The past few nights had left me twisted.
Out here in the middle of nowhere, waiting for my attackers to show up. Never knowing when they might come. Chad and Wade had invaded my campsite and turned me inside out. I had never seen this side of myself before—the side that wanted to be thoroughly owned by someone, to be used as a plaything.
I’d always prided myself on confidence and control. I was usually the hunter. I didn’t wait to be chosen—I did the choosing.
I’d strut into a club, scan the room, and pick out the man I wanted. A drink, a look, a few quiet words, and before long I’d be walking out with my prize. That had always been my game.
Thankfully, I looked the part. Hours in the gym had built the kind of body that turned heads. A few days of stubble sharpened my jaw and gave me that rough edge I knew worked. Tight jeans, boots, sometimes a leather jacket if I was feeling particularly good that night. A cigar tucked casually into the pocket—not lit, just there as a signal.
It was a look I’d cultivated carefully. The kind of man who wasn’t there to flirt or linger. I was there to grab what I wanted.
But out here, working miles from anywhere, that version of me didn’t exist. My clothes were loose and practical. Nothing about me out here was meant to attract attention, just another guy doing his job. Out here, there were no clubs, no bars, no crowds to play to. Just long days, dirt roads, and work that left me too tired to think about anything else.
That was the man Chad and Wade had found. Not the player. Not the man who walked into a room and took what he wanted. To them, I was just a faggot doing his job, miles from home. I was just something to use. A plaything. Something weak enough to break and bend to their will. They didn’t see a predator. They saw prey.
And now, I knew they could show up at any moment.
Fear was mixed with excitement in a way that kept me constantly on edge. The man who had strutted confidently into that bar was gone. In his place was someone wrecked—someone waiting, hoping, almost begging for them to come back.
But I knew, they might not come at all.
The waiting was torture. I couldn’t focus on my work. Every few minutes I’d find myself staring down the road, scanning the horizon for their truck, hoping to see dust rising in the distance. But they liked to leave me waiting. That was part of the game.
As much as I wanted them to appear, I knew tonight was unlikely. And the thought of another empty night left a hollow ache in my chest.
So I forced myself back into routine.
I finished my work for the day, cleaned up camp, and threw together something simple to eat. The fire crackled softly as I sat down with my dinner and a beer. My mind drifted back to the night before—how completely they had taken control of me, leaving me spent, used, and aching in ways I couldn’t stop thinking about.
I was halfway through my beer when I heard it.
A truck.
At first, my body lit up with excitement. I stood quickly, staring down the road.
Headlights appeared in the distance.
But as the truck drew closer, my excitement faded into confusion. This wasn’t Chad’s truck. This one was older, rougher—paint faded, body dented from years of hard use.
I watched carefully as it rolled toward camp. My stomach tightened.
Was this someone else? Someone who shouldn’t be here?
Then I saw the driver. Even from a distance, Wade’s massive frame was unmistakable. He filled the window of the truck, leaning back in the seat like he owned the road. Mirrored aviators hid his eyes. A cigar burned slowly between his lips. One hand rested lazily on the wheel, the other hanging out the window.
My heart skipped.
He was alone. No Chad.
Why was he here by himself?
The truck rolled to a stop just outside camp and the engine went quiet. He rolled down his window. He parked close enough that we were staring straight at each other.
Neither of us spoke.
I couldn’t see his eyes behind those mirrored lenses, but I could feel him studying me. Waiting. Letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable.
My pulse started to climb.
Finally he broke it.
“So, cocksucker… I’m back.”
I swallowed. “I see that, sir … where’s Chad?”
A slow smirk tugged at Wade’s mouth. “I didn’t bring your boyfriend,” he said. “He’s back at the shop working.” He leaned forward slightly in the seat. “Tonight it's just you and me, cunt”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
He watched my reaction for a moment before continuing.
“I didn’t get my fill last time,” he said calmly. “Figured I’d come fix that.”
