"Where were we?"
Blake locked his phone screen and gazed up at Ethan with sickeningly sweet, devoted eyes. Ethan's palm was still resting flat against Blake's chest, feeling the radiating heat and the dense, heavy weight of his pectorals.
"Is... is that all you guys are going to do?"
Ethan's finger lazily traced a slow circle around Blake's nipple. He didn't actually care that much about whatever Adrian and his hockey bros were plotting. But that Trojan horse program was his first real attempt at coding something malicious, and he wanted to know if his work actually mattered.
"I'm not sure," Blake said frankly. He caught Ethan's hand, his large fingers wrapping gently around Ethan's wrist to guide it further down his torso. "Adrian always has a way. But I know for a fact we wouldn't even have this plan without you, Ethan."
Ethan's heart pounded so hard it felt like it was going to explode against his ribs. *This dumb dog,* Ethan thought. He followed the line of Blake's thick, muscular arm tucked behind his head and buried his face right into the crook of Blake's armpit. Ethan inhaled deeply, taking in Blake's sharp musk, the fading scent of locker room body wash, and the faint, unmistakable tang of salt. Blake was always shaved so clean everywhere else--he wasn't a naturally hairy guy--which only made that soft peach fuzz on his ass stand out even more.
The thought sent a sudden spike of bitter resentment through Ethan. If he hadn't hesitated the other day for whatever stupid reason, he would have already claimed Blake's ass. Blake could have already been broken in, turned into a dripping slut completely addicted to his 8.5 inches. Instead, even while taking Blake inside him and using him, Ethan was still the one pathetic enough to crave the feeling of Blake's aggressively average cock slapping against his hole. Fueled by that vindictive urge, Ethan stuck his tongue out and began to hungrily eat at Blake's armpit, licking the sensitive skin until he heard Blake's breath hitch into a heavy, ragged moan.
Ethan's hand slid down over the washboard ridges of Blake's abs, trailing lower. He could feel that Blake's cock was already rock hard again. *Tireless fucking beast.* Ethan grabbed Blake's thick shaft, rubbing his thumb aggressively across the V-line.
Blake's armpits were ridiculously sexy, but after tasting his fill, Ethan pulled back from the shelter of Blake's raised arm, looking down at the flushed, handsome face.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Ethan panted, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to Blake's skin. "You're hard again?"
Blake chuckled, a low, rumbling vibration against Ethan's back. He pressed his hips forward, deliberately grinding that thick meat against Ethan's hand. "I'm an athlete, Boss. I could fuck you all night if you'd let me."
Ethan knew he wasn't exaggerating. Blake had the stamina of a beast. If Ethan gave the word, Blake would happily flip him over, spread his legs, and pound his hole into a messy, dripping wreck until sunrise. The thought sent a contradictory spike of sheer terror and wet, pooling desire straight to Ethan's groin.
But Ethan needed a moment. He rolled over, wincing slightly at the soreness in his hips, and faced Blake in the dim light. Ethan stared up at the handsome, sculpted face of the campus golden boy. He searched Blake's blue eyes, looking for a crack, a lie, a sign that the locker room confession to Mike had just been a desperate manipulation. *'I love Ethan. I am Ethan's boyfriend.'*
Ethan's chest tightened. He had spent weeks building a fortress of cruelty to protect himself from this exact jock. He had weaponized his massive cock and Blake's submissive cravings to keep the upper hand. But looking at Blake now--feeling the warm, devoted way Blake's heavy thumb stroked his hip bone--Ethan had to face the terrifying truth in his own head. He liked him. He liked this slutty, complicated, broken athlete. The jealousy that had exploded in the locker room wasn't just a bruised ego; it was the raw, ugly realization that Ethan wanted Blake all to himself.
"Don't look at me like a puppy," Ethan sneered softly, trying to force his walls back up. "Just because you claimed me in front of your dumb hockey bro doesn't mean you're off the hook. You were a brat tonight. You still need to be punished for talking back to me in the shower."
Blake's breath hitched. The casual, alpha jock demeanor instantly melted, replaced by that dark, needy desperation that Ethan owned.
"I know," Blake whispered, his blue eyes darkening with lust as his massive frame sank submissively into the mattress. "I'm yours, Boss. Whatever you want to do to it."
"I know," Ethan replied calmly.
He turned and pulled the penis traction device from the bottom drawer of his nightstand.
It was a conditioned response by now; Blake parted his legs slightly even before Ethan fully brought the device out. The black silicone ring and the silver traction screws were designed to violently pull his cock outward from the base. The sensation--hovering right on the razor's edge between pain and extreme engorgement--always felt entirely foreign to Blake, no matter how many times they did it.
His dick was already rock hard.
Ethan grabbed it unceremoniously, letting out a flat, unimpressed hum. Blake had a thick, beautiful circumcised cock, the quintessential All-American boy type. The girth was genuinely impressive, the veins prominent and clear, giving it a satisfying weight in Ethan's hand. The skin at the base was incredibly tight, making the entire shaft look and feel over stretched. But for a guy with a massive 6'2" athletic frame, the length was painfully underwhelming. Passing. Average. That was it.
