The steering wheel was slick under Paul Sterling’s palms. His knuckles, white and bloodless, gripped the leather as he navigated the sleek, dark streets toward an address that felt like a descent into hell. The hum of his luxury sedan was usually a soothing reminder of his success—Chief Financial Officer, Fortune 500, a seven-figure salary, a beautiful home in the suburbs with his gorgeous wife Paige and their twin boys. Now, the purr of the engine was just the countdown to his ruin.
Two million dollars. Three years of discrepancies. Luke Hayworth’s hazel-green eyes, those fucking eyes that seemed to shift from amused to predatory depending on the light, had held the printed reports with a casual, devastating grace. Federal prison. Twenty years. Felony charges. The words had echoed in Paul’s skull for twenty-four agonizing hours. He’d lose everything. His house. His reputation. His sons would be grown men, strangers, by the time he got out of prison. Paige… God, Paige.
So he’d begged. He’d made a deal. Anything. Just don’t report it.
Luke had merely smiled, that lean, muscular frame leaning back in his office chair, broad shoulders blocking out the window’s city light. “I’ll think it over. Give me twenty-four hours.”
The text had come at 7:02 PM. Brief. Brutal.
I accept. 8 PM. My apartment. 2121 Crestview Tower. Be sharp.
No further details. No discussion of terms. Just a time and a place. As he drove, Paul’s mind, traitorously, drifted back. College. Too much whiskey. A frat brother with wandering hands and a curious mouth in a shadowed dorm room. It had happened… maybe twice. It was clumsy. Mechanical. He’d decided, firmly, that he preferred pussy. The softness. The warmth. The rightness of it. That was two decades buried. It meant nothing now. This was just… a transaction. A nasty, degrading business transaction to protect his real life. How bad could it be? he thought, the naivete of the question almost laughable.
The elevator to Luke's apartment was silent and swift, all polished steel and soft lighting. It opened directly into a sprawling, minimalist living space. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city’s glittering grid. Luke Hayworth stood silhouetted against it, dressed in simple black jeans and a tight grey t-shirt that clung to every ridge of his torso. He held a tumbler of amber liquid. He didn’t turn around.
“You’re forty-seven seconds late, Paul.”
Paul’s throat constricted. “Traffic on the—”
“I don’t care.” Luke finally turned. His eyes weren’t amused now. They were flat, analytical. Dominant. “The first rule is obedience. The second is punctuality. You’ve already broken rule two. We haven’t even started and you’re fucking up.”
“I’m sorry,” Paul stammered, the CFO veneer cracking like cheap plaster.
“Come in. Shut the door.” Luke took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze crawling over Paul’s expensive suit, his trim physique, his handsome, now-pale face. “You look good in fear, Paul. It suits you. Makes your pretty dark eyes wide. Now, listen very fucking carefully. These are my rules. You get them once. Nod if you understand.”
Paul nodded, a jerky, bird-like motion.
“Your holes are mine. Your mouth. Your ass. They are freeuse. To me. Whenever I want. Wherever I want. In my office, in the parking garage, in the bathroom at the firm’s annual gala. If I text you to meet me in a stall and get on your knees, you do it. If I bend you over my desk during lunch, you take it. Is that clear?”
A cold nausea washed through Paul. “Y-yes.”
“If that rule is broken,” Luke continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, “the punishment is severe. I will not hesitate to ruin you. I will send every piece of evidence to the SEC, the FBI, and a CC to the Wall Street Journal before your fucking dick gets soft. Do you believe me?”
Paul’s voice was a ghost. “Yes.”
“Good. Now, strip. Everything. Fold it. Put it on the chair by the door.”
The command was so absurdly mundane in its cruelty. Paul, who commanded boardrooms, whose signature authorized millions, fumbled with his Brioni suit jacket. His fingers trembled on his cufflinks. His tie slithered to the floor. He folded each piece with robotic precision, his skin prickling with goosebumps in the cool, conditioned air. Soon, he stood naked in the center of the vast room, feeling smaller and more exposed than he ever had in his life. He instinctively cupped his soft cock and balls, a pathetic gesture of modesty.
Luke set his glass down with a definitive click. “Hands at your sides. I want to see what I just bought.” He walked a slow circle around Paul, his eyes like lasers scanning for flaws. “Mmm. You work out. Good. I like a tight ass on my faggots. Makes the fucking better.” He stopped in front of Paul, so close Paul could smell his cologne and the Scotch on his breath. “Get on your knees.”
