DUNGEONLEATHERSM

Every school has one. A bully boy and his victim, the bullied. At this school it was no exception. Phil was obviously the bully in his year. Rough, well built with muscles in all the right places, couldn’t give a fuck about his class results always dressed in jeans and T shirt and Doc Marten boots.  Most of the other guys in the year kept away from him. No one wanted to be friends with such a jerk, a bully. That only made Phil more aggressive. So he chose his victim. It was obvious. It had to be the bookish Simon, same height but slim built, wavy hair and also someone who seemed to have few friends. Phil knew Simon was his victim and Simon knew he was being earmarked so whenever possible he kept a wide berth and if Simon saw him coming up the corridor he would dive in to a classroom to escape. Little by little the taunting started coming up behind Simon and grabbing his arm tightly so it would bruise, telling him

‘Trying to avoid me you little runt.’

‘Fucking little bookworm’

‘Fucking little mummy’s boy.’

Soon Phil decided a good idea to let the others know so would shout as he passed by Simon. 

‘Who’s a fucking little queer.’

‘A right little fucking bum boy.’

‘Bet you are a good cocksucker.’

No one did anything to help and Simon was too terrified to report.

Phil escalated his attacks and would grab Simon’s books

‘Give me your fucking homework so I can copy .’and would snatch the books and give them back a day later once he was ready to hand in his work. Some teachers wondered how the hell Phil’ s work started to become better but no one sought to question.

One day Phil came up behind Simon and whispered 

‘At break get behind the bike shed and don’t be late.’

Simon was terrified as he would have no one to see whatever Phil had in mind and also he had no idea what he wanted but he knew he had to go there

At break Simon turned the corner and Phil was there legs apart smoking a ciggie.

‘I knew you would come. Too terrified not to eh you little pussy. I need my ciggies so empty your pockets and give me your money. Now

‘I haven’t much on me .’Simon replied sheepishly

‘Get the fucking money out and give it or do you want a thumping.’

Simon dug his hands into his trousers and handed over the few coins he had.

‘Is this all you fucking well have?’

As Phil said this he flung Simon back against the wall and pushed his body up tight against Simon forcing one leg tight into Simon’s crotch.

‘You fucking little wimp. I deserve to make mincemeat out of you. You were born to be a fucking bullied little pile of shit.’

Simon could feel Phil’s breath smelling of cigarette smoke spreading across his mouth. Then Phil moved his head back and spat a great gob at Simon, taking a hand and rubbing it over his eyes and mouth.

‘This is what you fucking deserve you little fag boy.’

Suddenly Phil’s face gave a sneering smile

‘Shit man you are loving this. What’s  this my leg is up against. You have a rock solid boner which was not there a minute ago. You fucking love my leg in. your crotch and my spit all over that face of yours.’

Saying that Phil moved his hand down and grabbed Simon’s cock and balls.

‘A right tent pole you got there Who would have thought you’d have a cock that size. What a pity as you’ll never get to use that up a hole. A right pair of big dangling balls as well. You fucking love me rubbing you up. You’ re a faggot after all. Maybe you should be my faggot . Believe it or not but you have made my cock nice and stiff and once it’s hard like now it needs some action and you pussy boy can ease the pressure inside that dick of mine. Get down on your fucking knees, now!’

Simon knelt his face looking straight at the stiff cock inching down Phil’s jeans.

‘Now unzip me you little prick and get your hand inside to feel that nice stiff piece of meat of mine.’

Simon could not believe that he was in front of his tormentor staring at the outline of cock and his own felt almost on fire with desire. And now he has been commanded to open Phil’s flies and dig in deep to release that thick cock, a cock he had secretly dreamt about and at times imagining had wanked on.

Phil undid the top button to enable Simon’s hand to get in and feel the warmth of the stiff prick. As Simona had suspected Phil was always commando as he had been able to sometimes watch Phil walking down the street and the cock sliding up and down in the jeans. 

The cock flipped out

‘Maybe not as long as yours, faggot but nice and thick. So if you are my faggot you know what to do. Take a good firm grip and move it to that gaping mouth of yours. Bet you have never sucked dick before. Yes?’

‘No.’

‘I thought that but I look at that baby face of yours and know you want to. Just  breathe carefully and start by rimming my head letting your spit slide over it. Once you have my full head in your mouth the rest will come naturally. Trust me. My cock has been in many mouths desperate to take my cum.’

Phil pushed his prick into Simon’s face.

‘Now open wide faggot’

Simon opened and started to rim the thick head with his spit savouring the sense of smell and skin, especially letting his tongue linger under the head knowing from wanking that this was a sensitive part. He was right as he heard Phil groan

‘That’s right you little poof boy now let those fucking lips of yours take in the whole head and I want to feel the edge get into that throat of yours. Shits that’s it, I knew you were a fucking homo boy wanting cock the moment I saw you. Now I am going to slide the full shaft in and get ready to open that mouth of yours wider to take it all, I want to feel it surging down the back of your throat.’

Simon started to choke but knew he could not let the cock out of his mouth so started to breathe and let his spit ease the movement down.

‘Time for me to take control mate. But first while you have my dick in your mouth unzip yourself and take out that cock of yours with your other hand. Don’t let go of your hand that’s on my prick.’

Simons’ cock was almost stuck down the length of his trousers and only with difficulty was he able to push it up until it sprang out and let in spring into the vertical position.

‘You do have a good cock there boy and real 8 incher. Seeing that is just what I need to face fuck you. Now get that hand of yours working that nice big shaft of yours. Bet you have wanked often enough to know what to do.’

Saying that Phil took hold of Simon’s wavy hair and thrust the cock as deep as he could until Simon could feel the bristles of the pubes rubbing against his mouth.

‘Now you just take it while I do the movement and let it slide in and almost out of that gob of yours.’

Holding Simon. tightly Phil started to pummel his cock faster and faster, his breathing quickening with each forced push up to the hilt.

The ferocity of the way Phil was face fucking made Simon’s hand work faster and faster up his shaft. He was ready to explode.

‘I fucking cum first you little shit. Jesus I am cuming’

And with that and a loud groan he let spurt after spurt down Simon’s throat who thought he was going to choke with the amount which started to pour out from his mouth and down his chin. The taste of spunk and the feel of it coming out of his mouth was too much. Simon had never been as hard or as horny in his life and with one final thrust of his hand he exploded his cum between Phil’s legs.

As Phil let his cock out of Simon’s mouth he smiled

‘Better wipe that gob of yours otherwise you will be showing everyone what spunk you have. For a little virgin you learn quick faggot. This has clearly worked for the two of us and gets me to release my spunk instead of jacking off so we will make this a weekly meeting. Got it. And don’t be late or think you can avoid otherwise I will fucking thump you but I think you want it as much as I do.’

Simon met Phil each week behind the shed at school and while Phil bullied Simon in between he wanted each week to come so he could get his rocks off and feel his spunk in Simon’s throat. Meanwhile in spite of everything that Phil did to him he knew he was not just giving Phil pleasure but he own cock was getting all he wanted as well.

On the last day of term  Simon was being awarded The Best student at graduation. Hardly anyone congratulated him, knowing he was the best in the class. Phil looked sullenly at him knowing his marks made him bottom. Simon had applied to University and would off on his 3 year course in a few months after the summer vacation.

As all the kids came out of the graduation hall Phil came up behind Simon and whispered.

‘I want you behind the shed now you little brainy faggot. You may have got all the prize books but I have something a lot better to send you off with. Be there in 10 minutes.’

As Simon rounded the corner Phil stood legs apart smoking a ciggie and looking like thunder.

‘Get the fuck over here.’ This was a different Phil. A nasty Phil and the sight of him was terrifying Simon.

As Simon walked over Phil’s hands came out and shoved the prize books out of Simons hands.

‘Fucking clever clog eh. Fucking faggot got all the prizes, Fucking piece of shit going off to Uni. Suppose you are laughing your fucking head off at me as bottom of the class with no job to go to.’

‘I hadn’t thought like that at all.’

‘Oh yeah.’.

‘Now you can go off and be fucking mister know all with guys just as brainy as you.’

 And with that Phil grabbed hold of Simon and pushed to back against the wall face forwards shoving his face against the concrete wall.

‘That hurts’, Simon squealed

‘Of course it fucking hurts. What you deserve for being so fucking clever. Now raise your arms high.’

With Simon now pinned against the wall, Phil put his hands around Simon’s waist and undid his flies.

‘What are you doing.’

‘Don’t fucking ask. I do as I want, got it.’

Phil then pulled down the rousers and underpants to Simon’s knees so that he had no way of running off.

‘Time I gave you a going away present. A blow job ain’t good enough for you now. You need something to really remember me. Time that virgin arse of yours got a right good fucking from my cock.’

‘No please I cant’ take that prick of yours up me.’

‘You bloody well will and you will feel my spunk all the way up. Take that to Uni with you.’

Simon was terrified to move and knew with his trousers around his knees he had no where to run.

Phil unzipped his jeans, his cock already stiff knowing what he had planned to do and yanked it out.

‘I’ve been fucking wanting my dick inside that arse of yours for a while. Thought best to leave it till we go our separate ways so you have a bloody sore memory of me.’

Phil lets a couple of big gobs of spit drop onto his cock and rubbed them up and down the shaft.

‘Now stick that arse of yours right out. I ain’t playing around with that hole of yours. No foreplay just a good fuck’

As Simon pushed his arse out he suddenly felt the tip of Phil’s stiff cock press against his cheeks finding its way to the hole. His hole reacted immediately trying to close any entry. Phil pulled Simon’s cheeks apart so he could see exactly where his prick was going.

‘Don’t think that by squeezing that hole of yours is gonna stop me. Its’ just gonna make if more painful but if that’s what you want OK. Up to you, faggot.’

Simon knew he had to relax and as he did so, so Phil pushed his head into the hole causing Simon to let out a great sound of pain. Phil put his hand over Simon’s mouth and whispered 

‘You shut the fuck up. Take it like a man instead of being such a fucking wimp. Once I’ve fucked you that arse will be ready for any cock when you get to Uni. But it’s me who fucks you first.’

Still with his hand over Simon’s mouth , Phil put his other hand around Simon’s waist to grab as he started to let his shaft slip inside.

‘A great soft fucking hole you have there. Made to be fucked. Now stop any shouting got it,’

Simon grunted as Phil took his hand away and put his also around Simon;’ waist to allow him to push in and out. As he moved his hand into position he was suddenly aware that Simon’s had a ram rod boner.

‘Got a right boner there. I knew you wanted to be fucked. Seeing it’s the last time let me wank you as I fuck you eh?’

As Phil moved in and out and up and down Simon’s arse so Phil gripped Simon’s rod harder and slipped his hand up and down covering and uncovering Simon’s foreskin with its bright red head, precum oozing out

‘You won’t forget this fuck mate. Take my fucking cock all the way in that arse of yours, move in time with my dick, go on faster and faster. Get ready to take my spunk. I can feel that shaft of yours pulsating ready to burst.’

As Phil gave a final push into Simon’s arse he let out a deep groan and sank his teeth into Simons neck to stop his orgasmic noise. Simon’s head shot back letting out his own noise as he came in Phil’s hand the spunk shooting out against the shed wall.

Phil stood back and forced his still rigid cock down his jeans, looking at the mark he had left on Simon’s neck.

‘You will remember me for a while when that bruises up but most of all you will remember how I fucked your virgin arse. All that sticky cum of yours over the wall can just stay as a reminder of the day I fucked you. Now zip yourself up pick up your books and get the hell out of here. You won’t forget me.’

3 YEARS LATER

Simon returned home after graduating his Uni course with full honours. His parents were away for work for a year so he had the house to himself. Going out from time to time to get food etc he had seen a couple of his classmates, well hardly mates, and they acknowledged him but didn’t bother to ask what he was doing and how Uni has fared. ‘Stuff them ‘Simon said

A   couple of days later there was a ring at the front door and Simon thinking it could be the postman opened the door to see Phil standing in front of him. At first he hardly recognised his bully from school. The guy was now a full skinhead, shaved glistening head. The Doc martens had been replaced with high white laced Ranger boots and he had bleached denim jeans tight against his legs and even at a quick glance Simon had seen the outline of his cock down one side. Obviously still commando then. He wore a black Fred parry and a green A1 jacket. A black leather back pack completed his clothing. If he had looked the bully at school he now looked almost terrifying and not someone you would ever want to cross. Simon’s eyes were out on stalks.

So you are back then. Word gets around. Must say you have bulked out quite a bit. Obviously at the Uni gym. Suits you but all that fucking wavy hair and you are still the same faggot I remember.’

‘So are you not going to ask me in and gimme a beer?’

As he said this Simon started swiftly to close the front door but Phil anticipated and placed his Ranger boot firmly in place.

‘Now that’s not very friendly is it.’ As he said it he thrust the door open almost knocking Simon back against the wall.

Moving quickly in and kicking the door shut Phil took hold of Simon’s shirt and said. 

‘So lets’ go into the kitchen and get that beer. For your sake there had better be a couple in the fridge.’

Simon meekly obeyed his master and took out a beer opening it to hand to Phil. Gulping it down he said

‘I needed that. Right sit down. You and I have business to attend to.’

As Simon sat down there was no where for Simon to go.as Phil opened up the back pack and took out a length of rope.

‘Get your hands behind you over the back of the chair you pussy.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘You will soon find out.’

As Simon obeyed so Phil set the knots in place 

‘You are not gonna hurt me are you? I’ll suck you or whatever you want.’

‘Just shut the fuck up and you will soon see.’

Phil again dipped into the backpack and took out a professional hair razor.

‘Does this give you an idea?’

‘I think so.’

‘It’s time that mass of blond curls left your head. ‘

‘No, no please leave my hair.’

‘By the time I have finished you will have no hair. You will be just like me. Lovely fucking smooth head so flip your head and let me get started.’

Simon knew there was no way he could wriggle out of it and waited to hear the whirring sound of the razor. Within minutes he saw his blond locks fall onto the floor and he could feel so much more air around his head. He knew he was being scalped but was powerless. After several minutes Phil put the razor down and took another gulp of beer. He them took the shaving foam out of his kit and another razor to remove the bits left of Simon’s head. 

‘We want you nice and smooth no doubt there will be a few nicks but that will quickly go.. Coming on a treat now.’

He moved round to stand in front of Simon to admire his work. 

‘At least from the neck up you look like a skin.’

Simon was looking straight into Phil’s crotch and could see a rock hard cock stretching down one side of his bleachers.

Giving his bulging outline a rub Phil said

‘Jeez staring to make be horny. Now for the next bit. I am gonna untie you and then you get down on yer knees in front of me got it.? Don’t even think of doing anything other than I tell you.’

Simon sank top his knees in front of his master his bully.

‘Those nice Ranger boots of mine need a cleaning and I know from your cock sucking days that you have plenty of spit to clean them just as I want . Do the right one first. I want to make sure I can see my face in the toe cap right. Placing both hands on the ground Simon bent over the right boot and started to let his spit flow over the cap licking it and tasting the dirt in his mouth. He covered the cap with his spit.

‘Now let me see what you have done boy. ‘As Simon took his face back and Phil looked down.

‘That not what I call fucking clean you sad faggot.’ Placing his other foot on Simon’s head he forced him down so his lips were pressed against the leather.

‘Now fucking lick and clean got it. ‘

Simon could hardly get his spit out as he boot pressed down harder and harder but he knew he had to keep Phil happy.

‘Let me see now .’Phil barked ‘That’s better now get on and do the same to the other unless you want a fucking bruised lip.’

Simon licked and licked until he was pushed away.

‘Not a bad faggot are you. That’s it got a nice shine on them now.

So next I want you to take my  back pack into your bedroom and I will wait for you. So gimme me another beer while I wait here.’

Simon replied,

‘I have no more in the fridge but let me get you one for the utility room.’

‘Oh my the fucking utility room. Get you faggot. Well go on get and give me now.’

Simon returned with the opened beer and took the back pack.

Once in his bedroom he opened up and let the contents fall onto the bed. It was a complete skinhead gear like Phil’s. He wanted Simon to look like him to be his fellow skin and sub. Seeing all the gear spread out over the bed immediately had Simon’s cock reaching full length inside he jeans straining to get out. He decided not to look in the mirror until he had everything on. It took no time to strip all his clothes off by which time his throbbing cock was almost vertical the foreskin now pulled tightly back.

Apart from the Ranger boots which looked worn, all the clothes were new and obviously bought for Simon. He put on the tight bleachers inching them up his legs no longer the skinny legs of 3 years ago but know showing muscle from workouts which made pulling them up more difficult. The worst part was trying to press his throbbing cock down one leg which just bulged more and more inside a small stain of precum starting to seep through. Then the white socks and pulled them up as high as he could having noted how Phil wore them over the top of the rangers. The rangers had red laces and as it was the first time he had worn them it seemed to take ages to lace up.

‘Get a fucking move on boy’  he heard Phil shout.

Next the white Fred Perry which was a size too small and looked glues to his now bigger chest, his six pack showing through and the nipples he had been cultivating sticking out.

Finally the black A1 jacket and he was complete. Simon was trembling with excitement as he stood in front of the mirror to see his new identity.

Gone was the pretty college boy with wavy hair and student clothing. Gone was the bookish young man. Staring out from the mirror was a skinhead in full skin gear. His shaved head made him look rough, threatening and as Simon curled his lip he could see himself as an aggressor. His bulked up frame made him look tougher than Phil as he spread out his arms and placed them firmly on his hips. From the nearby drawer he pulled out his new toy, a stainless steel knuckleduster and fitted it to his hand. He stood with his legs apart and admired the way the bleachers clung to his muscular legs his bulging cock so rock hard and looking desperate to get out with the precum stain getting bigger by the minute. Shit was he horny.

All was quiet in the kitchen as Sion barged in.

Phil was slumped in the chair out cold

‘Just as I have planned for the last 3 years’ Simon grinned. ‘All I needed to do was show myself around town and I knew Phil would find out. Like a bloody bee to a honey pot. Now time to let him know who can be the boss, the Dom.’

Lifting Phil was no problem for Simon’s new physique as he flung Phil across the kitchen table. Taking the ropes that had been used on hime to be scalped he firmly tied Phils arms to two of the legs and then his legs to the other two. He was firmly under Simon;s control.

Time to bring you round mate and let the show begin. Using both hands Simon swiped Phil across the face several times the face showing red marks with the power of the slaps. Phil came to.

What the fuck is going on

What the fuck is going is that you are strapped to the table and aint going anywhere.

Untien me you fucking little faggot now

Looking at you now I aint any faggot. I call myself Si and at this moment you are totally under my control. You made me a skin and as you know skins take no prisoners. You are now my faggot.

Si lifted his right hand and brought it down sharply on Phils arse. 

Phil let out a shout of pain

‘Get your fucking hand off my arse’

‘Talking like that won’t do you any good in fact I think you deserve a couple of harder slaps.

Si hit again and again as Phil tried to wriggle, his screaming heightening.

‘Just let me go.’

‘Remember 3 years on the last day of school? You were so fucked off at me being the clever one that you said you were going to sort out my Virgin arse. Remember.’

As Si said this he brought his knucklduster hand round to Phils mouth. ‘Now I could really do you some harm  and perhaps I will because its time someone sorted out your Virgin arse. Bet you have never been fucked. You always said I had a good sized dick so now is the time to have it rammed all the way up that tight little arse of yours. And good that those bleachers of yours have a rear zip. Perhaps you have been hoping for a fuck.’

‘Don’t you even think of fucking me.’

‘I’m not thinking about it I am gonna fuck you good and proper and you will feel my balls being drained of all the spunk I have been saving up for you. My cock is rock hard and seeing those nice red cheeks of yours peeping out of the bleachers has made me fucking horny. I’ve done 3 years of martial arts and any attempt to push me around I can break your fucking neck so shut the fuck up.’

Si stood back and plunged his hand into his tight bleachers and wrestled to get his boner out. He could feel the precum still seeping out of the hole. He needed to make that precum full of spunk

Si walked round to the front of the table so Phil could see the fully erect cock.

‘Remember that dick of mine now.’

‘You fucking bastard’ Phil replied and spat out, Si collecting the spit and rubbing it onto his shaft.

‘That was a good idea. Now you can have your own spit up your arse.’

Si returned to the arse end of the table and put both hands on Phils cheeks.

‘Remember you told me to breathe as you started to sink that cock of yours in. Well I’m telling you to breathe carefully as I have a bigger dick and just make sure that hole of yours relaxes cause it will only be more painful for you. Maybe you have been dreaming of my cock all these 3 years.’

Si lined his prick to the juicy hole opening and started to slip the thick head into the hole.

‘Fucking hell I can’t take it, you are too big for my hole..’

‘Relax you faggot. You are going to take every last drop of my spunk.’

Si pushed his moist head into the waiting hole

‘Shiiiit its too big for me.’

‘You didn’t worry about it when you fucked my virgin arse did you. Stop being a little boy and act like a man a tough skinhead and take my hard knob all the way up that juicy arse of yours. I’ll pause for a minute for you to get your breath back, more than you did for me but get ready for the full shaft to slide up you.’

‘I cant’, I can’t.’

‘Yes you fucking can and will.’ 

With that Si slid his throbbing shaft in and in until it was the full way up, Phil scarcely able to breathe. Finally Phil could feel Si’s pubes up against his bum.

‘There you are its all the way up you. A nice virgin arse is no longer and its’ your little faggot that is going to fuck the life of you.’

Si stated to slowly slid the cock in and out almost taking it to when the head was on the edge then would thrust it in as hard as he could.

At first Phil squealed and then started to relax and as he did so Si put his hands around the front of Phil’s bleachers and felt his crotch.

‘For someone who reckons he is such a top and butch and never been fucked that knob of your’s is as hard as mine. So maybe you like being fucked after all maybe me dressed as a skin is making you nice and horny. Looking at you in your full skinhead gear with the arse zip open and me guiding my dick up in full gear is a fucking turn on for me. The more I am sliding in the more I can feel that arse of yours inside wetter and wetter. You are fucking loving this, admit it.’

‘Jesus its amazing.’

‘And its me who has taken your virginity. Think about that with your hard dick straining inside those bleachers. Now let’s get some spunk into you. Raise that arse of yours so I feel my cock going the full way in . take every inch of my fat dick and wait for me to explode insider you.’

Si gripped Phils arse cheeks even tighter and thrust his cock in and out with increasing rapidity.

‘Take all my spunk my little faggot.’

‘Christ fuck me let me have it .’Phil shouted.

I’m cummin let your skin sub show you he’s more of a man than you just now.’

And with that Si felt the spunk leave his balls and flow into his shaft and erupt up Phils arse.

‘Fucking hell take it all .’

‘Jesus,’ shouted Phil, ‘I’ve just cum in my bleachers what a fucking mess.’

Si withdrew his cock with cum starting to ooze out of Phils bum and drip onto the floor.. As he stood with his cock still stiff he undid the ropes tying Phil to the table.

Phil stood up and turned to Si, grabbing him and letting his tongue down Si’s mouth.

‘That was fucking amazing. To have my virgin arse fucked by you is the best. From the first time I had you give me a blow job behind the shed I wanted you and not just as my faggot as I kept telling you. I had to act that way but I wanted you so much and that fuck was the best ever. I hated you going away for 3 years and if you only knew the number of times I wanked myself thinking of that fuck.’

Si smiled. ‘I kept tabs on you all the time and knew you had become a skinhead. It was what I wanted most of all but I wanted you to be the one to make me like you. I had to have my revenge but I also have only wanted you since that first time.’

‘Christ’ Phil said ‘have we wasted 3 years?’

‘No we needed that time to get to where we are now. I’m back in town because of you and I will stay if you want that.’

Phil grabbed Si’s cock and said ‘Of course I fucking want that.’

Si replied ‘I suggest you get out of those spunk stained bleachers and get into the shower. I will be straight in behind you and we will see who does what to each other.’

"Dude, less teeth," I coached him as he drooled and slobbered all over my cock.

"Sorry, it's trickier than I thought it would be," he said, pulling off for a moment to talk.

"You're cool, it's feeling pretty good," I told him, not wanting him to give up.

He gripped the bottom of my dick in his hand and started jerking me off as lips were doing a better job covering his teeth and he got used to the whole thing.

"Jesus, that's good, keep doing that," I told him.

He pulled off again to speak. "Tell me when you're going to not, I don't want it in my mouth," he said.

"Sure," I said, taking deep breaths and enjoying his mouth and hand.

I knew I would have to do this back to him but I didn't even care, I needed to fucking cum by someone besides myself. It had been way too long I had only my hand to get me off. Garret was doing me a bigger favor than he realized, I owed it to him to return it.

I don't think he was necessarily enjoying it, but he definitely was playing the role. The way he was gripping me and using his mouth was getting me close.

"Okay, I'm almost there," I told him.