Ethan accurately snapped the silicone ring right into the coronal sulcus beneath the glans, his thumb pressing the locking clasp tight.
"Hands above your head," he ordered, his tone dripping with a cold indifference that suggested even looking at Blake was a chore.
Blake obeyed. Two heavily muscled arms slowly raised and crossed over the pillow, completely opening up his broad ribcage. The silhouette from his ribs down to his waistline looked like a deliberately sculpted photograph under the dim light. With his armpits completely exposed again, Ethan's nostrils flared involuntarily, catching that scent he had thoroughly memorized--sweat, skin, and cheap body wash, blended into something that belonged exclusively to this body.
Ethan looked down and began turning the traction screws.
*First turn.*
Blake's abs tightened instantly, sharp muscular striations popping across his lower stomach.
*Second turn.*
"Nnh--" The sound leaked from deep in Blake's throat. It wasn't loud, but it was raw, carrying an uncontrollable texture. The traction began pulling at the base of his penis, violently dragging the spongy tissue normally hidden behind the pubic bone outward, forcing it to stretch.
*Third turn.*
Ethan stopped, leaned back, and smugly inspected the results.
Blake's forcefully elongated cock stood at a harsh, violent angle. The traction pulled it completely rigid, the glans swelling into a deep, bruised purple from the blood flow and the pulling. His stretched slit was forced wide open, steadily weeping clear precum that left wet, messy trails running down his abs.
"Crying," Ethan commented coldly, tapping the leaking slit lightly with his fingertip. Blake's hips immediately twitched. "Crying right at the start. This cock is so fucking useless."
"Boss..."
"I didn't tell you to speak."
Blake snapped his mouth shut, the heavy, ragged breathing through his nose the only proof he was still alive.
Ethan pulled his hand back from the stretched cock and took his time exploring the massive body beneath him. His fingers started at Blake's sternum, fanning out to trace the thick curves of his pecs. He paused at the nipples, pinching one between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a slow, painful twist. Blake's back arched off the bed. Ethan trailed lower, reading every cut of his abdominal muscles like a map.
"D1 athlete," Ethan said, his voice laced with a casual cruelty. "A lot of work went into this body." His palm flattened against Blake's lower stomach, feeling the muscles trembling against the tension of the traction device. "Shame all that effort below the belt was a complete waste."
"Boss, I--"
"I told you to shut the fuck up." Ethan didn't even look up. His fingers bypassed the tortured cock and landed heavily on the swollen balls resting beneath it. "Don't try showing off your stamina and fucking technique to me. I'm not listening to it a second time tonight."
He kneaded the heavy sack, his pressure perfectly dancing on the line of making Blake lose his mind. The muscles on the inside of Blake's thighs spasmed against Ethan's knuckles. This explosive, hyper masculine body forged by elite training was trembling helplessly under extreme, passive submission.
Ethan leaned down, burying his face back into the hollow of Blake's raised arms. He took a deep, undisguised breath. Weeks ago, Ethan had noticed this quirk and categorized it as an anomaly: he liked Blake's natural scent. The feral, warm, utterly unique smell underneath the soap.
He stuck his tongue out and began to lick again. Thirsty, thorough, and possessive. He treated that sexy pit like his own private territory, eating every inch of it with his lips and tongue while simultaneously squeezing Blake's balls. He listened to Blake make broken, indescribable sounds fueled by a mix of extreme shame and euphoric arousal.
"Ah--Boss, please... don't do that there..." Blake's legs clamped around Ethan's waist, conflictingly trying to push him away and drag him closer at the same time.
"Your armpits," Ethan said, lifting his head. His mouth was slick with wet saliva, his expression unnervingly serious. "The smell. I've decided I like it."
Blake's face flushed so hot it looked like it might catch fire.
Ignoring Blake's meltdown, Ethan sucked a harsh mark into the side of Blake's neck, then straightened up. He shifted lower, pressing his own crotch right between Blake's thighs.
Ethan was completely flaccid. His naturally massive, uncircumcised cock was in an absolute refractory period. It hung heavy and soft between his legs, the loose foreskin wrapping it like a dormant beast. It had already climaxed twice today--once inside Blake's virgin ass, and once from Blake fucking him. His shaft ached with exhaustion, and he couldn't expect it to wake up again tonight. But even completely soft, its sheer mass was an undeniable reality.
Ethan leaned forward, pressing that soft, warm bundle of meat directly against the entrance of Blake's freshly popped hole. Soft, wet, and deliberately malicious.
"What a shame," Ethan said, his voice raspy. The soft head of his cock pressed against the red, swollen entrance. He pushed and probed, but it couldn't go in; the foreskin bunched up, leaving only a shallow indentation against the rim. "Looks like even with all this size, without being hard, it's impossible to get inside that tight, muscular ass of yours." He sighed mockingly. "Looks like I can't use your jock pussy a second time today."
Blake squeezed his eyes shut, his face scrunching up from the sheer sensory overload of extreme fullness and extreme emptiness colliding. His hips instinctively bucked back, desperately trying to accommodate the soft, massive thing pressing against him.
