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I Rail my Brother-in-Law

I’ve cleaned myself up, taken a shower and put some new boxers on. Not sure what to do with the ones full of my spunk, I put it at the bottom of the laundry basket and put my other clothes over it, hoping it will hide the smell.

The whole time I think about Alex’s moans as Diego pounds away at his ass. The way he stared greedily into Diego’s eyes, clearly needing him to fill Alex’s ass. The way his tight hole swallowed Diego’s cock deep inside.

‘What the fuck is wrong with me’ I think as the image of Gwen, my fucking wife crosses my mind. And it seems I’ve summoned her because I hear the front door open and her voice. I go towards her, seeing my beautiful wife coming into the house with her parents. 

“Hi honey” she says, smiling at me with those cute dimples. 

“Hi my love, I missed you” I answered back, relief filling me as I see the love of my life, giving her a soft peck on the lips. But my heart squeezes, and I feel such guilt at what I’ve done. I still love my wife, so what just happened?

“I hope you didn’t get too bored babe?” she asks me while she puts the groceries in the kitchen, and I help her out. 

“Nah, I just watched some TV then took a shower” I answer, heart pounding.

At that moment Alex and Diego come downstairs, smiling.

“You guys are so cute”, Gwen says, hugging them both in greeting. “I hope you didn’t get into too much mischief when I was gone” she teases.

“Nooo, we would never. Look, Caleb can vouch for us” Alex says, looking at me with a glint in his eye. He has a slight smile on his face as he stares at me expectantly.

‘Does he know? Shit, I really hope he didn’t see me’, I panicked in my head.

“Well, I didn’t hear anything, so they can’t have done much” I laugh weakly.

Alex cocks his head at me, still smiling. “See, I told you Gwen”.

She rolls her eyes and smiles at them. “Well unless your gonna help, shoo lovebirds”

The rest of the day passes normally, except for the looks that Alex keeps giving me. ‘Does he always do this? Am I just being paranoid? Or does he actually know?? Fuck this is not good’ my mind races, thinking back to our ‘encounter’, and if he saw me or not.

Night comes around, and we go for an early night because all the rest of the family will probably be home tomorrow, so I strip down to my boxers and climb into bed with Gwen. I hold her in my arms and kiss her on her lips, slow and passionate. I feel guilt in my head but push it down – I love Gwen more than anything, she’s amazing and nothing can get between that. I decide to pretend that whatever happened today didn’t actually happen, it’s easier to hide than to accept.

I close my eyes and drift to sleep, Gwen in my arms breathing softly against my chest. 

I wake up, and it’s still dark. I look up, seeing Alex by the foot of the bed. As he walks closer, I discover that he’s naked. 

“You loved watching today didn’t you” he teases, “you would love to fuck me deep in my ass right?”, a slight smile on his face as he talks, then leans forward, parting his lips slightly, about to put his lips on mine- 

I jolt awake and look around my bed, looking for Alex. 

“You ok baby?” I hear Gwen groggily ask me from the bed, clearly woken up by my sudden movement. 

“Yes my love, I’m sorry. You go back to sleep, I’m going to the toilet.” I reassure her as I stand up and walk to the toilet. 

I walk out of the room towards the toilet and realise that I, for the second time today, see that I’m rock hard. 

‘For fucks sake’ I groan. 

I go to the toilet, hoping it will go away after I piss, but after I struggle to do so, it’s still there with no signs of leaving. It’s clear what I have to do now, so I find one of the many empty rooms, lie down on the bed and start to touch myself.

As I start to slowly stroke my hard cock, I think back to today. I think about Alex getting fucked, and I start to leak like a fucking faucet. I start to breathe heavily, barely touching myself but the memory of today getting me so hard.

And then, to my dread, I hear the door open. I quickly pull my boxers up and look at the door. To my surprise (and my cocks pleasure), I see Alex at the door. Naked.

“Alex what the fuck?!” I whisper-shout at him.

“Oh so now you’re bothered about spying on people” he drawls out.

I freeze. ‘Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.’

“You don’t have anything to say now? Don’t worry, you don’t need to do anything” he smiles and walks closer to me.

He climbs on the bed and straddles me, grinding his ass against my cock through my boxers.

“ALEX WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” I shout at him, about to shove him off me, but he grabs my arms.

He leans over and whispers in my ear, “Caleb wait a fucking second. Don’t think I didn’t see you stroking your cock while Diego was fucking me. Like that wasn’t what you were thinking about when you were just doing it now as well. And I saw how hard you came, your boxers dripping cum everywhere.” He looks into my eyes.

“And I found those same boxers at the bottom of the laundry basket still full of cum.” He says, slowly continuing his grinding over my dick, fully hard still, “and you know what I did. I licked that shit clean, sucking every drop from it.”

‘Fuck, I’ve have enough of this shit.’ I think to myself, furious at the way he has me held down. I grab his wrists and roll over, pinning him against me. “Since your so fucking needy, legs up. Now.” I growl, needing to shut this bitch up.

I shove my boxers down, revealing my 10 thick inches, standing stiff, primed and ready. Alex lifts up his legs and exposes his hole. I put my fingers by his lips, opening his jaw and shoving my fingers in as Alex swirls his tongue around it. He looks up at me, so submissive. All mine to control. All mine to fuck. 

I move my finger out of his mouth and shove them into his hole without warning, making him moan in pleasure. I force my hand over his mouth. 

“Don’t say a fucking word. You’ve said more than enough. You’re only allowed to talk when I say you can.” I demand, he nods at me with such obedient eyes, my dick twitches just with one look. I pull my fingers out, and tease him with my dick slowly caressing his outer ring. He looks up at me with such needy eyes, and I remove my hand from his mouth.

“You want it?” I ask

He nods at me with those eyes.

“Beg for it” I command.

“Please Caleb, I need your fat cock so bad. I know it’s going to fill me up more than Diego’s, so I need it so deep inside of me. Please Daddy’ he whimpers, breathing heavy in anticipation.

“Good boy.” I purr, as I thrust suddenly into his hole, but not all the way in. Not yet.

“FUCK” Alex shrieks, “You’re so-“

I slap him hard across the face. “When did I tell you you could talk?” He whimpers as I keep my cock in place, feeling his tight hole around it. I put my hand back over his mouth, leaning on his face, getting ready.

I start to pull out, then thrust back in, slowly first, I want the bitch under my body to yearn for me to fuck him hard and deep. He moans under my hand at the feeling of my thick cock filling him all the way up, leaving him wide open for me to his hole.

I start to go deeper, expanding him even further and a new bout of moans and cries are muffled by my hands. I finally give one hard thrust, balls deep, hold it there for a second then pull all the way out of his boy pussy. 

He looks at my eyes longing, clearly needing more. 

“Turn onto your knees. Now.” I say, no leniency in my voice. It’s an order and he must obey. He does so and shows me his hole, gaping wide open from my penetration. His ass cheeks protrude outwards with a fine dusting of hair on top. I slap his right cheek, making it jiggle and leaving a red handprint on it. My mark to show him that he’s mine. 

I slam his face down onto the bed, grab his shoulders and guide my tip to his ring again – this time I don’t hold back. I fuck him balls deep with every thrust making his ass ripple and bounce, a loud clap with every sound.

“FUCK CALEB YOU’RE SO DEEP” he screams into the pillow, followed by unintelligible words and cries and moans. I smack his ass with my hand, leaving another deep red mark.

“Whose ass is this?” I demand

“It’s all yours master, fuck, it’s all yours” he cries begging for more like the slut he is.

I grab his forearms, his face still down on the pillow and with every push of my hips, I pull him closer from his arms, pulling him even deeper onto my fat cock and I feel myself getting so close to shooting my seed. I slam him onto my cock and keep him there, balls deep. I shove him by his hair so that he’s looking up and behind into my eyes. 

“Fuck, I’ve made you such a good bitch for this cock. Open your mouth.” I command. He does and I spit into it, and he swallows it, craving more like it’s his lifeblood.

“Im going to shoot my seed deep inside of you, I’m going to breed that slutty boy pussy of yours all the way in, and you’re going to take it like a good boy. You’re going to keep it inside of you all day to remind me who’s bitch you are” I order him. 

“Yes Daddy” he whispers, and I shove him back down, keeping my hold on his hair. I pull his head back, and start to fuck him again, feral and wild, grabbing his hair to shove him further onto my cock.

I feel myself so close to cumming, and I fuck him even faster. He screams my name, and it’s almost impossible for nobody in the house to hear me fucking the shit out of my brother in law but I don’t give a shit. I need to give this fucking bitch his punishment for being so slutty, and so forward. I grab his neck with both hands, choking him but I thrust harder and faster until my balls contract and hot, thick shots of cum release deep inside him.

“Fuckkk boy, take it like a good slut” I growl, pulling out with a wet plop and leaving his ass dripping in cum. Alex tries to catch his breath, but I twist him so his mouth is facing my cock. I force his jaw open and thrust my cock into his mouth, ushering him to clean it. 

He licks it from top to the base, slurping up every bit of my cum and savouring the taste of his master’s seed. I pull out of his throat, giving him a tight slap across the face. I pull up my boxers and leave him there, panting and dripping in my cum. 

I’ll be sleeping well tonight.

Man of January: Erik Nordahl, 27, Norway

Erik Nordahl was a grandmaster whose style combined rigorous positional calculation with flashes of inventive daring that made him a paradoxical player — meticulous yet unpredictable. His openings were precise, often entering lines deeply analyzed months in advance, yet he maintained the capacity to deviate with a single pawn thrust or queen maneuver that defied expectation. Endgames, for him, were exercises in compression: he reduced the board to its barest tensions, finding subtle zugzwangs and quiet triumphs invisible to the casual observer. Analysts described his intuition as near-clinical, a capacity to calculate twenty moves ahead without ever losing sight of the opponent’s psychological patterns. Yet beneath this technical mastery lay a rhythm and elegance that could make a spectator forget the cold arithmetic of the game and simply marvel at its beauty.

I had come to Oslo not just to meet Erik, but to explore a personal side project — an experiment in Polar Bear training, inspired by children and adults who sought the sharp clarity and unexpected joy of winter swimming. Meeting Erik, a man whose life balanced rigorous thought with playful audacity, seemed perfect for understanding this northern ritual at its roots. There was something about him — the easy grace in his stance, the faint perfume of cedar and winter air he carried, the subtle way he adjusted the cuff of his shirt or the angle of his scarf — that hinted at a life fully lived, and quietly confident, a sensibility that made you notice him without ever feeling forced.

I arrived on a cold, clear morning when the fjords were still cloaked in a thin mist, and the sunlight struck the snow-dusted rooftops in pale gold. The airport smelled faintly of coffee and machine oil, and the distant hum of trams threaded through the city like a quiet heartbeat. I carried a small suitcase with my laptop, and a small garment bag with a change of clothes, and felt the familiar tingle of anticipation.

Erik met me at the terminal, tall and lean, his sunlit brown hair brushing his collar, eyes so blue they reminded me of ice floes I had only glimpsed in photographs. His smile was open, disarming, yet there was a subtle elegance in his movements — a careful awareness of himself and the space around him. “Welcome to Oslo,” he said, voice calm but steady. “I’ll show you the city… and a little of my world.”

We walked toward the center along streets still damp from overnight drizzle. The air was crisp, carrying hints of pine from the surrounding hills and salt from the harbor. Erik talked about his childhood here, growing up skating on frozen rivers and climbing hills behind his school, how his parents encouraged curiosity alongside discipline. “Chess was always there,” he said, a hint of grin tugging at his lips. “The first time I played seriously, I was seven. My opponent was my older cousin. He beat me in twenty moves, and I cried for three days. But I also learned something: the game doesn’t forgive mistakes, and it rewards attention.”

Lunch was at a small café tucked behind timbered buildings, windows fogged and glowing faintly orange from candlelight. We sat at a corner table, the smell of smoked salmon mingling with fresh dill and warm bread. He spoke of tournaments, of the slow, nerve-wracking tension of a match where every move could tilt the balance. “I remember one championship in Bergen,” he said, “I was fourteen, facing a player two years older. I nearly lost, until he misread a knight’s position. The thrill… it’s hard to describe. You feel completely alive, completely responsible for every choice.” I let my AI-assisted transcriber catch every word, while intensely watching his hands — long, elegant, precise — moving as if still adjusting pieces on a board. I noticed how his gaze lingered on the way the sunlight hit the edges of a cup, or how he seemed to see the details most people ignored, and it made me imagine him noticing the promise of future great Polar Bear swimmers in children he would train, or the beauty of men he might casually meet at some gallery opening.

After lunch, we wandered along Aker Brygge. Boats bobbed gently, hulls painted muted reds and blues, reflections trembling in the water. Cafés and galleries spilled aroma and light. Erik paused at a small wooden kiosk. “This is where I’d practice when I was young, imagining games against grandmasters I had never met.” He laughed quietly, a low, warm sound that carried across the pier. “I pretended every piece was alive, with its own temper, its own secrets.” There was an effortless poise to him — the casual tilt of his head, the subtle flex of his fingers as he gestured — that suggested a man entirely comfortable in his own skin. I caught myself noticing it, not in a gawking way, but in the sense that this comfort radiated outward, making the world around him seem a little brighter, a little more aware of elegance and precision.

Then he led me to a pier at the edge of the fjord. The wind cut sharp, carrying the scent of salt and pine. “This,” he said, voice steady, “is where I swim in winter.” I laughed, thinking he meant a symbolic dip. His eyes were serious. “Polar Bear Swimming. Not just for me. For children. I want them to learn discipline, courage… and the joy of testing limits. I want children to experience fear and joy at the same time,” he said. “To feel alive in ways that video games or books cannot teach.” There was an intensity to his gaze as he spoke, but it softened when he smiled, and I imagined the meticulous preparation and tender slowness that I was sure accompanied him in his personal life, in the way he carefully arranged his home, his clothing, his interactions — hints at a private vibrancy that gleamed just below the surface.

We walked the waterfront as the sun dipped low, lighting the water in molten gold and silver. He spoke of children from cities, some of whom had never felt the cold bite of the northern winds, alone icy water on their skin. “They’ll need careful guidance,” he said. “But I want them to remember the feeling forever — the shock, the breath, the laughter that comes after.” I imagined them, small and brave, and the fjord, vast and indifferent, and I understood the quiet obsession in his voice. I also noticed small, graceful flourishes in his gestures, the elegant way he adjusted his scarf against the wind, and felt a faint sense that this man moved through the world in a way that was quietly, unmistakably his own — something readers who cared about aesthetic and identity would recognize and celebrate…

By evening, Erik invited me to his apartment near Frogner. The streets glowed pink and purple from the last light, snow glinting under lamps, quiet except for the distant rumble of trams. Over tea, he told me stories of early chess losses, mentors who shaped him, and the rare moments when victory felt too heavy to celebrate. He described how he kept notebooks for every tournament, recording not just moves but moods, weather, even the faintest smells in the playing hall. “Chess is memory,” he said. “And memory is everything.” I noticed how he arranged the teacups and biscuits with precision and a certain artistry, the same meticulous attention to detail he brought to chess, to winter swimming, to himself. I watched him carefully, noting his intensity and his lightness at the same time.

Erik saw me back to my hotel, his tall frame brushing past the doorframe with the easy grace I had come to notice throughout the day.  When he offered me his hand and a big thank you for the interview, I invited him to come up and look at the article dummy: the general layout, the quotes, the photos, the full text of the interview I’d later edit, and he quickly agreed.

In the room I opened my laptop, tapped a few keys, and the AI-assisted app opened the fully transcribed interview, lined up the photos I had taken, and even suggested a muted palette for the centerpiece article — soft blues and warm grays, with gold accents where the sunlight had caught the water or the pier. “I thought you’d like to see it,” I said.

Erik slid into the chair beside me, fingers brushing lightly over the trackpad as he scrolled through the pages. His eyes traced the text, lingering on a quote here, a photograph there. I watched him pause on a shot of the fjord at sunset, the children’s imagined faces blurred into abstract color, and felt him inhale softly, almost unconsciously.

“This is… beautiful,” he said finally, his voice carrying that same careful, precise warmth I had noticed all day. “You’ve captured more than just words. It feels like… the day, the air, the light… and even the cold.” His fingers hovered briefly over the keyboard, not to change anything, but as if touching the work might somehow honor it. “Thank you,” he added. “Really. For doing this. For making it all… present.”

I smiled, quietly pleased, watching him shift slightly, relaxed in a way that suggested the day’s formalities had fallen away. He leaned back, eyes still on the screen, and I could see a soft gratitude in the subtle tilt of his head, the brief, almost shy curve of a smile. It wasn’t just the article, or the photos, or even the transcriptions — it was the care behind it, the sense that someone had listened fully, attended to both the facts and the spirit of his vision. And in that quiet, shared moment, the room seemed to hum with the satisfaction of work done well, and trust quietly acknowledged.

***

… I eased the sweater over his head, the thick wool grazing his cheek as I lifted it free, his scarf slipping off one shoulder to puddle on the floor. The white shirt came next, hem catching on his belt before I coaxed it upward; the fabric clung, static lifting the fine hairs along his spine. The soft light of the room spilled across his chest—pale as fresh paper, a faint flush rising where my lips first touched. I kissed the gentle slope beneath his collarbone, then lower, tongue brushing the soft silk of down that caught the glow like frost on birch bark. His large pink nipples tightened instantly under the drag of my mouth; he drew a sharp, almost startled breath, fingers sliding into my hair to guide me closer. The scent of cedar cologne mingled with the clean, faintly sheepish warmth of the wool.

He laughed under his breath, caught a hand on my shoulder for balance, and kicked—one boot, then the other, clattering across the floorboards. Jeans skin-tight from thigh to ankle fought him; he hopped, denim inching down, the other foot flailing for equilibrium. Each bounce made the blue briefs ride lower, cotton stretching over the blunt outline of his cock as it bobbed against his belly. On the fourth hop the waistband slipped far enough for gravity to win: a single large, pale-pink testicle rolled free, nestling briefly against the inner seam, shining faintly in the evening light before he steadied himself and shoved the jeans past his knees.

His thumbs hooked the waistband, and peeled away the fabric like a curtain. Out sprang a cock shorter than I’d expected—thick, though, the shaft a deep ruddy red with uneven ridges that caught the light like small, shadowed valleys. Foreskin sat fully retracted, baring a glossy crown almost plum-colored; beneath, loose pink sacs hung low, swaying with each heartbeat. A soft tuft of wheat-blond curls dusted the base, bright against his pale skin, the whole column standing so upright it nearly kissed the hollow of his navel. Instinct made his palms flash forward, shielding; a breath later they dropped, obedient, and the rigid shaft bobbed alone, a single murky bead trembling at the slit before it slid, slow and pearlescent, down the curve of the head.

Unable to hold back, I knelt before him. The first touch was heat—clean skin still carrying the faint bite of hotel soap and something greener, like fir needles crushed in his pocket. I sealed my lips just behind the ridge, tongue nestling into the silky groove where foreskin had rolled back, tasting the faint salt of that first clear drop. Each throb echoed inside my mouth as if his heartbeat had moved into my skull; I felt the subtle lift and drop of his sac against my chin, soft skin sliding on stubble. When I drew him deeper the uneven ridges of those cavernous bodies glided over my tongue—tiny hills and valleys that made me map him inch by inch, greedy for every contour. A low hum vibrated out of his belly into my mouth, and the warmth spread down my own throat, pooling behind my sternum like swallowed sunlight.

