Billionaire Stud's Two Hot Sons

Logan’s hazel eyes widened the second he walked into the bar.

Hi boss, Scott, had rented the whole place out. Hay bales in the corners. String lights crisscrossing the ceiling. A mechanical bull in the back.

Logan adjusted his hat. He looked damn good tonight, and he knew it. Dark denim jeans hugged his powerful thighs and tight ass perfectly. A crisp white western shirt stretched across his broad chest and shoulders, the top two buttons left open to show a hint of smooth, tanned skin. A black cowboy hat sat low on his short blond hair, shadowing his sharp hazel eyes and square jaw.

A couple of heads turned as he made his way toward the bar. It was the female bartenders/servers Scott hired. Logan pretended not to notice the women ogling him.

The party was still warming up. Maybe twenty guys so far, all from Scott's security detail. No spouses, no girlfriends, were invited (save for Logan’s wife, Adrianna, who was hired to work as a server). From one of the private karaoke rooms off the main floor, Logan could hear dudes were drunk singing offkey to a country song.

Christ. Logan winced. That shit’s gonna be unbearable until I'm three drinks deep. Those dudes can’t sing for shit.

Scott had gone all out, as he always did. Top-shelf everything. A handful of servers in cowgirl getups moved through the crowd with trays of shots, smiling the practiced, professional smiles of women who were well accustomed to navigating rowdy, drunk men.

A couple of the guys whooped when they saw Logan walked in. Dougie, already three drinks deep, yelled "COWBOY UP, MCMILLAN" across the bar.

Logan tipped his hat at him without breaking stride.  And then Logan saw her.

Adrianna.

His feet stopped before his brain caught up.

She was across the room, laughing with a couple of guys he half-recognized from the day shift…his buddy, Brennan, and somebody, he couldn't place the second one. Adrianna looked stunning tonight.

Adrianna also looked filthy…in the best and worst way possible. Her outfit was way more revealing than those of the other barmaids. The slutty cowgirl outfit was little more than a red gingham bikini top that barely contained her tits, tiny denim shorts that rode up her ass like panties, a white cowboy hat, and boots.

Her long legs and tight body were on full display as she laughed and flirted shamelessly with two of Logan’s coworkers…both of them standing way too close, eyes glued to her cleavage while she playfully touched their arms.

Rage and that familiar sick twist of arousal slammed into him at once.

A year ago, the sight of her dressed like that would have made his entire night. Tonight, it made his chest hurt in a way he was getting tired of.

He didn't know when, exactly, things between them had stopped working. He could point to the occasional fights…the late nights, the silences that had outlasted apologies, the way she'd started flinching at his hand on her back. But he couldn't point to the moment. That was the part that wrecked him. That his marriage had apparently been ending for months in increments too small to catch.

Brennan said something. Adrianna laughed and put a hand on his arm.

Logan looked away, jaw tight, and walked the rest of the way to the bar.

"Whiskey," he told the bartender. "Top shelf." That last part was unnecessary. Scott was paying for all the drinks tonight and all the options were top-shelf.

The shot burned going down and didn't fix anything. Logan’s mind was still fucked up from the sight of his wife flirting with his coworkers

"McMillan! There he is, the certified menace!"

Logan barely had time to brace before Travis hit him from the side like a friendly avalanche, an arm slung heavy around his shoulders. The big idiot was already flushed, plaid shirt half-unbuttoned in a way that exposed an generous amount of chest hair. Logan could smell the liquor on his breath.

"Dude, you smell like a fucking distillery," Logan said.

"I am a distillery. I've ascended. Three shots in and I have transcended the physical form." Travis squeezed his shoulder and gave him a thorough once-over. "Goddamn, look at you, Buddy. That shirt is doing work. It’s all tight and like almost see-through. You came here to score, didn't you. You looked in the mirror and went 'tonight, I’mma make my wife beg for it…"

"Chill, bro. I just came here to drink and have a good time."

"He came here to drink, he says, dressed like a man whore. Sure. Sure, buddy."

"Fuck off, Trav."

"I'm just saying, McMillan—"

"Dude I will pay you to stop talking."

"You can't afford me."

Despite himself, Logan laughed. Travis had that effect on people. When he was drunk, Travis was the human equivalent of a golden retriever who'd somehow learned to bench four hundred pounds, and at this exact moment Logan was grateful for the noise of him, the way he filled the air and didn't leave room for anything quieter underneath.

He signaled the bartender for another.

Across the room, Adrianna was still laughing. She'd shifted, slightly, and her back was to him now, and Logan didn't know if that was on purpose or if he was just paranoid now.

Travis followed Logan’s gaze and noticed what was going on.

"Hey." Travis's voice softened, just a notch…the smallest tell that under all the whiskey-soaked chaos he was paying attention. He'd followed Logan's eyeline. "You good, bud?"

"I'm fine."

Travis knew Logan and Adrianna were going through a rough patch lately, so he didn’t pry into whatever marital issues may be plaguing Logan tonight. Travis lifted two fingers at the bartender. "Two more, sexy. My grumpy friend here looks like needs some serious emotional engineering.”

"That is the worst sentence you have ever said."

Travis’s rambunctious energy was infectious, even through Logan’s irritation. He forced a grin and clapped the bigger man on the back, trying to push the image of Adrianna flirting with those two assholes out of his head.

Logan signaled the bartender for another shot, then turned to Travis. “Alright, I’m done being a mopey bitch. Let’s get fucked up.”

But even as he said it, his eyes drifted one more time across the room to his wife…the way she was smiling up at his coworkers, her hand lingering on one guy’s chest.

The whiskey hit fast, and Logan let it.

Within an hour, the party had turned into full-blown chaos. The security team was loud and rowdy. Travis had basically appointed himself hype man, an office he was constitutionally unsuited for and absolutely thriving in. He had dragged Logan and half a dozen other guys from the bar to the mechanical bull, from the bull to the karaoke room, from the karaoke room back to the bar in a loop that made no geographical sense and somehow also could not be argued with.

In the karaoke room they had butchered "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" so thoroughly that Logan was pretty sure being tone-deaf was a prerequisite to getting hired by Scott Hepburn’s security team. Brennan had hit a note that didn't exist on any musical scale known to man. Travis had attempted harmony. Miguel had tried to read the lyrics off the screen and had failed, on the grounds that he was, in his own words, "tactically blurry."

It was the worst thing Logan had ever heard in his life. He couldn't stop laughing.

Logan, somewhere behind his fourth shot, was laughing so hard his ribs hurt. The whiskey had done its job. It had taken the sharp, ugly thing in his chest and sanded it down to something blurry he could ignore for whole minutes at a stretch, and he was, against every instinct, having a good time. Shotgunning beers off the hay bale. Losing an arm wrestle to Travis so badly that Travis had demanded a rematch on the grounds that it was "embarrassing for both of us." Getting dragged up to ride the bull and absolutely clinging to it while the operator dialed the difficulty up and the guys lost their minds in the corner.

Logan somehow stayed on longer than anyone. By the time he'd swung off, breathing hard, hat miraculously still on his head, the room had gone full Super Bowl.

"MCMILLAN!" Travis bellowed, slapping his ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "That's our BOY!"

"Get off me, you giant idiot—"

The shots kept coming. The room got hotter. Shirts started coming unbuttoned. Someone had found a cowboy hat and was passing it around like a trophy. Miguel was doing body shots off one of the servers while the rest of the guys hollered.

And then his eyes found her again.

Don't.

He couldn't help it. He'd been doing it all night.  Every five, ten minutes, the way you check a wound to see if it's still bleeding, knowing perfectly well it is.

At first Adrianna was just smiling and laughing with the guys. Then she got bolder. She let one of the newer guys pull her onto his lap for a second while she delivered drinks. Later, she was pressed between two others, letting them whisper in her ear while her hand lingered on their chests. Her tiny shorts had ridden up so high they looked like denim panties, and her tits were practically spilling out of that pathetic gingham top.

Then he saw it.

Miguel…handsome, golden-skinned Miguel, had his hand boldly on her ass, squeezing her cheek openly while she giggled and leaned into him, whispering something that made the Latino stud grin like a wolf.

Logan’s stomach clenched. A flash of hot anger shot through him, followed immediately by that sick, twisting arousal he hated. His cock stirred in his jeans even as his jaw tightened.

Not here. Not tonight.

He forced his gaze away and slammed another shot, letting the burn chase the image from his mind. Travis threw an arm around his neck and dragged him back into the madness.

A year ago he would have walked over there, slid an arm around her waist, kissed her temple in front of everybody just to make a point. Mine. And she would have leaned into him.

He didn't move now. He didn't know if he was allowed.

That was the part that sat under his sternum like a stone.

Logan and Adrianna been together over a decade. Since fucking high school. He didn't know when, exactly, his marriage had stopped being something he had a claim on. Actually, he knew exactly the day…it happened the day Scott Hepburn convinced her and Betty to give him a blowjob in the restroom.  Or, actually, was it when Scott fucked her for the first time in Logan’s bedroom and Logan listened outside the door like a pathetic cuck.  Or was it yesterday…when….when….when all that shit went down….

Logan forcibly tore his eyes off her and slammed another shot.

"Whoa," Travis said. "Whoa, big guy, slow down, that's a sipping whiskey—"

"It is not a sipping whiskey. In fact, Imma need to take down two more, like right now."

