Disclaimer: This story is a fictional fantasy involving consenting adults and explores role-play power dynamics. It does not condone violence, abuse, or non-consensual behaviour. Any perceived coercion exists solely within a fictional, consensual fantasy framework.
I never in my life thought my worst fear would twist into my ultimate fantasy.
Being alone out here in the middle of nowhere, miles of wilderness in every direction, the idea of some hard-edged rancher showing up, pinning me down, deciding to take what he wanted, should have terrified me. Instead, it lit something deep inside me.
Chad had messed with my head. He was gorgeous in that rough, dangerous way. Built like a brick wall, all muscle and quiet confidence. The kind of man who intimidated people around him without saying a thing. And even while he played the predator, there were subtle and deliberate moments where he watched me closely, checking, making sure I was still with him. Still choosing it.
He had a fantasy about breaking someone open, claiming them completely. What neither of us expected was that I carried a matching hunger.
When he left, it wasn’t pain I focused on; it was the restless, aching need. I wanted him back. The emptiness hit harder than anything he’d done to me. I wanted more. More of that fear, blurring into heat.
Every distant engine, every crunch of tyres on gravel made my pulse jump. Part of me hoped that it was him coming back for me. But the next day, he didn’t come. Even though he knew I’d be waiting.
I’d spend the entire day distracted, half-tense, imagining him appearing out of nowhere to shove me down and remind me exactly who had marked me. As the hours dragged on, doubt started creeping in. Maybe I’d given in too easily. Maybe my willingness had dulled the edge for a man who thrived on control. What if the hunt was already over for him?
The second day, I tried to force myself back into routine. I worked harder than usual, pushing through exhaustion, telling myself I needed to focus, finish the job, get out of here. If he wasn’t coming back, I had to stop thinking about him. By evening, I was drained. I made dinner at camp, the quiet pressing in again, and crawled toward bed early.
That was when I heard it — the distant rumble of an engine.
My heart jumped before my brain could catch up. I told myself it couldn’t be him. But when the truck rolled into view, black paint catching the fading light, I knew instantly it was his F-150.
Heat rose through me so fast it almost hurt. Excitement tangled with nerves, that same sharp edge of fear that only made me harder, more alert, more alive. Until I noticed something else. He wasn’t alone. There was another figure in the passenger seat, broad, unmoving, just a dark shape beside him. I couldn’t make out details yet, only the unmistakable presence of someone big.
Someone who no doubt knew exactly what this visit was about. As the truck kept rolling closer, a slow realisation settled in my chest. Whatever Chad had planned this time, it wasn’t just the two of us anymore.
I saw Chad step out of the truck first. His shiny black boots hit the gravel with a hard crunch, the sound jolting me. He looked exactly as I remembered, big, solid, intimidating. His thick thighs strained the denim of his jeans, and the oversized belt buckle at his waist drew my eyes straight to his groin. His broad shoulders stretched his black T-shirt tight across his chest, the fabric clinging to the heavy curves of his pecs. He’d also brought his gun.
It rested in a leather shoulder holster that hugged his torso, the metal sitting at mid-chest level as it belonged there. Dangerous and Intentional.
And yet, he gave me that same wide, toothy smile through his carefully trimmed moustache. His bright brown eyes and messy, wavy hair made him look almost friendly. Like he wasn’t trying to project the bad-ass aura that radiated off his body. The contrast was what made him so unsettling. So magnetic.
Then I heard the second set of footsteps and remembered Chad hadn’t come alone. The other man climbed out of the passenger side, and my breath caught. He was older, but just as big. Not quite as tall as Chad, but still even more intimidating. They could have been related — built from the same mold of solid muscle and quiet authority. His stance told you everything before he even moved.
His steel-blue eyes cut straight through me the moment they landed. His short silver hair sat thick against his head, and a dense beard framed his jaw, hiding most of a thin, knowing smile. A fat cigar rested between his lips, already lit, smoke curling lazily upward. The blue haze drifted across his face, softening the sharpness of his features while somehow making him seem even colder, more mysterious. I couldn’t look away.
