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Twink-bodied straight-boy thugs kept spawning like NPCs with bad attitudes—some dumb enough to come back for a second round. Where the hell was he digging them up? Even boneheads should know when they’re just meat for the grinder. He allotted them two hours, tops—the first, usually less, to get them settled, high, or buzzed, whatever it took to shove a pen in their hand and lock them into some boilerplate, unenforceable contract. The rest was just extraction—slow, methodical, and never off-budget.

These brain-dead fucks only had room for two thoughts—what they thought was some life-changing payday and getting their dicks wet. Everything else, gone. They walked right past me, the big-ass camera practically welded to my shoulder, and the dozen other neon signs screaming this is fuckin’ whacked, like they were auditioning for Darwin Awards.

That first day I had to haul the big-ass camera, five different scholars showed up—did the dance, picked out some gross-ass “pussy porn,” stared at it until they were hard, then stripped down, leaned back, and let their host work them over. Faces blank while they were milked like it was just another Tuesday. Every so often, for maybe a nanosecond, I’d catch a flicker—like some part of them was clocking what was actually happening—then it was gone. Game over. They’d wipe their little boy dicks, beam these bright, grateful thank-yous while they got dressed, take an envelope, and saunter back out into the world. Seriously—WTF. I had to quit. Didn’t matter that the money was stupid-good—if I stayed, I’d end up just another parasite, no better than the twink-bodied thugs I was pointing the lens at. Hell, maybe worse, because I’d know exactly what I was doing. Every envelope would just be another pound of meat carved off my soul, and for what? Rent? Groceries? No paycheck’s worth walking out of yourself like that and locking the door behind you.

It wasn’t like I was rolling in it before. I was hustling every damn week—weddings, bar mitzvahs, corporate “team-building” videos where middle managers pretended to like each other for two minutes of B-roll. Rent still won the arm-wrestling match with my checking account every month.

Then one night, a buddy calls. Says a group of strippers needs a videographer—quick turnaround, big payday. A “sizzle reel” for their website. Yeah, it sounded sleazy, but it was their hustle, not mine. And they knew their shit. These women came in with a shot list, a vibe, the whole deal. I set up lights, rolled the camera, and they hit every mark like pros. Between takes, they cracked jokes, tipped me in cash every time I adjusted something, and actually thanked me for making them look good. Fast, clean, and everybody knew the boundaries. They were in control of their image, their bodies, and their money. I walked out that night with the fattest envelope I’d seen in months, smelling like glitter and cigarette smoke, thinking, if this is as sleazy as it gets, I could do worse.

Couple weeks later, one of the strippers calls. “Hey, my friend’s got this gig. Needs someone who can shoot discreetly. You were chill, so I told her about you.” Discreet. That’s one of those words that means exactly what you think it means but you hope you’re wrong. Still, rent was due, the fridge was light, and my phone bill didn’t care about my moral compass.

We meet at a diner. She’s younger than me, maybe mid-twenties, wearing a hoodie that says Girls Don’t Cry. She explains she’s managing content for a few “independent models” who want promo videos and some behind-the-scenes stuff for their subscription pages. Not porn, not really. Just “suggestive.” I could shoot, do some light editing, cash same day. It sounded easy—less choreography than a wedding, less awkward than a corporate training video. I tell myself it’s just like the strippers—professionals controlling their own product. Only difference was, these “models” didn’t show up with shot lists or angles in mind. They showed up late, distracted, and looking at me like I should tell them what to do. I did the job, got paid, but something in my gut buzzed on the drive home. That buzz is the thing you ignore right before you step on the first rung of a ladder you didn’t mean to climb down.

A month later, the same girl from the diner texts me: Got another job. Same rate. Quick shoot. She doesn’t mention it’s at a guy’s apartment. I walk in and it’s just him—shirtless, jeans hanging low, grinning like we’re old friends. He says he’s “doing a collab” with a model who’s running late. He needs B-roll: setting up lights, mixing drinks, laughing at nothing. Then, “We’ll roll right into the action when she gets here.” Action. I should’ve walked. But the envelope’s already sitting on the counter, fat enough to make my pulse jump.

She shows up—a little buzzed, laughing too hard—and they disappear into the bedroom to “get ready.” When I’m called in, they’re already half-naked, and suddenly I’m not just shooting promo fluff. I’m following them in close, framing the curve of his hand on her hip, catching the sweat on their skin. No one said porn, but we all knew that’s what it was. When it’s over, they thank me like I just fixed their Wi-Fi. I pack my gear, take the envelope, and tell myself it’s still just work. But driving home, the buzz in my gut is louder. I’m not on the ladder anymore. I’m halfway down it, and the ground under me is starting to look like a hole.

At first I was selective—one gig a month, tops. Then my car needed a bearing, so I took two that month. But never more than two. That was the rule I made up to feel like I was still in control. Then a friend-of-a-friend calls: If you don’t mind shooting some guy-on-guy, there’s an obscene amount of money to throw at you. I hesitated. Not my scene, not my comfort zone. But obscene money has a way of sanding down your principles. The guys turned out to be muscleheads—sober, professional, knew exactly what they wanted, and drew clear lines before we even started. Not comfortable, but there were rules. And everyone was getting what they needed out of it.

After that, the calls came steady. The rules were still there—on paper—but they got looser every time. The shoots blurred together. Some were still clean enough to justify, others… not so much. The guys weren’t always sober, the lines weren’t always clear, and sometimes I’d catch myself adjusting the lights to make things look less rough than they were. The paychecks were fat—fatter than anything I’d seen before this gig—but not as fat as they once were. And the more I worked, the more I noticed the math didn’t quite add up: the jobs were dirtier, the rules fuzzier, but somehow the payout was shrinking.

Then came the first one that really got under my skin. Not even the worst of them—just… textbook. Vapid boy-twink thug. The kind of guy who thinks his biceps are a personality and a bad tattoo makes him dangerous. He slouched in like he owned the place, signed the release without reading a single word, and grinned like he’d just conned us instead of the other way around. That was the moment it clicked—these idiots were signing away their faces, their bodies, their images for literal peanuts. And for what? A couple hours of buzz, a little envelope they’d burn through before the week was out? You can’t outrun the internet. Didn’t they get that? Someone, somewhere, is going to see them. Someone who knows them. And then all their friends will know—the video proof is right there. Them, naked, with a joint hanging from their mouth while some faceless dude sucks them off. Christ, do they even care? Or are they too dumb to know they should?

The answer walked in over and over again after that. That first day I had to haul the big-ass camera, five different scholars showed up—did the dance, picked out some gross-ass “pussy porn,” stared at it until they were hard, then stripped down, leaned back, and let their host work them over. Faces blank while they were milked like it was just another Tuesday. Every so often, for maybe a nanosecond, I’d catch a flicker—like some part of them was clocking what was actually happening—then it was gone. Game over. They’d wipe their little boy dicks, beam these bright, grateful thank-yous while they got dressed, take an envelope, and saunter back out into the world. Seriously—WTF. (All of them were of legal age, fully consenting, and more than willing to take their appearance fee.) I had to quit. Didn’t matter that the money was stupid-good—if I stayed, I’d end up just another parasite, no better than the twink-bodied thugs I was pointing the lens at. Hell, maybe worse, because I’d know exactly what I was doing. Every envelope would just be another pound of meat carved off my soul, and for what? Rent? Groceries? No paycheck’s worth walking out of yourself like that and locking the door behind you.

The first week after I quit, I kept waiting for the panic to hit. But it never came. Instead, my inbox started pinging—weddings, a corporate training shoot, even a real estate walkthrough. All legit. Nothing I’d have to bleach out of my head later. The money wasn’t porn-envelope fat, but it was solid. Clean. It was like the universe started balancing out a bit. Jobs I’d chased for months were suddenly calling me back. A photographer I’d worked with once handed my name to a client. I found myself looking forward to shoots again—not because of the money, but because I could walk in, do the work, and walk out without that buzz in my gut. Maybe that’s the real paycheck—going home knowing you didn’t sell another pound of yourself to make it through the week.

A couple months later, I’m loading gear into my car outside a hotel ballroom when I see him—the vapid boy-twink thug, dressed like he’s trying to sell knockoff cologne out of a gym bag. He’s across the street, laughing with a couple of guys, totally oblivious. For a second I wonder if he ever saw the video, if anyone ever sent him the link with a “Bro… is this you?” I doubt it. He didn’t strike me as the type to stick around for consequences. He doesn’t see me. I toss the last case in the trunk, slam it shut, and drive off. No wave, no nod, no nothing. Just the clean, quiet distance between then and now. And damn, that’s worth more than any fat envelope ever was.

The timer went off, signifying to Caleb that it was time to rinse out his hair.

It was gonna be epic. All the guys on the football team decided to dye their hair blue – the color of the school’s mascot, the Blue Devil. Caleb was pumped – he had grabbed the dye earlier that day, when he was at the pharmacy. He forgot that he had a class, though, so he hurriedly grabbed the first blue dye he saw, rather than comparing the various options.

He turned the shower, letting his hair soak a bit as the light pink water circled the drain.

Wait, what?

In a panic, Caleb flew to the bathroom mirror, wiping away the condensation to reveal a shocking mop of neon pink hair.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Caleb exclaimed, grabbing the box for the dye. He had SWORN he’d chosen the blue dye, he even looked at the picture on it before he started dying his hair!

There was no way in hell he had grabbed “Himbo Pink” hair dye instead! What the fuck was “Himbo Pink” anyways?

Caleb could only stare at his reflection in shock. The mistake had been made. At first, he was utterly repulsed by the idea that his dirty blond hair was now pink. And not only pink, but the brightest pink one could imagine.

But the more he looked at it, the more he felt like the pink seemed to match his features. It contrasted nicely with his lightly tanned skin, his freckled shoulders, hell the pink seemed to make his nipples appear even pinker as well, topped over the mounds of his beefy pecs.

“Bro…”

Suddenly, his phone dinged with a text. One of his teammates, Jay, had sent a photo of his blue dye-job. Guess he didn’t grab the wrong dye. Caleb felt like such an idiot.

‘I blue myself lol’ said Jay’s text, followed up by ‘How’s yours look?’

Caleb hesitated. The guys would probably give him shit for this, but he did have time to salvage it. He could always get the right dye, it might end up slightly purple but that’s better than this bright pink.

Still, he felt like he should show Jay the results. They could always laugh about it. Besides, he did look pretty good.

Caleb snapped a selfie in the mirror and sent it off to his bro. Jay’s reply came back almost instantly.

‘Uh. Did you mean to send me this?’

What did he mean? It was just Caleb’s bright pink hair, of course he wanted to show his buddy.

But when Caleb looked at the pic he had sent, he was filled with confusion.

The photo was him in the mirror, completely naked. He had forgotten he wasn’t wearing any clothes. His back was towards the mirror, his upper torso twisted so that his face and the sides of his pecs were visible. You could barely even see his pink hair! Of course, that made his big, round bubble butt the center of focus. The guys always teased him about having cakes, but Caleb usually just ignored it.

He had no idea why he had posed like that. Why he sent a pic of his bubble butt to his bro when he was just supposed to show off his hair. His brain was foggy, he thought he would have caught something like that before he had hit send. He figured he could brush off the strange photo and send another pic of his hair this time.

‘What do you think, bro?’ was what he sent instead.

‘👀’ Jay replied, followed by several peach emojis and then a crying/laughing emoji.

‘I meant the hair lol’ Caleb texted back.

Now was the time to correct his mistake. Caleb would just take another photo, this time from the front, so there could be no confusion.

‘Those look good too bro haha’ was Jay’s unexpected reply.

Caleb reviewed the second photo he had sent and fell back into confusion. Why had he posed like that? The pic was taken at a slightly higher, tilted angle. Caleb was winking, with his mouth wide open and his tongue hanging out, a strange expression that almost looked like he…

No wait, that wasn’t even the worst part. Because of the angle, most of the pic’s focus was on his heaving pecs, the two mounds of muscle jutting out prominently from his trim upper body. In fact, the top of his head was out of frame.

‘Growing melons and peaches, I see’ Jay followed up.

Fuck this photo stuff. Maybe Caleb just couldn’t capture his hair for whatever reason. He wasn’t great at taking selfies anyways. Guess Jay would just have to see it in person.

‘Want a closer look bro?’ Caleb sent.

He saw the “texting” bubbles show up on his screen, then disappear, then appear again, repeating that pattern several times until Jay’s reply finally came.

‘U serious?’

‘Yeah bro, I wanna show you somethin, come over.’

Jay didn’t live very far from Caleb’s apartment, so he only had a few minutes to put some clothes on. He went to grab whatever was clean from his hamper, but found it mysteriously empty.

Oh, that’s right. Today was laundry day. All of Caleb’s clothes were in the wash.

He rummaged around in his drawer, looking for something, even an old, dirty jockstrap. He fingers touched some soft fabric in the far back of his drawer, and he pulled it out, relieved he had found something.

His heart sank when he realized what it was. Last year, he had won a tiny pink thong as part of a game at a frat party. He took the thing home, figuring he could convince some chick to wear it; it was a pretty sexy thong after all.

The doorbell rang, and Caleb realized he didn’t have time to debate whether or not to put the tiny underwear on. He figures wearing something would be less weird than greeting his bro stark naked, so he hopped into the thong.

He was surprised at how easily the soft material slid up his beefy legs, over his big round bubble butt, settling nicely in between his massive cheeks. He figured wearing one would be pretty uncomfortable, but it actually felt kinda good rubbing against his hole.

Caleb didn’t even have time to look at himself in the mirror before the doorbell rang again, and he rushed over to let his bro in. Didn’t want to keep Jay waiting, after all…

As soon as the door swung open, Jay’s eyes practically popped out of his head, his jaw dropping in utter shock. Okay, yeah, his hair was pink. It wasn’t THAT crazy, was it?

As Jay stepped inside, he quickly closed the door behind him. “What the FUCK, Caleb?” he said in a hushed voice.

“I know bro, it’s pink! Can you believe that? I didn’t mean to grab it!” Caleb said, referring to the mix-up with the hair dye. He turned around so his buddy could see the back of his head, too.

Jay’s eyes roamed up and down Caleb’s body, taking in every detail, paying special attention to his fat, juicy ass.

“Bro, it’s not just pink… it’s. FUCK! What the hell, it looks even bigger?”

“Bigger? Bruh…” Caleb said. His voice sounded weird… almost like it was a little deeper. What was Jay even talking about?

Jay adjusted his crotch, which wasn’t that unusual. Guys had to adjust their balls every now and again, especially when their blood ran south. Caleb himself had done it plenty of times, especially looking at hot chicks. 

Actually, the thong was really comfortable, he didn’t feel the need to adjust at all, even though the pouch had seemed pretty damn small.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jay asked, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Uh… I dunno bro… I asked you to come over, cuz I wanted to show you…” Caleb trailed off. His head felt so foggy. What did he want to show Jay? Something pink, he thought. Man, he was getting so forgetful.

