#alpha breeder

[goon-bate]

The edge of victory

[goonbatept2]

Uhhh......what can I say? She chugged it all like a good girl, not knowing the shit we dropped in it. I'll say she won't get up even if all 5 us takes turn railing her till kingdom comes

[aindomen]

Twisted

Aiman stepped off the rickety intercity bus into the dusty lane of his hometown on the outskirts of Jakarta, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the familiar wooden houses and narrow alleys. At just 18, fresh from six years at the pesantren in East Java, he looked every bit the ideal santri: body built and toned from years of communal living, service and prayer, dressed in a crisp white koko shirt with black buttons, matching white trousers, and a simple white peci cap perched neatly on his short black hair. His voice is soft, almost melodic, when he greeted his parents at the gate.

“Assalamualaikum, Umi… Abi. I’m home.”

They beamed with pride. Their only son had graduated with glowing reports—hafidz of the Quran, top marks in fiqh, never once caught breaking the strict rules of the boarding school. Such glowing result carved out an opportunity for him to go study with full-ride scholarship to attend UIN Jakarta in the next few months, closer to home, no payment needed and his living cost fully covered. He's the embodiment of the devoted, blessed offspring for the family, anak berbakti.

Aside from his parents though, the entire komplek is made aware of Aiman's return, including the divorced, jobless perv, Pak Adi. 35 years old, freshly fired from the small electronics workshop for "inappropriate behavior" towards customer and "indecent exposure" towards his younger coworker. His phone is flooded with pinjol apps, he owed almost forty million rupiah across seven different lenders. Some unsavory gossips spread around the komplek about his daily activities ever since he got terminated, chain-smoking, day-drinking, the gambling he did as last ditch effort to solve his money problem, that man has no clear exit. So, it doesn't come with a surprise that the following day after Aiman's arrival, a loud scream breaks through the quietness of the komplek in the quiet and mostly peaceful Sunday morning as someone found Pak Adi's corpse foaming in the mouth, body stiff and eyes blood-shot in his bedroom. The elder of the komplek mentioned about "mati yang kurang baik" to describe Pak Adi's situation. Debt not settled, family's that left him confirmed no attendant, his own blood family refused to come, what a sad way to move on from this life. Aiman leads the prayer for Pak Adi's corpse and even helped around with the burial. People found him to not be just attractive, but he's also personable, sounding very nice and mature plus his choice of words has always been so polite, anak idaman

Aiman smiled gently, eyes lowered in that humble way the kyai had taught him. But inside his head, something ancient and filthy stirred.

---

The previous night right when Aiman came home, Adi already reached acute desperation. He’d found an old, yellowed book in his late grandfather’s storage—black magic scraps from some long-forgotten dukun in the village. Blood, a stolen lock of hair from Aiman’s childhood haircut when Adi still has a barber shop funded by his wife and he collected everyone's lock in the village without her knowing, and a whispered incantation under the full moon. Adi no longer cared if the magic killed him. Anything is better than the debt collectors and the empty wallet and the endless, aching want. Aiman will be my exit, he thought. I will hide inside that soft-spoken pious boy and start everything over, making sure I'm not gonna ended up broke and crazy like this rotten life I have now

The spell hit like lightning. Across the alley, Aiman had just finished his final Isya prayer in his childhood room, kneeling on the old prayer mat in his white koko, eyes closed in peaceful dhikr. A sudden chill swept through him—then fire. His body convulsed once, silently, as something oily and hungry slammed into his soul.

The real Aiman’s consciousness flickered out like a candle in the wind, gentle and unaware, while Adi’s filthy essence flooded every vein, every nerve. The battle was swift yet brutal, and the force of dark magic really took out a lot from Adi's too as he ended up slumped on the prayer mat right after seizing control of Aiman's physique

---

The next morning Aiman wakes up in his childhood bed, sunlight filtering through the bamboo blinds. He stretched, feeling the foreign muscles of his now own arms, the smooth skin, the young heart beating steady and strong. The thoughts flooding his mind clearly belonged to Adi and he's got hit by this insane urge to do something about his growing hardened bulge

*Anjing… perjaka dia cok,* the voice—Adi’s voice—rasped inside his skull. *Gila......badan semantep ini. Sekel. Kenceng. Mulus. Kontol gede......dan ini semua punya gue sekarang, gue adalah bocah pesantren ingusan berbadan seksi ini, gila banget sih*

Aiman sat up. His reflection in the small mirror showed the same soft, boyish face: gentle eyes, full lips, the faint hint of a pious flush on his cheeks. He opened his mouth and the voice that came out was still soft, still respectful and would definitely fool anyone that listening at the door

“Subhanallah,” he murmured, exactly as the old Aiman would have. But his hand—Adi’s hand now—slowly slid down to feel beyond the torso, groping himself through the thin white fabric of his sleep pants.

