2 weeks After the Trauma...
At school, Jaxon couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on him, whispers trailing in his wake. It was as if everyone knew about the night Brody had broken him. But since that nightmare in the factory, over two weeks had passed without a sign of Brody. Rumor was his family had pulled him out of classes, and he hadn’t been back.
Jaxon’s heart clung to a fragile hope—maybe Brody was gone for good, maybe even dead. The thought eased the knot in his chest, if only slightly. But he hadn’t counted on the nightmare lingering. That day, his phone buzzed with a text: “Golden boy, 8 PM, gym storage room.”
He frowned, wondering who it was, when another message followed: “It’s your Boss, Brody.”
Jaxon’s face paled. The nightmare was back.
He thought about running, bolting before the clock struck eight, but the memory of Brody’s cruelty paralyzed him. By 8 PM, the senior boarders were still in evening study hall, but Jaxon, a day student, was free to leave. He trudged to the gym storage room at the south end of the field, a place used for PE equipment during the day. At this hour, it was deserted—or should’ve been. The door stood slightly ajar.
Heart pounding, Jaxon crept closer, only to hear Brody’s voice growl from inside: “Been two damn weeks since I got any. Long, get over here and work your Master’s piece good.”
Coach Long? Jaxon’s mind snapped to Shawn Long, the PE teacher and soccer coach. A former pro player, Shawn had won over the team with his killer skills and laid-back charm. The athletic guys loved his PE classes, and he’d even sneak the team out to watch matches over beers, treating them like equals in a way that screamed “man-to-man respect.” It made him a legend among the students.
He was a hit with the girls, too. Shawn had that trendy, sun-kissed, jacked look—fresh, athletic, and just the right kind of rugged. On his first day, he’d shown up with short, dark hair, a white Nike headband, and a red-and-white Arsenal kit, his high soccer socks hugging powerful calves. His sharp jawline and heavy stubble, framing his face from sideburns to chin, gave him a mature edge that had girls swooning, calling him “peak masculine.” During one intense pickup game, he’d stripped off his shirt, revealing chiseled pecs, a neat eight-pack, and a thick trail of dark hair running from his navel into his waistband, veins snaking down his V-line. Even the guys watching were jealous of his sculpted frame. Some jokingly called it a “stud’s waist,” sparking laughs. Jaxon, once he got the innuendo, blushed but couldn’t deny Shawn probably dominated in bed.
Peering through the cracked door, Jaxon’s eyes landed on a pair of red soccer cleats and white, knee-high socks wrapped around strong calves—kneeling on the floor. Above, a perky backside jutted out, clad in bizarre underwear: a white waistband with thin straps that framed the cheeks but left the tanned, firm flesh exposed, dipping between the thighs to reveal everything. A black handle protruded from the crease, and Jaxon instantlyក្តែ knew exactly what it was connected to.
Higher up, a white soccer jersey clung to a tapered, muscular waist, swaying rhythmically. Broad shoulders strained the fabric, delts bulging as the kneeling figure’s arms reached forward. Between two thick, hairy legs stood another man, his stance wide, while the kneeling figure gripped his thighs, head bobbing slowly. A white headband gleamed in the dim light, unmistakable.
“Shawn Long, you’re one hell of a teacher. Learned to suck better than anyone,” Brody’s voice sneered. Jaxon shifted, catching the perfect angle. Brody’s face twisted in a sleazy grin, one hand fisting the kneeling man’s hair, yanking him down hard a few times before pulling his head back. Brody gripped his shaft, slapping it across the man’s face—over 20 cm, thick, veiny, and slick, gleaming under the light. The wet *slap-slap* echoed as it struck. “Been practicin’ at home, huh?”
“Yeah, Master,” the voice replied, deep and vibrant but now rough, dripping with submission. Jaxon knew it was Shawn Long. “Your dog practices every night with the toy you gave me, training my mouth to please you.”
“Everything I tell you to do, you do it?” Brody asked, smug as hell.
Shawn paused, his voice tight, a tremor running through it. “Yeah… that toy you gave me… I run it through my girlfriend first. Get her juices all over it before I use it to practice sucking you off, Master.”
Brody’s smirk was pure filth. “And little miss wifey doesn’t ask questions? Like why her stud husband suddenly can’t get his own dick hard and needs a toy to do the job?”
Shawn’s voice was strained, laced with humiliation. “This dog… this worthless dog has… we’ve played with toys before, a few times. I just told her I’ve been feeling like shit lately… so she’s had to get herself off.”
Brody cackled. “She happy with that?”
“She’s been pissed,” Shawn admitted, voice heavy. “Thinks I’m steppin’ out on her.”
Jaxon could hear the shame in Shawn’s words, his heart twisting for the man. Brody, unfazed, slapped his thick shaft across Shawn’s face. “What, you mad? If you don’t like it, get the hell out. Stop actin’ like some saint.”
“No, Master, please!” Shawn begged, desperate. “I’m yours. I’m your dog. If you say I can’t touch her, I won’t. I’ll do anything.”
