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  • Leathered Ass

    My bitch’s ass looks so hot wrapped in leather.  Today he is wearing  beautiful blue leather shorts.  The leather is soft and beautiful.  I rub it with my hands and then start to lick it.  I love the smell and taste of leather.  I have had fetish for leather and boots since I was young.  I am hard now and unzip my leather jeans.  Precum is dripping from my dick on to the blue leather.  It glistens there.  I rub it into the leather.  I pull his shorts down so I can enjoy his lovely ass. My bitch is Jerry, 20 years old with a gorgeous twink body.  I massage and slap his pretty butt and he begins to moan as I finger his  pretty pink hole which is getting moist.  I need to rim it now which I can do for hours.

    I am Jack, 33 years old.   Jerry has been my bitch for a year.  I am 5-11, weigh 175.  I am wearing black leather jeans  with high top black platform Chucks.  I love my bitch so much. She is such pretty femboy with head full of light brown curly hair with blond highlights. Her nails are bright blue matching her leather shorts.  I love her pearl necklace, rings and round earrings that dangle from each ear.  There is red heart tattoo on her nape that I like to kiss when I am fucking her.

    Jerry is crying now for me to fuck her. 

    “Daddy, fuck me now.  I need your cock inside me.  Oh fuck”

    I pull her shorts  so Jerry is just earing a beautiful pair of knee high white patent leather laced boots.  These boots look so good on her.  I have several pics of her just in these boots that I love to look at on my phone and jerk off.

      With Jerry on her back I go deep inside with her boots over her head. 

    I tell Jerry how pretty she looks and how much I want her.  She loves to hear this and is moaning loudly.

    “You’re my pretty girl that I love fucking.  Oh yeah, bitch.”

    I come on different parts of Jerry’s lovely body.  Besides inside his pussy, I love to spray her pretty ass with my cum that I will use to massage his ass.  I also love to drop my load on her hole. Seeing my cum on that pretty pink hole that I just fucked makes me hard and will enter my pretty bitch again.  If Jerry has been blowing me, I will spray her face with my cum. She looks so pretty then.  I enjoy kissing  and licking the cum on her face.  I like to piss on Jerry’s pretty ass in the shower.  I will  get hard again pissing on that lovely butt that I take her from behind and drop my load inside her  or on her ass. 

    Now I am holding her white laced boots and licking them.  When Jerry sees my lips on her gorgeous boots she comes.   OOOOOOOOH. Fuck!

    Now I want to come on these beautiful white boots and I do.  AUUUUUUUUUH.

    I take  her  boots and kiss and lick my cum on the white leather.

    “OMG.  Do my gorgeous white boots. I feel so beautiful in these boots.”

    “Yeah they are perfect for you.  They  go so well with your blue leather shorts.  You have to be the hottest bitch I know”

    We lie together, holding each other. 

    Jerry goes on down my hi top black platform boots.

    “You look so hot in these big black boots.  I love it when you ride me in your big black boots.”

    Jerry sucks the toe of my boot and strokes the boot.  I am hard again as she does my boot.

    “Get on your back, faggot, I am going to fuck you with my boot”

    The wet toe of the boot slides into her moist pussy.

    “Oh  fuck me with your boot.  I love seeing your boot on my ass”

    I fuck Jerry with my boot till I come again spraying my come on Jerry. 

    “OH FUCK, Bitch.  My boot looks so good on your hole”

    “I love it when you fuck me with your boots, including your cowboy boots”

    “Ok next time I’ll wear my purple cowboy boots and fuck you.  I will enjoy rubbing the toe of those boots against your blue leather ass before I fuck you.  My purple boots will look so good against the blue leather shorts”

  • I Let My Straight Friend Use Me

    (All involved were over 18 at the time of the events)

    I was inspired to write this story based on a similar one I read here recently. In other words, what happened in that person’s story was pretty similar to something that actually happened to me in real life.

    My co-worker/friend and I were out of town on a job. The company only paid for one room, not individual rooms, which was no big deal because that’s how it always was. This particular time, my friend and I had made the rounds at the local bars and a strip club, but were now back chilling in our room.

    He told me that him and his girlfriend recently broke up, and he shouldn’t have gone to the strip club because now he was horny as fuck. I said, “Well, jerking off is the usual remedy for that.” He said, “Yeah, I know.” but then said jerking off just didn’t cut it sometimes. Then he started asking me about the pros and cons of being bi, which he knew I was.

    I said being only straight or only gay was like ignoring half the menu in a restaurant, the way I looked at it. Then he asked me if I ever let a straight guy just fuck me, “you know”, without getting fucked in return. I said maybe not a whole lot, but a few times, yeah.

    Being the dumb ass I was, I just then realized what he was getting at. Most people would have seen it way before that, but no. So I said “Sooo, you’re wanting to fuck, is what you’re saying?” He said, “Yeah, would that be cool?” I said, “Well fuck, man, you can’t just spring that on somebody like that.” He said, “My bad, just forget it.”

    I said, “I’m not saying I don’t want to do it, but maybe you need to be a little smoother than that in the future.” He said, “Nah, I was just fucking with you anyway. We’re cool.”

    So we watched TV for about 30 minutes, and I could see him out of the corner of my eye rubbing his dick through his pants. I was wondering if he was planning on just cumming right in his pants or what. It was pretty comical. 

    After another minute or two he said, “So, uh, about before. You think we could go ahead and do that or what?” I laughed and said, “Well, you’re the horny dog that’s jerking off through his pants, so it’s kind of up to you whether you want to do it or not.” He said, “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

    I got some coconut oil out of my bag. He stood up and walked over to my bed. He said, “So how do we go about this?” I said, “The usual way. You don’t know how to fuck?” He laughed and said, “I meant, you know, what position or whatever.” That was a little bit surprising because in my limited experience with purely straight guys, almost invariably, they wanted to fuck you doggy style. That was the easiest way to pretend you were a girl, I guess. Looking straight down at your ass while they were fucking. 

    He just stood there. So I said, “Did you have something in particular in mind?” He said, “Well, I guess so. If you’re cool with it.” I said, “Spit it out, man! We’re going to be here all night playing question-and-answer.” 

    He said, “It’d be cool if you laid on your back and let me get on top of you and fuck you kind of missionary position.” That was REALLY surprising. This guy and me that used to fuck (just a fuck buddy, I guess) did that quite a bit, but never once, ever, had I heard a straight guy say he wanted to do it like that.

    I said, “Ok, that’s cool.” I stood up and took my shorts and underwear off and laid back down near the edge of the bed and pulled my knees up toward my chest. I said, “Like this?” He said, “Hell yeah, exactly like that.”

    He dropped his pants and underwear. His dick was hard as a diamond. He stepped closer but made no move to actually stick it in. He said, “So, uh…” I said, “Holy shit, dude. You’ve never fucked before. Now everything makes sense. You have no idea how to fuck.” He laughed again and said, “Yes I have, I’m just not sure if this is kind of like the same thing or what?” I said, “Fuck yes, it’s like the same thing. To fuck, you just, you know, start fucking.”

    He pressed the head of his dick against my butt hole and started pushing. It went in. He pushed it further. He said, “That doesn’t hurt?” I said, “A little bit yeah, but go ahead.” 

    Instead, he laid on top of me. We were face to face. Very highly unusual, like I said. Then he started fucking for real. Now it was my own dick that was hard as a diamond. He reached down between us and gripped it with his hand. Not jerking me off, just holding it. Not really squeezing it gently but not hard either. I thought it was a little bit odd, but I wasn’t complaining. 

    Suddenly he said “Fuck, dude!” and jammed his dick in balls deep and held it there. I was amazed. I said, “What the fuck? That wasn’t even 20 strokes.” He pulled his dick out and laughed and said, “I told you I was horny as a motherfucker! I wasn’t bullshitting.” I said, “Yeah, I see that.” 

     He went to the bathroom and came back out with his pants up and flopped back on his bed. I said fuck it, and just left my own off. About another 30 or 40 minutes of watching TV, and he turned to me and said, “Hey, uh…” and stopped. I said, “Are you fucking serious? Again?”

    He laughed but stood up and took his pants back off, I guess assuming (rightly, I guess) that I wasn’t going to say no. He came to the side of my bed and just stood there. I said, “Same thing?” He said, “Yeah, if that’s cool.” He acted like he was about to stick it in, but then stood back upright and looked down at his dick. It was only about 3/4 hard.

    He looked at it and looked at me. I said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I sat on the edge of the bed and started sucking his dick. After about a minute, he said, “Ok, that’s good.” I laid back down on the bed and pulled my knees up.

    This time there was no fucking around asking what to do, he got straight to business. And he was seriously getting down to business. He was alternating between slow fucking and pounding. My own dick was hard as a rock, of course, since I’d never jerked off or anything from before.

    After about 5 minutes of fucking, he reached down between us again and gripped my dick. He was squeezing it, then relaxed his grip, then squeezed it again, over and over. Like I said before, it was a little odd, but it felt good, so I didn’t say anything. After a minute, he said, “Do you want me to jerk you off?” I said, “Hell yeah, I want you to jerk me off.” He said, “Where’s that coconut oil?” I said, “I have no idea, it’s wherever you put it.” 

    He fished around under the edge of the bunched-up blanket and came out with it. He lay back on top of me and was giving me what I would call a pretty damn decent hand job, all while he was fucking me like he really meant it. He said, “Are you about to do it?” I said, “Yep.” and did just that, the cum squirting on both of us, but mostly my stomach.

    He let go of it and started pounding like he was trying to break the bed. After a minute he said “Fuck!” and jammed it in and held it there. This time he didn’t immediately stand up. He lay on top of me breathing hard then finally did stand up and said “Thanks, dude.” I laughed and said, “No, thank YOU. That was a seriously nice fucking and a hell of a hand job too.”

    He looked sheepish and said, “About that. Uh…” I cut him off and said, “It’s a fine time to give me the “Don’t tell anybody” speech after you’ve cum in my ass twice and given me a hand job, don’t you think?”

    He just laughed and said, “Nah, it’s not like that, I was just going to say…” I said, “Yeah, I know what you were going to say. No, I’m not going to tell anybody. Who in the fuck would I tell, your mom?” 

    He said “Well, anyway, you think if we go out of town again, we could, uh, you know?” I said, “Hell no. I’m not about to be your cum bucket.” then realized that sounded like more of an asshole than I meant to sound. So I said, “Yes, I mean, sometimes, yeah, but I’m not bending over every time your dick gets hard.”

    Sure enough, he didn’t always bring it up and want to fuck, but occasionally he did. I found out later what the trick was. It had nothing to do with him having a girlfriend or not, it had to do with whether we went drinking, then to a strip club, then back to the hotel with nothing to do. Whenever that sequence of things happened, that’s when he’d want to fuck. Back in our hometown, he pretended that never even happened, only when we were out of town and only when we did that first (drinking and strip club then bored in our room).

    Anyway, there’s my story that I mentioned before that I was reminded of by another story I saw here. I don’t claim to be Mr. Expert In The Art of Fucking or anything, but for one reason or another, an amazing amount of interesting things have happened to me if anybody would be interested in hearing about some of them. 

  • Gay Chicken

    Some of you may say this story has a slow start and quick end. But as we all know, foreplay is important.


    “Dude, how confident are you in your masculinity and sexuality?” Luke asked me completely out of nowhere.

    “Man what? We’re watching Fight Club and smoking weed and this is the sort of question you ask?” I replied confused but amused.

    “What’s wrong about it? I’m just curious how manly you consider yourself and how sure of your straightness you are” he answered without a blink.

    “Jesus… Well, you’ve met all my exes and I don’t know about your girlfriends, but mine sure as hell didn’t have dicks,” which was true. While my life hasn’t been that long, I’ve had my share of girls. And looking back at it now, they’ve all followed the same archetype – blond, somewhat short, cheerleader type of girl that didn’t have much brains but the more they had in their bodies. “And I’m not going to defend my manliness or masculinity or whatever, I think you can tell by simplly looking at me.” That was true too. I started exercising daily when I entered uni and have never stopped since. Now, nine years later, at 28, I was buff. I stood at 6’2″, had dark brown hair all over my body except I was voluntarily and intentionally bald, and sporting a really good physique. All women would turn their head when I’d go by, and some men too. Plus, most of my hobbies were dominated by men (like wood turning, cars, poker, baseball etc.). So, after all, I didn’t feel the need to explicitly call myself masculine.

    “Hmmm, interesting you won’t defend your masculinity, but WILL defend your straightness” Luke said with a smirk.

    I looked at him to try to figure out whether he was serious, and said “I wasn’t defending it, I was giving you the opportunity to answer your own question.”

    “Aaanyway, I’ve got an idea” he proclaimed.

    “Oh no” I said sarcastically. Luke has only had a couple of ideas during our three years long friendship and most of them didn’t end well. “Since you’re so sure of yourself, let play a game.”

    “If you’re talking about strip poker, we’ve done that a few times already and I never had a problem with it, so why would that change?”

    “For two reasons” he smirked again while importantly showing me two fingers. “First, this time there’s no girls. Second, the game isn’t strip poker, it’s gay chicken”

    “Gay what?” I asked, puzzled.

    “Gay chicken. It’s a game where guys do something a little bit gay and the first to chicken out looses” he calmly explained, seemingly not surprised by me not knowing what gay chicken is.

    “Bro you’re mad” I exhaled.

    “Heh, giving up already? This was easier than I expected” he exclaimed in a celebratory voice.

    “I’m not giving up, I’m just stating you’re mad. But fine, bet. What’s your game?”

    “My girlfriend wants me to wear a butt plug for her and, without discussing it with me, she ordered one. It came this morning, but they sent two. So… We’re going to wear butt plugs and the one who takes it out first looses” he said with a little bit of humour that made me think maybe he was joking to see how I’d react. I just looked at him with “couldn’t you make up a better prank?” expression.

    He seemed to see through my disbelief. “Fine. Don’t believe me?” he asked while standing up from the couch we were sitting on. He went to his room and returned almost instantly, holding a butt plug in each hand. One about three inches long and about an inch thick, the other about six inches long and about two inches thick.

    I just started laughing. “Heh. Sure, let’s do this. I can surely take it if you can, because I’m calling dibs on the small one.” I was determined to take it, because the small one was really nothing compared to the big one.

    “Oh no, no, no, my sweet summer child, we’re going to draw straws.”

    “Why?”

    “To make it fair? What game of gay chicken would it be if you knew you’d have the small one? That’d be so easy.”

    “Fine. But let me tell you, I’m going to laugh my ass off when you have to take the big one.” I was confident. I knew Luke, I knew his game strategies and I was sure I would pick the right straw.

    “Straw size equals butt plug size, or long straw chooses first?” He asked.

    “Long straw chooses first.”

    “Fine. Here are your straws” he said while presenting me his fist with two straws sticking out of it.

    “Here goes nothing” I said out loud, while internally I was already laughing, because I knew his game and I knew that the one that was sticking out a little more had to be planted to confuse me, that was typical Luke. So I picked the other one.

    And that was a mistake, I picked the short straw.

    “What?” I didn’t believe my eyes.

    “You see, I knew you’d think you know my game, so I thought ‘why not try tricking him this time?’. That’s what you get for being cocky. I take the small butt plug, you’ll have the big one.

    “I wanted to protest, but a) I agreed to this so there was no going back now, and b) my mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak even if I tried to.

    “So, let’s get to it.”

    I knew I lost and had to do it now, so I lowered my head in defeat, took the thing from his hand and turned towards the bathroom.

