envy

continue reading if you can differentiate between reality and stories. otherwise 18 + only. stories hurt noone. reality does.

[uniformpics2]

[herotozerooooo]

[letslookatliam]

[herotozerooooo]

[xyuniforms]

[herotozerooooo]

Mason Pike had spent the morning making people wait.

Defendants. Lawyers. Family members. Anyone who questioned him.

He was county sheriff’s office, courthouse security detail, broad through the shoulders and sealed into a tan vest that made him look bigger than he already was. His pistol sat heavy on his right hip. His radio clipped high against his chest. The badge on his sleeve did most of the talking before he opened his mouth.

By noon, he had already shoved one detainee into a wall for spitting near his boots.

Now he stood alone in the staff bathroom, checking the split skin at the corner of his mouth.

The door opened behind him.

Pike saw the man in the mirror.

Grey maintenance shirt. Work trousers. Scuffed boots. Forty-something. Narrow waist. One shoulder stiff from an old injury. He carried a ring of keys and a roll of plumber’s tape.

Pike turned.

“You lost?”

The man stopped beside the sinks.

“You remember Drew Vale?”

Pike looked at the keys. Then at the maintenance patch.

“No.”

“You broke his wrist in Interview Room Three.”

“Then he shouldn’t have fought.”

“You told the judge he fell.”

Pike smiled.

“Sounds like a him problem.”

The maintenance man’s jaw tightened.

Pike stepped closer. He enjoyed that part. The moment another man realised the size difference mattered.

“You got something else to say?”

“Yeah.”

The man set the keys on the sink.

“I repaired the door after you put him through it.”

Pike laughed under his breath.

Then he shoved him.

The maintenance man hit the tiled wall, but he didn’t fold. He caught Pike’s vest and dragged him forward, turning the shove into a collision. Pike’s hip struck the sink. His pistol knocked against the porcelain.

Pike’s expression changed.

He grabbed the man by the throat and drove him backward.

“Take your hands off me.”

The maintenance man slammed an elbow into Pike’s ribs.

Pike grunted, but his grip tightened. He lifted the man just enough to break his footing and smashed him into the urinal divider. Plastic cracked. The man’s shoulder hit first.

Pike followed with a hard punch to the body.

The maintenance man doubled over.

“That all you’ve got?” Pike said.

He reached for his radio.

The man seized the front of his vest and yanked.

Pike’s radio tore loose, skidded beneath the sinks, and began transmitting bursts of static.

Pike reacted instantly. He drove his knee forward.

The man twisted. The knee caught his thigh instead of his stomach. He stumbled, slipped on the water around the leaking flush valve, and caught the edge of the basin.

Pike charged.

This time the maintenance man moved with him.

He stepped through the rush, hooked Pike’s arm, and used the officer’s own momentum to throw him shoulder-first into the tiled wall.

Pike’s head snapped sideways.

For one second, the bathroom went quiet except for the radio hissing under the sink.

Then Pike came back harder.

He turned, grabbed the man’s shirt, and launched him through the staff door.

The maintenance man hit the service corridor on his back.

Pike followed.

He should have stopped there. He should have called for backup. He should have waited for the radio.

Instead he saw the man scrambling toward the loading corridor and went after him.

“You think you’re walking away?”

The man pushed through a fire door.

Pike caught him before it closed and drove him into the concrete block wall. The impact shook a row of stacked crowd barriers. One toppled sideways and crashed across the corridor.

Pike pinned him with a forearm across the chest.

“You came into my building,” Pike said. “You put your hands on me. Now you’re going to apologise.”

The maintenance man stared up at him.

“This isn’t your building.”

Pike pressed harder.

“It is when I’m wearing this.”

He tried to wrench the man’s arm behind him.

The injured shoulder gave a sharp jerk.

The maintenance man sucked air through his teeth, then kicked the wheel of a parked cleaning cart. The cart rolled into Pike’s calf.

Pike’s leg buckled.

The man drove his forehead into Pike’s nose.

Pike released him and staggered back, blood spilling over his lip. He swung blindly. The punch clipped the man’s cheek and sent him into the open loading-bay door.

Pike charged again.

The concrete was wet near the dock.

His boot slid.

His belt caught against the steel corner of a barrier. The momentum twisted him sideways and dragged him down hard. His knee struck first. Then his hip. His pistol jammed against the metal rail.

He roared and tried to tear himself free.

The maintenance man was already on him.

Not overpowering him. Using the angle.

He drove Pike’s arm against the barrier and trapped the duty belt beneath the rail. Pike twisted violently, muscles standing out across his neck, but every movement tightened the gear around him.

“Get off me!”

“You’re not in charge here.”

Pike heaved upward and nearly broke free.

The maintenance man lost his grip. Pike rose halfway, grabbed him by the shirt, and slammed him into the side of the delivery van.

For a moment, Pike had him.

Then the van’s rear door swung open from the impact and caught Pike across the back of the head.

His hands went slack.

The maintenance man shoved him down against the barrier and dragged the radio from beneath the sink-side belt pouch. He held it just out of reach.

Pike strained against the steel, breathing hard, face pressed to the cold loading-dock floor.

His vest was twisted. His badge was scraped. One knee trembled uselessly beneath him.

The maintenance man stood over him, bleeding from the mouth.

“You’re going to tell them you fell,” he said.

Pike stared at the radio.

For the first time that day, nobody was waiting for him to give an order.

The maintenance man stood over him, chest heaving, blood on his teeth. Pike was still snarling, face mashed against the dirty loading-dock concrete, one thick arm trapped under the steel barrier rail, his duty belt and vest twisted like a fucking straightjacket.

“Get the fuck off me, you piece of shit!” Pike roared, bucking hard. His massive shoulders flexed, veins popping, boots scraping concrete as he tried to power up. The barrier groaned but held. His thick ass strained against the tan cargo pants, muscles bunching uselessly.

The maintenance man didn’t smile. He just stepped on Pike’s wrist, pinning that trapped arm harder, then crouched and ripped the deputy’s radio away completely. Static hissed. He clicked it off.

Pike thrashed again, pure jock rage. “You’re dead. I swear to God I’ll—”

A heavy boot slammed into his ribs. Pike grunted, air exploding out of him. The man grabbed a fistful of short hair and yanked his head back, grinding his bloody face against the wet floor.

“You talk too much, Pike.”

He reached down and yanked Pike’s belt open. The buckle clattered. Zipper ripped down. Pike’s eyes went wide.

“The fuck are you—get your hands off my shit!”

He bucked like a bull, legs kicking, free arm swinging wild. His elbow caught the man’s thigh. The maintenance guy cursed and drove a knee into Pike’s spine, right between the vest plates. Pike’s back arched in agony, a deep guttural sound ripping out of his throat.

The man shoved his hand straight into the open fly of those tight cargos and grabbed a thick, heavy cock through the boxer briefs. Pike’s straight jock meat. Still soft. Still fighting.

“No—no you fucking don’t!” Pike roared, voice cracking as he thrashed harder. His hips twisted, trying to pull away, but the man just squeezed, rough, possessive, rolling those heavy balls in his palm.

“Nice fat cock for a piece of shit like you.”

Pike’s face burned red. He heaved again, muscles screaming, sweat pouring down his neck. The vest creaked. His pants started sliding down his thick thighs from the struggle, exposing the curve of his pale, muscular ass.

The maintenance man yanked them lower, all the way to his knees. Pike’s bare ass flexed in the cool air, powerful glutes clenching. The man slapped one hard, the sound echoing down the corridor.

“Stop—fuck you—get the fuck off!” Pike was panting now, voice hoarse, still trying to power his way free. His trapped arm burned. His knee throbbed. But that fat cock was starting to thicken against his will, traitor meat swelling in the man’s grip.

The maintenance guy leaned in close, breath hot against Pike’s ear.

“You’re not leaving until I own this straight jock hole.”

He spat on his fingers, rough and nasty, then shoved two straight against Pike’s tight pucker. Pike’s whole body jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

“NO! Don’t you fucking dare—ahh, shit!”

The fingers pushed in anyway. Dry at first. Burning. Pike’s ass clamped down hard, fighting every inch, but the man just twisted them deeper, scissoring, stretching that virgin straight muscle. Pike’s cock throbbed fully hard now, leaking against the concrete, humiliating him with every pulse.

He screamed through gritted teeth, bucking wildly, but every move just drove those fingers deeper.

The maintenance man laughed low and cold.

“Keep fighting, Pike. Makes your cunt squeeze even better.”

He pulled his fingers out, unzipped his own pants, and slapped his thick, veiny cock against Pike’s clenched ass. The head was already wet.

Pike’s eyes were wide, furious, panicked.

“You’re not—don’t you fucking put that in me—”

Too late.

The man gripped those wide hips, lined up, and drove in hard. One brutal thrust. Pike’s hole stretched obscenely around the invasion, burning, tearing a raw broken shout out of the big deputy’s throat.

“FUUUCK—pull it out! PULL IT OUT YOU BASTARD!”

The maintenance man just growled and started pounding. Deep. Mean. Skin slapping skin. Pike’s powerful body jolted with every thrust, vest riding up his back, ass rippling, his own hard cock dragging against the dirty floor as he got fucked like a cheap slut.

He was still fighting. Still cursing. Still trying to throw the man off.

But his hole was taking every inch.

[semperidem227]

インスタグラムで見つけた

@feelguide

[herotozerooooo]

The sun had been hammering the brick patio for hours. Heat shimmered off the red pavers. The muscular guy on the lounge—short dark hair still damp at the temples, stubble shadowing his jaw—lay stretched out on the white towel like he owned every square inch of the backyard. Black Adidas shorts sat low on his hips, Calvin Klein band cutting across the deep V of his lower abs. Skin gleamed with oil. One thick arm was hooked behind his head, fingers loosely curled around the metal frame of the chair. The other rested heavy across his stomach. Eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, breathing slow. He’d been out here since mid-morning. Protein shake finished. Weights already done. Now just the sun and the quiet.

He never heard the gate.

A shadow cut across his chest. Before his eyes could fully open a wet cloth slammed over his mouth and nose. Sharp chemical bite flooded his sinuses. His body jerked hard—abs clenching, free hand flying up—but the man already had a knee planted on the lounge beside his hip and all his weight driving down. The cloth stayed pressed. The jock’s powerful legs kicked once, twice, heels scraping brick. His free arm swung wild and connected with a solid shoulder. The attacker didn’t even flinch. He just leaned harder, grinding the cloth until the big guy’s chest started hitching in shallow, panicked pulls.

Thirty seconds. That was all it took.

The chemical hit fast. Limbs went heavy. The arm still hooked behind his head lost its strength and slid down the metal frame with a soft metallic scrape. His eyes stayed open but the focus bled out of them. Muscles that could bench three plates now felt wrapped in wet sand. The attacker—leaner, older, calm as fuck—stripped the cloth away and sat back on his heels, watching the jock try to force air into his lungs.

“Easy, pretty boy. Just a little something to take the fight out of you.”

The jock’s voice came out thick. “The fuck… get off me—”

A hard open-hand slap cracked across his oiled pec. The muscle jumped under the impact. Another slap, lower, right across the ridged abs. The sound was wet and loud in the quiet yard. The attacker’s hand stayed there afterward, palm spreading wide, fingers digging into the hard plane of stomach like he was testing the density.

“Been watching you out here every weekend. Strutting around like the whole block belongs to you. Flexing for the windows. Scratching your balls in those little shorts. Thought nobody noticed.”

He dragged his hand lower, shoved fingers under the Calvin Klein band, and gripped the soft cock and balls in one rough handful. The jock’s hips tried to buck but the drug had stolen the power. All he managed was a weak twist that only pressed his package harder into the invading fist.

“Fuck—stop—”

Another slap, this one across the face, hard enough to turn his head. The attacker leaned down until their mouths were inches apart.

“You don’t get to talk right now. You just get to feel.”

He yanked the shorts and briefs halfway down the thick thighs in one violent pull. The jock’s cock slapped against his lower abs, already half-hard from the rough handling and the sun and the sheer wrongness of it. The attacker’s free hand closed around it and stroked once, tight and dry. The jock’s whole body went rigid. A sound punched out of his throat—pure denial.

“No. No, man, I’m not— I’m fucking straight—”

“I know.” The attacker’s voice stayed low, almost conversational. “That’s what makes this perfect.”

He swung a leg over and straddled the lounge, knees bracketing the jock’s ribs. The position put his weight right on the big guy’s midsection. One hand stayed locked around the thickening cock, stroking slow and mean. The other shoved two fingers into the jock’s mouth, pressing down on the tongue until spit welled up and spilled over the stubble.

“Bite me and I’ll break your fucking teeth.”

The jock’s eyes burned with pure hate. His jaw flexed once, testing, then stayed open. The attacker worked those fingers deeper, fucking the mouth while his other hand kept the slow, deliberate strokes on the cock that refused to stay soft. Oil and sweat mixed under both of them. The lounge creaked every time the jock tried to twist free and failed.

After a minute the attacker pulled his fingers free, wiped the spit down the center of the jock’s chest, and reached for his own zipper. The sound of it was loud. He pulled his cock out—thick, already hard, veined—and laid it across the jock’s abs right next to the one he was still stroking. Side by side. The contrast made the jock’s stomach clench hard enough that the attacker felt it against his balls.

“Look at that. Your body’s already answering.”

“Fuck you—”

The attacker shifted forward, dragged his cock up the valley between the hard pecs, and shoved it between them. One hand pressed the thick muscle together while the other kept a punishing grip on the jock’s dick. He started thrusting, slow and deep, using the oiled chest like a sleeve. The head of his cock dragged over the jock’s collarbone, smeared precome across the base of his throat.

The jock’s arms finally found enough strength to push at the attacker’s hips. Weak. Useless. The attacker just settled more weight down and kept fucking the tight channel of pecs, watching every micro-expression of disgust and unwilling heat that crossed the handsome face under him.

“Feel that? That’s mine now. Every time you flex these in the mirror from now on, you’re gonna remember how they looked wrapped around my cock.”

He pulled back, shifted lower, and forced the jock’s thighs wider with his knees. The shorts were still tangled around the mid-thighs, trapping the legs just enough. The attacker spit into his palm, slicked himself once, and pressed the blunt head against the tight hole that had never taken anything.

The jock’s entire body went board-stiff.

“Don’t— don’t you fucking dare—”

The first inch forced its way in on a single steady push. The stretch was brutal. The jock’s mouth opened on a silent shout, abs locking so hard the attacker could see every individual ridge. He didn’t stop. He sank another inch, then another, until the thick midsection of his cock was buried and the jock’s hole was stretched white around him.

Only then did he start to move—short, grinding thrusts that never pulled all the way out. Each one dragged over the prostate whether the jock wanted it or not. The hand on the jock’s cock never stopped. The dual stimulation was vicious. Unwanted heat coiled low in the big guy’s gut even as every muscle in his body fought to reject it.

“Hate it all you want,” the attacker murmured, leaning down so his breath hit the shell of the jock’s ear. “Your hole’s still sucking me in like it was built for this.”

He drove deeper on the next thrust, seating himself to the root. The lounge chair groaned under the force. The jock’s free hand finally found the attacker’s shoulder and shoved with everything he had left. It barely moved him an inch. The attacker just laughed under his breath, caught that thick wrist, and pinned it to the metal frame above the jock’s head—exactly where the arm had been resting when this started.

Sunlight still poured down. Somewhere a neighbor’s sprinkler clicked on. And on the lounge, the straight muscle jock lay pinned and split open, every hard plane of his body on display, while the cock inside him kept working deeper and the hand on his own dick refused to let the unwanted pleasure die.