I cupped his balls gently with one hand, fingers sinking into the loose, velvety skin that felt cooler than his shaft—like holding two small eggs wrapped in silk. The sac shifted, tightening then relaxing as I rolled them, each orb sliding slightly independent of the other, soft yet firm beneath the delicate pouch. A faint pulse throbbed against my palm, syncing with the beat of his cock on my tongue, and I could feel the fine down of hair whisper against my skin as I gave it the lightest tug, drawing a low, grateful sigh from above.

I slid forward until my nose nestled in the fair curls at his root, the head nudging the back of my throat, and tilted my eyes up. High above the slope of his belly the chess prodigy’s face had cracked open: brows knitted so tight a single bead of sweat hung on the blond arch, eyelids fluttering like faulty blinds. He worried his lower lip between white teeth until it blanched, then released it to gulp air, the pink rushing back as if color itself obeyed his pulse.

His shoulders rose—tense, mathematical—and fell in messy, human waves, each exhale a small, broken “ah” that never quite shaped into my name. Feet shifted on the rug: heel to toe, toe to heel, knees dipping each time my tongue pressed the underside ridge, as though the floorboards had turned to ice and fire in alternating squares. When I hollowed my cheeks the tempo cracked—he jerked one foot back, thigh muscles standing in sharp Nordic relief under pale skin, and for a breath his eyes snapped open, blue and startled, meeting mine with a look that said every calculated variation on the board had collapsed into this single, unbearable equation.

His fingers brushed my temple—soft, almost apologetic—and I slid off him, lips buzzing with the after-hum of his pulse. The shy grin resurfaced, the dimples on his cheeks flashing; and suddenly the grandmaster was gone: there was just a lanky kid caught racing ahead toward a sweet finish.

“You are too fast,” he laughed, voice light, “or I am… wait, wait.”

It took him just a single casual swipe of his thumb across the slit and a crystal thread spilled out—stretching, stretching—until it hovered, trembling, almost half way to the rug

He edged back until the desk stopped him, pale thighs parting just enough to invite my hand between. His fingers closed over mine, steering me past the soft hang of his sac to the warm swell beneath—an elastic ridge that felt like a firm, fleshy button under thin skin, larger than any I’d ever mapped. When I pressed there in slow pulses he let out a guttural “uhn,” hips tilting to give me more, and a murky bead slid off his slit to land cool on my knuckles. I kept the rhythm—press, release, press—watching his balls lift and drop in tiny, involuntary jerks, as if my fingertips were a conductor’s baton and his moans the obedient notes, soft and steady as long as I stayed on that sweet, hidden chord.

His gaze had sharpened into something almost stern—brows knitted so tight a single vertical line cut between them, eyes the cold blue of winter sea ice. For a heartbeat I thought I’d pressed too hard, that the “surprised pain” creasing his mouth was real; but then his hand closed over mine and pushed my fingers back onto that warm, elastic swell beneath his balls, holding me there. A low, animal sound slipped out—half growl, half surrender—and the sunny mask cracked: jaw slackening, nostrils flaring, chest hair rising with each shallow breath. I felt the beast stir under pale skin, muscles coiling as if ready to pounce, and the sight sent a hot spike straight to my groin.

I settled into the cadence he wanted—press, hold, release—like fingering a hidden fret beneath his sac. The moment the rhythm locked, his right hand floated to that upright shaft, fingers curling loose, barely a cage. He started a soft percussion: pad of thumb, pad of index, alternating taps right where the swollen ridge met the flared crown—light, staccato, almost casual, the way a jazzman ghosts the keys before the solo. Each tap sent a micro-jolt through the rigid vein; his head jerked minutely, fresh groans bouncing off the narrow walls, yet the grip stayed slack, tempo lazy—just tasting the edge of the note he refused to play too soon.

He laughed once—short, breathy—then angled his hips until that furnace-hot shaft lay flush against my cheek, pulsing with his heartbeat. I smelled soap and the faint salt of earlier leaks; the skin burned velvet-soft yet steel underneath. A tiny, uncertain rock forward, then back—so slight it could have been balance, but the drag sent sparks through my jaw: first the slick bare crown, rim flaring as it passed, then the thicker shaft rolling, foreskin’s folded edge grazing stubble, finally the cooler swing of his balls tapping lightly before the cycle returned. Each micro-stroke felt like a silent question he couldn’t voice; I answered with a moan that vibrated into his flesh, and the rhythm steadied, gentle, exploratory, deliciously obscene.

He must have felt the tremor that ran through my whole frame, because he gave that soft, almost boyish chuckle again—warm breath brushing my temple—then stepped back, lacing his fingers through mine. The tug was gentle but sure, a silent promise, and I followed him the few paces to the bed I’d smoothed that morning, fresh sheets pulled tight for exactly this moment. I stretched out on my back; he climbed on in one fluid hop, knees planting wide, and settled into a low squat above me—like some great pale bird ready to fold its wings. His cock hung heavily, swaying left, then right, the short red shaft brushing air; beneath it his sac drooped long and loose, skin thin enough to show the shift of each orb, tempting enough to make my mouth water.

Eyes the color of winter fjords met mine, softer now, almost wondering, and for a breath I let myself imagine this was the evening routine between long-time partners in quiet love with each other, not first-time lovers mapping terrain. Then his palms slid to my chest—fingers spread, thumbs grazing nipples—and he gave a slow, firm shake that rocked me from sternum to pelvis, a wordless command to open, to yield. Without breaking gaze he scooted lower, bent cock angling down until the flushed head nudged the crease of my balls, ready to find the exact spot where he could nudge himself in.

Then he moved like lightning—one heartbeat he was poised above me, the next his chest crashed against mine, mouth latching onto my nipple with a wet, hungry suction that shot sparks straight to my spine. At the same instant his cock drove home, the thick short shaft spearing in, its heat so intense it felt like molten steel poured into my core. No slow build, no polite tease: he pistoned instantly, hips snapping in a southern, sun-baked rhythm that turned my breath into short, shocked grunts.

Inside, he explored me—head ramming upward, then dragging down, side to side, each angle a fresh burst of lightning. I felt every ridge of those cavernous bodies raking across my gland, and his loose balls slapped my ass in wet percussion. The pace climbed—faster, faster—until my vision tunneled; I bit my forearm to muffle the raw cries tearing out of me, heels digging into the mattress while he bulldozed deeper, relentless, endless.

The arches of his feet pressed along my calves, long toenails scraping faint pink lines that stung deliciously before fading. Each time he rose on the down-stroke those hair-sprinkled thighs slid the full length of mine—slow, deliberate drags that lasted whole seconds longer than the quick jabs of his cock. The contrast broke me open: inside, the blunt head punched a molten button that shot white heat up my spine; outside, coarse Nordic hair rasped over my smoother skin, raising chill bumps in cool sheets of sensation that rolled ankle to hip like an incoming tide. I felt the gooseflesh crest up my stomach, chest, arms, until every nerve hummed on the verge of overload—screams tearing out raw, unchecked, loud enough that somewhere down the hall a door slammed and I half expected boots in the corridor demanding what slaughter was happening in room 412.

Each slam drove the air from my lungs in a grunt, his weight settling deeper until my ribs felt the grind of his hipbones through flesh. The room filled with wet, obscene slurps—my own slick channel sucking at him on every withdrawal—punctuated by sharp claps when he rammed home, skin smacking skin like hands applauding in a dark theatre. Bitter-sweet waves crested behind my eyes: pleasure so intense it bordered on nausea, nerves firing white flags while my cock leaked untouched against my belly.

He grew heavier, muscle turning to lead with lust; nipple kisses became bites, areolae caught between teeth, tugs that made me yelp into the sweat-damp crook of his neck. His breath sawed out in hoarse gusts—huh-huh-huh—perfectly synced to the piston of his hips. And the motion changed: no longer just thrusts but a full-body glide, chest hair rasping my torso, belly sliding on mine, sweat acting as slick gel. It felt like some vast, warm serpent had coiled atop me, dry skin moving in ripples, exhaling furnace air across my collarbone while it crushed and caressed in the same relentless crawl.

My moans cracked into pleading, hips jerking up to meet him, riding the relentless surge he fed me. That strange hoarse chuckle rattled out of him—half triumph, half disbelief—then cut to sudden silence; he froze, buried to the root, every muscle locked. “Fuck—fuck—fuck!” tore from his throat in three ragged sobs, and I felt the first hot spurt explode deep, flooding past my gland in a thick, scalding pulse. The second and third followed before I could breathe, pressure too great for the tight space; warm cum already seeped around his shaft and spilled onto the sheets beneath my ass, marking the bed with the run-off of his release while he stayed planted, shuddering, emptying everything north of the Arctic into me.

I looked up through the haze and saw two Eriks superimposed: the polite Viking who’d chatted to me about his best games and his polar swims, his sunny smile soft as morning snow, and this panting, sweat-slick beast draped over me, hair plastered to forehead, chest heaving like he’d sprinted down the fjord. The contrast snapped the coil inside me—pleasure rose not from friction but from the collision of kindness and hunger in one man.

His mouth crashed onto mine, teeth clipping my lip, and I felt the after-shocks quiver through his ribs as he groaned into the kiss. At the same moment he slipped out—warm spill following, a slow glide that dragged over sensitive flesh and left me open, empty, dripping. The sensation flicked the final switch: my cock kicked once, twice, three times, squeezed between us, and each spurt was thick and itchy, crawling up my shaft in lazy pulses that drew whimpers from my throat. I twisted beneath him, hips jerking uncontrollably, riding the long, trembling after-waves while his spent cock brushed my thigh and leaked the last Norwegian pearls onto my skin.

We kept quaking, skin on skin, for a full five minutes—my moans thin and ragged like someone bruised, his answers as low chuckles edged with quiet wolf-growls that vibrated into my spine. Gradually the tremors eased; breath slowed, and our sweat cooled into a faint sheen.

When the after-shivers finally quieted, I reached over the edge of the bed, fumbled the pack of unscented wipes from the nightstand, and peeled one free. The cool cloth shook slightly in my hand as I passed it back; Erik took it with that sleepy, half-lidded smile, soft now that the storm had passed. He drew the wipe across his chest first, erasing streaks of sweat and semen, then down the curve of his belly, gentle, unhurried. I watched the small, methodical motions—grandmaster tidying the board after victory—before tearing another sheet for myself, the chill fabric a welcome shiver against overheated skin.

… The alarm chirped at seven; I surfaced to find Erik’s arm still heavy across my ribs, legs braided with mine under the quilt. When I shifted, his hips rolled and there it was—morning wood jutting sharp against my thigh, shorter but steel-hard, helmet flared so tight the foreskin looked circumcised, the whole shaft a deep rose in dawn light. I brushed a knuckle along it; he gave a sleepy laugh and caught my wrist. “It still hurts, man” he murmured, Norwegian lilt teasing. We stumbled into the tiny shower anyway, water cascading off his shoulders while his cock bobbed forward at a proud forty-five degrees, refusing to yield. I stole glances through the steam—thick base, blunt head peeking cleanly, veins faint under hot skin—until he turned away, half-smiling, half-apologetic.

After toweling himself off in the room, he tucked the stubborn erection into his blue briefs, the outline still obvious; he shot me a guilty little grin, buttoned his jeans over it, and shouldered his bag like nothing had happened.

***

The morning light at Gardermoen was too sharp for comfort — silver slicing through glass walls, unforgiving to anyone who’d slept little. Erik took me all the way to the security line, and we stood there for a while.  His hands were tucked into the pockets of his wool coat, that Nordic calm still wrapped around him like armor. I stood close enough to feel the warmth through the air between us. We’d spoken surprisingly little ever since I invited him upstairs last night.

When my flight was called, we hugged, he pressed his cheek against mine — once, then again — and I returned the gesture before either of us laughed it off. His cologne clung faintly to my collar all through the flight…

Weeks later, the article dropped and took on a life of its own. The Polar Bear Club went viral — two million reads between print and digital, a flood of comments, retweets, shares. Five sponsors stepped in within a week, offering funds to turn Erik’s dream into an actual complex by the fjord. I watched the groundbreaking ceremony from my hotel room in Paris — the same icy inlet on the screen, Erik in a tailored coat, breaking the surface crust with a ceremonial spade. The camera panned out to the water, that blue-grey calm he’d always called “the true North.” I found myself smiling without meaning to. It wasn’t just his victory — though I’d never say that aloud — but something of ours, frozen into that Oslo winter.

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

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The Gang Bang!

The next morning Peter woke up with a smile. His first three way with Jerry the choreographer and Andy, his twenty something boyfriend. He loved every minute for it. After a slice of homemade pie. In his underwear he did his daily stretches. Half way through, he spotted Jerry standing in the doorway with a big bulge in his jockeys. “I have a problem you might be able to help.”

In two seconds, Peter was on Jerry’s cock, licking and wildly sucking him. Pre-cum slid down his throat. His tongue wandered to Jerry’s big balls. Then Peter pulled Jerry’s jockeys down to his ankles. And continued swishing spit around the cockhead in his pretty mouth. 

“You are good at this.”

Peter took a breath, “my uncles boyfriend taught me well and I real love the feelin of cock it in my mouth.”

Jerry smiled, “Get back to pleasuring me, stud. Make me cum. I gotta take Andy to the airport soon.” Peter started power blowing him. Up and down with spit. Faster and faster. Jerry started breathing heavy. A cum blast was building. Peter grabbed his own cock and started whacking it hard and again they both shot their wads at the same time. While Peter licked up Jerrycum Andy joined in and they both licked the hunk choreographer clean.

An hour later he walked to work. Today the lead dancer, Mike Hunt, a handsome beautifully built man was going to show him the opening number where the entire dance shows their asses. The entire company did the dance for him and he picked it up quickly. They worked for two hours and then Mike left for the day telling the dancers to work on for the next two hours.

 Two big handsome strippers Ray and Jay chatted quietly away the group.

“Who’s with us?” Ray asked.

“Bentley. Kip. Higgins and Al are with us. I made a plea to the others but they want no part of our little plan. So, let’s scare this little 18 year old small town boy and have our way with him.”

As they spoke, the men who wanted nothing to do with their insidious plan left.

“Let’s go.!” They put their plan in motion. Ray covered Peter’s eyes with a blindfold. 

“What’s going on guys?” Peter felt being swept away by a muscle dude. The men involved followed Jay and Ray to the basement. Once there, they ripped off his clothes, got him on the ground to tie his hands together. Put him on a table, on his stomach with his round ass sticking out waiting to be fucked.

“So little boy, you’re playing with the big boys now” Jay whispered into his ears.

Kip stepped forward fingering Peter’s butthole, “That’s a pretty hole.”  

“Fuck him, Kip. Fuck him hard.”

“Yea! Come on, Kip. Slam my ass also can I please get a cock in mouth please.” 

Bentley stepped forward and shoved his cock into Peter’s mouth while Kip continued fucking his rosy butthole.  Peter mouth-jacked Bentley’s dick until he dropped a heavy load into the newbie’s waiting mouth.

Kip pulled his dick out after filling up the new kid with his juicy cum.  The hairy one named Al shoved his 7-incher and banged the hell out of Peter who was happily moaning.  Ray, the leader and a confirmed Top, stuffed his eight and half inch cock into the well used butthole dripping cum furiously slammed Peter into a new dimension. As Ray was cumming he pulled out and dumped a load of cum. into Peter’s mouth.  Happily Peter savored every drop.

“What the fuck is going on here???”  Zarella screamed.

“It’s my initiation. A Gang Bang!” Peter proclaimed. 

“Who did this?” The boss screamed.  Everyone pointed to Ray.

“You’re fucking fired.”

Peter screamed. “No! Please don’t fire him. This was a dream I’ve been having for a while. Getting gangbanged. “I really loved the cocks and some of the cum was pure wine. And he did it all, made my dream come true. Besides I really love looking as Ray’s ass. It so hot!”

“You just gave me an idea. “All right kiddo, I won’t fire him but I’m gonna punish him. “Ray this here boy, Peter is gonna fuck yer asshole raw!”

“What?” Ray’s eye bugged out!

Don’t miss the next Dick hardening Chapter: I fucked a Top Man

WARNING: This story contains sexual acts involving young men and/or adults. If this is not to your taste, and the mere reading or possession of such fictional literature is illegal in your area please do not read any further.

The events depicted herein are totally fictional and do not in any way condone and/or promote any activity which is illegal. Nor do they condone activities which are unsafe or dangerous in real life.

If a celebrity or organization is included or mentioned in the storyline, the events described are in no way based on true events or the true sexuality of any of the celebrities referred to.

Please do not distribute it to any newsgroups and/or websites without permission from the author. You may, however, send it to your friends in any form you wish, if no changes are made to the main story line.

Comments and suggestions sent to [email protected] are MOST appreciated. Flames will be happily ignored. Also, I am very interested in hearing real life stories that involve actual BDSM and or humiliation, particularly involving teens/young men.

Again, this story is fictional.

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The Eyes of Texas –  Archie Manning’s Punishment

[JUST FOR FUN: Started thinking about this idea, and couldn’t forget about it. My first try at a celebrity oriented story. Hope you enjoy.]

Chapter 1

When it comes to football, there are places where it’s tantamount to a religion. Failure to deliver results at or above expectations could conceivably result in drastic and draconian actions. There is an old saying, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” The same could be said of a certain group of football fans.

The Texas Longhorn football coach could not believe what he was hearing. Obviously he knew that the fans were upset about the team’s performance. Foremost among those fans were the members of the booster club. As such clubs go, the Longhorn one was probably the most powerful and influential anywhere in the country.

What few people knew or understood was that its Board of Directors controlled virtually everything that went into decisions regarding the university s athletic programs.

The millions of dollars in donations that the programs needed to survive came from most of the men in this room.

As they say, money talks and in this situation it was talking the loudest.

Look, we’ve gone over this again and again. Something has to be done, and done quickly. What has been proposed is certainly unusual and probably crazy but it might just work, one of the Board members said firmly.

“Come on this is just totally off the wall you all can t be serious,” another snapped.

The babble continued to intensify for some time until finally the Board chairman slammed a book on the table and shouted, “ENOUGH!”

“We all know that the usual course of action is always to fire the coach, but we’re past that now.”

“This is Texas and football is like a religion. Our fans are like zealots and have reached the point where they just might riot unless they are given something to quell their anger.”

“What has been proposed could do just that. Give the mob someone to blame and make an example of that person.”

Another member spoke up, “And there is clearly someone to blame. I know we all have stood behind this Manning kid, but let s face it, he s just not getting it done. Social media is aflame about his performance and general attitude and are calling for some form of drastic punishment. And that is what we need to do.”

“The mob demands a spectacle and that’s what we will give them. Sure the press will jump all over this and there will be calls for some criminal charges to be brought, but we’ve gone over that too.”

“The event will be held in the stadium, where it should be. In order to be admitted every person will need to sign a release form confirming that they understand the nature of what they will be witnessing.”

 “In the case of minors attending, parents will need to sign a special release form. From a legal and moral standpoint Parental Permission and Control will pretty much trump any negative action.”

“Oh, and of course, the Manning kid has already agreed to accept the form of punishment he will receive. Sounds crazy I know, but he has agreed!”

 With that said, heads turned to look at the coach, who took a deep breath and just nodded.

And so the event was approved.

With money being no problem, preparations began at warp speed. Tickets and consent forms were printed, press releases made, and promotions placed in a media blitz.

Though the tickets would be free and distributed through ticket outlets and at the stadium, it had been decided that this would be a way to avoid a mass rush to get in. Season ticket holders would get their seats and others would be on a first come basis.

To say that the response was overwhelming would be an understatement.

A veritable firestorm of commentary condemnation, and cheers swept the Internet, TV, and radio.