Brody nodded, satisfied. “Didn’t say you couldn’t screw your girl. Just told you to shave, right? What’s the big deal? That basketball punk Kyle told his chick it was ‘too hot’ for pubes in summer. She bought it, dumbass. Hilarious.”
“I… I can’t let her see,” Shawn mumbled, defeated.
“Why not?” Brody leaned in, eating up the dirty details.
“She’s always shaved ‘cause I said it feels better without hair,” Shawn said, hesitating. “When she asked why I didn’t, I told her…” He trailed off. Brody’s boot shot out, catching Shawn square in the crotch. Shawn groaned, rushing to answer. “I said I’m a man, that my… drive’s why I’ve got so much hair. It proves I’m… good at it.”
Brody roared with laughter. “You? Good at it? Got the balls to call yourself a man?” His boot pressed into Shawn’s chest, drawing a lewd moan. “A slut like you? You’re nothin’.”
“I’m nothin’,” Shawn gasped, breathless. “Master broke me. I can’t… without you.”
“Damn right,” Brody sneered. “That’s why I made you shave. Your hairy ass was gettin’ in my way. Your drive? Yeah, it’s strong—for takin’ it. You’re no stud. You’re just a bitch made for gettin’ fucked.”
“Yes, Master, you’re right,” Shawn panted, agreeing. “I’m your filthy dog, your needy bitch.”
Brody spread his legs wider, fishing a cigarette from his pocket. Shawn scrambled for a lighter, holding it up with trembling hands. Brody took a deep drag, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Keep goin’.”
Shawn crawled forward, his chiseled back hunched in submission, his handsome, cropped hair gripped tight by Brody’s hand. Brody shoved him down, his massive shaft plunging into Shawn’s throat, the wet *gluck-gluck* of it mixing with Shawn’s occasional gags as he struggled to take it.
Brody lounged back, casually smoking as Shawn worked his mouth, only loosening his grip when the cigarette was done. “Strip. Let me play with those pecs.”
Shawn scrambled to his feet, peeling off his white jersey to reveal a chiseled, muscular frame. Brody flicked the cigarette butt, pressing it into Shawn’s ribcage. Shawn’s sculpted obliques, carved from years of training, twitched as he yelped, his thick pecs jolting from the pain.
“Damn, those are some meaty tits. Round, too,” Brody said, groping them hard. “Still, only second-best I’ve had lately.” He glanced at the door, then his gaze shifted to Jaxon, who had just stumbled in, frozen by the scene and the realization Brody knew he was there. “Thought you’d have the balls to ditch me,” Brody sneered at Jaxon. “But you’re out there creepin’, huh, you little perv?” Brody’s eyes traveled over Jaxon, then seemed to look past him for a moment, a flicker of something cold and calculating in their depths. "Yeah, Shawn here takes care of himself," he said, gesturing to the coach. "Not everyone's so lucky. Or so strong. Your old man, Trent... he's more the type to get... overwhelmed. Heard he doesn't handle pressure well. Especially when things get... hands-on."
A cold dread washed over Jaxon. The insinuation was sickening, though he couldn't grasp what Brody was fully implying about his father. His mind raced, trying to dismiss the ugly thoughts Brody’s words conjured as he stood rigid against the wall.
“Why’d you call me here?” Jaxon asked, his voice tight with a mixture of nerves and a dawning, terrible fear for his family, the words barely a whisper.
Brody’s eyes turned ice-cold. “Two weeks gone, and you forgot how to address me?”
Jaxon’s lips trembled, but the word wouldn’t come out. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the degrading title, not with the fresh horror of Brody's veiled threats about his father twisting in his gut.
Brody shot him a chilling look, then turned his attention back to Shawn, who stood obediently nearby. Sprawling on an old table with a cocky slouch, Brody reached out again, grabbing Shawn’s right pec and kneading it roughly. Shawn’s skin, still slick with sweat, gleamed under the overhead light, slipping under Brody’s fingers. He pinched the nipple hard, forcing it between his knuckles, and Shawn let out a low, lewd moan.
Jaxon stared at Shawn’s towering frame, the same guy who was all sunshine and authority in class by day, now shirtless, letting Brody toy with his hard-earned pecs. He wore only soccer socks, cleats, and that obscene thong—barely a scrap of fabric up front, failing to contain Shawn’s sizable bulge. The thin white straps split his balls, pushing them out, while his stiff, flushed tip peeked over the waistband, half-exposed.
Shawn, catching Jaxon’s gaze, mumbled, “Master, Jaxon’s my student…”
Brody yanked his nipple hard, making Shawn wince. “What, playin’ innocent now? Ain’t I your student? Max and Tanner, too? Hell, that punk Vince was your student, and you didn’t have no problem ridin’ him raw, did you?”