He bit back a groan that would have sounded far too filthy for a pesantren graduate, talking about how Aiman is still a virgin that never even masturbated himself despite looking and built like a stud in a ripe age where most teen already dabbled in or started to explore a more sexually deviant act with themselves or their partner

*nnnNNGHHHH....fuck ngentot, badan semantep ini, masih perjaka pula, sinting, ini kelewat goblok enaknya,*

Then, the scream from next door. He smirked. That sounds like Yati's voice, he thought. Yati, the one neighbor that snooped around a bit too much but actually doing it out of her care towards others, he expected her to be the one who found his body, but not on the first day of it though, so guess he needs to start acting right away

---

Walking home after the burial, the sun warm on his back, Aiman’s steps are measured and humble. He greeted every neighbor with that soft smile, accepting condolences as if he truly mourned the dead man two doors down.

“Pak Adi pernah baik juga kok, meski jarang keliatan,” he said to one elder, voice dripping sincerity. Inside, the monologue only grew darker, hotter.

*Tai! Baik apanya—gue yang lama cuma mesum doang. Sekarang gue punya badan ini buat mesum seumur hidup tanpa ketahuan. Kampus bakal penuh godaan: cowok-cowok ganteng di masjid kampus yang lagi tahajud, cewek-cewek hijab yang gaunnya ketat pas sholat… gue bakal dekatin mereka semua sambil pura-pura suci. Kontol gue bakal ngenjot rahasia di kamar mandi masjid, di belakang perpustakaan, di kosan sambil mereka pikir gue lagi ngaji sendirian*

Right after the burial procession, Aiman's parents head to bed early due to exhaustion. Adi locked the bedroom door, stripped the white koko slowly, savoring every inch of exposed skin in the dim lamp light. Aiman’s body is a goddamn temple—smooth chest with faint abs from prayer postures, developed waist and just the right size of athletic hips, and between his legs, a thick, cut cock already leaking at the tip.

*Ngentot… lihat ini. Badan suci tapi kontolnya udah ngaceng gini cuma karena gue mikir tetangga sebelah yang suka main bola tanpa baju. Tai, otot perutnya itu lho, mantep banget emang si Juned*

He put the clothes back on as his mind intrigued to try on something. He knelt on the prayer mat exactly as last night when he first slammed into Aiman. A very broken form of sujud, legs folded, body spent, ass up in the air, eyes half-lidded and mouth agape. Making the move even more further from the right one, his right hand slipped through the waistline of both his pants and underwear as it wrapped around his cock, stroking slow and deliberate. Pre-cum slicked his palm as he pumped, hips rolling forward in tiny, controlled thrusts.

“Astaghfirullah…” he breathed aloud, soft and trembling, the words dripping with fake piety. Inside, total mania

"Pak Adi......stop Pak Adi.....saya santri baik.....jangan rusak saya dan buat saya mesum," he pleaded as he made his own dramatized reenactment of last night's takeover, now adding a bit of flavor by impersonating Aiman himself

"Pak Adi.....jangan buat saya coli dan berpikir mesum. Istighfar Pak Adi. Ada cara keluar lain. Saya bisa bantu. Saya bisa bantu.....saya bisa bantu dengan cara memberikan tubuh saya untuk kepuasanmu, yess Pak, bener.....masuk terus Pak, jangan berhenti. Rusak saya terus sampai ke otak saya. Masuk terus Pak, jangan berhenti. Memang Bapak paling pantes punya badan seperti ini, saya cuman bocah ingusan yang gak ngerti apa-apa, tapi bapak bisa bawa badan saya untuk melakukan hal-hal yang lebih luar biasa. Saya sekarang sudah ikhlas Pak,"

*Anjing, enak banget! Kontol Aiman ini sensitif gila—setiap goyang bikin gue mau muncrat. Gue bakal sangean tiap hari di balik topeng ini. Tai, bayangin gue pura-pura sujud padahal gue lagi coli kayak bocah sange ke dalem kondom padahal mereka lihatnya gue lagi sholat sunnah. HAHAHAH, goblok banget sih anjing, dosa bener mikir begitu. Hehe, dosanya yang nanggung Aiman kan ya Allah? Kan yang cabul Aiman. Yang sange Aiman. Adi mah udah mati kan, ini semua Aiman si santri yang mikir gini, aku emang sebetulnya diem-diem cabul, wong sempak sesama santri aja aku endus kayak ANJINGGGGHHHHHHH FFFUUCKKK MMMMPPHHHAAAGGHHHAHAHHA fuck......gila.....tolol banget lo Aiman, siapa sangka santri bisa sesange ini?*

The orgasm hit hard and quiet, all the monologues happened inside his own mind but it all feels so erotic and personal in Aiman's voice, making Adi unable to hold back and hit ropes after ropes of cum that eventually splattered the inside of his underwear and trousers. Aiman's form flopped to the mat because the sensation hit him a bit too hard, and that caused the soaked wet pants and underwear left an imprint of damp cum on the prayer mat’s edge. He wiped it clean with a tissue, whispering thanks to Allah like nothing happened, then crawled into bed with a wicked grin on Aiman’s innocent face, still wearing the soaked underwear and trousers like its a prized possession or something

Outside, the neighborhood settled into quiet mourning for the dead neighbor. Inside, the boy they all trusted smiled up at the ceiling, soft voice whispering a final, perfect “Alhamdulillah” for anyone who might be listening.

