Rxnitsvjitf

Tchjtrgjj

[muscleloverdude]

[jockliker]

Admit it, if you follow this blog it's because you wanna do that don't u ?

[bigdumbjockboy69]

Hey Bruh, you know I don't think much cuz it's hard and thinkin is for nerds anyway, but I been thinking sumtimes about how many pics of super hot muscle bros and jocks one the internet there are, and it's like, bruh!

If all these fuckin dumbasses can get swole like hot dumb jock idiots then like it's not that hard.

These sexy dumbasses are just sitting around shirtless in the park, showing off their mad gains.

This fucking big dumb bro forgot how to put on clothes after a good hypno session, he's fucking dumb enough to fall for that and he's fucking shredded bro.

All week long you focus all your erotic energy into the pleasure of lifting, and on rest day IF AND ONLY IF you diligently hit the gym all six days, you can spend some of your rest day cuming your brains out. After all, wouldn't it have been hot to be a big dumb obedient jock all week, and not even touch your cock a little bit, just because you read a Tumblr post that slowly brought you deeper into this reality?

U just gotta commit to a routine bro. Hit that fuckin grind with a schedule and stick to it. Find a good split and hit that shit six days a week, gotta have rest day bro. And for you that's your cum day bro.

Bruh is that you? This dumb sucker looks exactly like u bro huhyh

Bro your nipples feel so much better anyway dude. It feels so much better than jacking off to rub your nipples when you've got a chest pump bro. I wouldn't even be surprised if you came just from rubbing your nips you big dumb horny jock...

Only on rest day can you touch your cock bro. Gotta save up that testosterone bro. Get swole. If u wanna cum so bad then you need to hit the fuckin gym religiously bro. All these fucking hot sexy idiots on Tumblr can do it. And you will too bro. Cuz you'll be being a big dumb jock horny boy bro.

Bro u really just staring at me like that bro? Man you sure look like a big hypnotized jockboy, you must be one haha

Now help your bros become big sexy jocks too. Anyone can do it after all bro.

[roidedcloudydumbjock]

Fuck yeah

[tophairymuscle]

My big boy, it's time for your pin and workout again" Ok daddy"

[roidedcloudydumbjock]

Fuck yes Dad. Forced feeding and drugged brainwashing after my lift too?

[zanephillips]

[max-the-many]

Checkin' the fit - as you do for a good bud, right?...

[muscleworshipaddict-deactivated]

Sound on. Fuck.

[jocksidagain]

You're deepthroating His godhood while He plays with His nips. The steroids have magnified His pleasure response and turned His nipples into arousal buttons. He needs to cum five times a day and so needs a useful cumdump around to fulfill that need. That's why you're here, loser. Always be on your knees ready to worship at this god's manly altar.

[asche227asche]

Instagram

@Jackgentry

[athletiic-jockboy]

Alphas teasing queers with their muscles and cockiness

[rubberizer4]

From a shy applicant to a massive muscle bull within 6 months... yes it hurts but it is also incredibly rewarding 😈

Look at him now. This stunning stud went from filling out paperwork in that tight pink shirt to becoming a pure latex muscle bull. The transformation program turned his body into pure power. The shiny pink latex clings to every swollen muscle highlighting his massive chest deep abs and those powerful thighs while perfectly molding around his thick heavy bulge.

He sits there on the bed radiating dominance and confidence ready for you to admire every inch of his progress. The pain of the growth was intense but the reward is pure addiction. Now he owns the room and he knows exactly what you want to do to him 💦🖤

For more content every three hours join us for free on Telegram: https://t.me/rubberizer

To support our work and get more exclusive content:

https://www.fanvue.com/rubberizer92

[badguyswin]

Ezra's Onlyfans Findom Success

Ezra was twenty-three, slender as a reed, and almost painfully pretty in the way that made people do double-takes. He stood five-foot-seven, with a skinny waist that flared only slightly into narrow hips, twig-like legs, and skin the pale color of fresh cream. His hair was a soft, messy mop of honey-blond curls that constantly fell in front of his wide hazel eyes, giving him the permanent look of someone who had just been caught doing something mildly scandalous. Long eyelashes, a small straight nose, full lips that naturally stayed parted when he was thinking—everything about him screamed delicate, untouched, boyish. The perfect twink. He blushed at compliments. He apologized when someone brushed against him in a crowd. He owned exactly three pairs of underwear that weren’t plain white briefs, and he’d never once posted a single nude photo anywhere.

Which was exactly why his OnlyFans page, which he'd titled “EzraUnfiltered”, had exactly seventeen subscribers three weeks after its creation, six of whom had already canceled after the first preview post (a tame shirtless mirror selfie taken in terrible bathroom lighting). The rent on his crumbling one-bedroom in the city's outermost borough had jumped another three hundred dollars that month. His barista job covered groceries and transit, but the math no longer worked. He was drowning and needed money fast.

Tonight he sat alone at the far end of The Black Candle, a dimly lit dive bar two blocks from his apartment that smelled of old wood, spilled beer, and something faintly like incense that no one could ever place. The place was nearly empty. A jukebox played slow, crackling blues in the corner. Ezra nursed his third cheap gin and tonic, cheeks already flushed from the alcohol and the humiliation of checking his subscriber count for the tenth time that evening. It was like the number seventeen was mocking him.

He swirled the melting ice in his glass and muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to be heard over the music.

“I just want it to take off. Not even crazy money, just… enough. Enough that I don’t have to choose between rent and eating. Enough that I could actually move somewhere that doesn’t smell like damp walls and regret. Somewhere with windows that aren’t painted shut and a shower that doesn’t drip brown water. I’d do anything. I wish-- fuck, I wish my OnlyFans would blow up so hard I could buy a new place. A real one. Please.”

The words hung in the smoky air a moment too long to be natural... then the temperature dropped. Not dramatically, certainly not enough for anyone else to notice, but Ezra felt it crawl up the back of his neck like cold fingers. The jukebox skipped once, a single warped note stretching unnaturally before righting itself. The single bulb above the bar flickered, throwing long shadows across the scarred wood.

A voice spoke. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even particularly close. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The voice was low, rich, amused, and ancient, like velvet dragged over gravel. “Wish granted, sweet boy.”

Ezra froze, glass halfway to his lips. The hair on his arms stood straight up. He looked around wildly. The bartender was wiping down the far end of the counter, earbuds in. The only other patron was staring into his whiskey like it held the secrets of the universe. No one else had heard and neither of them had spoken.

Ezra swallowed hard. His pulse thundered in his ears. “Hello?” he whispered. No answer. Just the faint scent of something dark and herbal curling through the air for a single heartbeat before it was gone.

He set the glass down with shaking fingers. Somewhere deep in his chest, a strange new heat flickered to life. He didn’t know it yet, but the wish had already begun to unravel him.

Ezra stumbled home from The Black Candle just after midnight, the gin buzzing warm and fuzzy in his veins. He barely managed to kick off his sneakers and strip down to his white briefs before collapsing face-first onto the thin mattress. The room spun gently. He mumbled something incoherent about “stupid wishes” and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

The changes began in the dark hours before dawn.

His narrow shoulders cracked and widened first, bones lengthening and thickening with wet, grinding pops that would have woken him if the magic hadn’t kept him under. Muscle poured onto his frame like molten steel cooling into armor—deltoids swelling into thick, rounded caps, traps rising to frame a thickening neck, pecs ballooning outward until they pressed heavily against the sheet. His biceps surged, veins snaking across the surface as the muscle bellies split and reformed larger, harder. Forearms thickened into corded ropes. His back flared into a dramatic V, lats spreading like wings beneath the skin.

His abs clenched involuntarily in sleep, each ridge deepening, carving themselves into sharp, cobblestone definition. Obliques sliced in deep. His waist stayed relatively narrow at first before the sheer mass above and below forced it to thicken into a solid, battle-ready core.

Legs exploded next. Quads ballooned forward, teardrops bulging obscenely over his knees. Hamstrings coiled into thick ropes. Calves ballooned into heart-shaped diamonds that could crack walnuts. His glutes hardened and rounded, lifting his hips higher, giving his stance an unconscious swagger even in repose.