Jaxon’s mind reeled, trying to place anyone named Vince, but he knew a couple of guys who might fit. Before he could think, Brody’s predatory gaze locked onto him, making him flinch. “Already popped this kid’s cherry,” Brody said, smirking. “Tonight’s about puttin’ him through his paces. Coach, you better teach your student how to serve right.”
“You…” Jaxon’s anger flared at the humiliation. “Wasn’t last time enough? What more do you want?” He almost said *me and my dad*, but bit it back.
Brody’s grin turned icy. “You think we’re done?”
He stood, his frame just as jacked as Jaxon’s—maybe more—his raw, thuggish vibe forcing Jaxon to step back. “Some holes I hit once and ditch. But the ones I keep comin’ back for? That’s an honor, kid. Ain’t that right, Coach?”
Shawn, caught off guard, flicked his eyes to Jaxon, then dropped his head, dodging Jaxon’s stunned stare. “Yes, Master,” he mumbled. “It’s an honor to be wanted. Every time Master takes me, it’s a reward.”
“I don’t want your damn honor, Brody!” Jaxon snapped, seeing only Brody in the room and feeling a surge of defiance, fists clenched.
Brody pulled out his phone, chuckling darkly. “Golden boy, I’m real fond of you lately. Check it—made you my lock screen.” He flashed the screen: Jaxon sprawled on those filthy mattresses, a soccer sock stuffed in his mouth, legs spread, hole leaking, his own release splattered across his face and chest. It was as depraved as it got.
Jaxon’s face drained of color, his defiance crumbling. The image was a brutal reminder of his complete violation.
“And I’ve got more than just your highlights, pretty boy,” Brody went on, tossing the phone casually between his hands. “Let’s just say your dad found himself in a... vulnerable position recently. And cameras were rolling. The kind of footage that doesn't just embarrass, it destroys. What if I send those vids to his office? Or blast ‘em to every kid at Westview? Maybe play ‘em on a loop near your house? Think your dad keeps his job? Think you stay in school?”
Jaxon swallowed his rage, fear a cold, constricting band around his chest. The vague but terrifying image Brody had painted of his father, combined with the irrefutable proof of his own degradation, left him feeling utterly trapped. “What do you want?” he whispered, the fight draining out of him. “Money? Name it, just stop this… this humiliation!”
“Money?” Brody laughed, a low, dirty sound. “You think I need cash? I want the rush, kid. You, your dad... some people are just too good to pass up the chance to break.” He punctuated the last word with a cold stare.
“You’re disgusting,” Jaxon shot back, the words feeling weak even to his own ears, but it was all the defiance he could muster.
Brody’s face darkened. In a flash, his boot slammed into Jaxon’s chest, fast and heavy, knocking him to the floor. Towering over him, Brody sneered, “Don’t play tough, golden boy. I’m bein’ nice, givin’ you a chance to serve. Keep actin’ up, and I’ll ruin you and your whole damn family. You believe me?”
Jaxon glared up at Brody, the same age but vicious beyond reason, his heart burning with a helpless, consuming hatred.
Brody crouched down, smirking. “You hate my guts right now, I get it. But let me lay it out for you. Shawn Long, Kyle Reese, Vince—hell, I’ve got a whole squad of guys I’ve broken. Why’s nobody fightin’ back?”
“‘Cause your family’s got mob ties,” Jaxon spat, voice dripping with contempt.
Brody laughed, loud and mocking. “Coach, you’ve always had a soft spot for Jaxon. Tell him why you don’t fight me.”
Shawn went quiet, then met Jaxon’s eyes, guilt heavy in his gaze. “Because… it feels too good,” he admitted, voice low. “Master’s better than anyone I’ve ever had. I’m hooked.”
Jaxon stared, disbelief crashing over him. The words, coming from his coach, the man he’d admired, were another blow, another crack in his crumbling world.
Brody gave Jaxon’s cheek a light, taunting pat. “Golden boy, you play nice, and I’ll make you see stars.”
He stood, sauntering to the table and spreading his legs wide. “C’mere, Jaxon. Time to give your Boss a taste of that pretty mouth. Haven’t tried it yet.”
Jaxon stayed on the floor, glaring, refusing to budge.
“Jaxon, go on. Don’t keep Master waiting,” Shawn said, stepping over and offering a hand. Jaxon shoved it away, standing but silent, rooted to the spot.
Brody watched, a sly grin spreading. “Looks like our golden boy’s shy. Fair enough. I love breakin’ ‘em fresh, but for real fun, you need a seasoned slut who knows how to work it. Coach, your mouth’s gotten damn good. Why don’t you kick things off? Show Jaxon how a man serves a man.”
Shawn didn’t flinch, clearly no stranger to this. He glanced at Jaxon, his towering frame bending as he knelt before him. Jaxon stumbled back, startled.
“Don’t make this harder, Jaxon,” Shawn pleaded, the man who’d once lit up the field with a smile brighter than the sun now groveling, his handsome face full of desperation. “If you don’t play along, he’ll destroy me. Help me out here.”