Travis looked at him. The big idiot had been on the same security detail as Logan for three years. He was, beneath all the noise, not a stupid man. He had clocked exactly which side of the bar Logan kept not-looking at.

"Hey," Travis said. Lower. Serious. The voice he used about four times a year, total. "We can leave, brother. Say the word, we leave. I'll tell everyone I puked. I'll actually puke if you need me to, that's how committed I am to your emotional wellbeing—"

Logan let out a laugh that was almost a real one. "Stand down."

"You sure?"

"I'm here to party with you assholes. I'm fucking partying with you assholes all night long."

"Okay. Okay." Travis squeezed his shoulder, hard, once, and let go. "But the offer stands. I have never been more willing to throw up on command in my life."

Logan chuckled, for real this time. "That's beautiful, man. ‘Preciate it."

Travis was already pivoting on his heel. "ROUND TWO ON THE BULL. LOSER DOES A NAKED LAP AROUND THE BAR."

As the night went on, Travis had dragged Logan and three other guys (Brennan and two of the night-shift vets) back into one of the private karaoke rooms off the main bar. The space was small and dim and smelled like spilled beer and somebody's aggressive cologne, and the screen had cycled through the entire Garth Brooks back catalog before settling on "Friends in Low Places”.

Arms slung around each other. Off-key on the chorus. Worse on the verses. They were laughing so hard between lines that nobody was actually finishing them, and that, somehow, was making it better.

Logan was half a bottle of bourbon in and feeling loose. For a stretch of maybe twenty minutes he had genuinely, uncomplicatedly forgotten what he was trying to forget.

Then the door opened. Adrianna slipped in.

That tiny cowgirl outfit looking even more obscene up close. The gingham top was barely holding on, her shorts riding so high they might as well have been panties. She grinned at the group, all bright teeth and wicked eyes.

"My turn," she announced, plucking the mic out of Travis's hand with a grin that was for the room and not for Logan. "Y'all mind?"

The guys whooped. Travis whooped loudest. Logan forced out a noise he hoped sounded like a laugh.

Madonna's "Like a Virgin" came up on the screen.

Of course it did.

She didn't sing it so much as do it. Hips rolling on the first line, voice gone breathy and teasing, and she was… she was good. She'd done theater in high school and she knew exactly how to play to a room. One hand in her hair. One hand on the brim of the white cowboy hat. Her performance that landed somewhere between a wedding reception and a bachelorette party, and would have been completely fine if she'd left it at that.

She didn't leave it at that.

She turned to the guy on Logan's left first. Brennan, Christ, Brennan. She ground back against him for a single bar of the chorus, and Brennan laughed and put his hands on her waist.

Then to the night-shift guy on his right. Same move. Ass against his groin, a grin thrown over her shoulder, the chorus delivered like a punchline he was supposed to be in on.

Logan stood there, mic forgotten in his hand, and felt something inside him go very, very quiet.

It was a strange quiet. Underneath all the whiskey, underneath the noise of the room, underneath three drunk men hooting at his wife, his head got clear in a way he hadn't asked for and couldn't undo. Like a window opening in a building he'd been trying to burn down for months.

Oh, he thought.

Oh.

And then she moved to Travis.

Travis. Logan’s closest buddy on the team. The hairy, CrossFit giant who like to slapped his ass in the locker room and called him “Captain”. He should have known better. Sober, (or less drunk) Travis would’ve stepped back with a awkward laugh and a “nah, man, that’s your wife.”

But wasted-drunk Travis had zero filter. He was grinning like a fool, hands landing on Adrianna’s hips as she backed up into him, rolling her ass against his lap in slow, dirty circles. Travis’s big palms slid lower, squeezing her cheeks openly, completely lost in the moment.

Logan stood there frozen, mic forgotten in his hand, watching his wife dry-hump his favorite co-worker right in front of him. The same co-worker who’d been offering him emotional support all night and even offered to leave the party with him early.

The humiliation and betrayal hit like a freight train. Hot, crushing, and so fucking arousing his cock throbbed painfully hard. She’s grinding on fricken Travis. In front of everyone. And they all see it. Logan’s face burned. His heart hammered. And still his small dick leaked against his zipper, betraying him completely.

The song ended in a burst of whoops and applause. Adrianna gave Travis one last teasing wiggle before she spun away, blowing the room a kiss.

“Gotta get back to work, boys,” she purred, and slipped out.

The second the door closed, the guys turned to Logan, all sloppy, drunken grins.

“God DAMN, McMillan,” one of them slurred, clapping him on the shoulder. “You are the luckiest bastard on this team.”

Travis was still flushed, breathing hard. “Duuudddeee. That wife of yours is fucking fire. By far the hottest girl any of us has. The rest of the guys’ wives look like… I don’t even know. But Adrianna’s on like another level.”

“Yeah, man,” the third guy added, laughing. “You hit the jackpot, you lucky bastard.”

The drunk men kept going, loud and uninhibited, none of them even a little self-conscious about what had just happened. Travis high-fived Logan like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Logan forced a grin, nodding along, but inside he was spiraling. They just watched my wife grind on them like a slut. Travis had his hands all over her ass. The humiliation was so intense it made his knees weak. He was rock hard, painfully so, the front of his jeans tented and obvious if anyone bothered to look down. Anger and shame twisted together with that dark, unwanted rush of arousal until he couldn’t tell which was which.

He was the lucky one. The guy with the sexiest wife. The guy whose wife had just danced like a whore for his coworkers while he stood there leaking in his pants.

Logan couldn’t take it anymore. The laughter, the compliments about his “sexy wife,” the image of Adrianna grinding on Travis. It was all too much. He muttered something about needing to piss and slipped out of the karaoke room, weaving through the rowdy crowd until he found the bathroom.

He locked himself in the last stall, heart hammering, and leaned back against the door. His cock was still painfully hard, straining against his jeans. Logan felt ashamed…this was the second time today he’s had to do this.

With a frustrated groan, he unzipped and sat down on the toilet to piss, his stiff little 4.5-inch dicklet pointing straight up, the erection making it impossible to pee stand like a normal man. The humiliation of having to pee sitting down like a woman burned through him.

She just danced like a fucking whore on my coworkers. On Travis. Right in front of me.

He stared at the ceiling, breathing hard. And they all loved it. Telling me how lucky I am while my wife literally rubbed her ass all over their dicks.

His phone buzzed. Logan pulled it out with shaky fingers.

Kevin, the football coach who’d cucked Logan earlier in the day, had sent another video. Logan hit play before he could stop himself.

The video showed Kevin lounging in the driver’s seat of Logan’s truck, head tilted back in pleasure. A curvy MTF trans woman with long dark hair was leaning over from the passenger seat, sucking him deep and sloppy. Kevin reached down and stroked her hard 6-inch cock, pumping it slowly while looking straight into the camera.

“Check this out, Logan,” Kevin taunted, voice thick with lust. “Even this little bitch has a bigger dick than you. See how she’s rock hard while she’s choking on my cock. How does that make you feel, tiny?”

Logan’s face burned with fresh shame. He felt sick and achingly turned on at the same time.

A second text followed right after. Another video.

This one was still inside the truck. The trans woman was still sucking Kevin off in the front seat, head bobbing eagerly between Kevin’s spread thighs. Kevin grinned at the camera again.

“By the way thanks for letting me borrow the truck, bro. I’ll try to express my gratitude by shooting my load somewhere you can lick clean easily.”

Logan stared at the screen, mortified. Please don’t cum in my truck,  he thought desperately. Not on the seats. Not on the floor. Anywhere but my fucking truck.

Logan sat there on the toilet, erection throbbing uselessly, feeling smaller than ever. Fuck. I dunno. I just gotta get back to the party.

Logan flushed, tucked his aching, still dicklet away, and stepped out. At the sink, he splashed cold water on his handsome face, letting it cool his flushed cheeks and sharp jawline. He stared at his reflection…hazel eyes glassy from alcohol.

Then he dried off and forced himself back into the noisy party. The energy in the bar had shifted. A loud cheer went up near the entrance.

Scott Hepburn had finally arrived.

The handsome billionaire stood at an imposing six-foot-four, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. His black hair was styled in that effortlessly perfect way, a few strands falling across his forehead, and those piercing green eyes swept over the room with natural command. Even in a simple black western shirt and jeans, Scott looked sexy. Like the clear alpha male in the room.

Logan’s stomach twisted as their eyes briefly met across the crowded bar. Scott gave him a small, knowing nod and a half-smile before turning to greet some of the guys.

A little while later, the party had grown even louder and wilder. Logan was shooting the shit with a couple of dudes by the bar. Then Logan felt a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder.

Scott Hepburn pulled him into a big, back-slapping bro hug. But as Scott’s broad chest pressed against his, one large hand slid down Logan’s back and boldly groped his ass, squeezing the firm muscle hard where no one could see.

“Missed this tight ass,” Scott murmured low in his ear, voice smooth and dark. “We had a lot of fun playing with it yesterday, didn’t we?”

Logan’s face instantly burned crimson. He froze in the hug, heart slamming against his ribs. The reminder of yesterday’s humiliating encounter sent a fresh wave of unwanted heat straight to his groin.

Before he could respond, Scott pulled back with an easy, charming smile, green eyes gleaming with amusement. “Come on. You and that sexy wife of yours. Private room. Now.”