Caleb looked in the mirror. He wanted to show Jay something pink, something…. Oh yeah! He wanted to show Jay his pink thong!

“Yeah bro, what do you think? Do I look good?” Caleb said, turning around to show his backside to his bro, even giving his own cheek a light slap as if to emphasize the shape.

“Fuck…” Jay groaned under his breath.

“Bro, maybe it has gotten kind of bigger? Man, I must have been killing it with the squats. You guys always said I had cakes, right?” Caleb chuckled.

“Fuck…” Jay growled again, “they really have gotten bigger. How the fuck…? I saw you yesterday!”

“I dunno bro! Maybe I just got blessed by the, like, the Gainz Godz or something!” Caleb giggled. “Maybe you should take a closer look, just to be sure!”

Jay didn’t need to be asked twice. He got down on his knees behind his bro, hands instantly grabbing the jiggly assflesh attached to his teammate, kneading those cheeks like they were dough.

“Damn, that feels good bro! I could really use a glute massage, I think!” Caleb giggled again.

“Bend over, fuck!” Jay commanded, and normally Caleb wouldn’t be so quick to obey, but Jay sounded like he really wanted Caleb to bend over, and hey, who was he to deny his bro?

Jay grabbed both cheeks and spread them, revealing the pink thong in between, the strap so thin it barely covered Caleb’s pink, tight little hole.

Jay’s grip tightened, fingers pressing deep into the plump, yielding flesh of Caleb’s ass. The jock’s body was built thick, heavy with muscle and just a touch of softness, but now? Now his glutes had swollen into obscene perfection, a perfect bubble butt that defied all logic. And that thong—God-fucking-damn that thong. It barely existed, just a whisper of pink lace vanishing into the deep cleft between Caleb’s cheeks.

Jay’s breath hitched. His fingers squeezed, tested, kneaded. Fuck, it felt good—soft but firm, pliant under his hands but undeniably strong. Caleb giggled again, the sound airheaded and playful, as if he didn’t have a damn clue what was happening, as if he thought this was just a bro-tier ass massage and not the most sinful thing Jay had ever done in his life.

“Damn, Jay, you’re really into this, huh?” Caleb shifted his weight, arching his back, pressing his ass harder into Jay’s hands, and Jay nearly blacked out from sheer lust.

“Yeah…” His voice was hoarse. “Yeah, bro. Gotta make sure your glutes are, uh, in top condition.”

Caleb hummed in agreement, hips wiggling. “Feels fuckin’ great. You got, like, magic hands or something?”

Jay’s eyes were locked onto that tight little thong strap, his thumbs hooked into the flesh on either side of it, stretching Caleb’s cheeks apart. His best bro was bent over, ass on full display, barely covered, perfectly presented—and fuck if Jay wasn’t getting hard just looking at him.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. They were supposed to be talking about hair dye, not whatever this was. But Jay wasn’t about to stop. Not when he had Caleb right here, bent over like a dumb little himbo slut, completely unaware of how hot he looked.

Jay’s thumbs pressed in, pushing the fabric of the thong deeper between Caleb’s cheeks.

“Shit, bro, careful,” Caleb murmured, shifting his weight. “That feels…weird. But like…not bad?”

Jay’s breath was heavy, fingers flexing against all that perfect, fat ass. “Yeah?” he rasped. “Not bad, huh?”

Caleb giggled again, and Jay felt like he was losing his fucking mind.

Jay swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper, his hands refusing to let go of the obscene handfuls of Caleb’s thick, jiggly ass. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, kneading, groping, spreading—watching how the deep cleft between his bro’s cheeks swallowed up that barely-there pink thong. His best friend’s body had always been a temple of gains, broad and muscled, but now? Now it was something else entirely. Something softer, something filthier, something that made Jay’s pulse hammer against his skin like a drumline at kickoff.

And Caleb? That big, dumb jock giggled, totally oblivious, shifting his weight from foot to foot, making his ass bounce in Jay’s grasp like he was teasing him on purpose. Like he was built for this, like he needed this.

“Dude,” Caleb murmured, voice lazy and breathy, “you’re like…really into this glute massage, huh?”

Jay exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. “Yeah, bro. You got some serious…uh, gains.”

“Right?” Caleb perked up, twisting to glance over his shoulder, pink-dyed hair a mess, bright eyes lit with that clueless enthusiasm that made Jay’s gut tighten. “I thought my ass was like…pretty big before, but now it’s like, damn, bro, you ever seen glutes this fuckin’ massive?”

Jay’s fingers dug in. Too much. Caleb should’ve realized this was weird by now. He should’ve turned around, laughed it off, asked some questions. But instead, all he did was arch his back, practically presenting himself, ass on full display, that tiny strip of pink lace swallowed by the obscene swell of his new, impossible gains.

Jay clenched his jaw. “You sure that hair dye didn’t do something weird, man?”

Caleb laughed, flipping his blue-pink locks dramatically. “Pfft, what? Nah, bro, I just got, like, super genetics or some shit.”

Jay was about to call bullshit. About to say something. But then Caleb bent lower—way lower—hands on his knees, ass jutting out, spreading open just from the sheer mass of those fat, bouncing cheeks. Jay’s vision tunneled, locked onto the tiny thong cutting deep between Caleb’s ass, onto the plump, pink flesh barely covered by that pathetic scrap of fabric.

And then Caleb giggled again. Giggled.

“Dude, you ever think about how, like, glute mass directly correlates to explosive sprint speed?” Caleb mused, rolling his hips absentmindedly, making that fat ass jiggle in Jay’s grip. “Maybe this is just, like, the next stage of my athletic development, y’know?”

Jay’s fingers twitched. His brain screamed at him to step back, to stop touching his best bro’s ass, to not notice how Caleb’s hole peeked out from beneath that pink strap every time he shifted. But his cock was already rock-fucking-hard, pressed tight against his jeans, throbbing.

And Caleb was just standing there, bent over, his new bubble butt spread wide open like an invitation.

Like he wanted Jay to do something.

Jay licked his lips.

“Bro,” he rasped, “I don’t think this is just gains.”

Caleb hummed, shifting his weight again, sending another sinful ripple through his glutes. “Mmm, you might be right,” he said lazily. “Maybe I should, like…test ‘em out? See how strong they are?”

He wiggled his ass in Jay’s face.

Jay groaned. Out loud.

Caleb gasped. “Bro, are you horny right now?”

Jay went stiff as a fucking board. His breath hitched, his grip tightening like a vice.

Caleb twisted to look at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.

Then, instead of pulling away, instead of laughing it off, Caleb…smirked.

“Damn,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, huskier, something lazy and teasing curling at the edges. “Guess these glutes are even stronger than I thought, huh?”

And then he pushed back. Hard.

Jay’s restraint snapped like a brittle twig.

Jay’s breath left him in a sharp, ragged exhale, his fingers still sunk deep into Caleb’s ridiculous ass. The jiggle, the obscene softness, the way that tiny pink thong dug in—it was too much. Way too much. His best friend had no fucking idea what he was doing, or maybe he did, maybe that dumbass himbo brain of his had been rewired along with his bubble-butt gains, turning him into something made to be touched, squeezed, fucked—

Jay’s hands slid lower. Caleb didn’t move away.

Didn’t even flinch.

If anything, he pressed back harder, his fat, muscled glutes grinding against Jay’s aching hard-on, dragging over the bulge straining his jeans like it was nothing, like it was normal. Like this was something they did all the time.

“Bro…” Jay’s voice was hoarse, wrecked. “The fuck are you doing?”

Caleb just giggled. Giggled, like a little slut.

“I dunno, bro,” he hummed, looking over his shoulder, pink hair falling messily over his forehead. “I mean, you’re the one who got all hard touching my ass.” He wiggled his hips, watching Jay’s reaction like he was testing him. “Maybe you wanna, like…use it?”

Jay blacked the fuck out.

His hands snapped to Caleb’s hips, yanking him back hard, grinding his clothed cock right against that pillowy ass, dragging it over the deep cleft between his cheeks. Caleb moaned—moaned, high and breathy and so fucking slutty Jay thought he was going to lose his mind.

“You want me to use it?” Jay growled against Caleb’s ear, voice dripping with something dark, something possessive, something that had been buried deep, something neither of them had ever acknowledged before now.

Caleb shuddered, fingers digging into his knees, back arching like a bitch in heat.

“Mmhmm,” he breathed, hips rolling back, offering himself.

Jay snapped.

His hands tore at the waistband of that tiny fucking thong, yanking it down, watching as it stretched over Caleb’s ridiculous ass before finally snapping free. Caleb gasped at the sudden exposure, but didn’t stop him. Didn’t protest. If anything, he spread his legs a little wider, back arching deeper, like his dumb jock brain had already decided that this was right, that this was what his new bubble butt was for.

Jay groaned, pressing his forehead against Caleb’s shoulder, fingers trailing down the cleft of his bro’s ass, feeling just how soft, how warm, how ready he was—

Jay fumbled with his zipper, releasing his rock hard cock. And then he spat in his hand, lined himself up, and dove in.

Caleb gasped—high, breathy, wrecked—as Jay’s cock pushed in.

Thick. Deep. Stretching him wide.

His fingers dug into his knees, back arched like a porn star, bubble butt spread, swallowing Jay inch by inch. His pink-dyed hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth hanging open, a soft, needy whimper slipping free as Jay bottomed out.

“Fff—fuck, bro,” Caleb whined, rolling his hips back, taking it even deeper.

Jay gritted his teeth, gripping Caleb’s waist so tight it was gonna leave bruises. “God damn,” he growled, barely holding himself together, feeling that perfect ass clench around him, like Caleb’s dumb, slutty jock body had been made for this.

Caleb giggled, but it was breathless, hazy, dazed.

“Bro, you feel so…so big,” he whined, pushing back, desperate, needing more. “I—I think my ass was, like, made for this or somethin’…”

Jay lost it. He snapped his hips forward. And then he fucked, HARD.

His hands dug into Caleb’s bouncing, jiggling ass, pulling him back with every thrust, grinding deep, making his best bro take it, making him feel it. Caleb was nothing but gasps, moans, slutty little whimpers as he let himself get pounded, his new bubble butt rippling with every snap of Jay’s hips.

The pink thong hung uselessly around one thick, muscled thigh. His abs clenched. His cock dripped. His body rocked under Jay’s grip, shaking with every deep, brutal thrust.

His brain was completely gone. Nothing left but the desperate, needy cries spilling from his lips.

Jay was wrecking him. Fucking his best bro so deep Caleb wasn’t ever gonna be able to sit right again. Jay wasn’t gonna stop until that dumb jock knew who he fucking belonged to.

Caleb’s arms trembled, legs shaking, back arched so deep his pink-dyed hair brushed his broad, muscled shoulders. His body rocked—forward, back, forced into the rhythm Jay set. His once-pristine jock brain was gone, lost to the haze, the heat, the overwhelming stretch of his best bro breaking him in.

“Fff-fuck—” Caleb whimpered, his voice high, needy, barely coherent. “Jay, bro, I—fuck—I can’t—”

Jay didn’t stop. His hands locked on Caleb’s fat, bouncing bubble butt, holding him in place, forcing him to take every deep, brutal thrust. Caleb gasped, hips rolling back on instinct, his body needing it now, chasing it, craving it, completely lost to the pleasure Jay was forcing into him.

The thong was gone—ripped off, forgotten. His thick, muscled thighs quivered. His perfect, jiggly ass was bouncing obscenely, clapping back against Jay’s hips, taking it.

“Fffuck, bro, I—I’m gonna—”

Jay’s grip tightened. He slammed deep, hitting the spot inside Caleb that seemed to make the jock shake like an electric shock, like a button that was wired straight to his pleasure center. He aimed right for that spot, overloading Caleb with pleasure until the jock came, hard, shaking, moaning like a slut. 

Jay felt it, felt the way Caleb’s entire dumb, wrecked jock body clenched, locked up, milking him, demanding everything Jay had to give. He buried himself, fingers sinking deep into Caleb’s sweat-slicked round globes, pressing them together, hips flush, groaning as he emptied himself. His cock nestled firmly inside his bro’s velvety warm tight hole, the small spasms massaging his cock as he unloaded inside it, shot after shot of warm cum injected directly into his bro’s hole. It must have been one of the biggest loads of his life, a load he’d been saving up for way too long, since the day he saw how fat his Caleb’s ass was, and now it was even fatter. Now Caleb was HIS.

His best bro. His dumb jock. His fucking slut.

Caleb just giggled, breathless, wrecked, his muscles limp, used up.

“Damn, bro…” he mumbled, voice thick, ruined. “Think I, like…really love my new glutes…”

Jay smirked, pressing his palm flat against Caleb’s still-bouncing bubble butt, watching it jiggle under his touch.

“Yeah,” Jay murmured. “Me too, bro. Me too.”

Jay glanced at the bathroom, the door slightly open, enough to see the open box for the mysterious pink hair dye. It started off as a prank, but the results were far beyond his wildest expectations.

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In the sweltering embrace of a midsummer evening, the city streets lay quiet, a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of urban life. The asphalt radiated heat waves, ghostly mirages dancing in the air as the sun dipped behind the skyline. The neon glow of distant billboards cast an eerie light over the deserted parking lot, a solitary sanctuary amidst the concrete sprawl.

Officer Jameson, his eyes hidden behind the mirrored lenses of his aviators, leaned against the hood of their patrol car, wiping beads of sweat from his furrowed brow. The fabric of his uniform clung to him like a second skin, a testament to the oppressive humidity. His partner, the ever-composed Officer Castellanos, lounged in the driver’s seat, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel, the other cradling a lukewarm coffee. They were two sides of the same coin, both mature and handsome, their muscular builds hinting at the strength beneath their badges.

The static of the radio crackled, piercing the silence, but the call was for another precinct. They had the night to themselves, a rare gift in their line of work. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that comes before a storm or a confession.

“You know, Castellanos,” Jameson began, his voice gruff with frustration, “I’m just not sure I can take it anymore.” He kicked a pebble into the distance, watching it skitter across the lot. “Home life’s a mess. The missus and I… we’re just not on the same page anymore.”

Castellanos raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Troubles in paradise?”

“More like hell,” Jameson replied, his voice a low growl. “We’re going through a divorce. Sex… it’s just not there.” He paused, took a deep breath, and added, “And that’s not all.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I think I’m… different.”

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of impending revelations. Castellanos’s eyes never left his partner’s, the faintest hint of understanding flickering in his gaze.

“How so?” he asked, his voice steady.

Jameson took a moment, then spoke with a rush of words, as if afraid to let them out. “I think I like guys.” The words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken confession.

Castellanos’s hand paused on the steering wheel. “You’re not alone, Jame,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’m… I’m into guys too.”

