followed, but paused halfway up to look down at me with a grin. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll take good care of your old man.”

The sounds started almost immediately. First, the sharp screech of old nails being pulled from rotting wood. Then, a lot of grunting and heavy breathing that drifted down through the leaves. Then came a series of heavy, rhythmic thuds. It wasn’t the clean, sharp tack-tack-tack of a hammer hitting a nail. It was a deeper, fleshier sound, like someone was trying to tenderize a giant side of beef with a sledgehammer. They must be knocking the old, stubborn planks loose. Man, that wood must be really stuck.

“Jesus!” Jake’s voice echoed from above, strained but also weirdly gleeful. “Loosen up a little, will ya? You’re way too damn tight! I can’t get the board to fit in this position!”

A low, guttural sound came from Dad, but it was broken up, choked out between gasps for air. I’d almost never heard him talk like this before, the words tearing from his throat. “Shut your dam… Mouth. That shit… of yours is… God, motherfucker… … Big and heavy… SHIT… Not even halfway!” Whoa. Dad almost never swore, and definitely not the F-word. He must be talking about the big crowbar Jake brought up; that thing was a monster. For Dad to say it was big and heavy, and that it wasn’t even halfway under the rotten plank yet… man, that board must have been practically welded to the frame. He sounded like he was in real pain, like all his muscles were screaming from the strain.

“I’ve seen you do better, Mr. H,” Jake’s voice was a low growl now. “Steady that base, I’m gonna ram the whole thing in!”

Then there was a loud slap, followed by a sharp cry from Dad that was quickly muffled. I flinched, looking up. “Everything okay up there?” I shouted, my voice sounding small in the big, quiet woods.

Jake’s head popped over the edge, his face drenched in sweat and flushed a dark, mottled red. He was grinning, a wild, triumphant look in his eyes. “All good, chief! Just had a… stubborn board. We had to pry it open hard. Your dad slipped and hit his face.”

“Oh. Is he okay?”

“He’s tough,” Jake yelled back. The muffled groans started again, along with more of that thick, thumping sound. Hard work.

An hour later, Jake climbed back down the ladder. He looked completely spent, his shirt clinging to his chest and back like a second skin. He staggered over to the water cooler, chugging half a bottle in one go. “Tag me out,” he gasped at Tyler, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Gotta get some fresh manpower on the job. That rear frame needs a lot more reinforcement.”

Tyler’s eyes lit up. He practically vaulted up the ladder, eager for his turn. The noises started again, but they were different this time. The thuds were faster, more frantic, accompanied by a low, continuous groan from Dad that I figured was the strain of holding the heavy new roofing panels in place while Tyler worked.

“Gotta fill this crack before we go any further!” Tyler yelled down. “It’s a big one! Need something thick and white to seal it up real good!”

“You need the caulk gun?” I yelled back, proud that I knew the right tool for the job.

A bark of laughter came from above. “Yeah, kid! Send up the ‘caulk’ gun! I’ve got plenty of my own I’m using right now, but an extra load can’t hurt!”

I didn’t get the joke, but I found the big white tube and the metal gun, clipping it to the rope we were using to haul things up. They were so funny. They turned everything into some kind of joke. It was awesome, really. Like watching a pro team at work. They had this shorthand, this easy chemistry that made the work go faster. I felt a little useless just sorting screws, but mostly I was just proud. My dad, my friends, all working together.

Tyler came down about forty-five minutes later, looking just as wrecked as Jake had. He gave Jake a look, a silent communication that passed between them, and then he turned to me and clapped my shoulder. “Your pop is a hell of a worker. Can really take a load. We’re laying the foundation thick and deep.”

I just nodded, grinning. “I know! He’s the best.”

It was cool seeing them work so hard for us, for my dad. This treehouse was my childhood, and they were saving it. Dad didn’t even come down when they switched. He just stayed up there. I could hear his voice, faint and hoarse. He must be so exhausted, but he was too stubborn to quit. What a hero. And what amazing friends I had, pushing themselves to the limit to help him out. The sun was getting higher in the sky, beating down on the clearing, and the air was thick with the smell of cut wood, sweat, and something else… a sharp, musky scent that I just figured was the smell of hard work. The smell of men.

Jake and Tyler were sprawled on a patch of grass in the shade, looking completely wiped out. They lay there like discarded marionettes, all limp limbs and heavy breathing. When they saw me watching, Jake lifted his head with a huge, theatrical effort.

“Both of us are wrecked,” he panted, gesturing vaguely between himself and Tyler. “Your turn, champ. Go give your dad the final push he needs.”

“My turn?” My heart did a little leap. “Awesome!” I grabbed a hammer from the toolbox, feeling its weight in my hand. It felt right. I was finally getting off the bench.

“Wait,” a voice croaked from above. It was Dad. His head was just visible over the edge of the platform. His face was pale, slick with sweat, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. “No. It’s… it’s not safe up here yet. The main joists aren’t secured.”

I paused at the base of the ladder, confused. “But… you guys have been up there for hours.”

Tyler pushed himself up on one elbow, a lazy grin on his face. “Don’t be a hero, Mr. H. Let your boy help out. He’s gotta learn how to handle a hard tool sometime.”

“He’s right,” Jake added, sitting up. “He’s stronger than he looks. Besides, we did all the heavy lifting. All that’s left is the easy finishing work. He can handle a little hammering, can’t he?” They both looked at Dad, their expressions a weird mix of challenge and amusement.

Dad looked down, his eyes darting from them to me. He looked cornered. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Finally, he just let out a long, shaky breath and pulled his head back out of sight. It was the strangest thing. It was like all the fight had just drained out of him.

“See? He’s ready for you,” Jake said, giving me a shove toward the ladder. “Go on, slugger. Show him what you’ve got.”

Fueled by their encouragement, I started to climb. The wooden rungs were warm from the sun. With every step up, the air seemed to get thicker, heavier with that same musky, salty smell from before. When my head cleared the floor of the treehouse, the smell hit me full force. It was like the lake, but with an undercurrent of something acrid and… thick. Like a wet towel left in a gym bag for way too long.

And then I saw my dad. He was slumped against the far wall, his legs splayed out in front of him. He looked… wrecked. Not just tired, but completely hollowed out. His shirt was untucked and soaked through, clinging to his chest in dark, wet patches. There were smudges of dirt and sawdust all over him, and a nasty-looking red, chafed mark on the side of his neck that looked like a rope burn. He must have really scraped himself up on a rough plank. He was breathing in shallow little gasps, and when he looked at me, his eyes seemed unfocused, glassy.

I looked around the small space. For all the grunting and slamming and yelling I’d heard, it didn’t look like much had been done. A couple of new floorboards were laid near the entrance, but only a few nails were hammered in, and not even all the way. The rest of the floor was still the same old rotting mess. Wow. This job must be even harder and more complicated than I thought. No wonder they were all so exhausted.

“Dad? You okay?” I asked, stepping onto the platform. He flinched, as if my voice had startled him.

“Fine,” he rasped, not meeting my eyes. He pushed himself to his feet, moving slowly and stiffly, like an old man. “Just… tired. Grab that two-by-four. We’ll finish this section.”

The next twenty minutes were the quietest of the entire morning. The easy, shit-talking banter was gone, replaced by a tense, heavy silence. Dad worked like a robot. He’d point to a spot, and I’d place the board. He’d hold it steady with a hand that trembled slightly, and I’d hammer in the nails. He didn’t say a word except for clipped, one-word instructions: “Here.” “Nail.” “Stop.” He kept his back to me as much as possible, his shoulders hunched. I figured he was just in the zone, focused on getting the job done right.

It was awesome. Me and my dad, working side-by-side, a silent, efficient team. I could feel the muscles in my arm burn a little with each swing of the hammer. I was finally pulling my weight, contributing. I was helping my dad, being useful.

Just as I was about to start on a new board, Mom’s voice floated up from the house, clear and cheerful. “Boys! Lunch is ready! Come on in before it gets cold!”

Dad seemed to sag with relief at the sound of her voice. He dropped the board he was holding with a clatter. “Lunch,” he mumbled, as if the word itself were a lifeline. He didn’t even look at me. He just turned and moved toward the ladder, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He nearly missed the first rung.

I followed him down, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. We’d gotten a whole new section of the floor done. As I hit the ground, Jake clapped me on the shoulder, a big, sweaty hand landing hard.