[sson-of-godd]

[herotozerooooo]

The locker room smelled of sweat-soaked turf, cheap body spray, and the faint metallic tang of mud from the pitch. Jake Harlan, 25-year-old star flanker for the regional rugby squad, stood under the harsh fluorescent lights, peeling off his mud-caked jersey. His thick, powerful frame glistened—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, heavy pecs dusted with light blond hair, abs carved from years of brutal training, and tree-trunk thighs straining the compression shorts that clung to his bulge. His short-cropped blond hair was damp, jaw set in that familiar arrogant scowl. He’d just crushed it on the field, as usual, and now all he wanted was a quick shower, then to text his girlfriend for a celebratory fuck.

He didn’t hear the soft click of the door locking behind him.

Dr. Elias Crowe, the team’s longtime physiotherapist, stepped out from the treatment alcove. Mid-40s, lean and precise in his polo and slacks, the kind of quiet authority figure every player respected but never really noticed. He’d patched Jake up dozens of times—ice baths, tape jobs, the occasional injection for “recovery.” Tonight, the syringe in his pocket contained something far more potent than anti-inflammatories. Months of watching this cocky straight prick strut around, bragging about his latest conquests, had built to this.

Jake turned, towel slung over one massive shoulder. “Doc? Thought everyone cleared out.”

“Final check on that hamstring tweak from last week,” Crowe said smoothly, already gesturing to the padded treatment table. “Drop the shorts, lie face down. Won’t take long.”

Jake snorted but complied, arrogance making him careless. He shoved his compression shorts down, kicking them aside, his thick, heavy cock and balls swinging free between powerful legs as he stretched out on the table. The cool vinyl pressed against his chest and abs. “Make it quick, yeah? Got plans.”

Crowe’s gloved hand rested on the back of Jake’s thick neck for a moment—then the needle sank into the meat of his shoulder with practiced speed.

“What the fu—” Jake bucked, but the drug hit fast, a heavy wave of paralysis spreading through his limbs while leaving sensation fully intact. His arms and legs turned to lead, muscles twitching uselessly as he tried to push up. “You… fucker… what did you—”

“Shh. Just a muscle relaxant with extras,” Crowe murmured, peeling off the gloves. “You’ll feel everything. You won’t move. And you won’t scream loud enough for anyone still in the building to hear.” He rolled Jake onto his back with surprising ease, the jock’s massive frame now dead weight. Jake’s blue eyes burned with fury and growing panic, his mouth working but producing only slurred curses.

Crowe took his time, savoring. He ran his hands over Jake’s sweat-slick chest, thumbs circling the flat nipples until they pebbled against his will. “Look at this body. Built for conquering the pitch. Now it’s mine.” He pinched both nipples hard, twisting, watching the big man’s abs clench and his face twist in humiliated rage.

“Get your fucking hands off me, you sick cunt—”

Crowe slapped Jake’s face lightly, then harder, the sound echoing. “Girlfriend’s going to get some very interesting photos if you don’t shut that straight mouth.” He pulled out his phone, already snapping shots of the helpless, naked rugby stud. “Or maybe I just send the video I’m about to make. Your choice.”

He started with the mouth.

Crowe unzipped, pulling out his thick, veined cock—already rock hard. He gripped Jake’s jaw, forcing it open despite the resistance, and fed the head past those full lips. Jake gagged instantly, throat convulsing around the intrusion, eyes watering as Crowe pushed deeper, stretching his mouth wide. The physio fucked his face with slow, deliberate thrusts, balls slapping against Jake’s chin, one hand tangled in the blond hair.

“Fuck, that throat’s tight. Never sucked cock before, have you, pretty boy? All those girls and you never learned how to take it like this.” Saliva spilled down Jake’s chin, dripping onto his heaving chest. Crowe pulled out briefly, letting the jock gasp and retch, then drove back in, hitting the back of his throat until the muscular neck bulged visibly.

After several long minutes of face-fucking, Crowe pulled free with a wet pop. He flipped the paralyzed jock onto his stomach again, yanking those thick thighs apart. Jake’s heavy ass cheeks spread, exposing the tight, virgin pink hole nestled between them. Crowe spat on it, rubbing the head of his cock against the clenched ring.

“No—no, don’t you fucking dare—”

The first push was brutal. Crowe gripped Jake’s hips, thumbs digging into the dimples of his lower back, and forced the head inside. Jake’s hole stretched obscenely around the invasion, burning, resisting every inch. Crowe groaned at the vise-like heat, sinking deeper until his hips met those powerful glutes. He stayed buried, grinding, letting the jock feel every throb.

“God, your straight ass is milking me already.” He started thrusting—long, deep strokes that made the heavy table creak. One hand reached under to squeeze Jake’s balls, rolling them roughly, while the other slapped the firm ass cheeks, leaving red handprints on the pale skin.

Jake’s face was pressed into the vinyl, muffled grunts and curses pouring out with every thrust. His powerful back muscles strained uselessly, sweat pouring down the valley of his spine.

Crowe changed positions, hauling the deadweight jock up so he was bent over the table edge, feet barely touching the floor. This angle let him pound harder, hips slamming against that muscular ass, one hand wrapping around to pinch and twist a nipple while the other stroked Jake’s soft, unwilling cock in mockery. “Not even getting hard for me? Good. I like you broken and soft while I ruin you.”

He pulled out, cock glistening, and dragged Jake to the bench area. Laying him on his back on the narrow wooden bench, legs shoved up and over Crowe’s shoulders in a folded position. The new angle let him slam in even deeper, the head of his cock battering Jake’s prostate mercilessly. Jake’s abs contracted visibly with each thrust, his thick thighs trembling.

“Say it,” Crowe hissed, leaning down to bite one of Jake’s nipples. “Tell me whose hole this is now.”

“F-fuck you…” Jake spat, voice hoarse.

Crowe slapped his face again and twisted both nipples viciously. “Wrong answer.” He hammered faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the locker room, then slowed, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, making the jock feel every inch of the violation.

Another shift—Crowe sat on the bench, pulling Jake down onto his lap facing away, impaled reverse-cowboy style. He gripped the jock’s hips, bouncing the heavy body up and down on his cock, watching that muscular ass stretch and swallow him repeatedly. One hand roamed Jake’s chest and abs, the other reached around to slap the soft cock and balls with light, degrading taps.

“Feel that? Your girlfriend will never fill you like this. This body belongs to me now—every sweaty, muscular inch.” He bit down on the thick trap muscle where neck met shoulder, sucking a dark mark while continuing the relentless ride.

The drug kept Jake’s limbs heavy, but the sensations were overwhelming—the burning stretch in his ass, the ache in his jaw and throat, the raw humiliation of being used like a fucktoy. Tears of rage mixed with sweat on his face.

Crowe finally chased his own release, bending Jake over the bench one last time in a prone-bone position, chest pressed to the jock’s broad back. He fucked with short, savage thrusts, hand wrapped around Jake’s throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make him lightheaded.

“Gonna fill this straight rugby ass,” he growled, biting the back of Jake’s neck. With a deep groan he came hard, pumping rope after rope deep inside, hips grinding as he emptied himself.

He stayed buried for a long minute, catching his breath, then pulled out slowly, watching his cum leak from the ruined hole down Jake’s balls and thighs.

Jake lay there, chest heaving, body trembling, voice raw. “I’ll… kill you…”

Crowe smiled, already reaching for his phone to capture the aftermath. “No, you won’t. You’ll come back for more sessions. And you’ll keep that pretty mouth shut. Or everyone sees what a well-fucked jock you really are.”

The locker room fell quiet except for Jake’s ragged breathing and the distant hum of the showers.

[maxx-magnum]

[herotozerooooo]

The night air was thick and humid, the kind that clung to your skin after a long day of drills. Cadet Rafael Morales, 22, strolled down the dimly lit path back toward the academy barracks, his crisp white naval uniform hugging every ridge of his sculpted physique. At 6'2" and built like a competitive rower—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, thick pecs straining the short-sleeved shirt, biceps veined and pumped from endless pull-ups—he moved with the arrogant swagger of a guy who knew he was the best looking, straightest alpha on base. His girlfriend back home, Sofia, sent him nudes every weekend to "keep him loyal," and he'd bragged about fucking her senseless in every barracks story. Rafael's dark hair was perfectly styled, his square jaw clean-shaven, and that cocky grin never left his face. He was untouchable. Invincible.

He didn't notice the figure step out from behind the thick palms until it was too late.

Captain Elias Vargas had been watching him for weeks. Not a fellow cadet, not some rival jock—Elias was the academy's head of internal security, a lean, sharp-featured man in his mid-40s with a reputation for quiet ruthlessness. He wasn't bigger than Rafael; he didn't need to be. He'd rigged the path's security camera blind spot weeks ago, and tonight he'd left a "maintenance" barrier open that funneled Rafael right into the trap: a small utility alcove behind the admin building, shielded by overgrown foliage and a heavy steel door that locked from the inside.

A gloved hand clamped over Rafael's mouth from behind, the other jamming a zip-tie around his wrists before he could fully react. "Quiet, cadet," Elias hissed, his voice low and authoritative, pressed close enough that Rafael felt the man's breath on his neck. Surprise and the awkward angle did the rest—Rafael's powerful arms bucked, but the tie was already ratcheted tight, and Elias had a knee in the back of his thigh, forcing him off balance into the alcove. The door clicked shut. Locked.

"What the fuck—get off me, you piece of shit!" Rafael snarled, twisting hard, his muscular frame slamming against the wall. His white uniform shirt rode up, exposing the deep V of his lower abs and the trail of dark hair disappearing into his belt. He was stronger, but Elias had the drop, the restraints, and years of training in subduing bigger men. Another zip-tie went around his ankles, then a third connecting wrists to a pipe at waist height, bending the big jock forward slightly, ass out.

Rafael's face burned with fury and shock. "This is fucking insane! I'll have you court-martialed, you—"

Elias stepped back, admiring his catch. He circled slowly, running a hand over Rafael's trapped biceps, squeezing the hard muscle. "Look at you. All that macho straight-boy swagger. Bet Sofia thinks you're a real man, huh? Bet she has no idea how tight that virgin ass of yours is going to feel wrapped around my cock."

Rafael thrashed, veins popping in his neck, but the restraints held. "Touch me and I'll kill you. I'm not a fucking faggot!"

Elias laughed softly and yanked Rafael's shirt open, buttons popping, exposing his smooth, heaving chest and dark nipples. He pinched one hard, twisting until Rafael grunted in pain and unwilling arousal. The jock's cock twitched visibly in his white pants despite his curses. Elias noticed immediately.

"See? Your straight dick already knows what's up." He palmed Rafael's bulge roughly, squeezing the thick outline through the fabric, stroking it until it hardened fully against his will. Rafael's thighs flexed, powerful quads straining the uniform pants as he tried to pull away, but Elias kept working him—rubbing, teasing the head through the cloth until a wet spot formed.

Without warning, Elias dropped to his knees and ripped the zipper down. Rafael's heavy, straight cock sprang free—thick, veined, uncut, already leaking. Elias took it into his mouth in one smooth motion, sucking hard while his hands roamed up to pinch and twist both nipples. Rafael's abs clenched, his powerful chest heaving as unwanted pleasure shot through him.

"Fuuuck—stop, you sick fuck!" he gasped, hips jerking involuntarily. Elias bobbed deeper, throat working the jock's shaft, one hand cupping and tugging his heavy balls, rolling them firmly. He pulled off with a wet pop and spun Rafael around as best the restraints allowed, forcing his chest against the wall. The position arched the cadet's back, pushing his firm, round ass out.

Elias yanked the white pants and briefs down to mid-thigh, exposing Rafael's muscular glutes—smooth, powerful, untouched. He spread them wide, spitting on the tight pink hole before diving in with his tongue, rimming him sloppily while reaching around to stroke the jock's traitor cock.

Rafael's legs shook. "No—no, not there, goddamn it!" His voice cracked with humiliation as the wet, invasive tongue probed deeper, tasting him, opening him up. Elias alternated: tongue-fucking the straight stud's ass while jerking him off, then slapping the thick cheeks hard enough to leave red handprints, watching the muscle jiggle.

When Rafael was panting, hole slick and twitching, Elias stood. He freed his own hard cock—long, curved, leaking—and rubbed it up and down Rafael's crack. "Beg me to fuck your straight hole, cadet."

"Never—ahh!" Elias thrust forward without mercy, burying the first few inches in one brutal push. Rafael's whole body tensed, muscles standing out in stark relief under the uniform remnants, a guttural shout tearing from his throat. The burn was intense, his virgin ass stretching around the invading cock.

Elias didn't give him time to adjust. He grabbed Rafael's hips, powerful hands digging into the V-lines, and started pounding. Deep, rhythmic strokes that made Rafael's trapped cock slap wetly against his own abs. The jock's thighs quivered, his lower back arching as Elias railed him, one hand reaching around to twist a nipple again, the other yanking his hair to expose his neck for biting kisses.

"Feel that? Your macho ass is swallowing me so good," Elias growled, changing angle to hit Rafael's prostate dead-on. The jock's cock jumped, spurting a thick rope of precum onto the floor. "Look at your dick—betraying you like the slut you are."

He pulled out suddenly, spun Rafael to face him as much as the pipe allowed, and forced the cadet down onto his knees. The zip-ties dug into his wrists but didn't stop Elias from shoving his cock, glistening with Rafael's ass juices, straight into the jock's mouth. "Suck it clean, pretty boy. Taste your own hole."

Rafael gagged, eyes watering, but Elias held his head and face-fucked him—long, deliberate thrusts into his throat, balls slapping his chin. Saliva dripped down Rafael's chin onto his exposed chest. Elias pulled out, slapped the wet cock across his face, then back in, making him deepthroat while pinching his nipples raw.

Not done, Elias hauled him up again, this time bending him over a low maintenance crate, ass high. He re-entered in one thrust, fucking him harder now, one foot planted on the crate for leverage. His hands roamed freely—slapping the jock's bouncing ass, reaching under to tug his swinging balls, stroking his cock in time with the thrusts until Rafael was moaning despite himself, shame and pleasure mixing in his broken voice.

"Admit it," Elias taunted, slowing to grind deep, rotating his hips to stretch him wide. "Tell me your girlfriend's pussy never made you feel like this."

"F-fuck you…" Rafael whimpered, but his hips pushed back slightly, body betraying him completely.

Elias laughed and switched again—pulling out, turning Rafael onto his back on the crate (wrists still bound overhead), legs pushed up and spread wide like a bitch. He folded the muscular stud in half, chest to chest, and slid back inside his wrecked hole. This position let him kiss and bite Rafael's thick pecs, suck on his nipples while pounding downward, their cocks trapped and rubbing together between their abs.

Sweat poured off Rafael's body, his abs clenching with every thrust, thighs trembling. Elias reached down and jerked him roughly, forcing the straight jock to cum first—thick, humiliating ropes shooting across his own chest and uniform shirt while his ass spasmed around the invading cock.

Only then did Elias let go, flooding Rafael's guts with hot cum, grinding it in deep as the jock shuddered and cursed through the aftershocks.

But he wasn't finished. While Rafael panted, spent and leaking, Elias kept him folded there, slowly fucking the cum back inside, teasing his sensitive prostate until the jock's cock twitched back to life against his will. "We're just getting started, Morales. By morning, every inch of this straight jock body is going to know who owns it."

Rafael's head fell back, eyes glassy with shame, muscles still flexing uselessly against the restraints as another slow, deliberate thrust made him moan again.

Elias kept Rafael folded in half on the crate, thick cock still buried to the hilt in the jock’s cum-slick hole. The cadet’s powerful legs trembled in the air, white uniform pants tangled around his ankles, shirt torn open and soaked with his own load. His chest heaved, dark nipples puffy and red from the earlier abuse, abs glistening with sweat and semen.