The two men stared at each other, the weight of their shared secret palpable. The air grew electric, charged with something more than the static of the radio. And as the night deepened, the shadows grew longer, stretching out like fingers beckoning them towards a future they never could have anticipated.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jameson murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes that searched Castellanos’s face with a mix of disbelief and relief. “You’re saying you’re…?”

“Gay,” Castellanos finished for him, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I am.”

The confessions hung in the air for a beat longer before the tension broke. They both chuckled, the sound echoing through the empty parking lot. It was strange, how something so intimate could be so freeing. They were two cops in a car on a stakeout, yet in that moment, the world had shifted on its axis, forever changing the dynamics of their partnership.

“Guess we’ve got more in common than just the badge,” Jameson said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Castellanos’s spine. He leaned back into the car, his hand resting on the doorframe.

“Yeah,” Castellanos agreed, his eyes lingering on Jameson’s bicep. “Maybe we should… explore that.”

With a nod of agreement, they both slid into the backseat of the patrol car, the cool leather a welcome relief against their overheated skin. The engine was still running, the air conditioning a whisper of comfort in the oppressive heat. They looked at each other, and in that moment, the years of friendship and camaraderie transformed into something deeper, something more primal.

Jameson reached out, his hand brushing against Castellanos’s jawline, his thumb tracing the curve of his ear. The touch was tentative, questioning, but it was met with a soft sigh, an invitation to continue. And as the engine hummed in the background, the two men kissed, their lips meeting in a fierce, hungry embrace that spoke of years of longing and denial.

Their uniforms were discarded with an urgency born of need, buttons popping and fabric tearing as they revealed the hard planes of their chests and the muscular lines of their abs. The scent of sweat and cologne mingled in the close confines of the car, adding a heady edge to their desire.

They touched each other with an intensity that was almost painful, their hands roaming over broad shoulders, down the ridges of their backs, and across firm asses. The friction of their bodies against the car’s upholstery added to the sensory overload, a delicious contrast to the softness of skin on skin.

Jameson’s mouth moved to Castellanos’s neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh, eliciting a gasp. Castellanos’s hands slid down Jameson’s body, his fingertips tracing the outline of his cock, which was already thick and hard with need. He gripped it firmly, stroking in time with Jameson’s hungry kisses.

Their passion grew with each passing moment, the heat in the car becoming almost unbearable. They tasted each other, explored every inch of skin, every curve and hollow, their breaths growing ragged.

And when Jameson finally pushed into Castellanos, the world outside the car ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, lost in the throes of passion, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time itself. The slap of skin against skin, the guttural moans that filled the air, the desperate gasps for breath. It was raw, it was real, and it was everything they had both been missing.

As they reached their climax, their eyes locked, and in that moment, they knew. This was not just a fleeting encounter, a release of pent-up tension. This was the beginning of something more, a bond forged in the heat of a stolen summer night, a love that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

They lay there, spent and satisfied, their bodies entwined. The city outside had not changed, but their world had shifted, forever altered by the realization of their shared desires and the promise of what lay ahead.

“We should do this more often,” Jameson murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Castellanos chuckled, his chest still heaving with the aftermath of their passion. “I think we might have to find a more… private place next time.”

“Yeah,” Jameson agreed, his own laugh a bit shaky. “The backseat of a patrol car isn’t exactly the Ritz.”

They both took a moment to catch their breath, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of their encounter. The air conditioning had long ago ceased to be effective, the windows were fogged over, and the car’s interior smelled faintly of sex and sweat.

“You know,” Castellanos said, his voice a low murmur, “this might just be the best thing to come out of a bad situation.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Jameson, who was still panting beneath him.

Jameson nodded, his eyes shining with a mix of lust and affection. “It sure as hell beats the alternative.”

They both laughed, the tension of the moment breaking like a dam, releasing the flood of emotions they had been holding back. The car felt too small to contain the love that had just bloomed between them, too public for the intimacy they craved.

“You’re right,” Jameson said, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “But for now…” He leaned in and captured Castellanos’s mouth in a soft, lingering kiss, tasting the salt of his partner’s skin. It was a kiss filled with promise and hope, a declaration that this was just the beginning.

Castellanos moaned into the kiss, his body responding even though he thought he had nothing left to give. The passion between them was a live wire, sparking and crackling with every touch. They kissed deeply, their tongues dancing together in a silent conversation that needed no words.

When they finally broke apart, Jameson reached down and stroked Castellanos’s cock, now hard again. “You’re insatiable,” he murmured.

“You bring it out in me,” Castellanos replied, his eyes dark with lust. He rolled them over so that Jameson was on his back, then positioned himself between Jameson’s muscular thighs. With a wicked smile, he took the head of Jameson’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip before taking him deep.

Jameson’s hips bucked upwards, his hands fisting in the upholstery as he fought not to shout out in pleasure. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect mix of pressure and heat that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years. Castellanos’s mouth was a thing of beauty, working him with a skill that was both surprising and incredibly erotic.

They had crossed a line, a boundary that could never be uncrossed, but in that moment, neither of them cared. The world had narrowed to the two of them, and all that existed was the sound of their harsh breathing, the slick wetness of their skin, and the delicious friction of their bodies moving together.

Castellanos broke the silence with a question that held the promise of more nights like this. “How about after shift?” he suggested, his voice a low purr. “We could… you know, go to my place.”

Jameson’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was lost in the implications of the invitation. He hadn’t been with anyone since before his marriage, and the thought of being with a man, especially with someone he trusted and cared for, was more than a little exhilarating.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff with desire. “Your place sounds perfect.”

The rest of their shift passed in a blur of anticipation, their eyes meeting in the rearview mirror every so often, the unspoken promise of what was to come hanging heavy in the air. They handled calls with the ease of seasoned professionals, their bodies humming with the knowledge of their shared secret.

As the clock finally ticked down to the end of their patrol, they couldn’t wait to leave the confines of the car. They had tasted each other and knew that one night would never be enough.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived. Castellanos started the engine with a roar, the headlights cutting through the night as they peeled out of the parking lot. The city streets blurred around them, a backdrop to the pulsing need that grew stronger with every mile.

When they reached Castellanos’s apartment, the air was thick with excitement. They stumbled inside, tearing at each other’s clothes as if they hadn’t just had sex in the cramped backseat. The living room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, casting a warm light over the leather couch and the hardwood floor.

Their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate, as they made their way to the bedroom, their hands never leaving each other’s bodies. The bed was a welcome respite from the unforgiving car seats, the cool sheets a stark contrast to their heated skin.

They explored each other with a hunger that was insatiable, their hands and mouths leaving no part of each other’s bodies untouched. Jameson’s eyes widened as Castellanos took him in, his tongue tracing every ridge and valley with a reverence that made him feel like a god. And when Castellanos finally pushed into him, Jameson knew that he had found home in the arms of this man, his partner in every sense of the word.

Their lovemaking was slow and deliberate, each movement designed to bring the other to the brink of ecstasy and then pull them back again. They whispered sweet nothings and shared secrets, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the night.

It was a dance that went on for hours, a symphony of pleasure that crescendoed with each touch, each kiss, each stroke of their cocks against each other’s. And when they finally collapsed, their bodies slick with sweat and cum, they knew that their lives had been forever changed.

They lay there, entwined in the aftermath, their hearts pounding in time with the city outside the window. The sirens and the honks of cars faded into a distant melody, the only sound in the room the gentle panting of their breath.

“I love you,” Castellanos whispered into Jameson’s ear, his voice filled with a vulnerability that was as surprising as it was beautiful.

“I love you too,” Jameson responded, his voice thick with emotion.

The words hung in the air, a declaration that resonated through the room, a promise that would shape their future together. And as the first light of dawn began to creep through the blinds, they drifted off to sleep, their hearts full and their bodies sated, ready to face whatever the world threw at them, as long as they had each other.

The next morning, as the sun painted the city in a fresh coat of light, they woke up to the harsh reality of their situation. They had to go to work, back into the world where their love had to be hidden behind their badges and uniforms. They showered together, the water cascading over their bodies, washing away the sweat and the fear of the night before, and they kissed under the spray, their hands roaming over each other’s bodies in a silent reassurance that they were in this together.

As they dressed, Jameson’s hand paused over the wedding band that still adorned his finger. He slid it off his finger and dropped it on a side table, then looked at Castellanos, who nodded solemnly. They both knew what they had to do, what they had to face.

They arrived at the precinct with a newfound confidence, their secret a warm glow in their chests. They had decided to tell their male superior officer, Captain Taylor, a man known for his stoic demeanor and unwavering dedication to the job.

The morning light was unforgiving as it streamed through the precinct windows, highlighting every line and scar on their faces. They walked into the bullpen together, their shoulders touching, their eyes holding a secret that no one else could see. The other officers looked up from their desks, nodding in greeting, none the wiser to the tumultuous night that had just unfolded.

The morning briefing was a blur of faces and information, none of it sticking in their minds as the anticipation grew. They had decided to tell Captain Taylor at the earliest opportunity, and the moment the briefing ended, they headed towards his office with a mix of excitement and dread.

Knocking on the door, they heard his gruff “Come in,” and they entered, their hearts racing. The captain looked up from his paperwork, his eyes immediately noticing the change in them. They could feel the energy pulsing between them, a tangible force that was impossible to hide.

“Sir,” Castellanos began, his voice steady despite the nerves, “we have something we need to discuss with you.”

Jameson nodded, his hand on Castellanos’s shoulder in silent support. They had rehearsed this conversation in their minds a hundred times, but the words still felt foreign on their tongues.

Captain Taylor’s gaze sharpened, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “What’s this about?”

They took a deep breath and launched into the story of their night together, the confessions and the passion that had brought them to this moment. They watched the captain’s face, looking for signs of disgust or anger, but all they saw was a growing interest.

As they reached the end of their story, the captain leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Well, well,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with desire. “It seems I’ve been missing out.”

Their jaws dropped in unison as he stood up and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, revealing a chest that was just as muscular and well-defined as theirs. He was a man who knew what he wanted and was not afraid to take it.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” Castellanos stuttered out, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“More than okay,” Captain Taylor said, his voice low and seductive. “In fact, I’ve had my eye on you two for a while.”

Their eyes met, and in that moment, they knew. The universe had thrown them a curveball, but it was one they were ready to catch.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to trace a line down Jameson’s chest. “How about after work, we take this to my place?”

Their nods were almost simultaneous, the excitement building as they realized the implications of his words. They had found not just acceptance but a willing partner in their superior, a man who could offer them the kind of passion they had only dreamed of.

The three of them left the precinct together at the end of the shift, the city’s chaos a stark contrast to the quiet intensity of their shared secret. The night was still young, and they had so much to explore, so much to discover.

At Captain Taylor’s apartment, the tension grew palpable. He led them to the bedroom, the walls lined with framed certificates and awards, a testament to his dedication to the force. But in this private sanctuary, they were not patrolmen and Captain, but lovers, united by a bond that went beyond the badges they wore.

Their clothes fell away, revealing the beauty of their bodies, the strength and the need that had brought them together. They touched and kissed, their hands exploring new territories, learning the contours of each other’s flesh.

The captain was a masterful lover, his experience and confidence guiding them both to new heights of pleasure. Jameson and Castellanos lost themselves in the sensations, their fears and worries melting away under the weight of desire.

They began with kisses, deep and searching, their tongues dancing together in a silent promise of what was to come. Hands roamed, exploring the firm muscles and soft skin, the sound of their moans a symphony of need. The scent of arousal filled the room, a heady mix of sweat and masculine pheromones that made them all harden with want.

Castellanos lay back on the bed, his legs spread wide, as Jameson took his place between them. He took Castellanos’s cock in his hand, stroking it gently before taking it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salt and sweetness of his partner. Meanwhile, Captain Taylor knelt behind Jameson, his hands on his hips, guiding him closer to Castellanos’s open mouth, which eagerly took Jameson’s cock in a wet, welcoming heat.

The three of them moved in a synchronized rhythm, each man’s pleasure feeding the others. The captain’s strong hands gripped Jameson’s waist, pulling him back as he pushed into him, filling him completely, the friction of their bodies setting them all on fire. Castellanos’s moans grew louder, his hips bucking as Jameson’s mouth worked his cock, the sensation overwhelming.

They switched positions, Captain Taylor now taking Jameson, his thrusts sure and deep, while Castellanos took over the task of pleasuring Jameson. The movements of the two career cops and their commanding officer, their bodies entwined and lost in passion, were almost incendiary. They were no longer just co-workers, but something more, something deeper.

Their movements grew more frantic, their breaths coming in pants and gasps. The bed rocked beneath them, a testament to their passion. And as the first rays of dawn began to filter through the windows, they reached their climaxes together, their cries of pleasure echoing off the walls, a declaration of love and lust that could no longer be contained.

They lay there, panting and sweaty, their hearts racing in unison. The room was still, the only sound their mingled breaths. They had crossed a line, but in that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“You two should move in with me,” Captain Taylor said, breaking the silence. He looked at them, his eyes shining with a mix of lust and affection. “This place has more room than you could ever need.”

Jameson and Castellanos exchanged glances, surprise etched on their faces. They had never considered living together, not like this, but the idea had a certain appeal. Their own apartments were small, cramped spaces that had never truly felt like home.

They took a few days to think it over, the offer weighing heavily on their minds. They talked about it in hushed whispers during patrols, their eyes meeting in the rearview mirror, filled with the promise of a future they had never dared to imagine.

Finally, they made their decision. They sat in the captain’s office, their knees knocking together. “We’ll do it,” Jameson said, his voice firm. “We’ll move in with you.”

The captain’s smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Welcome home,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

The following weekend was a flurry of activity, their meager belongings packed into the back of the patrol car and unloaded into Captain Taylor’s spacious apartment. The place was a bachelor’s paradise, with leather couches and a state-of-the-art sound system. But now, it was theirs, a place where they could live openly as lovers and partners.

Their first night together under one roof was filled with excitement and a touch of apprehension. They had never been so openly intimate in a shared space, but as they lay tangled in each other’s arms, the fears melted away.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Their relationship grew stronger, fueled by their shared experiences and the passion that burned between them. They learned each other’s rhythms, each other’s likes and dislikes, and together, they faced the challenges of their jobs and their newfound love.

The precinct never knew, their secret a tightly guarded treasure that bound them together. They supported each other through arrests and heartaches, through late nights and early mornings, through the mundane and the extraordinary.

Their love was a beacon in the darkness, a light that guided them through the storms of life. And as they lay in bed together, their hearts beating in time with the city’s pulse, they knew that they had found something rare and precious, something that not even the tough streets could take from them.

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“Stefan! Stefan! You’re needed! There has been a violation, and enforcement is required! Stefan! Come now! Correction is needed!”