“How was it, slugger?” he asked, a knowing look in his eye. “See? Your dad just needed the right partner to get the job done.”

“It was great,” I said, beaming with pride. “We work really well together.”

Tyler laughed, shaking his head as he got to his feet. “I bet you do. A real chip off the old block.”

I was tired, sweaty, and covered in sawdust, but it was a good tired. The kind of tired you feel after you’ve actually accomplished something. I couldn’t wait to eat a huge lunch and tell Mom all about how we were saving the treehouse, all of us, together.

Lunch rolls around, and the heat must have gotten to me, because I’m completely wiped. I must have dozed off for a bit on the porch swing, lulled into a daze by the buzz of cicadas and the distant drone of a lawnmower. When I finally stir, the sun has started its slow dip toward the treetops, painting the sky in hazy shades of orange. The air is thick and still. That’s when Dad stumbles up the path from the woods, looking like he’s just survived a shipwreck.

He’s soaked through, his shirt and shorts plastered to his body, and there are long streaks of dirt and what looks like mud across his chest and down his thighs. His face is still that deep, uneven red, blotchy and raw, like he’s been scrubbing it with sandpaper. As he gets closer, I see something else. There are a few dry streaks near his mouth and on his chin, but they aren’t salt from sweat. They’re kind of crusty and white, flaking a little at the edges. Must be sawdust mixed with sweat, I figure. It gets everywhere when you’re working.

He’s breathing hard, short and shallow, and his shirt is untucked, damp in ways that don’t scream “just sawdust.” It’s a complete mess. The guys follow a few paces behind him, and they reek. It’s not just normal work-sweat. It’s a mix of that, lake water, and that sharp, earthy musk I smelled earlier, but now it’s ten times stronger. It’s a raw, almost animal scent, with a heavy undercurrent that I can’t quite place… something metallic and thick, potent like spent adrenaline. It’s the smell of a marathon, a fight, a victory.

Jake jogs up the porch steps and gives me a high-five, casual as ever, though his knuckles are red. “All good, man. Treehouse is on its way now. Your old man’s a real trooper.”

I blink through the sleepy haze, my brain slowly piecing together the story. They must have busted their asses out there, pushing through the heat and the hard labor. Dad, being too stubborn to quit, probably pushed himself way too far. It kinda sucks that I conked out and missed the final push. I would have killed to swing a hammer with them again, to feel useful for more than just twenty minutes.

Tyler comes up beside Jake, his face bright with a manic kind of energy. He claps his hands together with enthusiasm. “Yeah, your pap said that we might need to work on this beast for quite a few more days! It’s a bigger job than we thought.”

I see Dad flinch at that, a full-body shudder of what I assume is just pure, bone-deep exhaustion. He leans against the porch railing, his eyes closed.

Tyler continues, a sly grin spreading across his face as he looks straight at Dad. “Thing is, I don’t think we have all the right tools for the job. To really get into those deep, tight spots and finish the frame properly, we might need some… specialized equipment.” He winks at Jake. “I was talking to some of the guys from that new construction crew down the road the other day. A little ‘work exchange,’ you know? They were telling us about some of the big, black tools they keep in the neighborhood. Said they can pound anything into submission, no matter how stubborn it is.”

“Oh, cool!” I say, my eyes widening. “Like a pneumatic nailer or a powered auger? We could totally rent one for next weekend! That would be awesome!”

The look that passes between Jake and Tyler is electric. Tyler chokes back a laugh, turning it into a cough. Jake just grins at me, a wide, predatory smile. “Yeah, buddy. Exactly like that.”

Dad pushes himself off the railing. He catches my eye for just a second, and that horrible flush is still there, burning high on his cheekbones. His lips are a thin, white line. He looks right through me. “Thanks for the backup, kid,” he mutters, his voice a rough, broken thing, and then he pushes past us and disappears into the house. The screen door slams shut behind him. I hear the sound of the bathroom door locking and the shower turning on full blast a moment later.

Mom is in the kitchen, humming that same tune from this morning, completely oblivious. The smell of her famous meatloaf is starting to fill the house, warm and comforting. Jake and Tyler crash onto the living room couch, grabbing fresh sodas from the cooler. They pop the tabs in unison and trade a long, satisfied look over my head, a look that says the work might be done for today, but the project is far from over.

Damn, it’s so cool having friends like them. Without them, I don’t know if me and my pap could ever fix that old treehouse. They really stepped up. What great guys. 

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I was an exchange student in Mexico city, i had just turn 18 before my exchange year. The family i was staying with was very chill, they let me go out and everything. One friday after school i was kinda bored, and i decided to look into bathhouses in Mexico city, i was not a virgin anymore, but Mexico being much more conservative, i was not open about my sexuality so it was difficult to hook up with guys.

Anyways, i found this bathhouse looking it up on the internet, apparently it was next to a big wholesale market, one of the biggest in the city, it has warehouses and everything. I was so horny that i thought, well I get fucked once and I leave.

My heart was racing when i got there, it was a new place, never been to a batthouse before, so i didnt know what to expect. I go into the bulding fast to avoid being seen, even though it was not as if there could be a lot of people recognizing me in Mexico.

Right after the entrance there were some stairs going down because the place was in the basement, so it was a bit more private down there. A fat and really ugly guy was the clerk, i paid him, he didnt care to ask my age, and let me in. 

He gave me a small towel, some flip flops and a locker room key. it was a small locker, but i got naked and put my clothes inside and got the towel around me. Although i was shy, i knew i got a lot of attention in Mexico, i was spanish, green eyes, light brown hair, nice bubble butt and nice toned body, they liked foreigners. 

In the locker room I didn’t see anyone, i thought maybe the place was empty. There was another small desk and a clerk to go in into the sauna and shower areas, he was maybe in his 40’s, brown skin, short, a moustache, didnt even look gay. I just wish i could find someone i liked to get fucked and leave.

I git into the showers first, the showers were separated by like a barrier, but no doors, and there was a big hot tub. There was an old guy, perhaps in his 60’s, fat, rdark brown skin, and a hairy chest, grey hair already. He looked straight too, i even thoguht to myself perhaps it was not a bathhouse for the gays, and just a regular bathhouse.

The shower stall i was in was directly in front of the guy, he was looking at me, but didn’t show any expression. I was naked, i was teasing him, but he didnt do anything. I thought to myself i didnt even like him, so i didnt care.

I went to the sauna now, to see if there were other people. In there it was another guy, perhaps in his 50’s, but he was laying back, and it was foggy so maybe he didn’t se eme.

I sat in the back of the sauna, it was like a big bench next to the wall, so i had plenty of space. Once i got used to the fog and the light i noticed no one had entered. Perhaps it was a bad day for me, but like 10 minutes after, the guy from the hot tub, the 60 year old walked in. He stayed at the door for a few seconds while he got used to the fog and light. My heart started racing. He looked at me at the back. I dont know why but i smiled at him, i didnt even like him. Him, without any expression walked towards me and stopped right in fron of me, removed his towel and threw it to the side, exposing his dark cock. Perhaps 6 inches, uncut, with a lot of hair at the base, big balls, he pulled his foreskin back, the head was almost purple, cock hard.: Suck it, dude, he said.

Not that i was in shock, but not what i expected actually, not a 60 year old. But he repeated “Suck it, i said”, i listened to him and i leaned forward quickly and started blowing him, licking his big head, then trying to deepthroat his cock as deep as possible. He was breathing deeply and hard but he looked serious still.

He grabbed my head and started to guide me through the blow job, making me choke several times, he got his leg up next to me. I was blowing him for a few minutes, when suddenly he pulled me back to get his cock out of my mouth and said: Wait, wait, you’ll make me cum. His cock was all wet now, and so hard. He then said: Or do you want my cum already?

I do, said.

I thought he was gonna keep me going with the blow job, but he pushed me back having me laying back on the bench, and lifted my legs, my ass was almost hanging from the edge of the bench. Oh, wait, wait, i said.

I can only cum if I use a pussy, boy, he said. He spread my legs by pushing the back of my knees to the back. I felt all spread out, my hole was completely exposed, i felt it palpitating, some part of me wanting me to get fucked and used by these mexican old guy.

He said with a very serious face: Stupid fucking gringo, look at your pink pussy, im gonna have it leaking of cum once im through using your pussy. 

He positioned the purple head of his cock at my hole, I didnt think if i wanted to get fucked by him, but i tried  opening my hole as much as i could, he spat on my hole three times and he started to push inside of me, almost ramming his cock completely in me, i felt him sliding into me, stretching my hole and making me moan, almost scream.

