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The Intern Learned His Lesson Well.
The shy intern Dillon got an education and a half.
I met Dillon, our new intern from the local technical college, a week or two into his placement. The scraggly-looking lad wasn’t exactly a prize. Bashful and timid, he was only in his late teens and dressed like a bit of a vagabond. He had a scruffy hairdo and wore thick, outdated plastic glasses. Compared to the other interns we had hosted, he seemed to be from the bottom of the barrel. Not that looks matter much in our plant, but his shy attitude certainly didn’t do him any favors.
I first laid eyes on the boy in the cafeteria. Dillon was tucked away in the back corner, eating a banana as if he were sucking on a large dildo. He likely wasn’t even aware of the image he was projecting — Dillon regularly gave off the wrong signals — but the mostly male workers in our factory had certainly noticed. From that moment on, the nickname ‘Dildo’ was born.
The men teased him relentlessly, and Dillon became incredibly defensive. He even went to HR to complain. I was eventually called into the office to discuss the brat. The HR manager asked if I would take Dillon under my wing and teach him in my own unusual way. She gave me a suggestive wink as she spoke, asking me to mentor him gently for the remainder of his internship. She knew full well that I could get a bit rough, but I possessed a unique set of people skills that she often called upon.
The crew at our aluminum plant was a rowdy bunch of bastards. Even the best of them occasionally ran into problems they couldn’t resolve on their own, and that was where I stepped in. Sometimes the men came to me directly; other times, they were sent by HR. If I saw something going wrong on the floor, I handled it. I don’t know why I was the one chosen for this role — it just worked. The men and women here had a great deal of respect for me — and those who didn’t, well… they quickly learned about my nastier side.
• The man, the mentor, the master.
My name is Bobbie — a bad-ass who doesn’t believe in the word ‘no’. I am a man’s man through and through — but I’m queer as fuck and twice as dangerous. At twenty-eight, my arms are corded like ship cables — thick, tattooed, and built for looks and heavy lifting. I live for my mean, muscled look, and I push myself to the breaking point to keep it that way. I’m in the gym three times a week, moving iron with the guys from the plant — coaching them on their form and their lives — and ripping them a second hole if any of them dare to step out of line.
My well-hung cock usually gets a solid workout as well. No end of married men or women want me. Because of that, I do some stripping and escort work on the side, too. It earns me a pretty penny — much more than the hairdresser jobs I had in the past. To put it simply, I am everything Dillon wasn’t. I am outgoing, open, direct, honest, good-looking, and gay.
As foreman of the melting shop, I have my own office at the back of our aluminum factory. It is out of sight and in a prime location overlooking the main plant. It even has a secluded balcony on the outside.
I get a lot of leeway from my bosses and the union reps. Heck, they are sort of regulars of mine — either giving me the inside scoop or begging me to rail them if their wives have denied them again. Every guy knows that being told to go to my office is a serious matter. They are either in severe trouble or in for a nasty treat. Either way, they always come running. Usually, I just have a quick word with them, and things get swiftly sorted. But, as you can guess, I am not averse to a bit of office sex when the situation calls for it.
• Stage fright.
I had not seen Dillon in a couple of days. He had been lying low after the cafeteria incident. Around 3 PM, I was taking a leak at the urinals in the melting shop. Dillon walked in on me and stood there looking at me in awe from a distance. Adjusting his package, he finally stepped up and stood beside me.
He was unaware that I had seen him looking at me the whole time in the mirror. Dillon pulled his dick out and took a furtive glance at mine. His eyes widened in fright. My ten-inch dong was fully erect — he saw my wad of cum dripping off the urinal wall before his gaze turned back to his own. Dillon tried to piss, but his stiffening prick prevented him from doing so.
“Bit of stage fright, Dillon?” I joked gleefully.
The lad got a real scare, frightened by the realization that I actually knew his name and even dared to talk to him. Dillon had never thought that would happen. He had always looked at me with a sort of dreamy look in his eyes.
