#alpha breeder

The cause of the delay for the Reza series. Suddenly I'm distracted LOL

Bayu wiped the sweat from his brow as he skimmed the last bits of debris from the villa's infinity pool. The sun beat down on his scrawny frame, his faded gray t-shirt clinging to his narrow shoulders. At twenty-four, he is the villa's full-time pool cleaner, gardener, and all-around "babu" for the wealthy Santoso family from Jakarta. Most of the family only visited during holidays, but the eldest son, Chand, had moved here permanently to Bali.

Tall, kind-hearted Chand treated Bayu like a human being—offering cold drinks, decent pay, and even casual chats about football. But Chand's boyfriend, Ken, is a different story altogether

Ken visited often, and when Chand was away in Jakarta on business, Ken made sure Bayu knew his place.

"Faster with those leaves, babu," Ken would sneer, lounging by the pool in designer shades, his muscular chest glistening under an open white shirt. Ken is built like a god—broad shoulders, ripped abs, a thick gold medallion hanging between his perfect pecs. He loved flexing subtly while ordering Bayu around, reminding him how lucky a poor local like him was to even step foot on the property.

"Don't forget, you're here to serve. Chand's too soft on jongos like you."

Bayu bit his tongue every time. He needed this job. The small room behind the garage of the compound is his home, and the money kept his family fed back in the village. But the resentment simmered.

"Why is the world so cruel?" Bayu muttered to himself, clenching his fists in his bedroom. "People like Ken get everything—money, looks, a boyfriend like Chand who turns a blind eye—and they treat people like me like dirt. I work from sunrise to sunset, keeping this place perfect, and for what? So that arrogant asshole can call me 'babu' and laugh about how I belong scrubbing floors? Chand is nice, sure... but he's so naive. He never sees how his own boyfriend treats me like shit when he's not around. Chand is a fucking enabler, he might as well be a fucking vapid and stupid nepo baby as the rest of those rich kids friends of his for all I care. And Ken? He deserves karma. Real karma. To lose everything and know what it's like to be powerless."

Bayu sighed, the weight of his powerless life pressing down. He wished for a sign, for justice, for the kind of strength that would let him flip the script. Little did he know, it's coming.

One afternoon, Chand is on a business trip again for a few days. Ken claimed the sunbed by the pool, shirt half-open, black shorts riding low on his V-lines, the heavy gold medallion catching the light as he dozed off with his mouth slightly open.

Bayu approached quietly with his net, pretending to work. Up close, Ken looked even more imposing—sharp jaw, faint stubble, the kind of body that turned heads everywhere. But today, something feels off. The medallion hummed faintly, almost glowing with an inner light only Bayu seemed to notice.

Bayu's hand moved before his brain can stop it. He reached down, fingers brushing warm skin, and lifted the chain. The medallion comes free with a soft click. Ken's body twitched once, then... changed.

The transformation is instant and horrifyingly beautiful. Ken's sculpted muscles deflated like a balloon losing air. His broad chest sank inward, shoulders narrowing, arms thinning into weak twigs. The sharp jaw softened into a rounder, acne-speckled face. His expensive haircut receded into a plain buzz cut. Within seconds, the arrogant hunk is no longer there, replaced by a scrawny, awkward nerd in oversized clothes that now hung loosely on his diminished frame. Wait......what the fuck??? Isn't this the guy that previously worked in Bayu's place before he came to replace him because the guy is a creep and love to take little cash or trinkets belonged to the Santoso's? Bayu's memory and head is spinning from confusion as reality re-aligned itsel. Fuck......this is the truth. This man and this medallion is causing some fucked up shit that rearranged reality for everyone. The man stirred, blinking in confusion, looking around the luxurious villa like he'd never seen it for a while from that new vantage point.

Bayu stared, heart pounding. A warm, electric aura pulsed from the medallion in his palm. Ancient power, hungry and alive. Whispers filled his mind—promises of strength, wealth, dominance. He glanced at the pathetic figure on the sunbed. This is his chance.

