Brock's hand became a fist. His fingers dug into my scalp, twisting my hair into a tight knot that pulled at the roots. A guttural sound ripped from his throat, a noise of pure, animal pleasure.
He yanked his cock out of my mouth. I had a split second to gasp, to suck in a desperate lungful of damp alley air, before he slammed it back in.
There was no warning.
No gentle push.
My head snapped back against the unyielding pressure of his hand, my throat breached.
“Yeah, that’s it.” His voice was a ragged growl. “Take that fucking cock.”
I gagged, a deep, retching heave that accomplished nothing. He was buried too deep. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, hot and shameful, blurring the hard lines of his face into a monstrous mask of pure lust. My jaw screamed in protest. My throat burned as if scraped raw with steel wool.
But beneath the pain, something else ignited.
A traitorous fire licked through my veins.
My body arched into him.
It didn't want escape.
It wanted more.
A desperate, consuming need for this degradation, for the excruciating reality of being filled, used, and bent by him. My humiliation was a drug, and I was already an addict.
His hips gave a short, hard buck that sent a shock wave straight down my spine. The thick ridge of his cockhead scraped against something deep inside me. A low moan rattled in my chest, trapped behind the flesh filling my throat.
“Yeah,” he moaned.
Another punishing thrust.
“Making you work today, faggot.”
The word hit me like a slap. It was what he always called me, spat with contempt across a high school hallway.
Now it was different.
Possessive.
An owner staking his claim.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone, a shockingly gentle gesture.
“So pretty, sucking that fat cock”
My eyes fluttered.
A jolt of pure, white-hot lust shot straight to my own dick, crushed and forgotten inside my shorts, pulsing with an agonizing throb. It was a desperate, unbearable yearning.
I needed release.
I needed friction.
I needed him.
My hips betrayed me.
They gave a small, involuntary twitch forward.
Then another.
I rocked into the rhythm he set, my body a slave to the brutal cadence of his thrusts.
I was no longer just a victim of his assault.
I was a participant.
An eager one.
His knuckles ground against my skull. He held me fast, setting a brutal, relentless rhythm.
“That’s it,” Brock taunted.
He drove forward again. My throat stretched, burning, broken. He was a force of nature, and I was just the thing he was breaking against.
He pulled back just enough for me to register the slick, hot texture of his shaft against my tongue before he plunged again, deeper this time. A strangled noise tore from me, a whimper swallowed by the sheer mass of him.
“I think you always wanted this, didn't you, faggot?” He asked.
The question was a blade, twisting in a wound I never knew I had. My mind screamed no. A litany of denials. But my body… my body was a fucking traitor.
“Always wanted my dick down your fucking throat.” He rammed in again, forcing a choked gag, his hips bucking with a raw, possessive power. “Nothing but a hungry little cum-dump.”
I whined around his cock.
It wasn't a word.
It wasn't even human.
It was the sound of my pride shattering, of my will dissolving into pure, desperate need.
A rough, pleased groan answered me from above.
He liked that sound.
He liked what he was doing to me.
“You’re so much better than my girlfriend,” he grunted, his voice tight with strain. His hips slammed against my face. The brutal, punishing cadence turned into a frenzied jack-hammering.
He was losing control.
“God,” he gasped. “You’re making me cum already.”
His whole body tensed.
“Oh, fuck.” His voice was a ragged whisper. “I’m gonna nut.”
Panic sliced through the haze of my arousal.
I couldn't.
Not here.
Not like this.
A sudden urge to escape surged through me. My hands shot up, pushing uselessly against his thighs. I tried to pull my head back, to wrench myself free from the impending release.
He laughed.
It was a harsh, triumphant sound that echoed off the damp brick. His hand clamped down harder, holding my head immobile. He drove himself deeper, ramming his cock past the point of pain into a raw, burning abyss.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was a low snarl. “After all these years waiting for a taste, you think you can skip dinner?”
He yanked my head back, then slammed me forward again.
“Stupid faggot.”
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