"Tell me when you can't hold back," he replied and went wild on my dick.

My legs spread and I began pushing upward, I didn't have much time, that's why I warned him. I took myself to the edge and held back, feeling the orgasm trying to rush out of my body.

"I'm gonna blow, get off!" I warned, there was no holding back anymore.

He sucked for a few more seconds, I couldn't stop it. The first shot went in his mouth before he could pull off. The second across his face as he used his hand to keep stroking me. It felt so fucking good, I was in heaven.

"Damn," he said as he watched my cock spray all over. "Like a fucking fountain."

I felt his lips wrap around my dick again as the last bit of me was emptying. I'm not sure why he was okay with having my cum in his mouth, I'm glad he did. He sucked me as I came down from my high. I was breathing heavily and trying not to sigh and grunt.

After my dick started to soften he sat up and looked at me. Some cum was running down his face and he looked flushed and a little dazed.

"You good?" I asked.

"I'm good, you good?" He replied.

"Great, I needed that," I told him.

He didn't say anything more, he just undid his pants and pulled out his cock. I looked down and saw him leaking already, hard and ready. I wondered if he enjoyed sucking me, he seemed like he must have.

I didn't hesitate, I couldn't, I feared if I did I would back down and I wasn't going to be like that after what he did. I opened my mouth, stuck him in and closed around him. I felt the warmth of his skin first, then I realized I was tasting his pre, sweeter than I expected. I took a deep breath and began to bob up and down immediately, not thinking, I had to just do it.

"Fuck, man," he moaned.

I kept sucking, bringing my hand to hold his dick in place and jerk him off like he had done for me. I didn't hate the feeling, it wasn't a big deal I realized. Who cares, I didn't, I was helping a friend, just like he had done for me.

"I'm not going to last long, I'm almost there," he said.

I felt his hand run through my hair as I kept going, waiting for my signal to get off. It was oddly satisfying to have him holding on, I liked the idea that I was doing well enough to get him off. His pre was leaking like crazy and my spit had coated his whole dick.

"Okay, get off!" He shouted just in time for me to move.

My hand kept moving on his wet dick as I watched him unload all over himself. His hand was still resting on the back of my head. The smell of his and my cum was strong. I felt his dick pulsing as each jet left his body.

"Jesus!" He yelled as he was cumming harder than I had.

I kept going until he was done and my hand was covered. I sat back, not sure what to do or say. But the thing about Garrett was I didn't need to, he always knew how to make things less awkward.

"Here," he said handing me a shirt he had in the back. "Thanks, that was great. I wish more guys would understand how friends can help each other."

"Yeah," I replied, blushing as it all sank in.

"We're good, right?" He asked as we both zipped up.

"Yeah, we're good," I said knowing that he wouldn't let this come between us.

"I'll do that anytime you get too backed up, until you get another girlfriend or whatever," he said patting me on the knee.

"I'd like that, I'll do it for you too," I replied.

HIGHWAY

Oh fuck, Troy shouted.

He was looking in his rear view mirror and saw the flashing lights of a police car speeding up behind him. Where the hell did they come from, the road was so quiet and he couldn’t see any sign of a car let alone a police car. When he seemed to be the only car on the road he thought he might as well let the engine have it and go a bit faster.

Not only was the light on top of the police car flashing but they were also flashing the beam lights. There was no alternative but to pull into the next layby and hope he could blag his way out of the situation

Troy pulled in and switched off the engine. Still looking in his rear view mirror he saw two policemen get out and walk over to the car one on each side. One of them knocked on the window gesturing for him to wind down the window so he could peer in. The guy filled the entire window his dark blue shirt bursting at the buttons. His shirt was open neck and as Troy looked up he could see the thick chest hair spilling out over the top. The short sleeves looked as though they were about to be ripped apart by the tanned muscles. His black belt was highly polished. From his seated position in his car Troy was looking straight at the guys crotch and there was no doubt about the large bulge. As if to tell Troy how much of a man he was ,he took one of his black leather gloved hands and gave the outline a casual squeeze.

‘So young man, looks as if you have been speeding. Quite a bit over the limit I would say from our speed gun. I think you had better get out of the car so we can have a chat.’

 As Troy opened the door so the policeman stood up straight and put on his peaked hat covering the shiny mane of dark wavy hair and sporting a 5o’clock shadow that seemed to take over most of his face.

The other policeman could have been his brother also spilling out of his uniform but this one had a thick beard and stood with his legs apart and his hands on his hips.

‘So why were you speeding. In a rush?’

‘No, I was…’

‘No ,what you say ‘ the sergeant spat out

‘No Sir.

‘That’s better boy.’

‘I didn’t realise that I was really speeding and as there was no one of the road I just seem to drive a bit faster’.

‘Sure you were not trying get away from us?’

‘Definitely not Sir.’

Perhaps you have some drugs on you that we were not meant to see.’

‘No, I bloody well do not do drugs.’

‘Not sure I like your attitude boy, I could say you are insulting two police officers. Put your hands behind your back now.’

‘But..’

‘No But I am the policeman here’

Troy had no option but to put his hands behind his back as the officer took out a pair of handcuffs and placed them around Troy’s wrists.’

‘Think I need to check if there is anything secreted in that big gob of yours.’

The officer brought his hands around Troy’s body and as he did so Troy could feel the heat of the officer’s body pressing against him but most of all it was the bulge he could feel settling into his crack.

‘Open wide boy.’

As Troy opened his mouth he suddenly felt the black leather gloved hand stick a finger into his mouth and move it around. 

‘Need to check a bit more.’

With that he put in a second and then a third finger until Troy’s mouth was full of black leather searching everywhere. Troy started to choke.

‘Don’t bloody well think of throwing up boy and ruining my leather gloves, Just breathe properly and take it all. I want these leather fingers to have a good look.’

‘Doesn’t look as if there is anything there but of course you could be hiding them somewhere else.’

‘I assure you Sir I have no drugs on me.’

‘I’m still not so sure .I think we need a further search.’

Mike unbutton the guy’s flies and pull his jeans down.

The other policeman stepped forwards and quickly undid the buttons and yanked down around Troy’s ankles.

‘So you go around commando do you. Like to show off that cock of yours.’ Sargeant Mike said. ‘I can see why ,not bad for a young guy.’

The officer behind Troy moved back and said

‘Well you got my gloves nice and covered with your spit so this should not be too much of a problem, so now bend down.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just carrying out another check that’s all. Legs apart.’

Troy knew he had to do as instructed and split his legs. He felt one gloved hand press down on his back to keep him bent and then without wasting any time the officer stretched Troy’s cheeks apart to expose his soft red hole.

‘Never know what you might be hiding up that pretty arse of yours.’

‘I tell you I have nothing

‘Remember that word Sir boy.’

‘Sir there is nothing there.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

The officer let his leather gloved finger enter the hole and move around.

Troy did not even flinch.

‘A big hole you got there boy. Think I need a further examination’ and with that he put a second finger in letting Troy’s saliva do its job. 

‘Now for a third which did cause Troy to move. However it made Troy push his arse out in into the officers hand so he could feel all three fingers deep inside him.

‘Not that bad from the way that arse of yours is pushing at my hand.’

‘Tell you what Sarg, this pussy boy is loving that hand of yours inside him. Getting a real boner, aint’ you son.’

The officer put his arm around Troy grasping his increasingly hard cock..

‘Took one look at you boy and knew what you really like. You like being examined by a cop don’t you.’

‘Yes Sir,’

Fuck that cock of yours is really stiff. I think you need more that just my gloved hand inside that arse of yours. It’s you lucky day as my mate loves to suck cock so you’re about to have 2 officers of the law deal with you back and front. Now let me get that zip of mine down as my prick is bursting to get out and let you have it.’

The police officer unzipped and with one of his black leather gloved hands pushed it down deep inside to pull out a rock hard thick cock, at least 8 inches and thick the whole way down like a hard wood baton. He thrust his cock between Troy’s legs so he could feel the full shaft rub up against his balls.

‘This is much better that any fingers up that hole of yours. I’ll let my cock find out what is up that nice soft arse of yours.’

The other officer said ‘Shit the guy is already letting some precum out of that slit of his. He really needs seeing to.’

‘Well what are you waiting for officer, get down and take in that firm dick of his. You know how much you like cock down that hairy mouth of yours. Just make sure you swallow all his spunk. We don’t want your uniform being covered in white juice. OK boy time to take my tool inside you.’

The officer let a large spit fall onto his shaft and took one of his gloved hands to run the length so the shaft was fully covered in spit.. Then he eased his prick to the waiting hole and started to press forward, Troy feeling the thick tool enter and force its way right up his waiting hole.

‘Much better that any hand eh boy?’

‘Christ yes Sir.’

‘I think better we shut you up whilst we both examine you.’

With that the office brought his arm around Troy and forced his leathered fingers into Troy’s mouth exploring his tongue and throat.

Having the policeman’s cock shaft him and the leather in his mouth was almost too much but then as he could feel his cock throb more than ever the other officer went down on his knees pulling out his own cock as he did so. Troy could feel the guy’s spiky beard against his cock head as he opened his mouth wider as well as taking Troy’s shaft onto his gloved hand. Troy now had black leather in his mouth and round his shaft. He could feel his cock entering further and further down the officers throat his tool totally covered in police spit. As the other officer pressed his cock up to the hilt, Troy’s arse expanded to take in the huge girth. The officer bent Troy’s head back so he could get all 4 fingers deep into his mouth, Troy sucking the black leather and being so turned on.

‘You fucking love this boy. Two officers giving you front and back.’

 As Troy felt his cock slip fully down the policeman’s throat so the other started to grind him in and other with greater speed. He was being worked in rhythm , and the smell of wet leather was inhaled as a drug.. Troy started to respond by thrusting his arse as much as he could into the buggering officer soihe could feel the thick forest of pubes and as he then moved his arse out so his cock sank deeper and deeper down the other throat.

‘That’s it boy take one officer’s cum and give yours to the other. ‘

Troy was almost in a stranglehold as his moans increased.

‘You fucking love this boy eh?’

‘Hmmmm…’ was all his could respond.

‘Yours are about to feel my spunk drive itself right up inside you and make sure you shoot your load fast and into my mate’s gob.’

 Troy could feel the officers cock throbbing and ready to explode inside him.

‘You may have no drugs up that arse of your boy but you sure will have the laws spunk.’

With one final push the officer let out a load groan and Troy felt wave after wave of spunk flow up inside him.

It was too much and the heat of the spunk surging inside him , being almost choked with the leather fist made Troy push hic cock as far down the mouth of the other officer, his own juice spilling into the policeman’s mouth. The cop was well practiced and Troy could feel his cock almost being sucked down the back of the throat his spunk disappearing down the guys gullet, not a drop being spilt. The more the cop swallowed the more he rubbed his hand up and down his well  proportioned shaft . Suddenly even while swallowing the officer let out a moan and his spunk shot out over Troy’s feet in thick white spurts.

All three remained almost motionless until the lead cop withdrew his cock and without wiping, thrust it back into his trousers and zipped himself up.

The other cop stood up, and smiled at his mate

‘A good job well carried out I think mate. Tell you what this guy’s spunk tastes really great.’

Troy, his cock still dripping the last drops said

‘Can you now let me out of these handcuffs Sir.’

‘Step out of your jeans now.’

Troy stepped out of his jeans and stood there as slowly his cock started to return to its normal size.

‘We ain’t finished with you yet,’ he replied as he bent down and picked up the jeans. Not good having you expose yourself to two policemen in broad daylight. You need to come back to the police station with us for some more interrogating by both of us. You can expect a long night and it depends on how you react as to when we release you but judging by what you have just done don’t expect to be going home too soon.’

RAP

Ever since the new guy moved into the next door apartment Matt was hearing loud Rap music very evening until late. It was driving him demented . He had knocked on the wall several times but it made no difference. After a few days he was not sleeping properly and becoming increasingly annoyed. Much as though he preferred not he had to make a complaint and face whoever had moved in next door. He had no idea what to expect but whatever the outcome he needed a good night’s sleep. Enough was enough. Matt walked across the landing and knocked on the neighbour’s front door. At first there was no reply. The music still beating. With much greater force Matt banged the door.

‘Alright man, I hear you. Wait a moment.’ Suddenly the door was flung open and a hulking great black guy stood staring at Matt. He had no top on and his body was well defined by being at the gym with a massive 6 pack and pronounced nipples. He had a shaved head and goatee beard and brilliant white teeth as he grinned at Matt. He was wearing pale grey trackie bottoms and bare feet. Matt was almost bowled over by the smell of dope spilling out of the apartment.

‘Hey man, what you knocking at the door for. Can I help you?’

‘It’s your music. You keep playing it so loud and I cant’ get any sleep.’

‘You don’t like my music?’

‘Well its not my type but it’ just too loud. Can you not turn it down a bit.?’

‘Sure man if its gonna help you sleep. Anyway why just stand here, come in. we are neighbours after all.’

‘No it’s alright I just wanted to ask.’

‘Now come on man be a good neighbour and come on in.’

Ok but not for long.’

‘Don’t worry I wont’ force you to do anything you don’t want.’

Matt followed the guy in, closed the door and they waked into the living room. To Matt’s surprise it all looked quite normal. The usual huge TV and a large black leather sofa dominated the space.

‘I only got one sofa so we both sit on it OK? ‘

The smell of dope was strong and was starting to give Matt a feeling of being light headed. He almost needed to sit down. But the more he inhaled the fumes the more he wanted.

‘You obviously smoke quite a bit’  Matt rather sheepishly asked.

‘Sure man. You like the smell?’

‘It’s quite powerful.’

‘Only the best stuff for me mate. I’m Jez by the way. He said sitting splayed out in one corner of the sofa his legs wide apart.

Jez picked up a spliff that he was half way through and took a deep breath., letting one of his hands rub across his glistening body. Lightly rubbing his nipple as he did so. ‘Shit this is good man.’

As Jez took another puff inhaling and letting the smoke out in rings he moved one of his arms down to his crotch and Matt could see the long cock under the trackies being stroked. It almost looked like a snake  the size clearly  showing against the trackie fabric and Matt was sure as he rubbed so the cock was increasing in size.

‘One thing all this does man is make you feel so fucking horny. Tell you what yous my guest, it would be wrong of you not to have your own spliff. Let me light one up for you a special one. I know it’s the right one for you.’

Jez lifted the ciggie and lit up and passed it to Matt at the other end of the sofa

‘No I really don’t do any drugs.’

‘Sure you do, you drink booze?’

‘Well yes.’

Then this aint’ no different .Now be a good guest and take.’

Still feeling a bit woozy from all the smoke in the apartment, Matt took the spliff and held between his fingers.

‘It won’t bite man, put it to your lips and draw in. You will feel really good I promise.’

Matt did as Jez told him and within a couple of minutes he could feel the power of inhaling rushing through his body, he felt warm ,in fact he felt more than warm but he felt carefree.’

I can see its having the right effect on you my friend.’ 

As Jez said this he let his hand again go down to his crotch and this time did not just rub but squeeze the increasingly hard outline of his cock. Jez opened his legs wider so Matt could see the cock tenting up in the trackies. It was almost looking like a pole inside .

‘So how you feeling?’ Jez grinned

‘I’m starting to feel hot and horny. Shit my cock is suddenly getting really hard, pressing against my jeans.’

‘Go on give yourself a rub. I can see your eyes taking in my big black cock.’

‘That’s some dick you have. Wish I had one that large.’

‘Yeah? Maybe you’d like to see.’

‘Oh fuck why not. Christ what am I saying.’

‘Just saying what you really feel and want. So go one lean over and stroke me through my trackies. ‘

Mattt was now feeling even more horny and quickly moved over to take the full cock in his hand through the trackies.

‘Shit man, it’s a monster.’

‘Why don’t you take it out and get a better look. You are really drooling man. I know you want it. You’ll really have to pull it out, its big man.’

Matt put his hand down the trackies and felt the hard massive outline, he could feel the large vein down the back of the shaft. Gripping tightly he managed to release the cock and as he did so it flipped up against the guy’s chest. The cock was gleaming and out of the foreskin was a luminous pink head.

‘So man get down in front of me. I want you to worship my cock.’

Matt knelt in from of Jezzstaring at the baton of a prick.. As he took in the full size so Jez put his hand around his shaft and started to gently stroke arching his back in the sofa.

Now take in this big black cock of mine. Fucking great cock man eh. Look at it and think what you really want.’

Shit its so big. I so wish I had a cock that size.’

‘Just a big cock or a big black cock?’

‘I’d love a black cock like yours.’

‘Yeah? Well we need to see what we can do then. Get out of your clothes for a start and let me see what you look like.’

Matt stood in front of Jess and quickly stripped everything off standing with his erect cock facing Jez.

‘No wonder you want a cock like mine mate. Yours ain’t bad but it’s a standard white cock.’

Matt was feeling even more horny and grasped his own cock staring all the time at the cock he most wanted.

‘Now turn round and let me see that arse of yours.’ 

Jez grabbed both cheeks and let his hands caress moving them back and forth over the pink flesh before slowly widening the crack  so he could see Matt’s hole.

‘That’s a nice hole you got there man, big as well. I think you need my cock up there to make you feel as you really want.’

‘I can’t take that meat of yours ‘ Matt said it ‘s too big for me. ‘

‘We take our time man, no rush but once you feel me fully inside me it will be different trust me. You just need to relax. I have a very special spliff for you. It will make you feel just right. Let me light it up for you.’

Jez lit up and handed it to Matt.

‘Trust me this is what you are really wanting. Take your first puff and breathe deeply.’

Matt took a big puff and felt the heat surge through his body. Immediately he began to relax and he could feel his hole widening and wanting a large cock, a large black cock, deep inside him. He was gagging to be fucked and wanted Jez’s thick black cock in him. He wanted it to go all the way up his arse. He wanted to have as much spunk rushing up inside.

‘Shit man I want that cock of yours. I feel ready to take anything.’

‘Let me get some spit on that shaft of mine and rub some of the precum that is starting to ooze out.’ 

Jez let the spit drip out of his mouth in one large glob onto his shaft and gently rub up and down the full length. Taking his arms around Matt’s waist he gently pulled him in.

‘Now as you feel my head press against that pink hole of yours take another deep puff.’ ‘I’m ready’

Taking another puff Matt felt his hole open and Jez guided his cock into the crack.

‘Fuck’ Matt let out, ‘I wish I had a black cock like the one you are gonna fuck me with.’

‘You sure you just want a black cock. Remember you are smoking a really special spliff.’

‘Christ no I wanna be black like you. I wanna change and no longer this puny white boy. I want to be a macho black guy with a thick black dick. Now get that cock of your further and further up I want it all.’

‘Don’t worry man you will get all and more than you think. Yiu feel me now deep inside you?’

‘Yeah man shit I want you to really fuck me let your cock back and then slam it in.’

‘Go on take another puff and this time really inhale and  let the smoke take you over.’

Matt took one almighty puff.

‘Shit man make me black.’

‘If that’s what’s you want let me cum inside that nice arse of yours.’  Jez started hammering his thick shaft in and out faster and faster, his hands gripped around Matts waist.

‘I’m coming ,get ready for it all. Shit man your’e getting it all from those big balls of mine.’ Jez felt the cum surge through his shaft and flow up inside Matt.

‘Fucking hell’  Matt shouted. ‘Everything is going hazy what’s happening?’

As his eyes managed to focus he looked down and saw first his hands and arms started to look more tanned but the tan became darker and darker, the colour continued to move across his chest and his body became wider with a 6 pack and gleaming tits, it was no tan his colour was now dark brown and he looked down to see his pubes black and curly , a full forest of thick black hair and out of it a cock that got not just longer and longer but thick with a wide pink head. His cock was vertical it was so hard, a full 10 inches. It was like a dream, the cock he always wanted but it was not just his cock he whole body was now as dark as Jez and as he took his hand up to his face there was a tight black beard, and his hair was plaited tight against his head. 

Matt knew he was no that white boy but he was now a man, a black man and his dream was coming true but he needed to get rid of all that cum in his balls.

‘You need to shoot man. With his arms still around Matt , Jez took hold of Matt’s large thick cock and started sliding his hand up and down faster and faster until Matt was ready.

‘Once you come man there is no going back. You good with that?’

‘I ain’t going back man ,wank me let me see all my jism. Fuckkkkkk’

And with that Matt’s cum shot across the room in burst after burst

‘Jesus,’ Matt said suddenly realising that his voice was much deeper and his mind was somehow changing, a new light was entering and the old Matt was leaving.

‘Tell you what man I need another of these spliffs and that big black cock of mine ain’t gonna rest for long as I aim to have it up that arse of yours. Gimme me a few mins but crank up that fucking rap music man. Let’s chill and smoke.’

‘You got it ,’ Jezz said, ‘You’re my man now.’

EBAY BINMAN

Danny’s favourite café had closed so he decided to try anew one nearby. As he arrived he saw at least half a dozen bin carts sitting outside the entrance almost clogging up the doorway. He had no knowledge of why there was so many of these until he opened the door and inside the small café there were 6 guys dressed in full yellow HiViz waiting for their coffees. He could smell the fact that they were rubbish collectors, the smell almost took over the café but no one seemed to mind. They were all guys in their 40s, big built and some in fact over weight and nearly all with tattoos and shaved heads. Not the type you’d want to meet on a dark night in an alley way. All their hi viz was stained with dirt and oil and he could see their hands as they took their coffees with dirt ingrained into their fingernails. At first the smell was enough for Danny to think of leaving and going elsewhere but the guys were all oblivious and took up most of the space. In fact there were no other customers. He was about to leave when one of the guys looked at him and said

‘You here for a coffee mate?’

‘Er yes.’

‘Well we’d better make way so you can get to the front. He stood aside and Danny found he had to squeeze between the others to ask for his coffee. As he squeezed between the large men he felt his body brushing against their HiViz nylon, in some cases his crotch was almost rubbing against their crotches as well as having a defined large HIViz encased cock rub against his arse. The smell of the men and it was not just odour of rubbish but their body smell in HIViz that they clearly rarely washed. Being tight in amongst them suddenly Danny found he was getting an erection and needed to get his coffee and be off.

As he took his coffee and went to move back the one who had spoken to him said 

‘Sorry mate we come each day at the same time and seem to take the place over. Hope you don’t mind.’

‘No not a problem.’

‘Hope to see you again sometime. Its good coffee here.’

Thank God Danny was wearing a long jacket to cover his hard on. He could not understand why being with these guys had suddenly made him feel horny. He had never been turned on my bin men in HiViz before and not at that age but the smell and the feeling of the guys tight against him was a new experience and one he liked and wanted again.

The next day he went back again at the same time and sure enough the binmen were all there. As he walked in the guy turned and said

‘So you like the coffee here? We don’t put you off?’

‘You’re right it’s good coffee.’

‘Well squeeze through and get your order in.’

As Danny went to move past the guy he felt the guy’s crotch rub against his leg. He could feel the outline of a thick cock even through the HiViz

‘Hope you don’t mind the squeeze’ he smiled

He was certain that as the passed this guy that a hand lightly brushed against his arse. By now Danny was fully erect and kept one of his hands in front to conceal the boner that was obvious in his jeans. These men in their yellow HiViz, the size of them, the smell was such a turn on even if they were not attractive to look at and even if they were , well, just bin men.

Once he got home he immediately turned on his laptop. He decided he wanted to buy his own HiViz and he would have a good wank wearing it at home. All that heavy duty nylon was so sexy and he would wank while thinking of the men in the café. As he sat looking online he came across a number of places that he could buy yellow or orange hi viz. Seeing all the choice had his cock stiff as a pole and as he looked so he undid his zip and pulled out his boner. He imagined himself in Hiviz walking into the café with the binmen there, rubbing against them and feeling his erect cock in the nylon against their cocks all hard and needing to release spunk. Danny’s hand started rubbing his shaft harder and harder as his imagination worked overtime thinking of himself as a binman in HiViz. It took no time before his spunk gushed out just missing his laptop. A quick wank maybe but a good one and for someone who had never been turned on by older guys in HiViz he was now thinking constantly of them .He scrolled down the website and suddenly one popped up from Ebay

‘FULL well worn yellow HiViz kit for sale’

Danny looked at the detail and photos

Shit it was certainly well worn, There was a HiViz jacket which was soiled and really dirty, a T shirt worn and half black, a pair of trousers with a rip on one leg and also dirty. There was even a pair of what had been white but now yellow socks and a well work pair of steel to capped boots scuffed and with caked dirt on the soles.

The description stated that it was well worn and had not been washed and that was why the price was so reasonable. It was best offer only.

Danny could not believe it. It was everything he wanted, all from the one source and all had been worn by the guy. Danny could already almost feel what it must be like and he could in his imagination smell the guy if nothing had been washed or cleaned.

He immediately clicked the button at the full price and was so keen to receive it that he paid the extra for next day delivery. How he would love to put it all on and walk into the café looking like the others but he knew that could never happen. He could only wank in it at home.