“Every inch,” Elias repeated, voice low and vicious as he started thrusting again—slow, grinding rolls of his hips that dragged his cockhead right across Rafael’s swollen prostate. “This tight ass. This fat straight cock. These heavy balls. That pretty mouth. By sunrise, you’ll be begging for my cum like the broken bitch you are.”

Rafael shook his head, teeth clenched, but a broken moan slipped out when Elias pinched both nipples hard and twisted. “N-no… get the fuck off me… I’m not—fuuuck!”

His cock betrayed him again, twitching back to full hardness against his sticky abs. Elias smirked and reached down, wrapping his fist around the jock’s shaft. He stroked him with long, tight pulls while fucking him deep and steady, thumb swiping over the sensitive head on every upstroke. Rafael’s thighs quivered violently, the thick muscles in his quads and hamstrings standing out as he fought the rising pleasure.

Elias pulled out, leaving the hole gaping and leaking, and dragged the bound stud off the crate. He forced him onto his knees again, this time facing the wall. With Rafael’s wrists still zip-tied to the pipe, Elias yanked his head back by the hair and fed him his cock—ass-to-mouth, slick with cum and spit.

“Clean it, cadet. Taste what your straight hole did to me.”

Rafael gagged hard as the cock invaded his throat, but Elias held his skull in place and face-fucked him with deliberate, balls-deep strokes. Saliva poured down Rafael’s chin, dripping onto his heaving pecs. Every time he tried to pull back, Elias slapped his face with the wet cock before shoving back in, stretching his throat until it bulged.

When Rafael’s eyes watered and his lungs burned, Elias pulled out, spun him around, and bent him over the crate again—this time with one leg hiked up onto it, spreading him obscenely. He slammed back into the jock’s ass in a single brutal thrust, bottoming out and grinding. One hand mauled Rafael’s chest, slapping the heavy pecs, pinching and twisting the nipples until they were raw and swollen. The other hand worked the cadet’s cock mercilessly—edging him, squeezing the base when he got close, then stroking fast again.

“You feel that?” Elias growled, biting down on the thick muscle of Rafael’s shoulder. “Your body’s learning. This ass is clenching around me like it was made for dick.”

Rafael’s voice cracked. “Stop… please… Sofia—fuck, I have a girlfriend…”

“Yeah? Think she’d like seeing her big manly boyfriend getting his hole wrecked?” Elias sped up, pounding him harder, the wet slap of skin echoing in the small alcove. He reached under and tugged Rafael’s balls downward, rolling them firmly while hammering his prostate. The jock’s cock erupted again—shooting thick ropes across the crate despite his sobbing curses, his hole spasming wildly.

Elias didn’t stop. He fucked him straight through the orgasm, overstimulating the sensitive shaft until Rafael was whimpering, hips jerking away. Then he pulled out, dragged him to the floor on his back, and straddled his chest. He slapped his heavy cock across Rafael’s face, smearing cum and spit, before forcing it back down his throat.

While Rafael choked and sucked, Elias reached back and played with the jock’s spent cock and balls, lightly slapping them, tugging the foreskin, teasing the piss-slit. He shifted forward, sitting on Rafael’s face, grinding his ass against the straight stud’s mouth and nose.

“Lick it. Get your tongue in there if you want air.”

Rafael struggled, massive arms straining against the ties, but oxygen deprivation forced his tongue out. He licked Elias’s hole in desperate, humiliated strokes while the man jerked himself off over his face.

Hours blurred. Elias rotated him again—on all fours now, chest pressed to the dirty floor, ass high. He mounted him like a dog, one hand gripping the back of Rafael’s neck, the other reaching around to milk his cock again. Every thrust slammed into that prostate, forcing unwilling moans and dribbles of cum from the jock’s overworked dick.

“Say it,” Elias demanded, slowing to deep, punishing strokes. “Tell me who owns this body.”

Rafael shook his head, tears mixing with sweat. But when Elias reached down and started twisting his nipple while pounding him mercilessly, the resistance cracked.

“Y-you… fuck… you own it…” he gasped, voice hoarse.

“Louder. Tell me your straight ass belongs to me.”

“My… my straight ass belongs to you…” Rafael whimpered, shame burning through him as another weak orgasm was forced from his cock, just a few pathetic spurts this time.

Elias rewarded him by flooding his guts again, then kept fucking the cum deeper. He pulled out only to flip Rafael onto his back once more, legs over his shoulders in a mating press. Face to face now, Elias stared into the broken jock’s eyes while sliding back inside the sloppy, cum-filled hole.

“Look at me while I breed you.”

Rafael’s eyes were glassy, resistance shattered. His muscular body—once proud and untouchable—lay open and used: chest red from slaps and bites, nipples raw, cock soft and leaking against his abs, thighs trembling, hole stretched and leaking.

By the time faint light started filtering through the foliage, Elias had taken him in every position he could manage with the restraints. He’d fucked his throat until it was raw, edged and milked his cock until it was hypersensitive and sore, spanked his ass raw, bitten and sucked marks all over his chest and inner thighs. He’d made Rafael repeat degrading phrases between loads—“I’m your cumdump,” “My girlfriend’s pussy can’t compete,” “I’m a straight bitch for your cock”—until the words came easier, broken by moans.

Rafael lay there at the end, spent, covered in cum and sweat, uniform ruined, body twitching with aftershocks. His mind was foggy, the arrogant jock persona fractured under wave after wave of forced pleasure and humiliation. Every time he tried to cling to his old self, the ache in his ass and the taste in his mouth reminded him who had broken him.

Elias finally untied one wrist, but kept the other secured. He stroked Rafael’s hair almost gently.

“Good boy. You’re mine now. And this was just night one.”

Elias stood over the wrecked cadet, cock still half-hard and glistening. Rafael’s chest rose and fell in shallow, exhausted breaths, his once-proud muscular body a canvas of degradation: bite marks blooming across his thick pecs, red handprints on his ass and inner thighs, cum leaking steadily from his puffy, ruined hole onto the dirty floor. The zip-tie on his left wrist kept him anchored, forcing him to stay on his back like an offering.

But the night wasn’t over. Elias wanted everything.

He crouched down and shoved two fingers into Rafael’s sloppy ass without warning, curling them hard against the swollen prostate. The jock’s body jerked violently, a hoarse cry tearing from his raw throat.

“Still fighting in there?” Elias murmured, scissoring his fingers slowly, deliberately stretching the sensitive walls. “I can feel you clenching. Your hole doesn’t want to let me go.”

Rafael turned his head away, eyes squeezed shut, fresh tears slipping down his temples. “Please… I can’t… my ass is sore… I’m straight, man… I have a fucking girlfriend…”

Elias laughed low and cruel. He pulled his fingers out, smeared them across Rafael’s lips, then forced them inside his mouth. “Suck. Taste how thoroughly I’ve claimed this straight jock pussy.”

Rafael gagged but obeyed, tongue moving weakly around the digits. Elias rewarded him by stroking his spent cock back to reluctant hardness, using just the tips of his fingers in feather-light touches that made the big stud’s thighs quiver and his hips twitch upward despite himself.

When Rafael was fully hard again, aching and oversensitive, Elias untied the remaining wrist only to flip him onto all fours and re-secure both hands behind his back with a fresh tie. He pushed the jock’s face down to the floor, ass up high in the air.

“Arch that back. Present yourself like a good bitch.”

Rafael whimpered but the fight was draining out of him. His powerful glutes spread naturally in this position, hole winking and leaking. Elias took his time—running his hands over the thick thighs, squeezing the dense muscle, then slapping the ass cheeks hard enough to make them ripple. He leaned in and ate him out again, tongue fucking deep into the cum-filled channel while reaching underneath to tug and roll those heavy balls.

Every lick made Rafael moan into the floor, his cock dripping steadily now. Elias pulled back, lined up, and sank in balls-deep in one smooth thrust. This time he fucked him with long, punishing strokes—pulling almost all the way out, then slamming home, watching the jock’s muscular back flex and bow.

“Tell me who owns this hole,” Elias demanded, gripping Rafael’s hips hard enough to bruise.

“You… you own it…” Rafael gasped, voice cracking.

“Louder. And say it right.”

“You own my straight hole… fuck… it’s your pussy now…”

Elias groaned in satisfaction and picked up speed, pounding him mercilessly. The wet, obscene sounds of cum being churned inside Rafael’s ass filled the alcove. He reached around and started jerking the jock’s cock again—fast, tight, relentless—while never stopping the deep anal assault.

Rafael came first again, shouting hoarsely as his cock pulsed and shot weak, watery ropes onto the ground beneath him. His hole clamped down like a vice, milking Elias, who followed seconds later with a deep growl, pumping another thick load into the ruined depths.

But Elias stayed inside him, grinding slowly through the aftershocks. He reached forward, grabbed Rafael’s hair, and pulled his head up.

“Push it out. Show me how well your ass takes my cum.”

Rafael’s face burned with humiliation, but he obeyed—bearing down until a thick trickle of cum bubbled out around Elias’s cock and ran down his taint. Elias scooped some up and fed it to him, forcing the jock to lick his own fingers clean.

The breaking deepened as the sky lightened.

Elias pulled out, sat on the low crate, and dragged Rafael between his legs. He made the bound stud kneel upright, face buried in his crotch.

“Worship it. Kiss every inch of the cock that broke you.”

Rafael hesitated only a second before pressing trembling lips to the shaft, kissing it reverently from balls to tip. Elias guided his head, making him lick the cum and ass juice off, then take it deep into his throat again. While Rafael sucked and gagged, Elias played with his nipples—pinching, twisting, flicking them until they were impossibly sensitive. He slapped the heavy pecs, watched them bounce, then reached down to tug Rafael’s balls and stroke his cock back to painful hardness once more.

When Elias was close, he pulled Rafael up onto his lap, facing him. He guided the jock’s hips down, impaling him on his cock in a deep, seated position. Rafael’s muscular thighs flexed as he was forced to ride, bound hands behind his back, chest pressed against Elias’s.

“Ride it. Fuck yourself on my dick like the desperate whore you’ve become.”

Rafael’s head fell forward onto Elias’s shoulder, broken sobs mixing with moans as he rolled his hips. Elias helped at first, gripping the firm ass and bouncing him, then let Rafael do more of the work—thighs burning, hole stretched wide around the invading cock. Their bodies slapped together rhythmically. Elias bit and sucked on Rafael’s neck, leaving dark hickeys, then moved to his nipples again, nursing on them while the jock rode him.

“Tell me you love it,” Elias whispered against his ear.

“I… I love it…” Rafael choked out, voice wrecked. “I love your cock in my ass…”

His own dick rubbed between their stomachs with every bounce, leaving sticky trails. Elias wrapped a hand around it and stroked him in time until Rafael came again—dry this time, just spasms and whimpers, body convulsing in total overload.

Elias held him down tight and filled him one final time, grinding deep as he unloaded.

By the time the first birds started singing, Rafael was a shattered mess—limp, covered in cum, sweat, and marks, hole gaping and leaking continuously. His mind was quiet now, the arrogant straight jock persona stripped away layer by layer. Every time he tried to summon anger or denial, the deep ache in his ass, the taste in his mouth, and the memory of his own voice begging made it crumble.

Elias finally untied him completely but kept a firm hand on the back of his neck.

“You’re going to walk back to the barracks like this—cum running down your thighs under that ruined uniform. And tonight, you’ll come find me again. Because this body and this mind know who they belong to now.”

Rafael didn’t argue. He just nodded weakly, dignity in tatters, soul bent, every inch of the once-proud stallion marked and claimed.

Elias wiped the cum-slick mess from his cock across Rafael’s tear-streaked cheek, smearing it like war paint. The cadet’s once-flawless face was flushed crimson, lips swollen and shiny with spit and cum, eyes hollow with the slow death of his pride. His muscular body, built for glory on the rowing team and endless conquests of women, now trembled uncontrollably on the filthy floor—thighs quivering, abs clenching in helpless spasms, thick cock soft and raw between his legs, still twitching from the last dry orgasm.

“Pathetic,” Elias whispered, voice dripping with contempt. He grabbed Rafael by the hair and yanked him up onto his knees, forcing his face into the sweaty, cum-dripping crease of his own ass. “Sniff it. Smell what your straight hole smells like after I’ve ruined it.”

Rafael’s nose pressed against the sweaty skin, inhaling the sharp, musky stench of ass, cum, and his own degradation. The thick, salty-bitter taste hit his tongue as Elias ground back, smothering him. “Lick deeper, cadet. Clean the mess you made.”

The jock’s tongue slid out, hesitant at first, then desperate for air. Wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the alcove as he rimmed Elias, tongue pushing inside the older man’s hole while his own wrecked ass clenched and leaked a steady river of cum down his trembling inner thighs. The sensation was disgusting—warm, sticky fluid coating his skin, the burn in his stretched ring turning into a deep, throbbing ache that radiated up his spine.

Elias moaned and reached back, spreading his cheeks wider. “That’s it. Get your straight-boy tongue all the way in. This is what you’re good for now.”

When he’d had enough, Elias shoved Rafael onto his back again, pinning those powerful arms above his head with one hand while he straddled his chest. He slapped his heavy, semi-hard cock against the jock’s face repeatedly—wet, meaty thwacks that left strings of fluid across his forehead, eyelids, and cheeks. Then he forced the head past Rafael’s lips and started a slow, relentless throat-fuck. Each thrust bulged the front of the cadet’s neck visibly, the thick vein pulsing under the skin as Elias used his throat like a fleshlight.

“Gag on it. Feel how deep I go. Your girlfriend never took it like this, did she?”

Rafael’s eyes rolled back, throat convulsing, vomit-tinged spit bubbling from the corners of his mouth and running down his neck onto his heaving pecs. His bound arms strained, massive biceps and forearms bulging uselessly. The lack of air made his head spin, his cock twitching back to painful hardness against his will, slapping wetly against his lower abs with every thrust.

Elias pulled out just long enough to let him gasp a single breath, then slammed back in, balls resting on Rafael’s chin. While face-fucking him, he reached back and shoved three fingers into the jock’s gaping, cum-filled ass, pumping them viciously. The wet squelching sounds were filthy, obscene. Rafael’s prostate was battered mercilessly, sending electric shocks of unwanted pleasure through his overstimulated body.

The jock came again—nothing but a weak dribble of clear fluid from his raw cock—his hole spasming wildly around the invading fingers, body convulsing like he was being electrocuted. The orgasm hurt this time, a deep, cramping ache in his balls and prostate that made him sob around the cock in his throat.

Elias finally pulled out, strings of thick throat slime connecting Rafael’s lips to his cock. He flipped the broken stud onto his stomach, yanked his hips up, and mounted him in a brutal prone-bone position. Chest pressed to Rafael’s broad, sweat-slick back, Elias drove in to the hilt with a single thrust, the cum from previous loads acting as lube for even deeper penetration.

The new angle crushed Rafael’s cock and balls against the rough floor, grinding them painfully with every savage thrust. Elias wrapped one arm around the jock’s thick neck, choking him lightly, while the other hand mauled his pecs, twisting the raw nipples until Rafael screamed.

“Beg me to ruin you more,” Elias growled directly into his ear, hot breath and sweat dripping onto the side of his face. “Tell me you want your soul fucked out.”

Rafael’s voice was barely human anymore—hoarse, broken, cracking with every brutal slam that made his muscular ass ripple. “Please… ruin me… fuck my soul out… I’m your bitch… my girlfriend’s pussy is worthless compared to this…”

Elias rewarded the submission by pounding harder, hips slapping loudly against the firm globes of Rafael’s ass. He bit down hard on the thick trapezius muscle where neck met shoulder, leaving a deep purple mark. The pain made Rafael’s hole clench even tighter.

Sensory overload consumed the jock: the burning stretch in his ass, the constant pressure on his prostate turning every thrust into a nauseating wave of forced pleasure-pain, the scrape of his sensitive cock against the dirty ground, the taste of cum and ass still coating his tongue, the smell of sex and sweat thick in the air, the wet squelch of cum being churned inside him.

