Nate was bored and looking for online fun. He wanted to show off his dick to random people online. He was thought a lot of his dick and posted pictures and looked at pics other people posted. He was proud that his dick looked bigger than the others. A few people sent messages, but one was different. Julian said he was interested in big dicks, but only sent voice messages. His voice was smooth and persuasive. The messages were electric, his words sending jolts of excitement straight to Nate’s dick. After every message Nate found that he had been wanking and had cum.
His words were like a drug, and Nate was addicted. He never remembered what was in the messages, but he didn’t care. Then one message was different. It was an instruction, a command to go to an address he had never heard of and wait. The thrill of the unknown sent a shiver down his spine to his dick. Nate had been completely hypnotised and couldn’t resist. He was programmed to obey any man with a bigger dick without question.
Nate arrived at the given address, an alley where old brick warehouses loomed like forgotten giants. Julian was there by an unmarked doorway. His voice had to be obeyed, ‘Go inside.’ Then, ‘Show me!’ and Nate dropped his shorts immediately. His dick was small and stubbornly soft. ‘Looks like you're mine today,’ Julian said, voice low and gravelly, ‘and anyone else who wants you.’
Nate nodded and followed Julian into a large space. About a dozen men were scattered across the forty worn chairs facing a small stage, the air thick with the musk of sweat and arousal. A glory hole wall divided one side, holes at varying heights punched through the chipped paint. No one spoke; eyes flicked toward the newcomers. Julian shoved Nate toward the stage, a raised platform with a single pole and faded red carpet. ‘Clothes off, boy. Now.’
Nate peeled off his clothes, his cock hung thick and uncut, but he knew the programming Julian had drilled in: no touching himself, no release. Naked under the harsh fluorescent lights, Nate stood tall, feeling the weight of stares. Julian circled him like a predator, slapping Nate's ass hard enough to sting. ‘On your knees. Show them your holes.’
The first man approached from the chairs—a lanky guy in his forties, work boots still laced, unzipping with a grunt. He grabbed Nate's hair and fed his dick through Nate's lips, not waiting for a signal. Nate sucked eagerly, tongue working the veined shaft as it hardened in his mouth. The man thrust shallow at first, then deeper, gagging Nate until saliva trailed down his chin. Julian watched, arms crossed. ‘Take it all. You're here to serve bigger dicks.’
By the time the man pulled out and shot ropes of semen across Nate's face, two more had joined. One, a burly type with a beer gut, yanked Nate upright and bent him over the stage edge. Rough, callused fingers probed Nate's ass twisting in without lube. Nate gasped, the burn mixing with thrill as the man spat on his hole and worked a third finger in, stretching him wide. ‘Tight little fucker,’ the man muttered, pumping his hand until Nate's legs shook.
The third man positioned himself at Nate's mouth again, but this time he didn't cum. Instead, after a few thrusts, he held still and unleashed a stream of piss—warm and acrid—straight down Nate's throat. Nate swallowed what he could, the rest spilling over his chin, soaking his chest. The taste was sharp, bitter, but it ignited something primal, his cock twitching untouched. Julian nodded approval. "’ood slut. Keep going.’
Another man, bald and tattooed, dragged Nate to the glory hole wall. He pressed Nate's face against the wood, a cock emerging from a hole at eye level. Nate opened wide, sucking as the anonymous dick fucked his mouth. Behind him, the tattooed guy lubed up and slammed in—no prep, just raw entry. It felt like being split, the burn intense, but Nate pushed back, moaning around the cock in his front. The guy behind came quickly, flooding Nate's ass with heat, pulling out to let it leak down his thighs. The mouth-fucker followed, painting Nate's tongue with semen before zipping up and vanishing.
Five men down, and Nate was a mess—face sticky, ass sore and full. Julian hauled him off the wall and into the centre aisle, where chairs formed a loose circle. ‘On the floor. Spread 'em.’ Nate dropped to all fours, knees grinding into the gritty carpet. A cluster of men surrounded him: one knelt and pissed directly on his upturned face, the stream hitting his eyes, nose, mouth. Nate tilted his head back, gulping it down, the humiliation fueling his denied arousal. A older man straddled Nate's back and jerked off, semen splattering across his shoulders and hair in thick bursts.
