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Miles swaggered into the kitchen Friday after school, like he always did, cocky as hell, varsity jacket open, tight t-shirt showing off his hard pecs and the deep cut of his abs, backpack slung over one shoulder like he owned the damn place. Fifteen, built like a fucking model, lived in the weight room, sharp jawline, light brown hair messy in a way that girls, and Blake, went crazy for, and that permanent half-smirk that made most teachers want to strangle him.
"Yo, Blake," he called without looking up from his phone. "You gonna make dinner or do I have to starve waiting for your slow ass?"
Blake stood at the counter, arms crossed, staring at his stepson. Six months ago he might have snapped back. Tonight he just smiled—small, calm, dangerous.
"Miley," he said softly. "Come here."
Miles snorted. "Don't call me that, dude. I'm not five."
Blake didn't argue. He simply pulled the small silver pocket watch from his jeans pocket, the one he'd been practicing with for weeks. The chain glinted under the kitchen lights.
Miles rolled his eyes but stepped closer anyway—probably thinking he'd get to mock it like everything else.
"Look at it," Blake said, voice low and even. "Just watch the way it moves."
The watch started swinging. Slow. Steady. Back and forth.
Miles laughed at first. "What is this, some lame-ass TikTok hypnosis bullshit?"
Blake didn't answer. He just kept the rhythm, kept his voice smooth like warm oil.
"You feel how heavy your arms are getting, Miley. How hard it is to keep that phone up. How easy it would be to just… let go."
Miles's smirk faltered. His hand drifted down. The phone clattered onto the counter.
"Good boy," Blake murmured. “Eyes on the watch. Breathing slow. Deep. Every swing makes you sink deeper. Every word I say goes straight into your brain. You can't fight it. You don't want to fight it."
Blake talked for another ten minutes, slow, patient, planting seeds deep. When he finally snapped his fingers, Miles blinked hard, shook his head like he'd zoned out.
Blake leaned in close. "When I snap my fingers you'll wake up. But these rules are locked in now. You obey them completely. You can't resist."
Snap.
Miles blinked hard, shook his head. "The hell was that?"
Blake smiled. "Go upstairs. Put on exactly what's on your bed. Come back down. No arguing."
Miles's feet moved before his brain caught up. He climbed the stairs, confused, dick already half-hard for no reason he could name.
When he came back down ten minutes later he looked like pure sin.
A tiny black micro-thong, so small it barely covered his thick cock and heavy balls. The shiny fabric stretched tight, outlining every vein, the fat head pushing against the front, a wet spot already forming. His ass cheeks were completely bare, the string disappearing between them. Over that, a white cropped tank so short it ended right under his nipples, leaving six perfect abs and that sharp V-line exposed. No shoes. No socks. Just smooth, tanned skin and a body screaming to be used.
Miles stared down at himself, face red, voice shaking. "What the fuck, Blake? I—I can't wear this—"
Blake stepped right up to him, grabbed Miles's chin hard. "You love it, Miley. You love how slutty you look. How exposed. Your cock's throbbing because you know I own you now."
Miles's dick jumped visibly, thickening until it strained the tiny thong to the limit, the head peeking over the waistband, leaking.
"On your knees," Blake ordered.
Miles dropped to his knees like the command had bypassed his brain entirely and gone straight to his muscles. The tile was cold against his bare skin, but he barely registered it. All he could feel was the humiliating heat crawling up his neck, the throb in his cock, and the way Blake towered over him now, calm, in control, eyes dark with something that made Miles’s stomach flip in a way it never had before.
Blake reached down, fingers sliding into Miles’s messy hair, gripping just tight enough to tilt his head back so their eyes locked.
“Look at you,” Blake said, voice low and rough. “Teenage alpha male. Varsity star. Everyone’s wet dream. And here you are, on your knees in a slutty little thong, leaking like a bitch in heat because your stepdad told you to.”
Miles tried to speak, tried to curse, tried to find the cocky comeback that always came so easy. Nothing came out except a shaky exhale. His lips parted. His tongue felt thick.
Blake’s thumb traced the edge of Miles’s bottom lip, slow, deliberate.