    “Where are you going? Do it right here, I want a proof you actually put it in.”

    “Are you crazy?”

    “Are you chickening out?”

    “Uuugh, fiiine” a sighed, already feeling very weird with this whole situation.

    “But you know what? I’ll give you the benefit of going second.” He said as he grabbed the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down in one swift jerk, together with his underwear. We’ve seen each other naked several times, but knowing what was coming made this awkward. He plopped down on the couch holding a bottle of lube and I have no idea where it came from. Without wasting a second, he squirted some on his right hand and started applying it to the butt plug. I was just standing there, in disbelief, watching what was happening. He squirted more lube on his hand, tossed his legs in the air, and started massaging his asshole with the lube. Just circling around, making sure he was lubed up. I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch it, but I had to see whether he’d actually put it in. And he didn’t waste time, after just a few seconds, he put the tip of the butt plug to his asshole and started slowly pushing. My mouth opened watching him plug himself.

    When only the base of the butt plug was visible, he turned his head towards me and, smiling, said “your turn.”

    I woke up from my shock and hesitatingly pulled my shorts and underwear down. Sitting next to him, I immediately grabbed the lube and started squirting a lot of it on my hand. I didn’t know whether something like too much lube existed, but I wanted to avoid using too little. I smeared it all over the last butt plug left unused and then on my asshole. Only touching it made me feel uneasy, and I was supposed to put something inside? God almighty, help me.

    I looked at Luke hoping he’d say he wasn’t serious about this, but when I saw his face unfazed by the situation, I knew I was doomed. I was going to have to do this. I put the tip against my pucker and applied mild pressure. I felt resistance. Of course there was resistance, I’d never had anything up my ass before. I pressed a little more and felt my hole opening.

    “Ugh” I groaned. “Dude that thing is going to tear me apart” I said to Luke.

    He said “Oh don’t be such a pussy” and, without warning, put his hand on the butt plug and pushed it deeper.

    “Aaaaah” I shouted “bro, what the hell?”

    I looked at him angrily, but he just casually retorted “just let me help you, it’ll be easier.”

    “Easier? It’s fucking weird. I didn’t like doing it myself and now YOU want to push a massive butt plug in my ass? You out of your mind?”

    He didn’t say anything and just pushed it deeper again.

    “Aaaah, this hurts so much.”

    “Calm down, you’re almost halfway through.”

    “Halfway through? I thought I was done.”

    “Oh” he said and shoved all the rest of it in me. “Now you are.”

    “Aaaaaaaaaaaah” I screamed again. I thought I was sitting on a stovetop. It hurt so much, my ass was on literal fire. And Luke? He was so casual about everything.

    “Good news is the whole thing is in and it isn’t going to hurt any more than this, it should actually start getting better any moment.”

    “What’s the bad news?” I panted.

    “Well, judging by the shape and by how quickly your ass closed around it, pulling it back out is probably going to hurt even more. On another note, I know how competitive you are, so I believe there’s plenty of time to mentally prepare for taking it out.”

    “Right, as if that makes it any better.” Just as I said that, I realized the pain was actually subsiding.

    “So what are we doing now?” Luke interrupted my thoughts.

    “What do you mean?”

    “Well we’ve done the difficult part, now it’s just a question of who’s going to have it in longer. But we won’t just sit around and wait for one of us to give up, will we? So, what are we doing?”

    “I don’t know. Right now, all I can focus on is how much I want to take a dump.”

    “It’ll get better. I already forgot about mine.”

    “Yeah well yours is tiny.”

    “Don’t be grumpy, it was a fair game.”

    “Was it?”

    “Sure it was, you could have picked any straw you wanted, including the long one.”

    “Sure.” I sat up, still having my ass on fire, even if it wasn as terrible as the moment Luke pushed it in.

    “See? You’re good to go. So what are we doing?”

    “Well, Fight Club has finished without either of us paying attention to it. And I think I need to knock myself out, so serve ya booze.”

    “Now that’s a language I understand!” he said festively. He stood up and went to his pantry. While he was gone, I guided my hand towards my asshole. I had to feel it with my hand to check I’ve actually done what I thought I’ve done. And yep, I felt the base of a massive butt plug occupying my asshole. It was actually inside of me. I withdrew my hand.

    When Luke came back, he had a bottle of 60 % rum.

    “Just what I was thinking.” I said and stood up to get a drink with him. Both of us seemed to have forgotten we were still naked from the waist down. Or perhaps it was part of the chicken thing.

    For the next hour or so, we drank as if we were 18 again. I was 28, Luke 27, we shouldn’t drink this much.

    At one point, I noticed a full bottle of the same rum we’re drinking, just sitting on the table. “What is that?” I asked. Or at least attempted. It sounded more like “wassat”. I nodded towards the bottle.

    “Oh, I prepared in advance.” Luke answered. I mean, he didn’t, but you know how it is. Drunk people, as incoherent as they may sound to a sober person, can understand each other perfectly.

    I started hysterically laughing. “There’s no way in hell we’re opening a second bottle.” I kept laughing. The idea of two wasted naked guys laying next to each other on a couch was funny on its own, but hearing him talking about opening a second bottle made me see those same two guys just throwing up on each other. And as disgusting as I’d find it if I were in the right state of mind, at that point I just couldn’t stop laughing.

    Luke didn’t. I guess my laughter offended him, because he grabbed his phone and scrolled through Instagram.

    Once I stopped laughing and caught my breath, I just looked directly in front of me. Something was different. I felt something. I suddenly remembered the huge butt plug in my ass. I managed to completely forget about it, despite the size. How that was possible was beyond me. But now it felt different. Like… it wasn’t just there but… sort of… wobbling? Was it moving inside of me?

    Through my focus on the new feeling I hadn’t anticipated, I missed something else.

    “I see you’re in the mood” Luke noted.

    “What?” I asked confusedly and looked at him.

    He nodded towards my crotch and said “you’re hard.”

    And he was right, I did get a boner. I tried to cover it with my hands. It wasn’t just a boner, I was rock solid. But why? I didn’t touch myself prior to getting hard, so why did my little buddy get hard so suddenly. Well, I say little, but I was the proud owner of a seven inch member, so although not by much, it was above average and always got the job done very well.

    “No need to be shy. An erection is a normal biological function. Actually, it shows you’re healthy” Luke commented nonchalantly. But he did have a point. Also we’ve been naked for quite some time now, we’ve both even lost our tops somehow, so covering my dick now seemed rather funny. “Let’s watch some porn” he added as if the situation couldn’t get any more weird.

    Hearing him say that, I questioned what happened. A few hours ago, I was a normal guy coming over to his friend to spend a weekend doing guy stuff because both their girlfriends were out of town. And then? Said friend pushed a massive butt plug up my ass, that butt plug now seemed to have started wobbling, I was naked and hard laying next to my naked aforementioned friend, and now we were going to watch porn?

    Before I could protest, he switched the TV from cable to PornHub with a video preloaded. Two guys were going down on a girl, one from each end. And my thoughts instantly vanished. My eyes were glued to the screen. The girl was gorgeous and the fact she was getting both her entrances stuffed was so hot. I unknowingly took my dick in my hand and started massaging. I forgot my friend was right next to me. I was so engulfed in the scene I missed Luke picking up his phone again. And then the plug in my ass got more alive. The movements got stronger. Yes, it was definitely vibrating inside of me. I gasped. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t particularly enjoy it, but I didn’t want to take it out. I didn’t want Luke to know it was vibrating, and I also didn’t want to loose the game when I got so far.

    I glanced over at Luke to see whether he heard my gasp. And what I saw was something I didn’t expect. His dick was massive. As I mentioned, we had seen each other naked several times, but never hard. While flaccid, he was smaller than me, but hard? He had to be at least eight inches long and Jesus Christ that girth. I was low-key amazed. And maybe a little jealous. He stared at the screen and slowly jerked himself. Good, at least he seemed like he didn’t hear me.

    “This scene is so hot” he suddenly announced.

    “I agree, the girl’s taking it like a pro.”

    “Well, she is one…”

    I smiled. Then I unexpectedly moaned. The vibrations got stronger again.

    “Enjoying yourself, huh?” Luke smirked. “Let me try something.” And in the blink of an eye, he repositioned himself and lowered his head towards my dick. Next thing I knew, he was putting his lips around the head of my dick and feeling around with his tongue.

    “Dude what the fuck?” I shouted.

    “Relax, just enjoy this” he said and put my dick in his mouth.

    I was torn. The whole situation was perverted, but his mouth felt awesome. So warm, so wet. I couldn’t resist it. I closed my eyes and let him continue.

    Then the butt plug got crazy. It surprised me and I moved my hips, which resulted in Luke almost throwing up from me hitting the back of his mouth. I apologized and focused on his mouth because he was doing wonders to me. I breathed heavily. I had to keep my mouth wide open just to get enough oxygen. I felt the pillows move but I kept my eyes closed, focusing on the warmth and wetness of my buddy’s mouth. But then, he shoved his dick in my mouth. I gagged. And opened my eyes. He was above me, his crotch above my face, his head on my dick. I tried pushing him off, but he just said “oh c’mon, be a bro – I’m helping you, you should help me too” and kept sucking. The feeling radiating from my dick was overwhelming and I just gave in. If he could suck me, I could suck him. There’s not much difference between having a guy suck your cock and sucking a cock yourself.

    I closed my lips around him and got to work. It tasted different than I expected, it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either, but it wasn’t bad. Little salty, little sour. Nothing I couldn’t take.

    I don’t know how long we were at it, but during us sucking each other, the vibrations in my ass faded from my awareness and I didn’t pay much attention to it anymore. But then they surfaced again, when for the gazillionth time they intensified. While Luke’s dick was in my mouth, I moaned. And then again, and again. Luke had to sense it, because he stopped sucking and removed himself from above me. He took hold of my legs and lifted them above my chest.

    “Do you trust me?” ha asked.

    “I don’t know anymore.”

    “Auch, that hurt” he said somewhat seriously and seemed genuinely hurt.

    “Okay, fine, yes, I trust you.”

    “Good. Try pushing it out” Luke said as he slipped his fingers between the plug base and my ass skin, taking hold of the plug.

    “What? I’m not loosing to you.”

    “I’m not going to count that as chickening out. Let’s call this a short break.”

    “Okay” I said and did as he instructed. I tried pushing and with less resistance than I expected, I actually managed to get the thick middle part past my sphincter.

    He squirted some lube on it and said “Let me introduce forward movement into the equation.”

    “Wh-” I wanted to ask “what”, but before I could, he just pushed it back in me. I involuntarily moaned. He pulled it out again. And then he slammed it back in, deeper than before.

    He hit something inside of me. That sent a wave of immense pleasure through my body. I groaned and moaned and felt every hair follicle on my body wake up and stand to attention.

    “Oh my god” I exclaimed.

    “Not finished” Luke replied and started seriously working the butt plug in and out of me like my hole was a piston. That was all I could think about now. My hole. I’d never called it that, but it was just a hole, wasn’t it? I thought its only purpose was to push something out, but now all I could see in my mind was pushing something in. Getting stuffed like a turkey before Thanksgiving. It was overwhelming, but felt absolutely awesome. I don’t know what it was inside of me, but every time the butt plug hit it, I felt pleasure everywhere, all over my body, and I moaned.

    Luke made each stroke longer and longer, almost pulling the butt plug out of me and then almost pushing it all the way through me. And then he actually took it out.

    “Time for improvement” he announced and threw the plug aside.

    I felt empty. I wasn’t expecting it, but not having my hole plugged felt like a part of me was missing. Thankfully, Luke started pushing something in again. Was it a different butt plug? Or a dildo perhaps? It was pleasingly warm. I opened my eyes and looked towards my hole just in time to see him burying his dick in me. His even more massive, eight inch long and God knows how thick dick. I screamed as he bottomed out.

    “Oh my, your hole feels amazing” he gasped. But he didn’t give me time to ask questions (or adjust to the new size for that matter) and just fucked me. And he fucked me hard. If the plug felt awesome, this could only be described as heavenly. Every cell in my body wanted more, to continue this for as long as possible.

    Luke pushed my knees towards my shoulders which exposed my hole even more.

    “Your hole is so great, so hot, so hungry for my meat.” He kept fucking. “God, it’s better than my girlfriend’s pussy.”

    That surprised me, but also made me strangely proud.

    He kept fucking me in that position for a while. Then we changed it.

    He pulled out, flipped me on my side, raised my right leg in the air and pushed his dick back in. He laid my leg on his shoulder and hugged my thigh. He used it to get as close to me as he could. That made him go deeper, too. It was like he was building an oil rig with my hole being the oil source. Only except pumping the oil out, he was soon going to pump something in.

    The couch wasn’t very spacious, so when he got uncomfortable, he put my leg around the left side of his waist, my left leg around his other side and told me to hold on. He then hugged me and picked me up. He was holding me in the air while his dick was still inside of me. He took me to the bedroom. There, he slipped out of me and threw me on the bed. Thankfully it was sturdy, otherwise I would fall through and break it. He grabbed my legs and in one swift move rotated me so that now I was on my belly. He spread my legs wide, wider then I thought, then put his hands below me, raised my ass in the air a bit more, and put a pillow below me. Then back in he went.

    During the short time of traveling from the living room to the bedroom, he gained some crucial time for calming his buddy down. So while he didn’t get any less hard, he did get less close to finishing.

    So when he rammed his dick back in me, he rammed it in with power. It hurt, but the small pain was something I enjoyed. He was scratching my insides. My hole wanted him to be there. He kept fucking and groaning while I kept moaning and begging for him not to stop.

    After about fifteen more minutes of persistent fucking, I heard him wheezing and felt him getting quicker, his strokes stronger. And then he buried himself so deep in me I didn’t think possible. I didn’t even know people had any nerve endings so deep in their butt, but I felt everything. His dick throbbing and, a tiny moment later, his warm jizz spraying my hole white from the inside. And oh my god did he spray me good. He had so much cum stored in his balls from the (already a week long) absence of his girlfriend. And I took all of it. He just collapsed on my back. He breathed hard and so did I. We just laid there. Me on his bed, him on me, his dick still pumping his potion in me.

    When he caught his breath and got some oxygen, he picked me up again and carried me back to the living room. I thought he was going to pull out, but no, he just grabbed me bellow my belly and with his strong hands carried me while his dick was still inside of me (and still hard might I add).

    He lowered me back on the couch and picked something from the floor. He started slowly pulling out. As soon as he was out, he pushed back in. At least that’s what I thought. He rotated me on my back, stared me deep in my eyes and said…

    “This was the hottest fuck I’ve ever had. I filled you up with my cum and I don’t want to see it leaking out of you, so we’ll keep you plugged with the toy. Also the game’s still on! Don’t worry, while we were fucking, the batteries ran out.

    “I didn’t even listen to him, I was still focusing on the hotness inside of me. I was so full.

    Then I realized I haven’t cummed yet. But I also realized I didn’t care. The past half an hour of getting my hole railed was amazing and I didn’t think cumming would make it any better than it already was.

    Luke thumped next to me on the couch. It took less than a minute before we both fell asleep from the exhaustion and booze. Both still naked, him still hard, me still full of his cream and plugged with his toy.


    I have an idea for part two, so let me know if you want the story to continue.

  • Five Frat Bros Took Turn Fucking Me

    Jace’s cock was already deep inside me, spreading me open all over again. His rhythm rough, impatient, like he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hands were locked around my waist, and every thrust shoved my body forward onto Chase’s cock, thick and waiting in my mouth.