 It was painful, instinctively i put my hand on his belly, trying to stop him, but in a matter of seconds he had his cock completely buried in me. He stopped for a second, i moaned again, he slid easilty into me thanks to his saliva, but it was painful. He looked into my eyes and said: You are fucked, idiot, im not getting my cock out of your pussy until i filled it with cum. He then started to fuck me in and out at good speed.

He was grabbing me by the waist, using my body, my hole to masturbate, he was going on for like 3 minutes when i told him: Can you give me a break?

He didnt listen, the fucker was still going in and out of me, it felt good. I was shocked how quickly it turned into pleasure. Getting used by this guy, someone that outside of this place i wouldnt even look felt embarrassing.

He was panting, pounding me hard, maybe not too fast, but hard and deep at good rhythm. He was looking directly into my green eyes, my face didnt let me lie, i was having pleasure, like a bitch enjoying getting fucked, his cock made me his slut.

These went on for several minutes until he pushed and rammed in me deeper, trying to get as deep as possible and he grunted, i felt his cock palpitating inside my hole. I thought he was gonna last longer, but the idea of my ass milking his cock made me feel hit.

Once he deposited the last drop of hot cum depp inside my hole, he pulled out of me, standing in front of me catching his breath. I was still on my back, with my legs spread out, i felt my hole loose and well lubricated.

Without saying a word, he grabbed his towel, wrapped it around his waist and left the sauna. I lowered my legs to rest. Not even a minute later another guy came in, he was in his forties, maybe, short, skinny, light brown skin, a couple of tattoos in his chest, head shaved but with a moustache.

He got close to me smiling and asked: Whats up boy, did the other guy already used you?. I smile awkwardly  and said yes, i was still on my back. He then asked: Can i see your hole? i like looking at holes after they’ve been used. It was weird, but i was there, honestly was still recovering and lifted my legs again, and said it was ok.

My recently fucked hole was exposed, he said: Oh boy, it looks nice and ready. With a finger he started caressing my hole, i felt him pressing it against my hole pushing it inside. I jumped a little bit and moaned and turned to look at him. What? did it hurt?

I said no, but i didnt know if I wanted this guy to finger me, but as i was thinking he was slowly pushing his thumb in and out of me. Nah, it’s impossible for my thumb to hurt you, your pussy is already loose. Them talking to me like this made me horny, but in a matter of seconds he lifted the towel he had wrapped around his waist and rammed his cock into me fast, it made me moan.

He moved so fast i didnt even see his cock. It felt smaller than the other guy’s but it was girthy and also uncut. As soon as he was in me i felt pleasure again, not as much as with the other guy, though.

He started pushing in and out of me easily saying: Oh baby, your pussy needed some more cock, right?, I just moaned, he smiled and said: But here you are, showing you pink little pussy to anyone who asks, you are a slut arent you? Want more cum?

i turned to see him in the eyes moaning as a slut and said “Yes, please, i want more cum in me”, my eyes were barely open from the pleasure. He got even more horny and fucked me faster saying: That’s how I like sluts, i love using sluts like you. I dont always get the chance to fuck such a beautiful slut. I was already hooked to his cock in my hole, i just moaned and said that yes, that i was a slut. He smiled while he enjoyed using my hole.

He was inside of me using me for several minutes. He was sweating so much, we were inside the sauna, his sweat dripped all over me, but he didnt slow down. Then he gave his last few pumps into me pushing deeply and said: There you go, slut, all my cum. He stayed in me with his cock deep in me, emptying all his load. I clenched my hole and felt each pump of load. He filled me up a lot.

He was panting, pulled out of me and looked at me and my hole proudly, he slapped my hole a couple of times and said: What a beautiful cumdump, you are just a bucked for men’s loads, arent you?

I was just moaning and he left the sauna. I felt suffocated from being there for so long so I left too to the showers to get some cold water on me. After that i went to another like sauna but that was illuminated, but right after i went in i saw a guy in his late thirties, getting a blow job from like a twink. The guy getting the blow job i actually liked, he was light skinned, full beard, a little bit of a belly, with a hairy chest, hairy legs and hairy cock. It looked like 5’5 inches, fat, veiny and uncut.

I got jealous at the twink, the first guy I actually liked and he was taken. He saw me but ignored me and continued enjoying the blowjob. So i decided to leave and went into de hottub. This time it was empty, i sat on the warm water, i was still horny, so jerked my cock a little bit underwater.

I was there for a few minutes when the guy with the beard comes out of the sauna and joins me in the hot tub. ‘What’s up, bro, are you from here?, he said. I nervously laughed and said no, that i was from spain but lived in the US my whole life.

He continued by saying: Can you imagine the faggot twink that was blowing me. Imagine what?, i said, he replies: He was there acting like a slut asking for cock and when i wanted to fuck him, the idiot says he only wanted to suck dick, fucking faggot, why is he here then. I told him to fuck off.

I just laughed and then asked: Why are you here?. I dont know, wanted to explore, i told him. He got up, naked in front of me, his cock was hard: Why dont you turn around, i really wanna use a hole right now.

He was so hot, i felt like a bitch in heat from the other two fucks, so I did, i got up, turned around and i placed my hands at the edge of the hot tub. “Now look at that fine ass, that’s what im talking about, he says, he gets behind my, i felt him spit in his hand and then my ass and rams his cock in me.

As soon as he is deep inside of me and that he noticed how easily his cock entered me he said: Oh, slut, someone has used your pussy before, right? i went in with no problem. He started fucking me at good speed, i moaned feeling his cock in me.

How many have fucked you alread?, he asks without stoppin. Two, i answer in between moans. He slapped my ass and said: You are a fucking slut, a fucking cum bucket. I kept on moaning.

I love whores, he said. I just thought about how many men liked fucking the same guy one after the other.

I arched my back and kept on moaning, he grabbed my waist and said: I love how you arch your back and push your bubble butt out, like a bitch in heat.  I closed my eyes, just enjoying him inside my hole.

I felt in heaven, he sped up, i asked him to cum. He said: here it goes, whore, more cum for you, there it goes, ahhhhh. He psuhed deeply as his cock palpitated inside of me, dropping another load of hot cum. I clenched my hole, until he finished emptying in me. When he pulled out of me, he spread my buttcheeks, slapped my ass and said: Fucking hungry pussy.

We got out of the hot tub, for a few minutes we were catching our breath, when he said: Why dont you do me a favor, whore?. What do you mean?, i asked. You see the clerk at the entrance, he’s my friend, i know he is ugly as fuck, but you’d do me a solid and him if you let him use your pussy, he said.

Im not sure, he’s not my type, i said. And he was not, he was very ugly, he was balding, really really fat, even his hands were fat.

Oh come one, dont be such a prude, you have 3 loads in you already, one more wouldn’t hurt. Besides you are so pretty, he’s never gonna have the chance to fuck someone like you. The guy said, i thought he was very handsome, i wanted to please him. He continued: Look, he has a small office in the back, you and me go there, we get in the mood, and then if you are up for it you let him have his turn with your ass, what do you think?

I really liked him so I agreed. He went to a backroom that seemed like a storage room, it was not that small, had a desk and some stuff in the back. The guy with the beard grabbed me from my waist,pushed me to the desk, then turned me around and as he kissed me, he pushes me back, ending up laying on my back on the desk. Let me see your pussy, he said.  Now, on my back, he spread my legs, pushing through the back of my knees. Again my hole exposed. It’s starting to look swollen, whore, from all the pounding.

I hear the door open, i look up and I see the clerk, he was taller than i thought and bigger. The guy with the beard started playing with two fingers putting them inside of me, making me moan. You are still horny arent you, bitch? he said.

I felt out of control, i closed my eyes and moaned, i didnt care the clerk was seeing us. I only wanted to enjoy. I tried pushing my hole out to open it more. The guy with the beard spread my buttcheeks and spat directly on my hole. 

Then I hear some pants unbuckling and dropping to the floor, i try looking up, but the guy with the beard quickly gets to my side and says “Shhh, dont mind him, keep busy with this”, and he puts his cock in my mouth and i suck it.

I feel another set of hands pushing the back of my knees to keep my legs open, its the clerk, his big hands hold me tight. “Fucking slut, you are all stretched out already”, he said, i feel his cock penetrating me, his thick cock, i feel his pubes against my skin, he goes deep in me. I moan as i suck the other guy’s cock, my mouth is stretching too, he grabs my head and moves faster into my mouth. 