He wore an open plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled high, showing off his thick tattooed biceps. The lightweight shirt underneath dipped low at the collar, revealing a dense spread of chest hair and more ink. The fabric clung just enough to show the deep line running between his powerful pecs.
The front of his shirt was tucked into his jeans, emphasising his narrow waist, with a gun shoved casually into the waistband. Unlike Chad, he didn’t bother with a holster. Normally, that would have terrified me. But now… it felt expected. The fear only sharpened the heat, making him even more compelling to look at.
He wore a large belt too, the polished buckle sitting squarely at his waist — drawing attention, intentionally or not, to the heavy outline pressing against the front of his jeans. And somehow, that was more intimidating than the gun.
He watched me steadily, like he was assessing me. Slowly, he pulled the cigar from his lips and exhaled a long stream of smoke. The motion mesmerised me. The slow curl of his mouth, the bristle of his moustache, the rough texture of his beard. It made something inside that was drawn to him. I wanted to step closer, to feel that mouth against mine. But I didn’t move.
I forced my gaze downward.
Chad clearly noticed how intimidated I was by his friend. A slow grin spread across his face as he looked back at me, enjoying it. “This is Wade,” he said casually. “He’s the one who taught me everything I know.” His eyes lingered on mine, dark with meaning. “How to take what I need… and more importantly,” he added, his voice lowering, “what to do with a troublesome little cocksucker like you.” The words should have made me shrink. Instead, they sent a hot, electric tension racing through my chest.
Suddenly, everything about Chad made more sense. His love of fear. His constant desire to dominate. The way he carried himself like power wasn’t something he wanted; it was required. Wade had shaped him. Carved him into the man standing in front of me. Taught him to equate masculinity with control, to find intimacy not in softness, but in power. And the way Wade watched me now — calm, steady, assessing — made it very clear: He wasn’t just observing, he was deciding.
Wade’s smile sent a cold shiver through me. He didn’t move. He didn't need to. Just that slow, steady stare was enough to make my stomach tighten. He gave a small nod toward me, like he was acknowledging something already decided. “Chad tells me,” he said in his deep, gruff voice, “you still need to learn a little respect.” The words landed heavily. “Apparently, you need to learn how men out here expect to be treated, especially by cocksuckering faggots who wander into territory that isn’t theirs.”
His eyes never left mine. “We’ve got a code out here,” he continued calmly. “And when you’re in our neck of the world… you follow it.”
The low rumble of his voice sent another tremor through me. I swallowed and nodded quickly.
“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice tight. “I understand.”
Wade let his hand drift slowly down toward his belt, resting it near the grip of the gun tucked into his waistband. A thin smile pulled at one corner of his mouth as he spoke, his voice calm and rough. “I’m going to sit back here, enjoy my cigar,” he said evenly. “While Chad teaches you a few lessons about respect.” His eyes locked onto mine. “And you’d better show it,” he added quietly. “Because, unlike Chad… my gun is loaded.”
That changed everything. I’d known Chad’s weapon was part of the act, but Wade didn’t perform. He didn’t posture. He didn’t exaggerate. He knew exactly how to keep the tension razor-sharp.
Without another word, he walked around the back of the truck, dropped the tailgate, and climbed up in one smooth motion. The cigar stayed between his lips as he settled himself on the ledge. He had one leg hanging off the edge, the other on the tailgate, bent, relaxed, his groin on full display. His hand never moved far from the gun. From that vantage point, he looked down at us like a judge preparing to watch a trial unfold. “Get in front of me,” he said calmly. “I want to see everything.”