    “God, look at him,” Brett muttered lazily from the couch. “Didn’t think he’d last this far.”

    “He’s not just lasting,” Joshua added with a low laugh. “He’s begging for more.”

    And they weren’t wrong.

    I was on all fours, panting through my nose, spit stringing from my lips. Jace was wrecking my ass, Chase was groaning as I sucked him, and I could still feel the heat of Joshua’s cum leaking out of me, dripping down my thighs in slow, sticky trails.

    Every part of me was being used. My mouth. My hole. My hands had clawed into the carpet, trying to hold on as Jace’s thrusts got harder.

    “Fuck, Jace,” Chase grunted, cock twitching in my throat. “You’re bouncing him onto my dick.”

    “Can’t help it,” Jace growled. “His ass is like velvet. Fucking addictive.”

    Chase pulled out with a gasp, letting me breathe for a second. My chin was soaked, my lips raw and swollen. My eyes rolled back for a moment before I locked back onto his. “You want to finish us off?” Chase asked, voice low, thick with hunger. “Want to be our good little pledge?”

    “Yes, Chase,” I whispered, dazed and needy.

    He gave me a crooked grin. “Then suck.”

    I opened wide and took him back in. He groaned and rolled his hips, feeding me more. Behind me, Jace started slamming harder. His thrusts were erratic now, desperate. Every time he bottomed out, I felt him grind, grind so deep I saw stars.

    He leaned over me, breath hot in my ear. “You know this ass was mine first,” he murmured. “You remember that night? Just me and you? I should’ve kept you to myself…”

    I moaned. The memory hit hard, him fucking me in secret, claiming me in the dark. But this wasn’t secret anymore. I was theirs. All of theirs.

    “You close?” Chase asked, his voice low, breath hot against my cheek.

    “Fucking close,” Jace hissed. “I’m gonna…fuck…I’m gonna cum…”

    But he didn’t slow down.

    If anything, he started fucking harder. Rougher. Like the pressure in his balls had made him feral. His hips snapped forward again and again, his abs slapping my cheeks. Every thrust knocked me forward onto Chase’s cock, still slick with spit. I gagged, moaned, drooled and Jace just laughed.

    “Ah, fuck. Ah…fuu..fuck!” he groaned.

    Thwack. Thwack. The wet slap of his balls echoed off my thighs. He spanked me once….loud, sharp and I moaned around Chase, squeezing the base of his shaft.

    “There we go…” Jace grunted. “I can feel it. Fuck. This hole was made to drain my cock.”

    Chase smirked, looking down at me. “Looks like Jace is about to lose it.”

    Jace growled. “Move.”
    Suddenly, he pulled out, cock flushed, dripping, twitching. His hand shot out, gripped my hair, and he shoved around to my front.

    “I wanna feed it to him,” he panted. “This mouth’s earned it.”

    “Awww. That’s so romantic”, Lucas giggled from the couch.
    Chase stepped back without a word. Took a deep breath and positioned himself behind me.

    Jace knelt in front of me, towering even from that angle, his cock inches from my lips, shining and throbbing. “Pledge,” he ordered, voice sharp. “Wrap your mouth around it. Now. And if you spill a single drop….”

    He smirked, eyes glowing. “….you don’t get accepted.”

    My lips parted instantly.

    I took him in deep…one breath, no hesitation and clamped my lips tight around the head of his cock, just as the first hot shot burst onto my tongue.

    “Ffffuck,” Jace choked, grabbing the back of my head. “Drink it, you slut. That’s your prize…”

    My throat moved instinctively.

    I didn’t stop. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even breathe. I held him deep, swallowing as he came, pulse after pulse, his fingers trembling against my scalp. His cock twitched with every groan, and I stayed locked around it, suckling every drop until he whimpered.

    Behind me, I felt it.

    The head of Chase’s cock, broad and heavy, pressing against my messy, stretched hole. My body was still wet, slick with spit, sweat, and cum and it welcomed him with a filthy squelch as he pushed inside.

    I moaned around Jace’s cock, gagging slightly as I instinctively sucked harder.

    “Fuck,” Chase growled from behind. “I didn’t even get a full stroke in and he’s already moaning on your cock, Jace.”

    Jace laughed weakly, spent but amused. “Desperate slut. I already came and he still wants more of my cock.”

    I looked up, eyes watering, cheeks flushed, and he slowly pulled out. His cock shined with spit and cum, glistening.

    “Look at that,” he said, showing the shaft to Chase. “Fully clean. Our pledge is a fuckin’ cum vacuum.”

    Chase didn’t laugh.

    He gripped my hips tight, real tight and slammed in deep.

    “Let’s finish this.”

    He wasn’t gentle. He was the President. The leader. The one who made the rules. The one who delivered the final load. His rhythm was brutal, precise. Each thrust was a statement. A command. A reminder of who I now belonged to.

    “You’ve taken every guy,” he said, between thrusts. “But mine….mine’s the one that seals it.”

    His hands curled around my waist, strong and sure. His cock stretched me wide, his pace relentless.

    “I should’ve fucked you first,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Should’ve made you crawl across the floor that first night and beg for the President’s load…”

    I whimpered.

    But Chase just fucked harder. “You hear that?” he growled. “That’s the sound of your ass getting baptized.” His balls slapped against me, each impact louder than the last.

    I couldn’t form a single thought. I was bent in half, ass filled, face buried into the floor cushion, mouth open and drooling. My knees were trembling. My arms gave out. I collapsed onto my elbows, chest pressed into the carpet, ass high, hole wide open as Chase drilled into me.

    Behind me, the three guys watched from the couch.

    Spent. Sweaty. Panting.

    Lucas whistled. “Look at our little cum bucket. Fuckin’ cock drunk.”
    Joshua laughed. “Think he’ll even remember this tomorrow?”
    Brett smirked. “Doubt it. His brain’s leaking out with our loads.”

    I would’ve responded, if I could speak.

    But all I could do was moan, claw the carpet, and take it.

    “Fuck,” Chase hissed, grabbing my shoulders. “This hole’s perfect…” He started pounding faster. Louder. The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed through the house.

    Jace walked around and crouched beside my face. His voice was lower now. “You still with us, pledge?”

    I nodded slowly.

    He leaned in, brushing hair from my sweat-soaked forehead. “You’re doing so good. Almost there.”

    Behind me, Chase grunted. “I’m close.” His thrusts got sloppier. Deeper.
    “No running now,” he warned. “You wanted to serve us…”

    He pulled me back onto his cock, grinding in deep. “…then you take every last fucking drop.”

    I arched my back, moaning as he slammed in one last time.

    And then he came.

    Hard.

    “Ah—fuck—” he grunted, fingers bruising my hips. “Take it. Take my load. Take the fucking load….”

    I moaned into the floor as he emptied himself inside me.

    It was thick. Hot. Endless. His cock twitched over and over, filling me so deep I felt it in my gut.

    And then silence.
    Heavy breathing.
    Sweat.
    Laughter.

    Cum dripping down my thighs.

    Jace stood and offered his hand. I stayed where I was.

    I couldn’t move. I was wrecked. Leaking. Shaking.

    On my knees. Five loads inside me.
    One in my mouth. One on my tongue. Two buried deep. One still dripping from my hole.

    I didn’t feel humiliated. I felt chosen.

    I looked up, blinking sweat from my lashes.

    Chase adjusted his shirt and zipped up. He crouched next to me, lifting my chin. “The guys will meet tomorrow,” he said. “To discuss your performance.”

    He smirked.

    “But I think you already know how that vote’s gonna go…”

    Joshua called from the couch. “Unless anyone objects to keeping the best fucktoy
    we’ve ever had…”
    Lucas laughed. “Yeah, we’d be fucking stupid to let him go.”
    Brett grinned. “I vote ‘yes’…with my dick.”

    Jace looked down at me, smiling. “Sleep well tonight, pledge. You earned it.”

    Chase stood and headed to the kitchen. “And don’t forget to clean up. Wouldn’t want the couch to stick tomorrow.”

    The others laughed, tossing pillows at me as they walked past.

    I stayed there for a long moment.

    Sweaty.
    Sticky.
    Used.
    And smiling.

    Because tonight…I wasn’t just a pledge anymore.

    I was theirs.


    Note to Readers:

    If you have been liking the story so far, consider supporting on my Patreon for early access to future parts, bonus scenes, extended version and much more.

    You will find early access to Complete Story which is already posted on there.

  • Debt Camp


    Debt Camp III: NeuroLoop


    Wrath · 01 Sep 2030


    John Magee woke to pain from the previous night. The Gen Alpha hunk hung on forklift prongs. Carbon-fiber chains stretched his limbs into a punishing X. He winced with every breath. Two nurses dabbed antiseptic over crimson tracks and rinsed dried blood from carved abs. One checked vitals, the other slipped a rubber tube past clenched teeth, funneling protein slurry down his throat. Debt-camper Magee gagged, but the guards reminded him the diet was mandatory if the show was to go on.

    His mind drifted to the circumstances that brought him here. John had once believed in abundant capitalism; Joe Rogan told him hard work paid. Matt Walsh called Labor Camps moral. John had voted for it all.


    The countdown on the clinic wall glared 1 h 32 m 46 s when Warden Geoff #7 Bezos strode inside, boots cracking across concrete. Wrists locked to steel, ankles spread until each leg line pulled tight, while the silver NeuroLoop clamped John’s buzz‑cut scalp, wires coiled like rose vines.

    Fluorescents flared, exposing him in ruthless detail: twin pec slabs mottled by faint violet bruising, stacked abdominal bricks. A green-purple smear darkened the lowest ridge of his core. Each breath rippled new heat across those ridges, making veins writhe beneath tight skin.

    Geoff scanned the metrics on his tablet. “MAGA wants a show,” he said with a grin. “Let’s give them something to remember.” The forklift lurched forward, beginning its steady parade toward the main bay.

    Overhead tubes washed John’s chest in hard light, highlighting every bulge and striation.

    The convoy halted beneath a cage of spotlights. The forklift prongs jutted forward, raising John as an example for the campers of Amazon’s Vacaville Fulfillment and Debt Camp and as entertainment for viewers streaming the public shaming. John’s wrists, raw and swollen, were shackled wide; his ankles splayed so the full length of him formed a living cruciform. The NeuroLoop circlet pressed into his scalp like a ring of cold nails. Viewers spammed prayer emojis while jokers dubbed Leon Matthis “Late-Stage Judas.”

    Warden Geoff raised a gloved palm; four guards struck in relay, each crack ringing through the bay. The crowd winced. Thumbs turned down. Geoff sensed boredom and reached for personal flair.

    He uncoiled a braided flogger. “You thought you could run? You’re not a hero. You’re a caught animal,” he said, low and flat. He swung. Leather strands slapped the spread of John’s back, scoring red tracks between his wide lats. A second lash landed on the rounded dome of his left shoulder. Sweat sprayed. John hissed, “That all you got?”

    The Warden forced a bright grin. “Up you go, show pony.”

    The NeuroLoop flashed green and sank needles into John’s mind. Every fiber yanked taut. Viewers watched veins lash up his throat, saw the broad slabs of chest swell then spasm in ragged jerks, quads hammering the steel forks with each jolt. Foam frothed from the corner of his mouth while a guttural groan rattled the audio feed; a wet snap sounded as a wrist chain carved into dense forearm meat. Geoff barked, “Behold what defiance buys you.”

    The chat erupted in alarm emojis. Boo icons multiplied. Sponsors yanked ad spend in real time. A studio intern fainted.

    Geoff’s grin vanished. He jabbed two fingers at a producer. “Cut the feed.” Too late. The world had already watched John convulse like the son of Nazareth at Golgotha.


    Pride


    Chains rattled overhead. The Warden barked “Observation Studio.” The forklift rolled John through quiet bays and into Geoff #7’s lab, a glass cube that overlooked the warehouse. Once the doors sealed, the forklift dumped John onto the concrete and he was immediately re-secured to what guards called “the patient’s chair.”

    Geoff paced the glass room, jaw tight. Anger boiled behind his calm mask.

    He turned to the man locked in a Puritan‑style yoke on a vertical rail. John’s wrists sat in the side stocks at waist height while the collar framed his neck, shoulders broad but unbowed. A dull hum pulsed from the crown circling his buzz‑cut scalp.

    “Show me gratitude,” Geoff said.

    John’s only answer was a slow exhale.

    Geoff powered the NeuroLoop. “The board wants contrition.” The warden thumbed a switch. Electrodes pressed against John’s scalp. A jolt raced through the crown. Veins burst across John’s neck. Quads clenched, calves knotted, yet the glare in his eyes never dimmed.

    “On your knees,” Geoff ordered.

    John spat a fleck of blood and remained upright.

    Another surge. His sprawling back arched, every ridge bright beneath the lights. Sweat rolled down the deep line between traps. Still he stayed standing.

    A third surge arrived, longer and harsher. His fingers curled, abdominal plates rippled, and a raw, short growl escaped him.

    Geoff leaned close. “How much pain before you bend?”

    John breathed hard. “You can’t buy what I won’t sell.”

    Geoff shocked him again. The broad sweep of back convulsed; thighs trembled; the chair rattled from the force of his chained struggle.

    “Still no?” Geoff muttered. “Fine. Let’s escalate.”

    Geoff tightened the program instead. He punched a new sequence into the crown; the pulses doubled, then tripled, strobing through nerve and bone. Hours passed. Geoff recorded each attempt.

    By dusk, John’s throat murmured rough grunts and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Yet still he stood: shaking, drenched, unbroken.

    Geoff stormed out in exasperation.


    The next morning Geoff dragged a wooden chair into the cube and sat so close their knees almost touched. No audience this time, just the pulse of the Loop and the damp echo of their breathing.

    John stood locked in the yoke, wrists at waist height, neck held firm. Bruises darkened to plum along his ribs.

    Geoff leaned forward until his breath warmed John’s cheek.

    “Kiss me,” he murmured. “One soft touch and a hundred credits vanish.”

    John met his gaze, heat and contempt colliding behind his eyes. Slowly he bent, as if considering, then stopped a hair’s breadth from Geoff’s mouth and straightened again.

    A faint smile flickered on Geoff’s lips, half challenge, half annoyance. He thumbed the dial. The yoke lifted a notch; John’s arms stretched, shoulders biting. Still he stared, silent.

    Geoff’s fingertip traced the deep groove between John’s pecs. The Loop answered with a gentle pulse meant to coax obedience, but John only drew a sharper breath through his teeth.

    “A kiss is kinder than bone-breaking,” Geoff said, voice low. “Last chance.”

    John’s lips stayed rigid, as Geoff grabbed John’s balls through the uniform shorts.

    Irritation flashed across Geoff’s face. He tapped the trigger; current hummed through the crown. John’s fingers curled, but his mouth never moved.

    With a harsh breath, Geoff stood and pushed the chair away. “We’ll try a different avenue,” he muttered as he strode out, leaving John stretched but undefeated.


    Geoff returned, more determined. He unlatched the patient’s chair, believing a taste of freedom would lure John to humility. “Smile for me,” Geoff said.

    John bared teeth, but it was no smile. He swung his shoulder into the clone, knocking him backward. The warden staggered; the tablet flashed red: FAILURE.

