Mag-log inSunrise didn’t bring mercy. It brought reversal.After forty-seven loads—maybe more, I’d lost count somewhere around three in the morning—they finally cut me down from the sling. My body hit the mat like dead weight. Every muscle screamed. My hole was a permanent, pulsing void—swollen lips hanging open, red-raw, still leaking thick ropes of cum in slow, endless pulses even though no one had been inside me for ten minutes. My belly felt bloated, sloshing with every shallow breath. Cum crusted my thighs, my balls, my ass crack. Dried streaks painted my chest and neck where loads had shot across me. My throat was bruised purple from hands, voice nothing but a gravel rasp.I thought that was it. End of the weekend. Collapse and crawl out.Then the head handler—the tall one from intake—crouched beside me. His pierced cock hung heavy between his thighs, still half-hard like it never got tired. He grabbed my chin, forced my eyes up to his.“You’ve been a perfect hole, breeding boy. Took ever
They didn’t give me long to recover. Twenty minutes, maybe less. Just enough time for the cum still leaking out of me to cool on my skin and start to itch where it dried in crusty patches. My hole throbbed—raw, swollen, a constant dull burn that flared every time I shifted. My cock hung heavy between my thighs, still half-hard from the denied orgasm earlier, slick with my own load and everyone else’s. The platform beneath me was a slick mess: puddles of white and clear fluid, footprints tracked through it, the air so thick with the stench of sex I could feel it coating the back of my throat.A handler—different one this time, shorter but built like a wall—grabbed my collar and yanked me upright. My legs buckled immediately. He didn’t care. Just dragged me across the hall toward the far corner where the sling hung from thick chains bolted into the overhead beams. Black leather straps dangled, already stained dark from earlier use. The sling swayed slightly as we approached, like it was
The hour in the cage felt like torture wrapped in velvet. My cock strained uselessly against the cold steel bars, every throb sending sharp pulses up my spine. Cum from the first ten loads had dried in sticky trails down my inner thighs, cracking whenever I shifted. Fresh dribbles still leaked out of my hole in slow, warm pulses—thick globs that hit the mat with soft, wet plops. The smell was everywhere: my own wrecked ass mixed with the sharp, bleachy tang of all those men’s seed churning inside me. Every breath pulled it deeper into my lungs until I could taste it on the back of my tongue.A handler finally appeared. Same tall one from intake. He unlocked the cage with a rough yank, my swollen cock springing free and slapping wetly against my stomach. The sudden freedom made me groan—half pain, half desperate need. He didn’t touch me gently. Grabbed the front ring of my collar and hauled me up onto shaky legs.“Group round starts now,” he growled. “You’re center stage. Six at a time
I still couldn’t believe I’d signed the papers. The consent form had been pages long, every line more explicit than the last: “I consent to being used as unrestricted breeding stock… no condoms… no pulling out… no refusal of any load… I will be collared, restrained, and milked as needed… I understand I may be filled dozens of times over the weekend…” I’d read it with my cock throbbing so hard I could barely hold the pen steady. Now I was here, standing barefoot on the cool concrete floor of the intake hall, completely naked while two handlers in black harnesses looked me over like livestock.The air was thick already—warm, humid, heavy with the scent of men who’d been fucking for hours. Sweat, fresh cum, musk, and something deeper, almost like wet earth mixed with salt. My skin prickled. My balls felt heavy, drawn up tight against my body.“Name?” the taller handler asked. His voice was low, rough, like gravel.“Jake.”He stepped closer. His thick, uncut cock hung half-hard between
Ethan’s POVThe next day my body felt like it had been run over by a truck full of cocks. Every muscle ached. My hole was swollen, puffy, tender to the touch—still leaking slow, lazy dribbles of dried cum every time I shifted. Walking hurt in the best way: a deep, throbbing reminder of how thoroughly we’d been used. Caleb looked the same—limping slightly, ass red and marked with handprints, lips chapped from too many thick shafts shoved down his throat. We hadn’t showered. We didn’t want to. We wanted to keep the smell of last night on our skin, the taste of strangers in our mouths.We didn’t talk much on the way back. Just stolen glances, filthy smirks, hands brushing each other’s thighs. My cock was already half-hard again just thinking about the steel door, the black conveyor belt, the red light, the mats that would already be sticky before we even walked in.We stripped in the vestibule again. Same rules. Clothes gone. Bodies bare. The air hit us like a drug—thicker today, heavier
Ethan’s POVMy ass was still pulsing, stretched wide and leaking the stranger’s thick load down the crack of my cheeks onto the warm, sticky mat. Every breath I took pulled in the heavy, musky fog of the room—sweat-soaked skin, fresh cum, lube, and that raw, animal scent of men who’d already spilled once and were already hard again. My cock lay heavy against my stomach, half-soft but twitching like it remembered every brutal inch that had just wrecked me.Caleb was still on his belly ten feet away, chest heaving, the bearded guy’s cock still buried to the hilt inside him. I watched a thick white trickle ooze out around that veiny shaft every time the guy gave a lazy grind. Caleb’s eyes were locked on mine, pupils blown black, lips swollen and shiny with spit. He mouthed it again, slower this time.*Again.*The bearded guy finally pulled out with a wet pop. A flood of cum followed, splattering between Caleb’s spread thighs. Caleb didn’t move. Just stayed there, ass up, hole gaping and
I woke up alone, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and Caleb’s skin. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, painting gold stripes across the bed. My body felt used in the best possible way: thighs sore, nipples tender, a dull ache between my legs that pulsed every time I shifted.Caleb was gone,
I’ve wanted him for longer than I should ever admit.His name is Marcus—Uncle Marcus to me, technically, though he’s not blood. He’s been my dad’s best friend since before I was born. Forty-two now, broad-shouldered, inked arms that flex whenever he lifts anything heavier than a beer, dark hair jus
Mark was dead to the world on the couch, snoring through a whiskey coma.11:52 p.m. Sam’s bedroom door cracked open. She stood there in just an old white tank top, soaked through with her own pussy juice already, nipples poking like fucking bullets, no panties, thighs glistening. She didn’t speak—j
The clock on Liam’s nightstand read 12:07 a.m. when the bedroom door opened again.I was half-dozing between them, sticky and sore and deliciously used, when the overhead light snapped on. Caleb stood in the doorway wearing nothing but black leather cuffs on his wrists and a look that made my stoma







