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Bent Over By The Farm Boy—1

Penulis: Layo
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-05-26 17:23:17

She didn’t know I watched her.

But I did. Every fucking day.

My name’s Liam. I came to the farm two months ago after her ad went up in town—“Help needed. Private farm. Good pay.” No questions, no bullshit. Just land, labor, and the kind of silence I craved.

Her name was Riley. Barely thirty. She walked like someone who’d been left behind one too many times. Tight jeans, muddy boots, always barefoot in the house. Her lips didn’t smile much, but her mouth? It was made to be ruined.

I kept my distance. Did the work. Fixed the fences, hauled the bales, broke my sweat under the sun just so I didn’t break something else. She’d watch me sometimes through the kitchen window, pretending she wasn’t. I let her. It was part of the deal, silent or not—we both needed something, and neither of us wanted to say it.

But today?

Today she gave it to me.

I’d just come back from fixing the pump by the east fence, sweat soaked into my jeans, shirt hanging off my back pocket. I walked past the house on my
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    Krampus kept me knotted deep inside, his massive body pinning me to the frozen altar while his demonic cock throbbed in my guts. Every pulse of his knot stretched my rim to its absolute limit, a constant burning pressure that made it impossible to think about anything except how completely owned I was. My hole clenched around him involuntarily, milking that thick shaft, and each time it did he growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of us. I could feel every ridge, every vein dragging against my walls when he shifted even slightly. My prostate was getting crushed on every heartbeat, sending electric jolts straight to my untouched cock, which lay hard and leaking against my stomach, twitching with every breath.Sweat coated my skin despite the freezing air, mixing with the dried tears and cum already smeared across my face. I was a wreck, hole wrecked and gaping around that knot, body screaming for release.He leaned down, his hot breath against my ear, fangs grazin

  • Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires   Krampus's Punishment 2

    After he pulled out of my throat, I knelt there on the icy altar, gasping for air like a fish out of water. My chest heaved with every ragged breath, and thick strands of his demonic cum dripped from my chin, landing on the frozen surface below with soft, sizzling sounds. The taste lingered in my mouth—bitter, salty, with an unnatural heat that spread down my throat and pooled in my stomach, making my whole body feel warmer despite the cavern's biting cold. My jaw ached from being stretched so wide, and my throat felt raw, bruised from the brutal fucking. Tears had frozen in crystalline trails on my cheeks. I looked up at Krampus through blurred vision, my cock still throbbing painfully hard, untouched and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum onto the altar.He towered over me, his massive chest rising and falling slowly, that enormous cock still semi-hard and glistening with my saliva. The knot at the base pulsed faintly, and veins throbbed along its ridged length. Seeing him like th

  • Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires   Krampus's Punishment 1

    I never really bought into all that Christmas crap. At twenty-two years old, I had outgrown the fairy tales about jolly old Santa and his reindeer games a long time ago. My name is Alex, and I'm just your average cocky twink from the city—lean body, smooth skin, short dark hair, and a mouth that always seems to land me in hot water. I've spent the last few years chasing thrills in underground clubs, letting older, rougher guys pin me down and fuck me senseless. But no matter how hard they went, it was never enough. I always craved something more intense, something that would push me to my limits and beyond, leaving me broken and begging.That's what led me to this stupid idea on Christmas Eve. I was alone in my cramped apartment, the snow outside building up against the windows like a white prison wall. Bored out of my mind, I pulled out this ancient book I'd snagged from a shady thrift store downtown. It was all about old Alpine myths, and tucked away in the yellowed pages was a ritu

  • Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires   Fucking the monster 3

    The cell’s soft lighting had dimmed to a bruised violet, the holo-jungle cycling through pre-dawn mist. My pulse hammered in my ears, a dull throb that matched the slow clench of K-19’s slit around my spent cock. We hadn’t moved much since the second round; he’d taken me in his mouth, careful and deliberate, fangs grazing but never breaking, then flipped us so I was sprawled on the shredded couch while he rode me reverse, claws braced on my thighs, slit swallowing me to the root until I saw stars.Now he lay half on top of me, one scaled leg hooked over mine, his head on my chest. His tongue traced idle circles around my nipple, tasting the salt of dried sweat and cum. The air smelled like sex and crushed orchids, thick enough to chew.“Eli,” he murmured, voice a low rumble against my skin. “Your heart’s racing again.”“Roll call in twenty,” I said, but my hand was already sliding down the sleek curve of his spine, fingers dipping into the groove above his tailbone. “Gotta shower, cha

  • Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires   Fucking the monster 2

    The heat of him swallowed me whole.I sank in inch by inch, the slick walls of his slit gripping me like a fist made of molten silk. K-19’s breath hitched, a low, rolling growl that vibrated through his chest and into mine where my palms braced against his scaled pecs. His legs spread wider, knees hooking over my hips, claws digging into the couch cushions with a sound like tearing canvas.“Eli,” he rasped, voice ragged, “you’re—fuck, so thick—”I paused halfway in, letting him adjust. The ridged channel inside him fluttered, milking me, trying to drag me deeper. His cock had fully emerged now, uncoiling from the upper part of the slit like a living thing: ten inches of dark, ridged flesh, the flared head already weeping clear fluid that dripped down the underside and pooled on his stomach. It curled toward me, prehensile tip brushing my abs, leaving slick trails.“Easy,” I murmured, leaning down to mouth at the sharp line of his jaw. His fangs grazed my throat in warning, but he didn

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    The overhead fluorescents hummed, bathing the containment wing in that same sterile green I’d stared at for eight months straight. Camp Delta never slept, and neither did I on night patrol. My boots scuffed the polished concrete as I passed the usual suspects—wyrmlings snoring in their pens, a kraken-thing sulking in its tank—until I reached the last cell on the row.K-19’s enclosure looked more like a studio apartment than a cage: low couch, soft lighting, a holo-screen cycling jungle footage. The brass insisted on “enrichment.” I just called it bait.He was already waiting.Seven feet of sculpted obsidian muscle, standing upright on two powerful legs that mirrored a human’s—thick thighs, narrow hips, long calves flexing when he shifted his weight. His arms were folded across his chest, clawed fingers drumming against scaled biceps. Humanoid, but wrong in all the ways that made my pulse kick: black scales catching the light like oil on water, a tapered waist, and that beautiful, terr

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