Elias kept him there for what felt like an eternity—long, grinding strokes mixed with short, jackhammer thrusts—until Rafael was a drooling, whimpering mess. Only then did he flip him again, this time into a full nelson: legs hooked over Elias’s arms, body folded in half, ass completely exposed and impaled as Elias stood and fucked him upright.

Rafael’s head lolled back against Elias’s shoulder, mouth open, eyes unfocused. His cock flopped uselessly with every upward thrust, completely spent but still twitching. Elias whispered filth the entire time:

“Look at you. Big tough naval cadet. Star athlete. Womanizer. Now just a cumrag with a pulse. Every time you look at Sofia, you’ll remember how my cock felt rearranging your guts. How you begged for it. How your straight hole milked me like a whore.”

He came again, flooding Rafael so full that fresh cum squirted out around his cock with every thrust. Then he kept fucking through it, overstimulation turning the jock’s moans into broken screams.

By the time the sun was fully up, Rafael was gone.

Not dead—just empty.

The arrogant fire in his eyes had been extinguished, replaced by glassy, defeated submission. His powerful body lay limp and twitching in a puddle of cum, sweat, and drool, hole a swollen, ruined gape that wouldn’t close, chest and thighs covered in marks and drying fluids. His mind was shattered—dignity pulverized into dust, soul bent and claimed, every proud inch of the straight jock stallion reduced to a trembling, leaking wreck who instinctively spread his legs wider when Elias finally stepped back.

Elias crouched down, stroked his hair almost tenderly, and pressed a final degrading kiss to his swollen lips.

“Welcome to your new life, cadet. You belong to me now. Body, holes, mind… and whatever’s left of your soul.”

Rafael didn’t respond. He just stared blankly at the ceiling, a single tear rolling down his cheek as another weak spasm leaked more cum from his destroyed ass.

The morning sun burned through the foliage as Elias finally let Rafael go. The cadet stumbled out of the alcove like a ghost in a ruined uniform—shirt half-buttoned over bite-marked pecs, pants soaked with drying cum, every step sending fresh leaks down his inner thighs. His ass burned with every movement, a constant, throbbing reminder. He avoided the main paths, slipping into the barracks through a side entrance, heart hammering at every distant voice.

He showered for nearly an hour, scrubbing until his skin was raw, but nothing erased the ache or the memories. In the mirror, Rafael stared at the stranger looking back: dark hickeys on his neck barely hidden by the collar, swollen lips, dead eyes. When his phone buzzed with a message from Sofia—"Miss you, baby ❤️"—he threw up in the sink.

He told himself it was over. One sick night. He’d avoid security offices. Keep his head down. Graduate. Marry Sofia. Forget.

But Elias had other plans.

Two nights later, Rafael was doing extra laps in the academy pool after hours, trying to exhaust the demons. The water usually cleared his head, but tonight every stroke made his hole clench involuntarily at the memory of being stretched and used. He climbed out, water streaming down his carved body, and headed for the locker room.

The lights were already off.

A strong hand clamped over his mouth from behind before he could react. The familiar scent of Elias—musk, authority, and something darker—flooded his senses.

“Miss me, cadet?” Elias breathed against his ear, pressing him face-first against the cold lockers. Rafael’s powerful back flexed, but the older man had him pinned perfectly, one knee between his thighs. “You’ve been avoiding me. That hurts.”

“I’m not—fuck, get off me,” Rafael hissed, but his voice cracked. His body remembered. His cock twitched traitorously in his swim trunks.

Elias chuckled softly, almost tenderly, and spun him around. In the dim emergency lighting, his eyes gleamed with dangerous obsession. “You belong to me now. Running only makes it worse.” He kissed him then—hard, possessive, tongue forcing its way into Rafael’s mouth while one hand slipped inside the trunks to grip his thickening cock.

Rafael resisted for maybe ten seconds before a broken moan escaped. Elias stroked him slowly, deliberately, thumb circling the head as he deepened the kiss. “That’s it. Stop fighting what your body already knows.”

He didn’t fuck him in the locker room. Not that night. Instead, he edged him mercilessly until Rafael was shaking, then pulled his hand away. “You’ll come to my quarters tonight. 2300. Or I’ll make sure the entire academy sees the video I took while you were begging.”

There was no video. Not yet. But the threat landed like a blade.

Rafael showed up.

Elias’s private quarters were sparse, military-clean, but the moment the door locked, the atmosphere shifted into something darker and more intimate. Candles burned on the desk. A bottle of wine waited. It felt like a twisted date.

“Strip,” Elias ordered quietly.

Rafael did, hands shaking. When he stood naked, muscular body still bearing faint bruises and marks, Elias pulled him close—not roughly this time, but with possessive hunger. He kissed him again, slower, exploring his mouth like a lover while his hands roamed the jock’s chest, thumbs brushing raw nipples until Rafael gasped into the kiss.

They ended up on the bed. Elias lubed his cock generously and pulled Rafael on top, guiding the thick straight cock—still claiming to be straight—down onto him in one long, slow descent. Rafael’s head fell back, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as he was filled again. The stretch burned, but the angle hit his prostate perfectly.

“Ride me,” Elias whispered, hands gripping the jock’s hips. “Look at me while you do it.”

Rafael obeyed, powerful thighs flexing as he moved. Up and down. Slow at first, then faster, shame and unwanted pleasure twisting his handsome face. Elias reached up, stroking his cock, pinching his nipples, pulling him down into deep, grinding kisses.

“You’re mine, Rafael. Not Sofia’s. Not the academy’s. Mine.” The words were spoken with dark romance, like a vow. “I’ll protect you. Keep your secrets. But you have to give me everything.”

Rafael came hard, painting Elias’s abs, sobbing as his hole clenched rhythmically. Elias followed, flooding him deep, then held him there—still impaled, cum leaking around the seal—as he stroked his back almost gently.

The thriller began in earnest after that.

Elias became a shadow in Rafael’s life. A text at random hours: My quarters. Now. A hand on his lower back in the mess hall when no one was looking. Late-night “training sessions” that left the cadet limping, voice hoarse, mind spinning.

Rafael started having nightmares—then wet dreams. He’d wake up hard, ass aching, hating himself for stroking his cock to the memory of Elias’s voice calling him “good boy.”

One night, after a particularly brutal session where Elias had edged him for hours, fucking him in front of a mirror so Rafael had to watch every expression of unwanted ecstasy on his own face, the jock broke down crying in Elias’s arms.

“I don’t know who I am anymore…”

Elias held him close, kissing his tears, cock still buried inside him. “You’re mine. That’s who you are. And I’m going to keep you safe. But if you ever try to leave me for her…” His voice dropped, possessive and chilling. “I’ll ruin everything you love. And then I’ll still take you back.”

Rafael shuddered, but his arms tightened around Elias. Stockholm seeds taking root.

Weeks turned into a dangerous game.

Secret rendezvous in hidden parts of the academy. Elias using his security access to lock down areas just for them. Rafael’s grades stayed perfect—because Elias “helped” with late-night study sessions that always ended with the jock bent over the desk, getting fucked while trying to read tactical manuals.

The romance was forced, toxic, and all-consuming. Elias started whispering “I love you” during the deepest thrusts. Rafael started saying it back—first through gritted teeth, then with broken sincerity as the pleasure and fear and twisted affection fused together.

One stormy night, Rafael tried to end it. He showed up at Elias’s door shaking. “This has to stop. I’m not… I can’t—”

Elias pulled him inside, slammed him against the wall, and fucked him right there in the entryway—raw, desperate, angry. He bit his neck hard enough to draw a yelp, stroking him until he came untouched, then filled him again.

“You don’t get to leave,” Elias growled against his ear, still buried deep. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever taken. And I’m never letting you go.”

Rafael came again just from the words and the relentless pressure on his prostate, tears streaming down his face as he whispered, “I’m yours… fuck, I’m yours…”

The straight jock was gone. In his place was something new—broken, addicted, terrified, and hopelessly entangled in a dark, obsessive romance with the man who had ruined him.

And Elias? He had never been happier. He would burn the entire academy down before he let Rafael escape the cage they had built together.

The weeks dragged on in a haze of secret shame and twisted dependency. Rafael moved through his days like a ghost—rowing drills, classes, inspections—while his nights belonged entirely to Elias. The older man’s obsession had only grown darker and more intimate. He’d started leaving marks in places only Rafael would see. He’d text him during the day with photos of his own cock, captioned This is what owns you now. And Rafael, god help him, had started getting hard the second his phone buzzed.

But Sofia refused to fade away.

She’d been texting more insistently. Voice notes full of love and longing. “Baby, I’m coming to visit this weekend. I miss my strong man. Can’t wait to remind you what a real woman feels like.” She booked a hotel off-base and told him she’d surprise him after Friday’s parade.

Rafael nearly had a panic attack when he read the message in Elias’s bed, the captain’s cum still leaking from his ass.

Elias read the texts over Rafael’s shoulder, his hand possessively stroking the jock’s spent cock. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.

“Let her come,” he said softly, kissing the bite mark on Rafael’s neck. “She needs to see the truth. And you need to understand that there’s no going back.”

Rafael begged him not to. He cried. He offered to call Sofia and break up over the phone. But Elias simply pinned him down, slid back inside his slick hole, and fucked him slow and deep while whispering, “She’ll watch you become mine completely. And then you’ll never doubt who you belong to again.”

Sofia arrived on Friday evening looking like a dream—sun-kissed skin, tight sundress hugging her curves, long dark hair cascading down her back. She waited near the parade grounds, eyes lighting up when she finally spotted Rafael marching in formation. He looked… different. Thinner in the face. Hollow. But still so fucking handsome in that white uniform.

After the ceremony, she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. Rafael stiffened, the scent of her perfume hitting him like a gut punch—familiar, feminine, everything he used to crave.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, kissing him deeply right there in public.

He kissed her back mechanically, stomach churning. Elias was watching from the shadows near the admin building. Rafael could feel his gaze like a brand.

They went to dinner off-base. Sofia chattered excitedly, hand on his thigh under the table. Rafael barely ate. Every time she touched him, he felt the ghost of Elias’s hands—rougher, more knowing, more possessive.

Later, in her hotel room, she tried to rekindle everything. She stripped him slowly, kissing down his muscular chest, cooing over how strong he still was. But when she reached his neck and saw the fresh hickey hidden poorly by his collar, she froze.

“Rafael… what the fuck is that?”

He panicked. “It’s nothing—training bruise—”

She pushed him onto the bed anyway, desperate to remind him. She took his cock into her mouth, sucking eagerly, trying to bring back the eager, dominant boyfriend she remembered. Rafael’s body responded out of habit—getting hard—but his mind was elsewhere. The sensations felt… wrong. Too soft. Too gentle. Nothing like the brutal claiming he’d grown addicted to.

Sofia climbed on top, sinking down onto him with a moan. “That’s my man… fuck me like you used to.”

Rafael tried. He gripped her hips, thrusting up, but his rhythm was off. His eyes kept darting to the door. He was close to tears.

That’s when the door clicked open.

Elias stepped inside, holding a key card he definitely shouldn’t have had. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed, watching Sofia ride Rafael with cold amusement.

Sofia screamed and scrambled off, grabbing sheets to cover herself. “Who the hell are you?! Get out!”

Rafael sat up, face pale. “Elias… please…”

Elias ignored her completely at first. He walked over, grabbed Rafael by the jaw, and kissed him possessively right in front of Sofia—deep, filthy, tongue dominating. Rafael whimpered into it, cock still hard and glistening with her juices.

Sofia’s world shattered. “Rafael… what is this? Baby, tell me this isn’t—”

“He’s mine,” Elias said calmly, breaking the kiss but keeping a hand possessively on the back of Rafael’s neck. “He has been for weeks. Every night. Every hole. While you were sending him cute little texts, he was gagging on my cock and begging me to breed his straight ass.”

Sofia looked like she’d been slapped. Rafael couldn’t meet her eyes.

Elias wasn’t done. He pushed Rafael onto his back on the hotel bed and climbed on top of him, right there in front of her. He yanked the jock’s legs apart and shoved back inside his ass in one brutal thrust—still slick from earlier that afternoon. Rafael cried out, a mix of shame and relief, his body arching.

“No—no, stop!” Sofia screamed, but Elias just started fucking him harder, making sure she could see every inch disappearing into Rafael’s hole.

“Look at him,” Elias growled at her, never breaking rhythm. “Look how he takes it. This is what your ‘strong man’ really is. A cock-hungry bitch who cums harder when I’m inside him than he ever did with you.”

Rafael’s moans betrayed him completely—loud, broken, desperate. His cock leaked all over his abs as Elias pounded his prostate mercilessly. The wet, filthy sounds of their fucking filled the room. Sofia stood frozen, tears streaming down her face, unable to look away from the horror.

“Tell her,” Elias ordered, slamming deep. “Tell your girlfriend who owns you.”

Rafael’s voice cracked, eyes locked on Sofia’s devastated face. “He… he owns me… I’m sorry… fuck—I’m his…”

Elias reached down and jerked Rafael’s cock roughly until the jock came with a guttural scream, shooting across his own chest while still impaled. Sofia watched every spurt, every twitch of her boyfriend’s muscular body as it surrendered completely.

Only then did Elias pull out and cum all over Rafael’s abs, mixing their loads.

He stood, zipped up, and looked at the sobbing girl.

“Get out. And if you ever contact him again, I’ll destroy both of you. Pictures. Videos. Everything.”

Sofia fled, dress half-on, mascara ruined.

Rafael lay there broken, covered in cum, staring at the ceiling as the door slammed.

Elias crawled back onto the bed and pulled the wrecked jock into his arms, kissing his tears away with surprising gentleness.

“It’s over now,” he whispered, sliding back inside Rafael’s leaking hole to comfort him. “No more pretending. You’re finally, completely mine. I love you.”

Rafael buried his face in Elias’s neck, body shaking with sobs… and slowly started rocking his hips back against him.

The straight life was dead.

Only the dark romance remained.

[uniformpics2]

[herotozerooooo]

Officer Blake Tanner rode the escalator like he always did — chest out, shoulders wide under the POLICE vest, short light-brown hair neat, thick arms loose at his sides. Twenty-eight, former college football running back, all that power still packed into the dark blue uniform. Girlfriend Sarah texting him about dinner. He was the kind of straight jock-cop who still thought the badge and the muscle made him untouchable.

The skinny loiterer stepped on two steps below him, looking properly worried this time.

“Officer—hey, Officer Tanner, right? Please. My little brother’s stuck in the service elevator back behind the food court. Kid’s got asthma, door jammed, security’s nowhere. I can’t get the panel open. You’re the only cop I saw.”

Blake looked him over. Mid-forties, thin, greasy hair, thrift hoodie, the usual mall rat. Not a threat. Just another civilian who needed the big strong cop to play hero.

“Show me,” Blake said, already stepping off at the bottom.

Eddie Voss led him deep into the quiet service corridors — past the dumpsters, past the humming freezers, into the narrow hallway where the old service elevator sat dead. No cameras this far back. Blake’s boots echoed.

“He was right here,” Eddie said, pointing at the closed doors. “I brought him a thermos of coffee while we waited for security. Kid’s probably panicking.”

Blake radioed it in once — “10-54, possible stuck elevator, back service, investigating” — then clipped the radio again. He tried the panel. Nothing. Eddie held out the thermos.

“Here, take a hit if you want. It’s still hot. I’ve been walking around with it forever.”

Blake took it without thinking. Arrogant. Polite. A few big swallows of the bitter coffee while he crouched to check the bottom seal. Eddie watched, quiet.