Improved height came last and the change was rapid and relentless. His spine elongated, forcing his five-foot-seven frame upward inch by tortured inch until he measured six-foot-three stretched out on the bed. The mattress groaned under the new weight that had piled onto his body: two hundred and forty pounds of dense, competition-ready muscle now packed onto a body that had been barely one-forty the night before.

His face sharpened too. Jawline squared and widened, cheekbones rose higher, brow ridge thickened just enough to give him a brooding, predatory cast. The soft honey-blond curls darkened to a rich chestnut, cropped themselves shorter and tighter against his scalp in his sleep. A short, neatly trimmed beard shadowed the new, harder jaw. The hazel eyes hidden under his eyelids would soon open bluer, colder and piercing.

When the first gray light of the morning slipped through the painted-shut window, Ezra woke. He felt… wrong. Heavy. Hot. His limbs didn’t move the way they should.

He sat up too fast and the room tilted. His center of gravity was completely different. Nothing about his body made sense to him anymore. Thighs so massive they forced his legs apart. Chest so thick it blocked his view downward. He looked at his hands first: huge, calloused, veins like rivers across the backs. Knuckles thick. Fingers long and strong.

“What the fuck--” His voice came out deeper. Rougher. A baritone growl that vibrated in his own chest.

He scrambled off the bed, nearly falling when his longer legs tangled in the sheets, and staggered to the full-length mirror taped crookedly to the closet door.

The reflection staring back wasn’t him. It was a fucking beast.

The first thing that struck him was his height. He was six-three, easily. Then the muscles. Shoulders that could block doorways. Arms thicker than Ezra’s old thighs. Pecs so full they cast shadows over an eight-pack carved deep enough to lose fingers in. A silver chain still hung around the thick neck, but now it looked delicate against the slabs of muscle. Tattoos had appeared overnight, dark ink curling over stretches of tanned skin. Calvin Klein briefs were stretched to the absolute limit across tree-trunk quads and an obscene bulge that hadn’t existed yesterday. The waistband dug into newly carved Adonis lines.

Ezra’s breath came in short, panicked bursts. He touched his face, feeling the rough stubble across the sharp jaw. Next he ran his hands over his chest, groping the solid, warm, unyielding pecs. He flexed his arms experimentally. The biceps peaked into softball-sized mounds, veins popping.

“No. No no no—” Panic was starting to set in. What had happened to him?

He stumbled back towards the bed and lunged for his wallet on the nightstand, hands shaking so badly he almost dropped it. He flipped it open and located his driver’s license.

The photo was him—the new him, the man in the mirror. Same hard stare. Same short dark hair. Same earrings glinting in both ears. Name still Ezra, and the birthdate… still twenty-three, yet the face looking back belonged to a man who’d clearly spent years under heavy iron.

He stared at the ID for a long minute, then at his hands, then back at the mirror. Terror clawed up his throat. He wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to run. This wasn't him!

But then another thought—small, treacherous—slithered in.

He walked—strode, really, the new mass forcing a confident roll into his hips—back to the mirror. Turned sideways. Looked at the sweep of his lats, the flare of his quads, the thick, heavy hang of everything between his legs now barely contained.

He flexed his chest. The pecs bounced, thick and full. It was practically hypnotic. It gave him an idea. Slowly, he reached for his phone and opened the OnlyFans app. The measley subscriber count - still seventeen - greeted him in almost mocking fashion.

He hesitated. Then he lifted the phone, angled it down, and took a single test shot—nothing explicit, just him standing there in the strained briefs, one hand braced on the doorframe, biceps and shoulder exploding, chest shadowing the abs below, that new, dominant scowl already settling naturally onto his face.

He didn’t post it - not yet - but he felt it, the subtle shift in his mind. The fear was still there, churning in his gut. He didn’t know who—or what—had done this to him. He didn’t know if he could ever go back. But he also knew, with a cold, growing certainty, that with this body his profile wasn’t going to stay at seventeen subscribers. Not even close.

He exhaled, long and slow. Then, almost against his will, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Just a little. Just enough.

Ezra stood motionless in front of the mirror, phone still in his massive hand, the test selfie glowing on the screen. His heart hammered, not with the old fluttering panic, but with something heavier, hotter, more possessive. The fear that had gripped him moments ago began to recede like mist burning off under a merciless sun. In its place, a new current surged through his veins: thick, intoxicating certainty.

He lowered the phone slowly. Rolled his shoulders. Felt the slabs of muscle shift and settle with effortless power. A low chuckle rumbled out of his throat. The sound that emerged was deep, mocking, unfamiliar to his ears, yet instantly right.

The first crack in the old Ezra's mind came quietly.

He thought of the boys he used to Insta-stalk late at night: all lean, pretty twinks with soft eyes and shy smiles. The memory used to make his cock twitch, his cheeks flush with guilty heat. Now… nothing. Not even a flicker. Instead, his mind slid sideways towards women: full tits straining against tight tops, round asses swaying in yoga pants, long legs ending in high heels that clicked like commands.

The thought hardened him instantly, the swollen length in his briefs thickening, pushing obscenely against the fabric until the waistband rode up over the root. He groaned low, palming himself through the cotton. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice gravelly with approval. “That’s more like it.”

The old kindness frayed next. He remembered the barista shifts where he had smiled at rude customers, saying “no problem” when they snapped, tipping out the dishwashers even when he was short. Anything to avoid conflict. That was the old him. Pathetic. Weak. The memory twisted into disgust. Why the hell had he ever bent over backwards for people who didn’t deserve it? Real men took. They didn’t ask. They demanded, and the world bent.

His politics shifted in the same breath. The old Ezra had marched in pride parades, donated to queer charities, raged online about inequality. Now those ideas felt small, whining, effeminate. Bootstraps. Strength. Hierarchy. That was the natural order. Weak men existed to serve strong ones. Women existed to please. Money flowed upward. Always upward.

He flexed again, slow and deliberate, watching his biceps rise into a mountainous peak, veins throbbing like rivers of dominance. A cruel smirk tugged at his lips. Arrogance bloomed in his chest, warm and vicious. Shyness? That had been a cage. Kindness? A disease. He was done being small.

The OnlyFans page pulled his gaze back. Seventeen subscribers. Mostly lonely fags, probably jerking off to his old soft selfies while crying about their pathetic lives. The thought no longer stirred pity. It stirred hunger. Not just for money anymore. For worship. For tribute.

He imagined them. Pale, scrawny betas hunched over keyboards, wallets open, cocks leaking as they begged to send more. Losers. Fags. Paypigs. The words felt right on his tongue, sharp and sweet like a blade dipped in honey. He’d drain them dry. Make them sell their shit, max their cards, cry themselves to sleep knowing their rent money was buying him steaks, new chains, a bigger place with blacked-out windows and a king bed where real alphas fucked real women.

His cock throbbed harder at the fantasy. Pre-cum soaked through the briefs now, darkening the blue fabric. He gripped himself again, harder this time, squeezing until it hurt just enough to feel good. A growl escaped him.

“This body deserves better,” he said aloud, staring into his own cold blue eyes in the reflection. “This life deserves better. And they're gonna fucking pay for it.”

He opened the OnlyFans dashboard. Deleted the old bio in one swipe. Cringe. Fucking embarrassing. He typed the new one with thick fingers, each keystroke deliberate:

“Cashmaster Ezra. Alpha. Superior. Send. Worship. Obey. No refunds. No mercy. Beta losers and fags only. Prove your worth or get lost. Tribute or vanish.”

He attached the test photo, the one with him looming in the doorway, biceps flexed, chest shadowed by his humongous pecs, that new arrogant sneer on his face already perfected. It didn't need a filter. There was no apology. Raw dominance.

Before posting, he paused. Opened his camera again. This time he didn’t hesitate. He angled the phone low so the lens caught the obscene bulge, the carved abs, the silver cross glinting between heavy pecs. He stared straight into the camera, eyes narrowed, lips curled in open contempt.