Though condemnations seemed to dominate, there was a growing number of praises and supportive commentary.

To that end, it eventually became clear that the response wasn’t just about football. People were fed up with so many things in the country and finally someone was being held accountable.

The simple fact that it was just a 21 year old young man who would not just be punished but literally tortured physically and sexually in a most humiliating manner became lost in all the hysteria and hype.

Surprisingly, the one person who seemed to be taking it all in stride was the soon-to-be victim, young Archie Manning.

Somehow he managed to maintain his regular routine during the week. As luck, or dumb luck would have it, the upcoming weekend was a bye for Texas, and the stadium was available.

Feature reports began airing, showing the bizarre preparations at the stadium. And bizarre was the only way to describe it.

A large circular stage was erected in the center of the field. Platforms for cameras were set up on and around the stage that would ensure a wide selection of close up views would be available for television and projection on the stadium s massive screen.

Two sturdy upright pillars were located on a raised platform at center stage. The platform was designed so it could rotate 360 degrees.

At some point a naked mannequin was strung up spread-eagled between the posts to show how the victim would be displayed.

If Archie was following the preparations, he gave no noticeable signs of concern. In fact he went out of his way to project a sense of business as usual. The only exception being that no members of the press were allowed near him.

While there was a great deal of conjecture about why the football star had agreed to accept this punishment, no one seemed to be able to come up with an explanation for it.

Even Archie himself couldn’t explain it. He just knew that this was something he had to do, and actually somehow needed to do.

As proud as he was about his gifts and abilities he did harbor an extremely deep sense of guilt about all that had happened. He had done a great job of hiding those and other deep feelings from family and even his best friend.

But that alone would not have been enough to explain his willingness to accept what was going to happen.

And he knew what that would entail. His complete and total humiliation was beyond imagination. The punishments were nothing short of torture. Yet somehow he would get through it.

In an attempt to get Archie to see reason, his best friend gave him a fairly detailed description of some of the things that were planned.

“Dude! You have no idea just how tough this is going to be. You can t do this.”

Arch listened to everything that was said but wouldn’t give in.

 “Okay, now look,” his friend continued.

 “To start with, you are going to be paraded in and around the stadium totally naked. That will include being led through the crowds. And from what I understand people will be allowed to touch you. Not everyone will get a chance, but plenty will.”

 “After that, you’ll be tied spread-eagled on that stage in the center of the field. Then your punishment will really start. They plan to do this for the full four football quarters.

“Those punishments will include a wide variety of physical and sexual tortures. You will be flogged and whipped each quarter. Various forms of genital torture will also be used and you will be violated anally.”

“And damn, if that isn’t crazy enough, you will be publicly masturbated a number of times.”

“There are supposedly some other perverse things that will done, which I couldn’t find out.”

“So come on, you can’t go through with this!” He declared adamantly.

Archie thought for a few moments, then turned to his friend and said firmly, “Hey, I’ve heard what you said and understand your feelings. However, it doesn’t matter. I m going through with this no matter what. So no more talk. Case closed.”

 One thing his friend knew was when Archie s mind was made up, nothing would change it. Grudgingly, he accepted that and promised not to press anymore.

Somehow, the two friends were able to relax with each other for the rest of the evening. They had some barbecue delivered and ate while they watched an old classic comedy.

Bowing to Archie s decision, his friend gave him a supportive hug just before leaving followed by a final parting shot, “You know you really are nuts and probably should be institutionalized.”

Archie watched his friend drive off and then went back inside turned off the lights and plopped down on the couch with his hands behind his head and started thinking.

Okay, maybe I am crazy, arrogant and a bunch of other shit. I can’t forget about the fact that I fucked things up. I didn’t give it my all. I took a lot for granted and let everyone down. And for that alone, I deserve to be punished severely.

His eyes began to mist over and he trembled as he allowed himself to fully visualize what he would be going through. He was really scared. Would he get through it all and not break down like a baby. The pain would be hell, but the utter humiliation even worse.

So why do it?

Finally, the thoughts he had been avoiding and suppressing came roaring into his mind.

In spite of everything he had told himself and his friend he couldn’t deny the one pervasive reason and couldn’t shake it.

Slowly he pulled off his t-shirt, slid his hand across his hard abs and down inside his briefs.

He wrapped his hand around his throbbing hard manhood and squeezed as hard as he could.

Then he jumped up, dropped his briefs to the floor and began stroking himself as fast and hard as he could.

In a manner of seconds, his cock exploded and shot multiple loads of his thick man cream across the room.

As his balls emptied and a series of rapid and painful dry shots ensued, he fell to the floor, curled up in a ball and cried.

And that’s where he remained in a deep sleep until morning.

The Punishment Event Preps

The days leading up to the Special Event at the Longhorn Stadium were the wildest anyone could remember.

Hotel and AirBnB reservations flooded in and it wasn’t long before scalping of the free tickets began in earnest.

Talk Shows generally condemned not only the entire idea of such an event, but also the fact that so many people were rushing to ensure they could attend.

What did this have to say about the people of the state, and the entire country when something like this could happen and even worse generate so much interest.

Some questioned what would happen next. Would public punishment events spread throughout the country? Were we entering a new savage era reminiscent of ancient Rome.

Politicians began to debate the merits of events like this one. Recognizing an emerging reality that deep down inside needed someone to blame for any misfortune.

Worse yet, one after another major corporations sought to buy time for commercials during the event.

As unbelievable as the entire idea was, there was no way to stop it. And the insanity just continued.

For Archie, the designated recipient, the days became increasingly difficult. In order to maintain some semblance of a training program, he ended up working out in secret at a private corporate fitness center.

Living accommodations were made available in the same complex and extra security was hired to ensure his privacy and safety.

Oddly enough, the young quarterback seemed unfazed by all the hype and outwardly unafraid of what he would soon be facing.

Though a well intentioned and sympathetic member of the Board offered to supply him with drugs to help him endure, he refused citing health and other personal reasons.

One of his greatest challenges actually took place at the beginning of the week.

It was the morning after he had spent the evening listening to his friend trying to talk him out of the whole thing.

He had awoken to the sound of some loud knocking at his door.

He was naked and curled up on the floor where he had slept. He quickly pulled on his boxer briefs and headed to the door.

When he opened it, he was surprised to see two of the team trainers smiling at him.

“Sorry to bother you Arch, but the event coordinator insisted we start your preparations right away,” one of them said apologetically.

“Okay, sure whatever, I’ll put some coffee on and get dressed.”

To his surprise one of them said, “Coffee sounds good, but don’t bother getting dressed, you’re fine just as you are.”

Arch smiled and nodded and headed to the kitchen. While he worked on the coffee, he chatted back and forth with the trainers about what was happening on campus.

The coffee was ready quickly and Arch brought a tray with three cups into the living room.

As the small talk began to taper off, Arch sensed that the two young trainers seemed uneasy.

“Okay, so what about this preparation,” he asked curiously.

Setting his coffee down, one of them opened his shoulder bag and began rummaging through it.

“Listen we’re sorry about this, but we have to take care of this today.”

 With that said, he pulled out an odd looking device and started fiddling with it.

Archie didn’t recognize the device at first. It looked like it was made out of stainless steel and looked like a small cylindrical cage.

He was about to ask about it when he suddenly figured it out.

It was definitely a male chastity device which judging by it s looks was well designed and would certainly do the job.

“So I guess that’s why you’re here,” he grinned.

The young trainers seemed to be searching for what to say when Arch said, “Okay, guess there’s no sense complaining about this. You going to want to put it on me now?”

 Archie seemed a little perplexed until the trainer continued by saying, “Okay, go ahead and put on a jock and some running shoes and then meet us up on he roof. Oh and like I said, just a jock and running shoes, that’s it. And, while you’re at it bring four more jocks with you.”

Now Archie looked confused and concerned. Going up to the roof wasn’t at all unusual. There was a running track and some fitness stations that he had used many times. The instructions about putting on his running shoes and just a jock was rather unusual. However, being told, or more like ordered to bring extra jocks was very unusual.

Before he turned to retrieve what he needed he asked, “So what’s going on?”

The trainer gave him a wicked grin as he said, “There’s a video crew waiting on the roof for us. They’re going to do some taping for a bunch of promos for your big event. They’re not cheap, so hurry up.”

“Wait! What do you mean promos?” Archie stammered.

Once more the trainer grinned and said, “Look, there’s no time for this. It was all in that agreement you signed. So don’t argue. It should be fun, at least for us.”

Though Archie didn’t like the sound of that, he knew he really didn’t have a choice.

He was somewhat taken aback when he got to the roof, clad only in his running shoes and jock, and carrying a bag with the requested extra jocks.

Bedsides the two trainers, there was a video crew that consisted of ten people and included two young women who immediately began checking out his near naked frame.

A man stepped towards him and started issuing orders. Archie figured he was the director and gave him a nod. After a brief moment of looking him up and down the director said, “Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you kid. I have to tell you, you’ve got a lot of guts. We’re going try to get this done as fast as we can because we are pushing a deadline.”

He gestured towards a young preppy looking guy who was holding a clip board and standing between two rather rough looking guys who were dressed like prison guards. Just looking at them and their nasty demeanor sent a chill up and down his spine.

“Okay, that’s Walter over there. He’s going to be telling you what to do. So just do as he says. And no arguments please! We don’t have time for any whining or bullshit.”

At that point the full reality set in and he knew that what he would be doing would definitely not be fun for him. That fact was confirmed when Walter handed him a folder and said seriously, “Look, I know this going to be a shock, so do your best to just go with it. This is a rough outline and script of what we’ll be doing. You’re a quarterback and used to playbooks and are a quick study, so think of it as your playbook. The crew still has a few technical things to work out so you’ll have about 30 minutes to go over it.”

Archie took the folder with a good deal of apprehension. He found a seat beside one of the large potted trees and started reading. As he began, he quietly muttered to himself, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

The script started off simple enough. A variety shots would be taken of Archie working out and running on the track wearing just a jock strap. He smiled at that. A little embarrassing but not a problem for him.

It was when he turned to the second page that things became almost surreal. Though he expected some nasty things, when he saw it being spelled out in writing, he began to tremble.

“DAMN! This is some nasty shit! I still can’t believe I’ll be doing this stuff,” he mused.

As if the second page wasn’t bad enough, it was the third page that shocked him the most. He knew things like this would be part of the big event coming up, but being faced with them now was pretty horrifying.

What’s more, contrary to what he had been led to believe, in order to acquire all the shots required, the only possible way would end up taking most if not all of the day.

Sitting there, wearing just a jockstrap and running shoes, he considered the fact that he should be both embarrassed and humiliated. Even more so as he reflected on what he had read in the rough script.

Okay, he was definitely embarrassed and felt very humiliated. After reading the nasty and perverse things they expected him to do he couldn’t help but be scared.

But even as frightening as it all seemed, he could not deny the fact that he was incredibly aroused by it all as evidenced by the fact that sitting there in just his jock, he had become very hard. So much so, that the tip of his cockhead was poking through the top of the elastic band and clearly dripping pre-cum.

Once more, as he had been doing at home, he searched his memory for the slightest clue of why he was so aroused by it all.

He was going to be paraded naked through the streets. People would be allowed to touch him however they wanted.

He would be paraded into the stadium full of onlookers and be stretched painfully between the two stout pillars that were currently being erected.

Naked and bound in a standing spread-eagled fashion, the torture would begin.

He would be flogged and whipped all over his helpless body. His exposed genitals would be tortured in manners he was scared to begin to contemplate.

As if all that pain and suffering wasn’t enough, the program called for him to be publicly masturbated throughout the day. No doubt the onlookers would cheer as the most personal act a man experienced would be made public. And adding to the utter humiliation would be the fact that closeup video would be projected on the stadium’s wide screen and every moan, gasp, and sigh broadcast through the stadium speakers.

Would he break down and cry? Would he beg for it to stop? Probably so. Who wouldn’t.

The thoughts were all frightening, even terrifying.

And yet, even knowing all that, he could not escape the fact that he was more aroused than he had ever been. He could not explain why. He just knew that he had to go through with it all. His need was there and had to be satiated.

So, he waited anxiously for these preliminaries to begin.

He didn’t have long to wait.

Since the upcoming event had already demonstrated that it would be popular and historic, arrangements were to be made to ensure a significant amount of memorabilia would be made available to the public and also the major donors.

Archie looked up as a young guy approached carrying a large box. He was dressed differently than the video crew, which was curious.

He smiled as he set the box down and said, “Man, it’s great to meet you. I’m one of your biggest fans, well for football, of course but also this. I’m from the event coordinator’s office. We’re working on putting together some memorabilia packages for the major donors and need you to help with them.

Archie managed a smile as he figured autograph time. His smile turned into a smirk when the guy picked up the four jockstraps Archie had been told to bring with him, handed him a permanent marker and said simply, “Okay, you’ll need to autograph the elastic bands of these. You can do the one you’re wearing after you do your first run and finish preparing it.”

By now, in light of everything that was happening, Archie really wasn’t all that shocked when the full task was explained to him. The plan was for him to run on the track until he had worked up a decent sweat. As soon as he was done, he was to ejaculate into the jock’s pouch, hand it over, so it could be sealed in a vacuum pack plastic bag and marked with a date.

Archie’s eyes rolled as he picked up the first jock strap and signed it. As he was doing that, a photographer took a picture as the young guy babbled, “These are already very popular among the fat cat donors, so we need to start collecting them.”

After signing the first four, he did some stretches and started running on the track. Because he was pushing so hard, it didn’t take all that long to work up a good sweat. When he was through, he slipped off his now sweaty jock, carefully signed the waistband to avoid smudging, then looked around expectantly.

“Okay, so where should I do it?” he asked shyly, expecting to be instructed where to go to jackoff into the jock’s pouch. To his shock, dismay, and embarrassment he was told to kneel down and do it right there so they could get a picture of him doing it.

“You understand we need to provide enough evidence for authentication purposes. The memorabilia community has some very strict rules when it comes to that.”

Archie looked pleadingly at his two trainers who shrugged and shook their heads apologetically. After that, Arch accepted the inevitable, dropped to his knees and quickly brought his impressive manhood, to full erection. It didn’t take long before he began shaking all over and went into what he immediately recognized as the most intense orgasm of his life.

Luckily he managed to get the jock pouch in the right position so that the bulk of his creamy seed filled it and began to soak in. He couldn’t remember just how many times he shot, but knew it was a lot.

As soon as his breath began returning, he carefully handed the soaked jock to the assistant and said, “Uhhh… here you go. I’m not sure how much time I’ll need to be able to do the next one, but I’ll let you know.”

To Archie’s relief, another assistant handed him a towel to wrap around his waist along with an energy drink bottle.

With that Archie sat down on a lounge chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. He had a lot to think about and process. The things he had been required to do were extremely humiliating. What worried him the most though was the fact that it had been also extremely arousing. He had been more aroused than he could ever remember. What’s more, just recalling it, and thinking about his next round was already sending signals to his cock and balls which began doing their thing.

Somehow he was actually able to doze off for a few minutes. It was what he had frequently called a power nap, which always seemed to help. This time was no exception.

As the young guy carefully marked and cataloged the first signed and filled jock package and looked at the young quarterback laying on the lounge chair, he couldn’t avoid getting fully aroused. In his mind he probably had the most beautiful body he had ever seen. It was so hot that he thought it wasn’t all that difficult to understand why it aroused the prurient interests of so many. He still could not get over the mass hysteria that seemed to be swirling around the country.

And that hysteria would continue to grow.

[What other things will Arch be made to do as part of the big event? Personal appearances? Autograph signings? Nothing seemed beyond the imagination or resources of the twisted sponsors. What else might the growing crowd of fanatic disgruntled and vengeful fans call for? Time would tell.]

TO BE CONTINUED?

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Please do Email me at [email protected] if you liked this story and if you’d like it to continue. Thanks!

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

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New York City Scat Pig 

Jeremy stood in the kitchen of a fancy New York City townhouse loft, heart pounding, palms sweating, cock twitching. He could see Central Park from here. He was 21 and this was his first time outside the state of Georgia. He was a beautiful 6’1 curly haired twink with a 5’ inch uncut penis and a sexy round fuzzy peach butt. He’d been waiting for this day for a long time. He needed this badly. Ian walked in, a big grin on his face. He was a 5’8 short king in his late 30s with a thick black beard, short cut black hair, mischievous blue eyes, big burly arms and a bit of a dad bod. Ana big hairy 7’ inch cut cock and juicy hairy man ass.  “Hey babe glad to see you’re finally awake. That red eye really took it out of you huh? I hope you’re hungry cuz I brought lots of food and later when you have to take a dump I’m finally going to eat your sweet shit. Straight from that sexy twink butt of yours. I can’t wait to taste your poop babe I need it.” He grinned. “I love how you aren’t ashamed to just come right out and say it. That’s so hot.” Jeremy said. “This is New York City babe, everyone here is a perverted freak in some way. I promise it’s ok. No one cares. Most of my friends know what a nasty little scat piggy I am and a few of them are into it shit as well. I see it this way. I’m a man who likes having sex with men, buttholes and poop are eventually going to come into play and I happen to enjoy both. Now sit down and eat your bagel so I have a snack later.” He smiled, running his hands through Jeremy’s thick lush curly hair. “I wanna try eating your shit too.” Jeremy said between bites of bagel. “Oh don’t worry cutie we will get there but I want you as comfortable as possible with me before then. I can get a little rough when I’m feeding a sub pig and the last thing I’d want is to traumatize such a sweet boy like you.” Ian explained, his kind blue eyes looking into Jeremy’s green ones. Jeremy felt his cock twitch again. He finished his bagel and sipped the black coffee Ian had placed in front of him. “Oh I do have a few house rules I want to go over with you. One, no food allowed outside the kitchen. For the most part.” He winked. Two, unless we have company over and even then depending on who it is, the only clothes I want you wearing are jockstraps and socks ok? You’re so sexy babe you shouldn’t be covering up that beautiful body.” He said, putting a his arms around Jeremy and caressing his chest. “Rule number three is if you leave the apartment without me which I’m 100% ok with I don’t want you feeling like a hostage in my home. Please take your wallet, the subway pass I bought you and send me your location so that I know where you are. Can’t have you getting abducted ok? Rule number four is just watch where you’re going. Drivers here will run you down in the streets so it’s your responsibility to be aware of your surroundings got it? Rule five is less of an order and more for more own personal pleasure because I’m a nasty pervert. I want you to tell me anytime you have to poop and if we’re with each other I want to watch you go and smell my boy’s ripe butt stink. Doesn’t matter if it’s a public bathroom or here at my apartment. Understood?” Ian explained kissing Jeremy’s smooth pale cheek. “I understand.” Jeremy said. “Good boy. Now get your ass over to the couch so I can cuddle you.” Ian said squeezing Jeremy’s bulge through the bright blue jockstrap he was wearing. “Fuck that felt so good you pulled my foreskin down a little bit.” Jeremy cooed. “Yeah? Come lay on daddy’s belly baby boy I’ll make you feel so good.” Ian stripped out of the sweatsuit he’d put on to do his breakfast run and spread himself out on the couch letting his thick hairy cock and fat nutsack breathe. “You also have my consent to touch me anywhere anytime you want while you’re here.” He offered. Jeremy got an instant boner and took off his jock before kissing Ian’s belly and soft hairy cock and nestling himself against his daddy’s hairy manly body. “You’re such a sweet boy.” Ian smiled. “I can’t help it sir it’s just the way I was raised.” Jeremy said his slight southern accent coming out when he spoke. “You’re welcome to touch me anywhere anytime too daddy.” He added. “I’m very happy to hear that boy cuz it’s hard to resist looking at that beautiful young cock of yours and not playing with it.” Ian told him. He spit in his hand and started slowly stroking Jeremy’s penis up and down. Jeremy moaned and whimpered with pleasure. He could feel Ian’s thick cock was now getting harder beneath him. Ian simulated fucking Jeremy by thrusting his big man penis up and down near Jeremy’s butt and teasing his hole with the tip. “Fuck daddy I want to feel your thick cock filing me up.” Jeremy moaned bouncing his ass in a routing motion. “You’ll get it soon baby. Lick daddy’s cock clean. I’m so sweaty after my morning errand run.” Ian told him. Jeremy obeyed and did his best to swallow Ian’s thick hairy dick. He swirled his tongue on the tip and licked the shaft occasionally gagging and choking on it. “Now get down there and worship your dad’s balls boy. Thank me for flying you all the way up here.” While furiously lapping at  Ian’s fat hairy balls the young pig was suddenly greeted by the sound of a loud man fart and the intoxicating scent of his ripe butthole. “Fuck yeah baby boy, that’s it. Inhale daddy’s nasty farts. Lick my ass bitch.” He growled shoving Jeremy’s face deep into his hairy gassy butt crack. “Good fucking boy. Show me how much of a pig you really are.” Ian grinned, forced Jeremy’s face deeper into his hairy man butt. “That’s it babe, stick your tongue deep into your daddy’s pooper. Taste my ripe hole and lick it clean like a good little piggy.” He grunted devilishly. Jeremy moaned in ecstasy burying his pretty face and long tongue between Ian’s fat juicy man buns. Jeremy  licked Ian’s stinky butthole lick an ice cream sundae and savored every moment. His college cock was rock hard and he stroked it furiously while eating Ian’s ass. He oinked like a pig a few times which prompted Ian to smack his ass and call him a dirty little slut. Jeremy stuck tongue deeper into Ian’s hole longing for something more. “You really want daddy’s shit don’t you boy?” Ian smiled. “Yes sir. I want it so bad. I want to be a good little shit pig for you.” Jeremy whined. “To be totally transparent with you I fed a friend of mine while out on my breakfast run. I really had to take a shit and the apartment building he lives in was just a couple blocks away. I had Indian food last night and he loves eating my poop when it’s spicy and wet like that. Not really something for beginners. I shot my diarrhea down his throat and he swallowed it all and licked me clean like a good toilet. What you’re tasting on my ass is what he didn’t manage to lick clean up for me.” Ian explained looking Jeremy in the eye with an earnest kind hearted smile. “Goddamn that’s a lucky friend. Just the way you described that story makes me wanna cum.” Jeremy admitted. “You’ll get your daddy’s poop when the time is right little piggy don’t you fret. You just have to be patient if you want your reward.” Ian said caressing Jeremy’s head slowly. Jeremy moaned softly and laid his head down on Ian’s lap. “Such a sweet submissive boy. I’m glad you finally accepted my invitation to visit me. I’m going to take such good care of you I promise baby. Maybe I’ll even keep you.” Ian joked, he continued rubbing Jeremy’s head and back to relax him. Jeremy’s cock grew hard again thinking about staying with Ian forever. Suddenly Jeremy let out a series of loud gassy farts. He felt his stomach rumble. “I think I need to shit sir. Doesn’t usually happen this early in the day.” Jeremy explained nervously.