With a sigh, Stefan put down his phone. He was fifteen minutes in on a video of a handsome young blonde Czech man getting his perky ass drilled by a thick dick to sobbing satisfaction. But his wife was downstairs demanding attention. So with his balls still full and burning for release, Stefan tucked his big man meat back into the pants, and stepped down to the entrance of his Munich suburban house, where his wife for seventeen years was loudly demanding his presence.

“He doesn’t know how to drive. He might have done it on purpose! It was rotten. This little twerp has violated me!” shouted Katarina and waved towards the driveway to the house. Her face was puffed up as it often was when she entered full ‘Karen mode’, as the Americans so creatively put it.

Katarina had been a good wife and a supreme Bavarian pussy for well over a decade. Three healthy kids, a good house, and the best home-made pretzel south of the Main River. That she tolerated that her husband, from time to time, fucked a pretty boy in the butt was true marital joy. Stefan had never kept his bisexual urges a secret. His strict Freudian upbringing had taught Stefan the powers of male sexuality, and Stefan had lived accordingly.

But at middle age, around forty years old, or so, some phase shift takes place. Short temper, public complaints, looking for reasons to be annoyed… So, in short, a modest traffic problem while getting groceries could easily be the cause of the present events.

“I warned you! My husband is not to be messed with. You hit our car. Look. I was reversing, clearly visible, and you drove right into our car,” shouted Katarina at another car that drove up at the house. 

It wasn’t difficult to infer that some minor collision had taken place and that, through high-pitched complaints, Katarina had coaxed the presumed rule violator to drive back here. Stefan had been here before. His wife liked to use him as a threat, and the poor sucker in the other car had apparently not stood his ground and exchanged insurance information and been done with it.

“I am sorry. I said so. I am still a new driver. Perhaps I was at fault. Perhaps we both were. Let us do this right. I cannot see much damage. But I am looking to make it right. I am so very sorry,” said the other driver apologetically, as he exited his car.

Stefan felt his dick harden again. The pretty Czech boy from the video was a tier lower in hotness compared to the guy who exited his car. Somewhere in the early twenties, blonde curly hair, blue eyes, a fair complexion, the kind that would get all rosy when the blood pumped hot, slim around the waist, but with a nice package of ass wrapped in a simple pair of shorts that begged to be ripped off. That the boy looked genuinely scared at the sight of Stefan was an added turn on.

“Look at this scratch. Guys like you should learn to respect your elders, we who know what’s right. You will teach him respect, won’t you, Stefan,” said Katarina with a puffy face as she pointed to an insignificant scratch that a stray piece of gravel might as well have created.

Stefan glanced at the car of the young man. No external damage. But the interior was messy with dirt, empty pizza boxes, plastic bags and smudged seats. A well-mannered young man driving a car like that was plain wrong, Stefan thought.

As a principal mechanical engineer at BMW, Stefan knew the importance of respecting the automotive craft. Some rules are not only questions of function but a matter of higher aesthetics. One thing Stefan impressed on his staff and the students of the courses he taught part-time at TUM was that craft should be mastered, respected, and enforced. Those were duties of any man commanding the heavy machinery of this world. 

“I want to do right. I promise. But I hope we could do it without involving the authorities. I recently received my license. Please,” pleaded the young man.

“State your name,” said Stefan.

“Samuel,” answered the young man.

“Samuel, there have clearly been rule violations here. I see a way to rectify the issue, however, without involving the authorities of the state. If you do as you are told, that is. Will you do as you are told?”

“Yes,” said Samuel, nodding and eager to keep his formal driving record clean.

“You and I will go in your car to a place where we can sort out the issues, off the record, as it were. I know what’s required,” concluded Stefan with a tone of voice that left no room for objections or follow-on questions.

“My husband will teach you to behave,” said Katarina smugly to Samuel as he sheepishly complied with Stefan’s command.

The ease with which Samuel followed the command can in part be explained by that the young man wanted to avoid any negative note in the official records, even if he most likely had not been the sole cause of the very minor collision. Anyone would understand that Katarina was a poor driver. In part, it also followed from that Samuel, as a shorter, shy, even passive and meek, young man, generally preferred to submit to other men’s leadership than to take the initiative.

But another appreciable part in the explanation was Stefan. He was a bit over two metres tall with a body hardened by decades of martial arts training and many youthful summers doing manual labour at his grandfather’s rural estate. Add to that body a balding head and a stern gaze brought about from the many burdens and annoyances of the professional middle-aged family man of southern Germany. His words, therefore, carried great natural force. 

After a few minutes of driving, Samuel spoke up.

“I hope your graceful wife wasn’t hurt or inconvenienced by my error. I must have looked in the wrong direction because all of a sudden she reversed out, or something. She began screaming about… sorry, insisting that her husband should settle the conflict, or she would call the police. I understand now why a man of your stature is the best for resolution, since you are clearly a very good and wise man, who can judge right from wrong and…”

“Enough,” said Stefan sternly. “My judgment is already settled. My wife has nothing to do with your error. Stop with the flattery and drive as I command.”

There was silence as Stefan pointed the way forward on the roads. They were driving further out from Munich, up north of the city into rural areas. Samuel was unsure what was going on, but he did not dare to continue his pleadings. He followed directions, hoping for the best.

Stefan, on the other hand, used the silence to inspect Samuel closer. It was summer, so the young man wore linen shorts and a V-neck short-sleeve shirt in a warm pink colour. Seated as he was, the fabric of his shorts’ legs had moved up his legs and revealed a generous chunk of tender, smooth thigh. His arms had the same tender quality and the V-neck offered sufficient views of a well-defined and slender torso, the kind that would respond very well to the rugged touch of two days of stubby beard growth.

“Pull in here, and drive about a hundred metres,” said Stefan and pointed to a small dirt road that led into a cluster of birch trees off the road.

Samuel complied. However, at this point, without any remaining hope that some mechanical shop or car repairman was at the end of the journey.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to, I am good and…” said Samuel as he turned off the car engine and turned to face the gaze of Stefan.

Stefan put his finger on Samuel’s lips to silence the flustered boy.

“Be sorry about the state of your car. Look at it! This is no way a man treats engineering craft. The labour and love that went into making this metallic tool of freedom, road travel and backseat love-making demand your respect. You understand that a pizza box has no place there?! Filth all over!”

Stefan placed a firm grip around Samuel’s neck and directed the young man’s head in the direction of a pizza box thrown on the floor by the passenger seat. The feeling of Samuel’s neck in his hand and the sudden puff of boy hormones made Stefan inhale heavily. He had been semi-erect throughout the trip, and now added another centimetre of hardness as he felt the sweetness of Samuel even closer and in his grip.

“I’m sorry, but my friends are sloppy and…”

“Excuses!” interrupted Stefan. “You’re a man. A small man. But a man nonetheless. You acknowledge your error, receive judgment, and commit to bettering yourself and the world. Understood, Samuel?” Stefan had raised Samuel’s face close to his own, and he looked the scared boy deep into his pretty eyes.

“Yes… I’m sorry,” said Samuel faintly.

“You understand your error. But you don’t feel the need to act to rectify it. I know boys like you. My duty is to make you feel it. Only that way can you improve as a man,” said Stefan sternly, mere centimetres from Samuel’s face. The boy looked close to tears, though his breathing was deep and excited as all kinds of conflicting feelings rushed through his young body.

“Step out,” commanded Stefan. Samuel complied, and the two men soon stood next to each other and next to the car among birches on a rural Bavarian dirt road.

“Remove your shorts,” said Stefan.

Samuel hesitated at first, and he inhaled as if he was about to utter an apology or plead his case for mercy once more. But he met Stefan’s angry and impatient gaze and realized that any delay or excuse would only make whatever came next worse. So he untied and unbuttoned and allowed his shorts to fall to the ground.

“Pink, black and see-through. So that’s the fashion among you boys,” noted Stefan as he checked out Samuel’s rather minimal underwear. “And an erection struggling to break out, I see,” he added. “Some boys need direction, and it turns them on. Do you think things would feel better for both of us if you were completely without underwear as well, dick and ass out in the fresh summer air?” asked Stefan.

“Yes,” mumbled Samuel, who by now was blushing red.

“Speak up with clarity and precision. What do you think?” said Stefan sternly.

“Yes, I think it would be good to have my underwear removed,” answered Samuel with slightly more emphasis. Samuel swallowed hard and looked up at Stefan.

“Excellent, we agree then,” said Stefan, grabbing Samuel’s shoulders, turning the young man around and slightly pressing Samuel over the hood of the car. The boy placed his palms on the car, and then Stefan kneeled down and roughly ripped off the underwear, so they broke. 

It was a beautiful butt. Nice, rounded and firm, responsive to touch, the kind of ass one could spend hours with doing all kinds of things with. Among them, and most urgently in the present: spanking.

“You understand it is your disrespect of the craft that requires me to do what I will do, right? Your unordered and littered car demands manly action on my part. I need to correct you, for your own good. You understand that, don’t you?” whispered Stefan to Samuel as Stefan leaned some of his weight on Samuel’s body, pressing the young man against the car.

“Yes,” whispered Samuel.

“So what do you think would be good if I did?” asked Stefan and stroked Samuel’s buttocks with his work-hardened hands.

After a few trembling breaths, Samuel whispered, “spank me.”

The sound of a big man hand landing hard on tender buttocks rang out. Samuel yelped and bumped his dick into the car chassis. Stefan swung again, and the symphony of sounds was heard again. Stefan then shifted to a few rapid, lighter touch spanks before he stopped and massaged the buttocks lovingly. They were even firmer than before, and their redness felt like a bit of extra warmth in the hand. 

While massaging the butt, Stefan leaned forward, kissed Samuel’s neck and spoke.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? This is the path to make you respect the craft and to become a whole and orderly man. You understand you need direction, I know that, your body tells me so. But there is plenty more distance to cover. So lift that one leg on the hood of the car so I get better access to your tender parts, sweet Samuel.”

Stefan helped lift Samuel’s right leg partway up on the hood of the car. That way, the young man’s butt cheeks were spread apart, and his dick and balls poked out and back behind his body. Samuel was in a more vulnerable position, tender and tingling parts properly exposed to Stefan’s force.

Stefan began swinging, slapping, pinching and spanking the butt and butthole firmly secured on the car’s metal. From time to time, Stefan stopped his effort to give Samuel’s hard dick a few gentle strokes and the boy’s sweaty neck a few licks and wet kisses while rubbing the coarse beard on the smooth boyish skin.

Samuel whimpered, moaned, sobbed, purred, and squealed in all kinds of ways and arrangements possible. His body was wet and tender as Stefan explored all sensitive spots on the boy. The young man nonetheless remained committed to his submission. If he really wanted to escape Stefan, he could struggle and wiggle and protest. But he didn’t. He served himself up to the man in command. The boy knew he had to receive. Submission was his place within the male hierarchy.

“Time now to clean the car. Show me what you’ve learned,” said Stefan and stopped. He gave the buttocks a loving squeeze and then allowed the red-faced, rosy-assed Samuel to climb down from the hood. 

So dressed in nothing but his V-neck shirt, Samuel opened the car doors and began collecting the dirt and litter. He was well past objections or generic apologies, so the pizza boxes and plastic bags, on the seats and the floors, were gathered in rapid succession and silence.

Stefan followed closely and, when appropriate, gave Samuel a gentle, encouraging tap on his tender buttocks. The boy was a fast and eager learner.

“Come on, lean in there a bit extra, ensure the space under the seats is clean,” said Stefan and pressed Samuel in a bit further into the car. The boy was bent over really well, his butt high up as his face and arms were down on the floor. 

Stefan secured a firm grip on Samuel’s balls and massaged them. Good size and quite full with those precious boy juices, Stefan concluded. He held on to them as he commanded Samuel to take extra care to ensure the floors were as clean as the engineering craft deserved.

”Time for inspection,” said Stefan and began moving around the car. He looked at the seats, floors and car pockets. 

From one of the car pockets, he pulled out a small tube. Stefan looked at it, then at Samuel, and then Stefan began reading out loud from the text on the tube.

“Loving Lube: intimate lubricant, scientific formula. Suitable for anal stimulation.”

Samuel was blushing from top to toe. A shy smile was on his pink lips, and he looked up timidly at Stefan. The boy licked his lips just a little, his dick standing in full attention. All his cute, pretty-boy looks radiated hot in the summer sun.

Maybe this disciplinary session could have concluded after the spanking. But no more. Stefan knew he needed Samuel’s ass thoroughly and deeply; all that hot blushing created such strong feelings within the man.

He grabbed a blanket from the backseat of the car and moved the boy back to the hood of the car. Stefan first placed the blanket on the hood, then lifted the boy up on the blanket. With the boy on his back, Stefan pushed up and apart the boy’s legs. 

So much beautiful stuff for Stefan to marvel at. A pretty and pliable blonde boy to look at, suck on, bite, tickle and fuck. 

First, Stefan leaned down to take a few big wet kisses on the freshly spanked buttocks. Somehow, tender and well-spanked boy meat was steaming with some very delicious juices, so Stefan slurped loudly on the meat. As Samuel was quite sore, the manly touch on his ass created lots of feelings, so he moaned anew, the kind of moan that makes men like Stefan full of muscular feelings.

Stefan had held back enough. He needed those feelings only the deepest, tightest parts of a fresh boy can give. He had earned it; nothing would prevent him from claiming it.

So he stood up. He told Samuel to hold his legs back and wide apart. And he unbuckled and unzipped to drop his pants to the ground. Stefan’s hard and thick dick swung out. Stefan took a generous portion of Loving Lube and began massaging the full length of his penis. Samuel looked on, cock-hunger and fear in his eyes, as he served up his butt on the hood of the now cleaned and respected car.

Stefan placed his palm on Samuel’s red and radiating face to feel that unmistakable boyish heat. With his other hand, Stefan aimed his dick at Samuel’s red and radiating butt. They both knew the time had come, and they both deeply inhaled the rural Bavarian atmosphere, preparing their bodies.

Samuel was tight and struggled and winced at first as Stefan pressed forward and inside. The boy wriggled a bit as Stefan put a temporary halt to his assault on the sweet Samuel’s delightful butt. Giving the boy a minute to accommodate and relax is always good, and it also gave Stefan time to toy with Samuel’s hardened nipples. 

After some wincing and moaning on the hood of the car in the fragrant summer wind, the boy whispered, pleaded even: “fuck me”. Stefan couldn’t deny such a request and pressed on.

The warm grip around his dick made Stefan groan a loud and proper beast groan. Samuel was made for this, Stefan concluded as his rhythmic motions in and out of the boy took on ever greater depths and pace. And the lube did wonders. It enabled the two men to bond closely, as otherwise, boys could have trouble taking Stefan’s manly force. The boy’s excitement was infectious and the hot quivering heap of exquisite boy meat under and around Stefan’s manhood made the stern man lose control. After a session of discipline, men deserve release.

So Stefan climbed up a bit higher on the car and began thrusting with greater force and depth. The car moved along with the pounding. Stefan embraced the boy and the Samuel embraced him as their bodies joined closely.