Julian orchestrated it all. ‘Beg for it, Nate. Tell them what you are, what you want.’ Nate, voice hoarse, muttered, ‘I want your big dicks. Fuck me... use my holes... piss on me.’ It drew more. A younger guy, lean and eager, pushed through and knelt by Nate's head, pissing into his open mouth and jerking off. The stream mixed with Nate's spit, overflowing, as the guy came on his forehead, adding to the bukkake mask.
They moved to a smaller room after about forty minutes. This space was tighter, fifteen chairs in rows facing a dark corner where shadows merged into blackness. Nate stumbled in, body slick and marked, ass clenching around the remnants inside him. Julian shoved him toward the dark corner. ‘Crawl in there. Let those dicks find you.’
Nate knelt in the dark corner, hands on the cool floor, when the first pair of hands grabbed his hips. No face, just a cock pressing against his ass—thick, insistent. It slid in easy now, lubricated by what came before, the man grunted as he thrust. Nate braced, rocking back, the anonymity heightening everything. Another man appeared from the gloom, feeding his dick into Nate's mouth. They synced up, one in each end, using him like a toy. The ass-fucker came with a shudder, pulling out to let the warmth seep out, while the mouth one held Nate's head and pissed—long and steady—down his throat. Nate choked but swallowed, the liquid heat pooling in his gut.
Men filtered in. One, with silver-haired regular and a salt-and-pepper beard, sat Nate on his lap facing the darkness, impaling him on his cock. He bounced Nate slowly at first, hands roaming chest and nipples, pinching hard. ‘Ride it, slut,’ he whispered, then sped up, filled Nate with another load before pushing him off. Next came a duo: two friends, by the look of them, one tall and slim, the other compact and bearded. The tall one lay on the floor, pulling Nate down onto his dick reverse cowgirl style. As Nate rode, grinding deep, the bearded one stood over them and pissed on Nate's chest, the stream arcing golden in the faint light. Then he took Nate's mouth, fucking it while the bottom guy thrust up, both cumming almost together, one in his ass, the otther across his face.
Nate lost count around the tenth man, but Julian kept count. ‘Eleven. Keep that ass open.’ More and more, fifteen now, bodies pressing close. One man, wiry and quick, jerked off over Nate's back while another pissed on his legs, the combined wetness making the floor slick. Nate slipped once, only for a new cock to claim his mouth, deep throating until tears mixed with the drying semen on his face.
Sweat poured off Nate, his balls tight with denial. He couldn't touched his dick, Julian's rule wouldn’t let him, the edging torment amplified every sensation. It lasted another half-hour, men rotating: one fingering Nate's ass deep, knuckles brushing prostate without mercy; another spurting on his neck and ears. Piss came in waves, four men aiming at his torso, soaking him until he glistened.
A final man, lean and tattooed from wrist to shoulder, finished by jerking over Nate's face, semen striping his nose and eyelids, followed by a quick piss rinse that stung his eyes. Nate collapsed against the bench, body a canvas of semen, piss, and sweat—face crusted, ass throbbing and leaking, skin sticky everywhere. Julian watched it all, ‘You're done.’
Nate’s dick, released by Julian’s words sprang erect, the hardest it had ever been.’ But Julian was standing there with his dick in his hand. It was enormous, at least two inches longer than Nate’s, and much thicker. ‘Sorry little dick, Julian said, ‘no release for you. Maybe next time.’
No climax for Nate, just the raw, unspent need humming through his veins. Julian handed him his shorts, nothing else. ‘Put 'em on. No cleaning. Walk out like this.’ Dazed, Nate pulled on the joggers, the fabric clinging to his wet thighs and ass, semen seeping through. He followed Julian up the stairs and outside. He made Nate walk to the main street; it was like being in a spotlight in the afternoon sun. Eventually Julian let him put the rest of his clothes on. Dressing in the street was humiliating, but beneath the shame, a grin tugged at his lips.
