My Swiss student Adi had always promised me that one day he’d take me across Switzerland in a landscape train, and last Christmas this finally happened! 

Adi and I arrived on the platform with a few minutes to spare, the air full of chatter and the hiss of engines. He carried himself like someone who knew exactly where to go, guiding me through the crowd of tourists toward the far end where the Gold Standard carriages waited. The uniformed attendant met us with a professional smile, checked our names against a list, and then slid a keycard across a sleek reader. A discreet click, and the glass door opened onto our private compartment. The noise of the station dropped behind us as if we’d stepped through a threshold into another world.

Inside, the space felt less like a train and more like a boutique hotel suite. Two wide armchairs in supple beige leather faced one another across a table of dark polished wood. Panoramic windows rose from shoulder height into the ceiling, framing the snowy peaks outside like a gallery of shifting canvases. A thick gray carpet muted even the faintest vibration underfoot, and a brass coat stand stood ready by the door. The table was already set: two tall crystal flutes, a silver ice bucket with a dark green bottle nestled in crushed ice, two lunch trays with sets of triangular sandwiches with fish, ham, and hummus, two packets of chips, and a box of pralines. The compartment smelled faintly of cedar and linen, clean and warm, like luxury distilled.

We shed our coats and hung them on the stand, then sank into the armchairs. Adi reached for the bottle with a grin, his movements confident, casual, as though he’d done this a dozen times before. He freed the foil and eased the cork loose with a soft pop that seemed to echo in the quiet room. We clinked glasses, leaning a little across the table, and let the first taste wash over us while the station still framed the view outside. Around us, the train remained still, only the muffled sounds of other passengers boarding filtering through the corridor. It was a pocket of calm, of anticipation, a toast made to the journey before it had even begun.

Adi leaned back in his chair, glass in hand, the pale bubbles rising in lazy strings. He lifted it toward me, half-smiling, and said, “You will enjoy it.” His tone carried the same certainty he probably used when talking about snow conditions or winning times on a slope—it wasn’t a suggestion but a promise. He nodded toward the wide window, where the station lights glinted on the glass, and began to sketch the journey ahead as if he were narrating a route he knew by heart.

“We’ll climb through the Matter Valley first,” he said, sipping from his flute, “then follow the Rhone as it winds east. When we reach the Oberalp Pass, the train will crest nearly two thousand meters—it’ll feel as if we’re floating above the world. And later, the Rhine Gorge, the Swiss Grand Canyon. Steep cliffs, wild water below, all of it sliding past these windows like a film.” His eyes lit as he spoke, a skier’s love for the landscape spilling over into every word.

“It isn’t just a train ride, it’s Switzerland unfolding, piece by piece,” he said and leaned back again.

The first lurch of motion came so gently it felt more like a sigh than a departure. Outside the vast window, the platform began to slide away, the figures of people waving at the train shrinking as the train eased out of Zermatt. Sunlight hit the snowdrifts beyond the tracks, flashing so bright it made the champagne in my glass sparkle. The hum of the engines deepened, steady and confident, a sound that promised hours of unbroken travel through the heart of the Alps. I glanced at Adi, who was watching the window with a faint grin, his shoulders relaxed as if this journey belonged to him as much as the mountains did.

Once the station vanished behind us and the rhythm of the rails settled into a calm cadence, Adi stood. He moved to the compartment door, slipped the bolt into place with a quiet click, and then turned back toward me. “Welcome to our private little world,” he said, his voice low but carrying a kind of theatrical flourish, as if he were presenting me with something rare. He gestured lightly around the cabin—the plush armchairs, the table set with chocolate, sandwiches and champagne, the floor-to-ceiling glass through which the landscape was beginning to unspool. It was a kingdom on rails, cut off from the shuffle and chatter of the other passengers.

He returned to his seat, stretching his long legs beneath the table, and lifted his flute again. “Now,” he added, his grin widening, “we can forget everyone else exists.” Outside, chalets huddled against the slopes, smoke curling lazily from their chimneys, while the train climbed higher into a valley already drenched in winter light. Inside, the silence felt intentional, chosen, like the closing of a curtain. It was just the two of us, the sweep of the Alps, and the faint, rising notes of jazz piped discreetly through hidden speakers.

The train slid past the first pines and the clack of wheels settled into a steady heartbeat. I turned from the window, met Adi’s eyes—those glacier-blue irises flecked with grey—and held them until the world outside blurred into white. “Look at me,” I said, voice low enough to match the rhythm of the rails. “Nothing else matters but this moment, this breath. I am here to love all of you.” He exhaled, shoulders dropping, and I mirrored him—inhale, exhale—until our chests rose and fell in perfect sync. The compartment smelled of alpine air and new leather; sunlight flashed off snowfields, strobing across his face. With each rail-joint click I felt his nervousness loosen, replaced by a quiet electricity that hummed between us like the overhead cables. When our breaths finally matched the cadence of the train, I smiled, and the shyness in his eyes answered yes.

I sank to my knees on the carpeted floor between his long legs, the train’s gentle sway tipping me forward until my forehead rested against the warm fleece of his sweatshirt. I lifted my head up, he leaned in, and our mouths met, tongue sliding over tongue while the rails drummed beneath us like distant thunder. My palms skated across the soft fabric, mapping the rise of his chest, thumbs circling the small knots of his nipples until they stiffened under the cotton. Each time the carriage rocked I let the motion press us closer, breath catching, the friction of fabric and heat building a current that hummed from his sternum to my fingertips—no hurry, just the promise of what was waiting beneath.

I peeled off my shirt and undershirt in one slow tug, cool Alpine air tightening my skin, then sank back between his knees. Our mouths reconnected, slower now, and I traced the zipper of his hoodie downward while kissing him, palms sliding under the fleece onto the hot skin of his chest. His breathing deepened; I felt the soft thump of his heart quicken under my fingertips, and lower, inside the soft pants, a tiny rigid knob finally nudged my forearm—his thin cock already standing at its full six centimeters or so, but hard as ski-wax beneath the fabric.

A shy grin flickered across his face; he broke the kiss long enough to shed the hoodie, then grip the hem of his sweatshirt and pull it off over his head. The fleece cleared his head and revealed a skier’s torso—lean, lightly dusted with blond hair, long muscles carved from mountain miles. The early morning light slid across his collarbones and down the centerline of his chest, catching on the small silver cross he wore on a chain. I let my palms rest on the warm slope of his pecs, thumbs brushing nipples that stiffened instantly, and felt his exhale tremble against my hair as the train swayed us together.

I unzipped my chinos, let the fabric fall around my knees, and sat back on my heels. The cotton of my shorts tented outward, aching, but I ignored it for now; my focus was the vision in front of me. Adi lifted his narrow hips, the motion effortless as a ski-jump take-off, and pushed his sweatpants down long, muscular legs until they pooled at his ankles. Underneath, deep-blue briefs clung to him like glacier water: the pouch curved gently, showing the soft weight of generous balls and, above them, the neat, thumb-sized ridge of his dick, already stiff and pointing toward his hip. I leaned in and mouthed the outline—licking along the ridge, kissing the soft swell of his sac, even catching the fabric lightly between my teeth so he felt the scrape of danger. Each touch earned his sharp inhale; his fingers threaded my hair, guiding, praising without words. While I worshipped, he slipped one foot free of the pants, toes seeking my crotch, and rubbed the length of my trapped shaft through my shorts—slow, deliberate strokes that matched the rhythm of the rails and made me groan into the damp cotton pressed against his skin.

I paused, breath still damp on the blue cotton, and rose just enough to slide my shorts down and kick them aside. The cool Alpine air kissed my bare skin as I settled back between Adi’s knees, now naked and reverent. Before I could lean in again he placed a gentle hand on my cheek, smiled, and peeled the briefs away himself. They peeled off with a soft, wet sound—fabric heavy from my mouth—and the scent of warm skin and clean cotton filled the compartment.

What greeted me was a study in quiet perfection: a low, loose sac hung heavily, its skin was thin and lightly veined, cradling two fairly large balls that swayed when he shifted. Above, his pubis was smooth-shaven, the skin pale and almost luminescent in the morning light. Rising from that soft plane stood his cock—no longer than my thumb, but rigid as carved pine, pointing straight up like a tiny exclamation mark. The shaft was slender, two delicate blue veins threading beneath translucent skin; the head round and neat, almost fully capped by foreskin so fine I could see the blush of glans beneath. It pulsed with his heartbeat, a small, proud monument, and I felt awe bloom in my chest at the beauty of something so precise, so perfectly formed.

I rose between his knees, palms sliding up the long slope of his thighs until our chests met, warm skin on skin, the faint dusting of blond hair on his pecs brushing my nipples with each sway of the carriage. My cock, thick and heavy, pressed against his—his thumb-sized shaft rigid as a ski pole grip—so the underside of my head nudged the soft skin above his balls, then slid alongside him, the two of us rocking in rhythm with the rails. I felt the lean power of his legs, the hard curve of his hipbones under my thumbs, the quick pulse in his throat as I leaned in.

Ah, the kissing was intense! First, I brushed my lips to his, barely contact, letting the train’s motion push us together, then apart, teasing breaths mingling. Then I caught his lower lip between both of mine, sucked it gently, released, and returned with a slow slide of tongue across the ridge of his teeth, tasting morning coffee and mountain air. Then I opened wide, sealed our mouths, and explored the soft palate with the tip of my tongue while his hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, our cocks trapped between us, rubbing, pulsing, sharing heat and heartbeat as the Alps streamed past the glass.

I felt the full length of my shaft press along the underside of his—mine thick and heavy, skin sliding with each rock of the carriage, while his small, rigid column stood straight up, hard as carved pine, the head nudging just below my crown. The contrast was electric: my girth spreading warmth along his shaft, his tiny cock a steel rod against my underside, the soft skin of his sac brushing my base with every sway. I could feel the throb in him, a quick, eager pulse that matched the train’s rhythm, and the heat between us built until I thought we’d steam up the panoramic glass.

Soon I moaned into his mouth, savoring the way his breath hitched, the way his hands tightened on my waist, the way his small cock twitched against mine, a tiny but mighty engine of desire.

I slid down between his knees again, palms gliding over the warm skin of his thighs until my lips brushed the soft inner slope—tasting faint salt, feeling the tremor in his muscles as the train rocked us. I kissed a slow trail upward, breath ghosting closer to the low-hanging sac that swayed with each sway of the carriage.

I started by opening my mouth wide and taking both balls inside, letting them rest on my tongue while I licked in slow, broad strokes—feeling the thin skin shift over the firm orbs inside. Then I released them, blew a cool stream of air across the damp skin, sealed my lips around one ball and sucked gently, tongue massaging in tiny circles while he hissed above me. Next, I switched to the other ball, drawing it deep, then used the flat of my tongue to press and roll it inside the sac, feeling it slide against my palate as his fingers threaded my hair and his hips gave a small, involuntary rock.

I drew back just enough to look at him: that neat, thumb-sized shaft standing straight up, foreskin stretched tight, the tiny veins like blue threads under translucent skin. I marveled at how something so small could be so perfectly formed—how the round head peeked from the hood, how the whole length pulsed with his heartbeat. Then I leaned in and swallowed his rock hard dick completely, lips sealing at the base, nose brushing the almost perfectly smooth skin above his sac. I sucked gently, cheeks hollowing, feeling the firm core against my tongue. When he moaned quietly in response, I pulled back slowly, letting my tongue trace every millimeter—underside, sides, the tight rim under the head—then grazed the ridge with my teeth just enough to make him gasp.

Next, I circled the crown with the tip of my tongue, feeling the soft give of foreskin, the firm swell beneath, every tiny ridge and pulse, worshipping him like a precious stone while his fingers tightened in my hair and the train rocked us in perfect rhythm.

While my mouth worked his small, rigid shaft, Adi’s feet came alive below. His toes brushed the underside of my cock, then scraped lightly along the shaft, then nudged the head with playful pressure. Each touch was different—light scrape, firm press, quick flick—matching the train’s irregular sway. I moaned around his dick, the sound muffled, as the pleasant tension coiled tighter in my balls. His toes found the sensitive spot under the crown and rubbed in tiny circles, then slid down to cradle my balls, squeezing gently before returning to tease the slit. The random pattern drove me wild: a quick scrape along the urethra, then a soft brush against the base, then a sudden press against the head that made my hips jerk. The pleasure built in waves, each surprise touch making the pleasant itch in my urethra grow stronger, until I was grinding against his feet, moaning continuously, lost in the perfect chaos of sensation.

I pulled off his cock just enough to breathe, then let the first long, plaintive moan roll out of me—high, trembling, almost a wail that rose and fell with the train’s sway. The sound hung in the compartment like a violin note, raw and open.

Adi answered with a short, deep grunt, the kind he might make driving his poles into a steep slope. Another grunt followed, then another, faster, sharper—like a skier pushing off each stride. The rhythm built: grunt-grunt-groan battle: first I moaned in long sad high-pitched moans, then Adi filled the silence with short growling grunts as if he is lifting something, the speed of these increasing with every second as we moved toward the cumshot.

I responded with a longer, higher moan, voice cracking, while my tongue swirled around his tiny shaft. He countered with machine-gun grunts, each one shorter, deeper, faster—until they blurred into a growling staccato that matched the frantic bob of my head. The compartment filled with our duet: my long, keening wails and his rapid-fire grunts, both sounds rising, racing, seconds from the edge.

The duet broke into one shared, rising note. I felt Adi’s thighs go rigid under my palms, his tiny shaft pulsing like a metronome against my tongue, sticky droplets of precum beading at the slit. My own breath hitched as his toenails scraped the sensitive ridge under my crown—one quick, bright scratch that sent a shiver from my heels to the base of the skull. The itch in my urethra snapped: three long, thick spurts burst out, splashing over his foot, each spurt accompanied by a raw, high wail I pressed into the soft skin of his groin.

Above me, Adi growled one last time, a single deep note, and his hips jerked. A hot, salty ribbon shot straight onto my palate, thin but sharp. I gagged once, throat closing around the sudden taste of alpine salt and sweetness, then swallowed, letting the single spurt slide down while the train’s rhythm slowed and our breaths crashed together in the steamy quiet.

I reached into my jacket pocket, fingers still trembling, and pulled out the small packet of unscented wipes I always tucked away for Alpine journeys like this one Adi’s foot rested on my bare thigh, long and elegant, skin winter-pale and dusted with fine blond hairs that caught the morning light pouring through the panoramic window. The toes were straight and slender, second toe just a breath longer than the big, nails trimmed into perfect pink arcs that looked almost polished. A thin silver chain glinted around his ankle—some skier’s talisman—and the arch curved high, a clean bow that flexed as he watched me.

I tore open the wipe, cool moisture blooming against my fingers, and began at the ankle, working downward in slow, deliberate strokes. The cloth glided over the sharp ridge of his instep, then between each toe, lingering on the webbing where my come had splashed in milky flecks. I cleaned the underside of each nail, pressing gently so he felt the cool swipe, then lifted his foot and kissed the warm skin just above the chain—once, twice—before wrapping my lips around the big toe and sucking softly, tasting the alpine salt and the faint ghost of my own release. He sighed, a quiet, satisfied sound, and I continued worshipping: tongue tracing the tendons that stood out when he curled his toes, lips brushing the ball of his foot, until every trace of me was gone and only the scent of mountain air and boy-skin remained…

As the train started slowing down, I pulled my shirt over my shoulders while Adi stepped into his briefs, the fabric sliding up those long skier’s legs until the waistband settled low on his hips. When he adjusted himself, I caught sight of him soft again: nothing but a small, neat fold of foreskin resting like a pale petal above his balls, the shaft completely retracted, the head tucked away so completely it looked as though he had no cock at all—just the faintest button of skin, a secret only I had tasted. The sight sent a warm shiver through me: proof that something so hidden could still rise fierce and proud under my tongue.

The knock came sharp and official—conductor’s knuckles on wood—followed by the polite announcement that we’d be rolling into Andermatt in three minutes. We locked eyes, shared a quick, conspiratorial smile, and moved with the practiced efficiency of men used to timing starts and finishes. I tucked my scarf, buttoned my coat; Adi slid into his ski jacket, zipped it high, and adjusted his beanie so only the faintest flush on his cheeks hinted at what had just happened. When the door slid open onto the platform, we stepped out side by side—boots thudding in unison, breath visible in the cold mountain air—two tall, composed figures striding through the crowd, the world none the wiser…

“Fuck,” said Adi suddenly. “We forgot the sandwiches!”

***

The departure lounge smelled of coffee and jet fuel, announcements echoing off glass. When the gate opened I stepped in, suitcase rolling behind me, and Adi followed me with that quiet skier’s smile. We hugged—arms tight, chests pressed—and I let my left hand drift just enough to cup the front of his jeans. Through denim I felt the soft fold of his cock, warm and pliant, and gave the faintest squeeze—enough to remind him of the Alpine compartment, of my tongue on that tiny shaft. He exhaled a tiny grunt against my collarbone, then pulled back, eyes bright, cheeks pink, no words needed. I released him, turned toward security, and walked away with the knowledge that beneath his calm exterior he’d carry my touch all the way to the slopes.

John and his friend Robert were two beefed up guys who hit the gym together. John was a brunette, beefy guy with blue eyes. He had brown stubbled chest hair covering his pecs and stomach. Robert was a muscular daddy, black slicked back hair, and a full hairy chest, covered with curly black hair. They both had a muscular body type. Because they both weren’t in a relationship, they ‘helped each other out’, so to speak when it came to some of nature’s callings that come to men from time to time. They were two alpha’s, always trying to one-up each other.

Robert had laid out a bet that John couldn’t bench press as much as Robert could.

“Come on you pussy!’ he taunted John.

“If you can’t benchpress what I can, you have to suck my dick to make up for it, you weakling!”

John didn’t want to be called a chicken, so he agreed.
After a gruelling work out session, they both got to benchpressing. But John indeed could not live up to what Robert benchpressed.

“Ha,  guess I’ll meet you in the showers, soyboy! Get ready for the taste of a real man.” he said mockingly to a sweaty and defeated John. He lay on the bench, in shorts only. His defeated sweaty body glissening in the lights in the gym. On his trimmed body hair were even sweat drops.

After a few minutes he got up and walked to his locker and got a towel, ready to undergo his submission for losing the bet.

As he walked into the shower room, he saw the steam coming out from behind the wall where the showers were. He walked in to see his friend Robert, standing there naked under a hot stream of water, his body was incased in the waterstreams running down his body. It streamed down his face unto his perfect masculine chest, only interrupted by his wet chest hair. His body looked like a bronze statue and was very shiny because of the water. John looked down at his crotch. Robert was not yet completely hard, but he was playing with it. He had a thick meat stick in his hand, pulling it slowly while looking enticed at his prey walking in the room.

“Dinnertime, bitch”,  he whispered and motioned John to come closer.

John approached Robert, and Robert grabbed John’s pecs in his hands, his handpalms covering John’s hardened, hairy nipples and areolas. He continued to knead them as water ran down his hands and John’s pecs, as playing with a woman’s breasts.

John was turned on by this and put his lips on Robert’s. Robert answered by sticking his tongue in John’s mouth and they French kissed, their bodies coming closer to one and other. They rubbed their penises onto each other, feeling each others wet cocks made them hard.

John looked down, at both their hard wet penisses.

He sank to his knees, looked up one last time at the smug face of Robert and took the tip of it in his mouth. He tasted the shower water, sweat, skin and the musty, salty taste of the tip.

“Oh yeah, take that…suck that dick weakling…” Robert moaned.

He took it further into his mouth and felt the dick filling his mouth. Then back again. He moved his head back and forth, his tongue caressing the underside of the penis. He was completely submissive to Robert, who towered over him like a castle. His wet shiny chest forming a fortress wall hovering over the submissive serf paying his duty.

Robert took the back of John’s head and pushed John further, until John reached the base by his balls.

John gagged and coughed, holding the dick in his hand like a true soldier. After that he licked Robert’s balls who enjoyed it very much.

Robert reached out and grabbed John’s right pec, squeezing it and playing with John’s nipple. John became even harder and started jerking off while he was sucking Robert off.

Robert started throatfucking John, holding his head between his hands, forcing to eat his cock.

John loved being filled with wet man meat, being used and taken care of.

After a while Robert took his dick out of John’s love hole and started jacking.

“You gonna cum?” John asked sheepishly.

“Yeah…” grunted Robert.

John put his mouth close to the ‘eye’ of Robert, waiting for his delicious unloading of his lust unto his willing tongue. He watched as this soaking wet, hairy, shiny giant started loading up his pinacle of all his arousal.

Suddenly Robert stopped, the eye opened wider. A pulse made his balls move as the seed pumped through his throbbing cock. A thick salty salacious substance spat on John’s tongue, partly dripping of his lips. A second shot right onto his uvulva and a third seeped onto his chest. Drips of cum covered him.

He saw the dick of Robert, still a drop of sperm on the tip, seeping off. He started sucking again, to clean his master.

“Good…” Robert sighed.

John was content that he served his purpose and his mouth was used to please his daddy. Afterwards they cleaned each other with soap and water, still having fun.

≈ Ch. 2: A NEW HELPER ≈

 

~ Respect ~

The morning after, Deimos woke up in his bed feeling his crotch still sore for the harsh treatment he got from Darek. He was pissed off, but it wasn’t just for the physical sensations Darek forced him to feel, harshly stimulating his cock moments after his orgasm: though terribly unpleasant, it wasn’t anything a sturdy man like Deimos couldn’t bear. He was angry with Darek for the disrespectful, dehumanizing way Darek treated him, as if he was nothing more than a source of sperm, a walking cock only useful to inseminate the Wives on command.

«Damn Pale!» – he thought angrily – «I’m a man, not a slab of meat! How dare he!”

He didn’t regret for a single moment having fired Darek, but this meant he needed a new helper. Boba-Maiii’s law stated that a Pale couldn’t refuse to be a Dark’s helper, if requested, but Deimos didn’t want a random Pale, or he could end with another disrespectful stupid guy like Darek. «Too bad» – Deimos ruefully pondered – «that the Pales are all alike, they’re all stubborn, lazy and disrespectful. I’ll end up with another fuckin’ Darek…»

«But this time I will make things clear from the beginning!» – he thought with belligerent intentions, while getting dressed, and then he strode across Eclipse, heading to the Pales’ quarter.

When he entered the mess hall, there were five Pales of different ages who’d gathered there for breakfast. One of them was Jason, who was standing in front of an altar carved in the wall, with his hands raised. Deimos was about to rudely address the Pales, but shut his mouth, in reverent silence, when Jason invoked aloud: “Laudon!”, and a trembling blue light lit up the altar, signaling that Boba-Maiii was there and was listening to his sons.

Jason bent a knee and prayed: “O almighty Boba-Maiii, please provide some food for your humble servant!”, and a bowl filled with a brownish cream appeared at Jason’s feet. All the Pales and Darks knew well that not-so-inviting cream, as it was the only food they always ate, three times a day. It would’ve been utterly disrespectful asking Boba-Maiii anything more than what, in His infinite wisdom, He thought was good for His people.