Scott didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed Logan’s wrist and motioned for Adrianna, who quickly joined them. The billionaire led them down a short hallway into one of the smaller, soundproofed karaoke rooms and locked the door behind them.

“Strip, Logan,” Scott ordered casually, leaning back against the wall like a king giving commands. “Everything off.”

Logan’s hands trembled as he obeyed. He peeled off the white western shirt, revealing his broad, sculpted chest and defined abs. His powerful shoulders and veined arms flexed as he pushed down his jeans and boxer briefs. At 6’1” with a naturally athletic, build (wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, thick thighs, and pert ass) Logan’s body looked like he could’ve been an Olympic decathlete. Pure masculine perfection.

Everything except the tiny 4.5-inch cock that sprang free, rock-hard and leaking, looking almost comical against his otherwise impressive frame.

Scott let out a low, mocking chuckle. “Look at that. The perfect stud body… ruined by the world’s saddest little dick.”

Adrianna bit her lip, eyes sparkling with excitement as she watched her husband stand there completely naked and exposed. Scott turned to her. “Tell your husband which one of his coworkers you’re most into tonight, baby. Be honest.”

Adrianna didn’t hesitate. “Miguel,” she said, voice husky. “He’s so fucking hot. That bronze skin, his sexy accent… I let him grope my ass twice. He even slipped his hand inside my shorts and fingered me for a minute while I was serving drinks. Travis was pretty bold too. He grabbed my tits when I was dancing on him earlier.”

Logan’s breath hitched. His tiny cock twitched visibly in the air. The humiliation was crushing, but it only made him harder. “Miguel…he… he fingered you?” he asked hoarsely, unable to stop himself. “Right there in the middle of the bar?”

“Mmhmm,” Adrianna purred, stepping closer. “And one of the younger guys had me sit on his lap for a while. I could literally feel how hard he was through his jeans. He kept whispering how much better he’d fuck me than you.”

Scott smirked, moving behind Logan and casually brushing the back of his fingers along Logan’s throbbing little dick, making it jerk pathetically. “Poor Logan. Listening to his wife admit how easily his coworkers use her like a slut. And that tiny thing is leaking all over the place. It’s almost cute how excited you get when you’re being cucked.”

Logan’s face burned with shame, but he couldn’t stop the next question from tumbling out. “Did… did Miguel make you cum with his fingers?”

Adrianna smiled sweetly. “Almost. He was reallllly good with them.”

Scott laughed softly, stroking Logan’s small cock with two lazy fingers again, smearing the pre-cum around the sensitive head. “Listen to yourself, McMillan. Asking for details like a desperate little pervert. Most men would be furious. But you? You’re standing here naked with a dripping dicklet because your wife is telling you how other men played with her tonight.”

Logan’s chest heaved, humiliation and arousal twisting so tightly inside him he felt dizzy. He was rock hard, completely exposed, and utterly unable to hide how much it turned him on.

Scott’s green eyes glittered with dark amusement as he gave Logan’s tiny erection another, patronizing sympathy pat.

Adrianna’s voice dropped into a sultry whisper as she continued, clearly enjoying every second of her husband’s torment.

“Miguel wasn’t the only one. Two other of your coworkers had their hands up my shorts tonight. One of them told me he’s wanted to fuck me since the Christmas party. He said he bets I’m way tighter than I look and that you probably don’t stretch me out enough.” She smiled sweetly at Logan. “I told him he was probably right.”

Logan’s tiny cock jerked hard, a fresh bead of pre-cum sliding down the flushed head. The humiliation was suffocating, yet it only made him throb more.

Scott chuckled darkly, his fingers still lazily brushing along Logan’s aching length. “Poor guy. Standing here naked with the world’s smallest hard-on while his wife admits she’s been letting his coworkers finger her all night. You must feel so fucking useless right now.”

Logan could barely speak, cheeks burning, but the words kept spilling out of him in a hoarse, desperate voice. “Did… did any of them make you wetter than I do?”

“Much wetter,” Adrianna answered without hesitation. “Travis got me soaked when he was grabbing my tits. I wanted him to bend me over right there.”

Scott gave Logan’s dick a condescending little pat. “See? Even your own wife knows the truth.”

Logan felt like he was close to cumming. One more touch from Scott couldn’ve put him over the edge. His arousal was visibly impossible ot hide. His body was literally shaking and his cheeks were red. Logan even started moaning like he was about to cum.

Scott caught on and stopped touching Logan’s dicklet. He ordered Logan to get his clothes back on, keeping him blueballed. He said it was time to head home.  He dragged logan back in to the party and made the poor guy pound another shot of vodka.

The first party bus was leaving, and Scott clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “You’re riding with me on this one, McMillan. Adrianna’s staying until close. Come on.”

Logan, now very drunk, climbed onto the luxury shuttle with Scott, Travis, and a burly guy named Duncan. He slumped into the plush seat near the back, the world spinning pleasantly. Within minutes of the bus pulling away from the bar, Logan passed out cold, head lolling against the window.

The three men kept talking quietly, the alcohol making them loose and bold.

“Man, Logan’s wife is such a hot piece of ass,” Travis said, shaking his head with a drunken grin. “Did you see the way she was dancing on us tonight? Grinding on my dick like a fucking stripper. That girl is wild.”

Duncan laughed. “No cap, bro. She’s easily the hottest wife on the whole security team. And she’s SUCH a slut, man. You think Logan knows how much of a slut she is?”

Travis leaned forward, glancing at Logan’s sleeping form. “Hey Scott… be real with us. That rumor from the employee party a few months back… did she actually suck your cock, or is that all bullshit?”

Scott gave an easy, confident smile and lied smoothly. “Just a drunken kiss, boys. Nothing more. You know how these parties get.”

The two men nodded, but Travis kept going, voice lower. “Still… she was acting real slutty tonight. You think it’s ‘cause Logan can’t satisfy her? Guy’s a good dude, but maybe he’s not packing enough downstairs.”

Scott smirked and nodded toward Logan. “Could be. Actually… look at that. Our boy’s got a full hard-on right now while he’s passed out.”

Travis and Duncan both leaned over, eyes widening before they burst into quiet, shocked laughter.

“No fucking way,” Duncan whispered.

Scott casually reached over, unzipped Logan’s fly, unbuttoned his jeans, and tugged his underwear down just enough to free him. Logan’s small 4.5-inch cock stood straight up, rock hard and twitching even in his drunken sleep.

Both men stared, genuinely stunned.

“Jesus Christ,” Travis muttered. “It’s actually tiny.”

Duncan reached out, too drunk and curious to hesitate, and wrapped his thick fingers around it. “Holy shit… it’s so skinny and short. Feels like a fucking Vienna sausage in my hand.” He stroked it slowly a few times, then spat into his palm and started jerking Logan properly, the wet, obscene sounds filling the quiet back of the bus. “So this is what it feels like to jack off a tiny dick? No wonder his wife is out there acting like a whore.”

Travis laughed harder, shaking his head. “Look how hard he is even asleep. Poor bastard’s probably dreaming about watching us fuck Adrianna. You think he’d let us? Maybe we could talk him into a threesome one night. Bet she’d be way more into our cocks than that sad little thing.”

“Fuck yeah,” Duncan agreed, still slowly pumping Logan’s dicklet. “I’d stretch her out so good she’d forget Logan even exists. She was already creaming on my fingers tonight. Imagine what she’d do with real dick.”

Scott watched with dark amusement, occasionally chiming in. “Keep stroking it, Duncan. See how fast you can make the little guy leak. Pathetic, isn’t it? He’s sleeping through his own humiliation.”

The two men kept laughing and making crude comments, taking turns lightly playing with Logan’s exposed erection, marveling at its size and how quickly it leaked under their touch. They spent several more minutes fantasizing out loud about tag-teaming Adrianna, convincing Logan to watch, and betting how loud she’d moan for them compared to her husband.

Eventually, the bus dropped Travis and Duncan off at their stops. Scott finally tucked Logan’s small, still-hard cock back into his underwear, zipped and buttoned his pants neatly, and let him sleep the rest of the way.

When the bus finally pulled up to Scott’s magnificent Hilton Head estate, Logan stirred awake, groggy and disoriented.

“We’re here,” Scott said calmly, green eyes gleaming with amusement. “Let’s get you inside, McMillan.” Logan blinked, trying to shake off the heavy fog of alcohol, completely unaware of what had just happened on the bus.

The luxury shuttle came to a smooth stop in the circular driveway of Scott Hepburn’s sprawling Hilton Head estate. Logan was still groggy, the alcohol making his limbs heavy as Scott helped him out of the bus and guided him inside the mansion.

The house was quiet at this late hour, lights dimmed low. Scott led him upstairs to the massive master bedroom suite without saying much. When he pushed open the double doors, Logan stopped dead in his tracks.

The master suite was dim except for the huge flatscreen mounted on the far wall and a single lamp throwing warm light across the sitting area. A wide daybed sat at an angle facing the television. On it, shirtless, was Leonardo Moretti.

Leo.

Scott’s personal barber. The guy who cut Scott’s hair every week and, because Scott liked the convenience and the control, also gave free cuts to anyone on the payroll who asked.

Logan had sat in Leo’s chair once a month. He always gave Logan excellent haircuts. Always professional and quick. Very meticioulous and great attention to detail.  Logan also loved bantering with Leo every months.  They became buddies and Logan always looked forward to chatting with Leo. He grew to find comfort in Leo’s slight Italian accent that hadn’t faded in the decade he’d lived in the States.