    Sirens shrieked. Two guards lunged in, clubs raised. One baton cracked across his left forearm; a sharp pop split the air as a bone gave way, yet John advanced, fury glowing in his eyes. He caught the second guard’s wrist, yanked him forward, and smashed a knee into the man’s chest. A third guard rushed from behind, swinging low. The baton smashed against John’s shin. Another crunch, but he twisted and drove his elbow into the attacker’s jaw, dropping him flat. Blood ran down his arm; he barely noticed. The fourth guard darted in, jabbed a shock rod under John’s ribs. Current tore through muscle, but he seized the rod, ripped it free, and hurled it aside.

    A final baton snapped against his collarbone; bone splintered, shoulders lurched. Even fractured, he charged on Geoff, with one arm hanging at an odd angle while the other curled into a fist.

    “Tethers, now! Keep the merchandise pretty,” Geoff shouted. A mesh harness fired from overhead cannons and wrapped him mid‑stride. Straps cinched in a single pull: one broad band hugging shoulders and chest, smaller loops clutching biceps and thighs, a final web lashing both calves together. The sudden constriction yanked on the fresh fractures; pain ripped through his arm, forcing a ragged groan.

    The Loop flooded John’s cortex with a punishing surge. His vision whited out and he finally dropped to his knees.

    Geoff pressed a trembling hand to his bruised jaw, age sharpening each breath. The warden stomped on the prone rebellious body and hissed to the guard: “This shit piece of technology doesn’t work. Call that ugly South African-American cyborg.”


    Envy · 08 Sep 2030


    A black pod slid onto the catwalk and sighed open. It carried Muskelone, the latest incarnation of Elon Musk after a bitter fallout with President Trump. With federal grants gone and stock crushed by executive tweets, the fallen mogul rebuilt himself in secret labs, swapping promise for spare parts. The result waddled past safety rails: a pale waist cinched in a squeaking titanium corset, mismatched cyber arms brushing against soft flanks. Sparse tufts clung to a blotchy scalp.

    Beside Bezos’ lean clone, Muskelone looked like a hospital waste bag stitched to kitchen hardware. Yet his small eyes still glittered with unchecked pride.

    Bezos folded his arms. “Your crown hardly works,” he sneered. “I shocked the brute for days and he still snarled back.”

    Muskelone’s smile thinned. “Tools fail when clumsy hands twist the dials,” he replied.

    Servo knees clicked as the visiting tech baron reached the glass cube. Inside, John slumped in the patient’s chair. Broad shoulders framed a neck thick with stubborn strength.

    Muskelone intercommed Bezos outside the lab. “Let me show you how precision looks.” He brushed a finger along the metal circlet on John’s head. “You used the blunt setting, shock and fear. That only hardens defiance. Switch to subtle pulses and watch him welcome every command.” Bezos grunted but stepped back from the lab.

    From a port set low on the cyborg’s metal belt slithered a polymer cable. It swayed between plated thighs before snapping into the NeuroLoop on John’s head.

    “Begin sensory indexing,” Muskelone ordered.

    A soft glare spread through John’s vision, kaleidoscopic spirals blooming across the HUD. Electrodes pulsed. One by one, memories surfaced: end‑zone roars swelling against his broad pecs, ring lights sliding over the even planes of his abs, dawn shifts where thick arms swung hammers for tips. Each clip dripped a drop of sweetness into his mind and arousing clench of his prostate.

    The spiral shifted. Marching songs thumped against his ribs, gilded slogans flashed across his torso, and a smiling mouth hovered between flexed slabs of muscle. Whenever he accepted the scene a warm flush rolled up his spine; when he balked, a cold knife slid down it until he yielded.

    Discipline followed reward. The film rewound to silence: empty stands, dark screens, lights cut. A sharp sting cracked across the ridged ladder of his stomach and echoed through every groove. He tried to brace, but a neural spike drilled his testicles. The program offered one escape: performance. At each pulse he flexed, rolling the jacked wall of his back into a polished curve for an invisible auditor. Present correctly and pulsing edged the p-spot; falter and the spike ruined the hard-on.

    Time slipped. Commands murmured like breaths, and he obeyed: spread, hold, turn. Hours blurred into days. When he flared his lats on cue, syrupy pleasure washed through his thoughts; hesitate and static snapped.

    Night brought a different stage. A narrow runway glowed beneath his feet. Shadowed faces lined the edge, fanning pale slips of paper. Each deep swell of his chest set off a clear chime and dropped a glowing token at his feet. He followed the sound, hips driving, glutes tightening, until the watchers sighed in wordless approval.

    After an unknown amount of time to John, the architect of the dream appeared, carcass plated in chrome. Metal fingers traced the curve of John’s pecs, sparks dancing where pointed nipples met alloy.

    “Kneel,” the South African-American said, stimulating the hunk’s areolas.

    John glided down “the patient’s chair”, thighs rippling to kneel. The Loop drenched every corner of his skull in honeyed euphoria. Pleasure filled his heavy nutsack. He bowed the yoke lower to the cyborg’s creature feet. When the loop scanned John’s mind for the thought of to lick Muskelone’s toes, the crown rewarded the hunk by neurally polishing his glans.

    Muskelone lifted John’s chin. “Tell me this is your choice.”

    “I crave it,” he murmured.

    Muskelone released John from “the patient’s chair.”

    The kneeling muscular debt camper sealed a kiss on the half man-half machine monster hovering over him.


    Sloth · 01 Feb 2032


    The contacts cleared. The haze of hallucination spun away.

    Muskelone’s voice sounded pleased: “Simulation complete. Field evaluation begins.”

    John stood, posture regal yet pliant.

    A rolling shutter opened and the cube floor merged with the main bay. Supervisors pushed a weighted cart stacked with drone batteries toward him. John grasped the first slab, the dense load bowing across two vast traps before he hoisted it to a top shelf. A warm pulse flickered in his asshole, the Loop’s reward for flawless form. He repeated the motion; arms pumped like piston rods, chest driving each lift while quads flexed beneath taut skin. Sensors tracked output; metrics flashed green. Workers paused, watching the living gauge clear a full pallet without falter.

    Next, a supervisor rolled out a steel beam the length of a park bench and told John to press it overhead. He lifted without hesitation, elbows locking, wide back steady while the beam trembled above him until the timer hit sixty seconds, and a surge of gentle heat hardened his cock to full length. The crown gasped, and another rush of pleasure poured over his prostate.

    Finally, they ordered him to drop flat and hold a plank on his forearms. He lowered smoothly and steadied himself, torso rigid, shoulders square, the tip of his long hard cock kissing concrete. Two minutes passed before the command to stand; when he rose, a wave of pleasure edged him, sealing the test as passed. The Loop sent a final sweet surge that left his breath slow and content.

    Muskelone smiled, satisfied that John’s body and brand were ready for open commerce. Performance numbers soared beyond anything recorded before the escape.

    Next came the showcase. An airbrush traced DUTY, AMBITION, FREEDOM across John’s swole back, each word igniting whenever he flexed. He slipped into a presentation stance and squeezed into a side‑chest pose, shoulders rolling forward so his pecs swelled. He panted as pleasure was washing through him with every new demonstration; the gentle hum in his skull rewarded each precise contraction, warmth blooming his virgin bussy until the strain of holding still fell away.


    Lust


    Residual defiance flickered inside John, a pilot flame of self. The proof flashed on Muskelone’s console: John’s heart rate leapt each time the Leon Matthis file appeared. Muskelone scheduled a private session to snuff it. He dimmed the room and cut the audience feed. “You still feel humiliated by betrayal,” he said, voice level. “Channel it.” John’s pulse jumped. The device mapped the surge, linking it to a fresh mantra: weakness invites ruin.

    “Who betrayed you?” Muskelone asked.

    “Leon Matthis,” John answered, tone gritty yet clear.

    “Who rescued you from debt?” the baron pressed.

    John hadn’t cum since he masturbated in the showers days before his failed escape and the constant NeuroLoop teasing drove his desperate voice. “You,” he replied. Warm pleasure rushed through him. Muskelone nodded in calm approval.

    The tech baron stepped behind, metal fingers gliding down the deep valley between spreading lat wings. “Feel the debt fade, feel purpose take its place.” He tapped the NeuroLoop. John’s throbbing cock lurched.

    Muskelone circled to face him, gaze tracing the thick columns of thigh shown by minimal shorts. “Demonstrate wrath against weakness.” A dummy baton clattered to the floor.

    John grabbed the baton and rose, towering over the hunchback cyborg. The hunks face contorted with conflict as he lifted his muscled arms to strike the monster. Yet John settled on snapping the baton with a simple twist, fragments scattering. Approval tones flooded the Loop, nerves flooded with honey.

    “Good. Now accept forgiveness.”

    It was now Muskelone’s turn to kneel. The tech baron pulled the uniform shorts down tree-trunk quads. He unhinged his mechanical jaw to deep-throat the entire length of John’s cock. The cyborgs jaw locked and teeth retracted. Muskelone activated the Dyson mod of his mouth to vacuum John’s cock with suction no man had ever been blown before. John braced the cyborg’s doughy metalllic shoulders.

    Muskelone charitably let John ride the physical blow job, combined with the NeuroLoop mindfucking, for what felt like an eternity to John. Muskelone detected John’s pleasure threshold and graciously let John shoot months of cum into the cyborgs intestines.

    A final prompt appeared on Muskelone’s tablet: REMNANT PRIDE = 0%. Compliance locked. John’s lips curved in quiet satisfaction.


    Greed · 03 July 2032


    Amazon’s Vacaville Fulfillment and Debt Camp prepared for a press conference. John strode onto a stage. Viewers across fifty states tuned in. Under a ring of spotlights he paused and every detail sharpened: pecs arched outward then tapered into a slim yet dense waist; glutes pressing firm against contoured shorts.

    “I stand here reborn through enterprise,” he said, voice half locker room, half pulpit. Geoff shook John’s hand while John’s free arm free arm curled so the bicep bulged into a proud arc that caught the light and sent the chat into emoji rapture.

    A screen projected live ledger numbers: 880 USD. He held still, the overhead glow tracing every ridge of his back while donations poured in. “We finish the count today,” he promised.

    He dropped into a single kneel with rehearsed jock ease, quads flourishing. Each abdominal block surfaced. A drone swooped low, filming the faint rise and settle of chest, sweat tracing the central groove as viewers placed instant bids to sponsor single beads.

    John dropped into a full kneel, clasping his hands in pseudo prayer above his head. The motion widened his torso into a breathtaking V.

    Tips surged. One last donation chimed and the counter slid to zero. John, still on both knees, laced his fingers behind his head. On the stream, John’s ab bricks three through six of eight spelled F R E E, one letter per block.

    John rose and threw his arms high. “My debt is cleared, my duty begins,” he declared.


    Gluttony


    That night, a victory banquet beamed from the cube, now a glass‑boxed VIP lounge. Premium Prime Subscribers watched a fast food preserved third-term Trump, Warden Geoff #7 Bezos, Muskelone, Bronze Wallet Investor Dieter Zhel, Supreme Court Justice Lindsay Graeme and rapper B. Duddy clink flutes while John Magee served as living a centrepiece. Neuroloop stimulated John’s cock and prostate while the hunk perched on a slow‑turn table, chest bare, arms outstretched, offering every angle of conquest.

    Warden Geoff #7 Bezos groped the displayed muscles first “Efficiency never looked this handsome,” he quipped, massaging the flexed centrepiece. Muskelone clicked a chrome thumb against hardened nipples. “Precision conditioning, gentlemen, he is a living proof‑of‑concept.” Supreme Court Justice Lindsay Graeme slapped John’s abs and murmured, “A triumph of contract law.” Rapper B. Duddy punctuated the circle by punching John’s pecs. “Cash that chest, bro.”

    The billionaires, turned-on by the athletically submissive presentation, baptised John in the most market-valuable circlejerk in american empire history. John smiled as unimpressive watery cum doused his muscles from the financially elite men. Debt removal had granted one liberty while forging fresher shackle. He pictured high‑school bleachers, hometown cheers, days before contracts and collars. The reward centre answered with a squeeze of his prostate, dulling protest.

    Trump hoisted a paper cup of diet soda and a half‑eaten burger in salute. “Folks, I told you—nobody finishes debt servitude faster than Gen Alpha hunks, nobody, believe me,” he drawled, pausing for the cheers. “Two years early, tremendous job. And what timing—seven years since my Big Beautiful Bill of 2025 kicked off, bolstered by the Libertarian Recovery Act of 2028, everybody said was impossible, then the court backed us in Luigi v. Washington. Huge win, huge. Maybe I run again, maybe a fourth term—people are saying it.” Laughter and applause rolled across the lounge, drowning the clink of flutes.

    Premium Prime Subscribers were disappointed when potential four-term president Trump rolled down John Magee’s uniform shorts and a blur immediately pixelated the impressive cock length. Viewers saw Trump tug at the blur and watched a stream of golden liquid shower the leader of the free world. Trump, now blonde again with a piss-stained toupee, led the delegation away, discarding an american flag for John to wipe down geriatric cum off his shredded body with.

    John trembled, letting the spotlights sanitize his torso. He flexed, granting the watchers their fix. View counters spiked. Unseen by viewers, but intimately felt by the hunk, John’s nipples were flicked; areolas sucked; glans polished; taint licked and prostate pounded by the NeuroLoop.

    Podcast host Dave Portnoy declared the masculine patriotic display of John Magee completing a debt camp servitude was evidence of success for Bronze Wallet’s contracts; for Amazon’s debt camp warehouse; for NeuroLoop’s population control as well as abundant capitalism and free-market libertarianism. NeuroLoop rewarded John based on the review and allowed him to shudder waves of cum.

    A lens caught John’s reflection: colossal and lacquered in sweat. The neural weave whispered: This is freedom. NeuroLoop, going rogue, identified John as surpassing his pleasure threshold as it triggered more orgasms from the free man.

    Somewhere below, a pilot flame of resistance glimmered, nearly snuffed but stubborn. The crowd never noticed that spark. They saw only the final display, arms spread, pecs flared. The muscle hunk laid soaking on the red, white, and blue, trembling in forced refractive orgasms, proof that liberty now ships Prime with a barcode nestled between its pecs.

  • Cuck Begs for Raw Cock

    Bad Boys’ Sweaty Fuck Fest 

    “Here we go, boys!”

    “Where’s this damn restaurant at?”

    “We’re almost there!”

    “What? He’s late again? Make his ass pay the bill!”

    Friday night, summer heat lingering, the sky still clinging to a fading strip of orange-yellow against a dusky blue, even at eight or nine. The weekend’s kicking off, and whether you’re a student or a wage slave, everybody’s letting loose. The cool evening breeze carries the scent of freedom, and folks are dialing up their crew, three or five strong, hitting up hotpot joints or BBQ spots. They’re slamming drinks, getting that sweet buzz going, then stumbling out, half-drunk, clutching half-empty bottles, laughing, arms slung over shoulders, headed for bars, clubs, or karaoke dives. More booze, more chaos, pushing the night to a fever pitch of drunken madness to drown out the week’s bullshit and gripes.

    Every public spot’s pulsing with wild energy, everyone caught up in this weekly ritual of debauchery. From pretentious high-end joints with live jazz and overpriced wine to gritty street stalls reeking of grease and beer cans clinking amid the honking traffic—same vibe everywhere. From middle-aged folks juggling family and careers to fresh-faced grads still chasing dreams, everyone’s in on it.

    But especially those young, reckless studs—barely legal, already deep in the game, no education, no fucks given about the future, just living for the now, no limits. You know ‘em: the “bad boys,” the “thugs,” the “punks,” the “lowlifes.”

    The urban village is their turf.

