As always, all events are fictional and all characters are 18+.
Logan came back to himself in pieces.
He was groggy as fuck. Bright morning sun poured through tall windows, filtered gold across a guest room that looked like a magazine spread. White linens, pale wood, modern wall paper. Too nice. Too quiet. His head felt stuffed with cotton and leftover whiskey.
Logan’s wrists were still bound.
He tugged and felt the give of rope against a padded headboard, arms stretched above his head, shoulders open. He was laying on a bed. In one of Scott’s guest rooms.
Logan looked down.
The sheets were kicked to his waist. Everything above was bare and smooth. No treasure trail. No scatter on his chest. Just smooth beautiful skin over muscle he could suddenly see too well. Hard lines of his six-pack, the cut of his obliques, the fullness of his pecs. Shaved, he looked carved. Displayed.
He tilted his head diagonally and noticed his armpit.
Completely smooth llike a boy. The hollow looked wrong on him. Embarrassing even. Heat crawled up Logan’s throat.
Curiosity struck. He turned his face toward that arm and inhaled.
Musky. Masculine. Stale deodorant long gone after hours of partying, after all the fear/arousal sweat in Leo’s chair. It was a man’s smell on a body that didn’t have a man’s hair anymore. The contrast made his stomach dip.
Then Logan felt it.
Something inside him. Small. Firm. Seated in his ass deep enough that when he clenched, it pressed that same oversensitive spot Leo’s tongue had found. A plug was inside his asshole. Small one. Left in him overnight like a placeholder.
And then…wet heat. Suction. On his cock.
Logan jerked so hard the headboard knocked the wall.
“What the fuck?!”
The sheets lifted.
A beautiful raven-haired boy was smiling up from between Logan’s thighs, lips shiny, mouth still around the head of the shaved little cock. 19, maybe 20 years old. Gorgeous dark eyes. Long black lashes. Perfect skin. Delicate, almost feminine features on a face that belonged in an ad campaign. A mix of European and Japanese features, probably. He looked pleased with himself, like waking Logan up this way was the job.
He pulled off with a soft wet sound.
“Calm,” he said. A light French accent. “It is okay. Breathe.”
Logan stared, chest heaving, ropes creaking. “Who the fuck—”
“Antoine.” He said it gently, like a greeting at a front desk. “I work the home spa. Scott sent me. A wake-up gift. To reward you.”
“R-Reward me…” Logan repeated, stupid with sleep and the dildo in his ass and the fact that his small cock was already pulsing with arousal again in the open air.
Antoine’s mouth curved. He ducked back down without waiting for permission and took Logan in again—hot, careful, the whole length disappearing like it had for Leo. Logan’s hips jumped.
A helpless moan punched out of him, “Holy shittt..ughhhh”
Antoine hummed around him, lashes lowered, and kept sucking.
Antoine treated Logan’s cock like it was something fragile. He didn’t go fast. He didn’t try to take more than there was.
He used his lips and the flat of his tongue and just enough suction to make Logan’s hips twitch against the mattress. Every few seconds he pulled back to kiss the head, then sank down again until his nose touched the smooth skin at the base. It was quiet and careful and better than it had any right to be.
Logan was in heaven. “Fuckkk, dude. That’s…ugh, that’s so good. Don’t stop. Christ, your mouth. Ahhh…”
Antoine made a small pleased sound and kept going. When Logan’s moans got louder, Antoine did the opposite of what Logan wanted. He went softer. Lighter. Just the tip. Just the wet slide of his tongue. Enough to keep him throbbing, not enough to finish him.
“Please,” Logan said. “I’m gonna—don’t slow down. That’s the best I’ve ever—fuck, that’s the best blowjob I’ve ever had. I’m serious.”
But Antoine just smiled around him and stayed gentle on purpose. He didn’t want Logan to cum yet. Logan strained against the ropes and couldn’t do anything about it.
Then Antoine pulled off completely.
The cold air on Logan’s wet cock made him shiver. Antoine climbed up his body and put his mouth on a nipple instead. He licked the bare skin in slow circles, then sucked, then used his teeth just enough to make Logan jump. He switched sides and did it again, pinching the other one with his fingers while he sucked.
Logan’s chest rose and fell hard. The nipples were still tender from last night. Every pull sent tingles straight down his spine.
Antoine moved higher. He pressed his face into Logan’s right armpit and sniffed, unhurried.
“Mmmm…you smell so musky,” he murmured. The French accent made it sound almost polite. “Like a sweaty white man....”
Logan’s face went hot. He started to say something and stopped when Antoine’s tongue dragged through the smooth pit. Tender strokes up and down, licking it clean. He did the left one the same way. Long, wet strokes. Logan shivered and hated that it felt good.
From this close Antoine’s face was so pretty. The half-Asian beauty had such cute features. Perfect skin. Long lashes. Delicate mouth. Logan stared at him and realized, he could pretend this was a girl.
Antoine’s toned, smooth body pressed against Logan. Antoine was naked except for a light pink jockstrap containing his cock.
Antoine kissed him. Logan closed his eyes.
The lips were soft. Softer than Adrianna’s. He was surprised by how much he liked it. But then the taste hit him. His own armpit, salt and musk, still on Antoine’s tongue. It threw him off. He almost pulled away.
Antoine didn’t stop. He kissed Logan through it, slow, and after a few seconds the taste faded enough that Logan enjoy feel the rest of it. The warmth. The way Antoine’s mouth fit against his.
Logan kissed him back. Not hard. Soft and gentle. Testing it. Like dipping his toes in a luxurious pool.
Antoine’s hands came up and rubbed over the stubble on Logan’s jaw, thumb tracing the rough grain along his cheek. He enjoyed the contast on Logan: a grown man’s facial hair and a body that had been shaved smooth like a boy.
They stayed like that for a while. Quiet. Mouths open. Antoine stroking his stubble while Logan’s tied arms flexed above his head and his little cock leaked against Antoine’s stomach. It was intimate and beautiful.
Antoine kissed him once more, then crawled back down the bed.
He took Logan’s cock into his mouth again and stayed there, letting spit gather until it was thick. When he pulled off, Logan’s little shaft was glistening with Antoine’s spit.
Antoine crawled over Logan’s hips and sat up. The half-Asian beauty looks so cute straddled over Logan. Logan felt the head of his cock bump against something warm and tight.
“Wait. What are you—what are you doing?”
Antoine didn’t answer. He reached back, held Logan in place, and rubbed the wet head against his hole in slow circles.
Logan understood a second later. He was going to ride him.
“Hold on, bud. There’s no lube. You need lube.”
Antoine laughed cutely.
“With a tiny cock like yours? Spit is enough. If I used real lube, we would not feel anything.”
The words made Logan’s chest tighten and his dick twitch. Embarrassment burned through him. So did the heat of arousal. Why the fuck was he getting turned on by the verbal humiliation?
Antoine sank down.
The head slipped in easily. Then the rest of it slide through, all 4.5 inches, until Antoine was seated on him and Logan’s smooth hips were flush against his ass. It was tight and hot. The plug in Logan’s own ass pressed his prostate at the same time. The two feelings stacked on each other. Logan’s mouth fell open.
“Ohhhhh holy shitt that’s good.”
Antoine started moving. Not bouncing. Small circles. Slow. His hips rolled in a tight grind that kept Logan buried and rubbing inside him.
His hands gently caressed Logan’s jock body while he did rode him. Light fingers teasing Logan’s chest, down the smooth stomach. Then up to his throat, over his defined jaw and the stubble there.
Logan pulled at the ropes and couldn’t touch him back. All he could do was lie there and take it, the plug working him from the inside while Antoine used his cock.
Logan was getting increasingly aroused. “Does that feel good?” he asked. His voice was rough, as he fucked in tiny quick strokes. “You like that?”
Antoine smiled cutely, but didn’t answer. He put his hands on Logan’s chest and tried to ride him for real, lifting up and dropping back down.
It didn’t work.
Logan’s cock was too short. The first time Antoine rose more than a couple inches, the cock slipped out. Antoine reached back, put it in again, tried once more. Same thing. Third time, it worked for a while but after half a minute of bouncing, it slipped off again. On the fifth slip he sat still and looked down at Logan with something like amusement.