Jason took the bowl and sat on the communal dining table, but he dropped his spoon as soon as he raised his gaze and saw Deimos waiting in the room; he immediately noticed his angry expression and his heart skipped a beat.

“Listen, you all!” – Deimos bellowed, making everyone stop eating and standing up – “I need a new Helper, because your friend Darek is a fucking moron and I can’t stand him anymore! I’m a Dark, for fuck’s sake, and I won’t tolerate any act of disrespect! I want someone who will take care of my every need, efficiently and without bothering me! Any volunteers?”

No one raised his hand, not even Jason: he was starting to like Deimos, but his rudeness convinced him that probably he’d overestimated the First Husband: apparently, he wasn’t that different from the other Darks…

The lack of volunteers pissed off Deimos even more: “Should I remind you that you are bound to be my Helper if I so desire?? You!!” – he said angrily, pointing his finger at Jason – “Would you dare to refuse, if I ask you to be my helper?”

Jason’s cold reply surprised Deimos: “I’d say you should think better, First Husband. I’d be a devoted helper, if you ask me, but under no circumstances I’ll ever be your servant. Nor will I respect you, if the respect isn’t mutual.”

Deimos watched Jason with an outraged expression, that soon softened when he seemed to recognize the guy as the young Pale furtively wiping off his tears when Claire died, the day before.

“You’ll be my Helper. Come with me.” – Deimos curtly stated, without even waiting for a nod of acceptance.

Jason left his half-eaten breakfast on the table and immediately followed Deimos, who was striding out of the hall. They walked at a fast pace for a short while along the corridors of Eclipse and then Deimos slowed down, regretting to have mistreated that young Pale who proved to be a sensible guy, shedding his tears for Claire. 

“What’s your name?” – Deimos asked, trying to use a friendlier tone. “Jason, First Husband.”

“Please call me Deimos, Jason. You’re my helper, now. And… forgive me. I’m not this rude, usually, but the last day was… just horrible. Claire’s death was heartbreaking, and then I had to perform the most horrible Insemination of my life. And my helper, instead of supporting me, almost tortured me when I was most vulnerable. It was the worst day in my life, and it’s not over, because this morning we’ll have to inseminate Pearl again, and later on there will be Claire’s funeral…”

Deimos’ suffering and contrite expression, and his sorry tone hit Jason, who didn’t know what to say. Without thinking twice, he placed his hand on Deimos’ arm, to express his sympathy.

Deimos stopped in his tracks and looked at Jason with wide eyes. He didn’t expect such a sweet gesture from a Pale. Darks and Pales never had a friendly relationship. But Jason’s caring touch went straight to Deimos’ heart.

“Listen, Jason… I didn’t even ask you if you wanted to be my helper, I just ordered you. I know what Boba-Maiii’s law states, but if you don’t want to assist me, you’re free to go. I’ll find another helper, though… I sense that I’d hardly find someone as sensible and caring as you. You decide.”

“I’ll be honored to be your helper, Firs… Deimos. And I’m glad to know that your behavior, earlier, was only due to your pain and grief, because I’ve always… admired you. I’m not going to lie to you: I don’t like the co-husbands’ arrogant attitude and I don’t respect them; but I deeply respect you. And I’m sure you will respect me, despite me being a Pale.”

“Respect has nothing to do with skin color, and you’re earning yours. I think we’ll get along very well” – Deimos replied, smiling – “Say, do you have any experience as a helper? You know it involves touching me… intimately, do you? I know some narrow-minded guys consider the helping job too invo for a straight man, but they’re mistaken, as only a real man knows what another real man feels and needs. That said, if this makes you feel uncomfortable…”

“I’ve never been anyone’s helper, and I’ve never… uhm… touched anyone intimately, but you will teach me, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. Let’s go to the Nuptial Chambers: your education will begin right away, because in one hour I have to take part in the Insemination, and I must be ready.”

 

~ A surprising helper ~

They entered Deimos’ private bedroom; it wasn’t big, but it was cozy, and there was a big sunken bathtub filled with clean water, constantly refreshed by one of the many springs located under Eclipse. The furniture consisted of a low single bed, a white stone armchair, a small shelf and a stone massage table. Deimos stopped next to it and stood still, waiting.

“Am I supposed to do something?” – Jason timidly asked, ashamed for not knowing what a helper’s duty was. Deimos smiled and replied with a friendly tone: “It’s easy, don’t worry. First off, you should remove my loincloth, and then I’ll lie down on the table and you’ll… uhm… help me get ready for the Insemination. It’s not a difficult job, but it requires some sensibility, because the helper should make the husband feel aroused, almost ready to give his load, but without making him waste his seed. Don’t worry, I will guide you. Let’s start with the loincloth.”

Jason knelt in front of Deimos and unlaced the embroidered cloth, making it fall to the floor. The guy suddenly found himself staring with wide eyes at the most impressive manhood he’d ever seen and opened his mouth in a silent gasp. He knew he shouldn’t keep staring so immodestly, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off the mesmerizing black member.

Truth to be told, Jason rarely had a chance to see another man’s virility, except for a few fleeting glimpses in the communal shower, and being now so close to a remarkable specimen of manhood made his curiosity flare. Without even being aware of it, he pushed his head an inch closer, and then another inch, until he could clearly smell the musky aroma of the black member.

He suddenly realized how utterly inappropriate was his behavior, and abruptly recoiled, leaping to his feet: “I… I’m sorry… I’m not an invo or something, please believe me, Deimos!”

Deimos smiled at him: “I’m not angry, and I know you’re not an invo, don’t worry. I was searching for a respectful helper, and I now know I’ve found him, because what I’ve just seen was a gesture of great respect and admiration, and I thank you for that. But now let’s begin. While I lie on the table, you make your hands slick with that perfumed oil over there.”

Jason poured a liberal amount of perfumed oil on his hands and brushed them together; then moved close to the table, where Deimos was lying, completely naked. The helper stood still for a moment, looking at the black man, uncertain what to do, and then instinctively placed his hands on the vast expanse of Deimos’ chest, slowly brushing his hands on the smooth skin.

He didn’t notice Deimos’ surprised expression, and went on for a short while massaging the bulging muscles, contouring the chiseled abs, exploring the deep cleft between the pecs and caressing the sides of the massive torso. When his slick hands casually brushed on Deimos’ nipples, the Husband inhaled sharply and stiffened a bit, and Jason immediately halted, worried.

“Am I doing something wrong?” – he asked, with a doubtful and shy tone that moved Deimos. “Well… no…” – the man replied – “I was rather expecting… uhm… that you just massaged my manhood. That’s what all my helpers have always done…”

Jason shook his head and smiled: “You’re a man, Deimos, not just a penis with a body attached to it. You won’t think of me as just two hands, will you? You’re a great man with a great body, and you do a lot for Eclipse: it’s only fair that I pay homage to you and your muscles, your torso, your legs and every part of your body. Let me do it, relax and put yourself into my hands…”

And so Deimos did, feeling his heart thump hard. Knowing to be the object of Jason’s respect and admiration was heartwarming, and for the first time it shed a new light over the entire Insemination process, which he’d always felt too mechanical, even heartless. Jason was paying homage to him as a man, and to his body, which he strained to keep in top shape, and felt good, happy and -after a long time- at peace with the world.

Lying on the massage table, with his eyes closed, Deimos enjoyed the cautious and caring touch of Jason, and shivered with pleasure when the helper’s hands brushed on his nipples again and again, and then moved down to the belly, briefly intruded in his belly button, to then slide down again, on his thighs, his calves, his ankles, and then back up, on the inner thighs, slowly, almost shyly, to finally rest in that intimate spot between the thighs and the scrotum. Every single inch of his skin felt like waking up under Jason’s warm touch.

Deimos stifled a moan when Jason’s small hand cupped his balls, massaging them slowly and making them moist and perfumed with oil. And then, unexpectedly, the hands moved sideways, brushed the sides of the muscular glutes, slid up to the waist and then cupped again the bulging pecs, kneading on them with passion.

The Husband was a bit puzzled when he felt the hands being withdrawn, and uttered a raucous ‘Oh god…’ when he felt Jason’s lips closing around his stiff nipple. He didn’t expect that such a delicate touch could ignite such a fire in his body, and instinctively arched his chest to get more, more…

But his eyes suddenly snapped open, feeling that he was crossing a line, and Jason immediately recoiled, looking at Deimos with uncertain eyes.

“W… Why did you do that…?” – Deimos asked, afraid to have let Jason dangerously venture too close to a clear ‘invo’ act; and his worry grew even more when he lowered his eyes from Jason’s blushing face to his tunic, hiding an obvious erection.

“Wait… Are you… enjoying it?” – he breathed, and Jason’s face blushed crimson red: “No… I… I just did what I felt, you know I have no experience, and when I saw your… uhm… desire for your wife flare, somehow I shared it…”

“My… desire?” – Deimos replied, and turned his gaze down, at his own crotch, where his massive black cock, still untouched, was swelling in all its glory, throbbing and ready to get some action. “How… How did you do that?” – he gasped, greatly surprised – “You didn’t even touch it, so far…”

“I’m not an experienced helper” – Jason smiled timidly – “but I’m a man. I guess a rough manipulation of your member would’ve achieved the same result, but would you feel as good as you’re feeling now? I’ve seen your expression while I was massaging you, you feel on fire, you are ready to go to the Alcove and make love to your Wife. Not just give her a load, make love. As for not having touched your manly member so far… this can be easily fixed.”

Jason poured some more oil on his palms and grabbed the long stiff rod with both hands, slowly sliding them up and down from the base to the wide glans, and then again.

“Holy shit…!” – Deimos groaned, taken aback by the sheer pleasure radiating from his groin. Jason was right, he truly felt on fire! And those hands sliding up and down on his member were sending irrepressible shivers of pleasure through his spine.

But soon he stiffened and said with urgency “Wait wait wait!!!”, feeling on the verge of wasting his seed. It took him a few moments to forcefully subdue his pleasure and keep his juices restrained. Jason stepped back and looked at him with wide eyes, while his own cock bounced and twitched hard under his tunic.

At long last, Deimos opened his eyes and took a deep breath: “I’m more than ready for my wife. Thank you Jason. Thank you for… everything.”

 

~ A sexy straight stud ~

Deimos climbed off the table and quickly moved to the adjoining Alcove; when he opened the door, Jason could peek inside, and saw Pearl, beautiful as ever, lying naked on the nuptial bed in a languid pose. Deimos was so aroused and enthralled by his wife that failed to completely close the door; Jason knew he was not supposed to spy on Husband and Wife making love, but he’d never seen Pearl nude (nor any other woman, for that matter), and after a short fight with his scruples he cautiously moved closer to the door and peeked inside.

The two lovers, intertwined in the dance of love, were moaning softly and stifling their gasps of pleasure; Jason admired for a while Pearl’s sinuous body, her big breasts softly bouncing up and down, her slim legs grabbing Deimos’ waist with passion, but slowly Jason’s gaze focused on the masterful way Deimos made love to the girl, keeping his torso almost still and tilting his hips back and forth, rhythmically driving his long rod in and out of her wet pussy.

Pearl moaned loud and trembled, shook by a sudden orgasm, but Deimos went on making love to her, making his swollen balls slap on her crotch at each powerful thrust, without ever slowing down, tireless and unstoppable. In Jason’s eyes, Deimos was all a man should be. Times ten.

Jason felt weird, he was supposed to focus on Pearl, admire her delicate milky flesh and her soft, bouncing breasts, but he found himself staring at Deimos’ black ass, pumping up and down with vigor and flexing every time he pushed his long rod all the way into the wet pussy. He could easily visualize that thick black throbbing for pleasure while digging deeper and deeper into the tender flesh.

He realized he was sporting a stiff erection, under his tunic, and tried to convince himself that it was for Pearl, but his gaze was completely focused on Deimos’ incredible body glistening with sweat. His back muscles and his biceps flexing and twitching for the delightful effort, his hips pounding hard up and down, his big balls slapping rhythmically on Pearl’s taint… Jason felt he couldn’t breathe, he wanted to be in that bed, he wanted to be Deimos… no, he wanted to be Pearl!

«What the fuck am I thinking…!» – Jason inwardly exclaimed, while an icy finger chilled his heart – «I’m not an invo! Deimos is a man, for fuck’s sake…!”

But all the while Jason’s eyes didn’t miss an inch of Deimos’ enticing black skin, of his twitching muscles and his flexing glutes. His hand, almost on autopilot, moved to give relief to his aching dick, under the tunic, but he forced himself to move the hand away, like he was used to do since puberty.

He almost wasted his seed when a loud squeal of pleasure escaped Pearl’s mouth, the moment a second shaking orgasm made her body writhe from head to toes: “My wonderful, sweet husband…” – she pleaded – “…fill me with the essence of your virility… Please… You’re making me delirious…”

Deimos ramped up the pace of his thrusts, his hips banged on the wife’s crotch, and suddenly he shoved his humongous member all the way into her and stood still, moaning loud, lost in his explosive climax. Jason admired Deimos’ muscular back, glistening with sweat, twitching and stiffening, while the First Husband planted his load deep into the Wife’s womb.

Jason quickly moved away from the door and pretended to tidy up the massage table, desperately trying to subdue his erection and his desire; after a moment, the door opened and Deimos entered, with an ecstatic expression and a glowing gaze: “It’s been years since I enjoyed making love so much. Making love, as you said, not just giving my load. I don’t know how you did it. Thank you, Jason, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Deimos shot a happy, thankful glance at Jason, but soon his expression morphed to a knowing grin, spotting Jason’s still half-hard dick twitching under the tunic: “We’ve been quite loud, I can easily guess you heard us…”

“I… uhm… I actually watched you” – Jason confessed, and immediately made clear – “I mean the two of you! Not… you! I mean…”

“Shh… No need to be sorry for anything” – Deimos reassured him, moving closer so much that Jason felt enveloped in Deimos’ sheer masculinity – “I’m not pissed off if you spied on us. I actually left the door open on purpose, so to give you the chance to look at us, if you so desired. I’m quite a reserved person, I need my privacy, but I… don’t know… I wanted you to know every side of me, even the most intimate ones. With you I feel completely at ease. Hope you liked the show…”

“It was… breathtaking” – Jason murmured, blushing – “You made her cum twice… You made her delirious, and when you filled her with your manly juice I… almost wasted my seed…”

Deimos chuckled, proud: “I’m not a rookie. I know how to get the best of my manly bits, and when I can take my time, I can really make my partner delirious… She was ecstatic” – he said, with a wide smile, that suddenly faded into a sorry smirk: “I only wish Pearl didn’t have to get four more loads, now… The co-husbands… they…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, because a loud grunt came from the Alcove, suddenly followed by a choked scream. The co-husbands had waited for long, with their helpers keeping them on the verge of losing their loads, and now, crazy with lust, they were unceremoniously banging the Wife, roughly shoving their greedy rods deep into her, one after another. The five loads had to be delivered back-to-back, this was Boba-Maiii’s law, but the co-husbands liked it rough, they were beasts in heat, as Deimos knew well.

Deimos sat on a chair and took his head into his hands, trying not to hear the lewd comments, the beastly grunts and the heartfelt pleas that Pearl couldn’t hold when things became too rough. Jason was aghast. After witnessing Deimos’ sweet love-making, the sounds coming from the Alcove were like brutal slaps on his soul. And he realized that for Deimos it was even worse, because he truly loved Pearl, just as much he loved Claire.

Without thinking twice, Jason got closer to Deimos, bent over him and flung his arms around his head, holding him in a warm, soothing embrace, murmuring “It’ll all be over soon… She’ll get through in a moment…”, but he was talking more to himself than to Deimos.

Jason was true, it all ended quickly, and suddenly the Alcove was silent again. The helper recoiled and Deimos slowly stood up; they locked eyes, and without saying a single word, they knew that a strong friendship and a tight bond had unexpectedly blossomed between them.

 

~ Man-to-man talk ~

Jason took Deimos’ hand and pulled him toward the massage table; when Deimos shot him a puzzled glance, Jason simply said: “You must be exhausted, and later on there’s a funeral to attend. Let me help you relax and get clean. I’m still your helper, after all, aren’t I?”

Deimos smiled, won by Jason’s positive attitude, and lay on the table, while Jason took a sponge and some clean water from the tub. At first they stood silent, while Jason gently brushed Deimos’ body with the sponge; but after a while Jason asked with an uncertain tone: “Say… uhm… how does it feel? Making love to a woman, I mean…”

Deimos’ eyes snapped open and replied: “You don’t know…”. It wasn’t a question, he was just realizing at that moment that Jason, as a Pale man, never had the chance to lay a woman in his entire life.

“It’s… wonderful. I don’t want you to feel bad, but I can’t lie to you. Her pussy feels like velvet around your member. At least, this is what the co-husbands would tell you, if you ask them. For me making love it’s much more than enjoying the physical sensations, I feel joined to my wife completely, body and soul. Unfortunately, it’s not always like this. Actually, today was the first time in years I felt like this. In most cases we husbands can’t choose when to have sex, we must do it when the Wife is fertile, whether we feel in the mood or not. Eclipse needs a Dark female, and what we husbands feel, what we need… is irrelevant, we have to bow to a superior need.”

Jason pondered Deimos’ words with a grave expression; he couldn’t decide what was worse, being treated as a mere source of sperm or not having any chance to have sex altogether. But today Deimos finally had a chance to really make love to his wife, and even if it happened only once in a while, that was something totally denied to Jason.

“Why are you the First Husband? Who chose you, among all the Darks?”

“Each woman, when she becomes of age, chooses her First Husband. It’s an important moment for a girl, because the First Husband is the man who will take their virginity. Pearl chose me as her First Husband.”

“But you were Claire’s First Husband, too!” – Jason exclaimed, and Deimos flashed a proud grin: “And before Claire there was Alba, and Candice, and Bianca, and many others… They’re all long dead now. For many years I’ve been chosen as First Husband by all the women in Eclipse. They all gave me the most precious gift, their virginity, and I took it with love and reverence. And this explains why they chose me… and why the co-husbands hate me so much.”

“Is it so?” – Jason asked, surprised; for him, all the Darks were members of a sort of exclusive club and they respected each other.

“They mock me all the time, calling me sissy, crybaby and other names, just because I’m not a brute like them. There were times when I thought they were going to attack me: after all they are four and I’m one. Then I understood that they can’t touch me, as much as I can’t touch them: we’re five, and five Dark loads are required for the insemination. But they’re evil, you’ve seen it: they know how dear to my heart are the Wives, all of them, and they always do their best to humiliate them, treat them like bitches and even hurt them. Darks’ duty is to provide their load when required, but no one can tell them how to do it. Not even I…”

“Speaking of loads…” – Jason asked, thoughtful – “I remember when all the Wives you mentioned were still alive. They were five, and I guess they could become fertile at the same time. How… I mean… How could you keep up with the… uhm… workload?”

“Ha ha ha!” – Deimos heartily laughed – “It was a heavy ‘workload’ indeed! When a Wife is ready for the insemination, the husbands must do their duty, without exceptions. There were times when we had to inseminate four Wives on the same day. And before you ask, no, it wasn’t that pleasant. The first or the second one, maybe, but then our helpers had to force us to be ready again, and again… It feels like a torture being forced to stay hard after two orgasms. But I never failed my wives, nor Eclipse.”

“Oh, shit… not again…” – Jason murmured, mortified, sporting again an irrepressible hard-on under his tunic – “Just thinking of you making love to four women a day made me feel… well…”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re a man, it’s all natural” – Deimos comforted him – “I shared my deepest intimacy with you, so don’t be ashamed of sharing your intimacy with me…”

By now, Jason had finished rinsing and drying Deimos’ body, and helped him off the table; naked as he was, Deimos moved to the only armchair in the room and sat on it, and Jason had no choice but sitting on the floor, at his feet.

“So… being the First Husband doesn’t grant you any particular perk…” – Jason asked, looking up at Deimos; but he couldn’t stop his gaze from moving down to his flaccid cock, resting on the seat like a tired and satisfied warrior after a victorious battle.

“Oh, no, there’s a great perk, actually” – Deimos replied – “The First Husband is the one who provides the first load, and therefore I can take my time, unlike the co-husbands, who must rush and give their loads as soon as I’m done. Today in particular I greatly enjoyed being the First Husband, and with your help I’ll enjoy it every time, from now on!”

“My help? I didn’t even know when to put my hands… I told you: up until today, I had never touched a man. Or a woman, for that matter…”

“But you touched yourself, I can easily guess…”

“Boba-Maiii forbid!” – Jason exclaimed, outraged, but his words were still echoing in the room while doubts began filling his mind. He’d been told since he entered puberty that it was a capital sin for a man seeking solitary pleasure and wasting his seed. But… who stated that cruel rule? Did Boba-Maiii really want men in their prime burn inside for the irrepressible desire without ever having any chance to get relief? The rule maybe had a meaning if applied to the Darks, whose seed was precious; and maybe it was a good rule back in the day, when there were many women and Pales could find a mate. But now, with the only woman still alive obviously destined to the Darks, could Boba-Maiii really want the Pales to suffer that much?

«Is Boba-Maiii even real?» – Jason wondered again, like he’d wondered so many times, lately.

Deimos’ warm voice broke the sudden, tense silence: “I feel terrible, thinking at the… tension you must bear day after day… I wish I could help you…”

Jason looked up with a bright smile that dispelled the tense vibes: “Thank you for saying so. But I’m your helper, not the other way round, right?”. And his eyes lowered again to the massive black manhood lazily resting on the seat, between Deimos’ legs.

 

-~~~≈≈≈ooOoo≈≈≈~~~-

 

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Nutcracker Doll Massager: Jan in Czechia

I came to Czechia to meet Jan Novotný, my former Intercultural Communication student, who had invited me to the Prague Doll Festival. Jan was hard to miss in a crowd: a fair-haired, stocky muscleman with arms and legs like tree trunks, yet a boyish, open face that made him seem younger than his years. His hands fascinated me most—huge and powerful, but with a delicacy in the way he held things, as if every gesture was shaped by the fine work of carving and stringing marionettes.

He led me first through the old town square, where a street theater performance unfolded under the open sky. Towering puppets swayed and lumbered above the crowd, their painted faces lit by the morning sun, the wooden clatter of their steps echoing against the cobblestones. After a short lunch of sandwiches with cola we ducked into a children’s theater, where smaller puppets taught lessons about kindness, patience, and honesty; the children laughed and gasped as if the strings themselves carried magic.

By dinnertime we reached the vaulted beer hall, the long tables were already lined with glasses, each foaming with a different shade of amber and gold. Jan grinned at me like a mischievous boy and clapped me on the back, urging me to keep pace with his enormous gulps. One after another the samples came—pilsners sharp as mountain air, dark lagers heavy with caramel, herbal brews spiced with nettle and honey. The waitresses hardly had time to clear the glasses before fresh ones were set down, and soon my notebook was forgotten.

