“Fuck you.”
The words clawed their way up my throat, a ragged, desperate whisper born of terror and a final, flickering ember of defiance.
Brock’s smile was all teeth.
“That’s the idea, faggot.”
The ominous sound of fabric shifting filled the sudden silence.
His hand moved from my chest to the back of my neck, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin there, a grip of pure, unyielding ownership.
He shoved.
My knees buckled instantly, hitting the gritty, piss-stained asphalt with a sickening crack. Pain shot up my legs, sharp and immediate. The rough surface of the ground bit into my bare skin. My hands flew out to catch myself, my palms slapping against the filthy ground. I was on all fours, a supplicant in the filth of the alley, my head bowed under the crushing weight of his hand.
The gray fabric of his sweatpants stretched tight. A thick, insistent bulge strained against the worn cotton, a powerful, undeniable presence just inches from my face. It had to be half-hard already, a promise of what was to come.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband. The elastic snapped against his skin as he shoved the sweats and his briefs down in one fluid, aggressive motion. They pooled around his thick thighs.
His cock sprang free.
It was huge, a fat, heavy length of flesh that bobbed with the movement. The head, a dark, angry purple, was already weeping a single, clear bead of precum.
“Open your fucking mouth.”
My head shook, a small, jerky motion. A tremor of pure refusal ran through me, a last stand against the inevitable.
No.
Not this.
A harsh, barking laugh.
“Why fight it?” His voice dripped with condescending amusement. “We both know you want this cock, faggot.”
Before I could process the filthy accusation, he acted.
He dragged the thick shaft of his cock across my cheek.
The skin was rough, hot, and unforgiving. It scraped against my face, a deliberate, degrading caress from my temple to the corner of my mouth. A wave of his scent washed over me—a raw, animal smell of sweat and salt and pure, unadulterated male. It was the scent of the locker room, of exertion, of a body pushed to its limit.
It should have been repulsive.
But it wasn’t.
He pulled back, then swiped it across my face again, this time over my nose and lips. The single bead of precum left a slick, wet trail on my skin.
My body screamed. Every muscle tensed, ready to explode. My mind raced with violence.
Knee him.
Gouge his eyes.
Bite him.
A primal part of me clawed at the inside of my skull, begging for a fight, for any act of defiance to reclaim this moment.
But I remained frozen.
The will to resist evaporated in the stifling heat that radiated from his body. It was more than just physical warmth. It was the intoxicating burn of his power, the searing intensity of his hatred, and something else—something dark and buried deep inside me. An old, unspoken want that I had denied for years now rose like bile in my throat. This crushing humiliation was tangled up with a twisted thread of desire.
I hated him for this.
I hated myself for this.
And god, I wanted it.
The weight of his hand on my neck was exhilarating.
It was everything.
The pressure pinned me in place, a human anchor chaining me to the grimy asphalt. My defiance shattered into a million tiny pieces, dissolving into the filth beneath my knees.
This was my place.
This was where he wanted me.
I deserved it.
My lips parted on a shaky breath.
A traitorous warmth flooded my groin, a thick, heavy pulse that mirrored the insistent throb of the cock in front of my face. My tongue, acting on some deep, natural instinct I didn't know I possessed, flicked out. It swiped over my own lips, an eager gesture of submission.
The pressure on my neck eased just enough for me to look up. Brock’s eyes burned into mine, glittering with a dark triumph.
“That’s it.” He nudged my lips with the head of his cock. “You gonna take care of that fat cock for me?”
The words scraped out of my throat, raw and broken.
“Yes, sir.”
I leaned forward, my mouth opening wide. The thick, purple head pushed past my lips. I closed my mouth around him, my tongue darting out to slurp greedily at the slick bead of precum. The taste was musky and it set my blood on fire. My throat worked, my jaw ached, but I took him deeper, swallowing around the thick, insistent flesh that filled my mouth.
He was halfway down my throat before I stopped.
A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest.
His hips gave a small, involuntary buck.
“Oh, fuck, boy.”
His brow furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut for a second. It was the sound of a man losing control, the sight of a bully shocked by his own pleasure. A surge of dark power shot through me, hot and intoxicating.
I could make this wall of muscle, this monster from my past, feel something.
I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
I pushed past the gag reflex, past the burning ache in my jaw. I swallowed hard, my throat convulsing as I took him deeper. My tongue swirled around the thick shaft, my lips pulled tight.
I sucked.
Hard.
I wanted to drain him, to pull every last drop of his power into my mouth.
His jaw dropped.
His eyes flew open, wide with disbelief.
For a moment, he just stared down at me, his mouth a perfect O of surprise.
Then, the corners of his lips curled up. A slow, sly smile spread across his face.
“Fuck, you know how to suck a cock, huh faggot?”
A harsh, ugly laugh.
He yanked his cock from my mouth with a wet, popping sound.
Before I could gasp for air, he slapped the side of my face with it. The heavy flesh smacked against my cheek, wet and stinging, leaving a slick trail of my own spit in its wake.
I didn't pull away.
I lunged forward.
My hands slapped against his thick, corded thighs, my painted nails digging into the dense muscle. My head tilted back, my mouth falling open, a silent, desperate plea. I stared up at the monster who owned this alley, who owned me, and a wave of pure, sickening gratitude crashed over me.
He was giving me exactly what I deserved.
He saw it in my eyes.
He knew.
The ugly, beautiful truth.
“You love a big fucking dick, huh?”
My answer was a desperate whimper. I surged forward, my lips wrapping around the thick head again. I didn't wait for an invitation. I sucked him in, my throat opening, my jaw aching with the glorious effort. The musky taste of him exploded on my tongue again, more potent this time.
His hand returned to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, but this time it wasn't a shove. It was a guide. A firm, possessive pressure that urged me on.
“That’s a happy little faggot, huh?” he grunted, his voice thick with pleasure as he pushed his hips forward.
The fat shaft slid deeper, a relentless invasion that pushed past all my limits. I gagged, a wet, choking sound, but I fought it. I swallowed hard, my throat muscles straining, forcing myself to take more. The last few inches were an agony of pleasure, a brutal stretching that made my eyes water. My throat burned, a ring of fire as the base of his cock met my lips.
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