The heat pressed down like a second skin on the private lounge at the edge of the Ubud villa resort, thick with frangipani and the faint chlorine drift from the infinity pool. Ryan sprawled in the oversized beige daybed like he paid for the whole island—because he basically had. Twenty-six, American, the kind of body that made staff stare and other guests whisper: buzz-cut, sharp jaw, layered pearl and gold chains catching the light across his thick neck, silver bracelet on the wrist hooked behind his head. His right arm was up and relaxed, bicep swollen from the morning’s heavy session, while his left hand rested lazy near the heavy bulge in his low-slung patterned trunks. Legs spread wide, one knee cocked, the white drawstring dangling between his spread thighs. He wasn’t even looking at the tree line. Eyes half-lidded, staring toward the modern villas and the red scaffolding in the distance, completely checked out and untouchable.
He never got the chance to react.
The local came from the blind side of the trunk—compact, wiry, maybe 5'8" and 150 pounds soaking wet, skin dark from real work, not mirrors. No greeting. No slow approach. One heartbeat he was just another Balinese staff member in the background; the next he was on Ryan. Knee driving hard between the jock’s spread thighs, pinning the left leg into the yielding cushion. One calloused hand slammed over Ryan’s mouth and nose, cutting off air and sound at the same time the other arm snaked under the raised elbow, yanked it down, and torqued the wrist behind Ryan’s back in a single brutal twist. The soft daybed betrayed every ounce of the American’s gym-built power. No leverage. No room to explode upward. His 225 pounds of muscle were suddenly just dead weight sinking into fabric.
Ryan’s eyes snapped wide. A muffled, furious sound tore against the palm. He bucked hard—pure instinct, pure rage—because he knew he was stronger. This guy was average at best, maybe a gardener or security who climbed trees for a living. Ryan could bench this man’s bodyweight for reps. But the angle was wrong, his own arm already trapped high, the local’s knee and hips locking him down before his core could even fire. The smaller man rode the buck like he’d done it before, grinding his crotch straight into the side of Ryan’s hip and ass in short, aggressive thrusts. Dry humping with purpose. The thick ridge of his cock dragged hot and insistent against the thin fabric of Ryan’s trunks.
“Shhh.” Low, accented, right against Ryan’s ear. The hand over his mouth loosened just enough for two fast, cracking slaps across his face—sharp enough to sting, hard enough to snap his head sideways—then clamped back down. “You stay still, big boy.”
The molestation started before Ryan could even process the slaps. The local’s free hand went straight to work like it owned the body under it. Rough palm sliding over the heavy left pec, squeezing the thick muscle, then zeroing in on the nipple and twisting it hard between calloused fingers. Ryan’s back arched despite himself. The hand moved lower, tracing every ridge of his shredded abs, then shoved straight down the front of the trunks. Fingers wrapped around Ryan’s cock and balls without hesitation—groping, squeezing, tugging the soft meat with possessive roughness. The drawstring pulled tight. Knuckles brushed the root. The local’s hips never stopped moving, rutting against Ryan’s hip in a filthy, relentless grind while his hand worked the jock’s cock from soft to half-hard in seconds.
Another slap—loud, stinging—landed on Ryan’s inner thigh. Then one to the meat of his right pec, making the muscle bounce. The local’s breathing was already heavier, clearly getting off on it. He bit the shell of Ryan’s ear and whispered, “Big strong American jock… cock getting hard for a local. You feel that? Your body knows.”
Ryan’s mind was white noise. Shock. Humiliation so thick it tasted metallic. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was the one who took what he wanted on vacation—girls at the beach bars, flexing by the pool, the biggest guy in any room. Now he was pinned on the exact chair he’d been relaxing in like a king, one arm twisted behind him, legs spread, while a smaller man dry-humped his hip, groped his cock, and slapped his body like it was already public property. The jewelry around his neck jingled with every desperate shift—the pearl strand catching on the local’s fingers as that hand slid up to collar his throat. Between his cheeks the thin trunks were being worked aside by the local’s knee; thick fingers pressed right against his hole through the fabric, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.