“Pathetic,” he murmured to the imaginary subs, voice dripping venom and lust. “You’re already hard just looking at this preview, aren’t you? Already reaching for your wallet. Good boy. Keep going.”

He snapped the shot and immediately saved it as his new profile picture.

The account name was renamed “Cashmaster Ezra”. The effeminate young man that had naively set it up was gone. Ezra the twink, the sweetheart, the liberal dreamer, was dead. In his place stood something harder. Hungrier. Crueler.

He hit “Update Profile.” Then he leaned back against the wall, massive arms crossed over his chest, cock still leaking, smirk widening. This was really happening. Tomorrow he’d post the first real content: a video of him counting cash (he’d have to get some first, but the pigs would surely send fast), flexing, barking orders, making them beg to send more just to hear his voice call them worthless.

Cashmaster Ezra was ready. Ready to reintroduce himself to the world that had ignored the old him. Ready to drain every last dollar from the betas and fags who would line up to be ruined. Ready to live like the god he now knew he was.

[buildabro-deactivated20260705]

Wants and needs

Some guys want to be transformed. And some guys, like Andrew?

They need it.

The college student spent every waking moment obsessing over himself, or rather, who he needed to be. His tall, slim frame, which would've been more than enough for most guys, left him wanting, well, needing, so much more.

He wanted the same short, dark hair that sprouted from his head to cover every inch of his body: a thick, bristly beard and a trail from his chest down, and down, and down. Enough hair to trap all that sweat from the gym and brew it into a rich, deep, manly musk.

And he wanted there to be more inches of him, more thick, corded muscle bulging underneath his skin covered in all that hair.

He knew what he needed: Big, dumb, hairy, musky, sweaty, manly.

The thought crept into his head during every lecture, every study session, every late night spent cramming for an exam.

His mind wandered, and so did his hands, touching and tracing and stroking and pumping to the thought…

Big, dumb, hairy, musky, sweaty, manly.

"Can you help me?"

I don't know what he had in mind by help, but he got it. I can't count how many of protein shakes I crammed down his throat, or the number of supplements and vitamins and minerals for muscle and hair growth I packed into each I made him slurp down.

He started cutting class (my idea, well, order).

I don't know if there was a formula, but I can tell you his grades slipped further and further with each extra pound he benched in the gym. He stopped thinking, and just started being.

He was such a good bro, and the way his face lit up when his chest hair started coming in? Perfection. And when he told me he was dropping out? Words can't describe it.

I pushed him hard and fast, and he obeyed better than I could have expected.

And now Andrew's big, dumb, hairy, musky, and sweaty. He's a man.

He thinks he's dominant, and around other bros? Oh, he's the alpha wolf. But around me…?

Well, every wolf is a pup at some point.

[jockthoughts]

You can't stop the craving. You need to be fit. You need to be pretty. You need to give yourself to a dominant man.

[m4gicantz]

[horniestofhoes]

The Coup

Ever since I got my hands on that chronivac thing, my frat has been fucking unstoppable. I’ve turned every single member of ours into a bronzed musclegod while taking down a peg the guys from the other frats. Hell, I even let my bros use my laptop sometimes to go out and have fun changing idiots on campus, cause they’re my frat and I trust them.

These two idiots are Marty and Dom, they used to be ever so chubby, a result of a car crash injury that left them both unnable to exercise for a couple do months, but when I got the Chronivac the first thing I did was make them BIG again, and maybe increase some of their attributes while I was at it. They were immensely grateful, and I thought I had earned myself allies for life. So imagine my surprise when I woke up, with the two of them staring at me from the foot of my bed with my laptop in their hands.

“Good morning?” I said, confused

“Good morning, captain jackass!” Marty answered

“Shut up Marty. What the hell are you two doing?” I asked them, but already having a guess in mind

“We’re taking over the ship, broski. Me and Marty over here decided that it’s unfair that you get to hog all the power of the Chronivac for yourself, thinking you can make rules like “Don’t use it to make girls suck our dicks” or “Don’t make global level changes”, so we’re taking you down so me and Marty can be co-kings!” Dom said, with a smirk on his face

“Yeah, and you’re gonna get turned into some dumb ass faggot who only thinks of sucking marty and dom dick, sucking marty and dom dick and sucking marty and dom dick!” Marty laughed

Oh for christ’s sake, I really shouldn’t have trusted these morons.

“Marty, Dom, come on guys, I was nice enough to make you guys actually notice the changes, and I literally let you use it all the time. I keep those rules in place so just things don’t get out of control, or do you want to get the attention of other users. Hand me the phone and I’ll forget this ever happened.” I told them, calmly stating my intention

“Like hell we are! Here, wanna do the honors of transforming Mason the Frat King into Mason the Frat Dump, Marty?” Dom asked, still laughing

“Yuhuh! Bye bye, big man in charge, enjoy being our dumb bitch!” Marty said, laughing as he pressed the enter button

Then, there was a bright flash of light from the screen, and I heard them scream as I let out a hearty laugh.

“What’s with the noise, fags?” I said, still laughing to myself “Did you dumbfucks really think I’d not take some precautions as to avoid getting betrayed like this? It’s a secret, but this has happened before. That cock sucker Anthony from Kappa Kappa Tau was my right hand man, but he tried to turn me into a fag boy and It bounced right back at ‘im. I’m the Chronivac Master here, and don’t you forget that.”

They looked at me, their minds too slow now, all they can feel is their hard cocks and their bubble bets begging for action, karma for trying to make me a dumb hoe. I think I won’t even hide this change, the other dumbnuts in this house are now gonna know what happens to the guys who try and betray their king. They get turned into cock lovin’ faggots, who are now gonna be sucking us off every other day. I tried to warn you two morons, but enjoy your dick lovin’ days now, bros.

[watchinglee2]

Don’t Make Me Say It Again - Austin Keil x Male Reader

Plot: Your demanding alpha boyfriend Austin Keil punishes your attitude by face-fucking you, pinning you down, and brutally fucking you into submission.

Warnings: smut

Word Count: 1.87k

Don’t Make Me Say It Again

You were sprawled on the oversized sectional in the living room of the apartment you shared with Austin Keil, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. The late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floors. You’d had a long day—work emails, traffic, the usual bullshit—and all you wanted was to veg out until dinner. But Austin had other plans.

The front door clicked open, and there he was. Austin filled the doorway like he owned the air itself. Six-foot-three of pure, sculpted muscle, his wavy, sun-kissed brown curls tousled from the gym. A light sheen of sweat still clung to his broad shoulders and the deep cuts of his chest, highlighting the way his pecs flexed with every breath. The silver chain necklace you’d given him for his birthday rested against his collarbone, drawing your eyes down the ridged valleys of his abs. His right arm—inked with a fierce, intricate tattoo that wrapped from shoulder to wrist—flexed as he dropped his gym bag. Dark blue jeans hung low on his narrow hips, the V-lines disappearing temptingly beneath the waistband.

“Baby,” he said, voice low and commanding, locking the door behind him. “I need you to handle a few things for me.”

You glanced up, smirking. “Can it wait? I’m kind of in the middle of—”

Austin’s hazel eyes narrowed. He crossed the room in three strides, towering over you. Up close, he smelled like cedarwood cologne mixed with clean sweat—masculine, intoxicating. “No. It can’t. Put the phone down. I want the laundry folded, the kitchen wiped down, and dinner started. I’ve been grinding all day. I expect my man to take care of the house when I ask.”

You rolled your eyes, a spark of attitude flaring up. You loved when he got like this—demanding, alpha as hell—but today you were tired. “Austin, I just got home too. Chill. I’ll do it in a bit.”

His jaw tightened. That perfect, chiseled jaw with the light stubble you loved feeling between your thighs. He leaned down, one massive hand gripping the back of the couch beside your head, caging you in. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

You huffed, pushing back against his chest—feeling the solid wall of warm muscle under your palm. “Or what? You gonna spank me, big guy?” You grinned, thinking it was playful banter. You tossed your phone aside but made no move to get up.