The boy was too good; no man can last for a long time inside Samuel and the sweet boys of his ilk that roam the world. It was therefore with a loud slapping noise that Stefan reached his climax and pumped a load deep into Samuel. Stefan roared and groaned, and the wild, rough ass stimulation made Samuel quiver with a hands-free orgasm.

“Please stay inside me, just a bit longer,” whispered Samuel with Stefan’s hardness above and the car’s hardness below him. The boy reached his hands around Stefani’s neck and held on to the man on top as if life depended on it. He was looking away, still too shy to meet Stefan’s gaze as Samuel confessed his submission.

For one minute, Stefan stayed where he was and kissed, licked and nibbled on Samuel’s face, neck and ears. A freshly spanked and fucked boy, steaming with joyful submission, is a tasty thing, thought Stefan as he licked Samuel’s neck one last time before unmounting the boy and the car.

The two men were soon back inside the car. The matter had been dealt with. The natural order of things was put in place for the good of the community.

“I tore up your underwear, Samuel. You should get some new ones. Perhaps a jockstrap or two as well. You should flaunt your ass more so a man can direct and command you more easily in case you stray from your place. So before you drop me off at my house, drive into the city so I can supply you with a few skimpy ones,” said Stefan and pointed the way. Samuel did as he was told. Half an hour later, Samuel was one bag of sexy underwear richer, chosen by Stefan.

When Samuel dropped off Stefan in the suburbs, the young man inhaled as if he wanted to say something. But in the end, he was too shy and only blushed and smiled, after which he quickly drove off.

“You dealt with it thoroughly, I gather. Good that you did not hold back, because young men like that are dangerous. This may not be the last time they cause damage and problems for us,” said Katarina as Stefan walked through the door to the house out in tranquil suburban Munich. The dinner waiting for him was a tender and fragrant roasted pork knuckle, spätzle and a creamy chanterelle sauce.

“You are correct, of course, dearest. They need to be dealt with appropriately, not in the soft ways weak people say,” said Stefan, kissed his wife and sat down and ate with great appetite.

Josh leaned against the wall of the train’s cramped bathroom, trying not to vomit. His reflection in the cracked mirror offered little comfort: tousled sandy blond hair, penetrating blue eyes, and a strong jawline flecked with stubble that somehow still managed to look good. Even in his hungover state, his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and long legs were still enviable, a prominent package easily visible, all wrapped in faded jeans.

The night before was an absolute blur—complete with more kegs than could be counted, sexy girls, and a whole lot of poor decisions. It was excess. It was wild. It was what frat legends are made of. Josh, the pride of the college’s track team, had flaunted his big-man-on-campus status, his killer smile, and his prominent member. His final dollar had gone toward a condom he wasn’t even able to use. He’d passed out.

Now, as the morning sun crept through the train windows, Josh felt like shit and had no ticket and no cash. Normally, he’d bank on the old conductor, Maurice, always giving him a pass with a wink. But Maurice was nowhere to be seen, and in his place was Captain Ronald Jeffries—a six-foot-three slab of military precision in a tight navy uniform, muscles making his shirt and pants look like they were a size too small, with an almost obscene bulge indicating that size was not one of his insecurities. Jeffries was in his early forties, Black, with cropped salt-and-pepper hair, a square jaw, and dark, serious eyes that looked like they took no bullshit.

Josh had caught a glimpse of the conductor inspecting tickets two cars back and knew he was in trouble. He’d already moved twice, switching seats, and finally barricading himself in the bathroom as a last-ditch effort. Josh thought he knew how to charm his way out of anything—but somehow it was clear that this time would be different.

A loud, firm Bang! Bang! Bang! on the door made him jump.

Captain Jeffries shouted, “This is the conductor. Open the goddamn door.”

“Uh… one second, sir,” Josh answered timidly. “I’m, uh—sick. Stomach flu. Real bad.”

“Drop your dick, kid, and open this fucking door. Now!” said Jeffries.

Slowly, Josh unbolted the door and looked out. Standing there, filling the frame like a wall, was Captain Ronald Jeffries, arms folded, steel in his eyes. Josh couldn’t help but instinctively glance at the conductor’s incredible bulge—he was only human.

“You got a ticket?” Jeffries asked, his tone light – almost.

Josh’s throat went dry. He said nothing.

Jeffries’ tilted his head, mock sympathy in his eyes.  “Ohhh. . .I see.  You don’t.” Then his voice snapped like a whip, “You’ve been sneaking from car to car, haven’t you, son?”

Josh gave a thin, nervous laugh. “Okay, look, I know this looks bad. I usually ride with Maurice—he knows me, he always lets me—”

“Maurice retired,” Jeffries cut in, smiling like he’d won a bet. “Now you’ve got me. And I don’t hand out free rides to freeloading, rich, white boys.”

Josh’s face drained. “I just… ran out of money, sir.”

“You thought you could break the rules and not get caught, didn’t you?” Jeffries’ said slyly.

Josh opened his mouth but nothing came out.  Without warning, Jeffries seized Josh by the arm and hoisted him – effortlessly – up and over his shoulder, fireman-style, striding down the narrow aisle to his office, two cars away. He smiled to himself as he could feel Josh’s growing erection on his shoulder.

At the office door, Jeffries dropped Josh into a chair. “Sit, you little shit.” he ordered. Jeffries went behind his desk, his eyes locked on Josh. He didn’t speak—just stared, that same hard look Josh had seen since their first encounter, now sharpened by a thin, curling smile.

“Sir, I’m really sorry,” Josh blurted. “Just let me off at the next stop—I won’t cause you any more trouble.”

“Won’t cause me trouble. . .” Jeffries smile widened.  “Boy, you’ve been nothing but trouble since you stepped on my train.”

The conductor’s glare never wavered. Josh’s gaze sank to the floor. “What… what are you going to do with me?”

“Oh, I’ve got options,” Jeffries said, leaning forward as though sharing a secret. “I could share you with the police in Warrensville. . .let them use your little white ass for the weekend.” He watched the blood drain from Josh’s face, then added, “Or. . .” He let the word hang, twisting the silence into a rope.

“Please,” Josh blurted.  “Don’t turn me over to the police.  My dad will – “

“Kill you?” Jeffries finished for him.  “Might save me the trouble.”

Josh’s voice is barely a whisper, “Maurice was my friend.  Yeah, he was… cool.”

“Well, now you have me—and I’m not cool.”

“I didn’t mean any harm. Can’t we work something out?” Josh’s voice trembled.

Jeffries just stared, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Turn around in a circle, kid.” Jeffries said.  Josh tentatively did what the conductor said.

“Well, you do have a fine, little ass for a white boy,” he said as his smile great bigger.  Josh just looked at him with a terrified look on his face.

“You ever been fucked?” he asked.

“No, sir.  I’m not gay.  I’m not,” Josh assured him.

“Well, that’s good.  You’ll be tighter.  Boy pussy virgins are a specialty of mine.”

Josh blanched and said nothing.

Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got a question for you—and I want you to think very carefully before you answer.”

Josh didn’t move.

“What happens to little boys when they’re bad?” Jeffries asked, smiling wide.

“I’m… not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Jeffries’ voice softened, almost playful. “When I was your age, my daddy made sure I learned my lessons. He’d send me out to find the biggest switch I could carry… then stripe my backside until it was hot and red.”

“My parents never spanked me…” Josh murmured.

Jeffries’ eyes gleamed. “Well, maybe that explains why you’ve been such a bad, bad boy today.”  He let the words sink in, then added softly, “Maybe a little discipline back then would’ve made you a better boy now.”

Josh’s breath hitched. “Please, sir—don’t hurt me.”

Jeffries rose, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving Josh time to imagine what was coming.  “Hurt you?  No, son.  I’m going to help you.” His eyes glinted as he crossed the room.  “Help you remember your place.”

From the wall, he took down a heavy wooden paddle, balancing it lazily in his hand.  “See, you’ve got two choices – face your parents and the boys in Warrensville. . .or face me.”  Josh, paralyzed, just nodded his head.

The smile that spread across the conductor’s face was pure satisfaction. “Either way. . .you’ll never forget this ride.” 

He came around the desk, grabbed Josh’s arm, and yanked him up.  Josh’s knees wobbled, but Jeffries didn’t give him time to think.  With practiced ease, he sat and pulled Josh over his knee, the paddle’s smooth surface resting lightly against Josh’s side – just long enough for him to feel its weight before the first blow. 

The paddle came down the first time and there was a big Smack.  Josh jerked and tried to get up from Jeffries’ lap but the conductor held him too tightly for him to get away. 

The second smack was even louder.  Josh cried out louder this time.  Jeffries pushed Josh’s ass down on his lap and laughs.  “Do you like this boy?”

Josh screamed, “No!” but Jeffries just kept laughing.  “Well, your dick sure says you do.”

The third hit came and then the fourth quickly after.  Josh bellowed each time.  Jeffries stopped and rubbed Josh’s butt through his jeans, soothing the sting, pushing him back and forth across his lap.

Josh tried so hard not to moan but he couldn’t hold it in. Another slap.  Another scream.  Another moan. Jeffries raised the paddle and started to swing it down but stopped suddenly.

Josh, preparing for the blow, arched his ass and rubbed it against Jeffries’ lap.  The conductor starts pushing Josh’s backside, pushing the boy’s cock against his lap back and forth.  “Go ahead, little bitch.  You know you want to.”

Josh can’t help it and starts rubbing the front of his pants against Jeffries’ thigh.  He starts slowly but he gets faster and faster, until he cries out, as he explodes, red-face and clearly embarrassed.  He lies there panting.

“Damn, Joshie. Seems like our little boy made a mess.  Get your ass up.  Looks like this wasn’t punishment at all.”

 Josh slowly stands and has a huge wet spot on the front of his pants, which he tries to hide.

“Now get out of those pants and let me see your little white ass,” Jeffries hissed.

Josh’s throat went dry, and a knot tightened in his stomach. “Please sir, I’m begging you.” he pleaded.

“The boys in Warrenville are waiting,” he said.  “It’s up to you.”

Josh froze, clutching the waistband of his jeans as if they were the last barrier between him and humiliation. 

Jeffries eyes were on him, waiting, expectant, like a jury certain of the verdict. “Your goddamn jeans are so tight …it’s like you’re begging to get fucked.” 

Josh knew there was no way to escape except to peel away the one thing that could retain one small shred of dignity. Josh tentatively unbuttons the snap of his jeans and starts peeling the skin-tight demin to his knees. 

“All the way, pussy boy,”

He sat down to untie his gym shoes and pulls his jeans the rest of the way off. 

“Well, now what do we have here?” Jeffries laughed.  “Do you have wood again?”

Josh cupped both hands to try to cover up his crotch. He couldn’t help it.  His cock was so hard it hurt.  It tented his underwear severely.

Jeffries chuckled low in his throat, leaning in until his breath warmed Josh’s ear. “Virgin, my ass. The way you’re acting, you’re every inch a little whore.”

A shiver ripped through Josh, part panic, part something he didn’t want to name. His pulse thundered in his ears, each beat making him painfully aware of how close Jeffries was, how the man’s voice seemed to sink beneath his skin.

“You’ve got a pretty big cock for a white boy,” Jeffries comments. “That rod is pretty stiff for someone who tells me they’re not a homo.”

Jeffries motioned to Josh to get the rest of his clothes off.  He pulls down his underwear and steps out of them.  He tries to cover his crotch with his hands, pressing down on his erection to hide it.

“Move your fucking hands.  Throw that underwear over here.”

Jeffries caught them with one hand, pulling them up to his nose.

 “Damn boy, you’ve made a terrible mess.  Wet, wet pussy, is it?”

Josh slowly lets his hands slide to his sides.  Josh looked at the floor, but then he slowly lifted his chin until his eyes met the hard, unyielding lines of Jeffries’s body. He let his gaze travel upward: over the broad plane of the man’s chest beneath the crisp uniform shirt, across the sharp cut of his shoulders, along the strong column of his neck. When his gaze finally locked with Jeffries’s, the air between them felt charged.

“Looks as if little Joshie likes what he sees. Is that true, Joshie?”

Josh says nothing

“You like that big black dick, don’t you, pulsing in my pants?”

Josh just stares at Jeffries dick.

“You like cock, don’t you, boy? 

Josh’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache, but the fight was already draining out of him.

“You can touch it if you want.  Don’t be scared.  I bet you never seen a dick this big.”

Josh’s breathing shifted, slowing just enough to betray him. The subtle surrender was met with a slow, satisfied curl of Jeffries’ smile, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“You can take it out if you want to…go ahead…you want to, don’t you?”

The burn of embarrassment lingered, but his resistance had dissolved. His shoulders slackened, and before he could stop himself, Josh unzips the conductor and reaches deep down into his pants and pulls out his cock.  He stares at it.  Touches it, amazed at its size and girth.

“It’s so big and hard, sir.”  Josh pulls it down and it pops back up and slaps Jeffries shirt.

Josh keeps playing with the head of Jeffries’ cock as it gets bigger and harder.  His fingers slide into the precum leaking out the slit at the top of the head and lifts his finger to his mouth.

“Tastes sweet, don’t it, Joshie?  It’s all for you.”

Josh continues sucking his finger, licking it to get every drop of cum.

“You wanna suck it, princess?”

The nearness to Jeffries brought a dizzy rush of heat, leaving him trapped in the worst truth of all: he wanted this, and Jeffries knew it.

“I thought you might, Joshie.”

The subtle surrender was met with a slow, satisfied curl of Jeffries’ smile, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.  Josh goes slowly down on his knees, still holding the enormous rod. 

Put it in your mouth, Joshie…boys like you always love my big black dick.”

 He tentatively licks the head of Jeffries’ pole, tasting the precum, coming out of the tip and eating it.  He licks down the base and then moves his tongue back to the head and starts slowly sucking.

“Fuck, Joshie, now that’s what I’m talking about.  You’re a perfect little cock sucker, aren’t you? 

Josh slurped and sucked and licked that huge cock.  Jeffries grabs the back of Josh’s head and shoves his knob down the boy’s throat, fucking his face. 

“You better get this long, fat dick as slick as you can, Joshie.  The wetter the better when this big old thing breaks through that tight hole of yours.”

Josh gags with spit dripping out of both sides of his mouth as he tries to get more and more of the head inside.  Jeffries pulls his balls out of his zipper and let’s them lay there, hanging out of his pants.

“Well, now, buttercup, these balls ain’t gonna suck themselves.”

Josh smells and tongues the huge orbs that were hanging below that colossal meat and sucked one into his mouth.  Sucking.  Licking.  Tasting.  One, then the other. 

“That’s right, Joshie, suck those balls.  Daddy loves it when his boy sucks on his balls.”