Dillon packed his meat back in his coveralls and ran out without washing his hands. I laughed my head off, realizing that the ring on his finger was just there for show. “The brat is into cock,” I thought to myself.
At the end of my shift, I walked to the communal changing room. Pulling the chain that held my clothes, I let the rack fly down from the ceiling. It nearly hit Dillon on the head as he walked over to his own rack; he stopped just shy of being struck.
In anger, he looked around. But when he saw it was my clothes rack, he got all red in the face. Instead of walking to his own, Dillon stared at my dark biker gear — involuntarily rubbing the hardening bulge in his coveralls again. I walked over to my clothes and stood right behind him, looking naughtily over the lad’s shoulder down at what his hand was doing to that cock-bulge of his.
“Need a hand with that, boy?” I whispered hotly in his ear.
The boy looked like he had seen a ghost. He got weak in the knees and started to tremble.
“Oh, God … No! — I can’t — I… I …” he stammered with a breaking voice. “Sorry —” Dillon added.
He walked away feeling utterly humiliated. I just smiled and pulled off my work boots, ripped off my overalls, and walked nude to the showers. Willy was leaking pre-cum on my thigh as he swung happily from side to side.
Dillon gave me a long look, feeling faint as he watched my muscular body. I proudly let him see every muscle group, even flexing my arms as I walked past him. He let out a barely audible, high-pitched sigh and a soft moan. When I came back from the shower, Willy was fully erect. I saw Dillon staring at my butt. He watched me put on my biker gear straight over my naked body — who needs underwear when you dress in full leather?
• Taken for a ride.
As Dillon walked to the exit of the communal dressing room, he looked over one last time. I was pulling on my urban cowboy boots at the time and saw him look at me through my legs. I quickly pulled my clothes rack back up and caught up with Dillon.
I put an arm around his neck. Grabbing a shoulder tightly. The boy trembled severely. He had not expected this intimate touch, certainly not from a biker like me.
“Dillon… Umm?… I want to see you in my office first thing tomorrow morning!” I said sternly. Punching out, then making some more chit-chat remarks at Dillon, “What kind of car do you drive? Do you have far to go?”
Shyly, he answered, “I take the bus here… But it won’t come by again for another 50 minutes. I live with my parents in the next town over.”
“Ah, bummer… Where do you need to go? Maybe I can drop you off?” I said as if it was normal for me to do so. We stopped at the covered parking space where my pride and joy sat. A heavy motorcycle that completed my persona.
“Come on, Dillon… Don’t act so fucking timid all the time. I don’t ask twice! Let’s take a ride.” I thrust my spare helmet in his stomach and maneuvered my motorcycle out of the parking space.
Dillon reluctantly put the helmet on and sheepishly sat on the back of my bike, not knowing where to put his hands. So I looked over my shoulder and grabbed an arm. “Hold on close, boy!” I ordered. As I put his hand into the pocket of my leather jacket. Dillon was shaking.
He could not believe he sat on the back of my bike. And much less, he was told to touch my powerful body. He heard me speak over the headset I had built into the helmets, “What’s your address, Dillon… I’ll drop you off at your front door. Or do you want to come by my place first? I’ll let you look at my cock again…” I said jokingly and laughed hard.
We drove off, and I waved at a couple of mates. They were stunned to see Dillon on the back of my ass. He had crawled on close and hung on for dear life.
I heard Dillon softly whisper to himself, “Oh hell… What is happening? I must be dreaming. God, what a great feeling!”
“Glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself, Dillon… Now, what shall it be? A beer at my place or dinner at your mom’s?” I asked him through the helmet’s headset.
• Fooling the fool.
“Really?… I… I am not… I am not gay! —” he stammered. He sounded caught off guard, realizing he was talking out loud and inadvertently admitting that he knew I was into men as well as women.
“Who are you fooling, boy?… But hey, if you say so. A beer with a work friend doesn’t make you gay, you know. I just want to get to know you a bit better…” I said openly. “Maybe even give you a few pointers. You seem very on edge working with all the guys. Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen to you. I promise… But you’d better tell me what you really want, because I’ve been watching you all day — and frankly, you act as if all you really want is getting into my pants. Not that I mind that, of course. No, not one bit! But I need you to say the words, boy… Or nothing is going to happen.”