“I cannot ride this,” he said. “It is too tiny. It keeps falling out. I have never been with a guy this small.”
Logan’s face went hot. His cock twitched inside Antoine’s warm hole. He was ashamed of himself, but still incredibly horny.
“You do the work,” Antoine said. “Fuck my ass. Short strokes. Stay in.”
Logan planted his heels and started thrusting. There was not much range. Just small, tight pumps up into Antoine while Antoine sat on him and kept him from pulling out. Logan grunted in pleasure. The plug in his own ass dragged over his prostate on each thrust. It felt better than it had any right to.
Antoine did not moan loud. He barely made noise at all. Instead he touched himself. Both hands on his own body: chest, stomach, the smooth line of his hips. Logan looked at him properly for the first time and realized Antoine was shaved too. All of it. Chest, stomach, pits. Same kind of smooth Logan was.
Antoine was naked except for the jockstrap. Under the pouch his cock was hard, and it looked like six inches, maybe more. Bigger than Logan. Easily.
Logan stared at it for a second and then looked at Antoine’s face instead. Noticing the cock was taking Logan out of it. He instead focused on the slutty boy’s pretty, delicate features. The long lashes. The soft mouth. The half-Japanese, half-French prettiness. He could almost make it work if he kept his eyes there. A girl. A pretty girl sitting on him, rubbing her own tits, using him.
He fucked up into him with those short little strokes and tried to hold the picture. A girl’s tight pussy. Ignore the bulge in the jockstrap. Ignore the fact that the person riding him was bigger than he was.
Logan grunted as he fucked like a rabbit. “Ugh, ugh, gah. Yeah, take my fucking cock, you pretty little slut.”
Antoine reached up and undid the ropes.
Logan’s hands were on him immediately. He grabbed Antoine’s waist, his chest, the smooth insides of his thighs. Pretty-boy body, tight and trim, no hair anywhere. Logan squeezed him like he was trying to make up for every hour he’d spent tied down.
He hooked his arms under Antoine and rolled them. Antoine hit the mattress on his back. Logan stayed inside him, planted his hands by Antoine’s shoulders, and started fucking him missionary. Short, quick strokes. Fast. He didn’t have the length for anything else, so he used speed.
Antoine reached around behind Logan and found the plug.
He gripped the base and moved it in small circles, then pushed it in time with Logan’s hips. Every thrust from Logan shoved the plug against his prostate. Logan’s mouth fell open.
“Fucking A! AGHHH. FUCK yeah… Don’t—don’t stop that.”
“Mmm, you’re such a stud,” Antoine said, smiling up at him at the handsome blonde man fucking him. “Yes. Baby keep going. Fuck me with that perfect tiny cock. Ahh, harder. Do not stop.”
He moaned. The moans were little too pretty, a little too timed. Fake. Logan could tell, but it still worked.
“I love it,” Antoine said. “That puny dick. So small but so hard. Sexy American jock. Such a stud with his little pecker.”
Praise and insult in the same breath. Logan’s stomach clenched. He should have hated it. He fucked faster instead.
He looked down at the bulge in Antoine’s jockstrap and put his hand on it. Rubbed it through the fabric the way he’d rub a clit, small circles, pressure on the head.
It was bigger than what Logan had. But that didn’t bother same way it had five minutes ago. He was too far gone to care. He just wanted Antoine to make noises that sounded like it was for him.
Antoine’s back arched. His hand on the plug got sloppy and then tighter.
“Yes..yes, like that. AHHHH. You are doing such a good job. It feels so good. So SO good. Don’t stop. Please. You are making me…MHHH”
He came hard, noisy, hips jerking under Logan, soaking the jockstrap. The wet patch spread under Logan’s palm while Antoine kept talking through it, telling him he was doing so good, that it felt so good, that he should keep fucking him with that tiny cock just like that.
Logan kept the short rabbit strokes going and didn’t take his hand off the warm, spent bulge. He loved seeing Antoine’s face crinkle as he orgasmed.
Logan’s rhythm broke. It was his turn to cum.
The plug was still pressed in deep, and every short thrust mashed it against his prostate. The orgasmic pleasure wasn’t coming from his cock alone. It started lower and spread out through his hips and stomach, a thick, rolling pressure he’d never felt before. His cock was still the little thing inside Antoine, but the plug gave him amazing sensations he’d never experienced before.
“Holy shit. Holy SHIT! GAHHHHHHHH!!!”
His arms locked. Sweat ran down his chest and onto Antoine. The muscles in his back and ass clenched hard, then convulsed, then clenched again.
“Ah fuckkkk. I’m—I’m gonna—fuck—FUCK FUCK FUCKKK”
He buried the last inch he had and came inside the pretty boy. Pulse after pulse, grunting into Antoine’s neck, hips jerking in those same tiny strokes because that was all he could do. The prostate sensation kept firing under it, almost too much, like the orgasm had a second layer he couldn’t shut off.
“Ah—gah dammit—don’t move. Holy shit. Fuck, dudeeee.”
It went on longer than he expected. When it finally eased off he stayed in for a second, breathing hard, then pulled out and rolled onto his back beside Antoine.
Logan’s whole body felt used in a good way. Satisfied.
Logan felt proud of himself. He’d been inside Antoine for a while. He’d lasted. No premature shot the second he got in.
He let that sit.
First fuck in weeks that had actually worked. First time in weeks he fucked someone and didn’t feel ashamed at cumming in under two minutes. It felt amazing that his body seemed to be working fine again.
Logan smiled. He did well. He felt like a real man again.
Antoine sat up and swung his legs off the bed.
“Shower. Quick,” he said. “Then come to the main spa on the property. The one left of the pool house. Scott wants you at noon. But before that, you get a treatment. Again, he is rewarding you.”
He pulled the ruined jockstrap into place like it was nothing and headed for the door.
“See you in 20 minutes, Logan.”
The guest bathroom was all stone and glass. So much nicer than any of the bathrooms back at Logan’s own home.
Logan turned the water hot and stood under it, groaning in comfort. The guest room was stocked in luxurious bath products: heavy shampoo, soap that smelled like cedar. He used too much of everything on purpose. It felt good to be clean.
He brushed his teeth and looked at himself in the mirror. Hazel eyes a little bloodshot, jaw rough with stubble, still handsome. The body under the sink line was the part that didn’t match. Smooth chest. Smooth pits. No trail. He dried off and didn’t stare at it long.
He felt strangely okay. Not fine. Just rested. He must have slept deeply after they knocked him out.
Back in the bedroom his clothes from the bar were folded on a chair. Washed and dried overnight. White shirt, dark jeans, even the hat set on top. Phone, wallet, and keys were in a small basket next to them. Someone had gone through this last night and put it back in order.
The path to the spa ran along the side of the house, white gravel, palmettos. The spa building was low and pale, glass doors, a faint smell of eucalyptus oil when he opened the doors.
Antoine was already inside.
He had changed into loose cotton pants and a matching shirt, sleeves rolled. Clean. Soft.
Wholesome even. Nothing like the slutty boy who had been on Logan’s cock twenty minutes ago. He smiled when he saw Logan, small and sweet, like this was the start of a normal appointment. The guy really was a cutie, Logan thought to himself.
Antoine led him into a warm treatment room and told him to get on the table face down.
The massage was delightful. Firm Swedish work, thumbs digging into Logan’s back, shoulders, the thick muscle along his spine. Antoine used his body weight. Whenever Logan tensed, Antoine waited, then pushed through it until the knot let go. An hour of that and Logan’s head had gone peacefully quiet in a way even whiskey never managed.
“Turn over.”
The body scrub came next. Coarse salt and oil. Antoine worked it over Logan’s chest, arms, the smooth stomach, down his legs. Last night’s sweat and product came off in gray streaks on the towels. Logan’s smooth skin looked newer and even smoother.
Then, there was a facial. Antoine cleaned Logan’s handsome face, laid a hot towel over it, and shaved him with a straight razor. Slow, close, precise shave. Then the traditional facial: steam, extract, cool masks, something that made Logan’s skin feel tight and expensive. When Antoine took the last cloth off, Logan looked like a male model.