Jan began to sing old Czech drinking songs in a deep, booming baritone, slapping the table with his palm, and I—half out of scholarly curiosity, half out of sheer giddiness—joined in. By the tenth glass, we were arm in arm, swaying with the crowd, laughing so hard that tears rolled down our cheeks. When we finally stumbled out into the Prague night, the cobblestones seemed to shift like a puppet stage beneath our feet, and the whole city felt alive, grinning and dancing with us.

Properly sloshed with beer we staggered into the street and Jan took me to his apartment, half of which was turned into his workshop, a space crammed with half-finished puppets, jars of paint, and the warm scent of carved wood. He showed me his small business with the pride of someone who had found a niche no one else had: theatre puppets, marionettes, hand dolls, wooden people, buratinos, and, finally, massager dolls designed not just for children’s play but for easing pain. He held up tiny figures meant to wrap around aching muscles and bones, explaining their uses with exaggerated patience, as though I were one of the schoolchildren from earlier in the day. Then, with those careful giant’s hands, he lifted a wiry Nutcracker doll and slipped its arms around one of my own swollen fingers and turned the little switch on. “See,” he said, his smile soft even through the haze of drink, “miracles are possible.” He moved the doll from one finger to the next after each three minutes, and, to my surprise, the dull ache in my arthritic fingers eased, leaving me laughing with him in the lamplight of his cluttered apartment.

***

“Shh, shh, Augie, I am straight, come on, no, no” he said, laughing when I told him that his dolls could massage not only fingers but other finger-shaped, well, barrel-shaped, pliant, hot things… you know which, come on, let me, please let me, just touch, okay, just touch, oh, come on, just a minute, you’ll like it, I swear, oh, come on, Jan, you are so handsome, please, please, ple-aaaaase… ah, yes, thank you, yes, I understand, just touch, come on, come on, thank you, you are gorgeous, oh, yes…

When he finally lay naked on the sofa in front of me, and I knelt by his side, I first let my gaze travel the breadth of Jan’s chest: the wide, firm slabs dusted with almost invisible blond down, the skin sun-warmed except where a pale band crossed the upper arms—evidence of summer work in sleeveless shirts. Below, the torso tapered into a sturdy waist, the muscles of his abdomen rose in blunt ridges that caught the lamplight like polished beech. I lingered on the faint flush across his sternum, the slow rise and fall that promised strength held gently in check, and felt my own pulse echo the rhythm.

Lower, the tan stopped in a crisp line just above the hips, the skin there turned porcelain where shorts had guarded it from the hungry northern Czech sun. Jan’s thighs lay solid and rounded, the quads relaxed yet still showing the corded sweep that would clench when he knelt to work on a marionette. Between them, the barrel-shaped uncut cock rested along one thigh, the foreskin a soft, fleshy cowl that sheathed the glans completely, the broad hood puckered forward so only a dark, narrow slit peeped through its center. Beneath, the scrotum spread loose and generous, the two ovals of his balls shifted lazily with each breath, their surface faintly furred with gold that caught stray flecks of light.

I stilled my breath as I studied the half-swollen shaft: the way the loose foreskin covered the big mushroom head with just the very tip showing, the single vein that meandered beneath it like a river on a map, the subtle weight that made the whole length lie heavy against the pale skin of the thigh. I noticed the faint scent rising—warm skin, mead, and something greener, like fresh-cut pine—felt the heat radiating across the narrow space between us, and, without thinking, let my fingertips hover a millimeter above the skin, tracing the borders of tan and milky white, the curve of hip, the plush undercurve of those generous balls, every detail burning itself into memory before I dared to touch.

I thumbed the switch on the Nutcracker and the doll’s tiny motor purred, a low, steady hum that seemed to swell in the quiet room. Starting at the crease where Jan’s thigh met his torso, I let the vibrating felt nose graze the soft skin, tracing slow half-moons downward. His muscle jumped beneath the first contact, a quick involuntary twitch that rolled through the heavy quad and made his relaxed cock shift, the hooded head rocking slightly as if nodding in time with the buzz. I eased the massager lower, coasting along the tender inner seam, and each faint vibration drew another flutter from him—thigh tensing, then melting, the rhythm of his breathing already beginning to deepen.

I kept the doll gliding along the satin skin of his inner thigh, circling closer but never quite touching the thick shaft that lay waiting, and with each slow pass Jan’s breath snagged. The first clear response was a thickening at the root: the shaft subtly fattened, veins rising until the skin gleamed, and the broad foreskin hood began to creep down, the narrow slit glistening as it peeked out. Another hum against the hollow beside his sac—and his cock lifted, inching upward like a drawn bow, the heavy hood sliding back just enough to reveal the smooth swell of the glans, still mostly veiled yet shining with a bead of clear dew. His balls, loose moments ago, drew closer to his body, the big ovals now rolling upward until the skin smoothed taut, and a low, helpless moan slipped from Jan’s throat—half surprise, half gratitude—while the doll’s steady buzz coaxed him higher, the foreskin retreating another fraction, the flushed crown now half-kissed by the bunched collar behind it, everything rising in a slow, loving ascent that left him trembling under my hand.

The foreskin finally folded beneath the corona, the broad head gleaming a deep rose, the slit parted just enough to show a tiny dark crescent. Jan’s cock stood rigid, swaying slightly with each heartbeat, while his balls rode high and tight, bobbing in time with the quick rise and fall of his chest. Soft Czech syllables—kurva, pane bože—escaped him, half-whispered, half-prayed.

I slid the doll lower, letting its felt nose ghost along the silky strip behind his sac, a faint hum that made him jerk and gasp. One gentle press against the firm knot of his perineum and his hips lifted off the couch, thighs trembling. I pulsed—light, then firmer, then three quick hard bursts that buzzed through his core. A silver bead swelled at his slit, stretched into a glossy thread, and spilled down the curve of the crown, gliding over the flared rim until it hung in a perfect, trembling icicle that caught the lamplight, swaying above the tight rise of his balls before it finally broke and painted them in a warm, clear sheen.

I traced the buzzing felt nose upward, skating it along the thin, delicate skin of his tightened sac, each vibration a tiny electric spark that made Jan’s knees snap together then fall wide again. His breath broke into sharp, helpless huffs, hips bucking as if the couch had turned hot beneath him, yet his hands stayed fisted in the cushion, never once pushing me away. The big ovals of his balls drew even closer, the glossy surface dimpling under the toy’s passage, the loose furrow that had cradled them now stretched smooth and shiny, every vein and pore standing out in the lamplight while they danced in tiny, frantic jerks—up, sideways, up again—like twin bells trembling under a frantic clapper. Jan’s moan climbed into a whimper, Czech curses tumbling faster, sweeter, his cockhead flaring an even deeper crimson as a second clear bead pearled and quivered, the whole length swaying above those tormented balls that kept rising, rising, begging for the next sweet shock of vibration.

I circled the doll’s buzzing felt nose around the thick root of his cock, and only then noticed the fine gold fur—so fair it had been hiding in plain sight—springing up in a soft halo that caught the lamp light like frost. Jan’s hips shot upward, ass rising from the couch, thighs quivering as if the vibration were wired straight to his spine. Each slow revolution drew a short, punched-out grunt, his whole torso shaking in time with the toy’s orbit, cock swaying stiff above the blur of golden hair. His sac, stretched smooth a moment ago, suddenly loosened into delicate pink folds while his balls climbed so high they almost vanished beneath the base of his shaft; a fresh ribbon of precum slipped free, sliding down the underside of his cock to pool on the soft fuzz below, glistening there like dew on wheat.

I kept the rhythm steady—round, pause, round—feeling his pulse throb against the hum, every breath he took hitching tighter, sweeter, until the room smelled of warm skin and mead and the small, desperate sounds he couldn’t stop making.

I folded forward and slid my lips over the slick crown, letting them rest just behind the flared rim, tasting salt and the faint sweetness of mead. The doll still purred against the loose skin of his sac, each vibration traveling up through the shaft and into my mouth so I felt every tremor like a second heartbeat on my tongue.  Jan’s thighs locked, hips rocking in tiny, helpless jerks that pushed him deeper yet kept him perfectly still between my sealed lips; his grunts turned to soft, broken pleas in Czech, breath hitching each time the buzz peaked. My own cock strained against my fly, aching, and I wrenched the zipper down, fisting myself in rough, urgent strokes—once, twice, thrice, then many times more—while I held my mouth motionless, a steady sheath for the pulses racing through him, the room narrowing to the hum against his balls, the throb in my fist, and the sweet, swelling tremble building under my tongue.

I eased the suction, mentally Jan earlier that day—steady voice, measured gestures, the careful way he’d explained marionette joints to me—and how he now lay unravelled beneath me, eyebrows still knit yet eyes glazed, hands clenched at his sides in a white-knuckled vow not to grab my head. The contrast—competence turned to quivering need—sent a fresh spike of heat through me; I thought this is so fucking unique and three rough pulls later my cock kicked, come striping my fingers, a warm drop spattering the rug. Without thinking I pressed the doll harder against the thin skin behind his balls, vibration drilling straight into his core. Jan bellowed, back arching, and the first hot surge hit my tongue—thick, faintly sweet from the mead—followed by three more long pulses that flooded my mouth; I swallowed fast, throat working around the warm, salty flood while his hips jerked through every aftershock, the doll still buzzing against the tight sac until the last shudder left him limp and breathless on the couch.

I clicked the doll to its lowest setting and grazed the buzzing felt along the underside of his cock, now slick and hypersensitive. Jan’s laugh burst out raw and surprised, hips bucking as he tried to squirm away, but I kept my mouth sealed around the crown for one last gentle suck, tasting the faint sweetness still leaking from him. He yelped between giggles, palms finally flying to my shoulders in a half-hearted shove, voice cracking on a breathless “dost, Augie, dost!” I relented, letting the toy fall silent and sliding off him with a soft pop, then pressed a fond kiss to the crease of his thigh while he lay there panting, chest heaving, with a lazy grin spreading across his flushed face.

Under the shower spray I watched him shrink a little—shoulders narrower, face softer, water flattening his fair hair until he looked almost boyish. I leaned in to taste his mouth, but he smiled and tapped a playful no against my lips, so I settled for the warm slope of his neck, kissing away the mead-salt, then dropped to the hollow above his collarbone.

I drew a nipple between my teeth, the nub stiffening against my tongue while the shower drummed on his chest; Jan’s head fell back, a quiet hum rising above the water’s hiss, fingers threading gently through my wet hair as if thanking me for accepting the boundary he’d set…

At around three a.m. I surfaced from sleep to the blunt nudge of Jan’s cock sliding between my cheeks, already slick with want. He drew me back against him, one arm curling round to pinch my nipple while his mouth found my neck, kisses soft then sharp.  He pressed inside—slow, steady, until I opened around him with a low sigh. We rocked like dancers lying down, his hips rolling, cock gliding in wet strokes that echoed loud and wet in the dark, each slap of our bodies sending sparks to the sweet ache building under my balls. The itch climbed my shaft, a single bead pearled at my tip just as Jan’s thrusts stuttered; he growled, teeth sinking into my shoulder, and pulsed again—three, maybe four warm jets spilling deep, thinner this time, yet enough to leave us both breathless and trembling, glued together by sweat and the last slow pulse of his hips.

Morning light turned the water in the shower we took together silver and Jan’s cock, hard again, looked almost unreal—thick, upright, veins standing in sharp relief under the bright bulb. He backed me against the cool tile without a word, hands sliding to my hips, and lifted me like a doll; I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt the blunt head nudge, then push, soap letting him glide deep in one slow stroke. Each lift of my thighs sent me sliding up that rigid shaft, heels digging into the small of his back while he chased my neck, my chest, whatever skin he could reach with quick flicks of his tongue. My calves trembled, legs slipping on his wet body, but Jan’s arms held me pinned, his hips rolling steadily, water drumming on our shoulders as he filled me again and again, the friction building low and hot without either of us ready to finish.

I let my legs go slack, giving Jan free rein to use me however he needed; my own spark had burned low and all I could do was hang on and feel the iron length moving inside me. Twenty-four hours ago he’d been the picture of composure—straight, polite, promising only to “be a ragdoll” for “your sake”—and now his eyes were wild, jaw clenched as he drove upward, water streaming off his hair and onto my chest. Each thrust knocked a breath out of me, tile cold at my back, cock hot and rigid within, and I watched that calm mask shatter into something hungry and urgent, his gaze flicking between my parted lips and the place our bodies met, chasing his own crest while I simply rode the storm he’d become.

His breath turned to short, ragged bursts, arms quivering under my weight until a strained laugh broke through—“I cunt”—and he slipped free, cock slapping wet against my stomach. We sank together under the spray, mouths meeting, hands fumbling: his slick shaft sliding against mine, fingers tangling, water drumming on our backs while we kissed slow and sloppy, trading breath. My hole kept clenching around the emptiness he’d left, each pulse a reminder of how full I’d been, and we stayed like that, rubbing and grinning into each other’s mouths, until the water began to cool and our legs felt ready to fold.

We stumbled out, dripping and giddy, and I caught one last glimpse of him—Jan stood there bare, that thick cock hanging half-hard, swaying as he stepped into his briefs, the blue cotton snapping up over him like a curtain falling on the performance…

He drove me back through morning streets humming with early trams, opened my hotel door with a flourish, then lifted my hand to his lips, voice rough: “Thank you.” The kiss he pressed to my knuckles lingered, warm and oddly formal, before he let go. I walked inside carrying the whole reel—his laughter, the slap of skin, the taste of mead and salt—slotting every frame into the private vault I’d open whenever I needed proof that quiet men can roar.

Today we keep meeting every time my schedule takes me to Prague, or anywhere in Czechia for that matter, and now we don’t waste time on mead, he just fucks me—in a variety of wild positions—his furry tummy growing from one time to the next, but the sweeter are the slaps of our bodies and the larger his loose balls seem to be, slapping and slapping me in crazy rhythm.  There’s still no time for romantics—so I don’t love him. I just want his thick white long with the large head where it feels right, i.e. up my ass.  It’s been six years since that first meeting, so I guess now he isn’t totally straight, huh, Jan?

I feel sick. The flashing coloured strobe lights weren’t helping either. I was standing on a balcony, leaning on a rail that surrounds the dance floor of the famous night club Manto. It has always been a popular place, but now it had featured on the tv drama Queer as folk, it had turned into one of the most popular gay clubs in the country and definitely the most popular gay club in the gay quarter of Manchester. 

I had a bottle of water in my hand and was sipping it slowly watching the heaving mass of bodies gyrating on the dance floor below me, my eyes glued to three men, one of whom is Sam. Dancing to the noise that is an excuse for music. It definitely wasn’t my choice of listening. I had followed Sam to the club about an hour before, after queuing for what seemed like forever to get into the place, I then had to queue for ages at the bar, I had finally managed to get some drinks for us both. I then turned and gave Sam his chosen drink. He leaned into me and shouted into my ear. 

“Let’s dance”. 

He tried to drag me onto the dance floor but I refused. He gave me a heated look then flounced away hips swaying in the direction of the dance floor. I wandered around for a bit. And eventually found some stairs. I climbed them. Now, here, I am leaning on the rail watching a shirtless Sam, dancing erotically, writhing and gyrating with two men, sweat dripping off his torso, making rivulets in every crevice of his expertly toned body. Music pounding, lights flashing and bodies writhing in a mass of sexual heat. But I couldn’t tear my eyes off Sam.

Yes I felt sick, but not through the amount of alcohol, but through jealousy, sheer blind jealousy, but I refused to let those thoughts take root. Ok, I had been stupid to refuse to dance with Sam, but in spite of all the alcohol I had consumed, my nerves had well and truly gone, so I had refused. Now I stand here and watch Sam as he dances and gyrates with two handsome strangers. I have to admire his bottle. The sheer, almost arrogant confidence he has in himself. 

I lean on the rail looking down, then Sam looked up at me and caught my eye, he winked at me, taking a swig of his drink and turned back to the two men he was dancing with,he pulled one of them in and kissed him hard, I can see his tongue enter the strangers mouth. The other responded in kind, clasping Sam by his face to pull him in, and even from this distance. I can see, almost feel the lust emanating from the two men, Sam pulls off him, and turns the others head and pulls him in for a searing kiss as well, while the first kissed Sam on the neck. All moving and gyrating at the same time. It’s all for show of course, he knows I’m watching them, because he keeps glancing up at me, he knows my eyes are glued to them, it’s almost impossible to turn away, even though I wanted to, like a deer caught in headlights. I know I shouldn’t. But it’s all so damn erotic.

Ok, the two strangers are older than him, mid 30s by the look of them and partners at that, their shortcut, dyed blond hair making them stand out. I’m not sure how I know that their partners, maybe it’s how they interact with each other, like Sam they are shirtless, both dripping in sweat, gyrating and writhing in the heat of the crowded nightclub, both are just wearing shorts. Tight denim cutoffs, and boots, showing off their gym perfected bodies and dusting of trimmed body hair, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Their bodies writhing against Sam, their erections showing, even from this distance. I know Sam is in for a long night. Oh yes, I’m insanely jealous. Why didn’t I just follow Sam onto the dance floor instead of being such a wimp?

They writhe even more, the two strangers kissed and fondled every part of Sam. Pushed and pulled him in every direction, and by the look on Sam’s face, he loved every single moment. While the two men were playing with Sam he took a moment to glance up in my direction again, he smiled up at me then turned all his attention on the two men he’s dancing with, almost having public sex with them. I don’t  blame him for one moment. Yes, I’m insanely jealous. But of the two men,  Sam or all three, I’m not sure. I find it all too much and finally turn away to face into the room, wishing I was on that dance floor with them. But I’m not and that’s my fault. All the time knowing that if I was in that situation, I’d run a mile, because I’m too chicken. I’m  too scared to face sex head on. Sex is such a small word but with such a large meaning, why am I so scared of it? Is this what it feels like to be cuckolded?  

But my godforsaken insecurities won’t let me anywhere near the dance floor. I would sooner escape the place altogether. Going home to the sanctuary that is my room. To my studies, my books and my cds. But I don’t, I refuse to leave, I came with Sam and here I will wait, until Sam tells me that he wants to leave. I know for certain that it won’t be with me, will he even come and look for me? He will leave with those two men he’s currently engaged with on the dance floor. I won’t be with Mel either. She went with Molly ages ago. Now, that, I feel really bad about. Unknown to me Molly was her former dom. Sam knew this and my ignorance of the facts led me to believe it was just banter between us all. And no thanks to us, Molly dragged Mel away to god only knows what. It makes me shudder to think what she’s going through at this moment. Willingly or not.  

I take another pull from my bottle of water and rub my forehead, this loud music and all these strobe lights are giving me a headache. I close my eyes momentarily. Only to open them and find myself staring at a gray beard, I lift my head and stare into a pair of intense gray eyes. He’s silent just standing there, clad head to foot in black leather, looking at me. I’m 6ft 1. He’s taller, he must be 6.4.

“Hi Andrew, fancy meeting you here. Want me to get you a new bottle ?”

I’m flustered. I don’t know what to say. Sam and Mel aren’t here, they can’t help me. But they’d probably only  laugh if they were. So I’m on my own, with a leather clad maniac staring at me. I feel small, totally inadequate, staring into his intense gray eyes, I blink.

“I-I -I”. I try to speak, but my words are stuck in my throat, I can’t speak, I’m so fucking scared. 

“Shhh, Andrew, it’s ok”.He says in a smooth, deep voice. Not approaching any further. “Do I scare you? It’s ok to nod your head if you’re so nervous. I don’t mean to scare you”. 

I nod my head in reply, saying nothing, he looks at me hands on hips and head to one side. 

“I’m sorry”. He says again, not touching me, he lifts his arms in a placating gesture, and backs away slightly. I’m sorry, I make you so nervous, I mean no harm, I will turn and walk away, ok?”

He turns and starts to walk away.  For some unknown reason I hear myself shout. 

“Wait”.

He stops and turns his head. Looking at me. Saying nothing, standing there waiting, waiting for me to make the next move, to speak. But I don’t know what to say, I start to shake, I feel tears welling in my eyes, I just want to go home. 

“I-I-I’m s-s-sorry, I’m scared, you scare me, I’m s-sorry. I want to g-go home”.

He must think I’m such a wimp.

“Shh, it’s ok”. He approached me slowly, arms by his sides, he closed in on me, he opened his arms, and envelops me in a hug. He whispers in my ear. “Shh, it’s ok let’s get you out of here”.  

“Sam”.I whimpered, sniffing, and pointing down on the dance floor. He looks down at the dance floor to where I’m pointing, he smiles.

“Looks like Samuel’s doing just fine”, he tells me, let’s get you out of here. He takes me by the hand as I leave my bottle of water behind.

People stare at me, with tears in my eyes, being led away by the hand. By an older man clad in leather. A stranger approaches us, but a look from Sir Mathew makes him back away. We walk down the stairs and across the floor. 

I find myself outside. Shivering in the cold, walking down a quiet street at 1am with a Leather clad stranger, His leather gloved hand in mine. We walk into an all night cafe, its warming light and open door welcoming us over the threshold. 

We sit at a table with a yellow plastic washable table cover with cups of tea and biscuits on a small plate not speaking. The silence and bright fluorescent light makes a marked difference from the noisy nightclub and the dark outside. I stare into the cup, not daring to look at the man facing me. 

“Feeling better Andrew?”

“Yes abit, Sir Mathew. Thankyou for getting me out of there. I would have stayed until Sam told me otherwise”. My voice was quiet.

“That’s ok Andrew, I help anyone in need and it’s Matt, to you. Sir Mathew is  just a persona, a performance if you like. I’m just an ordinary guy”.

“But all the Leather. You look intimidating. It’s a bit scary, you must think I’m a wimp”.

“I wear leather because I enjoy it, it’s a fetish. I’m a natural dominant, I feel like I have to have control of any given situation. To keep friends safe,That’s what I’m like. I wanted to help you feel safe. So that’s what I did, and you’re no wimp”.

“Thankyou”. I look down at the table not wanting to make eye contact with him.

“Look at me Andrew”. His voice brooks no nonsense so I look up at him.

 “That’s better. Now what got you so scared eh, am I so scary?”. He sips his tea, looking at me over the rim of his cup, waiting for a reply. 

“N-no, but my friends weren’t with me. I was on my own, I looked up and saw you looking at me. And I got scared. All these nasty thoughts went through my head. That you were going to kidnap me and take me somewhere and tie me up and things, I thought you were a maniac”.

Matt threw his head back and gave out a laugh, took off his gloves, and put them on the table while I watched him. 

“See these hands? Their flesh and blood, I’m an ordinary man with an ordinary job. Living an ordinary life. On Some nights. I dress in my leather gear to escape the drudgery of my ordinary, boring life. I change from Matt to Sir  Mathew, my dominant personality and alter ego. Sometimes I get lucky and get to take someone home who wants to be taken care of. I would never do anything that puts anyone that comes home with me in danger. There’s limits to what can happen, everything we do is agreed beforehand with safewords in place. If my sub says his safe word the scenario stops immediately. I’m not a sadist, I’m a dominant, there’s a difference”. But most weeks I go home alone, take off my leather, put it back into the wardrobe. And turn back into Matt the ordinary guy”.