The clerk says: “You like getting spit roasted, whore?”, he penetrates me with long strokes, my ass felt so good, so tender. “Your pussy lips are pulling out whore, fucking damn”, i could feel my ass stretching out, pulling out with his deep strokes. ‘With yours, he’s had four cocks in him already today’, the other guy said.

He was fucking me for several minutes until he pushed in deep and gave me another big load in my hole, “You found a nice cum bucket”, the clerk said. He stayed inside of me and then slowly pulled out, i felt empty.

“Nice used whore”, the guy with the beard said, he also face fucked me until he cummed in my mouth, it was not a lot of cum since he had already cum in me before. But I swallowed it. “So fucking hungry, arent you? 

The clerk put his pants on again and left the room. The guy with the beard handed me my towel and we both left the room too. He said he had to leave. I went to the shower, i wanted to clean myself, i had four loads inside of me, i let the cold water hit my body, try to let some of the cum to come out of me. When i suddenly felt someone push me against the wall, i tried to turn around but with his hand he pushed my face against the wall, it was another 40 year old, he was tall, looked rough, big muscle arms but with a big belly, “The clerk said there was a little spanish whore letting anyone use his pussy, i can see it is you”, he said, with his other hand he pulled my ass out to, and with his feet he pushed my legs apart, i felt his cock slide into me easily. “Fucking wow, you are so loose, almost like a professional whore’s pussy”, he said as he fucked me, I just let him use me, he was quick, i felt like an object, in some way i was.

As soon as he cummed in me, he slapped my ass and left, i barely saw his face. I quickly went to the locker room and got dressed, i was sore already, i’d taken 5 dicks inside of me, the most i’ve had yet in one day. My phone’s battery died so i couldnt call for an uber, so i left the bulding and stopped a taxi and got into the taxi.

“I saw you coming out from that place, blondie”, what were you doing there?, he said, in Mexico they call blondie anyone who is white. I didnt know what to answer, why did he care, did he know what kind of place it was?

“Oh, just checking things out”, i tried to say and look out the window, i didnt wanna talk to him.

I still didn’t know the city that well, so i didn’t know if he was taking the right route to my house. I hear him calling someone over the radio and he said he had something and he said a number, like a code, but i didnt pay much attention.

I realized he turns around in a corner and its a dead end, there’s some houses there. “Why are we here?”, i asked. He turned around and im able to see his face completely for the first time, he was so ugly, he was missing one of his front teeth, had short hair, although he looked tall, he was kinda chubby. “I know why you were there, handsome”, he says as he touches his growing bulge.

“Can you take me home, please?”, i say firmly.  He keeps rubbing his cock, “Only after you help me with this”, he says and grabs his bulge and strokes it.”My place is here, we go in, i have a little fun with you and then i take you home, blondie”, he continued.

I was sore, but i knew Mexico could be dangerous, they’ve warned me before, so I thought perhaps if i gave him what he wanted he wouldnt do anything bad to me, so I agree. We got off the taxi, he led me to his house, it was not a nice house, it barely had any furniture inside. He led me to one of the rooms, it had just a small bed a tv and a night stand.

He turned me around and started kissing me, pushing his tongue in my mouth, he was gross, but i had to kiss him back, his hands were all over the place, my waist, my hips, my ass, but he was taller than me, although i was not very tall, im 5’8. “Ive never been with someone this beautiful, you are like a delicious candy”, he said. He pulls my shirt over my head and licks my nipples, which make me moan, while with his hands he starts to pull my pants and underwear down fast, he was like a dog in need, he felt desperate. “Wait, lets go a little slow”, i tell him, but he doesnt listen.

He spins me around again and has me on my hands and knees at the edge of the bed, with one hand he pushes my head down to the mattress, i hear him unbuckle his pants, i hear them drop to the floor, he doesnt even removed them completely, they stay around his ankles. I feel his fingers in my hole.

“Oh beautiful baby, they did a number on you, your pussy is so puffy and loose, how many men fucked you?”, i can hear him jerking, trying to make himself hard, “5”, i tell him, “Oh wow, you are a whore then?”, It seems like his hard now, he puts his cock at the entrance of my hole, he doesnt feel so big, he spits on his cock and pushes in, im so loose by then that he enters me with no problem. But im sore, i tell him to go slow, but he’s desperate and fucks me like. a rabbit, i just lay me head on the bed, let him use me, 3 minutes in and he pushes deep inside of me, i can feel a gush of cum, it was a lot, i feel cum running down my leg. A little tear runs down my cheek. “You are so gorgeous, your pussy feels so nice wrapped around my cock”, he still inside me, on top of me.

He slowly pulls out of me, more cum leaks out, “You’re a mess”, he says. “Wait here”, he tells me. Im motionless in the same position, didnt know what to think about that day, about how i was used by all these men and how i didnt stop them, part of me wanted them. Men i didnt even particularly liked. He comes in with some paper towels and helps me clean my ass from the cum leaking. “We need to clean you up”, he said.

I saw him grabbing my clothes from the floor and taking them away, i thought what the hell. I got up and got to the bedroom door. “Hey where are you taking my clothes,”, he didnt answer, and passed right next to me, he was completely dressed again and went to the front door and he opened it. 

A man comes in, he’s scary, he’s around 35 years old, he has brown skin, both arms are filled with tattoo’s, he has a goatee and has a shaven head, big nose, tall, he looked very mexican but unlike many mexicans, he was actually tall, perhaps 6’1. “You didnt mention he was a gorgeous spanish boy”, the man said, he had a deep voice. The guy walked toward the room making me walk back into the room, he closed the door.

“Quite the situation you got into, boy”, he said, “And you are naked already, nice body, nice legs, nice ass and nice small feet”, he turned me around, he was inspecting me, he had me again to get on his hands and feet on the bed, he spread my ass, “Pink pussy, beautiful, i can see it’s been used today, isnt it?, are you still tighy?”, he pushed his fingers inside of me, “You still have cum inside of you, get on your knees now… NOW”, he yelled.

I go scared and got on my knees, i knew he was gonna have me suck him. “What do you want, i can give you anything, but please let me go”, i pleaded. “What i want? Boy, you see, i want you, im gonna make you my girlfriend”, what did he mean by that. “But for now start sucking my cock”, he unbuckled his pants, a long and girthy thick and uncut cock came out, it was the biggest i’ve seen in my life. I do as he told, i knew better, his cock barely fit in mouth, he is aggressive, he pushes my head back and forth, deepthroating me, “Oh wow, you manage to almost take all my cock inside your mouth, you are experienced, gorgeous and experienced, you’ll be a perfect girlfriend”.

After a few minutes he gets tired, and helps me get up, again he places me at the edge of the bed, but on my back, spreading my legs, “I wanna look into your eyes when i make you mine”, he says. He removes his pants completely, he looks so big and imposing. His cock is rock hard, he pushes the foreskin back but it doesnt pull back completely because the head of his cock is so big. “But you see, my love, i like my girlfriends to be loose and used, so that way i can use your pussy more comfortably”, he starts pushing inside of me, making me his, “You still feel tight for my cock, princess”, he goes all in, im stretched as never in my life, i moan, he leans forward and kisses me in my mouth.

That’s the beginning of my adventures in my exchange year in Mexico and how i met him, Leonardo, or Leo as i would come to call him, we became boyfriends, it was a toxic relationship, but a relationship i still miss to this day.

I hadn’t hooked up with Christian since last Locktober. He seems to pop into my universe this time of year. Christian is a very successful lawyer, slightly older than me, slighter taller than me, very much richer than me. He’s 6’2”, mocha colored skin from the Caribbean islands, mustache, mostly dark curly head of hair with hints of grey. Christian also packs a nine inch dick with a very unique bend off to the left which my butthole always enjoys.

I think what attracts Christian each year is his affinity for locked boys. We met at the gym about eight or so years ago when Jace and I began experimenting with chastity. I was just coming out of the shower with a towel wrapped around my waist when I saw Christian sitting in the bench tying his shoes. He glanced towards me as I deliberately lost my towel and exposed my cage. A wicked smile came across his face. Next thing I know, that night I was taking his raw dick thrice in one night.

Christian travels an awful lot for work and for personal leisure. He had boys all around the world who he beds. I’m grateful to be in his roster even if it is an infrequent once or twice a year affair.

