THE DEEP FIX IN THE SIX: WELLS X AMBROSE
The dinner at the CN Tower was just the weigh-in. High above Toronto, Wells watched Ambrose his massive frame nearly bursting the seams of his tank top. Wells knew that look, the itch for the pitch, the hunger for the heavy grind.
"Let’s get out of here, bruv," Wells murmured, his eyes tracking the pulse in Ambrose’s neck. "You’ve been 'up' long enough. Time to go down."
Back at the Queen St. West condo, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on. The CN Tower glowed like a giant needle in the window, but the real electricity was between the two Alphas on the leather sofa.
Wells stood up, his skin-tight golden gear shimmering like liquid metal in the low light. He stepped between Ambrose’s knees, towering over him.
"Big day for a big man," Wells droned, his voice dropping into that heavy, hypnotic frequency. "But we both know you’re tired of being the one in charge. You spend all day handling your Chav's, keeping them 'on the leash, keeping them in line.' Doesn't it sound better to just… let someone else hold yours for a change?"
Wells pulled a high-polish golden coin from his pocket. He didn't just swing it; he moved it with a rhythmic, predatory precision.
"Look at the gold, Ambrose. Focus on the flash. Every time it shines, you feel that Alpha ego just… drain out of you. You don't want to lead. You want to be used. You want to be the most obedient piece of gear in this room."
Ambrose’s breath hitched. His massive chest heaved against his shirt as his eyes locked onto the coin. The "Chav" fire was being smothered by a golden fog. His pupils blew out, turning his eyes into dark, vacant voids, then a glowing hypnotic gold.
"Look at the gold, mate. Just the gold. Your birthday wish... is to let go. . To just be mine tonight."
Ambrose tried to scoff, but his eyes were already locked onto the rhythmic flash. His breathing slowed. His heavy, muscular frame began to sink into the leather. The Alpha Chav was fading, replaced by something soft, compliant, and totally focused on Wells.
"That’s it, Ambrose. Sink into the sofa. Sink into the gold. Sink deep and let go. You’re not in change tonight. You’re the project. And I’m going to work you until there’s nothing left but sweat and submission." "Just obeying. You're home now." They shared a smoke, the haze swirling around them as they finished their drinks. Wells watched Ambrose’s guard continue to drop, Ambrose finally starting to look like he needed a hand himself, like a good boy, deep, ready and willing.
The hours that followed were a blur of high-intensity "training." Wells took full advantage of Ambrose’s birthday "compliance." He moved Ambrose like a piece of equipment, pushing his limits, exploring every inch of that muscular frame with a rough, possessive heat. Every command Wells barked was met with immediate, breathless obedience. It was the kind of deep-tissue "workout" that leaves a Bro completely spent, physically claimed and mentally erased.
There was no talk, only the sound of heavy, rhythmic impact and the low, guttural groans of a Alpha Chav discovering the bliss of being handled. Wells didn't just take what he wanted; he redefined Ambrose’s purpose, one "drill" at a time. Wells was a dominant force, guiding Ambrose through every motion, claiming the space between them with a fierce, jock-like intensity. There was no resistance, only the heavy, rhythmic sound of skin on skin and the low murmurs of Wells’ commands. It wasn't just a workout or "training"; it was a total reclamation.
When the sun finally began to bleed over the Toronto skyline, the condo was silent. Wells, still humming with Alpha energy, pulled the limp, dazed Ambrose into a crushing embrace. He pinned the bigger man against him, their bodies still slick with the night’s "exertions."
Wells didn't let go. He held the conquered Alpha Chav in a tight, protective lock, whispering the final conditioning cues into his ear until they both drifted off, entwined in the golden haze of a perfect birthday mission.
Wells giving Ambrose the kind of "personal training" only an Alpha can provide. A birthday night in Queen West that started with a view and ended with total, golden submission. Ready to be handled? Our recruiters are standing by to break you in: @polo-drone-001, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166, or @polo-drone-125.