Ryan tried to twist, to use his free hand, to do anything. The local just pressed his forearm across Ryan’s thick neck, not choking but promising, and gave his now fully hard cock a slow, teasing stroke from root to leaking head. Pre-cum smeared across the local’s palm. Another slap—this one lighter, almost playful—landed directly on the swollen bulge. Ryan’s hips jerked. His face burned hotter than the sun.
The local ground harder, faster, rutting with short, nasty thrusts that made the daybed creak. His hand inside the trunks never stopped moving—stroking, squeezing, teasing the sensitive head with rough fingertips while his other hand roamed back up to twist the other nipple, then slap the pec again just to watch it bounce.
“Relax, tourist,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “We got time. I’m gonna fuck this tight American ass before the sun drops. You gonna take it right here where anyone could walk by.”
Ryan’s eyes widened further. His cock throbbed traitorously in the local’s grip. His hole clenched around nothing as the finger pressed harder against it. The straight jock who had come to Bali to feel like a god was being molested, groped, dry-humped, and slapped into submission by a man half his size in broad daylight—and the worst part, the part that made his stomach twist with pure shame, was how his body was answering. Leaking. Hard. Spread open and helpless.
It had taken less than a minute.
The local’s hips kept moving. His hand kept working. The slaps and groping and filthy whispers didn’t stop.
The local stayed right where he was, knee still wedged between Ryan’s spread thighs, keeping the big jock pinned on his back in the daybed. He didn’t flip him. Not yet.
Instead he shifted higher, planting one hand on Ryan’s chest to hold him down while the other yanked his own shorts low. His cock sprang out — thick, dark, veiny, already slick at the tip from the dry-humping. Without a word he grabbed a fistful of Ryan’s buzz-cut hair, wrenched his head hard to the side on the cushion, and shoved the fat head straight between the jock’s lips.
Ryan’s eyes went huge. “MMMPHH—!” The sound was strangled as the thick cock forced his jaw wide and pushed deeper. The local groaned, low and satisfied. “Fuck yeah… big strong guys always suck cock the best. Look at you. Choking on it already.”
He started fucking Ryan’s mouth in short, deliberate thrusts — not giving him time to adjust. Ryan gagged violently, throat spasming, thick strings of drool spilling from both corners of his mouth and running down his chin onto his own neck and chest. The local didn’t slow. He kept one hand fisted in the short hair, controlling the angle, while his other hand kept working Ryan’s body exactly like before: hard slap across the left pec, fingers pinching and twisting the nipple until Ryan’s back tried to arch off the cushion, then another sharp slap to the same spot just to watch the muscle bounce. The hand moved lower, roughly stroking Ryan’s own cock a few times before slapping it hard enough to make it swing.
“Take it deeper, tourist,” the local panted, pushing until Ryan’s nose was almost buried in the dark hair at the base. “That’s it. Gag on it. Your throat’s so fucking tight.”
Ryan’s free hand clawed weakly at the local’s thigh, trying to push him off, but the smaller man just leaned more of his weight forward, pinning him harder into the soft daybed. More drool. More choking sounds. Every time Ryan tried to turn his head the local twisted the grip in his hair and thrust deeper.
While his cock was still buried in Ryan’s throat, the local reached down with his free hand, grabbed the white drawstring of Ryan’s own trunks, and yanked it completely free in one smooth pull. He didn’t even pull out of the jock’s mouth. Still face-fucking him, he looped the cord around the wrist that was already twisted behind Ryan’s back, then grabbed the other wrist — the one that had been pushing at his thigh — and dragged both arms up and together. In seconds he had them tied to the wooden frame of the daybed near Ryan’s head. Tight. The drawstring bit into the skin. Ryan’s powerful arms were now stretched and secured above him.
