Liam’s still half-asleep, one arm behind his head, the other resting low, fingertips idly adjusting the waistband of his boxers. His chest rises and falls slow, skin glistening faintly under the dull morning light slicing through the open curtain. His cock’s semi, pressing thick against the fabric—unapologetic, comfortable, confident. This is how he wakes up most days. No alarm. No shirt. Just heat, ego, and the thought that Chloe across the street probably saw everything. Again.
He stretches, flexing without realizing it—pecs tight, abs flaring, hips arching up from the mattress as he yawns. He always does this when he knows it’s a Chloe-morning—when he remembers that little moment a few weeks ago where she lingered at her kitchen window, wine glass in hand, watching. Pretending she wasn’t. He’s been feeding her more since then. More stretches. More flexes. More visible bulges. Always with the curtain slightly open. Always with the light just right.
What he doesn’t know is that Chloe isn’t watching today.
And he’s not watching from across the street anymore.
He’s already in the room.
The door’s locked. Quiet. Dean’s already three steps in, eyes dragging across the landscape of Liam’s sleeping form—the thigh tension, the way the waistband’s slightly rolled, the cock angled lazily to the left, the smugness still clinging to the corners of his mouth. The same smugness Dean saw in Liam’s expression when he leaned against Chloe’s car last month, shirtless, smirking, asking if “she was around.” Dean didn’t say a word then. Just nodded. Watched. Clocked everything.
Now he’s close enough to smell him. That hot morning stink of male skin, sweat dried into cotton, that cocky musk that every fucking movement seems to broadcast.
His fingers snap around Liam’s ankle and pull. Hard.
Liam jerks upright instantly, face twisting, hands clawing at the sheets as his body’s dragged halfway down the bed. He thrashes—raw muscle, not fear—spitting curses before his eyes even open fully.
“The fuck—” he growls, voice cracked. “Oi—what the—Dean?”
Dean doesn’t answer. He’s already crawling onto the bed, one hand pressed firm against Liam’s thigh, pinning it down as the other drives up across the jock’s abs—hard, invasive, disrespectful. Not sexual. Punitive.
“You mental fuck—get off me!” He bucks, but Dean shifts fast, knees planting either side of Liam’s waist, gloved hands pressing flat across the jock’s shoulders, forcing him down hard.
“This what you do every morning?” Dean growls low, bending over him. “Stroke yourself for my ex-wife and moan into your sheets like a fucking dog?”
“What? What the fuck are you—nah, get the fuck off me—”
Straight across his cock. Open palm. Loud. Disrespectful. Liam shouts, jerks, grabs for Dean’s wrist—but it’s too late. The contact was humiliating, surgical. His boxers now tented and smeared with sweat, twitch involuntarily under the weight of the slap.
“You think Chloe’s watching?” Dean hisses, face inches from his. “You think she gives a fuck? She’s upstairs. I’m the one who’s been watching your cock swell every morning for a month. I know what you’re stroking it to.”
Liam’s breath comes fast now—more anger than panic. Arms straining, abs tensed, hips twitching from muscle memory. The collar appears in Dean’s hand like it’s always been there—black leather, thick. Not flashy. Not kinky. Just final.
“Bro—bro don’t—what the fuck is that—nah, fuck off, you’re not—”
Dean punches the air out of his gut with one flat-handed press to the solar plexus.
And the collar’s already around his neck.
No ceremony. Just clamped on like gear. Like punishment.
Liam flails now. Violent. Pure fury. Not an ounce of surrender. His body bucks, his legs kick, his voice turns hoarse—
“YOU FUCKIN’—YOU FUCKIN’—”
Dean grabs a fistful of Liam’s hair, yanks his head back, and spits in his mouth.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Straight down the throat.
Liam gags, chokes, retches, slams a fist into the wall but can’t speak.
Dean wipes his glove on the boxers. Right across the twitching bulge.
“Thought that was for her,” he mutters cold. “Turns out it’s mine now.”
Liam is red-faced, jaw clenched, legs trembling—not because he’s weak, but because he’s just realized something worse than being attacked.
Liam hits the floor, knees cracking hard against wood, the collar snapping tight and forcing his head back sharply, eyes wide, neck veins bulging under the strain. Dean’s fist remains locked around the leather strap, yanking Liam forward roughly, bringing his face level with the heavy, bulging fabric of Dean’s trousers. There’s no ceremony, no gentle coaxing—Dean simply drives Liam’s head forward, his knuckles pressing brutally into the back of Liam’s skull, forcing the jock’s nose and mouth directly into the heat and musk trapped behind the fabric.