Without hesitation, Bayu slipped the chain over his head. The medallion settled against his chest, burning hot. Fire exploded through his veins.

Bayu gasped, dropping to his knees beside the pool. His skinny arms thickened first—biceps ballooning outward, veins popping as muscle fibers multiplied and hardened. His narrow shoulders cracked and widened with audible pops, deltoids swelling into cannonballs. His chest heaved, pecs pushing forward into thick, striated slabs that stretched his t-shirt to its limits before the fabric tore down the front with a loud rip. Abs etched themselves in deep rows, eight-pack emerging where there had been nothing. His legs lengthened and thickened, quads exploding with power, calves diamond-hard.

He grew taller, from 5'7" to a commanding 6'2". His face reshaped—jaw sharpening into a chiseled masterpiece, cheekbones rising, lips fuller, eyes darkening with arrogant confidence. His black hair simply realigned itself into a trendy buzzcut. Sweat poured down his new, tanned, hairless torso, highlighting every ridge of his godlike physique. The gold medallion is now glowing triumphantly against his massive pecs as ribbed white tanktop appeared to wrap his physique

Reality bent around him like warm clay.

The villa's ownership papers in his mind shifted. He isn't Bayu anymore. He is Bryan Santoso—only child of the Santoso family, spoiled heir who spent his days partying in Bali, working out, and enjoying his inheritance. The pool cleaner that disrespectfully lounged on the sun bed in front of him now? Some local guy named Hendra.

The former Ken—now back to his original self of Hendra—blinked up at him, eyes wide with fear and confusion. The medallion's power surged through Bryan, and he focused it like a weapon.

"You never knew about the medallion," Bryan commanded, his voice now deep and commanding. "You are always the weak poolboy here. Hired help. Nothing more."

Hendra's expression glazed over. Eyes turned white. Mouth agape. Memories of his short life as Ken, of being Chand's boyfriend, of taunting Bayu—they dissolved. He then droned on to then stand up shakily before snapping back to full consciousness, the oversized clothes now comically large on his pathetic frame. "S-sir... I should get back to cleaning the pool," Hendra mumbled, grabbing a net with trembling hands.

Bryan smirked, flexing his new biceps casually. Power coursed through him. But he is far from finished.

Chand is due back that evening. Bryan lounged in the exact spot where Hendra had been, now wearing an open white linen shirt that barely contained his massive chest and black shorts that hugged his powerful thighs. The gold medallion gleamed. When Chand's car pulled up, Bryan is ready.

Chand walked in, handsome as always, carrying a small bag. "Ken? You here?" he called out.

"Over here, babe," Bryan said smoothly, his voice dripping with entitlement.

Chand froze, staring at the muscular stranger who looked vaguely familiar. "Who... who are you? Where's Ken? And why do you look like—"

The medallion flared. Bryan's eyes locked onto Chand's. "I'm Bryan. Your boyfriend. Your everything. You've always belonged to me. Ken never existed. You're my dumb, obedient cock-whore living in my compound because you are a close family friend. You live to serve this body. My muscles. My cock. Nothing else matters,"

Chand's resistance crumbled in seconds. His eyes dulled, a vacant, adoring smile spreading across his face. Intelligence faded from his gaze, replaced by pure, horny devotion. He dropped his bag and approached, hands already reaching for Bryan's chest. "Bryan... Master... you're so fucking hot," Chand whispered, voice thick and simple. He pressed his face against Bryan's pecs, inhaling deeply, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat.

Bryan laughed, deep and cocky, running a hand through Chand's hair. He grabbed a fistful and ruffled it possessively, just like in his new memories of countless afternoons by the pool. Chand moaned happily, sinking to his knees between Bryan's spread thighs. The former kind son of the house was gone—now just a brainless slut eager to worship.

Hendra shuffled by with the pool net, head down. "Pool's almost done, Sir Bryan."