Jaxon knew Brody’s cruelty all too well. Seeing Shawn’s familiar, chiseled features twisted in a begging expression, he sighed, closing his eyes.
“No closin’ your eyes,” Brody called from the table, chuckling. “How you gonna learn?”
Jaxon reluctantly looked down. Shawn reached out, tugging Jaxon’s soccer shorts and briefs to his ankles in one motion. His eyes widened slightly at Jaxon’s soft, thick length nestled in dark hair, then flicked up to meet Jaxon’s gaze. Leaning in, Shawn’s head moved closer to Jaxon’s core.
The room felt heavier, Brody’s shadow looming over them both. Jaxon’s heart pounded, torn between shame, fear, and the twisted pull of what was to come, as the storage room’s dim light cast their tangled fates into sharp relief.
Jaxon watched, gut twisting, as his revered PE coach, Shawn Long, parted his lips and took in the tip of his length. The shock hit harder when Shawn’s mouth enveloped him—hot, wet, and goddamn skilled, like he’d been born to worship cock. Shawn’s tongue flicked out, tracing the slit, sending a jolt like lightning through Jaxon’s body. As Shawn’s lips closed around the head, his tongue swirled, the heat and pressure making Jaxon’s shaft stiffen instantly. Shawn worked the half-soft length, sucking gently, lips grazing the ridge, the intense sensation forcing Jaxon fully hard—a thick, straight rod jutting high. Shawn pulled back briefly, letting it slip free, the slick shaft smacking his cheek.
“Big piece,” Shawn murmured, almost entranced, his eyes glazed with a fucked-out hunger, before gripping the base. His tongue slithered like a snake, gliding along the shaft, then kissing it with a slight, hungry pull. The feeling of Shawn’s tongue dancing over his skin drew a hoarse moan from Jaxon.
Shawn opened wide, taking the head again, slowly sinking down, letting Jaxon’s length slide deep into his throat. Jaxon felt the tight, molten heat, the way Shawn’s throat constricted around him, milking him, making his legs shake. Shawn started shallow, pulling back, then diving deeper with each pass, inching closer to the base until his nose brushed Jaxon’s dark hair.
Shawn’s mouth, a hot, wet cavern, engulfed Jaxon’s shaft, his skilled tongue swirling, throat muscles milking every inch with a desperate, practiced hunger. Jaxon gripped his coach’s hair, hips bucking, ramming his cock deeper into that willing throat. The sight of his respected mentor, gagging and slobbering, his dignity swallowed along with Jaxon’s length, sparked a dark, shameful thrill.
Instinct took over; Jaxon grabbed Shawn’s hair, craving more depth, more speed, his hips thrusting into Shawn’s mouth. The shaft plunged deep, hitting Shawn’s throat, drawing gagging noises that only spurred Jaxon on. Seeing his respected coach—lips stretched wide, face contorted, throat stuffed full of his student’s cock—lit a twisted fire in him, rage and thrill mixing as he gripped Shawn’s hair tighter, pounding harder.
Shawn, struggling, pushed against Jaxon’s chiseled abs, easing him back. He focused on the tip, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed fast, letting the ridge scrape the roof of his mouth. The move hit Jaxon like a shockwave, legs buckling, barely able to stand.
“Bet you’re seein’ Coach’s skills now, huh, golden boy? See how good he sucks dick? Learnin’ anything?” Brody’s voice snapped Jaxon back to reality. He remembered who was kneeling before him—his PE coach, his soccer mentor. Face burning, he stumbled back, his slick shaft popping free with a trail of spit, springing up and splattering Shawn’s face with droplets. The sight was obscene, and without Shawn’s mouth, Jaxon’s throbbing length ached to dive back in. He avoided Shawn’s gaze, the coach’s lips glistening with spit, and looked up at Brody instead.
“So, Coach, how’s your favorite student’s meat taste? Better than mine, you fucking cocksucker?” Brody taunted, relentless.
Shawn wiped his mouth, voice low. “Not as big as Master’s. Not as good. Nothing compares to Master’s cock.”
Brody yanked down his track pants, no underwear beneath, revealing a soft but menacing shaft—dark, thick, with a deep purple head, massive even at rest. “C’mere, Jaxon. Time to taste the real deal. Time to get my jizz all over that pretty face. Let’s see if that mouth’s been practicin’.”
Jaxon was still buzzing from the edge, no release, his young, jacked body slick with sweat, his hard length twitching, refusing to soften. He knew escape was impossible. Hesitating, he stepped forward.
“On your knees, slut,” Brody ordered, his voice cold and commanding. Jaxon, broken by weeks of torment, dropped without thinking. Brody’s shaft was now fully hard, longer and thicker than Jaxon’s, dwarfing the pride he’d once felt. Kneeling, Jaxon faced the towering, curved beast, veins pulsing like a coiled dragon, its dark skin gleaming. It looked even bigger up close, dominating his view, a fucking weapon of mass destruction aimed right at his face.