Next morning his doorbell rang and Danny rushed to open and take the package from the postman. As he opened the door standing outside was the binman from the café standing there with his bin cart and a bag, smiling

‘I have a parcel for you and thought when I saw the address that I’d deliver it by hand. I wondered if it might be you who bought my old gear. A bargain for a guy into HiViz. I could see when you came back yesterday that you liked being in with all the binmen, so I’m pleased that you like it enough to buy my gear. Well are you just going to stand there looking embarrassed, No need to mate, its good gear, has a lot of me inside it. So are you going to take the bag?’

‘I didn’t realise it was yours.’

‘So what? It’s yours now. Only proviso now I see you is that you now put it on and I see you in the full gear. No need to actually put it on in front of me but once you have on I just want to see how it fits you.’

‘Are you sure you should not be off working with the other guys.’

‘Don’t worry mate they can manage without me for a while before we meet up at the café.’

Danny felt he had no option but to ask the binman in as he took the bag

‘Go on mate lets be seeing you. I’ll wait here. There is one extra thing inside I did not put on the website to complete the gear.’

Danny took the bag into the bedroom and emptied the contents onto his bed. It was exactly like the website photos but he immediately saw ‘the extra thing’ amongst the HiViz. It was a worn jockstrap and not just worn but yellow.

‘Christ the guy must have almost peed into it.’ Danny thought. Danny could smell it has he lifted it up to his nose. It was stinking of rancid pee but as he felt the fabric he realised that parts were hard and he could see the signs of dried cum. The smell made his head swim but it was so powerful that he found himself rubbing the jockstrap against his face and putting it in over his head to smell, inhale and feel the dried cum against his face. Danny’s cock was so stiff at first he thought he might cum and he was terrified the binman would come into his room. He could hear the guy shifting about outside.

‘You getting the gear on mate?’

‘Yeas just taking a bit longer than I thought.’ 

‘Ain’t got all day but I wanna see you kitted out.’

Danny slipped the jockstrap on his cock tenting out and he could feel his knob head rubbing against the dried cum,.

‘Christ knows how I can hide this’ Danny thought.

He took the pair of worn yellow sock and again put to his nose. He inhaled the cheesy smell from the feet.

‘Christ the guy can never have washed ‘but the smell was proving irresistible and he almost wanted to eat the socks and have the high cheesy smell down his gullet. Next he put on the T shirt and let it slide over his chest. It was definitely too big but the sense of nylon rubbing against him and knowing it had never been washed made him feel as if the binman was almost part of him. Next the trousers which was definitely too big and he had slight trouble keeping them up around his waist. They were at least two sizes too big but the binman was definitely bigger than him. Then the boots which were also too big but he laced up and finally the oil  stained and filthy jacket. Danny was so sexed up even if the gear was too big and as soon as the binman left Danny was going to have the biggest wank of his life.

‘You must be ready now mate. Come on open up and let me see.’

In spite of the clothing being too large Danny looked down and could see his cock tenting throught the jockstrap and Th ehi viz. he tried to press it down but it kept springing up and even with the nylon it was already showing a dmap patch when pressed tightly against the HiViz.

Danny opened the door to face the binman.

‘At last the guy said. As I thought not a perfect fit as I’m a bigger lad than you but you sure look good in HiViz, not quite a binman but then I am sure you can imagine yourself as one. And don’t worry about me seeing that cock of yours. Any guy in a pee and cum stained jockstrap will be hard. Making quite a tent there for someone your size. I’m glad this gear has come to you but there again perhaps it was meant.’

As the binman said this so he let his hand move down to stroke his own crotch.

‘Tell you what mate you ain’t the only guy now with a knob on. Have a look at that tent of mine. So come here and let me really look at you and turn around.’

As Danny turned round the binman took hold of the trouser waist band at the rear and pulled them down to reveal Danny’s arse in the jockstrap.

The jockstrap ain’t too bad a fit and the bands sitting nicely against those cheeks of yours. I need to sort you out so it fits a bit better and we need to make sure that my cock fits nicely into that hole of yours.’

‘You’re joking’ Danny said in mock surprise.

‘You think I’m joking that that arse of yours exposed and my cock needing a fuck. Besides you would not have had me in your house in my Hi Viz gear and you wearing mine if you didn’t have this in mind. Plus I can tell you are as horny as hell and wanting a guy to fuck you in your new gear. Just think of HizViz to hi viz and being fucked by a real binman. You fucking want it mate I know. So bend over that table and give that arse to me.’

By now Danny was high with the smells , the HiViz and this binman taking full control and he wanted to be fucked

‘Can I see your cock first’

‘Of course you bloody well can. You wont’ be disappointed.’

With that the binman undid his zip and flipped out a large thick took the head exposed and the foreskin drawn back revealing a heavy head.

‘Not a disappointment then mate.’

‘Shit no but not sure if its too big for me.’

‘Don’t worry I’ve seen plenty of arses and I know you can take it. Plus it’s just one guy in HiViz fucking another. Be a man. So bend over and lets’ get on with this

The bin man kept a hold of the HiViz waist band and with his other hand directed his gleaming cock to Danny’s hole.

Danny was so psyched up  and desperate to feel the binman’s cock inside him that his hole opened to take the pole that was about to ram him.

‘That’s it mate now push that nice arse of yours back to take my cock, I want you to feel that big thick head of mine get inside you.’

Danny let out a small squeal of pain as the head was thrust into him, his hole widening to take it. When he had taken in the head he now wanted to feel the full heavy shaft enter up inside him as far as it could go.

‘Be a good man, let me slide this tool of mine all the way. Once you feel it up to the hilt start slowly to move forwards and then I can ram it up.’

Danny moved forwards but hated feeling the cock move away from deep inside him. He withdrew only so far and before the binman could move Danny quickly pressed his arse back up the cock until he could feel the binman’s pubes brush against his cheeks.

‘You liked being fucked by a bin man eh young man. You love being fucked in your Hi viz gear.’

‘It’s amazing,’ Danny gasped.

‘What you really love is being fucked in Hiviz by Hi Viz and being a binman. What you really want is to be a binman.’

Being rammed by the thick workie cock was all Danny wanted. He wanted to feel the cum from this guy shoot up inside him and take him over. He wished for binman juiice inside him.

‘Bet you now wish you are a binman a right fucker of a man always stinking in Hi Viz spending your days with other binmen, cleaning the streets and then fucking each other always in hiviz eh?

Hearing the binman say this had Danny sliding up and down the tool his own cock ready to burst inside the jockstrap. He wanted his own cum to seep through the piss stained jockstrap and mingle with the hardened cum that was already caking.

‘So tell me how you feel now mate.’

‘Shit being fucked by you is the best, being fucked in this HiVz by you in Hi Viz is what I want. I want to be a stinking binman. Shit I want to sweep the streets like you,  I wanna look like you and your mates. Make me a fucking bin man.’

‘I knew that’s what you wanted so keep ramming that arse of your against me and feel that thick shaft of mine up your arse. Rub your hand over that cock of yours so you cum into the HiViz and jockstrap. Let your cum ooze out just like us binmen love.’

‘Go on fuck me and cum’ Danny shouted ‘I’m ready to explode.’

‘Get ready man, meet the new Danny, and with that the binman shot load after load into Danny’s arse so that Danny thought it would come up through his throat. His own cock shot its load into the jockstrap and as it quickly seeped through and started to drip down inside his HiViz

‘Fucking hell what is going?’ on Danny shouted grasping his head. ‘My whole body is bursting I feel it’s almost exploding into my HiViz. ‘

‘It is man.’

Danny looked down and he could see his whole chest expanding, the T shirt which had hung loose on him was now rapidly tightening to the point he could see his belly straining against the nylon and in fact the T shirt now looked small on him and his belly now hairy was causing the T shirt to lift so he exposed his chest. His feet expanded into the boots and as the binman let go of the trouser waist band he felt the trousers now tight around his waist the front of them had sunk below his waist line so his belly started hanging over. Danny looked down at his hands that were now about double the size all tanned and his fingers with bitten nails were ingrained with dirt.

‘That’s better Danny. Look in the mirror. You will be pleased with yourself.’

Danny looked into the mirror and it was not his size and heavy weight but his whole head had changed. His head looked huge with a double chin and thick 5o’clock shadow, , hairy eyebrows and the biggest surprise was the shaved head and a large tattoo down the side of his neck. Round his neck was a thick gold chain.

‘So Danny what you think.’

‘Shit man I look fucking great just like the rest of guys at the café.’

‘Just like one of my lads.’

‘Tell you want I hope they all fuck like you.’

‘Don’t worry mate we all take turns and looking at all the cum of yours I reckon it will be time for you to give one to the others. You can take your pick for after work.’

‘Just hope I can wait that long, I’m starting to feel fucking horny again.’

‘Then let’s get out of here. That bin cart outside is yours. Lets’ wheel it down to the café and join the others.’

Every time Jake needed money for his beer and ciggies it was always so easy to break into a house and steal a few things that he could pass on to a fence. He knew each time the articles were probably worth a lot more than the fence claimed but it gave him a decent amount of money and stopped him having to do any work. He would always case an area and find out the houses where the occupants were out at work and so no chance of being caught out. He was good at his job. No point of doing anywhere that had housewives and kids around as you never knew when they might be back.

He had moved on to a new area of smart houses and was quick to find out the homes that were empty during the day. He also knew which ones had cameras as so many nowadays had something at their front door.

It was time to get into a place as his beer and ciggie money had run out. He had chosen the house. Medium size with a nice new car in the drive. As regular as clockwork the owner came out at 8.30 and went off to work. He was a tall muscular guy with a shaved head, not bad looking, and always in smart suits. There never seemed to be anyone else. Jake kept out the way and waited an hour until the owner had left and seeing no one else around slipped down the side of the drive and smirked as he could see an open window in the side of the house.

‘What a bloody fool that guy is, Makes my job so fucking easy!’

It took a minute before Jake was able to climb through the window as he preferred to take something he could put into his jeans. A quick survey round told him what an immaculate place he was in. Everything was washed up and everything in the right place. It all looked so new and perfect which meant there had to be a few things he could take with him. He put on his black latex gloves to make sure there were no possible fingerprints should he get the police in. Anyway nowadays the police were not bothered with break ins. They had other bigger issues to deal with and most of the time the police just said ‘Sorry we can’t help’. Still better not to have any fingerprints should some police dick think of being helpful.

There was nothing of particular interest in the downstairs part of the house. No silver just a few well chosen pieces which Jake had no idea of the worth and best to to leave as he preferred taking something that would fit into his jeans.

He moved quickly upstairs into what looked like the main bedroom. Again everything was in order and the bed perfectly made up. Nothing out of place.

Jake thought that there is always something next to be bed and he opened one of the drawers and immediately saw a very nice gold watch. Yes it was the real thing. That would be worth a few bob and a fence would give him good money for that. He popped it into his jeans. Lying on the dressing table was a bowl of money and not just coins. 

Christ there must be a £100 there. What an idiot leaving that lying around. Again Jake stuffed it into his pocket

‘Might as well check the wardrobe whilst I am here. Judging by that suit of his there might be some good gear and  I can get some money for.’

He opened up the first wardrobe and hanging there were suits and jackets and shirts all colour coordinated and all expensive materials.

Not Jake’s size but he grabbed a couple of jackets and thought he would at least get something for them.

He then opened the next wardrobe.

‘Fucking Hell ‘he exclaimed at what he saw. He then blacked out.

Jake’s eyes suddenly opened with a heavy smack across his face. Christ it hurt. Not knowing what was going on he blinked in the sunlight as he tried to open his eyes. The first thing he noticed was he was hardly able to breathe. Wedged inside his mouth was a leather ball on a strap making it impossible to speak or react. Secondly his hands we=re tied behind his back and his legs tied together. He was completely wedged into a chair. The pain in his head seared through his body. All he could do was meekly shake his head in the hope of easing the pain. As he began to focus he was aware of the owner of the house looming over him.

He stood with his legs apart and arms folded, in his smart suit and tie glaring down at Jake.

‘So you little runt, you thought you could easily break in and get away with some valuables. A right idiot you are. Wondered why you got in so easily? I saw you casing the house and knew exactly what you were up to. Not exactly subtle are you. So I left the side window open to help you out. Like a bee to a honeypot.

I just stopped the car down the road and walked back to give you a nice surprise and looks like I succeeded. Been having a good peep into my wardrobe? Not a good idea mate at least not for you. I can either call the police or you and I sort something out. As you can’t respond with that leather ball in your mouth I will make the decision for you.

You can sit tight and wait for what is about to happen to you. I will be back in a few minutes. Get your mind ready.’

Jake was now terrified. He had stumbled into a lion’s den. How fucking stupid was he not to think the open window seemed wrong. He was greedy for his money. He had no idea what the owner was going to do but it sounded as if some suffering was going to happen,

The door opened and the guy walked in. At first Jake thought it was someone else, the contrast was mind blowing

The guy now standing in front of him was in full skinhead gear. His shiny high Ranger boots with yellow laces, his bleachers which looked as if he had been poured into them with what looked like a third leg stretching down inside his groin. A huge thick cock forming a large bulge so much so that Jake could see the outline of his balls as well. A tight white T shirt under a green bomber jacket that fitted snugly to his massive frame. Gone was the suited businessman, now  a fierce some skin stood in front of him.

‘So you looked into my special wardrobe did you?.

Jake nodded.

‘I heard you shout Fucking hell before I thumped you. No one looks into that wardrobe of mine and if they do then they have to take the punishment. So you had better man up and take what’s coming to you. First of all while you are still gagged I am taking that head of hair away from you.’

The Skin took out the razor and as Jake tried to squirm The Skin slapped him hard across the face

‘You will fucking well do what I want and no shit, got that.’

Feeling the stinging pain across his face Jake could only sit and grunt through the gag as the razor ripped over his head the dark hair falling in bunches onto the floor. He could see the Skin not just smirking but he was certain the guys cock was starting to twitch down his leg.

‘Now a fine razor to take away all those spiky parts. Some shaving cream will help’ he said smearing the cream over the top. He then took a towel and wiped the scalp clean standing back to look at his work.

‘Not bad. This is just the beginning of your punishment mate. As The Skin said this he gave his crotch a good rub and Jake could see the bulge size getting bigger as it inched it way down the bleacher leg.

‘Now I am going to take off those ropes from your wrists and legs but don’t for one minute think of escaping or I will thump you so hard you will regret it for a long time to come. Anyway I have locked the door. Once I take these off stand up and take your clothes off all of them and hand them to me.’

 Jake still havdthe ball gag on and could say nothing but his facial expressions showed his pure anger.

As Jake stood up so he tried to move but got struck back with a punch in the face.

‘Another little move like that without my say so and you will have a broken nose. Perhaps not too bad though with the shaved head, eh? Now get your fucking clothes off.’

Jake meekly toom off his shiny chav trackie outfit and handed it over still standing in his white socks and underwear.

‘I said the whole lot.’

Jake did as he was told and handed them over standing stark naked in front of The Skin who then put his hands in the trackie pockets and pulled out the money and watch.

‘So this was all you managed to take and being as dumb as you are you probably thought you were taking away a high end watch. Sorry mate it’s a cheap replica which I set up for you. All a bit of waste for you.’

Then taking a pair of scissors The Skin started to cut up the trackie suit into pieces.

Jake went to attack the Skin but when the Skin too the scissors and aimed them at him he knew he could well get stabbed such was the authority of his prison officer.

‘You want be needing these again. Anyway it’s all part of your punishment you little runt. Not a bad cock you have there and a great pair of balls. Looks as if your tits may need improving but for now I always keep some different sizes of clothes for guests even if you are an unwanted one so put these on and then let’s have another look at you.

The Skin threw across some clothes to Jake who bent down to start putting on as quick as possible feeling too exposed standing there under scrutiny.

First on were a pair of faded bleachers. As he pulled them on he could feel the denim tight against his legs as they were almost made to the shape of his legs. He pulled them up as much as he could and the sensation of the denim as it started to cover his groin and cock suddenly started to make him feel horny and he had to push his cock down into one leg and watch the bulge grow as he did up the zip.

‘Looks mate as if you are quite happy with the new gear.’

He then pulled on the long pair of white socks up to his knees so he could then put on the well used pair of Ranger boots with white laces. He had seen guys do them before so knew how to lace tightly and tied at the top so there was no lace hanging down. He folded the top of the socks over. All that was left was the green bomber jacket. No T shirt was offered.

‘That’s better. Gone is that stupid Chav and now you look semi decent as a skinhead. ‘Fucking awful face though,’ The Skin smirked. ‘Take that and put it on.’

The Skin threw Jake a piece of rubber latex and he realised it was a full rubber hood with eye holes and slit for the mouth.

‘Pull that tight over your head it will be good fit now all that hair of yours has gone. Pull it right down to your neck.’

Jake felt the rubber hood mould to his head as he pulled it down over his eyes and could see The Skin staring at him and then down over his mouth so his lips were slightly sticking out. He took in the pungent smell of rubber and felt the odour move down into his throat. It was potent and it was arousing him which was the last thing he wanted in front of this Skin.

‘Time to take off that gag of mine.’

The Skin ripped it off and as he did he leant his face right into until it touched Jake. ‘You say anything other than I want you to say and the gag goes back on, Understand..’

Jakes simply nodded.

‘That cock of yours is starting to make a nice little packet even if you are being punished. Sometimes the sheer thrill of punishment is enough to make a guy feel horny. The hood really suits you. Now get down on your fucking knees in front of me.’

Saying this the Skin grabbed Jake by the shoulders and pushed him down sharply on his knees. Kneel you fucking piece of shit. You do exactly as I say and from now on you call me Sir. Got that?.

‘Yes,’

‘Yes fucking what?’

‘Yes Sir’

‘Make a mistake like that again and my boot will be in your face.. Remember what you are a shitty little burglar. Now get right down and use that spit of yours through the rubber hood to lick my boots. Right one first. Head right down.’

And with that Sir forced his ribbed boot down on Jake’s rubber covered head until his lips were pr4ssed against the toe cap. He knew he had to do the job well otherwise punishment would be worse. He hoped after this he would be chucked out onto the street and be able to slink home with no one to see him

Jake licked the hard covered the toe cap with as much spit as he could muster letting large globs onto the boot and then spreading it over the shiny leather surface until he could make it gleam with his spit.

Sir pushed him aside to check progress and the yanked his head over to the other boot.

‘Looks like you have done this before.’

Again Jake went through the same procedure feeling the weight of not just the Ranger boot but Sirs entire body firmly pushing him down hard until at one point he thought his lips would be bruised by the force. He could feel his spit spreading out over the rubber hood and as he licked he made a point of smelling the rubber the smell almost like sniffing poppers. At one point he felt the punishment was as much having to keep his boner in the bleachers. He was being so aroused by his master’s force and punishment.

Sir barked ‘Now stay on your knees and sit up straight. I have a little present for you seeing you are doing so well. Open up your jacket.’

Jake pulled the jacket open so his bare chest was exposed. He was afraid the guy was going to punch him. Instead out of his jacket the Skin brought out a pair of Tit clamps

‘Ever tried these before?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good there ‘s a first time for everything and this is it. Bending down with the chain he attached the first clamp to Jake’s left tit and as he did Jake let out a scream of pain.

‘Do you want the leather ball gag again.’

‘No Sir but its sore, fucking sore’

‘Of course it fucking is. Remember you are being punished. Be a fucking man. You are in skin gear and skins don’t complain. Most of my guests love it.’

As he said this he fixed the second clamp and let the chain fall between

Again Jake winced with the pain and yet somehow the searing heat of the pain in his nipples spread through his body down to his groin where it showed itself in further arousal of his cock. It wall all pain yet pleasure.

The Skin opened his bomber jacket so Jake could see his chest with the bright white T shirt, Sticking out a good inch were the biggest pair of nipples Jake had ever seen.

‘Now there’s a pair of nipps for you . It taken a lot of tit clamps and especially nipple pumps to get them this size. Big ain’t they.’

Jake looked in amazement and nodded. ‘Tell you what when I take my jacket of in the office everyone stares at the size of my nipples through the shirt. I know some guys who have started and had to supposedly go for a piss when I know they are off to wank themselves stupid. I love these tits. ‘

Jake wanted to reach up and squeeze these tits but he felt like the office guys and just wanted to wank staring at them.

Jake let his eyes from within the hood travel down to see Sir in his bleachers and the bulge had grown even more allowing Sir to take his hand and try to ease the pressure that had built up inside the bleachers

‘Got a good view there have you. That cock of mine is needing some attention after watching you and it’s time that mouth of yours took the full length of my thick shaft. I am going to take hold of that tit clamp and any time I feel you are not sucking well I will give it a yank. The pain will be enough for you to suck better. Got it?’

‘Yes Sir’

With Jake staring at the crotch The Skin unzipped and forced his hand all the way down one leg struggling to pull out his massive tool. As he brought out his cock he let go and Jake saw it bounce upwards until it was almost vertical and Jake could see the large vein stretching down the back of the prick. The big pink head was gleaming with what looked like precum.

It was an amazing cock but Jake wondered how he would not choke to death taking that into his mouth.

‘I want to see my cock disappearing into that hood of yours and then feel the rubber against my pubes. Now get on with it.’

Jake opened his mouth and let his spit drop on to the head so it would be easier to lick and start to take further into his throat. As the head hit the back of his throat he suddenly gagged and as he did Sir pulled on the chain causing Jake to howl with agony as he felt his tits feeling as though they were being pulled off.

‘I told you, scum. Breathe properly and trust me it will slip down.’

Panicked by the searing pain he started again and once more he gagged .

Again a sharp pull on the chain and Jake could feel the tears in his eyes from the pain, his tits feeling so raw.

‘Next time I will virtually rip your nipps off so you had better make it third time lucky.’

Jake was terrified of making another mistake, he could not suffer any more pain. Breathing carefully he let the head and top of the shaft into his mouth and little by little he was able to take the length further and further deeper and deeper into his throat. The cock seemed enormous but the fear made him do as he was told. Just as he was taking in most of the shaft Sir took his hands and placed then around Jake’s hood and pressed his head all the way in until he had Sirs full cock in his mouth.

‘There you are you can do it. Now start sucking.’

As Jake let all his spit smother the cock Sir starting moving his cock in and out bringing the head almost to the lips before setting the full length back in. As he did Sir put his fingers on his huge nips and started massaging them through the T shirt making them if possible even more erect. The more he face fucked Jake the more he worked on his nipples and the louder the groan..

Suddenly he pulled his cock fully out of Jakes mouth and let go of his nipps.

‘Still work to be done he said. Now get up’

Jake could feel the taste of precum in his throat as he obeyed. The rubber hood was starting to get very hot and tight on his head. He was almost feeling that his head might burst out of the hood

‘Sir, Can I take the rubber hood off?’

‘Soon but first let’s get you into position.’

Sir turned Jake around and bent him over a chest facing a large wall mirror.

‘Good now you can see yourself and me towering over you. Stay there a minute.’

Jake heard a drawer open and suddenly saw behind him Sir holing and large black rubber dildo.

‘What are you gong to do with that?’ Jake said

‘What do you fucking think and anyway it is not for you to ask. You only answer when I have a question for you, got it.’

Jake looking in the mirror saw Sir set several drops of KY onto the rubber shaft and then unaware until then , there was a zip down the rear of the bleachers and as it was pulled down he felt his arse being exposed. He did not know what to think or say as the hood was becoming increasingly hot tight and uncomfortable.

‘Let’s get started on your final punishment shall we.’

Jake felt his arse cheeks being pulled apart and the fingers of Sir exploring his hole. Suddenly he felt his hole being attacked by the dildo and forced open due to the KY.

‘Lucky for you I’m using the KY otherwise you would really waken up with this.’

However Jake let out a cry.

Please Sir don’t do this you have punished enough’

‘You made the mistake of entering my home so you take the punishment I give.’ 

Jake felt the black rubber dildo move deeper and deeper into his arse but what made him do it he didn’t know but he started to push his arse out to take the full length.

‘I don’t want you taking it all. I am just preparing you for my cock which is bigger than this dildo but the KY will let me slip it in nicely. Don’t worry you will feel it as my thick shaft goes the full way up.’

Sir slowly took out the dildo which Jake was now used to and felt his hole missing something large inside him when taken out and set aside.

‘Time to untie your hands as you can take off the hood yourself. Sounds as if it is ready.’

Sir undid the ties and pressed his erect cock against the rear of Jake’s bleachers.

‘Feels nice and hard doesn’t’ it. That arse of yours must be dying to feel it deep inside you. Now lets see you rip that rubber hood off. As you lift it up over your face keep looking in the mirror.’

Jake wondered what he was talking about and all he would see would be a very red face having had it on so long. It was not easy to remove as it felt literally stuck to his face.