It went quiet for a while. Dillon was clearly making up his mind. Then the lad shyly asked, “Bobbie… Can I really come over for a beer with you? I heard the guys talking about you… Telling what a nice big —”
Dillon stopped suddenly and sighed, upset.
“You can say it, boy —” I laughed. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.” I rubbed his leg, but it remained quiet behind me. I stopped in front of my garage, and we drove inside straight off the street. I had opened my garage door remotely; it closed behind us when we came to a stop. “Time to get off, Dillon. Let’s grab that beer and have that chat, boy.”
Dillon stubbornly remained seated, so I had to wriggle off my bike first. Then I saw why the boy had stopped talking. He had creamed the inside of his tatty cotton pants. A big wet spot had appeared in the most unfortunate location. He obviously had been thinking about seeing my ten-inch cock in the changing room.
I unfastened the lad’s helmet and pulled off his thick glasses before sliding it off his head. Dillon was openly crying in shame. Grabbing the lad under his arms, I lifted him clear of the bike — the skinny dude weighed next to nothing. I hugged him and told him it was okay. “I just have that effect on people —” I said with a smirk. “Come on upstairs. You can clean up there.”
Dillon followed me up sluggishly.
• Getting him to open up.
I sat him on the couch in the living room and went to the kitchen for a couple of beers. The wide-eyed Dillon looked around in amazement. The living room in my loft was likely much bigger than his entire house. He took in the leather furniture and the erotic art on the walls.
Dillon’s jaw practically hit the floor when he saw my sling and the barber chair with stirrups, not to mention the sex toys openly on display in a cabinet beside it. He noticed the leather hides used as carpets on the floor, and he managed a reluctant smile when I returned with the drinks and some snacks.
“Wow… what an amazing place you got here, Bobbie. How the hell are you able to afford this?” Dillon asked in wonder.
“Hard work and good looks got me this far… and having a few good jobs doesn’t hurt either. Besides working at the factory, I also do some escort work on the weekends.”
I had half expected Dillon to show some shock at that last bit, but the lad just smirked at me. I could almost see the gears turning in his head.
So I upped the ante. “Men and women go crazy for my cum gun. They all want to be dominated by a leather master like me — or pay a lot extra to screw my hot ass —”
Even this revelation did not faze him. He just nodded understandingly. Now I was certain the boy was into men and wanted nothing more than to get into my leather pants himself.
“And I used to be an award-winning barber before I got this job,” I said, lustfully rubbing my hand over the cock-bulge in my biker pants. “Are you into that kink, too, Dillon? Or do you still want me to believe that you would rather eat pussy?” I asked, looking naughtily at him with squinted eyes. I butchly opened a bottle of beer with my teeth and handed it to him, giving him a convenient excuse not to answer me right away.
• A hard truth to swallow.
“Hey, Dillon… Would you like to grab a bite to eat with me later? I could go for some Chinese. If you do, then you may want to call home to tell them you’ll be back late.”
Dillon looked bashfully up at me again. “Don’t worry, boy… Nothing is really going to happen if you don’t want it to!” I said, calming him down. “On the other hand… Anything goes around here! And no one needs to know,” I grinned as I told him that. “And I really do mean anything —” I pointed at the leather sling in the corner.
Dillon’s breathing got a little faster. He looked at me as if to scream: Yes, please, teach me, take me, sir!
“Sure…” said Dillon, after processing all the impressions I had bombarded him with. “I would love to eat you —” His breath stuck in his throat.
Did he actually just say that out loud? I laughed my ass off at his Freudian slip. “Well… Well… now we are getting somewhere. What part of me would you like to eat first?” I grinned nastily at him and put an arm around Dillon, taking a few sips of my beer.
At first, he laughed with me, but his expression soured after a moment. “I already told you I am not gay!” he snarled meanly.