Brody gripped his length, his fist not even covering half, and smacked it against Jaxon’s cheek twice, the heavy, meaty thud a humiliating reminder of its power. With a smug grin, he pressed the tip to Jaxon’s lips, dragging it across them. The musky, raw scent—sweat and something primal—hit Jaxon hard. He’d smelled his own dirty briefs before, but Brody’s was heavier, more potent, the mark of a man with raw, commanding prowess. Shamefully, Jaxon felt it was the scent of a real man, one he could only kneel and worship, his own budding masculinity shriveling in its presence.
The tip nudged his lips. Jaxon’s tongue flicked out, tasting the salty, heady flavor, thick and overwhelming. He opened his mouth, and Brody didn’t hesitate, thrusting in deep. Jaxon gagged instantly, the size too much. Brody, annoyed, slapped his face with the shaft. “Lick it right, damn it. Suck it like you mean it, or I’ll fuck your throat raw.”
Jaxon tried again, tongue tracing the massive head, like a heavy plum, its musky tang flooding his senses. It was a humbling reminder he was serving a man far beyond him. Brody sat back, legs spread wide, exuding dominance. Jaxon mimicked Shawn, licking from tip to shaft, the veiny surface rough under his tongue, the dark skin taut over stone-hard flesh. His saliva coated it layer by layer, barely covering the sides.
“What is this, you lickin’ a popsicle, you fucking amateur?” Brody growled, grabbing Jaxon’s hair and forcing his jaw wider. “Open up, bigger—bite me, and you’re dead.” Without mercy, he rammed into Jaxon’s throat. The sheer girth and length stretched Jaxon’s mouth, the head hitting deep, like it was punching his gut. His whole body felt skewered—mouth, throat, all claimed. Brody gripped his hair tighter, hips bucking, thrusting hard. Tears streamed down Jaxon’s face, his gag reflex kicking in at first, but slowly easing as he adjusted. Breathing was a struggle, but Brody knew the game, pulling back just when Jaxon was on the edge of passing out, letting him gasp, sucking in the thick, musky scent of Brody’s shaft before it plunged back in, sealing his airway again.
Jaxon didn’t know suffocation could feel like this—a dizzying rush, his body tingling with a strange, melting pleasure. The lack of air left him limp, yet weirdly euphoric. The burn of Brody’s massive shaft stretching his throat, paired with its musky, primal stench, sparked a twisted thrill that made his whole body hum, his own cock leaking precum in pathetic agreement.
Brody finally pulled out, smirking at Jaxon’s flushed, oxygen-starved face. “Born for this, huh? That mouth’s already better than most. You’re gettin’ off on it, you little cock fiend.”
Jaxon gasped, reeling. He couldn’t believe he’d let Brody use him so brutally, couldn’t fathom that he’d leaned into it, felt pleasure from it. The shame crushed him, his sense of self fracturing.
“C’mere, Coach. Show your star pupil what your junk and that tight pussy of yours look like now,” Brody said, flicking his slick, dripping shaft. Jaxon, still kneeling, saw spit trailing from it, matting Brody’s dark hair, obscene in the dim light. He glanced at Shawn, who’d fully shed the skimpy thong. Bare, his groin was smooth, the heavy stubble showing he’d been shaved. His chiseled abs and thick thighs framed a hairless base, the contrast making him look oddly boyish despite the rugged veins snaking from his V-line.
“Big piece, but looks like a kid’s with no hair. Looks like a fucking Ken doll down there,” Brody taunted, grinning.
Jaxon’s jaw dropped. Humiliated, Shawn’s shaft only grew harder, nearly as long as Jaxon’s but slimmer, curving right. He stepped forward, turning to Brody, spreading his cheeks. “Master, I can’t take it. My pussy is aching for you. Please, take me. Fill me up.”
Brody slapped Shawn’s perky cheeks, the sound ringing out, then grabbed the black handle protruding from Shawn’s crease. With a quick tug, he pulled out a thick, segmented plug, over 10 cm long, rippling like waves. Shawn’s pussy gaped, a dark, twitching void. Brody’s rough, calloused finger dove in, stretching the already loosened rim. “Nice. You’re fully broken in. Ready to take every inch I give you.”
Brody sprawled on a creaky iron cot nearby—one Shawn had placed in the storage room, claiming it was for quiet midday naps. Jaxon now wondered if it was just for Brody’s use. Thick pole-vault pads covered it, draped with a worn sheet. Brody stripped as he moved, tossing his clothes to reveal a chiseled, hairy frame, dark fur trailing from chest to groin. He lounged against the wall, his shaft jutting up like a sharpened blade, pulsing with raw, animalistic power.
Shawn moved to straddle him, but Brody stopped him. “Turn around. Let him see. Let Jaxon see how his coach spreads his pussy for me.”
Jaxon froze, caught off guard. Shawn obeyed, facing Jaxon, legs spread as he squatted over Brody’s lap. His eyes flicked to Jaxon briefly, then dropped. Reaching back, Shawn gripped Brody’s shaft, guiding it to his hole, and slowly sank down.