As it has been in past years it usually begins with a text.

“How’s it hanging?”, he asked.

“Locked, as usual. How are you?”

“I’m well. When can we fuck? I want to ravish you.”

Christian is also very direct and that is one thing I really like in a man. He doesn’t beat around the bush.

“Tonight?”

“I’m back in town tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow it is.”

“How long has it been?”

I knew he meant how long have I been locked.

“This time almost a full year.”

“Lovely.”

“Yes”

“Tomorrow then”

“Yes. safe travels.”

Although Locktober does end next weekend, I won’t be unlocking anytime soon. I’ve been locked up pretty much every day since last Nov 10, with a day or two here and there between the long stretches to get through airports or for more hygienic reasons. No Nut November or Deny December don’t really mean much to me. I discovered along with Jace’s help that I’m at my best when I’m locked. I don’t miss touching myself anymore. I’m comfortable knowing I’m a submissive faggot whose purpose is to serve real men who use their dicks regularly.

The next day, I had an extra pep in my step knowing I’d soon be deep dicking Christian’s cock in my throat.

About two in the afternoon he texted me.

“I’m home. Looking forward to seeing you tonight and using that free use pussy of yours.”

I always read his texts with his voice, with his sexy accent. Reading that text in that way made my hole quiver with excitement.

“Me too. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Are you at work now?”

“Yes”

“Cage pic? I want to see it.”

“Give me five.”

I headed to the single stall multi-gendered bathroom and snapped a few pics and sent them to Christian.

“Very sexy. I love it.”

“Thank you”

“Can you wear a thong tonight?”

“Yes”

“A white one?”

“Yes”

“Good boy.”

A few moments later, another text.

“Can I send you something?”

“Yes”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes”

Two dick pics came through my phone.

“You see what your cage does to me?”

“Hot”, is all I wrote. The truth was I was salivating over those dick pics. I enlarged them and studied them. That beautiful dick was going to be all mine that night.

“I need to fuck you.”

“Yes, please.”

“See you tonight.”

Christian was such a flirt. I loved that about him. A rich, powerful lawyer, texting me messages that would make him lose everything if anyone found out. I would never ever tell. I loved being the object of his affection.

The other thing is, we have a mutual friend in common. They are purely platonic and never fooled around as they are more like brothers. Our friend told me just a couple of weeks ago that Christian always tells him “what he wants to do to me”, which is kind of sexy. I had every intention of letting him do just that that very evening.

I went home from work a little earlier than usual to shave any stubble in places there shouldn’t be, to douche, and to put on that white, g-string thong I have somewhere in the bottom of my drawer. I chewed a gummy to get myself nice and loose for the occasion then I put on some jeans and a white button down shirt with the top three buttons undone. I put on some light cologne, and I was ready for our date.

I took a Lyft over to Christian’s mansion in a very affluent part of the city and rang his doorbell. He looked stunning when he answered the door. Also in an expensive pair of firm fitting jeans, and a blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a few undone buttons revealing a gold chain resting over some chest hair.

Christian closed the door behind me and pulled my hand so I would come back toward him and we made out and embraced. He’s an amazing kisser and I was immediately ready for him to use me, but that wasn’t how this evening would go just yet.

“Come, let’s have some wine before we go upstairs.”

Christian opened an expensive bottle of 2020 Caymus50 and poured us a hefty glass. We clinked our glasses together and that first sip went right to my head, but it was some very fine wine indeed.

“So how have you been?”, he asked.

“I’ve been well, it’s been a year of ups and downs, but that’s probably the same for most people.”

“A year in chastity for you? That’s impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell me why you do it?”

“Nobody really ever asked me that before.”

“I’m asking you.”, Christian has this way of looking at me like nothing she’s matters. Such intensity, so fucking hot.

“I guess I just feel comfortable when my I can’t touch my cock, and it can’t get hard.”

“I understand that, but why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could tell me, you do know.”

I took another sip, and the gummy had my head swimming.

“It makes me feel like a real faggot. I never felt like a real man.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Go on, why not?”

“I never liked girls. I always wanted to be the girl. I wanted the boy to like me, to fuck me. Real men don’t get fucked, or at least that’s what I grew up thinking.”

“So why lock it away? Just because you didn’t like girls didn’t mean you couldn’t touch yourself?”

“I like being denied. I like how it makes me feel inside. I like that I’m always horny, and I’m so eager to please, and I guess I like the build up. When Jace lets me cum, it’s incredible. It’s worth the wait.”

“I’ll never understand the mentality of a locked boy. I love swinging my dick around all day and every day. I love to fuck boys like you who don’t expect or want anything in return, who open their pussies up for me. All of you boys are all about pleasing men like me. Lucky for me, isn’t it?”

That Caymus was going to our heads with each swig of the glass.

After Christian said that to me, he leaned in for more kissing and I could taste the fine wine on his tongue. Then he placed his hand over my crotch and squeezed.

Then he broke the kiss and said sternly.

“Take them off. I want to see you in the thong. You did wear it like I asked?”

“Yes, yes I did.”

I took off my shoes and socks and then I pulled off my jeans one leg at a time and left them on the plush carpet.

“Come sit here”, Christian said as he tapped his lap.

I sat with my butt crack resting on his hardon over his jeans while he cupped my cage in his hand over my practically see through thong.

“You’re so sexy baby. I’m gonna have that ass all night tonight. You’ll see.”

I took the last swig of the wine in my glass and said, “I hope so”.

Christian’s arm wrapped around my torso, his fingers in my opened shirt found a nipple and he gently worked it round and round, making me moan gently as I ground my ass into his bulge.

“Ohh that feels so nice.”, I said.

Christian finished his wine and slid our glasses back, then he kissed the back of my neck while unbuttoning my shirt all the way.

“You smell so nice baby.”

“Thank you.”, I whispered as both nipples were now in between his fingers.

“Stand up for me baby, I wanna see you in your sexy thong.”

As much as I didn’t want to move, I did want to please Christian do I stood a foot away so he could get a good frontal look.

“Mmmmm mmmmm, so dam sexy baby. Look how it barely covers your locked cock. Now turn around for me.”

I turned around and Christian placed my butt cheeks into both of his hands and spread them.

“Bend over, I wanna see the g-string.”

I bent over and Christian snapped the string against my ass crack, it vibrated over my tingling ring.

“Sooo so sexy. You have one of the hottest asses I’ve ever fucked baby. I can’t wait to get in there.”

I didn’t respond, I just let him continue caressing my ass.

“You want to make me feel good baby?”

“Yes”

“Suck my big dick for me. Leave your thong on and get on your knees.”

Christian pulled off his jeans and his shirt, now naked, he sat on the stool with his legs apart. His erection stood upright and that glorious bend appeared just how I remembered.

Christian grabbed his erection with his fist and with the other presented his balls to me. They were slightly larger than golf balls, faintly covered with strands of short light brown hair. My tongue lapped up one and then the other. I’d wrapped my fist around Christian’s bricked up dick and took over now attempting to suck both balls at once, stretching my lips wide to take them inside and tongue them.

After a decent ball worship, it was time for some real cock work. I lifted myself up so my head was high enough to take Christian’s cock all the way down my throat to the base. I’d done it many times before so I was confident I’d do it again. I’d been visualizing this very moment all day long. Wanting to feel that hard cock slither all the way down my throat until I couldn’t breathe.  It was better than I ever remembered, Christian’s erect dick was so hard and spongy, I rolled my tongue over every ridge, my open throat forgetting it ever had a gag reflex.

Christian placed one hand on the top of my head, guiding me up and and down, up and down his shaft. His foot found my cage and began to gently kick it and  press down on it. It felt good to have a real man’s erection in my throat while he humiliated me for the forced inability to grow one myself. The clarity of knowing which one of us was entitled to dick worship and which was not was always a turn on for me.

“Yessss, oh that’s good baby. Show me how you make a man feel good, baby.”

I wanted nothing more than to please him, I let my the muscles in my neck go slack and allowed Christian to drive, moving his cock in and out of my throat cavity at his own pace. I think I was doing too good a job because suddenly his busy foot left my balls alone.

“Mmmmm, I could slide my cock down your throat all night, but it’s your pussy that I really want. Come, let’s go upstairs to my bedroom.”

Christian helped me to my feet and turned the light down and we walked upstairs to his master suite.

