To happy Endings
I drove up to Dean’s apartment. I had been circling the block, idling in the lot, long enough to know he was inside. Every loop felt like one last chance to turn back. My stomach twisted, nerves chewing at me even though I had a plan, even though I had played it over a hundred times in my head.
Then Dave came bursting out, tugging on his shirt, leaping into his car like he was late for his own sins. He sped off the lot and vanished down the road. I knew all about the text he got from Steve; I had written it. I sat there longer, hands gripping the wheel, waiting for my pulse to slow. It didn’t. The gnawing in my gut only got louder, whispering how easily things could go wrong no matter how carefully I had set it up. Still, I couldn’t let fear win. I reached for the duffel bag, feeling the weight of it steady me, and climbed the familiar steps. My heart was hammering, but I forced my stride to stay even, sure. If I showed any weakness now, it would eat me alive before I even reached the door.
I noticed a young woman. Ah, it was Liz. She was still here, her beautiful heart-shaped face drawn with concern. She wore her BW restaurant uniform and was halfway out the door.
“John.” At first her face twisted with disgust, but then it softened to recognition. “It’s been so long.”
I hugged her, and she hugged me back.
“Dean,” she whispered, but before she could say more I cut her off. “I know, Liz. I’m here for him.”
She studied me, like she could see in my face that things were about to get very serious. “Take him away, John. He needs to get away from all these guys that come and go. He’s a good man, but…” Her voice broke off, her silence saying more than the words she didn’t want to speak.
“I will, Liz,” I told her, forcing a smile.
“Okay.” She tugged at her apron and glanced toward the parking lot. “The guy who just left? He’ll be back soon. And he won’t be alone.” Fear flickered in her eyes, not just for Dean but for me too. She knew Dave’s kind of dangerous.
“By the time you get home, this will be resolved,” I promised her.
“Be safe, John.” She tapped her number into my phone. “If you need anything, my brother Aaron is right down the road. He can be here in no time.” With nothing else but a look of concern, she headed for her little white Honda. I noticed her adjusting her silver baseball bat. “Bitch can’t be too careful,” she would say back when I still lived with Dean. She was a firecracker for sure. I waved and kept going to Dean’s apartment directly above hers.
I pulled out the key and prayed it worked, and it did. Steve had told me that during our breakup, everyone was worried about Dean, so he had kept a backup. I smiled for a second, remembering how my sister and mother stayed with me almost two months after it all fell apart, afraid for my sanity.
The door gave way. The smell hit first: stale sweat, smoke, sour beer, the faint rot of food gone bad. A heaviness hung in the air, thick like a cheap sex theater, the kind where the carpet never dries and the walls breathe with shame. I stepped into the kitchen and it was no better. Towers of unwashed dishes crusted over, bottles of beer and liquor crowding every surface, ashtrays spilling cigarettes and burned-out e-cigs in every color and size.
And then I saw it. A cork calendar nailed to the wall just outside the bedroom, and on it, pinned like trophies, were used condoms. Tied off, sagging, stained. Certain days had four, five, lined up like a sick kind of schedule.
My blood boiled. My fists clenched. This wasn’t Dean; it was what Dave, Steve, even Nathan had reduced him to. This was their corruption pressed into every corner of his life. But I forced the anger down. I had to stay calm. I had to stick to the plan.
I opened the door and was swallowed by darkness. The huge window was blacked out, the air heavy, humid, thick with the sour-sweet smell of sex: rubber, sweat, lube, and skin. I moved slowly, hand brushing along the wall until I found the switch.
"Click"
The lights burst on, and my heart dropped to the floor. There, stretched across the king-size bed, was Dean.Naked. Bound. Displayed.
His right arm tied to his right ankle, lashed to the headboard post. His left side mirrored the same restraint. His body was spread wide, helpless, his muscular ass pushed open, his pink hole exposed as if waiting. A plastic device clamped around his heavy balls, a thick string leading upward to a pin in the ceiling, promising agony if he so much as twitched wrong.
His cock hung soft, yet there was nothing soft about him. Sweat glazed his skin, catching the light on the ridges of his abs and chest, muscles trembling under the strain of being forced to hold that obscene pose.
A thick blindfold smothered his eyes, keeping him in darkness even now. He didn’t flinch when the room lit up. His mouth was pried wide by a ball gag far too big, stretching his lips around it, making his jaw quiver in silent protest.