Leo was around thirty years old, 5'11", built like a lean soccer player—narrow hips, defined but not bulky. Athletic with nice abs. Perfectly styled black hair. A short, well-groomed black beard that framed a sharp jaw. Strong cheekbones. A straight, slightly aquiline nose. Thin lips currently parted as he breathed heavily while staring at the TV.

He was watching Adrianna.

On the television, in crisp high definition, Adrianna was on her knees in what Logan recognized as Scott’s office. Her lipstick was smeared. Scott’s thick cock stretched her mouth. One of Scott’s hands was in her hair, guiding her. The audio wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough: wet sounds, her muffled moans, Scott’s low voice telling her she was doing so much better than last time.

Leo’s right hand was inside his shorts, working his cock in slow, unhurried strokes. He didn’t stop when Logan appeared in the doorway. He just looked over, dark eyes catching the light, and kept going.

“McMillan,” he said. “You look like hell.”

Logan’s mouth had gone dry. Behind him he heard the quiet click of the double doors shutting.

Scott’s hand landed on the back of Logan’s neck, and squeezed firmly. “Leo’s been here for that past half hour or so. I told him to make himself comfortable.”

Leo’s gaze flicked from Logan to the screen and back. He didn’t look embarrassed. If anything he looked faintly amused, like this was just another late-night appointment.

“She takes it well,” Leo said, nodding at the television. “Better than most girls. The way she looks up at him…fuck, it’s like she’s never seen a real cock before” He gave himself another slow stroke through the fabric. “Scott has good taste...choosing your wife to fuck.”

Logan’s face burned. His cock, traitor that it was, had started to thicken again inside his jeans even though he was still half-drunk and exhausted. The video kept playing. Adrianna gagged softly on screen and Scott praised her for it.

“I didn’t know you…” Logan started, then didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

 

Leo shrugged one shoulder. The movement made the lean muscle in his chest and stomach shift. “I cut hair. Sometimes I stay after. Sometimes there is something worth watching.” His thin mouth curved. “Tonight there is something worth watching *and* the husband walks in. Even better.”

Scott steered Logan farther into the room, closer to the daybed. Logan could smell Leo now—clean skin, a little expensive cologne, the faint trace of whatever product he used in that perfectly styled hair.

“Take your hat off,” Scott said quietly.

Logan obeyed. The cowboy hat felt stupid in his hand all of a sudden.

On the screen Adrianna pulled off Scott’s cock with a wet sound and started licking the shaft, looking up at the camera like she knew someone else might see it later.

Logan’s stomach twisted. His voice came out rough. “How many people have seen this?”

Leo’s hand didn’t pause. “Does it matter?”

Scott’s thumb stroked once along the side of Logan’s neck. “Leo’s discreet. So don’t worry, buddy your little cuck secret’s safe with us. Nobody else knows. But look, dude, Leo’s cut your hair for free all year. Now he just wants to watch a vid of your wife sucking dick. Fair trade, right?”

Leo finally pulled his hand out of his shorts just long enough to push the waistband down a few inches. His cock was flushed and thick…a solid, well-proportioned handful. lf. He wrapped his fingers around it again and went back to stroking, slower now that Logan was close enough to see everything.

“Your wife has a pretty mouth,” Leo said, almost conversational. “Scott let me watch the first time he filmed her. I told him she would look even better with mascara running. He listened.”

Logan couldn’t look away from the screen. He also couldn’t look away from Leo’s hand. The two images stacked on top of each other until his own small cock was straining against his zipper again, humiliatingly obvious.

Scott reached around and palmed him through the denim, just once, like he was checking. “Still hard. After the bus, after the karaoke room, after everything she told you tonight. You really are consistent, McMillan.”

Leo made a low sound that might have been a laugh. “Come closer. The picture is better from here. And I want to see if you get smaller when you are this ashamed, or if that little thing just stays the same.”

 

Logan’s feet moved before he’d decided to let them. He ended up standing at the edge of the daybed, close enough that he could have reached out and touched Leo’s bare shoulder. The video kept rolling. Adrianna took Scott deeper. Scott’s hand tightened in her hair.

Leo looked up at Logan’s face, then down at the bulge in his jeans, and kept stroking himself with the same easy rhythm.

“Take it out,” Leo said softly, accent thickening just a fraction. “I cut your hair for free. The least you can do is let me see what all the rumors are about…while we watch your wife choke on our boss’s hog haha.”

Scott didn’t say anything. He just waited.

Logan hesitated and that pissed Scott off. Without any warning Scott ripped off Logan’s western shirt, sending buttons flying. Then he slapped Logan on the face. “Take your fucking clothes off, cuckboy. All of them. You’re going to show off to Leo your whole naked body…so he can take a look at your pathetic little cocklet.”

Logan’s hands shook as they went to his belt.

He didn’t look at either man while he stripped. Buckle first. Then the button. Then the zipper

He shoved the jeans and boxer briefs down together and stepped out of them, leaving everything in a heap at his feet. He dropped it on the pile and stood there completely naked, but with his hands covering his dick. He looked so shy and cute, shivering with embarrassment as he covered his cock with his hands.

“Put your hands behind your head,” Scott ordered.Logan obeyed.

Logan’s body was just as sexy as the rumors said: 6'1", athletic, densely muscled without looking gym-pumped. Wide shoulders, thick chest, a tight six-pack visible under the dark-blond treasure trail that ran from his navel down into a thick patch of sexy blond pubes. Bushy blond hair filled both armpits. His thighs were powerful. His ass was tight and high.

If Logan’s cock was covered he would have looked like a total alpha male that everyone assumed was packing.

He wasn’t.

His 4.5-inch erect penis  stood out from the blond bush, flushed and leaking. The head was shiny. A thin string of pre-cum already connected it to the hair below.

Leo’s hand stopped mid-stroke.

 

For a second the barber just stared. The easy, faintly amused expression he’d been wearing since Logan walked in cracked into something closer to genuine surprise. He lauged loudly.

“Cazzo,” Leo said softly. The accent came through thicker. “That is… that is actually tiny.”

He sat up straighter on the daybed, shorts still shoved down, his own thicker cock forgotten for the moment. His dark eyes moved from Logan’s chest to the blond bush to the little erection poking out of it like it didn’t belong there.

“How long is it?” Leo asked. He sounded almost curious now, like he was measuring a client’s sideburns. “Tell me. Honestly.”

Logan’s face was burning. He kept his eyes on the floor for a second, then made himself look at Leo.

“Four and a half,” he said. His voice came out hoarse. “Inches.”

Leo let out a short, disbelieving breath that was almost a laugh. “No. That cannot be four and a half. It looks like three. Maybe three and a half.”

Scott stepped in behind Logan. One big hand slid around Logan’s hip, the other reached down and casually wrapped around the small, hard cock, lifting it so Leo could see it better. Scott’s thumb smeared the wetness over the head.

“It looks smaller because of the pubes,” Scott said. His tone was almost instructional. “He’s got a full bush like he’s trying to hide it. Long blond hair all over the base. Makes the little thing disappear.” He gave Logan’s cock a slow, condescending stroke. “Hey, why *do* you even have pubes, McMillan?”

Logan didn’t answer.

Scott kept fondling him, lazy and possessive, while he talked over Logan’s shoulder to Leo.

“Body hair is for real men. This…” he squeezed the short shaft, making Logan suck in a breath “…is not a real man’s cock. It’s a boy’s cock. A cute little boy dick on a grown man’s body.” He looked at Leo. “Boys like Logan don’t deserve body hair, do they?”

Leo’s eyes were still locked on Logan’s groin. He shook his head while smiling deviously.

“No,” he said. The word came out almost gentle. “They do not. Hair like that is for someone who can fill a hand. That little thing…” he nodded at what Scott was holding “..should be clean. It would look even cuter all smooth.”

Scott gave Logan’s cock one more firm squeeze, then let go. The little thing bobbed, wet and throbbing against the blond pubic hair.

 

“Salon,” Scott said. “Now. Drag him in there and shave every inch of him. Chest, stomach, armpits, that bush around his sad little thing, the treasure trail, his ass, his balls. All of it. I want him smooth. I want him looking like what he is.”

Logan’s head snapped up. “No. I’m not—”

“You’re not what?” Scott asked, calm. He glanced at the television, where Adrianna was still on her knees, spit running down her chin, Scott’s cock visibly stretching her mouth. “You’re not going to let Leo shave you? That’s fine. I can send the video to the group chat instead. Travis. Duncan. Miguel. Brennan. The night-shift guys who probally already had their hands on your wife tonight. They can all watch her choke on me if you don’t wanna shave down. Your choice.”

Logan’s stomach dropped. He could see it too clearly: the same men who’d high-fived him as he dominated the flag football match, the same men he drank with, showered with, shot the shit with all day long. All of them knowing.

Shame rolled through him so hard his knees felt weak. His tiny cock twitched in the open air, leaking another bead onto the blond pubes Scott had just insulted.

He swallowed.

“…Fine,” he said. It came out small. “I’ll go.”

Leo stood. He tucked himself away just enough to walk, then stepped in close. One hand closed around Logan’s hard bicep and he started walking him toward the hallway that led off the suite.

