#brockclosed

Brock stopped by the GM looking for Tristan and/or Callan to drop off his monthly check of financial support, but they were nowhere to bee found, so he figured his next best bet would be to go directly to the source: their home. When he knocked on the door and rang the bell, he hadn’t expected to be greeted by their hot little son Asher.

“Hey kiddo,” he begins, working overtime to not imagine this interaction as the starting point of a porno. “Your dads home? I got something important to give them.”

Admittedly, Brock frequently found excuses to stop by the Rosebud Flower Shop to enjoy the sights therein — namely Matt and Billy van Winkle. They were one handsome couple, and that said a lot for the broader Wisteria Court circle. What Brock would give to be a fly on the wall in their bedroom...

Today’s excuse: preparing a floral arrangement to send Mama Coleman for Mother’s Day. He waltzes into the sweet scent of the store to find Matt behind the counter, practically greeting him with his masculine beauty. No wonder business was booming for them. 

“Matt! My man!” says Brock, greeting the other with a familiar handshake. “How are the flowers treating you today?”

After seeking Tristan (or Callan, for that matter) all day, Brock finally got in touch with his acquaintance and arranged for the other man to meet him at the Coleman-Pierce residence to hand off his support check for the month. He was a patron of the arts and felt it vital to support the drama scene in town... the fact that Brock wanted to mess around with Tristan (with or without their husbands) was just bonus incentive to keep him happy. What else was he gonna do with his loaded bank account?

“Tristan! My man! It feels like I’ve been looking all over town for you,” says Brock, his megawatt smile beaming into Tristan’s handsome face. “Stopped by the GM, then I even went to your house... you’re an elusive one, y’know that? Not that it’s a bad thing. I got a little something for you here,” he says, holding up the envelope containing the check.

Post-coital showers were almost better than the main event sometimes. Wet, slick bodies pressing against one another, warm water cascading down their perfect muscles... then again, Brock was the kind to prefer dessert over a main course every now and then.

After taking multiple loads up his blisteringly tight hole, Brock found himself enjoying a shower with Kendall, getting much dirtier than they were clean. “Gonna have to put you on speed dial after all that dick you gave me,” Brock purrs, intermittently nipping at Kendall’s full, puffy bottom lip with his teeth as their cocks ground together. “Think you can handle being my new favorite booty call? Even if it’s my booty getting called...”

Brock wasn’t sure how he got here. It was like he was unconscious, and then out of nowhere, Mason was there with him. Riding his cock. Something Brock would never allow to happen.

And yet... here they were. Brock thrusting into his son’s tight, clenching asshole, grabbing onto his haunches like he was intent on completely spearing the young man he raised to the brim. But worse yet, why was he enjoying this? It’s not like Brock never.... thought about it. But those thoughts went away faster than they arrived, only prompted whenever he saw his son walking around the house without a shirt, reminding him of countless other boys he had sex with.

But this one was off-limits. And yet.

“Mase— son,” Brock pants, feeling himself on the urge of coming at any moment, like Mason was in charge of his orgasm. “Why are we—”

As much as Brock loved a nubile, whimpering twink, sometimes he just wanted a sturdy little hunk whose hole he could pound into oblivion, completely uncaring whether or not he may accidentally hurt them. One who wanted it hard and deep, begging to be shown how a real man fucks. A real man like Brock.

Jinsoul looked like the perfect specimen to describe this vibe. Tall, muscled, and aire of cockiness that was practically begging to be put in his place. He recognized the kid from around town, but never thought he would be the one on the receiving end of his cock. Yet another score for Dr. Muscle Mountain.

“Fuck, you’re tight, y’know that?” grunts Brock, thrusting deep into the younger man’s resistant hole. Almost like he’d never done this before. “Hope you don’t want me to slow it down, cause I’m liking how you take it now—” he says, accentuating his words with a forceful, well-placed thrust. “You like how a real alpha fucks you?”

Some boys tasted as sweet as they looked, and this kid was no exception. He definitely looked out of place, working at the bathhouse; almost like he didn’t belong there, or like he was much too young to be in a place like that. The moment Brock laid eyes on him, he knew he wanted to leave purple marks on that beautiful pale flesh. Among other things.

One thing led to another and Brock successfully lured Blair from his front desk back to the room he rented for the afternoon. Now there they were, the doctor holding Blair’s ass up to his face, giving him perfect access to that pink little hole, lapping it up nice and slick. “Fuck, baby boy, you’r tight like a virgin— I ain’t gonna be your first, am I?” he asks, almost like he wants the answer to be yes.

Somedays it just felt like Brock could go anywhere and find someone to take back home with him and... you get the idea. Luckily his husband and sons seemed to be out for the day, and there was no substantial staff to speak of. It didn’t take long to have Woojin naked and in his bed, moaning for him to give what he gave best.

“You got a nice little ass, boy,” grunts Brock, kissing each one of Woojin’s luscious little cheeks, gently sucking on the skin but roughly enough to leave marks in their wake. There was nothing more he loved than marking up a nubile young thing who was positively gagging for him. “What do you want me to do to it, hmm?”