The sight was unreal, grotesque, humiliating, but still heartbreakingly beautiful. My man, bound like a statue sculpted for lust, reduced to a toy, left to soak in this room that smelled like the raw heat of bodies. My beautiful man had been turned into a sex toy for these motherfuckers. Bound, exposed, humiliated, and still, he was gorgeous. Even like this, I couldn’t stop seeing what I had always seen in him: the body of a Greek statue come to life, carved in muscle and sweat, every line and curve a reminder of the man I loved. They saw an object, a prize to exploit. I saw the man who owned my heart, forced into their theater of cruelty
Desire and rage tangled inside me, sharp and unbearable. The smell of sex hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, and it only made me hate them more.
I moved in, hands shaking as I reached for the ball gag. How do you unsee this? How do you face the reality of what’s been done to the man you love? My beautiful Dean, turned into some plaything, humiliated in ways I never wanted to imagine. I needed to be steady for him.
My fingers brushed the straps and Dean recoiled, unready. He worked his jaw slow, like he was checking if it still belonged to him. I slid my hands up and began pulling at the blindfold. He whimpered, the sound so small it cut me in half. He thought it was another stranger coming to use him, not me. My heart was breaking, but I carried on. I pulled the blindfold free. For a second his eyes fought the light, then locked onto mine. His gaze was wild, unsteady, drugged, I thought, but then I saw the tears. Recognition broke through.
“Baby… my dream boy,” he whispered.
I untied one arm and leaned in close. “I’m taking you away.”
He closed his eyes, nodded, holding back the flood waiting in him.
I worked at the straps, undoing him piece by piece until I could finally pull him up. Moving him was hard; he was heavy, muscles stiff from being bound, but I didn’t care. I was getting him out of that room if it killed me. Silent, he leaned on me. I held him tighter. “I got you, baby,” I whispered, forcing a smile through the storm inside me. “Let’s get you clean.”
I tore off my clothes and washed him, every inch, every mark they’d left behind. I wasn’t just scrubbing away sweat and dirt; I was trying to erase what they had done to him. I grabbed his dental floss, his toothbrush, even the mouthwash, making sure nothing was left untouched.
Dean said nothing. He stood there, heavy with the weight of it all, as if the silence itself was a confession. His eyes drifted, unfocused, maybe trying to piece together how long he’d been trapped like this, maybe remembering flashes of what they’d made him do. I could feel the shame bleeding off him, how he blamed himself, how he thought he had slipped too far to ever climb out. His movements were unsteady and clumsy.
But none of that mattered. Not to me. I loved him more than ever: broken, scarred, ashamed. It didn’t matter. He was still mine. He was still Dean.
The shower told its own story. A lineup of dildos in every size and color. Bottles of lube shoved into corners. Straps, thongs, toys strewn around like discarded props. The whole place reeked of use, of sex that was anything but love. Dean’s eyes flicked down to them, and I saw the shame hit, his pale skin flushing red as memory tightened its grip. He was still unsteady, his eyes still wild, but he knew who I was. I knew he was fighting. I touched his chin, pulled his gaze back to me. Whatever they had done, whatever he remembered in silence, none of it could take him away from me.
I pulled out my duffel bag, grabbed some sweats and an old T-shirt of mine, and dressed us both. Dean swayed under the weight of whatever they’d given him, but I couldn’t waste time wondering what or how long. Every second counted. If I hesitated, the plan would unravel.
My phone lit up. Anton. My best friend, the only one I’d trusted with the truth about Dean, about Steve, Nathan, and Dave. He had his own checkered past, scars from choices he never bragged about, but tonight I was glad for all of it. Tonight, I needed that part of him, that dark side of him, and of his life partner, Dwayne.
I unlocked the phone and my heart jumped. Steve, hog-tied, beaten, looking like the meat he always was when stripped of his smug grin. Anton’s message was simple: Are you sure?
“Yes,” I typed back, no hesitation.
His reply came quick, brutal, in emojis: 👿🍆🍩🦾🤳🏿
Dean was safe with me, but the others weren’t safe they would pay before the night was over.
I looked at Dean. He was gripping the shower door like it was the only real thing left in the world to anchor him. His body wavered, heavy with whatever poison they had pumped into him. Then came the loud thump at the door, and Dean buckled, falling forward. The front door handle rattled, and my chest locked tight. Too soon. Too fucking soon. I closed the bathroom door and threw the lock. ‘Who, I thought, who is here?’ I had planned for everything.
I turned Dean over, steadying him, when the voice cut through the air.
“Dean.” Drawn out, mocking. “I’m here to give you the first fuck of the day.”
The words hit me like a blade twisting.
“I’ll fuck that dream boy out of your fucking head soon enough.”
Nathan. The punk from the bar.
I could hear him now, loud and careless as he stripped. I heard a zipper rip open, and clothes hitting the floor.
“You don’t mind if I’m a little dirty, do you?” His tone was slick, cruel, almost tender in the way someone mocks love. “I’ll have you liking me clean in no time.”