The truck door swung open.
Then he jerked his head toward the truck.
“Get over here.”
I hesitated for only a second before walking toward him, stopping beside the door. He opened it….
I noticed he already had his cock out, it was hard and dripping in precum, he must have driven up with it out. Clearly getting excited for what he had planned for me. He ordered me to get to work. His hand came down hard on my shoulder and pushed me lower.
“Go on,” he muttered around the cigar.
He forced me down onto his cock, and I went down eagerly. My lips wrapped around his dick, tasting the salt of precum at the tip. A cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, one heavy hand gripping the back of my head as he began to push me down, setting the pace himself.
“That’s it…” he muttered above me.
I glanced to the side and noticed the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s sitting on the seat. It made sense. The slow confidence, the rough edge to him — he’d clearly been drinking.
His hand tightened in my hair as he pushed my head down again, impatient, hungry. He wanted it, and he was going to take it.
Above me, I could hear his breathing, rough and satisfied. My lips stretched tight around the huge girth of his cock. He moved me the way he wanted, my eyes watering as I struggled to keep up. Smoke from the cigar drifted around us, thick in the air.
Then I heard him laugh softly. “Chad found himself a good little cocksucker here,” he said. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
A strange flicker of pride stirred in my chest. The approval, twisted as it was, warmed something inside me. I could feel the heat of the cigar smoke as he leaned back in the seat and reached for the bottle again, taking another slow swig.
The scene felt strange to me. Normally, I was the one with the cigar between my lips, leaning back and enjoying the view while someone else worked to please me. That had always been one of my favourite moments—sitting there calm and confident, smoke curling into the air while a willing twink knelt between my legs. The power of it. The control.
In that moment, I knew exactly what those twinks must have felt like now. Because tonight I was the one on my knees.
The smell of Wade’s cigar drifted down over me, thick and rich, the smoke wrapping around my face as he watched me work. It was a scent I’d always loved—dark tobacco, slow-burning masculinity. Usually, it made the moment better when I was the one holding it.
But tonight the cigar wasn’t mine. Tonight it hung from his lips, not mine. And somehow that only made the whole thing more intoxicating.
Suddenly, he grabbed my hair and pulled me off him. I looked up. The aviators reflected this new pathetic slutty version of myself back at me. With the cigar clenched between his teeth and a crooked smile pulling at his mouth, he looked powerful, commanding attention.
“You’re a dirty little slut. A slut hungry for cock, aren’t you?” he said calmly.
I just nodded. It was easier than speaking.
He studied me for a moment before continuing. “Chad likes you, maybe a little too much. It makes him weak, soft”, he said, voice low. “But to me? You’re nothing more than a hole. No feelings. No nonsense.”
Then, as if to seal the deal, he spat. A thick wad landed across my lips. It marked me as his. Without thinking, I licked it away. His smile widened slightly at the sight.
“That’s why I left him at work,” he said. “Tonight I need something raw, and no emotion is required, … and you’re going to help with that.”
To make his point, Wade reached behind his back and pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans. He pressed the cold metal against the side of my head. “You hear me?” he said quietly.
I just smiled faintly. The gun didn’t change anything. As if to show the deal still stood, I leaned forward again and went back on his cock without hesitation.
He chuckled, clearly amused by my eagerness.
I had slipped quickly into the role he wanted from me—the cock-hungry faggot at his feet. Part of me knew I should have felt humiliated, but another part of me was caught up in it. The aggression, the authority in his voice, the way he carried himself—even drunk, Wade radiated a kind of raw masculinity that was impossible to ignore.
It was intoxicating.
I worked harder, showing him exactly what he wanted to see. My hands occasionally slid along the shaft, guiding him while my mouth moved with practised rhythm. I let my tongue linger, making sure he could feel my attention, my focus.