Before I could even react, Chad grabbed my shirt, twisting the fabric tight in his fist. The sudden pull dragged me forward, so we were in Wade's line of sight. Then he shoved me down onto the ground. I landed on my back, breath catching as his large frame loomed over me, blocking out the fading light. He pulled his gun from its holster, holding it loosely as he looked down at me, his brown eyes sharp and focused. “Well,” he said, voice low and steady, “where were we?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with memory and expectation. With Wade watching from above, assessing, the weight of the moment pressed down on me from all sides. Then Chad pulled his cock out. The sight alone sent a rush of heat through me. I realised with a jolt that I’d never really had the chance to get a good look last time. He was huge, a solid 8 inches easily, but the most impressive part was the girth. It was a thick, beast, just like him. Lying there on my back, staring up at him, I felt that same mixture of nerves and hunger tightening in my chest.
He held his cock firmly in his hand, letting the moment stretch. I felt exposed beneath him. Then he smirked, that familiar, cruel edge returning, and he started to pee. Slow, controlled at first and then his stream came hard and fast. Deliberately humiliating me the way he had before. Stream directed all over me, drenching my shirt, my hair and then my face, until he brought it up to my lips. Piss spread all over me as he attacked my mouth. I willingly opened wide and took it, and drank it down.
From the truck, Wade’s voice cut through the air, rough and approving, telling him to “Mark the cocksucker”, “own the cunt”, egging him on, reminding me that I was being watched… judged. That alone sent another surge of adrenaline through me.
By the time Chad stepped forward again, towering over me, I was shaking — not just from fear, but from the overwhelming intensity of the moment. Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated to remind me of his control. I was covered; his piss was dripping all over me. He then positioned himself right over me. His boots were up against my ear. I bent to the side without direction, and I started to lick them without being asked. I just wanted to taste him through that hard leather. I tasted the dirt on his boots, but I didn't care as I swallowed it down. As I looked up, he smiled at me, knowing that I'd do anything he said.
He then started to crouch down, bringing his balls sack closer to my mouth. Finally, his large dangling balls were just within reach of my tongue. The intoxicating smell of sweat and piss started to fill my nose. I stretch my tongue out, wanting to taste him badly, feel those light hairs that covered his sac. He crouched a little further until the balls were resting neatly on my tongue. I suck them into my mouth one by one. The two of them were large and barely fit in my mouth. I was stretched, but I caressed them with my tongue, drenching them in my saliva. I then took one ball at a time, licking and sucking it. His moans told me teabagging was something he enjoyed as much as I did.
Above us, Wade watched silently, one leg hanging from the tailgate, cigar smoke drifting around him like a haze. His presence pressed down on the scene — calm, dominant, unmistakably in charge even while Chad took the lead.
Maybe because Wade was watching or just because he was eager to take the next step, Chad grabbed my drenched hair with one hand and pulled me up. My mouth slowly followed his balls as he got me to the sitting position. He was standing in front of me. I was now sitting on my ass, his balls were still in my face. I licked him again and took him in, and he pushed me down further using his hand.
At one point, Chad suddenly remembered the weapon in his hand, and when he brought it close, the cold reminder of danger sharpened everything — the fear, the tension, the need to obey. The gun gave me an extra boost of enthusiasm. This wasn’t just about physical control anymore; it was also psychological.
He then pulled my head back with my hair, forcing me to look directly at him. The gun, firmly in his grip, was by my head. I understood what he wanted. I didn't need any instructions and brought the gun to my mouth. I sucked on it like it was his cock. I was determined to show him what I would do to his cock. The cold steel in my mouth was going in and out. I sucked it and licked it, wanting him to know what I would do to his cock.
He quickly understood. He then pulled the gun away grabbing his cock, and waved it in my face. My tongue was extended eagerly waiting for the moment. He pulled my head back so he could angle it just right, giving himself room to maneuver. He then slapped it hard against my cheeks. He hit me hard, and I felt the weight of his dick with each slap. He then positioned it right in front of my mouth. The tip was still dripping with piss. Now rock hard. His cock was large. Seeing the full 8 in and girth up front, I didn't know how I was going to get it in my mouth, but I knew I wanted it, and I'll do everything I could to make it happen.