I froze, but my blood boiled. Every syllable was an insult, every word a theft. Nathan wasn’t just here to use Dean. He was here to try again to erase me, And that, I couldn’t forgive. I had time. I was going to enjoy this.
Dean coiled, memory flashing across his face, and it pissed me off. Nathan’s steps moved closer to the bedroom. I slipped out, crouched low, fingers curling around the leather belt on the floor. My pulse thundered. “What the fuck!” Nathan barked, caught off guard. My cue. I swung the belt with everything I had. The crack echoed through the apartment, leather snapping across his bare back before his scream could even form. But Nathan was high on something. The strike only fueled him. He lunged, naked and snarling, his skin slick with sweat. We crashed together, fists and elbows colliding, grunts spilling out, no words, only animal noise. We rolled across the floor, knocking down lamps, ripping shades off windows. His body pressed into mine, hot and unyielding, and every breath reeked of smoke and sex.
“He’s leaving with me,” I roared, driving my fist into his cheekbone.
Nathan spat blood, smiling through it. “He can’t even fucking walk,” he sneered, catching me in the gut so hard I folded. “We keep him high as a kite, dream boy, the perfect power bottom.” His laugh was cruel, close, in my face.
Rage burned through the pain.
Before I could recover, his arm snaked around my neck, choking me into his chest. “But why settle for him,” he breathed against my ear, half-laughing, half-taunting, “when we can use both of you?”
That was it. My vision narrowed, fury taking over. I clawed for anything. My hand caught a heavy vase. As he shifted to grab my arm, his body opened. I rammed my elbow back, burying it into his cock and balls.
Nathan shrieked, the sound tearing out of him, his grip faltering. I spun, fists finding his face again and again. His body buckled under me, blood smearing his mouth, his eye swelling shut. Still, I didn’t stop. Not until I saw the fear break through the bravado. Not until he begged.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging his naked, beaten body across the floor toward the bedroom. His heels scraped against the carpet, his breath broken, but he was mine to drag now. He kicked and writhed, but it didn’t matter. I was past mercy.
He was beaten, or so I thought.
Before I could react, Nathan had his phone up, bloodied fingers swiping fast. The screen lit with a live call. Dave, hunched behind the wheel of his car.
“He’s taking Dean!” Nathan shouted, voice breaking with panic.
I slapped the phone from his hand, but it was too late.
“Like hell he is,” Dave snarled through the speaker, his face twisted in fury. Tires screamed against worn concrete, the sound of rubber tearing at the road. He was coming back.
The fight I thought I’d won had only opened the door for another.
I tossed Nathan’s phone into the toilet and threw him onto the bed. He was bruised, bloodied, breath ragged, but I didn’t waste time. I tied him the same way they had tied Dean: spread, exposed, helpless. No blindfold. No gag. I wanted him to see. I wanted him to speak if he dared.I left him squirming and came back with the weapon: a giant dildo, a fist molded in silicone. His eyes went wide. He pleaded, strained against the ropes, but it was useless.
“Look at me, you little fuck.” He stammered excuses, promises, but I cut him off, hefting the dildo so he couldn’t look anywhere else. “I’m stuffing your ass with this. If you relax, it won’t hurt as much. If you don’t…” I let the smile curl across my lips. “The doctors at the clinic are going to have a story to tell their friends about you. I wonder what your girl will think?”
Terror froze him. His body trembled, hole stretched open and waiting. I rubbed the head around his asshole, and he shook harder, knowing there was no stopping what was coming.
“Now say ahhh.”
I rammed it to the hilt. His body convulsed, the ropes rattling the frame. The walls seemed to vibrate with the scream he swallowed down. Strong, sculpted, yet betrayed by his own cock, swelling hard, straining, betraying him with every thrust. I worked the dildo in a cruel rhythm, watching the conflict tear through him. Tears rolled freely now, shame and lust twisted together, pleasure poisoned by fear.I kept the camera rolling, making sure it was all captured and uploaded to the cloud. Time was running out. I yanked the dildo free, streaked with filth, slick with what was left of him. His face contorted, breaking, and then he came, moaning, yelling, spraying cum across his neck, face, hair. He slumped, broken, spent.
“How could Dean ever see you as an equal,” I said, smiling down at him, “when all you are is a fuckboy?”
Nothing like me.
I flicked the light off and closed the door, leaving Nathan sobbing in the dark.
My phone lit again. Anton’s partner, Dwayne. The image froze me for a second. Next to him, hog-tied and broken down just like Steve, was Jack. Muscles straining uselessly against the ropes, sweat slicking his body, fear in his eyes. Another one ready to be dragged through the fire.
“Is this a go or not?” the message read.