Five minutes later they were still “looking” for the non-existent brother. Blake wiped sweat from his forehead. The corridor felt warmer. His legs heavier. Cock starting to push against the front of his pants for no fucking reason. He frowned, rolled his thick shoulders.

“You feeling that heat?” he muttered.

Eddie just nodded. “Yeah, stuffy back here.”

Blake’s vision swam for half a second. He put a hand on the wall. “Shit… something’s—”

His radio crackled. He reached for it. Eddie was already close, “helping,” hand on Blake’s thick forearm like a concerned citizen. The moment Blake’s knees dipped a little, Eddie’s other hand snaked to the duty belt, pulled the cuffs free in one smooth motion learned from watching too many cops, and snapped the first bracelet around Blake’s right wrist.

Blake jerked. “What the fuck—”

Too slow. The drug was already thick in his blood — heavy limbs, foggy head, cock now fully hard and leaking a dark spot on his navy pants. Eddie twisted the arm behind Blake’s back, clicked the second cuff. Blake tried to throw an elbow, but his big body moved like it was underwater. Eddie shoved him face-first into the wall, knee in the back of a thick thigh, and finished the job. Both wrists locked tight behind that broad POLICE vest.

Blake snarled, tried to kick, but his legs were jelly. “You fucking drugged me—you skinny piece of shit—”

“Coffee,” Eddie said calmly, already dragging the heavy jock by the cuffs deeper into the corridor. “Special blend. You’re gonna stay nice and weak for a while. Strong enough to feel everything. Weak enough you can’t do shit about it.”

He kicked open a janitor’s storage room he’d already unlocked earlier — metal shelves, mop buckets, a scarred workbench, one flickering fluorescent. Door locked behind them. Eddie shoved Blake to his knees on the concrete. The big cop hit hard, vest scraping, thick thighs spread, cock tenting the front of his pants obscenely.

Eddie crouched in front of him, face calm.

“No gag yet, Officer. I want to hear every word. Start talking. Tell me how a straight football stud ends up on his knees for a mall rat.”

Blake spat. “Fuck you. I’m gonna—”

Eddie backhanded him once, open palm, just enough to rock the short hair. Then he unzipped his own jeans and pulled out a long, skinny cock already hard.

“Open.”

Blake clenched his jaw. Eddie pinched his nose shut with one hand, used the other to grip the short brown hair and hold his head still. Blake lasted maybe twenty seconds before he had to breathe. The moment his mouth opened Eddie pushed in — not all the way at first, just the head, letting Blake taste it, feel the weight on his tongue.

“That’s it. Suck. Or I leave you cuffed in here for the night shift to find with your pants down and my cum drying on your face.”

Blake’s blue eyes burned. He sucked. Reluctant, angry, but he sucked. Eddie fed him more, slow, until the head bumped the back of his throat. Blake gagged, thick neck flexing, spit running down his chin onto the vest. Eddie didn’t face-fuck him yet. He just held still and made the jock work for it — tongue, lips, the shame of that powerful body on its knees, hands locked useless behind his back, cock still throbbing untouched in his pants.

“Look at you,” Eddie murmured. “Badge still on. Muscle still there. And you’re sucking dick like you were born for it. Sarah know her boyfriend deepthroats strangers in mall basements?”

Blake tried to pull off. Eddie held him. “Keep going. Get it wet. You’re gonna need the spit.”

When Eddie finally pulled out, strings of saliva connected the cock to Blake’s swollen lips. He hauled the big cop up by the cuffs, spun him, and bent him over the workbench. Pants and briefs yanked down to mid-thigh in one hard pull. Thick, muscular ass exposed, heavy balls hanging, hard cock pointing straight down and dripping onto the concrete.

Eddie spat on the tight hole, rubbed the head of his cock up and down the crack, then pushed in slow.

Blake’s whole body went rigid. “Fuck—no—too big—I’m straight—”

“Your ass doesn’t care.” Eddie kept pushing until his skinny hips met those solid glutes. He held there, letting the jock feel every inch stretching him open. One hand braced on the small of Blake’s lower back, the other reached under and wrapped around the thick cock, stroking it once, twice, milking a thick bead of precum out.

Then he started fucking — deep, steady strokes, pulling almost all the way out so Blake felt the stretch every time, then burying it again. The POLICE vest rode up. Eddie shoved the navy shirt higher and raked his nails down Blake’s flexed lats and the deep groove of his lower back.

“Feel that? Straight jock prostate getting pounded. Your cock’s leaking like a faucet.”

He changed grip — one hand still stroking Blake’s cock, the other sliding up under the vest to twist a hard nipple. Blake grunted, thighs shaking, trying to close them. Eddie kicked them wider and kept thrusting.

After a few minutes he pulled out completely, spun Blake around, and shoved him onto his back on the dirty floor. Legs forced high and wide, cuffed arms trapped under him so his chest was forced up. Eddie hooked those powerful calves over his shoulders and drove back in balls-deep.

Now he could watch everything. The way Blake’s six-pack jumped with every thrust. The way the fat cock slapped against his own abs, still hard, still leaking. Eddie leaned down, sucked one thick nipple into his mouth, bit just hard enough to make the jock hiss, then switched to the other.

“Tell me you hate it,” Eddie said, voice low, hips never stopping. “Tell me while your ass milks my cock.”

“I fucking hate it—” Blake’s voice cracked as Eddie angled up and nailed his prostate dead-on. “Hate—ahhh—fuck—”

Eddie reached between them and squeezed Blake’s balls, rolling them in his palm while he fucked. “Hate it so much you’re about to cum again?”

Blake did — hard, no hands, thick ropes striping his own chest and the open vest. His ass clamped down so tight Eddie had to stop moving or cum himself. He waited it out, then kept going, slower, deeper, grinding.

He pulled out, manhandled the heavy body back up, and sat Blake down onto his cock reverse-style. Blake’s thick thighs spread, socks planted on the concrete (pants still tangled at his ankles), the POLICE vest the only thing left on his upper body. Eddie’s hands locked on those V-cut hips and made the jock bounce.

Slap of skin. Blake’s cock bobbing, flinging precum across his abs. Eddie reached around, pinched both nipples again, then dropped one hand to grip the base of Blake’s cock and squeeze every time he bottomed out.

“Ride it, football star. Show me how a straight cop milks a cock with that tight ass.”

Blake’s head hung forward, short hair damp with sweat. He bounced because the drug and the angle left him no choice. Every drop made his prostate light up. Eddie’s skinny fingers dug into the meat of his thighs hard enough to leave marks.

When Eddie finally felt himself getting close he stood, still buried deep, walked them both two steps to the wall, and fucked Blake standing — one of the jock’s thick legs hooked over his arm, the other foot barely touching the floor. Blake’s cuffed hands useless behind him, chest heaving against the cold concrete, ass getting wrecked from below.

Eddie came with a low groan, pumping thick loads deep into the straight hole. He stayed buried until he softened, then pulled out slow so Blake could feel the cum start to leak down his balls.

He turned the big cop around, pushed him back to his knees, and made him clean every inch with his tongue — still no gag, just the order and the threat of leaving him like this for someone else to find.

When it was done Eddie zipped up, unlocked the door, and looked down at the wrecked officer: vest open, pants at his ankles over the dark socks, ass dripping, cock soft and spent against his thigh, short hair a mess, eyes glassy with shame.

“Next time a loiterer asks for help, Officer Tanner… maybe keep walking.”

He left him exactly like that — cuffed, used, leaking, the word POLICE still loud across his back — and locked the door.

Blake stayed on his knees long after the drug started fading, thick thighs shaking, straight jock body thoroughly claimed, the taste of a nobody still thick on his tongue.

Blake Tanner was still on the cold concrete when the door unlocked again.

The residual drug left his big body heavy and slow. Wrists locked behind him in his own metal cuffs. Pants and shorts tangled around his thick ankles over the black socks. POLICE vest hanging open, chest bare and shiny with sweat. Cock soft and sticky against his thigh, ass still leaking the last load Eddie had pumped into him. He was starting to feel his strength crawl back when heavy boots stepped inside and the door clicked shut.

The black man who walked in was not Eddie.

Dez Williams. Six-three, dark-skinned, thick in the way street muscle is thick — heavy arms, solid gut under a white wifebeater, gold chain, baggy jeans sagging off his ass, black durag tied tight. The same n***a Blake had slammed face-first into a squad car last year, kneed in the ribs, called every name in the book while the cuffs bit. Dez had walked with a limp for two months. Never forgot.

He looked down at the half-naked white cop and grinned, gold tooth flashing.

“Yo… look at this shit. Eddie wasn’t lyin’. Badge boy all trussed up and used like a bitch already.”

Blake’s head snapped up. Recognition hit like a punch. “You… get the fuck out—”

Dez walked over slow, crouched, and grabbed a fistful of the short brown hair, yanking Blake’s face up.

“Nah. You remember me, Officer Tanner? Last summer. You had me on the hood, knee in my back, talkin’ all that pig shit. Said I was just another dirty n***a. Remember that?”

Blake tried to surge up. The cuffs and the leftover drug made it pathetic. Dez just shoved him back down on his ass.

“Eddie texted me pics. Said you was left here free for the taking. Paid him two hundred cash for the key. Now I get to finish what that skinny bitch started.”

Dez stood, unbuckled his belt, and pushed the baggy jeans and boxers down just enough. His cock swung out thick, dark, veiny, already half-hard and heavy. Nine inches of pure street meat.

“Open that mouth, white boy. You owe me.”

Blake clamped his jaw. Dez didn’t force it with cartoon violence. He simply stepped on Blake’s thick thigh with one heavy boot, pinning him, and waited. The residual weakness plus the cuffs made fighting useless. After thirty long seconds of pure hate in Blake’s eyes, Dez slapped him once across the face — open hand, loud, enough to rock his head.

“Open. Or I leave you here for the cleaning crew with my name written in permanent marker on that pretty jock face.”

Blake’s lips parted. Dez fed him the head first, slow, letting the white cop taste the salt and heat. Then he pushed deeper, one hand locked in the short hair, the other resting heavy on top of Blake’s skull.

“That’s it. Suck it like you mean it. Look at them blue eyes waterin’. Big strong football n***a on his knees for the same black dick he used to cuff. Swallow it.”

Blake gagged when the thick head punched the back of his throat. Spit flooded out around the dark shaft, running down his chin onto the open vest. Dez didn’t jackhammer yet. He made the jock work — tongue flat, lips stretched, throat opening and closing while those powerful shoulders shook with every gag. The sound was wet and ugly. Real.

When Dez finally pulled out, Blake’s lips were swollen, strings of spit connecting them to the black cock.

“Good bitch. Now turn around. Face down, ass up. I’m finna see how much that white hole can take.”

He hauled Blake up by the cuffs, spun him, and shoved him chest-down over the same scarred workbench. Pants still around the ankles. Thick, muscular ass presented. Dez spat a thick wad right on the used hole, rubbed the fat head up and down the crack, then pushed in without ceremony.

Blake’s whole body locked. A raw, broken sound tore out of him.

“Fuuuuck—too thick—”

“Yeah it is.” Dez kept sinking until his heavy balls pressed against Blake’s. He held there, grinding, letting the white jock feel every inch of black cock stretching him wider than Eddie ever had. One big hand planted on the small of Blake’s lower back, pinning him. The other reached under and grabbed the soft cock, stroking it back to full hardness while he started to fuck.

Hard, deep strokes from the jump. The wet slap of dark hips against pale muscle filled the room. Dez talked the whole time, hood and mean.

“This that same ass that used to walk around the station like it owned shit. Now look at it. Stretchin’ around black dick. You feel that, pig? That’s payback. Every stroke for that night you had me on the ground.”

He changed angles, fucking upward so every thrust dragged across Blake’s prostate. Blake’s thick cock jumped in Dez’s fist and started leaking again. Dez squeezed the balls hard enough to make the jock yelp, then twisted both nipples with his free hand until Blake was shaking.

“Say you sorry for last year.”

“Fuck you—”

Dez pulled almost all the way out and slammed home so hard the workbench jumped. “Say it.”

Blake’s voice cracked. “I—I’m sorry—”

“Louder. And call me sir while you do it.”

“I’m sorry… sir…”

Dez laughed low and kept railing him. After a few minutes he pulled out, flipped the heavy body onto his back on the floor like it cost nothing, and shoved those powerful legs high and wide. Mating press. Knees almost to Blake’s ears. The black cock punched back in deep and stayed there while Dez leaned down, face close.

“Look at me while I breed this pig hole.”

He fucked him like that — long, punishing strokes, watching every expression on the jock’s face. One hand around Blake’s throat just enough to control, the other pinching and twisting the fat pink nipples. Blake’s cock slapped wetly between their abs, untouched, still hard, still dripping.

“You feel that thick black dick rearrangin’ your guts? That’s the last thing you ever gonna feel, white boy. By the time I’m done you ain’t even gonna remember your own name.”

Blake came first — hard, messy, striping his own chest and the open POLICE vest. His ass clamped down like a fist. Dez just kept fucking through the orgasm, grinding deep until Blake was whimpering.

He pulled out, manhandled the big jock back onto his knees facing him, and sat down on an overturned crate. Then he made Blake straddle him reverse, lowering that used hole back onto the black cock. Blake’s thick thighs shook as he sank down. Dez’s hands locked on his hips and bounced him.

“Ride it. Show me how a straight white jock rides black dick. Eyes open. Look at the wall and tell me what you are now.”

Blake’s voice was wrecked. “I’m… a bitch… for black cock… sir…”

“Louder.”

“I’m a white jock bitch for black thugs… please… fuck my ass…”

Dez reached around, gripped Blake’s cock, and edged him cruelly while he bounced — stroking just enough to keep him hard, squeezing the head every time Blake got close. He made him cum a second time like that, dry and painful, while the black cock kept splitting him open.

When Dez finally stood, still buried deep, he walked them both to the wall and fucked Blake standing — one thick leg hooked over his arm, the other foot barely on the ground. Full control. He bit the side of Blake’s neck hard enough to leave a mark, then growled in his ear.

“You ain’t Officer Tanner no more. You just a hole. Say it.”

Blake’s head hung. Voice gone flat. Empty.

“I’m just a hole… sir…”

Dez came with a deep groan, flooding the already used ass with thick black cum. He stayed locked deep until every pulse was done, then pulled out slow so Blake could feel it start leaking down his balls and the insides of his thick thighs.

He turned the jock around one last time, pushed him back to his knees, and made him clean the black cock with his tongue — every drop, every inch, while the metal cuffs kept his big arms useless behind him.

When it was finished Dez pulled his jeans up, looked down at the completely broken white cop — vest open, shorts around his ankles over the socks, ass dripping, eyes empty, the arrogant jock who used to slam people against cars gone forever.

“Next time you see a black man on the street, Officer… you better drop to your knees and ask if he needs his dick sucked. ‘Cause you belong to us now.”

He left Blake exactly like that — cuffed, leaking, pride wiped clean — and locked the door behind him.

The jock stayed on his knees long after the footsteps faded, thick thighs shaking, the last pieces of who he used to be dripping out of his ruined hole onto the concrete floor.

[jockonline]

[herotozerooooo]

The sky over the hills was bleeding into night, the last streaks of orange and violet still smeared across the horizon above the infinity pool. Ryan stood exactly where the photo had caught him—back to the view, black shorts riding low on his hips, every inch of his 24-year-old body carved from years of Division I football. Broad shoulders, thick lats that flared wide then tapered hard into a tight waist, arms swollen from the evening’s swim, the deep dimples above his round, powerful ass catching the last light. His short faded haircut was damp, water still tracing the deep groove of his spine. He felt like a god. Megan was out of town, the house was empty, and tomorrow he’d be balls-deep in her again like the alpha he was.

He grabbed the protein shake he’d left on the low table, took three long pulls. It tasted chalky, off, but he finished it anyway and dropped onto the lounge chair, legs spread, scrolling his phone. Ten minutes later the world started tilting.