As Jake pulled so he suddenly felt Sirs cock head slip into his already greased up arse. It was rock hard. The more Jake pulled at the hood the further in he felt the cock go. He winced as it was certainly bigger than the dildo just removed but he knew his arse was waiting to feel it up to the hilt.

Jake pulled the hood up to his chin , wrenching it to the point of almost ripping the rubber.

Grasping it firmly at his chin he sharply drew it up over his face and off his head, made slightly easier by the shaved head.

He gasped as he saw his head in the mirror reflection. Where was his fine featured long chav head. He now had almost a round football as a head. No wonder it was so tight. His eyebrows had gone and his whole face changed with its new pug nose and a deep scar down one of his cheeks. Down the side of his neck was a tattoo of a large swatzika . he was looking at someone else, the guy in the mirror was an agreesive looking skinhead. The clothes were the ones he had been instructed to wear and the body shape was his but he was looking at a full skin.

‘Like what you see?’

‘What the fuck have you done?’

‘I wouldn’t speak me to me like that you little skinhead with my cock deep inside you. No little runt of a chav breaks into my house and goes out the same way. I only fuck skins and if you are going to be a burglar then better a rough looking skin . No one will stop you, that is except me.’

Jake looked at the new him again and seeing this full skin made him feel horny as fuck. He looked the part with his full gear, the shaved head the scar and the tat. No fucking chav now he thought.

He was a skin with a skin’s big dick now making its way right up his arse. He needed to be fucked and only by a skin

‘That’s it you skinhead moron you want all my cum up that arse of yours.’

Jake went to pull down the zip of his bleachers as his cock was so hard he needed to get it out and wank while seeing himself in the mirror.

‘If you think of getting that prick of yours out forget it mate. Keep it down your leg pressed against your bleachers. Feel that skin denim rubbing up against your cock.

Saying all this to Jake made Sir even more keen top fuck and release all the spunk that had built up in his balls while punishing his burglar.

‘You fucking love looking like a skinhead now don’t you I can feel it the way that arse is thrusting back at my cock in the bleachers. None of my guests leave the way they came in unless they come as Skins. He knew Sir was ready to explode

‘That arse of yours was made for my big dick I can now feel it all the way up as my pubes are pressing against the rear zip of your bleachers.

‘Fuck me senseless Jake shouted. Make me feel a real skin being fucked by you.’

Seeing Jakes new look and hearing how aroused he had become made Sir even hornier than ever. With one arm around Jake’s front he put the other hand up to his aroused nipple sticking out more than ever in his T shirt.

His own cock was so hard it was hurting inside his bleachers and he knew that precum had started oozing out into the jeans. The more aroused Sir became the more aroused he was

‘Fucking you and having my nipple squeezed is the best.’ The more he worked his tit the more he thrust his cock in and out of Jakes arse. As he thrust faster and faster so `jhe could feel the cock inside throb more than ever and could feel the heavy balls . 

‘Keep looking at that tough skin face of yours.’ Sir shouted and get ready to rake all my spunk. He now put both arms around Jake so he could fuck all the harder, ramming more and more so that Jake felt every inch.

‘Take my spunk you dirty little skinhead burglar’ he shouted. And with that Sir released wave after wave which Jake could feel shooting up inside him, to the point he thought it would come out of his mouth. The sensation of so much spunk being injected into him was too much for Jake.

‘Fuck I’m gonna cum in my bleachers without even touching my cock.’

‘Then spunk away.’

And with a loud groan while admiring his new full skinhead look and still with Sirs cock up his arse, he shot his load into the demin and as he looked down he could see the white cream running down his leg forming a large stain as well as some oozing out to form big globs.

As Sir removed his cock and gave his prick a wipe he quickly zipped up the arse zip.

‘Now stand up boy ‘he barked.

As Jake stood up he could feel not just more cum dripping down inside his bleachers but all the excess of Sir’s spunk starting to ooze out through his hole and he could feel the wet patch spreading across his arse cheeks.

‘Fuck I’m all spunked back and front. I can’t leave like this.’

‘Oh yes you can. That’s the final punishment. Everyone can see what you have been up and they will either think you have been having sex or pissing and shitting yourself. Whatever, looking like that with your new Skin face no on is going to come anywhere near you. You are still a burglar so take the cheap watch and here’s the £100. You can either buy yourself another satin chav trackie suit or better get some great skin gear.

Jake looking at himself in the mirror with full skin and the running wet patch knew the answer.

‘Stuff the chav gear.’

‘I knew you would say that so now get the fuck out. You broke in by the window so you can leave that way. If you see the window open again, then try your luck. I have a nice rubber restraining suit that is just made for you so I can up the punishment.’

‘I’ll be back Sir’

He doesn’t see the guy slip in behind him. Doesn’t notice the camera reset itself above the stairwell. Doesn’t question why this deal didn’t go down at the usual spot.

Because Zach’s used to walking like a weapon. And weapons don’t check corners.

He finishes the hand-off fast. Glove taps. Cash flicked. Quick nods. Nobody lingers. But when he turns to leave, the stairwell door won’t open.

That’s the first beat. The first off-rhythm note.

He doesn’t panic. Not yet. Just turns, jaw flexing, and heads for the ramp instead—descending level by level with long, angry strides.

It’s on level 3 that it begins.

A noise. Not loud. Not obvious. But enough to make him stop.

Zach turns, shoulders puffed, jaw square. “Yo?”

Nothing.

He turns back, starts walking faster.

Second sound. Closer. Not shoes. Not footsteps. Just…weight.

He spins again. “The fuck is this? You think this is funny?”

Still silence. Still nothing behind him. Just a long stretch of concrete and shadows and that low buzz from broken lights.

Zach’s breathing changes. Not fear. Not yet. Just readiness. Like he’s about to have to crack someone’s jaw for trying to jump him.

He doesn’t notice the side door open behind him—dead quiet. Doesn’t see the figure step out. Pale gloves. Dark collar. Calm face. Watching.

Watching how his prey puffs up again. Wide stance. Tank top tightening across his lats as he postures into readiness.

And the man waits. Watches the jock retreat just a few more steps into the zone.

Center of level 3. Dead spot for cell service. No cameras.

Then he speaks. Just two words.

“Zach Roberts.”

The jock freezes. Every muscle in his back contracts at once.

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer.

Just says, “Who the fuck is that?”

He’s bluffing. He knows he’s bluffing. Only a few people call him by his last name. Most of them don’t say it calmly.

The man speaks again. Same level. Same tone.

“You don’t remember me. But I remember you.”

Zach turns. Hands down, wide. “Look, bro, I don’t do re-drops. You got the wrong idea. Walk away.”

The man’s already walking forward. Measured steps. Not aggressive. Not hesitant. Just inevitable.

Zach’s hands twitch. That tiny shift forward—half-threat, half-defense.

“Back the fuck up.”

The man stops ten feet away. Tilts his head. “Still wearing blue. Still think no one’s watching.”

Zach’s nostrils flare. “You don’t know shit about me.”

But the man smiles. “That’s not true.”

And then—without a word—he lifts his hand. Not a weapon. Just fingers. And flicks a button on a small grey box clipped to his belt.

The lights above flicker once. Then go black.

Zach’s body pivots. Hard. Trained reflexes. But it’s too late.

The sound that follows is chemical.

A soft hiss.

One second later, Zach’s legs buckle.

He wakes upright.

Not tied. Not spread. That would be too easy.

He’s standing.

Back against a wall. Ankles loose. Palms open. Head heavy.

But what’s wrong—what makes his gut twist as consciousness comes back in waves—is that his gear is still on.

The same tank. The same joggers. Untouched.

But his bag is gone.

His phone is gone.

And worst of all—he’s hard.

Fully. Thickly. Pinned beneath his waistband.

And he knows that wasn’t there before.

The lights flicker on above him. Fluorescent. White. Sterile. Not the garage anymore. A room. Square. Clean. Industrial. Not medical. Not prison. Somewhere in between.

And in front of him, the man.

Standing. Hands behind his back. Watching him wake.

“You’re awake faster than expected,” the man says calmly. “Good. I prefer it conscious.”

Zach’s voice is raw. “What the fuck… what the fuck is this?”

The man steps forward. One step only. “You’ll find that question is irrelevant.”

Zach growls, tries to push off the wall. His legs wobble but hold.

“You drugged me. That’s illegal, motherfucker. You think you’re getting away with this?”

The man smiles. “I already did.”

And Zach lunges.

But the floor under him gives just half an inch. Enough to throw his balance.

And before he can recover—before he even knows what part of him slipped—the man is there.

Not hitting. Not grabbing. Just stepping into him.

And whispering: “Everything you’re feeling? Is intentional.”

Zach shoves. Hard. The man takes a single step back. Calm again.

But the damage is done. The jock feels it—his own breath, too hot. His thighs, too loose. His cock, throbbing without permission.

“Stop it—fucking stop it—you can’t just—”

“You’re not ready for what comes next,” the man says. “But you’ll learn. Muscle doesn’t stop this. Anger doesn’t help. Your mouth won’t save you.”

Zach is sweating now. Tank clinging. Neck twitching. He’s fully conscious. Fully humiliated.

Zach’s pacing now. Wide-legged, slow, like his limbs are still catching up with him. The room’s square, too clean, too silent. That erection won’t go down—every shift of his hips pulls the joggers tighter over it, highlighting its thickness in full, unwilling silhouette. His fists are clenched. He’s not thinking clearly. But that shame? It’s radiating.

And the man doesn’t move. Doesn’t taunt. Just waits. And watches.

“You need to fix this,” Zach snarls, pointing at his crotch like it’s some kind of glitch. “Whatever the fuck you put in me, undo it.”

Still, the man waits. Calm. Measured. Until Zach’s pacing brings him too close again. Until the edge of his scent hits the air between them—sweat, cologne, that thick humidity of chemically forced arousal.

Only then does the man step forward. And speak.

“You don’t remember me, do you.”

Zach’s face contorts. “We already did this. I don’t know you, and when I get out—”

“You will.” A pause. “I remember everything. You were wearing a cap backwards. Tank top, same style. Except tighter. You didn’t recognize me then either. But you looked. You laughed.”

Zach narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

The man takes another step. Closer. Inside the edge of comfort. Now less than a foot from Zach’s face. His tone never rises.

“Freshman year. Tau Sigma party. Upstairs bathroom. I was there by mistake. You cornered me. Smiled like it was a joke. You asked if I was lost.”

Zach freezes.

“That wasn’t me.”

“You said—‘Did you take a wrong turn, princess? This isn’t the GSA meeting.’”

Zach’s mouth opens. Then shuts. Then opens again. “I was drunk—if I even said that, it wasn’t personal.”

“Oh no,” the man smiles. “It was very personal. Because I wasn’t out. Not then. Not to anyone. You didn’t just embarrass me. You marked me. And you don’t even remember.”

Zach takes a step back. “Look, man—if that’s what this is? I’m sorry. Okay? I say a lot of shit. It was a fucking party.”

The man just smiles deeper. “You said more than that. You said, ‘If you ever even look at me again, I’ll break your fucking teeth.’”

Zach’s throat contracts. The sweat’s running now. Down his spine. Into the band of his joggers.

“And you meant it,” the man says. “You shoved me. Laughed with your friends. And then you left me there. Door locked. Everyone outside chanting ‘princess’ because you said it loud enough.”

Zach shakes his head, but it’s weak now. His mouth opens to speak again, to apologize again, but the man just cuts through it with a wave of his hand. “I’m not here for your apology.”

He reaches forward. Just lightly. A gloved fingertip traces along the waistband. Not inside. Not forward. Just a drag of pressure across the trembling elastic line. Zach’s entire body tenses like he’s been burned.

“Yo—yo, don’t—”

But the finger lifts, and the man’s already stepping back.

“That’s how easy it is. One finger. And you’re already flinching.”

Zach is flushed now. Face, chest, even the meat of his thighs. His cock is still rock hard—visible, no longer deniable. The bulge now bouncing slightly with every sharp breath. The tension behind his eyes burns like acid.

“You’re sick.”

“No,” the man says, turning slightly, walking around him now. “You are. You think this is about attraction? About revenge sex? It’s not. You’re not being punished because I want you.”

He stops behind Zach. Lowers his voice.

“You’re being punished because you don’t matter.”

Zach’s eyes flare.

“You’re just meat. The only reason I chose you is because you chose yourself first. You looked in the mirror, flexed, posted thirst traps, barked at anyone who didn’t match your fratboy fantasy—and you thought that made you safe.”

The man steps close again. Just behind. No contact. Just breath.

“Tell me, Zach. Do you still feel untouchable?”

Zach’s chest heaves. The arousal’s still there, betraying him. Still stretching the joggers. Still pulsing in rhythm with the humiliation.

But his voice? Still defiant. Still cracking.

“This is bullshit… This is fucked—”

“It is,” the man agrees. “And you’re going to feel every second of it. Fully aware. Fully hard. And completely helpless.”

Zach’s been repositioned. He didn’t see how. He remembers blackness. Then light. Then pressure. Now he’s on his knees—but not bound. Not strapped. Just placed. Back straight. Head tilted up by invisible cues. Like his body was trainedwhile he was under.

But everything still works. Arms. Legs. Mouth. Which makes it worse.

Because now, the choice is part of the ritual.

He can say no. He can pull back. But the room’s calibrated for what happens after that.

The man enters the chamber. This one’s different. Dimmer. Warmer. Closer. Zach’s joggers are still on—but darker now, soaked through at the thighs. His tank is peeled halfway, twisted like someone half-removed it and changed their mind. His skin glistens. Chest rising fast.

Because in front of him stands another man. Not the first. Someone new.

Older. Thicker. Shirt half-buttoned. Belt loosened. Calm.

Zach blinks. “No—no, no. What the fuck is this.”

The first man steps behind him. Doesn’t touch. Just speaks.

“This is Phase One. You’ll service him. With your mouth. Fully clothed. For now.”

Zach flinches. “Fuck you—”

A sharp beep cuts him off. Somewhere in the ceiling. And then—just like that—his cock pulses again.

Zach gasps. Grabs at his crotch. It’s not pleasure. It’s pressure. A heat like someone’s pouring static through his veins.

“—stop—stop it—” he growls, twisting, trying to stand.

But the second man takes one step forward. And reaches down.

Fingertips graze Zach’s jawline.

Zach recoils like he’s been burned.

“Don’t fucking touch me—” he spits, eyes wide, voice cracking now. “I don’t fucking suck dick. I don’t—I’m not—NO.”

The first man responds, coolly. “You said no. Good. The system is designed around that.”

Zach lunges up—but the second man grabs his shoulders. Just briefly. And guides him back down.

Not with force. With weight. With pressure.

Zach’s knees hit the pad. His arms shake. His head turns violently left and right.

“I’ll bite—swear to fucking God, I’ll bite—”

“You won’t,” the first man says. “Because if you do, you’ll stay down here for hours. Stimulation locked. Hard as iron. Aching. Gagged. Until your body starts leaking from the strain.”

Zach’s voice shatters. “This is insane. This is fucking SICK—”

“And yet,” the first man murmurs, leaning in—his breath at Zach’s ear—“your jaw is already trembling. Your chest already heaving. And your throat’s been swallowing since he stepped forward.”

Zach chokes out a half-sobbed “fuck you”—but the second man begins undoing his belt. Slowly. Deliberately. Inches from Zach’s face.

Zach’s breath starts to hitch. He shakes his head. “No—no, no—don’t—don’t make me—”

“No one’s making you,” the first man says calmly. “You can leave anytime.”

Zach’s head jerks toward the door.

“It’s unlocked,” the man lies. “You can walk. Right now. Fully clothed. Hard as a fucking weapon. With a camera recording your every step.”

Zach’s mouth hangs open. Still trembling. Still red. The outline in his joggers is obscene now. Unignorable.

The second man strokes himself. Softly. Slowly. Unzipped. Hanging close. Not touching Zach yet. Just present.

“You’ll do it,” the first man says. “Not because you want to. Not because you’re gay. Not even because you’re broken.” Beat. “You’ll do it because you can’t leave until you have.”

Zach looks up. Lip quivering. Sweat pouring. And he says it again—one last try: “I said no.”

The first man smiles. “Exactly.”

Zach’s lips are still parted when it touches them. Not in an erotic way. Not cinematic. Just real. Flesh against flesh. Heavy. Warm. Throbbing slightly. The man’s cock lays right against his mouth like a weight—and Zach freezes.

He doesn’t lean forward. Doesn’t open. He doesn’t scream, either. He just trembles. Every muscle in his neck twitching.

The man above him doesn’t speak. Doesn’t push. Just lets it rest there.

And that’s worse.

Because the silence wraps around Zach’s head like heat. Like pressure. Like every part of his body is waiting for a cue.

Behind him, the voice returns—steady, clinical, studied.

“Breathe through your nose. Don’t clench your jaw. And remember—if you pull back again, we restart. From the beginning. All of it.”

Zach snarls. “I’m not fucking doing this. I’m not your little—fuck!”

The man presses just a little. The tip slides over his lips. Pre-leaking. Slick. Zach recoils—but only an inch. Just far enough to get sticky. Not far enough to escape.

His mouth stays shut. His lips press hard together like a vice.

And so the ritual shifts.

The second man begins rubbing it—across Zach’s face. Slow. Back and forth. Dragging the shaft along his cheekbone, his jawline, his chin. Marking him.

Zach flinches with every pass.

“Fucking stop—fuck, this is—this is fucked up!”

But he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t leap up. Doesn’t throw punches.

Because that stimulation is still humming through him. The kind they warned about. The kind he feels pulsing through his hips. The kind that keeps his cock like stone, pumping behind the soaked cotton of his joggers.

“You’re not servicing him yet,” the voice explains. “This is still calibration.”

The man above him spits once—downward. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just part of it. The saliva lands on Zach’s collarbone and runs down his chest, vanishing beneath the folded tank. Zach bucks violently.

“YOU FUCKING—”

“Don’t raise your voice,” the man behind him says. “That will trigger a breath training sequence. Trust me, you’re not ready for that.”

Zach tries to stand again. Makes it halfway. Hands on the floor, knees flexed. The second man grabs him by the hair. Not rough. Not kind. Just mechanical.

Pushes him right back down. Face-first. Nose brushing flesh.

Zach screams into it. Muffled. Guttural. But no one’s listening for consent. Only position.

“You will service,” the voice says. “You will gag. You will fail. And you will learn.”

The shaft taps his lips again. This time, Zach shudders. Mouth still shut. Breathing harder now.

A light flashes above him. The system beeps. The next stage begins.

A hand slides around his jaw. The thumb presses. Just enough to part his lips. Just enough to force that first inch in.

Zach chokes. The second it hits his tongue, his whole body snaps backward—but the man behind him is already bracing. Holding him by the sides. Forcing him to feel it.

“No—no—NO—”

His tongue recoils. Saliva pools. Gag reflex fires early.

But the cock doesn’t go deeper. Not yet. Just rests there.

And Zach can’t spit it out. He tries. He works his jaw. He gurgles. But the angle—the pressure—the body heat—keeps it locked.

And every second it stays there, drool starts streaming.

Down his chin. Onto his tank. Soaking the neckline.

He’s not sucking. He’s not serving. He’s surviving.

The first man leans in again. “You can do better. I’ve seen the way you stretch your traps at the gym. That mouth can open wider.”

Zach growls against the cock. One hand slams the floor. The other tries to push the man’s thighs away. Useless.

“You motherfucker—” he slurs, lips barely moving, mouth stuffed. “Get this the fuck out of me—”

But it’s too late.

The man above him shifts his hips. Presses deeper. Just two inches.

Zach gags. Violently. Whole body spasms. He yanks his head back but the hands hold him. The cock slides out soaked in spit, and Zach gasps for air—wet, panting, furious.

“I SAID—no—I SAID—fuck you—”

“Exactly,” the man says. “Again.”

And it slides back in. This time faster. Deeper.

Zach chokes on impact. Spit spraying. Eyes wide. Wrists shaking. But his knees stay down. His body starts jerking in rhythm—gag, gasp, swallow, gag.

“You’re not sucking,” the voice says. “That comes later. This is submission.”

Zach’s nose is dripping. His chest is twitching. Every sound from him is a sputtered refusal. But his cock—his fucking cock—is throbbing through his joggers.

And he knows it. He feels it. He hates it.

The man above him starts moaning. Slow. Soft. Mocking.

“Yeah… good throat. Didn’t think fratboys came with that setting.”

Zach snarls. Gags again. His hands claw at the man’s thighs—sweaty now—slipping. Useless.

Then a new hand grabs the back of his head. And holds.

No more rocking. No more grace. Just down.

Zach’s whole body arches. His feet lift. His throat closes—but the shaft keeps pressing.

He tries to scream. He tries to puke. He tries to bite.

But there’s too much pressure. Too much weight. The hands don’t move. The cock stays buried. And Zach falls.

Eyes watering. Chest heaving. And then—he shudders.

Not from fear. From humiliation. Because his cock just leaked.

The joggers? Stained. Slick. Visible.

And his mouth is still full.

His mouth is still full, jaw stretched, tongue flattened beneath the slick pressure, and the hands don’t let up, not even as his eyes start to cross from the burn behind them, not even when he convulses again and the gag reflex starts to seize his spine, one hand clawing against the thigh in front of him, the other slapping weakly against the floor, no aim, just desperation, just panic, but the shaft stays buried, throatfucking him not through speed but through weight, through permanence, through ownership, and then something shifts, barely a second—he hears it before he feels it, a footstep, and then a heat at his side, and another cock brushes his face, hot, pulsing, the tip already wet again, already dragging across the sheen of spit and sweat coating his flushed cheek, and Zach’s moan is pure refusal, choked and drowned by the first dick in his mouth, his nostrils flaring hard, breath punching out wet and shallow against the shaft spreading him open

the second cock doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease—it lines up at the corner of his lips, right beside the first, and Zach starts thrashing, knees jerking, hips rocking back like he can escape through the floor, but the hand on his head tightens, not brutal, just instructive, forcing his jaw wider with the steady press of a thumb against the hinge, and the second cock slides in with a sound like flesh meeting wet velvet, dragging spit inside with it, splitting his lips further, stretching him past resistance into sheer anatomical panic, his jaw pops, the veins in his neck bulge, and his body begins to shake

he’s making noises now—noises no man should make—wet slurps, involuntary glugs, sputters, breathless coughs that never become full chokes because the shafts are too close together, too thick, occupying every inch of his throat and mouth, pressing down against each other inside the tight cavity, and Zach can’t move his head, can’t nod, can’t shake, all he can do is survive, drool pouring down his chin like a faucet, dripping onto his tank, soaking into the chest, the fabric sagging from saturation

the joggers are no longer just wet—they’re ruined, a steady dark stain spreading down from the waistband, pooling between his thighs, the bulge twitching visibly, lewdly, and he knows it, feels it, the shame so overwhelming his eyes flutter closed, but that just earns him a slap, open-palmed, sharp, across his cheek, forcing him to open again, forcing him to watch

one of the men moans above him—deep, guttural, older, indulgent—“he’s taking it now, fuck, didn’t think this little muscle doll had room for two”

Zach tries to scream no, tries to grunt, but the only sound is bubbles, the only motion is tears cutting tracks through the mess on his face, and then they start moving, finally, together at first, then staggered, one pulling out while the other presses deeper, fucking his mouth in a rhythm designed to erase speech, to unlearn identity, every thrust a syllable in a language his body was never meant to understand

he’s not resisting now because he can’t—every limb is limp, every nerve lit with humiliation, his spine bowed, his head held up by hands and pressure alone, and then one of them grabs his throat, fingers wrapping around the column like measuring tape, feeling the shape of their own cock moving inside it, laughing low when Zach gags again, this time without warning, a wet choke that sprays down his chest and makes both cocks slip deeper on instinct

“don’t cum yet,” one of them says, not to Zach, but to the other, and Zach’s stomach turns because they’re not talking about him, he’s not the subject, he’s not the receiver—he’s the setting, the equipment, the flesh

his cock jerks again, untouched, stiff to the point of pain, pulsing against the sticky fabric, now dripping, leaking down one thigh, and the system knows, because another low beep echoes from the ceiling and a short pulse of heat blooms across his lower spine, a chemical twitch that makes his whole body tense up and moan around both cocks at once

they both feel it

“fuck, he just squeezed”

“like he wanted it”

Zach howls, or tries to, but he’s full—so full—and his throat burns and his mind is screaming but his body is betraying him with every pump, every wet contraction, and the only thing he can do is endure, but the ritual isn’t done, the training isn’t complete, because now they’re grabbing his wrists, pulling them forward, wrapping his hands around both shafts, and forcing him to stroke while his mouth stays open, split, ruined, and the voice from the wall speaks one final time

“welcome to compliance phase three. gag reflex: bypassed. tactile obedience: installed. ejaculation: denied.”