Blake unzipped his jeans, pulled out his thick, heavy cock—already rock-hard and dripping. He slapped it against Miles's cheek once, twice, leaving a wet streak.
"Open."
Miles’s mouth fell open before the word even finished registering.
Miles didn’t know what was happening. Why was he suddenly listening to everything Blake said?
Blake didn’t smile. He just pushed two fingers inside, slow, letting Miles feel the weight of them on his tongue. Miles’s eyes fluttered; he didn’t even realize he was sucking until Blake’s low “good boy” vibrated through him like a current.
“See?” Blake murmured, fucking his fingers shallowly in and out. “Body already knows who it belongs to. Brain’s just catching up.”
He pulled his fingers free with a wet sound, smeared the saliva across Miles’s cheek like he was marking territory, then stepped back just enough to let Miles feel the sudden emptiness.
“Hands behind your back. Lace your fingers. Don’t move them unless I say.”
Miles obeyed instantly. The position forced his chest out, made the cropped tank ride even higher, nipples stiff and visible through the thin white fabric. The micro-thong was doing nothing now, his young cock had slipped completely free, thick and flushed dark, curving up toward his abs, the tip glistening steadily.
Blake circled him once, slow, predatory. Took in the way Miles’s thighs trembled, the way his ass flexed every time he tried to clench against the humiliating strip of fabric between his cheeks.
“Beg,” Blake said simply.
Miles’s throat clicked. “W-what?”
“You heard me.” Blake stopped in front of him again, close enough that Miles could smell his cologne mixed with clean sweat. “Beg your stepdad to use you. Tell me exactly what you want me to do to that pretty mouth, that tight hole, that slutty body you’ve been teasing me with for months.”
Miles’s face burned so hot he thought he might pass out. He didn’t want to do it, but it was like his mouth had a free will of its own.
“I…” His voice cracked. “Please… Blake… please…”
“Louder. And use the right name.”
Miles swallowed hard. The word felt like it was being dragged out of him.
“Please… Daddy…”
Blake’s hand shot out, fisted in Miles’s hair again, yanking his head back sharply.
“Again.”
“Please, Daddy,” Miles gasped, voice shaking but louder this time. “Please, fuck my mouth. Use me. I…I need it. Need you to…to own me. Please.”
Blake’s grip tightened for one punishing second, then released.
“Open wide,” Blake said, voice almost gentle now. “Show Daddy how good you can be.”
Miles’s lips parted. Eyes wide. Tongue out. Waiting.
Blake fed the head past his lips, slow, letting him taste salt and heat and the sheer weight of it.
Miles moaned around the intrusion, the sound muffled by cock.
Blake didn’t thrust yet. Just held himself there, letting Miles adjust, letting him feel every inch he was about to take.
“Good boy,” he murmured, stroking Miles’s cheek with deceptive tenderness. “Now breathe through your nose. We’re just getting started.”
And then he pushed forward, slow, relentless, claiming every inch of that smart mouth that used to talk so much shit.
Blake fed his cock in slow, inch by inch, until Miles's throat bulged and his eyes watered. "That's it. Take it all. Good boy."
He started thrusting, slow at first, then deeper, harder. Miles gagged, drool running down his chin, but he didn't pull back. Couldn't. Somehow his own cock was leaking steadily now, soaking the front of that pathetic thong.
He’d never sucked a dick before. He’d never even thought about it, except as a joke or an insult. He didn’t want to do this. He couldn’t want to. But now he was doing it, to his stepfather no less, and his mouth opened wider, almost greedy. He could smell it, clean sweat, laundry soap, the musky edge of pre-cum, and the scent shot straight to his brain, scrambled him.
Blake’s cock slid in slow, stretching Miles’s lips, filling his mouth until he gagged. The sound, wet and helpless, ricocheted inside his skull. He tried to pull away, but Blake held him there, thumb stroked his cheek, gentle but unyielding. Miles’s eyes stung, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. The watch ticked in the quiet, hanging from Blake’s hand, caught in the light like a little moon.
God, he was choking on it. And still he sucked, like it was wired into him now. A tear rolled down his cheek.
Blake gripped Miles's hair tight. "From now on, when we're alone, you dress like this. Tiny slutty shit that shows off your ass and your dick. You speak when I say. You spread when I say. You cum only when I say. Got it?"