“That’s cool too, Dillon… Do you care to explain that dripping wet cock of yours to me then?” I said equally harshly, pointing to the wet spot blooming in his pants.
Dillon lost control over his emotions again. I coached the boy with a fatherly tone. “Dil… I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. Try to explain what you’re feeling. I am not trying to hurt you. I just want to help you,” I said very calmly, giving him the time and space to find the right words.
“Bobbie… Umm?… I don’t know, man —” Dillon said sobbingly, “… I don’t know if I am gay or not. I certainly never had many girlfriends. Shit, I only had sex a couple of times before. I just… well, you know… I would much rather help myself. When I saw you, I so wanted to be like you! Tough, mean, muscular, and butch… But look at me, man… How the fuck do I do that? You are more than twice the man I will ever be! Even the guys at the plant think so! I am nothing but a ‘Dildo’ to them.”
• The Big Brother complex.
Dillon grew more frustrated the longer he spoke, the words spilling out in the longest coherent sentences I had ever heard him string together. “Hell, I wished I had someone like you as my big brother — to guide me… fuck, I would even let you —” Dillon cut himself off, his breath hitching as his prick twitched against the damp fabric of his pants again.
I stayed silent, letting the tension simmer. I leaned back, draping a heavy arm behind Dillon’s back and inviting him to rest his head on my shoulder. To my surprise, the boy didn’t hesitate. A moment later, I pulled him entirely onto my broad leather-clad chest. We sat like that for a long while, nursing our beers and picking at snacks while the silence between us turned from awkward to heavy.
“Call your folks, Dil… I want to take you to dinner. Or do you prefer we dine here?” I asked, my voice dropping to a low rumble.
“Let’s eat here… there is so much I want to learn from you. I am much more comfortable doing that in private. Hell, maybe you can give me a floor show or something?” Dillon looked up, a dirty smirk finally breaking through his shyness.
I reached for the phone, took his order, and called it in. When I handed the receiver to him, he didn’t blink. “Mom, I am sleeping over at a friend’s house,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. I watched him hang up, a slow grin spreading across my face. “Are you sure, Dil?… Aren’t you going a bit fast?”
“You said you are a mentor and a hairdresser. I think I can use both. Can you turn me into a good-looking guy like —” He stopped. This time, his voice didn’t trail off because of a daydream — it was because I had shoved my hand down the front of his damp pants, my palm closing around his rock-hard heat.
He looked at me, then down at his crotch, his eyes blown wide. With trembling fingers, he loosened his belt and undid the cord of his cotton pants, surrendering complete access. I shoved him back against the cushions and freed his penis from those drenched clothes. I held his gaze for a heartbeat before leaning down to suck him clean.
Dillon watched, mesmerized, as a muscle god worked between his legs, devouring his six-inch, perfectly shaped cock. I looked up through my lashes, growling for him to grab my head and fuck my brain out. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to drive himself into me with a desperate, vigorous rhythm. I played my part, making deep, wet sounds to egg him on until he was breathless. Finally, I pulled back, the slick friction breaking with a pop, and hauled my weight on top of him, pinning him deep into the leather of the couch.
• Dinner and a make-over.
He hugged me closely, stroking my leather gear in a worshipping embrace. I could tell he was a little disappointed that I hadn’t let him cum in my mouth, but the doorbell cut the tension before he could complain. I got up and returned with the Chinese takeaway — a meal Dillon had nearly forgotten we had even ordered.
Over dinner, we dissected the mixed signals he had been unknowingly broadcasting for years. I laid out a few choice examples, and as he listened, the light finally began to dawn in his eyes. Dillon started to see how submissively gay he actually came across to the world. For the first time, he was totally relaxed — talking openly about his feelings and coming to the conclusion that he might have been queer all along.
“What did it feel like?” he asked suddenly, his voice surprisingly steady, “… the first time you got butt fucked by a guy?” It caught me off guard to hear those words coming from him.