I sent back the clip: the fist-sized dildo driving into Nathan, his body convulsing, his cock hard even through the humiliation. Proof of what happens when you cross me. Dwayne’s reply came quick: Shit, John. Didn’t know you had that in you.
“Do it,” I typed back, my fingers steady.
A second later, the emojis hit: 👿🍆🍩🦾🤳🏿. A promise. A ritual seal.
I stared at the screen. Mercy was gone. The plan was alive. One by one, these motherfuckers would learn. And with friends like Anton and Dwayne, cut from stone, bodies like predators, their naked strength turned into weapons, I knew justice wasn’t just coming. It was going to look damn good doing it.
I rushed to Dean, who was on his knees, swaying. “We have to go,” he slurred. I hauled him up, his weight heavy against me, and we staggered for the door. “Damn it, I dropped my keys.” My chest tightened. I scanned the wreckage of the room, every second dragging like a curse. I propped Dean against the doorframe, my eyes sweeping the filth until I spotted the glint of metal on the floor. Relief hit, sharp and fleeting. I bent, scooped them up, jammed his arm over my shoulder.
The lock gave, the door creaked open, but too slow.
I didn’t hear him; I felt him. A surge of motion. Then the impact.
A foot slammed into my chest with the force of a battering ram, and in an instant Dean and I were airborne, hurled backward into the apartment. We hit the floor hard, air tearing from my lungs. I had miscalculated. I had taken too long tying Nathan, too long gathering my things.
Dave was faster. And now, he was here.
I clutched my chest, gasping, fighting for air to fill my lungs again. Pain burned hot and sharp with every breath. “Come here, you fucking bitch!” Dave roared, his voice thick with rage and hunger. He moved like a predator, fast and merciless, seizing Dean by the arm and hurling him into the couch as if he weighed nothing. Dean grunted, his body folding against the cushions, hands clawing for balance. He was responsive, yes, but nowhere near whole. His movements were sluggish, his eyes unfocused, the drugs and the trauma still dragging him under. He wasn’t back to normal. Not yet.
And Dave knew it. That’s what made his cruelty so dangerous.
Then, like an animal, Dave lunged at me. A one-sided fight from the start. I couldn’t overcome Dave on my best day, but I refused to lose. His fist cut through the air, and I met it with mine, keys wedged like nails between my knuckles. Crack. The sound was sharp and wet as the jagged edges smashed into his hand. He staggered, a flash of surprise in his eyes, and I swung again, aiming for his face. I clipped the side of his head instead, the keys dragging a red stripe across his ear and crown. “You little shit,” he growled. His voice was pure violence. Then he was under me, around me, lifting me like I was weightless. Panic surged, but so did instinct. I jammed my fingers into his eyes. His roar shook the walls, and instead of slamming me through the floor, he tossed me aside like a ragdoll.
My back smashed through the coffee table. Wood splintered. The breath tore out of my chest. I groaned, tried to crawl, but he was already on me again: hard, fast, relentless. The floor shook under his weight, his fists raining down, and I could taste blood hot in my mouth.
“Did you tell Dean?” Dave hissed, his fist crashing into me again. His breath was hot in my ear, words dripping with poison. “Did you tell him how I used your pretty mouth that night?”
Another punch, another jolt of pain. He was savoring it. “A little drink, a little extra, and you were so soft. So docile.” His laugh was cruel, low, like he was reliving it.
“You fucking drugged me, you piece of shit!” I spat. “You could never compare to Dean, you ugly mother—”
The floor rushed up as he slammed me down, pain screaming through my body. All I could do was moan, cry out, my voice ragged and helpless. “It’s time I finish what I started.” His hands were already on me, rough, ripping. He yanked my shirt off like it was paper, then tore at my shorts, peeling them down while I thrashed, trying to kick him away. His grip was hard, possessive, every move designed to shame me, to remind me of that night he had stolen from me. And even as I fought, I could feel how much he relished this, forcing me open, trying to make me a memory he could own.
“Aww, so cute. You’re going to love this,” he grinned, wicked, teeth bared. “I was always after you, John.” The words slipped out like a confession, a dirty truth he’d been waiting to spill. His face twisted in something almost vulnerable, almost tender, but only for a second.
“Dean was never the target. You were. We just… settled for him.”
The room spun. His words hit harder than his fists.
“Even drugged, you couldn’t get me hard, you piece of shit,” he spat, smashing his knuckles into me again. He ripped my underwear away and shoved me down, pinning me face-first into the floor, ass raised high like I was nothing but a hole for him to claim.
“I’ll get you nice and hard,” he sneered, wrapping his hot, sweaty hand around my cock and balls, squeezing until I whimpered. “Then I’ll have your boy Dean hold you while I cum in your ass.”