Then I heard Wade’s voice cut sharply through the haze. Encouraging Chad on, “give that fucking whore what he wants,” he called out. “Let’s see what this cocksucker's mouth can really do.”
A jolt of anticipation ran through me. I knew this was the moment — the test I’d been building toward since they arrived. Chad pushed me forward, his grip firm in my hair, guiding me into position. My heart pounded, equal parts nerves and excitement, as I focused on proving myself. I struggled to stretch my mouth around the large mushroom head of his cock, running my tongue around the tip.
At first, I moved carefully, deliberately, showing willingness rather than hesitation. But Chad quickly took control, setting the pace, reminding me who dictated the rhythm. The intensity rose fast — his hand tightening in my hair, his movements rougher, more demanding. He pushed it into my mouth fast and hard, and tears rolled down my face. I could hardly breathe as he slammed that huge fucking beast down my throat. My gag reflex resisted, but I took it all.
From the tailgate, Wade watched closely, his presence heavy and commanding. I then heard Wade mock me, “Fuck, that's one experienced cocksucker you have there, boy.” Every time he spoke — approving, evaluating — it sent another surge of adrenaline through me. Chad just laughed. I understood then that this wasn’t just about Chad asserting control. It was a demonstration; Chad was showing his mentor what he’d learned.
At one point, the cold press of metal near my head reminded me just how serious the power dynamic was. The danger wasn’t just implied — it was part of the atmosphere, sharpening every sensation, forcing complete focus.
When Chad finally pulled me back, breathing heavier, there was a satisfied edge in his voice — and a low approving chuckle from Wade above us. Egged on by Wade, Chad continued to fuck me, slamming his cock in and out of my mouth. I tried my best to take deep breaths whenever he held my head down to the balls. I was in heaven. The way he's holding my hair, slamming me down was unlike any face fucking I had before, but I knew I could not show my enjoyment; Chad fed off my fear.
I could feel the change in rhythm, things were getting close. Chad then pushed me down one time, his gun to my head, his cock deep down my throat. He then yelled, “You ready to be bred, cunt.” “Are you ready to taste a real man?” I just nodded and started to suck harder until I felt his dick twitch. He shot his load down the back of my throat. He bent forward as each release sent a shiver down his body. Barely holding the gun as he bent over me, holding my head down as he finished, slowly becoming less erect. He then pulled it out a little so I could taste it, letting his left over cum land on my tongue. His cum tasted salty and thick. I savoured it, licking it off the tip just as it came out. I took it all and sucked it down.
I fell back, exhausted as he released me. It was quiet for a moment, then I heard Wade shout, “ Good job, boy. Now put your cock away and bring him here. Let's get him for around two. Chad grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up. He dragged me upright and guided me toward the truck. I knew the shift was happening.
Chad pulled me over toward Wade.
Wade already had his dick out. It was obvious by how hard and erect he was that he was enjoying everything he’d just watched. He was built almost like Chad — the size alone made it seem like they had to be related. The resemblance was unsettling. I looked up into Wade’s steely gaze. His face was cold, unreadable, the cigar still resting between his lips, his gun sitting at his side as it belonged there.
Chad stepped closer and shoved me forward. I stumbled, falling into Wade’s chest, brushing against him before his hand shot into my hair. He yanked my head back so I had no choice but to stare straight at him. Smoke curled from his mouth as he looked down at me.
I didn’t know what to do at that moment. His gaze terrified me as much as it excited me. There was something about him that made my nerves tighten. He removed the cigar, and he spat in my mouth. I licked it up willingly. Then Wade’s hand tightened in my hair again, forcing me downward, guiding me where he wanted me. I reacted quickly, almost automatically, wrapping my hands around him, opening my mouth to take him as I had been taught. After Chad, I already understood what was expected. It felt almost natural now — proof of how quickly I had adapted.