Zach’s eyes snap wide. He screams around the twin cocks. But the door doesn’t open.

They’re still inside him. And this phase hasn’t ended.

Zach’s jaw has stopped fighting. Not because he accepts. Not because he yields. Because it’s numb. He can’t feel where his mouth ends and their cocks begin. He’s breathing through one nostril, shallow and wet, the other half-blocked with mucus and spit. One cock’s pressing the back of his throat, still forcing involuntary swallows with every shallow thrust. The other’s dragging along the roof of his mouth, painting him from inside. They’ve been using him for long enough now that his neck muscles are locking. His stomach’s heaving. His mind’s fracturing. And still, they hold his head like an object—two men, four hands, mouths grunting above him like he's not even there. “Hold him still.” “Fuck—he’s tightening—” “Don’t pull out.” The first twitch hits his tongue. Thick. Wet. It pumps directly into his throat and his body flails, instinct kicking before thought. He jerks back but they tighten their grip. The cock stays buried, and the heat pours straight down his throat in violent spurts. He’s forced to swallow. No air. No pause. Just that obscene gulping sound echoing through the chamber as seed fills him.

Then the second man moans. His cock slides back—not out, just enough for the head to wedge inside Zach’s mouth properly—and then he unloads.

Hot. Heavy. Against his teeth. His tongue. His cheeks.

It floods.

Zach’s mouth overflows.

He tries to spit. He tries. But his lips are pinned, his jaw still stretched, and the warmth just spills back out. Drips down his chin. Trails down his throat. Splatters onto his soaked tank, his heaving chest, the bruised band of his cross-body strap. He makes a sound that’s not human—half sob, half gag—and then he shudders.

Something happens.

His thighs snap tight. His spine arches.

The system pulses again. A low click beneath his waistband. He screams against the cocks but they don’t move.

And then his body betrays him.

His cock erupts.

No stimulation. No stroke. Just release.

Forced. Sudden. Devastating.

The cum floods his joggers instantly—thick, hot, humiliating—so much pressure that the front puffs out before it breaks containment and pours down his thighs. A wet line streaks from crotch to knee. Another soaks his inner thighs and pools at the floor between his socks.

Then the second wave hits. He’s still cumming.

The white spreads faster now—through the joggers, down to his calves. It drips into his shoes.

He’s twitching. Moaning behind ruined lips.

And both cocks are still resting inside him. Half-hard now. Still leaking. Still marking.

Their hands stay on his head even after the pulses begin to slow, even after Zach's body collapses forward, even after his throat has stopped swallowing. The cocks don’t leave his mouth. They just stay there—throbbing, twitching, still leaking. Because they’re not finished. Not until he’s glazed. Not until every inch of that swollen, gym-built body is marked. Not until that soft golden skin is painted in streaks of white—like the meat he is.

The second man shifts his grip, holds Zach’s hair tight in one hand, the other stroking himself faster now, standing over him, angling higher. His shaft brushes Zach’s face again—smearing across his temple, then over his cheekbone, right under his eye. Zach doesn’t flinch anymore. Doesn’t yell. He can’t even blink in time to stop the next rope from hitting his cheek and sticking, slow and heavy, sliding down to the corner of his mouth, hanging there like a strand of glue across his lips.

The first man groans above him and yanks his head back, mouth forced open again as the cock in his throat pulls free, loud and wet. Zach gasps, eyes wild, just in time to take the next eruption directly across his face. A thick white streak lashes across his forehead, globs clinging to his cropped hairline, another coat hitting across his nose, then his upper lip, hot and unrelenting.

He tries to turn his face away. They don’t let him.

The third load lands directly across his chest. A full shot. Heavy.

It hits the tank top and soaks through in a second, spreading out across the fabric, sinking into the neckline, darkening it with weight and warmth. It runs in slow rivulets down his pecs, gliding between muscle ridges, dripping off the bottom edge like it’s melting.

Another load follows it. From the side this time. Across the collarbone. Then one aimed lower. His abs. The tank is useless now—transparent with spit, pre, and fresh streaks of cum soaking through it in uneven blotches. A glob runs across the curve of his left pec and slides down the side, smearing into his armpit. He grunts at the sensation, body jerking as the heat spreads.

One of the men kneels. Grabs Zach by the chin. Tilts his face up like a specimen.

The next blast is deliberate. Straight across his eyes. He gasps, mouth opening, and another thick rope lands inside.

He spits—but it doesn’t matter. His tongue’s already coated. He chokes and coughs as more drips out of his mouth, down his chin, into his tank top.

It doesn’t stop.

One of them strokes again. Faster. Hissing.

Another blast hits Zach’s neck, right along the strap of his bag. The fabric darkens instantly.

Then more. More.

Across his shoulders. His traps. One load drips down his spine, into the collar of his tank, inside the back, trailing downbetween his shoulder blades until it disappears.

And still—they keep going.

One ropes across his thigh. It hits the joggers and splatters, wet heat spreading through the cotton.

Another coats the waistband.

One of them lifts the front of the joggers slightly. Just enough. And aims—right inside.

Zach screams. It’s hoarse. Broken. The heat floods the already soaked pouch, filling it, the cum pressing down his cock, his balls, pouring down his thighs in long, milky streaks that hit the tops of his socks and keep going.

It’s pooling.

It’s dripping.

It’s puddling.

His shoes are squishing. His knees are slick. His hands? Still pinned behind his back now, sticky with the last discharge from the cock that’s been using his mouth for the last twenty minutes.

The light above hums. His body glistens.

Everywhere.

His cheeks. His lips. His forehead. His chest. His thighs. His crotch. His knees.

Zach’s entire front is coated in a translucent, glistening glaze.

The color of surrender. The texture of ruin.

Nothing on him is dry.

Not even his hair.

And still—he’s hard.

The front of his joggers pulses one last time, a weak, miserable contraction, as his cock leaks again, untouched, unnoticed, spraying just a few final drops into the soaked swamp between his thighs.

The room smells like sweat. Like cum. Like submission.

And Zach kneels there. Coated. Soaked. Face destroyed. Joggers melted against his thighs. Eyes glazed from more than just exhaustion.

The man behind him brushes one thumb across the curve of his cum-slick lips.

“He’s ready.”

Zach moans through his nose. A small, broken sound.

Because he knows exactly what they mean.

This was only initiation.

Now they start training

Zach’s mouth is still open, lips slack, jaw soaked, raw from stretch and violation, one last drop sliding from his lower lip to his chin before the man gripping his hair smears it across his cheek with his thumb like warpaint, like ownership, his breathing is ragged, not from effort but from overload, his nose is leaking, his throat pulsing, the tank clings to his chest like a second skin, translucent where it’s soaked, heavy with spit and cum, and the joggers—those pale blue joggers—are ruined, soaked from waistband to knee, darker at the crotch where his cock still twitches, the shape of it visible, shameless, outlined like it wants to be seen, but no one’s looking at it anymore, the man behind him is crouched now, gloved hands sliding down Zach’s glazed back, pressing over the wet tank, feeling the heat through the fabric, fingertips trailing down the ridge of his spine to the band of his joggers, two fingers hook inside, slow, and Zach flinches hard, tries to speak but only a hoarse grunt comes out, his throat too used, too filled, the man at his mouth hasn’t stepped back, hasn’t softened, he’s still there, cock resting against Zach’s cheek like it belongs there, pressing his lips occasionally like a reminder, a cue, a leash

the waistband pulls back, elastic groaning, and the heat hits Zach’s backside instantly, he jerks forward but the man in front grabs him by the throat—not to choke, just to hold, steady, aligned—his joggers are peeled down halfway, not all the way, not stripped, just lowered, pushed beneath his glutes so the full, round curve is exposed, shiny with sweat, and then a line of spit drops from behind, slow, thick, landing right between his cheeks and trailing down

Zach growls, not with rage, but with panic, the kind that starts in the gut and rises too fast, he tries to speak, to beg, to say no again, but the cock at his mouth pushes between his lips and silences it, the sound becoming a wet muffled plea as the head breaches him from behind with a pressure that doesn’t pause, doesn’t warn, just pushes, thick, slow, steady, the wet slide of forced entry, his knees scrape on the floor as he tries to squirm forward but the grip on his throat holds him in place while the cock behind him sinks in, inch by inch, his hole stretched around it, trembling, clenching, but the lube is fresh and the pressure is relentless

he’s split open and mounted in the same breath, back arched, ass bouncing against the thrust, and the man behind him groans low, “tight as fuck, even after that mess,” Zach groans, a choked noise around the cock in his mouth, spit leaking from the corners, his fists clenching on the floor, the man in front of him grabs his jaw and starts moving again, pushing in, short sharp thrusts into that already ruined throat, and the rhythm begins—fucked from both ends, one cock dragging along his tongue while the other buries itself deeper into his ass with every stroke, the sounds are obscene, flesh on flesh, wet slaps, gagging, panting, grunting, and Zach’s body is caught between them, legs trembling, hole fluttering around the cock that owns it now, his joggers bunched at his knees, soaked in his own seed, his socks darkened from dripping down, puddles beneath him forming new puddles, his tank stretched tight over his chest with every shove forward, nipples stiff through the fabric, the glaze on his face mixing with sweat and drool until it shines under the harsh light

the man behind grabs both of Zach’s hips and slams in, hard, hilting, balls slapping against the base of his ass, and Zach screams into the cock in his mouth, throat tightening, his body jerking, but they don’t slow, the one in front groans, “he’s sucking now,” and laughs, strokes Zach’s hair like a reward, “look at him—filthy little collection plate,” and they thrust together, not coordinated, just cruel, forcing his body forward and back, his spine bending with each collision, his arms slack now, not resisting, just holding on, his cock slaps against his soaked stomach, twitching again, another pulse, another leak, he’s leaking constantly now, completely, there’s no arousal in his face, only humiliation, tears running down, spit connecting his chin to the shaft, his ass making wet noises with every thrust

the man behind him groans deeper now, faster, grabbing Zach’s shoulder, pulling him back harder, “gonna mark this hole too,” and Zach tries to shake his head, but the cock in his mouth sinks deeper, silencing him to the base, the balls rest against his nose, smothering him, holding him down while the man behind breeds him with a sudden, violent groan, heat flooding into him, rope after rope, no condom, no pull-out, just full, raw release directly into his hole, and Zach convulses, mouth filled, nose flaring, body locked between both men as he climaxes again, cock untouched, joggers drenching, seed pouring out, soaking into the puddle beneath him, his socks now sloshing when his feet shift

the cock in his throat pulses too—hard—and the next load floods his mouth again, the head swelling as cum coats his tongue, thick and endless, overflowing past his lips, down his chin, onto the floor, dripping from his chest, all while his hole leaks, twitching, seed running down his thighs, smearing with his own, the perfect glaze now complete

he doesn’t collapse. he melts. still held up by their hands, still filled, still leaking

and the room is silent except for the drip. drip. drip.

his mouth. his hole. his ruined joggers.

his knees won’t stop shaking but they don’t care, one hand still resting on the back of his slick neck like a handle, not to hold him still—he’s not going anywhere—but to remind him, to weigh down what’s already collapsed, Zach’s chest is heaving in short, silent spasms, the tank soaked and clinging to his ribs, translucent across the middle where both loads hit first, where sweat and spit and cum merged into one sticky sheen, his face is a mess, striped with drying seed across his cheekbones, along his jawline, lips coated, chin wet, a slow glob trailing from the corner of his mouth to the floor like a filament, his hair is matted, fringes stuck to his forehead, and every time he swallows you can see it move—his throat, reddened, raw, used

the man behind him still hasn’t pulled out, just rests inside, shaft twitching occasionally as Zach’s hole clenches around it in exhausted, unwilling pulses, heat leaking out around the base, dribbling down the inside of one trembling thigh, a slow milky streak that crosses the pale blue of his joggers where they’ve been shoved down past his ass, every inch of his exposed skin glistening under the overhead lights like it’s been lacquered, the joggers are beyond salvage, stained from waistband to shin, stretched and wet and sagging from the sheer volume of what’s been forced out of him and into him, and his cock—fuck, his cock is still hard, not fully, not proud, but twitching, leaking one last line across the wrinkled front, a puddle beneath him catching the slow drip of it all

the man in front steps closer again, cock half-hard but still slick, dragging the tip across Zach’s cheek with no urgency, smearing the mess across his face like frosting a mouth he owns, and Zach flinches—not because he’s fighting, but because there’s nothing left to do, and they know it, they watch the way his eyes twitch now, unfocused, the way his arms hang limp, forearms glazed, fingers sticky from clutching the floor while they fucked him through it, he hasn’t said a word since they bred him, not because he doesn’t want to—but because words don’t belong to him anymore

a hand cups his jaw, forces his head up, not gentle, not cruel, just mechanical, instructional, the man above him smiling down like a handler inspecting his work, thumb pressing into Zach’s tongue, opening him wider, exposing the inside of his mouth, still glazed, still wet, and then—spits—not fast, not angry, just slow, direct, letting it fall and land across his tongue like punctuation

“again,” the voice says behind him, and Zach twitches, almost mishears it, thinks it’s to him—but it’s not, it’s to the man who’s still inside him, who hasn’t moved, who finally slides out with a thick, slick sound, seed following, smeared across Zach’s ruined hole, streaking down the backs of his thighs, and then another hand grabs his hips and pulls, not lifting, not positioning, just displaying

Zach’s ass is parted again, wide, sloppy, used, and the new man crouches behind him, gloves already on, thumbs pressing into the bruised skin around the rim, widening him for inspection, cum oozing freely, and Zach lets out a sound, low, broken, no resistance in it at all, just a sound of humiliation, his spine curving, his neck falling forward, the seed in his mouth dripping to the floor in slow strands

“he’s still leaking,” one of them says, sounding satisfied, “good retention,” and a hand smacks his right cheek—sharp, echoing—and Zach jerks, hole twitching again, another leak of cum escaping down to his knee

“he’s trained,” the other says, “doesn’t even ask who we are anymore,” and they laugh, and Zach doesn’t flinch this time, because they’re right, he hasn’t asked—not since the first breeding, not since the mouthfucking, not since his joggers flooded untouched, he hasn’t said anything because what the fuck would he even ask now?

the man in front steps around him, and Zach feels it before he sees it—his joggers being tugged back up, slow, deliberate, over the cum-slicked skin, over the stained thighs, up and around the mess, sealing it all inside, locking the fluids against his flesh, fabric stretching tight over the fullness of it, soaking through instantly, the dark stain spreading from crotch to ass like a fucking seal

a voice in his ear now, calm, cold, final—“you’re going to walk out like this”

Zach shudders

“no cleanup”

he gasps

“you leave in what you earned”

and the joggers snap at the waist, elastic locking everything in, the stench of cum pressed to his skin, a slick warmth between his legs that makes every twitch, every movement, shameful

they help him stand—not kindly, not cruelly, just completely, lifting him by the arms like luggage, and he sways on his feet, cum pooling in his socks, shoes soaked, shirt wrinkled and translucent, face still glazed, throat bruised from the inside out, lips swollen and open just slightly, a string of spit still hanging from the corner

they guide him to the door, one on either side

he doesn’t speak

he doesn’t look back

but when the door hisses open and the hallway light spills in, the air hits him cold, and the wet warmth between his thighs moves, squishes, his cock jerks once more in the wet mess, and he gasps, barely audible, and they smile, both of them, and step out beside him—his masters now

Zach leaves.

the hallway spits zach out like trash. he stumbles forward, legs weak, joggers clinging to him like wet plastic, sticky between his thighs, ass squishing with every step. his face is still glazed. eyes glassy. tank top translucent, stuck to his chest like a snot-stained bib. his cock twitches once in the wet, like it’s trying to stay hard but can’t. people walk past. no one looks. the city moves on. zach’s skin burns with the stench of it. his socks squelch. shoes ruined. he blinks, breath hitching, hand on the wall, about to collapse—

and that’s when he sees him. the man. the fucking homeless scab-zombie sack of piss zach once pushed off a bench outside omega chi’s spring party. the man zach called “roadkill.” the one who reached out and zach stepped on his hand like garbage.

he’s still there. but closer. right there on the edge of the lot. one eye milked over. beard crusted with filth. coat like it’s been growing mold since 2006. but awake. aware. his nose twitches. he smells zach. not the cologne. the cum. the submission. the rot.

“boy,” the man grunts, wet voice low and cracked like something forgotten under a bridge. zach stumbles back. “don’t.” it’s barely a whisper. one hand lifts, limp, warning. but it’s too late.

the man lunges. fast. violent. not clumsy. hungry.

grabs zach by the front of his tank, rips it sideways, mouth already at his neck, smelling, licking—“you smell like sissy juice”—zach yells, pushes, swings, but his body’s slow, too fucked, too full, and the man’s already behind him, tongue pressed flat against the back of zach’s neck, hand cupping his crotch from behind, squeezing the soaked joggers like he owns them.

“no—NO—get the fuck off me—” but his voice cracks. breaks. because the homeless man is smiling. not seducing. owning. fingers dig into the cum-drenched seat of his joggers. slurp—the man licks the glaze right off zach’s cheek. wet. loud. grinning.

“you used to laugh at me,” the man whispers into zach’s ear, breath rancid. zach retches. but he doesn’t run. “look at you now.”

zach twists. tries to shove. but the man already has his joggers halfway down. again. ass out. wet. soaked. still leaking. still open. one of the old man’s fingers pushes in without resistance. zach’s whole body stiffens. “stop—stop—not you—not you—”

but there’s no one to stop it. no cameras. no handlers. no system. just this fucking animal and the mess he already belongsto.

and zach—he stops pushing. stares at the concrete. doesn’t scream. doesn’t cry. just accepts it.

“you remember me,” the man whispers, wet voice dragging every word like molasses and phlegm. zach’s mouth opens. closes. he does. he knows. this was the one. the one he spat on outside tau’s mixer. the one whose hand he stepped on for reaching. "you remember me."

and zach nods.

he doesn’t even lie.

the man leans in. smells his cheek. breath like spoiled meat and ash. and still—zach doesn’t shove him. he flinches. but he doesn’t push.

“you smell like boys.” the man laughs, low and awful. “like seed. like you been fed. but not finished.”

a hand grabs the waistband of zach’s joggers. zach gasps. finally speaks—“don’t”—but it’s weak. a breath. and the man’s already kneeling. fingers dragging the joggers down to the knees like unwrapping a hot, wet treat. and zach’s ass—used, slick, red—greets the air. a sheen of drying cum coats the crease, the inner thighs, the soft bruised rim. and the man just breathes it in.

“fuck. you’re ripe.”

zach whimpers. hands press against the brick wall, head bowed. not bracing. just existing.

“you laughed at me. stepped on me.” pause. “but now?”

the homeless man doesn’t fuck him. he uses him like a stolen appliance. there’s no rhythm, no pacing, just a series of collisions. zach—barely upright, gear sealed in cum, joggers clinging like a wet grocery bag—gets snatched. pulled down beside the dumpster like he’s being dragged behind a truck. the man’s coat spills open. underneath: nothing. not even underwear. just grease-slick thighs and a cock already half-hard from anticipation alone, swinging like it’s been waiting years for this moment.

zach tries to crawl. his palm hits slime. something sticks to his tank top. a wrapper? a used tissue? he doesn’t even look. the man’s already kneeling on the back of his knees, weight pressing down, and spits directly between zach’s shoulder blades, letting it ooze down his spine. “you thought this city didn’t remember,” he hisses, tongue dragging up zach’s ear like roadkill licking glass. “you thought you couldn’t be touched.”

he yanks the joggers down again—not carefully. just enough. just far enough. the fabric clings, peels, stretches like skin. and then both hands grip the undersides of zach’s glutes and spread him, wide, shameless, exposing the raw, red, breeding-wet mess between them, the slit of a jock who got filled hours ago and never cleaned.

“you let them do this to you?” he laughs, one eye yellow, other milked-over, both fixed on the leaking hole. “all that gym time, all that protein—just to get wrecked?”

the man spits directly between his cheeks. the glob sticks. drips. and then a thumb—dirty, cracked, thick—presses straight against his hole, not inside, just smearing the mess that’s already leaking.

zach moans. not from pleasure. from horror.

and then it happens.

not fast. not brutal. just real.

the homeless man doesn’t fuck him. he uses him like a stolen appliance. there’s no rhythm, no pacing, just a series of collisions. zach—barely upright, gear sealed in cum, joggers clinging like a wet grocery bag—gets snatched. pulled down beside the dumpster like he’s being dragged behind a truck. the man’s coat spills open. underneath: nothing. not even underwear. just grease-slick thighs and a cock already half-hard from anticipation alone, swinging like it’s been waiting years for this moment.

zach tries to crawl. his palm hits slime. something sticks to his tank top. a wrapper? a used tissue? he doesn’t even look. the man’s already kneeling on the back of his knees, weight pressing down, and spits directly between zach’s shoulder blades, letting it ooze down his spine. “you thought this city didn’t remember,” he hisses, tongue dragging up zach’s ear like roadkill licking glass. “you thought you couldn’t be touched.”

he yanks the joggers down again—not carefully. just enough. just far enough. the fabric clings, peels, stretches like skin. and then both hands grip the undersides of zach’s glutes and spread him, wide, shameless, exposing the raw, red, breeding-wet mess between them, the slit of a jock who got filled hours ago and never cleaned.

“you let them do this to you?” he laughs, one eye yellow, other milked-over, both fixed on the leaking hole. “all that gym time, all that protein—just to get wrecked?”

he doesn’t thrust. he pushes things inside. whatever’s nearby. a finger. two. then something harder. something not skin. zach’s eyes fly wide. he jerks forward—face hits brick. a groan, desperate. the man shoves it deeper. a bottle? a crumpled can? it creaks. zach chokes, fingers clawing at stone. his cock? leaking again, twitching against the alley floor, soaking the last dry corner of his joggers.

the man whispers: “you remember when you stepped on me?” he twists the object inside him. zach screams, or tries to. nothing comes out.

the man spits on his hole again. then finally pulls the object out—slowly, wet, slick—and tosses it aside like garbage. he doesn’t even look where it lands. he unzips his coat further. breath steaming. hands greasy. “now we do it my way.”

he grabs zach by the tank, tears it. not off—just open. clawing until it splits down the spine. exposed, filthy skin. cum-streaked muscles. shivering. then he pushes inside. no prep. no warning. cock spearing raw into a jock already fucked open, but not like this. not by him.

the thrust isn’t deep—it’s grinding. he fucks with his entire body. belly slapping back. beard dragging across zach’s neck. one hand fisted in his hair, the other smeared across his face, forcing fingers into his mouth.

“bite me and i break your teeth.” zach doesn’t bite. he sucks.

and that’s what breaks him. not the hole. not the cock. but that.

sucking on the filthy fingers of the man he once called garbage.

his cock erupts again. no contact. just a wet splatter against concrete. again.

the homeless man laughs. “oh, you like it.”

the man doesn’t stop thrusting, doesn’t even build rhythm, just grinds forward like every shove is personal, every inch sunk into zach’s hole is another memory being rewritten, another humiliation turned inside out and shoved back in raw, he’s panting against zach’s ear now, spit pooling in his beard, tongue dragging up the side of the jock’s sweat-filmed neck like he’s licking grease off a plate, his cock burrows in deeper, not because it fits but because it has to, zach’s ass is raw, leaking, the rim pulsing, red, his joggers bunched around his knees like a caution flag, already soaked through, the puddle beneath him reactivating with every fresh drip from his twitching cock

his hands slap at the wall but there’s nothing to hold, fingers dragging down brick, scraping skin, chest sagging forward as the weight behind him grows more frantic, more feral, the man’s fingers slip under the torn tank and claw into his chest, not to grope—to mark, nails raking lines across his pecs until they welt, then lower, dragging across his stomach where the shirt sticks translucent to his abs, every breath zach takes pulls it tighter

“you smell like a fucking bathhouse,” the man growls, voice like gravel soaked in whiskey, “all that jizz pumped in you—what, nobody claimed the rest?”

zach moans and it’s pathetic, not even a sound of resistance, just sound, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth, tongue lolling against his lower lip, the fingers shoved in earlier left it numb, his jaw twitches, his neck muscles locked from tension, eyes unfocused but open, blinking only when a droplet of sweat or rain or spit falls from the man’s beard onto his cheek

the man spits again, directly down zach’s spine, and fucks harder, shallower now, his belly slapping against zach’s ass with a wet smack, skin against soaked cotton, he grabs the jock’s hair, twists, pulls his head back, neck arched, and leans forward until their faces almost touch, beard scratching against glazed jaw, the man’s eyes wild, yellowed, teeth crooked and exposed as he grins wide and says—

“this is mine now. you’re mine now. you hear that, pledge? i own your fuckin’ hole.”

zach shudders. violently. not from cold. not from fear. from recognition.