“Well truth be told, I laced your coffee with a fiber supplement so you’d have to poop quicker. Probably should’ve told you but I hoped maybe you wouldn’t notice.” Ian confessed. “Fuck, what? Why didn’t you tell me? I already took one myself dude! How much did you give me? I think I’m gonna shit myself. Fuck.” Jeremy complained, suddenly getting antsy feeling his anus grow heavy like he needed to poop very soon. “It’s ok babe. You can poop on the kitchen floor right now if you need to. There is nothing to be ashamed of. We’re men. We both want this. You can be the most depraved shit pig in the world with me.” Ian told him pulling Jeremy up off his knees and guiding him into the bedroom. “What are we doing in here? There’s no way you wanna have dirty sex on that nice clean bed.” Jeremy said, wincing, his need to poop was growing stronger by the second. “Watch and learn boy.” Ian pulled back a book on his shelf revealing a secret hidden sex dungeon behind his bed. There was a sex swing, a rim chair, a rubber bed covered with a plastic sheet, a chest of sex toys and unlit candles around the floor arranged in a pentagram. “Come to bed with daddy boy. I wanna see you poop for me. Shit all over my chest. Don’t hold back.” Ian said with a grin, he lit the candles and guided a bewildered Jeremy over to the bed. “Fuck. I can’t hold it in any longer.” Jeremy whined climbing onto of Ian in the rubber bed. “That’s it boy let me have it.” Ian snorted. “Here it comes. Fuck daddy. Ooh I’m pooping. Ah fuck I’m pooping so much daddy. God that feels good.” Jeremy whimpered letting go of his bowels and shitting nice big stinky brown logs all over Ian’s hairy chest and belly. “That’s my boy. That’s daddy’s favorite pig.” Ian cooed…

Miles 

Taking cock up his ass was something Miles McKinnon would have found ridiculous a couple of weeks ago, but now, the cum leaking out of his gaping hole was telling him otherwise.

A hand landed harshly on his buttocks, leaving a searing red mark and a lingering feeling of humiliation along with it. He peered at his throbbing dick, which bent downward, the circumcised head bulging, begging for attention and oozing with precum.

“Good fuckin’ whore,” a deep voice said from behind him. “You’re getting used to this.”

Miles didn’t reply; he only rolled over on his back and stared at the man looming over him. His legs were hanging off the messy bed, and his cock lay flushed against his hard stomach, his pale abs glistening with sweat and shame.

He had enjoyed it for the most part, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty for partaking in these sorts of activities. Miles had been a straight boy all his life, and had plowed so many pussy they had all started to feel the same. They were good, but they were just holes for him to use so he could get off. Now, being the hole changed his perspective; he wondered if the women he had fucked had felt the same afterward.

Full and empty at the same time.

Outside, the city moved on without care. Car tires screeched on the asphalt, people were calling for cabs, and police sirens could be heard in the distance. The neon lights cast bright splashes of color through the large picture windows, red and green lights that burned his retinas. 

More cum seeped out of him.

“Fuck, the sheets,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry… My hole’s so damn loose.”

The mattress sank to his left.

“Show me your hole,” the voice demanded.

And without thinking, Miles exposed his ruined hole by lifting his legs and spreading his asscheeks.

He was muscular from all the training he had undergone over the years. Boxing, MMA, and powerlifting. He was a massive beast, a force of nature, now domesticated. 

All because he had lost a bet.

He would get his revenge, eventually.

He smirked at the prospect.

A thick finger easily breached into him, and a second followed. “You take me so easy now, your training’s paying off.”

“Jordan, please, it’s so raw right now…” Miles pleaded, voice trembling as his body arched under the assault.

“Shut it, and take it,” Jordan ordered. “Be glad I don’t punish you for spilling out my seed, it’s such a waste.”

A third finger was added; this time, Jordan’s knuckles burned him. He was teetering between pain and pleasure, but Miles just stilled, legs up in the air and exposed. He was fingered mercilessly and was soon moaning like he was in heat. He squeezed his thighs against his waxed chest, gritting his teeth to prevent himself from screaming.

Each hit to his prostate got him closer to the edge, and amazingly, Jordan reached for Miles’s cock.

He had never done that; it felt like a blessing.

Or so he thought.

“The rules are the same, you don’t get to cum unless I allow you to,” Jordan reminded him with painfully slow strokes. “If you do, I’ll have to resort to more extreme methods to keep you in check.”

Miles’s chest tightened, his heart stopping for a moment.

What fresh hell was his handler cooking up? The fear that gripped him was partly born of annoyance; this guy would never get tired of reminding him he was under his thumb.

“What does that mean, sir?” He said, anger threatening to break the surface.

“You’ll see,” Jordan said. “Though I think I should’ve done it a long time ago. I know you’ve been misbehaving, fucking around, getting pussy.”

Heat rose to his cheeks. “No, I swear I didn’t, sir, I…”

A firm slap on his balls reprimanded him; his sack bobbed sideways, stinging from the pain.

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me, slut!”

Another slap ensued, and this time Miles fought back.

He had Jordan pinned to the bed in seconds, and the latter didn’t attempt to defend himself. He just stared at him with calm composure written all over his handsome features, tan skin, inherited from his Hispanic roots, dark and sharp eyes, and luscious locks of black hair, framing his perfectly carved face.

Jordan’s breathing was steady, and his hairy chest and happy trail only made him more glorious; he appeared bigger than Miles, even though they were built similarly.

“What are you gonna do, huh?” Jordan said, his cruel smile softened. “You asked for this, I’m only helping you explore.”

“I didn’t!” Miles yelled. “You… you made me…”

“I made you do it?” Jordan asked calmly. “In addition to being a cockslut, you’re a liar. You were slobbering on my cock even before I fucked you.”

The insult was delivered with infinite intimacy, but it didn’t come out as brutally as it should have. The tone he used only pressed on the point that Miles was lying to himself the most, and it made him more wary of his situation.

Anxiety gripped him.

He despised not knowing who he was.

He hated that it was all so complicated.

“You still see yourself as a straight boy, but you’re not. Your true purpose is to bounce on dick, take loads after loads. You have to admit that to yourself.” Jordan explained, taking the opportunity of Miles releasing his grip to capture his mouth in his tenderly.

---

The showers at the gym were where Miles had lost his footing; he himself knew that.

It was true that he had sometimes found guys attractive, but it didn’t go any further. He loved the smell of wet pussy in the morning, and plump tits flopping about as he fucked into the girls he picked up at clubs.

They loved his tattoos, the snakes slithering up his left arm and over his chest. His bad boy persona did the trick on most of them, and Miles has settled into a predictable routine where he didn’t even have to try.

He was proud of it, too; he had never gone soft when fucking. And each day was good to unload.

Sex was one of the most important aspects of his life, and it never included going down on another dude.

Until he met Jordan.

His uncut dick had fascinated him straight away, the way the skin covered the head, while his had been tightly circumcised. Even flaccid, it would’ve stretched a hole nice and wide.

It was then that Miles approached the Latino, drawn in by his confidence, or so he presumed.

It was also at that moment that his life took a turn for the worse.

Because each time they sparred, each time Jordan hit him, Miles felt his cock stiffen. It wasn’t too bad in the beginning. But two weeks ago, during a friendly boxing match that dragged on late into the night, Jordan noticed his little problem.

There was no hiding it anymore.

“You’re a gay lad, then,” Jordan said cheekily, a fire in his gaze. “I knew it, you brag about getting chicks too much.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Miles exploded. “I ain’t fucking gay!” He pressed on, taking a jab at the other man.

Miles didn’t miss.

They were both drenched in sweat, and Miles was feeling his balls and dick slopping around. His loose shorts gave them free range. They weren’t wearing any protection because they had agreed to a chill training session. 

“Fuck, man,” Jordan said, massaging his jaw with his boxing glove. “I don’t give a shit about that, I’m gay, dude.”

“Oh,” Miles replied. “Didn’t take you for a dick lover.”

“I don’t like your tone. Especially for someone with a raging hard-on,” Jordan moved closer, light on his feet, his intoxicating scent reaching out to Miles. “You want this too, the smell and taste of cock on your tongue. You’re just too damn scared to admit it. You’re just a fucking pussy.”

“Bullshit.”

The atmosphere in the ring had shifted, and what had started as a fun competition had turned into a battle of wills. Jordan, broad and gorgeous and naturally domineering, remained cautious and composed. His knowing look didn’t display any cruelty, but comprehension. There was a bit of sadness behind his frown.

Meanwhile, Miles was attempting to hide his arousal by turning away.

As he was about to exit the ring, Jordan’s booming voice ordered him to stop. And for some reason, Miles froze in his tracks, and his dick jumped at the command.

“That’s good,” Jordan was closer now. “I think you’ll be easy to break. I couldn’t see it at first under all those layers of straight boy bravado, but now I can see it.”

Jordan was walking around the ring, gloves on his hips. There was quiet danger radiating off him, like a predator about to lunge on its prey.

“I got an idea,” Jordan started. “Let’s settle this in a match, no protection, nothing, no fatal blows, of course. But the one who wins gets to use the other however he sees fit for a full month. No permanent markings, no injury, but everything else goes,” he paused and leaned against the ropes of the ring. “You’d have to get tested, of course, and I’ll show you I’m STD free as well. Because if I win, I want to breed you any chance I get. You’ll learn to take dick like a pro.”

The proposition was straight out of a porn movie; somehow, Miles found it rather comical.

And yet, he hadn’t gone soft. He blamed it on his high sex drive, but his interest was piqued. It all had to do with the fact that he had never gotten a boner due to another guy before.

He also knew nobody would truly care in the big city.

It would be a completely different scenario back in his small Midwest town.

Now, at 21, he was free to experiment. Still, the shame of his youth and the doctrines he had been taught shouldn’t allow him to have such thoughts.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jordan asked with a sneer.

“No, I’m thinking,” Miles retorted. “I don’t know, dude, I’ve never done anything with a guy.”

“There’s a start to everything, I’ll tell you what. I’ll go easy on you when I fuck you for the first time.”

“Who says you’re the one who’ll do the fucking, I can beat you fair and square.”

Jordan laughed audibly. “Well, prove it, stud!”

It was then that everything changed. The match was swift and brutal; it left both of them bleeding, sweaty, and tense. Miles’s muscles were aching, his face was swollen, and at one point, he believed he had cracked a rib, which he didn’t, fortunately. He put his all into the fight, but Jordan won. The last blow sent Miles flying to the ground. It made him an easy target, and Jordan was quick to pin him in place.

“A deal is a deal,” Jordan whispered in his ear before licking it.

Miles’s fate was sealed.

---

The memory of his defeat still caused a sort of ache that Miles hadn’t healed from.

His focus went back to the present, on the man under him.

Jordan didn’t have to say a thing for Miles to release him and assume his position. There was no contempt in the way he forced Miles open once more, his fingers digging into him with a certain gentleness.

He was also kind enough to stroke Miles’s cock, at an exceedingly slow pace, that is.

All eight inches throbbed, spurting out clear precum.

The crown of his cockhead was shiny from all the polishing, and the feeling of his hole being stuffed with cum only sent him closer to the edge.

“I’m getting close, sir,” Miles announced weakly.

“What did my boy say?”

“I’m getting close, sir!”

“Not yet, you’re not. Sluts gotta earn their orgasms.”

The fingering became more frenetic, but the stimulation Jordan applied to his cock left Miles wanting more. It was too slow for him to cum, he was on the brink, dangerously close to spilling.

Jordan pressed against him, the feeling of his warm body bringing the comfort Miles painfully needed.

His nipples were a lovely shade of pink, pinchable. Luckily, Jordan had his hands full, but if he had had a third, he surely would’ve taken it upon himself to use it.

The lips of his tormentor pursed on his; they were soft and still bore the intimate taste of the rim job they had performed.

Jordan was always thorough when eating him out; he had admitted it was one of his favorite things to do to a guy. What Miles most hated, though, was how every plea for a blowjob was ignored. He had only been permitted to cum one time in the past weeks, and for someone who was used to cumming every day it was an impossible ask.

Which is why Miles had gone out of his way to find pussy to fuck.

He had found multiple, actually, but now he was coming to regret it. He knew Jordan was punishing him for it; it was his right as his handler. But it didn’t make his treatment any less frustrating.

Maybe, if he were to admit the truth, he would be partly forbidden.

“How’s that orgasm coming, stud?”

Miles opened his eyes; his legs were starting to ache, and his lips wanted to be kissed. “I-I can’t do it, sir, you’re stroking me too fucking slow. Can you go faster, sir? I’m begging you!”

“Only if you admit to what you did.”

“I…” Miles stopped himself from speaking another word.

“You… what?”

To lie, to admit the truth.

Miles wasn’t sure which decision was best.

Which one would grant him the right to cum, if any, and which one would warrant a more severe punishment? Fear was building up as his submission weighed more heavily on his mind.

“I did fuck bitches, sir, I couldn’t stop myself. You weren’t allowing me to cum, and…”

His balls screamed from the slap that followed, and then Jordan’s thick fingers slipped out of his hole swiftly, leaving him empty and leaking.

“I knew it, you horny studs are all the same. I knew I should have taken more drastic measures with you, but I wanted to leave you a chance to prove yourself.”

“Please, sir, forgive me.”

“I can’t, stud. You need to suffer the consequences of your own actions. And I got the perfect thing for that.”

Jordan took a little wooden box from one of his shelves. They were packed with memories, trophies from competitions he had won in high school and college, pictures from his travels, and video games. He was not much of a reader; his skill set was more focused on reflexes and problem-solving.

He handed the mahogany box over to Miles.

“Open it, your new life awaits.”

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Stan Discovers Something

After we finished breakfast and drank probably too much coffee, Carlos wandered off and Sergio and I were left at the table. I suddenly felt awkward. I looked at him and was annoyed that he looked so calm. How the hell? I said, “So…like…when you kissed me…did you notice anything?”

He glanced at me and said, “Anything? What do you mean?”

I gulped and couldn’t figure out how to ask, so I said nothing.

He grinned at me, saying, “Oh…like the fact that you were hard?”

“Fuck!”

“Relax, Stan. It’s cool.”

I stared at Sergio a second, feeling annoyed. “But…”

Sergio chuckled. “So your cock woke up. It’s natural. You were drunk, you probably missed Natalie, who knows why?” He stopped, just looking at me. “I know you’re straight, Stan. Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to try to get in your pants.”

Because it was Sergio, who I had know for so long and who I trusted with my life, I managed to calm down. We were still sitting at the table in the sun having finished our breakfast. I was glad Carlos wasn’t there to hear this. There was no sign of Frank.

I decided I needed to focus on something other than myself and what my cock thought about things. I said, “How are you doing? Was it weird to see Frank and his boy?”

He looked down at his hands, then said, “Yeah. It was. I haven’t really seen him since I dumped him. I really am over him, but seeing him like that…it just pisses me off. I guess it’s the whole reason I dumped him. He treats people like accessories or something. I feel bad for his boyfriend, actually.”

I wanted to say: for that little princess, you mean? But I kept my mouth shut. I drank some more water and then said, “Let’s head to the beach. We can just chill by the water and burn off the jet lag. Or the alcohol, whichever comes first.”

He laughed and said, “Sounds like a good idea.”

We got to the beach an hour later and found Carlos and a bunch of other guys from our party. Carlos was sitting with some cousins, telling some long story about the night he met his wife. I had heard it before – I had been there, after all, so I knew how it went. Sergio went for a swim and I lay down with my straw hat over my eyes and soon was half asleep, just letting the voices lull me, the sound of the waves settling me down. It felt amazing.

I must have dozed off, because I woke suddenly, not sure of where I was. I pulled the hat away from my face and Sergio was just getting onto his towel beside me. He was all wet and dripping. I realized I was mesmerized by the muscles of his thigh in his tight black swimsuit. I shook my head and turned to my other side, focusing on another story Carlos was telling. But for some reason all I could be aware of was Sergio beside me. He had lain down and I could just see his feet out of the corner of my eyes. Feeling frustrated with myself, I got up and said, “Going for a swim…”

I waked into the waves, enjoying the water, which was tepid and felt like silk. I let the waves take me away and I floated, enjoying the gentle rocking of the surf.

Refreshed, I pulled myself back on to the beach. The sand was hot under my feet, so I jogged back to the boys and my towel. The beach was busy. There was our group of guys, but also families with kids, older people on comfortable beach chairs, kids playing games, building sand castles. It was nice.