“Come,” Leo said, accent soft. “I have everything already set up. Razors, oil, aftershave. It will not take long.” He glanced down once more at Logan’s dripping little cock and the thick blond bush around it, and something like professional satisfaction crossed his face. “By the time I am finished, no one will be able to pretend that is a man’s body. Only a very handsome boy who likes sharing his girl with real men.”

Logan let himself be led.

Behind them, Scott picked up the remote and turned the volume on the video a little higher so the wet sounds followed them down the hall.

 

Leo tightened his grip on Logan’s arm and pulled him down the short hallway off the master suite.

 

The salon was already lit. White tile, a professional chair, a long marble counter lined with razors, bowls, and bottles. A heavy steel hook hung from a recessed point in the ceiling.

Logan’s bare feet slapped on the tile. His little cock bounced with every step, still hard, still wet at the tip. He tried to plant his feet once. Leo didn’t even slow down.

“Easy,” Leo said, accent low. “I’mma need to suspend your arms above your head so I can shave your pits more easily…just trust me, okay, bro?”

Logan refused to look at Leo. He stared at the ground and said, “yeah, sure whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

Leo lifted Logan’s wrists.

The atheltic barber crossed Logan’s wrists, wrapped them in a padded leather cuff, and ran the short strap up to the hook. A click. Then he took the slack out until Logan’s arms were stretched straight above his head, heels still on the floor but only just. The stretch pulled his torso long. His lats flared. His six-pack tightened. Both bushy blond armpits opened wide, freshly damp again from stress-sweat.

Logan yanked once, hard. The hook didn’t move. He yanked again. Same result. A thin sheen of sweat broke across his chest and down the treasure trail. His trapped cock jerked against nothing.

Leo then took a black gag from a drawer. Leather strap, firm rubber bulb. Logan shook his head and started to speak. “Dude what the fuck is that fo—"

Leo slipped it between his teeth anyway.

“Not going to hurt,” Leo repeated, fastening the buckle behind Logan’s head, snug but not cruel. “You will only barely feel it. But I need you quiet. Scott won’t want to be disturbed by the sound of your protests if you change your mind mid shave.”

Leo stepped in close and put his nose straight into Logan’s right armpit.

He inhaled. Loud. Slow. Like he was savoring Logan’s sweat stink.

Logan moaned into the gag. The tied-up studd twisted, trying to close the arm, trying to shove Leo away with a body that no longer had leverage. Leo’s hands settled on his ribs and held him there.

“It is useless to struggle,” Leo murmured against the damp blond hair. “Better if you accept it. You are already hard. Your body already decided.”

He moved to the other side and did it again. Nose buried in the blonde jock’s left armpit. Another long, shameless inhale. Logan’s muffled shout cracked in the middle. Sweat rolled down his side.

 

“You smell sexy when you are like this,” Leo said. “Sweaty. Scared. Still leaking.” He dragged the tip of his nose through the wet hair, then pulled back just enough to look Logan in the face.

Leo reached for a glass bottle on the counter, poured a pool of clear shaving oil into his palm, and started at Logan’s throat.

Both hands. Slow. He worked the oil down over collarbones, across the thick chest, around each pec, thumbs brushing nipples until they tightened. Then lower. Over the ridged abs, following the dark-blond treasure trail, smearing it into the thick pubes until the whole bush shone.

He oiled the base of the tiny cock and the tight balls underneath it, then the inner thighs, then reached around and slicked Logan’s ass and the cleft between his cheeks. He ran his oiled hands up and down Logan’s strong thighs and calves, going down to his feet and back up again. Last, both armpits, fingers pushing through the bushy hair until it was soaked and dark-gold.

Logan hung there dripping, chest heaving around the gag, every muscle standing out under the gloss.

Leo stepped back. He just looked.

“Cazzo,” he said again, quieter. “You should see yourself. All oiled up like this.” He walked a slow circle. “The shoulders. The stomach. That little cock shining in the middle of all that hair. You look expensive and sexy at the same time.”

Leo picked up the straight razor.

He stropped it once against leather, checked the edge, then dropped to a crouch in front of Logan’s hanging body. Oiled hands wrapped around Logan’s right calf first.

He begain groping the bound, blonde adonis. Squeezing the dense muscle, thumb digging into the back of the knee, sliding up to the thick thigh like he was worshipping a Greek god.

“Strong legs,” Leo murmured. “Runner’s calves. Dense thighs.” The razor kissed the shin and peeled a clean strip of dark-gold hair away in one slow pass. “And now they are going to look like a woman’s.”

Logan jerked. The cuffs bit. Leo’s free hand pinned the thigh and kept going: long, wet strokes from ankle to knee, knee to the crease of the hip, turning the limb as he worked. Hair fell in clumps onto the white tile. When the right leg was done, Leo switched, groping the left just as thoroughly (palm under the ass cheek, fingers brushing the tight hole on the way past) before the razor followed.

 

He stood back when both legs were bare and after he wiped away the shaved hair.

They gleamed. Smooth. Almost shiny under the salon lights. The powerful muscle was still there, but without the hair it looked different. Softer. Displayed.

Leo ran both palms up them, slow, and laughed under his breath.

“Any woman would be jealous,” he said. “These legs put theirs to shame now. So smooth. So pretty. But still attached to a strong, hairy man’s smelly body.” He slapped the inside of one thigh lightly, just to watch it jiggle and then tighten. “Tragic.”

He rose and set the razor against the dark-blond trail that ran down Logan’s six-pack.

“This stomach, though.” Both hands framed the abs, thumbs tracing each ridge. “Perfect. Really perfect. What is your routine? Hanging leg raises? Cable crunches?” He paused, then clicked his tongue, remembering. “Ah. Right. You cannot tell me.”

He shaved Logan’s blonde treasure trail in short, careful strokes, following the lines of muscle, clearing it down to the navel and then lower, stopping just above the thick blond bush. Every pass of the blade came with a squeeze or a stroke of the abs, like he was polishing them.

“There. Clean. Now everyone can see the hard work you did. No hair to hide behind.”

The chest was next. Logan only had a light scatter of blond across his pecs. Leo made a show of being disappointed there was so hair little to take. He still oiled it again, then shaved it in slow fans while his other hand squeezed the muscle—hard enough to dimple, hard enough that Logan’s nipples tightened and his muffled groan leaked around the gag.

“Aw look at those smooth titties.” Leo began squeezing and fongling the smooth pecs like they were breast. “Ah fuck these are sexy. Bro, you’ve got bigger tits than some girls, haha.” Logan blushed. His entire body grew hot at the compliment.

Now that the the chest itself was smooth, Leo leaned in and put his mouth on Logan’s left nipple.

His tongue drew a wet circle around it. Then another. Then he sucked once, just enough to make Logan’s whole torso jump. He did the same to the right. Logan’s little cock twitched hard against the remaining bush, a fresh bead of pre-cum sliding down the shaft.

Leo sucked harder on the nipple. His tongue assaulted it as he slurped and kissed the nipples of his tied-up, helpless conquest. Logan writhed in pain and humiliation and pleasure.

Leo pulled back, picked up the tweezers, and smiled.

“Some hairs left, though,” he said. “Right on your pink little nipples.”

 

He pinched the first nipple hair and pulled.

Logan yipped into the gag—high, startled, helpless. He had extremely sensitive nipples. They were currently raw and even more sensitive than usual after Leo relentlessly assaulted them with his lips, tongue and even teeth.

 Leo laughed and plucked the next one. Then the next. Each pluck one made Logan’s body jerk in the cuffs and pulled another broken sound out of him. By the time both nipples were completely bare, Logan’s eyes were wet and his cock was leaking onto his newly smooth stomach.

“Sensitive boy,” Leo said, almost fond. “Good.”

He lifted Logan’s right arm higher in the stretch and looked at the bushy blond pit.

Logan’s breath hitched.

He remembered being sixteen in a locker room, checking the mirror after gym, seeing the first real hair under his arms and feeling something lock into place. *He was a Man.* Proof. He’d let it grow on purpose after that. Thick. Proud. A sign he wasn’t a kid anymore.

Leo buried his nose in it one more time, inhaled, then started shaving.

The razor whispered. Clumps of wet blond hair hit the tile. The second pit followed. When he was done, both underarms were naked, slick, exposed in a way that made Logan’s stomach turn. The stretch of his arms put everything on display. There was nowhere to hide the smoothness.

A tear slipped down his right cheek.

Leo saw it immediately.

He caught Logan’s jaw, turned his face, and looked at the track of it with open amusement.

“Crying,” he said. “Like the little boy you are becoming. Look at you. Hung up, gagged, legs like a girl, pits like a child, and now tears.” He leaned in and licked the tear off Logan’s cheek, slow, from the jaw to just under the eye. “It is okay. It will all be over soon if you are a good boy.”

He put his mouth against Logan’s ear. The accent went softer. Meaner.

“I am going to shave your pubes next. All of that proud little bush around that cute, four inch cock. If you struggle, the razor can cut you. Badly. Balls, shaft, the skin right against the head. You understand?”

 

Logan made an inaudible sound.

“I need you to nod,” Leo whispered. “Are you going to be a good boy and cooperate?”

Logan’s face burned. His arms ached. His smooth pits felt cold in the air.

He nodded.

Leo laughed, low and pleased, and gave Logan’s cheek a couple of gentle, teasing slaps. Not hard, just enough to humiliate him.

“Good boy.”

A second tear ran down the other cheek.