Jaxon watched, stunned, as Brody’s massive, egg-sized tip breached Shawn’s entrance. Shawn grimaced, hissing through clenched teeth in pain.
“Damn, move it, you worthless fuck,” Brody growled, grabbing Shawn’s waist from behind, thrusting up while pressing him down. Shawn yelped as Brody’s thick shaft buried itself fully, disappearing into his body, his cheeks flush against Brody’s chiseled abs. Brody slapped his ass hard, twice. “Still want this, huh? Still begging for my cock in that tight pussy?”
“Yes, yes, Master’s huge—so good! Fuck me harder!” Shawn gasped, spreading his knees like he was squatting, moving up and down. At first, his motions were small, cautious, but soon he picked up speed, nearly standing before slamming back down. Brody’s dark, girthy shaft flashed in and out, a relentless pillar driving into Shawn’s core.
“Ugh, Master, so good, so intense—your cock’s killing me, it’s tearing my pussy apart but I love it!” Shawn moaned, his voice raw. Each drop pulled Brody’s length almost free before swallowing it deep again. The sheer size forced Shawn’s movements to be wide, sweat dripping from his headband, his open mouth spilling lewd cries. His pecs and abs glistened, and his own hard shaft, jutting straight, leaked steadily, splattering the sheets and Brody’s thighs.
“Grab this phone and film your slutty ass,” Brody said, lighting another cigarette, lounging against the wall. He barely moved, his thick rod doing all the work, driving Shawn wild. He aimed the phone at his shaft, slapping Shawn’s bouncing cheeks, squeezing the taut flesh. “Look at this needy pussy. Put some effort in. Ride me like the whore you are.”
He handed the phone to Shawn. “Your turn, Coach. Film yourself. Show the world how you take it.”
Jaxon’s jaw dropped. Brody was ruthless, using this humiliating position and forcing Shawn to record it. Even more shocking, Shawn took the phone, adjusting the camera and holding it up, though he kept his head down, too ashamed to face the lens.
“Lift your damn face, you fucking coward,” Brody barked, smacking Shawn’s ass hard. Shawn hesitated, his last shred of dignity holding him back. Then his phone rang, and his face paled. He hung up instantly, but Brody snatched it. “Golden boy, come film your coach gettin’ wrecked. Get a close-up of his pussy stretching around my dick.”
Jaxon took the phone, awkward and tense, looking up. Brody had shifted, sliding his arms under Shawn’s ribs, locking his thick pecs in a reverse grip, pulling Shawn back against his chest. Shawn’s chiseled chest splayed out, exposed, as if cradled in Brody’s lap. Brody hooked his legs, spreading Shawn’s wide, his massive shaft visibly plunging into Shawn’s stretched hole. Gripping Shawn’s pecs, Brody thrust upward with his powerful hips, pounding relentlessly. His heavy sack slapped Shawn’s taint with each brutal stroke, Shawn’s own rigid length twitching, balls tight at the base.
Brody’s thrusts were fiercer than Shawn’s own riding, the impact echoing like thunder, his heavy sack swinging wildly. Shawn’s hole leaked streams of slick, frothy fluid, coating Brody’s dark, veiny shaft. Shawn’s moans turned desperate. “God, so good—my pussy’s gonna break… I’m cumming, Master, I’m cumming!”
Watching his once-revered PE coach reduced to a writhing, needy mess under Brody’s dominance, Jaxon felt something inside him shatter. He couldn’t deny it—despite the shame, the memory of Brody’s brutal assault weeks ago lingered, a wild, maddening pleasure that dwarfed anything he’d felt jerking off. The way Brody’s cock had filled his pussy, stretching him, claiming him. He’d avoided touching himself since, terrified that even a stroke would drag him back to the itch of Brody’s relentless pounding, the way it forced him to spill. Holding the phone, Jaxon aimed it at Shawn, who tried to hide his face, only for Brody to shove his hand away. “Quit actin’ shy. Ain’t the first time I’ve filmed you beggin’ for it. Fucking love watching you make a fool of yourself for my dick. Love savin’ these for next time.”
Shawn didn’t resist, too lost in the pleasure, matching Brody’s rhythm—lifting his hips as Brody pulled back, slamming down as Brody thrust in.
Then Shawn’s phone rang again. Jaxon glanced at the screen: “Wife?”
“Ha, your girl’s callin’,” Brody said, eyes gleaming. “Give it to him. Answer it. Let her hear how her husband moans when he’s getting his pussy wrecked by another man.”
“Master, please, no,” Shawn begged, voice cracking.
To Jaxon’s shock, Brody stopped, pulling out completely, his slick shaft glistening with fluid, a thin trail dripping from Shawn’s gaping hole. “Don’t answer, and you don’t get this cock again. Ever.”
“No, Master, please, I need it,” Shawn pleaded, fully broken. He snatched the phone from Jaxon, one hand guiding Brody’s shaft back to his hole as he answered.