"Please, Boss--"
"I said no." Ethan pulled his soft meat back, coldly wiping it against Blake's thigh. Then he sank his hand down, aiming two fingers directly at the swollen, abused entrance, and shoved them in without mercy.
Blake's spine bowed like a string had violently yanked him upward. "--*Fuck*--"
"So tight," Ethan noted, his tone entirely clinical as he slowly spread his fingers inside. He felt the hot, wet muscle--which had only been broken in hours ago--spasming, clamping down, and reluctantly giving way. "Athlete's glutes recover so fast. Your freshly popped hole is so forgetful. Barely a few minutes and it already misses being stuffed full?"
He curled his fingers, pressing the pads directly against the spot that made Blake's body jerk.
"Ah--! Boss--right there--"
"I know it's there," Ethan said, continuing to press until Blake's stretched cock erupted with another thick string of pre-cum that splattered across his abs. "But I'm not letting you off that easy tonight."
He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, drawing a thin, transparent string of slick between them. He wiped his hand, leaned back, and surveyed the massive, trembling athlete currently suspended in a state of agonizing, unresolved arousal.
"I don't want to keep using my fingers," Ethan stated, like he was selecting an option from a menu. "Too much effort, low return on investment. And I'm not sacrificing my palms for your ass. I need a tool." His cold eyes locked onto Blake's watery, desperate gaze. "A tool that will leave deep purple bruises on that perfect hockey ass of yours."
Blake's Adam's apple bobbed. His hole was still contracting in empty desperation, the traction device was biting into his cock, and his sanity was hanging by a thread. But that single sentence plucked perfectly at the deep-seated wire of submission and craving inside him.
"If you want to leave marks... Boss," he heard his own raspy voice say, his brain automatically pulling up information driven by sheer lust. "There's a paddle you can buy. They have them on Amazon, or cheaper on TEMU. It's silicone. You don't even need much arm strength to leave really deep marks..."
His voice trailed off as Ethan's silence slowly solidified into ice.
Ethan didn't speak. He simply stopped kneading the inside of Blake's thigh. Slowly, with terrifying purpose, he tilted his head to the side.
"TEMU... silicone... arm strength."
Ethan raised his eyes, pinning Blake's flushed face with a cold, analytical stare that never missed a detail. "Blake," Ethan's voice dropped so low it felt like a threat meant only for this room. "Why are you so intimately familiar with spanking paddle?"
Blake's mouth twitched. "Online--"
"Wrong."
"The algorithm suggested--"
"*Blake.*"
Silence.
"Clients," Blake breathed out, the word barely a whisper. "Some clients like things a little more intense."
Ethan sat motionless for a moment. Then he smiled--a slow, cruel curve of his lips that signaled he was about to be utterly ruthless.
Blake squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, and stared blankly at the ceiling. "There was also this one Chaturbate fan. He tipped huge during the livestreams." Blake paused, swallowing hard. "Later, he requested a custom video where I used one. He paid for the prop..."
"So you used it," Ethan said.
"...I used it."
"On camera."
"Yes."
Ethan looked up at the ceiling, processing the data. His thumb absentmindedly stroked Blake's chest, pressing right over the frantic, racing pulse of his heart. "So you just obediently did as you were told? For a bunch of losers jerking off behind a screen, you got your ass beat on camera? Your pale, perfect jock ass slapped raw and red!"
"...It wasn't like that, Boss." Blake let out a pathetic whimper, his thighs trembling uncontrollably. His thick cock jerked violently against the traction device, leaking thick, viscous threads of pre cum.
"It wasn't?" Ethan asked cheerfully. "Clients spanked your ass. Sent you sex toys and watched you jerk off. So, in all of this--all those men, all those penthouse suites, all those private paid shows--some high-rolling client booked a suite at the Four Seasons, had you bent over the bed, that pretty ass smacked bright red with a wooden board--" His gaze sharpened on Blake's face like a scalpel. "Did he spread you open? Did he use you?"
"No," Blake gritted out, his jaw tight, the blush on his face deepening into a humiliated crimson.
"Show it to me," Ethan commanded. He opened his palm. "Phone. Now."
Blake hesitated for half a second. It was the final struggle between absolute shame and absolute obedience. But looking into Ethan's cold, demanding eyes, he caved. Like a massive dog caught misbehaving, Blake slowly reached into his gym bag and pulled out a different phone--his burner. He unlocked it with shaking fingers, opened the hidden app, found the video, and handed it over.
Ethan took the phone and turned the volume up.
The video quality was slightly grainy, lit only by a side lamp, but clear enough. It was clearly shot on a tripod in some cheap motel or off-campus apartment. The man on screen exuded a ridiculous, almost chilling amount of aggressive masculinity. A black silicone skull mask covered the lower half of his face, and oversized aviator sunglasses hid his eyes. A cheap faux leather cop hat sat low over messy blond hair, creating a deliberately oppressive aesthetic.
Below the waist, he was wearing nothing but a tight American flag thong that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. His thick thighs were spread in an aggressive stance, the stars and stripes pouch bulging obscenely with his heavy package.