“Now you’re not going anywhere,” the local said, voice thick. He pulled his cock out of Ryan’s mouth with a wet, obscene pop. Ryan coughed hard, drool pouring down his face, gasping “You— you fucker— I’ll fucking kill—” but the local just slapped his wet cock across Ryan’s cheek, smearing spit and pre-cum over his jaw, then did it again.
Then he moved fast.
He flipped Ryan onto his stomach with one hard shove, using the bound wrists to control the turn. Ryan’s chest hit the cushion. The local yanked the patterned trunks down to Ryan’s knees in one rough motion, leaving them bunched around one ankle. He spat on his own cock, lined up, and drove in hard and deep with no warning.
Ryan’s whole body jolted. A raw, muffled shout tore out of him into the daybed fabric as the thick cock forced its way inside, stretching him open in one brutal thrust. The local bottomed out and immediately started pounding — hard, deep, relentless strokes that made Ryan’s massive frame rock forward with every impact. The daybed creaked loudly. Skin slapped. Ryan’s bound wrists pulled against the drawstring with every jolt.
“Too loud already?” the local grunted, not slowing down for a second. He reached for his phone with one hand while the other stayed planted on Ryan’s lower back, holding him down. “My friend’s working the scaffolding right over there. I whistle once, he comes down here. You want him to see the big American jock getting his ass raped on the chair like a bitch? Then shut the fuck up and take it.”
Ryan bit down hard on the cushion, trying to swallow his grunts and moans as the thick cock hammered his prostate over and over. Every thrust sent unwanted sparks of pleasure through him that made his own cock twitch against the fabric beneath him.
The local reached under Ryan’s body, wrapped a rough hand around the jock’s rock-hard cock, and started stroking it in time with his thrusts — fast, twisting strokes that matched the deep pounding. Ryan moaned into the cushion despite himself, hips twitching.
But every single time Ryan got close — his balls tightening, his cock throbbing, a broken “I’m gonna— fuck, I’m—” escaping his throat — the local stopped stroking completely, squeezed the base hard, and slowed his own thrusts to shallow, grinding rolls that kept Ryan right on the edge without letting him tip over. Over and over. Ryan’s powerful thighs started shaking. His abs clenched and fluttered against the daybed.
“Say it,” the local demanded, buried deep and holding still while his fist stayed tight around the base of Ryan’s cock. “Say ‘I’m a straight jock getting raped by a local.’ Say it or you don’t cum.”
Ryan shook his head furiously into the cushion, voice raw. “No— fuck you— I’m not saying that— ahh!”
The local thrust hard once, twice, twisted Ryan’s nipple from underneath until the jock cried out, then slapped his ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. “Say it.”
It took three more edges, more deep punishing thrusts, and another sharp slap before Ryan finally broke, voice cracking and muffled but loud enough: “I’m… a straight jock getting raped by a local…”
“Louder.”
“I’m a straight jock getting raped by a local!” Ryan gasped, shame burning through every word.
The local gave him a few deep strokes and fast pumps on his cock as reward, bringing him right back to the trembling edge again, then stopped cold.
“Next. ‘My hole belongs to you now.’”
Ryan fought it longer — shaking his head, cursing, trying to clench down and push the cock out — but the local just kept edging him mercilessly, mixing brutal thrusts with slow, deliberate strokes on his cock until Ryan was sobbing with frustration and unwanted need.
Finally, voice hoarse and furious: “My hole belongs to you now…”
The local grinned, pulled his phone out properly, opened the voice memo app, and held it right next to Ryan’s mouth while he kept fucking him in steady, deep strokes.
“This is going in my phone,” he said calmly. “No face. Just your voice. For the next time I want this ass.”
He made Ryan repeat the phrases again into the recording, voice shaking and breaking between moans as the cock kept hitting his prostate.
“I’m a straight jock getting raped by a local…”
“My hole belongs to you now…”
“Please— fuck— let me cum…”
The local edged him again right at the edge of the recording, then finally buried himself to the hilt and came hard — pulsing, flooding Ryan’s guts with the first thick load. Ryan felt every hot throb inside him.