The pedicure was the part that almost made him laugh. He was a 5'11" security guy with his feet in a basin while Scott’s spa boy trimmed his nails and rubbed lotion into his heels. Antoine worked methodologically, thumbs pressing the arches until Logan’s eyes closed.
Logan was so relaxed, he almost forgot that he’d be meeting Scott soon. He asked Antoine about the meeting.
“I do not know exactly why Scott is rewarding you,” Antoine said while he finished Logan’s other foot. “He told me you passed some hazing or something. Very well, apparently. He was pleased with your ‘devotion’. How you took every punishment he said.”
Logan stared at the ceiling and asked for more details.
“He did not tell me what the noon meeting is,” Antoine went on. “But I think you are getting a raise? Something like that.”
That landed.
Logan needed the money. His dad’s bills were still climbing. His youngest brother’s tuition and everything that came with college was not a joke. A raise from Scott would not fix all of it, but it would take the edge off.
Antoine patted his ankle as he finished drying his feet. Then, kiss his foot playfully.
“You are done. Get dressed. Golf clothes are on the stool over there. He will be waiting at the Palmetto Pines clubhouse. Meet Maximo at the east gate. He will drive you to the country club.”
Logan stepped onto the grounds of Palmetto Pines looking like he belonged on a Peter Millar ad.
The golf outfit fit him perfectly. White polo stretched across his chest and shoulders, short enough in the sleeve that his arms looked thicker than they did in a regular shirt. Navy shorts sat clean on his hips and made his legs look long and hard. White shoes, belt…it was a clean and simple kit.
Shaved or not, from the neck down in clothes, Logan still read as a jock stud. Athletic. Clean-cut. The kind of man people assumed had his life totally together.
A couple of middle-aged women on the path stopped talking when he walked by. One of them looked at his arms. The other looked at his face and didn’t hide it. Logan caught them, held it a beat, and smiled. They both laughed like schoolgirls and looked away too late.
He kept walking. But the smile dropped as soon as he was past them.
The clubhouse bar was up a set of white steps, dark wood and buffed glass. Scott would be in there. Noon. Logan would be getting a raise, maybe. Antoine had said Scott was pleased. That Logan had passed…but passed what?
Logan’s stomach did not care about the raise yet.
He had flashbacks to all the things Scott did to him recently, whether he wanted it or not.
Scott kissing Adrianna on Logan’s couch while Logan stood back and touched himself. Scott pinning him to a wall and talking about his job and his dad’s bills like they were bargaining chips. The twenty percent raise dangled in front of him. Logan submitting. Stripping down to show Scott his small cock. Scott putting Logan’s hand on his 8.5-inch cock. Scott fucking Adrianna in their own bed while Logan stood in the hall and pleasured himself like a dog until came on the door. Adrianna admitting what she and Betty did in the Bathroom at Scott’s party 6 months ago.
Then, a couple of nights ago in Scott’s man cave. The pill..how it made Logan’s mind all foggy. The blindfold. Cuffs. Kevin Crowe walking in and seeing him like that. Scott making him touch Kevin, sniff him. Then suck Scott’s cock while his wife blew another man.
Scott’s fingers in his ass until he came without being touched. Cleaning Kevin. Swallowing. Scott flicking the head of his cock until he came again. Scott spitting on his face. Scott fucking Adrianna over him while she begged to get knocked up. Logan on his knees after, cleaning her, kissing Scott’s cock to thank him for pleasing his wife.
Yesterday on top of all that. The wild party. Watching his wife get groped by other men. And Leo. Getting shaved down until he was hairless as a boy. Being forced to watch the livestream. Miguel raw inside his wife. Logan begging to be fucked and cumming while he screamed at the TV begging Miguel to breed his woman.
Logan put his hand on the clubhouse door and felt his pulse in his throat.
Scott Hepburn was on his feet before Logan made it all the way into the bar.
“There he is.”
He came around the table in that easy, long stride and pulled Logan into a bear hug like they were old football teammates. Scott was 6'4" and built. Broad chest, heavy shoulders. In the expensive golf kit he looked even bigger.
Pale polo fitted close through the torso, dark trousers, a watch that probably cost more than Logan’s truck. Black hair perfect styled. Green eyes bright. A handsome, confident, alpha male.
“Good to see you, McMillan. You look sharp.”
The warmth threw Logan. After the past few weeks, after what happened in the man cave, after last night….he had expected the other Scott. The domineering, manipulative asshole. This one sounded like a boss who liked him.
Scott kept a hand on his shoulder and steered him out of the main room, down a short hall, into a private dining room with the door already shut. A spread was laid out on the table. Charceuterie, club sandwiches, fruit, two kinds of salads, sliced steaks and ham, iced tea, coffee, a bottle of something amber. No menus. No waiter hovering. Nobody was walking in.
“Sit. Eat. You had a long night.”
They sat. Scott made pleasant small talk. Flag football from yesterday morning. The course conditions. Some donor event Palmetto Pines wanted security for in September. He asked if Logan’s brother had picked a major yet. He poured Logan a drink without asking what he wanted.
Logan ate and bantered with Scott. The food was good. Scott’s tone stayed light, buddy-buddy, almost like he was proud of Logan for some reason.
Ten minutes in, Scott still had not said why they were here.
Logan nodded at the right times and felt the nerves climb up his back. The hug. The private room. The food. It was all so nice. But still no mention of why Scott wanted this meeting.
The meeting was whatever Scott was saving, and Logan could feel it sitting across the table, waiting for the small talk to run out.
Scott set his glass down.
“Let’s cut to the chase.”
Logan’s shoulders dropped a fraction. He hadn’t realized how high he’d been holding them.
“I’m giving you a raise,” Scott said. “You remember the 20% I put on the table.”
Logan nodded. He was currently making $125,000 a year. For a 27 year-old guy with no college degree, that already felt like he’d gotten away with something. 20% on top of that was serious money.
“I’m going over 20%,” Scott said. “New number is 160k. And this is immediate.”
“Plus you get an immediate cash bonus.” He reached down beside his chair, lifted a small briefcase onto the table, popped the latches, and turned it so Logan could see. Stacks of twenties, packed tight. He shut it again and passed it to Logan.
“Ten thousand. Cash. That’s yours. Don’t deposit the whole thing in one trip if you can help it.”
Logan stared at the case. His dad’s medical bills. His youngest brother, Jackson’s college tuition. The numbers kept rearranging themselves in Logan’s head as he calculated what he was going to do with his new income.
Scott watched him.
“Do you understand why you’re getting all this?”
Logan shook his head.
“Devotion,” Scott said. “That’s the quality I need most. Especially in the men who stand next to me on my security team. I had to know if you could put your pride aside. Completely aside. Not halfway. Not for a night and then take it back in the morning. You did that.”
Logan sat there and felt the last two weeks rearrange. The couch. The hallway. The night in th man cave getting humiliated by Kevin and Scott. The party last night. Leo. Getting tied to the ceiling and shaved down. The livestream. And then Antoine this morning.
It had all been a test. Scott had been watching to see if he would break and still stay.
“I-I didn’t know that’s what it was…that it was a test of my devotion…,” Logan said. His voice came out thin.
“I know you didn’t. That’s why it counted.”
Grateful didn’t cover it. For a few seconds Logan just loved him. The man who signed his checks, who could end his family’s stability with a sentence, who had taken him apart and was now handing him the thing he’d been scared to ask for. He would have done anything Scott told him to do in that room. He knew that about himself and didn’t look away from it.
His eyes stung. He blinked and a tear got loose anyway. He wiped it with the back of his hand and let out a short, embarrassed breath.
“Thank you,” he said. “Scott. I mean it. Thank you.”
Scott shook his head once. “Don’t thank me, brother. You earned it.” He let that sit, then kept going.
“There’s more. Did you know Jackson applied for a scholarship through my foundation?”
Logan blinked. His youngest brother was a freshmen at the University of South Carolina. The kid had filled out so many of those forms Logan had stopped asking which ones.
“He was selected,” Scott said. “Twenty thousand toward tuition for the coming school year at the University of South Carolina. He’ll get the letter this week. I wanted you to hear it first.”
Logan’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
“And Adrianna,” Scott said. “I hired her at the spa. I know she currently makes $65K as a masseuse. I’m hiring her at 90.”