Once again, we embraced, more tonguing ensued and a dance toward the king bed.

Christian proceeded to push me onto the bed, on my stomach, pushed my buttocks upward, pushed the g-sting to the side and placed his face between my cheeks. Christian’s long and sensual tongue proceeded to rim me, gently licking the my sensitive folds surrounding my love tunnel, and ultimately darting his tongue in and in turn making my body shiver with excitement. Priming my butt hole for what was to come.

Listening to Christian lose himself in my mounds only made me want to give my hole up to him even more. His slender finger slid inside and deliberately found my prostate, hooking in just the right way to cause my balls to stir and my sheathed cock to leak like an old drain. Christian’s free hand slipped under the thong and cupped my warm balls and gave a gentle squeeze. It was almost cruel how he pleasured my pussy and massaged my balls, knowing full well my cock could never fully realize its full potential, taking pleasure in the knowledge that I was helplessly compromised and confident that I would welcome his cock inside of me to give me the pleasure I could not give myself.

Christian came up for air only to place his body over mine, his chest on my back, his legs spreading mine apart.

“Oh baby, I’m gonna fuck you. I wanna put my cock inside of you so bad. Open that sweet pussy for me, baby.”, he whispered into my ear, licking my earlobe and sending shivers down my spine.

His cock rubbed up and down my crack and then Christian spit into his hand and rubbed his cock to add some lubrication a few times and he’d left so much slobber inside me, that when the head of his hardon finally found my entrance, Christian gently pushed forward, expanding my balloon knot around his thickness, and I’d reached behind me, planting my hands on his hard and muscled ass, guiding his cock meat all the way down to the hilt.

I let go and then gripped the pillow just above my head, and pushed my ass up and out , practically gifting my pussy to him.

“Oh yeah baby, that’s it. Let me in. Let me dick you down the way you need it baby.”

Christian bit down on my shoulder blade while rhythmically taking my breath away.

“Oh yes! Fuck me! Take my pussy!”, I encouraged Christian.

I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted him to ravage me. Christian pinned my wrists with his hands, his chest still sticking to my back, and it was incredible to feel the power of his cock lifting me off the bed with every downstroke. I loved how my chute dilated around that thick hard dick and lit my ass up. With every thrust I felt more alive, the nerve endings in my ass became so stimulated I thought I would lose my mind.

“Ohhh ohhh yessss, fuuuckk me!”, I was pleading. I wanted to be used and at the moment I knew that when I fantasized about being with Christian that night, I imagined this very thing that was happening. Only this was very real, and it was better than the fantasy.

“Tighten that hole for me baby. I’m gonna give you a treat. Don’t worry, I have plenty more for you. Just squeeze your pussy and let me fuck it good.”

I squeezed my hole tight to increase the pressure in his shaft, and once again Christian was biting my shoulder and grunting hard as he drilled his big dick into my tiny hole. I knew I had him on the verge. The grunts were pitching higher and his body tensed over me, grunting, straining, never letting his cock stop pumping. He was just in the edge.

“Ohhh fuck! I’m gonna dump my load in you baby! Ohh fuck yeah! Keep that ass tight for me. Ohhh fuck! Ohhh shit! Ohhhh fuck! Ohhhh yeah!!! Ohhhh yeahhhhh”

Christian’s cock fired off several rounds straight into my rectum. When his orgasm subsided, his entire body collapsed onto mine. I kept squeezing my ass, clenching down, making sure I’d milked his entire load into my bowels.

Convinced my tightened sphincter had squeezed out all he had to offer in this round, Christian rolled off of me and we laid with my head on his chest, both breathing hard and coming down from the ecstasy of his orgasm.

“Damn, I needed that. I’ve been edging all day thinking about fucking that sweet ass of yours.”

“Christian, you are such a sexy man. I’d let you fuck me every single day if i could.”

“Well, baby, you’re in my bed now, and I intend to fuck you again tonight.”

“Yes please.”

Christian caressed my back and then his long arm made its way to my backside, rubbing my butt cheek, jiggling it in his hand, giving me some light taps. I did feel some of his seed spill out the rim of my gaped pussy hole, but most of it was swimming in my belly. I loved having Christian’s essence inside my body, it made me feel closer to him, and that he wanted to give me more of him was exciting.

I placed a hand on Christian’s flaccid cock while he continued playing with my globes, and once I began a slow stroking, I could feel Christian’s cock coming back to life. Feeling it harden in my grasp made me feel special, that my touch can make Christian so turned on to fuck me again and again, it does make me feel sexy, I’ll admit it.

“Suck me, cocksucker. I know you want to.”

It wasn’t an ask, it was a tell. Men like Christian do not need to ask anything, they take and expect I brought my mouth onto Christian’s hard rock of a penis and slid it all the down my throat while cupping his balls. I held myself down as long as I could before coming up for air and doing it again, after the fourth time, I was able to find a great rhythm and became Christian’s throat pussy until so much snot was coming out of my nose I had to wipe off.

Examining the mess I’d made I decided it was more than enough lube to easily mount myself on Christian’s little sailor. Besides, I did have his seed still up in there for an added coat. I finally removed the g-string, as I didn’t want anything getting in the way.

“Oh baby, it’s so hot watching you bounce on me with your locked dick. This is why fucking caged boys is the best!”

Christian inspired me to work my hole over his pole. I leaned over in such a way that the curve of Christian’s cock would scrape against my p-spot. Once I found it, I was an elated puppy, humping on it, moaning, groaning, screaming out, “oh yes! OH! YES!!”

I became the energizer bunny, using Christian’s cock to its full advantage and once I’d hit the jackpot and my nectar sprayed right out of the hole in my cage, I felt a rush of endorphins shoot right through me, and I collapsed right on Christian’s chest, my load sticking between us.

Christian rolled me over onto my back and placed my legs up on his shoulders. My hole finally unclenched and Christian used my butt hole to get himself off and unload round number two. This time he fell on me, and I hugged him so tight, and kissed his shoulder, and soothed his back until his heavy breathing ceased and his heart rate returned to normal.

“That was exquisite. Fuck, watching you come without touching yourself gets me every time.”

“It’s a special occasion when I come like that.”

“It sure is. You still want more baby?”

“Always, yes.”

Christian and I once again embraced, Christian climbed on top of me and we kissed, our bodies still gluing together from my spewed ball juice. When Christian started licking my neck, I wondered if he did this with all of his locked boys, or just me? I didn’t expect to have to hide a large hickey at work the next day, but Christian was determined to leave evidence of our tryst.

It was nearing midnight by now, and as the minutes passed since our second round, Christian was gearing up for the next. Yes, I did assist preparing his tool for the job. Hanging my head on the edge of the bed, Christian held the sides of my head in a vice grip, testing the bounds of my oral capabilities, once again finding ways to emit as much throat goo without puking. I loved being in this position, turning into a human mouth pussy, but for me, an added bonus was the feeling of Christian’s heavy balls smothering my face. Hanging and heavy testicles, even after shooting two rounds, was impressive and I loved knowing that every time they cane up against me, they were churning and brewing up more delicious seed to soon be emptied in my ass.

Once Christian worked himself into ass fucking mode, he pulled his cock out, and had me flip so that I was ass yo and face down on the mattress. I hugged a pillow and braced for an epic deep dicking.

Christian did not waste time. Once again using my own spit for coating his cock and once inside, using his own spilled seed, I was power driven from behind enabled by our natural body fluids.

I’d just watched TimTales latest release while getting ready for Christian. In it, a hot Cuban top, Alejandro Cabrera tops a new Colombian bottom, Nicolas Novos. When Alejandro takes him from behind, the pure joy on his bottom’s face was so apparent. A bottom that appreciates a good and hard ass fuck.

Well, I was now in that very same scenario, and I had that giddy elated grin on my face.

“Ohhh yes! Ohhh fuck me!”, I begged. A man’s hard penis pumping me full of dick is what I live for.

Christian didn’t last as long this time as he did in round two, but I don’t think he was going for long and sensual. This was something different, tapping into a man’s biological instinct to breed, an untamed animal emerged, he let loose and used my slutty hole for everything it was worth.

When Christian came this final time, it felt like an earthquake had hit us. His body shook and the release was so epic. I could even feel the strength of his unloading as I wrapped my hole around his pulsating cock, marveling at just how much of his baby makers were injecting into me.