But the local didn’t pull out.
He stayed buried deep, kept his hand on Ryan’s cock, and started thrusting again — slower now, but still deep — while Ryan’s hole was already oversensitive and leaking around the cock. He brought Ryan right back to the edge with rough strokes, then stopped again.
“Now you can cum,” the local said, voice low and satisfied. “But only after I’ve bred you once.”
Ryan was shaking uncontrollably, hole clenching and fluttering around the cock still inside him, his own cock throbbing desperately in the local’s fist. He was right there, but the local controlled every second.
The local kept going — deep thrusts mixed with slow, twisting strokes on Ryan’s cock — until Ryan was begging, voice raw and humiliated, no longer able to hold it back.
“Please… let me cum… I said it… I fucking said it… please—”
Only then did the local stroke him fast and hard while grinding deep. Ryan came with a broken, muffled cry, shooting hard across the daybed beneath him, body convulsing, hole spasming wildly around the cock inside him.
The local didn’t stop.
He fucked Ryan straight through the orgasm and into the oversensitive shaking afterward, and came a second time — another deep, pulsing breeding that pumped even more cum into the already flooded hole while Ryan whimpered and trembled from the intensity.
Only after the second load did he finally pull out slowly. Thick white cum immediately started leaking from Ryan’s stretched hole, running in heavy trails down the insides of his powerful thighs.
The local moved up Ryan’s body without giving him a second to recover, still half-pinning him, and shoved his cum-slick, ass-wet cock straight back into Ryan’s mouth.
“Clean it,” he ordered. “Every drop.”
Ryan, wrecked, bound, shaking, obeyed without resistance this time — sucking and licking obediently, tasting himself and the local’s cum on the softening cock, drooling fresh strings down his own chin.
When it was clean enough, the local pulled out, tucked himself away, and loosened the drawstring from the daybed frame — not untying Ryan completely, just enough that he could move his arms if he really tried, but not freeing him yet.
Then he stood up and looked down at the destroyed jock.
Ryan lay exactly as left: trunks still bunched around one ankle, ass up and exposed, thick cum leaking steadily from his used hole and running down his thighs, body covered in sweat and red marks from slaps and grips, jewelry askew, face still wet with spit and tears, arms loosely bound above his head.
The local’s voice was flat. Final.
“Don’t move until I’m gone.”
He turned and walked away casually, disappearing behind the tree line toward the path.
Ryan stayed exactly where he was.
He didn’t move.
Not yet.
The resort sounds drifted in — distant laughter from the pool area, the faint clink of glasses, birds, and the occasional metallic noise from the scaffolding where the local’s friend was still working. Cum continued to leak from his hole in slow, warm pulses, running down his inner thighs and dripping onto the daybed. His cock lay spent and sensitive against the cushion. His wrists tingled where the drawstring had bitten in. His jaw ached. His ass throbbed.
And he stayed right there, exposed and wrecked, exactly as ordered, listening to every sound and praying no one walked by.
Ryan lay exactly where he’d been left — face-down on the daybed, wrists still loosely bound with his own white drawstring, trunks yanked up but soaked and crooked, thick cum still leaking in slow, warm pulses from his stretched hole and running down the insides of his powerful thighs. He didn’t move. The local’s order echoed in his head. Every distant sound from the resort made his stomach twist — laughter from the pool, the faint metallic clatter from the scaffolding, footsteps that might or might not be coming closer.
He heard two sets of footsteps.
The local’s voice first, low and casual: “Still here. Didn’t move. Good.”
Then a deeper, rougher voice — older, thick with immediate hunger: “Jesus fuck. You weren’t exaggerating.”
They stopped right beside the daybed. Ryan kept his face pressed into the cushion, heart slamming against his ribs.
The local’s phone clicked. The voice memo started playing on speaker, loud enough for both men to hear.
Ryan’s own broken voice filled the humid air:
“I’m a straight jock getting raped by a local…”
“My hole belongs to you now…”
“Please… let me cum…”
The wet sounds of fucking, his own gasps, the slap of skin, his sobs as he was edged and bred twice — all of it played back while he lay there leaking.