Saliva gathered at my lips as I kept going, breathing through my nose, adjusting to the pace he seemed to prefer. My eyes watered from the effort, but I didn’t slow down. If anything, I leaned into it—making a show of how eager I was, how desperate I seemed to please him.
To him, it probably looked like submission. But inside, the rush of it had its own kind of thrill. I knew what it felt like to be the man in control of a moment like this. I’d been that guy many times before. Now I understand the other side of it, too.
Then he pulled me back once more.
“Good little slut,” he said. “You're doing a great job, but I’ve got other plans for you.” With that said, he shoved me aside and climbed out of the truck, boots crunching against the dusty ground. He stood there for a moment — cigar smoke curling upward, the gun hanging casually in his hand — watching me through those mirrored glasses.
Again, I could see my own reflection staring back at me. The hunger in my eyes, the fear of what could happen next, the need for more.
Then he grabbed my shoulder and dragged me forward, pushing me down over the hood of the truck. The metal was warm beneath me as he bent me over, holding my head down with one hand while the other kept the gun loosely at his side.
His body pressed against mine.
“You know what I’m looking for tonight, don’t you, boy?” he murmured.
I tried to answer, but his hand kept my face pinned to the hood.
“That’s right, cunt,” he muttered. “Talented little cocksucker. But I didn’t drive all the way out here just for that mouth.” He stepped in close, pressing his groin against me and forcing me forward against the hood of the truck. The metal was warm from the engine as my body hit it.
“I’m here for that ass of yours.”
He ground himself against me, dragging his hips slowly up and down so I could feel the weight of his cock pressing between my arse cheeks. The message was clear.
And my body reacted before my brain did. I pushed back slightly, matching his rhythm, my hips moving against him almost willingly. It was humiliating how naturally my body responded. He noticed. “Look at you,” Wade chuckled around the cigar. “Already pushing back like the hungry little whore you are.”
Suddenly, he stepped back and grabbed my track pants, yanking them up hard before delivering a sharp swat across my ass. The crack echoed through the quiet camp. His other hand grabbed a fistful of me through the fabric, kneading and squeezing roughly, like he was testing something he intended to use.
“Not bad,” he muttered. “Been waiting to get my hands on this again.”
Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband and yanked both pants and underwear down in one brutal motion. The cool metal of the truck brushed against my cock as I was exposed, sending a shiver through me. Behind me, Wade let out a low, satisfied sound.
His hands returned to my ass, rough and heavy, spreading and squeezing with possessive confidence. “You really are a greedy little thing,” he said quietly.
One hand slid lower, fingers dragging slowly from my balls up the crack of my ass. When they reached the centre, he paused and then pushed. The rough calluses of his fingers forced their way inside me, slow but relentless. I gasped, my hands gripping the edge of the hood as he pushed deeper.
“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning forward so his voice brushed against my ear. Smoke from the cigar drifted past my face.
“Tight little pussy you’ve got here.”
His fingers moved again, stretching me deliberately. “Last time Chad helped break you in,” he continued. “Tonight it’s just me, and I want that cunt tight” A second finger joined the first, scissoring slowly as he worked me open. “Your pussy is gonna be stretched out by my cock tonight," he growled. “And you're gonna like it, just like the good little bitch you are.”
My body twisted under him as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching and teasing until I was writhing against the truck. After a moment, he pulled them free.
The sudden emptiness made me gasp. He leaned forward again, the cigar hovering near my ear. Then his fingers were shoved into my mouth. “Taste it,” he ordered. “Taste your own pussy, boy.” I obeyed instantly, sucking his fingers clean while he watched.
Satisfied, he pulled them free and stepped back, then used my own saliva to lube my arse.
I felt him shift behind me, one hand gripping his cock as he rubbed it slowly up and down the crack of my arse. My arse twitched in anticipation. I felt him stop as he lined himself up. Then the thick head of him pressed against me. He pushed forward slowly at first, forcing me to open for him inch by inch.