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t nod. doesn’t say yes. but he doesn’t say no. and that’s when the man knows.

he yanks zach back by the waist and slams forward one final time, cock burying to the hilt, balls pressed against the jock’s cum-smeared cheeks, and explodes inside him, moaning long and raw, the sound echoing between the dumpsters, seed pumping in heavy, angry pulses, leaking instantly around the base and down zach’s inner thighs

zach whines. soft. high. his cock jerks again, untouched, and more leaks into his joggers, a weaker stream this time, but still real, still visible, soaking what wasn’t already ruined

they stay like that. for seconds. minutes. who knows. his hole still full. joggers still clinging. shoes destroyed. the back of his tank half ripped, front clinging to his chest in damp patches, his face slack, hair stuck to his temple, beard hair from the man still tangled in his spit

and when the man finally pulls out—slow, dragging, wet—zach doesn’t flinch. doesn’t clench. the hole gapes. leaks. drips. the glaze from inside now mixing with what’s already cooling down his thighs.

the man zips his coat. wipes his cock on zach’s torn tank like it’s a towel. zach doesn’t move.

the man lights a cigarette. crouches down. watches the mess he made breathe through his mouth like a dog left in the rain.

he says nothing.

zach stays right there. kneeling. on the edge of garbage. on the edge of being something else entirely.

zach doesn’t flinch when the man leans in. doesn’t turn his face. doesn’t resist. his cheeks are still streaked with drying cum. his lips still taste like the alley floor. his eyes are open but don’t focus anymore, and when the man’s cracked, grease-slick mouth presses against his, it’s not a kiss—it’s a claim.

slow. wet. lipless. the man’s tongue pushes past the jock’s slack teeth and tastes what’s left inside. not passion. not hunger. just ownership.

zach doesn’t kiss back. but he doesn’t pull away. his jaw stays open, tongue limp, chest rising slow beneath the torn tank that still clings to his pecs in patches. cum glistens in the grooves of his abs. his joggers are so wet they stick to the ground when he shifts his knees.

“that’s it,” the man rasps against his lips, forehead pressed to zach’s, breath heavy with ash and rot, “that’s what good boys do. they don’t fight anymore. they listen.”

he exhales smoke right into zach’s open mouth. zach swallows it like air.

and then the man laughs. low. warm. like he’s telling a secret.

“you’re gonna be rich, pet.” zach’s brow twitches. barely.

“not from stocks. not from football. not from selling lies in suits. from this.” his hand slides between zach’s thighs, cups the ruined bulge in his joggers—squishes it—makes zach gasp.

“you’re gonna earn with your throat. with your hole. with this pretty little face all glazed and ready. just like now.” another kiss. wetter this time. longer.

zach doesn’t move.

“we’ll set you up right here,” the man grins. “my corner boy. my alley princess. let them line up. you won’t say a word. just open. just serve. i’ll take my cut. and you—” he strokes zach’s chin with one filthy thumb.

He doesn’t see the guy slip in behind him. Doesn’t notice the camera reset itself above the stairwell. Doesn’t question why this deal didn’t go down at the usual spot.

Because Zach’s used to walking like a weapon. And weapons don’t check corners.

He finishes the hand-off fast. Glove taps. Cash flicked. Quick nods. Nobody lingers. But when he turns to leave, the stairwell door won’t open.

That’s the first beat. The first off-rhythm note.

He doesn’t panic. Not yet. Just turns, jaw flexing, and heads for the ramp instead—descending level by level with long, angry strides.

It’s on level 3 that it begins.

A noise. Not loud. Not obvious. But enough to make him stop.

Zach turns, shoulders puffed, jaw square. “Yo?”

Nothing.

He turns back, starts walking faster.

Second sound. Closer. Not shoes. Not footsteps. Just…weight.

He spins again. “The fuck is this? You think this is funny?”

Still silence. Still nothing behind him. Just a long stretch of concrete and shadows and that low buzz from broken lights.

Zach’s breathing changes. Not fear. Not yet. Just readiness. Like he’s about to have to crack someone’s jaw for trying to jump him.

He doesn’t notice the side door open behind him—dead quiet. Doesn’t see the figure step out. Pale gloves. Dark collar. Calm face. Watching.

Watching how his prey puffs up again. Wide stance. Tank top tightening across his lats as he postures into readiness.

And the man waits. Watches the jock retreat just a few more steps into the zone.

Center of level 3. Dead spot for cell service. No cameras.

Then he speaks. Just two words.

“Zach Roberts.”

The jock freezes. Every muscle in his back contracts at once.

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer.

Just says, “Who the fuck is that?”

He’s bluffing. He knows he’s bluffing. Only a few people call him by his last name. Most of them don’t say it calmly.

The man speaks again. Same level. Same tone.

“You don’t remember me. But I remember you.”

Zach turns. Hands down, wide. “Look, bro, I don’t do re-drops. You got the wrong idea. Walk away.”

The man’s already walking forward. Measured steps. Not aggressive. Not hesitant. Just inevitable.

Zach’s hands twitch. That tiny shift forward—half-threat, half-defense.

“Back the fuck up.”

The man stops ten feet away. Tilts his head. “Still wearing blue. Still think no one’s watching.”

Zach’s nostrils flare. “You don’t know shit about me.”

But the man smiles. “That’s not true.”

And then—without a word—he lifts his hand. Not a weapon. Just fingers. And flicks a button on a small grey box clipped to his belt.

The lights above flicker once. Then go black.

Zach’s body pivots. Hard. Trained reflexes. But it’s too late.

The sound that follows is chemical.

A soft hiss.

One second later, Zach’s legs buckle.

He wakes upright.

Not tied. Not spread. That would be too easy.

He’s standing.

Back against a wall. Ankles loose. Palms open. Head heavy.

But what’s wrong—what makes his gut twist as consciousness comes back in waves—is that his gear is still on.

The same tank. The same joggers. Untouched.

But his bag is gone.

His phone is gone.

And worst of all—he’s hard.

Fully. Thickly. Pinned beneath his waistband.

And he knows that wasn’t there before.

The lights flicker on above him. Fluorescent. White. Sterile. Not the garage anymore. A room. Square. Clean. Industrial. Not medical. Not prison. Somewhere in between.

And in front of him, the man.

Standing. Hands behind his back. Watching him wake.

“You’re awake faster than expected,” the man says calmly. “Good. I prefer it conscious.”

Zach’s voice is raw. “What the fuck… what the fuck is this?”

The man steps forward. One step only. “You’ll find that question is irrelevant.”

Zach growls, tries to push off the wall. His legs wobble but hold.

“You drugged me. That’s illegal, motherfucker. You think you’re getting away with this?”

The man smiles. “I already did.”

And Zach lunges.

But the floor under him gives just half an inch. Enough to throw his balance.

And before he can recover—before he even knows what part of him slipped—the man is there.

Not hitting. Not grabbing. Just stepping into him.

And whispering: “Everything you’re feeling? Is intentional.”

Zach shoves. Hard. The man takes a single step back. Calm again.

But the damage is done. The jock feels it—his own breath, too hot. His thighs, too loose. His cock, throbbing without permission.

“Stop it—fucking stop it—you can’t just—”

“You’re not ready for what comes next,” the man says. “But you’ll learn. Muscle doesn’t stop this. Anger doesn’t help. Your mouth won’t save you.”

Zach is sweating now. Tank clinging. Neck twitching. He’s fully conscious. Fully humiliated.

Zach’s pacing now. Wide-legged, slow, like his limbs are still catching up with him. The room’s square, too clean, too silent. That erection won’t go down—every shift of his hips pulls the joggers tighter over it, highlighting its thickness in full, unwilling silhouette. His fists are clenched. He’s not thinking clearly. But that shame? It’s radiating.

And the man doesn’t move. Doesn’t taunt. Just waits. And watches.

“You need to fix this,” Zach snarls, pointing at his crotch like it’s some kind of glitch. “Whatever the fuck you put in me, undo it.”

Still, the man waits. Calm. Measured. Until Zach’s pacing brings him too close again. Until the edge of his scent hits the air between them—sweat, cologne, that thick humidity of chemically forced arousal.

Only then does the man step forward. And speak.

“You don’t remember me, do you.”

Zach’s face contorts. “We already did this. I don’t know you, and when I get out—”

“You will.” A pause. “I remember everything. You were wearing a cap backwards. Tank top, same style. Except tighter. You didn’t recognize me then either. But you looked. You laughed.”

Zach narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

The man takes another step. Closer. Inside the edge of comfort. Now less than a foot from Zach’s face. His tone never rises.

“Freshman year. Tau Sigma party. Upstairs bathroom. I was there by mistake. You cornered me. Smiled like it was a joke. You asked if I was lost.”

Zach freezes.

“That wasn’t me.”

“You said—‘Did you take a wrong turn, princess? This isn’t the GSA meeting.’”

Zach’s mouth opens. Then shuts. Then opens again. “I was drunk—if I even said that, it wasn’t personal.”

“Oh no,” the man smiles. “It was very personal. Because I wasn’t out. Not then. Not to anyone. You didn’t just embarrass me. You marked me. And you don’t even remember.”

Zach takes a step back. “Look, man—if that’s what this is? I’m sorry. Okay? I say a lot of shit. It was a fucking party.”

The man just smiles deeper. “You said more than that. You said, ‘If you ever even look at me again, I’ll break your fucking teeth.’”

Zach’s throat contracts. The sweat’s running now. Down his spine. Into the band of his joggers.

“And you meant it,” the man says. “You shoved me. Laughed with your friends. And then you left me there. Door locked. Everyone outside chanting ‘princess’ because you said it loud enough.”

Zach shakes his head, but it’s weak now. His mouth opens to speak again, to apologize again, but the man just cuts through it with a wave of his hand. “I’m not here for your apology.”

He reaches forward. Just lightly. A gloved fingertip traces along the waistband. Not inside. Not forward. Just a drag of pressure across the trembling elastic line. Zach’s entire body tenses like he’s been burned.

“Yo—yo, don’t—”

But the finger lifts, and the man’s already stepping back.

“That’s how easy it is. One finger. And you’re already flinching.”

Zach is flushed now. Face, chest, even the meat of his thighs. His cock is still rock hard—visible, no longer deniable. The bulge now bouncing slightly with every sharp breath. The tension behind his eyes burns like acid.

“You’re sick.”

“No,” the man says, turning slightly, walking around him now. “You are. You think this is about attraction? About revenge sex? It’s not. You’re not being punished because I want you.”

He stops behind Zach. Lowers his voice.

“You’re being punished because you don’t matter.”

Zach’s eyes flare.

“You’re just meat. The only reason I chose you is because you chose yourself first. You looked in the mirror, flexed, posted thirst traps, barked at anyone who didn’t match your fratboy fantasy—and you thought that made you safe.”

The man steps close again. Just behind. No contact. Just breath.

“Tell me, Zach. Do you still feel untouchable?”

Zach’s chest heaves. The arousal’s still there, betraying him. Still stretching the joggers. Still pulsing in rhythm with the humiliation.

But his voice? Still defiant. Still cracking.

“This is bullshit… This is fucked—”

“It is,” the man agrees. “And you’re going to feel every second of it. Fully aware. Fully hard. And completely helpless.”

Zach’s been repositioned. He didn’t see how. He remembers blackness. Then light. Then pressure. Now he’s on his knees—but not bound. Not strapped. Just placed. Back straight. Head tilted up by invisible cues. Like his body was trainedwhile he was under.

But everything still works. Arms. Legs. Mouth. Which makes it worse.

Because now, the choice is part of the ritual.

He can say no. He can pull back. But the room’s calibrated for what happens after that.

The man enters the chamber. This one’s different. Dimmer. Warmer. Closer. Zach’s joggers are still on—but darker now, soaked through at the thighs. His tank is peeled halfway, twisted like someone half-removed it and changed their mind. His skin glistens. Chest rising fast.

Because in front of him stands another man. Not the first. Someone new.

Older. Thicker. Shirt half-buttoned. Belt loosened. Calm.

Zach blinks. “No—no, no. What the fuck is this.”

The first man steps behind him. Doesn’t touch. Just speaks.

“This is Phase One. You’ll service him. With your mouth. Fully clothed. For now.”

Zach flinches. “Fuck you—”

A sharp beep cuts him off. Somewhere in the ceiling. And then—just like that—his cock pulses again.

Zach gasps. Grabs at his crotch. It’s not pleasure. It’s pressure. A heat like someone’s pouring static through his veins.

“—stop—stop it—” he growls, twisting, trying to stand.

But the second man takes one step forward. And reaches down.

Fingertips graze Zach’s jawline.

Zach recoils like he’s been burned.

“Don’t fucking touch me—” he spits, eyes wide, voice cracking now. “I don’t fucking suck dick. I don’t—I’m not—NO.”

The first man responds, coolly. “You said no. Good. The system is designed around that.”

Zach lunges up—but the second man grabs his shoulders. Just briefly. And guides him back down.

Not with force. With weight. With pressure.

Zach’s knees hit the pad. His arms shake. His head turns violently left and right.

“I’ll bite—swear to fucking God, I’ll bite—”

“You won’t,” the first man says. “Because if you do, you’ll stay down here for hours. Stimulation locked. Hard as iron. Aching. Gagged. Until your body starts leaking from the strain.”

Zach’s voice shatters. “This is insane. This is fucking SICK—”

“And yet,” the first man murmurs, leaning in—his breath at Zach’s ear—“your jaw is already trembling. Your chest already heaving. And your throat’s been swallowing since he stepped forward.”

Zach chokes out a half-sobbed “fuck you”—but the second man begins undoing his belt. Slowly. Deliberately. Inches from Zach’s face.

Zach’s breath starts to hitch. He shakes his head. “No—no, no—don’t—don’t make me—”

“No one’s making you,” the first man says calmly. “You can leave anytime.”

Zach’s head jerks toward the door.

“It’s unlocked,” the man lies. “You can walk. Right now. Fully clothed. Hard as a fucking weapon. With a camera recording your every step.”

Zach’s mouth hangs open. Still trembling. Still red. The outline in his joggers is obscene now. Unignorable.

The second man strokes himself. Softly. Slowly. Unzipped. Hanging close. Not touching Zach yet. Just present.

“You’ll do it,” the first man says. “Not because you want to. Not because you’re gay. Not even because you’re broken.” Beat. “You’ll do it because you can’t leave until you have.”

Zach looks up. Lip quivering. Sweat pouring. And he says it again—one last try: “I said no.”

The first man smiles. “Exactly.”

Zach’s lips are still parted when it touches them. Not in an erotic way. Not cinematic. Just real. Flesh against flesh. Heavy. Warm. Throbbing slightly. The man’s cock lays right against his mouth like a weight—and Zach freezes.

He doesn’t lean forward. Doesn’t open. He doesn’t scream, either. He just trembles. Every muscle in his neck twitching.

The man above him doesn’t speak. Doesn’t push. Just lets it rest there.

And that’s worse.

Because the silence wraps around Zach’s head like heat. Like pressure. Like every part of his body is waiting for a cue.

Behind him, the voice returns—steady, clinical, studied.

“Breathe through your nose. Don’t clench your jaw. And remember—if you pull back again, we restart. From the beginning. All of it.”

Zach snarls. “I’m not fucking doing this. I’m not your little—fuck!”

The man presses just a little. The tip slides over his lips. Pre-leaking. Slick. Zach recoils—but only an inch. Just far enough to get sticky. Not far enough to escape.

His mouth stays shut. His lips press hard together like a vice.

And so the ritual shifts.

The second man begins rubbing it—across Zach’s face. Slow. Back and forth. Dragging the shaft along his cheekbone, his jawline, his chin. Marking him.

Zach flinches with every pass.

“Fucking stop—fuck, this is—this is fucked up!”

But he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t leap up. Doesn’t throw punches.

Because that stimulation is still humming through him. The kind they warned about. The kind he feels pulsing through his hips. The kind that keeps his cock like stone, pumping behind the soaked cotton of his joggers.

“You’re not servicing him yet,” the voice explains. “This is still calibration.”

The man above him spits once—downward. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just part of it. The saliva lands on Zach’s collarbone and runs down his chest, vanishing beneath the folded tank. Zach bucks violently.

“YOU FUCKING—”

“Don’t raise your voice,” the man behind him says. “That will trigger a breath training sequence. Trust me, you’re not ready for that.”

Zach tries to stand again. Makes it halfway. Hands on the floor, knees flexed. The second man grabs him by the hair. Not rough. Not kind. Just mechanical.

Pushes him right back down. Face-first. Nose brushing flesh.

Zach screams into it. Muffled. Guttural. But no one’s listening for consent. Only position.

“You will service,” the voice says. “You will gag. You will fail. And you will learn.”

The shaft taps his lips again. This time, Zach shudders. Mouth still shut. Breathing harder now.

A light flashes above him. The system beeps. The next stage begins.

A hand slides around his jaw. The thumb presses. Just enough to part his lips. Just enough to force that first inch in.

Zach chokes. The second it hits his tongue, his whole body snaps backward—but the man behind him is already bracing. Holding him by the sides. Forcing him to feel it.

“No—no—NO—”

His tongue recoils. Saliva pools. Gag reflex fires early.

But the cock doesn’t go deeper. Not yet. Just rests there.

And Zach can’t spit it out. He tries. He works his jaw. He gurgles. But the angle—the pressure—the body heat—keeps it locked.

And every second it stays there, drool starts streaming.

Down his chin. Onto his tank. Soaking the neckline.

He’s not sucking. He’s not serving. He’s surviving.

The first man leans in again. “You can do better. I’ve seen the way you stretch your traps at the gym. That mouth can open wider.”

Zach growls against the cock. One hand slams the floor. The other tries to push the man’s thighs away. Useless.

“You motherfucker—” he slurs, lips barely moving, mouth stuffed. “Get this the fuck out of me—”

But it’s too late.

The man above him shifts his hips. Presses deeper. Just two inches.

Zach gags. Violently. Whole body spasms. He yanks his head back but the hands hold him. The cock slides out soaked in spit, and Zach gasps for air—wet, panting, furious.

“I SAID—no—I SAID—fuck you—”

“Exactly,” the man says. “Again.”

And it slides back in. This time faster. Deeper.

Zach chokes on impact. Spit spraying. Eyes wide. Wrists shaking. But his knees stay down. His body starts jerking in rhythm—gag, gasp, swallow, gag.

“You’re not sucking,” the voice says. “That comes later. This is submission.”

Zach’s nose is dripping. His chest is twitching. Every sound from him is a sputtered refusal. But his cock—his fucking cock—is throbbing through his joggers.

And he knows it. He feels it. He hates it.

The man above him starts moaning. Slow. Soft. Mocking.

“Yeah… good throat. Didn’t think fratboys came with that setting.”

Zach snarls. Gags again. His hands claw at the man’s thighs—sweaty now—slipping. Useless.

Then a new hand grabs the back of his head. And holds.

No more rocking. No more grace. Just down.

Zach’s whole body arches. His feet lift. His throat closes—but the shaft keeps pressing.

He tries to scream. He tries to puke. He tries to bite.

But there’s too much pressure. Too much weight. The hands don’t move. The cock stays buried. And Zach falls.

Eyes watering. Chest heaving. And then—he shudders.

Not from fear. From humiliation. Because his cock just leaked.

The joggers? Stained. Slick. Visible.

And his mouth is still full.

His mouth is still full, jaw stretched, tongue flattened beneath the slick pressure, and the hands don’t let up, not even as his eyes start to cross from the burn behind them, not even when he convulses again and the gag reflex starts to seize his spine, one hand clawing against the thigh in front of him, the other slapping weakly against the floor, no aim, just desperation, just panic, but the shaft stays buried, throatfucking him not through speed but through weight, through permanence, through ownership, and then something shifts, barely a second—he hears it before he feels it, a footstep, and then a heat at his side, and another cock brushes his face, hot, pulsing, the tip already wet again, already dragging across the sheen of spit and sweat coating his flushed cheek, and Zach’s moan is pure refusal, choked and drowned by the first dick in his mouth, his nostrils flaring hard, breath punching out wet and shallow against the shaft spreading him open

the second cock doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease—it lines up at the corner of his lips, right beside the first, and Zach starts thrashing, knees jerking, hips rocking back like he can escape through the floor, but the hand on his head tightens, not brutal, just instructive, forcing his jaw wider with the steady press of a thumb against the hinge, and the second cock slides in with a sound like flesh meeting wet velvet, dragging spit inside with it, splitting his lips further, stretching him past resistance into sheer anatomical panic, his jaw pops, the veins in his neck bulge, and his body begins to shake

he’s making noises now—noises no man should make—wet slurps, involuntary glugs, sputters, breathless coughs that never become full chokes because the shafts are too close together, too thick, occupying every inch of his throat and mouth, pressing down against each other inside the tight cavity, and Zach can’t move his head, can’t nod, can’t shake, all he can do is survive, drool pouring down his chin like a faucet, dripping onto his tank, soaking into the chest, the fabric sagging from saturation

the joggers are no longer just wet—they’re ruined, a steady dark stain spreading down from the waistband, pooling between his thighs, the bulge twitching visibly, lewdly, and he knows it, feels it, the shame so overwhelming his eyes flutter closed, but that just earns him a slap, open-palmed, sharp, across his cheek, forcing him to open again, forcing him to watch

one of the men moans above him—deep, guttural, older, indulgent—“he’s taking it now, fuck, didn’t think this little muscle doll had room for two”

Zach tries to scream no, tries to grunt, but the only sound is bubbles, the only motion is tears cutting tracks through the mess on his face, and then they start moving, finally, together at first, then staggered, one pulling out while the other presses deeper, fucking his mouth in a rhythm designed to erase speech, to unlearn identity, every thrust a syllable in a language his body was never meant to understand

he’s not resisting now because he can’t—every limb is limp, every nerve lit with humiliation, his spine bowed, his head held up by hands and pressure alone, and then one of them grabs his throat, fingers wrapping around the column like measuring tape, feeling the shape of their own cock moving inside it, laughing low when Zach gags again, this time without warning, a wet choke that sprays down his chest and makes both cocks slip deeper on instinct

“don’t cum yet,” one of them says, not to Zach, but to the other, and Zach’s stomach turns because they’re not talking about him, he’s not the subject, he’s not the receiver—he’s the setting, the equipment, the flesh

his cock jerks again, untouched, stiff to the point of pain, pulsing against the sticky fabric, now dripping, leaking down one thigh, and the system knows, because another low beep echoes from the ceiling and a short pulse of heat blooms across his lower spine, a chemical twitch that makes his whole body tense up and moan around both cocks at once

they both feel it

“fuck, he just squeezed”

“like he wanted it”

Zach howls, or tries to, but he’s full—so full—and his throat burns and his mind is screaming but his body is betraying him with every pump, every wet contraction, and the only thing he can do is endure, but the ritual isn’t done, the training isn’t complete, because now they’re grabbing his wrists, pulling them forward, wrapping his hands around both shafts, and forcing him to stroke while his mouth stays open, split, ruined, and the voice from the wall speaks one final time

“welcome to compliance phase three. gag reflex: bypassed. tactile obedience: installed. ejaculation: denied.”

Zach’s eyes snap wide. He screams around the twin cocks. But the door doesn’t open.

They’re still inside him. And this phase hasn’t ended.

Zach’s jaw has stopped fighting. Not because he accepts. Not because he yields. Because it’s numb. He can’t feel where his mouth ends and their cocks begin. He’s breathing through one nostril, shallow and wet, the other half-blocked with mucus and spit. One cock’s pressing the back of his throat, still forcing involuntary swallows with every shallow thrust. The other’s dragging along the roof of his mouth, painting him from inside. They’ve been using him for long enough now that his neck muscles are locking. His stomach’s heaving. His mind’s fracturing. And still, they hold his head like an object—two men, four hands, mouths grunting above him like he's not even there. “Hold him still.” “Fuck—he’s tightening—” “Don’t pull out.” The first twitch hits his tongue. Thick. Wet. It pumps directly into his throat and his body flails, instinct kicking before thought. He jerks back but they tighten their grip. The cock stays buried, and the heat pours straight down his throat in violent spurts. He’s forced to swallow. No air. No pause. Just that obscene gulping sound echoing through the chamber as seed fills him.

Then the second man moans. His cock slides back—not out, just enough for the head to wedge inside Zach’s mouth properly—and then he unloads.

Hot. Heavy. Against his teeth. His tongue. His cheeks.

It floods.

Zach’s mouth overflows.

He tries to spit. He tries. But his lips are pinned, his jaw still stretched, and the warmth just spills back out. Drips down his chin. Trails down his throat. Splatters onto his soaked tank, his heaving chest, the bruised band of his cross-body strap. He makes a sound that’s not human—half sob, half gag—and then he shudders.

Something happens.

His thighs snap tight. His spine arches.

The system pulses again. A low click beneath his waistband. He screams against the cocks but they don’t move.

And then his body betrays him.

His cock erupts.