Wade placed both hands on my head, controlling my movements completely and setting the pace himself. He said little, only occasional low comments to Chad, clearly satisfied. “Did well,” he muttered at one point. “You trained him right.” I could hear the approval in his voice. And despite everything — the fear, the intensity, the pressure of his control — I felt a strange, unsettling pride at those words.
Where Chad dominated through intensity, Wade dominated through certainty. And as he guided me, controlling every movement with steady pressure, I understood the difference immediately: Chad craved power, Wade owned it. I could feel Chad’s presence behind me again.
Wade’s cigar smoke hung thick in the air, drifting around all three of us, circling us in a hazy cloud. The scene felt overwhelming — heavy with heat, smoke, and the raw intensity of what was happening. Wade inhaled his cigar slowly, deeply, like nothing around him could disturb his control. With one hand still gripping my head, he exhaled smoke down toward me, his gaze steady and demanding.
Behind me, I felt Chad move closer. His hand slid over my waist, then lower, slowly working at my belt and buckle until my pants loosened. The movement was deliberate, unhurried, as if he wanted me fully aware of every second. I could hear Wade’s low voice, almost amused. “Damn… boy’s got quite the ass on him.” Chad gave a short laugh. “Oh, he does.”
Chad’s hands continued moving behind me — exploring, testing, asserting his claim. I felt his thick fingers explore the rim of my hole before slowly pushing inside, deliberate and controlled, stretching me bit by bit. He worked with patience, withdrawing and returning again, with another finger, each time deeper, more insistent, until waves of sensation rolled through my body. I couldn’t stop the breathy sounds that escaped me, even with Wade holding my attention. He noticed immediately.
“You’ve got this little cunt moaning like a whore,” he told Chad with a dark satisfaction. “Seems like he’s hungry for more of you.”
I couldn’t help the small smile inside. He wasn’t wrong.
Then I felt the unmistakable cold metal at my rear again. The sudden chill sent a jolt through my body. The sensation brought back the same nervous heat as before, fear mixing with anticipation. Chad wanted that reaction. He needed to see me hesitate, needed to feel that intimidation. A small whimper slipped out as the pressure increased. That only seemed to excite them more. I knew they heard it, I knew they fed off it.
Distracted by what was happening behind me, my rhythm on Wade's cock, slowed and faltered. Wade immediately tightened his grip, forcing me to keep pace and maintaining control as Chad continued his relentless, measured movements. The gun was going deep inside me, stretching me more and more.
“I think this fucking faggot is finally learning his lesson,” Wade said, voice edged with satisfaction. “Time to really fuck this bitch good, remind him who’s in charge.” Chad gave a low chuckle. “I think you’re right.”
I wondered if Chad was up for a second round? Chad answered my unspoken question as he slowly pulled the gun away. The pressure withdrew, leaving an aching emptiness that startled me with how quickly it turned into need. Chad stepped closer again, dragging himself slowly against me, deliberate and teasing, letting anticipation build.
Chad moved forward. I felt the heat of his cock up against my crack. He began to rub himself up and down, sending shivers down my spine. He then backed up, grabbed his cock and slapped my arse with it. He struck once — not brutally, but firmly — a reminder of his dominance. Once again, I felt the weight and length of his dick. It hit me hard. My body reacted instantly, tension and hunger colliding inside me.
I knew what they wanted to see. Fear. Resistance. Submission. So I gave it to them — letting my voice shake, letting my body tense, playing the role they needed to believe. I wanted them to fuck me hard, take me like the submissive slut I had become. I knew if I was to make this happen, I needed them to believe I was scared. I played into it and started to moan, pleading with them, “Please… you’re too much,” I managed, breath uneven. The idea of taking that huge piece of meat again, without lubricant, scared me, so it was not a complete lie. Chad’s reply was cold and dismissive. “You will take it. You always do, you slut.”