Josh increases his pressure and slurps louder, one after the other.  Jeffries suddenly picked Josh up, lifted him over his head – pulling Josh’s ass directly down on top of his face.  The conductor held Josh tightly and licked the taint under the boy’s balls and then slurped up to Josh’s asshole.  The boy cried out in ecstasy.  It was funky.  It was hairy.  To Jeffries, it smelled like heaven.  He stuck his tongue into the boy’s big pucker.

“OH, GOD!  OH, GOD!” screamed Josh.

Jeffries starts licking on the boy’s cunt more aggressively, sucking on the sphincter and trying to get his tongue up inside the boy’s ass.

“Ohhhhhhhhh, Sir, keep licking!  Ohhhhhh, please don’t stop! “

As suddenly as he lifted Josh up for his rimming, he lowers the boy’s body, bringing him down and places him in his lap.  Jeffries gives Josh one big slap on his upraised ass.  Josh cries out.  But then Jeffries starts rubbing Josh’s red ass.  Soothing him.  Spitting in the crevice. Touching Josh’s hole and rubbing all around it.

“I bet your little butt is starting to itch too, isn’t it?  Jeffries whispers, the words brushing warm against Josh’s lips. “Be a good boy and don’t fight it.”

Shame burned through him, but his body betrays him as before – Josh gets out of Jeffries lap and stands before him, dancing on two feet like a little boy whose butthole itches.

“Climb up on that desk, princess and show J where it itches.”

A slow shiver works its way down Josh’s spine.  He slowly moves to the desk, pulls his legs into the air and opens his hole for Jeffries.

With a slow satisfied smile, the conductor teases, “Look at your pretty pussy…open that hole for ole J…show me where you ARE going to take every inch of this cock,” shaking the huge pole at Josh.  Josh’s pulse thundered so loud it drowned out the clatter of the train. He knew what Jeffries wanted – felt it in the way the man’s gaze held him.  He nodded his head.  He wanted it. too. He couldn’t help it. 

“Lick your dirty little fingers, princess,” commands Jeffries, “And open up that cunt for me.”

Staring at Jeffries with an intensity he’d never shown, he puts two fingers in his mouth. He sucked them hard, spit-slick and glistening, eyes locked on Jeffries.  He then shoves both into his asshole and starts fucking himself.  Josh loses himself in it now, not caring how he looks or sounds—crying out like an animal in ecstasy.

“Tell me what you want, Joshie.  Tell Ole J what you want.” hissed Jeffries.

“Please.” whispered Josh. slowly fucking himself on his fingers.

“Please what?” the conductor said firmly.

“Please fuck me,” he snarls, as he adds a finger and tries to go deeper.

“What do you want me to fuck you with?” demanded the conductor.

“Sir, I want you to fuck me with your big black dick,” Josh fucks himself faster, not worrying how much of a whore he’s becoming.

Jeffries had one last question. “And do what, baby?”

“Fill my white ass with your cum,” pants Josh.

“Listen at your nasty mouth, Joshie.  Looks like my little princess sure does like to talk dirty.”

Jeffries leaned back in his chair, letting his huge balls and dick rise in the air, massive and hard as steel. 

Josh gets up and slowly walks over and stands in front of Jeffries.  He turns around and leans over, grabbing his ankles, shows the conductor his ass.  Jeffries spits in it and rubs it all around his ass.

Jeffries takes Josh and lifts him again, turning him away from him, and moves him into position with his ass right above his big cock.  He slowly lowers him onto the head of his huge cock and stops.

“Oh, sir, it so big.  I don’t think I can take it.” murmurs Josh.

“Shhhh, Shhhh, baby.  Do it for me, my little butt boy.” 

Josh whimpered and Jeffries held him steady, very slowly lowering him onto his cock.  When the colossal head finally breaks through the tight ring, Josh cries out.  Jeffries holds the boy tightly then slowly gives him every little bit of that enormous stick until Josh is sitting with his ass on pubes, filled to the brim. 

“Oh, sir! You feel so fucking amazing inside me!” Josh shouts as the pain becomes pleasure, moving his ass from side to side, riding the cock.

“Tell me how good that feels, being full of my cock!”

Josh lifts himself up a little bit and then pushes back down.

“Oh, yeah, baby.  Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Josh lifts just a little higher and then pushes down, crying out in ecstasy. 

“Suck my rod with your ass again, Joshie!  Milk it! Make that big fat pole cream!

Raising up one leg, Josh opened himself up all the more and suddenly the huge stick touches his prostrate and he loses it, crashing down into the huge man’s lap.

“OHHHHHHHHHH, SIR!”  Josh moaned and groaned. “YOUR COCK IS SO BIG!”

The conductor snarled, “Fuck yourself on my rod, Joshie.  Show me how much you love my big black dick.”

Jeffries couldn’t stand it anymore.  He stood up, keeping Josh impaled on his cock, and pushed him over the seat of the chair so he could take control.  He grabs Josh’s hips from behind, throws him onto his back on his desk, pulling his asshole to the edge of the table.  He pulls his enormous shaft all the way out of Josh’s ass and plows it down as deep as it would go. Again and again. 

“Oh, yeah, Sir!  Fuck me. ..” Josh moans. “Deeper, Sir…please don’t stop.”

Jeffries movement get faster, keeping up that true fucking, balls deep dive.  He wasn’t going to be able to keep it up very much longer.

Josh cried out.  “I’M CUMMING, SIR.  OH!  FUCK I’M CUMMING.”

Spurt after spurt of white hot cum shot all over the boy’s chest and neck – the last pop of his orgasm hit Josh squarely in the face.

Jeffries roared “I’M BREEDING THAT HOLE, YOU LITTLE FUCKER. HERE I COME!”

The conductor discharged deep in his ass.  Lay there panting.  His big cock starting to soften inside Josh’s ass. 

“Did you like it, Joshie?”

“Oh, yes, sir. It was amazing.”

“You’re the perfect little slut.  There’s a lot of cum in your boy pussy.”

Jeffries pulls his cock out suddenly.  Big dollops of the conductor’s cum drip from Josh’s ravaged asshole, falling onto the floor

Jeffries put his cock back into his pants and straightens his uniform.

“Now clean up this mess, Joshie.  AND get your ass out of my office.”

Josh just laid on the conductor’s desk, panting.

“And don’t let me find you on my train again without a ticket,” Jeffries said with a wicked smile.

Josh grins too.  In his head, he was already planning his train trip home for Christmas break.

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

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This is a multi-chapter queer M/M erotica containing incest, non-consensual interactions, and authoritarianism. It is a dark fantasy for consenting adults only. 

Praise, useful criticism, and proof of enjoyment is welcome at [email protected] 

100% human effort, fuck AI. My failures and frustrations as an author are my own.

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Sunday started differently. Socks, jock, no coffee. He sat at the table until Dad got up. He’d heard him on the phone all last evening, door closed, talking about who knows what. His pathetic loser pervert son, a cheap Faggot, now rightfully a slave. Maybe this was for the best.

“Son, you stink. Get a shower.” 

He complied, eager for a task that spoke to normalcy. Off came the jock, in went his dirty body, and the scrubbing began. Then the stroking. Suddenly the bathroom door opened and a hairy hand brusquely yanked the shower curtain open. “No privacy, Clay. That’s the book.” Clay’s half-hard soaped up prick flagged as Dad looked on curiously. “Not when you piss, not when you shit. Door open.” Humiliation mounted.

Clay finished his shower wank anyway after Dad had safely moved on. His gobbets of cum slithered down the drain.

There was still more to lose. The laptop was wiped and taken away. His spare set of keys to the car was confiscated. His textbooks and homework was packed into a box and taken to the basement. Posters on the wall taken down. His room got ever more bare. 

He tried to relax by reading a book but everything was just so strange. 

Dad asked him to make lunch today. He did his best, trying to wing it all without being able to look anything up. Everything was unreal, time was a smear. 

Dad ordered pizza for dinner. Clay flinched when the doorbell rang, curling into a corner. They sat and watched TV as the evening landed, trying to focus on anything other than the hideous reality. Clay crawled into his father’s arms, trying to will his cock to stop pulsing against his will.

—————–

On Monday Dad had to face the world and go back to work. Their only method of communication was the watch, which could only contact Clay’s father. As Dad drove off, he was finally alone. Everything was off. He couldn’t leave the house, pick up a phone, explain to his friends what a mistake this all was. He could do nothing but wank, watch TV, idly tidy up things, and stare as his bare walls wishing it could all go back to the way it was.

Time was brutal. And then: someone at the door! Clay peered out of the window: a delivery man had rang the doorbell, his ass stretching out his uniform shorts. Clay reached for the lock but then caught himself, realizing that he was practically naked. He couldn’t possibly be seen in a slave uniform like this. It wasn’t proper! 

The doorbell rang again, insistently. The man’s bicep was visible through the glass, swollen in his shirt. Clay… could. He could do this. He opened the door and watched the man’s eyes rake over his body and then suddenly glaze over. “Sign this for your Master.” Clay blanched, said a thanks, and hurriedly closed the door to hide his shame.

The box was heavy. Master? Master!? Who was his “Master”?

Oh… no. Dad.  

Later that evening the contents were revealed. Dad looked distraught as he pulled out the approved sunproof laborer’s outfit and the slip-on shoes that his son would wear indefinitely. Clay’s kicks went in the trash. That was it – his attire was that of a slave. 

Later they talked about his day at work. His coworkers would soon get word that Sam’s son had been discovered as a Faggot, and the conversations would be mournful and supportive (to his face, at least). But for now it was his personal Hell. His beautiful vivacious jock son was now just a lump sitting at home. His pride and joy was being turned into a common serving bitch. What a fucking waste. What a fucking… disappointment.

The next day brought new rules.

Father had set Clay’s watch to go off at 6:00 A.M. Dad needed all the help he could get for his stressful job, and Clay needed to be up in the morning to make breakfast and clean up the kitchen mess. And so the watch merrily buzzed and chimed until Clay was upright, bleary, and disoriented. Once again the reality of his new life crashed down on him and he walked to the bathroom to take a miserable piss. 

The coffee pot burbled. Clay looked at it longingly. The eggs cooked up, Clay pushed them sadly around in the pan. Dad came down and helped himself then bounced right back up from the table.

“Son, I need you to get some things done around here. I can’t have you moping around the house all day. Understand?” Clay did. This was, after all, what he was good for.

The kitchen was tidied, another load of laundry cycled, and Clay idly tidied and vacuumed. The house wasn’t a disaster but it was never particularly dialed-in, particularly with a single parent living with a self-absorbed jock. Clay went down to the basement to lift, then made himself a lunch.

Lounging on the sofa he thought back to the deliveryman yesterday, imagining what fun they could have next time. He stroked out his prick while dreaming of thick loads, scented pubes, hard nipples, probing fingers, filthy tongues… God he hoped another package would arrive soon. His load blasted out into his other hand. He wiped it all up with his black jock and tossed it in the hamper, choosing another to wear for the rest of the day.

Time dragged. Dad finally pulled in and decompressed for a few minutes alone before coming back downstairs. “How was your day, son?” Clay was thrilled to have someone to interact with and rattled off the few chores and events of the day.

Strangely, Dad looked irritated. No, more than irritated. “So.. you cleaned up the kitchen a bit and vacuumed? That’s it?”  

“Uh, yeah. Is that okay?”  Clay grew nervous. 

“Well… son… look at this house. Look at this damn house. You were home all day and all you got done was some little bullshit? Stand up.”

Clay gulped. “Look at the crap on the corners of the floor. Does that look clean? Look at the dust on this furniture.” Dad grabbed Clay by the arm and started leading him around the house. “The lawn needs mowing. You were home all day. This has been your responsibility for years. That didn’t change!”

He was really starting to get pissed. For quite a while he dragged Clay by his ear through the house pointing out all of the things left undone.

“I’m sorry Dad, I’m really sorry. I’ll do better.”

“Yeah you will. And you’re starting now. Clean the bathrooms. Now. I’ll inspect when you say you’re done.”

Clay was shocked. No TV? No dinner? No cuddling on the sofa? Shit. His cock lurched as he slinked off, apologetic.

He cleaned those bathrooms all throughout the evening. Tub, tiles, backsplashes, toilets. He’d never had to clean anyone’s bathroom but his own, but now he was on his hands and knees scrubbing the piss and pubes off of his own father’s private toilet. This was humiliating. This was scut work better fit for a common slave. This was… ordered.

Finally he rinsed out the bucket and sheepishly walked down to his father who was sitting darkly with his glass of whiskey. 

“Dad, I think they’re good.”

His father wordlessly walked towards his bathroom, Clay padding along behind. His eyes darted around the much nicer bathroom and returned to rest on his son’s. “It’s better. There’s still a lot of shit you didn’t take care of. These towels aren’t folded nicely or lined up. There’s crud all underneath the cabinet. The mirrors have streaks.” Clay followed Dad’s accusatory finger, seeing all of the details he’d missed.

“Go to bed. Tomorrow you do it again.”

Dad walked off coldly. Clay was baffled. “Are… we having dinner?”

“I am. You’re not. GO TO BED.”

And that was that. Clay lay on his bed looking up at the bare ceiling the rest of the night, stomach rumbling. 

What was happening?

The next day confirmed that stricter Dad was the new normal. Early morning alarm, shit with the door open, quick shower, breakfast made, Dad reclusive. He finally arrived at the table and ate in silence. 

“Clean this pigsty and mow the lawn. I’ll be back home for lunch.” Dad abruptly stood up from the table and headed out.

That was that. Kitchen was cleaned, bedrooms were re-ordered, and then Clay put on his work uniform for the first time to go out and mow the lawn. It was humiliating: thin gray drawstring pants without any pockets, a light long-sleeved shirt to match, and a sun hat. He looked like one of the slaves you see working the fields. Humiliating. For the first time since his conviction he stepped outside of the door to meet the mounting sun. 

As he wheeled the mower out of the garage he immediately spotted the neighbor across the canal. Fuck. They lived in a rural area with almost no neighbors and of course right there was the one person who could see into their yard and get in their business. He fired up the mower in hopes that he could avoid being noticed.

The neighbor looked up and offered a jovial wave but quickly dropped his hand, staring. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why had he stupidly made eye contact? Please don’t let him figure it out. Maybe he’d just think he was a rental servant. 

Nope. 

Mr. Pruitt dropped what he was doing and made his way towards the fence. Clay stopped the mower and dreaded the interaction, eyes down.

“Hey there, uhhhh.. Clay? That you, son?” Clay shrank to nothing and offered a quiet “Hey Mr. Pruitt.” 

Pruitt sized him up in the awful silence. “You got a new look there?” Clay’s throat constricted, offering a tiny nod.

More hideous silence passed. Finally Mr. Pruitt made a small cough. “Oh Clay… have you been turned into one of them?” Clay shut down. “Oh son, I’m so sorry. Uh. Oh man. Yer uh, dad knows, right? Sam knows about this?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well… that’s something. You were such a good kid. I’m sorry to see this happen. You tell your Dad I’m thinking of him, yeah?” Clay glumly assented. 