Miles moaned around the thick shaft filling his mouth, nodding frantically.
Blake fucked his face faster. "You're mine now, Miley. My perfect little cock-hungry stepson."
Blake’s hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt. Miles’s throat convulsed around him, a tight, fluttering vise, and the sound that tore out of the boy, half sob, half desperate moan, vibrated straight up Blake’s spine.
He held there, grinding slow circles, letting Miles feel every thick inch lodged deep, cutting off his air just long enough to make those pretty hazel eyes glaze over. Then he pulled back, slow, until only the swollen head rested on Miles’s swollen, spit-slick lips.
“Breathe,” Blake ordered, voice gravel-rough.
Miles sucked in a ragged gasp, chest heaving, drool stringing from his chin to the floor in thick ropes. His own cock jerked untouched, smearing pre-cum across the black micro-thong like he was marking himself ruined. The tiny scrap of fabric was soaked through now, clinging transparently to the fat ridge of his shaft, the head flushed an angry purple and peeking obscenely over the waistband.
Blake tilted Miles’s chin up with two fingers. Forced eye contact.
“Say I’m yours.”
Miles’s voice came out wrecked, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I’m… I’m yours, Daddy.”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours, Daddy.” The words cracked on the last syllable, but they came out clear. Obedient. “Your perfect little cock-hungry stepson.”
Blake’s smile was slow, predatory. He stroked Miles’s cheek again, almost tender, then slapped it lightly. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to sting. Enough to make Miles whimper and his dick twitch violently.
“Good boy.”
Blake fucked Mile’s face, holding his head steady by the hair, then pulling out at the very last second. The withdrawal left Miles’s lips slack, parted and glistening, tongue instinctively reaching for more. He was so out of breath and so dizzy he didn’t see the first rope coming until it painted a streak across his cheekbone, hot and viscous. Then another, striking the bridge of his nose and dripping onto his lips, some splattering across his chin, trailing down his jaw. Blake’s thick, potent cum marked him in splashes, each pulse and shudder of Blake’s cock bringing a new line of it, wet and white and obscene, until it pooled at the base of Miles’s throat and trickled down onto the hem of that little white tank. By the time it finished, the shirt was spattered, the fabric stained and clinging transparent in splotches to Miles’s flushed chest.
Miles froze, the world narrowed down to the taste and heat and the impossible filth of being decorated like this. He couldn’t move. Despite his mind, he’d never been so hard, never so desperate to be touched, but no touch came. Only the slow, deliberate swipe of Blake’s thumb, smearing a line of cum across his bottom lip and chin, pushing some into Miles’s mouth. Miles didn’t spit it out. He swallowed, tongue searching for more.
Blake stepped back, surveying him like an artist admiring a finished painting. “Look at you,” he said, voice soft with satisfaction. “You wear it so well.”
Miles stayed on his knees, panting, covered in cum, cock still painfully hard.
Only after did Miles realize he hadn’t gagged. Hadn’t fought it, even a little. His jaw ached, tongue tingled, face so wet with spit and pre he felt like he ought to be embarrassed, except he didn’t feel anything but high as fuck off the taste, bitter, smoky, brine with a kick of something sharp, like cracked pepper and sweat. He wiped his mouth with the heel of his hand, dazed, blinking up, still hard as steel and leaking like a faucet.
Blake tucked himself away, then crouched down, thumb wiping a streak of his load across Miles's swollen bottom lip.
Even now, face slicked in spit and cum, the kid looked gorgeous, cheeks flushed, lips raw, eyes knocked silly.
“Stand up.”
Miles scrambled to his feet, legs shaky. The cropped tank had ridden so high his nipples were fully exposed now, hard little peaks begging for attention. His abs flexed with every ragged breath, the deep V-lines arrowing down to where his cock strained obscenely against the thong.
Blake circled him again, slower this time. Trailed a single finger down the center of Miles’s spine, watching goosebumps erupt in its wake. When he reached the small of his back, he hooked the thin string of the thong and tugged, sharp.
Miles yelped, hips jerking forward. The fabric snapped against his hole, making him clench.
