William woke with his face pressed to the concrete, the ropes already cutting deep grooves into his wrists and ankles. The ripped blue striped boxers hung in shreds around his thighs, the fabric soaked with the sweat of a restless night.
Clive ’s thick fingers were already buried between his cheeks, prying the fat, hairy mounds apart so he could stare at the tight virgin hole that had never taken anything thicker than a finger during a lonely shower
“Still clenching like a fucking princess,” Clive growled, digging his nails into the soft flesh until William whimpered around the gag.
“Look at this cocky little DILF arse. All those years strutting around with your six pack and your perfect life, and underneath you’re just a fat, hairy cunt waiting to get ruined.”
He spat a thick wad of saliva straight onto the wrinkled pink pucker and shoved two fingers in dry.
William’s body jerked hard against the ropes, a muffled scream tearing out of him as the burn ripped through the untouched ring.
Clive twisted the fingers, scissoring them open, feeling the virgin walls flutter and try to push him out.
“That’s it. Fight it. Makes my cock harder.”
He pulled the fingers free, slick with the first traces of blood and spit, and brought the cattle prod down
The metal prongs kissed the swollen head of William’s cock where it had started to thicken against the ruined fabric.
The switch clicked
White hot electricity slammed through the sensitive glans.
William’s back arched so violently the chair legs scraped the floor.
His cock jerked and leaked a thin string of pre come while his balls drew up tight.
Clive held the contact for three full seconds, watching the once arrogant face contort, tears flooding the eyes that used to stare down boardrooms.
When he finally pulled the prod away, William’s cock was bright red and twitching, a clear drop hanging from the slit.
“Say thank you,” Clive ordered, yanking the gag down just enough for the words.
William’s voice cracked. “Th thank you.”
Clive shoved the gag back in and flipped him onto his stomach over the edge of the metal table.
The boxers were yanked fully down so the fat arse spread wide, the dark hairy cleft fully exposed.
Clive pressed the crackling tip of the prod directly against the spit slick hole and fired it. The jolt forced the muscle to spasm open and shut in helpless little pulses.
William screamed into the cloth, hips bucking, cock slapping wetly against the cold metal.
Clive did it again, longer, until the rim was puffy and glistening and the hole winked open on its own.
Then he spat once more, lined up his thick cock, and drove the head straight through the shocked, fluttering ring.
The stretch was brutal. William’s virgin walls clamped down hard, trying to reject the invasion, but Clive kept pushing until his heavy balls slapped against the soft cheeks.
He bottomed out with a wet grunt and stayed buried, grinding in circles so William felt every ridge and vein dragging against the raw insides.
“Listen to that slutty little hole sucking me in,” Clive panted, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back home.
“Never been fucked and already greedy for it. You’re going to take every drop, and you’re going to thank me for owning this arse.”
He fucked hard and deep, each thrust forcing wet, filthy sounds from the stretched ring.
The table rocked. William’s cock, trapped underneath, leaked a steady stream onto the floor. Clive reached around, gripped the shaft, and stroked in time with his thrusts while the other hand kept the cattle prod pressed lightly to the base of William’s balls, ready to fire if the body tried to close up.
When Clive came, he buried himself to the root and flooded the virgin guts with thick pulses of come.
He stayed locked inside while he milked William’s cock until the ruined DILF spilled across the table in humiliating, involuntary spurts, sobbing around the gag as his own orgasm was forced out of him.
Clive pulled free with a wet pop. The open hole gaped, a thick rope of white leaking down over the hairy taint and dripping onto the torn blue boxers still tangled at William’s knees.
“Day one,” Clive said, wiping his cock on the soft cheek. “Tomorrow you wear something prettier.”
The next morning the boxers were tight black mesh that left nothing to the imagination.
Clive made William stand in the middle of the room with his wrists chained to the ceiling while he walked slow circles, cattle prod in hand.
Every time William’s cock twitched, the prongs kissed the leaking head. Every time the hole clenched, the tip pressed against the still open rim and fired. By the time Clive bent him over, the mesh was soaked through and William was begging in broken whimpers for the cock to fill him again.
Clive fucked him standing, one hand in his hair, the other holding the prod against the stretched place where they joined so every thrust sent a low current through the already abused walls.
William came twice without permission, the second time only a thin dribble while his hole fluttered and milked the thick shaft.
On the third day the boxers were soft white cotton that turned translucent the moment they got wet.
Clive filmed everything. He made William watch the playback while the cattle prod traced lazy patterns over his balls and the tip of his cock.
When the video reached the moment the hole was forced open,
Clive pressed the prongs to the rim and held the switch until William’s legs gave out and he collapsed into a sobbing, leaking mess on the floor.
Clive dragged him up by the hair and mounted him right there, fucking the open, come slick hole while forcing William to keep his eyes on the screen. “Look at yourself. Look at the arrogant cunt getting turned into a hole. Say it.”
“I’m a hole,” William choked out around the gag when it was yanked free.
“I’m your hole.
Clive rewarded him by burying himself deep and grinding until William came again, the white fabric clinging to every wet curve of his arse and the hanging weight of his spent cock.
The public breaking came later. Clive dressed him in thin red boxers that rode up between the cheeks and drove him, still leaking from the morning’s session, to a warehouse where three of William’s former colleagues waited.
Men who had once laughed at his jokes and deferred to his decisions. Clive made him kneel, pulled the red fabric aside, and used the cattle prod on the swollen cockhead until William was crying and rocking his hips like a desperate bitch.
Then he bent him over a crate, spread the fat hairy cheeks, and offered the gaping, used hole to the first man who stepped forward.
William took cock after cock while the cattle prod rested against his balls, ready to punish any attempt to close up. Each man flooded him.
Come ran down his thighs in thick rivers, soaking the red fabric until it clung like a second skin. When the last one finished, Clive made him thank every single one by name, voice broken and dripping with spit.
The videos went to his wife that night. Clive held the phone so William could watch her face as she saw her husband on his knees, arse open, begging for more.
She ended the call without a word. The house, the children, the career everything burned in a single evening.
Clive kept him. The days blurred into a cycle of new boxers striped, solid, torn on purpose and longer sessions with the prod. William’s hole stayed soft and open.
His cock hardened at the sound of the switch. The arrogance had been fucked and shocked out of him until what remained was a body that presented itself the moment the door opened, cheeks spread, hole already fluttering for the first thrust.
One night Clive left the ropes loose and asked if William still wanted to be the man he used to be.
William looked at the floor, felt the constant ache in his used arse, the soft fabric of that day’s dark green boxers against his skin, and shook his head.
Clive smiled, pressed the cattle prod to the leaking tip of William’s cock, and fired it once just enough to make the body jerk and the hole clench
Then he pushed inside in one slow, claiming stroke, fucking the submission deeper with every wet slap of skin on skin.
William came with a broken, grateful moan, the last of the old cocky DILF spilling out onto the sheets while his hole milked the cock that owned it
Afterward he stayed exactly where he was told, legs spread, the green fabric pulled aside so the open, dripping rim stayed on display
Clive chose the next pair of boxers in the morning, and the day began the only way William knew how to live now on his knees, hole open, waiting for the next order, the next shock, the next thick load that reminded him exactly who he belonged to.
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