Leo licked that one too, tongue warm against hot skin, and murmured against his mouth, just above the gag:

“Stop crying, baby. Your little cock will look so cute.”

Leo dropped to his knees again.

The unruly blond bush was still thick around the base of Logan’s cock, darker now with oil and sweat. Leo took the little shaft between two fingers and held it out of the way like it was nothing.

“Stay,” he said.

The razor started at the top of the pubic bone and carved downward in short, precise strokes. Hair fell in wet gold clumps. Every few passes Leo’s thumb dragged lazily up the underside of the 4.5-inch cock, just enough to make it jump, just enough to smear pre-cum over the head.

“Look at it trying,” he murmured. “So cute. So hard. And still so easy to hold with just two fingers.”

He shaved around the base, then lower, lifting the tight balls in his palm. The blade whispered over the wrinkled skin while he stroked the dicklet with his other hand—light, insulting, almost tender. Logan’s muffled moan cracked. His hips tried to chase the touch and then tried to escape the steel. Leo didn’t let him do either.

“Yeah, this the first time feeling a man tough your ball sack?,” Leo said. “I bet your wife doesn’t like your balls does she? Or maybe she does when she’s bored of sucking your tiny dick haha.”

When the groin area was all bare, Logan’s cock stood out alone: flushed, shiny, ridiculous against the newly naked skin and the muscled torso above it. Leo flicked the head once with a finger and admired his work.

 

He turned Logan by the hips, pulled the cheeks apart with both thumbs, and put his mouth on him.

Logan’s whole body seized.

Leo’s tongue dragged a slow, wet stripe over the hole, then pushed in, flat and filthy. Logan screamed into the gag. The sound came out loud anyway—high, wrecked, helpless. His thighs shook. His smooth, oiled legs kicked once against the tile. The little cock slapped up against his stomach and leaked.

Leo didn’t stop. He ate him like he had all night, nose pressed to the still-hairy crack, tongue working him open.

Logan couldn’t hold still. The pleasure was too sharp on top of the shame. His body kept jerking in the cuffs, ass pushing back into Leo’s mouth even while he tried to twist away.

Leo pulled off just long enough to growl, “Stop moving.”

Logan couldn’t. Another broken moan tore out of him.

Leo’s hand cracked across his right ass cheek. Hard. Then the left. Then the right again. The slaps echoed off the tile. Each one flattened the muscle and left a blooming red print on the oiled skin.

It hurt like hell. Logan jerked, cried out into the rubber, and finally—after the fifth, sixth, seventh slap—locked his legs and went still, shaking, breathing in wet hits through his nose.

“Better,” Leo said, and picked the razor back up.

He shaved the cheeks first, long strokes that turned the firm ass as smooth as the legs. Then he spread Logan again and took the hair from the crack itself, blade careful, breath warm. Last, the hole. Tiny, precise passes until there was nothing left but slick, pink, hairless skin.

Leo set the razor down and rubbed a fingertip over the smooth rim. Circles. Then he pressed just enough to feel it yield.

“I want to fuck you,” he said quietly, accent thick. “Badly. You would take it so well like this. Oiled. Shaved. Hanging. That pretty hole already twitching.” He pushed the pad of his finger a fraction deeper, not entering, just promising. “I would fuck you better than you yourself have ever fucked anyone. Deep. Slow at first. Then not so slow.”

Logan shivered hard enough that the chain above the hook chimed.

 

“But I cannot,” Leo finished. He sounded almost regretful. “It is reserved. Someone else already claimed this.”

The words went up Logan’s spine like ice.

Leo stood, looked at the mess on the floor—the pile of blond pubic hair mixed with the darker, finer hair from the ass crack—and smiled like he’d just thought of something perfect. He scooped a handful and stepped in close.

He rubbed the pubes and ass hair into Logan’s face.

Across the gag, over the cheekbones, into the sweat at his hairline, down to his upper lip where Logan had no choice but to smell it.

“Can you smell it?” Leo asked, almost pleasant. “Your own pubes. Your own buttcrack. Right on that handsome face.” He smeared another pass under Logan’s nose. “That is what you used to be proud of. Now it is on your mouth like youre eating dirt.”

Leo stepped back to look at the whole picture…and went still admiring his work.

Logan hung from the hook, arms stretched, every line of him shining. The powerful shoulders and thick chest were smooth and glistening in oil, nipples bare and tight. The six-pack was clean, no trail left to break it. The bushy pits were gone; the smooth hollows looked obscenely sexy.

The legs were long, muscled, and as bare as a model’s. The ass was red from the slaps and perfectly smooth. Between his thighs the little cock stood flushed and wet against naked skin, balls tight and shaved. Sweat and oil caught the salon lights. A smear of his own cut pubes darkened one cheek slightly.

Square jaw working around the gag. Logan McMillan looked so wrecked and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Leo pulled out his phone.

He didn’t ask.

Flash off. Then on. Close on the stretched arms and naked pits. The oiled abs and the tiny hard cock. The red handprints on the smooth ass. The hole, held open with two of Leo’s fingers for one shot. Logan’s face last: gag, tears, hair smeared across his mouth, eyes glossy with shame.

Leo checked the screen, satisfied, and locked the phone.

“Scott is going to like these,” he said. “And you look too good not to memorialize this.”

 

 

 

Leo took fresh towels from the steamer and started at Logan’s throat.

The heat made Logan flinch. Leo worked downward in long, firm strokes: chest, stomach, the smooth pits, the oiled arms still stretched to the hoop. Leo took his time wiping away hair clippings, sweat, and the smear he’d rubbed into Logan’s face.

He was thorough between Logan’s legs, lifting the little cock and the tight shaved balls, then spreading the cheeks to clean the pink hole he’d just had his mouth on. When he finished, Logan’s skin was flushed and gleaming, every newly bare inch on display.

Leo dropped the towels, wrapped one hand around the base of Logan’s 4.5-inch cock, and took it into his mouth.

Logan shouted into the gag.

It was sudden and wet and devastatingly good. Leo’s mouth was hot, his tongue flat against the underside, and the whole length disappeared on the first sink. There was nothing left to take. Leo held there, nose against the smooth pubic bone, and sucked.

Then he pulled off with a wet sound and looked up.

“This is what a cuck gets,” he said, accent soft, almost conversational. “Wife probably still getting groped by your work buddies. Think about your co-workers with their hands in her panties. And you just hanging here with a smooth little dick for me to play with.”

He swallowed Logan again. One hand groped up a smooth, muscled thigh; the other dragged over the six-pack, fingers tracing the ridges he’d shaved clean. Logan writhed. The cuffs rattled. His hips tried to thrust, but there was nowhere to go except deeper into Leo’s mouth, which wasn’t deep at all.

Leo pulled off again, stroking the spit-slick shaft with two fingers.

“So small. Like a boy who never finished growing. A real man would not fit in my mouth like a toy.” He squeezed the head until Logan whimpered. “Your wife knows. Scott knows. Now I know. Cute little cuck cock.”

He went back down.

Logan’s body stopped belonging to him. The pleasure was too concentrated, too sharp on a cock that size, every nerve stacked on top of the next. The athletic blonde jock twisted in the leather, abs flexing, smooth legs tensing and shaking. Sounds kept tearing out of him around the gag—high, helpless, nothing like the confident, masculine voice he’d walked into the bar with earlier in the night.

Leo’s free hand slid between Logan’s cheeks and found the shaved hole.

He rubbed it while he sucked. Slow circles. Then the pad of one finger pressing, not entering, just owning the rim. Logan’s whole body twitched like he’d been shocked. The moan that came out of him was loud enough that Leo’s eyes flicked up, amused, and he didn’t stop.

Leo knew.

Logan was right there on the edge. Shaking, dripping, the little cock throbbing on Leo’s tongue, hole fluttering under the finger. Gasping, desperate moans into the gag. One more second and it would have been over in Leo’s throat.

Leo pulled off.

He wrapped his fist around the wet dicklet and jacked Logan fast and mean, thumb working the head, the other hand still pressed to Logan’s hole.

“Come,” he said. “In my mouth. Now.”

He opened up and aimed the head past his lips.

Logan came apart.

It started in his hole and ripped straight through the base of his cock, a white, blinding spike that locked every muscle at once. His back arched so hard the hook took more of his weight. His smooth thighs clamped and then splayed.

The first pulse shot across Leo’s tongue, thick and sudden; the second made Logan’s vision blow out at the edges, salon lights smearing into nothing.

He couldn’t breathe around the gag. He couldn’t think. Only thing he could concentrate on was his tiny cock jerking in Leo’s fist, spitting again and again into that waiting mouth, each spurt smaller and more desperate than the last, his balls drawing up tight and empty.

A broken, animal sound poured out of him. Tears ran. His hole clenched around nothing under Leo’s finger like it was trying to suck the finger in. For a few seconds he wasn’t a husband or a bodyguard or even a man in his own head—just a hanging, hairless, shaking slut boy.

Leo kept stroking him through it until Logan’s knees buckled and the only thing holding him up was the cuffs.

 

Then Leo stopped. Logan’s orgasm had run its course.

Leo stayed on his knees, mouth closed, Logan’s cum held on his tongue. A little of it shone at the corner of his lips. He looked up at Logan’s wrecked face, at the dripping, shrinking dicklet, at the beautiful oiled body still trembling in the air, and didn’t swallow.