The bashful brat was nowhere to be seen. Dillon started asking where I trained and who cut my hair, playfully running a hand through my shoulder-long, wavy locks. He sighed — admitting he was desperate for a haircut of his own.
I laughed, fully agreeing that he was in dire need of a make-over. I told him he needed to lose those ugly marmalade-jar glasses and get himself some contact lenses. Then, my voice shifted — dropping into a commanding tone that left no room for debate.
“Dil… strip. Before we even think about dessert, I am going to give your cock and balls a make-over. Even your own mother won’t recognize you by the time I am done with you.”
He looked at me, stupefied — his brain struggling to keep up with the command. But as soon as the order was processed, he willingly complied. I took the naked ugly duckling and sat him forcefully in the barber chair — a piece of equipment I had long since converted into a BDSM fuck-chair. It had seen plenty of heavy use over the years. I hoisted Dillon’s legs into the stirrups and cinched them down with leather straps — before binding his boyish chest and arms to the frame with thick, biting rope.
I followed suit, moving with slow, deliberate intent. I removed my biker jacket and shirt, giving the young man another lingering look at my robust build. In truth, I was getting hot and bothered by Dillon — watching his eyes track every muscle as I prepared to work my magic on him.
• Taking the plunge.
The boy got all tied up and had nowhere to go, so he surrendered himself entirely to me. It was the precise response I had expected — Dillon didn’t just accept the dominant control, he craved it. That was right up my alley.
I gruffly pulled his head back and gave him a sharp, aggressive crew-cut. Dillon’s matted locks fell to the ground and onto his bare skin in clumps. I didn’t stop there. I shaved his cock and balls, taking a blade to that thick, scraggly bush of pubes until it was smooth. Once, even his butt cheeks were shaved bald, I sucked the dude off for real. I forced him to unload deep into my mouth — savoring every drop of that dessert. I lubed his back door and began to play with it gently, penetrating him ever so slightly with a few fingers.
Dillon struggled against the restraints. He wasn’t trying to escape — he was desperate to caress my head and stroke my arms. He needed to show me how much he wanted me, screaming it at the top of his lungs. I stayed locked in my biker gear and had no intention of changing that. My leather pants had a full-length zipper that offered all the access I needed — and I had a feeling Dillon wanted me to take him while I was fully geared up.
I pulled up a mobile washbasin behind his head to finish the transformation. I washed his hair, combed it, and bleached a few bright blond streaks into the spikes.
When I was finally done, I showed the anxious boy his new look. He was still bound to the chair, Dillon’s legs spread wide in the stirrups. His cock was rock-hard and twitching wildly, his arms still aching to hold someone. His hole was even gaping slightly — practically begging to be filled with man-meat.
When Dillon finally looked at his new hairdo, his jaw dropped. “Bobbie… oh my God… is that really me?” He stared at his reflection, mesmerized by the sharp, blond spikes that made him look older — tougher. “I look… I look incredible. You’re a genius, Bobbie. I look like someone you’d actually want to be seen with.”
He turned his gaze from the mirror to me, his voice trembling with a new kind of hunger. “Please… don’t make me wait anymore. I can’t take it. Please… fuck me already!” His breath quickened, and I watched his cock start to leak pre-cum again.
With a finger, I fed Dillon his own jizz, smearing the rest over his butthole and working my way inside him. Dillon’s eyes rolled back, his head snapping back as he moaned loudly, his breathing turning into heavy, desperate rasps.
I slowly pulled out, caressing his balls as I did — just enough to start bringing him down from cloud nine. I unfastened the boy from the fuck-chair and gathered his light frame up in both my strong arms. As I carried him, his hands finally got to stroke my big pecs. He even dared to pinch a nipple — my piercings seemed to fascinate him. The boy was utterly smitten — worshiping my masterful, muscled look as he drank in my feel and my sweaty musk.