His cock pressed heavy against me, hard and throbbing, his other hand tearing at my hair, dragging my head back so I could feel his breath on my skin. The shame was suffocating. My body trembled beneath his weight. Nowhere to go.
I was going to get fucked. I was—No.
I tried to struggle, thrashing, but he rained down more punches, each one stealing my strength, making me slump again. He dragged me back into position, spreading me open like I belonged there. The fight was over.
Oh, my love, I thought. I fucked this up. I failed you. Fear dug into my bones, shame hollowed me out. This wasn’t a fight anymore. It was a prayer, an apology whispered in the dark of my own breaking.
Dave’s hand clamped around my throat, hot and unyielding, squeezing until my vision swam. His breath was ragged, hungry. “Don’t worry,” he growled, his cock grinding at my hole, heavy and insistent. “Right when you’re about to pass out, I’m going to plunge into this sweet hole and claim it.”
My body jerked against him, useless resistance. Spots burst in front of my eyes like fireworks, each one dimmer than the last. Panic clawed up my throat. My heart screamed what my voice barely carried.
“DEAN!”
The sound tore out of me, raw and desperate, less a cry for help than a confession. An apology. A plea to the only man I loved.
Dave laughed, low and cruel. “He can’t help you now. He can’t help—uhhphmm—”
The crash cut him short. Furniture exploded across the room, wood splintering, metal shrieking. I hit the floor flat, sobbing, the tears spilling out of me before I could stop them.
I raised my head, still dizzy, vision swimming, to see Dave locked in a struggle with another man. For a heartbeat, I prayed it was Mike, that he’d come as planned. But when my eyes cleared, I saw it for what it was.
“Don’t you ever touch him.”
Dean’s voice. Not broken. Not drugged. Not shamed. It was full, dangerous, a voice I hadn’t heard before.
I rolled onto my back, trying to feel my body again, every muscle screaming. Furniture cracked and splintered under their weight. The couch shoved halfway across the floor. A lamp toppled and shattered. The very walls seemed to shake as fists found flesh, the dull thud of knuckles on bone, the pop of hits that would leave marks.
Dean wasn’t graceful or clean. He fought like a man raised on gravel roads and barroom scraps: wide swings, hard grapples, his body fueled by love and fury both. Every punch said what words couldn’t: You will never own me. You will never touch him again.
I tried to rise, desperate to stand with him, to fight beside him. My body buckled, the world tilting under me, and I collapsed back down, breath rattling in my chest. Where had my strength gone? Why did I feel so heavy, like the fight had drained straight out of me?
“John!” Dean’s voice ripped across the room, sharp, panicked. He saw me crumple again, but Dave didn’t give him time to look twice. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about, Dean,” Dave spat, dragging him into a headlock. Dean’s face twisted, veins bulging as he clawed at the grip crushing his windpipe. Dave’s grin was feral, his voice dripping venom. “When I’m done fucking your dream boy, I’ll make sure you have a front row seat as Steve and I double-stuff his sweet ass.”
The line hit harder than bone.
Dean and I locked eyes. Mine filled with tears, streaming hot and helpless down my face. “I love you, Dean,” I whispered, barely a sound, more prayer than speech.
Something snapped in him.
Dean’s eyes went wide, wild, then cold with resolve. He sucked in whatever breath he could, heaved his whole body backward, and slammed Dave against the edge of the kitchen island. The crack echoed, sickening, final. Dave crumpled beneath him, writhing, shrieking.
Dean didn’t hesitate. Adrenaline surged through him, tearing away every ounce of weakness. He was a storm now, fists hammering, knuckles splitting. He drove into Dave over and over, each blow louder, harder, fueled by rage and love alike. And I lay there, exhausted, watching the man I loved burn himself alive.
I had to stop it.
“Oh shit,” I heard Mike yell as he burst through the doorway. His shoes scraped against broken glass as he rushed toward me. “Dean, stop!” But Dean didn’t hear him. He couldn’t. He was rage made flesh, every punch a howl for all they’d done to him, all they’d stolen. “Dean! Stop!” Mike tried again, but Dean was somewhere else, fists driving into Dave’s limp body. Dave wasn’t fighting back anymore; he was just taking it.
Mike dropped to his knees beside me, his face stricken as he took in the bruises, the blood, my bare body sprawled out like wreckage. “Damn it, John, I knew I should’ve come with you,” he said, his voice cracking with regret.
“I messed up the plan,” I grunted, my chest heaving, pain lighting up every nerve.
“Shhh, breathe,” Mike murmured, steadying my shoulder with one hand, though his eyes kept darting toward Dean with growing fear. He could see it: the dangerous edge Dean had slipped over, the way he might not come back.