The huge mushroom head of his cock forced my arse open, stretching me beyond what felt like its natural limits. I clenched the edge of the hood as he kept pushing, his strength making it impossible to resist. Then one final hard thrust drove him fully inside.
Wade let out a rough grunt behind me. “That’s it,” he growled. “Take it all, cunt. That’s what you’re good for.” My breath came out in a shaky gasp.
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned down close again, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me bitch,” he said. “Tell me how much you want this cock.” I hesitated for a split second, unsure what he wanted to hear.
Then he snapped sharply: “I said, tell me.”
I tried a different tactic. “Stop, sir, fuck you are too big for me,” I said quickly. “I can’t take it—please—” Before I could finish, he grabbed the back of my neck. “ You have no choice cunt,” he snapped. “You’re mine right now. Out here, nobody hears your cries for help; no one will hear a thing.”
The words sent a jolt through me. No one can hear your screams out here. That was what he wanted. Fear.
And suddenly I understood the game he wanted to play.
So I gave it to him. “No—please,” I shouted. “Don’t do this—”
Behind me, Wade let out a dark laugh as his hips slammed forward again, the force driving me hard against the truck.
“Yeah, cunt,” he growled. “That’s it. Take it all.”
His hand tightened on my hip, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
“Beg me to stop.”
Another hard thrust followed, rough and deliberate. “But it won’t do you any good,” he continued, voice low and dangerous. “Out here, I take what’s mine.”
He leaned closer, his breath hot near my ear, the scent of whiskey and cigar smoke heavy in the air. “You’re in a real man’s country now,” he muttered. “And out here we don’t ask permission.”
His grip tightened as he drove forward again. “We just take what we need.”
The rhythm turned brutal, the truck rocking slightly as he drove into me again and again.
“Take it,” he barked. “Take my cock like the little fucking slut that you are.” I kept yelling and struggling just enough to feed the fantasy he clearly wanted. And the harder I played it up, the harder he fucked me.
The pounding became brutal.
Wade had completely lost himself in it, driving into me with relentless force. One hand shoved my head down against the hood while the other gripped my hip, holding me in place as he slammed forward again and again.
His cock stretched me wider than I was used to, every thrust forcing deeper than the last. I could feel every inch of him as he pulled back almost completely before ramming forward again.
“Fuck—your cock is huge,” I gasped. “I can’t… I don’t know how much more I can take.” My voice cracked just enough to keep him going. If anything, it only drove him harder.
“Take it, bitch,” he growled behind me. “Take my huge fucking cock. That’s all you’re good for.”
The rhythm became savage. “You’re just a hole for me to use,” he spat. “A greedy little cocksucker begging for it.”
I whimpered again, feeding the moment, letting him believe he was breaking me. But I could feel the change coming. His breathing grew heavier. The thrusts lost their rhythm, turning desperate and rough. Then he slammed into me one last time and held himself there.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “You’re getting it now.” His grip tightened on my hips. “Take it all, you fucking cunt.”
His body shuddered as he came, deep inside me, his breath exploding out in a long, exhausted groan. I felt him twitch and pulse, emptying himself with heavy, desperate thrusts.
By the time he finished, both of us were shaking.
I collapsed against the hood of the truck, barely able to hold myself up. Wade slumped forward over me, his heavy body draped across my back. The cigar still hung loosely from his fingers, the smoke drifting lazily into the night air.
For a moment, neither of us moved. He was breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face and chest. “Yeah…” he muttered weakly. “That’s it… Take it all.”
Eventually, he pushed himself upright, slowly pulling out. I felt the sudden emptiness as he stepped back. He then grabbed my shoulder, pulled me away from his truck and threw me to the ground.
He stood over me for a moment, broad shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath. The mirrored aviators hid his eyes, reflecting my pathetic form back at me in the lenses. I must have looked like a wreck sprawled there in the dirt.