“I never meant to scare you out of your wits. That’s not what I’m like. Some guys get off on that sort of thing,  that’s not me. I just want to make my sub feel wanted, loved and appreciated. I apologize for scaring you”.

“That’s the third time you’ve said sorry, It’s ok. I’m not comfortable in public situations. I’m not used to clubbing, or going out in general, I’m happier at home with my research, books and cds, seeing you in all that leather gear freaked me out”.

“Well I’m not going to take off anymore, to reassure you”, Matt said with a smile,I  smiled back at him blushing slightly.

We chatted for a time about our taste In music and my PhD talking, about them cheered me up, then Matt steered the conversation back to our original topic when I felt better.

“That’s better, you have a nice smile, you should smile more, but how come you became so upset?”

“Thankyou, that’s a nice thing to say, but my father is a taciturn fellow, I guess I take after him, so I can’t help the way I am, I had been watching Sam on the dance floor. He’d asked me to dance but I refused. I suppose my nerves got the best of me. When I reached the balcony he was cavorting with those two guys, I couldn’t turn away, I was transfixed. No matter how much I wanted to turn away, I couldn’t. He saw me and cavorted even more, not taking his eyes off me. I finally turned away. And closed my eyes momentarily because I felt a headache coming on. When I opened them you were standing there, I freaked out not knowing what to do. I’m not used to going out. You see, my housemates think I’m boring so they persuaded me to go out with them tonight, well it was Sam mainly. Anyway Mel had left earlier with Her old Dom, Molly. And Sam was with those two men, I saw you, I was alone and scared, I’m sorry I spoiled your night”.

“You didn’t spoil my night, it was going down the pan anyway, if anything you saved it. You turned my night from a boring one, into a night to remember, me coming to the rescue of a lonely and depressed young man who was lost in a place he wasn’t sure of and felt incredibly insecure. But all that isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of Samual, he should have stayed by your side, at least until you were comfortable in your surroundings. There was nothing stopping him from dancing with other guys after he knew you were comfortable and safe, he left you alone, thinking too much about his own selfish needs. All because you didn’t want to dance with him. Then compounded your feelings by showing himself off by dancing and virtually having sex on the dance floor, in front of you”.

“I know all this because I’m a natural dom. Part of my lifestyle choice is to take charge of others’ needs, to show people I’m confident in difficult situations. If that had been me, your needs would have come over mine, it’s only when I’m alone with a sub he pays me back back in bed, again by letting me be dominant. I would build your confidence by being by your side in any public area, encouraging you to be the best person you could, by my sheer dominance in any situation, by taking charge”.

“Is that what you want? To take charge of me. For me to be your submissive. To change me by using your dominance, into a more confident person. With all due respect, Matt, that sounds a little arrogant to me”.

To my ears I sounded confident in what I’d just said. But in reality my stomach was turning somersaults. I was nervous, I held myself together by grasping the cup of tea so tightly in my hand my knuckle was white. Matt looked at me with a slightly bemused look on his face, was silent for a moment, then said.

“Andrew, I would never do anything to anyone against their wishes. I’m dominant by nature, you’re quiet by nature, that In some cases would make you a natural submissive, that in turn would draw us to each other like moths to a flame. But you’re different, you’re stronger than you make yourself out to be. Ok, I could take you and mold you into a better version of yourself, that isn’t arrogance Andrew, that is the simple truth. A truth I know because of years of experience, years of being dominant. Samual is the living proof of that”.

I looked at him startled, he carried on.

“I first met Sam in his first year of university. When he first came to Manchester he was a good looking but skinny young man in a strange city, like yourself quiet, he was an unassuming but engaging young man. I met him on a Saturday night, in that very club, I was drawn to him, I introduced myself, I was wearing my leathers, we chatted, I knew by the way he was looking at me he was drawn to me, to put it another way I turned him on. I took him home, and gave him a night he wouldn’t forget, he was a natural sub, I encouraged him go go to the gym, he then later  became my submissive, I helped him realize the beauty in himself, I took him to fetish nights as my sub, wearing my collar, kneeling at my feet, he loved it, slowly he came out of his shell. After six months or so he needed me less and less, we grew apart as he became more confident in how he looked, and more comfortable in his own skin”.

“When we first met he would never of dressed semi naked and cavorted on the dance floor like he did tonight, him being my submissive and working out gave him the chance to be himself, he realized it on his own, my dominance of him, wanting him to wear whatever I wanted of him to, within the bounds of taste and with his agreement of course, he came out of his shell, and blossomed into the the beautiful, confident young man he is today. I’m not bragging, I’m telling you how it is, how it could be”.

“I’m sorry Matt, I will never be anyone’s sub. I’ve no interest in receiving pleasure through pain, although I find you somewhat engaging. You look very intimidating, though somewhat enticing in your leathers, that by the way must’ve cost a small fortune. I’m sorry if I offend you, but I am a quiet man by nature, but I know my own mind, I don’t need anyone to make up my mind for me”.

Again I sounded more confident than I felt, sweat beaded my brow and I was feeling nervous. But I had absolutely no intention of going home with him, or being his, or anyone else’s submissive. 

“I would never cause you pain, nor have you offended me, you have made your mind up and I respect that. Like I said you’re a stronger person than you think you are, once you’ve made up your mind that’s it, there’s no going back. I like you Andrew, you’re quiet and introspective, but strong willed, you’re intelligent and good looking. And I would be happy to call you my friend, if you want to, that is”.

I needed to think about accepting his friendship, he seemed like a nice man, though very sure of himself. Sam had said that when you got to know him he was a kind and sensitive man, I wasn’t so sure, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted him as a friend. His idea that he could make me more confident in myself by using his dominant nature, to me seemed off. I can never see myself sitting at his feet at a fetish night wearing god knows how little, the very idea to me is abhorrent. I would have him as a friend nothing more and definitely not as my Dom. 

“I’m not into the bdsm scene, I must apologize, I will never be your submissive. I don’t make friends easily. I’m too introverted. Even now I feel nervous”. I held out my shaking hands. 

“So you’re nervous. That’s understandable before tonight we’d never met, you didn’t know I existed, I quite understand you not being my sub, bdsm isn’t for everyone. I would never force you into anything. But never say never.”

I was quiet for a while and our cups were empty. I’d run out of things to say. I looked down at the table. Nights out at a club never ended well for me and I suddenly felt tired, I put my hand over my mouth and yawned, I wasn’t used to being up so late. I looked at the time, 1.45 am. My head throbbed and I rubbed my temple. I was grateful to Matt for getting me out of the nightclub that I was uncomfortable in, but that was as far as it went. In those couple of moments of silence I decided  two things, 1, I would never attend a nightclub again, and 2, I would never be anyone’s submissive,or be a part of the bdsm scene.  I was my own man and that was how it was going to stay. 

End of chapter 3.

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

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I woke up with a hard-on. Sure, part of it was just blood flow, the usual morning wood, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Most of it was Greg.

I couldn’t stop replaying last night, him standing in the doorway, shirtless, chest gleaming faintly in the glow from the hall, shorts hanging low on his hips. The bulge pressing out front, heavy, obvious, impossible to ignore. And the way he didn’t flinch when he caught me, when I caught him. Like we were just two guys…bros, almost jerking off in the same house. No shame. No awkwardness. Just raw, male.

That thought alone made my cock twitch again under the sheets. Sharing a roof with my boss. My shirtless, broad-shouldered, divorce-hardened, boss.

I dragged myself out of bed, still half-hard, padding toward the kitchen.

Greg was already up.

Shirtless again, of course. This time wrapped in just a towel that sat dangerously low on his hips, damp from a shower. He was leaning over the counter, brewing coffee like it was the most casual thing in the world, like he didn’t know his whole body looked built for sin in the daylight. His chest was broader in the morning light, veins faint on his arms, the curve of his back tapering down to a trim waist.

The towel clung to his ass, and when he shifted, I saw it, the faint outline of his cock resting heavy against the towel, hanging long even soft. My throat went dry.

“Coffee?” Greg’s voice was rough, gravelly from sleep.

I nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He poured me a mug, slid it across the counter with a nod, nothing more. My boss. My fucking boss. Casual in a towel like we weren’t one slip of terrycloth away from total exposure.

────୨ৎ────

We had breakfast. By the time we were headed out the door, the shift was whiplash. The same man who’d been half-n@ked in my kitchen thirty minutes ago now stood sharp in a navy-blue suit, crisp shirt, tie knotted tight. Back to being Mr. Lawson. The boss.

But all I could see was the man under the fabric. The same shoulders, the same chest, the towel, the bulge. The smell of his soap lingering when he slid into the car beside me.

My eyes drifted down without meaning to, catching on his veiny hands wrapped around the wheel, the way his tight navy pants stretched over his massive thighs. His jaw looked sharp in the daylight, and with his eyes on the road, he looked impossibly sexy, like some untouchable version of himself.

“So, you sleep okay?” I asked, mostly just to fill the silence, because otherwise I was going to sit there and get hard staring at my boss’s legs.

He glanced at me, then back at the road. “Really good, man. It felt normal in a long time.”

I clutched my leather bag a little tighter against my lap, trying to hide how my dick twitched just hearing him sound so casual about it. “Yeah… I’m glad.”

We drove a little while longer, the car filled with the faint mix of his cologne and the clean, fresh scent of his shower. My head was buzzing with it.

“So, you got any plans tonight?” Greg asked, his voice easy. “Heading out with the guys from the office?”

“Not really,” I said, clearing my throat. “Just staying in. Relax. Enjoy the weekend.”

He nodded, shifting in his seat, his thigh flexing in those pants. “Let’s grab some beers then. Kick back. Just chill, you and me.” He said it like a bro would, like we hadn’t been jerking off in the same apartment the night before.

And that was the problem, he said it so normal, so effortless, like my head wasn’t still full of the image of his towel slipping on his hips.

“Yeah,” I nodded, forcing it out like it was nothing. “Sure, sounds good.”

But my voice betrayed me, a little too quick, a little too eager. I clutched my bag tighter, staring out the window like the city suddenly had something worth seeing. 

────୨ৎ────

The rest of the day at the office was hell. I couldn’t focus, not on emails, not on presentations, not even when people were talking directly to me. All I saw was Greg, the Greg from this morning; the chest, the towel, the outline of his cock. Every time he passed me in the hall, every time I caught the brush of his cologne, my cock twitched.

He was the same boss he always was, striding around in those tailored pants, sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins on his forearms, commanding instructions and charming clients. But I wasn’t the same. I’d had a crush before, sure, stolen looks when no one was watching. But now? Now I knew what he looked like stripped down to just his skin. Now I knew he was packing, heavy, real. That image sat in my chest all day like a secret.

And I couldn’t stop wanting more.

────୨ৎ────

Later that evening, I ended up taking the subway home. Mr. Lawson had a couple more meetings lined up, so I didn’t expect to see him till late. By the time I was back at the apartment, I was in my room, lights dim, scrolling through my phone half-distracted.

I heard the door open about an hour later. Heavy footsteps, the sound of keys dropping into the bowl near the entrance. I didn’t think much of it until maybe ten minutes passed and my door eased open.

Greg leaned against the frame, dressed down in a plain t-shirt and gray sweatpants, two cans of beer in his hand. His hair was a little messy, his face softer without that daytime tension.

He lifted one can with a tired half-smile.
“Down for a beer?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, sitting up.

He stepped inside, tossed me one, and sat right down on the bed next to me, fully lounging, stretching his legs out across the comforter as if he owned the space. He cracked his can open and took a long pull before sighing.

“Honestly, man… thanks for letting me crash here. I would’ve lost my mind if I had to stay alone. It really gets to you, you know? You spend your life with someone and then…”

He trailed off. The words seemed too heavy in his mouth.

I took a sip, keeping my voice easy. “You don’t have to hold back with me.”

He gave a short, tired laugh. “Yeah. Well… she was the one who wanted the space, you know? Girls’ trips, nights out, plans that didn’t include me. We hadn’t gone on a proper date in… what, eight months?” He shook his head. “I guess we just fell out of love.”

The beer can sat between his hands,. Then he let out a low, rueful chuckle. “And our sex life was—” He cut himself off, shaking his head again.

I turned toward him, speaking gently. “It’s okay, Greg.. You can be open”

He leaned back against the headboard, eyes on the ceiling. “It’s just… intimacy is a big part of a marriage, right? But whenever I’d try to… initiate something, she’d brush me off. Make some excuse. Roll over and go to sleep.” His voice dipped. “The last six months, we didn’t really…… you know.”

I nodded slowly, setting my can down. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how much that must’ve weighed on you.”

His jaw worked. He let out a breath that seemed almost relieved, like he’d been holding it for months. Then his hand moved, absently at first…resting on his stomach, fingers splayed against his t-shirt. Slowly, without seeming to notice, he dragged them down, brushing the waistband of his sweatpants. His knuckles lingered there, dangerously close, just hovering.

He glanced at me finally, eyes darker, lips pulling into something halfway between a smirk and an ache.  He glanced at me finally, eyes darker, lips pulling into something halfway between a smirk and an ache.

“So yeah,” he said quietly. “What you saw last night wasn’t your horny boss just jerking off…”

“Uhm… I didn’t” I stammered, heat crawling up my neck, my voice breaking as I tried to deny it.

Greg’s laugh was low, rough, too casual for what he was saying. “I mean—I was. But now you get why…”

“I… it’s okay. I totally get it sir. It’s just… different for me, you know? Seeing my boss…” My words trailed, my eyes betraying me, sliding down to the soft bulge pressing against his sweats, where his fingers had already started brushing like he couldn’t help himself.

I jerked my gaze away before my mouth could say something I’d regret.

He caught me though. He chuckled, shaking his head. “What? Like seeing your boss’s bulge?”

The words hung in the air, half a tease, half a challenge. My throat tightened.

“I didn’t Greg,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean that —”

Greg’s lips curved, slow and knowing. His hand was still resting casually over the swell in his sweatpants, stroking his fingers across the fabric as if it were nothing, as if this were just another late-night conversation between us.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low. “Don’t be shy. I saw you looking at me in the kitchen this morning too. When I was in just a towel.”

My heart thumped. I tried to swallow the heat in my face. “Uh… sir. Mr. Lawson. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

His other hand shifted, brushing against my thigh, barely there but enough to make my cock twitch inside my shorts.

“No, no. It’s okay.” His tone softened, almost reassuring. “I don’t mind it.”

The words settled inside me like permission. My eyes flickered downward before I could stop myself. The bulge in his sweats had grown, pushing forward, stretching the fabric tighter. His fingers rubbed over it lazily, and it seemed to swell under his own touch.

He caught me staring again.

“You want to touch?” Greg asked.

My stomach clenched. I froze, caught between instinct and reason.

“I – I mean…”

But my hand was already moving, as if it belonged to someone else, hovering uncertainly before landing on the warmth of his thigh. The muscle under my palm was hard, solid. My fingers flexed against it, feeling the strength there.

Greg didn’t move away.

“Go on,” he murmured. “I’m your boss in the office. But here…” He paused, his lips quirking. “…here, I’m just your mate.”

The word lingered, heavier than it should have.

I exhaled slowly, then slid my hand higher, the soft fabric of his sweats dragging beneath my palm until I pressed against the firm weight straining behind it. My hand trembled as I gave the gentlest squeeze, and Greg let out a quiet sound, almost a hum, like approval.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

My pulse was a drum in my ears. I wrapped my fingers around him, feeling the shape of his cock through the thin cotton…thick, heavy, filling my grip more than I expected. I stroked slowly, testing, and the bulge twitched under my touch, growing harder with each movement.

“Fuck Alexx,” Greg muttered, eyes half-lidded. “That feels good.”

He reached down then, his hand brushing mine away for a moment. My chest tightened, thinking I’d crossed too far, but instead he tugged at the waistband of his sweats. With one smooth motion, he pulled them down to his thighs.

He wasn’t wearing any underwear.

His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, curving slightly upward as it slapped against his stomach before settling heavy over his lap. The sight punched the air from my lungs.

The shaft was long, at least eight inches, cut clean, veins running along the sides. His tip was swollen and slippery with precum already, shining in the dim light. Dark, wiry pubes framed the base, thick but trimmed just enough to look deliberate.

I couldn’t stop staring.

I’d imagined it, sure. Ever since that night I’d caught him jerking off. But seeing it this close…seeing the reality was different. His cock wasn’t just big. It was perfect in that raw, masculine way. Heavy, proud, made to be gripped and worshiped.

Greg caught the look on my face and smirked, leaning back on one hand. “Bigger than you thought?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Uh… yeah.”

I froze. My brain caught up a second later, realizing I’d basically admitted I’d been thinking about my boss’s cock. “I mean…I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…”

Greg’s smirk deepened. “How about we stop pretending you haven’t had a crush on me since forever?”

My eyes flicked up to him, shame burning hot in my chest. “Mr. Lawson…”

“Alex,” he said slowly, steady, like he’d been waiting for this. “You think I don’t know?”

His hand slid down, holding his cock in his hand as he kept talking. My gaze followed helplessly.

“All those meetings,” he murmured, fingers tracing himself lazily, “you’d sit across the table, eyes stuck on me instead of your notes. I’d stand at the board and you’d get that glassy look, like you were somewhere else entirely. And don’t tell me you never checked me out when I leaned over your desk.”

“I —I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Oh, don’t be.” His tone was light, but his palm grip tightened around his cock… “When someone looks at you the way you do…” He slapped his thick cock against his palm once, a wet sound cutting the air. A smear of precum shone across his skin when he pulled his hand away. “It feels good.”

My breath caught. My eyes locked on the head of his cock, flushed and leaking.

“So,” Greg said, voice lower now. “Do you wanna keep looking, or do you wanna touch?”

I shifted closer without meaning to, body leaning toward him like gravity was pulling me down. “I… I—”

His fingers caught mine, steady and sure, guiding my hand forward. I hesitated in the air, then finally wrapped around the base of him. The heat hit me first. Alive, thick, pulsing in my palm. My fingers didn’t even close all the way, he was too big. Too much.

I gave a slow stroke, dragging my hand up the length until my thumb brushed his dripping  tip. Precum smeared across my skin, sticky and hot.

Greg let out a low groan, his head tipping back for a moment. “Shit. That’s it, boy.”

I couldn’t stop now. I stroked again, then again, each movement more confident than the last. The precum leaked steadily, dripping down over my fingers, making everything slippery. My breaths grew shallow, my cock twitched in my shorts as I stroked him.

“Come closer,” Greg said suddenly, his voice rough.

I shifted on the bed, moving lower, closer between his spread thighs. My knees pressed against the mattress, my chest nearly against his side. From here, I could smell him; the mix of beer, sweat and something darker, muskier.. manlier…

My hand kept moving, pumping him slowly, twisting at the tip. His cock throbbed in my grip, leaving trails of precum over my knuckles, dripping down to stain his sweatpants where they bunched around his thighs.

“Fuck, Alex,” Greg muttered, watching my hand on him. “You’re good at that.”

“Fuck, Mr. Lawson…” The words slipped out before I could catch them.

Greg’s eyes snapped open, amused, hazy with lust. “Uh… do you wanna…?”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. His eyes flicked down toward his cock, then back to me, questioning, waiting.

My lips parted. My throat felt dry. Every nerve in my body screamed yes, but the weight of what we were doing pressed down on me. I stroked him again, slower this time, my hand gliding over the thick shaft, thumb brushing across the swollen head. Precum smeared across my skin, warm and slippery.

Greg’s breath hitched, his hips twitching upward into my grip.

I looked up at him, caught in his gaze. His face was tense, flushed, his jaw clenched as if holding back.

“Do you wanna…. maybe ….taste it?” he asked again, quieter this time, almost gentle.

Greg paused, his voice low, almost playful. His eyes searched mine, like he wasn’t sure if he should even say it, but then his mouth curved just enough for me to know he was serious.

“Do you wanna… lick it?”

My throat went dry. His cock was in my hand, heavy, warm, my fingers wrapped around the thick shaft as I stroked him slow. My lips parted, though no words came out. I looked up at him, then down at his cock again, then back at him.

“I—uhm… I can try,” I muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Greg didn’t say anything at first. He just laid there with his cock in my palm, fat and swollen, veins running along the shaft. He watched me with that same half-smirk, half-ache, like he was caught between teasing and wanting.

I leaned closer, my hand still moving, my mouth hovering just above his cock. My lips parted again, breath ghosting over the tip. For a second I just stared at it; the way it pulsed in my grip, the little glisten of precum already there, waiting.

Then, carefully, I lowered my tongue.

Just a flick. Just a taste.

The salty-wet precum spread over my tongue. I pulled back instantly, lips closing, eyes flicking up to him like I’d just done something forbidden.

Greg twitched hard in my hand. His whole body seemed to jerk. “Ah…fuck..Alex,” he hissed. His eyes had gone darker, his chest rising fast.

I couldn’t help smiling a little, small and nervous. “You like it sir?”

His eyes dropped down to where my tongue had been. His voice came out rough. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”

I licked again, this time slower, dragging my tongue over the swollen head, tracing around the ridge. His cock twitched again, precum smearing under my tongue.

Greg’s fingers flexed at his sides, then one hand came down, resting lightly on the back of my head. Not pushing it, but just… there to gently guide me through the blowjob.

“Fuck man, it’s been so long,” he muttered, voice caught between a laugh and a groan. His hips shifted, cock swelling harder in my grip. “Feels like forever since I’ve had a mouth on my dick.”

I looked up at him again, lips brushing the tip, precum shining on my mouth. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Work, life… divorce… you stop getting blown as much as you used to.” He gave a small laugh. “Not exactly the kind of thing you admit out loud to your employee, huh?”

I swallowed, smiling nervously. “Guess I’m not exactly your usual employee, am I?”

His hand pressed just a little more against the back of my head, thumb stroking into my hair. “Not even close.”

The words made my chest warm. Made my hand tighten around his cock. I gave him a few slow strokes, squeezing near the base, then bent down again.

This time I opened wider.

My lips wrapped around the tip, sealing over the head. I slid down slowly, taking just the first inch, then pulling back with a wet pop. His cock glistened with my spit, and I went again, a little deeper.

Greg groaned, low and rough. “That’s it… yeah, just like that.”

I breathed through my nose, trying not to panic at the thickness stretching my lips. He was big. Bigger than I’d expected. My jaw already felt it, but the way he reacted…the twitch of his cock, the sound he made…made me want to keep going.

I slid down again, two inches this time, my tongue pressed against the underside. My hand stroked the rest, twisting a little, keeping him wet.

“Fuck man, you’ve got no idea,” Greg muttered above me, head tipped back against the doorframe. “How good that feels… how long it’s been.”

I hummed around his cock, the sound making him twitch again.