Paul’s legs gave way, his knees hitting the hard, polished concrete floor with a painful thud. He looked up, his eyes level with the prominent bulge in Luke’s jeans.
Luke unbuckled his belt, the rasp of leather deafening. He popped the button, slid the zipper down. He wasn’t wearing underwear. His cock, already half-hard, sprang out. It was thick, veined, and uncut, the head a dark, ruddy purple. It looked… used. Powerful. It bobbed just inches from Paul’s face.
“This is your new god, Paul,” Luke whispered, wrapping a fist around the base. “You worship it with your throat. You don’t have a choice. Open your fucking mouth.”
Paul parted his lips, a weak protest dying in his throat. It’s just a transaction. Just a bad few minutes. Then it’s over and you go home to Paige.
Luke didn’t guide himself in gently. He shoved. The thick head smashed past Paul’s lips, bumping the back of his throat. Paul gagged, his eyes watering instantly.
“Uh-uh,” Luke chided, his other hand tangling in Paul’s dark hair, fisting it tightly. “Relax that throat, you tight little cunt. You’re going to take all of it.”
He began to fuck Paul’s face in short, brutal jabs. In. Out. In deeper. The salty-bitter taste of pre-cum and skin flooded Paul’s mouth. He choked, drool leaking from the corners of his stretched lips. His own hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.
“Look at you,” Luke grunted, his hips picking up a steady, punishing rhythm. “Mr. fucking Sterling. CFO. Big man. On his knees like a cheap whore, sucking dick to stay out of prison. Your wife ever get your dick this wet, Paul? Does Paige let you fuck her pretty face? I fucking doubt it.”
Each word was a lash. Each thrust was a violation. Paul’s mind screamed in protest, in humiliation. He was not turned on. He was disgusted. Terrified. This was just a means to an end. He focused on the pain in his scalp, the burn in his jaw, the suffocating fullness in his throat—anything to distance himself.
But Luke was relentless. He fucked deeper, his balls slapping against Paul’s chin. “That’s it, take it. You’re a natural cocksucker. I knew you were. All you straight married fucks are the same. You just need a real man to show you your place. To show you that this—” he slammed his cock to the hilt, making Paul’s nose bury in his trimmed pubic hair, “—this is what you’re really for. You’re a just hole for me to use. Say it.”
He pulled back, letting Paul gasp for air, strings of spit and pre-cum connecting his lips to Luke’s glistening shaft. “Say ‘I’m just hole for you to use, Sir.’”
Tears of shame and strain tracked down Paul’s cheeks. “I’m… just a hole… for you to use, Sir.”
“Good faggot.” Luke shoved back in, deeper, harder. He fucked Paul’s face with a single-minded intensity for what felt like an eternity, his grunts and the wet, obscene sounds of penetration the only noise in the room. Just when Paul thought he might pass out from lack of air, Luke pulled out completely. His cock was fully erect now, a monstrous, throbbing thing.
“On your hands and knees. Ass in the air. Now.”
Paul scrambled to comply, his body moving on autopilot. The concrete was cold and unyielding under his palms and knees. He stared at the floor, his back arched, his naked ass exposed to the room—and to Luke. He heard a cap snap open, then the cold, slick drizzle of lube between his cheeks. He flinched.
“You’re going to feel this, Paul,” Luke said, his voice thick with arousal. He pressed a slick, blunt finger against Paul’s tight, virgin pucker. “You’re going to feel me open you up. You’re going to feel me own this ass. And you’re going to fucking thank me for it.”
The finger pushed in. It burned. A sharp, invasive sting that made Paul cry out. Luke worked it in and out, callously, adding a second finger almost immediately. The stretch was agonizing. Paul panted, burying his face in his arms.
“So fucking tight,” Luke groaned. “Haven’t used this hole in a while, have you? Your wife doesn’t peg you, huh? Pity. It’s going to make this hurt more.”
The fingers scissored, stretching him. Then they were gone. Paul braced himself, his entire body tensed for the tearing pain he knew was coming. He felt the broad, slick head of Luke’s cock press against him. It felt impossibly huge.
“Here we go, you married faggot. Take your medicine.”
Luke pushed.
The world exploded into white-hot pain. It wasn’t a slow, gradual entry. It was a brutal, relentless invasion. Paul screamed, a raw, ragged sound that echoed off the windows. Luke shoved forward, sheathing his entire thick length in one devastating thrust. He bottomed out, his hips flush against Paul’s ass cheeks. Paul felt speared, split open, impaled. He saw stars. He couldn’t breathe. The pain was a living thing in his gut.