I lay down, enjoying the feel of the sun drying me off. I decided not to look at Sergio, who was still there, clearly asleep. But I couldn’t stop myself. I kept finding myself glancing over at him. His slim chest covered in trimmed hair, his not-quite-flat stomach, the angles of his collarbone, the bulge in his bathing suit…fuck. What was going on with me? I forced my gaze away. I glanced at Carlos who was lying beside me. I looked at him the same way. He was just as good-looking as his brother, but somehow it was different. I could look at him more abstractly. I glanced back at Sergio. His nipples looked so soft and…damn it. I looked over at a woman who was on a towel nearby. That was a more familiar feeling. She was really sexy in a tight one-piece suit, all curvy and lithe. That feeling I knew well. But with Sergio? What the hell was going on with me?

After a big lunch with everyone – including Frank and his boyfriend, who were sitting a long way away from us this time – I decided to go for a nap. I made it to my room, got out of my clothes and threw myself on the bed.

I dozed for a while, but then I was awake. I don’t know about you, but there’s something about swimming and lying in the sun, that gets my libido going, so I took my quickly hardening dick in my hand and closed my eyes, thinking of Natalie and her body and all the things we liked to do in bed. It felt great. I stroked for a while, letting the pleasure take me away: no rush, no deadlines.

I was remembering a time with her in the bathtub which always got me going and I was close to lift-off when there was a knock at the door. Fuck. I thought a minute, lying there with my throbbing cock in my hand, wondering if I should answer the door or pretend I wasn’t there.

Then I heard, “Hey, Stan…are you up for a walk?”

It was Sergio. I stared at my cock, willing it to soften. I yelled, “Uh, sure, Sergio. Give me a minute. I just got out of the shower.”

I said to myself, fuck it. I started to stroke, my dick suddenly even harder. There was a long stream of precum drooling from the head and I could feel I was getting to the finish line fast, my balls tightening up, a wave of good things starting to radiate out from my cock to the rest of my body and I came with a gasp, shooting cum up to my chest in three long spurts.

I got off the bed and ran to the bathroom. I yelled out, “Almost there…”

I wiped up the cum as best I could. I doused my head in the sink so it looked like I was wet from the shower, and went and found some clean clothes. I wondered why I hadn’t just said I was napping. Or better yet, why I hadn’t pretended I wasn’t there. While I was putting on a t-shirt, I suddenly realized what had got me off so fast. It was the fact that Sergio was on the other side of the door. I shook my head, confused and annoyed.

We walked around the headland where the hotel was to the main part of Port Vila. Nice little town. There was a market with a million different kinds of bananas. Who knew there were so many varieties? Sergio talked about his job – he’s a lawyer in Manchester – and I told him about teaching. I work in this school for rich kids. I’m the physical education teacher but I also have a history class. We both knew a lot about each other’s work life, so we could get into some detail about our frustrations and what was going well. It was nice. Good friends are like that. You can be vulnerable and not worry anyone is going to freak out.

We had a drink in an outside bar that was clearly designed for ex-pats and tourists, but it was fun. We had these complicated drinks made from coconut milk and who knows what else. Delicious.

We had been sitting there for a while, when – of course – Frank and his boy came in. Sergio saw them first and winced. When I saw them, I felt very protective suddenly. I said, “Let’s get out of here. There’s no point in those two spoiling a nice afternoon for you.”

Sergio looked grateful, so we got up and paid the bill, quickly slipping out to the street. I could tell Frank was watching us, so I put my hand on Sergio’s back, giving him a comforting stroke. He looked at me and said, “You’re the best, Stan.” I was surprised at how nice that felt.

We got back to the hotel and had a relatively quiet night. There was another dinner and the drinking was more restrained since all the assorted Arenas boys and their friends were still recovering from the previous night. Frank was nearby, but seemed relaxed. We even exchanged a few words with him and everything was fine. I hoped things had settled down and we could stop putting on a show for him.

Later, Carlos, Sergio and I were sitting on some big comfortable lounge chairs that were in the grass under some palm trees. Everyone else seemed to have split up into groups, some playing video games on their phones, some drinking, some just talking. We were far enough away that I don’t think anyone could see us.

It was quiet where we were and we could hear the waves from the distant beach. The air was still and hot. We were all in shorts and Carlos had taken off his shirt. Carlos is a good-looking dude. If I was gay…well, you get the idea. And his wife is gorgeous.

Once we had settled into our chairs, Carlos pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit it, taking a long puff. What a good idea that was. He handed me the joint and I sucked back a bunch, then handed it to Sergio. I don’t know if it was the remnants of the jet lag or what, but I was really stoned, really fast. I lay back and stared at the night sky through the palm trees, seeing a ton of stars. I was with two guys I had known most of my life. How good was that?

We talked about our lives and told jokes and Sergio started talking about his relationship with Frank. I guess he needed to get it out of his system. I had heard a lot of it before, but he went into detail about what was good and what sucked. I guess Frank is not such a bad guy, he just has a different idea of what a relationship is like than Sergio.

Since we were stoned, we talked a lot and laughed a bunch. It was great. After what felt like hours, Carlos yawned and said, “I don’t know about you two, but I need to sleep. See you in the morning. Remember: we’re catching the boat at ten.”

I had forgotten that we were all piling into a big boat the next day to cruise around the harbour and see some of the coastline. Sergio got up and gave his brother a big hug, then I did the same. I had always felt like part of the family, but that night, I did even more. I almost cried. Yeah and I was stoned. Get over it.

We lay back down and I resumed staring at the sky some more. We didn’t say much. It just felt comfortable. It was like I could feel the earth spinning around the stars and – like you do when you’re stoned – it made me think about life and meaning and all that stuff. What random series of events had led us to this moment? Who knew? Then I realized Sergio was saying something.

“Stan…when I kissed you…what was it like?”

I turned, startled. “Like? What do you mean?”

I could tell he was squirming. “I don’t know. I just wondered. I mean…you’re straight and there you were kissing a guy. What was it like?”

I thought a moment, surprised that I didn’t feel uncomfortable. “It was like…kissing, I guess. It wasn’t that different than kissing Natalie. Well…a little different.”

Sergio chuckled and he said, “Yeah, it would be different.” I could tell he was looking at me. I turned and looked at him.

We stared at each other for a second and then I said, “You seemed to be putting a lot of energy into it, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Now I had him. Sergio looked uncomfortable. I suddenly had a thought that should have been obvious but because I’m a straight guy, wasn’t, because we’re mostly stupid. I suddenly wondered if Sergio felt something for me that went beyond our friendship. It had never occurred to me before. He looked up into the trees again, clearly thinking. I heard a bird calling off in the distance. I suddenly felt like we were in an old black-and-white movie and one of us was going to say something meaningful.

And that’s exactly what he did. “Stan…you know…ever since we were teenagers…I’ve had a bit of a crush on you.”

Maybe it was the pot, or maybe it was just me, but I didn’t freak out. I said, “Oh.” Then I said, “Wow.” There was a pause while I tried to find some more words. I was calm, but I just didn’t know how to respond. Finally I said, “That must have been hard to tell me.”

With a laugh, Sergio shifted in his chair. He looked at me and said, “Fuck was it ever. I wouldn’t have if I wasn’t stoned.”

Then I said, “So that kiss wasn’t just for show.”

Even in the half-light I could see him wince. I felt bad for him. I hadn’t meant this to be some sort of confrontation. I felt for the guy. In a quiet voice he said, “No. It wasn’t.”

I decided not to respond. I mean, there wasn’t much to say. It’s not like we could resolve anything. Our long friendship, and my friendship with his brother, precluded us resolving anything. In other words this wasn’t going to change the fact that we were friends and always would be.

We lay for a while, and then Sergio started telling me about being gay in high school and how hard it was. His family was cool. I was cool. But a lot of kids in our school were not. Let’s face it, there’s a lot of straight people out there who just can’t deal.

I said, “Sergio, I hope I never did anything that made it harder for you. Back then, I mean.”

He laughed a little and said, “Well, you made it hard by being so nice and so…gorgeous.”

It was my turn to be embarrassed and I could tell I was blushing and I wondered if he could tell how much I liked what he had just said. I laughed and said, “Well, thanks.” We were silent for a while longer and then it got to be too much. I said, “Well, I think I’ll head off to bed…”

I got up a little unsteadily and stood, feeling a little dizzy. He got up and said, “Well, thanks for listening…” He stepped forward and said, “Can I hug you?”

A part of me didn’t think it was a good idea. I didn’t want to frustrate him, but as soon as I thought that, I realized we had been hugging each other for years. So what was the difference? Well there was a lot of difference, but at the same time I decided that was stupid. I said, “Of course.”

So I wrapped my arms around his back, like we’d always done, a simple guy hug. But then it didn’t feel simple at all. It felt complicated. I could feel his need. He seemed to be holding onto me as if I would disappear if he didn’t. His body felt very warm against mine and I could feel his cock through his shorts nuzzling into my crotch. And this time it was his that was getting hard. I could actually feel it swelling and pushing against my own, which, to my amazement and discomfort, responded. He suddenly kissed my cheek.

I decided I had had enough. I pulled away and said, “Ok, well, off to bed.”

I turned quickly and just as I was about to move away, he caught my hand in his. “Wait…”

He stepped close to me again. I felt like running. What the fuck was going on? I decided it was the pot. I laughed uneasily, “What is it, mate?”

He had a little smile. He said, “Just this.”

He leaned forward and gave me the softest, gentlest kiss, his lips meeting mine like a warm breeze. He leaned back and just looked at me right in the eyes.  I was stunned. I was expecting him to kiss me again, but no, that’s not what he did. He reached down and put his hand on the bulge in my shorts. He said, “You’re hard.”

I winced and wanted to shout at him and say: Yeah, so? But I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. I had never in my life had a hard-on in the context of thinking about a guy, much less being in front of a guy. I was straight, for fuck’s sake! I started to get mad at him. His hand was still on the now completely hard bulge in my shorts. Then he moved his hand, rubbing my whole cock from top to bottom. I made an involuntary sound and shut my eyes. I managed to say, “God-damn it, Sergio…”

His hand stopped and he almost whispered, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it? Should I stop?”

What could I say? My head wanted to say one thing, but my body – my dick – was saying the opposite. Then he did something that really blew my circuits. He knelt down and I felt his hands undo my shorts, opening up the fly and sliding them down to my ankles. My briefs were all crooked and my dick was poking out of the top. He slid my shorts down to my thighs and my cock was just there, throbbing.

I just looked down at him and then he looked up at me. I was paralysed. I wanted to run, but I also was more turned on than I had been in years. I had never felt this way with Natalie, even at her sexiest. I looked into Sergio’s eyes and I let myself think the thought that had been sitting there since he had kissed me in front of his ex-boyfriend. I wanted him. Holy shit.

And just to seal the deal, Sergio took hold of the base of my cock and licked the head a few times, before pushing his mouth down, inhaling the whole thing. I’m not huge in the dick department, but I’m a healthy size, but he swallowed me all the way to the root.

I gasped and grabbed his head in my hands, pushing a little with my hips. He moaned and pulled off me, spit and precum following his mouth. He said, “Is this all right?”

I had to laugh. What else could I do? My friend of the last decade or so was going down on me. Me, the ostensibly straight guy. I managed to say, “Sergio…whatever is going on here…I don’t want it to stop.”

He grinned and went back to sucking my cock. Like really sucking it. Using his tongue in all kinds of amazing ways on the head, on the little divot under the head, lapping at the sides, even biting it a little. It was making me crazy. He moved his head down and sucked in one of my balls. I keep things trimmed down there – remember, metrosexual – and while I felt his mouth gently exploring my nut sac, I stroked my cock. I was all in.

He moved back up and took my dick in his hand and held the base while he sucked on the end, giving me a stroke every so often. It was working. I could feel my whole body start to buzz. I could feel my cock swelling in his mouth. This was no prolonged, sensual road to orgasm. This was a short, sharp fuse to an explosion. And with a couple of more strokes, I could feel the dam bursting. I groaned and he moaned and I grabbed his head and started to fuck his face as my body caught fire and my cock started to jet cum into his mouth.

He growled and I watched him swallow, then I had to shut my eyes because the feeling was taking me over it was so intense. Almost painful. Then the energy started to fade and I caressed his face. I was gasping and then he stood up and I watched him swallow. He grinned at me like a little kid.

I said, “Holy fuck, Sergio!”

With a laugh he said, “Yeah. Holy fuck.”

At that point, I didn’t know what else to say. Then he floored me. He said, “Can I sleep with you.” I had no idea how to answer. I shrugged. He then said, “I mean, just sleep…this was enough. For now.”

“For now? You mean there’s more?” But I laughed and then said, “Sure. Why the fuck not? You just sucked me off, so it’s not like we’re not in new territory already.” He looked happy.

We went to my room and I decided the hell with pyjamas or underwear. I got out of my shorts and slid into the bed. He did the same. I noticed his shorts were all wet around the crotch. I laughed. “You blew a load too, I see.”

He got in beside me and said, “Of course I did. I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

That shut me up. But then I said, “Sergio…I’m pretty stoned right now and a little drunk. In the morning I can’t guarantee that I’m not going to be royally fucked-up about what we just did and that we are now about to sleep in the same bed. Naked. So don’t be surprised.”

He pulled closer to me and lay his head on my chest. At that moment, I could feel myself starting to freak out, as if the reality of what we had just done, and were now doing, was sinking in. But I put my arms around him and he snuggled closer. Holy shit. I was sleeping with a guy. And not just any guy, but Sergio, my best friend’s brother. Not to mention that he swallowed my cum.

I lay there for a while and I could tell he was asleep. I felt pretty dozy, but at the same time, my body was buzzing and not just from post-cum bliss. A little part of me had already started to lose it. But somehow I managed to fall asleep with Sergio in my arms. And despite everything else, that felt really nice.

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Half way through Locktober. For guys that lock up for just 31 days each year for the fad and fun, it’s probably a good feeling to know when you’re half way to cock freedom, but for those of us that choose chastity as a lifestyle, it’s just another month of denial and discipline, leading into the next month, and the next one after that, and so on.

Ever since mid-November of ‘24, my dick has been locked up for more than 300 days, give or take a day or two here and there for whatever good reason. My keyholder Jace, the real one, not the mean one I’ve written about in over 100 stories on gaydemon, is good about making sure I clean my cage regularly and allows me time off for grooming and upkeep, but he’s very strict about his role as my keyholder and has never told me where he hides the keys to my “cheese grater”, as he calls it. My Cobra cage does resemble one and once he made that likeness, the name has stuck ever since.

Jace is also very strict about me experiencing orgasms. He feels that as my keyholder, it is his right to determine when, where, and how I should cum. When we first met over 10 years ago, our dynamic was always Dom/sub at the get go. We’d experimented with chastity from time to time as a fun kink, but secretly, I loved it. There was something so comforting about putting a device on my cock. It is true that once you make it past the first three days, you grow accustomed to it. I was no longer feeling the discomfort of my dick trying to harden in the middle of the night. Psychologically, wearing a cock lock, with Jace holding the key, made me feel closer to him, like a wedding band does for some people. I loved my continuous state of horniness, and the 24/7 feeling of submission even when Jace wasn’t physically with me.

It took me years to summon the courage to tell Jace all of this, and once I did, that’s when he said if we do this, we were going to do it his way. That was back in November of ‘24. I’d tried many different cages in our experimenting years. Different materials, colors, and sizes. Once I’d been properly fitted for the Cobra at a local sex shop, I knew I’d found the one for me, the one I wanted to wear for the rest of my life.

As I mentioned earlier, Jace expected total control over my orgasms. He was determined that after some time, I’d learn how to achieve the heights of climax other ways. Under his supervision and direction, I’d learned that I could cum by nipple and anal stimulation. This was considered a reward for serving Jace well and earning the privilege.

Jace is a busy man and he works a lot. When he’s home, I’m his cumbucket. He’s more concerned about himself getting off and how I’m going to help him get off. Over the years, he stopped getting me off. 99% of the time it was one way traffic. There were occasions when he would be pounding me out and he’d allow me the gift of unloading my balls, but that wasn’t often.

When Jace traveled, he would find other subs to use. I was permitted to play with other tops, but never permitted to get off with them. He felt that would be undermining him, and I have honored that for the most part.

Well, imagine my surprise when one day last week Jace texted me and told me to come over after work, that he had a surprise for me. I should preface that I hadn’t cum in well over a month and I was praying that the special surprise would be something that would entail blowing a load because my balls were extraordinarily full.

I went over to Jace’s place and when I unlocked the door, there was some twink standing there wearing only a tight white jock strap and evidentially a cage underneath.

“You must be Rich. Jace told me so much about you. I can’t believe I’m meeting you.”

This blonde twenty something twink hugged me like we were best friends. I was surprised to know he knew anything about me since I knew nothing at all about him.

Just as the twink let go of me, Jace walked in from his bedroom, shirtless and his usual black  basketball shorts.

“I see you two have already met.”

“Sort of”, I said.

“This is my boy, Davy. He’s here in a business trip and I told him to come by.”

“Oh, hi Davy.”, I said skeptically.

“I met Davy in Boston when I was working out there.”

“Oh, ok”

“No, I’m not his keyholder in case you are wondering. You’re enough to handle.”

“I guess, thanks.”, I said, still wondering what this surprise would be.

“I thought it would be fun for the two of you to meet.”

Quite honestly, I wasn’t too sure why I shouldn’t just leave. I was feeling insanely jealous meeting this twink that Jace had clearly fucked many times.

Jace knew me well enough to sense that I wasn’t exactly comfortable in the moment. He came over to me and placed his large hands in each shoulder and began to massage them.

“Relax babe. It’s ok. I actually asked him to come over for you. Davy has a fetish that I think you will like very much.”

“He does?”, I said a little more calmly.

“Davy, tell my sub what your fetish is.”

“I’m really into pits and nips. I love to work them over.”

“Good boy, Davy. I thought it might be a nice treat for you to let Davy play with you and see if he can get you off.”

“Really? You’re gonna let me cum?”, I asked maybe with too much eagerness.

“We’ll see…what’s it been now, over a month?”

“Yeah”

“Well, let’s see how things go and if things line up right to make that happen.”

“Ok”, I said a little deflated.

“Davy’s only been locked up since Oct 1, he’s new to chastity. I was telling him that you’re an old pro.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So maybe you can give him some tips later. Davy, show my sub your cage.”

It was a clear plastic cage with a padlock. Definitely done cheap Amazon device that wasn’t very durable. It also looked too small for him.

“How’s it feel?” I asked.

“It pinches my skin all the time, but that’s ok.”

“No, it looks too small on you. There are more comfortable cages out there but they will cost a bit more than that one.”

“I don’t plan on wearing this after this month. My boyfriend and I are just trying it out for Locktober.”

“Oh ok. Well, if you ever do it again, get something less constricting.”

He covered his cage with his jock. I felt a little bad that I cage-shamed him, but that thing was cheap and it didn’t fit right.

“Show Davy your cage so he could see how yours fits.”

“Ok”, I said obediently.

I pulled down my dress pants and briefs and exposed my cage.

“You see my sub’s cheese grater. It fits him perfectly. We had him get fitted for it.”, Jace sounded almost proud of my licked up dick.

“Can I feel it?”, he asked Jace, not me.

“Yeah, go ahead. He won’t mind.”

Davy placed his hand over my shaft and tugged a bit in it.

“It’s so light. It looks like it would be heavier, yours looks so much more comfortable.”

“It is, I like wearing it.”