“Mike,” I whispered, still gasping for air, each word a struggle. “Tell him I’m hurt. It’s the only way to snap him out of it.”
Mike hesitated, panic flashing across his face. Then he did the only thing he could. He raised his voice, not a shout, but sharp, urgent, the kind of truth that cuts deeper than a command.
“Dean, John is hurt!”
The words cracked through the haze like thunder. Dean froze mid-swing, his fists hovering above Dave’s mangled face. For a second, he looked like a man waking from a nightmare, eyes wild, chest heaving. Then it hit him, like a bucket of cold water poured straight into his veins. He staggered back, reeling from the dark place he’d almost drowned in.
And his eyes searched for me.
“John!” Dean’s voice cracked, raw with fear. He came to me fast, dropping to his knees. I buried my face in his arms, sobbing into his chest. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispered, voice shaking as much as I was. “I have you. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” His arms wrapped around me, strong but trembling, holding me like I was the only thing tethering him back to the world.
Mike moved past us, crouching by Dave, who was slumped and wheezing on the floor, blood slick around his mouth. “Nothing’s broken,” Mike muttered, almost to himself. “This fucker’s tough.”
Dean didn’t care. His entire focus was me. He scooped me up off the ground like I weighed nothing, carried me into the bathroom, and laid me gently down on the counter. A towel draped over me, his hands moving over my skin, tender, shaking, desperate to make sure I was whole, his tears streaking down over the bruises on my face, the battered lines across my body. His fingers traced my wrists, my toes, my ribs, my neck, searching for breaks, searching for reassurance.
“Nothing’s broken,” he said at last, soft but firm, almost like he was telling it to himself as much as me. His lips pressed against my forehead, trembling. “Let’s get you out of here.”
And in that moment, I saw him not as the man they’d tried to break, not as the rage that had almost consumed him, but as my love, my hero, who had come back from the darkness for me.
As Dean carried me toward the door, I heard voices cut through the wreckage.
“What the fuck?” Anton’s growl, followed by Dwayne right behind him. They stormed in, eyes wide, scanning the mess.
“John, are you okay? What happened?”
Dean stiffened, ready to fight again, until he realized they were with me. His grip loosened just slightly, though his chest was still heaving. “I messed up,” I said, tears hot against my bruised face. “I messed up the plan.”
Dwayne was already moving, shoving Mike aside, standing over Dave’s broken, blinking body. Confusion flickered across Dave’s swollen face, but Dwayne’s shadow swallowed it.
“This the guy?” Dwayne asked, calm, cold, deadly.
I nodded.
Anton’s eyes cut to Dean and me, then back to Dave. A slow smile spread across his lips, sharp as broken glass. “Good,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “We need all of you to leave.”
The job wasn’t over. The plan had shifted, but my friends were here, just as planned, to finish what I started.
Mike and Dean half-carried me down the stairs, every step jarring through my bruised body, until we reached the car. Dean eased me into the seat, his hands steady even as his own strength threatened to give out.
“Get him out of here, Dean,” Mike said, his face drawn tight. From above us came the muffled sounds of a new struggle breaking out: furniture scraping, voices raised, the beginning of something we didn’t want to see. Mike’s eyes flicked upward, then back to me, guilt cutting into his expression. “I did as you asked. I’m heading home to…”
I reached out, brushing his face with what little strength I had left. “Thank you.”
He gave me a quick, tired smile, then turned and jogged to his car without another word. He didn’t look back. None of us wanted to.
Dean drove us through the back roads toward the main highway, one hand tight on the wheel, the other locked around mine like he was afraid to let go. The night pressed in heavy, the silence broken only by my uneven breaths. I told him everything, the truth I’d buried: how I’d been drugged, how Dave forced me, how Steve had taken his turn, how it left me hollow, ashamed, confused, how the guilt ate at me every time their friends reminded me, taunting, pushing, telling me to “finish the job.”
I felt his knuckles whiten around my hand. His jaw clenched so hard I thought it might crack. Fury radiated off him, but he kept his eyes on the road.
“Dean.” My voice was broken but firm. “Anton and Dwayne… they’ll handle it.”
He glanced at me then, his face shadowed but his eyes blazing. For a moment I thought he’d turn the car around. Instead, he let out a long, shuddering breath, forcing the fire down. “I do, baby. I trust you.” His voice trembled, but he meant it. “Let’s get away from this fucking place."
We burned down the highway, like shadows were right behind us, reaching but never catching. Through it all, he never let go of my hand. When we finally pulled up, he walked me to my door, his arm steadying me, his body close like a shield. Inside, the quiet felt foreign, almost wrong after the chaos. I felt ugly, bruised, swollen, broken in more ways than one.