He looked down, his hand tightening in my hair, but still gentle. “You wanna try wrapping your lips around more of it?”

I pulled back, licking him slow, spit trailing from my mouth to his shaft. “I can… try.”

“Good,” he said softly, eyes locked on mine. “Just go slow. Don’t rush.”

I nodded and went back down, lips stretching wider. I eased lower, taking more, inch by inch. Four inches, maybe five, until I gagged softly and pulled back, coughing a little.

Greg chuckled, voice deep. “You’re fine. Don’t force it.” His thumb stroked my cheek. “You’ll get there.”

I tried again, slower, pushing past the urge to pull away. I got a little deeper this time before pulling back, spit dripping down his cock, glistening in the low light.

“You’re doing so good Alex,” Greg groaned, hips shifting upwards without him realizing. His cock pushed against my lips again, and I let it in, suck-ing harder. “Fuck man.”

I stroked him while suck-ing, my hand twisting, lips sliding, tongue circling the tip whenever I came up for air. He kept groaning, sometimes muttering little things…“fuck,” “just like that,” “Damn, boy” his voice so raw it made my stomach knot with heat.

After a while, he glanced at me, sweat on his brow, chest rising heavy. “You wanna try going deeper? I’ll help you stretch.”

I hesitated, lips glistening, spit smeared on my chin. “Stretch?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice gentle but teasing. “Your throat. You’ve got a tight little mouth. Takes practice.”

I swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

He smiled at me, that same mix of smirk and ache. His hand slid a little firmer into my hair. “Breathe through your nose. Just relax.”

I opened wide again, lips sliding down his cock. He pushed gently this time, guiding me lower. My throat tightened, gagging, but he held me there just a second before pulling me back.

“Good,” he muttered. “So fucking good.”

We did it again, a little deeper. Then again, until I was taking more than I thought I could. Each time I gagged, spit spilled from my lips, running down his shaft. My jaw ached, throat burning, but the way he looked at me like I was giving him something he hadn’t had in months kept me going.

Finally, I managed almost all of him. Seven inches, maybe a little more, my lips pressed against the base. I gagged hard, pulling off, spit stringing from my lips to his cock.

Greg groaned, rubbing my head. “Fuck… you are doing so good.”

I wiped my mouth, panting, then smiled up at him. “Guess I’m… getting used to it slowly.”

He laughed, the sound rough and disbelieving. “You’re doing fucking amazing.”

I stroked him again, hand sliding wetly over his spit-coated shaft, then leaned in and licked from base to tip. “Feels good though?”

“Alex,” Greg said, voice shaking. “Feels like the best thing I’ve had in ages.”

That made me grin. I wrapped my lips around him again, sliding down slow, my throat opening bit by bit. This time, I didn’t stop. This time, I let him guide me, his hips hovering over the bed, cock sliding deep into my mouth until I gagged, pulled back, then went down again.

It was messy. Wet. My chin and his cock soaked with spit. But every groan he let out made me harder, every twitch of his cock against my tongue made me hungrier.

And then, with his cock filling my mouth, his hand steady in my hair, Greg looked down at me and said, low and sharp

“Fuck man, I am so close”

I looked up at him with obedient eyes and sealed my lips tighter around his cock, suck-ing harder, dragging my mouth up and down his length.

“Shit… Alex… are you sure you can take it?” Greg’s voice cracked, low and strained.

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, his cock still buried in my mouth, the sound vibrating along his shaft.

“Fuck…keep going, don’t stop…”

I bobbed my head faster, spit running from the corners of my mouth, chin wet. His thighs tensed beneath my hand, his hips giving tiny, desperate thrusts.

“Ahh—fuck… ahhh fuckk…”

I swallowed him down again, pushing myself to take his cock deeper, tongue sliding along the underside, my throat clenching.

“Shit… shit…” he groaned, voice breaking.

His hand tightened in my hair, not rough, but firm enough to hold me right there. His hips lifted slightly off the bed, his cock driving deep into my throat. I gagged softly but stayed down, gripping his thigh as I felt it; his cock throbbing, pulsing and swelling.

Then it happened. His whole body stiffened, his jaw slack, and a ragged moan tore out of him. “Ahhh… fuuuck, Alex…” His cock exploded in my mouth, thick hot spurts of cum hitting the back of my throat. I swallowed, messy and eager, more spilling down my tongue as he kept groaning, hips twitching, hand trembling in my hair. He gave me everything, until I was choking down his release, until my lips were dripping with it, until he sagged back against the bed with a broken groan.

I pulled back slowly, dragging my lips up his cock, giving one last tight suck before slipping free. A string of cum clung to my mouth as I licked the swollen tip, savoring the taste.

“Holy fuck, Alex,” he panted, chest rising and falling. “You are… fucking crazy man.”

I glanced up at him, lips shiny, and smirked.

“This wasn’t the first time you’ve sucked a dick, was it?” Greg asked, still catching his breath.

I shook my head, smiling. “No, Mr. Greg.” My eyes flicked down to his cock, still heavy against his thigh. “I was just trying to make you comfortable.” I sat back on the bed, wiping my chin.

Greg laughed, a warm, rough sound. He tugged his sweats back up, still shaking his head. “Fuck, Alex… you made me more than comfortable.”

He stood, stretching like the weight of weeks had lifted. For a moment he just looked at me, then he smiled… genuine and grateful. “Thank you man. I really needed this release… after you know the… divorce.”

I gave him a small smile in return.

And then he left, the faint scent of him lingering in the room, my lips still tingling from him, my chest buzzing with what we’d just done.

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The year was 1944. The air in the barracks, usually thick with the scent of cheap tobacco and unwashed wool, was now permeated by a far more insidious stench: fear. Not the fear of bullets or bombs, not the glorious, righteous terror of the battlefield, but the gnawing, gut-wrenching dread of exposure, of the wrong kind of difference. I was David Erickson, twenty years old, and a rumor, whispered like a virulent disease, had found me. A rumor that branded me, in the eyes of the United States Army, as something unspeakable. A homosexual.

The summons came with the morning light, a curt order from a stiff-backed corporal that sliced through the pretense of normalcy. My stomach, already a knot of ice, plunged even further. I knew what it meant. Everyone knew. The whisper had reached the ears that mattered, the ones empowered to dissect and discard.

The medic’s office was a sterile tomb, smelling of antiseptic and something vaguely metallic, like old blood. A single, bare bulb hung precariously from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows that distorted the mundane into the grotesque. Dr. Albright, a man whose face was a mask of professional indifference, motioned for me to close the door. His eyes, flat and grey, held no judgment, no pity, only a clinical, dissecting gaze that made my skin crawl. He wasn’t seeing David Erickson, potential soldier, brave defender of freedom. He was seeing a specimen.

“Take ’em off, son,” he barked, his voice devoid of warmth, pointing to a small, rickety examination table in the center of the room. “Everything.”

My hands trembled as I fumbled with the buttons of my uniform, each movement feeling clumsy, agonizingly slow. The rough wool of the trousers snagged against my skin, a thousand tiny irritations compounding the growing sense of dread. Each piece of fabric that came off felt like another layer of my humanity peeling away. The khaki shirt, the sturdy pants, the socks, the boxer shorts. Soon, I stood there, utterly exposed, my body pale and vulnerable in the stark light, gooseflesh prickling across my arms and chest. The air, despite the warmth of the small office, felt icy against my nakedness. My breath hitched in my throat, a dry, dusty sound.

Dr. Albright said nothing, his gaze unblinking as he observed me, his head tilted slightly, as if appraising a side of meat. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant murmur of the barracks and the frantic beat of my own heart against my ribs. I wanted to cover myself, to curl into a ball and disappear, but I stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the sheer weight of his silent scrutiny.

“Lie down,” he commanded, his voice jarring me from my stupor. He gestured to the table. “On your back.”

I obeyed, my limbs stiff, my mind a blank canvas of terror. The cold, unforgiving vinyl of the examination table bit into my skin. He pulled out a sheet of paper, scribbling notes with a scratchy pen, the sound amplified in the oppressive quiet. Then, he moved to the foot of the table, and my blood ran cold.

There were stirrups. Metal stirrups, cold and impersonal, like something out of a livestock barn. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. This was it. This was the moment the rumor would be confirmed or denied, not by words, but by a forced, invasive inspection of my most private parts. The humiliation burned hotter than any fever.

“Put your feet in here,” he instructed, his voice as flat as before.

My legs felt like lead, but I managed to hoist them, placing my bare feet into the cold metal loops. The position itself was degrading, splaying me open, vulnerable, to his indifferent gaze. My knees were bent, legs wide, exposing everything. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, wishing, praying, for the earth to swallow me whole. My face felt hot, a flush of shame creeping up my neck.

“Relax,” he said, and the word, coming from his lips, felt like a cruel joke. How could I relax when every fiber of my being screamed in protest?

I heard the rustle of paper, the clink of metal instruments. When I dared to open my eyes again, Dr. Albright was holding something. It was a long, thin rod, made of gleaming metal, with a small, rounded head. My breath caught. My vision blurred slightly, my mind reeling. This wasn’t just a visual inspection; this was… more. Far, far more.

He pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the faint squeak of rubber against skin echoing in the room. Then, he moved to stand between my splayed legs, his form blocking the dim light. I could feel his presence, too close, too invasive. My muscles tensed, clenching instinctively, a futile act of defiance against the inevitable.

“Deep breath,” he ordered, his voice unwavering.

I tried to obey, but my lungs felt constricted, refusing to expand. I could feel the coolness of his gloved fingers, then a slick, cold sensation as he applied some sort of lubricant. My eyes darted to his face, but it remained impassive, betraying nothing. He wasn’t seeing me. He was simply performing a procedure. A cold, clinical invasion.

Then, the true horror began.

The device. The cold, unyielding tip of it pressed against my anus. My entire body stiffened, a silent, primal scream trapped in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut again, biting down on my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. The shame was overwhelming, a suffocating blanket that pressed down on me, stealing my breath, stealing my will.

I felt a gentle but inexorable pressure. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the device began to enter. A sharp, stinging pain, followed by a dull, spreading ache. It was a violation, pure and simple, and it was happening to me, David Erickson, here, in this sterile room, under the gaze of a man who saw me as nothing more than a potential defect. I could feel the cold metal pushing deeper, stretching, exploring. It felt… wrong. Utterly, horrifyingly wrong. Every muscle in my body fought against it, but I was powerless, pinned, exposed, and utterly at his mercy.

He manipulated the device, turning it slightly, his movements precise and practiced. I could feel the slight tugging, the pressure shifting, as if he were looking for something, anything, that would condemn me. Each subtle shift sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. My mind screamed for it to stop, for this nightmare to end, but the reality of it continued, relentlessly, mercilessly.

I focused on a spot on the ceiling, a hairline crack in the plaster, trying to escape into the mundane, to separate my mind from the horrifying reality of my body. But it was impossible. Every sensation, every ounce of humiliation, was amplified, burned into my memory.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was likely only a minute or two, I felt the slow, agonizing withdrawal of the instrument. The pressure eased, then the coldness, then the blessed relief of it being entirely out. I lay there, trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my entire body aching with a phantom pain that was far more psychological than physical.

Dr. Albright removed his gloves, dropping them into a waste bin with a soft thud. He scribbled a few more notes on his paper, then turned to me, his expression still unreadable.

“Alright, son,” he said, his voice flat. “You can get dressed.”

He said nothing more. No apology, no explanation, no comfort. Just those three words, a dismissal that left me feeling hollowed out, utterly dehumanized. My body felt alien, tainted. I swung my legs off the table, my muscles stiff and protesting, and slowly, deliberately, began to pull my clothes back on. Each button, each buckle, felt like an act of rebuilding, of trying to put myself back together after being shattered into a million pieces. The uniform, once a symbol of duty and pride, now felt like a shroud, a disguise for the broken man beneath. I left that room carrying not just the burden of a rumor, but the indelible, searing brand of a humiliation that would follow me, I knew, for the rest of my days.

The next day, a summons to Captain Davies’ office arrived like a cold, unwelcome guest, a stark contrast to the fleeting relief I’d felt after the medic’s invasive prod. No reason given, no immediate threat stated, just the curt order: “Captain Davies wants to see you, Erickson. Now.” My stomach, still a tight knot of apprehension, dropped even further. Had the exam, despite my fervent prayers, revealed something? Or was this a new layer of torment?

The walk to his office felt like a march to a gallows. Each step echoed with the drumming of my own heart in my ears. The door stood ajar, an unspoken invitation, and I pushed it open, stepping into the familiar scent of stale tobacco and official papers. Captain Davies sat behind his imposing oak desk, a monolithic figure in the dim light of the room. The blinds were drawn, casting the office in a perpetual twilight that seemed to swallow sound. He looked up as I entered, his gaze sharp, unyielding, but utterly unreadable.

“Private Erickson, reporting as ordered, sir!” I barked, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the oppressive quiet. My spine was rigid, my shoulders pulled back, a futile attempt to project an innocence I wasn’t sure I still possessed.

Captain Davies merely nodded, a barely perceptible dip of his head. He didn’t speak. He simply… watched me. His eyes, usually direct and piercing, seemed to bore into me, searching, dissecting. He picked up a pen from his desk, rolling it slowly between his thumb and forefinger, but his gaze never left mine.

The silence that followed was not a comfortable one. It was a living, breathing entity, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on me, filling the room until it felt like a physical weight on my chest. Every tick of the wall clock, every distant sound from outside—the rumble of a passing truck, the faint shout of a drill sergeant—was amplified, a cruel mockery of the silence within.

I stood there, ramrod straight, my hands clasped behind my back, my gaze fixed on a point just above his left shoulder. I wanted to speak, to demand to know why I was here, to reiterate my innocence, to break this unbearable quiet. But the words caught in my throat, tangled with a rising panic. What if anything I said was taken as a confession? What if he was testing me, waiting for me to crack?

His eyes, those relentless, unblinking eyes, felt like physical burdens. They probed, they accused, they waited. The memory of the medic’s cold instruments, the shame of that brutal invasion, resurfaced, fresh and raw. Was he waiting for me to admit to what they didn’t find? Was he expecting me to offer up the very sin they couldn’t prove? My mind raced, conjuring a thousand scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. He knew. He had to know something. Why else would he just sit there, silently dissecting me with his gaze?

The seconds stretched into minutes, each one an eternity. My palms grew sweaty, my uniform felt suddenly too tight, constricting my breath. I swallowed hard, but my mouth was dry, parched. I could feel a tremor starting in my legs, a barely perceptible wobble that I fought desperately to suppress. My jaw ached from clenching it so tight.

He finally moved, a slow, deliberate shift in his chair. My heart leaped, expecting the blow, the accusation, the damning words. But he merely leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the desk, his hands clasped, still rolling that damn pen between his fingers. His eyes remained fixed on me, unwavering, expectant.

The silence intensified, a tangible pressure in the small room. It wasn’t just quiet; it was active silence, designed to wear me down, to force something out of me. He wasn’t going to give me any information; he was demanding it from me.

My gaze involuntarily dropped from his face to the desktop, then to my polished boots. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a tell-tale flush of shame, not of guilt for something I had done, but for the mere suspicion that clung to me like a shroud. This was his tactic, I realized with a sickening lurch: to let the weight of the accusation, unvoiced but ever-present, crush me into confession.

He cleared his throat, a small, gravelly sound that seemed to reverberate through the silent room. My head snapped up, my eyes wide, waiting. But he said nothing. He just held my gaze, his face a stone mask.

The internal struggle was agonizing. To speak, and risk incriminating myself, or to remain silent, and let the pressure build until I shattered? The air felt thin, difficult to breathe. I wanted to scream, to run, to lash out at the injustice of it all. But I was a private, and he was a captain. My life, my future, was in his hands, held precariously on the slender thread of this unspoken accusation.

“Is there… something you needed from me, sir?” I managed to croak, the words barely a whisper, tasting like dust and fear. It was a desperate plea for an end to the torment, an opening for him to finally speak.

He merely looked at me, a flicker—was it disappointment? frustration?—passing through his eyes before they settled back into their usual impenetrable mask. The pen continued its slow, hypnotic roll between his fingers. And the silence, mocking and terrible, settled once more.

The silent vigil had stretched, each minute a taut wire pulled tighter, threatening to snap. My legs ached, a dull, persistent throb from standing rigidly at attention for what felt like an eternity. My mind, a frantic squirrel in a cage, raced through every possible scenario, every imagined confession, every horrifying consequence. And then, Captain Davies finally spoke.

His voice, when it came, was a low, gravelly rasp, cutting through the suffocating silence like a rusty blade. “I didn’t tell you you could speak, Erickson.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate for escape. The simple statement hung in the air, a blunt assertion of his absolute authority, a reminder of my utter powerlessness. He didn’t need to shout; his control was inherent, absolute.

“You’re in the army, Erickson,” he continued, his tone thick with dismissal, each word laced with a cold accusation that resonated through the room. “And you have to respect army rules. A certain decorum of behavior is expected of you.”

He paused, letting the words hang, weighty and menacing. “Do you understand me, Erickson?”

The question was direct, a lifeline thrown into the turbulent waters of my fear, demanding a simple, unadorned answer. My throat was tight, my tongue felt thick. Every fiber of my being screamed to unleash the truth, to blurt out that I had done nothing, that I was innocent of the vile rumors, that the medic had found nothing. But the army rules, the very decorum he spoke of, caged my rebellious spirit. I was ordered to answer direct questions, nothing more.

“Yes, sir,” I managed, the words a strained whisper, barely audible even to my own ears. My voice was hoarse, a testament to the emotional chokehold he had on me.

He simply stared, his gaze unblinking, unwavering. He hadn’t dismissed me. The silence descended once more, heavier this time, imbued with the unspoken threat of his words, the lingering shadow of the accusation. Two more hours stretched before me, two endless hours of standing in that oppressive quiet, my muscles screaming, my mind spiraling. The fluorescent light hummed, a cruel counterpoint to the deafening silence. Every breath I took felt like a concession, every second I remained, an acknowledgment of some unseen guilt. My eyes burned, my vision blurring at the edges, but I dared not move, dared not even blink too rapidly. I was a statue, a monument to a humiliation I couldn’t escape.

Then, with a sudden, jarring movement that made me flinch internally, Captain Davies pushed himself up from his chair. He moved around the desk, slowly, deliberately, until he stood directly in front of me, far too close. I could smell the stale tobacco on his breath, see the network of fine lines around his eyes. He leaned in, his face inches from mine, his eyes blazing with an anger that was palpable, yet still contained, still coiled. The silence was broken only by the ragged sound of my own breathing.

“Why do you think I asked you here, Erickson?” he finally asked, his voice low, guttural, dripping with menace. The words were a challenge, a demand for a confession without directly asking for one. The unspoken threat in his voice was a chilling undertone, a promise of consequences far worse than a mere dressing down. He wasn’t looking for an answer as much as he was looking for a break, a fracture in my carefully constructed composure. His eyes bore into mine, demanding that I crumble, that I expose the supposed truth he was so certain of.

Captain Davies’ angry face, inches from mine, was a mask of simmering rage. The question, “Why do you think I asked you here, Erickson?” hung heavy in the air, a challenge, a trap. My mind screamed, raced, sought desperately for an answer that would appease him, that would somehow undo the damage of the rumor. But I had no answer that wouldn’t betray me, no words that felt safe. All I had was the desperate truth of my bewilderment, wrapped in the fear of his power.

“I… I don’t know, sir,” I finally choked out, my voice barely above a whisper, each syllable a struggle against the dryness in my throat. It was the only honest answer I could give, stripped bare of any pretense or defense.

His face contorted then, a visceral flicker of pure disgust washing over his features. His lips thinned, and his eyes, still locked with mine, narrowed to slits of cold fury. The contempt radiating from him was a physical force, pressing down on me, making me want to recoil.

“I bet you don’t,” he sneered, his voice dripping with an acid mockery that cut deeper than any shout. The words were a dismissal of my intelligence, my character, my very being. He wasn’t simply expressing disbelief; he was condemning me.

He straightened up, taking a small step back, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. “I’m going to be keeping a close eye on you from now on, Erickson.” The threat was unspoken, yet utterly clear. It wasn’t just about my conduct; it was about the shadow he now believed I cast, the stain he saw on my presence. Every mistake, every misstep, every moment of perceived weakness would be scrutinized, magnified, judged. My military career, my very life in the army, would be lived under his perpetual, suspicious gaze.

“You’re on latrine duty until further notice. Now you’re dismissed.”

The word, finally, came. Dismissed. It was a release, yet no freedom. I wanted to turn and flee, to sprint from that room and never look back. But the years of drill, the ingrained discipline, held me rigid. I brought my heels together with a sharp click, executed a precise salute, and held it as he watched, his face still etched with disdain.

“Sir!” I managed, the single word a breath of relief and a gulp of terror.

Then, slowly, carefully, I lowered my hand. I turned on my heel, a perfect military pivot, and walked toward the door. I didn’t dare run. I didn’t dare look back. I could feel his eyes on my back, burning into my uniform, into my skin, a constant, invisible weight. Each step was a deliberate act of will, forcing myself to maintain composure until I was out of his sight. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, the air outside the office felt thin, too bright, too loud. I stood in the corridor, drawing a shaky breath, the encounter playing back in my mind, a fresh wound carved into my soul. I was dismissed, yes, but the unspoken accusation, the captain’s contempt, and the promise of his relentless scrutiny would follow me like a shadow, a personal war fought far from any battlefield.

The barracks air, once merely stale, now felt oppressive, heavy with unspoken animosity. My new duties were a cruel joke—endless latrine scrubbing until my hands were raw, solitary guard shifts in the biting wind, night patrols where the only company was the gnawing cold and my own spiraling thoughts. They kept me isolated, as the higher-ups intended, but isolation breeds its own brand of malice. The other men, deprived of direct contact, fed on the whispers, transforming suspicion into certainty, and certainty into loathing.

It happened in the late hours, after lights out, when the thin walls of the barracks did little to muffle the sounds of men settling, or in my case, preparing. I was already in my bunk, feigning sleep, my ears straining for any tell-tale creak of floorboards, any unusual shift in the dormitory’s rhythm. The dread was a cold lump in my gut, a constant companion since Davies’ chilling dismissal. It wasn’t if they’d come, but when.

The first one was a muffled thud against my mattress, a clumsy, powerful shove that sent me sprawling to the floor. Before I could even register the shock, hands—many hands, strong and faceless in the gloom—were on me. They weren’t shouting, not at first. Just grunts and harsh breathing, the sickening wet sound of fists connecting with flesh. A knee slammed into my side, winding me, stealing the breath from my lungs. My head was snapped back by a rough hand seizing my hair, and then a blinding flash of pain as something hard, something metallic, perhaps a boot heel, connected with my temple.