“Ok, that’s enough show and tell for now. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

I followed Jace and Davy to the bedroom and wondered what was going to happen.

Jace pulled off his shorts and signaled for me to lose my clothes with a simple jabs gesture.

“Would you boys like to suck my dick?”

“Yes”, we said in unison.

We knelt at Jace’s feet and took turns slobbering all over Jace’s cock and balls, sometimes working our lips on either side, sharing it. There was plenty of dick meat for both of us. Jace especially enjoyed when Davy was working his balls and I deep throated him. Davy just couldn’t handle Jace’s entire shaft, but I’d had years of practice. I did feel superior that I had better cocksucking talents than young Davy.

We must have worked Jace’s tool for over thirty minutes before he jerked off over our open mouths and faces.

Davy surprised me by kissing me as we snowballed Jace’s load and licked the cum from our faces. It was hot and turned me on.

Jace laid down on his bed and invited me to lay down next to him. His arm rested around my shoulder.

“Go on Davy. Do your thing. Make my sub cum if you can.”

Davy crawled on all 4’s up onto the bed and hovered over me. Two fingers on his left hand twisted my left nipple while his teeth latched in to my right one.

“Oh my God! Oh fuck!”, I cried.

Jace’s eyes locked onto mine as Davy worked both my nipples over. From right to left, twisting, pulling, pinching, licking, sucking, biting…my cock was straining in its cage, struggling to stay confined.

“Please…”, I urged Jace.

He knew I was begging for release, to let my cock free.

He put two of his fingers in my open mouth.

“No…no…but I know you’re gonna blow soon. I can tell.”

Jace then lifted my arm behind my head and held it there. With his free hand, he guided Davy’s face into my pit and pressed the back of his head. Davy’s tongue was swirling round and round my underarm and a fresh wave of pleasure ran through my body right down to my dick, furthering my need to blast a load from my nuts.

This went on for several minutes. I was on the edge of something epic, but couldn’t bring myself over the hump.

“Pleaasssee”, I begged again, even more desperate.

Jace ignored my plea but he did pry Davy away from my pit and back onto my swollen and sore nipples. Jace put his finger back in my mouth and I sucked on it.

Then he slid his wet middle finger, the longest one on his hand, into my butt and hooked it in just the right way to find my love nut.

Now I was losing my shit. Grunting and groaning. I threw my hands up over my head and my entire body tensed up.

“Come on, you can do it!”, Jace cheered me on.

“Ohhhhh fuck! Ohhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhh fuuuccckkk! Don’t stop! Ohhhhhh fuuuucckkk! Yeessss! Ohhhhhhh! Ohhhhhh!”

I had a full body orgasm. Heavy volleys of cum were gushing down the sides of my cage. Jace pulled his finger out and squeezed my tightened balls, helping them to empty out. Davy stopped biting my tit and eyed the gusher of white hot cum that covered my cage and fell onto Jace’s fingers.

As I was coming down, heaving, exhausted, Davy nourished himself, licking my seed from Jace’s fingers.

Jace then pushed the back of his head right into my cage. Davy opened his mouth and took my entire caged dick into his mouth to clean it off. It’s a good thingy shafted was sheathed because my dick was so sensitive after cumming.

Davy then found my mouth and we snowballed my load as Jace looked over us.

“Thank you, Jace. I needed that.”, I said.

“I know you did. Aren’t you glad my boy Davy here was in town?”

“Yes”

“You really should be thanking him.”

“Thank you, Davy. Did you wanna get off, too?”

Jace jumped in.

“No, he’s not allowed to get off with anyone but his boyfriend. You know, like how I got you.”

“Yeah, I do know.”

“And you love it, so stop acting like you don’t.”

“I do!”, I insisted.

We lingered in bed for just another couple of minutes and I needed to go. I hadn’t had dinner and it was getting late.

“I better get going. Thanks, Jace. Nice to meet you, Davy.”

I gathered my things, dressed, and let myself out.

A twinge of jealousy returned knowing that Davy was still in Jace’s bed, nearly naked, knowing that Jace was going to fuck him all night long, but I sure was glad he had me over because my balls felt much lighter.

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Prologue

Nat’s interview for KWT-TV really paid off. The morning after, just as we all were finishing breakfast and preparing to head off to the airport, Nat’s dad’s staff received a call from someone representing Mrs Levy, the ‘plastics magnet’ as I thought Nat had called her. You remember, the lady we met up at Lake Erie with her two granddaughters.

 Mrs Levy offered that the Education Foundation she had set up in her husband’s memory would provide a $1 million dollar donation to the restoration fund of the USS Olympia if the State of Pennsylvania would make a matching donation and promote an educational initiative similar to the one run over the border on the USS New Jersey when Nat’s dad was elected Governor. She seemed pretty certain he would be. Not only that, but she offered a personal deal too. If Noah went ahead and worked up the sketches he had made on the Olympia into a set of detailed drawings for a series of limited-edition prints, she would buy the originals and then donate them to the USS Olympia restoration trust for permanent display, along with paying for the ward room on the Olympia to be restored in order to exhibit them. Nat could hardly wait to get on the phone to Noah to tell him the news, then begin to start working out a price for Noah’s original pictures. I’m guessing Nat was on to it the moment the flight taking me, mom and dad back home reached rotation speed and the nosewheel lifted up…

 * * *

 Almost straight after getting back from our stay with Nathan’s family, I started back at school again to do two more A levels. Well, continue my Physics A level and add a Chemistry A level to it. That lasted for just three weeks before I had to change schools. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but it was nothing like that!

 On our return to the UK, dad was promoted and with that came a posting to be Senior Military Officer at the communications centre at ISS Boddington just outside Cheltenham in Gloucestershire. We moved house and I changed schools but, to be fair, there was a benefit to that too. My new college, not far from the Doughnut where dad also spends quite a bit of time, is pretty good and in addition to my A levels in Physics and Chemistry, they offered me a Foundation Course in Materials Engineering to fill in the spare slots in my schedule. That kept mum happy as it is meant as a lead-in to an engineering degree if I choose to go to university.

 We struck lucky on the house move too: ISS Boddington is on the site of the former RAF Boddington and dad was allocated the old Station Commander’s house as our quarters. It’s a big, old house with loads of rooms and a garden that is bordered on one side by the River Chelt – pretty useful for my kayaking! There’s also a dead good pub nearby, The Old Spot, where we had lunch on our very first day at Boddington whilst we waited for the removal van to catch up to us. The landlord assumed I am over 18 and neither mum or dad mentioned otherwise so another win there.

 In addition to the house, we now also have a flat in Wapping. Dad’s job requires quite a bit of time to be spent up in London, several days a week typically, and so instead of doing loads of commuting he decided to rent a flat up there. It’s on the third floor of an old warehouse – Dundee Court – right on the banks of the Thames and only couple of minutes’ walk from the pub I took Shane, Kyle and Lee to when they came to visit last year. Very useful for weekend breaks and holidays for me and mum up in town!

 Now dad has a new role, so does mum: she’s set up her own business, obviously spurred into it by not wanting to be outdone by me! Dad’s new job is primarily a staff role and so mum has been freed up from having to do all those unofficial things commanding officers’ wives are expected to do like look after every family on the patch, run charities and clubs and generally be superhuman. The idea for her business came from when she tried, and failed, to buy some more of the wine Noah’s family makes. Nobody stocks it over here, not even Berry Bros & Rudd, and when I checked with Noah if they did actually have an importer in the UK, it turned out they don’t. Well, they do now.

 Mum decided that was a business opportunity, particularly when she discovered how restrictive dealing in and, even more so, exporting wine from the USA actually is. Noah’s family can’t just sell to an export agent, they have to go through a State-owned intermediary and all sorts of complications like that, and so don’t bother. For mum, dealing with bureaucracy is like waving a red rag at a bull and so when every body said it was just too difficult, she set out to prove them wrong. I think Nat’s dad probably got a great deal of ear bending along the way but the outcome was that mum now has an import agency bringing in wine not just from the Mason vineyard but from quite a few other Pennsylvania vineyards too.

 The really good wines, like the Mason’s Heritage Line, come over already bottled but most of it, where the margins are way lower, comes over in bulk tanks and mum has it bottled here: glass is heavy and way too expensive to contemplate trans-Atlantic shipping. After bottling, it’s distributed through some specialist dealers. The really good stuff she distributes directly through her own network of contacts, especially targeting some of the USAF airbases over here and the restaurants surrounding them, providing ‘a taste of home’ as her marketing strapline goes. She even supplies the American Embassy!

 Brookes, Bauer and Wright, my company, is continuing to grow. Well, okay, it’s mainly Will’s company really, but I now own a bit more of it than I did. While most students at ARMC are doing typical case studies and stuff in their economics and business classes, Will and Nat are running our company and getting plenty of help and advice along the way. We’re looking for a catchier name for the company, mainly at Nat’s instigation, and as he’s in charge of the business development and marketing side of things Will’s giving him free rein on the idea. I suggested ‘ACME’ as in ‘the best of things’ but Nat said that would just make us look like Wile. E. Coyote’s supplier. We’ll think of something eventually, but for now BB&W is fine.

 Over the last year Will’s pretty much perfected the coding needed to do the dynamic optimisation of ambulance distribution around Harrisburg in real time based upon the data available from the highways authority’s traffic management system. After Nat had contracts drawn up to provide a service to McGregor Medical’s ambulances, I suggested that we should try doing the same thing with others who were faced with similar problems – after all, if we already have a means of acquiring and analysing position and traffic data then it shouldn’t be too difficult to tweak it for other market sectors. Nat was onto that in a flash and, believe it or not, soon got us another customer in the shape of a company that delivers chilled food and even fresh flowers to mobile vendors and wanted to streamline their logistics network.

 On top of that, our original business of helping Three Rivers Telecom site their cell towers around Pittsburgh grew quite a bit and flying the signal analyser in Travis’s plane is building up a big additional database of signals that Will is tapping into to expand our offering in that sector. He reckons that is likely to be our next major growth area and decided that my input was worth more than the 5% share I was originally allocated. As a result, he redistributed an additional 2.5% of his shareholding to me, so I now own 7.5% of the company. In reality it doesn’t make any difference to the operation of the business: Will still owns the majority of it and Nathan’s share hasn’t diminished so he’s still happy, but I get a fraction more of the profits. I’m not arguing with that! It more than makes up for the fact that now we have moved house I don’t have my after-school job at the garage. I get my dividend – that’s what Will calls my share of the profits – every quarter. I’ve saved most of it so I have some money of my own when I go back to America, but I’ve taken mum and dad out for a meal a couple of times and treated myself to a new tweed jacket for shooting in too.

 Nat’s dad, Paul, was successful in his bid to become Governor of Pennsylvania and of course Nat likes to hint – not outright claim, just hint – that he can take some of the credit for that. Sure thing, bud…  Though Pennsylvania is governed from Harrisburg and so he spends a lot more time there than before, Paul does return to Pittsburgh most weekends, usually by helicopter, the same little ‘cute egg’ as my mum called it, that he rented when we visited them last summer. Maybe I’ll get another ride in it when I go back for my year at Allegheny.

 We had hoped that I could get over to America again to see Nat for Thanksgiving but, being the last week in November, that didn’t coincide with my half term holiday and my new college was a bit uppity about me having a week off in term time. That term seemed to drag on for ever, speaking to him by phone just isn’t the same. Dad had no sympathy at all, just smirking and saying “Now you know how I feel about being apart from your mum.” Thanks dad.

 It was Christmas before I got to see Nat again. He came over the day after Boxing Day, basically on the first flight out of Pittsburgh he could get after doing his ‘performing poodle act.’ We had a great time, spending a couple of days here in Boddington then heading up to Sheffield to stay with gran and grandad Wright for the New Year. It’s the first time he’s met them but they all got on well. When he discovered Nat likes history, grandad Wright dragged him off to the Kelham Island Industrial Museum to see the Don Engine being run up and Nat loved that. Okay, so I did too, but the museum is full of science and engineering stuff so though it’s right up my street I wasn’t totally sure it would be Nat’s thing. After that, we took Nat on a tour of the Kelham Beer Trail to introduce him to proper northern pubs and real ale. We only let him have half pints though.

 Nat’s first semester as the college’s first ever Sergeant Major had gone really well, with him being the link between the new Captain of Cadets, a guy called Theodore Hall, and the rest of the cadets. There have been some changes at Allegheny too, primarily introduced by the Commandant but a couple of ideas suggested by Jackson Davis have also been implemented. It seems that with Jackson being Captain in a Golden Year his suggestions carried some weight.

 Perhaps the most far reaching was the suggestion that, instead of waiting until part way through the first semester to appoint the Captain of Cadets, the Captain is now appointed on Prizegiving and Graduation Day at the end of each year and so is in place right from day one of the new college year. That actually makes great sense: under the old system the cadets were effectively lacking in leadership for the few weeks of the autumn semester. Apparently, it was previously done the old way because in the college’s founding year the then Commandant appointed a Captain of Cadets and it took a few weeks for him to get to know the potential candidates from scratch. After that it just became a tradition to appoint the Captain of Cadets on the first Parents’ Day of the autumn semester. Nowadays, the Commandant and staff have three years to build up a picture of the most suitable candidates and so the benefits of having a Captain in place right from day one of the first semester are deemed to outweigh the tradition.

 We didn’t manage to get together over the Easter holidays either. I had the opportunity to go on a cadet trip sea kayaking in Cyprus and had already booked my place before Nathan managed to confirm what time he had free. Obviously, he knew well in advance what the actual college holidays were but he had to factor in a few events he felt he ought to attend with his family and then a further stint grubbing around back up in Maine looking for proof the Vikings were there. Sure enough, it turned out that we didn’t have any overlapping free time. We’ve made up for that though this summer.

 Nat came over nearly three weeks ago, right after finishing his Junior year at Allegheny. The highlight of Nat’s college year was, of course, Prizegiving and Graduation Day where, as you might have expected, he was promoted and appointed Captain of Cadets for his forthcoming Senior year. He earned the promotion on merit, but that’s not stopped me giving him some stick about ‘buying his commission’. He’ll no doubt be looking to get his own back next year though as I’ll be a Cadet Lieutenant and so, in theory at least, he’ll be senior to me.

After spending almost a week here in Boddington, we caught a train up to Sheffield and stayed with gran and grandad Wright for a couple of days before moving on over to York to stay with gran and grandad Rufforth again for a whole week. I think they were more pleased to see him back than they were to see me!

 One of several digs that gran has been responsible for overseeing on behalf of the Archaeological Trust has turned up some pretty groundbreaking finds over the last few years, possibly a cemetery for gladiators killed in combat in the amphitheatre, and though Vikings rather than Romans are Nat’s main historical obsession he didn’t need asking twice if he wanted to go and get to see behind the scenes at the dig. Actually, I don’t think he even got asked in the first place, just kind of glued himself to gran instantly when she said she was calling in to the site to review progress and suggested that if we hadn’t got anything else planned for the day…  The dig was actually quite interesting and the finds – mainly skeletons of young adult males that had been decapitated but given good burials – have raised more questions than they have answered, not least of which is the complicating factor that there is no evidence of there having been an amphitheatre at Eboracum, which is what the Romans called York before the Vikings renamed it Jorvik. Maybe Cromwell built a car park on the site of it or something.

 From York we got the train down to London to meet up with mum and dad again and stay in our flat in Wapping for a few days. I gave Nat got a tour of Diagon Alley, or Leadenhall Market as it really is, to ensure he wasn’t outdone by Shane, then he spent almost a whole day dragging me round the British Museum and the Natural History Museum.

 Our stay in London coincided with my seventeenth birthday and for that dad played a blinder, linking up again with his old Sergeant Major, now Yeoman Warder, Langton. Actually, his full title is ‘Yeomen Warder of Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress the Tower of London, and Member of the Sovereign’s Body Guard of the Yeoman Guard Extraordinary’, but just try fitting that on a business card. Oh, and as he made very clear to Nat, he’s not called a Beefeater. Anyway, dad and Yeoman Langton had arranged for my birthday treat to be a visit to The Keys, the secret pub within the Tower open only to Warders and their guests. As it is technically a private members’ club, and within heavily defended walls, no-one seemed to worry too much about the possibility of the police charging in if they heard I was only seventeen. After all, Her Maj employs plenty of hefty blokes with axes, halberds and swords to keep the hoi polloi out.

 Finally, last week, we headed back down here to Boddington where, in addition to refreshing Nat’s kayaking skills on the Chelt, I passed my driving test and picked up my A level results. I’ve definitely been upgraded to ‘smart arse.’ I have a total of 5 A levels, all of them at the top grade: three in maths, one in physics and one in chemistry. Nat and me are just doing the last of our packing: tomorrow we set off for America. It seems weird to think that I am going to be away for a whole year. Yes, I know that was the original plan almost two years ago, but dad was going to be with me then. This time I’ll be on my own. Well, except for Nat that is. And I’ll probably be popping back here for a holiday, or mum and dad will be coming over to join me for a holiday in America – Nat’s parents have offered to host them again.

 The best surprise on my birthday was saved until last. Because the Commandant at Allegheny offered me a scholarship, that meant the money dad had set aside to pay for my fees wasn’t needed and so mum and dad decided they would make my trip over to America as special as they could. In addition to giving me some of the money for spending money, they decided to treated me and Nat to a spectacular start to our year together. No, it’s not an upgrade to business class seats on our flight. In fact, there isn’t even a plane. Tomorrow morning, we are heading down to Southampton to board the Queen Mary 2 for a six-day passage to New York.

Cut grass. Bare feet in the lawn. A cooler lid swinging open, then slamming shut. Someone laughing too loud. A girl in cutoff shorts twirling a plastic cup. Smoke curling off the grill. Bottles sweating on the railing. The bass fuzzed out from a half-dead speaker. 

And then, over by the cooler, Dalton: six-foot-five, thick as hell, bearded, a little too quiet. Holding a paper plate like he wasn’t sure where to stand.

He’d been invited by Braden, a gym buddy he liked, strong as hell, always had his shit together. Braden had mentioned his brothers a few times, said they were tight, said they grilled every couple weeks and had a chill time. Dalton figured why not.

He walked around the party, beer in hand. There were a bunch of guys hanging around over by the grill: Braden and what had to be his brothers.

There was a girl near the railing, turned away from him. Tight jeans, narrow waist, perfect little ass. Dalton looked once, quick. Damn. He took a sip of his beer, started heading down the steps.

“Yo!” Braden called. “Come meet everyone.”

Dalton followed him over. Braden pointed around: “That’s Jackson, that’s Tommy”—

Jackson tipped his chin up with a grin. “Hey, man.” Backwards cap, tall and lean.

Tommy gave a small nod, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s up.” Broad shoulders, solid build. Handsome guy.

“And that’s my little brother, Danny.”

The girl turned. Dalton’s stomach dropped. Not a girl.

Danny. Short dark hair. Pale skin. Calm, unreadable eyes. Barefoot on the grass. Just looking at him. Dalton blinked, forced a nod, like his brain wasn’t still trying to catch up.

That ass. That was Danny.

---

Inside, he ducked into the kitchen for water and found Danny already there, leaning against the counter. The party noise dimmed through the screen door.

“Hot as fuck out,” Dalton said, filling his glass. Without thinking, he peeled off his soaked shirt, standing there bare-chested, mountain of body hair on display.

Danny raised his beer. “Yeah.” His eyes moved up and down. Eventually back up.

Dalton laughed awkwardly. “Your brothers run this thing like a military op.”

“They always do.”

Danny’s voice was quiet, but not unsure. Every movement felt deliberate, from his half-smile to the way he didn’t step back. They stood there, not speaking, the silence charged.