"Well, that's your job, do I need to compliment you for you doing the bare minimum, babu?" Bryan said dismissively, not even looking at him. He pulled Chand's head lower, freeing his massive, throbbing cock from the black shorts. Chand dove in eagerly, sucking with sloppy, enthusiastic devotion, eyes rolled back in mindless bliss.

Bryan's body feels electric. Every flex sent pleasure through him. He watched his reflection in the pool's calm surface—the perfect jock, abs rippling, medallion bouncing with each thrust into Chand's willing throat. The power is intoxicating. He had drained everything from them and claimed it as his birthright.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped low, Bryan lounged on the sunbed with Chand curled against his side, drooling happily over his abs. Hendra finished his tasks and stood awkwardly nearby, awaiting orders.

"Bring us drinks, poolboy," Bryan commanded lazily. Hendra scurried off.

Bryan looked down at Chand, who is now mindlessly kissing and licking his gold medallion. "You're mine forever, whore."

"Yes, Bryan... I'm forever your dumb whore," Chand mumbled, eyes empty and adoring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After listening to Olivia Rodrigo's latest release together and going through their past relationship with boys that made the album super relatable for both of them, Michelle casually invited Jake to just spent the night sleeping in her house rather than driving the 1 hour drive home. They've slept on the same bedroom and at times on the same bed in countless sleepover during their highschool time so this is a nice way to reminisce those fun days that felt quite distant now they're in their 3rd year of uni

His hand slid under her shirt, palm hot and possessive against her stomach. Fingers splayed wide, pulling her back harder against him.

“Finally,” he breathed against her ear, voice thicker, rougher than Jake’s usual playful tone. “Been waiting to get this tight little body back where it belongs.”

Michelle’s eyes fluttered open, confused but still drowsy. “Jake…? What are you—”

“Shhh.” His grip tightened, fingers digging into her hip as he ground slowly against her ass. The hard length pressing through his sweatpants was unmistakable. “Don’t be loud. University changed me, baby. Turned this fag cock straight just for your sloppy little cunt.”

She laughed nervously, thinking it was some sleep-mumbled joke, but the way his hand moved—sliding up to cup her sports bra before expertly taking it off and fondle her breast possessively, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger with practiced cruelty—made heat bloom low in her belly despite herself.

“Jake, this isn’t fu---”

“Funny? Pssst.....I give you one more time to be quiet, so shut that bitch ass mouth and let me show you what uni taught me,” He nipped her earlobe hard enough to make her gasp. “You think I’m joking while my dick’s throbbing against you? Feel that, Michelle. That’s years of listening to you cry about how Don ruined you. How he called you his worthless fucktoy. How you came harder than you ever admitted when he degraded you. I thought I was sick for actually getting hard underneath my jogger, turns out, I just craved you all this time and want to try the same shit he did to wreck you.....with you,"

His free hand shoved her shorts down roughly, exposing her. Two thick fingers dragged through her folds, finding her already shamefully wet. He groaned in satisfaction.

“Fucking pathetic. One minute of dirty talk from your gay best friend and you’re dripping like a desperate whore. Bet Don trained this pussy so well it still clenches at the memory.”

Michelle whimpered, torn between pushing him away and arching into his touch. This was Jake—her Jake—but the words, the tone, the filthy confidence… it was doing things to her she couldn’t explain. “You’ve… you’ve never talked like this.” she whispered, trying to be as quiet as possible

“Well, that's one of the thing I learned. University, remember?” he growled, pumping two fingers deep inside her without warning. The stretch made her moan loudly. “Learned what I really wanted. Learned how much I love breaking good girls like you. Say it. Tell me how much you need your fag bestie’s cock.”

“I—I don’t know if we should—”

He curled his fingers viciously against that sensitive spot, thumb circling her clit with ruthless precision. “Wrong answer, slut.” The slap of his palm against her wet pussy echoed obscenely. “Beg. Beg me to fuck you like the cum-hungry hole Don always said you were.”