His arms felt heavy. His thighs wouldn’t lock. When he tried to stand his knees buckled and he sat back down hard.

“Fuck… what the—”

From the dark line of banana plants and palms at the edge of the property, a soft, wheezy chuckle.

Harold stepped into the glow of the pool lights. Forty-two, balding, soft gut hanging over the waistband of his cheap shorts, the same pudgy maintenance guy who’d been “fixing” pools in the neighborhood for years. He’d been watching Ryan for months—every time the jock stripped by the water, every time those thick thighs flexed climbing out. Tonight the parents were gone. Ryan was alone. And Harold had come prepared.

“Easy, big guy,” Harold said, voice low and excited. “That shake’s got a little something extra in it. You’re not going anywhere.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. He tried to lunge, but his body moved like it was underwater. Harold was on him in seconds—not with brute strength, but with the simple advantage of a man who could still walk straight while Ryan’s muscles had turned to warm lead. A zip tie cinched tight around Ryan’s wrists behind his back before the jock could even swing. Another around his ankles. Harold used the rope he’d brought to lash the bound wrists to the metal frame of the lounge chair, forcing Ryan’s chest forward, ass slightly lifted.

“Get the fuck off me, you fat piece of shit!” Ryan snarled, voice slurred. He bucked hard, the muscles in his back and shoulders rolling, but the drug had stolen his power. Every flex just made the ties bite deeper.

Harold knelt behind him, breathing heavy, and yanked the black shorts down in one rough tug. Ryan’s thick cock and heavy balls spilled out, the tight pink hole between his carved cheeks clenching in the night air.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” Harold breathed, spreading the firm globes with both hands. “All that muscle and this pretty little straight-boy hole is just sitting here waiting.”

Ryan twisted, face burning. “Don’t you fucking touch me— I’m not— I have a girlfriend—”

Harold leaned in and dragged his tongue straight up the crack, then spit directly on the hole and shoved two thick fingers in without warning.

Ryan’s whole body jolted. “Ahh—fuck! Stop—get out—”

The fingers twisted, scissored, found the prostate and rubbed hard. Ryan’s cock twitched, thickened, a fat bead of pre-cum already dripping from the slit onto the lounge cushion.

Harold laughed, low and nasty. “There it is. Straight jocks always get hard when someone plays with their bitch button.”

He stood, unzipped, and hauled out his cock—thick, veiny, already leaking. He grabbed a fistful of Ryan’s short hair and dragged the jock’s head sideways.

“Open.”

Ryan clamped his jaw shut. Harold pinched his nose shut until the football player had to gasp, then shoved the fat head past his lips and straight into his throat.

Ryan gagged violently, throat convulsing around the intrusion. Harold didn’t give him time to adjust—he just started fucking the jock’s face in short, brutal strokes, balls slapping against Ryan’s chin, spit and throat-slime pouring down onto the defined chest.

“That’s it, choke on it. Bet Megan never made you gag like this.” Harold’s gut pressed against Ryan’s forehead every time he bottomed out. “Look at those eyes watering. You’re prettier when you’re drooling on cock.”

Ryan’s throat made wet, obscene sounds. His bound arms flexed uselessly. Tears streaked down his face. When Harold finally pulled out, a thick string of spit connected Ryan’s swollen lips to the glistening head.

Harold moved behind him again, untied the ankles just long enough to kick Ryan’s legs wider, then retied them spread to the chair legs. He lined up and drove his cock straight into Ryan’s spit-slick hole in one long thrust.

Ryan screamed.

The stretch was brutal. Harold’s cock was thicker than anything Ryan had ever taken, and the drug had left every nerve raw. Harold bottomed out and stayed there, grinding deep, letting the jock feel every inch.

“Fuck, you’re tight. This ass was made for cock.” He pulled back and started pounding—hard, steady, the sound of skin slapping muscle echoing across the water. Every thrust made Ryan’s heavy balls swing and his own traitorous cock bounce, now fully hard and leaking steadily onto the cushion.

Harold reached under and grabbed those swinging balls, squeezing just hard enough to make Ryan yelp.

“Tell me how it feels, quarterback.”

“F-fuck you—get off—ahh!”

Harold slapped the round ass hard, then reached around and started jerking Ryan’s cock in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation—prostate getting hammered while his cock was stroked—made Ryan’s hips jerk despite himself.

“Listen to you moan like a bitch. Your girlfriend ever make your cock leak this much while she fucked you? No? That’s because you needed a real man to show you what this body is for.”

He pulled out suddenly, flipped Ryan onto his back with surprising efficiency (the drug and the ties made the powerful athlete easy to manhandle), and retied his wrists above his head to the top of the lounge. Then he shoved Ryan’s thick legs up and back, folding the jock nearly in half, ankles by his own ears. The position left Ryan completely exposed—hole winking, cock lying heavy against his abs, balls drawn up tight.

Harold pushed back in and started fucking him in this brutal piledriver angle, every downward stroke punching straight into Ryan’s guts.

“Look at me while I rape you,” Harold ordered, grabbing Ryan’s face. “Eyes open, jock.”

Ryan tried to turn away. Harold twisted one of his sensitive nipples hard, then the other, rolling the stiff peaks between his fingers until Ryan gasped and his cock jumped.

“Say it. Say ‘Fuck my straight ass.’”

Ryan shook his head, jaw clenched. Harold slapped his balls—sharp, stinging. Ryan shouted.

“Say it!”

“F-fuck—fuck my straight ass!” Ryan choked out, voice cracking with humiliation.

“Louder.”

“Fuck my straight ass! Please—just—fuck—”

Harold rewarded him by pounding harder, the new angle making Ryan’s cock drool a constant stream onto his own abs. Harold leaned down and sucked one nipple into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make Ryan cry out, then switched to the other.

“These big jock tits are sensitive, huh? Bet you never let Megan play with them like this.”

He kept the legs pinned high and reached between them to slap Ryan’s cock back and forth while he fucked. The combination of pain and prostate pressure was too much. Ryan’s balls drew up tight.

“No—no, I’m not—fuck—I’m gonna—”

His cock erupted untouched, thick ropes of cum shooting across his own carved abs and chest, some even hitting his chin. His ass clamped down rhythmically around Harold’s cock like it was trying to milk him.

Harold laughed, breathless. “There it is. Straight boy just came from getting his ass raped. Look at all that cum. Pathetic.”

He didn’t stop. He kept fucking through Ryan’s orgasm, using the clenching hole, then pulled out and flipped Ryan again—this time onto his stomach on the wide lounge, wrists still bound above his head. He straddled the back of Ryan’s thick thighs, shoved back in, and started jackhammering in prone bone, one hand fisted in the short hair, yanking Ryan’s head back.

“Gonna breed this hole. Gonna fill the big football star full of cum while he’s still shaking from his own load.”

Ryan was beyond coherent protests now—just grunts and broken moans as Harold used his body like a toy. Harold reached under again, found Ryan’s still-hard cock, and stroked it roughly while he thrust.

“Gonna make you cum again, bitch. Show me how much your straight ass loves this.”

Ryan shook his head, but his body betrayed him again—another weaker orgasm ripped through him, cock pulsing in Harold’s fist, ass fluttering. Harold groaned at the feeling and buried himself to the hilt, pumping rope after rope of hot cum deep into Ryan’s guts.

He stayed inside for a long minute, grinding, letting every drop settle. Then he pulled out, moved around to Ryan’s head, and shoved his cum-smeared cock between the jock’s lips.

“Clean it. Taste your own ass and my load.”

Ryan tried to turn away. Harold pinched his nose again. When Ryan opened to breathe, Harold pushed in and made him suck the softening cock clean, forcing him to swallow the bitter mix.

Only when it was glistening and spit-shined did Harold pull out. He wiped his cock on Ryan’s cheek, then stood back to admire his work.

Ryan lay there—wrists still zip-tied, legs spread, hole gaping and leaking cum down his taint, his own loads drying on his abs and chest, nipples red and swollen, short hair messy, face streaked with tears and spit. The arrogant football god reduced to a well-used, cum-drunk mess by the pudgy stalker who’d been watching him for months.

Harold patted one firm, trembling cheek.

“Rest up, Ryan. That drug’s gonna keep you weak for a few more hours. I might come back for round two before the sun’s up. Or maybe I’ll just leave you here like this for the morning gardener to find. Your choice how this ends.”

He zipped up, gathered his things, and disappeared back into the dark line of plants, leaving Ryan bound, leaking, and broken beside the glowing turquoise water under the stars.

The only sound was the soft lap of the pool and Ryan’s ragged, humiliated breathing.

Weeks after the pool.

Ryan’s world had cracked open and never closed. The memory of Harold’s fat cock splitting him open by the turquoise water lived under his skin like a second pulse. He still told himself he was straight. Still texted Megan. Still lifted, still walked like the campus alpha. But at night, when the house went quiet, the laptop came out.

He hunted the exact flavor that ruined him: big muscular jocks, straight, arrogant, getting their holes taken by ugly, older, weaker men. He watched them beg, cry, then moan. He watched thick cocks destroy tight asses while the victims’ own cocks leaked and shot against their will. And every time he came, harder than he ever had with Megan, he whispered the same broken mantra under his breath:

“I’m not… I’m not…”

His cock didn’t care.

Tonight the parents were gone for the weekend. The big house was empty except for him and the one person he’d never wanted under the same roof: Mateo. The scrawny, non-white adopted step-brother. Nineteen. Skinny arms, narrow shoulders, soft belly, glasses always sliding down his nose. Half-Filipino, quiet, weird, the kid who lived in his room with games and comics while Ryan ruled the weight room and the party circuit. Ryan had never liked him. Mateo didn’t fit the brand. Too soft. Too brown. Too fucking quiet. Ryan had spent years treating him like furniture.

Mateo had noticed the change.

He’d heard the muffled porn through the walls. Seen the way Ryan’s eyes went distant. Caught the browser history once when Ryan left the laptop open. Tonight Mateo decided the jock who’d always looked through him was going to look at him.

Ryan was in his bedroom, door half-open, headphones on, black shorts shoved down around his thick thighs. The laptop screen cast blue light over his ripped torso as he stroked his already-hard cock to a video of a football player getting his face ruined and his ass bred by three older men. Ryan’s free hand was behind his own head, fingers digging into the short fade, hips rolling up into his fist like he was already getting fucked.

He never heard the soft footsteps.

Mateo moved like a shadow, zip-ties and a short length of soft rope already in his hands (he’d been planning this for days). Ryan’s eyes were half-lidded, lost in the porn, lips parted, a soft “no… fuck… please…” leaking out as he edged. Mateo struck the second Ryan’s cock twitched and a thick rope of pre-cum spilled over his knuckles.

One sharp yank and Ryan’s wrists were yanked above his head and zip-tied hard to the wooden headboard. Another two zip-ties locked his ankles to the footboard posts, spreading those powerful football thighs wide. Ryan’s eyes flew open, headphones ripped off, the porn still blaring the wet sounds of a jock getting destroyed.

“What the fuck—Mateo?! Get these off me you little freak—!”

Mateo didn’t answer with words at first. He just climbed onto the bed between Ryan’s spread legs, scrawny body pale against the jock’s tanned muscle, and slapped Ryan’s heavy cock hard enough to make it bounce and slap against those cut abs.

“I know what you’ve been watching, big brother.” Mateo’s voice was soft, almost gentle, but his eyes were hungry. “I know what Harold did to you by the pool. I know you jerk off to it every night and cum harder than you ever did fucking your pretty girlfriend.”

Ryan thrashed, the bedframe creaking under pure muscle, but the zip-ties held and the leftover haze from the porn and the constant edging left him just a fraction too slow, too raw. Mateo straddled his chest, knees pinning the thick arms, and shoved his own cock—average but rock-hard and already leaking—straight into Ryan’s shocked mouth.

“Suck it. The weird adopted kid you never wanted is going to use both your holes tonight.”

Ryan tried to clamp his jaw. Mateo pinched his nostrils shut and waited. The second Ryan gasped, Mateo slid all the way in, the head punching into the soft back of the jock’s throat. He started fucking that throat in short, deep strokes, balls resting on Ryan’s chin, the wet choking sounds mixing with the porn still playing on the laptop.

“Look at you,” Mateo panted, one hand fisted in the short hair, the other pinching and twisting Ryan’s left nipple until the hard peak went red. “The big straight jock choking on step-brother cock. Your brand is fucking over.”

He pulled out, strings of thick spit connecting Ryan’s swollen lips to the shiny cockhead, then shifted down, spreading Ryan’s muscular thighs even wider. Mateo dove in face-first, tongue flattening over the tight pink hole and rimming it wet and filthy, licking deep, sucking, drooling spit into the crack while his thin fingers dug into the hard flesh of Ryan’s inner thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He bit the soft skin of the taint, then sucked one heavy ball into his mouth, rolling it while Ryan cursed and bucked.

“Fuck—stop—I’m not—Mateo you fucking—ahh!”

Mateo shoved two spit-slick fingers into the hole without mercy, curling them straight onto the prostate and rubbing hard while he kept sucking the balls. Ryan’s cock jumped and slapped wetly against his own abs, another fat drip of pre-cum landing on the deep cut of his six-pack.

“Your body already knows,” Mateo whispered against the hole. “Harold broke it open. Now I’m going to finish what he started.”

He lined up, spit once more, and pushed the head of his cock against the slick entrance. Ryan’s eyes went wide with pure denial.

“Don’t you fucking dare—I’m your—I’m straight—Mateo I swear to God—”

Mateo slammed home in one long thrust, burying every inch inside the tight, hot ass that had only ever been claimed once before. Ryan’s shout was raw. Mateo didn’t give him time to adjust. He started pounding immediately—hard, fast, the scrawny hips snapping, the sound of his thinner body slapping against the thick muscle of Ryan’s ass filling the room. One hand stayed twisted in the short hair, yanking Ryan’s head back so he had to watch the porn still playing. The other hand reached up and tortured the free nipple, pinching, twisting, slapping the hard pec.

“Watch it. Watch that jock on screen get destroyed while your step-brother destroys you. Say it—say ‘fuck my straight jock hole, little brother.’”

Ryan shook his head, teeth gritted, tears of rage and shame already cutting tracks down his temples. Mateo pulled almost all the way out, then drove back in at a sharper angle that punched the prostate every single time. At the same time he slapped Ryan’s leaking cock hard, then squeezed the balls just enough to make the big athlete’s whole body seize.

“Say it or I stop and leave you like this—tied, open, hard, and alone with the porn.”

The threat of unfinished ruin broke something. Ryan’s voice cracked.

“…fuck my… straight jock hole… little brother…”

Mateo grinned and really started using him.

He pulled out, flipped Ryan onto his side (the zip-ties on the ankles and wrists forced the powerful body into a twisted, helpless spoon position), and shoved back into the hole from behind. One thin arm locked under Ryan’s thick thigh, hauling the leg high so the muscular hole stayed open and exposed. Mateo fucked him in that tight spoon, mouth open against the back of Ryan’s neck, teeth scraping the short hairline, free hand reaching around to stroke the jock’s cock in the same rhythm.

“This is the body you used to flex in my face,” Mateo panted against his ear. “The one that walked past me like I was nothing. Now it’s just a set of holes for the weird non-white kid you hated. Feel how deep I am? Feel your straight cock throbbing in my hand while I breed you?”

Ryan’s answer was a broken moan as his cock pulsed and spilled another thick bead of pre-cum over Mateo’s fingers.

Mateo changed it again. He cut the ankle ties with a small blade (careful, no blood, just free), then forced Ryan onto all fours on the mattress, wrists still locked to the headboard so the jock’s chest was forced low, ass high, face in the pillows. Classic doggy, but deeper this time. Mateo mounted him, thin thighs bracketing the thick ones, and drove in so hard the bed slammed the wall. He reached under and slapped Ryan’s swinging cock and balls with every thrust, then grabbed both heavy orbs and tugged them back while he pounded.