The new man let out a low, hungry groan. Ryan could hear the rustle of expensive fabric as the stranger adjusted himself.
“Play it again,” the deeper voice ordered. “From the start.”
The recording restarted.
While Ryan’s own degraded voice repeated the filthy phrases, a heavy, warm hand landed on his lower back, right above his leaking ass, and squeezed the thick muscle there. Another hand — thicker, rougher — reached between his legs and shoved two blunt fingers straight into his cum-slick hole without warning. Ryan jerked and gasped into the cushion.
“Still leaking,” the new man muttered, voice thick with lust. He finger-fucked Ryan slowly, deliberately, while the recording played beside them. “You really bred this hole good. Listen to him… big muscle boy sounding like a desperate whore.”
The local chuckled. “Told you. You fuck all those tight little resort girls every trip, but this one… I made him say every word while I was balls-deep. He fought it. Then he broke. Five hundred US for the night. You can take him to your suite. Do whatever you want. Record more. Just don’t wreck him so bad I can’t use him again tomorrow.”
The burly man didn’t hesitate. Ryan heard the wallet come out, the crisp sound of bills being counted. Five hundred-dollar notes were pressed into the local’s hand.
“Deal. Help me get him up there. I don’t want cum running down his legs through the lobby.”
The drawstring was untied. Rough hands hauled Ryan to his feet. His legs were shaky. The rich man — late forties, burly and heavy but solid, thick neck, broad hairy chest under an open linen shirt, heavy gut, thick gold watch, expensive shorts already tented — kept one heavy arm locked around Ryan’s waist, gripping his ass possessively. The local walked on the other side. They didn’t use the main paths. Service route. Ryan was half-walked, half-dragged, head down, face burning every time they passed anyone. Cum was still leaking down his thighs. His trunks were wet and clinging. He could feel the rich man’s thick cock pressing against his hip through the fabric as they walked.
Private elevator. Top floor. The biggest suite — floor-to-ceiling windows, huge living area, massive king bed, private balcony plunge pool, the kind of money that bought silence and privacy.
They took him straight into the bedroom.
The rich man shoved Ryan face-down onto the enormous bed. The local watched for a moment as the heavier man yanked his own shorts down, freeing a thick, heavy, uncut cock — girthy enough to stretch Ryan’s already-used hole even wider. The rich man lined up and pushed in with one hard, rolling thrust, groaning deep as he sank into the wet, cum-slick heat.
“Fuck… still so tight after what he did to you.”
He started fucking immediately — heavy, powerful thrusts from his thick body that made the whole bed shake. One hand fisted in Ryan’s buzz-cut hair, yanking his head back. The other reached under to grab and roughly stroke Ryan’s cock.
And he played the recording again.
Ryan’s own voice filled the luxurious suite while the rich man pounded him:
“I’m a straight jock getting raped by a local…”
The burly man leaned down, breath hot against Ryan’s ear, hips never slowing.
“Listen to yourself,” he growled, thrusting harder. “Listen to that straight jock voice begging while he bred you. You’re mine for the night now, muscle boy. And you’re gonna say every single thing on that recording again — louder — while I fuck you.”
Ryan’s mind cracked further as his own recorded moans and broken pleas played on loop beside him, mixing with the wet, filthy sounds of the new cock slamming into his cum-filled hole and the heavy grunts of the man on top of him.
The rich man didn’t stop.
He kept fucking, kept stroking Ryan’s cock, kept making him repeat the phrases live between thrusts — “I’m a straight jock getting raped by a local,” “My hole belongs to you now” — while the recording played in the background, forcing Ryan to hear himself say it while he was being used all over again.
And this time, there was no local to leave.
This time, the buyer had the whole night.
And he intended to use every second of it.