Austin’s expression darkened, sexy and stern all at once. He straightened to his full height, arms crossing over his chest, biceps bulging. “Get up. Now.”

You stayed seated, raising an eyebrow defiantly. “Make me.”

The air shifted. In one fluid motion, Austin grabbed your wrist and hauled you to your feet like you weighed nothing. His grip was firm, unyielding, but not painful—just enough to remind you who was in charge. He spun you around, pressing your back against his front. You could feel the hard ridges of his abs against your shoulder blades and the growing bulge in his jeans nudging your ass.

“You’ve got attitude tonight,” he growled into your ear, breath hot against your neck. His free hand slid down your side, possessively gripping your hip. “I’ve been patient. But when I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?”

You swallowed, heart racing. Part of you still thought he was playing—teasing, like always. “Yeah, yeah. Bossy much?”

Austin’s hand cracked across your ass—sharp, stinging through your sweatpants. You yelped, more from surprise than pain. “That’s one,” he said, voice calm but edged with steel. “I’m not playing with you, baby. Strip. Get on your knees.”

You hesitated, pulse thundering. His reflection in the nearby mirror showed every inch of him: the way his curly hair fell over his forehead, the intensity in his eyes, the tattooed forearm flexing as he held you. He was stern, yes—but fuck, he was sexy. That demanding alpha energy made your cock twitch despite yourself.

When you didn’t move fast enough, Austin’s hand fisted in your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one rough pull. “I said strip.” His fingers hooked into your waistband next, shoving your pants and briefs down in a single motion. Cool air hit your skin as your half-hard cock sprang free. Austin kicked your clothes aside, then pushed you down to your knees right there on the rug.

You looked up at him, mouth dry. He unbuckled his belt slowly, the metallic clink loud in the quiet room. “You think this is a game?” he asked, unzipping his jeans. His thick cock spilled out—already mostly hard, heavy, veined, the head flushed dark. It bobbed in front of your face, inches from your lips. “Open.”

You parted your lips, still half-convinced he’d laugh and pull you up for a kiss any second. But Austin gripped your hair with one hand and fed his cock into your mouth without mercy. The salty, musky taste of him flooded your senses as he pushed deep, hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck, that’s better,” he groaned, hips rocking forward. “Suck it like you mean it. Make it wet.”

You tried to pull back to breathe, but his grip tightened. “Don’t. You wanted attitude? This is what happens.” He thrust shallowly at first, then deeper, using your mouth with controlled power. His abs clenched with every push, the silver chain swaying against his chest. Saliva dripped down your chin as you gagged around his thickness, eyes watering. He looked down at you the whole time—stern, dominant, but with that hungry heat in his gaze that said he owned you.

After several long minutes, he pulled out with a wet pop, stroking his glistening cock. “Up. Bedroom. Now.”

You scrambled to your feet, legs shaky, cock fully hard and leaking. Austin followed close behind, one hand on the back of your neck, guiding you firmly. In the bedroom, he shoved you face-down onto the king-sized bed. You landed with a grunt, ass up.

“Stay,” he ordered, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. You heard him strip the rest of the way—jeans hitting the floor, then the clink of his watch and bracelet. The mattress dipped as he climbed behind you. His big hands spread your cheeks, and you felt the cool slick of lube he must have grabbed from the nightstand.

You twisted your head to look back at him. “Austin, come on, I was just—”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, harder this second time. “I don’t want to hear it. You had your chance to listen.” His fingers circled your hole, teasing, then two pushed in without warning. You moaned, pushing back instinctively. He scissored them expertly, stretching you, curling to brush your prostate.

“Thought I was playing, huh?” he murmured, adding a third finger. “You forget who’s in charge here?” His free hand reached under you, gripping your cock and stroking it roughly in time with his fingers. Pleasure sparked up your spine, but his grip was too tight, too controlling.

“Austin—fuck—”

He pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and aching. Then the blunt head of his cock was there, pressing against your hole. “You’re gonna take every inch. And you’re gonna thank me for it.”

He thrust in—slow at first, letting you feel the burn and stretch of his thick length splitting you open. Inch after inch sank deeper until his hips were flush against your ass, his heavy balls pressed against you. The fullness was overwhelming. You gasped into the sheets, fists clenching.

“Shit… you’re so big,” you whimpered.

Austin leaned over you, chest to your back, his muscular arms bracketing your head. His curls tickled your shoulder as he bit down lightly on your neck. “That’s right. And you’re gonna feel me for days.” He started moving—deep, powerful strokes that rocked the bed. Each thrust ground against your prostate, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure through you.

You tried to push up on your elbows, but Austin’s hand pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you down. “Stay right there. Take it.” His pace quickened, hips snapping harder. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixed with your moans and his low grunts.

Every detail of him overwhelmed your senses: the heat of his body, the flex of his abs against your lower back, the way his tattooed arm muscles bunched as he held you in place. His chain necklace brushed your skin with every thrust. He was relentless—stern, focused, fucking you like he needed to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

“You gonna listen next time?” he growled, reaching around to stroke your cock again. His fist was slick with your pre-cum, pumping you fast.

“Y-yes—fuck, Austin!”

“Say it.”

“I’ll listen—I swear—”

He slammed in particularly deep, making you cry out. “Louder.”

“I’ll listen! I won’t give you attitude!”

“Good boy.” The praise, delivered in that deep, sexy voice, sent you spiraling. He fucked you harder, hips pistoning, chasing his own pleasure while driving you toward the edge. Your cock throbbed in his hand, balls drawing tight.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m close—”

“Come,” he commanded. “Right now. On my cock.”

You shattered. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your hole clenching around him as you spilled over his fist and onto the sheets. Austin didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, drawing out every pulse until you were oversensitive and whimpering.

Only then did he let go. With a deep groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came, flooding you with hot, thick pulses. His body tensed above you—every muscle standing out in sharp relief, abs contracting, chest heaving. He stayed inside you for a long moment, grinding lazily as he rode out the aftershocks.

Finally, he pulled out carefully and rolled you onto your back. His expression softened just a fraction as he looked down at you—flushed, marked, thoroughly fucked. But the stern edge remained. He cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your swollen lips.

“Next time I tell you to do something,” he said quietly, “you do it the first time. Don’t make me say it twice.”

You nodded, breathless, body still buzzing. “Yes, sir.”

Austin leaned down and kissed you—deep, possessive, but with that underlying tenderness that always followed his dominance. His curls fell forward, tickling your forehead. When he pulled back, his hazel eyes were warm but commanding.

“Now go clean up the mess you made on the sheets. Then handle the laundry and kitchen like I asked. I’ll start dinner.”

You started to protest—still floating in post-orgasm haze—but caught yourself. One look at his raised eyebrow and the way his muscular arms flexed as he crossed them over his bare chest was enough.

“Yes, Austin.”

He smirked, sexy and satisfied. “That’s my good boy.”

You slid off the bed on shaky legs, feeling his cum trickle down your thigh. As you moved to obey, you glanced back at him. Austin stood there in all his glory—shirtless, tattooed, ripped abs glistening faintly, silver chain catching the light. He watched you with that alpha intensity, making sure you followed through.

And fuck, even after all that, you already knew you’d test him again soon. Because being checked by Austin Keil—being owned by him—was the hottest thing in the world.

[royd-roided]

royd roided: musclewhore

You're MINE, musclewhore. I chose you. I named you. I own you, body and soul, muscles and pussy. Your job is to grow for me and get fucked. Always growing, always getting fucked. No thinking, fuckpig. Master will do all the thinking. I don't want you thinking I want you growing and getting fucked. Your pussy, not your brain, should be in charge of your body. And I'm in charge of that pussy. I own it. I own you.

Yes, it'll take two or three men at a time, just to hold you down, while other guys use your holes. Latching on to your thick traps and pounding that cunt so hard that it'll sound like the crowd is applauding the gangbang of my fuckpig. Your roidgut pressed against the pavement, my foot on your wide muscular back, between your shoulders. Master holding his fuckpig in place by standing on your back while I get you gang banged like you need. Showing my triumph over the roided-out, transformed, brainless mass of muscled-up fuck matured, jacked and juiced zombie, that is my whore.