Finally, Scott reached into his pocket and tossed a set of keys across the table. Logan caught them on reflex.
“That’s one of my condos on the island. Rent free. For you an Adrianna. I know you live almost an hour out. Weekdays, you can stay there and skip the drive. Weekends, go home if you want. It’s part of the package.”
Logan looked at the keys in his palm. Raise. Cash. Scholarship for Jackson. A new job for his wife. A place on Hilton Head that didn’t cost him a dollar. It was too much stacked in one sitting. His throat closed up. He tried to say thank you again and the word wouldn’t form.
He just nodded, and held the keys like they might disappear if he set them down.
The two studs finished lunch at 1:30 and walked out to the first tee.
The sky had gone overcast. 79 degrees, cloudy, almost pleasant until you stood still long enough to remember it was still June on Hilton Head. Cool for this island. Still hot.
Logan had grown up playing on public courses. His dad taught him on cheap twilight rates, the two of them sharing a bag when they had to. He had a natural swing even then. After his mom died and his dad got sick, the money got tight. He quit the game completely. Years had gone by since a full eighteen.
It came back in pieces. Grip. Stance. The way his hips wanted to turn. He was fit and athletic enough that he could hit the ball pretty well even when rusty. Still, his shots were imperfect. His drives leaked slightly right. His irons came up a bit short. Scott played a lot better then Logan.
So Scott eased off. Logan noticed after the third hole. Scott’s swing got a little shorter. The ball stopped traveling as far as it should have for a man that size and musculature. He was keeping the match close on purpose so Logan wouldn’t spend the afternoon watching him walk ahead.
By the fourth hole Logan was sweating through the white polo. With no hair on his chest or stomach anymore, the fabric soaked and stuck. Dark patches spread under his arms and down the center of his back.
In places the shirt went translucent, the shape of his pecs and the line of his abs showing through every time he reached the top of a swing. Scott checked out and thought 27-yearl-old the blonde jock looked pretty sexy when he was all sweaty.
After the fifth, Scott opened the cooler on the cart and pulled two cans sweating with ice.
“Here, buddy. You’re getting sweaty as fuck. Need to cool off”
The beer can label had lettering Logan couldn’t read. Russian, he thought. Not a beer he’d ever tried before.
He cracked it and drank. It was cold and good. Better than it had any right to be. Something in the finish was off, not bad, just…unusual. He took another swallow and didn’t mention it.
Scott clinked his can against Logan’s and looked down the sixth fairway.
They played six in that same easy rhythm. Scott still sandbagging just enough. Logan still leaking drives right and sweating through the white polo until the fabric stuck to his chest.
On the walk to seven, Scott glanced over.
“How do you feel now? Not that you’ve got your raise. Bonus. The rest of it.”
Logan let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“Amazing, dude. I’m not going to lie. Feel like I won fucking the lottery. A guy like me, no college degree, and this job? I never even dreamed up something this good. I’m grateful, Scott. I mean that.”
“Soak it up, Buddy. Enjoy it.” Scott teed his ball and didn’t look at Logan when he added, “Don’t forget that, in life, anyone can lose everything. At the drop of a hat. I’ve seen it happen many times.”
The words were light. The meaning wasn’t. It almost sounded like a threat.
Logan felt a chill run up his spine, cold, even in the heat. Scott didn’t have to name himself. Logan already knew who held the hat.
They played the seventh hole. When they got back to the cart, Scott popped another one of those unmarked cans and handed Logan his second.
“New game,” Scott said. “Strip golf. I pulled some strings on the tee sheet. Nobody in front of us. Nobody behind. Course is all ours for a while.”
Logan shook his head once. “Scott. Come on. Out here?”
Scott smiled that same warm smile from the dining room.
“I need security officers who’ve got balls. Not scared little pussies. You in or not?”
Logan looked down the empty eighth fairway. No carts. No grounds crew in sight. The raise and the keys and Jackson’s scholarship sat in his head like a stack of chips he was already playing with. He wanted to do everything to impress Scott.
“Yeah,” he said. “Alright. I’m in.”
The eighth was the first hole that counted.
Scott hit a clean approach and drained a short putt for birdie. Logan’s second shot landed closer than it had any right to. He lagged the eagle putt on instinct, and the ball dropped. Logan scored an eagle.
Scott laughed once, surprised. And impressed.
“Alright. That’s on me.”
Scott sat on the cart seat and pulled off his golf shoes, then his socks. His feet were big, lined, unmistakably manly. He wiggled his toes in the grass like it didn’t bother him at all and stood up in just the polo and trousers.
“Your honor, McMillan.”
Logan did not keep the luck.
Nine was a mess. Weak drive, fat iron, three putts. Scott didn’t even have to try. Logan sat down and unlaced his shoes. Socks came with them. The grass was warm under his bare feet.
Logan felt his face go hot and busied himself with the tee.
Ten was worse. His shirt was already translucent from sweat. When he lost the hole he pulled the polo over his head and felt the air hit all that shaved skin at once. Tan chest. Smooth stomach. No trail. The pits bare. He stood there with the shirt in his hand and nowhere to put his arms that didn’t look like he was posing.
Scott didn’t pretend not to look. “Nice,” Scott said, looking at him. “You look good all smooth like that. Clean.”
Logan muttered something that wasn’t a word and grabbed his driver.
Scott continued teasing. “You’ve got a great body, Logan. Better without the shirt. And without hair, you can actually see all that definition.”
At the eleventh hole, Logan lost his belt. Scott had him by two strokes before they even reached the green. Logan undid the buckle and slid the belt out of the loops and felt the navy shorts sit looser on his hips. Shirtless, beltless, barefoot, sweat running down a torso that had nothing left to hide it.
Scott gave him the same slow once-over he used on a good lie in the fairway. He admired how smooth and tan Logan’s torso looked.
“You’re body’s fucking incredible right now. All that sweat and it’s literally glistening in the sun.”
Logan blushed hard enough that he turned toward the twelfth tee just to get Scott’s eyes off his chest. The course was still empty. The second Russian beer sat warm in his hand, and the next hole was already waiting.
Logan felt his head get lighter as the beer worked its way into his system. This shit is amazing, Logan thought to himself. I feel fucking great.
Twelve went the same way as the last three. Logan yanked a drive into the rough and never recovered. Scott two-putted like he was thinking about dinner.
“Shorts,” Scott said.
Logan hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the navy shorts and pushed them down. They dropped to the grass. Underneath he had on tight white underwear, already a little damp from the heat. The underwear clung to his bare ass ass and the long smooth line of his thighs were out in the open on a championship fairway.
Scott whistled.
“Fuckin grade A ass you got there, buddy.”
He stepped in and spanked Logan on the ass, hard enough to sting, the same way Travis did in a locker room. Broey. Loud. Then his hand stayed. He squeezed, groped the muscle, thumb riding the edge of the waistband like he was checking the merchandise.
“Oh yeah, hat’s a good ass, McMillan. Always was.”
Logan, feeling brave from the drink, shoved Scott away playfully. “Fuck off Scott, I’m coming back. He picked up the shorts, folded them, and got in the cart.
Scott was still in the polo and trousers. Barefoot, but dressed. Logan sat beside him in nothing but the tight whites, skin on the vinyl seat, a near-naked employee next to a fully clothed boss. He felt small, sitting next to a fully clothed man. He kinda felt like a joke riding to the next tee.
Scott talked anyway. Ninth-hole pin placement. Whether Jackson would rush. A leak in the spa roof Antoine had flagged that morning. Same easy voice from lunch. Like the man in the underwear wasn’t anything worth changing the subject for.
The second beer caught up with Logan on the thirteenth tee.
Logan’s head went loose. Not drunk exactly. Tipsy. Warm behind the eyes. His swing got sloppy and the ball went nowhere useful. He should have lost the hole standing still.
Suprisingly, Scott lost it even worse. A hook into the trees, a fat wedge, a putt that never had a chance. Logan couldn’t believe it—he actually won that hole.
“Fuck,” Scott said. “I’m playing like dog shit”
Back at the cart Scott took off his belt and dropped it next to Logan’s. Then, to Logan’s surprise, he also unzipped his fly. Scott pulled his erect cock out.