The rich man — Victor — stayed buried to the hilt inside Ryan for a long moment after that first hard thrust, breathing heavy against the back of the jock’s neck. His thick, heavy body pressed Ryan deeper into the luxurious king bed, the expensive sheets already damp with sweat and the local’s earlier loads. Victor had never fucked a man before. He had paid for plenty of women over the years — tight resort girls, eager locals, even a couple of married ones who liked the money and the discretion — but this was different. Ryan’s hole was hotter, tighter in a way that gripped the entire length of his fat cock instead of just the head. Every time Ryan’s muscles fluttered involuntarily around him, Victor felt it all the way up his spine.
“Fuck…” Victor muttered, almost to himself. His voice was low, rough, the voice of a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted and was now discovering something he hadn’t known he needed. “This is… different. Girls don’t clench like this when I hit that spot inside them. Your ass is milking my cock and I haven’t even moved yet.”
He pulled back slowly, watching his thick, veiny shaft slide out, shiny with mixed cum and spit. The head caught on Ryan’s rim for a second before Victor pushed back in with a heavy roll of his hips. Ryan’s massive body jolted forward on the bed. A deep, unwilling sound tore out of his throat.
Victor reached under Ryan’s chest and grabbed one heavy pec, squeezing the muscle hard while he started to fuck in earnest — long, deep strokes that used his weight and the slight softness of his gut to pin the bigger, younger man down. Every time he bottomed out he ground his hips in a slow circle, rubbing the head of his cock against Ryan’s prostate. Ryan’s own cock, trapped against the sheets, twitched and started to fill again despite everything.
The recording played on loop beside them on the nightstand, Ryan’s own broken voice filling the suite:
“I’m a straight jock getting raped by a local…”
Victor’s hand slid down to Ryan’s hip, gripping hard enough to leave marks. “Say it with the recording,” he ordered, voice thick. “Right now. I want to hear you say those words while I’m inside you for the first time.”
Ryan’s voice was hoarse from earlier throat-fucking. He forced the words out between thrusts, each one punctuated by the wet sound of Victor’s cock driving into his cum-slick hole.
“I’m… a straight jock getting raped by a local…”
Victor groaned, fucking harder. “Again. Louder. Tell me how it feels having a man who usually only fucks girls balls-deep in your ass right now.”
Ryan repeated it, voice cracking when Victor angled his next thrust to drag directly over his prostate. His cock jumped against the sheets, leaking fresh pre-cum.
Victor flipped him without warning — using his strength and Ryan’s exhaustion to roll the muscular jock onto his back. He shoved Ryan’s thick legs up and back, folding him nearly in half, and slid back inside in one smooth push. This position let him watch everything: the way Ryan’s shredded abs flexed with every thrust, the way his heavy pecs moved, the way his sharp jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut before flying open again when Victor hit the right angle.
“Look at me,” Victor growled. He wrapped one thick hand around Ryan’s throat, not choking hard but holding him there, forcing eye contact. “I’ve never done this with a man before. Never wanted to. But you… your body is built for it. Big muscles, tight hole that won’t stop squeezing me, that deep voice breaking every time I hit your spot. Fuck, it’s better than I thought it would be.”
He started a steady, punishing rhythm — not frantic, but deep and deliberate, using his body weight to keep Ryan folded and helpless. Every few thrusts he would stop moving entirely, buried to the root, and just grind, watching Ryan’s face as the pressure on his prostate made his cock leak steadily onto his own abs.
Victor reached down and slapped Ryan’s cock once, watching it bounce. Then he did it again, harder. Ryan’s hole clenched around him in response.
“See that?” Victor said, almost fascinated. “Girls don’t do that. Their bodies don’t jump like yours does when I slap their clit. But your cock… it likes being treated like this.” He slapped it again, then wrapped his fist around it and stroked in time with his thrusts — rough, twisting strokes that had Ryan’s thighs shaking within minutes.
The recording kept playing. Ryan’s own voice moaned and begged on the phone while the real Ryan moaned under Victor.