Right royd?

[mw38252855-deactivated20240106]

RIGHT SIR

[justmuscle4u]

Julián Prieto 🇪🇺🇪🇸

[4theluvofmuscle]

HOT as fu-k Arab chiseled roid muscle!

[hrycwbyphx]

[twisted-talez]

“Dad?!” I gasped, spotting my bearded father in a sea of scantily-clad gay guys at Club Spurt. It was country-western night and Dad was sporting a cowboy hat, a pair of tight jeans, and leather suspenders that traversed his meaty, hairy pecs. A muscled club rat was hanging on to Dad, kissing his neck. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Dad?” I demanded, nearly shouting to be heard over a Luke Combs song. 

“Same thing as you,” Dad shouted back, matching my decibel. “Just trying to have some fun, maybe get my dick wet.”

“Does Mom know you’re here?” 

“She knows I’m—uh—out tonight,” Dad laughed. “And that’s all she needs to know.”

It was no secret that my parents had an open marriage, meaning Dad could fuck around behind my mom’s back. Mom had once explained to me that Dad had a high sex drive that far exceeded her libido. She was fine with him fucking other women, as long as she didn’t know the details. But what Mom and I didn’t know was that Dad was also fucking guys. 

“Who’s your friend?” I asked in a snarky tone, eyeing the muscular guy hanging on to Dad. 

 “Uh—this is—uh—”

“Zander,” the guy answered for himself, slightly vexed that my dad had blanked on his name. 

“Zander, this is my son Liam,” Dad gestured to me. 

Zander eyed me up and down caustically, appraising every inch of my body, before whispering something into my dad’s ear. Dad’s eyes widened in response. 

“I’ll have to think about that,” I could hear Dad responding to Zander. “In the meantime, why don’t you go and wait upstairs for me while I have a quick chat with Liam?”

“Upstairs?” I exclaimed as Zander departed. “Did you get a VIP room? Do you know how much that costs in this place?”

“Yeah—750 bucks, plus gratuity,” Dad nodded. “But it comes with bottle service and privacy if I want to fuck some guy.”

“Since when do you fuck guys?”

“Uh—since about the time I first started dipping my stick,” Dad confessed. “I’ve never discriminated when it comes to sex. A hole is a hole. I married your mother because I loved her—I still do. But I’ve always enjoyed sex on both sides of the fence.”

“But—why didn’t you ever tell me you fuck guys?” I demanded. “You know that I'm gay for Christ’s sake.”

“Do you tell me about the guys you fuck?” Dad questioned. 

“Well—no—but—”

“I think I’ve proven my point,” Dad laughed. “Look, I can see why you’re upset with me, and I’m sorry for not telling you that I fuck guys. I’m just not the type to go around bragging about my conquests.”

“Is that what Zander is—that muscle twink? Is he your next conquest?”

“Zander is hardly a conquest,” Dad laughed, scratching his hairy chest. “The boy glued himself to me as soon as I walked in the door tonight. But I’m not about to turn down an easy fuck.”

“What did he whisper in your ear, before you sent him up to your VIP room?” I inquired. “I got the impression Zander doesn’t like me.”

“On the contrary,” Dad chuckled. “He thinks you’re hot as fuck, and he whispered to me that he’d like us to tag team his hole.”

“The fuck?!” I blurted out. 

“Don’t panic, Liam,” Dad tried to calm me. “I assumed you wouldn’t be interested in—”

“No—I mean—maybe,” I interrupted. “I might be game. But is it weird that we’re—you know—father and son?”

“I don’t think that’s weird for Zander at all,” Dad opined. “A lot of guys get off on the idea of getting tagged by a dad and son.”

“No—I meant, would it be weird for us?”

“It’s not weird for me,” Dad admitted. “In college, my brother—your Uncle Rick—and I used to tag team bitches all the time. A body is a body. A cock is a cock. It never mattered to Rick and me that we were brothers. In fact, I think it only strengthened the bond between us.”

I liked that idea of strengthening the bond with my dad. We loved each other, but we weren’t all that close. Dad was such an imposing figure—manly, with the beard, the muscles, the hairy chest. I had spent most of my life living in his shadow, resentful that I would never measure up to his standard. 

It didn’t help that I had little in common with my dad. He loved watching football, duck hunting, and playing long games of poker, and I—just didn’t. But now, suddenly, we had something in common—we both liked to fuck guys. And upstairs, there was a dude just aching to get his slutty ass tagged by us. 

“Let’s go fuck that bitch,” I announced boldly, my mind resolved. 

“Fuck yeah, Liam,” Dad high-fived me. “Let’s go fucking wreck that bitch.”

The sea of sweaty guys on the dance floor parted as Dad, one of the hottest men in the club that night, took me by the hand and led me upstairs to the VIP room. Several guys looked at me enviously, thinking I had scored this hunk of a man. Knowing the truth made me laugh. Sorry, bitches. 

Zander was waiting for us in the VIP room, drinking a glass of champagne. He was on a leather couch, stripped down to a black jockstrap, his muscular body ripe for the taking. 

“The champagne is delicious,” he sipped from a glass as he gestured to an uncorked bottle on a nearby table. 

“Not bad,” Dad agreed, ignoring the glass coupes on the table and taking a long swig directly from the bottle before handing it to me. 

I drank straight from the bottle, like Dad, his saliva on my lips along with the champagne. The bottle was only the first thing we would be sharing that night.

“I don’t know about you two boys,” Dad teased, dropping his leather suspenders and undoing his jeans, “but I’m ready to fuck.”

Christ, my dad was hung. I had seen him naked many times in my life, all benign occasions—showering, pissing, changing clothes. But never had I seen my father hard. His cock was easily nine inches, as thick as my wrist, and rested atop a set of balls that would rival the average bull. 

“Now you know why your mother never wants to ride me,” Dad winked at me, my jaw on the floor. 

“Fuck me,” Zander begged from the couch, breaking my trance. “Get that big dick inside me,” he pleaded to my dad.

Zander’s muscular ass was presented to us, his knees on the cushions, his head resting on the back of the couch. His hole looked wet, already prepped, a discarded bottle of lube on the floor next to a bottle of poppers. 

“No, Zander,” my dad objected, as I stripped out of my clothes. “I’d like my son to start first. I want to watch you riding him.”

Dad gave my hard cock a flirtatious tug before directing me to take a seat on the couch. Following orders, Zander climbed on top of me, facing me as he lowered himself onto my cock. 

“Fuuuuck,” I exhaled in ecstasy, my dick buried in Zander’s warm, wet hole. 

“Does his cunt feel good, Liam?” Dad asked while slowly jacking his big one, keeping the pump primed. “You like his pussy?”

“It feels fucking incredible,” I marveled, Zander’s hands on my shoulders as he bobbed up and down rhythmically on my cock. 

“Lean forward,” Dad directed Zander. “I want a better look at my son’s cock in your cunt.”

Zander obliged, wrapping his arms around my neck, his cheek brushing mine, as he raised his meaty ass and exposed his occupied hole to my dad. 

“Jesus, that hole is tight,” Dad exclaimed, his index finger suddenly breaching Zander’s sphincter, probing up inside his fuck canal and alongside my cock. 

“Fuck,” Zander reacted, his sphinter tensing around my cock and Dad’s thick finger, both in his ass at once. “That feels so good.”

The sensation of Dad’s finger rubbing against my cock while I was inside Zander was unreal, heightening the experience. And so I was bummed when Dad withdrew his finger. Little did I know, he was just getting started. 

Standing behind Zander, Dad pushed Zander’s body into my chest, raising his ass higher, my cock still buried inside his cunt. And then I felt it—a firm pressure against my shaft as Dad’s fat cockhead began to breach Zander’s already stretched hole. 

“FUUUCK,” Zander screamed loud enough to wake the dead as Dad drove his cock inside him, joining me in Zander’s depths—two cocks in one hole. 

