I remember the day I graduated college like it was yesterday. At 22, I was the golden boy—lean muscles from years of track and weights, that jocky build everyone envied, and yeah, my bubble butt turned heads in the locker room. Hometown was small, suffocating. Mom cried when I packed my bags for the big city, Dad just nodded proudly. 'Go climb that ladder, son.' I did. Landed a killer entry-level gig at a finance firm, sharp suits, corner office in sight. By 25, I was pulling six figures, easy. Penthouse apartment with a view of the skyline, weekends at rooftop bars, designer clothes hugging my frame. Life was lavish—steaks at Michelin spots, a sleek sports car in the garage. But fuck, I was horny all the time. No real action. Dates with women fizzled; I knew deep down I craved something else. Guys. Specifically, getting railed hard, filled up. I'd jerk off to porn of bottoms taking load after load, imagining my ass clenching around a thick cock, cum dripping out. It ate at me, this void.
It started innocently enough. A work happy hour, eyes locking with this tall exec type. We ended up at my place. He pinned me against the wall, hands groping my ass cheeks, spreading them. 'Look at this bubble butt,' he growled. I trembled, heart pounding with shame and excitement. He bent me over the couch, lubed up, and shoved his cock in. The stretch burned, but god, it felt right. I pushed back, moaning like a slut. He fucked me raw, grunting as he unloaded deep inside. Warm spurts flooding my hole—I clenched, milking every drop. Lying there after, cum leaking onto my thighs, I felt alive for the first time. Euphoric. Wanted more.
From there, it snowballed. Apps on my phone, anonymous hookups. I'd skip gym sessions to meet guys in hotel rooms. One night, a group of three—college bros on a trip. They took turns, one in my mouth while another pounded my ass. 'Take it, you greedy hole,' one said, slamming balls-deep. I gagged on the cock down my throat, tears streaming, but my dick leaked pre-cum. They bred me one by one, loads mixing inside, overflowing when the last guy pulled out. I scooped some up, tasted it—salty, forbidden bliss. Emotions crashed over me: guilt for ditching family calls, thrill at being used, emptiness when they left. Work suffered. Emails piled up; I daydreamed about cocks during meetings, ass twitching under my slacks.
Then came the parties. A client invite to a private club—coke on mirrors, champagne flowing. I tried a line, the rush hitting like lightning. Confidence surged; I flirted with a silver fox who dragged me to a back room. High as fuck, I dropped to my knees, sucking his dick eagerly, tongue swirling the head. He flipped me, fucked me against the sink, snorting more off my back mid-thrust. His load shot hot inside, and I came untouched, body shaking. Drugs amplified everything—the high made submission intoxicating, the comedown left me craving the next fix. I started buying my own stash, popping pills to stay up for all-night sessions. Career? Promotions slipped away. Boss called me in: 'You're distracted, Jake. Shape up.' But I was too busy getting bred by the intern in the supply closet, his cum staining my tie as I rushed back to my desk.
The decline was brutal. Deadlines missed, clients pissed. Fired on a Friday, severance check in hand. Panic hit—big city rent doesn't pay itself. I stared at my reflection: still ripped, ass plumper from squats and all the riding. Apps shifted from fun to survival. First client: a married dad, nervous in my apartment. I stripped, bent over the kitchen counter. 'Fuck me hard,' I begged, emotions swirling—humiliation, desperation, that twisted arousal. He did, gripping my hips, pounding until he filled me. Fifty bucks richer, hole sore and satisfied. Word spread; bookings flooded. I'd drive across town in my car, traffic blurring as I fingered the plug in my ass to stay loose. One guy, a rough trucker, made me suck him off in the parking lot first, then bent me over the hood. Cars honked; I didn't care, moaning as he rammed in, breeding me quick and dirty. Emotions? A numb thrill, like this was my purpose now.
Parties were the worst—and best. Rented as 'party favor,' blindfolded in some mansion, hands tied. Bodies swarmed: cocks in my mouth, ass, hands jerking me off. 'Open wide, slut,' a voice commanded. I did, throat fucked until I choked, cum swallowing down. Another slid into my hole, already slick from previous loads. They passed me around, laughing, drugs keeping me floaty. One night, ten guys? I lost count. Loads dumped in me, on me—face sticky, ass gaping, cum pooling on the floor. High on molly and whatever else, I felt euphoric detachment, body a vessel for their pleasure. But mornings after, crashing hard, brain foggy. Paranoia crept in; I'd cry in the shower, water mixing with drying semen, wondering how I fell so far. Family? Ghosted them. Hometown felt like a dream.
Substance abuse fried me slow. Coke for energy, downers to sleep, poppers for every fuck. Thoughts scattered; I forgot names, mixed up bookings. Ass got bigger—clients loved it, slapping the cheeks as they plunged in. 'Such a perfect hole,' they'd say. I nodded blankly, pushing back on instinct. Driving to a client, I'd zone out, nearly crashing, high and empty. One session, a businessman tied me spread-eagle on his bed. He edged me for hours, cock teasing my hole, then fucked slow, deep. 'Beg for my load,' he demanded. 'Please, breed me,' I whimpered, voice slurred. He did, and I blacked out from the intensity, waking to more cash but a pounding headache. Brain cells dying, I knew, but the void inside? Only filled by cock and cum.
Then he appeared. At a upscale kink party—I was rented cheap, on my knees servicing a line of doms. This guy, mid-30s, built like a tank, watched with piercing eyes. After my mouth was raw from blowjobs, he pulled me aside. 'You're wasted potential,' he said, voice like gravel. Took me home that night. His place: dungeon vibes, chains on walls. Stripped me, inspected my body. 'Bubble butt's prime. But that head's too full.' He fucked me first—rough, owning every thrust. I submitted fully, ass clenching as he bred me, emotions raw: fear, longing, surrender. He kept me. Days blurred into training. Drugs weaned, but replaced with his commands. 'Think less, feel more,' he'd say, collaring me. Workouts focused on my ass—squats till it ballooned, juicy and round. Mind games: hypnosis apps, endless edging without release. I'd kneel, head empty, as he face-fucked me, cum down my throat my only meal.
Emotions shifted. No more shame—just blissful obedience. He paraded me at events, trophy on his arm, then bent over for his friends. 'Show them your hole,' he'd order. I'd spread, ass presented, taking loads while he watched, proud. Brain? Mush. Couldn't remember my old job, hometown faded. Just him, his cock, the stretch and fill. One night, chained to the bed, he fucked me slow, whispering, 'You're my himbo now. Empty head, fat ass for breeding.' I moaned agreement, body arching as he unloaded deep. Warmth spread, fulfillment washing over. This was me—sub bottom, load-loving slut, perfect trophy boy. No regrets, just the next thrust.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