But Dean cupped my face in his hands like I was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His thumbs brushed over the cuts, the swelling, so gently it made me ache.
“I love you, John,” he whispered, voice weak, ragged. “Thank you for saving me.” His forehead pressed to mine, and then he kissed me, soft, careful, like he was afraid I might break under him.
“You fought two guys for me,” he said with a small, crooked smile. “I always knew you could.”
I smiled back, though my ribs screamed if I dared to laugh. “I got all of them, Dean,” I said. “All of them.”
His smile widened, boyish and wounded all at once. “No one is keeping us apart. No one.”
I pulled him close, and he buried his face in my neck. His breath was hot, damp with tears. My arms wrapped around him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I believed it. We were safe.
My phone lit. Dwayne. Three messages.
Dean, still shaky, glanced at me as he leaned on the bathroom doorway. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, baby,” I said softly. “Do you mind getting a bath and shower ready for me? I want my man to see me nice and clean in bed.”
Dean nodded, but I could see the sway in his body, the way the adrenaline was fading. He held the doorframe a little longer than he meant to, then disappeared into the bathroom. Water started running, steady and hot.
I opened the first message. Dave was gurgling, writhing in pain as Dwayne forced a Prince Albert through him, then three more rods down his shaft. His scream was muffled by the gag as Anton’s fist worked his ass, each thrust brutal, unforgiving.
“Tough guy,” Dwayne laughed, his voice cutting sharp over the video. “We’ve got friends who’ll give you the rough love you crave.” Anton hammered harder, and for all of Dave’s size and muscle, he was nothing but a puppet now. And that’s exactly what I wanted him to feel.
I heard the water still running and opened the second message. A wide-angle shot this time: Dwayne face-fucking Dave, Anton holding his legs open and driving his fat cock into him. Only muffled breaths and choking came through. “Make him swallow, baby,” Anton hollered. Dwayne winked at the camera and finished in Dave’s mouth, cum spilling out with foam and tears. Then Anton’s body tensed. He emptied himself in Dave too. The camera shifted, catching the cum dripping from Dave’s raw hole. I noticed a new piercing just behind his heavy balls.
“Almost ready,” Dean called from the bathroom, voice tired but steady.
“Okay,” I answered back, opening the last message.
Dave was on all fours now, collar and leash fixed tight, his chest heaving. Fresh piercings marked his nipples. Anton loomed behind him, all muscle and cock.
“Who do you belong to, Dave?” Anton asked.
Dwayne yanked the leash hard.
“I belong to you, masters,” Dave choked out, his face flushed red.
Dwayne leaned into frame and waved at the camera, his body glistening. Unlike Anton, rock hard, Dwayne was soft, still heavy, still impressive. “Is there something you want to say?”
Dave looked straight into the camera, tears brimming. “I’m sorry for everything, John. I’m sorry, Dean.”
“Good boy deserves a present for being so brave,” Anton growled, and without hesitation, he plunged into Dave from behind. Dave’s eyes went wide, body shuddering, and then he just took it, letting himself be used.
A text followed after the video: The job is done. Jack, Nathan, Steve, and Dave. I’ll send you the rest of the videos and images in the morning. I hope you’re okay, John. You took a beating, but fuck, you did amazing. We’re proud of you, white boy.
I stared at the screen, my chest tight.
Dean reappeared, naked, bruised, and God, he looked good. He caught the look in my eyes. “Was it them?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s done.”
Dean walked me to the shower, his big hands surprisingly gentle as he cleaned me from head to toe. He washed the blood, the dirt, the sweat, every trace of what had been done to me. His fingers lingered, almost trembling as if he was afraid I might disappear if he let go.
When he was done, I pulled him inside with me.
“Baby, I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, hesitation in his voice.
But I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything. “You won’t,” I breathed. “I need you.”
I lay him flat in the tub, letting the water cascade around us, and used both hands to stroke him until his cock rose to full, glorious attention, thick, smooth, wet, veined just enough to make my mouth water.
My tongue traced the swollen head, swirling over the slit, and Dean’s body shivered. He moaned my name like it was a prayer, his voice low, breaking. I explored the crown with slow laps of my tongue before taking him into my mouth, the first suck deliberate, savoring the taste of him.
“Oooohhh,” he moaned, melting under me, his hips jerking against my lips.
I teased him, nibbling, kissing, dragging my tongue along every inch. His eyes rolled back, but I made sure to moan around his cock, to let him hear how much I wanted him. When he opened his eyes and saw me swallowing him deeper, the look on his face. lust, love, awe, it nearly undid me.