I could feel Dad’s thick shaft rubbing against my own, his hairy balls suddenly mashed against mine, as we achieved totality of double penetration inside of Zander. The feeling was incredible. 

“Just take some deep breaths,” Dad softly guided Zander, stroking his back as we held still inside him. “You can do this—you can handle us both at once.”

“But you’re both thick as fuck,” Zander protested. “It hurts like hell.”

“You can do this,” Dad reassured him softly, stroking his back. “Yeah—that’s it—deep breaths. I can already feel you relaxing your sphincter. That’s it, baby—open that cunt for us.”

I could feel it—Zander’s sphincter relaxing around our shafts, his fuck canal expanding to accommodate us. Dad began to employ some steady strokes, his thick shaft rubbing against mine. Assuming I should do the same, I began to raise my hips, my cock sliding alongside Dad’s big dick, attempting to match his rhythm.

“No—hold still inside of him, Liam,” Dad advised me, clearly experienced in the art of double penetration after tagging all those bitches back in the day with my Uncle Rick. “Let me do the work. You two just enjoy the ride.”

Wrapping his arms around Zander, Dad’s hairy chest pushed against his back, Dad began to thrust rhythmically inside of Zander. Dad’s face was inches from mine, his warm breath exhaling with each thrust. 

I could feel Dad’s big dick rubbing against my own, massaging my shaft within Zander’s ass. The sensation was incredible—like Dad was jacking me off with his big dick inside of Zander. It reminded me of when I was younger and, face down upon my bed at night, I used to get myself off by rubbing my hard cock against the mattress.

“You still good, baby?” Dad whispered into Zander’s ear.

“Yes—it’s so fucking intense,” he moaned, nearly immobile as two cock used his cunt. 

Intense was an understatement. I was fighting the urge to cum, my cock buried in Zander, Dad’s cock rubbing against mine over and over as he began to pick up the pace, driving hard into Zander’s cunt. 

“You feel that, Liam?” Dad asked me, his cock thrusting hard inside of Zander, my dick sandwiched against his. “You feel my dick against yours?”

“Yeah—it’s so fucking hot,” I exhaled, gritting my teeth, trying not to bust my nut. “I want to cum so badly.”

“Try to hold back, Liam,” Dad advised. “I’m getting close, and I want you to feel me cumming before you let loose. You won’t believe how good it feels.”

I nodded in agreement as Dad increased his pace in Zander’s ass, pounding him relentlessly. The feeling of his dick against my own cock was unreal. It felt like my dick was in a vise and being jacked at a breakneck pace. I didn’t think I could hold out much longer. Fortunately, Dad coudn’t either. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Dad warned urgently, sweat dripping down his hairy chest, his big cock beginning to throb against mine. “Just hang tight a minute, Liam. I’m about to—I’m about to—OH FUCK—SHIT.”

A warm wetness consumed my cock as Dad unleashed his load inside of Zander, his big dick pulsing rapidly. The vibration of his cock against mine was incredible, much like the time I let an ex-boyfriend put a vibrator up my ass. As Dad’s dick continued to spew inside Zander, I lost all control and shot my load with him in unison.

“FUCK—FUCK,” I grunted, my cock erupting inside Zander, my load mixing with Dad’s cum.

“That’s it, Liam,” Dad cheered. “I can feel you cumming. Seed this fucking bitch with me.”

“Mmm yeah, breed my cunt,” Zander moaned as Dad and I flooded his depths, our balls emptying in that wrecked hole.

Dad held still after we had both finished, our depleted cocks still buried inside of Zander, before leaning forward and kissing me over Zander’s shoulder. Sharing a hole with Dad had made me feel closer to him than ever before. 

“Christ, that was hot,” Dad exclaimed, extracting his big cock from Zander, my own cock free-falling from that gaping hole and slapping against my thigh. 

Instantly a melange of cum rained down upon my cock from Zander’s wrecked cunt. He kneeled down and licked my cock clean. Dad was instantly upon Zander, his lips to his, tasting our shared DNA. Leaning into me, Dad kissed me again, our joint loads on his lips. 

“You guys want to order up another bottle?” Zander asked, ambling to the near-empty champagne bottle on the table on wobbly legs, cum still streaming down the inside of his thighs.

“I think we’re good,” Dad answered flatly. “Thanks for the fun, Zander. You can be on your way now.”

I watched as Zander dressed sullenly, pulling his pants over his used ass. Dejected, he left us, closing the door to the VIP room behind him.

“That was a bit harsh,” I scolded my Dad. “We just fucked the shit out of him—at once—and then you dismissed him summarily with barely a pat on the back.”

“I’m not here to make friends,” Dad insisted. “I’m here to fuck.”

“I can’t believe we both fucked him,” I observed, trying to lighten the mood. “I never thought I’d be able to say that my dad and I fucked the same guy.”

“Actually, if I’m being honest, I’ve fucked nearly all your ex-boyfriends,” Dad laughed. “But only after you broke up.”

“You dirty dog,” I punched Dad playfully in the arm. “Well, there’s no way you fucked Carter. I always had to bottom for him, since Carter is strictly a top.”

“I know he’s a top,” Dad winked. “Carter wrecked my hole with that big dick. I had to tell your mom I threw out my back at the gym when I was walking funny the next day.”

“Wait—you also bottom?”

“Yeah,” Dad admitted. “You’ve got to be a good bottom if you want to be a great top.”

My mind was reeling, a whole new side of my dad had been revealed to me that night. Not only did Dad like to top guys, skillfully engaging in double penetration, he also liked to bottom. Who was this man that I thought I knew? And then I had an idea—a great, big, beautiful idea. 

“You wanna get dressed and go back downstairs?” I suggested, fumbling for my clothes. “Maybe find a couple of hot tops to come up here and take turns switching off between our holes?”

“Fuck yeah,” Dad agreed readily, pulling on his jeans and leather suspenders. “Just so you know—I’m a fairly talented power bottom.”

Ten minutes later, Dad and I were side by side on the VIP couch, our knees pressed to our hairy chests with two hung tops plowing our eager holes in unison. It reminded me of adjacent oil wells being drilled in perfect synchronization.

I could hear a line of guys beginning to form in the hallway, waiting for a chance to breed the father and son duo. Never had I felt closer to Dad—well, except for the time when we shot our loads simultaneously inside Zander’s hungry hole. 

Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.

[secretboyxs-blog-deactivated202]

[twisted-talez]

“Yeah, fuck my sloppy hole,” I begged the hung biker dude, his tattooed arm traveling up my back and gripping my shoulder as he railed me atop the cum-soaked motel mattress. My phone was blowing up on the bed table, but I didn’t care. I had lost count of how many dicks that I had taken that day, how many loads dumped up my ass.

I would often find myself in this particular mood—the mood to be used and abused by several random guys, taking cock after cock, load after load, in the span of mere hours. If ignored, the urge would consume me, making it impossible to conduct any of my daily affairs. I was powerless to resist.

Attractive, muscular, clean cut, and clean shaven, one would never suspect that I liked dick. I played football in high school, then joined a fraternity in college. I loved watching football, drinking beer, shooting hoops, and playing golf with my buddies. I presented like any other red-blooded, straight, American male that one might encounter—but it was all an act, a perfectly constructed facade. Deep down inside, I was a cum dump. A gentleman on the streets, a freak in the sheets. 

I had awoken that particular morning wanting some dick—no—needing some dick. There was no ignoring it. And so I gave into the urge, calling into work and giving my boss some bullshit story of being sick and needing to spend the day in bed. Well, at least the part about the bed was true. 

Needing a discreet place to offer up my ass, I checked into a seedy motel on the truck route just outside of town. My only luggage was a bottle of lube and some poppers. The motel was a total shit hole, notorious for being a good place to score just about anything illicit, including drugs and sex. My meaty ass would be on the menu that day. 

The manager eyed me suspiciously when I asked to pay for the room in cash. He was used to my type. “No flushing condoms down the toilet,” he lectured sternly while handing over the key, “or else the pipes get backed up.”