Liam’s hands immediately shove against Dean’s thighs, muscles knotting and flexing in desperate resistance, but Dean’s stance is unmovable, legs braced wide and rigid, his free hand gripping Liam’s thick hair, holding him in place, forcing his face deeper into the oppressive, suffocating scent. Liam’s breathing goes ragged, shallow, panicked breaths forced through the dense material, air heavy with sweat, humiliation, and rage.
Dean’s grip tightens, knuckles digging mercilessly into Liam’s scalp, controlling every twitch of his neck, every desperate jerk of his head. Liam growls and tries to twist free, tries to wrench himself backwards, but Dean responds instantly, slamming Liam’s skull forward harder this time, pressing the jock’s open mouth and nose firmly against the pulsing, growing hardness beneath his trousers, grinding Liam’s face violently side-to-side, smearing sweat and humiliation across his lips and cheeks.
Liam gags, choking on the stifling heat and the coarse friction of fabric scraping harshly against his lips and jaw. He tries again to push away, muscles heaving, shoulders trembling, palms slick with sweat against Dean’s thighs, but Dean’s fingers twist viciously into his hair, pulling sharply upwards, forcing Liam’s face even harder into the fabric, deeper into the grinding, humiliating contact, not allowing him a single breath that isn’t thickened with Dean’s invasive scent.
Dean shifts, widening his stance further, brutally pressing Liam’s head lower, forcing him to follow the movement downwards until the jock’s face is almost fully buried in the heavy, dense heat of Dean’s crotch, mouth open wide now, lips trembling against the hardening, throbbing length beneath fabric. Dean reaches down with ruthless precision and unzips his trousers, the sound sharp and clinical, echoing through the room, underscored by Liam’s strangled, wordless protests.
Dean yanks down the waistband of his briefs, cock heavy and pulsing forward, freed into the hot, humid air, grazing across Liam’s startled mouth and jaw. Liam jerks backwards violently, a sudden, wild movement fueled by sheer revulsion and panic—but Dean’s grip tightens immediately, fingers wrapping cruelly around Liam’s jaw and forcing his head right back into position, lips and mouth pressed hard and unwillingly against Dean’s thickening shaft.
There’s no hesitation, no pause. Dean uses Liam’s stunned, disgusted recoil as leverage, forcing the jock’s mouth open wider, thumb brutally digging into the corner of Liam’s lips, prying him open further. Dean thrusts himself roughly forward, pushing deep and forceful past Liam’s teeth, his cock sliding into the warm, choking wetness of Liam’s mouth with violent disregard, eyes hard and cold as he watches the shock and panic flare in the jock’s expression.
Liam chokes instantly, body convulsing, hands clawing wildly at Dean’s hips and thighs, muscles straining in useless, desperate attempts to push away. Dean’s hips surge forward again, brutally invading the jock’s throat, forcing Liam’s head back against the unyielding grip of the collar, neck stretched and vulnerable, saliva spilling thick and messy down his chin, soaking into his chest.
Dean’s cock pushes deeper, pressing mercilessly against Liam’s tongue and the back of his throat, forcing Liam into a harsh, frantic rhythm of gagging breaths and choking spasms. Liam’s fingers twitch and claw frantically at Dean’s thighs, knuckles whitening, wrists shaking under the strain of his futile struggle, unable to free himself, unable to escape the relentless humiliation and violation.
Dean grabs Liam’s wrist again, wrenching the jock’s trembling hand up sharply, forcing it to grip firmly around the base of his cock. Liam’s hand convulses immediately, instinctively jerking away, but Dean’s grasp is unyielding, brutally crushing Liam’s fingers tighter, making the jock’s hand stroke and squeeze in humiliating, unwilling obedience. Dean’s hips begin a brutal, unrelenting rhythm, cock thrusting deeper, grinding into Liam’s mouth and throat, saliva and tears mingling freely on Liam’s flushed, panicked face.
Liam’s muscles lock tight in primal resistance, throat convulsing around Dean’s shaft, choking violently as his mouth is forced to suck, lips sealed unwillingly around the hard length, jaw trembling under the strain. Every desperate attempt at escape is met by increased pressure, Dean’s gloved fist tangled harshly in Liam’s hair, holding him captive, forcing him into submission not through seduction or desire, but through sheer, overwhelming force and degradation.
Dean yanks Liam’s head back sharply, cock slipping free from his mouth with a wet, humiliating pop, saliva dripping thickly onto Liam’s chin and chest, his face flushed bright red, eyes glazed with fury and humiliation. Dean’s hand snaps forward instantly, slapping the jock hard across the face, a loud, echoing blow that jerks Liam’s head violently sideways, saliva and sweat flying through the air.