“You’re going to cum for me. Just like you did for Harold. Hands-free. From your ass.”

Ryan tried to fight the rising pressure. His powerful back flexed, the deep groove of his spine glistening with sweat, the round cheeks of his ass rippling every time Mateo’s hips crashed into them. Mateo spit on the hole again, watched it stretch around his cock, then leaned forward and bit down on the thick meat of Ryan’s trapezius while his free hand slid up and twisted both nipples at once.

The dual assault—prostate, balls, nipples—snapped the last thread of Ryan’s control. His cock jerked hard between his thighs and erupted without a single touch, thick white ropes painting the sheets and his own abs while his ass clamped down in rhythmic waves around Mateo’s cock.

Mateo laughed, breathless and vicious.

“There it is. Straight big brother just came on his step-brother’s cock. Again.”

He didn’t stop. He kept fucking the oversensitive hole through the orgasm, then pulled out, spun around on the bed so he was lying on his back, and yanked Ryan’s bound body on top of him in reverse—ass facing Mateo’s face, cock and balls hanging heavy over Mateo’s chest. He forced Ryan’s hole back down onto his cock, impaling the jock in reverse cowgirl. Then he grabbed the thick thighs and started thrusting up hard while his tongue licked and sucked at Ryan’s still-leaking balls and the base of the cock.

“Ride it. Move those jock hips. Show me how much you need it.”

Ryan’s bound wrists kept him from bracing properly. Every upward thrust forced him to take it deeper. Mateo’s tongue lapped at the stretched rim where his own cock was buried, tasting the mix of spit and the jock’s insides. He reached up with both hands and raked his nails down the hard planes of Ryan’s chest, then pinched the nipples again, hard, while he kept fucking up into the ruined hole.

When Mateo felt himself getting close he flipped them one last time—Ryan on his back again, legs shoved high and wide until the thick thighs almost touched the headboard, ankles over Mateo’s scrawny shoulders. Full mating press. Mateo folded the bigger body in half and pounded straight down, the angle brutal, every stroke bottoming out. One hand closed lightly around Ryan’s throat (just enough pressure to make the jock’s vision sparkle), the other slapped and stroked the still-hard cock.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out.”

Ryan obeyed without thinking. Mateo spat a thick wad of spit straight onto the waiting tongue, then shoved three fingers into Ryan’s mouth, fucking his throat with them while his cock destroyed the ass.

“Swallow. Then tell me who owns this body now.”

Ryan’s voice was wrecked, raw, tears and spit and shame all mixed together.

“…you do… the… the step-brother I hated… owns it…”

Mateo’s hips stuttered. He buried himself to the root and came hard, pumping thick hot loads deep into Ryan’s guts, grinding every drop in while he kept the jock’s legs pinned and his throat fingered. When the last pulse faded he stayed inside, soft but still plugged, and slowly stroked Ryan’s cock until the football player spilled a weaker, shamed second load all over his own heaving abs and chest.

Mateo finally pulled out. Cum immediately leaked from the loose, used hole and ran down over Ryan’s balls. He climbed up, knelt over Ryan’s face, and forced the cum-smeared cock between the jock’s lips.

“Clean me. Taste what I just put inside you.”

Ryan sucked without being told twice, tongue working, throat taking it, the bitter mix of his own ass and Mateo’s load sliding down. When Mateo was clean he sat back, looking down at the ruined masterpiece: the big straight jock he’d always wanted, wrists still zip-tied, legs still spread, hole open and leaking, cock soft and spent against his cum-streaked abs, face shiny with spit and tears.

Mateo leaned down and kissed the corner of Ryan’s mouth, almost tender.

“This is just the start, big brother. Harold broke your mind. I’m going to keep it. Every night the parents are gone… every time you open that porn… I’ll be right here. And you’re going to keep watching. And you’re going to keep cumming. For me.”

He left Ryan tied exactly like that, the laptop still playing the porn on loop, the wet sounds of other jocks getting destroyed filling the dark room while Ryan’s own used body cooled and leaked under the blue light.

The arrogant brand was gone. Only the broken, owned hole remained.

[jocks--in--socks]

[herotozerooooo]

Tyler Reynolds was 21, a starting midfielder on the university soccer team, and he knew exactly how good he looked. Six-foot-one, 195 pounds of dense, functional muscle from endless sprints and gym sessions. Short brown hair, sharp jaw, cocky blue eyes. Today he was still in his post-practice gear: the tight black Nike compression long-sleeve that clung to every ridge of his pecs and abs, the matching black shorts that hugged his round, powerful ass and outlined his heavy straight cock and balls, and those dark blue knee-high socks with the white speckles that made his thick calves and thighs look even more obscene.

He had the apartment to himself. Megan was out of town for the weekend. Perfect time to take some new thirst-trap shots for his private story. He set his phone on the coffee table, timer running, and struck the exact pose he wanted: left foot up on the gray upholstered stool, right leg extended along the couch, body angled to show off his V-taper. He flexed his right bicep hard, veins popping, left hand tugging the sleeve higher on his forearm, looking straight at the lens with that arrogant little smirk.

Click.

He was checking the shot, already planning the caption, when the front door clicked open behind him.

Tyler spun. “What the fuck—”

Mr. Hargrove stepped inside and locked the door. The pudgy 51-year-old building manager filled the doorway, big gut straining his stained gray t-shirt, sweatpants riding low under the heavy overhang of belly. Greasy thinning hair, thick stubble, the permanent smell of cheap cologne and cigarettes.

“Maintenance,” Lenny said flatly. “Got a complaint about a leak downstairs. Need to check your lines.”

“Bullshit. I didn’t call anyone. Get the fuck out, I’m busy.”

Lenny didn’t leave. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black stun gun. The crackle of electricity cut through the air.

Tyler’s eyes went wide. “Whoa—hey—put that shit away—”

Lenny moved faster than a man his size should. He closed the distance while Tyler was still processing, jammed the prongs against the left side of Tyler’s obliques right under the compression shirt, and fired.

Tyler’s entire muscular body locked up in a violent, twitching spasm. A strangled sound tore out of him. His powerful legs gave out and he dropped hard to the hardwood, convulsing, phone skittering across the floor. Every muscle fired uncontrollably—pecs, abs, thick thighs, even his cock and balls jumped from the current.

Lenny was already on him. He rolled the twitching jock onto his stomach, yanked both thick arms behind his back, and cinched zip ties tight around Tyler’s wrists, then just above the elbows, pulling the powerful shoulders back hard. Another zip tie went around the socked ankles, binding them together. Tyler was still jerking and groaning when Lenny grabbed one of the dirty soccer socks from the gym bag by the couch, stuffed it deep into Tyler’s mouth, and wrapped duct tape around his head to hold it in place.

“Easy, big guy,” Lenny panted, already sweating. “Just let it wear off.”

Tyler’s eyes were wild above the gag, fury and panic mixing as the aftershocks still rippled through his body. He tried to thrash, to roll, to use those soccer-player legs, but the binds held and his coordination was shot.

Lenny stood over him, breathing heavy, staring down at the bound, half-naked athlete on the floor. The compression shirt had ridden up, showing a strip of tanned abs. The shorts were still on but riding low. Those long blue socks made the trapped legs look even more powerful and ridiculous at the same time.

“Been watching you for months, Reynolds,” Lenny said, voice low and thick. “Flexing in the hallway. Bringing that little girlfriend here and fucking her loud enough the whole floor hears. Parading this body around like it’s untouchable.” He knelt, pudgy hands immediately groping—squeezing the thick thighs through the socks, spreading the round ass cheeks through the shorts, feeling the heat and muscle. “Time to find out how that straight jock hole feels.”

Tyler bucked hard, muffled curses exploding into the gag. Lenny just laughed and yanked the black shorts down roughly, peeling them off over the bound ankles. Tyler’s cock and balls spilled out—thick, heavy, still soft but already twitching from the residual shock and adrenaline. His ass was perfect: two firm, round globes, pale where the tan line cut off, the crack tight and untouched.

Lenny spread him open with both thumbs and dragged his tongue straight over the pink hole.

Tyler jerked like he’d been shocked again, a muffled shout into the gag. Lenny licked and spit and pushed his tongue inside, getting the straight jock’s virgin ring sloppy and wet, then worked two thick fingers in, scissoring roughly, stretching him while Tyler thrashed and clenched.

After a few minutes Lenny stood, dropped his sweatpants, and let his cock swing free—thick, veiny, seven solid inches with a fat head already leaking. He grabbed Tyler by the bound arms and hair, hauling the heavy, muscular body up onto his knees in front of the couch.

He ripped the tape and sock out.

Tyler immediately started yelling. “You crazy fat fuck—let me go right now or I swear to God—”

Lenny slapped his wet cock across Tyler’s face, smearing pre over the cheek and lips. “Open.”

Tyler clamped his mouth shut. Lenny pinched his nose shut. When Tyler gasped for air, Lenny shoved the fat cock straight in.

“Ghhk—!”

Tyler gagged hard as the thick meat hit the back of his throat. Lenny held his head with both hands and started face-fucking him in short, brutal thrusts, using the bound arms like handles. Spit and pre-cum poured down Tyler’s chin onto the compression shirt. Every time Lenny pushed deep, Tyler’s throat visibly bulged around the girth.

“Fuck yeah… that straight jock throat taking cock,” Lenny groaned. “Never had anything this big in there, have you? Your girlfriend doesn’t even know how to suck like this.”

He held Tyler down on it until the soccer player’s face turned red and his eyes watered, then pulled back just enough for Tyler to suck in air before driving in again. He made Tyler lick and suck his heavy balls too, pressing the jock’s face into the sweaty, musky crotch while Tyler coughed and glared up at him with pure hatred.

After several minutes of throat abuse, Lenny hauled Tyler up by the hair and the zip-tied arms, manhandling the struggling athlete over to the gray couch. He bent him over the armrest—chest down on the cushions, ass up, bound legs still together, wrists pinned behind his back. The pose was almost exactly like the one Tyler had been posing in for his photos, only now he was half-naked, gagged again, and about to get fucked.

Lenny kicked Tyler’s bound ankles as wide as they would go, spread the firm cheeks, and pressed the fat head of his cock against the spit-slick hole.

He pushed.

Tyler screamed into the gag as the thick cock forced its way inside. The burn was immediate and intense—his muscular ring stretching wider than it ever had, the fat head popping past the tight muscle and sinking deep. Lenny didn’t stop until his heavy balls were pressed flush against Tyler’s taint and his big gut was resting on the small of Tyler’s back.

“Fuuuuck, that’s tight,” Lenny hissed. “Virgin jock ass gripping me like a vice.”

He started thrusting—long, deep strokes that made Tyler’s whole body jolt against the couch. The wet, filthy sound of cock sliding in and out of stretched hole filled the room. Lenny reached under and found Tyler’s cock—now rock hard, eight thick inches of straight jock meat leaking steadily onto the couch cushions.

“Look at that,” Lenny laughed, stroking it in time with his thrusts. “Your cock’s drooling all over the place. Getting fucked in the ass turns you on, doesn’t it, straight boy?”

Tyler shook his head violently, muffled denials pouring out, but his body betrayed him—his cock twitched and jumped every time Lenny’s dick dragged over his prostate. Lenny varied the angle, short shallow strokes then sudden deep slams that made Tyler’s muscular thighs tremble in the long socks. He slapped the round ass hard, over and over, leaving bright red handprints on the pale skin while he pounded.

He yanked the compression shirt up to Tyler’s armpits, exposing the ripped back and lats, then reached around to grab and twist both sensitive nipples at once.

Tyler bucked and wailed into the gag, the sharp pain shooting straight to his cock. Lenny kept abusing them—pinching, pulling, rolling the hard nubs between his fingers while he fucked deeper and harder.

After a while he pulled out, leaving Tyler’s hole gaping and twitching, cum and spit leaking down the taint. He flipped the bound jock onto his back on the couch, grabbed both socked ankles, and folded Tyler’s powerful legs back until his knees were nearly at his chest, ass completely exposed and presented.

Lenny climbed on top, his big soft belly mashing down against Tyler’s hard abs, and drove his cock back in to the hilt in one thrust.

This angle was brutal. He could look straight down into Tyler’s furious, humiliated face while he fucked him. He leaned in and sucked one nipple into his mouth, biting it hard, while his hand twisted the other. His gut slapped against Tyler’s cock with every thrust, smearing the leaking pre-cum between their bodies.

“Eyes on me,” Lenny ordered, gripping Tyler’s throat with one pudgy hand—not choking, just controlling, forcing the jock to look at him while he got bred. “Watch me use this straight ass.”

He varied it again—slow, grinding circles that stirred his cock deep inside, then sudden jackhammer thrusts that made the couch creak and Tyler’s bound body jolt. Every time Tyler’s cock twitched or leaked, Lenny laughed and gave it a sharp slap.

Finally he dragged Tyler off the couch entirely and down onto the hardwood floor on his stomach. He lay his full weight on top of the muscular jock—belly spreading across Tyler’s lower back, chest pinning the bound arms—and slid back inside in prone bone.

This was the deepest yet. Short, powerful thrusts that ground his pelvis against Tyler’s firm ass, his heavy body completely dominating the pinned athlete beneath him. He bit the back of Tyler’s neck and shoulders, sucked marks into the sweaty skin, licked the salt from between his shoulder blades.

“Feel that weight on you?” Lenny panted against his ear. “Fat old landlord pinning you down and breeding your jock hole. You’re nothing but a warm, tight sleeve now.”

His hand snaked under Tyler’s hip, found the leaking cock, and started stroking it fast and rough while he kept fucking. Tyler’s breathing turned ragged through the gag. His muscular body tensed, thighs shaking in the long socks, ass clenching rhythmically around the cock inside him.

“That’s it,” Lenny growled. “Cum for me. Cum from getting your straight ass raped.”

Tyler’s orgasm hit like a truck. His cock jerked in Lenny’s fist and erupted, shooting thick ropes across the floor and his own abs. His hole spasmed and fluttered around Lenny’s cock, milking it. Tyler made a broken, humiliated sound into the gag as his body betrayed him completely.

Lenny didn’t stop. He fucked him straight through it, overstimulating the sensitive prostate until Tyler was whimpering and twitching. Then he buried himself to the balls and came with a long groan, flooding Tyler’s guts with hot, thick cum—pulse after pulse until it leaked out around his cock and down Tyler’s taint.

He stayed there for a long minute, panting, his full weight still pinning the trembling jock to the floor.

Eventually he pulled out. Cum poured from Tyler’s stretched, reddened hole. Lenny moved up, straddled the bound chest, and pulled the gag out.

“Clean it.”

Tyler turned his head away, but Lenny grabbed a fistful of hair and forced the cum-slick, ass-flavored cock into his mouth.

“Suck it clean, soccer stud. Taste what you just got bred with.”

Tyler had no choice. He licked and sucked, gagging on the mix of cum and his own ass, while Lenny made sure he got every inch, even pushing back into his throat a few more times for good measure.

When he was satisfied, Lenny stood, pulled his sweatpants up, and looked down at the wrecked, cum-covered jock on the floor—compression shirt bunched under his armpits, cock softening in a puddle of his own load, ass leaking, long blue socks still perfectly in place on his powerful legs, wrists and ankles still tightly zip-tied.

He wiped his cock on Tyler’s cheek one last time.

“Next time I come for maintenance,” Lenny said, voice casual, “you better be ready on your knees with that mouth open and that ass lubed. Or I bring a couple buddies and we really break you in.”

He unlocked the door and walked out, leaving it ajar.