    Narrow streets snake between cramped buildings, the pavement slick with grease from food stalls and dive bars, stained with dried tomato skins, veggie scraps, and scattered bamboo skewers. Step too far, and you’re dodging crusty vomit stains baked into the ground.

    It’s hot as hell, so the eateries drag tables and chairs outside, setting up open-air spots to pull in cash. Every joint’s got a couple of broke, wiry dudes in tight pants and beat-up sneakers hustling customers, hollering about BBQ, hotpot, stewed fish, roasted lamb, or some big-ass mix of everything. The chaotic setups fill up fast—some locals, but mostly the young punks from the all-boys sports academy across the street.

    “Pfft… huh?”

    The flimsy plastic tablecloth rustles in the evening breeze, the greasy wooden table loaded with metal trays wrapped in plastic bags, piled high with skewers slathered in sauce and chili. The ground’s littered with beer bottles, stacked like bowling pins.

    Jax Korsen’s chomping on lamb he just ripped off a skewer, swallowing hard before turning to spit on the ground. His right hand, sporting a black sports watch, snags a cheap cigarette propped against the tray—already burned a hole through the plastic bag. He takes a deep drag, his sharp, narrow eyes squinting, oozing bad-boy charm with a rugged, chiseled face that screams trouble. He’s eyeballing the nervous wreck of a guy standing in front of him, all hunched and submissive, waiting for Jax to finish chewing. Jax blows a cloud of smoke right into the dude’s face, smirking.

    Rory Duncan’s fresh on the job, not yet schooled in the art of schmoozing over drinks. He doesn’t touch smokes or booze—usually, even a whiff of cigarette smoke makes his nose twitch. But now? Even with Jax’s thick, second-hand smoke blasted in his face like a taunt, Rory’s holding his breath, not daring to flinch. Head down, all he can see is a pair of tanned, jacked legs crossed casually, one foot twitching impatiently. Jax’s big, calloused feet, baked dark from the summer sun with pale tan lines, dangle in red flip-flops, the big toe lazily flipping them up and down.

    Jax’s sprawled on a rickety plastic chair, his lean, shredded body barely contained by a sweat-stained, faded white tank top that shows off the deep cleft of his pecs. His long arms ripple with defined muscle, and a thick patch of dark pit hair spills out like a jungle. One leg, sticking out from loud, patterned shorts, stretches out, making the chair creak like it’s about to collapse. His sweaty, pinkish foot sole gleams under the flip-flop. He props one arm across his chest, elbow resting on the hand holding the cigarette, and when no answer comes, he tilts his head, glaring up at the twitchy guy’s face. He sucks in his cheeks, blows another plume of smoke, and barks in a gritty, commanding voice, “The fuck you just say, huh?”

    Jax’s sharp, scarred brow lifts, his thin, single-lidded eyes and cocky smirk on a square-jawed, devilishly handsome face suddenly filling Rory’s lowered gaze. The sheer intensity of that rugged, bad-boy mug makes Rory flinch, nearly tripping over his own feet. He steadies himself, eyes darting up to sneak a glance at Jax’s mocking expression, stammering softly to the buzz-cut stud whose scalp shows through his short hair, “Got… got a job I wanna ask if you and your bro’d take…”

    Rory’s face burns red, too humiliated to repeat himself, his head practically buried in his chest.

    “Yo, hold up, I heard that! What’s the deal, man? What kinda job?” Jax twists his head, pointing the cigarette hand at his ear, leaning toward the cowering guy. His shout draws every eye at the BBQ stall, and Rory feels the weight of their stares.

    “…M-my girlfriend…” Rory’s voice is barely a whisper, audible only to himself.

    “Yo, what the fuck you mumbling about? Speak up, bro, I can’t hear shit!” Jax leans back, slouching, brows knotted in fake confusion. “Louder!”

    “Please… you two…” Rory finally snaps, shouting, but his voice cracks, and his face turns scarlet, red as a baboon’s ass. The thought of what he’s doing, what he’s about to say, makes his heart pound so hard it might burst.

    “…Have sex with my girlfriend…”

    His voice shrinks, teeth clenched, squeezing out words he can’t believe he’s saying, words that shock even himself.

    Nervous? Ashamed? Humiliated? He wants to crawl into a hole and die. The reasons behind this are simple yet tangled, but he’s got no chance to explain now.

    “Well, fuck me sideways!” Jax shakes his head, takes a slow drag, and lets out a long, lazy breath, his deep, magnetic voice dripping with dominance as he drawls each word into Rory’s stunned ears.

    In the noisy chaos, it’s not that Jax didn’t hear—he just wanted Rory to say it again, loud, stripping away his dignity in front of everyone.

    Across the table, Zane Colby watches Jax toy with the pathetic dude like a pro, seeing Rory obediently humiliate himself. Zane can’t hold it in, cracking up, his grin stretching ear to ear. His tanned, hairy arm slaps his thick thigh, the faded brown beaded bracelet on his wrist clacking. “Holy shit, man!” He grabs a beer bottle from the ground, chugs it down in two gulps, and plays along, “What’s that? What’d he say?”

    Jax locks eyes with Zane, a knowing smirk passing between them. Partners in crime, they both know exactly what game they’re playing.

    “What else, man? What the fuck you think he wants us to do?” Jax laughs, grinding his cigarette butt into the tray, burning another hole, ash and sparks scattering, not giving a damn if they land on the meat. In a voice loud enough for the whole damn place to hear, he sneers, “Ain’t shit—just begging us two studs to fuck his chick’s pussy raw.”

    That line hits Rory like a gut punch, his world crumbling. The crowd erupts in jeers and hoots.

    The place is packed with jacked-up sports academy bros, low-class and rowdy. They don’t know much beyond training, drinking, and flexing their egos. Their free time? Picking fights, causing chaos, or chasing tail. For these horny, testosterone-fueled studs, it’s all about banging chicks—groping tits, eating pussy, and ramming their thick, throbbing cocks for that adrenaline-pumping thrill. Swinging their dicks, chugging booze, and spitting crude shit—that’s their idea of a good time.

    The second they hear words like “fuck,” “chick,” or “pussy,” these sex-crazed beasts light up, eyes gleaming with sleazy hunger, throwing out lewd grunts and whistles. Jax’s loud-ass cuck chant about Rory’s girl getting railed sets them off.

    “Yo, what the fuck!” “Wooo!” “Oh, damn!” “Cuck shit, huh?” “Fucking savage!” “This dude’s begging for a green light to get cucked?” “What, his tiny dick can’t get it in?” “Never fuck a pussy before, needs daddy to show him how?” “Kicked out by his girl to find some real cock?”

    Jax’s rhythm fuels their taunts, slamming Rory for being a weak-ass man who can’t satisfy his girl. In their eyes, his manhood’s a joke, and these ripped, cocky jocks—built like tanks, dicks blackened from pounding pussy—are the gold standard of masculinity. They’ve got the right to roast him in this public humiliation ritual, while Rory, stuck in the middle, can only take it, drowning in shame.

    Head bowed, all he can see—or deserves to see—are their legs: some lean and wiry from track, others thick and explosive from balling. Their big, meaty feet, calloused and wide, stomp the ground in worn-out, grimy flip-flops. His mind flashes to their usual gear—sweaty, yellowed ankle socks or knee-high soccer socks caked with dirt, paired with beat-up, filthy basketball or running kicks.

    “Fuckin’ a pussy? Who the hell can’t do that? Quit actin’ all shy about it—havin sex’!” Jax drawls loud and slow, mimicking Rory’s words with a taunting lilt, then hocks a loogie onto the ground. “Tch! Thought it was somethin’ else, almost didn’t catch that shit. Wanna get all poetic? You mean fuckin’ *makin’ love* or some crap?” He shoots a sneering side-eye at Rory, who’s stiff as a board, and keeps the humiliation train rolling full speed, bellowing, “So it’s just bangin’ her pussy, right?”

    “Fuck yeah, haha!” “Playin’ coy, huh?” “Makin’ dumbass *love*? Get outta here!” “Man, I’m dyin’ over here…” The crew of sex-crazed jocks roars with even nastier mockeryDIY_MODELS, laughter, egging it on.

    “Yo, dude over there!” a voice shouts from behind. Jax slings an arm over the chair back, turning. “What?”

    “Whoop! *Tch*… *slurp slurp*…”

    At the next table, a shirtless, ripped stud throws up a peace sign, shaping his fingers into a V, pressing them to his lips, and sloppily licking and sucking them with wet, obscene noises.

    “Holy fuck!” “That’s some nasty shit!” “You hungry for that pussy or them tits?” “Fuck off, man!” “Hahaha!”

    The surrounding tables erupt in hoots and jeers, the shirtless guy roughhousing with his bros, his broad, bare back getting slapped hard. Jax grins, tosses a thumbs-up, then spins back to Rory, clearly loving the chaos he’s stirred up. He grabs a beer bottle from the ground, chugs the last half in one go, and lets out a loud, “Ahh!” “Alright, tell your boys again—what you beggin’ me to do?”

    Jax’s loving this game, hell-bent on crushing every last shred of Rory’s dignity, leaving him no escape. Rory’s already drained every ounce of courage to spit out those words once, and now his throat’s so dry he can’t even swallow, frozen in place, unsure if he should even move.

    “Yo, chill, man, don’t let Jax mess with ya—he’s just got a mean streak, no biggie,” says the other stud at the table, who’s been quietly watching the show. Zane steps in at just the right moment, strolling over to Rory’s side as the crowd’s attention drifts. Before Rory turns into a total statue, Zane’s there to pull him out.

    At over six feet, Zane’s towering frame makes it easy to sling an elbow over Rory’s shoulder. “Why you always gotta fuck with people, huh? Makin’ our boy here look bad,” he says, giving Jax a light shove as he chews through three skewers of meat in one bite. His words sound friendly, but the smirk in his voice betrays his amusement. “C’mon, bro, sit, sit.” He drags an empty chair over and plops it behind Rory.

    Rory keeps his head down, a breeze carrying the musky, sweaty scent of the tall stud next to him. A heavy hand presses down on his shoulder, too strong to resist, and Rory’s eyes catch the chair by his legs. He’s stuck, no way out, so he takes Zane’s cue and sits, feeling the weight of the moment.

    “Let’s skip that for now, talk some other shit. No pressure, just shootin’ the breeze with your boys,” Zane says, dropping into a chair. His veiny, tanned hand grabs a beer glass from the table, pops a fresh bottle, and pours one for Rory, who’s still staring at the ground. “Have a drink, man. Fuck, lift your head up—we’re all bros here, no need to be shy.” When Rory doesn’t budge, Zane’s long arm reaches out, gently tilting Rory’s chin up.

    For the first time, Rory gets a good look at Zane’s face.

    Unlike Jax’s sharp, rugged vibe, Zane’s got a young, chiseled, bad-boy charm that screams trouble with a playful, sadistic edge. His slicked-back, side-parted hair frames a square-jawed, cocky grin, his round, piercing eyes gleaming with cunning under thick, straight brows. His high, broad nose and thick, juicy lips ooze sex appeal—you can’t help but hang on his every word. That deep, booming voice, dripping with honeyed charm, has probably lured countless innocent girls, his lips devouring their soft, sensitive mouths, stealing first kisses meant for their one true love.

    Zane’s built like a goddamn tank, bigger and more explosive than Jax. His black, skin-tight tank top clings to his bulging, sculpted pecs. His sun-kissed, wheat-colored skin screams healthy, jacked-up vitality, his arms pumped with veiny, elastic muscles stretching to his hands, covered in wild, bushy hair that screams raw masculinity. His black, tight shorts hug his thick, hairy legs, spread wide, the coarse hair poking through the fabric. His massive feet, longer than the water bottles on the ground, grip worn-out black flip-flops, the soles stained with sweaty footprints. His legs are straight-up pillars of muscle, the shorts outlining every chiseled curve—and the thick, cylindrical bulge snaking down one leg is impossible to miss.

    “Cheers, bro, I’m downin’ this one!” Jax’s still face-deep in his food, ignoring Rory, but Zane’s playing the good guy, pouring himself a beer and raising it for a toast. Rory stares at the fizzy, amber liquid in front of him, suddenly feeling bone-tired.

    When was the last time someone showed him kindness? When did he last have a real talk with anyone? His “friends” vanished after graduation, those years of camaraderie just mutual bullshit. He didn’t even have time to process it before society threw him to the wolves, no safety net, with pressure piling on from every angle. Job hunts, work, overtime, hustling, blind dates—his company, his parents, the world didn’t give a shit how much he could handle, just kept dumping more weight on his shoulders. Mornings were a blurry rush of washing up and squeezing onto packed buses. At work, he got chewed out by bosses and stuck with his team’s slack. Lunch? Half-eaten meals while his eyes drooped. No time to chat, no energy to make friends, and his awkward ass didn’t even know how to start.

    Even at home, he couldn’t catch a break. He and his live-in partner barely talked, no shared interests to keep things going. Young as they were, they lived like some old married couple, exchanging polite hellos before eating in silence and sleeping in separate rooms. Rory felt nothing, but he couldn’t say no—not when his job came through her family’s connections. She was sweet, drama-free, and hot as hell, at least giving him something nice to look at.

    But they were strangers under one roof, polite and distant.

    How long had Rory been bottling this shit up? A year? Two? His frustrations had nowhere to go. Slumped at his desk all day, eating greasy takeout, he was a scrawny mess with a budding beer gut, despite dodging smokes and booze. The lines on his face and thinning hair made him look fifty at not even thirty. Who’d want to talk to him? Who’d be his friend? Who wouldn’t laugh or sneer?

    Standing among these loud, boozing, meat-chomping punks, he was a clown, mocked and humiliated—and it felt like he deserved it.

    No way out, no hope, just an endless, shitty cycle. He was fucking exhausted.

    But then Zane reached out, pulling him up from that humiliating pit like he gave a damn, treating him like an equal. This random act of kindness hit Rory hard, stirring something deep inside.

    He stared at the beer, then made up his mind, grabbed it, and chugged it down in one go, eyes shut tight. The icy rush jolted him, the cool breeze hitting his sweaty shirt, the fizzy burn waking his brain, the bitter sting washing away his exhaustion. He let out a loud, “Ahh!” smacking his lips.

    Downing a beer in one go? Fuck, that felt good.


    Appendix

    Welcome to BreedLove Fertility, Your Happiness Guaranteed!

    Before applying for our services, please read the following terms carefully:

    *To ensure top-quality service, we pursue pure, natural insemination. Breeders and clients must cohabitate in our provided facilities until successful insemination. We’ll supply premium nutritional supplements to ensure flawless results. During the process, the breeder’s desires take priority—think twice before proceeding.

    *Our breeders are professionally trained to guarantee success within one menstrual cycle, but clients must maximize contact frequency with breeders for optimal efficiency.

    *For our reputation and service integrity, breeders are strictly prohibited from using protection to prolong the process. Report any such behavior immediately. Likewise, if clients are found deliberately using protection to delay the cycle, we will pursue legal action.


    Below is our roster of active breeders. Carefully review with your partner and select the breeder you both approve for insemination.