Before I could think any more, I felt him position his cock at the entrance of my hole. He then pushed forward stretching me out as his huge mushroom head tried to break through. Once the head was in, he paused and allowed me to get my breath.
As he slowly pushed deeper, deliberately, forcing me to adjust inch by inch. Despite the harshness of his words, his movements carried a strange restraint — controlled, almost calculated. Once he was fully inside, he paused, giving me a moment to breathe. He was surprisingly gentle for someone who was supposed to be assaulting me, but Wade did not seem to notice.
The intensity made me freeze. I let Wade’s cock slip from my mouth. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he studied it — watching closely as concern and fear spread across my face. His eyes locked onto mine, cold and unblinking, and the longer he held that stare, the heavier it felt, like something pressing down on my chest. The cigar sat between his lips as if it belonged there, an effortless part of him. Smoke curled slowly upward, framing his face and making him look even more distant, more untouchable. He didn’t need to speak — his silence alone carried authority.
Then his hand grabbed my hair, rough and certain. He pulled my head back just enough so I couldn’t look back, forcing my eyes to stay fixed on his. The intensity of that gaze made everything else blur for a moment. It almost made me forget Chad’s assault on my arse, as he was slowly pushing deeper inside me, until he was fully inside. The weight of Wade’s eyes, the certainty that he knew exactly what fear he was pulling out of me. And he held me there, suspended in it, making sure I felt every second.
My arse felt the assault. It was burning as it tried its best to stretch to accommodate his huge dick. The pain was clearly showing on my face as Wade's smile only grew larger. I let out some despondent moans. It was then that Wade told Chad, now it's time to fuck this bitch to the end of his life. You know he’ll be showing us plenty of respect after this. I braced myself for what was to come. He didn’t need to say anything more. The look alone was enough.
Behind me, Chad began to move again — steady at first, then deeper, more forceful. The strain showed on my face, and Wade watched it closely, almost fascinated.
“Now,” he said quietly, “he understands.”
He grabbed my chin, holding me in place. Chad drove forward with a powerful thrust that stole the air from my lungs and forced a sharp gasp from me. Wade used the moment to form a large ball of saliva, which he spat directly into my mouth, reclaiming control. Chad's rhythm became relentless behind me. Wade took my head and turned me back to his cock. I went down willingly, giving me something to focus on while Chad worked my arse.
Gradually, the sharp edge of discomfort blurred into something heavier, deeper, more consuming. My body began to move with them rather than against them, drawn into the brutal, steady rhythm they set. They were too focused on their dominance to notice the shift — the way tension gave way to surrender, and surrender to something dangerously close to pleasure.
By the time both men were nearing their peak, the air felt thick with heat, breath, and raw intensity. And in that overwhelming rush, caught between them, I felt myself slip into a strange, distant calm — a place where fear, control, and desire all blurred together. I was once again in my happy place.
Chad’s hands locked firmly on my hips, steady and unyielding, guiding the rhythm. It was brutal yet soothing at the same time, and was hitting all the right spots. There was a confidence that felt almost inevitable, raw, physical, certain.
In front of me, Wade remained just as controlled, just as deliberate. My mouth fully stretched was now relaxed and enjoying the taste and heat of Wade's cock. I was feeling more confident. I brought my hand to the base of Wade’s dick, to increase the sensation, in an attempt to bring him closer. Even as everything around me blurred into sensation and motion, he stayed composed, watching, measuring. His approval showed not in words but in small shifts — a tightening grip, a low sound in his throat, the faintest change in posture as he responded to me.
Slowly, I found myself matching them both without thinking as we raced to the finish line. Their movements set the pace, and I adjusted instinctively, drawn into their rhythm as though I were part of something larger than myself. My goal was to have them cum together, filling me up in unison. The rising moans from both men made it seem possible. As Chad’s thrust started to take on more intention, I grabbed Wade's cock harder and sucked seductively on the mushroom head of his cock, using my tongue to massage those spots that got the most reaction.