He was shirtless, every muscle cut and shadowed perfectly by the side lamp--deltoids, pecs, serratus anterior. In his hand, he gripped a heavy silicone paddle with drilled holes. He didn't just look like an alpha male; he radiated pure, sadistic aggression. He pulled his arm back and swung.
Ethan turned the volume up higher.
*"--just like that,"* the Blake on the screen spoke. It was a voice Ethan had never heard him use--lower, rougher, with all the soft edges deliberately sanded away, leaving only a steady, relentless pressure. *"Take a good look. This is what your hole is supposed to look like. Red. Hot. With every smack, you're one step closer to getting used by me. Beg for it. Type it in the chat. Let me read it."*
He raised the paddle, angled his wrist, and swung down.
*THWACK.*
The sound cracked out of the speaker, crisp and visceral. The silicone prop tied to the edge of the table shook violently.
The Blake on screen leaned closer to the camera, the lamp light reflecting in his aviators. He pulled the skull mask down just enough to spit a thick wad of saliva directly at the lens.
*"Taste it, you pathetic little sissy,"* the masked Blake growled. *"You want this thick alpha cock stretching out your filthy little hole? You have to fucking pay for it. Beg. Look at how wrecked this ass is. That's you. That's what I'm going to do to you until you can't walk."*
To emphasize the point, the Blake on screen grabbed his own crotch over the flag thong, aggressively stroking his half erect cock before spitting at the camera again. *"Useless cum dumpster."*
Ethan watched, utterly transfixed, paralyzed by the sheer absurdity and hyper-masculine vulgarity of it. It was a cheap, over the top porn trope, but Blake's filthy trash talk flowed like water--vicious, degrading, and completely convincing.
Ethan's finger paused. He knew Blake had a dangerous, aggressive side--he'd experienced it in the showers, in the storage room. But seeing this golden retriever of a jock, currently lying on his bed blushing like a dog and whimpering for mercy, effortlessly transform into a spitting, cursing, completely dominant internet "Daddy"... it blew his mind.
He replayed it. The paddle. The spit. The rough crotch grab.
Ethan slowly turned his head to look at Blake.
Blake was staring rigidly at the ceiling. His entire face, down to his neck and chest, was burning a miserable, humiliated red. He looked like he wanted the mattress to swallow him whole. His hands were covering his eyes.
Ethan's hand casually dropped to Blake's waist, trailing down to his inner thigh unhurried, like he was handling something that unquestionably belonged to him. Blake's muscles jumped, but his breathing had already changed, shifting into a heavy, desperate rhythm.
"A cop hat and a stars and stripes thong," Ethan noted, enunciating every word without mercy. "Spitting at the camera. Calling your paying subscribers a 'useless cum dumpster'."
"It was a custom request!" Blake practically yelled, his voice shaking with mortification. He dropped his hands, looking at Ethan with desperate blue eyes. "The guy paid extra for the dominant cop roleplay! I had to buy the hat from a pop up Halloween store! Boss, please, it's so fucking embarrassing--"
"I don't know," Ethan interrupted, tilting his head with a predatory smirk. "I find it highly educational. I had no idea my slutty little slave was so good at degrading people. You really nail that alpha male fantasy. The spitting was a nice cinematic touch."
"It's acting," Blake pleaded through gritted teeth, practically trying to bury his burning face into Ethan's shoulder. "It's fake. It's just what they want to hear. With you... with you, I just want to be yours. I want you to tell me what to do."
A dangerous, possessive warmth bloomed in Ethan's chest. "I know," Ethan said calmly, tossing the phone onto the nightstand but leaving the video playing as background noise. The sickening *THWACK* of the paddle and the vulgar insults continued to echo in the room. Ethan grabbed a fistful of Blake's blond hair, yanking his head back to force eye contact. "You are mine."
He brushed his thumb over Blake's jawline. "When that paddle gets here, you're putting on the hat and the mask. The thong too. And when I whip your ass purple with that silicone paddle... you're going to use that filthy mouth to beg me. You're going to repeat every single dirty word you said to that camera, straight to my face."
Blake gasped, his pupils dilating as the sheer humiliation of the order collided violently with his submissive conditioning. The stretched cock trapped in the PTT twitched frantically against Ethan's hip. "Yes," Blake whispered, his voice shaking. "Yes, Boss."
Before Ethan could completely break him, the burner phone vibrated sharply against the wood of the nightstand.
The video volume dipped for a second. A Telegram message notification mercilessly dropped down from the top of the screen. The sender was a random string of alphanumeric characters with no profile picture.
*"brad, i see you're online. got time during spring break? i can take you to the west coast for two days, all expenses paid, and your rate won't be short a single cent. usual rules, son."*
Ethan froze, staring at the preview text.
The erotic, dazed flush on Blake's face vanished instantly. His breathing stopped dead. The massive body that had just been trembling with pleasure and pain turned as rigid as ice. Moving with the terrifying speed of an elite athlete, Blake snatched the phone away.
"Who is Brad?"
Every drop of lust was gone from Ethan's voice, replaced by cold, furious jealousy.
"That... that's the fake name I use when I escort," Blake stammered, his eyes wide with panic. "NCAA games get broadcasted, my real name could be on TV, so..."