“Fuck,” Luke hissed, his voice trembling with pleasure. “That’s it. That’s a virgin ass. So goddamn tight it’s milking my cock.”
He didn’t wait for Paul to adjust. He pulled back and slammed home again. And again. A hard, punishing pace that was all friction and burn. Paul sobbed, his tears dripping onto the floor. This was worse than anything he’d imagined. This was annihilation.
“You feel that, Paul?” Luke grunted, his hands digging into Paul’s hips, holding him in place for every savage thrust. “You feel my big fucking cock rearranging your guts? This is what you are now. You’re my ass. This tight little hole belongs to me. You’re not a CFO here. You’re not a husband. You’re a fucking hole for my cum. Say it.”
Between sobs and gasps, Paul choked out the words. “I’m… a hole… for your cum, Sir.”
“Louder!”
“I’m a hole for your cum, Sir!”
Luke’s pace became frenzied. The sharp pain began to shift, morphing into a deep, internal ache. And then, on one particular thrust, Luke’s cockhead grazed something. A tiny, hidden bundle of nerves deep inside him. A jolt, like a live wire, shot through Paul’s core. It wasn’t pleasure, not exactly. It was an intense, shocking sensation that made his thighs tremble.
“There it is,” Luke growled, adjusting his angle. He aimed for that spot now, hammering into it with precision. Thud. Thud. Thud. “There’s your fucking prostate, you whore. Feel that? That’s your ‘fuck me’ button. And I’m mashing it.”
With each targeted impact, the shocking sensation grew, spreading through his pelvis. Against his will, a low, pathetic moan was torn from Paul’s throat. His own cock, which had been shriveled and soft, began to stir. It thickened, lengthened, until it hung heavy and full between his legs, swaying with the force of Luke’s fucking. No. No, no, no! his mind screamed. But his body was betraying him utterly. A warm, helpless feeling bloomed in his lower belly.
“Look at that,” Luke sneered, reaching under to wrap his fingers around Paul’s hard, leaking cock. “You’re fucking loving it. Your married dick is rock hard for my cock in your ass. You’re a natural born faggot, Paul. Admit it.”
The dual sensation was overwhelming—the brutal, deep fucking and the firm, stroking hand on his cock. The warmth in his belly became a hot, raging fire. His moans became constant, mingling with his sobs. He was losing himself. The humiliation, the fear, it was all being burned away by this shocking, mounting physical urgency.
“I… I can’t…” Paul blubbered.
“You’re going to cum,” Luke commanded, his own thrusts becoming erratic, his breath coming in hot gusts against Paul’s neck. “You’re going to cum like a bitch from getting your ass fucked. And then… fuck… then I’m going to fill this used hole with my load.”
The fire exploded.
With a strangled shout, Paul’s body convulsed. An orgasm detonated from his prostate outward, utterly bypassing his shattered mind. It wasn’t like any orgasm he’d ever had. It was deeper, more violent, a seismic eruption of pleasure-pain that ripped through him. His cock pulsed in Luke’s fist, shooting thick, helpless ropes of cum onto the concrete floor beneath him. At the same time, the intense pressure in his bladder gave way, and a hot stream of piss jetted from him, splashing onto his own mess, utterly beyond his control.
“YES!” Luke roared, pounding into him through the violent spasms. “Piss yourself, you fucking animal! Cum from getting your ass destroyed! That’s it! Take my fucking seed!”
With three final, grinding thrusts, Luke buried himself to the hilt. Paul felt a hot, liquid rush flood his deepest channel as Luke emptied himself with a guttural groan, his body going rigid against Paul’s back.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Paul trembled violently, covered in sweat, tears, cum, and piss, utterly broken and hollowed out. Luke slowly pulled out, his spent cock making a wet, obscene sound. Paul collapsed onto his side in the cooling puddle of his own degradation, his mind a blank, ruined slate.
Luke stood over him, looking down at the wreck of a powerful man. He zipped his jeans, a faint, triumphant smile on his lips. He toed Paul’s hip with his shoe. “Get up. Clean yourself up in the guest bathroom. Towels are under the sink.” His voice was calm, almost gentle now. The storm had passed, and the landscape was forever changed.