I curled into myself, trying to protect my head, my ribs, my groin, but they were everywhere. Blows rained down, a relentless, punishing rhythm. My nose burst, hot blood gushing over my lips, salty and metallic. My vision swam, speckled with dizzying stars. I could hear whispers now, guttural and venomous, “Queer,” “Faggot,” “Freak.” Each word was a fresh bruise, deeper than any physical blow. They weren’t just beating me; they were purging, cleansing the barracks of what they believed I represented. I tasted iron and bile, and the rough wool of the blanket someone had pulled over my head, muffling my cries. I didn’t fight back, not really. What was the point? It was an onslaught, overwhelming and inevitable. I just focused on enduring, on making it stop, on retreating into the pain until I was nothing but a bruised, whimpering mass.

The next morning, every movement was agony. My ribs screamed with each shallow breath, my left eye was swollen shut, and my lip was split, crusty with dried blood. A throbbing ache radiated from my scalp, and my body felt like one giant, pulsing bruise. I forced myself to rise, to pull on my uniform with excruciating slowness, each buttoning a monumental effort. I knew I couldn’t report it. To whom? Captain Davies? That would only confirm their suspicions, prove I was weak, unable to handle “barracks life.”

I shuffled out for morning formation, trying to blend in, to disappear, but the careful avoidance of the other men, the averted gazes, the subtle sneers, told me my injuries were noticed. They were a badge, a brand.

Captain Davies, hawk-eyed as ever, stood before us, conducting roll call. His gaze swept over the ranks, sharp and analytical. As it reached me, it lingered. I kept my chin tucked, my eyes downcast, trying to make myself smaller, invisible. It was useless. His eyes, keen and unforgiving, missed nothing.

He paused, a deliberate beat of silence. I could feel the weight of his stare, an oppressive force. Then, a low, guttural sound escaped his throat. It wasn’t a cough, or a clearing of his throat. It was a single, dismissive sneer, thick with contempt. His lip curled, just barely, but enough to convey his utter disgust. His eyes narrowed, not with concern, but with a cold, almost triumphant satisfaction. It was the look of a man who saw his suspicions confirmed, not by proof, but by injury. He didn’t need to ask what had happened. He knew, and in his eyes, my battered face wasn’t a testament to the brutality of my fellow soldiers, but to my own inherent weakness. It was a confirmation of my unsuitability, my deviance, my failure to adhere to the “decorum” he so prized. He just held my gaze for a moment longer, letting his sneer linger, letting me absorb his silent judgment, then he moved on, calling out the next name, as if I were already forgotten, already dismissed, beneath his notice.

The constant beatings, the pervasive whispers, and the venomous sneer of Captain Davies had gnawed at me, stripping away not just my dignity, but my very sense of self. I was a phantom in the barracks, invisible to all but the fists and the contemptuous glances. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth: to be condemned for something I wasn’t, stripped bare by a rumor that had no basis in truth, yet felt more real than any official charge. I needed to fight back, to prove them wrong, but how? My options, suffocated by the army’s cold indifference, were few and desperate.

My gaze fell on Lars. Lars Lyons. He was the only one who hadn’t joined the silent chorus of condemnation, the only one who still offered a grim nod, a flicker of something akin to pity or perhaps just weary understanding. He was my last thread to sanity, my last hope.

I caught him after the evening mess, in the clamor of the barracks, pulling him aside into the dim space between two bunks. The smell of stale sweat and cheap disinfectant hung heavy in the air.

“Lars,” I rasped, my voice hoarse, still rough from the blows. My eye was still swollen, a grotesque purple bloom on my face. “I… I need your help.”

He looked at me, his eyes tired, but without the judgment I’d grown accustomed to seeing. “What is it, David?” His voice was low, cautious.

I swallowed, the words catching in my throat, each one a bitter pill. “I need to prove them wrong. All of them. The captain, the men… the rumors.” I felt a flush creep up my neck, even in my desperation. “I… I need you to take me to a brothel.”

Lars’s eyebrows shot up, a flicker of surprise in his weary eyes. He stared at me for a long moment, then glanced around the barrack, ensuring no one was close enough to overhear. “A brothel, David?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper, as if testing the word. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” I affirmed, my voice trembling with a raw desperation I couldn’t hide. “They think I’m a… a queer. A faggot. They think I’m not a man. I need to… to show them. To prove it. I need to sleep with a woman, Lars. A prostitute. It’s the only way I can think of to clear my name. To make them stop.” My gaze was pleading, desperate, utterly shorn of pride. It was a humiliating request, but the humiliation I lived with daily far outweighed any I felt asking this of him.

Lars ran a hand over his tired face, a sigh escaping his lips. He understood the unspoken threat, the relentless cruelty of the barracks. He understood what it meant to be an outcast, even if he didn’t grasp the full, intimate horror of my situation. He knew the army’s brutal logic: if you were different, you were broken. And a broken man was no good to anyone.

He looked at my bruised face, then at my pleading eyes. “Alright, David,” he finally said, his voice quiet, resigned. “I know a place. It’s… not pretty. But it’s discreet. I’ll take you.” He paused, his gaze softening, just slightly. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” I lied, my voice firm despite the tremor in my soul. I wasn’t sure. I was terrified. But this was my only option, my desperate gamble for redemption in a world that sought to condemn me.

Lars led me through the warren of dimly lit backstreets, the air thick with the smell of cheap liquor, stale sweat, and something cloyingly sweet, like fading perfume. Behind us, the other four men—Private Miller, Sergeant Jones, and two others I barely knew—followed in a tight, uneasy group. They were a necessary audience, their presence the key to dispelling the venomous whispers that had become my living hell. Their faces were grim, a mix of curiosity, discomfort, and perhaps a grudging understanding of the desperate theater we were about to enact.

The brothel was a shabby, nondescript building tucked away between a noisy pub and a deserted warehouse. Inside, it was even worse. The air was heavy, humid with the lingering scent of sex and despair. Overstuffed, worn velvet furniture lined the small parlor, and the light from a single, dusty chandelier cast long, distorted shadows. A madam, heavily rouged and with eyes that had seen too much, greeted us with a tired smile.

Lars did the talking, his voice low and gruff, explaining our “needs.” The madam’s gaze flickered to my bruised face, then to the tense, expectant faces of the other men. A flicker of understanding, perhaps even pity, crossed her features. She nodded, then gestured to a young woman, her hair a riot of dark curls, her dress a splash of vibrant red against the gloom. Her eyes were tired but held a spark of knowing resilience.

“This is Marie,” the madam said, her voice raspy. “She’ll take care of… all of you.” Her gaze settled on me. “One at a time, of course.”

My throat was dry, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. This was it. The moment of my strange, coerced redemption. I followed Marie up a creaking staircase, the others trailing behind us like a morbid procession. The room was small, barely larger than my bunk in the barracks, furnished with little more than a narrow bed, a chipped basin, and a rickety wooden chair. A single, grimy window looked out onto a brick wall.

Marie turned to me, her expression unreadable. “You’re first, soldier?” she asked, her voice low, a faint lilt to her accent.

I nodded, unable to speak. The other men stood just outside the open door, close enough to hear, to know. I could feel their collective gaze, a pressure more intense than any physical blow. This wasn’t about pleasure; it was about performance, about proving myself to them.

Marie, sensing my discomfort, simply gestured to the bed. Her movements were practiced, weary. She began to unbutton her dress, her eyes never quite meeting mine, as if she, too, understood the grim nature of this transaction. My hands, cold and fumbling, went to the buttons of my uniform. I climbed onto the bed, the mattress lumpy and smelling faintly of mildew and cheap perfume. The light from the single bulb cast a harsh glow, illuminating every imperfection, every shadow.

Marie lay down beside me, her body warm against mine. She was efficient, professional, guiding my trembling hands, initiating the practiced motions. I tried to focus, to perform, but my mind was a jumble of fear and desperation. I could hear the shuffling outside the door, the low, expectant cough from Sergeant Jones. Every thrust, every gasp, was for them. It was for the men outside, for Captain Davies, for the ghost of the rumor that clung to me. It was raw, uncomfortable, devoid of tenderness, a desperate, public act of forced heterosexuality. I focused on the sounds, on the grunts and soft moans, making sure they were loud enough to carry, clear enough to register. The climax, when it came, was not one of pleasure, but of a strange, empty relief, a release of pressure more than desire. It was done.

Word, as always, traveled fast in the army, especially the juicy kind. It didn’t take long for the tale of David Erickson’s brothel visit, complete with eyewitness accounts of his vigorous “performance,” to spread through the barracks. The whispers, the averted gazes, the subtle sneers—they began to fade. The beatings stopped. The unspoken questions in the eyes of my fellow soldiers were replaced with something akin to a rough, grudging respect. I was no longer the “queer.” I was just another soldier who’d visited a whorehouse, like so many others. I was, in their eyes, normal.

A week later, I was back on regular duty, no longer relegated to the solitary, degrading tasks. I was marching in formation, eating at the mess, sharing the mundane complaints and grim jokes of the common soldier. The relief was a vast, silent ocean washing over me.

Then, Captain Davies called me into his office again. My stomach tightened, a familiar clench of dread, but this time, it was laced with a sliver of cautious hope.

I saluted, bracing myself for the cold stare, the sneer. But it didn’t come. Davies was seated at his desk, as usual, but his posture was different, less rigid. He looked up, and a flicker of something almost like… approval crossed his face.

“Erickson,” he said, and this time his voice held no accusation, no disdain. It was gruff, perhaps, but neutral. “I’ve heard… things. Reports. About your recent… activities.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze direct, but lacking the chilling intensity it once held. “It seems you’ve put a stop to the rumors, Private.” There was a hint of satisfaction in his tone, a grudging acknowledgment. “Good. We can’t have distractions, can we? Not when there’s a war to be fought.”

He paused, then nodded, a brief, almost imperceptible gesture. “Carry on, Erickson. And keep your nose clean.”

It wasn’t an apology, or even a direct compliment, but it was everything. It was a dismissal of the past, an acceptance of my present. His eyes, once full of suspicion and contempt, now held a cool, professional respect. The silent, suffocating judgment was gone. The weight I had carried for weeks, months, lifted. I saluted, a genuine snap in my wrist this time, a quiet victory blooming in my chest.

“Yes, sir!” I replied, my voice clear and steady.

I turned and walked out of his office, the door closing softly behind me, and for the first time in a long time, the air didn’t feel heavy. The barracks, the army, the world itself, felt different. I had paid a price, a deeply personal and humiliating one, but I had bought my freedom, my normalcy, in the brutal, unforgiving currency of the military.

The war ended, not with a bang for David Erickson, but with a quiet, official rustle of papers. I received my honorable discharge, a crisp, formal document that signified my duty served, my debt paid. It was a piece of paper meant to signify freedom, a return to normalcy. I folded it carefully, tucked it away, and stepped back into a world that had moved on, seemingly oblivious to the battles I’d fought within myself.

I went home, back to the familiar streets, the faces of family and friends who greeted me with hugs and cheers for the returning hero. I smiled, I nodded, and I accepted their congratulations. I spoke of the camaraderie, the harsh realities of combat, the relief of victory. But one chapter of my service, one particularly searing memory, remained sealed behind my lips. I never again spoke of the humiliating exam I was subjected to in that sterile, cold office. The medic, the stirrups, the impersonal device, the invasive probing—it was a memory too raw, too deeply personal, too steeped in shame to ever be uttered aloud. It was a secret I carried, heavy and unyielding, beneath the veneer of my returned life.

Yet, silence did not mean absence. Not a single day went by where I didn’t think of the indignity the army subjected me to. It wasn’t a constant, screaming pain, but a pervasive ache, a phantom limb of humiliation that throbbed just beneath the surface of my consciousness.

It would manifest in quiet moments: a sudden chill when a doctor’s casual touch lingered too long, a flash of defensive anger if I felt his privacy was encroached upon, an inexplicable discomfort in crowded locker rooms. I would see a headline about civil liberties, or hear a whisper about someone’s private life, and the memory would surface, sharp and vivid, a silent film replaying behind my eyes. I’d recall the cold metal, the clinical gaze, the utter stripping away of my personhood. It was a wound that refused to heal, festering quietly, shaping my reactions, my guardedness, my deep-seated distrust of authority that sought to control not just action, but identity.

I married, raised a family, built a life that on the surface was unremarkable in its quiet contentment. But the shadow of that day in 1944 stretched long, extending into every corner of my existence. It was the unspoken understanding of what it meant to be truly vulnerable, to be judged not for deeds, but for whispers, and to endure a violation that left no visible scar, but an indelible mark on my soul. I had earned my honorable discharge, but the army had left me with an invisible wound, a constant, private reminder of a dignity stolen, never quite retrieved.

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He had dominated the entire university not even a full month after the classes had begun. It was unbearable having to hear about the guy in every chat, everywhere, all the time.

‘Who’s this Rodrigo, really?’ I asked my friends, who always answered with a great deal of discomfort and a hint of jealously.

‘Looks like he’s Oliveira’s ‘pupil.”

I remember quite well the funny looks they gave each other, as well as their surprised expression when asking me:

‘Man… you don’t know the guy?’

‘No. That’s why I’m asking.’

‘He’s, like, fucking all the pussies in campus.’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘Fucking all the pussies?’

‘Yeah, dude. All of them! Marcela, Clara, Joana… all of them were fucked by him.’

I stopped listening after ‘Joana.’ No. That couldn’t be!

‘What Joana?’ I asked, anger brewing inside me. ‘My Joana?’

The guys looked at each other one last time and, with sorrowful faces, replied:

‘Yeah, dude. Look… I’m sorry.’

That couldn’t stay like that!

I had the distinction of being of the campus’s best studs, and few males of my caliber would be cool when a rival appeared in my midst.

Joana, after all, was my girl. Well, my ex, but till one of my biggest, hardest conquests: an extremely tall, Nordic blonde with incredible breasts, thick, hard legs, a spectacular rear, and a face sculpted by the gods themselves; a prize only the most expert and daring men could claim.

And I, after all, was one of those men —the only one, in fact, who had ever conquered her heart, and that only after lots of effort, strategy, and planning.

The more I got to know that dude, the more incredible, truly unbelievable things seemed to be.

‘Wait, wait. You’re saying that the dude snatched Joana in a single night??’

‘Yes, dude. He met her, he fucked her.’

I just couldn’t believe those words:

‘He fucked her the same day he met her??’

‘Yep. Impressive, huh?’

I had needed months for Joana to fall into my trap. There was something really fishy about that whole story.

‘What are you thinking about, my love?’ A sweet, somewhat-deep voice awakened me from my deep thoughts. I looked down and saw Amanda, my third lover for the week.

I didn’t play any games and cut straight to the chase:

‘Ha anyone talked about this Rodrigo guy?’

And her reaction made it very clear that, yes, she indeed had heard of him:

‘Ow, yes! He’s sooo hot!’

‘Mmm!’

‘Don’t you tell me you’re jealous.’

‘Well, honey, you know me.’

‘Oow…!’

I grabbed her hard and rolled over her body on the bed:

‘A man must protect his territory.’

‘Oow, oow…’

‘Have you slept with him?’

Her eyes beamed with apprehension, even a bit of shock, before she finally answered:

‘I-I… I-I… I really want to.’ Her hands ran along my ample, hard, muscular chest, and her finger played with her perfect blond hairs. ‘He’s really hot.’

‘You’ve got a hot man right here, in your hands.’ I said, without the slightest trace of humility in my voice, for I knew very well I earned my arrogance.

She smiled and tried to avoid the question:

‘Are you really this jealous, huh, stud?’

I fondled her hair, smiling with my perfect teeth, my square jaw, and prominent cheekbones, showing her the extremely thick and veiny biceps of my ripped arm —the biceps of a man who maxed all the reps in gym.

‘I gotta check on my competition.’

‘Oooh… aaahee…’ She bit her lips and lost herself in my body, spreading her legs wide open for me to ram her with my aboltely humungous…

‘Oow, oow!! Hone-eey!!’

‘Mmm?’

She yelped in pain, looking me with even greater desire:

‘Be careful with your monster.’

‘Oh, yes.’ I moved my prick inside her. ‘I’m touching your cervix, ain’t I?’

She nodded, smiling with intense lut:

‘You know you are, you dog.’

‘Mmm.’

‘You… ooh, god, how big. Ahee, aahee, stop…’

She was visibly exhausted; her body completely covered in sweat, her well-trained muscle shivering, completely hard, and her whole face dripping with sweat after the two hours of fucking he had undergone —which was still barely half my full power.

‘This pussy’s too juicy for me not to enjoy it.’

‘Aaahee… my god!’

I grabbed her body, squeezing her immense, titanic tits against my iron chest, and then I drowned her in a soul-tearing kiss, stealing away even her thoughts along with all the air in her lungs.

‘My… god!!’ She shivered, tightening her cunt in my obscene tool. ‘You don’t top, my god!!’

At that moment, the Rodrigo guy was forgotten, for I was again the absolute god of that bed.

With my absolutely enviable cock, I proceeded to wrecking that girl for half-an-hour more, claiming from her orgasms and more orgasms until the entire building was hearing her delirious screams and my powerful noises.

The bed where we were fucking was a bit lousy. Craaarrsh!! After three hours of coitus, it broke in half… yet still, with the bed and the mattress on the floor, I kept fucking her.

‘Aaahee…!! Aaahee…!!!’ Her screams were becoming more and more desperate. ‘Aahee, my god…!! My… my god…!!’ Her eyes widened, almost jumping from her socket, as she finally screamed for all the neighbors to hear.

I simply smiled and kept fucking, finally feeling the first beads of sweat surging in her body.

After four hours, I was still fucking her. Her screams only weren’t weaker because, after all, all the energy in her body had gone away.

She turned her head side-to-side, as if looking for escape routes, and then she squinted her eyes, as if trying to simply withstand the barrage of orgasms I was unleashing in her body.

‘Huge…!! AAAHEE!!’ She babbled and screamed. ‘YOU’RE SO FUCKING HUGE, DAAAMN IT!!!’

‘Filthy little mouth, my whore.’

‘AAAAHH…!!!’

I kissed her and squeezed her breasts, all while I kept railing her cunt for twenty minutes, thrusting three or four times a second.

I felt her cunt juices blasting on my abs. My muscles were wholly drenched by her incontinent orgasms, like jets bursting from a water machine gun.

At that point, she was beyond words; she could only roll her eyes and murmur, with her chin shivering:

‘G-g-god… y-you… aaahee!!’

I extracted more and more orgasms out of her with ease, asking myself, in the back of my mind, how any man could be better than that.

Rising once again over my body, with my knees on the mattress, grabbing her by her thick, long, muscular legs, I ravished her cunt more and more times, seeing her body moving up and down on the mattress, her two enormous tits swinging loudly.

‘Aaaheee…!!!’ She alternated faint yelps with louds gushes from her cunt. ‘OO-AAAHEE!!!’

Her orgasms were so powerful her squirts were reaching my pecs.

I had given that mare some fifty orgasms, and still she begged for more —unable to faint, yes, but also unable to handle that power for much longer.

‘M-m-my g-g-god… aaheee… ooohh!!’ She looked to the clock. ‘It’s 2a.m., fuuuuck!!’

Yes. I started fucking her around 10p.m. and, save a little chat here and there, we hadn’t stopped.

I was wrecking that cunt like no man would ever wreck her. «I doubt this Rodrigo can… uuurh!!… do better than this!»

My woman’s clit was practically torn out from her as I kept stimulating her with my cock’s thick veins.

Oh, whoever that Rodrigo was, one thing I could be certain of: there was no way he was any harder, longer, or thicker than I was!

‘AAAAHEEE…!!!’ My woman did her best to try and rip my prick from my waist, hardening her pussy labia, but my cock was unyieldingly hard.

She couldn’t resist the power and the puissance of my anaconda: from my balls to my helmet, I measure nothing less than twelve inches.

‘Why don’t you cum some more, my mare?’

‘OOOORRHH!!!’ Two jets burst from her cunt, and her breasts hardened mightily, like bowling balls, looking like two giant flexed muscles. ‘OOOORHH!!!’ Spliiirsh, spliiiirshh!! More two jet sprouted from her cunt, hitting my ripped body’s eight abs muscle and falling into the enormous puddle that had been formed on the floor—for the bed didn’t stop dripping with her pleasure juices.

‘OOAARRHH!!!’ That heavy, ripped, giant woman writhed as I squeezed her tits with one hand and my finger in her ass, fucking her relentlessly a her orgasms seemed to just pile on into infinity. ‘GOD!!! GOD!!!’

Her pussy exploded in three ferocious jets of female nectar while her breasts, stimulated by my hand, squirted two jets of milk, making her shake and contort like a madwoman or an animal suffering from severe electric spasms.

And that was exactly what she was suffering: multiple electric discharge from my prick; multiple, hyper concentrated orgasms in short slivers of time, reaching up to three, four, or five explosions of pleasure in a mere second.

The temptation of ramming my whole prick in her cunt was too big; if I did so, however, I’d kill her.

‘OOOAARHH!! AAARRHH!!!’

While my mare screamed and writhed on my prick, I lamented the fact I could never fully satiate it on a female.

Few of them, after all, could take my 12-inch monster in its entirety —and the rare ones who could take its length certainly couldn’t handle its width.

For my prick was not only huge, as it was thick; so thick, in fact, that a single hand wasn’t able to grab it in full, for its girth was superior to a soda bottle.

‘I want more orgasms from you.’

‘Ooooh, ooooh, ooooh…!!!’ She smiled while she moaned, completely lost in paradise, feeling how I was a guy who could demand (and take) orgasm from her body with simple command. ‘Aaahee, aaahee… AAAAHHH!!!’

Her cunt hardened and violently expelled jets and yet more jets of orgasm against my waist. I literally counted the seconds for those multiple orgasms, all accompanied by copious cunt-squirts, were over.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four seconds… fuck!

The girl spent five uninterrupted second cumming and squirting in my prick! After that, I don’t even know how she withstood my body over hers.

She latched on my muscles like a castaway holding on to the pieces of the ship at sea —but she didn’t know that would only increase her agony, for the pain of her nails piercing my back only made me harder, giving my thursts yet even more power.

I turned her cunt into meat mush.

Eventually, I started lifting her with me, pressing her against the wall. My fucking became so intense I could no longer just stay laid down, fucking her on the mattress.

‘AAAHEE, AAAHH, AAAAHH!!!’

Her pussy ejaculated several times, jets and yet more jets of liquid orgasm on my wait, dripping loudly on the floor, building puddles around my feet and my incredibly thick legs.

The way I fucked that cheap whore against the wood, it’s was possible I would tear a hole into the other room on the wall. The whole bedroom literally trembled as I fucked. Dust fell from the ceiling, and the plaques of wood behind her back cracked and ceded, barely withstanding the pressure of my continuous brutal thrusts on her cunt.

‘AAAAHEE…!!! AAAAAHHH…!!!’

Her pussy rained as I gave my best to make her pass out.

‘AAAHEE, AAAAHEE, AAAARRH…!!!’

I felt my partner’s body trembled while more and more buckets of her spunk bathed my ab. The droplets fell fat and loud on my feet, bathing all my waist and legs, while my woman convulsed and finally fainted on my arms.