"Oh, so your 'daddies' might see their little whore on the sports network playing the college star?"
"Selling a few dirty photos or videos in college isn't a huge deal anymore..."
"You do a lot more than sell photos, don't you, *Brad*?"
"...Nobody's going to say anything. I never leave photo or video evidence with them. And fuck, Boss, I've never been a bottom for anyone but you! I know that doesn't make it better, but fuck!" Blake's eyes were red, looking like he was on the verge of tears. The sight triggered Ethan's sadistic dominance while simultaneously reigniting a sick, jealous lust.
"Fine. They're 'decent men'. Secretly gay guys with wives and kids. Maybe you are safe, Blake. But what about blackmail?" Ethan tore the reality open without mercy. "When you make it big, when you're an NHL star... you don't think they'll extort you? You have no idea what your future value is."
"Why would they extort me?!" Blake hissed, keeping his voice low but laced with desperate anger.
Ethan sneered. He suddenly reached down, grabbed the base of the traction device, and yanked upward.
"AHH!" Blake screamed, his hips bucking violently as the brutal pull on his stretched cock nearly made him pass out from the pain.
"Talk. Who is this guy? Why are you so sure he won't leak your info and ruin you?"
Blake glanced at the name on the screen, his lips trembling. "He's... he's a very respectable guy. I know he has a son. Even though I told him I was a rower... he always has a full set of hockey gear ready for me to wear. I'm guessing his real son plays hockey..."
"That sounds fucking grossing," Ethan spat, looking genuinely nauseated. "But I guess that explains why he won't leak your info. Having his secret gay escort roleplay as his actual son? That's an absolute scandal. So then what? What does Brad do for this incest fetish daddy?"
Blake heard Ethan swallow hard, and the sound alone sent a fresh wave of heat straight to his groin.
"We didn't have sex... at least, no penetrative sex," Blake admitted, his chest heaving. "What we do most often... he makes me put on the hockey gear, pull my pants down over his lap, and he spanks me to discipline me. He makes me call him Daddy, submit to his discipline, and beg for his forgiveness. Every time after he's done beating my ass... he tips a huge amount of money. That's it, Boss. Really, just that."
"Just that?" Ethan's voice was dripping with a toxic, mocking disbelief. "So you strap on your Bauer pads, waddle into some luxury suite at the Ritz, and drape your massive, nearly 200 pound body across some silver fox's lap?" Ethan let out a harsh, degrading laugh. "You let a rich old man blister your ass red while you cry and call him Daddy?"
Blake's face flushed a miserable, humiliated crimson. "He... he lectures me. Like a disappointed father. And when the pain gets too much, or when the humiliation just... clicks in my head... I cum. Usually all over his hand, or shooting across my own stomach."
"Fucking pathetic," Ethan sneered, though the jealousy in his chest was twisting into a dark, vicious arousal. "I bet his actual kid tells him to go fuck himself. The old man probably has zero authority in his real life, so he has to drop a bag of cash on a desperate, broken D1 athlete to play dress up and pretend someone actually respects him. And you're telling me you never fucked him? For that much money?"
Blake shook his head frantically, his blue eyes wide with desperate honesty. "I swear to God, Boss! The very first time he booked me... after he beat my ass, I saw he was hard through his dress pants. I thought... I thought I was supposed to finish the job. I thought I needed to give him a blowjob to retain the client." Blake swallowed hard. "I reached for his zipper, and he literally shoved me away. He looked terrified. Like I'd broken the illusion. I thought I'd completely fucked up the gig and lost the money, but he booked me again the next month. We never brought it up again. It's strictly roleplay."
Ethan processed this. A pure, twisted psychological control fetish. The old man didn't want a whore; he wanted an obedient, athletic son he could break over his knee. It pissed Ethan off to an irrational degree.
"Grab your legs," Ethan commanded. "Pull your knees to your chest. Spread them wide."
Blake hooked his thick, muscular arms under his knees and pulled them back. The pose was incredibly undignified for a guy his size, completely exposing his sweaty, hairy ass and the slightly swollen, pink ring of his hole. Blake's butt leaving a layer of soft, blond peach fuzz that was currently matted with sweat. It made the sight of the massive athlete so much more raw, animalistic, and explicitly vulnerable.
Ethan didn't give him a second to adjust. He spat heavily onto his fingers, coating them in thick saliva, and brutally shoved two digits straight into Blake's jock pussy.
"AHH!" Blake screamed, his spine arching off the mattress as the sudden, violent intrusion tore a gasp from his lungs.
"No! Fuck--Boss, no! Only you!" Blake sobbed, his massive thighs trembling uncontrollably as Ethan relentlessly stretched and wrecked his hole. "Nobody touches me there but you!"
In reality, Blake has gotten his ass fucked plenty of times, especially by those older, horny bottoms who love to worship a jock's sweaty ass and then get fucked. But Blake isn't going to say any of that now.