I carried him into the bedroom, a space that looked more like a five-star hotel suite than a foreman’s loft. The king-sized bed stood as the centerpiece — dressed in crisp, high-thread-count cream linens with a slight, silky sheen. A heavy, dark leather bed throw was draped perfectly over the foot of the bed — matching the oversized leather cushions propped against the headboard. It was a place built for luxury and sin. I didn’t lay him down gently — I dropped him rudely onto the black leather bed throw.
Dillon bounced slightly, his eyes going wide as he felt the contrast of the cool, expensive sheets against his skin. “God… Bobbie…” he whispered, looking around the room in a daze. “I’ve never seen a bed like this.”
“It’s a bed fit for a king, Dil… or a very fortunate boy,” I said, towering over him in my black biker pants. “And now you’re the lucky one. Let’s cuddle the crap out of your new look. Damn, you look sexy.”
• Submission.
Dillon spread his arms, desperate to feel it all. The scent of expensive leather, the cool silk of the sheets, and the raw musk of my body — he took it in with every sense he could muster. He was in sensory overload, totally gone. The lad was mine now. I could have had my way with him right then — ripping his boy-pussy in two until he bled, using him as nastily as I saw fit.
However, I didn’t. The brat had grown on me. With his new haircut, Dillon actually looked halfway cool. I pulled an old pair of jeans and a leather denim-look jacket from my closet for him to wear. I gave him one of my leather baseball caps and buckled a spiked wristband onto his right arm — signaling to the world that he was a bottom. My bottom.
Before he dressed, I cinched a metal-studded leather strap around his cock and balls, playing with his weight for a moment. “Okay… you’re mine now!” I told him firmly. My voice dropped into a low growl.
“You will call me sir from now on. Everything you say or ask will start with that. Do you understand me, bitch?”
“Sir… yes… I think I do, sir. It will be my honor to serve you, Master Bobbie!”
“If I call you, will you come running?” I asked harshly.
“Sir… yes, sir! I will, sir,” he replied, his chest swelling with pride.
“If I tell you to present your hole to be fucked, will you? No matter if we are in public or surrounded by strangers?”
“Sir… yes, sir!… I will keep it shaved and well-lubed for your use, sir.”
“Good boy. I’ll make a proud little fuck-toy out of your sorry ass yet. You just follow my lead.”
All the while I was breaking my new bitch, I let the leather pants of my biker gear grind against his trembling skin. I pushed my hips into his crotch, allowing his aching dick to slick the front of my biker bulge. But I wouldn’t take it any further. I was going to make him work for it, and Dillon knew it. He just hugged and kissed me — moaning loudly, his breath hot against my neck. We finished a few more beers together before I finally decided to send my new bottom boy home.
“I had fun, Dil… but it’s time for bed. We have to go to work tomorrow,” I said, handing him his glasses, “… I showed you what you can be, the rest is up to you!”
When he walked into the hallway, Dillon caught his reflection in the full-length mirror. “Damn… I really have to get myself some different glasses… don’t I?” He sighed, admiring the transformation. “Thanks, Master Bobbie. I will try to remember everything you taught me, sir! You are so fucking good it hurts.”
I kissed him one last time, letting him look long — far too long — into my eyes with that worshipful gaze. We were still locked together in the open doorway, and I could see the neighbors staring.
“Dildo — you really need to go, boy!” I said meanly, giving him a playful but firm shove out the door.
Outside, he started the short walk home with his head held high, acting as if he owned the street. Even the hookers working the street corner looked twice; before tonight, they would not have spared Dillon another look. The new look had changed his whole outlook on life — and all he could do was revel in the feeling.
• Strutting his stuff.
The next day, the woman from HR called to tell me that ‘Dildo’ had taken half the morning off and that his meeting with me would have to be rescheduled. I didn’t let her finish. I tore into her, telling her never to use that nickname again — not in my presence, and not on my floor. She apologized immediately, her voice trembling. It wasn’t something she was used to doing, but she heard the iron in my voice.