The energy between them changed first — subtle at the start, then unmistakable. Their breathing grew heavier, their control sharpening rather than slipping. It felt like being caught inside a tightening current, pulled toward a moment neither of them intended to delay.
Chad’s grip grew stronger, more intentional. Wade’s focus sharpened, his attention narrowing completely onto me. Whatever distance had been in his eyes before was gone now — replaced by something harder, more possessive.
I felt Chad slam me hard one more time, and the scream told me he was seconds from shooting his seed deep up my arse. I then focused on Wade and tried to push him over the edge. Hearing Chad about to explode helped push Wade over as I felt his dick twitch. He then yelled, “Get ready to taste a real man, you faggot”. As I felt Chad unload on me, I felt Wade let go and shoot deep in my mouth. I sucked harder, almost encouraging his seed into my mouth. He shot multiple loads in my mouth as Chad shot deep into my bowels. In that moment, it felt as though they had closed in from both sides, their presence surrounding me entirely. There was no space left to think, no room for doubt — only the overwhelming certainty that I was exactly where I wanted to be.
And when that tension finally broke, it wasn’t chaos or release that struck me most — it was the sense of finality, of being completely claimed within that shared moment.
After what felt like an endless, punishing session, I finally collapsed. Both men stepped away from me, and I sagged down onto the ground, exhausted, my arms bracing me as I leaned back. My chest rose and fell in heavy breaths while I stared up at them. They stood there looking utterly satisfied with themselves — sweaty, cocky, still half-hard, still radiating dominance as they came down from the moment.
I didn’t know what would happen next — whether they would zip up, get in the truck, and leave me there spent and shaking. Part of me desperately hoped they would. I needed rest. I needed time to come down. But neither of them moved to leave.
Instead, Chad walked to the cab of the truck and returned with a bottle of whiskey and two cigars from the glove compartment. He handed one to Wade, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time. That same cold, intimidating stare remained fixed on me, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
I said nothing. I knew better.
Wade didn’t rush. He lit his cigar slowly, the orange glow casting hard shadows across his face. Smoke curled upward around him like a crown, emphasizing his calm, predatory presence. My body was still trembling, still exposed, still completely at their mercy. “Look at you, cunt” he said slowly, exhaling smoke in my direction. “All trembling… a used up whore. You look a real little fuckin’ mess.”
Chad chuckled deeply as he lit his own cigar and took a long pull from the whiskey bottle. “Damn right,” he said. “Look at him, Wade. All spread out, all soaked, barely able to hold himself up. Learned his lesson real good, didn’t he?”
Wade glanced toward Chad, a flicker of approval crossing his expression. Chad walked over and handed him the whiskey bottle. Wade drank straight from it — not casually, but like a man settling himself before the next move.
The tension between them was thick. Chad carried himself with swagger, eager, proud — but there was something else there too. A quiet deference. A hunger for Wade’s approval that showed in every glance he stole when Wade wasn’t looking.
They sat down on the tailgate together, legs spread, cigars glowing between their lips, the whiskey passing back and forth. For a moment, neither spoke. They just watched me — their silence heavy, satisfied, almost casual as if they were sitting on the back porch, not in the middle of nowhere with a naked faggot at their knees.
Wade took another drink from the bottle, then put the cigar back between his lips. Smoke drifted from his mouth as his gaze locked onto me again — steady, cold, and full of intent.
Wade turned slightly toward Chad, his voice calm but edged with approval.
“You did good, boy,” he said. “I like to see a cocksucker that knows how to treat a man… and that ass? Built for fucking.” Chad just grinned, clearly pleased. “Nothing like a faggot with a tight little pussy.” He chuckled to himself, taking a pull from the whiskey. “Used to be tighter, sir. I really worked it open tonight though. Stretched him out real good.”