“What’s a condom?” I joked, eyeing his wedding band, his ample bulge. “You're welcome to drop by my room later if your pipes are backed up. ”

Ensconced in my dirty motel room, I stripped down and shoved my clothes and shoes into the closet. I next prepped my hole diligently, placing the lube and poppers on the bed table, along with my phone. I then logged onto Grindr, updating my profile with my room number at the motel, including an open invite to come use my ass. All were welcome, no dick refused. 

After unlocking the door to my room, leaving it ajar, I climbed upon the bed. I then positioned myself on all fours, my ass at the edge of the bed, ready to be mounted. My hole was open for business. It wasn’t long before I had my first customer. 

“Psst—you taking cock?” a deep voice called from the doorway. 

“Yeah, dude. Fucking breed me,” I taunted, looking over my shoulder to see a beefy guy with hairy arms, a logo on his shirt that read: Speedy Plumbing. I’ll say one thing for plumbers, they sure know how to lay some pipe.

“Fuuuck,” he exhaled, unzipping and pushing a thick nine-incher into me, opening me up. “How many cocks you had this morning so far?” he asked, delivering some deep strokes.

“You’re the first,” I replied. “Your warm load will be the lube for all the others.”

“Damn, I’m honored,” he laughed, picking up the pace, pounding me hard, the bed springs squeaking in perfect unison to his rhythm. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“I won’t be by the time you’re done with me,” I joked, grinding my hole into his pubes, taking him deeper. 

“Damn, I ain’t gonna last long in this tight cunt,” the plumber announced. “Just feels too fucking good.”

“Breed me when you’re ready,” I advised. “Dump that big load in me.”

“You’re ‘bout to get it,” he warned. “OH FUCK—DAMN.”

“Mmm yeah—seed my hole,” I begged as his cock erupted inside of me, delivering my first load of the day. 

“Fuck, I needed that,” he pulled out as soon as his dick had stopped throbbing in my depths. “I hope you get a lot of cock today,” he slapped my ass, his warm load dripping from my hole, sliding down the back of my ballsack in search of the sheet below me.

“You done with him?” a voice sounded from the doorway as the plumber was pulling up his pants. I looked back to see a guy in blue scrubs—a doctor, I assumed. 

“Yeah,” the plumber replied. “His cunt is fucking incredible.”

“Sweet,” the doctor remarked, pulling down the front of his scrub pants, unleashing an eight-incher with a fat ‘shroom head. “I’ve got a four-day load for this cum dump.”

Immediately, the doctor was inside my used hole. Grabbing me by the hips, he went from zero to sixty in about three seconds, jackhammering me. 

“Fuck, I love a sloppy hole,” he remarked, his balls slapping my ass over and over, the plumber’s warm cum working out of me each time the doctor thrusted deep. “You like this big dick up your ass, you fucking cock slut?”

“Yes,” I moaned, rocking my hips to match his rhythm. “Your big cock feels so fucking good inside me.”

The doctor’s pace was too fast, too deliberate, zeroing in on his goal with surgeon-like precision. I knew he couldn’t last long at that rate. And so I wasn’t surprised when his cock began to swell and pulse inside of me.

“SHIT—I’m cumming,” he announced urgently. “Yeah—take this nut, you fuckin’ whore—GOD DAMN.”

“My turn,” a deep bass suddenly sounded, practically pushing the doctor out of the way as he pulled out of me, his cock still dripping his pearly load. “You want some more cum, bitch?” the new guy asked.

I looked back to see a tall, muscular guy in a Peterbilt trucker’s cap. Sporting a flannel shirt with ripped-off sleeves, his faded jeans were undone, his massive cock instantly breaching my used hole.

“FUCK,” I cried out, as the trucker rammed into me, driving that big Mack truck up my used ass. 

“It’s a hole splitter,” he gloated, pushing deep into me, my sphincter stretched to the max. “Hope you like a big one.”

“I love a big one,” I replied, biting the sheet, my hole torn in two. Fuck, his big cock was a lot to take. I reached for the poppers on the bed table, taking a hit. I then handed them to the trucker, who gave a deep inhale in both nostrils before returning the bottle to me. Feeling a bit more relaxed, I lowered my head, angling my ass higher, allowing him to slide deeper.

“That’s it, bitch,” he growled, his hairy balls mashed against my hole. “Open up that pretty cunt for me.”

He was driving me hard, battering my inner-sphincter, my eyes rolling back into my head. The whole bed was shaking, the headboard banging against the wall. I could have been happy with that big dick up my ass all day—but his balls had other plans.

“You want my cum, bitch?” he demanded. “You want me to seed this sloppy hole?”

“YES,” I cried, his cock already throbbing inside of me, releasing a massive load. 

“SHIT—DAMN,” he grunted over and over, his warm load spewing in my depths. 

“You want some more dick, boy?” a voice suddenly hissed in my ear as the trucker pulled out of me. A stocky guy with a barrel chest and hairy arms was soon unzipping his shorts, pulling out a beer can cock. The name of a local high school team, the Ridgefield Rams, was emblazoned on the upper corner of his polo shirt. A silver whistle hung around his neck.

“I gotta make this quick,” the high school coach announced, looking at his Apple Watch. “I snuck out of a faculty meeting to come breed your hole.”

“Yeah—get that fat cock in me,” I begged as he mounted me. Digging into my shoulders, he launched a swift offense on my ass.

“Yeah, boy,” the coach barked loudly, as if I was a player on the field. “Take this dick—take this big—fat—dick.”

The coach wrapped his hairy arms around me, his furry belly rubbing against my ass, his entire body grinding into me. He was breathing hard, inching himself closer and closer to scoring.

“Get ready for my nut,” he barked at me. “Here it comes, boy. OH FUCK—OH SHIT—Yeah, here it comes, boy—FUUCK.”

“Yeah—breed me,” I moaned as I counted ten—eleven—twelve forceful shots of cum that was deposited in my depths as his body convulsed atop me. 

“Damn, you’ve got a sweet cunt,” the coach exhaled, pulling out of me, his cum dripping from my hole and onto the growing splotch of jizz on the bedsheet.  “Looks like your next guy is already waiting,” he observed before ambling to the bathroom to take a piss in the rust-stained toilet.

I turned back my face to discover a well-dressed, handsome Black man standing in the doorway. He wore a silver cross around his neck that matched his wedding band. A name tag fixed to his coat said Reverend under his name.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” he laughed to himself. Removing his clothes, the preacher arranged them carefully on a chair by the window. Fuck, the dude was hung—easily twelve inches with a prominent curve downward. 

“Flip over on your back, baby,” he directed me. “I want to see your pretty face when I’m plowing your pussy.”

Obediently, I flipped over, pulling my knees to my chest, presenting my used hole to him. Gripping that big, dark anaconda in his fist, the preacher climbed on the bed and mounted me swiftly. 

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he exhaled, his silver cross dangling in my face as he looked down at his big cock gliding in and out of my hole. “This here is some good pussy—damn, fuckin’ good.”

Pushing his meaty hands against my thighs, he raised my ass, his massive cock sliding balls deep in me. Fuck, it felt amazing. Engaging his hips, he began to pummel the shit out of me, his low-hangers slapping my hole over and over again. 

“Yeah, baby,” he moaned. “You like Daddy’s cock up your ass? You like this big, black cock in your tight, pink, pussy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I moaned. “Your big, black cock feels so good inside me.”

“You had a lot of dick today, baby?” the preacher asked, pounding me harder. “You take a lot of loads in this tight pussy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I affirmed. “Four loads so far.”

“That’s a good little cock slut,” he thrusted deep in me. “You’re about to get load number five. You want my cum, baby? You want me to spill my seed in this pretty, pink pussy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I begged. “Fucking seed my hole.”

“Fuck yeah, baby,” the preacher began to shudder, his big cock throbbing in my depths. “That’s it, baby—take my cum—FUCK—DAMN.”

Pulling out of me, a massive gush of his pearly load escaped my gaping hole. With two fingers, the preacher swiped it up and fed his sweet ambrosia to me. Fucking delicious.