Satisfied by the raw, wet sounds of Blake's submission, Ethan finally pulled his fingers out. A string of spit and natural slick bridged the gap between his hand and Blake's gaping entrance. Ethan stared at the quivering pink flesh surrounded by that sweat dampened fuzz. He needed to completely overwrite the old man's ghost. He needed to brand this athlete so deeply that Blake would never be able to look at another client without thinking of Ethan.
Ethan did a split second of mental gymnastics--this isn't submission, this is absolute consumption, I am devouring what belongs to me--and then he lowered his head, pressing his face into Blake's spread, hairy ass cheeks.
He opened his mouth and slid his tongue directly into Blake's hole.
Blake's entire body went rigid like he'd been struck by lightning. "Oh my god--"
Ethan rimmed him with a starving, possessive intensity. He traced the swollen ridges, licking up the spit, sweat, and slick, before curling his tongue to push deeper, pressing firmly against the anterior wall of Blake's rectum. He hit the boy point with expert precision.
Electricity shot through Blake's nervous system. The sensation was blinding, an overwhelming wave of euphoric pleasure that made his toes curl and his brain short circuit.Ethan thought he was bringing his slutty jock roommate to the edge of an earth shattering bottoming climax. He thought his tongue was enough to break Blake.
But Blake's biology was screaming a different command. He couldn't cum just from having his ass eaten. His prostate was singing, but the agonizing emptiness at the front of his body was driving him insane. He needed friction on his shaft. He needed the tight, wet grip of muscle closing around his cock.
Blake's hips started to buck uncontrollably. With his legs pulled back to his chest, his massive, weeping cock was just wildly humping the empty air above his stomach. Every time Ethan's tongue pressed deep, Blake thrust his pelvis forward, trying to bury his dick into a phantom hole that wasn't there.
"Boss... Boss, please..." Blake whimpered, tears of sheer physical frustration leaking from the corners of his eyes. His dick bobbed uselessly in the air, dripping pre-cum onto his own chest.
Ethan hummed a dark, satisfied sound against Blake's rim, swirling his tongue harder, entirely misunderstanding Blake's desperation.
"I can't... I can't cum like this," Blake sobbed, his voice breaking as he violently rocked his hips against the air. "It's too empty. My cock... please, Ethan. I need to be inside you. I need a real hole."
"You really have the nerve to get horny waving that thing around," Ethan said, lifting his head. His cold gaze swept dismissively over Blake's thick, aggressively purple cock. It was undeniably thick, the veins bulging under the skin, but the length was almost comical compared to Blake's massive 6'2" frame. "Acting like some hole destroying monster in those videos, but once the underwear comes off, your length is just barely passing average."
Ethan's hand slid down the edge of the traction device, maliciously pressing into the highly sensitive flesh of Blake's inner thigh. "There isn't a guy alive who doesn't wish his dick was bigger. Look at my size, and then look at your short little stub. Even if I unlock your full potential and stretch your skin until it tears, you'll never reach the kind of length I have--the kind that can fuck you until your eyes roll back."
This direct assault on his masculine ego, combined with the agonizingly intense stimulation of the stretched cock, completely shattered whatever sanity Blake had left. He let go of his legs, blindly reaching out to grab Ethan's waist and dragging him down onto his thighs.
"I know... I'm not long enough... I'm useless..." Blake panted, his blue eyes glassy with tears. Yet, fueled by this extreme psychological degradation, he was trembling with a sick, feral arousal. He locked his massive arms around Ethan's waist, his hips bucking upward like a crazed piledriver, relentlessly grinding his device-bound cock against Ethan's inner thigh. "But I'll plow you so hard... Boss... I'll fuck you so good... please..."
Feeling that thick, hot rod frantically grinding between his legs, listening to the D1 hockey star spout such degraded, slutty filth, the residual shame in Ethan's mind about being fucked by a man finally, completely evaporated.
He hadn't been conquered by a Chad. He had broken one and turned him into a desperate, humping toy.
Un-hurriedly, Ethan shifted his weight and snapped the clasps of the penile traction device open.
Blake instantly let out a suppressed, shuddering sigh--not of pain, but the rawest, unfiltered physiological response of a body experiencing sudden release after prolonged tension. The tortured cock sprang back. In the dim light, the engorged glans shone a deep bruised purple, the skin stretched tight and glossy. The forced erection and intense pulling had left the shaft even thicker and heavier than usual, visibly throbbing with his racing heartbeat.
Ethan tossed the stretcher aside, shifted his position, and straddled him.
Gripping Blake's waist with his thighs, he slowly began to lower his weight. Blake's thick, freshly freed cock pressed right against his perineum, hot as a branding iron. Ethan guided his body down the trajectory of that meat, feeling its blunt shape and heavy mass right at his entrance.
Ethan sank down.
The cock pushed open the hole he had already popped earlier tonight, inch by inch. The familiar, overwhelming fullness flooded in--the sheer girth of Blake's dick stretching him wide.
But as Ethan's hips dropped fully to the mattress, a sharp, genuine scream tore from his throat. "Ah--fuck!"
A completely new patch of flesh was violently breached deep inside his rectum. Blake had hit a spot he had never reached before, pushing past a barrier and striking a cluster of nerves that sent an electric shock straight up Ethan's spine. It wasn't an illusion. The blunt head of the cock was buried impossibly deep. Blake's size had breached the six inch mark; his cock was tangibly, undeniably longer.