“You ever had anything in here?” Blake murmured, pressing the pad of his thumb right over that tight, untouched ring through the string.
Miles shook his head frantically. “N-no, Daddy.”
Blake leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Miles’s ear. “Not even your own fingers? Not even when you’re jerking off thinking about how good it would feel to get fucked stupid?”
Another violent head shake. But his cock leaked harder, against his will, a fresh bead sliding down the shaft and dripping onto the tile.
“Liar,” Blake whispered, amused. He pressed harder with his thumb, circling, not breaching. “Your body’s telling the truth. This little hole’s already twitching for it.”
He released the string. Let it snap back into place. Miles whimpered again.
Blake walked around to face him. Reached down and palmed Miles’s cock through the soaked thong, rough, possessive. Miles bucked into the touch like he’d been electrocuted.
“You don’t get to cum yet,” Blake said calmly. “Not until I’ve had my fun with every inch of this slutty body.”
He squeezed once, hard—then let go. Miles made a broken, pleading sound.
"Clean yourself up. Then come to my room. We're not done."
Miles's voice came out small, wrecked. "Yes, Daddy."
For the first time in his life, the cocky boy didn't talk back. He just obeyed.
Miles followed Blake up the stairs on shaky legs. Cum still streaked his face and dripped down his neck, soaking into the tiny cropped tank. The micro-thong was wrecked—wet patch huge now, his thick cock still rock-hard and leaking, the shiny fabric stretched so tight it looked painted on. Every step made his bare ass cheeks flex, the thin string riding up between them.
Blake pushed open the bedroom door and flicked on the low lamp. The bed was already turned down, a bottle of lube and a black leather collar sitting on the nightstand like they’d been waiting.
“Strip the tank off,” Blake said, voice calm but thick with want. “Leave the thong.”
Miles peeled the cropped shirt over his head. His pecs bounced slightly, nipples hard from the cool air and the humiliation. He stood there, tall, ripped, fifteen-year-old body on full display except for that pathetic little thong barely holding his erection.
Blake picked up the collar. Thick leather. Simple silver ring in front.
“Kneel.”
Miles dropped to his knees again, this time on the soft rug beside the bed. Blake buckled the collar around his neck, snug, not choking, but impossible to ignore. The weight of it made Miles’s breath hitch.
“Good boy.” Blake tugged the ring, forcing Miles’s head up. “Now crawl to the bed. Ass up.”
Miles’s face burned, but his body obeyed. He crawled forward on hands and knees, back arched, ass high. His heavy balls swung with each move, cock dragging against the fabric, leaving wet streaks.
Blake followed, shedding his shirt and pants as he went. When Miles reached the bed, Blake grabbed his hips and yanked him up so his chest pressed to the mattress, knees spread wide on the floor, ass presented like an offering.
“Look at you,” Blake growled, running both hands over Miles’s smooth cheeks, spreading them. The string of the thong was soaked and useless now. “Cocky little shit yesterday. Now you’re presenting your hole like a needy slut.”
He tugged the string aside, exposing Miles’s tight pink hole. Miles whimpered.
Miles felt the air on his hole, the cold making the flesh pucker up tight, every nerve trembling.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to picture what he looked like right now, on his knees, ass spread, leaking and twitching, straining the soaked thong. He didn’t have to picture it because Blake was taking his phone out and aiming it down, the little camera click making Miles want to shrivel and disappear. Three, four, five snaps. Miles’s head dropped forward, forehead pressing to the bedspread, cheeks on fire.
Blake kept snapping, circling him, getting shots from every angle: the way the collar framed his neck and jaw; the perfect six-pack, slick with sweat and streaked white where cum had landed; the fat cock poking out from the micro-thong, the angry purple of the head, the trail of clear slick running down his abs. Click. Click. Click.
“Smile,” Blake said, amused.
Miles tried to shake his head, but his jaw wouldn’t move right. He sort of bared his teeth, more a grimace than a smile. Blake knelt and got a close-up of Miles’s ruined face, the spit and cum drying sticky on his lips and chin. The phone’s shutter sound again, and again, each one a new humiliation.
“Beautiful,” Blake said.