This time I couldn’t fight the urge to spin around and clean off his fuck weapon. It appeared exactly as I’d imagined, coated with white froth, just there for the taking. I opened wide with every intention to ingest all the seed I could get.

Christian collapsed on his chest, exhausted. He’d had quite the workout, working three loads in three hours.  I laid myself onto of him, my cage resting between his legs and I kissed his cheek and thanked him for such a wonderful evening.

Once he’d drifted off to sleep, I collected my things and called for a ride home, doing everything that I could to keep Christian’s essence inside of me in the car. There was no doubt I smelled like sex, and my shirt collar did nothing to hide that huge hickey. The middle-aged Middle-Eastern driver kept giving me this smug look in the rear view mirror like he knew what I’d been up to for the entire ride home. I offered him no details and remained quiet for the entire ride, letting him wonder.

Once home, I’d found the perfect butt plug from my collection. It is short and stubby, but very wide. I wanted a stopper to sleep with.

I cursed up in bed wearing just my strap over my cage, plugged, and sated.

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

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Helping an Underwear Model

Arjun, my husband, and I were at the beginning of a week-long vacation to the Canary Islands. We had booked a resort on a ridge above the ocean. When we arrived, the receptionist explained that we were the only guests that were not part of a photography crew. The resort was being used as a staging ground for a men’s underwear campaign. We were assured we had full access to all the amenities and grounds, we were just asked not to interfere with any of the photoshoots. But we were welcome to observe. 

We unpacked and got comfortable in our room. The hour was late, so after taking a quick stroll around the grounds, we went to bed. We woke early the next morning, and after a long day out swimming, hiking, and sightseeing, we came back to the resort in the late afternoon to relax and nap by the pool. 

Arjun wore a pair of short, tight orange swim trunks the showed off his ass nicely and contrasted with his brown skin. I had on a high legged, slim cut black speedo with a red cross-hatching design. The red in the design highlighted my ginger undertones. And the cut of the speedo accentuated my butt and package nicely, especially since I had been playing with Arjun’s butt as he got dressed and had given myself a chub. 

Arriving at the large, open pool area, a photoshoot was set up on the far end. There was plenty of room for us to enjoy the patio and pool without getting in anyone’s way, even with what must have been 30 people working the shoot. 

Our curiosity piqued, we watched the buzz of the shoot, mainly looking for the male models. We only saw one model and flashed each other wide grins when we spotted him. 

Tall, lean muscle, a thin smattering of hair around his small brown nipples and on his chest, lightly tanned skin, dark thin beard, and just a hint of grunge with an arm tattoo, we both found him very attractive. 

He was currently modeling a pair of white briefs. Even from our spot roughly 30 feet away we could see his penis made a nice, pronounced outline. It was curled down to the left, the head curved over his left testicle. He moved around a small space, stopping in different poses, and from time to time reaching into his underwear to reposition his penis – up and to the left, straight down between his testicles – each time the director on the set giving him instructions. Flashes from the cameras were constant. 

“I’d like to adjust his penis for him,” I said, only half-jokingly. 

Arjun smiled, “That and a whole lot more.” Arjun and I chatted and drank some afternoon tea. The sun was hot, and the soft breeze kept us comfortable. Our attention remained largely on watching the model conduct his business. Still, we had missed him disappear behind a partition. A short while later when he reemerged, he wore a skimpier pair of briefs with black sides and a long, red mesh pouch. His penis was pointing down and looked extremely long in the contoured pouch. 

“Damn,” Arjun exclaimed. “That’s hot.” 

I smiled and nodded; my eyes glued to the model’s body. 

As if sensing our growing interest, the model looked over at us and met our gazes. 

He continued to shift his stance and make new poses, but the fluidity of his movements seemed strained. When he shifted, he kept playing with his pouch. When he reached in now to change his penis’s direction, he gave it a few strokes. 

The photography director said something, and the model stroked himself more. A sense of frustration seemed to be growing on the set. 

The director was chatting with someone, likely an intern. The director then went over to chat with the model. They were gesturing, both annoyed, and both focused on the red mesh pouch. The model grabbed himself and squeezed, seeming to make a point. 

“This is getting even more interesting,” Arjun said. “I wonder what the issue is, his package looks great to me.” 

“I think it’s not behaving, not staying a bit engorged to make the underwear look even sexier,” I responded. “You know how many of the men in the underwear images we look at clearly have a chub, if not a nearly full erection.” 

Arjun hummed to himself, pondering the situation. 

The model was looking over at us and gesturing, still chatting with the director. The intern as called over and consulted with the director, then came our way. 

“Are we in trouble,” Arjun asked jokingly, watching the intern approach. 

“Hi,” the young intern said hesitantly. “I hope you’re enjoying the patio and watching our photoshoot.” He paused, judging a response. 

“Very much so,” I said smiling. “We’ve never seen an underwear shoot in person before.” 

He smiled, sensing he could continue with his task. 

“Well, maybe you’d like to be a part of it,” he offered sweetly, trying to rope us in. “We have a bit of a strange ask though.” 

Arjun and I glanced at each other, giving him our full attention. 

“Our model is having some difficulty, um, down there,” he continued, motioning toward my crotch. “He isn’t staying, um, as full as like we need him to be to get the best shoots. Usually, we have a guy on set, our model is gay, who takes care of that, but he couldn’t be here this week.” 

Arjun gave me a smirk and looked down at my crotch, which was back to being chubbed. 

“So, we would like to offer the job to one of you.” 

“Just to be clear, you’d like one of us to help keep your underwear model with a slight erection,” I asked, both from disbelief and excited interest. 

“Well, ah, yes,” the young intern stammered, “You’d be our fluffer in a sense. And we will pay you fifty Euro an hour for your service. Pardon, ah, the word choice.” 

Arjun and I laughed and looked at each other. 

“That’s good money,” I said, my curiosity piqued. “And I’d play with him for free anyway…” I continued, turning to Arjun, “What do you think? Is this something we want to do?” 

Arjun turned to the young man, “My husband, Grant, will be happy to help.” 

He looked at me to confirm, and I at Arjun. “Let me give you guys a moment; I’ll just be over there.” 

“Go for it honey,” Arjun said encouraging me. “I know you want to play with this guy, we both do, but I also want to watch you do it. It will be hot. And the money will be good for fun, easy work.” 

The intern reported back to the director and model, who now walked over to us. I watched his pouch bounce slightly with each step, imaging what it would be like to play with it. Up close, his face was slim, had a chiseled jaw and cheekbone outline, a sharp nose, and small, sleepy, seductive eyes. His abs were smooth. And he had a noticeable tan line from a speedo with just a bit more coverage than the underwear he currently wore. 

“Hi guys,” he said, reaching out his hand. We both stood and shook, knowing it was the one he’d adjusted his penis with. “I’m Aros, and I’m grateful for your help. This doesn’t usually happen, I’m stuck in my head today, but I saw how you guys looked at me, and thought you’d be willing to help.” 

“I’m Grant, and this is my husband Arjun,” I said. “We’re happy to help.” And there it was, I’d made my decision. I was buzzing with nervous excitement. 

“You’re sure you’re comfortable with this,” he asked, looking at me. “And you, with your husband enticing my penis, especially in front of all these people,” Aros asked Arjun. 

We smiled. “Yes, it will be hot,” Arjun responded. I could see he was getting a chub, the front of his swim trunks showed a noticeable bulge, just like the one in my speedo. This was not lost on Aros. 

“Looks like you’re both excited for this,” he mused. “That alone is getting me back into things,” he said, pulling on his penis through the pouch. 

He touched Arjun’s shoulder, “Thanks for this,” and placed it over me shoulders, walking me over to the set. 

The intern positioned me just beyond the camera angles, and they began flashing again. Aros’s penis had enough blood in it for now. 

After a few minutes, the charm had worn off. He gestured for me to come over. I was not sure how this worked. The crew was around but disinterested, taking a quick break for themselves. So, technically we had an audience for what we would do, but only Arjun was actively engaged. As I stepped close to Aros, I placed my hand on his crotch and rubbed and squeezed his penis through the fabric. The mesh was soft, and his penis and testicles were easy to play with. 

“That’s it,” Aros said in encouragement. “You seem like a natural. That’s good, thanks.” 

“I am gay,” I joked with a wink. “I know my way around a package.” I went back to my spot and looked over at Arjun. He waved and smiled, giving me a ‘thumbs-up’. 