Logan had seen it multiple times before. But the sight of the huge dick still took him aback. Scott pulled his erect cock out through the fly and let it sit there in the open air, 8.5 inches, uncut, already thick enough that the foreskin was stretched back from the head. Logan’s mouth went dry. He thought about that thing opening a woman up, the way it would look going into Adrianna. He imagined it completely stretching out a tight pussy. These dirty thoughts caused Logan’s own little cock to push out against the tight white cotton before he could stop it.
Scott glanced down at Logan’s underwear and smiled.
“I need a break.”
He held his phone out, snapped a picture of his own cock, and turned the screen so Logan could see it. No question what it was.
“You like it? I mean, objectively I’ve got a great cock right?”
Logan’s head was dizzy. He nodded anyway, uncomfortable.
Scott typed something and sent it. To Adrianna, Logan’s wife.
“Dude, you want to touch it?”
Logan didn’t answer. But he reached over and wrapped his hand around it. The heat surprised him. The thickness more. It filled his palm in a way his own never would. He squeezed once, stupidly, and the picture arrived in his head without being invited: Scott fucking Adrianna until she couldn’t talk, Logan tied to a chair in the corner, watching it happen, hard in his lap and unable to do anything but sit there and watch Scott fuck his wife.
He kept his hand where it was. The course was still empty. Scott didn’t tell him to let go.
Logan’s head was spinning faster and faster. His drinks were spiked. And Logan was now in an almost dreamlike state.
“Keep your hand on it,” Scott said. “Jack me off. Slow.”
Logan did it. The drink had flattened the part of him that argued. What was left was the weight in his palm. He used both hands after a minute, one on the shaft, the other under the head, thumb working the foreskin. He stared at it like it was the only object on the course. Thick. Hot. Veins under the skin. He stroked Scott’s big cock like it was precious.
Scott’s phone lit up.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
He answered on speaker, camera on. Adrianna’s face filled the screen. Hair up. Flushed. She had definitely opened the dick pic. “Jesus, Scott.”
“Hey, baby.”
They talked like Logan wasn’t there. Adrianna told him he was filthy for sending that in the middle of the day. Scott asked if she was wet. She laughed and said maybe. He told her to show him. She angled the phone down her tank top and back up, smiling.
Scott tipped his own camera.
“Look at this, babe. Guess whose hand.”
The frame caught the 8.5 inches and Logan’s fist working it, pale against the darker shaft. Logan didn’t look up. He kept the same pace Scott had told him to keep.
Adrianna went quiet for a second.
“That’s Logan, isn’t it.”
“Smart girl.”
A door opened on her end. “Where’s my good little slut girl at?”
It was Kevin Crowe’s voice. Then he was in the shot, behind her, wearing Logan’s robe. And nothing else. He leaned down into the camera, showing his bearded grin, and clapped a hand on Adrianna’s shoulder.
“Hey, McMillan. Thanks again for the truck last night, bro. I brought it back with a full tank.”
Logan’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. His eyes were half-lidded, fixed on Scott’s cock. He was too drugged to speak audibly. He just kept stroking, both hands, worshiping the thickness of his boss’s penis.
Kevin looked at the screen, at the hand, at Scott, and whistled once. “Damn, Scott. You puttin him to work again? Poor guy can’t catch a break can he.”
Scott put a hand on Logan’s chest and shoved.
Logan went over the side of the cart into the rough. He landed on his knees in the grass then rolled onto his back. His arms were slack. Logan didn’t get up. He was too drugged up.
A part of him knew the phone was still on. Adrianna and Kevin were watching. His wife and the man who had already used him and dominated him. The thought landed and his cock still didn’t go down.
Scott stood over him and turned the phone.
“Check this out. Look at Logan’s body.”
He panned slow. Smooth chest. Smooth stomach. Bare pits. The tight whites and the little tent in them. Logan felt the camera like a hand. He wanted to cover himself and he also wanted them to keep looking. Both things at once. It made his face burn.
Scott rolled Logan onto his side with his foot so the camera got the ass.
Kevin laughed. “Holy shit. You shaved him? Dude, he looks fricken good like that. I’m not even kidding. That’s a different body.”
Logan’s stomach dropped. Kevin talking about his body like it was for sale. In front of Adrianna. She was quiet, which was worse. He could picture his wife’s disguested face on the other end of the call and still felt himself throb against the cotton.
Kevin continued. “Shit, I’d fuck him from behind. That smooth ass? Yeah. I’d do it.”
The words hit the old version of Logan first, the alpha stud that wanted to lug Kevin and Scott in the face. That version didn’t stand up. The drugged, submissive Logan stayed in the grass and got even harder, hating Kevin for degrading him and hating himself more for the pulse in his own cock that followed.
Scott kept the camera on Logan’s backside.
“Scott, come on, finger him,” Kevin said. “I wanna see his smooth hole get stretch. Come on, man.”
Scott looked at Logan, then at the screen, like he was deciding if this was still the game or already the next one. He shrugged.
“Alright.”
He sucked on his middle finger, hooked Logan’s waistband aside, and pushed in.
Logan’s moan came out loud and raw. His hips jumped and then took the finger. Humiliation washed through him so hard his eyes stung. His wife was watching. Kevin was laughing. Scott’s finger was in him on a golf course in the middle of the day. He should have been sick. Instead the moan kept coming, and he clenched around the finger like his body had already picked a side.
Kevin laughed.
“There it is. Tight little hole. Fuck that’s hot. Do it again.”
Logan turned his face into the grass so they wouldn’t see his expression, and still pushed back a fraction, caught between wanting the ground to swallow him and not wanting Scott to stop.
Scott hooked both hands in the waistband and ripped the underwear down Logan’s thighs. The cotton tore at the seam. He yanked them the rest of the way off and tossed them toward the cart.
Logan was now naked in the rough. Tan, hairless, hard. The little cock lay against his smooth stomach, wet at the tip. He made a sound that was almost a no. His knees tried to close. Scott put a hand there and kept them open.
He set the phone against a water bottle on the cart seat, lens aimed down at Logan, and checked the frame.
“Let them see you. Don’t hide.”
Then he went back in with two fingers.
He spat again, pushed both in to the knuckle, and started fucking them in and out. Slow at first, then deeper, curling up into the same spot the plug had found that morning. Logan’s back arched off the grass. A moan tore out of him, too loud for a golf course, too honest for his wife to hear.
“Scott—fuck—we’re in public…people might see us—”
“People are already watching. Your wife and your fucking bull.”
Scott scissored his fingers and pressed down. Logan’s thighs shook. His cock jumped untouched, leaking onto his own abs. He turned his head toward the phone and saw the tiny picture-in-picture of his own body, legs open, Scott’s hand working between them. Adrianna’s face was in the corner. Kevin’s too.
Kevin was talking. Logan only caught pieces. *Look at that hole. He’s taking it like a little bitch. Fuck, look at pathetic loser get fingered by another man.*
Shame sat on his chest like a weight. This was his wife. This was Kevin in his robe, in his house. And he was on his back in the grass with his boss fingering him open for them, dripping, making slutty noises he could not swallow.
Scott added a twist on every stroke. Wet sounds. Logan’s hole clenched and gave. He grabbed at the grass and got nothing. When Scott hit the spot clean, Logan’s whole body jerked and a broken *ah* came out of him that made Kevin laugh again.
“Please,” Logan said, and even he didn’t know if he meant stop or harder.
Scott didn’t slow down. He kept the same rhythm, two thick fingers, in and out, putting Logan on display. Logan’s hips started meeting the hand. He hated that. Logan did it anyway, hips gyrating, cock slapping against his smooth stomach every time Scott drove in.
Scott picked the phone up off the cart.
“Alright. I gotta take a leak. We’re gonna jump off.”
Adrianna started to say something. Kevin talked over her. Scott ended the call anyway.
He hauled Logan up by the arm. Logan’s legs only half worked. The ripped underwear stayed in the grass. Scott walked him off the green toward the little structure sitting back in the trees, a single-occupancy bathroom painted the same green as the course furniture. Bigger than it looked from the fairway. Scott pushed the door open, shoved Logan through, and locked it.
Urinal on the left. Stall on the right. Tile. The smell of bathroom cleaner.