    Gold-Tier Breeders · Basic Info

    Name / ID: Jax / DJ8C5B

    • Age/Height/Weight/Shoe Size: 19yo/183cm/71kg/US 13
    • Penis Length/Diameter/Shape: [Flaccid] 17cm [Erect] 28cm 
    • Occupation/Skin Tone: Endurance Track Runner / Dark Tan
    • Photos: [Front Face] [Side Face] [Full-Body Front (Nude)] [Full-Body Side (Nude)] [Penis Close-Up Front (Flaccid)] [Penis Close-Up Side (Flaccid)] [Penis Close-Up Front (Erect)] [Penis Close-Up Side (Erect)] [Penis & Scrotum Panorama]
    • Skills/Hobbies: A naturally flexible, long tongue that dives deep into the fertile hole, teasing sensitive walls into a heated, ready-to-breed state; loves long, enduring thrusts with his massive cock, stretching and grinding the inner walls.
    • Average Breeding Duration · Ejaculations/Experience/Years/Partners: 3h · 2-3 times / ~5 years / 489 partners
    • Notable Achievements: Successfully bred 42 fertile holes this past month; record of 3 women in one day, 2 simultaneously, 5 breedings.

    Name / ID:  Zane / MD69PZ

    • Age/Height/Weight/Shoe Size: 18yo/185cm/74kg/US 12.5
    • Penis Length/Diameter: [Flaccid] 15cm [Erect] 31cm
    • Occupation/Skin Tone: Power Sprint Runner / Wheat-Tan
    • Photos: [Front Face] [Side Face] [Full-Body Front (Nude)] [Full-Body Side (Nude)] [Penis Close-Up Front (Flaccid)] [Penis Close-Up Side (Flaccid)] [Penis Close-Up Front (Erect)] [Penis Oversized (Erect)] [Penis & Scrotum Panorama]
    • Skills/Hobbies: Long, powerful fingers skilled at intense hand-play, stimulating the fertile hole to lower the womb and sustain arousal; loves explosive thrusts, ramming the cockhead into the womb, filling it with relentless cum until it overflows.
    • Average Breeding Duration · Ejaculations/Experience/Years/Partners: 5h · 4-7 times / ~4 years / 367 partners
    • Notable Achievements: Successfully bred 59 fertile holes this past month; record of 4 women in one day, 3 simultaneously, 7 breedings.
  • Construction boss

    End of the line?

    Jake later learned that Dan had somehow managed to convince his wife was one of his mate’s ideas of a joke.

    He was very much still in the doghouse, though and Jake had heard nothing from the stud for weeks.

    Not wanting to make the situation worse, Jake had got his dad to tell Dan he would no longer be available to work for his firm.  

    Rob wasn’t impressed but, when his son refused to budge, he agreed.

    He remarked that Dan would be disappointed, and Jake so wished he could tell him the news would almost definitely be a relief.

    Jake spent his days moping around, lovesick for Dan and longing for him to get in touch.

    But it wasn’t until his mum informed him one Thursday night that they were going to a barbecue at Dan and Rachel’s the following evening – Jake included – that the idea of being reunited with his lover became a reality.

    As he prepared himself to see Dan again, Jake couldn’t stop the anger he felt towards him.  

    Of course, he knew the days and weeks following that phone call from his wife would have been hell for Dan.  

    But Jake still felt that he’d deserved at least a text from his former boss – something to let him know where they stood now.  

    He felt sick with nerves when he and his parents pulled onto Dan’s drive on Friday night.

    The tension inside him increased when Dan answered the door and gave him a brief and polite handshake before busying himself talking to Rob.

    Dan was wearing only a pair of tight black shorts, his hairy body and usual bulge on full display, filling Jake with lust.

    And things only got worse for Jake when he realised he and his parents were the only guests that evening.

    He sat awkwardly at the large table in the garden while his mum and Rachel gossiped and the men took charge of the food.

    Every now and then Dan would leave the grill to mess around with his son. Dan Jr was two and his daughter Isabella was almost a year old, contently sleeping in a swinging crib.

    Jake had never seen Dan around his kids and couldn’t help smiling as he watched the beefy man kicking a small football around with his son.

    At one point Jake was heading back from the bathroom when he ran into Dan, who was carrying two bottles of wine.  They stared awkwardly at each other before Dan broke the silence.

    “How are you?” he asked quietly.  Jake saw red. “How am I? How do you think, Dan? It’s been weeks and nothing. I get you’ve had a lot to deal with, but a text would have been nice.”  

    Dan sighed. “I know. I’ve been an arsehole. I’ve just been trying so hard to smooth things over here, but I don’t blame you for being angry.”

    Jake wanted to continue making his lover feel bad but couldn’t help asking: “How are you doing?”

    Glancing behind him, Dan said: “It’s not been great for me, I won’t lie, but she’s calmed down now, and I think she’s over it.”  

    Unable to help himself, Jake asked: “So what does that mean for…?” “Us?” Dan looked pained as he replied: “I don’t know, Jake. That was a close call and what if we’re not so lucky next time?”

    Suddenly wishing he was alone so he could give in to the tears, Jake simply nodded.  

    But Dan could obviously tell how Jake was feeling. He placed the bottles on the counter and, once again looking behind him first, took Jake’s face into his hands.  “This… us… has already got more complicated than I ever thought it could. Don’t think that I’m happy about where we are, because I’m not,” the man sighed.

    “All I want to do is take you upstairs to bed right now. But we’re playing with fire, Jake. And someone is going to get burned.”  

    Unable to hold back any longer, Jake let the tears flow down his cheeks – refusing to accept that he was losing Dan forever.  

    Gently wiping Jake’s cheek with his thumb, Dan said gently: “Hey… come on now, you don’t really want a forty-year-old with two kids who needs to renew his gym membership. You can do a lot better, Jake.”  

    But Jake looked into Dan’s deep brown eyes and said: “You’re all I want, Dan. To me you are perfect.”  

    Dan’s face screwed up before he replied: “You’re killing me here, little Woody. I can’t stand that I’m making you feel like this.”  

    Before Jake could speak, they heard Rob walking through the bi-fold doors saying: “Dan, mate, have you got lost in your own house? I know it’s big but…”  

    Rob stopped when he saw his obviously upset son, looking from Jake to Dan. “What’s going on?” he asked.

    Dan looked terrified but Jake, thinking fast, said: “Nothing dad, I’m just being stupid. I was apologising for letting Dan down by quitting my job.”

    Rob’s eyes narrowed as Dan added: “And I’ve told him he’s welcome back any time, whenever he’s ready.”

    Apparently convinced, Jake’s dad said: “Right, well enough of this then! Dan, we need you back on burger duty.”  

    After that the evening passed by without any more close calls. Jake kept his distance from Dan and was relieved when his mum announced it was time for them to leave.  

    Before Jake headed out of the front door, he and Dan were momentarily alone in the living room.

    Speaking quietly, Dan said: “What are the chances you can sneak out in about an hour?”

    Jake, knowing he would do whatever it took, replied: “Just tell me when.”  

    Sure enough, Jake’s phone buzzed with a text from Dan a little over an hour later. “I’m parked on the corner of your street.”  

    Luckily Stella had already passed out on the sofa after one too many wines and Rob was tucked up in bed.

    Jake felt like he was on autopilot as he made his way towards Dan’s car, his mind racing at a million miles an hour.

    Dan put his foot down as soon as Jake had jumped in, driving them to the car park that had been the location of many of their late-night rendezvous.

    Jake was caught off guard when Dan told him to get in the back, assuming they were meeting to officially call things off.  

    The hunk pulled Jake into a passionate kiss before taking his head in his hands and looking him in the eye.  

    “I know we should call this off, deep down I know the right thing would be to walk away – but I can’t,” Dan said. “Tonight, I realised what this means to you, and I need you to know I feel the same way.”  

    Jake was lost for words, but Dan wasn’t finished. He continued: “Six months ago I would never, in a million years, have believed I’d feel the way I do about another man.  

    “I was an idiot to think this could only ever be about sex. I honestly don’t have the answers or know where this is going to take us, I just know I won’t be the person who breaks your heart.”  

    He kissed Jake again, before adding: “I need time, though. Can you give me that?”

    There were so many things Jake wanted to say, but instead he just leaned in for another kiss, struggling to believe he was hearing these words from Dan.

    Pulling away slightly, Dan said: “Listen, I’m going to Liverpool next weekend to price a new job. Fancy keeping me company? It would give me a chance to take you on a proper date.”  

    Raising his eyebrows, Jake replied: “So we’re dating now?”  

    Dan laughed, quipping: “Unfortunately for you, I’d say you’re stuck with this old man now.”  

    Sliding his hand slowly up Dan’s leg until it rested on his sizeable bulge, Jake said: “Why don’t you show me what you can do, old man.”

    Groaning, he managed: “Happy to, baby… but I need to be quick, I’ll make it up to you next week.”

    Wasting no more time, Dan pulled his shorts and boxers down and lifted Jake up so the teen was straddling him.

    Jake slipped his trousers down so his bare bum made contact with Dan’s huge cock.  After using his fingers to open Jake up, Dan coated his dick with spit and lined it up with his hole.

    “You ready, baby?” he asked seductively. Jake responded by grabbing the base of Dan’s eight inches and pushing down on it.  

    Once Dan was all the way in, he guided Jake up and down until they found a steady rhythm.  “I’ve missed this, and I’ve missed you,” Dan said between pants.  

    Jake couldn’t hide his grin as he rode the sexy man, feeling happier than he could ever remember.

    Dan wrapped a big hand around Jake’s dick and wanked him in time, saying: “I’m close, little Woody. Cum with me.”  

    Moaning, Jake managed: “Fuck, Dan. I’m going to cum.”  The car was filled with strangled groans of pleasure, as Jake shot in Dan’s hand and the stud filled him up.  Not wanting the moment to end, Jake put his head on Dan’s shoulder – his softening cock still inside him.  

    Before he could stop himself, Jake said: “I love you, Dan.”  

    Dan kissed the top of Jake’s head, replying: “I know, baby. I love you, too.”

  • What I Found in the Bathroom Stall

    I’m wearing this guilt like it’s a new suit. Only I’m the only one who can see it, and I don’t have to worry about whether it matches my shoes.

    Every day, I look at my wife, and I kiss her, and she looks into my eyes, and the guilt surfaces. Like maybe she can see it. One day I feel like she’s going to stop, look closer, then her eyes will widen, and she’ll see my secret and cry.

    I have to push that thought away, but it’s the reason why I haven’t been back in months. I just couldn’t handle it. Then one morning I read the local paper and spat out my coffee. Police had raided the toilets at a nearby shopping mall after complaints from the public.

    Arrests had been made.

    Holy fuck.

    And that sealed my fate. There’s no going back. Ever.

    Six, maybe seven months after I’d sucked a dick in a public toilet for the first time, as the local weather warmed up, my wife encouraged me to go jogging again. To be fair, she did it because she knew how much happier it made me afterward, but also because winter clothes had been hiding the extra few kilos we’d both picked up.

    Our local park is great. There’s a section for new parents, with screaming kids excited to be playing on their favorite playground equipment. Nearby, barbecues allowed men to practice being Master Chef while the women whispered secrets to their friends behind a hidden palm.

    And then there are the toilets, conveniently located off the parking lot and not far from the grills.

    I’m one of those men whose wife needs to make sure he’s peed or he’ll end up holding his dick at a party and complaining that he needs to go. So naturally, halfway through my run, I realized I had to pee.

    When I raced inside, two men looked sketchy as hell. One turned around and looked like he was fumbling with his junk, while the other hunched over the urinal, having spun around in a heartbeat. The urinal was fairly new, metallic, and highly reflective. Which meant I got a great view of the guy’s dick in the reflection.

    Except he wasn’t peeing. His dick was rock hard and completely still.

    There were two stalls facing the urinals. One was occupied, so I went into the other.

    Maybe my previous public toilet experience had opened my eyes to secrets I’d never known, because as soon as I stepped inside, I noticed the glory hole between the two cubicles.

    I may not have had any action since that shopping mall encounter, but I’d definitely been researching. I knew glory holes were a thing.

    I peed, but I wasn’t in a hurry to leave. My heart was racing.

    Holy fuck. Another glory hole.

    I dropped my shorts and underwear. After a quick wipe, I sat on the toilet and peeked through the hole.

    Whoever he was, he was definitely jerking off.

    But I heard sucking sounds. Like when a dick pops out of a mouth and makes that wet little smack. The door in front of me had gaps on either side, so I leaned in and could just make out the two guys at the urinal.

    The guy who’d been facing the urinal when I walked in apparently didn’t know he could be seen from the stalls. And the guy whose dick he was sucking definitely didn’t seem to notice either.

    Holy fuck.

    My dick got rock hard.

    The way he worked on that guy’s dick was insane. One hand stroked him, the other gently played with his balls, and his mouth teased the tip before slowly swallowing the whole shaft.

    I was hypnotized. I moved closer to the crack to get a better view. He was good looking, around my age, with a scruffy beard. Hot as hell. The guy getting sucked was burly, like maybe a trucker, and gruff. Also bearded. He looked so primal and alpha that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he carried a club.

    Two seriously masculine guys, sucking dick in a public toilet.

    I was insanely turned on.

    Honestly, I’m not sure what I’d ever imagined. The porn I’d been watching lately was always gym-built twinks, hairless with overdone moans and brows shaped by NASA. These two blew that image out of the water.

    I wanted to rush out there and join them, but I just couldn’t. So I stroked my dick and settled into some solid voyeuristic wanking.

    Except I didn’t have to.

    A tap on my thigh reminded me I had a neighbor.

    It’s not like I’d forgotten, but the scene in front of me had been so raw and real. Just two normal dudes. I was too caught up.

    I angled my dick toward the hole, so he could get a good look, while I kept watching the action at the urinal.

    The guy in the next stall reached through and grabbed my cock. At the same time, the burly guy squatted down and surprised his friend. When he kneeled, the other guy stood up. I wanted to whistle out loud.

    He had a huge dick. I’m no expert, but I’d guess at least ten inches.

    When the burly guy opened his mouth and took in the head of his friend’s dick, the guy in the next stall pulled mine toward his mouth.

    I was going to resist, but the heat from his mouth stopped me. And when his tongue flicked the tip of my cock, just as I watched burly guy do the same out there, I gave in.

    Burly guy wrapped his hands around the guy’s waist and pulled him in, taking that entire dick. At the same time, my guy sucked me in deep, closing his lips tight and creating a perfect vacuum.

    The effect was electric.

    That was the best head I’d ever gotten, and it had only been five seconds.

    The guy at the urinal tilted his head back, eyes rolling, while his cock slid deeper into the other man’s throat.

    My guy’s mouth was a miracle. I knew I wouldn’t last long, even when I tried to look away.

    Apparently burly guy was just as talented. The standing guy grabbed his head, bucked into his mouth, and let out this primal, guttural sound that echoed off the tiles.

    It was like a roar. Loud. Alpha. Shaking the whole damn toilet.

    That sound must have triggered my guy, because he gripped my dick harder and refused to let go until I came.

    Watching that scene unfold, while having the best blowjob of my life, was too much.

    How much trust are you putting into a stranger’s mouth? Especially one that sounds like he could herd cattle just by grunting?

    He clearly nutted. You could hear it. You could see it in his muscles.

    Burly guy grunted too, some deep growl from his throat, as who knows how much cum filled his mouth.

    And then it was my turn.

    I closed my eyes. It was so intense it almost hurt. The guy sucking me was relentless. I never heard a sound, but I could feel everything. The swirl of his tongue, the squeeze of his throat.

    And then I exploded.

    I groaned out loud. It was massive.

    Like a pro, he swallowed it all.

    And just like that, it was over. The desire, the itch, all gone. At least for now.

    I pulled away, gave myself a little shake, zipped up, and flushed.