Then the hook was set: “So what’re you doing son?” Clay indicated the mower and finally found the courage to look into Mr. Pruitt’s eyes. They were… calculating. Less friendly than he’d ever seen them. “Well ah, you are home all day, aren’tcha son?”  Of course he was.

“Why don’t you get that thing warmed up and take care of my lawn for me? She’s getting real hairy and I haven’t had the time.”

Clay gulped. Mr. Pruitt had a huge plot of land! Not all of it was grass, but it wasn’t nothing. 

“Ah, I think I need to uh… take care of my dad’s… house.”

“But you said you’re home all day, right?”

“…yessir.”

“Then you have time. Wheel that thing over now. I’ll get you some gas if you’re low. Alright?”

Clay looked pleadingly into his eyes. Finding no exit he relented: “Okay. Sure thing Mr. Pruitt.”

“You call me Sir while you’re helping me out. Understand?”

“Yes Sir.”

Fuck.

Over two hours later the mow job was still going on. Pruitt had kept checking in on him, offering helpful advice about exactly how he wanted his lawn mowed. Then the edger came out with careful instructions on how it was to be employed. Clay’s outfit was covered in grass flecks, his clogs stained green. Sweat dampened his outfit until it clung to every line of his muscular body. Mr. Pruitt suddenly had particular standards for his lawn that had never been in evidence before.

Finally Clay had reached his limit. He put down the edger and knocked on the door to summon his nonconsensual employer. “Mr…. um, Sir. May I have some water?”  Pruitt pointed to the spigot alongside the garage. “You know how it works.”

Humiliated Clay walked over to the spigot and bent down to drink tap water while on his hands and knees. His mouth awkwardly tried to capture the stream of water as he sated his escalating thirst. Once he closed the spigot he looked up to see Mr. Pruitt standing almost directly above him, leering. “Alright. Get back to it.”

What choice did he have? The grass got cut, the edges got trimmed, the clippings got bagged, the brush got cut back, the twigs got collected, and then when it all looked great there were still a few sedges growing in on the ragged landscaping that needed hand-plucking. Clay sweated. His jock grew damp, chilling his balls. Sweat poured down his face. Mud and grit collected on his neck as his hair grew moist and unbearably hot under the hat. 

Finally, finally, Mr. Pruitt was satisfied. “Good work boy. Tell your papa I said hello.”

Clay was wiped out. He wheeled the mower back to their lot and took in a huge breath before starting it up again and working on his original task.

He’d not gotten ten minutes in before Dad’s car came driving up the road. FUCK.

Dad was obviously upset about something. He didn’t come out to greet Clay. Instead he waited inside until the lawn was finally done and everything was looking good. Clay stumbled into the mud room, filthy from head to toe, and went to go greet his master. I mean father!

Dad was finished with lunch, plates and pots and crumbs everywhere. “Boy. Where were you?”  Trick question, he had seen him mowing outside. “I was mowing the lawn, Dad, like you asked.”

Sam reached down to the chair behind him and held up Clay’s black jock strap, fished from the hamper. “I told you to mow the lawn this morning when I left and get this place in order. I get home and you’ve barely done a goddamned thing. And what’s this? Clay was baffled as to where this was going. “My uh, jock… sir?”

“Don’t play stupid boy, what’s ON IT?” Dad didn’t talk to him like this. What was going on? Clay looked closer at the jockstrap and suddenly realized: a huge load of his crusted cum was splattered all over the dark fabric, clear as day. Dad toggled into a mode Clay had rarely experienced: “I asked you to do one goddamned thing for me and you’re sitting here jerking your fuckin’ willy like some fucking monkey? This is bullshit!” 

“But dad! Mr. Pruitt aske-” Dad interjected immediately, cutting off Clay’s retort. 

“What were you fucking jerking it to that old piece of shit? WITH that piece of shit?” He was so pissed. 

“No Dad listen! Listen! He asked me to help!”

“I’m your goddamn father. You do what *I* say when *I* say it. I don’t give a shit who asks you for what, you’re MY son first.”

Dad stormed off, out of the house. Clay was bereft. What did he do wrong? He was just trying to… obey? Wasn’t he?

---

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

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I now knew not only that I was gay, but I preferred to bottom. Shagging Jack was great, but not as good as having a dick inside me. I even enjoyed Mr. Jennings. There were problems. I lived at home and wasn’t out to my parents, yet, so I couldn’t have guys at home. Sam was lovely, but lived the other side of town, and was also in the closet, so sex with him was nearly impossible.

There was a sauna in town, but I’d heard it was mostly old men in there. I joined a hook-up site. This solved the problem of getting fucked. As a young twink, I had plenty of offers. These were mostly of guys in their 20s and 30s. I set an upper age limit. Names were never exchanged. It was go to a house, get fucked, and leave.

The first time, I walked up and down the guy’s road for ages, plucking up the courage. He couldn’t have been nicer, realising how nervous I was and taking a lot of time with foreplay, kissing me and finding erogenous places I never knew I had. He was the first person to genuinely make love to me. He let me take control. We did it in every way possible. I stayed all evening and we came twice, once doggy, and later missionary, which I preferred as we could kiss. I change my profile to insist on kissing. I also went on PrEP.  Saturday mornings were reserved for Jack and Emmanuel.

I started cruising and cottaging, but I found it too dangerous and degrading. I told myself that I’m worthy of something better than a shag in a public loo.

I still wanted a boyfriend. My saviour, I also met at college, through a friend of a friend, at an eighteenth birthday party. At the beginning, I felt like a spare prick at a wedding. After a few beers, a cute lad called Alex started chatting me up. He had dark, curly hair, about an inch taller than me, was 20, and out to his family, who didn’t care. 

We moved into the garden, and found some bushes to lay behind. We daren’t get completely undressed, so dropped our pants and made out, kissing and sucking until we satisfied each other. He only lived down the road. So it was, we became boyfriends and lovers. I gave up the hook up site. Alex still allowed me to see Jack and Emmanuel, but it petered out as I fell in love.

And that’s the end of my coming out story, I hope you enjoyed the read. 

The Authentic Doll

Maeve is now known as Blaise, though I hardly find myself bothered by it. The little concern I do have is simply due to the fact that Blaise is just as obnoxious as Maeve used to be – meddlesome, salacious, and I am at my wit’s end trying to avoid his visits, his inquiries, and, most importantly, how to keep this thing hidden from him any longer…

To call him a ‘thing’, he who stands as a near identical representation of The One Who Is Perfection in my eyes – only in terms of Edwin’s physical features, I must stress – feels nearly as inappropriate as it is fitting. Besides, I am a ‘thing’ too – an automaton, an organic clone. At least we are not fashioned from silicone, as Fifi has told me these ‘bots’ shall be in a hundred years hence – he did mention it, though I could have unearthed this information myself had I chosen to investigate those specific ‘repos’.

I must acknowledge that the Wefan technology is, even at this moment, considerably more sophisticated than the prospective human technology. This superiority arises from their ability to engage directly with matter at more fundamental levels, and some of them can even interact with the hidden dimensions. They, well, the most talented among them, need not toil with moulds to built the distinct components of the bot. They do not even need to wield robotic hands as they will in the future from which Fifi has been dispatched. Rather, they can orchestrate swarms of nano-bots that have the ability to ‘see’ molecules and even smaller particles. These nano-bots can manipulate, rearrange, and build at that small scale – this is how I came into existence, this is their extraordinary ‘magic’. As for us, their assistants – they still insist on calling us automatons, a term we would much prefer to forgo – are able to operate those nano-bots with the same skill as they do – nay, with even greater precision, with even greater efficiency.

Sebastian, the one I was modelled after, Edwin’s Sebastian… had but to open that unique type of portal to usher Fifi ‘back’ through it from 2024 Japan, where they are presently spending their summer holiday – thereby keeping Edwin away from me – to 1890 Hebrides – well, that pocket of the Hebrides which forms this bubble world we call home.

Poor Fifi was completely shocked, having been ‘born’ in that place – in the future – and was thoroughly terrified to encounter me, as I bore an uncanny likeness to his tormentor. ‘Ah, yes,’ he squealed, ‘Sebby, was indeed jealous, ha-ha!’

‘Oh…’ I recognised at once that he was not Edwin, yet I was still enchanted by him.

‘Yeah, since Edwin likes being around me, you know?’

‘Edwin likes being around himself…’ This was not intended as a question, yet I sense that all matters related to Edwin carries a deeper connotation, hence I often find myself mulling over such notions, often aloud, in a bid to uncover that elusive meaning.

Ah, the dread! I was at the tower – their tower, not Blaise’s – only for my daily visit – ostensibly to oversee Sebastian’s experiments, yet the reality is I must be where Edwin has often been. I must say, I am not engaging in anything lecherous such as wanking with his stockings… It is simply an instance of the daily bliss I allow myself in connection to him – have I ever known bliss that is not associated with him? In any case, where on earth is Fifi?!

‘Ha-ha!’ That laughter signals his approach, yet I had to spend an entire hour waiting and searching for him. And there is someone else following closely. Felix?! ‘Rae, where are you?’ Hmm… ‘Rae, we have returned!’

‘From whence have you returned, Fifi?’

‘Ha-ha!’

‘You are fully aware that you are forbidden to wander.’

‘Rest assured, he was not detected.’

‘Well, how did you two come to know one another?’ I ask of Felix.

‘Do not cast such a look on me, Rae… I didn’t abduct him.’

‘But Blaise did, ha-ha!’ The ‘wench’ chimes in.

‘Do explain…’

‘So, Blaise discovered me here, all on my own and a tad miserable, and he asked if I wanted to meet his friends, so I said, “of course,” ha-ha!’ How ridiculous and so typical of him… of Fifi… Not to mention, he was only in the tiniest cheongsam –at the very least, he is wearing something…

‘Indeed, ha-ha! And Blaise, bless his heart, has introduced this delightful creature to me!’ Aye, I have observed – not by choice – that Blaise’s affections are increasingly directed towards Felix, rather than his betrothed, Vincent. Furthermore, I gather that since Maeve… Blaise has undergone significant transformations, his reception has markedly improved, although he must still feel somewhat like an impostor, for what reason would he present such a ‘trophy’ to his new acquaintances instead of cherishing it privately?

‘Blah, blah… that is the issue with you, Rae,’ at this, he drapes himself over my shoulders – we have not made contact previously, so this affects me deeply due to the muscle memory – for he is Edwin, albeit not entirely… ‘Ha!’

‘Might you be serious for a moment,’ I ask him, simply to diffuse the tension – I am aware of the answer.

Besides, he has just slipped his hand in my trousers. ‘We cannot afford to be serious now, for we wish to play, do we not, Felix?’

‘If your Master allows it, ha-ha!’

‘I am not his Master…’

In the meantime, the wench – I shall continue in calling him this – has granted me my freedom – I must confess, I am somewhat disappointed – and has affixed his arse to one of my counters, having first sent the blueprints careening throughout the cellar. ‘Mm…’ The wench… The doxy… The whore…

I am staring at him as he rubs himself against the surface, and then as he rolls and bends, his arse elevated, entirely exposed, a hand grasping his own buttock to squeeze, to wiggle, to excite my arousal, allowing us a brief preview of his depths as his hole opens. And why not… I muse to myself, moving closer to the temptation, yet he turns away. ‘Erm… Felix has conceived this brilliant idea, and I wish for us to pursue it… I am certain we can manage this… by tomorrow…’

‘Tomorrow?!’ I ask. ‘What do you mean?’ I have turned to Felix, hoping for a more coherent answer.

‘Little Fifi here has explained to me how we could adapt our mimeographs to stream his—’

‘Exhibition…’ Fifi interrupts him. ‘Edwin calls it an exhibition…’

‘Indeed, my sweet…’ And he draws closer to Fifi, allowing his hand to roam suggestively over his thigh.

‘A sex show, then?’

‘Ah, yes, Rae!’

‘Hmm…’

‘Please!’ Well, Edwin, too, finds pleasure in such displays, naturally positioning himself as the focal point, so why would his clone not feel similarly? Feel… Aye, he must be… So do I.

‘Yet you wish for an audience…’

‘I do, Rae!’

‘Have you considered how Edwin might feel about his likeness being used in such a way?’

‘Indeed, I have!’ No, you have not, you little whore. ‘Edwin instructed me to keep you company and to see to your needs, you know…’ He has grasped my neck with his delicate hands. ‘Mm…’ And he is kissing me. For fuck’s sake…

‘Mm… very well, then…’

And tomorrow has arrived… And the exhibition is set to start anon…

As we have divided the preparation among the three of us, they were completed this very morning – Felix, with his teasers, has successfully amassed a few thousand ‘viewers’ – humans from the future, for we, the ‘automatons’, are capable of reaching them even there. In keeping with Fifi’s desires, I have designed a charming setting for him – a generously sized pool sufficient for the three of us to swim in – he specified a certain shade of sky blue – and wished for fine sand surrounding it, complemented by some palm trees – to avoid clashing with the local flora, I managed to identify a location with the sea in the background where, aside from a few weeds, there is no other greenery – to be frank, such a landscape is not overly challenging to find here – the essential requirement was to ensure privacy.

Fifi himself has set the cameras all around us – not overtly visible, yet they are present – and he has taken great care in his preparations… I mean, he is not wearing much – simply a ‘micro bikini’, the same sky blue as the pool, with white stripes. Well, he hardly needs much… Moreover, he has tied his hair into two buns – they resemble the ears of some fluffy, white beast. His lips are glossy and pink – he is absolutely stunning and entirely fuckable… That piece of fabric on his arse – a portion of it nestled inside his cheeks manages to cover at most a third of it – I can hardly wait to take a bite of that and then tuck in!