Around lunchtime, the double doors of the cafeteria swung open. Dillon walked in with his head held high and his chest puffed out — radiating a confidence he hadn’t possessed twenty-four hours ago. The usually bustling, clattering room fell dead silent for a heartbeat. Then, the men began to whoop and holler as Dillon strutted his stuff across the greasy linoleum. Even the cafeteria lady, usually a stone-faced bird, gave him an extra scoop of protein with a wink.
Dillon had gone all out. He wore a vintage biker jacket over his coveralls — which he had stripped down to his waist, the sleeves tied tightly around his hips. He had nothing on underneath the leather, leaving his pale, lean torso exposed. His face had been scrubbed clean of every blackhead, his five-o’clock shadow was trimmed to a sharp line, and the ‘marmalade jars’ were gone — replaced by a pair of contacts.
He walked straight to my table, ignoring the stares, and sat himself down directly next to me. As he pulled up the sleeves of his jacket to eat, the movement made his shoulders look broader, more deliberate. He made sure to flash the new spiked leather armband on his right wrist — my mark. On his feet, he sported a pair of well-polished, heavy army boots, his coveralls tucked butchly into the tops of his socks.
The guys at the back table started the old chant, their voices rising in a mocking rhythm: “Dildo… Dildo… Dildo!”
I didn’t say a word. I simply lifted my hand and snapped my fingers — a sharp, echoing crack that cut through the noise of the cafeteria like a gunshot. The chanting stopped instantly. It stopped for good.
• The final lesson.
Dillon didn’t just get the respect his new look earned him — he commanded it. After lunch, I walked into the restroom and found him standing at the urinals among the other men. I cleaned my hands, caught his eye in the mirror, and let my voice drop into a cold, hard command. “Dil… present your ass!”
Without a second of hesitation, he ripped his coveralls’ pants down, arched his back, and slammed his hands against the back wall.
“Ready for this, boy?” I asked softly, punctuating the question with a harsh smack across the bare skin of his buttocks.
“Sir… as ready as I will ever be… give it to me!” Dillon gasped in horny anticipation. The other men stopped mid-stream, their eyes glued to me and my new bitch-boy. Not that they could have finished if they wanted to — every one of them was sporting a nasty case of rigor mortis protruding from their work clothes.
Dillon screamed as I plunged forward. “Aww… fucking hell! Ooh... Oh shit… God, you’re so big, Master… Arghh… ooh… fuck, sir… Take my hole! I am yours!”
I let the boy adjust to the thrusting weight of my ten-inch cut cock as it stretched his tight boy-hole to the limit.
I pulled out just long enough to snap a rubber over my meat before mercilessly slamming back in — balls deep, without an ounce of remorse. I hammered my hips against Dillon’s ass, the sound of my hips echoing off the bathroom tiles. The surprisingly large group of men began to cheer as Dillon took the punishment, bracing himself even firmer against the wall to handle the load.
I ravaged him roughly and without a drop of lube, letting the rest of the crew watch in awe as Dillon screamed his head off in pure, unadulterated pleasure. Once I was finished and his hole was left gaping, I stepped back and calmly washed my hands. I looked at the crowd of hungry workers and asked a straightforward question: “ — Who’s next? — ”
That afternoon, Dillon received a proper education. The men took turns filling his every desire, teaching him to take cock like a power bottom on steroids. They made him eat cum and drink piss straight from the source — and he took it all. Even the boss made use of the boy’s newly found abilities.
We didn’t see Dillon again until the whistle blew. He walked straight to my bike, snatched the spare helmet, and waited for me. Dressed in his new jacket and leather chaps, he rode back to my place in silence.
That weekend, I made him serve me like the bitch he had always been meant to be. Dillon had learned his lesson well. I showed him what real discipline felt like — humbling him, making him worship my muscular body as only a true submissive could. We screwed all weekend long, went shopping, and hit the clubs, where I made him serve my buddies and my high-paying customers. Dillon took every bit of it in stride — knowing he was mine to use as I saw fit.
And that was all he had ever wanted out of life. He had just been too timid — too shy — to go out and take it like a man.
• The End •
Thank you for reading this story.
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And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ - Edited: February 2025
Original upload: February 2021