Leo reached up and loosed the strap, making sure to keep holding the cum in his mouth.

 

The hook still held Logan’s wrists, but the slack dropped him several inches at once. His heels hit tile. Before he could find his balance Leo hooked both arms under Logan’s thighs and hauled them back and up, folding him at the waist until his torso hung forward and his ass was high and open behind him. The angle was ugly and exact—about a hundred and thirty degrees, the shape of a man bent over a mattress waiting to get fucked, except there was no mattress. Only air. Only the cuffs. Only his smooth, red, freshly shaved ass presented to the room while his handsome face pointed at the floor.

Logan made a muffled noise of panic.

Leo unbuckled the gag and pulled it free. A string of spit followed it. Logan dragged in a raw breath and the words came out immediately, cracked and too loud in the tiled room.

“Let me go. Please. Leo, just—just let me down.” His voice shook. “You already took everything. My hair. My—my manhood. All of it. Haven’t you humiliated me enough? Please.”

Leo didn’t answer.

He put both hands on Logan’s ass, spread him, and sealed his mouth over the winking pink hole.

The sound Logan made wasn’t a sentence. It started as another plea and collapsed into a wet, punched-out moan. Leo sucked—hard, rhythmic, lips locked to the rim like he was trying to pull the hole inside out. Logan’s whole folded body jerked on the strap. His newly smooth legs trembled in Leo’s grip.

Leo used what he was still holding on his tongue.

He pushed some of Logan’s own cum into him, warm and slick, depositing some of it past the rim in messy little pulses while he kept most of the cum in his mouth. Then he went back to work, using that leftover load as lube, tongue working it around the hole and inside, filthy and precise. The wet sounds filled the salon. Logan’s tiny spent cock hung dripping toward the floor.

“Stop,” Logan gasped. “Leo—fuck—stop, I can’t—” The rest broke apart. “It feels—it feels so…so ugh. Please! You have to stop. I can’t take it. Dude, t feels so…shit…so fucking good.”

 

Leo ignored that too. He rimming him like it was a craft, circling, pushing in, sucking the rim until Logan’s words were just wrecked noises again. The bent-over hang made every movement look obscene: the stretched back, the oiled hairless hole shining with spit and cum, the powerful body arranged for use.

Leo expertly used his tongue and mouth to expertly but painstakingly deposit every drop of Logan’s semen back into his own asshole. When the last drop was deposited, Leo stood up.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, glanced once at Logan hanging there folded and dripping and still talking in broken pieces, and walked out.

The door shut.

The salon went quiet except for the faint rattle of the strap and Logan’s breathing. Logan was left alone for the first time that night. Just the lights, the tile, the smell of oil and sex, and Logan left bent over in the air with his own cum cooling inside him, waiting…

 

The click was small.

Then the wall-mounted TV screen flared to life, blue-white and sudden in the quiet salon.

Logan lurched upright on instinct. The slack Leo had given him was enough to get his feet under him again, torso coming up out of that bent-over hang, but his wrists were still cuffed to the hook. He stood there naked, smooth, a smear of drying spit and his own cum between his ass cheeks, staring at the television like it might explain itself.

Miguel’s face filled the frame. It was one of his co-workers.

Miguel was close to the camera, shirtless, golden skin, that easy handsome look he’d had at the bar when his hand was groping Adrianna’s ass. He was smiling. Not friendly. Cocky

“Hey, McMillan.”

Logan’s mouth opened. Nothing useful came out.

Miguel’s eyes stayed on the lens. “How you doin’, man? I can’t see you. Can’t hear you either. One-way thing. But they told me you can see me just fine. Look, I—ugh—fuck--”

A sudden moan from Miguel cut through the middle of his sentence…low, unashamed. Miguel’s lashes dipped for a second like someone off-camera had done something right.

“Tonight’s been an amazing party, right? Ahhh” Another breath, another small sound. “I’m kinda sad you had to bounce early. Shit got even better after you left.”

 

He looked down, out of the bottom of the frame.

“Hey. Easy, girl. Just hold it there.”

Logan heard it then: wet, choked gagging. Close to the mic. A girl, off-screen, taking him deep and staying there because he’d told her to.

Miguel hissed through his teeth and tipped his head back.

“Good girl. Gooood fucking girl.”

He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned into it, posing for a camera he knew Logan was watching. The movement opened both arms. Thick black hair filled his armpits—dense, masculine, a little damp with sweat.

They were a man’s pits. They looked like what Logan’s had looked like an hour ago.

Logan couldn’t stop staring at them.

Envy hit first, sharp and stupid. His own pits were naked now, slick and childish in the salon air, shaved down to the skin like he hadn’t finished puberty. He’d grown that hair so proudly when he was a teenager.

Miguel still had his. Miguel was moaning on a live feed with a girl gagging on him and both arms up like a man who didn’t have anything to hide.

Logan’s stomach turned. His hole clenched around the cooling mess Leo had left in his ass crack. The hook held his wrists up as if to make sure he couldn’t cover the smooth hollows even if he tried.

Miguel looked back into the camera, still smiling that secret smile, and let another moan slip out while the gagging went on just out of frame.

Miguel shifted, getting comfortable, and the moan that followed was longer this time. “Fuck—yeah. Just like that, baby. You’re so naughty, you know that?”

He looked back at the lens, eyes half-lidded, that same cocky smile still sitting on his mouth. “Such a shame a stud like you dipped out early, Logan. By yourself, too. After the way you played this morning?” He sucked in a breath. “Ugh…FUCK! Good girl. Don’t stop. Yeah.”

The gagging  sounds started again, wet and eager.

 

“You were such an alpha at flag football this morning” Miguel went on, voice rough now. “Everybody saw it. A STUD like you should’ve gone home tonight with a girl on each arm. Getting his dick sucked all night. Not sitting somewhere by himself watching another man’s livestream.”

The frame eased back.

More of Miguel came into view: the rest of that toned, golden torso, the tight stomach, the dark happy trail leading down out of the shot. Someone was holding the phone. Logan felt it immediately—the too-smooth pull-out, the slight wobble. Not a tripod. A person.

Who? Who the fuck was filming this?!

Miguel just kept talking to Logan like they were still at the bar.

“You should be plowing that sexy Latina wife of yours right now, bro. That’s what an alpha does after a night like this. Mhhh, yeah…oh FUCK yeah…” Miguel groaned, hips giving a small roll toward the off-screen mouth. “You’re doing such a good job. Jesus. So fucking naughty.” His eyes flicked back to the camera. “I bet a manly, testosterone-filled stud like you is packing a giant dick. I bet you make Adrianna scream like a wild bitch when you fuck her. I bet she—”

“No he doesn’t.”

The voice was female.

Logan’s blood went cold.

The camera pulled back farther. Miguel was naked from the waist down now, thick cock glistening, one hand loose in dark hair. The back of a woman’s head filled the bottom of the frame—long hair, the same white cowboy hat knocked crooked, the same red gingham strap still tied around her neck like she’d never changed. Adrianna. On her knees. Mouth stretched around his coworker’s cock, spit shining on her chin when she eased off just enough to speak.

She didn’t turn around.

She just said it again, softer, almost amused, and went back down on Miguel while Logan hung from the hook in a silent room, hairless and used, watching his wife suck off the co-worker who’d had his fingers inside her shorts three hours ago.

 

Sudenly, A powerfully shove hit Logan square in the back.

 

Logan barely had time to grunt before hands locked on his hips and hauled them backward, folding him over again in one hard motion. His wrists, still cuffed to the hook, ended up stacked above the nape of his neck, elbows bent, torso forced down, ass pushed out into whoever had come up behind him.

“What the f—”

A palm clapped over Logan’s mouth and crushed the rest of it into a muffled mess.

Leo’s laugh landed against his spine, close and pleased.

“You fucking cuck,” Leo said, accent warm with amusement. “Look at you. I leave for two minutes and you are already standing there like a good boy watching your wife pleasure another man.”

His other hand snaked around Logan’s hip and found the little cock.

It was rock hard.

Leo made a sound like he couldn’t believe it, then broke into actual laughter…while he squeezed the 4.5 inches that had no business being that stiff so soon after coming.

“Already? You just finished in my mouth like five minutes ago, Man! And now this.” He stroked it once, mean and light. “Watching another video of your wife sucking another man and you get hard like a dog. That is paaaathetic, McMillan..”

Something thick and hot dragged up Logan’s freshly shaved crack.

Leo’s cock. Hard. Uncut. The loose foreskin and the wet head smearing against the smooth cleft, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum between Logan’s cheeks. Logan’s stomach turned. Disgust punched through the arousal but didn’t kill it.

The wet cock head nudged his hole and slid past it, greasing him with someone else’s drip, and Logan made a sick noise into Leo’s hand.

Leo fisted a handful of short blond hair and yanked his head up.

“Watch.”

On the screen the angle had changed. Miguel had Adrianna on her back on a couch, one of her legs hooked over his arm, the white cowboy hat gone. He was naked, driving into her missionary with long, brutal strokes—almost all the way out, then all the way in—hips slapping, her tits shaking out of the gingham top. She was making those high, wrecked sounds Logan only ever heard in their bedroom when he used his fingers.

 

A condom. Clear, shiny, bunched at the base of Miguel’s thick cock.