More photos were taken. Aros went for a wardrobe change, now emerging with a yellow jockstrap, but a noticeably diminished penis. 

I went over, placing my palm against his package and rubbed his penis, which was positioned up and to the right. I rubbed with good pressure and could feel his penis move around underneath. The skin was flexible enough to move along with the fabric, clearly, he was uncut. 

We looked at each other, my hand stroking his dick, and a spark passed between us. He moaned softly, audible only to us. He was plenty hard now. 

About 15 minutes passed with Aros posing and changing positions. They got him from all angles, close ups on the penis, him flexing his muscles, jumping in the air, and from behind standing, lounging to the side, and with one leg raised in the air. His firm, lean, hairless butt flexed and pulled against the yellow straps of the jockstrap, and once or twice I caught a quick glimpse of his smooth, dark anus. 

Arjun had moved closer and was intently watching. We smiled at each other. 

Aros changed again, now wearing a lime green thong. 

He posed with his back to the camera and flexed his muscles, a hint of lime green fabric showed to the camera, cradling his heavy testicles. The thong strap waistband flowed over the muscles of his glutes, dipping as it held the thin strap that disappeared into his crack. He turned, getting shots taken from the side and then the front. 

He gestured me over. 

I played with the bulge as before, massaging his penis and testicles through the fabric. 

“You can go further,” Aros whispered invitingly. “I think I need a bit more this time.” 

From all the views of his butt, I wanted to explore that and hoped it would help him get chubbed again. Keeping my hand on his package, I reached my other one around and massaged his slender, firm, and smooth butt cheek. As I massaged, my hand drifted further until my fingers reached Aros’s crack and traced underneath the thong string. I caught the fabric between my index and forefinger and gave it a gentle tug upward so that it pressed and rubbed against his taint and anus. 

He felt his penis throb in my hand, and he moaned again, a bit louder this time. 

I went back to my position. Arjun smiled at me and gave his penis a quick rub in his trunks as I smiled back. My husband was getting hard watching the scene unfolding. 

Aros went for another change and came out wearing an orange bikini brief, with just a thin waistband connecting the skimpy fabric in the front to the full seated fabric in the back. 

Arjun and I smiled at each other. He knew I’d love this. 

Aros motioned me over. As I played with his crotch, tracing my fingers around the edge of the fabric, it covered his ample package well with plenty of space in the pouch, but there was minimal cover to the sides. As I brought my fingers up toward the thin waistband, the fabric revealed some hairs of his light brown bush. I gently pulled on them, and tucked my fingertips under the fabric, playing with his bush. 

He moaned and looked at Arjun. “Your husband is really into this,” he said, delighted and clearly getting horny from the situation. “Looks like you are too,” looking down at my tented speedo. 

“I’m loving this,” I said, looking him in the eye. “This is my favorite pair so far; bikinis are one of my favorite designs and orange is my favorite color.” 

Aros’s penis throbbed. 

He was plenty chubbed, so I withdrew, not wanting to take him too far. 

About 20 minutes of photos were taken before I was called over again. 

Aros stretched the pouch out from his body as I walked over. Stepping up to him, the fabric covered nothing. Nestled inside the underwear I could see his light brown 4-inch flaccid penis and heavy hairless testicles. “Why not go for it,” he said. “The fluffer we usually use doesn’t hold back. He often starts right away with sucking me.” 

Aros touched his hand to my hip and gave it a squeeze, smiling as he looked at me, giving me encouragement. 

I looked over at Arjun who responded by squeezing his erect penis through his swim trunks. 

My hand now had a mind of its own and it pulled the orange pouch to the side, letting Aros’s full package hand out. It was a balmy 85 degrees and his testicles were fully descended in the heat. His flaccid uncut penis was back at its natural 4 inches. The foreskin was covering his head, but the ridge was still visible. 

He must have a strong ridge I thought. 

My hand, still with a mind of its own, went in to investigate and pulled his foreskin back, revealing his head and the deep valley around the ridge. 

Aros and I moaned, then smiled at each other when we heard our harmony. 

I jacked his penis, feeling its smooth warmth in my hand. He chubbed up almost instantly. 

He moaned again, “Oooof, I respond really quickly to your attentions.” His eyes lingered on mine. 

I tucked him back into the pouch and he adjusted himself for another round of photos. 

I went back one last time to help him out another 20 minutes later. The next rounds he said would be speedo shots during which they would oil his body, which inevitably ended up on his penis. “I can take things from here, with all this excitement you’ve provided, if you and Arjun stay to watch me. You’ve gotten me back in my headspace, and you guys observing my work is keeping me revved up. Just give me one last bit of pleasure to keep with me for the rest of the shoot.” 

I played with his butt through the fabric with one hand and his penis with the other. I ventured under the fabric to find his crack and released his penis. 

Playing with his crack, trailing my fingers up and down, just out of reach of his anus, I dropped to my knees and without hesitation took his penis in my mouth.

“Yes,” he whispered, moaning, “but be gentle or I will cum.”

On the patio, in front of a 30 person crew and my husband, I was basically being paid to suck on a sexy underwear model’s penis. I too was close to cumming. My speedo glistened with precum where my cockhead strained against the fabric.

Aros instantly became hard, his dick pulsing in my mouth. I resignedly let him go. As I stood up, he moved in for a brief kiss, adjusted himself, and continued with his modeling.

I rejoined Arjun in the shade, lounging a sunchair, and gave him a long, deep kiss. I was riled up. Parting lips, he handed me a cup of water.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Arjun said.

“Mmmmmm, you liked that did you,” I said coyly, rubbing his erection.  

“Darn right, and so did you,” he said, squeezing my erection.

More precum oozed from my head, seeping through the fabric and leaking onto Arjun’s hand. He leaned in and licked it off.

“Careful,” I said, “or I’ll cum.”

With a smirk, “I’ll save that for later,” he responded.

As I laid down next to Arjun, was saw that Aros was watching us intently. He must have done a quick change because he now wore a powder blue, thin and loose fabric speedo. His penis and testicles cradled in the excess fabric in the front, held tightly by the overall formed fit clinging to his hips and butt.

He winked at us and refocused on the shoot.

He changed again, this time wearing a black speedo trunk cut, and his skin was fully oiled. He glistened in the sun.

Multiple more rounds of changes took place, with the final being a bikini cut white speedo. My erection had not subsided, and this certainly wasn’t going to help.

Arjun turned to me and grinned, “I know you want that to explode in your mouth, and I want to see it in there.”

“Hot,” I breathed.

Aros modeled several different poses and worked his way closer to the pool, bringing him closer to us. With a shorter distance, we could now see, however faintly, numerous wet spots on the pouch of the speedo. The biggest and more obvious one was right where his penis head currently pressed against the fabric.

“Oh shit,” I said in excitement, “He’s leaking.”

“Mmm hum,” Arjun said in appreciative agreement. “Hot.”

The leaking had no impact on the photoshoot, which proceeded as planned. Aros continued to look over at us and touch himself, maintaining the impressive chub. The last time he looked over, Arjun squeezed my cock, releasing a pearl of precum, which he collected and licked off his fingers, all while looking Aros in the eyes.

I nearly came right there, seeing my husband so worked up and brazen in his sexual interactions.

Aros’s wet spot was now much larger, and like mine, dripped a bit from the speedo. Interestingly though, he was still only chubbed, not fully erect. As an experienced model, back in his headspace, it looked like he was pretty good at controlling himself.

For the last set of photos, Aros jumped in the pool. He splashed water and posed for a while, eventually he slowly pulled himself from the pool. His wet and oiled arm muscles and abs glistened and rippled with the effort. Cameras and flashes caught every second of this final position. As he pulled his waist over the edge of the pool, he lifted his far leg to help him stand. The white speedo had turned opaque, leaving only hints to the imagination.

His tanned butt cheeks clearly visible through the wet white speedo plastered to them. Same for his penis and testicles, catching anyone’s attention with the juxtaposition of brown wet penis and testicles to white wet speedo.

Aros stood tall, reaching his arms over his head and going up on his tiptoes, he fully stretched his body, pushing his hips forward, more blood entered his penis and gave him more of an erection. More precum also pushed out his penis and pooled in a globe through the fabric before trailing down his penis toward the center of the speedo pouch.

The final camera and flash snapped, and the director called the day.

The crew immediately began breaking down the photoshoot set up.

Aros chatted briefly with the director, they shook hands, and he made a beeline for where we were sitting.

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