The old Adi is buried. The new Aiman only just begun. And the discreet, endlessly horny life hidden beneath the white koko is about to explode into something far bigger than anyone in the komplek can ever imagine.

---

[goon-bate]

"No face, no case"

Lol, what case? The moment his meaty monster penetrated that tight hole, she won't even argue how stupid she sounds like to make a fuss about denying such pleasure and resisting her God-given function as men's seed captor. So, there's no need to hide his handsome face, there's no shame anyway in claiming ownership for what's yours to play with

[goon-bate]

My hand mirrors your pussy. The tighter it gets trying to milk my dick and get over this, the tighter I'll choke you. So, if you wanna stay alive or have the bruise on your neck less visible by your husband and your kids once he's done picking them up, loosen up that hole quick, it's nothing but a beer can after all, your sloppy cunt can handle this.

[goon-bate]

The way your cock twitches and get fully hard as you scroll through Tiktok and find your girlfriend second account reposting the video of this dude even though you two just discussed about her favorite book last week titled "We Should All Be Feminists".

[goon-bate]

Your heart is beating faster but your cock twitched harder. It's not fear or dread that you feel, it's a desire to serve and crawl

[goon-bate]

The cabin lights had been dimmed for hours, turning the overnight flight into a hazy, half-asleep cocoon. I sat wedged in the window seat next to him — this cocky, muscular college jock in a tight black tank top and backward cap, arms thick and hairy, pits glistening with sweat. My husband was three rows back, happily snoring in his middle seat, still glowing from our wedding two days ago. I’d promised myself this honeymoon would be different. Faithful. Normal.

But then the jock stretched, arms locked behind his head, and the wave hit me: raw, rank, masculine musk rolling off his sweaty body like heat from an engine. My stomach twisted in horror. *God, he reeks. How does someone smell that strong after hours in recycled air?* I tried to focus on my phone, cheeks burning, but my eyes kept drifting — over the dark hair matted across his broad chest, the way his tank clung to his damp skin, the lazy, arrogant smirk when he caught me looking.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just flexed a little, letting more of that thick, sour scent fill the space between us. My cock betrayed me before my brain did, twitching hard in my pants. I hated it. I was married. Newly married. This was disgusting.

Yet twenty minutes later, when the plane hit a quiet stretch and most lights were out, he shifted closer. His big thigh pressed against mine. “You’ve been staring, fag,” he whispered, voice low and cocky. “Bet that ring on your finger feels real tight right now.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. His scent was overwhelming now — salty, musky, unwashed jock funk that made my head spin. He casually lifted one arm, resting it behind his head again, and the pit stench washed over me stronger. My resistance crumbled like wet paper.

Slowly, shamefully, I leaned in. My heart hammered as I buried my face against his sweaty side, inhaling like a desperate animal. He chuckled quietly. “That’s it. Sniff your new owner.”

My hands trembled as I pulled his waistband down just enough. His thick, heavy cock sprang out, already half-hard and smelling even stronger — pure rank alpha dick. I hesitated one last second, thinking of my husband sleeping just rows away… then I opened my mouth and took him in.

He was thick, salty, and still sweaty from the flight. I gagged quietly as he grew fully hard down my throat, but I didn’t stop. I sucked him like a pathetic, skinny married slut, head bobbing low in his lap while he kept his arms casually behind his head, pretending to sleep. Every few seconds he’d push my head down further, forcing my nose into his sweaty pubes.

“You’re such a disgusting little faggot,” he breathed, barely audible. “Honeymooning with your husband and choking on college cock ten thousand feet up. Keep going, dumpster.”

Tears pricked my eyes from the shame and the stretch, but my own dick was leaking in my pants. The horror had melted into pure, humiliating need. I wanted to be his seat-side cumrag. His rank, sweaty alpha toilet.

When he finally came, it was thick and bitter, flooding my mouth in heavy ropes. I swallowed every drop like the broken married bitch I’d become, licking him clean while his musk soaked into my skin and clothes.

He patted my flushed cheek condescendingly, zipped up, and went back to relaxing like nothing happened.

I sat there the rest of the flight, lips swollen, throat coated in his load, the taste and smell of him lingering as I stared at my wedding ring. My husband would never know… but I already belonged to this sweaty, domineering jock now.

And the worst part? I couldn’t wait for him to use me again. As me and my husband strolled to the town for some night out two days after we arrived from the flight, I realized the jock is in the table behind us already looking at me with his predatorial smirk, a girl seated in front of him clearly as unaware as my husband about this dynamic and how I've been monitored like a prey......