“Hey, babe, I’m workin’ late—ah!” Shawn gasped as Brody thrust back in, deep and sudden. He whipped his head around, eyes pleading, but Brody only grinned, hips snapping harder, driving his cock all the way to Shawn’s core.
“Uh… uh…” Shawn stifled two lewd moans, rushing to cover. “Babe, it’s nothin’, just bumped the desk.”
Brody’s hands slid to Shawn’s pecs, rough palms gripping tight, his thick fingers circling Shawn’s dark nipples, teasing the sensitive tips until they were hard, aching pebbles. His thrusts grew vicious, and Shawn let out louder, needier cries, quickly clamping a hand over his mouth. His shaft leaked profusely, his face a mask of tortured pleasure. “Babe, we’re… still trainin’. Tomorrow, I’ll—uh—see ya…”
His words came In broken bursts, each syllable a struggle as he clenched his teeth. After speaking, he bit his finger to muffle the moans spilling out. But Brody pounded harder, the wet slap-slap-slap deafening, his cock a brutal piston inside Shawn’s ravaged pussy. Shawn’s voice trembled, near tears. “Babe, that’s… the guys clappin’. We’re… we’re in a scrimmage…”
“Yeah, babe, we’ll talk later…” Shawn finally hung up, his voice trembling. “God, feels so good—so dirty… Being your whore, Master, it’s the best feeling in the world…” He scolded himself, yet moaned with pleasure. “Ugh, you’re killing me, gonna shoot, gonna get fucked out of my mind…”
Right before Jaxon’s eyes, Shawn’s rigid shaft throbbed, the swollen tip erupting, ropes of white release splattering the sheets, a testament to Brody’s power over him.
Brody didn’t let up. As Shawn came, Brody only pounded harder. Shawn collapsed against him, mouth gaping, drool dripping. “No more… can’t take it… you’re wrecking me… My pussy can’t take any more…” He sobbed, begging, but his body couldn’t escape Brody’s brutal onslaught. His pecs bore red finger marks, nipples swollen from abuse. His shaft, barely softened, hardened again within minutes, still leaking cloudy fluid that dripped down, coating his hairless sack.
“Get up, your pussy’s too loose now,” Brody said, shoving Shawn off and sitting up.
“What?” Shawn blinked, dazed. He’d been riding another wave of pleasure, only to be pushed away. “Master, please, take me, I need it! Don’t leave my pussy empty!” Jaxon watched, stunned, as Shawn, face flushed with shame, wiggled his hips, even grabbing Brody’s shaft, desperate to please him with his mouth.
“You think you get to hog this?” Brody stepped off the cot, his chiseled, sweat-slicked frame towering over Jaxon. His shaft jutted like a blade. Pointing to the cot, he barked, “Ass up, slut. Time to show me that tight little pussy of yours.”
Jaxon swallowed hard, fear and resignation mixing. He didn’t dare resist. Crawling onto the cot, he braced his hands on the sheets, arching his back, presenting himself. Brody stepped behind, parting Jaxon’s cheeks, his rough middle finger probing the tight ring before plunging in. “Still so damn tight,” he growled. The dry intrusion stung, but Brody’s finger twisted inside, relentless, soon forcing a second in, stretching Jaxon open, preparing his virgin pussy for the onslaught.
Gripping his shaft, Brody pressed the scorching tip against Jaxon’s hole, rubbing it a few times, slick from Shawn’s mess. Before Jaxon could brace himself, Brody thrust in.
“Agh!” Jaxon screamed, the sheer size tearing through him, cold sweat beading on his brow. Brody didn’t care, seizing Jaxon’s hips and hammering away. It felt like a burning rod piercing him, his pussy splitting, his body trembling, sweat pouring. Pinned by Brody’s iron grip, Jaxon could only clutch the sheets, groaning in agony.
But as Brody’s relentless pounding continued, the searing pain dulled, giving way to a creeping pleasure radiating from his core. His hips and groin ached, a numbing thrill taking hold. Jaxon’s screams faded, replaced by low, muffled grunts.
“Feelin’ good, slut? My cock feel good in that tight pussy?” Brody growled, sensing the shift. He leaned in, yanking up Jaxon’s shirt, his sweat-slick chest pressing against Jaxon’s back, coarse chest hair scraping his skin. Wrapping his arms around Jaxon, Brody gripped his pecs, pinning him down. His hips swung wider, thrusts harder, each one like a piledriver. Jaxon felt split open, Brody’s thick, searing shaft slamming his prostate—a spot he didn’t know by name but remembered from last time, when it had driven him to spill. The numbing pleasure spread, and despite himself, Jaxon started moaning.
“Know what this position’s called? Doggy style—perfect for bitches like you. Perfect for pounding that sweet pussy until you can't walk straight,” Brody taunted, his rough voice hot in Jaxon’s ear. The crude words sparked a shameful submission in Jaxon, his moans growing louder, more desperate.