I saw her eyes lose their color and her body grow cold; he had gone into a comma.

‘Oooorrhh!!’ I houted. ‘Roooaarr!!’ I roared.

My gigantic balls tightened, sending tons of spunk up ot that bitche’s womb.

Boom, boom, boom!! I felt my prick, like an engine, unloading all my milk on the condom, which would get even tighter against her cunt.

There barely was a condom large enough for me, and the one I was wearing —the biggest in the market— barely covered 70% of her cock.

‘Uuurhh!! Uuuurrh!!’ I roared and crushed my nymph’s body even harder against the wall, unloading in her what felt like gallons and more gallons of spunk, making my condom well like a balloon inside her.

My sack was enormous. Not only did I have a horse-sized cock on my muscular white body, but my jewels too complemented thi equine endowment perfectly.

‘Holy fucking shiiit!’ Many women, including that one in my arms, screamed with horniness when witnessing the gigantic dimensions of my genitalia. ‘Your balls… my god!! They’re as large as apples!’

And in fact they were. Only large testicles, in fact, could nut such obscene load of spunk like that.

‘Aaaaheem…!!’ Even unconscious, my women writhed more and more as she felt her cunt getting so desperately tighter. ‘Aaaaahh…!!’

My condom was swelling so much my semen was warming up her cervix and filling up her womb. Little by little, I withdrew my prick, which still pumped and ejaculated those bovine loads of semen.

‘Uuuurhh!!’ I flexed my muscles, comforting and massaging the woman latched onto my body.

My orgasms could be unreasonably long: the shortest one lasted ten seconds, while the most generous ones reached up to a full minute!

‘Uuuurrh!! Uuurrh!!!’

Slowly, I laid her body on the bed, still cumming inside her.

Some thirty seconds had already passed since I started nutting, but my body was still shaken by the heat and the electric cum discharges, and my cock still pumped my seed into that condom.

As soon as I withdrew my cock from her, the pent-up liquids in her cunt all blasted out: squiiish!! Squiiiishh!!

‘Uuuurrhh!!’ Her pleasure juices reached my face! ‘Coming a lot, are we?’

‘Ooorrimm, ooorrmm!!’ She contorted, completely drunken on the bed. ‘Aaaairrmm, aaairrm…!!’

Forty seconds later, my prick was still nutting. I felt my condom pressing against her womb, maybe twice as wide as my cock’ girth.

Fifty seconds later and my cock was still unloading seed! With a hand on the back of my legs, I held one of my balls and massaged it.

I couldn’t only grab a single ball with my whole hand. It would be uncomfortable grabbing both, for they were so huge a single palm couldn’t contain any of them.

I massaged my balls one by one, feeling the broth running inside them, their sperm ducts throbbing and contracting like arteries, sending jets and more jet of that life juice into the condom.

No wonder everyone on campus knew me as “breeding bull;” the amount of semen I carried in my balls was simply unreasonable.

‘Uuuurrhh!!’ I closed my eyes and contorted my face, finally facing the last (and biggest) of those orgasms. ‘Oooaarhh!!’

My woman writhed even harder, for the condom became even larger with the final loads I shot through my urethra.

Though she had fainted, my girls still fought constantly against her own nerves to wake up, opening up an eye here and there, very curious to witness the obscene load I had come.

It was also a prize for me, in fact, to observe the state of my condom after every one of my orgasms.

Still roaring and writhing mightily, I withdrew my prick from that tightened cunt.

‘Holy fucking shit.’ I took a deep breath and puffed. ‘I came a whole liter in you, whore.’

‘Aaaheem… aaaheem…!!’

PAAAF!!! I gave that ass a strong slap, marking it with my palm! My mare writhed and screamed, smiling, while I extracted my titanic prong from her.

‘AAAHEEM…!!’ She screamed, really experiencing incredible pain as well as pleasure. ‘Caaareful… aaahee!! S-slooow!! Aaaaheem!!’

“Slow!” Ha, good one! I had fucked that cunt like a literal wild stallion and now she decided to get all delicate and fancy?? Ha, ha, yeah, right.

Women can be such pussies sometimes, huh!

‘We’re almost theeeere!

‘Aaaaaheem!!!’ He looked back and bit one of her lips, very hornily. ‘Let me see how much you came!’

The tip of the inflated condom was always the most difficult part to withdraw, for it became larger than a balloon. My woman certainly felt her cunt open up and stretch out insanely, to the point of her almost thinking she was being torn off in half, for the load in that plastic really surpassed that of five horses.

‘Oooaarhh!!!’

My muscles flexed and I smiled with incredible pleasure and power, seeing how my sack was able to nut the same as fifteen men.

‘Uuuurrhh!!!’ Her womb would get wholly impregnated by my seed —all her eggs perfectly fecundated!— if I came all that load inside my bitches. ‘Uuuurrhh!!’

‘Aaaaaheem!!’

After one last scream from my partner, I finally extracted my balloon-condom from her. Schluupp!! The noise was loud and coarse, like the smacking of lips mixed in with an explosion, and the load of lube that burst out of my woman thereafter was equally frightening.

‘Oooorrhh!!!’ I roared, feeling that prick weight with that cum balloon attached to it, as well as extremely aroused by the waterfall of lubes that burst out of my girl’s cunt.

‘Aaaaheem!!’ She writhed, trying all the time to lift her head up and see… ‘My… my…!’ The real volume of my nut juices. ‘My god!!’

A balloon as large as ten tennis balls had formed in my condom, which was so heavy it pulled my whole dick down, leaving it at a straight angle in relation to my waist.

‘M-m-my… m-m-myyy…’ My woman licked her lips while her eyes glittered. ‘My god!!’

No doubt I was a god.

‘I came over a liter, bitch.’

Something like a lightning bolt ran down her body, suddenly shaking from head to toe and falling flat, unconscious once again over the bed, now passed out for goof.

The pleasure of witnessing my sheer masculinity was so great that the bitch fainted a second time. I smiled and laughed, amazed by my own power.

‘Fuck!’ I held my gigantic cock and shook it, seeing my immense, heavy sack swinging with it. ‘I’m a fucking beast!’

My gigantic body heated up and throbbed, as if my muscles were instantaneously recovering their power after that intense fucking and cumming.

My biceps hardened, covered by thick veins, and my pecs throbbed just like my hyper-ripped eight-pack abs became even more shredded, taken by pure male power.

‘Uuurrh!! Uuurrh!!’

My legs too swelled, my thigh muscles growing and throbbing uncontrollably, as if being charged by the immense energy that sprawled from my genitalia.

Once in a while, I myself felt scared by the monster jewels I carried there, between those massive thighs. I knew I was the biggest, longest, heaviest, and thickest any woman has ever had, and this very knowledge scared me sometimes.

‘Fucking horse cock!’ I grabbed my prick with both hands. ‘Who does this Rodrigo think he is?’

I squeezed the prick, which remained rock-hard. While some men need to take Viagra to get hard, I required some sort of medicine too get soft.

It could be embarrassing, indeed, to remain with my huge, hard prick for hours and hours, never knowing when it would finally give in.

Even after fours hours of fucking, I remained so hard that my prick burned and ached in my waist; it’s as if my prick was too large for my own body —and I was already an incredibly massive dude!

‘Aaarh, fucking bull prick! Fucking monster cock I have between my legs!’ I grabbed my condom and, very delicately, I tried to undo it.

I needed a lot of time and incredible tact to take that plastic out of my prick; it was so heavy, so full and concentrated that the slightest mishap would blow up cum everywhere.

I roared and hardened my muscles, feeling how my prick still throbbed, getting harder and harder, ready to fuck again!

‘Wait just a little while. Soon, I’ll have more fresh cunt for you!’

When I finally got that plastic out… PLAAAFF!! The prick immediately jumped up and hit my abs, sprinkling my body with spunk.

‘Hoooly fucking shit!’

Some men, when they’re hard, get a straight angle between their prick and their waist; the more potent ones get a prick about 45 degrees over their waits.

Very well, very well: my prick was so hard that it simply pressed itself against my belly, forcing my abs inward with its tremendous strength.

‘Aaarrh!!’ I held that prick with a hand, trying to move it down, but it’s strength was almost hydraulic. I really needed to, more than ever, a second pussy in which to unload all that excess masculinity. ‘Fucking damn it!’

In my other hand I held my condom, a true balloon holding a liter of the world’s thickest jizz inside. My arm muscles hardened just by holding that obscene load

This full litter of cum must have been weighting about four pounds!

‘Uuuurh!! Whore!!’ I tied a knot on the condom while my woman writhed on the bed. Putting on some light clothes on my obscenely ripped, bodybuilding frame, I approached the bed and gave her sleepy body a gentle kiss. ‘See you around, kiddo.’

‘Aaarrh-aaarrheem…’ She cried out something, and I, all baggy and sweaty, with my muscles almost tearing up the tight, light cloth of my clothes, I left the apartment to my car, carrying the “cum balloon” all the way out.

The loads I ejaculated were so great it made no one to throw the condom on the toilet, as it would easily get clogged.

The trash bin was also no good, for it was so much spunk that a dishonest  bitch could easily pop the balloon, grab a clean load with her hand and fecundate herself with my ample seed.

No. The only way to safely dispose of that sack of spunk was driving to the city’s river and throwing the condom on its waters —an egregious act of pollution, indeed, but much better than risking impregnating a worthless bitch.

«Arriving in 15 minutes.» I typed on the cellphone while driving. «I hope you’re prepared.»

Frankly, I never scheduled an appointment with the girls I saw or fucked during the weekend; sex with me could last o long it was better for them to simply remain available all day long until I called them.

When I finally drove to their house, all I needed was to send a message demanding them to get ready and, lo and behold, they welcomed me with their wonderful bodies squeezed into outrageously tight and sexy outfits.

They were always ready for me —always ready and thirsty.

Women, after all, can have many annoying little rules, but with me all these rules were thrown out the window just as easily as I threw that sperm balloon out on the river.

Maria, however, took some time to reply. That was really unusual.

As unpredictable and unstable that women usually are, with me they were always a Swiss clock: I messaged them, and within five minutes they replied, even if just with a little heart.

Maria, however, didn’t reply even as I got to her apartment, ready to finally sooth my raging cock with a few more hours of rough fucking.

«I’m at your house, baby. I’m coming in.»

I wanted on the lobby, however, until my girls sent me a quick and careless reply:

«Hi, hon!» She answered with several sad emojis. «Sorry, babe! I can’t see you!»

My eyes widened. «What do you mean??»

That was literally the first time a woman ever told me ‘no.’ That a woman told my dick ‘no!’

I though about pressing for more answers, but soon she kept sending me hasty texts like:

«I’m busy. Super urgent, baby. Sorry, love. We meet another time.»

Gotta confess that was a major annoyance. I was the one who treated my partners with carelessness, not the other way around.

Alright, all cool. Marta and Maria weren’t the only girls I had ‘reserved’ just for occasions like those.

«Dani, I’m arriving.» I wrote my third bitch. «Thirty minutes. Be ready for me.»

And just like that, I received a joyful reply less than two minutes later, with the girls basically melting on the keyboard, filled with desire for my cock:

«Counting the seconds, my horse.»

Smiling, I ignored Maria’s snub and drove all my way to Danielle’s, whose cunt I ravished, whose mouth I fucked, whose ass I devoured, and whose sense I blasted with multiple orgasm atop multiple orgasms for three consecutive hours —well enough for my cock to finally deflate.

* * * * * *

The weekend had been a triumph, yet I couldn’t be happy.

‘What do you mean, you were fucking Rodrigo?’ I couldn’t hide my shock once I went to get some answers from Maria, who replied with a mix of shame and neglect, and also a bit of revolt:

‘Well, I suppose you don’t mind, do you?’ She looked at me from head to toe, giving me a haughty smile. ‘You’re always so full of options, aren’t you?’

I tried my best to remain charming, but my voice was heavy with unmistaken authoritarianism:

‘That’s not what I asked.’

She stepped back, smiling with irony.

‘Wow. Well, well! You’re really obsessed with the guy, aren’t you?’

I lowered my head and my shoulders discreetly.

‘Not ‘obsessed.”

‘Uh-uh.’

‘But a man must scan through his competition, isn’t it?’

‘Oow, my love.’ She blinked, all naughty. ‘If a man is worried about his competition, he knows he’s not the clear winner. What insecurity is that, huh?’ And she grabbed, then, the formidable tool in my pants. ‘Are you afraid of losing your Alpha-male post here in town, are you?’

My heart beat more quickly —and I didn’t know if of anger or fear.

Looking deep into her caramel eye, I asked:

‘Is he better than me?’

And her eyes rolled, almost sinking in her skull.

‘Wow, I… well, he… wow. Fucking wow!’ She kept trying to answer, very foolishly, without even paying attention to me anymore. ‘I mean, I…’

I crossed my arms.

‘You can tell me straight.’

A part of me knew what she was going to answer, but another part simply didn’t’ believe —or refused to believe— that could be possible.

Finally, almost as if trying to avoid the conversation, she looked down and answered:

‘You’re an incredible male.’

”But.” I pressed on, and her face was almost frozen in a fearful expression.

‘B-but… wow, I never thought I was going to say that, but… wow: he’s much better than you.’

My heart sank. My cock, weirdly enough, throbbed with sexual tension.

”Much better?”

I saw the way she bobbled her head and shook her whole body. Just by remembering what the guy had done to her the whole weekend, she was excited, getting in heat, dangerously close to another orgasm.

‘He… he… oh, my god…’ Her eyes shone very brightly, almost tearing up. ‘I always thought you were a god in the bed… until I met this guy! Oow, Rodrigo! What a god, what… what a god!’

My heart beat very fast, and I almost laughed, thinking that could only be a prank.

‘How can any guy be better than me?’

And she then trying to answer, but failed to find the right words to describe my rival.

Her nipples were hard and her whole body seemed to throb with the heat waves bursting from her waist.

I felt her sweet, fresh, juicy aroma, and knew that gorgeous female was in heat.

Grabbing one of her breasts, I squeezed it.

‘Aaaahee!!’ And my woman jittered, walking back with fear.

‘Tell me: how can this guy be better… than me?’ And I showed her all my body, which was all hard and hot, ready for some ferocious fucking.

Our conversation was over. She couldn’t answer me anything else, and I couldn’t pay attention to her or anybody until settling my score with that new Alpha male in my turf.

Indeed, I was determined to meet him and finally see, once and for all, who I was dealing with.

«Absurd!» I thought, really furious with the fact that there really was a man more powerful than I in that town —or in the whole world!

After all, how the fuck could a man be any better? That was something I always though impossible!

With my 6.3ft-tall body, I’m massively bigger and more powerful than any male I’ve ever met —especially considering my 300-pound of pure muscle weight.

Before a mirror, every time I left a warm bath or cleaned myself after hosing one or two or three bitches with my seed, I checked out my unbelievably ripped and muscular body, with no less than eight muscles in my abs, humungous arms, legs as thick as tree trunks, and a horse cock in my waist, I really wondered what man in this planet could ever surpass me.

«This guy…!» I muttered behind gritted teeth, «he can’t be real!»

And the women I left moaning and crying on the bed turned to me and asked for an encore:

‘Come back, Renato! We want you diiiick!’

And my dick remained rock-hard, yes, for only an ungodly amount of pussy was able to sooth it.

‘Wait.’ I replied coarsely, making them drip and cum with my thundering voice.

With all this success, what man could possibly surpass me??

Worse still: how could this man steal my women?

In little time, I would discover it —and I would settle my score with this guy once and for all.

* * * * * *

The guy, however, was surprisingly hard to find. «A lot of work,» many people told me. «This man doesn’t fool around.»

No wonder. He was a genius entrepreneur who made it big since he was fifteen years-old.

«The guy is rich, well-connected, a genius in sports, and better in a bed than I was?» I thought, trying to hide my nervous smile. «How is that possible?»

And then I saw, getting close to the arena, the target of all my obsessions and core of all my fears.

The male’s steps were heard all throughout the gym. The other fighters, seeing him get close, immediately walked back and lowered their heads, asking how the fuck couldn’t they ever defeat a guy like that in a fair fight.

Walking towards the octagon, therefore, we saw that impressive masculine specimen getting ready for the fight, which for him must have been nothing more than a big child’s play.

And as soon as I laid my eyes on him, all my doubts disappeared and all my worst fears were confirmed.

Rodrigo was a giant —and one of the most spectacularly beautiful men I’ve ever laid my eyes upon!

Benjamin Suthers in the past was a prime athlete. A part of one of the best youth teams before playing professionally for 2 years. Ben was a defender in soccer. One of the best with one of the best goal keepers. On the rare chance, usually when he was sick, he let a ball go near the goal his best friend Kiefer would save no matter what.

Before they made it big and well before now there was a locker room conversation. His circle tight knit and they do all the things young men with plausible bisexual deniability do. For Ben that kind of thing… it was the beginning of the end.

Kiefer didn’t need to stand on anything to dwarf people he was easily 6’7 people often told him wrong sport. Kiefer complaining about a missing sock even tho he just took them off.

Just with an oi he commanded his friends. They all leaned in for he had a secret to tell them. He called it “the secret to a big dick.” Simply put it’s all a mindset. They all leaned back unsure.

“You just need to believe your dick is big and it will be big. From when I hit puberty i just willed it to be as big as it is.”

“Okay but we are like grown ass adults I feel like we missed the boat.” Donald says.

“Oh contraire, you see over the last year even being almost 20 I’ve grown at least 5 cm. Yeah I know it’s not an inch but it’s something right?”

Ben barked a laugh. “Yeah I’m big enough I think I’ll be fine a few centimetres won’t matter to me.”

“Let’s all measure here are some sharpies and seamstress tape measures.”

Each of them dropped their pants got hard, again plausible deniability, a little too fast.

Emilio and some of the other guys were a humble low 6 inches. Donald was larger and Ben stunned everyone a perfect 8 inches. No more or less. It was a grower and still almost as large soft as Emilio was hard. But Kiefer waited. His sturdy cock dropped like timber in Canada from his zipper. 8.2 inches.

Ben’s gut dropped how could someone be bigger than him. They guys started to have a laugh and jokingly worship him. “Thank god I actually knew you were big Benny but you’re smaller than me.” He rubbed Ben shoulder. Ben looked down despite the fact he was only 2nd his chest ignited in anger and his hands shook then he looked down. He almost saw his dick slightly shrink one centimetre. Maybe he was imagining things.

Ben and Kiefer carpooled in those days. The topic was light. Kiefer voice anxiety if they both don’t get picked for the national team. “Benben, you’re my other half in soccer, these other guys make me work but not you. You’re my right hand man. My side kick.”

Just a side kick Ben thinks. Second to you like always.

As Ben gets out he stopped him. “I saw your dick shrink a little be careful it’s a mindset.”

Ben smiled. “haha I’ll try.”

But he fucking noticed it? It was real. He kept the tape measure on him and rushed to his bathroom getting as hard as humanly possible. But it wasn’t quite reaching. 202 millimetres? That’s not quite 8 inches it’s not quite the black sharpie mark. He threw it on his bed. It’s all a mindset. But the next is when the cement set.

He had a twink all ready to fuck. Begging for cock after worshiping Ben’s feet. But he was a little soft. Still big but simply tofu.

“Get hard for me Ben I want your jock cock.”

Finally it was growing into something harder and he slowly started to pump inserting his half hard cock in the twink.

The twink fell back his body twitching. “Finger me so good babe. Im so ready for your cock.”

He felt a swell within him like a bell tolling in the back of his head. He knew he just lost another centimetre. He is getting smaller more pathetic he thinks and with he blew his load. The twink open his eyes confused and looks down and laughs. “Oh shit sorry.”

—————————

But that was a downward spiral. He made it pro with Kiefer but met a good man and chose love over career. Kiefer went on to be a national level player. Ben after the incident with the twink kept a diary of his cock sizes. Over the 5 years since the spiral his dick is now 6 on the dot. Thankfully it halted when he got his boyfriend. Alex was around the same size but much smaller. Alex was a rising star until he tore his ACL at 19; Bad enough he was never the same.

If that was the cause then this is the effect of the downward spiral.

The pair were in the kitchen a rainy day off. Sharing a whisk as a makeshift microphone. Nothing was even cooking they had the idea but started singing and dancing. Alex gave Ben a soft nose kiss. “I think I wanna go vegan!” He says.

Ben snorts. “I don’t want to yuck your yum but you famously have rare steaks and need them bloody?”

“Well yeah it’s not a forever thing! I just want to spend a few months just doing something new!”

Ben looks into the twinkle of his boyfriend’s eye. Alex is a bit like this. It’s almost expected of him. Ben admired his commitment to timeframes. “How long!” Ben pulls him in.

“Let’s say before you birthday in 5 months.” Alex leans in and kisses Ben’s neck.

“Why this? I’m all for trying new things but why this?”

Alex starts taking into Ben’s neck. “Something new and interesting. Just enough that it feels like a lifestyle and then we change back! I can’t imagine myself not going back to steaks.”

Ben pulls him back out and runs his thumb along Alex’s chin. “Everything you’ve done like this you’ve completed so I suppose it won’t hurt. We’ll have the boys over because we have a lot of non vegan food in our pantry and fridge and freezer.

Alex moves Ben to the couch. He removes Ben’s left trainer and peeling off the sock crunching the sweaty athletic smell into in his nostrils. Alex starts licking from heel to between the toes cleaning Ben’s foot from lint and stress. Ben pulls out his cock and starts pumping. Slowly Alex moves to the other foot. Ben keeps pumping revelling in his boyfriend being under him. Alex undresses naked save for a chastity, yet another thing like veganism he put his mind to. Although that was from a few weeks after he turned 18 and he kept going, even publicly showering with his soccer mates caged. He oils up his taught balls and Ben starts squishing and rolling his toes around Alex pent up testis. Ben releases as he feels the testicles under his feet. Alex doesn’t he stands up quickly avoiding accident.

——————————-

All the boys arrive promptly hanging out is lighting in a bottle so no one dares miss a second. Kiefer arrives, it’s been a few months. Apparently he is staying in town longer setting up a camp. He walks in ducking through the door. He grins Ben. And Ben feels the toll for the first time in 6 months. His chest tightens as it rings again in his head. As nauseam he hears in his head “you no long have a 6 inch dick.” It sinks in the last time he left a bracket he dropped a few cms at once. He could feel it but he steeled his gut and focused on not loosing anymore. But Alex is gonna notice.

Most of the guys clowned Alex and Ben for going vegan. But Kiefer was on board. He offered to go fish only for the same amount of time. He tattled on about growth mindset and trying new things. He is segueing, “guys remember when we were 19. And we all measured our dicks. Well it has been 5 years so let’s check again.”