Paul didn’t move. He couldn’t. Every nerve was alight, but his thoughts were slow, syrupy. The sharp pain in his ass was a dull, persistent throb now, a brand. The smell of sex and piss filled his nostrils. But beneath the shame, a terrible, terrifying truth was whispering in the ruins of his psyche. That orgasm… it had been the most powerful, all-consuming sensation of his entire life. It had come from that. From being used, dominated, fucked like an animal. His hard-on, now softening, was a testament his mind could no longer deny.
He was not the same man who had walked in here. Luke hadn’t just fucked him. He had rewritten him. And as Paul shakily pushed himself to his hands and knees, avoiding Luke’s eyes, he felt a horrifying, nascent devotion curl in the pit of his stomach, warm and insidious as the cum leaking from his
Paul’s ass burned with every step as he shuffled toward the guest bathroom, his movements stiff and pained. He avoided catching his reflection in the mirror—he couldn’t bear to see the hollow shell of the man he’d once been. The cold water from the faucet stung his raw skin as he began to scrub away the remnants of his humiliation—the sticky streaks of cum, the warm trails of piss, the faint metallic tang of blood. His hands trembled as they moved over his body, every touch a reminder of Luke’s brutal domination.
Just as he reached for a towel from under the sink, the door creaked open. Luke stepped in, his phone in hand, the screen already glowing with the camera app open. His hazel-green eyes glinted with predatory amusement as he leaned against the doorframe, casually scrolling through his messages before locking his gaze on Paul.
“On your knees again,” Luke commanded, his voice smooth but edged with steel. “But this time, squat. Spread those cheeks and push out my load. I want it on film.”
Paul froze, his stomach twisting in revulsion. “N-no,” he stammered, backing away slightly, his knees bumping against the edge of the toilet. “That’s… that’s too much. I can’t—”
Luke’s jaw tightened, and he took a step forward, the phone still raised. His free hand shot out, grabbing Paul by the throat and pinning him against the wall. “Let me make this clear,” he hissed, his breath hot against Paul’s ear. “You don’t get to say no. You’re mine now—your holes, your body, your fucking dignity. You either do what I say, or I pick up that phone right now and call the SEC. Twenty years in prison, Paul. Your family gone. Your life destroyed. So choose.”
Paul’s eyes welled with fresh tears as the weight of Luke’s words crushed him. He nodded weakly, his pride shattering into nothingness. Luke released him with a satisfied smirk and stepped back, lifting the phone to record.
“Good boy. Now get into position.”
Paul’s legs shook uncontrollably as he lowered himself into a deep squat, his knees spread wide. His body screamed in protest, the muscles in his thighs burning as he balanced himself. He felt the warm, slick remains of Luke’s cum pooling inside him, a vile reminder of what had just transpired. With a shaky breath, he reached back and spread his trembling cheeks, exposing his raw, gaping hole to the cold air—and to Luke’s camera.
“Push,” Luke ordered, his voice low and commanding.
Paul squeezed his eyes shut and bore down, his face flushing crimson with shame. A loud, wet fart ripped through the silence, followed by a gush of cum that splattered onto the tile floor beneath him. The sound was obscene, humiliating, and Paul’s entire body shuddered with disgust and helplessness. Luke’s laughter echoed in the small bathroom, sharp and mocking.
“That’s it,” Luke said, zooming in on the mess Paul had made. “Such a good little fuckhole. You’re learning your place.” He lowered the phone and smirked down at Paul, who was still crouched in the puddle of his own degradation.
Luke stepped closer, his phone still recording. He tilted his head slightly, a cruel grin spreading across his face as he knelt down beside Paul, the camera angle now capturing every detail of Paul’s humiliation. “Clean it up,” Luke commanded, his voice low and dripping with menace. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Paul’s ear. “With your tongue.”
Paul’s stomach turned in revulsion, his body trembling as he stared at the mess on the tile floor—Luke’s cum pooled in a sticky, glistening puddle, mixed with the remnants of his own degradation. His throat tightened, and he shook his head weakly, a muffled whimper escaping his lips. “I… I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Luke interrupted, his tone sharp, unrelenting. He grabbed a fistful of Paul’s hair, yanking his head back painfully. “And you will. Or do I need to remind you what’s at stake again? Now get to work.
The threat hung in the air like a guillotine, its blade poised to sever the last vestiges of Paul’s resistance. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he lowered himself further, his face inches from the cold tile. He hesitated for only a second before Luke gave his hair another vicious tug, forcing him down. With a shaky breath, Paul extended his tongue—a pathetic, trembling gesture of submission.