“That’s fucking hot, bro,” a voice in the room remarked. Two fraternity guys had arrived, sporting t-shirts with the Greek letters ΦΥK scrawled across the front. “You done with the cum dump?” one of the frat guys asked the preacher. “His hole any good?”

“Fuck, boy. His sweet pussy is God’s gift to men,” the preacher wiped his spent dick on the sheet before getting dressed, stuffing his big dick back into his pants. “You two boys enjoy his wet cunt.”

“Thanks, bro,” the one frat guy remarked, pulling down the front of his athletic shorts, resting the waistband below his balls, just before shoving his thick eight-incher into me in one, violent thrust.

“Shit,” I winced, my hole sore from all the use and abuse inflicted on it thus far. 

“Shut up, bitch,” the frat boy with his dick up my ass scolded. “Now suck my bro here while I fuck you.”

The other frat guy had climbed to the front of the bed, his fat cock hanging out of his shorts. Gripping me by the hair, he tipped back my head and shoved his big cock down my throat. Jackhammering my tonsils, his hairy balls slapped against my chin repeatedly.

“Yeah, bitch—suck my cock,” he ordered as his buddy proceeded to pummel my ass. “Suck my big, fucking cock.”

“That’s so fucking hot, bro,” the frat boy in my ass remarked, high-fiving the frat boy who was down my throat. “This bitch is gettin’ it on both ends. You gonna nut down his throat?”

“Nah, dude,” he shook his head. “I wanna cum up his ass—breed his sloppy hole. You getting close?”

“Yeah, bro. I’m almost there,” he assured his bud, picking up the pace. 

“Hurry up, dude,” the other one admonished. “I’m getting close—and I want to seed this bitch, too.”

“I’m close, bro—almost there—OH FUCK—I’m so close, bro—HOLY SHIT—Yeah, take my cum, you fucking bitch.”

As the one frat guy bred my hole, his cock spewing his warm load in me, the other one quickly extracted himself from my throat. Pushing his bud off me, his cock still spraying his pearly load as it popped out of my gaping hole, the other one shoved into me.

“Holy fuck, your cum is so warm inside his hole,” he remarked to his buddy, his big dick coated in the other dude’s cum. “Shit—I’m gonna cum already—FUCK—FUCK.”

While the second frat guy dumped a huge load in me, his buddy shoved his cummy cock in my mouth. Sucking it clean, I reveled in the ecstasy of getting bred by two frat guys—just seconds apart. 

“That was fucking hot, bro,” the one remarked to the other as they both extricated their big dicks from my opposite ends. “You do this a lot—take dick at this motel?”

“Often enough,” I answered. “Whenever the mood strikes.”

“That’s hot,” the other one replied, stuffing his spent dick back into his shorts. “You gonna be here a bit later today? We could maybe bring back a few more brothers—have a proper gang bang with you.”

“I’d like to watch that,” a voice sounded from the doorway—the motel manager finally dropping by to see me. “Looks like you’ve had a successful day so far,” he observed, eyeing the cum-soaked sheets under me as the frat boys took their leave. “I can smell jizz from all the way down at the office,” he laughed.

“You gonna fuck me?” I asked, flipping back onto my stomach, presenting my used ass to him, eyeing his tented pants. “You gonna get that big dick in me?”

“Fuck yes,” he growled, unzipping his pants, pulling out a thick cock with a prominent vein along one side. “It’s not like my wife is gonna spread her legs for me when I get home tonight, so I might as well dump a load in you.”

Planking above me, the motel manager mounted my cummy hole. With his fists digging into the mattress on either side of me, he wasted no time in pummeling my hole at a breakneck pace. Jesus, it felt good. 

“Shit, man,” he marveled. “I’ve pounded my nut into a lot of cum dumps at this motel, but I ain’t never had my dick in a pussy that was this good. Damn, you’ve got a hot cunt.”

“Thanks, man,” I replied. “You’ve got a great dick on you.”

“I bet you tell all the tops that,” he joked, slapping my ass before moving his hands to my shoulders, slamming all of his weight into me. “Fuck man—I’m already about to bust. I can’t hold back anymore—I’m gonna—I’m gonna—FUCK.”

No sooner had the motel manager seeded my ass and pulled out of me, when a construction guy jumped in, his big dick hanging out of a pair of unzipped Carhartt cargo pants. Pushing me into the mattress, he grunted his warm load into me in a matter of minutes. 

I don’t know if it was too many hits of poppers, or if I went into some type of tantric trance, but everything became a blur after that. Guy after guy. Cock after cock. Load after load. I was in a stupefied state of bliss. 

I could vaguely recall the return of the frat guys with several of their buds, delivering the gang bang they had promised. I’m pretty sure a couple of cops dropped by and seeded my hole around that time, as well. And I’m almost certain the motel manager made an encore performance, breeding my used ass and telling me that he wouldn’t charge me for the room next time. 

Minutes turned to hours and, before I knew it, it was late in the day and some tattooed biker dude in a Harley t-shirt was plowing my puffy hole. His big cock had a distinct upward curve, and he was getting my prostate magnificently. 

“Yeah, fuck my sloppy hole,” I begged the biker dude, his tattooed arm traveling up my back and gripping my shoulder as he railed me atop the cum-soaked mattress. I was vaguely aware that my phone was blowing up on the bed table, vibrating almost non-stop.

“You need to answer that?” the biker asked, now gripping my shoulders with both hands, jackhammering me hard. “Sounds like someone really needs to speak with you.”

“Nah,” I declined. “The only thing I need right now is to feel your big dick shooting your warm load up my ass.”

“Well—you’re about to get it,” the biker promised, pounding me harder, his big dick routing my cummy depths. “Shit, man. I wanted to hold back—but your cunt is just too—fuck, man—here it comes—FUCK—SHIT.”

I ground my ass into him, reveling in the feeling of his warm load inside of me, his cock throbbing over and over. I had no clue of how many loads I had taken at that point. All I knew was that each load felt better than the next. I was like a junkie chasing my next high—I wanted more cock, more cum. My thirst was unquenchable.

“Damn, man,” the biker dude exclaimed, pulling out of me. “That’s the best piece of ass I’ve ever had.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, happily seeded as I watched the biker dude pulling on his clothes, his big dick disappearing into his ripped jeans. For the first time all day, there wasn’t already some guy waiting for his turn with me. I knew that I should call it a day. My used hole was wrecked, pounded to a pulp. Sitting in my office chair was going to be rough the next day at work—a small price to pay.

When the biker dude had left, his warm load still dripping from my sloppy hole, I finally looked at my phone. I had twelve texts and five missed calls from my wife. The bitch can be such a fucking cock block at times. 

“I’m sorry, babe,” I apologized upon calling her back, sitting on the edge of the cum-soaked bed. “Work was crazy today, and the boss made me stay late.”

After she berated me for ignoring her calls and texts, I assured my wife that I would be home soon. Apparently, dinner was on the table and getting cold—much like her frigid cunt. 

“Yes, babe,” I promised before ending the call. “I won’t forget to pick up a pack of diapers on the way home.”

I arose from the bed, a melange of cum from countless dudes escaping from my puffy hole and streaming down the inside of my thigh. A quick shower would be essential before returning home to the wife and kids, not wanting to reek of raw, man-on-man sex. 

But just as I was about to enter the bathroom, a soft knock sounded at the door. I turned around to find an attractive businessman in a shirt and tie, a wedding band on his finger. He was clearly looking to dump a load before heading home to his wife. 

“Am I too late?” he asked regretfully, unzipping his dress pants and pulling out a thick eight-incher that was already rock hard. “You still taking cock?”

“My hole is still open,” I informed him, climbing back on the bed, presenting my used, puffy cunt to him. “Get that big dick in me, dude.”

The businessman mounted me quickly, exhaling slowly, his pants around his knees, his tie tossed back over his shoulder. And as he picked up his pace and railed me from behind, his big dick plumbing my cummy depths, I reached for my phone on the bed table. 

“Sorry, babe,” I texted my wife. “The boss is making me stay another few hours. It’s gonna be a late night. Don’t wait up for me.”

Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.