When Ryan got close — his breathing turning ragged, his abs tightening, his hole starting to pulse — Victor stopped stroking and slowed his own thrusts to shallow grinds.
“Not yet,” he said, voice low and almost amused. “I want to feel you cum on my cock after I’ve filled you again. I want to see if a straight jock’s ass cums different when it’s already been bred twice tonight.”
He pulled out, flipped Ryan back onto his stomach, and hauled him up onto his knees. Then he stood beside the bed, grabbed Ryan’s hair, and pulled his head to the edge so he could feed his cum-slick cock straight into Ryan’s mouth.
“Clean it,” Victor ordered. “Taste what I just fucked out of you and what that little local left behind.”
Ryan sucked obediently, gagging slightly on the thick girth and the mixed tastes, while Victor reached over his back and shoved three fingers into his hole, keeping him open and leaking. He fucked Ryan’s throat in short thrusts for a minute, then pulled out, climbed back onto the bed, and mounted him again from behind — doggy this time, gripping Ryan’s hips hard enough to bruise as he started pounding.
The wet, filthy sounds of skin slapping and cum being fucked out of Ryan’s hole were louder than the recording for a while. Victor varied his pace constantly — sometimes fast and brutal, making Ryan’s whole body shake, sometimes slow and grinding, forcing Ryan to feel every inch as it dragged over his prostate. He reached under and grabbed Ryan’s heavy balls, squeezing just hard enough to make the jock groan.
“Reach back,” Victor ordered. “Spread your ass for me. Show me how a straight jock presents his hole after he’s been bought.”
Ryan’s hands shook as he reached back and pulled his own cheeks apart. Victor watched his thick cock disappear into the stretched, cum-slick hole and groaned like he was seeing something holy.
“Fuck… look at that. Girls don’t spread themselves like this. They don’t show me their holes while I’m ruining them.” He spat on Ryan’s hole where it was stretched around his cock and pushed in deeper. “Tell me how it feels being sold and used by a man who’s never fucked ass before. Say it while I’m inside you.”
Ryan’s voice was wrecked, but he obeyed. “It… it feels like I’m just a hole now… your hole…”
Victor came with a deep, guttural groan, pumping another thick load deep inside Ryan while the recording played Ryan begging to cum. He stayed buried until the last pulse, then pulled out slowly and watched the fresh cum mix with the local’s and start leaking down Ryan’s thighs in heavy white trails.
He didn’t give Ryan time to recover.
Victor flipped him onto his back again, straddled his chest, and fed his softening but still heavy cock back into Ryan’s mouth. “Suck it hard again. I’m not done with you.”
While Ryan sucked, Victor reached behind himself and stroked Ryan’s cock with one hand, bringing him right to the edge again and stopping. He did it three times, watching Ryan’s eyes water and his hips twitch uselessly.
Only when Victor’s cock was fully hard again did he move back down Ryan’s body, push his legs apart, and slide back inside. This time he fucked slower, almost experimentally, discovering what angles made Ryan’s hole clench the hardest, what pace made the big jock’s cock leak the most. He leaned down and bit one of Ryan’s nipples, then sucked on it, something he’d never done with the girls he usually fucked. Ryan’s back arched hard.
Victor pulled out, manhandled Ryan into a sitting position, and then lay back on the bed himself.
“Ride it,” he ordered. “Reverse. I want to watch your ass take my cock while you listen to yourself on that recording.”
Ryan straddled him facing away, hands braced on Victor’s thick thighs, and lowered himself onto the fat cock. Victor’s hands immediately went to Ryan’s ass, spreading the cheeks and guiding him down. The recording played beside them — Ryan’s voice moaning “Please… let me cum…” — while the real Ryan sank down until Victor was buried to the root inside him.
Victor made him ride slow at first, then faster, then slow again, controlling the pace with his grip on Ryan’s hips. Every time Ryan’s thighs started to shake from the effort, Victor would thrust up hard from below, making the jock cry out. He reached around and stroked Ryan’s cock again, edging him mercilessly while the recording looped.