    When I walked out, the two guys were just finishing up. The one who had done the sucking looked over at me and smiled.

    It was a strange smile. Knowing. Like we’d just shared something.

    Maybe he’d seen me. I didn’t stick around to find out.

    I walked out and kept jogging. As I rounded the bend, something made me glance back.

    He was there, drying his hands and still smiling as he watched me go.

    A very handsome man, probably about to head home to his wife and hide a secret as big as the one I was desperate to bury.


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  • Wanna Try The Real Thing?

    Here’s the final chapter of this short story.

    As always, leave a comment below or email me if you liked the story, or have any feedback! Follow me on twitter @QuesadillaNFrys for previews and depictions of my stories! You can also email me at [email protected]!

    Thank you, and enjoy!


    Ray was laid out beneath me, eyes determined, chest rising and falling fast. His body was a mess of glistening abs, streaks of cum, and barely-contained energy. His dick stood tall, flushed and slick, pulsing slightly with every beat of his heart. Still rock-hard. Still throbbing. He hadn’t come yet—and the look in his eyes said he wasn’t in a hurry to be done.

    I knelt in front of him, legs folding beneath me, and looked down at the very obvious problem between his legs. It stood proud against his stomach, twitching slightly, practically begging for attention. He hadn’t said a word, but the look on his face was pure anticipation.

    “Still going strong,” I muttered, half to myself.

    Ray let out a short breath of laughter. “You thought that was gonna finish me, bro?” His voice was rough around the edges, dark and low and almost smug.

    I didn’t answer. I just rolled my eyes and leaned in.

    Without ceremony, I wrapped my hand around his shaft again, guiding it toward my mouth as I lowered my head. I took him back in—warm and slick, the taste of him still familiar on my tongue from earlier—and immediately felt his whole body react. A shudder rolled through him, like I’d just hit reset on his entire nervous system.

    He sighed—loud, long, and content. It wasn’t a dramatic sound. Just pure, honest relief.

    “Goddamn,” he muttered, one hand dragging across his stomach, leaving a glistening trail in my mess. “You’ve got the warmest fuckin’ mouth.”

    I hummed in response, lips sealed tight around him, and his hips gave a tiny twitch like the vibration surprised him. My fingers splayed across his stomach for balance, brushing the sticky jizz pooled between his abs, and I felt him tense under the touch.

    I didn’t rush this time. I worked him slowly, taking my time, letting my lips slide down until I felt the weight of him fill me again. Every inch of him was pulsing against my tongue, every motion deliberate. My own muscles still ached, my thighs still burned from riding him, but I didn’t care. I wanted to finish what I started.

    Above me, Ray groaned again. It was quieter this time, but deeper somehow. Raw. Like I’d just hit something that went straight to the base of his spine.

    His hand found its way to my head again, fingers threading through my hair, pushing me deeper onto him.

    I bobbed my head slowly, lips tight, tongue teasing just beneath the ridge, then pulling back to suckle at the head, collecting every drop of salty precum that spilled from him. He tasted like sweat and heat and the edge of something dangerous.

    Another sigh escaped his throat—breathy, unguarded. “Dude,” Ray panted, breath catching in his throat. His voice was rough, urgent, almost disbelieving. “I want you to finger my ass until I cum,” he said, bold but shaky, like the words had been sitting just behind his teeth, waiting for the right moment to break free.

    I pulled my mouth off him with a soft pop, wiped my lips on the back of my hand, and grinned up at him. “Is that an order, soldier?” I teased, voice low and amused.

    Ray gave a huffed laugh, but his eyes burned with need. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

    I nodded once. “Then roll over,” I said, rising to my knees and making room on the bed. “I need better access.”

    Without hesitation, Ray flopped onto his stomach, chest pressed into the mattress with a thud, arms bracing beneath him. His big, bouncy, black muscular ass rose up automatically, high and firm like a perfect slope carved by hours in the gym. The sight alone was enough to make my breath hitch.

    “Spread ‘em,” I said, more gently this time, my fingers already tingling with anticipation.

    Ray reached behind himself without protest, gripping his cheeks and pulling them apart to expose his beautiful hole. There was something strangely intimate about it—not just the physical vulnerability, but the trust behind it. The silent here, take this kind of trust that felt heavier than anything he’d said out loud.

    “Good,” I murmured, licking my fingers slowly, letting him hear it.

    My fingertips traced the curve of his lower back first, then down, brushing the spot he’d opened up for me. He tensed, sucking in a breath as I pressed into his ring—not hard, not fast, just enough to make him feel it.

    “Jesus…” he whispered into the pillow.

    I let one slick finger circle him lazily before adding a second, pressing gently until I felt the resistance give. Ray groaned, deep and muffled by the mattress, hips pushing back against my hand like he needed more.

    “You really like this, huh?” I said, my tone teasing, but with a little awe behind it.

    “Yeah,” he breathed. “More than I should.”

    I chuckled under my breath, leaning closer. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Trust me, I’m honored.”

    Ray let out a half-laugh, half-moan as I worked my fingers deeper, moving slowly, carefully, reading every twitch and shift of his body.

    “You’re doing so good,” I whispered, free hand running along his flank as I added a third finger to Ray.

    “Shiiiiit!” Ray growled, his voice muffled by the pillow but still vibrating with urgency. His whole body tensed beneath my hand as my fingers worked him open, and his fists twisted in the sheets like he was trying to anchor himself to the bed. Every muscle clenched at once like he’d been hit by a live wire. The cords in his neck stood out.

    I glanced up along the line of his back—shoulders flexed, spine curved, muscles trembling. Every part of him was alive and straining.

    I didn’t let up.

    His hips bucked against the mattress, chasing the motion of my hand like instinct had overridden thought. His back arched just enough to keep that perfect angle, that sweet spot he didn’t want to lose. He was moving on impulse now—pure reaction.

    He panted hard, breath catching between his teeth. “Holy fuck,” he gasped, hips pressing back greedily against my hand. “Keep fuckin’ going!” he barked—less a plea, more a command—but his tone cracked at the end like he couldn’t quite keep it together.

    I leaned forward slightly, getting a deeper angle. “You’re really into this, huh,” I murmured, using my other hand to trace the curve of his back, following the motion of his breath. “You like that?” I asked, letting my free hand run down the small of his back.

    He didn’t answer with words—just let out another sharp gasp and rocked his hips back, grinding against me like his life depended on it.

    “Thought so,” I murmured, keeping my pace steady, adjusting my angle until I saw his breath hitch again.

    Ray groaned loud and long, like the sound was being dragged out of him by sheer sensation. “Don’t stop,” he rasped, muscles shuddering beneath my touch. “Whatever you’re doing—just… don’t stop.”

    “Damn, Ray,” I said, grinning despite myself. “You’re practically begging.”

    He barked out a breathless laugh, half-wild. “Then take the hint and don’t stop, man.”

    I didn’t. Not yet, anyway. “I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, my tone soothing but smug. “You asked for this, remember?” 

    That got a choked laugh from him—short, cut off midway as another wave of sensation hit. “Yeah,” he muttered, like it physically hurt to agree.

    I stayed with him, steady and controlled, watching as tension rippled through his frame in waves. His voice rose and fell with every shift, every new sensation. Sometimes it was just breath. Sometimes it was a low curse. Sometimes it was my name.

    He shivered under me, and I leaned in close enough to murmur into the curve of his neck. “You’re doing good,” I said, voice low. “You’re taking it like a pro.”

    “God,” he muttered, face half-buried in the sheets now. “I can’t—this feels—Jesus, Luke…”

    I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, see the sweat beading along his spine. Every part of him was vibrating with tension, coiled tight and close to something big. His breathing had gone ragged again, full-body exhales like he was trying to release the pressure inside him with each one, but it wasn’t working. He was building.

    And he knew it.

    “You’re close,” I said softly, just to see how he’d react.

    His only answer was a noise—one of those raw, instinctive, helpless sounds people make when words stop working. A sound that let me know just how deep in it he was.

    By now, my shaft had hardened again, and it hung beneath me, hot and heavy, throbbing painfully. The ache was sharp—raw and insistent—like my body was demanding more, even after everything we’d already done.

    Ray was breathing hard, forehead pressed into the pillow, his back gleaming with sweat and tension. I watched my three fingers glide in and out of Ray, slick and steady, disappearing into him again and again. The sight alone was enough to make my breath hitch. The stretch. The grip. Watching the way his body welcomed it, I realized just how badly I wanted more. Needed more. 

    Defying Ray’s orders, I pulled my fingers out without warning, and Ray’s whole body jolted like I’d ripped the cord from an outlet. He yelped, voice muffled in the pillow. “Don’t you dare stop!” he barked, voice muffled by the pillow but thick with need. He clutched at the sheets again, practically growling now, like he was trying to get back what I’d unfairly taken from him.

    But I was already moving.

    Acting almost on instinct, I shifted behind him, both hands gripping his meaty ass cheeks, spreading them apart as I knelt between his legs. The heat coming off him was unreal. His back arched, muscles flexing like a live wire, and his breath caught again.

    My cock—slick, throbbing—slid between his cheeks, nestling into the space my fingers had just abandoned. I let myself slide forward—just enough to tease, to let him feel the thickness between his cheeks. I dragged the length of my shaft through his crack slowly, watching the way his back arched in response. My hands squeezed his round ass, grounding myself. Ray shivered beneath me.

    “Wanna try the real thing?” I asked.

    “What? Nah man, just put your fingers back in,” Ray whined, his voice cracking as he squirmed against the mattress. “Make me fucking cum already,” he protested, his hands gripping the sheets to stay in place.

    But even as he said it, I watched as he pushed his ass up, grinding back along the length of my shaft like he didn’t even realize he was doing it—slow, instinctive, greedy for friction. My big white cock throbbed as it slid between his round black asscheeks, nudging against the spot I’d just been working open with my fingers.

    “Come on, dude,” I grinned, guiding myself along the curve of his ass, my tone half coaxing, half challenge. “You already let your girl use a strap-on. I promise the real thing feels better.” I leaned in, my voice dropping. “Way better.”

    Ray groaned into the pillow, his voice muffled and thick with frustration, somewhere between a whine and a protest. “Luuuuuuke,” Ray groaned again, stretching the word out in annoyance and need—but his hips still rolled back against me, even more shameless now, aware that it was the only bare stimulation he was currently getting without my fingers back inside of him.

    “Just saying,” I muttered, rubbing Ray’s asscheeks with my palms. “If you think she was good at fucking, I know you’d enjoy this.”

    He didn’t say anything right away. Just stayed there, as I watched the way his back rose and fell with each shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders, the quiet need in the way he kept pushing back.

    He exhaled sharply—half groan, half surrender.

    “Ugh, fiiiiiine,” he grunted finally, dragging the word out like it hurt. “Do it. Just… just make it quick,” Ray muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but his voice cracked halfway through.

    “You got it,” I said finally, voice low and steady. I ran my hands up his back, slow and firm. “Quick as I can manage.”

    But even I didn’t believe that.

    I scooped up some of my cum from earlier—still warm against Ray’s skin—and ran it along my shaft, slicking myself up. My dick twitched hard at the sensation—hot, aching, ready. The jizz-lube made the skin glisten as I worked it over, making sure every inch was coated and ready.

    Ray didn’t say a word. He just stayed there on his stomach, breath rough, shoulders tense, anticipating it with intense nerves. He was positioned with one leg pulled forward, giving me access to him.

    Slowly, I aligned the tip of my shaft with Ray’s fingered opening, pressing gently at first, feeling the warm resistance. His hole was still glistening, still stretched, twitching slightly as it met the pressure again. The moment was electric, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.

    We both went still.

    Ray inhaled sharply. His fingers dug into the sheets, like he already knew what was coming and was bracing for impact.

    Then, I pushed myself in.

    Slowly. Inch by inch. The pressure built—tight, intense, unrelenting.

    Ray’s head jerked back toward me, eyes wide. “Oh my f-fucking GOOOOOOODDDDDD!” he roared, his voice cracking halfway through the word as my length began to slide into him. 

    His eyes rolled back wildly, mouth falling open, breath ragged. He smashed his face into the pillow, muffling his growls and cries as his entire body arched. His hands gripped the cheap Army-issue bedsheets so hard they began to tear at the seams. He gasped again, louder, rawer, as I eased in deeper.

    “FUUUUUUUUUCK, LUUUUKE…” he cried, voice barely more than a gasp. “You’re too f—too fucking big, man…”

    My palms were steady on his ass, gently massaging the muscles, trying to ease him through it. He was trembling beneath me—part from the stretch of his ass, part from sheer sensory overload.

    “Do you want me to stop?” I asked, voice calm, careful, even though my own pulse was hammering in my throat.

    Ray didn’t answer right away. Just breathed—deep, uneven, dragging air like he was trying to find his balance again.

    Then he turned his head toward me, panting, jaw clenched like he was facing a challenge. And in a way, he was.

    He had that look on his face—determined, stubborn, familiar. Like this was just another army drill, or a dare he’d taken on. Like giving up wasn’t even an option. He looked like a man facing down a wall in training—something painful, maybe impossible—but refusing to back off.

    “No, man,” he grunted. “I just need a minute.” His voice cracked, but his eyes didn’t waver. “Keep fucking going.”

    I nodded, my hands steady on his waist, letting that raw, stubborn determination on Ray’s face fuel me. I started to move again—slow, deliberate—letting my hips rock forward with a steady rhythm. I eased back just slightly, then pushed in again, feeling every tight, heated inch as his body clenched around me. Inch by inch, I eased deeper, feeling the tension ripple through him. I could feel every shiver, every twitch of Ray’s body as he adjusted to the new fullness. His muscles flexed beneath my hands, hot and taut, like his whole frame was recalibrating around me.

    Ray slammed his fist into the mattress repeatedly, hard and fast, like he needed an outlet for everything building inside him. He bit down on the pillow with a low, guttural sound, muffling a groan that still rumbled out from his chest. “Uhhhhnnnn—ghhhh—” Ray groaned, biting into the pillow, his voice raw and broken around the edges. His entire body was locked in place, except for the trembling in his thighs and the way his hips rocked back against me without him even realizing it.

    The way my long dick stretched him open, filled his hole—it was almost too much for him. Almost. But he was still taking it. “Gnnnghh—fuuuhhh…” he grunted into the fabric, voice ragged and thick.

    I stayed steady, moving deeper with each slow thrust. The way he gripped the sheets, how he pressed his face into the pillow—it was like he needed something to hold onto, something to brace against the way his body was being opened, stretched, filled.

    “You’re doing so good,” I murmured. “Just like that. Let it happen.”

    Ray didn’t answer with words—just another deep growl into the mattress, a full-body tremble rippling down his back as I kept moving inside him.

    My palms massaged the meat of his ass, thumbs digging in for leverage as I rolled my hips again, keeping my rhythm smooth and unrelenting. His skin was slick with sweat, his body heat rising like a furnace beneath me.

    Finally, I bottomed out. My dick had gone as far inside of Ray as it could go—buried to the base, throbbing deep in that tight heat. I stayed put, holding still to give him a second to adjust. His muscles clenched around me instinctively—tight, pulsing, still adjusting to the intrusion. His hole was stretched to its limit, twitching around the base of my shaft, and I could feel every flicker, every shiver that passed through him.

    Pressed flush against him, my pubic hair ground against his ass, coarse and damp with sweat. It seemed like it was starting to leave a rug burn, even.