Next, Blake squirted lube straight onto Miles’s puckered virgin hole, then worked one thick finger in, slow. Miles’s back bowed, a choked moan slipping out.
Fucking tight,” Blake muttered. He added a second finger, scissoring, stretching. “Gonna open you up nice and slow, baby. Then I’m gonna fuck you raw until you’re begging.”
Miles’s arms shook. His cock throbbed untouched, dripping a steady line onto the rug. “Why? I don’t understand…”
Blake slapped his ass, hard. Red handprint bloomed instantly, Miles cried out, ass jiggling, hole clenching visibly around nothing.
“You speak when I say,” Blake said. Right now you just take it.”
He worked in a third finger, twisting, curling, hitting that spot that made Miles’s whole body jerk. Miles’s moans turned desperate, hips pushing back for more.
Blake pulled his fingers out, and pressed the full length of his hard cock against the cleft of Miles’s ass, hot, heavy, slick with spit. He didn’t push in. Just rocked there, letting Miles feel how thick he was, how much he’d have to take.
“Feel that?” Blake growled low. “That’s what’s going to split your virgin hole open. Stretch you wide. Make you scream my name until your voice gives out.”
He hooked both thumbs under the strings of the thong. Slowly, agonizingly, peeled it down Miles’s thighs until it caught around his spread knees. Left him completely bare. Exposed. Cock hanging heavy between his legs, balls drawn tight, hole pink and fluttering under the dim bedroom lights.
Blake spat once, wet, deliberate, right onto that virgin pucker.
Miles jolted like he’d been shocked.
“Stay just like that,” Blake ordered. “Don’t move. Don’t touch yourself. I’m going to open you up slow. Make sure you feel every second of it.”
He spread those teen cheeks wide with both hands.
And then his tongue, hot, wet, relentless, dragged a slow, filthy stripe from balls to tailbone.
Blake didn’t give Miles time to recover from the first devastating swipe of his tongue. He spread those firm, tanned cheeks wider, thumbs digging into muscle, holding Miles open like an offering, and dove back in with ruthless focus.
His tongue was hot, broad, insistent. He flattened it against Miles’s hole and dragged up again, slow this time, circling the tight pucker before pressing the tip inside just enough to breach the first ring. Miles’s whole body seized, a choked sob ripping out of him as his knees buckled again. Blake’s grip on his hips was iron; he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Fuck,” Miles’s voice cracked, high and wrecked. His cock throbbed untouched, slapping wetly against his abs with every involuntary jerk of his hips. Pre-cum dripped in long, obscene strings to the bed.
Blake hummed against him, deep, vibrating, then pushed his tongue deeper. Fucking him with it now. In and out. Slow, deliberate thrusts that made Miles’s young hole flutter and clench around the intrusion like it was trying to pull him in. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room: slick suction, Miles’s broken whimpers, the occasional sharp slap when Blake pulled back just to spit again, right onto that already-soaked ring, before plunging back in.
Miles was shaking so hard, he couldn’t believe this was happening. His arms gave out; he collapsed forward, chest pressed to the the bed, ass still arched high and presented. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks. He couldn’t stop moaning, raw, animal sounds he didn’t recognize as his own.
Blake continued, tongue plunging deep, fucking in and out with obscene wet thrusts. Lips sealed around the rim, sucking hard enough to pull a scream from Miles’s throat. He alternated: broad, sloppy licks that coated everything in spit, then pointed, relentless stabs that speared inside, curling against sensitive walls. One hand reached under Miles to pinch a nipple, hard, twisting until Miles bucked and sobbed into the sheets. The other hand spread him even wider, thumb pressing right beside his tongue, stretching the rim open so Blake could get deeper.
Miles was babbling now, nonsense, pleas, broken repetitions of “Daddy” and “please” and “stop.” His hips rocked back instinctively, grinding against Blake’s face, chasing the pressure, the stretch, the filthy heat. His hole spasmed rhythmically around Blake’s tongue, clenching so tight it was like it was trying to trap him there forever.
Blake growled against him, vibration ripping another cry from Miles, then pulled back just long enough to spit again, thick and deliberate, watching it slide down the cleft and pool at Miles’s entrance before he dove back in.