I have come to realise that my ‘subconscious’ is rather insistently advising me against drawing comparisons between him and Edwin – his fairness is not comparable to Edwin’s – yet it is, those curves and angles do not belong to Edwin, and while those lips may seem identical to Edwin’s, they are, in fact, different. When I shall finally have that little cock and those little balls in my mouth, it shall be a novel experience. And why must one feel compelled to intellectualise everything…

And here we are, live… or rather, he is, as we are to join him later. He is lying on the sand, a set of toes dipped in the pool, one leg bent… We can watch on a screen what the cameras are streaming, now fixating on his face, sucking on a lolly. He rolls over and the camera shifts to his ‘bubble’ arse… A hand follows, tugging at some of the fabric from his hole. He looks at the camera and snickers, then he is on all fours reaching for something – we are shown an object, the average girth of a cock, yet much longer – he digs for it and reveals the entire length to us – roughly two feet long. It is a shade of purple, translucent, reminiscent of a long tentacle, and it seems to be writhing in his hand… struggling… After securing it, he leaps into the pool – he is soaked and the toy is glistening, looking far more animated! Yet, somehow, this must have indicated to him that it has been subdued, for he releases it into the water and resumes his position on all fours at the pool’s edge. Awaiting… yet not for long, for we can see two of his fingers likely entering his hole – decidedly inside his hole! Ooh… Wet… Tight… He must have determined that it needs further lubrication – it is more about teasing us, as he can become lubricated ‘naturally’ – indeed, his hole is designed to allow that. In any case, he gives those very fingers a lick and plunges them back into his hole – albeit briefly, for the toy, resembling a snake now, is emerging from the depths and in no time it is pressing – what I take to be its head – against the very target to which we all aspire to affix ourselves. It prevails without contest as he extracts his fingers and allows the beast to take its place. Oh, how he squirms and moans… even before the first inch is swallowed in…

Felix joins in – I mean, I am aware that those feet are indeed Felix’s, yet the audience remains oblivious. He fondles a cheek, his fingers sinking into its softness, choosing not to disturb the beast for the moment – the beast that has half of its length nestled inside Fifi’s hole. With his other hand, Felix is tugging cheerfully at his own cock. To be honest, I am doing likewise, though I remain off-camera – hmm, perhaps it is time I revealed myself…

I kneel on the other side of Fifi, close to his mouth – he takes my cock into his mouth without opening his eyes – every last bit of it! Ah, Edwin, how I have missed your tiny mouth… and your tongue… I untie the string at his hip, and then the other, and one burden is lifted. As for the remaining one, all two feet of it are now inside him, I daresay writhing inside him just as he wriggles.

Felix has to exert effort to pull it out, and he succeeds, yet the tentacle returns, this time entirely slipping back in the blink of an eye – poor Fifi almost bites my cock. When he finally manages to extract it completely, it transforms – it is considerably thinner now. Equally intrigued as I am, he sets it free to ascertain its destination – to Fifi’s cock, coiling around it.

I detach from his mouth and for a brief instant, I find it rather curious why Felix refrains from immersing himself in there – Sebastian’s edicts are unyielding, and seemingly they are applicable even to Edwin’s replicas – that mouth shall not be acquainted with any other cock! It is sacred!

Fifi calls it ‘boy pussy’ – I take a few eager licks, savouring both its rim, and as far as my tongue can venture – quite a considerable distance – and then, though not entirely sated, I drive the entirety of my cock inside him – he lets out a cry, and even more so when I start to move. Ah… God… Yet I am a fair participant, hence after several thrusts, I allow Felix to experience the snugness.

He takes his time, the poor fellow, and I bear him no ill will, yet it is nearly time to conclude the performance. He is aware of this as well, for he releases inside and extracts himself.

In this final act – the climax – I slip under Fifi, securing him against me by his waist, and allow my cock to glide back into his dripping hole.

Felix finds it somewhat challenging to align his with mine, yet with Fifi’s intervention – the whore tugs at his cheeks to widen them just as he bounces on my cock – we are both squeezed inside. He has become still, allowing us to charge as lads do with their swords against one another, yet in a most exalted setting.

Fifi is, in a way, more whorish than Edwin – or perhaps they are simply different aspects of whorishness – for he now gently pushes Felix aside and asks that he lies down before me, so that our cocks are almost in contact. Once he is pleased with our stances, he lowers himself to take in both Felix and myself. Oh, and how he stirs us inside…

Thank you, Edwin! I understand this to be your exquisite present to me…

YO TAMBIEN EN PELOTA.

Volví a ver el hermoso guacamayo abanderado que tenía de fondo de pantalla. Allí estábamos los dos sentados en pelota y Julio tenía la polla dura. Yo estaba empalmado también a pesar de que tenía más miedo que placer con la necesidad de saber cómo se encontraría mi hijo ahora, haciendo lo que me había dicho que iba a hacer. Él no era gay y quería tocarme, dios santo.

No tardó en conectarse y en seguida dio con una página web gay donde pude comprobar que había tíos mamándola. Me dijo que escogiera yo y elegía un video de 7 minutos donde también se veía a un viejo chupándosela a un chico joven.

-Y ahora papá, besémonos.

Y entonces comenzamos a besarnos como locos, un beso de 10 minutos. Sabía al menos que Julio se sentía bien besando a papá. Pero de repente sentí sus manos metiéndome mano a fondo, por todas partes. Le pregunté si de verdad se sentía bien.

-Estoy cachondísimo, papá. Me encanta meterle mano al tío bueno de mi padre, y como quiero que a partir de ahora vivas desnudo, vete preparando para que tu niño te toquetee a fondo una y otra vez. Y llegó un momento en que comenzó a acariciarme los cojones y parecía gustarle. Yo le repetía que estuviera siempre seguro de que era placentero para él. Y de repente agarró mi polla y comenzó sin complejos a hacerme la primera paja que le había hecho a un tío en su vida.

-Me siento estupendamente, papá, pues sé que te lo estarás preguntando. Nunca he tocado una polla, excepto la mía. Soy un pajillero, pero ahora me encanta masturbar a mi padre. No temas: me lo estoy pasando de miedo, papá. Tú déjate llevar y disfruta. Me puedes meter mano después, ahora no, ahora yo sólo a ti. Entretanto mira a la pantalla y disfruta.

Yo veía a ese atractivo hombre mayor chupándole la polla a un guapísimo chico joven y mientras tanto notaba cómo Julio me seguía pajeando y sus manos no descansaban y me lo tocaban todo, también las orejas y se llevó un buen rato tocándome los  cojones. No pude más y le tuve que decir: Julio, me voy a correr. Y solté un largo chorro de leche al suelo de su cuarto, todavía estremecido de que hubiera sido mi hijo el que me acababa de pajear.

-Esta experiencia me ha encantado, papá, créetelo, y a partir de ahora me voy a divertir también con tu polla y te voy a hacer muchas pajas más. Llevas dos días hablando de la polla de mi niño, pero aquí hay dos pollas, de dos tíos muy calientes que se pueden correr una y otra vez, y a partir de ahora empezaré a hablar de la polla de mi padre y a ponerme cachondo con ella. Dame otro beso, papá.

Nos besamos otra vez y ahora mi niño me dijo que iba a buscar un vídeo de tíos follando. Como si supiera lo que yo quería ver encontró una pequeña peli de un joven follándose a un hombre mayor y comenzamos a verla.

-Y ahora papá, mientras vemos esta nueva película, nos vamos a meter mano a fondo el uno al otro.

Y pasamos más de cinco minutos metiéndonos mano compulsivamente, sin que quedara una zona de nuestros cuerpos sin tocar hasta que Julio me agarró la polla otra vez para hacerme una nueva paja.

-Y ahora si quieres, puedes papá. Agárrame la polla y nos hacemos una paja mutua.

Mi Julio en dos días se había convertido en todo un hombre y mientras más gay se comportaba más macho lo veía.

-¡Qué bonito es esto, papá, el padre y el hijo dándose placer en la polla el uno al otro al mismo tiempo! Hagámoslo mil veces ahora, papá. Me siento mejor ahora que también te masturbo.

-¡Qué lindo eres, Julio! No me voy a comportar como un gilipollas y no ver que también ahora estás disfrutando. Así que adelante, masturbémonos.

Tocar la polla de mi niño de nuevo mientras él me pajeaba, me metía mano y cada dos por tres me besaba, era una sensación maravillosa, mientras yo miraba a ese tío bueno y le metía mano también llorando de emoción viendo a mi Julio convertido en todo un hombre. Al mismo tiempo, miraba a la pantalla y me ponía cachondo viendo a dos tíos follando y me dije que más tarde o más temprano tenía que ponerle el culo a Julio, que disfrutara de su polla de todas las maneras. Además él nunca se había follado un culo e imaginé lo cachondo que se pondría follándose el culito de papá.

-Me voy a correr, papá.

-Corrámonos. Julio.

Qué hermoso notar que padre e hijo habían estrenado el placer de correrse juntos.

-Yo no voy a coartar ningún sentimiento gay que tengas, mi niño. Veo que sigues teniendo el nabo duro después de hacerme dos pajas, y puesto que esto te gusta, cada vez que quieras lo repetimos. Cualquier cosa que le dé gustito a tu polla.

-Gracias, papá. ¿Y si te quedas un ratito más y nos hacemos otra paja?

Decidí quedarme y seguir viviendo la hermosa sensación de padre e hijo besándose, metiéndose mano y pajeándose otra vez. Comprendí que Julio se sentía mejor dándome placer sexual también y me dije que le iba a dejar hacer lo que le saliera de los cojones, pero constantemente le decía que no tenía que ir más lejos, que él era hétero y no tenía por qué chupármela o por supuesto yo no tenía ninguna necesidad de follármelo.

Después de correrme en su cuarto por tercera vez, le dije que me iba a preparar la cena, hoy una rica ensalada de gambas. Cuando llegó a la cena me reconoció que se había hecho otra paja, pero ahora pensando en el placer que le suponía masturbar a su padre. Y me dijo que en la cena me iba a hacer otra paja. Cuando salía de su cuarto, me dijo.

-Y no te vuelvas a poner la ropa, papá. A partir de ahora disfruta de vivir desnudo como yo, y cuando me hagas la tercera mamada despertador, entra en mi cuarto en pelota también.

Y me fui enseguida a preparar la cena. Una hora después volví a ver a mi hijo maravillosamente desnudo y empalmado y se sentó conmigo. Al poner la ensalada en la mesa no se lo pensó dos veces, agarró mi polla y comenzó a pajearme. Así que yo también hice lo mismo, decidido ahora a masturbarlo y chuparle la polla por tercera vez hoy.

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I walked out of the darkroom with two anonymous loads in my  manpussy onto the crowded dancefloor, heading towards the bar. Standing there were a couple from London that my friend Danny and I had met earlier on the gay beach. Danny and I are both 24, best friends and fuck buddies since we were both hot 18 year old twink.  Barry is 6’2″, 50, bald with a salt and pepper beard with a muscled dad bod, hyper masculine and ruggedly handsome. His partner Steve is 5’10”, 45, cropped hair, brownish stubble with flecks of ginger and grey. Both arms covered in tattoos up his rolled up sleeves around his bulging biceps, I can’t figure out if he’s cute, hot or a mixture of both. 

I ask the ridiculously hot Catalan barman for a vodka limon. Barry asks me if I had fun in the darkroom and if Danny was still in there. I coyly responded with a cheeky grin “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” We flirted for a bit, Steve kisses me and transfers a pill from his mouth to mine. We  finished our drinks and ended up on the dancefloor. Barry was behind me grinding his thick semi hard cock against the upper mounds of my pert ass and stroking with my torso to my armpits as he raised my arms with his. Steve straddled my from the front grinding his hard cock against mine. Gently kissing my neck and all over my face. His fingers caressed my neck the he held my face with both hands, “fuck your beautiful,” then dived his tongue in my mouth as mine did in his exploring each other in  wet tongue wrestling kiss. The pills adding to the euphoria that we were feeling. Steve hands found their way into the back of my shorts, squeezing onto my smooth asscheeks, pulling them apart and circling my moist and puffy hole with two fingers as the easily opened me your as the slipped in. Steve gave me a devilish grin and called me a slut with direct eye to eye contact. I held my gaze and groaned, confirming that I am.  At the same time he finger fucking my hole,  then  my mouth with 3 or his cummy fingers then kissed me with Barry shoved his fingers in my hole and did the same. 

Steve said that we need to get more loads in my pussy. I managed an “aha.” Barry said he would go to the dark room to find Danny. They would join us as soon as he finds him. We kissed, giggled and had our hands all over each other as we headed towards the beach where we met that afternoon.

The promenade is a couple metres higher than the beach making it the perfect cruising spot along the wall beneath. As it was my first time in Sitges I knew nothing about it until I was on my knees wearing only my sneakers and socks with Steve’s 9″ uncut  cock inches from my face. I could see a couple men approaching, hoping for more as I love an audience. I cradled his balls, swollen like his cock from the cock ring. With my other hand I pulled back his foreskin and sniffed around it then slowly licked his cock from his balls  to his head, licking around his gland looking directly into his eyes. I lick around his head, savouring his precum then swallowed 6″ of his cock in my mouth, “fuuuck,” I pulled out and let out a little bit triumphant laugh then swallowed deeper and deeper. 5 time my nose was buried in his nearly trimmed but not too short thick wad of pubic hair. I stayed there intoxicated my his many clean musky. I sucked his cock hands free  almost all the  way out and balls deep slowly, picking up pace till I was throat fucking myself on his cock. He pulled me up from my knees, kissed my and spun me around. I steadied myself with my hands against the beach wall underneath the promenade as he spread apart my legs. I noticed more men surrounding us in various states of dress, most stroking their cocks. “Fuck yeah, feels so good, lick my cummy  hole, get it wet, open me up,” they moved closer towards us and more men appeared. Steve stood up and smack my ass hard. I moaned in ecstasy, felt his cock head go in and out of my hole and held it there as he adjusted his position and firmly grabbed onto my hips, ‘fuck me,” he rammed his 9″ cock in deep. I only now noticed my hard 9″ cock leaking with precum onto someone’s tounge. Steve instinctively didn’t ease into fucking me, he knew to fuck me hard, making all those watching us aware of that too.  

I subtlety looked tried to see how many men were watching us and the size of their cocks. I didn’t care what they looked like.  3 men were below me working my balls, cock and nipples and I could see 6 hard stroked cocks. I heard Steve say “your next” I turned around to see a different cock rammed into my ass. Knowing he wanted to jackhammer my ass I kept my fuck tunnel relaxed and loose for him which he commented on loudly. I could different voices and accents “fuck his sloppy cunt”  “fuck the slut” ” fill him up” and more. He was fucking me harder and I knew he was about to come so every time he pulled out from balls deep I clenched  then released when he pounded back in ” fuck yeah, his cunt was made for fucking.” His cock twitched 7 or 8 jets of cum into my sigmoid colon. A smaller cock was fucking my cumpit as soon as he pulled out, another man got to clean his cock but I didn’t mind as Steve found his way between my outstretched arms and shoved his in my mouth. I loved how sloppy my cunt felt with that small cock sloshing around inside. He pulled out, wanked on my hole and fucked his cum inside. I had one cock after another fuck and breed my hole, it was theirs to use any way they wanted. My only thought was pleasing Steve’s cock with my mouth, tounge and throat until a huge cock fuck the cum out of my cock into awaiting mouths. Steve released a slow stream of piss as I was aucking his cock and drinking it all into my stomach. I didn’t know how long I we were there or how many men fucked and bred me but the last load came from Barry. Someone wanted to have a go after him but he said “no.” It was then I realised it was Barry. I looked to my right and someone was pulling their cock out of Danny’s sloppy hole. We got dressed and walked to their hotel with cum dripping out of our used holes. 

Back at their hotel the 4 of us played sensually, sometimes brutally till breakfast.

We sunbathed on the beach together most of the day making plans for their final night before they flew home the next morning.