“They look out for me,” Danny said, glancing toward the yard.

Dalton didn’t ask what that meant. He just nodded and stood there for a second. 

Then from outside: “Dalton! Where the fuck are you?” Braden. Dalton smiled, Danny smiled back. 

“I should go,” Dalton said. 

“You should,” said Danny. 

Dalton grabbed his glass and stepped back out.

---

Later, Danny walked up to them at the grill. He threw Dalton’s shirt at him in front of Braden and Jackson. “You forgot something.”

Dalton went red. They laughed, but Danny only smiled.

Someone called Danny into a round of cornhole. At first he refused, but the taunts pulled him in. He crossed the grass barefoot, sleeves shoved up, and wiped the floor. Bag after bag landed dead center, no wasted movement.

His brothers freaked out, accused him of cheating, but it was clear they knew what was up, little bro was a cornhole champ. Danny shrugged, handed off the last beanbag, and slipped back to the porch.

Dalton found himself beside him again.

“That was awesome, man. You gonna play more?,” he said.

“One round’s enough.”

“You beat half the guys out there without breaking a sweat.”

“They’ll forget by tomorrow.”

“It was kinda hot, to be honest. They way you handled those bags.”

Danny gave Dalton a look, a half-smile. Dalton just looked at him for a second, then looked away. 

Danny glanced down. His eyes lingered for half a beat then dropped lower. The bulge in Dalton’s jeans was obvious. Unmistakable. He didn’t say anything. Just looked.

When someone shouted for more drinks, Dalton stood to help, adjusting himself. Danny moved too. “I’ll come.”

They crossed the yard together, big, broad Dalton and compact, quiet Danny. At the cooler, Dalton popped lids while Danny stacked bottles and cans with methodical ease. Up close, he smelled clean. Like cotton and soap under the smoke and sweat.

The night dragged long, stories, whiskey, mosquitoes. But Dalton kept wanting to talk to Danny. And Danny, for all his stillness, kept talking back.

When it was time to leave, Dalton stood. “Early morning.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Danny said.

They crossed the yard together. At the truck, Danny leaned against the fender, sleeves pushed up, sweater catching the porch light.

“Everyone liked you. If you were wondering,” Danny said.

Dalton looked at him, laughed for a second. “Thanks. Good group of guys.”

“We’re alright.”

Dalton looked down again and gripped his keys. “We should hang out again.” Dalton looked up. “You and me.”

Danny met his eyes. “Yeah. We should.”

---

Dalton climbed into the truck, body hot, jeans tight. He groaned as he unzipped, cock flushed and heavy across his thigh. In the mirror, he saw Danny walking back toward the house, slow, easy, ass full and perfect in denim. Then Danny paused, turned, and looked back.

Dalton spat into his palm, eyes locked on the mirror.

Danny lingered. Just a second. Then he turned again, sweater hugging the shape of him.

Dalton stroked hard, hips lifting off the seat. The truck rocked. He growled, spit-slicked, fist pumping his cock while the image burned behind his eyes.

Streetlights passed overhead, but all he saw was Danny. The sweater. The curve of his ass. The look over his shoulder.

The way that he looked back at him. That look in his eye. Like he was making it happen. Dalton exploded.

---

The gym was bright and noisy. Dalton was toweling off after front squats when he saw him.

Danny by the dumbbell rack, tight tank top and shorts, pale forearms corded with muscle. Headphones in and focused. Like Dalton wasn’t even there. But he’d seen him. A quick nod. Then back to work.

Dalton moved to a cable station, tried to focus, failed. In the mirror, Danny moved with slow, clean precision, his ass jiggling as he shifted. Dalton gave up halfway through the set. Grabbed his towel. Walked over.

“You always train here?” he asked.

Danny tugged out one earbud. “Sometimes.”

Dalton nodded. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

Danny gave him a quick once-over. “Are you happy about it?.”

Dalton let out a quiet breath. “Yeah, actually. I am.”

Danny set his dumbbells down and straightened. “You following me?”

Dalton blinked. “What?”

Danny’s mouth twitched. “Kidding.”

Silence settled. Another barbell dropped nearby. Neither flinched. Then Danny turned. “Gonna go finish up. See you around?” 

Dalton nodded. Turned fast. Boner straining against his shorts. No hiding it.

---

Dalton spotted him the second he walked into the sauna. Danny sat on the far bench, back to the room, shoulders straight, a towel slung low around his waist. Steam curled off his skin, gleaming in the low light. He didn’t move when Dalton entered, didn’t even glance up. Like he’d been waiting.

Dalton dropped onto the bench opposite. The wood hissed under him. He leaned back, chest rising, sweat already dripping into his chest hair. Working out always made his cock get heavy and thick, but he figured the towel would cover it.

Then Danny shifted. His towel slipped once. Then again. This time he let it fall. Dalton’s breath locked in his throat.

Danny’s back narrowed to a perfect V, muscles taut under smooth, pale skin. But it was his ass that stole the air from Dalton’s lungs. Wide. Round. Unreal. Each glute a perfect curve, divided by a clean, deep crease. As Danny moved, the trench opened a little, and there it was: the glimpse of his soft pink hole, barely perceptible between smooth cheeks.

Dalton’s cock jerked under his towel, fat and fast, swelling against the cotton. And then Danny turned. Dalton’s eyes dropped and froze.

Steel. Gleaming in the steam. A cock cage, tight and bright against smooth skin. His balls were pulled tight through the base, hairless, clean, and the rest of him locked away, hidden behind polished bars that glinted with sweat.

Dalton’s mouth went dry. He’d seen a cage before. A few weeks back, he’d caught a glimpse of one on a guy he used to let blow him. Just a flash, but the image burned into his head. Confusing. Dirty. Hot. He’d thought about it while jerking off, hating himself for thinking about it.

And now here it was. Danny. That ass. That cage. All of it in front of him, real and unhidden. Dalton’s cock surged, thick and wet under the towel. His breathing went ragged.

“What the fuck…” he muttered, before he could stop himself.

Danny didn’t flinch. Just looked at him calmly. Dalton tried to breathe, but the steam didn’t let him. He shifted on the bench and the towel rode higher, the shape of his cock now obscene, the head already leaking, fabric dark.

Danny leaned back against the wall, arms loose at his sides. His chest rose and fell slow. His legs opened just enough to show the full cage. Dalton immediately noticed how small and shiny it was, like a little jewel. Framed by small, smooth, tight balls. Nothing to distract from it.

Dalton dragged a hand through his beard. His eyes snapped back to the cage every time he tried to look away.

“You’re locked up,” he said finally, voice cracking in the hot air. Immediately ashamed at saying the stupidest thing.

Danny’s head tilted, curious. “I am.”

Dalton’s cock twitched again. A spasm this time. The towel pitched higher. He groaned, low and broken. “Why would you…”

Danny didn’t move. Just sat there, still as marble.

Dalton’s chest heaved, sweat dripping down through the forest of hair between his pecs, into the dark heat under the towel where his cock throbbed like a second heart. 

“You can’t… walk around like that,” Dalton muttered, voice breaking, somewhere between awe and plea.

Danny stayed calm. His gaze dropped once, slow and deliberate, and caught the moment when Dalton’s towel slid open and his big boner popped out. His eyes slid up to meet Dalton’s. He tilted his head. Then stood up. 

He turned and bent to pick up his towel on the floor. His glutes flexed as he bent, round and perfect. The trench between them opened, showing Dalton more than a glimpse now, a soft, pink asshole glistening in the steam. For one heartbeat, it looked like it winked at him. HIs cock surged so hard it hurt. A low groan seeped out of him.

Danny stood back up and tossed the towel at Dalton. It landed on his crotch where his large erection tented straight up through the white cotton like a ghost. 

“You’re sweating,” Danny said softly.

Then he turned, pushed open the door, and left. 

Dalton sat frozen, towel pitched, cock throbbing under his hand where he’d grabbed himself without thinking. All he could see was that slow turn. That soft pink wink. The cage gleaming.

Dalton didn’t last five minutes. He shoved out of the steam room, yanked on his clothes. The t-shirt clung to his damp chest. His jeans fought the bulge the whole way up. He didn’t care. He had to find Danny.

---

When he hit the exit, the night air slapped him, cool and sharp. He spotted Danny halfway across the lot, hair damp, fresh clothes hugging his frame. Those jeans again, riding low on his hips, cupping his ass like they’d been stitched there.

“Hey!” Dalton’s voice came out louder than he meant, echoing between cars.

Danny slowed, turned. He seemed undisturbed. Dalton crossed the pavement in a few long strides, heat still rolling off him, chest heaving. “What the fuck was that back there?” 

His cock was still hard, shoved against denim, throbbing like it was going to split him open. Danny’s eyes flicked down once at the bulge straining in Dalton’s jeans. Then back up. “What do you think it was?”

Dalton swore, dragging a hand over his beard. “I don’t… I don’t get it.” His voice cracked, frustration bleeding through. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

Danny took a step closer. He looked Dalton in the eye, steady. “You’re the one about to bust in your jeans.”

Dalton stopped for a second. His cock twitched hard, pressing against the zipper, making it groan.

“What’s that?” Danny said, pointing at Dalton’s massive bulge.  He leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Say it.”

Dalton’s chest rose, fell. “My cock,” he muttered.

Danny shook his head. “Louder.”

“My cock,” Dalton said again, voice rough, eyes burning. His hips jerked against the denim, cock straining huge.

Danny’s mouth twitched like the ghost of a smile. “Yeah. Your big fat rock-hard cock.”

Danny stepped back, cool as ever, and headed for his car.  Dalton just stood there, fists clenched, jeans stretched to breaking, every nerve in his body screaming.

---

The taillights flared red as Danny pulled out of the lot, leaving Dalton alone under the buzzing lamps, cock swollen and leaking, his whole chest heaving like he’d just gone twelve rounds.

Dalton couldn’t stop himself. He waited until Danny’s taillights hit the corner, then fired up his truck and followed. The drive wasn’t long, a couple turns, quiet streets, then Danny’s car eased into the driveway of a big brick house. Porch light on, curtains drawn. Dalton pulled in right behind him, engine rumbling. 

Danny shut his  car door, turned, and saw the truck there. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even look annoyed. He just stood, keys in hand, waiting. Dalton killed the engine, climbed out, fists tight, chest heaving, too far gone to be embarrassed.

Danny walked over slow, stopping just a few feet away. Dalton’s jaw clenched. “You’ve got me losing my mind, man.”

Danny tilted his head, lips parting just slightly. “Looks like it.”

Dalton stepped closer, close enough their bodies almost touched. His breath came hard. “What does it mean? Just tell me.”

Danny’s eyes flicked down again, lingered this time. His voice was even. “If you don’t know yet, you’re a lost cause, bro.”

Danny moved, just a hand, slow, fingers brushing along Dalton’s bulge through the damp cotton.   “See? Your big fat rock-hard cock understands it.”

Dalton’s head tipped back, chest heaving, sweat dripping into his beard. “Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You’re… you’re playing with me, man.”

“You followed me here.” Danny withdrew his hand, turned without another word, and started walking toward the door. 

Dalton stood there panting, cock bulging and aching, until Danny unlocked the door and looked back over his shoulder. Just once. He followed.

---

The house was dim, quiet. Just their breath and the electric buzz under Dalton’s skin. Danny stepped forward, casual, and peeled off his tank in one smooth motion. 

“All my brothers are out tonight,” he said, voice low, even. “So don’t worry.”

His thumbs slipped under the waistband. The shorts dropped to the floor. Dalton’s breath caught. Underneath: an army green thong, barely a string, the pouch stretched tight across Danny’s cage, disappearing between his cheeks. Dalton’s cock jerked violently.

Danny slid the thong down slow, smooth skin gleaming, until he stepped out of it and stood fully naked in the low light. The cage glinted: tight, polished steel framing his small locked cock, balls full and high. Dalton couldn’t look away.

Danny turned and walked into the living room. Dalton stumbled after him, cock so hard it throbbed with every step, fat and heavy, leaking through his soaked briefs. His jeans were open, bunched around his hips, unable to hold him in. Every move made his shaft bounce, wet cotton clinging.

Danny turned, calm as ever, and stepped right up to him. Without asking, he reached out and pulled Dalton’s shirt up and off. His hands went to Dalton’s jeans, tugged them down, and the soaked boxer briefs came with them.

Dalton stood there, naked. His chest heaved, hairy and flushed, sweat dripping down his torso. His cock was thick, dark, veined, fully erect, the head slick with precum, surrounded by a wild bush of coarse black hair. 

Danny looked him over once, then nodded toward the couch. “Sit.”

Dalton obeyed, dazed, dropping into the cushion with his legs spread wide. His cock slapped against his abs, thick and shining.

Danny stood in front of him, completely naked. He reached down and cradled his cage in one hand, lifting it slightly, letting it sway against his smooth, hairless skin. He rolled it between his fingers, showing it off.

“You really like my cage, huh…” Danny murmured, watching him closely.

Dalton didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His mouth was open, breath shallow, eyes locked on the steel. His cock pulsed once, leaving a bead of slick on his abs.

Danny let the cage fall and turned around.

“I think you like this too,” he said, voice calm, almost amused.

He reached back, placed his hands on the tops of his glutes, and spread them apart.

Dalton gasped.

Danny’s ass was a masterpiece, round, smooth, high. But now, bared and opened for him, the crease spread wide, his hole was exposed, soft, pink, tight pucker, totally smooth.

Dalton’s voice came out like a confession. “So fucking pretty.”

Danny looked over his shoulder, mouth curled in the barest smirk. “Yeah? Remind you of something?”

Before Dalton could speak, Danny turned and climbed straight into his lap, thighs wide, heat everywhere.

Dalton groaned when all that heat pressed against him. Skin on skin. The cage nudging his cock, Danny’s thighs spread over his, slick and soft.

Dalton’s hands moved without thinking. They found Danny’s waist, then slid down, cupping his ass in both hands. The cheeks filled his palms, hot and smooth, perfect. He kneaded hard, squeezing, and his thumbs dragged deep into the crease, finding the slick heat of Danny’s hole and pressing without thinking.

“You do like it, I knew it.”

Danny shifted, grinding the cage down into Dalton’s cock. The steel dug against the hard shaft, and Dalton let out a strangled moan.

Danny leaned in, lips close to his ear. “Look down.”

Dalton looked. His cock was massive, fat and twitching and right against it, the steel cage. Caged boycock against free alpha dick. The sight alone made his balls draw tight.

“Say what you see,” Danny whispered.

Dalton’s voice was raw. “Your cage… and my fucking cock.”

Danny’s mouth twitched. “That’s right.”

He rolled his hips, cage grinding into Dalton’s shaft again.

Dalton groaned, fingers digging into Danny’s ass, thumbs circling his hole like he couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop. “Jesus, fuck—”

Dalton’s cock stood thick between them, flushed dark, gleaming with slick. Fat veins curled along the shaft like ropes under skin. The head pulsed, leaking heavy down his length, pooling into the wet thicket of hair at his base.

Danny shifted in his lap, smooth thighs gliding over Dalton’s rough, hairy ones, the cage cool where it pressed against Dalton’s stomach.

Then Danny reached down. His small hand wrapped around Dalton’s shaft, fingers spread wide, barely closing around the girth. He stroked once dragging precum from base to tip, coating every ridge.

Dalton’s head slammed back into the couch, a roar torn straight from his chest. “Jesus fuck—” His hips bucked up into Danny’s grip, cock twitching so hard a thick rope of precum smeared up Danny’s smooth belly.

Danny kept stroking, patient and precise. His fist slid down, then up again, each stroke wet, obscene, a slick rhythm between them. His voice came low, calm, steady:

“You get it now? I’m locked, you’re not.”  Danny leaned in and whispered in Dalton’s ear: “You can be with a dude and still have the only cock in the room.”

Dalton groaned like he’d been punched. His whole body bucked up into Danny’s grip, his cock pulsing with a fresh flood of precum, smeared across the younger man’s belly. The fat shaft throbbed in Danny’s hand, so big it looked brutal.

“Fuck, you’ve got me—” His voice broke. “I can’t—fuck—”

Danny’s grip tightened just enough. His wrist twisted slightly at the top of each stroke, drawing a moan from deep in Dalton’s chest. The sounds between them were wet, constant, each pass louder than the last.

“You’re leaking all over me,” Danny said, calm as ever. “You’ve got so much cock, and it needs so much attention.”

Dalton’s jaw went slack. His chest heaved like he was drowning. “Don’t stop,” he begged, voice hoarse. “Please—”

But Danny was already letting go. He slid off Dalton without a word. Dalton groaned like something had been taken from him. His cock bobbed free, angry and wet, slapping against his stomach, flushed, swollen, shining. He stared down at himself, panting, fists clenched.

Danny settled on the floor between his spread thighs. Dalton’s cock stood flushed and hard, thick as ever, curving up from his dark, damp bush. It twitched once when Danny looked at it, heavy drops of pre hanging from the slit.

Danny reached up and cupped Dalton’s balls, lifting them gently. “These are big bull balls,” he said, quiet.

Dalton’s breath hitched. His legs were wide, hairy, tense under Danny’s touch. Danny leaned forward and kissed one ball, then the other. “All your sperm.”

He kissed them again, lips soft, his breath warm against the skin.

“I really respect a man with a big penis.”

Dalton groaned. His cock throbbed above Danny’s head, already wet.

Danny looked up once, then down again. “I love your penis.”

He leaned in and kissed the base, then the side of the shaft. “I love looking at it.”

He kissed the thick vein. “I love how big it is.”

He nuzzled into Dalton’s bush, kissed there too. “I like the way it smells.”

Dalton’s hands were clenching at the couch. His cock jerked, dripping another bead. Danny kissed just under the head. Then again, this time slower.

“I love tasting it.”

His tongue came out, small flicks across the slit. He tasted the pre, swallowed it.

“I love all of it. The way it leaks.” He caught another bead of pre with his tongue. 

His hands stayed under Dalton’s balls, holding them. “These are so heavy.”

Dalton grunted. Danny kissed the head again. Then he opened his mouth and took just the tip in. His lips wrapped softly around the head. His tongue swirled once. He sucked, light and warm, then pulled back, a thin string of spit still clinging to the tip.

“I like it in my mouth.”

He took the head again, a little deeper, just holding it there on his tongue. Dalton’s body shook. He groaned, hips twitching. Danny didn’t move fast. He pulled off again, kissed the shaft, licked the head.

“I love your penis, Dalton. I really do.”

He opened his mouth and took him again, slow, careful, deeper. The thick head slid in past his lips, over his tongue, down his throat, inch by inch.

Dalton’s hands shook where they gripped the couch. He was groaning, low and broken, watching every inch disappear. Danny didn’t rush. He worked his mouth steady, lips stretched wide, tongue pressed low. Spit mixed with pre, shining down his chin. When he pulled off again, he looked up, lips wet, calm as ever.

“You’ve got such a good penis, Dalton.”

Danny leaned in and swallowed him deeper this time, sliding down until his lips pressed into Dalton’s bush, nose buried in the sweat-damp hair. Dalton roared, one huge hand finally landing on the back of Danny’s head, holding him there for a second before pulling back, terrified he’d hurt him.

Danny coughed once, spit dripping down his chin, but his eyes were steady. “Do it again,” he said, plain. 

Dalton’s eyes burned.  He grabbed Danny’s head with both hands this time, thick fingers in his damp hair, and guided him back down. Danny let him. Lips stretching wide, throat opening slow, until Dalton’s fat shaft slid deep again.