I pulled off his slick cock and grinned, waving it playfully before my lips. That was all the invitation he needed. In a flash, he flipped me on all fours and fed me his cock again, rough this time, deep, making me choke and gargle, but I moaned through it, begging for more.
This was me reminding him who he was, not a toy, not their plaything, but my man.
He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back, and kissed me deeply, wet and desperate. I purred against his mouth, the sound vibrating through both of us, and it drove Dean further into the haze between lust and love. Every touch, every swat against my ass, every thrust down my throat, it was electric, like a current only the two of us could feel.
He leaned back into the tub, water splashing, and pulled me up over his cock. “Ride me, baby.”
I lowered myself onto him slowly, savoring the stretch, the heat, the way his fat cock filled me inch by inch. His eyes devoured me, my body glistening, my hole swallowing him whole, as I sank down and bottomed out with a moan that echoed off the tiles.
Dean’s fingers twisted my nipples, tugging, teasing, as I began to rise and fall, our moans merging, thick with need. Soon I was bouncing, skin slick, sweat and water mixing, my ass clapping against him in a fever rhythm that left us both breathless.
I reversed, leaning forward, arching so he could watch my pink hole take him all the way in. He groaned, his hands gripping my hips as if he couldn’t believe I was real.
Then, suddenly, he spun me back onto all fours. His grip on my hips was iron. I felt him line himself up, thick head pressing against me. “Say it, baby,” he demanded, voice deep, hungry.
“Fuck me, Dean,” I begged. “Fuck me, baby.”
He slammed inside me and I screamed, not in pain but in pure, unfiltered pleasure. His balls slapped against mine as he worked me, hard, relentless. Sweat poured down my spine, my throat raw from groaning and begging, but I wanted more, always more. Every thrust was a promise, every kiss against my back a confession. I wasn’t alone. He was with me, completely.
I felt my balls tighten, my body winding tight. “Aaaaahhhhhh!” I yelled as the first hot stream of cum shot from me. The second ripped through me, unreal, and I collapsed forward, still begging through broken moans. Dean’s hand pressed against my chest, steadying me, holding me safe even as he pounded me through the aftershocks.
“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, his grip almost bruising.
“Fill me up,” I begged, my voice cracked with need.
He froze inside me, cock pulsing hard, his roar deep and guttural. “FUUUUCK.”
I reached back, tugging his heavy balls as the second wave wracked him. His moan was long, broken, filled with everything he couldn’t say. I twisted around, swallowing his cock whole as the last of his load hit my tongue, hot, thick, endless. He jerked and shook above me, and I worshiped him with my mouth until he was spent.
We were both wrecked, bodies trembling. He pulled me up and carried me into the shower again, but instead of cleaning me, he pounded me senseless against the tile. There were no more doubts, no more shadows, only me and Dean, loving and claiming and needing each other until we could barely stand.
We made it to bed soaked, bruised, delirious, and still went again. And again. We didn’t sleep that night. We didn’t sleep the next day either. Because this wasn’t just sex. This was survival. This was magic. This was us breathing for the first time.
A week later he left his job after beating up some guy who tried to get handsy with him in the bathroom, some DL southern guy. A month later he was working close to my place, and we were living together.
Some time later Anton and Dwayne invited us over to their place. There was something they wanted to show us. The scene was something else. Dave and Steve were hardly recognizable anymore, riddled with piercings and tats. They’d been broken down and remade into bondage boys, collared and leashed, paraded in front of an audience that treated them like pets. They were humiliated, made to do tricks in good-dog competitions, and forced to perform for strangers’ amusement.
I was honestly shocked to see Jack there too, but unlike Dave and Steve, he had leaned into something else entirely. Full furry. We watched him get ridden by more than a few guys dressed as foxes, bulldogs, and bears before the night was over.
Nathan wasn’t there. But Anton and Dwayne assured me he’d been taught his lesson. I didn’t need the details. I believed them. He moved away shortly after the apartment incident, and I was glad to let his shadow slip out of our lives.
Dean and I left that party together, hand in hand, both of us smiling. The past was behind us now.
On a side note, Dean did let me top him every so often, letting me take the reins and seeing what it felt like on the other side. And God, I loved it. I loved his muscular ass, the perfect shape of it, the way his pink hole opened for me like it had been waiting all along.
But it wasn’t just about the physical. It was the way he gave himself over to me, the way his eyes softened when I pushed inside him, like he was saying without words, “I trust you with this. I trust you with me.” That kind of surrender was its own kind of dominance.
Because make no mistake, Dean was in charge. Always. Even when I was the one on top, even when I was the one thrusting into him, it felt like he allowed it, gifted it to me. And I loved that balance between us, that push and pull, the knowing that no matter how I touched him, or how he touched me, we belonged to each other completely.
To happy endings… and new experiences.
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