No stimulation. No stroke. Just release.

Forced. Sudden. Devastating.

The cum floods his joggers instantly—thick, hot, humiliating—so much pressure that the front puffs out before it breaks containment and pours down his thighs. A wet line streaks from crotch to knee. Another soaks his inner thighs and pools at the floor between his socks.

Then the second wave hits. He’s still cumming.

The white spreads faster now—through the joggers, down to his calves. It drips into his shoes.

He’s twitching. Moaning behind ruined lips.

And both cocks are still resting inside him. Half-hard now. Still leaking. Still marking.

Their hands stay on his head even after the pulses begin to slow, even after Zach's body collapses forward, even after his throat has stopped swallowing. The cocks don’t leave his mouth. They just stay there—throbbing, twitching, still leaking. Because they’re not finished. Not until he’s glazed. Not until every inch of that swollen, gym-built body is marked. Not until that soft golden skin is painted in streaks of white—like the meat he is.

The second man shifts his grip, holds Zach’s hair tight in one hand, the other stroking himself faster now, standing over him, angling higher. His shaft brushes Zach’s face again—smearing across his temple, then over his cheekbone, right under his eye. Zach doesn’t flinch anymore. Doesn’t yell. He can’t even blink in time to stop the next rope from hitting his cheek and sticking, slow and heavy, sliding down to the corner of his mouth, hanging there like a strand of glue across his lips.

The first man groans above him and yanks his head back, mouth forced open again as the cock in his throat pulls free, loud and wet. Zach gasps, eyes wild, just in time to take the next eruption directly across his face. A thick white streak lashes across his forehead, globs clinging to his cropped hairline, another coat hitting across his nose, then his upper lip, hot and unrelenting.

He tries to turn his face away. They don’t let him.

The third load lands directly across his chest. A full shot. Heavy.

It hits the tank top and soaks through in a second, spreading out across the fabric, sinking into the neckline, darkening it with weight and warmth. It runs in slow rivulets down his pecs, gliding between muscle ridges, dripping off the bottom edge like it’s melting.

Another load follows it. From the side this time. Across the collarbone. Then one aimed lower. His abs. The tank is useless now—transparent with spit, pre, and fresh streaks of cum soaking through it in uneven blotches. A glob runs across the curve of his left pec and slides down the side, smearing into his armpit. He grunts at the sensation, body jerking as the heat spreads.

One of the men kneels. Grabs Zach by the chin. Tilts his face up like a specimen.

The next blast is deliberate. Straight across his eyes. He gasps, mouth opening, and another thick rope lands inside.

He spits—but it doesn’t matter. His tongue’s already coated. He chokes and coughs as more drips out of his mouth, down his chin, into his tank top.

It doesn’t stop.

One of them strokes again. Faster. Hissing.

Another blast hits Zach’s neck, right along the strap of his bag. The fabric darkens instantly.

Then more. More.

Across his shoulders. His traps. One load drips down his spine, into the collar of his tank, inside the back, trailing downbetween his shoulder blades until it disappears.

And still—they keep going.

One ropes across his thigh. It hits the joggers and splatters, wet heat spreading through the cotton.

Another coats the waistband.

One of them lifts the front of the joggers slightly. Just enough. And aims—right inside.

Zach screams. It’s hoarse. Broken. The heat floods the already soaked pouch, filling it, the cum pressing down his cock, his balls, pouring down his thighs in long, milky streaks that hit the tops of his socks and keep going.

It’s pooling.

It’s dripping.

It’s puddling.

His shoes are squishing. His knees are slick. His hands? Still pinned behind his back now, sticky with the last discharge from the cock that’s been using his mouth for the last twenty minutes.

The light above hums. His body glistens.

Everywhere.

His cheeks. His lips. His forehead. His chest. His thighs. His crotch. His knees.

Zach’s entire front is coated in a translucent, glistening glaze.

The color of surrender. The texture of ruin.

Nothing on him is dry.

Not even his hair.

And still—he’s hard.

The front of his joggers pulses one last time, a weak, miserable contraction, as his cock leaks again, untouched, unnoticed, spraying just a few final drops into the soaked swamp between his thighs.

The room smells like sweat. Like cum. Like submission.

And Zach kneels there. Coated. Soaked. Face destroyed. Joggers melted against his thighs. Eyes glazed from more than just exhaustion.

The man behind him brushes one thumb across the curve of his cum-slick lips.

“He’s ready.”

Zach moans through his nose. A small, broken sound.

Because he knows exactly what they mean.

This was only initiation.

Now they start training

Zach’s mouth is still open, lips slack, jaw soaked, raw from stretch and violation, one last drop sliding from his lower lip to his chin before the man gripping his hair smears it across his cheek with his thumb like warpaint, like ownership, his breathing is ragged, not from effort but from overload, his nose is leaking, his throat pulsing, the tank clings to his chest like a second skin, translucent where it’s soaked, heavy with spit and cum, and the joggers—those pale blue joggers—are ruined, soaked from waistband to knee, darker at the crotch where his cock still twitches, the shape of it visible, shameless, outlined like it wants to be seen, but no one’s looking at it anymore, the man behind him is crouched now, gloved hands sliding down Zach’s glazed back, pressing over the wet tank, feeling the heat through the fabric, fingertips trailing down the ridge of his spine to the band of his joggers, two fingers hook inside, slow, and Zach flinches hard, tries to speak but only a hoarse grunt comes out, his throat too used, too filled, the man at his mouth hasn’t stepped back, hasn’t softened, he’s still there, cock resting against Zach’s cheek like it belongs there, pressing his lips occasionally like a reminder, a cue, a leash

the waistband pulls back, elastic groaning, and the heat hits Zach’s backside instantly, he jerks forward but the man in front grabs him by the throat—not to choke, just to hold, steady, aligned—his joggers are peeled down halfway, not all the way, not stripped, just lowered, pushed beneath his glutes so the full, round curve is exposed, shiny with sweat, and then a line of spit drops from behind, slow, thick, landing right between his cheeks and trailing down

Zach growls, not with rage, but with panic, the kind that starts in the gut and rises too fast, he tries to speak, to beg, to say no again, but the cock at his mouth pushes between his lips and silences it, the sound becoming a wet muffled plea as the head breaches him from behind with a pressure that doesn’t pause, doesn’t warn, just pushes, thick, slow, steady, the wet slide of forced entry, his knees scrape on the floor as he tries to squirm forward but the grip on his throat holds him in place while the cock behind him sinks in, inch by inch, his hole stretched around it, trembling, clenching, but the lube is fresh and the pressure is relentless

he’s split open and mounted in the same breath, back arched, ass bouncing against the thrust, and the man behind him groans low, “tight as fuck, even after that mess,” Zach groans, a choked noise around the cock in his mouth, spit leaking from the corners, his fists clenching on the floor, the man in front of him grabs his jaw and starts moving again, pushing in, short sharp thrusts into that already ruined throat, and the rhythm begins—fucked from both ends, one cock dragging along his tongue while the other buries itself deeper into his ass with every stroke, the sounds are obscene, flesh on flesh, wet slaps, gagging, panting, grunting, and Zach’s body is caught between them, legs trembling, hole fluttering around the cock that owns it now, his joggers bunched at his knees, soaked in his own seed, his socks darkened from dripping down, puddles beneath him forming new puddles, his tank stretched tight over his chest with every shove forward, nipples stiff through the fabric, the glaze on his face mixing with sweat and drool until it shines under the harsh light

the man behind grabs both of Zach’s hips and slams in, hard, hilting, balls slapping against the base of his ass, and Zach screams into the cock in his mouth, throat tightening, his body jerking, but they don’t slow, the one in front groans, “he’s sucking now,” and laughs, strokes Zach’s hair like a reward, “look at him—filthy little collection plate,” and they thrust together, not coordinated, just cruel, forcing his body forward and back, his spine bending with each collision, his arms slack now, not resisting, just holding on, his cock slaps against his soaked stomach, twitching again, another pulse, another leak, he’s leaking constantly now, completely, there’s no arousal in his face, only humiliation, tears running down, spit connecting his chin to the shaft, his ass making wet noises with every thrust

the man behind him groans deeper now, faster, grabbing Zach’s shoulder, pulling him back harder, “gonna mark this hole too,” and Zach tries to shake his head, but the cock in his mouth sinks deeper, silencing him to the base, the balls rest against his nose, smothering him, holding him down while the man behind breeds him with a sudden, violent groan, heat flooding into him, rope after rope, no condom, no pull-out, just full, raw release directly into his hole, and Zach convulses, mouth filled, nose flaring, body locked between both men as he climaxes again, cock untouched, joggers drenching, seed pouring out, soaking into the puddle beneath him, his socks now sloshing when his feet shift

the cock in his throat pulses too—hard—and the next load floods his mouth again, the head swelling as cum coats his tongue, thick and endless, overflowing past his lips, down his chin, onto the floor, dripping from his chest, all while his hole leaks, twitching, seed running down his thighs, smearing with his own, the perfect glaze now complete

he doesn’t collapse. he melts. still held up by their hands, still filled, still leaking

and the room is silent except for the drip. drip. drip.

his mouth. his hole. his ruined joggers.

his knees won’t stop shaking but they don’t care, one hand still resting on the back of his slick neck like a handle, not to hold him still—he’s not going anywhere—but to remind him, to weigh down what’s already collapsed, Zach’s chest is heaving in short, silent spasms, the tank soaked and clinging to his ribs, translucent across the middle where both loads hit first, where sweat and spit and cum merged into one sticky sheen, his face is a mess, striped with drying seed across his cheekbones, along his jawline, lips coated, chin wet, a slow glob trailing from the corner of his mouth to the floor like a filament, his hair is matted, fringes stuck to his forehead, and every time he swallows you can see it move—his throat, reddened, raw, used

the man behind him still hasn’t pulled out, just rests inside, shaft twitching occasionally as Zach’s hole clenches around it in exhausted, unwilling pulses, heat leaking out around the base, dribbling down the inside of one trembling thigh, a slow milky streak that crosses the pale blue of his joggers where they’ve been shoved down past his ass, every inch of his exposed skin glistening under the overhead lights like it’s been lacquered, the joggers are beyond salvage, stained from waistband to shin, stretched and wet and sagging from the sheer volume of what’s been forced out of him and into him, and his cock—fuck, his cock is still hard, not fully, not proud, but twitching, leaking one last line across the wrinkled front, a puddle beneath him catching the slow drip of it all

the man in front steps closer again, cock half-hard but still slick, dragging the tip across Zach’s cheek with no urgency, smearing the mess across his face like frosting a mouth he owns, and Zach flinches—not because he’s fighting, but because there’s nothing left to do, and they know it, they watch the way his eyes twitch now, unfocused, the way his arms hang limp, forearms glazed, fingers sticky from clutching the floor while they fucked him through it, he hasn’t said a word since they bred him, not because he doesn’t want to—but because words don’t belong to him anymore

a hand cups his jaw, forces his head up, not gentle, not cruel, just mechanical, instructional, the man above him smiling down like a handler inspecting his work, thumb pressing into Zach’s tongue, opening him wider, exposing the inside of his mouth, still glazed, still wet, and then—spits—not fast, not angry, just slow, direct, letting it fall and land across his tongue like punctuation

“again,” the voice says behind him, and Zach twitches, almost mishears it, thinks it’s to him—but it’s not, it’s to the man who’s still inside him, who hasn’t moved, who finally slides out with a thick, slick sound, seed following, smeared across Zach’s ruined hole, streaking down the backs of his thighs, and then another hand grabs his hips and pulls, not lifting, not positioning, just displaying

Zach’s ass is parted again, wide, sloppy, used, and the new man crouches behind him, gloves already on, thumbs pressing into the bruised skin around the rim, widening him for inspection, cum oozing freely, and Zach lets out a sound, low, broken, no resistance in it at all, just a sound of humiliation, his spine curving, his neck falling forward, the seed in his mouth dripping to the floor in slow strands

“he’s still leaking,” one of them says, sounding satisfied, “good retention,” and a hand smacks his right cheek—sharp, echoing—and Zach jerks, hole twitching again, another leak of cum escaping down to his knee

“he’s trained,” the other says, “doesn’t even ask who we are anymore,” and they laugh, and Zach doesn’t flinch this time, because they’re right, he hasn’t asked—not since the first breeding, not since the mouthfucking, not since his joggers flooded untouched, he hasn’t said anything because what the fuck would he even ask now?

the man in front steps around him, and Zach feels it before he sees it—his joggers being tugged back up, slow, deliberate, over the cum-slicked skin, over the stained thighs, up and around the mess, sealing it all inside, locking the fluids against his flesh, fabric stretching tight over the fullness of it, soaking through instantly, the dark stain spreading from crotch to ass like a fucking seal

a voice in his ear now, calm, cold, final—“you’re going to walk out like this”

Zach shudders

“no cleanup”

he gasps

“you leave in what you earned”

and the joggers snap at the waist, elastic locking everything in, the stench of cum pressed to his skin, a slick warmth between his legs that makes every twitch, every movement, shameful

they help him stand—not kindly, not cruelly, just completely, lifting him by the arms like luggage, and he sways on his feet, cum pooling in his socks, shoes soaked, shirt wrinkled and translucent, face still glazed, throat bruised from the inside out, lips swollen and open just slightly, a string of spit still hanging from the corner

they guide him to the door, one on either side

he doesn’t speak

he doesn’t look back

but when the door hisses open and the hallway light spills in, the air hits him cold, and the wet warmth between his thighs moves, squishes, his cock jerks once more in the wet mess, and he gasps, barely audible, and they smile, both of them, and step out beside him—his masters now

Zach leaves.

the hallway spits zach out like trash. he stumbles forward, legs weak, joggers clinging to him like wet plastic, sticky between his thighs, ass squishing with every step. his face is still glazed. eyes glassy. tank top translucent, stuck to his chest like a snot-stained bib. his cock twitches once in the wet, like it’s trying to stay hard but can’t. people walk past. no one looks. the city moves on. zach’s skin burns with the stench of it. his socks squelch. shoes ruined. he blinks, breath hitching, hand on the wall, about to collapse—

and that’s when he sees him. the man. the fucking homeless scab-zombie sack of piss zach once pushed off a bench outside omega chi’s spring party. the man zach called “roadkill.” the one who reached out and zach stepped on his hand like garbage.

he’s still there. but closer. right there on the edge of the lot. one eye milked over. beard crusted with filth. coat like it’s been growing mold since 2006. but awake. aware. his nose twitches. he smells zach. not the cologne. the cum. the submission. the rot.

“boy,” the man grunts, wet voice low and cracked like something forgotten under a bridge. zach stumbles back. “don’t.” it’s barely a whisper. one hand lifts, limp, warning. but it’s too late.

the man lunges. fast. violent. not clumsy. hungry.

grabs zach by the front of his tank, rips it sideways, mouth already at his neck, smelling, licking—“you smell like sissy juice”—zach yells, pushes, swings, but his body’s slow, too fucked, too full, and the man’s already behind him, tongue pressed flat against the back of zach’s neck, hand cupping his crotch from behind, squeezing the soaked joggers like he owns them.

“no—NO—get the fuck off me—” but his voice cracks. breaks. because the homeless man is smiling. not seducing. owning. fingers dig into the cum-drenched seat of his joggers. slurp—the man licks the glaze right off zach’s cheek. wet. loud. grinning.

“you used to laugh at me,” the man whispers into zach’s ear, breath rancid. zach retches. but he doesn’t run. “look at you now.”

zach twists. tries to shove. but the man already has his joggers halfway down. again. ass out. wet. soaked. still leaking. still open. one of the old man’s fingers pushes in without resistance. zach’s whole body stiffens. “stop—stop—not you—not you—”

but there’s no one to stop it. no cameras. no handlers. no system. just this fucking animal and the mess he already belongsto.

and zach—he stops pushing. stares at the concrete. doesn’t scream. doesn’t cry. just accepts it.

“you remember me,” the man whispers, wet voice dragging every word like molasses and phlegm. zach’s mouth opens. closes. he does. he knows. this was the one. the one he spat on outside tau’s mixer. the one whose hand he stepped on for reaching. "you remember me."

and zach nods.

he doesn’t even lie.

the man leans in. smells his cheek. breath like spoiled meat and ash. and still—zach doesn’t shove him. he flinches. but he doesn’t push.

“you smell like boys.” the man laughs, low and awful. “like seed. like you been fed. but not finished.”

a hand grabs the waistband of zach’s joggers. zach gasps. finally speaks—“don’t”—but it’s weak. a breath. and the man’s already kneeling. fingers dragging the joggers down to the knees like unwrapping a hot, wet treat. and zach’s ass—used, slick, red—greets the air. a sheen of drying cum coats the crease, the inner thighs, the soft bruised rim. and the man just breathes it in.

“fuck. you’re ripe.”

zach whimpers. hands press against the brick wall, head bowed. not bracing. just existing.

“you laughed at me. stepped on me.” pause. “but now?”

the homeless man doesn’t fuck him. he uses him like a stolen appliance. there’s no rhythm, no pacing, just a series of collisions. zach—barely upright, gear sealed in cum, joggers clinging like a wet grocery bag—gets snatched. pulled down beside the dumpster like he’s being dragged behind a truck. the man’s coat spills open. underneath: nothing. not even underwear. just grease-slick thighs and a cock already half-hard from anticipation alone, swinging like it’s been waiting years for this moment.

zach tries to crawl. his palm hits slime. something sticks to his tank top. a wrapper? a used tissue? he doesn’t even look. the man’s already kneeling on the back of his knees, weight pressing down, and spits directly between zach’s shoulder blades, letting it ooze down his spine. “you thought this city didn’t remember,” he hisses, tongue dragging up zach’s ear like roadkill licking glass. “you thought you couldn’t be touched.”

he yanks the joggers down again—not carefully. just enough. just far enough. the fabric clings, peels, stretches like skin. and then both hands grip the undersides of zach’s glutes and spread him, wide, shameless, exposing the raw, red, breeding-wet mess between them, the slit of a jock who got filled hours ago and never cleaned.

“you let them do this to you?” he laughs, one eye yellow, other milked-over, both fixed on the leaking hole. “all that gym time, all that protein—just to get wrecked?”

the man spits directly between his cheeks. the glob sticks. drips. and then a thumb—dirty, cracked, thick—presses straight against his hole, not inside, just smearing the mess that’s already leaking.

zach moans. not from pleasure. from horror.

and then it happens.

not fast. not brutal. just real.

the homeless man doesn’t fuck him. he uses him like a stolen appliance. there’s no rhythm, no pacing, just a series of collisions. zach—barely upright, gear sealed in cum, joggers clinging like a wet grocery bag—gets snatched. pulled down beside the dumpster like he’s being dragged behind a truck. the man’s coat spills open. underneath: nothing. not even underwear. just grease-slick thighs and a cock already half-hard from anticipation alone, swinging like it’s been waiting years for this moment.

zach tries to crawl. his palm hits slime. something sticks to his tank top. a wrapper? a used tissue? he doesn’t even look. the man’s already kneeling on the back of his knees, weight pressing down, and spits directly between zach’s shoulder blades, letting it ooze down his spine. “you thought this city didn’t remember,” he hisses, tongue dragging up zach’s ear like roadkill licking glass. “you thought you couldn’t be touched.”

he yanks the joggers down again—not carefully. just enough. just far enough. the fabric clings, peels, stretches like skin. and then both hands grip the undersides of zach’s glutes and spread him, wide, shameless, exposing the raw, red, breeding-wet mess between them, the slit of a jock who got filled hours ago and never cleaned.

“you let them do this to you?” he laughs, one eye yellow, other milked-over, both fixed on the leaking hole. “all that gym time, all that protein—just to get wrecked?”

he doesn’t thrust. he pushes things inside. whatever’s nearby. a finger. two. then something harder. something not skin. zach’s eyes fly wide. he jerks forward—face hits brick. a groan, desperate. the man shoves it deeper. a bottle? a crumpled can? it creaks. zach chokes, fingers clawing at stone. his cock? leaking again, twitching against the alley floor, soaking the last dry corner of his joggers.

the man whispers: “you remember when you stepped on me?” he twists the object inside him. zach screams, or tries to. nothing comes out.

the man spits on his hole again. then finally pulls the object out—slowly, wet, slick—and tosses it aside like garbage. he doesn’t even look where it lands. he unzips his coat further. breath steaming. hands greasy. “now we do it my way.”

he grabs zach by the tank, tears it. not off—just open. clawing until it splits down the spine. exposed, filthy skin. cum-streaked muscles. shivering. then he pushes inside. no prep. no warning. cock spearing raw into a jock already fucked open, but not like this. not by him.

the thrust isn’t deep—it’s grinding. he fucks with his entire body. belly slapping back. beard dragging across zach’s neck. one hand fisted in his hair, the other smeared across his face, forcing fingers into his mouth.

“bite me and i break your teeth.” zach doesn’t bite. he sucks.

and that’s what breaks him. not the hole. not the cock. but that.

sucking on the filthy fingers of the man he once called garbage.

his cock erupts again. no contact. just a wet splatter against concrete. again.

the homeless man laughs. “oh, you like it.”

the man doesn’t stop thrusting, doesn’t even build rhythm, just grinds forward like every shove is personal, every inch sunk into zach’s hole is another memory being rewritten, another humiliation turned inside out and shoved back in raw, he’s panting against zach’s ear now, spit pooling in his beard, tongue dragging up the side of the jock’s sweat-filmed neck like he’s licking grease off a plate, his cock burrows in deeper, not because it fits but because it has to, zach’s ass is raw, leaking, the rim pulsing, red, his joggers bunched around his knees like a caution flag, already soaked through, the puddle beneath him reactivating with every fresh drip from his twitching cock

his hands slap at the wall but there’s nothing to hold, fingers dragging down brick, scraping skin, chest sagging forward as the weight behind him grows more frantic, more feral, the man’s fingers slip under the torn tank and claw into his chest, not to grope—to mark, nails raking lines across his pecs until they welt, then lower, dragging across his stomach where the shirt sticks translucent to his abs, every breath zach takes pulls it tighter

“you smell like a fucking bathhouse,” the man growls, voice like gravel soaked in whiskey, “all that jizz pumped in you—what, nobody claimed the rest?”

zach moans and it’s pathetic, not even a sound of resistance, just sound, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth, tongue lolling against his lower lip, the fingers shoved in earlier left it numb, his jaw twitches, his neck muscles locked from tension, eyes unfocused but open, blinking only when a droplet of sweat or rain or spit falls from the man’s beard onto his cheek

the man spits again, directly down zach’s spine, and fucks harder, shallower now, his belly slapping against zach’s ass with a wet smack, skin against soaked cotton, he grabs the jock’s hair, twists, pulls his head back, neck arched, and leans forward until their faces almost touch, beard scratching against glazed jaw, the man’s eyes wild, yellowed, teeth crooked and exposed as he grins wide and says—

“this is mine now. you’re mine now. you hear that, pledge? i own your fuckin’ hole.”

zach shudders. violently. not from cold. not from fear. from recognition.

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t nod. doesn’t say yes. but he doesn’t say no. and that’s when the man knows.

he yanks zach back by the waist and slams forward one final time, cock burying to the hilt, balls pressed against the jock’s cum-smeared cheeks, and explodes inside him, moaning long and raw, the sound echoing between the dumpsters, seed pumping in heavy, angry pulses, leaking instantly around the base and down zach’s inner thighs

zach whines. soft. high. his cock jerks again, untouched, and more leaks into his joggers, a weaker stream this time, but still real, still visible, soaking what wasn’t already ruined

they stay like that. for seconds. minutes. who knows. his hole still full. joggers still clinging. shoes destroyed. the back of his tank half ripped, front clinging to his chest in damp patches, his face slack, hair stuck to his temple, beard hair from the man still tangled in his spit

and when the man finally pulls out—slow, dragging, wet—zach doesn’t flinch. doesn’t clench. the hole gapes. leaks. drips. the glaze from inside now mixing with what’s already cooling down his thighs.

the man zips his coat. wipes his cock on zach’s torn tank like it’s a towel. zach doesn’t move.

the man lights a cigarette. crouches down. watches the mess he made breathe through his mouth like a dog left in the rain.

he says nothing.

zach stays right there. kneeling. on the edge of garbage. on the edge of being something else entirely.

zach doesn’t flinch when the man leans in. doesn’t turn his face. doesn’t resist. his cheeks are still streaked with drying cum. his lips still taste like the alley floor. his eyes are open but don’t focus anymore, and when the man’s cracked, grease-slick mouth presses against his, it’s not a kiss—it’s a claim.

slow. wet. lipless. the man’s tongue pushes past the jock’s slack teeth and tastes what’s left inside. not passion. not hunger. just ownership.

zach doesn’t kiss back. but he doesn’t pull away. his jaw stays open, tongue limp, chest rising slow beneath the torn tank that still clings to his pecs in patches. cum glistens in the grooves of his abs. his joggers are so wet they stick to the ground when he shifts his knees.