It couldn't be the traction device, Ethan's hyper analytical brain calculated even through the haze of blinding pleasure. PTT didn't work that fast; it took weeks or months of consistent micro tearing to achieve actual tissue growth.
Panting heavily, Ethan braced his hands on Blake's chest and looked down at where they were connected.
A portion of Blake's circumcised shaft was still exposed between them, slick with their bodily fluids, red, swollen, and fragile. The realization hit Ethan like a physical blow. It was the skin. Blake had been circumcised so incredibly tight as a baby that the lack of slack skin had literally tethered his true length down, burying an inch or more of his shaft behind the pubic bone. The brutal traction session, combined with the extreme engorgement of blood, had forcibly dragged that hidden flesh out, over stretching the tight skin to finally let the beast fully unsheathe.
"Fuck..." Ethan breathed out, his internal muscles involuntarily clamping down hard around the newly discovered length.
Beneath him, Blake threw his head back against the pillow, his jaw clenching as a guttural, masculine groan ripped from his chest. Having his painfully engorged, newly unsheathed cock swallowed whole by Ethan's tight, hot hole was absolute sensory overload. He gripped Ethan's hips with bruising force.
"Boss," Blake gasped, his voice thick with a mix of alpha dominance and total submissive devotion. "God, you feel so fucking good. Let me move... please, let me fuck you."
Ethan stared down at him. The athlete was massive, sweaty, and completely at his mercy, yet thick and long enough to totally wreck him from the inside out. Ethan's lips curled into a wicked, triumphant smirk.
"Look at that," Ethan taunted, leaning forward so his sweat dampened hair brushed Blake's forehead. "You actually had some decent length buried in there. Your tight little circumcision kept your true size locked away like a chastity cage, until I literally had to drag it out of you." Ethan ground his hips down, making Blake whine as the cock head scraped deep inside him. "You really are useless without me fixing you, aren't you?"
"Yes," Blake whimpered instantly, completely accepting the narrative. He thrust upward, a short, sharp motion that made Ethan gasp. "I'm useless. I need you to fix it. Please, let me use it for you now."
Ethan's nails dug into Blake's wide pectorals. The fullness inside him was staggering, borderline painful, but entirely intoxicating.
"Do it, then," Ethan ordered, his voice dropping into a breathless command. "Take all that extra length I just pulled out of your pathetic body, and fuck my ass with it. Give me everything you've got."
Blake didn't need to be told twice. He let out a feral growl and bucked his hips upward, burying the thick, swollen shaft to the absolute hilt.
The rhythm Blake set was completely feral. Stripped of his psychological defenses and armed with that newly unleashed length, the D1 athlete fucked like he was trying to fuse their bodies together. His thick, bruised cock slammed into Ethan's ass over and over, the extra inch of shaft mercilessly battering the deep, uncharted cluster of nerves right against Ethan's prostate.
Ethan's own massive cock was completely useless, lying dead and flaccid against his stomach, utterly drained by his previous two climaxes. The refractory period had locked his body down; he couldn't get hard if his life depended on it. But Blake didn't care. Blake was milking him from the inside out.
With every brutal, hip snapping thrust, the pressure on Ethan's prostate compounded. The sensation bypassed his soft dick entirely, flooding his nervous system with a blinding, terrifying heat.
"Fuck--Blake--*wait*--" Ethan gasped, his fingers blindly clawing at the sheets.
"I'm giving it to you, Boss," Blake growled, his chest soaked in sweat, his thighs slapping wetly against Ethan's ass. "All of it. Taking it all the way deep--"
Ethan's eyes rolled back. His internal muscles clamped down viciously around Blake's cock, spasming out of control. Even without an erection, Ethan's body convulsed into a devastating, hands free third climax. He didn't shoot thick ropes of cum; instead, a steady, helpless stream of clear prostatic fluid leaked from his flaccid slit, pooling onto his stomach as he rode out the agonizingly intense wave of the orgasm.
He felt Blake roar above him, felt the thick cock swell and throb as it unloaded thick, hot jets of cum deep into his thoroughly wrecked hole. The sensory overload was too much. Exhausted, emotionally drained, and physically ruined, Ethan's consciousness simply faded to black, letting the heavy, sweaty weight of the athlete pin him to the mattress as he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
When Ethan finally dragged himself back to consciousness, the harsh, bright light of late morning was filtering through the dorm room blinds.
He was incredibly warm. And incredibly sore.
He blinked his eyes open, realizing his back was pressed flush against a wall of solid, radiating muscle. A heavy, tree-trunk of an arm was draped over his waist, holding him securely. Ethan shifted slightly, wincing at the deep, dull ache in his hips and his thoroughly used hole, and tilted his head back.
Blake was already awake. The massive hockey player was staring at the ceiling, his blond hair messy, his chin resting gently near the crown of Ethan's head.
"Morning," Blake murmured, his voice thick with sleep and something softer. His large hand instinctively pulled Ethan a fraction closer.
"What time is it?" Ethan croaked, his throat dry.