Wade just stared down at me, legs spread slightly, boots planted firmly in the ground. His cock still hung heavy between the open zipper of his jeans, the cigar burning lazily between his lips. Even spent, there was something imposing about him.
Then he grabbed himself casually and started to piss.
The stream hit my chest and stomach first as he aimed down at me without moving an inch. It ran across my skin and soaked into the dirt beneath me. He didn’t rush it. He just stood there calmly, smoke drifting from the cigar while he emptied his bladder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
After a moment he shifted his aim.
The stream splashed higher across my chest and neck before he tilted his hips slightly, guiding it toward my face. I looked up at him and opened my mouth without hesitation. The stream hit my lips and spilled across my tongue as I drank it down eagerly, letting the rest run across my chin and throat.
He watched me for a moment, clearly amused.
“Good little slut,” he muttered lazily. “You did well.”
He gave himself a final shake before tucking himself back into his jeans, still looking down at me with that same quiet, satisfied calm.
He turned toward the truck, reaching inside and grabbing a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Unscrewing the cap, he took a long swallow straight from it. I could see it then. He’d already been drinking before he arrived. And now the adrenaline was fading.
He took another drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned against the truck. His posture had lost some of its sharpness, the hard edge of control slipping into something slower and heavier.
For the first time that night, Wade looked tired. Really tired. I crawled toward him slowly.
He didn’t stop me. When I reached him, I took his cock gently in my hand and brought it back to my mouth. He was softer now, but still warm and heavy. He watched me lazily through half-closed eyes. “Greedy little whore,” he murmured. “Can’t get enough, huh?”
I just nodded and kept working slowly.
The whiskey bottle hung loose in his hand while the cigar burned low between his fingers. His head tilted back against the truck as the alcohol and exhaustion caught up with him.
“Fuck…” he muttered quietly. A moment later, he slid down until he was sitting on the ground. “Give me a minute,” he mumbled.
But the minute turned into several. His head drooped forward. And before long, Wade was asleep.
Getting him into the tent was a struggle. Even drunk and exhausted he was a heavy man, but eventually I managed to guide him inside and lower him onto the bedding.
He didn’t wake.
I pulled off his shirt and tossed the dying cigar outside before dragging a sleeping bag over him. For the first time since he’d arrived, he looked almost peaceful. The hard lines of his face had softened, the constant tension in his jaw gone now that sleep had taken him.
For a while I just sat there, looking at him.
Only an hour ago he had been the one towering over me—commanding, rough, completely certain of his control. Out there he had taken what he wanted without hesitation.
But in here… things were different.
I lay down beside him carefully, resting my head against his chest. His breathing was slow and deep now, his arm heavy and useless beside him. The man who had held me down so easily earlier was completely helpless in his sleep.
I let my hands wander slowly over him.
Running my fingers across the thick muscles of his chest. Tracing the rough calluses on his hands. Kissing the sweat and smoke from his skin, tasting the salt of it. He didn’t stir. Didn’t stop me.
For once he wasn’t the one in control.
He didn’t command me. Didn’t insult me. Didn’t tell me what I was.
He just slept.
And for the first time that night, I felt something shift.
Out there, Wade had taken me like I was his property—his toy, something he could use and throw around as he pleased. But now he was the one laid out on my bedding, vulnerable and unaware while I moved over him however I wanted.
I could touch him. Taste him. Explore every inch of him without resistance.
In this moment, he was mine.
My big, brutal bully—reduced to a heavy, sleeping body beneath my hands. The thought sent a quiet thrill through me. Not the sharp adrenaline of fear from earlier, but something slower… more deliberate.
I knew the truth, of course.
When morning came Wade would wake up. The hard edge would return to his voice. The dominance, the arrogance, the way he carried himself like the world belonged to him.
The balance would shift back the moment his eyes opened.
But tonight…
Tonight he slept in my tent.
Tonight he lay in my arms.
And tonight, even if only for a few quiet hours, Wade belonged to me.
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