“that’s it,” the man rasps against his lips, forehead pressed to zach’s, breath heavy with ash and rot, “that’s what good boys do. they don’t fight anymore. they listen.”

he exhales smoke right into zach’s open mouth. zach swallows it like air.

and then the man laughs. low. warm. like he’s telling a secret.

“you’re gonna be rich, pet.” zach’s brow twitches. barely.

“not from stocks. not from football. not from selling lies in suits. from this.” his hand slides between zach’s thighs, cups the ruined bulge in his joggers—squishes it—makes zach gasp.

“you’re gonna earn with your throat. with your hole. with this pretty little face all glazed and ready. just like now.” another kiss. wetter this time. longer.

zach doesn’t move.

“we’ll set you up right here,” the man grins. “my corner boy. my alley princess. let them line up. you won’t say a word. just open. just serve. i’ll take my cut. and you—” he strokes zach’s chin with one filthy thumb.

Every school has one. A bully boy and his victim, the bullied. At this school it was no exception. Phil was obviously the bully in his year. Rough, well built with muscles in all the right places, couldn’t give a fuck about his class results always dressed in jeans and T shirt and Doc Marten boots.  Most of the other guys in the year kept away from him. No one wanted to be friends with such a jerk, a bully. That only made Phil more aggressive. So he chose his victim. It was obvious. It had to be the bookish Simon, same height but slim built, wavy hair and also someone who seemed to have few friends. Phil knew Simon was his victim and Simon knew he was being earmarked so whenever possible he kept a wide berth and if Simon saw him coming up the corridor he would dive in to a classroom to escape. Little by little the taunting started coming up behind Simon and grabbing his arm tightly so it would bruise, telling him

‘Trying to avoid me you little runt.’

‘Fucking little bookworm’

‘Fucking little mummy’s boy.’

Soon Phil decided a good idea to let the others know so would shout as he passed by Simon. 

‘Who’s a fucking little queer.’

‘A right little fucking bum boy.’

‘Bet you are a good cocksucker.’

No one did anything to help and Simon was too terrified to report.

Phil escalated his attacks and would grab Simon’s books

‘Give me your fucking homework so I can copy .’and would snatch the books and give them back a day later once he was ready to hand in his work. Some teachers wondered how the hell Phil’ s work started to become better but no one sought to question.

One day Phil came up behind Simon and whispered 

‘At break get behind the bike shed and don’t be late.’

Simon was terrified as he would have no one to see whatever Phil had in mind and also he had no idea what he wanted but he knew he had to go there

At break Simon turned the corner and Phil was there legs apart smoking a ciggie.

‘I knew you would come. Too terrified not to eh you little pussy. I need my ciggies so empty your pockets and give me your money. Now

‘I haven’t much on me .’Simon replied sheepishly

‘Get the fucking money out and give it or do you want a thumping.’

Simon dug his hands into his trousers and handed over the few coins he had.

‘Is this all you fucking well have?’

As Phil said this he flung Simon back against the wall and pushed his body up tight against Simon forcing one leg tight into Simon’s crotch.

‘You fucking little wimp. I deserve to make mincemeat out of you. You were born to be a fucking bullied little pile of shit.’

Simon could feel Phil’s breath smelling of cigarette smoke spreading across his mouth. Then Phil moved his head back and spat a great gob at Simon, taking a hand and rubbing it over his eyes and mouth.

‘This is what you fucking deserve you little fag boy.’

Suddenly Phil’s face gave a sneering smile

‘Shit man you are loving this. What’s  this my leg is up against. You have a rock solid boner which was not there a minute ago. You fucking love my leg in. your crotch and my spit all over that face of yours.’

Saying that Phil moved his hand down and grabbed Simon’s cock and balls.

‘A right tent pole you got there Who would have thought you’d have a cock that size. What a pity as you’ll never get to use that up a hole. A right pair of big dangling balls as well. You fucking love me rubbing you up. You’ re a faggot after all. Maybe you should be my faggot . Believe it or not but you have made my cock nice and stiff and once it’s hard like now it needs some action and you pussy boy can ease the pressure inside that dick of mine. Get down on your fucking knees, now!’

Simon knelt his face looking straight at the stiff cock inching down Phil’s jeans.

‘Now unzip me you little prick and get your hand inside to feel that nice stiff piece of meat of mine.’

Simon could not believe that he was in front of his tormentor staring at the outline of cock and his own felt almost on fire with desire. And now he has been commanded to open Phil’s flies and dig in deep to release that thick cock, a cock he had secretly dreamt about and at times imagining had wanked on.

Phil undid the top button to enable Simon’s hand to get in and feel the warmth of the stiff prick. As Simona had suspected Phil was always commando as he had been able to sometimes watch Phil walking down the street and the cock sliding up and down in the jeans. 

The cock flipped out

‘Maybe not as long as yours, faggot but nice and thick. So if you are my faggot you know what to do. Take a good firm grip and move it to that gaping mouth of yours. Bet you have never sucked dick before. Yes?’

‘No.’

‘I thought that but I look at that baby face of yours and know you want to. Just  breathe carefully and start by rimming my head letting your spit slide over it. Once you have my full head in your mouth the rest will come naturally. Trust me. My cock has been in many mouths desperate to take my cum.’

Phil pushed his prick into Simon’s face.

‘Now open wide faggot’

Simon opened and started to rim the thick head with his spit savouring the sense of smell and skin, especially letting his tongue linger under the head knowing from wanking that this was a sensitive part. He was right as he heard Phil groan

‘That’s right you little poof boy now let those fucking lips of yours take in the whole head and I want to feel the edge get into that throat of yours. Shits that’s it, I knew you were a fucking homo boy wanting cock the moment I saw you. Now I am going to slide the full shaft in and get ready to open that mouth of yours wider to take it all, I want to feel it surging down the back of your throat.’

Simon started to choke but knew he could not let the cock out of his mouth so started to breathe and let his spit ease the movement down.

‘Time for me to take control mate. But first while you have my dick in your mouth unzip yourself and take out that cock of yours with your other hand. Don’t let go of your hand that’s on my prick.’

Simons’ cock was almost stuck down the length of his trousers and only with difficulty was he able to push it up until it sprang out and let in spring into the vertical position.

‘You do have a good cock there boy and real 8 incher. Seeing that is just what I need to face fuck you. Now get that hand of yours working that nice big shaft of yours. Bet you have wanked often enough to know what to do.’

Saying that Phil took hold of Simon’s wavy hair and thrust the cock as deep as he could until Simon could feel the bristles of the pubes rubbing against his mouth.

‘Now you just take it while I do the movement and let it slide in and almost out of that gob of yours.’

Holding Simon. tightly Phil started to pummel his cock faster and faster, his breathing quickening with each forced push up to the hilt.

The ferocity of the way Phil was face fucking made Simon’s hand work faster and faster up his shaft. He was ready to explode.

‘I fucking cum first you little shit. Jesus I am cuming’

And with that and a loud groan he let spurt after spurt down Simon’s throat who thought he was going to choke with the amount which started to pour out from his mouth and down his chin. The taste of spunk and the feel of it coming out of his mouth was too much. Simon had never been as hard or as horny in his life and with one final thrust of his hand he exploded his cum between Phil’s legs.

As Phil let his cock out of Simon’s mouth he smiled

‘Better wipe that gob of yours otherwise you will be showing everyone what spunk you have. For a little virgin you learn quick faggot. This has clearly worked for the two of us and gets me to release my spunk instead of jacking off so we will make this a weekly meeting. Got it. And don’t be late or think you can avoid otherwise I will fucking thump you but I think you want it as much as I do.’

Simon met Phil each week behind the shed at school and while Phil bullied Simon in between he wanted each week to come so he could get his rocks off and feel his spunk in Simon’s throat. Meanwhile in spite of everything that Phil did to him he knew he was not just giving Phil pleasure but he own cock was getting all he wanted as well.

On the last day of term  Simon was being awarded The Best student at graduation. Hardly anyone congratulated him, knowing he was the best in the class. Phil looked sullenly at him knowing his marks made him bottom. Simon had applied to University and would off on his 3 year course in a few months after the summer vacation.

As all the kids came out of the graduation hall Phil came up behind Simon and whispered.

‘I want you behind the shed now you little brainy faggot. You may have got all the prize books but I have something a lot better to send you off with. Be there in 10 minutes.’

As Simon rounded the corner Phil stood legs apart smoking a ciggie and looking like thunder.

‘Get the fuck over here.’ This was a different Phil. A nasty Phil and the sight of him was terrifying Simon.

As Simon walked over Phil’s hands came out and shoved the prize books out of Simons hands.

‘Fucking clever clog eh. Fucking faggot got all the prizes, Fucking piece of shit going off to Uni. Suppose you are laughing your fucking head off at me as bottom of the class with no job to go to.’

‘I hadn’t thought like that at all.’

‘Oh yeah.’.

‘Now you can go off and be fucking mister know all with guys just as brainy as you.’

 And with that Phil grabbed hold of Simon and pushed to back against the wall face forwards shoving his face against the concrete wall.

‘That hurts’, Simon squealed

‘Of course it fucking hurts. What you deserve for being so fucking clever. Now raise your arms high.’

With Simon now pinned against the wall, Phil put his hands around Simon’s waist and undid his flies.

‘What are you doing.’

‘Don’t fucking ask. I do as I want, got it.’

Phil then pulled down the rousers and underpants to Simon’s knees so that he had no way of running off.

‘Time I gave you a going away present. A blow job ain’t good enough for you now. You need something to really remember me. Time that virgin arse of yours got a right good fucking from my cock.’

‘No please I cant’ take that prick of yours up me.’

‘You bloody well will and you will feel my spunk all the way up. Take that to Uni with you.’

Simon was terrified to move and knew with his trousers around his knees he had no where to run.

Phil unzipped his jeans, his cock already stiff knowing what he had planned to do and yanked it out.

‘I’ve been fucking wanting my dick inside that arse of yours for a while. Thought best to leave it till we go our separate ways so you have a bloody sore memory of me.’

Phil lets a couple of big gobs of spit drop onto his cock and rubbed them up and down the shaft.

‘Now stick that arse of yours right out. I ain’t playing around with that hole of yours. No foreplay just a good fuck’

As Simon pushed his arse out he suddenly felt the tip of Phil’s stiff cock press against his cheeks finding its way to the hole. His hole reacted immediately trying to close any entry. Phil pulled Simon’s cheeks apart so he could see exactly where his prick was going.

‘Don’t think that by squeezing that hole of yours is gonna stop me. Its’ just gonna make if more painful but if that’s what you want OK. Up to you, faggot.’

Simon knew he had to relax and as he did so, so Phil pushed his head into the hole causing Simon to let out a great sound of pain. Phil put his hand over Simon’s mouth and whispered 

‘You shut the fuck up. Take it like a man instead of being such a fucking wimp. Once I’ve fucked you that arse will be ready for any cock when you get to Uni. But it’s me who fucks you first.’

Still with his hand over Simon’s mouth , Phil put his other hand around Simon’s waist to grab as he started to let his shaft slip inside.

‘A great soft fucking hole you have there. Made to be fucked. Now stop any shouting got it,’

Simon grunted as Phil took his hand away and put his also around Simon;’ waist to allow him to push in and out. As he moved his hand into position he was suddenly aware that Simon’s had a ram rod boner.

‘Got a right boner there. I knew you wanted to be fucked. Seeing it’s the last time let me wank you as I fuck you eh?’

As Phil moved in and out and up and down Simon’s arse so Phil gripped Simon’s rod harder and slipped his hand up and down covering and uncovering Simon’s foreskin with its bright red head, precum oozing out

‘You won’t forget this fuck mate. Take my fucking cock all the way in that arse of yours, move in time with my dick, go on faster and faster. Get ready to take my spunk. I can feel that shaft of yours pulsating ready to burst.’

As Phil gave a final push into Simon’s arse he let out a deep groan and sank his teeth into Simons neck to stop his orgasmic noise. Simon’s head shot back letting out his own noise as he came in Phil’s hand the spunk shooting out against the shed wall.

Phil stood back and forced his still rigid cock down his jeans, looking at the mark he had left on Simon’s neck.

‘You will remember me for a while when that bruises up but most of all you will remember how I fucked your virgin arse. All that sticky cum of yours over the wall can just stay as a reminder of the day I fucked you. Now zip yourself up pick up your books and get the hell out of here. You won’t forget me.’

3 YEARS LATER

Simon returned home after graduating his Uni course with full honours. His parents were away for work for a year so he had the house to himself. Going out from time to time to get food etc he had seen a couple of his classmates, well hardly mates, and they acknowledged him but didn’t bother to ask what he was doing and how Uni has fared. ‘Stuff them ‘Simon said

A   couple of days later there was a ring at the front door and Simon thinking it could be the postman opened the door to see Phil standing in front of him. At first he hardly recognised his bully from school. The guy was now a full skinhead, shaved glistening head. The Doc martens had been replaced with high white laced Ranger boots and he had bleached denim jeans tight against his legs and even at a quick glance Simon had seen the outline of his cock down one side. Obviously still commando then. He wore a black Fred parry and a green A1 jacket. A black leather back pack completed his clothing. If he had looked the bully at school he now looked almost terrifying and not someone you would ever want to cross. Simon’s eyes were out on stalks.

So you are back then. Word gets around. Must say you have bulked out quite a bit. Obviously at the Uni gym. Suits you but all that fucking wavy hair and you are still the same faggot I remember.’

‘So are you not going to ask me in and gimme a beer?’

As he said this Simon started swiftly to close the front door but Phil anticipated and placed his Ranger boot firmly in place.

‘Now that’s not very friendly is it.’ As he said it he thrust the door open almost knocking Simon back against the wall.

Moving quickly in and kicking the door shut Phil took hold of Simon’s shirt and said. 

‘So lets’ go into the kitchen and get that beer. For your sake there had better be a couple in the fridge.’

Simon meekly obeyed his master and took out a beer opening it to hand to Phil. Gulping it down he said

‘I needed that. Right sit down. You and I have business to attend to.’

As Simon sat down there was no where for Simon to go.as Phil opened up the back pack and took out a length of rope.

‘Get your hands behind you over the back of the chair you pussy.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘You will soon find out.’

As Simon obeyed so Phil set the knots in place 

‘You are not gonna hurt me are you? I’ll suck you or whatever you want.’

‘Just shut the fuck up and you will soon see.’

Phil again dipped into the backpack and took out a professional hair razor.

‘Does this give you an idea?’

‘I think so.’

‘It’s time that mass of blond curls left your head. ‘

‘No, no please leave my hair.’

‘By the time I have finished you will have no hair. You will be just like me. Lovely fucking smooth head so flip your head and let me get started.’

Simon knew there was no way he could wriggle out of it and waited to hear the whirring sound of the razor. Within minutes he saw his blond locks fall onto the floor and he could feel so much more air around his head. He knew he was being scalped but was powerless. After several minutes Phil put the razor down and took another gulp of beer. He them took the shaving foam out of his kit and another razor to remove the bits left of Simon’s head. 

‘We want you nice and smooth no doubt there will be a few nicks but that will quickly go.. Coming on a treat now.’

He moved round to stand in front of Simon to admire his work. 

‘At least from the neck up you look like a skin.’

Simon was looking straight into Phil’s crotch and could see a rock hard cock stretching down one side of his bleachers.

Giving his bulging outline a rub Phil said

‘Jeez staring to make be horny. Now for the next bit. I am gonna untie you and then you get down on yer knees in front of me got it.? Don’t even think of doing anything other than I tell you.’

Simon sank top his knees in front of his master his bully.

‘Those nice Ranger boots of mine need a cleaning and I know from your cock sucking days that you have plenty of spit to clean them just as I want . Do the right one first. I want to make sure I can see my face in the toe cap right. Placing both hands on the ground Simon bent over the right boot and started to let his spit flow over the cap licking it and tasting the dirt in his mouth. He covered the cap with his spit.

‘Now let me see what you have done boy. ‘As Simon took his face back and Phil looked down.

‘That not what I call fucking clean you sad faggot.’ Placing his other foot on Simon’s head he forced him down so his lips were pressed against the leather.

‘Now fucking lick and clean got it. ‘

Simon could hardly get his spit out as he boot pressed down harder and harder but he knew he had to keep Phil happy.

‘Let me see now .’Phil barked ‘That’s better now get on and do the same to the other unless you want a fucking bruised lip.’

Simon licked and licked until he was pushed away.

‘Not a bad faggot are you. That’s it got a nice shine on them now.

So next I want you to take my  back pack into your bedroom and I will wait for you. So gimme me another beer while I wait here.’

Simon replied,

‘I have no more in the fridge but let me get you one for the utility room.’

‘Oh my the fucking utility room. Get you faggot. Well go on get and give me now.’

Simon returned with the opened beer and took the back pack.

Once in his bedroom he opened up and let the contents fall onto the bed. It was a complete skinhead gear like Phil’s. He wanted Simon to look like him to be his fellow skin and sub. Seeing all the gear spread out over the bed immediately had Simon’s cock reaching full length inside he jeans straining to get out. He decided not to look in the mirror until he had everything on. It took no time to strip all his clothes off by which time his throbbing cock was almost vertical the foreskin now pulled tightly back.

Apart from the Ranger boots which looked worn, all the clothes were new and obviously bought for Simon. He put on the tight bleachers inching them up his legs no longer the skinny legs of 3 years ago but know showing muscle from workouts which made pulling them up more difficult. The worst part was trying to press his throbbing cock down one leg which just bulged more and more inside a small stain of precum starting to seep through. Then the white socks and pulled them up as high as he could having noted how Phil wore them over the top of the rangers. The rangers had red laces and as it was the first time he had worn them it seemed to take ages to lace up.

‘Get a fucking move on boy’  he heard Phil shout.

Next the white Fred Perry which was a size too small and looked glues to his now bigger chest, his six pack showing through and the nipples he had been cultivating sticking out.

Finally the black A1 jacket and he was complete. Simon was trembling with excitement as he stood in front of the mirror to see his new identity.

Gone was the pretty college boy with wavy hair and student clothing. Gone was the bookish young man. Staring out from the mirror was a skinhead in full skin gear. His shaved head made him look rough, threatening and as Simon curled his lip he could see himself as an aggressor. His bulked up frame made him look tougher than Phil as he spread out his arms and placed them firmly on his hips. From the nearby drawer he pulled out his new toy, a stainless steel knuckleduster and fitted it to his hand. He stood with his legs apart and admired the way the bleachers clung to his muscular legs his bulging cock so rock hard and looking desperate to get out with the precum stain getting bigger by the minute. Shit was he horny.

All was quiet in the kitchen as Sion barged in.

Phil was slumped in the chair out cold

‘Just as I have planned for the last 3 years’ Simon grinned. ‘All I needed to do was show myself around town and I knew Phil would find out. Like a bloody bee to a honey pot. Now time to let him know who can be the boss, the Dom.’

Lifting Phil was no problem for Simon’s new physique as he flung Phil across the kitchen table. Taking the ropes that had been used on hime to be scalped he firmly tied Phils arms to two of the legs and then his legs to the other two. He was firmly under Simon;s control.

Time to bring you round mate and let the show begin. Using both hands Simon swiped Phil across the face several times the face showing red marks with the power of the slaps. Phil came to.

What the fuck is going on

What the fuck is going is that you are strapped to the table and aint going anywhere.

Untien me you fucking little faggot now

Looking at you now I aint any faggot. I call myself Si and at this moment you are totally under my control. You made me a skin and as you know skins take no prisoners. You are now my faggot.

Si lifted his right hand and brought it down sharply on Phils arse. 

Phil let out a shout of pain

‘Get your fucking hand off my arse’

‘Talking like that won’t do you any good in fact I think you deserve a couple of harder slaps.

Si hit again and again as Phil tried to wriggle, his screaming heightening.

‘Just let me go.’

‘Remember 3 years on the last day of school? You were so fucked off at me being the clever one that you said you were going to sort out my Virgin arse. Remember.’

As Si said this he brought his knucklduster hand round to Phils mouth. ‘Now I could really do you some harm  and perhaps I will because its time someone sorted out your Virgin arse. Bet you have never been fucked. You always said I had a good sized dick so now is the time to have it rammed all the way up that tight little arse of yours. And good that those bleachers of yours have a rear zip. Perhaps you have been hoping for a fuck.’

‘Don’t you even think of fucking me.’

‘I’m not thinking about it I am gonna fuck you good and proper and you will feel my balls being drained of all the spunk I have been saving up for you. My cock is rock hard and seeing those nice red cheeks of yours peeping out of the bleachers has made me fucking horny. I’ve done 3 years of martial arts and any attempt to push me around I can break your fucking neck so shut the fuck up.’

Si stood back and plunged his hand into his tight bleachers and wrestled to get his boner out. He could feel the precum still seeping out of the hole. He needed to make that precum full of spunk

Si walked round to the front of the table so Phil could see the fully erect cock.

‘Remember that dick of mine now.’

‘You fucking bastard’ Phil replied and spat out, Si collecting the spit and rubbing it onto his shaft.

‘That was a good idea. Now you can have your own spit up your arse.’

Si returned to the arse end of the table and put both hands on Phils cheeks.

‘Remember you told me to breathe as you started to sink that cock of yours in. Well I’m telling you to breathe carefully as I have a bigger dick and just make sure that hole of yours relaxes cause it will only be more painful for you. Maybe you have been dreaming of my cock all these 3 years.’

Si lined his prick to the juicy hole opening and started to slip the thick head into the hole.

‘Fucking hell I can’t take it, you are too big for my hole..’

‘Relax you faggot. You are going to take every last drop of my spunk.’

Si pushed his moist head into the waiting hole

‘Shiiiit its too big for me.’

‘You didn’t worry about it when you fucked my virgin arse did you. Stop being a little boy and act like a man a tough skinhead and take my hard knob all the way up that juicy arse of yours. I’ll pause for a minute for you to get your breath back, more than you did for me but get ready for the full shaft to slide up you.’

‘I cant’, I can’t.’

‘Yes you fucking can and will.’ 

With that Si slid his throbbing shaft in and in until it was the full way up, Phil scarcely able to breathe. Finally Phil could feel Si’s pubes up against his bum.

‘There you are its all the way up you. A nice virgin arse is no longer and its’ your little faggot that is going to fuck the life of you.’

Si stated to slowly slid the cock in and out almost taking it to when the head was on the edge then would thrust it in as hard as he could.

At first Phil squealed and then started to relax and as he did so Si put his hands around the front of Phil’s bleachers and felt his crotch.

‘For someone who reckons he is such a top and butch and never been fucked that knob of your’s is as hard as mine. So maybe you like being fucked after all maybe me dressed as a skin is making you nice and horny. Looking at you in your full skinhead gear with the arse zip open and me guiding my dick up in full gear is a fucking turn on for me. The more I am sliding in the more I can feel that arse of yours inside wetter and wetter. You are fucking loving this, admit it.’

‘Jesus its amazing.’

‘And its me who has taken your virginity. Think about that with your hard dick straining inside those bleachers. Now let’s get some spunk into you. Raise that arse of yours so I feel my cock going the full way in . take every inch of my fat dick and wait for me to explode insider you.’

Si gripped Phils arse cheeks even tighter and thrust his cock in and out with increasing rapidity.

‘Take all my spunk my little faggot.’

‘Christ fuck me let me have it .’Phil shouted.

I’m cummin let your skin sub show you he’s more of a man than you just now.’

And with that Si felt the spunk leave his balls and flow into his shaft and erupt up Phils arse.

‘Fucking hell take it all .’

‘Jesus,’ shouted Phil, ‘I’ve just cum in my bleachers what a fucking mess.’

Si withdrew his cock with cum starting to ooze out of Phils bum and drip onto the floor.. As he stood with his cock still stiff he undid the ropes tying Phil to the table.

Phil stood up and turned to Si, grabbing him and letting his tongue down Si’s mouth.

‘That was fucking amazing. To have my virgin arse fucked by you is the best. From the first time I had you give me a blow job behind the shed I wanted you and not just as my faggot as I kept telling you. I had to act that way but I wanted you so much and that fuck was the best ever. I hated you going away for 3 years and if you only knew the number of times I wanked myself thinking of that fuck.’

Si smiled. ‘I kept tabs on you all the time and knew you had become a skinhead. It was what I wanted most of all but I wanted you to be the one to make me like you. I had to have my revenge but I also have only wanted you since that first time.’

‘Christ’ Phil said ‘have we wasted 3 years?’

‘No we needed that time to get to where we are now. I’m back in town because of you and I will stay if you want that.’

Phil grabbed Si’s cock and said ‘Of course I fucking want that.’

Si replied ‘I suggest you get out of those spunk stained bleachers and get into the shower. I will be straight in behind you and we will see who does what to each other.’