Scott put Logan face-first into the wall beside the urinal and kicked his feet apart.
“Ass out.”
Logan’s cheek hit the tile. His hands came up on instinct and found nothing to hold but the tile wall. Scott’s palm in the middle of his back kept him there. The other hand pulled his hips back until he was bent, hairless jock ass offered, hole still slick from Scott’s fingers.
“Scott—”
“Quiet.”
Scott unzipped his pants again, letting his cock out. Logan heard it and his stomach dropped. This was the thing Leo wouldn’t do. Reserved, he said. Scott spat, dragged the thick head down Logan’s crack, and held him there, lined up, 8.5 inches heavy against a virgin hole that had never taken a cock.
Logan’s pulse was in his throat. Humiliation, fear, the drugs, the realization he was technically cheating on his wife. Under all of it his own cock was hard against the cold tile.
Scott’s hand tightened on his hip.
“Don’t tense up. You’re giving this to me. Whether you like it or not.”
Scott never took his polo off. The trousers stayed up too, fly open, that 8.5-inch cock sticking out stiff and dark against the fabric. He dug a travel bottle of lube from his pocket, coated himself in two slow strokes, then pushed two slick fingers into Logan and worked it into him.
His other hand ran up Logan’s back, over the shaved pits, down the smooth stomach.
“Look at you. Smooth like a bitch. No hair left. Built like a man, but shaved like you’re a common whore.”
He put his mouth on Logan’s neck. Licked. Bit. Not hard enough to break skin. Close enough that Logan felt teeth.
“Try to enjoy it. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch at first. Relax. Let me in.”
Scott lined up and pushed.
The drugs did part of the work. Logan’s hole gave just enough. The fat head popped through.
Logan screamed. “Ughh—FUCK—SHIT THAT HURTS—GARRR—” He was completely surprised by how much the initial penetration hurt even after being stretched with a dildo this morning and fingered by Scott.
Scott clamped a hand over his mouth and held there, only the tip of his cock inside, not moving, letting Logan feel the stretch with nothing else to do but take it.
“UGHHH….SHIT….oh shitt. Scott—Scott stop for a sec…please that hurts like hell dude.”
Logan thrashed against the tile, trying to keep from screaming. The sound came out anyway, hot against Scott’s palm covering his mouth.
“Scott please—AHHHHH pull it out! Fucking A…holy shit it hurts! Ugh—fuck—shit—please—AHH—“
Scott didn’t pull out. He kept his cock head firmly inside the splintcher. Scott’s hairy chest pressed against Logan’s back, mouth at his ear. “Calm down, buddy. Breathe. That’s just the tip. You’re alright.”
Logan tried to relax. His eyes were wet. His cock was still hard against the wall. He moaned into Scott’s hand for the next 30 seconds, same words breaking apart, “Ahh, Ahh, it hurts, please!”
Scott took his hand off Logan’s mouth.
“Scream if you want. There’s nobody out there. You can relax and take it like a man, or you can keep being a little bitch. That just makes it tighter. Tight makes it hurt worse.”
He pushed another inch.
The sound that came out of Logan next wasn’t a shout. It was high, thin, shriek…something he had not made since he was a kid. It shocked him on the way out. His forehead hit the tile. Bottoming had been an intriguing idea before this, especially since he enjoyed getting fingered and having the plug up his ass this morning. Logan had never imagined it feeling like being split on a bolt.
“FUCK—ah—AHHHH!!!”
Scott stopped there and locked his hips. One arm around Logan’s waist, the other braced on the wall, holding him so he couldn’t crawl off it. Just the extra inch. No more. He waited.
Logan’s legs shook. His hole clenched and fluttered around the stretch and every clench hurt. He tried to breathe the way Scott had told him and got halfway there. The initial spike of pain dulled to a deep, dull burn. Scott’s thick cock was still in him. Still huge. But not moving.
Scott fished in his pocket with the free hand and came up with a small bottle. He uncapped it and held it under Logan’s nose.
“Inhale.”
Logan did it because Scott told him to. He would do anything Scott told him to at this point. The hit went straight up behind his eyes. Heat in his face. The lock in his hips loosened a fraction. The pain wasn’t gone. But easier. The burn was still there, but his body relaxed into it. It felt like a firm, deep massage.
Scott capped the bottle and put his mouth back on Logan’s neck.
“Good boy. Stay there. Don’t run from it.”
Scott started to move.
Short and slow at first, just working that first stretch. In. Out. Not far. Logan’s mouth fell open against the tile wal.
“Ahh—nnh—fuckkkk—”
Scott’s hands stayed busy. Chest. Stomach. A nipple. The front of Logan’s throat. He fucked his cock into slowly him like he had all day, and kept gently caressing his body to calm him down.
Halfway in, he stopped to check in.
“Does it feel good?”
Logan tried to answer and mostly moaned. “Y-yeah—ahh—it’s—amazin—nnh—”
Scott gave him the bottle again. “Inhale.”
The second hit made Logan’s whole body go loose. Scott took advantage of it. He pushed deeper on the next stroke, then deeper on the one after that, still slow, still grinding, still groping Logan’s smooth chest while he fed him more cock.
“Ah—ahhh—Scott—mmh—”
Scott’s hips met Logan’s ass.
All of it. 8.5 inches seated, balls against shaved skin, Logan flattened to the wall with nowhere left to give. He made a broken sound that started as pain and turned into something else before it finished.
Scott held him there, fully inside, one hand on Logan’s hip and the other on his chest, and rolled his hips in a tiny circle so Logan could feel every inch of it.
“There. That’s all of it. Stay on it.”
Scott stayed all the way in and put his mouth by Logan’s ear. “Fuck yeah. That’s it. I’m bottomed out. All 8 and a half inches. That’s twice what you’ve got, buddy boy. That’s how deep I am in your wife. Yeah, this is what Adrianna feels when I’m inside her.”
He rolled his hips once to force Logan to feel the size of it.
“Remember this. Right now. This is the moment. You lost your manhood in a dirty public bathroom. You bent over and gave your ass to another man. You willingly made yourself another man’s bitch.”
Logan’s face was hot with shame against the tile. His cock was rock hard. He hated that he was become aroused by this.
“You can take the bonus,” Scott said. “You can take the condo and the scholarship and the 160k salary. You can keep training your body and look like a stud for the rest of your life. Won’t matter. You’ll still have this memory. The time you let a real man conquer your butt and you moaned and shrieked like a woman trying to take him.”
Scott’s cock flexed inside him, pumping pre-cum into his ass.
“That’s the memory I want you to keep for the rest of your pathetic cuck life.”
Logan’s throat felt a lump. Shame sat heavy in his chest. Under it, worse, was the heat. The words did what Scott wanted. They made him smaller and they made him throb around the cock that was doing it. He made a sound that wasn’t a protest and wasn’t a thank-you.
Scott smiled and kissed Logan’s neck.
“Thhherrrre it is. You act like you hate it. You’re hard anyway. This is the feeling of losing your manhood forever. Something you don’t get to take back.”
Scott hooked an arm around Logan’s throat and locked it in.
“Stay up.”
Scott started fucking his new bitch.
The first minute was slow on purpose. Ten seconds to drag almost all the way out, ten to push back in to the root. Logan felt every inch twice, the empty stretch and then the fill. His eyes watered. His hands slapped at the tile.
“Scott—slow—please slow down—ah—ahhhh—hurts…”
Scott didn’t answer. He kept the same count. Out. In. The chokehold tight enough that Logan’s voice came out thin.
Then Scott picked it up.
Not a pounding. A steady, gentle pace. Hips slapping Logan’s ass, 8.5 inches punching in and out of a hole that still wasn’t ready for that speed. Logan shook. His legs went unreliable. The moans turned sharp, pain first, air second.
“Break—Scott give me a break—please—too much—ahhh—pull out—just a second—please—”
Scott’s arm stayed firm across his throat. He fucked him through it, breathing easy, using the hold to keep Logan from folding.
“Shut the fuck up. Take it.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” Logan gasped. “Anything. Just give me a break. Please.”
Scott’s arm tightened on his throat. “Anything?”