Some of the guys laughed and rolled their eyes. But Ben felt a cold down his spine. This can’t be happening. Not in front of my boyfriend too. Kiefer laughs. “But there is a kind twist. In case there was anyone that has lost their mojo and isn’t so big i am gonna personally measure you and I’ll let you all know first and second place. For Alex who we all know is a chastity faggot.” He said that word from deep within and looked dead at Ben. He could feel the bell toll again. “So if he is keen to get measured uncaged please do. Same with Alonzo who wasn’t playing back then.”

All the guys laughed and Alex asked for the key. They all commented on the fake doctor performance he was putting on. Ben was thankful it was in private but he knew he was in for a world of pain. Ben went in after Alex. Who shrugged and whispered “I don’t know why I needed to know I’m gonna get a smaller cage soon.”

Kiefer was sitting forward in the chair, the lab coat was tossed behind him and the stethoscope on the bed. His eye drifted up from Ben’s shoes to his eyes shaking his head slightly. “Benny. You are my best friend. Yeah I have mild amount of notoriety you still remain the person who understands me the most and I feel I know the best.” He leans back. “You have a crossroads here. Kind of your last chance with your mindset. And I take no responsibility for what happens after this.”

Ben clears his throat. “What do you mean?”

Kiefer’s voice drops. The way he commands the field from the goals. “Strip down and get on your knees faggot. Socks too you don’t deserve dignity.”

There is no toll. A full rush waves through him crashing and eroding the last piece of his masculinity. As he starts to pull his socks off. Kiefer says. “Sniff it faggot.” And Ben takes a word of his own socks. Measurement should be easy being Ben’s little cock is flushed and hard.

“Hold on let me grab something from my room” Ben walks out of the room doesn’t even pay attention to Donald standing waiting for his turn.

He returns with his book and old tape measure.

“WOW you documented your decent into impotence.” He flicks through vigorously. He finally measure up. “You’re lucky there is a limit for how small or big your dick can get in a day. You’ve lost almost a full inch today.” He gestures to the bed. “You’re smaller than Alex now. Thankfully he is caged up. 5.4”

He pulls his out. It’s a monster compared to what it was. “Holy fuck how is it so big”

“You will have your own version of this I can’t wait for you to see it.

“Is my dick gonna grow?” Ben says smiling.

“No you just took orders to strip from someone whose cock is double your size… I don’t think it will get bigger.”

Ben spurts a little load onto his floor. Without hesitation he licks it up.

Kiefer begins to say. “Lick it- we’ll fuck me you beat me to it. anyway put your clothes back on. No underwear tho.”

He joins the group and finally after a few more people with a drumroll. He announces that besides himself in an obvious first with a 10 inch dick that at 8.7 Lorenzo is second and Donald at 8.9 is first. Kiefer says they won’t be comparing because of the two members who were not there.  Saving Ben from humiliation. The night goes on. Ben found himself doing everything for Kiefer. At his beck and call all night. Yet when they played pool, ben seamlessly beat Kiefer at it. They still keep score and Ben wins more.

That night Ben tosses in his dream he imagines himself like a kendoll before walking into Alex getting railed by Kiefer. He awakes and makes breakfast trying to shake that image from his brain. The flop on the couch watching reruns. “Do you find any of the guys in our group hot?”

“You’ll judge me I know, but Kiefer. “

His gut turned. “Why?”

“Your dick is nice and solid. 6 inches what more could I ask for. But his massive cock? That’s biblical. And I love his arrogance. He walks into a room and owns it. I also love how you guys just melt into your friendship with each other.” He leans into Ben as he blabs on and on.

“So cock sizes matters to you?”

Alex stops playing around and folds in on himself. “Yes of course Benny. Do I need to go into the details of it?” As Alex says this the bell tolls again.

Ben rubs his crotch. Alex squints. “Pull out your pathetic thing Be, and let me tell you how much I want a big cock.” The bell tolls, for the first time he lets it ring out and loud through his head, he felt his cock stiffen in his hand but barely filling it out. “Benny did you want me to help get it hard? Pull your pants off babes.”

Ben pulls it down. “It is full.”

“Ben how is it so small? Why isn’t it as big as before.” He says it loud. The bell crashes in his head. He can feel he has hit his max. But he wants to go deeper, smaller, weak.

“I’ll tell you later fuck I won’t stop.”

Ben grabs their lube and lubes the little fella up before sitting on it. Easily. Like getting a finger. “Fuck babe you’re not doing anything for me right now. I need a real man’s cock inside me. I wanna feel stretched I wanna get fisted and pounded. What is your little pecker gonna do for me?”

“Nothing babe nothing. I’m gonna need a cage soon.”

He keeps bouncing on it. “I can’t yell harder because your cock can’t doo much more.”

“I wanna see you take big cocks.”

He keeps bouncing but at some point the limp cock slips out. But he doesn’t notice. “Fuck I need something bigger because this feels like nothing.”

Ben stops him. “Alex you’re not fucking anything right now did you even notice my dick slipped out?”

He laughs. “Oh shit no.”

——-/

Their vegan diets went over well. And the dreams never stop. Their sex became a mix of footplay and humiliation but they don’t penetrate. His cock managed to get down to two inches but hasn’t budged. Alex comes home late. Unusually late Ben does notice and greets like it’s just a one off. Alex stands in front of the tv. “Do you wanna know why I’m late?”

“People kept roping you in to dance? Although you didn’t post many stories?”

“Allow me to show you. The screen shares.”

It’s kiefers face. The video plays. “Sup faggot well you’re about to have another name. Your boyfriend told me you’ve sunk to two inches of a penis nub. You need a little push and we know how badly you wanted this. The camera flips. It’s Alex on the bed legs spread cage tight. “Hey babe! Looks like I’m gonna finally get a good fuck! With a proper good cock.” The camera flips again. “So like a good cuck get your nub out and two fingers and get to work. Try to last more than 1 minute.”

Alex is on all fours wagging his ass in the air. Without hesitation probably from off camera foreplay the cock slides in. Ben starts to jerk off. As he watches his boyfriend get pounded again and again. “This is what I meant cuck. This is your responsibility to accept this. You chose the mindset to have a small cock. You could have been a god like me. But you worship me and it cost you. So say out loud so Alex will stop feeling guilty because I know he’s probably nervous as fuck. Say you’re a. Cuck.”

“Stop the video Alex.”

The video pauses. “Babe how are you.”

“No you’ve actually just cheated on me. Why not ask me to fuck him? I am a cuck yes… you know what I’ll scream it at the rooftop and draw on my face every time we go out clubbing that I have a small cock and you can fuck my man. What makes you think this is okay?”

“Because you needed to see it in action. You would have come to your senses. But I know it I hear you dream about this so finish jerking off and watch and keep repeating you’re a cuck.”

Ben gives a not and the video keeps going before the shot pans to Alex in a bathrobe in the corner “I’ll explain in person now but this is some random twink” the camera flips and shows kiefer fucking some near identical twink.”

“Alex what the fuck?”

“Probably too much deception. I would never cheat on you.”

“Why would you lie?”

“Honestly because you needed the confrontation but I wasn’t willing to actually go behind your back. So we searched until we found. Took no time at all.”

“I am a cuck. I get it. I know it’s probably more deceptive than just cheating on me but I’m glad you saved the experience for me right?”

“Oh yeah I had to. Also this was such a shot in the dark. I was ready to beg forgiveness and end this stuff with Kiefer before it began.” I see him send a text and it comes through on my chat.

“In accordance for what I want any communication outside of his group chat between Alexander and Kiefer will be considered a violation of trust. Anyway my hole is hungry you can come in now.”

Kiefer is quickly through the door. And sits opposite me. “I’m so happy you have made it to this moment cuck.” The bell rings again. It’s going beyond. Kiefer continues. “I’ve got two more surprises for you Ben before I even fuck your man but thankfully you’re on your way.” He leans close and spits on Ben’s face. He finally reclines. Alex races to his shoes pulling them off. The smell of gym fills the air. Alex tosses him a sock that he closes in on his olfactory systems and now is down to rubbing his dicks it’s so tiny. His socks are so big he ties it like a gag around Alex’s head.

Stopping him from sucking. But Kiefer raises his brows. All at once Ben’s cock shoots back up to his original 8 inches. In his prime. Alex races to it barely lining his ass before dropping in it riding Ben for the first time. At his peak. “I got my cock back?”

Alex goes low and slow milking all 8 inches for what they are worth. A renewed vigor  makes him blow his load he can feel the pressure in Alex’s ass. “Fuck I’ve missed this. Maybe we can share him from now on.”

Kiefer pulls Alex off of Ben. Easily because he is a giant. “Ever heard of the dead cat bounce?”

Ben’s cock starts to deflate and finally. His penis starts to invert on its own. “Just as I can create a monster cock you can invert yourself. All that is left are shriveled balls in empty sacks and hole. He lubes the hole and presses his cock into it. He adjusts Ben pulling his legs back over his head his shoes and socks still on and pants around one leg。it opens his front hole it’s starting to autolube as Kiefer starts to fuck Ben’s inverted cock hole. Kiefer is moaning and groaning. “This is the height of being an alpha. Fucking a failed alphas front cunt.”

Alex is slowly stripping Ben off making him comfortable. Taking a whiff of his shoes as they come off. Telling him he’s doing a good job.

“Fuck I’m a cuck and a failed faggot alpha. I was never meant to lead. You were always the best one.” He can feel new synapses firing and his orgasm understanding changing. This cock in his inverted hole doesn’t feel like the ass. It feels like he is getting jerked off from within.

“Guess what cuck. I fucking lied to you.  Why do you think I gave out the tape measures? The one I had was a fake to make sure I was bigger. I was 7.9 smaller than you. But I had a better fucking mindset. You lost faggot the moment you let your dick shrivel meant I was always going to be above you.”

Ben started to moan hard his toes curling. His inverted dick pulsated like a Vibrating fleshlight. Each pound hit the alarm again. Ben starts crying and laughing. “Fuck I’m so glad you lied. This is what I am. A cunted faggot cuck.” Kiefer finally pulled out and a tsunami of cum washes out.

“None of that’s mine by the way.” He pulls his camera out and starts filming. Ben starts fingering his hole scoping and tasting his cum as it keeps leaking. Eventually he cleans up and returns to the other two who have their clothes back almost playing strip pool. Ben fully shaved to see everything. Now it looks like a hole and balls when flaccid and when he’s horny it’s not even 1/3 of the head of his penis.

Kiefer leans on the pool table. “So I bet you’re wondering what the fuck that was”

Ben rubs his nub. “Yeah I have never felt an orgasm that continuous.”

Alex takes a shot. Kiefer looks over his shoulder and nods. “So like I said it’s all mindset. When I learnt about it they said only a few people have the mental strength to change biology to the scale we did. I say alpha because it has that head fuck where I can call you a failed alpha.”

“Oh so I really could have had a monster cock like yours?”

“No. Because you don’t want one. You want me to fuck your failed alpha hole again.” He steps forward it’s almost like he grows. “You won’t out grow your decent into depravity all of a sudden. After I noticed you stole one of my socks I kept leaving them around your place and in your car just to get you off. I made you think your cock was smaller than mine until it became so small it inverted.”

Ben holds his head down and not furiously. “At least both Alex and I are cucks now because you’ll be fucking both of us regularly?”

Kiefer turns back and goes to take his shot. “Despite the insane nature of what you and I can do with our dicks it’s limited. Both to like bodily recovery and also what’s making you horny. I’m not gonna waste and you shouldn’t waste the experience on one off things. Save it for birthdays and stuff. To answer your question, no you’re just the cuck.”

The two guys make Ben wait in agony till their game finishes. He sits in the corner watching them flirt and play while he is legs up rubbing his nub. Swirling and pressing it no more jerking. He squirts out a few more orgasms just waiting for them. His breath his heavy and voice whiney. “Fuck baby win for me.”

Kiefer laughs. “It’s always been something that you are almost better at every sport than me. Even soccer dude. I’ve seen you on the casual league it’s actually unfair to them.” Kiefer stands over the mess of Ben. He sets his knee down between Ben’s legs. “We should find a new sport together one we’re not professional grade.”

Ben is still rubbing himself off. Croaky voice. “How about… volleyball?”

Kiefer spits on Ben. “Fantastic choice faggot.”

Ben again spurts a clear drizzle on Kiefer legs. He quickly shifts himself and licks it up.

Kiefer wins against Alex. Kiefer has to pick Ben up who can stop playing with his nub up to the bedroom. He feels another orgasm down his back. He gets set down along. For a moment has a moment of clarity. “Please use a condom. Let me at least have your raw hole be mine.”

Kiefer nods. “Of course I’ll use one until it suits me.”

Ben’s fingers slip deeper in before his nub pops back out.

Kiefer massages Alex head to toe lingering on the feet. Ben has stopped touching himself so he finally look and enjoy finally getting cucked.

Kiefer pulls some clean toys from their draw. Slowly working Alex up. The extra goey lube slaps around as Ben moans. “Why do think I bought these toys baby.” Alex has always had a big plug to keep his hole wide. These were usually reserved for when Ben was away. He has never really seen it in action. Kiefer locks the plug, Alex gasps as it electrifies his body to feel the toy finally in its place. Kiefer pulls Alex up towards the headboard and places him in his lap. “Put a good tv show on cuck.”

Ben puts on his and Kiefer’s favourite movie and they spend the whole time quoting it instead of really watching. Alex is rolling his eyes as these two guys are laughing so hard. A few times Kiefer relubed Alex’s plug before the movie ends.

Ben gets dressed. In a fine outfit, he puts on his nicest watch and jewellery then waits. The plug comes out of Alex. It’s still clean and slick from lube. Kiefer slowly tells Alex to breathe as he slowly starts to fuck him. Alex’s moans and screams roar through their master bedroom. Every word he says relates back go Ben not being enough. “Thank you for being a failed dom.” “Best cock I’ve ever had.” Repetitions of Ben’s inadequacies. Ben sits under Kiefer’s large stone thighs and watches his meaty balls slap against his boyfriends hole. In this moment everything comes crashing down. He can’t fuck men anymore. He will never fuck his boyfriend again. The balls keep slapping. His pussy almost grips onto Kiefer’s cock sucking back in for more. Kiefer pulls out for a moment leaving his boyfriend like a spelunked cavern. He digs his finger in and then shoves it in Ben’s mouth. “Taste depths your nub will never reach.”

Ben sucks on it. He wants to rub off again but he doesn’t want to waste the opportunities he can invert himself, he can feel it coming again. Kiefer moves to missionary. Rolling his whole body while he fucks hard into Alex. Ben repositions himself. The rolling is pushing into the chastity cage. With each bump the fagclit is screaming to cum. Kiefer leans back he tenses his whole body. “Oh god I’ve never felt cum this deep.” And his cage dribbled a fresh white load of cum.

Kiefer moves in while he has his own space when he wants to stay in the bed with the boys he will. Kiefer prefers to maintain their dynamic for as long as possible. A year or so later two new recruits come in for the local level top team. Ben smiles as he hears Kiefer talking about mindsets making a mental note of which one they think will be the alpha and the failed alpha.

I had this new roommate move in with me about a week ago. His name’s Alex, he’s 23 like me, and we found each other through some online ad for sharing an apartment. I live in this small two-bedroom place in the city, it’s cheap and close to my job at the coffee shop. When he first came to check it out, I figured I should be upfront, you know? So I told him straight away, “Hey, just so you know, I’m gay.” 

He looked at me and then shrugged, “Cool, no issues man. I’ve shared places with all kinds of people before.” That made me relax a bit. He seemed chill, straight guy, works at some warehouse or something, likes sports and video games. We hit it off okay from the start, talking about random stuff like movies and food. It’s been nice having someone around after living alone since my breakup with my ex boyfriend.

Anyway, it’s been a super hot summer. The AC in our apartment sucks, it barely works, and running it all day would cost a fortune in electricity. So we’ve been dealing with it by taking cold showers, keeping windows open at night, and just wearing as little as possible. First couple days after he moved in, we both stuck to shorts and t-shirts, but by day three or four, we were complaining nonstop about the heat. One afternoon, we were sitting in the living room, sweating our asses off. I said something like, “Dude, if you’re too hot, you don’t have to wear all that. Just strip down to your boxers or whatever, I don’t care.” 

“Yeah, good idea.” He pulled off his shirt and shorts, left in just his briefs.

Alex is built okay, not like a gym rat, but fit from his job I guess, with some hair on his chest and legs. The thing that caught my eye right away was the bulge in his briefs. Holy shit, it was huge. Like, I’ve seen guys before, hooked up a few times, but this outline was something else. It poked out in front, stretching the fabric a little. I tried not to stare, but my eyes kept drifting back  to it. He didn’t seem to notice.

After that day, it became normal. Whenever it got too hot, which was basically all the time, he’d just go down to his briefs around the apartment. I’d do the same sometimes, but I was more self-conscious about it. Gave me plenty of chances to check out that bulge without being obvious. I’d wonder what it looked like underneath. Not in a creepy way at first, just curious. Like, is he really that big, or is it the way the briefs fit? My mind started wandering more after a few days. I’d catch myself thinking about it at night, imagining stuff and yeah, it turned me on a bit. I felt kinda guilty, since he’s straight and my roommate, but hey, I’m gay, it’s natural to notice.

But soon, things started getting interesting. One Tuesday morning, I slept in late. I usually get up around 9 for work, but that day it was closer to 10. My routine is to head straight to the shower. Alex starts work early, like 8, so I figured he’d be gone or in the kitchen by then. The bathroom door was shut, but I didn’t think much of it, just pushed it open. There he was, standing with his back to me, towel over his head drying his hair. He heard the door and turned around quick.

My eyes went straight down. His dick swung around and slapped against his thigh. It was the biggest flaccid cock I’d ever seen, no joke. Thick, long, hanging there between his legs, with some veins and a bit of hair at the base. It settled down after the swing, just dangling. I froze for a second, then blurted out, “Shit, sorry!” and slammed the door shut. 

“It’s fine!” he yelled from inside. “Give me a sec!” A moment later, he opened the door, now with the towel wrapped around his waist. He smiled, looking a bit embarrassed too, and said, “Sorry, man. Overslept, running late for work. The bathroom’s all yours.”

The rest of the day at work, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That size, swinging like that. Confirmed the bulge was real, no padding or anything. And he didn’t freak out, just laughed it off. Made me wonder if he’d noticed me glancing at his briefs before.

Then, next morning, it happened again. I got up a little earlier, still sleepy, headed to the shower. Knocked this time, learning from yesterday. “Just a minute!” he called out. Door opened, and there he was, holding the towel up to his chest with one hand, super loose. It barely covered anything, his pubes were showing, and as he stepped out, the towel shifted, and his dick swung free for a second. I couldn’t help it, my eyes locked on it. He walked right past me, smiling like nothing, said, “Late again, haha.” Didn’t even try to cover up properly. From behind, as he went to his room, I saw it hanging between his legs under his ass cheeks.

I stood there stunned for a bit, then went into the shower. He definitely caught me looking this time, no doubt. Part of me thought maybe he’s showing off on purpose, like he knows I’ve been checking out the bulge and wants to tease or something. Straight guys do that sometimes, right? For the ego boost. But damn, it turned me on hard. I got a semi in the shower just replaying it. Jerked off quick to get it out of my system, but yeah, ran late for work because of it.

Now, It was Thursday morning, and I woke up to the sound of the shower running. Third day in a row Alex was “running late.” Yeah, right. It was starting to feel like he was doing this on purpose, and honestly, I wasn’t complaining. It got my heart racing and my dick throbbing even before I got out of bed. I grabbed my towel, still in my pajama bottoms, and headed toward the bathroom. Part of me wanted to knock and see what’d happen, but I stopped myself right outside the door. He’s my roommate, I reminded myself, not some hookup. But after those last two days, him swinging around in all his glory, I was curious as hell. The water shut off, and I took a deep breath. “Yo, Alex?” I called.

“Yeah, man,” he replied.

“I need the shower, dude. You done?”

“Running late again, sorry! One sec!” he yelled back.

Before I could say anything else, the door swung open. There he was, still wet, towel draped over his shoulders, covering absolutely nothing. My eyes flicked down before I could stop myself, getting a full-frontal view. Holy fuck, it was just as massive as I remembered from Tuesday and Wednesday. Thick, heavy, hanging there like a ripe banana. I snapped my eyes back up to his face, and he was smirking, rubbing the towel through his hair.

“You gotta start getting up earlier, man,” I said like I wasn’t just staring at his dick. “You’re gonna make me late one of these days.”

He laughed and walked past me. “Sorry, dude. I’ll figure it out.” I forced myself not to turn and watch him walk away, though I was dying to. That image of his cock swinging between his legs, was burned into my brain.

Friday morning, same deal. Shower running when I woke up. No way this was a coincidence anymore. Four days in a row? Alex was up to something, and I was starting to think he liked me looking. Maybe it was a straight guy ego thing, showing off for attention. Whatever it was, I was enjoying it. I didn’t even bother with pajamas this time, just my boxers. The water shut off as I got to the bathroom, and I knocked a few times. No answer, just the door opening a second later.

There he was, towel over his shoulders again, buck naked. My eyes locked onto his cock, and this time I didn’t even try to hide it. I let myself stare for a good few seconds, taking in every detail, the veins, the way it hung so heavy, the slight curve. He was looking right at me, and I knew he saw me checking him out.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re gonna get fired if you keep this up, you know.”

He laughed, which made his dick sway a little. “Nah, I’ve been just on time all week. Don’t worry about me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sure, dude.” My eyes slid down his chest, past his abs, and landed on his cock again. We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving. He cleared his throat, snapping me out of it. “Uh, dude,” he said.

“Shit, sorry, man,” I chuckled

He chuckled too. “No big deal. People stare all the time.”

“Yeah, well…” I said. “Can’t blame ‘em. It’s, uh, pretty impressive.”

He laughed louder this time, looking down at his cock and I did too. Then he gave his hips a little shake, making it swing back and forth. “Heard that before,” he said.

I snorted. “Yeah, I bet. Can I get the bathroom now?”

He stepped past me and went to his room.

Saturday morning was different. No shower running when I woke up, which threw me off. I got up, threw on some briefs, and found Alex in the living room, sprawled on the couch in his boxers, scrolling on his phone. That bulge was still there, stretching the fabric. I plopped down on the other end of the couch, grabbing my own phone, but my eyes kept flicking over to him. He glanced up, caught me looking, and just smiled. Didn’t say anything, just went back to his phone.

The rest of the day, he stayed in his briefs, and I couldn’t stop staring. Every time he got up to grab a drink or stretch, my eyes were glued to him. I was starting to feel like a creep, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he was leaning into it, standing a little closer than necessary when we talked, stretching with his arms up so his boxers rode low. By evening, I was horny as hell and trying not to show it.

I kept thinking about what to do next. He’s straight, so I’m not dumb enough to try anything, but this game we were playing was driving me crazy. Part of me wanted to call it out, maybe joke about it, like, “Dude, you know you’re showing off, right?” But what if that made it weird? We’ve only been roommates for a week, and I didn’t want to fuck this up. But then I also wondered if he was bicurious and was just trying to explore his homo side with me. I was literally going crazy.

To be continued….

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