Julian had delivered what Nate didn’t know he wanted; the slut fantasy lived, raw and real. Nate already craved round two, and soon.
His words were like a drug, and Nate was addicted. He never remembered what was in the messages, but he didn’t care. Then one message was different. It was an instruction, a command to go to an address he had never heard of and wait. The thrill of the unknown sent a shiver down his spine to his dick. Nate had been completely hypnotised and couldn’t resist. He was programmed to obey any man with a bigger dick without question.
Nate arrived at the given address, an alley where old brick warehouses loomed like forgotten giants. Julian was there by an unmarked doorway. His voice had to be obeyed, ‘Go inside.’ Then, ‘Show me!’ and Nate dropped his shorts immediately. His dick was small and stubbornly soft. ‘Looks like you're mine today,’ Julian said, voice low and gravelly, ‘and anyone else who wants you.’
Nate nodded and followed Julian into a large space. About a dozen men were scattered across the forty worn chairs facing a small stage, the air thick with the musk of sweat and arousal. A glory hole wall divided one side, holes at varying heights punched through the chipped paint. No one spoke; eyes flicked toward the newcomers. Julian shoved Nate toward the stage, a raised platform with a single pole and faded red carpet. ‘Clothes off, boy. Now.’
Nate peeled off his clothes, his cock hung thick and uncut, but he knew the programming Julian had drilled in: no touching himself, no release. Naked under the harsh fluorescent lights, Nate stood tall, feeling the weight of stares. Julian circled him like a predator, slapping Nate's ass hard enough to sting. ‘On your knees. Show them your holes.’
The first man approached from the chairs—a lanky guy in his forties, work boots still laced, unzipping with a grunt. He grabbed Nate's hair and fed his dick through Nate's lips, not waiting for a signal. Nate sucked eagerly, tongue working the veined shaft as it hardened in his mouth. The man thrust shallow at first, then deeper, gagging Nate until saliva trailed down his chin. Julian watched, arms crossed. ‘Take it all. You're here to serve bigger dicks.’
By the time the man pulled out and shot ropes of semen across Nate's face, two more had joined. One, a burly type with a beer gut, yanked Nate upright and bent him over the stage edge. Rough, callused fingers probed Nate's ass twisting in without lube. Nate gasped, the burn mixing with thrill as the man spat on his hole and worked a third finger in, stretching him wide. ‘Tight little fucker,’ the man muttered, pumping his hand until Nate's legs shook.
The third man positioned himself at Nate's mouth again, but this time he didn't cum. Instead, after a few thrusts, he held still and unleashed a stream of piss—warm and acrid—straight down Nate's throat. Nate swallowed what he could, the rest spilling over his chin, soaking his chest. The taste was sharp, bitter, but it ignited something primal, his cock twitching untouched. Julian nodded approval. "’ood slut. Keep going.’
Another man, bald and tattooed, dragged Nate to the glory hole wall. He pressed Nate's face against the wood, a cock emerging from a hole at eye level. Nate opened wide, sucking as the anonymous dick fucked his mouth. Behind him, the tattooed guy lubed up and slammed in—no prep, just raw entry. It felt like being split, the burn intense, but Nate pushed back, moaning around the cock in his front. The guy behind came quickly, flooding Nate's ass with heat, pulling out to let it leak down his thighs. The mouth-fucker followed, painting Nate's tongue with semen before zipping up and vanishing.
Five men down, and Nate was a mess—face sticky, ass sore and full. Julian hauled him off the wall and into the centre aisle, where chairs formed a loose circle. ‘On the floor. Spread 'em.’ Nate dropped to all fours, knees grinding into the gritty carpet. A cluster of men surrounded him: one knelt and pissed directly on his upturned face, the stream hitting his eyes, nose, mouth. Nate tilted his head back, gulping it down, the humiliation fueling his denied arousal. A older man straddled Nate's back and jerked off, semen splattering across his shoulders and hair in thick bursts.