“I’ll jack you off. I’ll—shit—I’ll suck you off. Just pull out. I can’t—”
Scott whispered, close to his ear. “I’ll give you a break if you promise to lick my cock clean.”
Logan froze. The next thrust punched the air out of him. He didn’t answer fast enough.
Scott dragged almost all the way out and slammed back in to the base.
Logan screamed.
“Okay! Okay—I’ll do it—I’ll clean it—please—I’ll lick it clean—just pull out—”
Scott held him there a second longer, then pulled out.
The cold air on Logan’s wrecked hole made him sag against the wall. He looked back without meaning to. Scott’s cock was still huge, still wet, but it was visibly clean. No mess. Logan had gotten lucky and he knew it.
Scott grabbed a fistful of blond hair and turned Logan’s face toward it.
“Sniff.”
He put the slick head under Logan’s nose. Logan smelled himself on it. Ass. Lube. Heat. His stomach turned. He gagged, a dry retch that bent him forward, and Scott kept him there making the defeated stud inhale the scent of his own no-longer-virgen fuck chute.
Logan held his breath and leaned in.
He licked the head once. Quick. Like he could get it over with. Then he pulled back. Scott didn’t let him.
He tapped the wet head against Logan’s mouth.
“What would Adrianna say if she saw this? She already watched me finger you earlier. You think this would surprise her? Seeing you taste your own ass-juices?”
Logan shut his eyes.
Scott grabbed a handful of blond hair and shoved in.
It was not a blowjob. It was a facefuck. He used Logan’s mouth the same way he’d used his ass, except now Logan had nowhere to put the sound except around the shaft. He gagged hard on the first deep stroke. Spit ran down his chin.
The drugs did the rest. His throat loosened when it should have locked. Scott felt it and took it. He held Logan’s head with both hands and fucked his face, fast, ugly, talking through it.
“That’s it. Choke. Don’t you pull off. You promised to clean it. So clean it.”
Logan’s hands came up to Scott’s thighs and didn’t push. His eyes watered. Each thrust hit the back of his throat and stayed a second too long. He gagged again, recovered, took the next one because Scott’s fist in his hair didn’t give him another option.
Scott kept the pace brutal on purpose. No rhythm for Logan to catch. Just use. Logan naked on the tile, mouth stretched around 8.5 inches, drooling on his own smooth chest.
Eventually, Logan gagged hard, shoved at Scott’s hips, and pulled off with a wet gasp.
“Mercy—Scott, mercy—I’m gonna puke—I can’t—”
Scott slapped him across the mouth.
“Worthless. You can’t even use your mouth right. Looks like I’mma need to wreck your shitter again.”
He pointed at the stall.
“Crawl.”
Logan sat there on the tile, blinking, too far under the drink to move on the first order. Scott grabbed a fistful of blond hair and dragged him across the floor into the stall. Logan’s knees scraped. His hands slipped.
Scott shoved his face down into the toilet water.
Cold but clean. Logan jerked and came up coughing, water in his nose. Scott didn’t let him sit with it. He walked behind him, shoved Logan’s chest toward the bowl, and kicked his knees wider.
Lube again. A stroke down his own cock. Then he put the head against Logan’s hole and pushed in slow.
No slam this time. He was done with the screaming. He fed it to Logan inch by inch until his hips met Logan’s ass. He was doing it doggystyle, with Logan’s face still hanging over the toilet, dripping.
Scott let out a breath.
“Stay down. I’m in. Don’t make me fuck you rough again.”
Logan’s arms shook on the seat. He didn’t lift his head. Scott started to fuck him in long, unhurried strokes, using the hole he’d already opened, while Logan stayed on his knees in front of the bowl and took it.
After Logan started moaning in pleasure, Scott picked up the pace.
The drugs were all the way in now. Logan’s hole stayed open instead of fighting. The burn was still there, but it sat behind a thick numbness, and his body took the strokes instead of locking against them. Scott felt the difference and used it, longer thrusts, a real rhythm, hips slapping Logan’s ass over the toilet.
“That’s it. Good boy. Take it. Good little doggy.”
Scott spoke it the way you’d talk to something on a leash. He fucked in and out. Then a pat on Logan’s hip. Another thrust.
“You like being my bitch?”
Logan didn’t answer. His mouth hung open over the bowl. A moan came out and nothing else.
Scott’s hand cracked across his ass. Hard. Then again. Then again, until both cheeks were red and hot and Logan jerked forward with every hit.
“Say it.”
“I—I like it,” Logan got out, wrecked, barely there.
Scott spanked him again, sharp, and held him by the hair so his face stayed over the water.
“Louder. Clear. I want to hear it.”
Logan’s voice broke on the way up.
“I like it! I like being your bitch—ah—fuck—I like it—”
Scott rubbed the red skin he’d just hit, still fucking him, still talking to him like a dog that had finally sat.
“Goooood boy. That’s better.”
Scott put the bottle under Logan’s nose again.
“Inhale.”
Logan took the poppers eagerly. His whole body went warm. Scott’s cock stopped feeling like a problem and started feeling like the only thing in the room that was working. Each stroke dragged over that spot inside him and his mouth fell open for a different reason.
“Ah—yeah, dude yes—don’t stop—”
Scott leaned over his back.
“Pretend you’re her. Imagine you’re Adrianna. I’m fucking you the way I fuck your wife.”
Something in Logan went.
He saw it from both seats at once. Scott on top of Adrianna in their bed. Scott on top of him over a toilet. Same cock. Same depth. Same voice. The man who stretched his wife was stretching him, and part of Logan craved being the one receiving the pleasure from his bull.
He wanted the proof. He wanted to know exactly what she felt when she came on it. He wanted to be used like she got used so the comparison would finally stop being a thought and start being a fact.
His cock hung hard and dripping toward the tile. He pushed back.
“Fuck me. Please. Fuck me like you fuck her. I want it—Scott—please don’t stop—use me—”
It poured out of him. Not strategy. Not a deal for a raise. The cuck thing, stripped: he was aroused by his own replacement. Watching had been half of it. This was the other half. If Scott could turn him into the wife for a few minutes, then the humiliation had a shape he could come to.
“I’m her,” he heard himself say. “I’m her. Fuck your bitch. Breed—ah—just don’t pull out. Please.”
Scott fucked him through it, steady, and Logan took every stroke like it was the thing he craved most. He loved it. He loved feeling what his wife had been feeling all this time with Scott and only Scott. Loved being brutalized by a bigger, stronger man’s cock.
Scott stopped being careful. He fucked Logan rough, full strokes, hips slamming into the red ass he’d spanked raw. Sweat ran off his face and dropped onto Logan’s back, then down the smooth groove of his spine. It marked him.
“A cuck dog. That’s all you are. You watched me take your wife and now you’re the second hole. Same cock. You’re just slutier and more pathetic.”
Logan moaned into the stall and pushed back anyway.
“Ah and that dicklet,” Scott said, slapping the inside of Logan’s thigh. “Worthless. Pathetic. Four and a half inches on a grown man. No wonder she only screams for me. You never filled her. You never could. You’ve always known that”
Each thrust punched the words in.
“You let another man rail your ass. You begged for it. You were the most popular guy all your life. Athletic, tall, blonde. A handsome stud, I’ll admit. And now you’re bent over a toilet and another dude to rail your shitter.”
Sweat landed between Logan’s shoulder blades and slid down.
“You disappointed her. Years of that little thing and she still had to come to me to get fucked right. That’s on you. Not her. You.”
Scott grabbed his hip and drove in harder.
“Look at this body. All those years in the gym. The chest. The ass. The legs. You built the perfect jock body and then you just handed it over. Let another man own it. I own you. This sweat on your back is mine. This hole is mine. Your whole career is mine. You don’t get to pretend this is still your life.”
Logan’s hands slipped on the seat. He took the pounding and the talk together, wrecked, hard, marked with Scott’s sweat, and didn’t ask him to stop. Instead, he begged for more, “Yeah fuck me, Scott. Show me who’s the boss around here.”
Scott fisted Logan’s hair and pulled his head up off the bowl.
“Shut up, bitch. Dogs don’t talk. They bark.”
Logan made a broken sound that was still a word.
Scott spanked him, hard.
“Bark.”
Logan hesitated. Scott fucked into him and held it there.
“I said bark.”