Without pause, Dean grabs Liam’s chin again, forcing the jock’s mouth back open, cock plunging brutally back inside, resuming the harsh, choking rhythm. Liam’s eyes water, muscles trembling violently, hands slick and weak, jaw aching from the relentless, humiliating invasion. Dean shows no mercy, driving deeper, faster, determined to strip away every last ounce of Liam’s control, pride, and resistance—not through desire, but through cold, precise domination.
Dean’s breath is harsh now, sweat glistening on his brow, eyes fixed coldly on Liam’s face, reading every flash of desperation, panic, disgust. He pulls back again, not to stop—but to slap Liam again, hard across the mouth, forcing the jock’s lips back open wide, thrusting back inside immediately, harder and deeper, driving Liam’s head roughly back against the collar’s brutal tension.
Liam’s entire body is shaking uncontrollably now, reduced to violent, spasming muscle memory as he’s brutally forced to service Dean. There’s no tenderness, no arousal, no whispered encouragement—only Dean’s violent, uncompromising control, and Liam’s utter, unwilling humiliation. Liam’s hands hang limp and useless now, fingers twitching helplessly at his sides, body locked in a relentless rhythm of choking submission as Dean finally holds him fully captive, cock relentlessly grinding into his mouth, utterly uninterested in pleasure—interested only in power, in punishment, in breaking apart everything Liam believed made him invincible.
“Open wider, you thick fuckin’ show-off—wider—yeah, there it is. That mouth’s done more bragging than it ever earned. Let’s see what it’s really good for.”
Liam chokes, jaw flexing hard, spit streaming down his chin in strings as Dean thrusts in deeper. His eyes flare, panic and hate clashing, hands pawing at Dean’s thighs, useless.
“Thought you were a man, didn’t you? Big lad. Look at you now—on your fuckin’ knees, throat full of cock you’ll never earn the right to touch.”
Liam tries to jerk his head away, but Dean’s got him by the collar, yanking him right back down the length with a grunt.
“You don’t move ‘til I say. You don’t breathe ‘til I say. You feel that? That’s your job now. Your fucking purpose.”
Liam gags violently, neck muscles convulsing as Dean slams forward again, cock punching into the back of his throat. His fists tighten around Dean’s thighs, nails digging in, but Dean just slaps him again—open palm, across the cheek, loud.
“Hands down. You don’t hold me like you’re in charge. You’re not fucking in charge. That mouth’s mine now, muscleboy.”
Dean pulls out just enough for Liam to suck in a gasp—wet, guttural, thick with drool and humiliation.
“You hard right now? Huh?” Dean grabs his hair and twists. “You hard while choking on cock like a bitch? Fuckin’ disgrace.”
Liam snarls something, can’t form the words, can’t breathe, but it sounds like “fuck you—”
“Fuck me? Nah, lad. You ain’t got the power. You get fucked by me. That’s how it works now.”
He slams back in. No buildup. No pause. Just force. Just punishment.
“Keep sucking. You ain’t coming up ‘til I finish. Make it good. You wanna gag? Gag harder. Show me how much your mouth can take.”
Liam’s choking again now, shoulders jerking with every brutal thrust, throat stretched raw, collar yanked tight behind his neck.
Dean groans low, not from pleasure—from power.
“That’s it. Swallow. Fuckin’ swallow it. Take it all, jockboy. You wanted to be seen? Get seen like this.”
He yanks the camera closer. Holds Liam’s head there. Forces his jaw wider.
“You’re gonna watch this later. Every inch. Every choke. Every time you tried to pull away. I want you to see how useless you looked.”
Dean pulls back slightly, slaps Liam’s cheek again—twice, fast, cruel.
Liam gurgles, can’t speak, can’t lift his head, but Dean doesn’t care.
“Didn’t fuckin’ ask you. Say it. Try. Show me how grateful that mouth is.”
Liam groans around the shaft, throat fluttering with hate and spit, eyes locked upward, furious, broken, humiliated.
“Good enough,” Dean mutters. “Now finish what you started.”
Dean’s got both fists in Liam’s hair now, not holding, pulling, dragging the jock’s head up and off the shaft just far enough for the spit to stretch in strings from cock to lips, then ramming it back down again, harder each time. Liam’s gagging louder now, jaw clenching, tongue flattened useless under the weight, his throat stretched wide and raw. Every time Dean yanks him off, Liam gasps—short, wrecked, wet little bursts—then Dean slams back in, cutting it off mid-choke.
“Fuck you—” Liam spits when Dean lets him up a little, spit pouring from his mouth, dripping off his chin, soaking the collar now slick against his skin.
Dean snarls, yanks his head back sharply, cock dragging out with a loud, wet pop, then drives him down harder, burying himself to the base, nose crushed into his groin.