“You like it, don’t you? Gettin’ fucked senseless? Your pussy twitching around my cock?” Brody demanded. Jaxon stayed silent, but Brody hooked his fingers into Jaxon’s mouth, prying it open. “Speak, slut. You feelin’ it, or I stop right now. And you don't want me to stop, do you?”
“Good… so good… Your cock feels so good, Boss…” Jaxon choked out, Brody’s salty fingers filling his mouth, tinged with the musky scent of his stretched hole.
“Who’s fuckin’ you? Whose cock is deep inside that pussy? Ain’t you gonna thank me?” Brody pressed, smug.
Tears of humiliation stung Jaxon’s eyes. “It’s you, Boss… thank you, Boss… for fucking my pussy so good…”
“Boss makin’ you feel good, you filthy kid? Making that virgin pussy of yours scream for more?” Brody pushed.
“Yeah, Boss, you’re makin’ me feel so good…” The questions burned with shame, but somehow, Brody’s degrading words lit a darker fire in Jaxon. His body trembled, his hole clenching tighter around Brody's invading thickness.
Brody slammed in harder, twice. “Knew you were a cheap slut. The dirtier it gets, the more you love it, huh? All you needy bitches are the same—cravin’ my insults, gettin’ nastier the more I degrade you. Spreading your pussies wider for me.”
Shawn, watching from the side, couldn’t hold back. He crawled to the cot’s edge, wiggling his hips shamelessly. “Master, please, your dog’s so filthy. My pussy needs you too. I need you to take me too.”
“You don’t call the shots, whore,” Brody snapped. Then, in a twisted move, he grabbed Jaxon’s rigid shaft, aiming it at Shawn’s gaping, needy hole. With a sharp thrust into Jaxon’s core, he drove Jaxon’s length into Shawn. “There you go, dog. Poppin’ your cherry as a top. Now you’ve fucked a slut, too. Filled his pussy with your pretty-boy cock.”
Shawn’s hot, tight heat engulfed Jaxon’s shaft, his first time inside another body—an indescribable rush, his cock buried in another man's pussy. Brody’s thrusts behind him set the pace, forcing Jaxon to pump into Shawn in sync. The dual sensations—front and back—overwhelmed him, pleasure so intense his mind blanked. He barely registered his own desperate moans.
Shawn, his hole itching unbearably, didn’t resist. He moaned too, lost in it. Brody, essentially taking them both, laughed. “Coach, how’s it feel gettin’ railed by your own student? His cock stretching that slutty pussy of yours? You’re such a slut, gettin’ off even on this?”
“Ugh, feels good, but… not as good as Master’s. His is bigger, fills my pussy better,” Shawn gasped, sprawled in doggy on the cot. The jab at Jaxon’s manhood stung, igniting his anger. Gripping Shawn’s hips, Jaxon thrust harder. “Damn it, you slut! Thought you were a real coach, not some needy whore. Mockin’ me? You filthy bitch! I'll fuck your pussy raw!” Jaxon’s rage spilled into crude curses, his hips slamming into Shawn’s hole. Each thrust drove Brody’s massive shaft deeper into his own, like Brody was piercing straight through him into Shawn. The overwhelming pleasure made Jaxon moan like he was sobbing.
Brody laughed, triumphant, clutching Jaxon’s shoulders. He timed his thrusts—pulling back as Jaxon drove into Shawn, plunging in as Jaxon withdrew. Jaxon’s hips moved on instinct, his face slack, drool dripping, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. “God, so good… fuckin’ and gettin’ fucked… two cocks in one pussy… so damn good, gonna die…”
His first time topping, Jaxon lasted over ten minutes in Shawn’s tight heat before his shaft pulsed, unloading deep inside. His clenching hole gripped Brody tighter, and Brody buried himself to the hilt, flooding Jaxon’s core with his release, filling Jaxon's pussy with hot, sticky cum.
After that, Brody only grew fiercer. The first assault on Jaxon had been a taste; now, he went all out, pounding Jaxon and Shawn for four hours. He forced them both to climax twice more, their holes leaking slick fluid onto his shaft. In the end, he had the begging coach and student kneel before him, servicing his length.
Shawn and Jaxon knelt side by side, fully broken, faces flushed as they lapped at Brody’s massive shaft. Their raised hips dripped with the seed Brody had left inside them, their pussies gaping and used.
“Here’s your reward, sluts,” Brody sneered, filming the depraved scene. His shaft erupted, thick, musky ropes splattering their handsome faces. Shawn, shamelessly eager, licked up every drop, even scraping it from his cheeks to swallow. Jaxon recoiled, disgusted, but Shawn grabbed his face, licking Brody’s release off him. Brody captured it all, laughing darkly.
When Brody finally strutted out, Jaxon and Shawn snapped out of their haze, left in awkward silence.
“Jaxon… don’t tell anyone,” Shawn said, trying to sound composed. Jaxon ignored him, storming out. In his mind, Coach Long was no longer a mentor—just a filthy slut, his pussy thoroughly wrecked and owned.