"Almost noon," Blake replied, his thumb lazily tracing the line of Ethan's hip bone. "We slept like the dead. I'm starving."
Blake shifted, propping himself up on one massive elbow to look down at Ethan. "I was thinking we grab some heavy carbs off campus. Just the two of us. Like a... you know, a real setup. And then we're going to hit the school gym."
"I don't lift," Ethan replied instantly, completely missing the shy, hesitant way Blake had just tried to ask him out on an actual romantic date. Ethan was too focused on the dull ache in his own lower back, his thoroughly used hole, and the sheer absurdity of working out on a Sunday. "And my ass hurts."
"You're going to start lifting, Boss," Blake said, a teasing, alpha jock smirk briefly returning to his handsome face as he squeezed Ethan's hip. "We're going to the campus gym. You have an 8.5 inch cock, but you've got the cardio of a computer science major. Remember what I told you last night? I'm a D1 athlete. I can go all night."
Blake leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping into a husky, submissive challenge. "Whether you're wrecking my jock pussy or letting me pound your hole, you need the stamina to keep up with me. If you're going to keep throwing your weight around and dominating a D1 hockey player, you need to build some muscle. I want you to be strong enough to actually pin me to the tiles when I act like a brat."
Ethan scowled. He was about to argue that his massive dick and psychological warfare had done plenty of damage without him needing to touch a single dumbbell, but Blake's expression suddenly sobered. The playful banter evaporated, and the air in the bed grew heavier.
"I... I deleted Telegram off my burner phone this morning," Blake said softly.
Ethan's eyes snapped up to meet Blake's. He stayed perfectly still.
"I'm not taking that man gig over Spring Break. I'm not taking any of them," Blake continued, his voice low, completely stripped of his cocky bravado. "I sat there this morning thinking about Ruth. I genuinely cared about her, but I completely destroyed that relationship because I was hiding my escorting. Because I felt like a piece of dirty meat every time I looked at her. I couldn't give her all of me."
Blake leaned down, burying his face into the nape of Ethan's neck, his breath warm against the skin. "I'm your boyfriend now, Ethan. You claimed me. You know every fucked up, dirty secret I have, and you still kept me. I'm not doing this just for the physical stuff. I don't want to repeat the same mistakes with you. I'm done letting those guys use my body."
It was a massive confession. A total surrender of the one boundary Blake had fiercely protected.
But as Blake pressed closer, seeking comfort, Ethan felt a sudden, suffocating coldness wash over his chest. He felt the rigid tension in Blake's thick biceps, heard the slight, terrified tremor underneath the absolute conviction in Blake's voice.
Anxiety.
Blake wasn't just giving up a fetish; he was severing his only financial lifeline. The D1 scholarship covered tuition, room, and board, but it didn't cover the real world. It didn't buy a basic survival net for a kid whose abusive father had completely cut him out. Blake had spent three months homeless before college. The terror of having nothing was written into his very DNA.
And Ethan... Ethan didn't know how to navigate.
Ethan had never worried about money a day in his life. He thought, vaguely, about his own family. His parents' version of neglect had always been prioritizing his older siblings over him--booking travel for his brother's debate team competitions and organizing his sister's Scout exams, while entirely ignoring anything Ethan cared about. Sure, growing up, Ethan had been forced to share a bedroom with a brother five years older than him, which sucked, but it was still a bedroom inside a very nice, pristine suburban house where the lawns were mowed on a strict schedule. His parents paid his college tuition, covered his rent, and deposited a generous monthly allowance into his account without him ever having to ask. The money was just... there.
He'd spent last month's allowance on a custom mechanical keyboard and some limited edition video games. He'd never in his life mentally calculated the gap between what he spent and what he actually needed to survive.
Ethan felt something unfamiliar and deeply uncomfortable coil in his chest. Not the clean, righteous anger he was used to. Something messier. Something that felt dangerously close to being out of his depth. Lying here with Blake's heavy arm draped over his waist, Ethan was acutely, uncomfortably aware of how small his own suburban grievances actually were.
Blake had just thrown away his safety net to be with him, trusting Ethan to catch him. But Ethan didn't know how to catch anyone. He was just a cynical, privileged nerd who had accidentally manipulated his way into owning a broken hockey star.
He didn't know how to help someone who actually had nothing. He didn't even know where to begin.
*Say something*, the back of his brain prompted uselessly. You're his Boss. You always know what to say.
But he didn't, Ethan genuinely didn't have an answer loaded and ready.
"Yeah," Ethan said finally. His voice came out flatter than intended, stripped of its command. He hesitated, his fingers loosely gripping Blake's thick wrist. "You're mine." A pause, brief and telling. "We're not doing that shit anymore."
It wasn't a grand declaration. It wasn't a solution. It was barely even a promise.
Blake let out a slow, shaky breath and pressed closer, his lips brushing Ethan's shoulder. He seemed to accept it anyway--maybe because he needed to, maybe because even Ethan's hesitant, half formed words were still more than anyone had offered him before.
Ethan lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling the warm, heavy weight of the athlete trusting him to hold something Ethan wasn't at all sure he knew how to hold.
TBC
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