The degradation burned through her, mixing shame and arousal into something intoxicating. She was soaked, hips rocking helplessly onto his hand. “Please… Jake, please fuck me.”

“Louder.” He bit down on her shoulder, sucking a mark into her skin. “Tell me exactly what you want your newly straight best friend to do to this greedy cunt.”

“Please, Jake—fuck me hard. Ruin me. I need it.”

With a dark, triumphant laugh, he shoved her onto her back and stripped her completely. His tank came off next, revealing the toned, muscular chest she had only ever seen platonically. But tonight his eyes burned with something feral. He pushed her thighs wide, lining up the thick head of his cock and thrusting in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

Michelle cried out, back arching at the sudden fullness. He felt huge, stretching her perfectly, hitting depths that made her toes curl.

“That’s it,” he snarled, setting a punishing rhythm. “Take every inch like the pathetic little cockslut you are. This is what you’ve been missing while crying on my shoulder. Your gay best friend’s fat dick splitting you open.”

He fucked her with deep, angry strokes, hips slamming against hers. The bed creaked. Every thrust was punctuated by fresh filth whispered hot against her ear:

“Look at you creaming all over me. So fucking wet for the guy who used to do your makeup. Bet Don would laugh if he saw how quickly you spread for me.”

“Jake—oh god—”

“Yeah, scream my name while I breed this used-up pussy.” He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other wrapping around her throat just tight enough to make her head spin. “You’re mine now. My personal fucktoy. Gonna fill you up until you’re leaking my cum for days.”

Michelle came hard around him, walls fluttering and squeezing as stars burst behind her eyes. He didn’t slow down. He flipped her onto her stomach, yanked her hips up, and drove back in even deeper, one hand fisting her hair, the other slapping her ass hard enough to leave prints.

“Arch that back. Present that cunt like a good bitch.” His voice was pure venom and lust. “Tell me how much better I am than Don. Tell me your gay best friend fucks you better than your ex ever did.”

“You’re—fuck—you’re so much better,” she sobbed into the pillow, another orgasm building fast.

He laughed cruelly. “Of course I am. I know exactly how to break you because I knew all the soft spot and all the right answer. Every tear. Every time you let him treat you like garbage. And now I get to do it better.”

He reached around to rub her clit in tight, mean circles while pounding into her. The dual sensation sent her spiraling again, screaming his name as she gushed around his cock.

Only when she was shaking, overstimulated and whimpering, did his pace falter. He buried himself as deep as possible, hips stuttering.

“Gonna cum, baby,” he growled. “Gonna pump this worthless hole full. Mark my territory.”

With a guttural moan that sounded almost triumphant, he came hard, flooding her with thick, hot pulses. He stayed buried deep, grinding lazily as he emptied himself, making sure every drop stayed inside.

Michelle panted, dazed and glowing, still catching her breath. She turned her head, smiling shakily at him. “Jake… I had no idea. University really changed you, huh? I can’t believe we—”

He pulled out slowly, watching his cum leak from her swollen pussy with dark satisfaction. Then he leaned down, chest pressed to her back, lips brushing her ear with terrifying intimacy.

“Oh, sweet Michelle,” he whispered, voice dripping with the bitter, familiar venom she had tried so hard to forget. “You still don’t get it. Jake’s been gone since I slipped into him weeks ago. Every hug. Every late-night talk. Every time you cried about me on my shoulder… it was Don the whole time.”

Everything just went as normal at first before Jake found himself losing his breath as something seemingly blocked the airway. He suffocated and gargled in silence as this thing managed to muffled his noise too so he flailed for several seconds before his body tensed, arched and then flopped back to bed like it just went through some sort of shock. But he instantly opened his eyes and grinned as something sinister seemingly managed to take a hold of him

Her blood ran cold. She froze beneath him. He just smirked