Wade smirked faintly. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I can take any pussy and stretch it even more.” As he spoke, he grabbed himself, stroking slowly. I could see he was just a bit thicker than Chad — heavy, deliberate, intimidating even in the way he handled himself. “I’m gonna show you how to properly fuck a faggot.”
For a moment, they seemed to drift into some shared history I couldn’t understand, like they were remembering something unspoken between them. “And now?” he said quietly to Chad. “Now you get to watch. Listen. Learn.”
Chad nodded, already ready, already excited for what came next. Wade’s eyes never left me. “You ready for round two, boy?” he asked softly. “Ready to get really fucked? Ready to feel what a real man does to a cunt like you?”
I swallowed, exhausted, unsure if I could take any more. I shivered under their stares, caught between fear, anticipation, and a dark, intoxicating thrill. The gun gleamed faintly at Wade’s side. Smoke curled around my face. Every second stretched painfully long.
Then Wade moved.
He stepped off the tailgate and came straight toward me. The fear must have been written all over my face because he grabbed my shirt and yanked me upright without hesitation, dragging me toward the truck.
Instead of bending me over the tailgate, he shoved me against the cab door, my face pressing against the cool glass. His arm pinned me in place above my head. I felt the heat of his cigar near my ear as he leaned in.
He didn’t waste time.
I felt his hand guide himself, then in one sudden motion, he drove forward, forcing himself inside me and slamming me against the truck.
The impact knocked the breath from me.
Wade leaned down close to my ear. “You ready for this, cunt?” he murmured. “Ready to feel a real cock tear that pussy open?” I nodded helplessly. He pulled back and slammed into me again, harder, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back.
Chad had opened me up enough that I could take it — but the burn was still sharp, overwhelming as Wade pushed deeper, forcing me forward with every thrust.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chad leaning against the back of the truck, smirking, cigar between his lips, whiskey in one hand, cock in the other, watching the show as Wade worked me over
His pace was unrelenting. He held one hand on roof, other on my shoulder to brace himself, he put all his weight into fucking me. With each thrust my body slammed against the door. The sound of me hitting the metal rang out, giving an audio beat to the rhythm he was maintaining. Each time he’d exit as far as he could before ramming back in. I knew I would have bruises by the time he was done.
“Take it,” he whispered harshly. “You’re fucking love this.”
His body pressed fully against mine as he drove into me again and again, relentless, controlled, overwhelming. The cigar never left his lips, smoke drifting around us as he used me, each thrust slamming me against the truck.
I was shaking, sweating, overwhelmed by pain and pleasure mixed together, unsure how long I could endure it — but Wade never slowed. “How do you like my cock, bitch?” he whispered. “That’s what a real man feels like. Keep that pussy tight.”
Behind us, Chad had his cock in his hands, stroking himself as he watched, breathing heavier as Wade continued to pound into me.
Finally, Wade’s rhythm changed — slower, deeper, more forceful. I felt him tense, then he drove forward hard, gripping my head tightly. I felt his body convulsing as he unloaded inside me. His body shook as finished.
He held me there for a moment, breathing heavy, the cigar still between his lips like it was part of him. When he finally pulled out, he pushed me down roughly, sending me collapsing back onto the ground.
He adjusted himself calmly, exhaling smoke as if nothing had happened.
“Good little cunt,” he muttered. “I’m gonna enjoy stopping by here now and then.”
The words were meant to intimidate — and they did — but they also sent a dark thrill through me.
Wade climbed into the truck while Chad quickly zipped himself up and moved to the driver’s side. As the engine started, Wade leaned out slightly and called back: “Remember this, cunt — you’re here for our pleasure. We’ll be back. Don’t worry… I’m not finished with you yet.”
Then they drove off, leaving me sprawled on the ground — exhausted, sore, shaking.
And despite everything — the fear, the degradation, the intensity — I couldn’t stop the faint smile that crept across my face.
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