Dalton’s whole body shook. His hairy thighs flexed under Danny’s hands, his stomach heaved, his cock filled Danny’s mouth until spit and precum mixed and ran down his chin. He pulled him up, then shoved him down again, hips bucking, eyes rolled back.

Danny gagged once but steadied himself, drool streaming down his chest, cage pressing cold into the couch between Dalton’s thighs. When he came up for breath, he wiped his chin and said hoarsely, “That’s it. That’s what I want, your big fat penis in my mouth.”

Dalton bellowed, voice breaking, chest trembling as he pumped his hips up into Danny’s waiting throat again. “Goddamn you… goddamn you, you’re gonna make me—”

Danny pulled himself back, holding Dalton’s penis, fat and swollen, in his hand. It was so hard it looked painful, veins standing out under his flushed skin, the head glossy with a thick bead of fluid that smeared down into his dark bush. Danny’s fingers worked steady, spreading the slick, pumping him slow and deliberate.

He looked up, eyes calm. “Say the word,” he told him. “Say what this is.”

Dalton groaned, hips jerking into the fist. “My cock—”

Danny tightened his grip, just under the head, squeezing until Dalton gasped. “No. Say it. Penis.”

Dalton’s eyes rolled back, his chest heaving. “My… penis.”

“Again.”

“My penis,” Dalton said louder this time, voice breaking. His hips lifted off the couch, precum spilling over Danny’s fist.

Danny leaned down, licked the swollen head, tongue circling the slit. He pulled off with his lips wet. “That’s better. Your big thick hairy penis.” He stroked him harder now, grip slick. “And it’s the only one here, because I don’t have one.”

Dalton groaned so loud the couch rattled. “Fuck, yeah—Jesus—I love that you don’t have a cock.”

Danny nodded once, steady. “Of course you do. It makes this” — he squeezed the shaft, fat head spurting a dribble over his fingers — “the center of attention.  And that’s what you need, huh?”

Dalton’s hands grabbed the cushions, knuckles white. “Goddamn right—fuck—look at it. Look at my big penis in your hand.”

Danny bent down again, took him into his mouth, lips stretching wide. Dalton shouted, hips thrusting up, the thick shaft sliding deep into his throat. Danny worked him slow, letting him feel every inch, then pulled off, spit dripping down his chin.

He looked Dalton in the eye, hand stroking fast now. “Tell me what’s about to come out.”

Dalton’s face twisted, beard dripping sweat, balls tight and heavy between his legs. “My… my cum—”

Danny shook his head, pumping faster. “The right word.”

Dalton bellowed, chest rising like he was drowning. “Sperm! My sperm—fuck—I’m gonna shoot my sperm!”

Danny swallowed him again just as the first pulse hit. Dalton roared, hips jerking up off the couch, his penis exploding in Danny’s throat. Hot, thick sperm poured out, flooding his mouth. Danny gulped down what he could, sperm spilling over his lips, dripping down his chin onto his smooth chest.

Dalton held his head down, eyes rolled back, growl ripping out of his chest. His hairy thighs shook as his balls emptied, shot after shot of sperm pumping through his penis into Danny’s mouth.

When it finally slowed, Danny pulled off, lips shiny, sperm smeared across his chin. His hand stroked the last spurts from Dalton’s fat shaft, milking him dry.

Dalton collapsed back, chest heaving, penis twitching in the open air, still leaking. His voice came out hoarse. “Fuck… you in your cage… and I just shot my load down your throat.” He groaned, dragging a hand over his beard. “That’s what fucking gets me.”

Danny wiped his chin with the back of his hand, calm as ever, cage glinting between his smooth thighs. “Good,” he said simply. “That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

---

Dalton slumped against the couch. His penis was still rigid, fat shaft veined and angry, head slick and leaking more clear fluid over his bush. Danny’s chin was wet with sperm, lips shiny. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but his gaze stayed locked on the swollen shaft. Steady, hungry.

Dalton looked down at himself, cock twitching, dripping over his hairy stomach. “Won’t quit.”

Danny stroked him once, slow, spreading the slick. His voice was plain. “That’s because you’re not done. Your penis knows what it wants.”

Dalton’s hips jerked into the touch, a growl rattling in his chest. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

Danny climbed into his lap again. He guided himself down, bare ass settling over Dalton’s rigid shaft.

Dalton had both hands clamped on Danny’s cheeks, spreading them wide. His fat penis throbbed up hard against the smooth trench, head slick and swollen, smearing precum into the crease. His breath was ragged, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his beard.

Danny held himself steady in Dalton’s lap, thighs spread over the hairy bulk of him. He reached back with one hand, guided the thick head lower until it nudged exactly where he wanted it. His voice was low but clear.

“Right here,” he said. “My anus.”

Dalton groaned like the word knocked the air out of him. His cock surged, jerking up against that soft ring. “Fuck… your anus,” he rasped, eyes wild.

Danny pushed back slow, letting the fat head press into the tight ring. The stretch was instant, sharp, his smooth hole fighting to take the thickness. He hissed, steady, his jaw tight, but he didn’t stop.

Dalton’s whole body shook under him. His hands dug into Danny’s ass, spreading him wider, guiding him down. His voice was raw. “Jesus Christ… it’s so tight… your anus is swallowing me.”

The crown of his penis popped through, heat wrapping around him like a fist. Dalton’s roar filled the room. His eyes rolled back, mouth open, beard wet with sweat. “Oh fuck—your anus—your tight fucking anus has me.”

Danny exhaled through his nose, steady, sweat sliding down his smooth chest. He held himself there, just the thick head lodged inside, the cage pressing cool against Dalton’s stomach. His voice stayed calm. “That’s it. Feel it. Your penis in my anus. That’s what this is.”

Dalton could barely breathe. His hips jerked once, forcing another inch inside. His hairy thighs trembled, his big hands crushed Danny’s cheeks together around his cock. “Goddamn… you’re pulling me in. Your anus is pulling all of me in.”

Danny groaned low, eyes half-lidded, then settled his weight, letting another stretch of thick shaft slide deeper into his body. The room filled with the sound of Dalton’s ragged growls, his penis sinking slow into Danny’s smooth, gripping anus.

“That’s more of your penis inside my anus. Feel how it pulls you down?”

Dalton groaned, a sound torn from deep in his chest. “Christ… your anus is choking me. It’s so… fuck—it’s so tight.”

Danny shifted his hips just enough to work another inch down, the swollen shaft sliding deeper. The ring clenched, then yielded, and Dalton roared, his eyes squeezed shut, head slamming back into the couch.

“Don’t fight it,” Danny said, breath hissing between his teeth. “Your penis belongs in my anus. All of it. Let it happen.”

Danny leaned forward now, palms on Dalton’s chest, smooth body pressing into the mat of hair. “More. Feel it. Your penis filling my anus. Moving deep inside me.”

Dalton’s breath hitched, every nerve on fire. His cock throbbed inside the gripping heat, precum smearing deep, the tightness milking him before he’d even moved. He growled, half desperate, half awed. “You’re swallowing me whole. Goddamn, your anus… it’s got me.”

Danny didn’t stop until nearly all of him was buried, the base of Dalton’s thick shaft pressed snug against his smooth cheeks. He sat there still, cock locked inside him, both of them drenched in sweat.

Danny’s lips brushed his ear, voice steady, plain. “Now you know. Your penis belongs in my anus.”

Dalton could only groan, huge hands clutching Danny’s ass, his whole body shaking under the weight of it.

Dalton’s penis was buried to the root, thick shaft throbbing, pressed tight inside Danny’s asscheeks. 

“Feel that,” Danny said, calm but steady. “This isn’t like a girl. My anus is tighter, hungrier.” He squeezed his cheeks together around the fat shaft, and Dalton’s roar shook the room.

Danny leaned forward, lips close to Dalton’s ear. “You know why it’s better? Because of the cage. Your big fat penis is the only one that matters.”

Dalton’s jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut. His hairy arms wrapped around Danny’s back, crushing him close, cock pulsing hard inside that unrelenting heat. “Jesus Christ…” he rasped. “You’re right. You’re fucking right. My penis… goddamn… it belongs in your anus.”

Danny rocked just a fraction, enough to grind Dalton deeper into the clutch of his hole. “Say it again.”

Dalton’s voice broke as he shouted, hips straining to thrust but Danny held him pinned. “My penis belongs in your anus!”

The words tore out of him, raw, sweat dripping from his beard down onto Danny’s smooth back. His cock lurched inside the grip, balls tightening again though they’d already emptied.

Danny’s voice cut through the heavy air, low and plain. “You know what the cage means?”

Dalton’s eyes cracked open, burning with need. “It means you’re locked. You’ve got no cock.”

Danny ground down once, tight ring clutching hard around him. “It means I love penis more than anything. Enough to give mine up. Enough to show you how much yours matters.”

Dalton let out a strangled sound, half growl, half moan. His head slammed back into the couch, hands trembling on Danny’s ass. “Fuck… fuck, I love that.”

Danny pressed closer, smooth chest sliding over Dalton’s sweaty hair. “Say it. Say you like that I cage myself, that I gave it up to show how much I love penis.”

Dalton’s whole body shook, his fat cock pulsing deep inside that relentless grip. “Goddamn it—I love it. I fucking love that you cage yourself. I love that you don’t have a cock because you love penis that much. My penis.” His voice cracked into a roar. “You did it for this.”

Danny kissed his jaw, calm even as his anus squeezed hard around the throbbing shaft. “That’s the truth. That’s why it’s better. Because you know I chose this, and your penis is everything.”

Dalton’s hips surged again, but Danny pressed down with his palms on Dalton’s chest, locking him still. Dalton’s voice came out broken, begging now. 

“Please… please move. Your anus has me—fuck—I can’t take it.”

Danny’s lips brushed his ear, calm and plain. “Not until you mean it. Not until you say it’s the only thing you want.”

Dalton’s head thrashed back into the couch, his hairy thighs shaking under Danny’s smooth ones, cock pulsing so violently inside that tight, gripping heat he thought he might explode without moving. “It is!” he shouted, voice hoarse. “Your anus and my penis. That’s all I want!”

Danny smiled faintly, squeezing him one last time. He shifted his weight at last, palms still braced on Dalton’s hairy chest. He lifted himself just enough that Dalton’s fat penis dragged along the gripping length of his anus, the tight ring clinging before he sank back down slow.

Dalton’s roar shook the room. His hips bucked, finally allowed to thrust, the thick shaft sliding in slick and hot. “Jesus Christ—finally—” 

His big hands clamped Danny’s ass, spreading him wide as he drove up into that clutching heat. Danny groaned low, steady. His smooth body rode the hairy bulk beneath him, cage pressing into Dalton’s stomach with every drop. “That’s it. Your penis moving in my anus. That’s what you wanted from the second you saw me.”

Dalton’s face twisted, beard wet with sweat, eyes wild. “Fuck, yeah—I wanted this—your tight anus wrapped around my penis.” He slammed up harder, cock disappearing inside with a wet sound. “It’s better than anything I’ve ever had.”

Danny rode him slow, deliberate, letting the thick shaft grind through the grip of his body. Each drop squeezed another groan out of Dalton, another growl from deep in his chest.

Dalton’s eyes rolled back, his roar breaking into a gasp. His cock surged inside, balls tightening again, even though he’d already emptied once. He pulled Danny down hard, hilting deep, buried to the root. “Goddamn it—you’re gonna drain me again.”

Danny kissed his ear, his voice calm as his body clutched around him. “Good. Do it. Fill my anus with your sperm. That’s where it belongs.”

Dalton suddenly surged up, big hands grabbing his waist. The couch groaned under the shift. In a blur Dalton had him flipped onto his back, Danny sprawled across the cushions, smooth skin stretched tight, cage pressed up against his stomach.

Dalton loomed over him, thick chest heaving, beard dripping sweat. His fat penis stayed buried inside Danny, pulsing deep. He hooked one of Danny’s smooth legs up over his shoulder, then the other, spreading him wide.

Danny’s toes brushed Dalton’s lips and he didn’t hesitate — he caught them in his mouth, sucking hard, groaning around them. Danny laughed through a gasp, voice breaking but steady. “That’s it. Fuck me.”

Dalton pulled back, then slammed forward with his full weight. His cock drove into Danny’s asshole with a wet slap, the thick shaft disappearing to the root. Danny’s back arched, mouth open in a cry, his cage gleaming against his flat stomach.

Dalton pounded again, harder, the hairy bulk of him crashing into Danny’s smooth frame. His mouth kept Danny’s toes captive, tongue laving over them while his fat cock hammered deeper and deeper. Each thrust dragged a guttural roar out of him.

Danny’s voice was ragged now, plain words spilling between gasps. “Yes—your penis—pounding my anus—harder—” He clutched at Dalton’s hairy chest, nails dragging through the sweat. “This is what you’re built for.”

Dalton growled, spit slicking Danny’s toes as he pumped them in and out of his mouth, his hips slamming with brutal force. “Goddamn right. My penis—your anus—it’s all I need.”

Danny’s head thrashed back into the cushions, body shaking under the relentless pounding. “Fill me,” he shouted, voice breaking. “Fill my anus with your sperm!”

Dalton’s roar tore out of him, hips snapping like pistons, the fat shaft battering into the clutching heat. His balls slapped against Danny’s smooth ass, tight and heavy, ready to burst again. His beard dripped sweat onto Danny’s chest, their bodies slick and colliding in the dark, wet rhythm.

Dalton’s fat penis slammed into Danny’s anus over and over, each thrust louder than the last, the couch creaking beneath them. His hairy body glistened with sweat, muscles straining, beard dripping onto Danny’s smooth chest.

Danny’s legs were folded high, ankles resting on Dalton’s broad shoulders. Every time Dalton drove in, the thick shaft spread him wide, his anus clinging, milking, refusing to let go. Danny’s cage pressed hot between their stomachs, glinting under the dim light.

Dalton tore his mouth away, gasping, eyes wild. “Jesus Christ—your anus—fuck—it’s strangling me.” He hammered down harder, balls slapping against Danny’s ass. “You’re gonna make me blow my sperm again.”

Danny shook his head, sweat flying from his hair. “Not yet. You hold it. You keep pounding me. You make me feel every inch of your penis before you let go.”

Dalton’s roar shook the room. His huge hands clutched Danny’s thighs, pinning him open as he drove in again, cock swelling, balls tight, every vein bulging under the strain of holding back. His face twisted, desperate, beard dripping, teeth bared.

Danny’s voice dropped to a whisper, steady even as his body trembled. “Stay there. Stay hard in my anus. Don’t give it up until I tell you.”

Dalton groaned like he was being torn apart, hips still crashing down, cock buried to the root in that gripping heat, his whole body caught in the fight not to explode.

Dalton’s roar shook the room as he pulled out almost to the tip, then shoved back in hard. Danny cried out, back arched, his smooth body quivering under the impact. Dalton couldn’t take it anymore; he growled, bent forward, and in one brutal motion rolled Danny onto his stomach.

Danny hit the couch cushions with a gasp, smooth chest pressed into the fabric, glutes round and spread open. His cage clinked softly against the couch as he pushed up onto his elbows, looking back over his shoulder. “Do it,” he said, plain. “Give me your penis.”

Dalton groaned so deep it rattled the air. He climbed over him, massive hairy body covering Danny’s smaller frame, his fat cock pressed against the tight opening. With one brutal thrust he was buried again, his penis disappearing into Danny’s anus, balls slapping hard against smooth skin.

“Fuck! Your anus is swallowing my whole cock.”

Danny’s voice was ragged but steady. “That’s right. I’ve got no cock, just this. Just my anus. And your penis is the only one that gets it.”

Dalton groaned like an animal, hair plastered to his chest and shoulders, cock raging inside Danny’s heat, right on the knife-edge of giving in.

“Goddamn,” Dalton roared, voice ragged, hips snapping like pistons. “Your anus—it’s a pussy! It’s a tight fucking boy pussy!”

Danny gasped into the cushions, arms trembling under him, his whole body rocking with every brutal thrust. His smooth ass reddened under Dalton’s pounding, the slap of skin echoing through the room.

“Sweet pink boy pussy,” Dalton growled, sweat dripping down onto Danny’s neck. “Better than anything. Your boy pussy’s the only thing I want.”

Danny sobbed into the cushions, hole stretched around him, cage digging into the fabric beneath. “Yes—take it—pound my boy pussy until your sperm’s in me—”

Dalton’s hips snapped harder, faster, his fat shaft pulsing deep inside, right on the edge of breaking.

Danny’s voice tore out in a ragged cry. “Do it! Shoot your sperm in my boy pussy—give it to me!”

Dalton bellowed like an animal. His cock burst deep inside Danny’s boypussy, hot sperm flooding out in heavy pulses. He drove in harder with each spurt, pounding through his orgasm, balls slapping, cock jerking violently inside the clutching ring.

Thick streams of sperm filled Danny, slick pouring out around the fat shaft with every brutal thrust. Dalton’s roar shook the room as he emptied, his huge body shaking over Danny’s smaller frame, buried to the root in that boypussy.

Danny moaned through his tears, hips jerking back to take every drop. “Yes—yes—your sperm’s in me—your penis owns my boypussy—”

Dalton collapsed forward, breath crashing out of him, beard soaked, chest heaving against Danny’s back. His hips still gave a few weak, involuntary pumps as the last spurts left him, draining out of his swollen balls into the tight, slick heat.

His voice rumbled low, raw in Danny’s ear: “Goddamn it… you’re mine.”

The words just came out. He didn’t even know he was going to say them until they were already there, hanging between them.

Danny didn’t answer. Didn’t move for a second.

Dalton slumped back into the couch, dazed. His whole body glistened, sweat running down the thick hair on his chest, stomach, thighs. He was still half inside Danny, softening now, but his hand stayed firm on Danny’s hip.

He didn’t want to let go yet. Something about this felt more real than anything had in a long time.

Danny finally shifted, slow and careful. He eased forward, letting Dalton slip free with a quiet stretch and wet sound. He reached for the throw blanket, pulled it over his lap, and sat down beside him. 

They were quiet for a long moment. Dalton sat there, head back, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. His cock lay heavy across his thigh, glistening in the low light, his heart pounding in the echo of what just happened. 

He dragged a hand through his beard. “Jesus,” he muttered, voice rough. “I don’t even know what the fuck just happened to me.”

Danny glanced at him. Something had changed. That comment, “you’re mine,” was sticking with him. Not in the fun, cocky way he’d teased earlier. Not like you own my hole. This was something else. He looked at Dalton again. This was a man who followed him home. A stranger. And he’d just let him in, more than he ever had with any other guy. 

Danny gave a small, neutral smile. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

Dalton looked at him, searching. “That sounds like a goodbye.”

Danny paused. His shoulders rose and fell with one slow breath. “It’s late. That’s all.”

Dalton sat forward, still trying to catch up with whatever was happening inside him. “Will I see you again?”

Danny didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him. Something flickered behind his eyes, something cautious. But then he nodded. “Yeah. You will.”

Dalton didn’t push. He just nodded too, tension leaving his shoulders. He grabbed his jeans, tugged them on, still glancing over at Danny. Still taking him in, smooth skin, caged cock, unreadable face.

When Dalton stood, he hesitated. He didn’t say anything more, but he looked back once at the door. Danny met his eyes, calm, the blanket loose around his waist now.

Dalton nodded. “Thanks.”

Danny’s voice was quiet. “Drive safe.”

Dalton stepped out into the night, shirt over his shoulder, the cool air against his skin. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but it didn’t feel like something he could undo.

And Danny, sitting alone on the couch, watched the door for a long time after it shut, trying to decide what the hell that was, what he’d just let happen, and if he wanted it to happen again.

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