Julian orchestrated it all. ‘Beg for it, Nate. Tell them what you are, what you want.’ Nate, voice hoarse, muttered, ‘I want your big dicks. Fuck me... use my holes... piss on me.’ It drew more. A younger guy, lean and eager, pushed through and knelt by Nate's head, pissing into his open mouth and jerking off. The stream mixed with Nate's spit, overflowing, as the guy came on his forehead, adding to the bukkake mask.
They moved to a smaller room after about forty minutes. This space was tighter, fifteen chairs in rows facing a dark corner where shadows merged into blackness. Nate stumbled in, body slick and marked, ass clenching around the remnants inside him. Julian shoved him toward the dark corner. ‘Crawl in there. Let those dicks find you.’
Nate knelt in the dark corner, hands on the cool floor, when the first pair of hands grabbed his hips. No face, just a cock pressing against his ass—thick, insistent. It slid in easy now, lubricated by what came before, the man grunted as he thrust. Nate braced, rocking back, the anonymity heightening everything. Another man appeared from the gloom, feeding his dick into Nate's mouth. They synced up, one in each end, using him like a toy. The ass-fucker came with a shudder, pulling out to let the warmth seep out, while the mouth one held Nate's head and pissed—long and steady—down his throat. Nate choked but swallowed, the liquid heat pooling in his gut.
Men filtered in. One, with silver-haired regular and a salt-and-pepper beard, sat Nate on his lap facing the darkness, impaling him on his cock. He bounced Nate slowly at first, hands roaming chest and nipples, pinching hard. ‘Ride it, slut,’ he whispered, then sped up, filled Nate with another load before pushing him off. Next came a duo: two friends, by the look of them, one tall and slim, the other compact and bearded. The tall one lay on the floor, pulling Nate down onto his dick reverse cowgirl style. As Nate rode, grinding deep, the bearded one stood over them and pissed on Nate's chest, the stream arcing golden in the faint light. Then he took Nate's mouth, fucking it while the bottom guy thrust up, both cumming almost together, one in his ass, the otther across his face.
Nate lost count around the tenth man, but Julian kept count. ‘Eleven. Keep that ass open.’ More and more, fifteen now, bodies pressing close. One man, wiry and quick, jerked off over Nate's back while another pissed on his legs, the combined wetness making the floor slick. Nate slipped once, only for a new cock to claim his mouth, deep throating until tears mixed with the drying semen on his face.
Sweat poured off Nate, his balls tight with denial. He couldn't touched his dick, Julian's rule wouldn’t let him, the edging torment amplified every sensation. It lasted another half-hour, men rotating: one fingering Nate's ass deep, knuckles brushing prostate without mercy; another spurting on his neck and ears. Piss came in waves, four men aiming at his torso, soaking him until he glistened.
A final man, lean and tattooed from wrist to shoulder, finished by jerking over Nate's face, semen striping his nose and eyelids, followed by a quick piss rinse that stung his eyes. Nate collapsed against the bench, body a canvas of semen, piss, and sweat—face crusted, ass throbbing and leaking, skin sticky everywhere. Julian watched it all, ‘You're done.’
Nate’s dick, released by Julian’s words sprang erect, the hardest it had ever been.’ But Julian was standing there with his dick in his hand. It was enormous, at least two inches longer than Nate’s, and much thicker. ‘Sorry little dick, Julian said, ‘no release for you. Maybe next time.’
No climax for Nate, just the raw, unspent need humming through his veins. Julian handed him his shorts, nothing else. ‘Put 'em on. No cleaning. Walk out like this.’ Dazed, Nate pulled on the joggers, the fabric clinging to his wet thighs and ass, semen seeping through. He followed Julian up the stairs and outside. He made Nate walk to the main street; it was like being in a spotlight in the afternoon sun. Eventually Julian let him put the rest of his clothes on. Dressing in the street was humiliating, but beneath the shame, a grin tugged at his lips.
Julian had delivered what Nate didn’t know he wanted; the slut fantasy lived, raw and real. Nate already craved round two, and soon.