“You don’t get to say that anymore. Not with my cock in your fuckin’ throat.”
He pulls back again, rips Liam up by the collar, eyes locked on the trail of spit and sweat matting his face.
Liam shakes his head, mouth gasping wide, sweat dripping down his neck, spit clinging to his lips like foam.
Dean slaps him across the face—once—twice—then fists his hair tighter and forces him halfway back down.
Liam chokes on the first syllable, jaw flexing around the head of Dean’s cock, lips trembling, voice barely a gasp.
Dean jerks his hips forward, cuts it off, lets him choke on it until Liam’s hands claw weakly at his thigh, then yanks him back off, strands of thick spit snapping across his cheek.
“Th–thh—thank you—” it bursts out fast, raw, broken, choked straight out of him, his throat twitching as he folds forward again, more fluid sliding from his mouth.
“That’s right. Thank me.”
Liam’s lips move again—no sound, just shape—“thank…you”—and Dean grabs his jaw, squeezes, rubs the leaking head of his cock across Liam’s ruined face, smearing sweat, spit, and fresh precum across his cheeks.
“Look at you. Fuckin’ dripping. And all you had to say was thank you.”
Then he shoves him back down.
Dean pulls Liam’s head back sharply, cock dragging out with a wet, violent suck. Liam gasps desperately, neck muscles straining under the collar, mouth open wide, leaking saliva in thick ropes down his chest, sweat soaking his hair, running down his temples, pooling at the hollow of his throat. Dean’s fist tightens in Liam’s matted hair, twisting until Liam’s eyes flick up in angry, exhausted obedience.
“You’re gonna beg for it now, you arrogant cunt,” Dean snarls, smacking the side of Liam’s ruined, glistening face, dragging the head of his cock roughly across Liam’s parted lips. He smears precum and saliva into Liam’s mouth, watches it drip from the corner, dripping down his trembling jawline.
Liam’s voice is hoarse, broken. He spits out words in rage and disbelief. “Fuck off—I’m not fuckin’—”
Dean cuts him off, slaps him hard across the face again, palm hitting wet skin, a loud, brutal smack echoing in the air. Liam’s eyes water, cheek reddening instantly, body shuddering involuntarily as he tries to jerk his head free from Dean’s grip—but Dean just yanks him forward again, pulling Liam’s swollen lips hard onto the slick head of his cock.
“You’re gonna say it,” Dean growls through gritted teeth, forcing Liam’s mouth open wider, pushing just the tip past his lips, then pulling back, teasing, torturing, humiliating. Liam coughs violently, drooling uncontrollably down his chin, gagging for air.
Dean’s grip shifts lower, closing around Liam’s throat above the tight leather collar, squeezing just enough to make Liam’s eyes bulge, breath wheezing from his mouth in panicked bursts. Dean leans close, voice rough, cold, merciless. “You’re gonna beg to be bred, boy. Beg me to fill you up, to use you like the filthy little slut you pretend not to be.”
Liam thrashes violently, body surging in useless defiance, snarling, fists hitting weakly at Dean’s thighs. But Dean squeezes harder, cutting off Liam’s oxygen, feeling the jock’s body tense, struggle, and finally go slack with reluctant surrender. Dean eases his grip just enough for Liam to suck in a desperate, wheezing breath, his entire body heaving, shuddering in violent humiliation.
“Fucking say it,” Dean commands sharply, twisting Liam’s jaw until his mouth hangs open again, drooling uncontrollably, eyes flickering with anger, fear, and total degradation. “Beg me to breed you. Say you need it—say you fucking want it inside you.”
Liam’s face flushes bright red, chest heaving, every muscle shaking under Dean’s brutal grip. He shakes his head weakly, eyes squeezed shut—but Dean slaps him again, harder, forcing Liam’s eyes open wide, raw and terrified.
Liam’s lips tremble, words thick, wet, forced through choking humiliation. “I—fuck—fuck—I n-need…fuck, I need…cum…” His voice cracks, trails off into helpless, ragged breaths.
Dean yanks his hair viciously again, cock pressed harshly against Liam’s dripping mouth, voice cutting sharper, colder. “Clearer, slut. Beg me loud. Make it real.”
Liam shudders uncontrollably, lips quivering, humiliation dripping from every shaking breath. “Please—please—I…I fuckin’ need it…fuck—breed me…fucking—breed me…cum inside me…”
Dean grips tighter, nodding slowly, eyes locked on Liam’s shattered expression. “Again.”
Liam’s voice breaks, weak and shattered, completely broken. “I—I need you—to breed me…please…I want your cum…in me…please…please…”
Dean thrusts forward again, sinking brutally deep, choking Liam on every desperate syllable, every humiliating word.