“Ruff—” It came out small, embarrassed.
“Louder, bitch boy. You’re my pup. Act like it.”
Logan barked. Raw. Stupid. The sound bounced off the stall tile while Scott used him.
“Again. Every time I bottom out.”
Scott slammed in. Logan barked. Scott pulled back and did it again. Logan barked. “Arf! Arft! Woof!”
Logan’s face burned. His cock jumped in arousal..
“Good boy. Good pup. This is your job your job now. Take the cock and speak when only you’re told to.”
He reached under Logan and flicked the little dripping cock.
Scott pulled his phone out with one hand and kept the other on Logan’s hip. He stayed buried.
The FaceTime connected. Adrianna’s face. Kevin over her shoulder, still in Logan’s robe.
“Miss us?” Scott said. He tipped the camera down Logan’s back, over the red ass, to the place they were joined. His cock seated all the way in. “First time. He’s finally taking it. All of it.”
Kevin let out a low laugh. Adrianna’s eyes went wide, then flat.
“Fucking hell, Scott. You’re actually fucking my husband.”
“He asked for it,” Scott said. He squeezed Logan’s hip. “Didn’t you.”
Logan made a sound that sounded like a yes, but he was unsure if he was allowed to speak. Scott thrusted his cock in and out they could see the stretch on camera.
“He’s tired. Thirsty. Watch this.”
He looked down at Logan.
“You thirsty?”
Logan nodded, face burning, knowing the phone was on him.
Scott pointed at the bowl.
“Lap it. Like a dog. They want to see.”
Logan’s stomach dropped. His wife. Kevin. The first cock he’d ever taken, still in him, and now this. He leaned down. His tongue hit the cold toilet water. He lapped.
Kevin whistled.
“Oh my god. He’s doing it.”
Scott held the camera steady so they got the whole picture: Logan on his knees, ass up, cock in him, mouth on the toilet like a pup.
“Keep going. Don’t stop till I say.”
Logan kept lapping, tears in his eyes, humiliated through to the bone, while his wife and his bulls watched him drink from the toilet bowl.
Scott reached under him again and took the little cock between two fingers.
That was all he needed. Two fingers, loose, stroking the cute little 4.5 inches.
“This is what you fuck your wife with. This. No wonder she came to me. Look at it. Fits in two fingers and it’s still dripping.”
He kept fucking Logan from behind while he said it.
“Tiny. Cute. But useless. A grown man with a boy’s dick and another man’s cock in his ass.”
Logan’s whole body seized.
“Ah—Scott—fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—ahhh—”
Scott didn’t speed up his hand. He didn’t have to. The combination did it: the 8.5 inches punching his prostate, the two fingers on the little shaft, the phone still aimed at him, an audience watching.
“FUCK—ahhh—I’m cumming—I’m cumming—nnh—Scott—ahhh—fuck—”
He shot onto the tile under the toilet, loud, shaking, moaning through it in broken pieces, *ah yeah, yeah, I’m cumming, don’t stop,* while Scott milked the tiny cock with two fingers and kept railing him through the orgasm so he had nowhere to put it except out of his mouth.
After Logan’s orgasm subsided, Scott held his wet fingers in front of Logan’s mouth.
“Lick it, dog.”
Logan obediently licked the cum off Scott’s fingers, short strokes, the same way he’d lapped the bowl.
“Floor.”
Logan dropped his head and licked the tile where he’d shot. Cold grout. His own mess. He kept his ass up because Scott was still in him, and he cleaned the floor like he’d been told.
Kevin’s voice came through the phone, close now. Adrianna was gone. The frame was just Kevin in Logan’s robe, grinning.
“She left, bro. Couldn’t watch you. Said you disgusted her. I’m still here. Look at you. Licking the floor after taking a cock up your ass.” Kevin then turned to yell to someone offscreen, “That’s your husband, Adrianna. That’s what he is. A dog. A little-dicked dog cleaning up his own nut.”
Scott hung up.
He pulled out, stood over Logan, and jacked himself. Fast. Tight. The head an inch from Logan’s open mouth.
“Tongue out. Stay.”
Logan stayed. Scott’s fist blurred. His breathing went ragged.
“Fuck—take it—open—good boy—ah—fuck I’m gonna fill that mouth—”
He came hard, shooting onto Logan’s tongue and over his lips, pulsing, talking through it.
“Yeah take it—swallow my jizz—you’re mine now—fuckkk—Here I cum….oh GAHHHH! AHHHH!!!”
He pushed the last of it past Logan’s teeth and held his jaw until Logan swallowed. Then he wiped the head on Logan’s cheek and let go.
Logan stayed on his knees on the bathroom floor, mouth full of the taste of Scott’s manhood.
Scott zipped up and washed his hands as though he just used the bathroom for its intended purpose.
“Get dressed. Cart’s outside. We finish the round.”
The door shut.
One hour later…
A short while later, after they finished their round of golf, Scott and Logan were standing together under the bright lights of a nearby pharmacy.
Logan had the golf clothes back on. But no underwear. The pair Scott ripped was still in a trash can on the course. The navy shorts were wet with cum that dripped out of his ass. Every step reminded him of what happened.
Logan could still smell cum on his skin. Scott had not let him wash it off. Scott himself had showered at the club and come out in a clean shirt and fresh trousers, hair wet, looking like a handsome gentleman.
Logan carried the basket. Five boxes of Plan B. Logan was buying Plan B his wife.
Scott had been plain about it in the car. Miguel had taken the condom off and shot his load into Logan’s wife. Neither Scott nor Logan wanted Adriana to get pregnant with Miguel’s seed.
Scott noticed the handsome store clerk ogling him and Logan for the fifth time since entering the store.
The cashier was young. Probably a college student working a summer job. Slim, pretty in a sharp way, dark hair. He looked at the two studs once when they came down the aisle, then again when they got in line, then a third time like he was trying not to but couldn’t resist.
Scott leaned in, mouth barely moving.
“You see that? He keeps looking.”
Logan had seen it too. He gave a small nod and stared at the gum rack.
“He’s a faggot,” Scott said, easy, like he was calling a pin placement. “Watch his eyes. He’s checking out our bodies and then my bulge. Dude, I actually think he’s more into you though.”
Scott smiled. “Your turn. Put them on the counter. Tell him they’re for your wife if he asks. Tell the truth.”
They set the five boxes of Plan B on the counter.
Scott spoke casually. “You curious what those are for?”
The cashier went red. He scanned the first box, eyes on the screen.
“I—I mean. If you want to say. But it’s none of my business.”
“It’s alright,” Scott said. “Logan here’s my employee. Logan’s wife got fucked by his coworker. I’m looking out for my employee. That’s all this is.”
The kid’s hands paused on the scanner. This was awkward. He looked at Logan, the man he totally had the hots for earlier. “I-uh…um…I’m sorry. That happened to you.”
Scott shook his head. “Don’t be sorry for him. He allowed it. Liked it really. In fact, he watched it happen live. Sat there and took it in. Logan here’s a nasty little cuck boy. That’s why we need five boxes. Can’t be too careful.”
Logan stared at the card reader. His ears were hot.
Scott leaned a little closer to the counter, still pleasant.
“Heck, even you could probably a turn on her if you wanted. She’s not picky lately.”
The cashier said nothing. He bagged the boxes like they might explode.
Scott smiled. “Or maybe you’d rather fuck *him*. That’s a possibility too. You know, he’s already taken a load today.” He tipped his chin at Logan’s face. “Right there. You see that dried jizz on his fucking face?”
Logan felt the dried patch like it had a spotlight on it. The cashier looked, then looked away, blushing as hard as Logan was. He pushed the receipt across the counter with two fingers.
“Have a—have a good afternoon.”
Thank you all for your continued readership and fantastic comments. I lost motivation for a while but seeing the comments encouraging me to continue this story gave me the boost I needed to keep putting out new material.
I'm thinking of spinning out the Scott/Logan stuff into a standalone story and keeping the focus more on Scott/Carter/Brett. What do you all think--who are your favorite character(s) so far? Who do you want the story to focus more on?
Also, how are we feeling about the kink elements? Is any of that turning any of you on? Or do you mostly prefer vanilla/romance oriented sex?