When Victor finally let Ryan cum, it was sudden — he stroked fast and hard while grinding deep, and Ryan came with a broken shout, shooting across Victor’s thighs and the bed without ever touching his own cock. His hole clamped down so hard Victor saw stars.
Victor didn’t stop. He kept fucking Ryan through the orgasm and into the oversensitive shaking afterward, then flipped him onto his back one more time and bred him a third time — slower this time, almost grinding his orgasm out while Ryan whimpered and shook beneath him.
After he pulled out, Victor stood up, grabbed Ryan by the hair, and dragged him into the massive marble bathroom. He turned the shower on hot, pushed Ryan to his knees on the wet tile, and fed his cock back into the jock’s mouth under the spray.
“Clean me properly this time,” he said, voice rough. “And don’t you dare touch your own cock.”
He fucked Ryan’s throat under the water until he came again — this time down Ryan’s throat, holding his head in place until he swallowed every drop.
They didn’t go back to the bed right away.
Victor walked Ryan — still dripping, still leaking cum down his thighs — out onto the private balcony. The night air was warm and humid. The plunge pool on the balcony was lit from below, the water glowing. Beyond the railing, the resort stretched out, lights from other villas visible in the distance.
Victor bent Ryan over the edge of the plunge pool, the cool water lapping at Ryan’s thighs, and pushed back inside him from behind. The water made everything slippery and different — Victor’s thrusts created small waves, the resistance changed the angle, and every time he bottomed out Ryan’s cock would drag through the water. Victor reached around and stroked him again, but this time he didn’t edge him to denial. He stroked him steady and firm while he fucked, and when Ryan came this time it was into the glowing water of the pool, his moan echoing off the balcony walls.
Victor came inside him one more time there, holding Ryan’s hips tight as he pumped the last load of the night deep into the wrecked hole.
They stayed like that for a long moment — Victor’s heavy body draped over Ryan’s back, both of them breathing hard, the recording still playing faintly from inside the suite, mixing with the sound of water lapping and distant resort noises.
Victor finally pulled out and turned Ryan around so they were face to face in the water. He grabbed Ryan’s jaw and forced eye contact.
“I’ve fucked a lot of girls,” he said quietly, almost conversationally. “Tight ones. Eager ones. Ones who moaned pretty and said all the right things because I paid them. But none of them ever made me feel like this. None of them ever had a hole that gripped me like yours does. None of them ever looked at me the way you’re looking at me right now — like you hate how much your body wants it.”
He leaned in and kissed Ryan — not gentle, but deep and claiming, tasting his own cum on the jock’s tongue.
When he pulled back, he smirked.
“We’re not done. I bought you for the whole night. And I’m going to use every hour of it.”
He turned the recording up louder from inside, grabbed Ryan by the hair, and pulled him back toward the bedroom.
This time, when he fucked Ryan again on the bed — slower, almost lazy, like he was savoring every second of his first night with a man — he made Ryan keep his eyes open and watch the recording on the phone while he did it. Every time Ryan’s own voice said something particularly degrading, Victor would thrust harder or slap his cock or twist a nipple, forcing new reactions out of the exhausted jock.
He came one more time that way — deep and grinding, filling Ryan until it leaked out around his cock and onto the sheets.
Afterward, Victor didn’t pull out. He just stayed inside, heavy body pinning Ryan to the bed, one hand lazily stroking the jock’s spent cock while the recording finally ended and started over from the beginning.
Ryan lay there beneath him, cum leaking steadily from his hole around Victor’s softening cock, muscles trembling with exhaustion, face wet with sweat and tears and spit.
Victor’s voice was low against his ear.
“Best money I’ve ever spent.”
He started moving again — slow, shallow thrusts, not trying to get hard yet, just enjoying the feeling of being inside this broken, muscular straight jock he had bought for the night.
And Ryan, voice hoarse, body wrecked, could only lie there and take it while his own recorded voice filled the suite again, reminding him exactly how he had ended up here.