Relief hit Logan so hard his knees dipped. Then the rest of it hit harder: the length of the strokes, the way Miguel’s ass flexed, the way Adrianna’s mouth fell open on every thrust like she couldn’t catch up. Logan had never fucked her like that. He couldn’t. Not with what he had. The knowledge sat in his gut and went straight to his tiny dripping cock, which twitched in Leo’s fist while he watched another man do the thing his body would never let him do.

Miguel wasn’t talking anymore. He was just focsed on fucking his new bitch relentless, the camera held steady by whoever still stood off to the side.

Leo’s mouth was right at Logan’s ear, cock still sliding wet through the crack, pre-cum cooling on the shaved hole.

“That is a man,” Leo murmured. “Long strokes. Deep. Ooof. And your wife is taking all of it. And you—” he gave the little cock a pitying squeeze “—you are bent over in a salon with no hair and a boy dick, getting your ass greased by your barber while you watch. You like it. Do not lie. You are leaking on my hand, man. Your wife is getting ruined on a couch and aren’t even pissed off…you’re loving it.”

He dragged his uncut head slowly over Logan’s rim again, not pushing in, just painting him.

“Reserved,” Leo reminded him, almost kind. “I still cannot fuck you. But I know you want me to. You want to watch your wife get fucked. And feel this inside you while you watch.”

Logan’s mind wouldn’t stay in one piece. He felt like his brain was breaking.

There was the man who’d lived his entire life as a straight alpha male. There was the man who was prom king and captain of the football, basketball and baseball teams in high school. There was the devoted husband and security officer who’d be willing to fight off a pack of five men barehanded to protect his wife if she was in danger.

And then there was this: bent over in a bright salon, hairless as a boy, a barber’s thick uncut cock painting his crack with pre-cum while his wife screamed on a TV for a coworker with a real dick.

He couldn’t pick which one was speaking.

“L—Leo—ah—please—ughh-fu-fu-fuckkk…mmhh.” It didn’t land as a word. It came out wet and broken, more moan than sentence. He tried again and only got the same shape.

“Please—fuck—please—”

Please stop. Please don’t stop. Please take it away. Please put it in. He didn’t know. The wanting and the horror had fused into one sound and that was all he had left.

 

Leo worked him like he understood that.

Behind him, that heavy uncut cock kept sliding through the shaved ass cleft. Slow, filthy, the foreskin catching and dragging over Logan’s rim on every pass, leaving another slick stripe of pre-cum that cooled and then got warmed again. Not entering. Just owning the outside of him. Logan’s hole kept winking against the shaft like it had an opinion his mouth couldn’t form.

Leo’s fist was on Logan’s little cock at the same time, but not the mean grip from before. Slow now. Sensual. A loose, oiled stroke from the tight shaved balls up to the dripping head, thumb smearing the wetness in circles, then down again, unhurried enough that Logan’s hips started chasing it. Every upstroke made his knees dip. Every pause at the head made him whimper into the empty air.

Leo’s other hand found his chest.

Smooth pecs. Bare nipples still tender from the tweezers. Leo pinched the left one between finger and thumb, rolled it, then switched to the right, tugging just enough to send a bright tingle of feeling straight down Logan’s stomach into the tiny cock in his fist. Then he palmed the whole muscle, squeezing, rubbing the nipple under the heel of his hand, then back to that precise, cruel-tender twist. Logan’s back arched into it even as he tried to fold smaller.

And Leo’s mouth was on his neck.

Not polite. Open. Wet. He licked a broad stripe from the collar of muscle up under Logan’s jaw, then kissed the same path. Then slobbered over it. Tongue flat, spit cooling on hot skin, teeth grazing just enough to make Logan shudder.

Leo sucked a mark into the side of Logan’s throat while he stroked him. He breathed against the wet skin and did it again, lower, then higher, messy and intimate. Tasting Logan. Savoring Logan. Devouring him. Ruining him.

“Ohhh…AHHH…P-please—I can’t—Leo—Leo…LEO" Another moan ate the rest. “AGHHHH”

On the screen Miguel had a hand at Adrianna’s throat. Logan’s eyes were glued to the TV screen.

Not theatrical. Planted. His hips kept those same long, punishing strokes—almost out, then buried to the condom ring—while he held her down missionary and fucked her through it. Adrianna’s scream cracked in the middle, pleasure and pain braided so tight Logan couldn’t separate them. Her nails were in Miguel’s shoulders. Her mouth was open. Every thrust shoved another sound out of her that Logan had never pulled from her in ten years.

 

Logan couldn’t look away.

He also couldn’t stop feeling everything at once: the thick cock gliding through his ass, the slow fist on his boy-dick, the fingers on his nipples, the sloppy mouth on his neck. The live image of his wife getting used in a way that Logan was built too small to use. Disgust sat in his throat. Arousal sat behind his eyes. Shame sat in the shaved pits and the shaved hole and the fact that he was leaking all over Leo’s knuckles while he watched.

“P-Please—”

It was barely audible. A breath with a shape.

Leo licked into the hinge of his jaw, stroked him even slower, and rubbed that uncut head in a tight circle over his rim.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” Leo murmured. “That’s alright. Your body already answered.”

 

On the screen Adrianna shook.

It started in her thighs and tore upward. Her back arching off the couch, a raw scream punching out of her while Miguel kept those long strokes going straight through it. She clenched around him hard enough that even the camera caught the way his hips stuttered.

“Take it off,” she gasped. “Miguel…oh fuck…take it off, babe. Breed me, please, I want it, I want your baby, take the condom off—”

He pulled out just long enough to strip it. The condom hit the floor. He shoved back into her bare and the sound she made was different…higher, scared and hungry at the same time.

Miguel pinned her wrists above her head and started fucking her like he was trying to put something in her that wouldn’t ever come out. Relentless. Rough. Those same super-long strokes, now skin on skin, his heavy balls slapping against her ass.

“Too hard—” Adrianna’s voice cracked. She tried to push at his chest with the little mobility she had. It did nothing. “Miguel—it’s too—ah—fuck—”

He didn’t ease up.

“Shut up. You asked for it.” His hand stayed on her wrists. The other found her throat again. “I’m gonna rape a baby into you. You hear me? Right now. While your weak cuck husband watches his own wife get impregnated on a fucking livestream.”

 

Logan made a noise that wasn’t a word.

“Your weak white-boy husband,” Miguel snarled, driving in to the root, “probably dreamed about taking big Latino cock himself. Too much of a bitch to ever fuck you like this himself. Too much of a bitch to ever rape a baby into you. That’s why you’re on my dick. That’s why he’s watching somewhere like a cuck.”

Something in Logan went.

Not slowly. All at once. The last piece of the man who’d dominated his co-workers at the football game this morning… dropped. What was left came out of his mouth in a rush, hoarse and shameless.

“Fuck me—Leo, fuck me, please—hurt me—degrade me—please, I can’t—put it in, I don’t care, just fuck me—”

Leo actually froze for a second. Logan felt it: the thick uncut cock stilling in his crack, the fist on his little dick pausing.

“Cazzo,” Leo breathed. “You are broken.”

“Please—” Logan shoved his ass back, juicy muscular cheeks squeezing around Leo’s shaft, milking him in a tight, desperate clench. “Fuck me. Make it hurt. Call me what I am. I need it—”

“I told you,” Leo said, shocked and rough, “it is reserved—”

Logan milked him anyway using his ass cheeks. Clench. Stroke. Clench. The smooth, oiled ass working Leo’s cock like a fist, smearing pre-cum up his own lower back.

Leo cursed in Italian and English at the same time. His hand left Logan’s cock just long enough to crack across one cheek, then the other—hard, sharp spanks that bloomed red on the shaved skin. Then that same hand wrapped around Logan’s throat from behind and squeezed, cutting the air down to a thin whistle.

Logan still didn’t stop. He kept squeezing, milking, grinding that reserved hole along the underside of Leo’s cock like he could force the decision.

“OH FUCK—” Leo’s hips snapped. “Gawd—shit—I’m—I’m CUMMING—take it—take my cum, faggot—”

He painted Logan in thick ropes. Hot splatter up the shaved crack, over the winking hole, up onto the lower back in messy white stripes. Leo kept moaning through it, filthy and loud, cock jerking between Logan’s cheeks, pumping another pulse onto the small of his back, another across the hole he still wouldn’t enter.

 

“Fuck—take it—look at you—pathetic cuck…”Leo’s fist found the tiny cock again and finished him.

Logan came with his eyes on the screen.

It ripped out of him in ugly, shaking pulses, the little dick spurting onto the salon tile while Miguel buried himself in Adrianna and stayed there. Logan’s voice went raw and public, no gag, no pride left.

“Take her—Miguel—give her your fucking seed—fuckin cuck me—do it—show me what a man really is—breed her—fuck—AHH….I’m coming…cumming…MHHH…FUCK yeah UGHHH….show me—”

He kept saying it while he shot, while Leo’s cum cooled in his crack, while Adrianna screamed under the man who was trying to put a baby in her on camera. The hook held Logan’s wrists. Logan’s body shook. He shot rope after rope onto the floor.

The livestream turned off.  Logan’s body was still trembling from the aftershock of his orgasm. He felt a damp cloth cover his nose and mouth. He passed out.

When Logan woke up it was morning. His wrists were tied above his head, still. But now he was laying on a big comfy bed. In one of Scott’s guest rooms. His wrists were tied to the headboard. And his smooth, hairless cock was rock hard.