The first taste was bitter and vile, a sharp, metallic tang that made his stomach churn. He gagged immediately, pulling back, but Luke’s grip on his hair tightened, forcing him to stay. “None of that,” Luke snapped. He adjusted the camera to capture every detail. “Lick it clean. Every last drop.”
Paul’s mind screamed in protest, but his body obeyed. He dragged his tongue across the tile, the vile liquid coating his mouth as he lapped at the mess he’d been forced to make. The camera caught every moment—the way his chin quivered, the tears dripping onto the floor, the sickening sound of his tongue scraping against the cold surface. Luke chuckled darkly, zooming in on Paul’s face as he worked.
“That’s it,” Luke said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Good little whore. Eat it slut.” He reached down with his free hand and grabbed Paul’s jaw, holding him in place as he licked. “Enjoying the taste of your first meal as my faggot? That’s what you are now—my property. My plaything.”
Paul’s throat tightened as he continued to clean the floor, each stroke of his tongue a fresh layer of humiliation. The bile rose in his throat, but he forced it down, knowing full well that any resistance would only make things worse. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the tile was spotless. He sat back on his heels, trembling and gasping for air, his mouth still filled with the bitter remnants of his degradation.
Luke lowered the phone and leaned in close, his lips brushing against Paul’s ear as he whispered, “Remember this moment, Paul. Remember what you are now. A hole. A fucktoy. And this is just the beginning.”
He stood up and walked away, leaving Paul kneeling in the bathroom, broken and hollow, as the weight of those words sank into his very soul. The camera footage was already saved—a permanent reminder of his submission, a ticking time bomb ready to detonate if he ever dared to defy Luke again.
Once cleaned up, he dressed in silence, his hands fumbling with his clothes, his mind a swirling storm of shame and confusion.
Paul’s legs barely carried him to the car, his body trembling with every step. He gripped the door handle, his knuckles white, and paused for a moment, leaning against the cold metal. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on his chest like a stone. He felt sick—deeply, wretchedly sick. His stomach churned violently, and before he could stop it, he doubled over, retching onto the pavement.
The bile burned his throat as it surged up, acrid and bitter, splattering onto the concrete in a messy, humiliating display. His knees buckled, and he clung to the car door for support, his body convulsing with each heave. Tears streamed down his face—tears of shame, of revulsion, of sheer helplessness. What have I done? The thought echoed in his mind, a relentless mantra that refused to let him go.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The taste of vomit mixed with the lingering bitterness from Luke’s cum in his mouth, a nauseating cocktail that made him gag again. He leaned his forehead against the car, his body trembling, his mind a whirlwind of horror and disgust.
But it wasn’t just the physical degradation that made him sick. It was the realization that he’d allowed this—that he’d given up his dignity, his autonomy, his very self, to save a life that now felt like a lie. Is this who I am now? A whore? A slave? A hollow shell of the man I used to be?
He stumbled into the car, slamming the door shut behind him. The air inside felt suffocating, heavy with the scent of his own sweat and fear. He gripped the steering wheel, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold on. For a moment, he considered driving away—just leaving it all behind. But where would he go? What would he do?
The thought of Paige and the boys flashed in his mind, piercing through the haze of his despair. They needed him. They depended on him. But how could he be what they needed when he was… this?
He started the car, the engine roaring to life as if mocking his weakness. The drive home was a blur of tears and shame, the city lights outside the window smearing into streaks of color as he fought to keep himself together. But deep down, he knew one thing for certain: he would never be the same again.
As he pulled into the driveway of his suburban home, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He froze, his heart pounding as he pulled it out and read the message:
“Whenever I want. Wherever I want.”
The words were simple, but their meaning was clear. This wasn’t over. It would never be over. Paul stared at the screen, his stomach twisting in a mix of dread and something else… something he didn’t want to acknowledge. He knew what that text meant. Luke owned him now—body and soul.
He took a deep breath and stepped out of the car, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He plastered on a smile as he walked toward the house, where Paige and the boys were waiting. He had to be strong for them. He had to be the man they thought he was. But inside, he felt the cracks widening, the veneer of his life crumbling away.
As he opened the door, he heard Paige’s cheerful voice calling out to him. “Paul! You’re home late. Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he lied, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Just… work stuff.”
He forced himself to smile, to hug her, to be the husband and father they deserved. But as he held her, he couldn’t shake the words echoing in his mind:
Whenever I want. Wherever I want.