    “Damn, Ray,” I murmured, voice rough and low, leaning over him with one hand braced firmly on his lower back. “You feel that?” I gave a subtle roll of my hips, nothing sharp—just a slow, teasing grind that made my cock throb deep inside him.

    He answered with a strangled grunt, face still buried in the pillow. “Oh, I feel it,” he rasped. His voice was hoarse, the edges worn down by effort and overload. “I feel all of it.”

    I slid my palm up the curve of his back, grounding him, feeling the heat radiate off his spine. He was trembling under my touch—like every nerve was still trying to catch up.

    There was a pause, and then he let out something between a curse and a sigh—his whole body shuddering with the release. The kind of tremor that meant his self-control was circling the drain. Every muscle was tense beneath my palm, his entire frame bracing for the inevitable fucking he was about to receive.

    My whole cock pulsed inside him, not moving, just there, and Ray’s hips instinctively tilted back against me, subtle but unmistakable. “You’re doing good,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady for both of us.

    Ray made a noise—low, guttural, full of disbelief—but his hips twitched back into mine again, like he couldn’t help it. His knuckles were still white where they clutched the sheets, but he wasn’t pulling away. If anything, he was bracing for more.

    I started to move—slow at first, sliding in and out of Ray with deliberate control. His body clenched around me like it didn’t want to let go, every movement met with resistance and reluctant surrender. The hot, near-virgin grip was unreal—tight and stubborn, trying not to let me out. It made every withdrawal a struggle and every return a reward.

    “Fuck, you’re tight, Ray,” I growled, voice thick with breath and disbelief. “Guess your girl didn’t open you up enough,” I teased, letting the words linger as I rocked into him again.

    Ray let out a sharp breath—half-laugh, half-growl.“Man, f-fuck you,” he laughed, biting off the words just before they dissolved into a yelp. “Shit!” My next thrust pulled that sound right out of him.

    “Think I’m the one fucking you,” I shot back with a crooked grin, keeping the pace steady, letting my words roll just as slow and deliberate as my hips.

    Ray’s head dropped back onto the pillow with a thud. “You’re such an asshole,” he panted, but the way he was pushing back into every stroke betrayed him. “God, just—don’t stop.”

    “Didn’t plan to,” I murmured, gripping his thick asscheeks. “You’re taking it. Better than I expected.”

    He groaned again, gripping the sheets tighter. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Just… shut up and keep going.”

    His tone was a mix of irritation and desperation—the kind of voice someone uses when they don’t want to admit how much they’re enjoying it. I chuckled low in my throat.

    “You’re doing good,” I said again, quieter this time. “Better than good.”

    Ray shook his head against the pillow, breath coming fast, but he didn’t try to argue again. He just gripped the sheets tighter and pushed back into me—more deliberate now. Like his body had stopped resisting and started reaching for it.

    Ray’s hands clawed at the sheets, bunching the fabric between his fists like he needed something—anything—to hold onto. I kept my rhythm slow and steady, each movement deliberate, letting him feel what I was doing to him. Every push met with resistance, every retreat met with a subtle pull, like his body was caught in the current and hadn’t decided whether to fight it or ride it.

    “You’re takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ,” I teased, my voice low but honest, rolling with a bit of that playful edge I knew he could handle.

    Ray let out a breathy, strained laugh — more exhale than sound. “That’s… debatable,” he muttered, voice rough but proud. There was grit in it, defiance wrapped in exhaustion.

    I leaned forward, pressing a hand between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the bed. I paused inside him. “You want me to slow down?”

    “No,” he barked, almost too fast. Then quieter, like he was talking more to himself than to me. “Just… keep it steady. I got this.”

    I smiled to myself. ”You sure?” I asked, my fingers tightening slightly where they gripped his hips. “Because I’m not gonna hold back forever.”

    Ray turned his head just enough to flash me a look over his shoulder—sweaty, flushed, eyes blazing. His expression half-daring, half-exhausted. “You think I can’t take it?”

    I raised a brow, grinning. “Oh, you can take it, tough guy. I just like watching you prove it.”

    Something in his eyes flickered — challenge, amusement, maybe something more. Then he turned back, jaw tight, shoulders braced. His body twitched under mine as I moved again, slow and controlled, and I could feel the way his back arched slightly into the motion. Each stroke pulled a sound from him—sometimes a groan, sometimes a breathless curse. His spine flexed under my palm, sweat tracing the line of it, his whole body focused on staying steady. I could feel the effort it took him.

    Certain that Ray could handle it, I pulled myself upright, planted my knees, and started driving into him harder, fucking him faster. The shift in pace was immediate—no warning, just power and pressure.

    “Oh fuck! FUCK!” Ray shouted, voice cracking as my sudden thrust slammed into him. His back arched, and one fist pounded the mattress again, while the other clenched into the sheets as his whole body jolted forward with the force.

    I didn’t let up. I brought my hand down on his firm ass—spanking him hard enough to leave a mark. “Yeah!” I growled, hand smacking down again with a satisfying clap. “Take that fucking cock, soldier!”

    Instinct kicked in. “Yessir!” Ray moaned—reflexive, primal, like the military training just slipped through, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Then, realizing what he’d said, he let out a guttural groan. “F-Fuck!”

    I pushed forward again, grinning. “Didn’t mean to let that slip, huh?” I said, still rolling my hips, still feeding him more. “You’re really into it now.”

    “Shut up,” he growled into the pillow, but there was no heat behind it—just strain and urgency. “Shut the hell up and keep fucking going.”

    “Didn’t plan on stopping,” I muttered with a laugh. His whole body was tense, alive, pulling me deeper with every motion.

    My dick kept drilling into Ray with steady, powerful thrusts, feeling his tight grip try to hold me in—like he was fighting the inevitable, but also wanting every inch. My fingers didn’t stay idle; I slid them down to that slick, sensitive, stretched-out ring and started teasing it gently as I filled it, circling just enough to draw out his reactions.

    “Jeeesuuuus… Fuuuuuck, Luke…” Ray growled, his voice rough and trembling, muffled into the pillow. But the way he pushed back against me—harder, needier—said more than the words.

    I smirked, sweat dripping down my face. “Did your girlfriend make you cum while she fucked you?” I asked, keeping my rhythm sharp and punishing, just enough to keep him on edge.

    “Shit!” Ray grunted, nearly choking on the word as the next slam of my hips rocked through him. His voice cracked, raw and desperate. “No, she didn’t…”

    “Didn’t think so,” I said, voice low and edged with hunger. “Well I’m gonna,” I declared, stating it like it was just a matter of fact. I punctuated the sentence with a sharp thrust, one that made his breath catch and his whole body lock up for a second.

    “Aggghhhh… Ugghhhhh…” Ray groaned into the pillow, long and drawn out, as though the sensation had torn right through him. “I can’t believe I’m letting you fucking do this…”

    “You’re not just letting me,” I murmured, a crooked grin tugging at my lips as I gripped Ray’s ass tighter. I rolled my hips forward in a deep, grinding motion that made both of us groan. “You’re asking for it.”

    Ray didn’t argue. Didn’t say a word. But the way he pushed back into me, matching my rhythm, hungry, impatient, and reckless, his body greedy even if his brain couldn’t make sense of it—yeah, he was saying plenty without talking.

    I dragged one hand slowly down his spine, fingers tracing the sweat-slicked groove of his back. His muscles flexed in response to my touch. “Don’t fight it,” I said, quieter this time, leaning over him. “Just ride it out. Let it happen.”

    Ray’s response came as a deep, wordless groan—low and guttural, pulled straight from his chest. It vibrated through him, shaking his frame under my hands. His grip on the bedsheets tightened, his forehead pressing deeper into the pillow like he was stabilizing himself against everything flooding through him.

    “Damn,” I breathed, adjusting my angle just enough to draw another shudder from him. “You feel incredible, Ray. I don’t think you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

    That made him growl, but it lacked real bite. He shoved his face deeper into the pillow, muffling the next groan that tore out of him when my hips shifted again. He was melting into the rhythm now, sinking into it, riding that edge between control and surrender: The soldier who never backed down—now straining under me, riding this out like a mission he refused to fail.

    And I could feel him getting closer. Every breath sharper, every motion more desperate, like he was chasing something and couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

    I pulled Ray’s hips up just enough to slip my hand underneath him, searching until I found what I already knew was there—his cock, rock hard and soaked with precum. The heat of it shocked me for a second, like touching something wired with electricity.

    “Damn,” I breathed, wrapping my hand around him. I started stroking him in sync with my thrusts, each motion calculated, tight, relentless. “You’re gonna cum for me, soldier!” I ordered. “You got that?!”

    Ray’s whole body jolted. “Ye—yessir!” he gasped, his voice cracking around the words. “Aggghhh, fuuuuuuck!”

    His back arched against me, the rhythm of his breath breaking apart, ragged and desperate. My other hand gripped his ass, holding him steady, while my thumb dragged slow circles around the stretched ring at his base—just enough to keep him teetering on the edge.

    “Good,” I growled, pushing into him harder, deeper. “Then shoot that load, soldierboy.”

    He didn’t answer—he couldn’t. His hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, his entire body pulled taut like a bowstring.

    “Aaahhhh… Aaah—FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Ray cried, his voice shaking the room as his release hit him, wild and unstoppable.

    I felt the pulse of him in my hand, every twitch and spasm. His dick unloaded in waves, his whole body shuddering with the force of it as it coated my hand and Ray’s sheets. “Fuck yeah…” he moaned, sighing into the pillow.

    I kept driving into Ray, feeling his tight, clenched ass muscles rhythmically milking my cock with every thrust. My voice dropped low and rough. “You’re gonna make me cum again, Ray,” I growled, breath ragged. “I’m gonna fill you the fuck up, soldier!”

    Ray was spent—every ounce of fight drained—but still, he didn’t pull away. He just took it, steady and stubborn, like the soldier he was. His breath came in shallow pants, his body trembling beneath me.

    He didn’t say a word, but the way his hips jerked back, desperate and eager, told me everything. I slammed into him harder, the heat of his body clinging to mine as I roared, “Fuck yeah… take my fucking LOAAAAAD!”

    The first wave hit—hot, overwhelming—and I started cumming inside him, blasting his anal cavity forcefully. Ray’s muscles clenched so tight around me that it felt like I was caught in a vise. My hips bucked instinctively, riding the tremors rolling through him as I poured every last bit into him.

    I could see his ass was overflowing as my white liquid started to leak out, thick and full, dripping down his thighs and mixing with the sweat already glistening on his dark skin. His breath hitched, and he bit the pillow harder, muffling a ragged moan.

    “Shit, Luke…” he gasped, voice barely audible. “You’re… you’re fillin’ me up…”

    I held him close, grinding slow as the aftershocks rocked through both of us. “Yeah,” I murmured, voice low and heavy. “Take it all, soldier. Every last drop.”

    I gave Ray a few final thrusts — slower now, almost lazy, but still deep enough to make him groan into the pillow. His body jerked slightly with each motion, the overstimulation hitting him harder than he probably wanted to admit.

    Finally, I pulled out of Ray’s ass with a loud, satisfying pop that echoed in the quiet room. Ray yelped sharply, the sudden emptiness hitting him like a shock. He whimpered, twisting slightly as his body tried to process the shift.

    “Dude,” he panted, still face-down on the bed. “That was… fucking insane.”

    I smirked, brushing a stray bead of sweat from my temple. “Better than your girlfriend?” I teased, voice low, amused.

    He made a face — part scowl, part dazed satisfaction. “Yeah…” he muttered, grudging but honest. His eyes flicked down to the sheets beneath him, where a massive white puddle had soaked the fabric. “Can’t believe how much you made me cum…”

    Curious, I knelt down behind him to get a better look at my handiwork. Ray’s hole was now gaping open widely, relaxed and leaking my thick, creamy spunk. It glistened in the dim light, the slow drip tracing patterns down his dark skin.

    “Shit, bro,” I muttered, half-amused, running a finger along the rim of his open hole. “You’re leaking like a broken pipe.”

    Ray rolled his head to the side, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead. “Yeah,” he breathed out, a tired smile pulling at his lips. “Think I’m gonna need another shower after this.”

    There was a pause. His eyes flicked over to me, dark and unreadable for a second.

    Then, casual as anything, Ray said, “Wanna join me?”

  • Three Strikes

    Strike Two

    Frustrated and horny, I complied. I left his place, continued onward to work, and went about my day as usual. When I went to bed, I set my alarm a little earlier for the next morning. 

    The next morning, while my boyfriend was in the shower, I grabbed a pair of his underwear and slipped into them. I finished getting ready and told him that I needed to leave a little early for work. My job occasionally started early, so he just nodded and kissed me, “Have a good day. See you tonight. Love you!” 

    “Love you too!” I smiled as I left. On the drive to my hookup, I berated myself. I was wearing my boyfriend’s underwear and about to meet a stranger for a hookup. I decided that I would just stop by and tell him that I could not go through with it. 

    When I reached his neighborhood, I entered the gate code and then parked outside his unit. Knocking on his door, I rehearsed mentally what I would say, “I cannot stay, but I did not want to ghost you….” 

    The door opened, and he was fully clothed. He looked like he was just home from the gym. Athletic shoes enveloped his feet. His legs were bare, slim, and lean. His black shorts were some sort of dry-weave for working out. His shirt was a dark red, and looked like the same synthetic material as the shorts. The color looked good against his tanned olive skin. His blue eyes focused unyielding and unnervingly on mine. He raised his eyebrows and tipped his head back. Then, he stepped aside from the entry and gestured for me to enter. As soon as I stepped through the door, he closed it behind me. I spoke as I had rehearsed, “I cannot stay, but I did not want to ghost you….” 

    “Too bad,” he interrupted. As I turned to face him, he stepped toward me. One hand grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my face toward his. His mouth enveloped mine in a deeply passionate kiss. His other hand grabbed one of my hands and pressed it into his crotch. He held it there, so I could feel his cock growing. I whimpered and tried to pull away, but he held firm until my arousal began to override my better judgement. As soon as he felt me caving, he released me and took a step back. “Did you wear what I told you to wear?” 

    “Yes, sir.” 

    “Show me.” 

    As I opened my pants, he dropped his workout shorts to the floor. He wore a jockstrap underneath them, but his cock had escaped the pouch and was swinging freely. As I stood, pants open and staring at his cock, he slipped the jockstrap off. With his eyes, he signaled for me to remove my pants and underwear. I complied. 

    He pressed the jockstrap to my face. It was damp from sweat. “Breathe,” he instructed. I inhaled and noticed the musky aroma. I exhaled. He held it in place while I continued to breathe for a minute or so. Then, he handed it to me. “Put it on.”

    I obeyed, and as soon as it was in place, he told me to hand him my boyfriend’s underwear. I turned toward it and bent down to pick it up. He quickly stepped behind me and pressed his long thick cock into the cleavage of my ass. Grabbing my boyfriend’s underwear, I quickly stood and turned to face him. I handed the underwear to him.

    He smirked as he took it from me, “You’re going to wear my jock all day. In fact, you’re going to wear it every day for the next week. I’m going to be out of town, but I’ll be back a week from tomorrow. Stop by on your way to work that day. You can return my jock to me then.”

    I acknowledged and glanced at my boyfriend’s underwear. He chuckled and then continued, “These belong to me now—just like you do. It’s too bad you don’t have time to stay today, but next time you are here, my cock will be in your ass. Now, put your pants back on and go to work. You don’t have time to stay, remember?”

    “Wait. I can call my office, and…”

    “Strike 2. Time to go.”