Tyler lay there panting, body aching, hole sore and used, the taste of cum and ass still thick on his tongue, the shame burning hotter than the stun gun ever had. His cock gave one last weak twitch against his abs.

The arrogant straight jock had just been raped in every hole, in multiple positions, by his fat old landlord—and his body had cum from it.

And the worst part was the quiet, sickening realization that part of him was already wondering what would happen the next time Lenny used his key.

The apartment was a wreck. Red cups everywhere, the sharp smell of spilled beer and weed hanging in the air, music still faintly thumping from a speaker someone had left on. The party had finally died around 3 a.m. People trickled out laughing and stumbling. Tyler had been too drunk and tired to do more than shove the worst of the mess into a corner and collapse onto the gray couch in just his black athletic shorts and a tight gray tank top that clung to his pumped chest and shoulders. His thick legs were spread, one socked foot still on the floor, the other propped on the edge of the coffee table. The long blue knee-highs were gone — he’d kicked them off hours ago — but his muscular calves and thighs still looked obscene in the low light.

In the bedroom, the door half-open, Megan was completely gone. High as fuck and blackout drunk, she was sprawled diagonally across Tyler’s bed in the little black dress she’d worn, one strap off her shoulder, skirt hiked up over her hips, one heel still on. She was snoring softly, mouth open, totally out. The bedroom light was off. Only the living-room lamp was still on.

Tyler was half-asleep on the couch, head spinning, when he heard the front door click open.

His eyes snapped open. “What the—”

Lenny stepped inside and shut the door behind him, locking it. The fat landlord was in the same stained t-shirt and sweatpants, belly leading the way, keys in one hand, that same small stun gun in the other. His eyes went straight to Tyler, then flicked toward the open bedroom door.

“Party’s over, stud,” Lenny said quietly, voice low and thick. “Time for round two.”

Tyler sat up fast, heart hammering. “Are you fucking insane? Get out. She’s right there—”

Lenny raised the stun gun and thumbed it on. The crackle was loud in the quiet apartment. “Keep your voice down, Reynolds. Unless you want me to go wake your pretty little girlfriend and show her exactly what her big strong soccer boy was doing last time I visited.”

Tyler froze. His powerful body was still loose and slow from the alcohol and exhaustion. He glanced at the bedroom. Megan didn’t stir.

Lenny smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

He moved in fast while Tyler was still processing. One pudgy hand clamped hard over Tyler’s mouth from behind as the landlord hauled him backward off the couch. Tyler tried to twist, to use his strength, but the booze made him sluggish and Lenny already had the advantage of surprise. He shoved Tyler face-down over the arm of the couch — the same spot he’d bent him over last time — and in seconds had fresh duct tape around Tyler’s thick wrists, binding them tight behind his back. Another strip went around his ankles. A wadded-up party napkin was shoved into his mouth and taped in place.

Tyler bucked and growled into the gag, muscles flexing hard under the tank top, but he was pinned and bound again before he could get any real leverage. His heart was slamming. Megan was twenty feet away. If she woke up…

Lenny leaned over him, big gut pressing into Tyler’s lower back, and whispered right against his ear. “Last time you came so hard from my cock you painted the floor. Bet that tight jock hole is still sore. Bet it still remembers who owns it.”

He yanked Tyler’s black shorts down to mid-thigh, exposing the round, firm ass. Tyler’s cock was already half-hard from the adrenaline and the humiliating position. Lenny spat on his fingers and shoved two thick ones straight into Tyler’s hole — no warm-up this time. Tyler’s whole body jerked, a muffled shout into the napkin gag. The stretch burned. His ass was still tender from the night before.

“Shhh,” Lenny hissed, working the fingers deep and rough, scissoring, curling to grind against the prostate. “You wake her up and this gets a lot worse for you.”

He pulled his fingers out, dropped his sweatpants, and lined up his thick cock. One hard thrust and he was buried to the balls in Tyler’s ass again.

Tyler’s eyes rolled back. The burn and fullness made his cock twitch and start leaking onto the side of the couch. Lenny didn’t give him time to adjust — he started fucking immediately, hard, deep strokes that made Tyler’s muscular body jolt against the couch arm with every thrust. The wet slap of skin on skin was loud in the quiet apartment. Lenny’s heavy gut slapped against Tyler’s lower back.

“Fuck, still so tight,” Lenny grunted quietly. “Even after I wrecked you last time. Your straight ass was made for this.”

He reached under and grabbed Tyler’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts while his other hand slid up under the tank top to find a nipple. He pinched and twisted hard. Tyler bucked and moaned into the gag, trying to stay quiet, but the double assault on his prostate and nipple was too much. His cock was rock hard now, leaking steadily into Lenny’s fist.

Lenny varied it — long slow drags almost pulling all the way out, then slamming back in so deep Tyler’s toes curled. He slapped Tyler’s ass with his free hand, not loud enough to wake anyone but hard enough to sting and leave red marks on the firm muscle. Every time Tyler clenched, Lenny groaned and fucked harder.

After a few minutes he pulled out, leaving Tyler’s hole gaping and twitching. He grabbed the bound jock by the taped wrists and hair and hauled him off the couch, manhandling the heavy, muscular body across the living room. He pushed Tyler up against the wall right beside the open bedroom doorway — close enough that if either of them made too much noise, Megan would hear.

Tyler’s eyes went wide with panic. He could see her on the bed, completely passed out, dress riding up, legs spread. Lenny pressed in behind him, kicked Tyler’s bound ankles apart as far as the tape would allow, and shoved his cock back into the sloppy hole in one thrust.

This position was worse. Standing, bound, facing the bedroom. Lenny’s big soft belly mashed against Tyler’s lower back. One pudgy hand clamped over the taped mouth while the other reached around to jerk Tyler’s cock again.

“Look at her,” Lenny whispered right in his ear, fucking him in short, brutal strokes against the wall. “Your girlfriend’s right there. Ten feet away. Sleeping while I breed your jock ass again. Bet she has no idea her big tough boyfriend gets hard from taking fat landlord cock.”

Tyler shook his head hard, trying to deny it, but his cock was throbbing in Lenny’s fist and his ass kept clenching around the thick dick pounding him. Every thrust ground his prostate. Pre-cum was dripping from his cockhead onto the floor.

Lenny bit the side of Tyler’s neck, sucking a mark into the skin while he kept fucking. “Last time you came hands-free like a bitch. Gonna do it again while you watch her sleep?”

He changed the angle, short jabs right against the spot that made Tyler’s legs shake in the shorts around his thighs. The hand on Tyler’s cock slowed down — edging him now, bringing him right to the edge then stopping, squeezing the base hard whenever Tyler got too close.

Tyler was panting through his nose, eyes glassy, body trembling between the wall and Lenny’s gut. He could feel another orgasm building whether he wanted it or not.

Lenny pulled out again and dragged Tyler down to the floor on his back, right in the middle of the living-room floor. He ripped the tape off Tyler’s ankles, shoved the muscular legs up and back until Tyler was folded nearly in half, and slammed back in. This time he could see Tyler’s face while he fucked him — the shame, the anger, the unwilling pleasure.

He reached down and started stroking Tyler’s cock again, fast and rough, while his own cock pounded the jock’s prostate.

“Cum for me,” Lenny ordered quietly. “Right now. While she’s in the next room. Show me what a straight jock slut you really are.”

Tyler fought it — shook his head, tried to twist away — but his body had other ideas. The combination of the deep fucking, the hand on his cock, the sheer filthy humiliation of being used with his girlfriend passed out ten feet away was too much. His abs clenched hard. His cock jerked in Lenny’s fist and he came hard, shooting thick ropes up his own chest and tank top, some of it hitting his chin. His ass spasmed and milked Lenny’s cock with every pulse.

Lenny didn’t stop. He fucked him straight through the orgasm, overstimulating, then buried deep and came again — pumping another hot load into Tyler’s already-used hole while Tyler twitched and whimpered under him.

He stayed there, cock still buried, big belly resting on Tyler’s abs, both of them breathing hard. Tyler’s cum was cooling on his chest and tank. Lenny’s cum was leaking out around his cock and down Tyler’s crack onto the floor.

Lenny leaned down, still inside him, and licked a stripe of Tyler’s own cum off his chest.

“Round three’s gonna be in the bedroom,” he whispered against Tyler’s ear, already starting to grind his hips again, cock twitching back to life inside the stretched, cum-slick hole. “Right next to her. I want you looking at her face while I make you cum again.”

Tyler’s eyes went wide with fresh panic above the gag, but his spent cock gave a weak twitch against his abs anyway. Lenny just smiled and started fucking him again — slow, deep, deliberate strokes — while Tyler lay bound and helpless on the living-room floor, Megan still snoring softly in the next room.

Lenny stayed buried deep for another long minute, his heavy gut resting on Tyler’s abs, cock twitching inside the cum-slick, stretched hole while Tyler panted through the napkin gag. Then he pulled out slowly, watching thick white cum leak out of the jock’s reddened ring and run down toward the floor.

“On your feet, slut,” Lenny ordered quietly. He grabbed the taped wrists and hauled the muscular body up. Tyler’s powerful legs were shaky from the party, the previous fucking, and the two orgasms he’d already been forced to have. Lenny walked him — half-dragging, half-guiding — the short distance to the gray couch and sat down heavily in the middle of it, his thick thighs spread, cock still hard and shiny with cum and spit.

He yanked Tyler forward by the hips until the bound jock was straddling him, facing him, shorts still tangled around one thigh. Tyler’s taped wrists stayed locked behind his back, forcing his chest forward, tank top rucked up under his armpits so his ripped abs and sensitive nipples were completely exposed. His spent cock hung heavy and wet between them.

Lenny reached up and ripped the tape and napkin out of Tyler’s mouth.

“Ride it,” he said, low and filthy. “Use those big soccer legs and fuck yourself on my cock. Right now.”

Tyler’s eyes went wide with fresh humiliation. He shook his head, breathing hard. “No—fuck you—I’m not—”

Lenny’s hand shot up and twisted both of Tyler’s nipples hard at the same time, pinching and pulling until the jock gasped and arched. At the same time he slapped Tyler’s inner thigh with his other hand, right above the muscle.

“You are. Or I drag you into that bedroom, bend you over the dresser right next to her bed, and fuck you loud enough to wake her up. Your choice, straight boy.”

Tyler’s face burned scarlet. He glanced toward the open bedroom door — Megan still completely out, snoring softly, dress hiked up, one leg dangling off the side of the bed. Twenty feet away at most.

Lenny grabbed Tyler’s hips with both pudgy hands and guided the head of his cock back to the leaking hole. “Sit on it. Now.”

Tyler hesitated one more second, then slowly lowered himself. The fat head pushed back into his sore, cum-filled ass. He bit his lip hard to stay quiet as he sank down inch by inch, his thick thighs trembling with the effort. The stretch burned all over again, but his body remembered the shape now — the thick cock sliding deep until Lenny’s balls were pressed against his ass and his own cock was trapped between their bodies.

“Good jock,” Lenny praised mockingly. “Now move. Up and down. Use those legs.”

Tyler started slow, lifting himself with his powerful quads and glutes until just the head was inside, then dropping back down. The wet, filthy sound of his own ass swallowing the cock filled the quiet living room. Every time he dropped, the head dragged over his prostate and his own cock jumped and started to fill again despite everything.

Lenny leaned back on the couch, hands behind his head, just watching the arrogant soccer stud ride him. “Faster. And look at me while you do it.”

Tyler’s face was twisted with shame and effort. Sweat was already beading on his forehead and chest. His bound arms made his pecs and shoulders strain forward. He picked up the pace, thighs burning as he bounced on the thick cock — up until it almost slipped out, then down hard, impaling himself again and again. His cock was fully hard now, slapping against Lenny’s gut with every drop.

“That’s it,” Lenny growled. “Fuck yourself. Look at you — big tough jock slut using his own legs to ride landlord cock while his girlfriend sleeps in the next room. Bet she’d love to see this.”

Tyler tried to stay quiet, but small, unwilling grunts and moans kept escaping every time the cock hit deep. His ass clenched rhythmically around the intrusion. Pre-cum was dripping from his own cockhead onto Lenny’s belly.

Lenny reached up and started playing with Tyler’s body while the jock rode — pinching and twisting the nipples again, then reaching down to squeeze and roll Tyler’s heavy balls, tugging them firmly every time Tyler dropped down. He slapped the inside of one thick thigh, then the other, making the muscle jump.

“Faster,” Lenny ordered. “I want to feel you working for it.”

Tyler’s legs were starting to shake from the effort and the overstimulation, but he kept moving — bouncing harder, dropping deeper, using every bit of soccer-player strength in his thighs and ass to fuck himself on the cock. The humiliation was crushing: he was the one doing the work, the one making the wet slapping sounds, the one clenching and milking the dick inside him.

Lenny grabbed Tyler’s hips and started guiding him — forcing him to grind in circles when he bottomed out, then lifting and dropping him faster. “Tell me what you are while you ride it. Quietly.”

Tyler shook his head, panting. “N-no—”

Lenny twisted both nipples viciously and slapped his balls at the same time. Tyler choked on a moan.

“Say it.”

“…I’m… a jock slut,” Tyler whispered, voice hoarse and broken, still bouncing on the cock. “Fucking myself… on your cock…”

“Louder. And say it like you mean it.”

Tyler’s face was burning. Tears of shame pricked at the corners of his eyes as he kept riding, thighs flexing and straining. “I’m a straight jock slut… riding your cock… while my girlfriend’s in the next room…”

Lenny grinned and reached down to stroke Tyler’s leaking cock in time with the bounces. “Good boy. Now make yourself cum again. Ride it until you shoot all over my gut.”

Tyler tried to fight it, but his body was too far gone. The constant drag over his prostate, the hand on his cock, the filthy words, the knowledge that Megan was right there — it all crashed together. His rhythm faltered as another orgasm built fast and hard. His muscular thighs shook violently as he kept forcing himself up and down, up and down, chasing it against his will.

When he came, it was even messier than before — cock pulsing hard between them, shooting thick ropes across Lenny’s belly and chest while Tyler’s ass clamped down like a vice around the dick inside him. He bit his own lip bloody trying to stay quiet, a broken whine escaping anyway.

Lenny didn’t let him stop.

Even as Tyler’s orgasm ripped through him and his legs started to give out, Lenny gripped his hips tighter and started fucking up into him from below — short, brutal thrusts that overstimulated the jock’s sensitive prostate and kept his spent cock twitching and leaking.

“Keep riding,” Lenny ordered, voice rough. “Don’t you dare stop moving those legs. We’re not done until I say we’re done.”

Tyler was shaking, overstimulated, cum still dribbling from his cock, but he kept lifting and dropping himself on the thick shaft — slower now, thighs burning, ass sore and sloppy with two loads, but still fucking himself because Lenny’s hands and the threat of waking Megan left him no choice.

Lenny reached up and shoved two fingers into Tyler’s mouth, making him suck them while he kept riding. “Good jock slut. Look at you — still moving that tight ass even after you came. Your body knows what it is now.”

He pulled his fingers out and slapped Tyler’s chest, then grabbed both nipples again, twisting and pulling in time with the bounces.

“Faster,” Lenny said, eyes dark. “I want another load out of you before I decide whether we move this into the bedroom and let you ride me right next to her bed.”

Tyler’s powerful legs kept working — up and down, up and down — sweat running down his chest and abs, bound arms straining behind his back, cock starting to harden again from the relentless stimulation, while Lenny sat back and watched the arrogant straight soccer player degrade himself on his cock in the middle of the wrecked living room, Megan still passed out and oblivious less than twenty feet away.

[soccersocksgatherer]

[herotozerooooo]

[spndxjcksblog]

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[silverscallyblog]

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[sports--gay]

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[jocks--in--socks]

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[pureclosion]

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[iwishtocontinue]

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[firebootrik]

[herotozerooooo]