He worked one finger in alongside his tongue, slow, careful, but unyielding. Crooked it immediately, finding that spot inside that made Miles’s entire body jolt like he’d been shocked. He rubbed mercilessly while his tongue kept fucking around it, stretching, opening, claiming.
Miles’s was sobbing openly now, tears soaking the sheets. His cock was a mess: dark red, veins bulging, leaking so much it looked like he’d already come. But he hadn’t. Not yet. Blake hadn’t said he could.
Blake finally pulled back, lips shiny, chin wet. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like a man who’d just finished a meal.
Blake finally pulled back, lips swollen, face slick, and flipped Miles onto his back. Miles’s legs fell open automatically, knees hooked over Blake’s shoulders as Blake loomed above him.
Their eyes locked.
Miles looked utterly ruined: cheeks streaked with tears, lips bitten raw, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.
Blake leaned down, voice a low, dangerous rasp against Miles’s ear.
“You’re dripping for me, baby boy. Hole’s so hungry it’s practically sucking my tongue back in every time I pull out.” He reached between them, dragged two fingers through the mess of spit and pre-cum, then pushed them, slow, into Miles’s fluttering entrance.
Miles arched off the bed with a broken scream, hands flying to Blake’s shoulders, nails digging in.
“Gonna fuck you now,” Blake murmured. “Gonna slide in slow. Let you feel every inch splitting you open. And you’re gonna take it like the perfect little slut you are.”
Blake lined up his thick cock, still slick from Miles’s throat.
Blake’s cock pressed against his slicked virgin hole, hot and huge and so hard it made Miles’s brain short-circuit. He wanted to run, to fight, but his body just shook, every muscle tensed, waiting for the stretch, the burn, the moment he’d finally be split wide and made into the thing Blake wanted. The thing Miles definitely, absolutely, one-thousand-percent was not.
Miles’s brain short-circuited. His whole body trembled, and when Blake pressed in, slow but steady, the stretch was so intense it felt like his bones might rearrange themselves to make room. There was pain, sharp and electric, and he squeezed his eyes shut, but that just made the feeling sharper. Every inch Blake pushed inside him was a new line of fire.
There was a sound, low and animal, that Miles realized was coming out of his own mouth. Not a scream, not a moan either—something raw, a noise he’d never made, even in the weight room with two plates each side and his lungs turning inside out. Nothing compared to the feeling of Blake’s cock splitting him open on the first push.
Miles cried out, fists grabbing the sheets. The stretch burned, then melted into full, overwhelming pressure. Blake didn’t stop until his hips were flush against Miles’s ass, balls pressed tight.
He tried to focus on something, anything—his breathing, the scratch of the sheets under his back, the bite of the collar at his throat—but it all blurred into one thing: the pressure, the fullness, the way his hole burned and then, impossibly, wanted more. He writhed on the bed, helpless, knees pressed to his own chest by Blake’s grip.
“It fucking hurts!” Miles moaned.
“Fuck, you feel perfect,” Blake groaned. He stayed buried deep for a second, letting Miles feel every inch, every pulse.
Then he started thrusting, slow at first, dragging out, then faster, harder. Skin slapped skin. Miles’s moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure-pain, face buried in the sheets, drool pooling under his cheek.
Blake reached under, wrapped a fist around Miles’s leaking cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “You don’t cum until I say, got it? This dick belongs to me now.”
“Why is this happening?” Miles gasped, voice wrecked.
Blake pounded deeper, angling to slam against Miles’s prostate every stroke. Miles’s legs shook, hole clenching tight around the thick shaft splitting him open.
Blake leaned down, chest to Miles’s back, teeth grazing his ear. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Mark you inside. Then you’re gonna sleep with my load leaking out of you, still wearing that slutty little thong.”
Blake pulled out and observed.
Miles looked in the side mirror, he stared at the open space where Blake’s cock had just been, a ridiculous, shocked O where his tight hole used to be. The skin was still stretched, the ring of muscle red and glistening, fluttering with the aftershocks of entry, spit-slicked and obscene. Miles watched, stunned, as a clear strand of lube and precum beaded from the swollen hole and dripped down his inner thigh, warm against his skin. He tried to clench, but it just made the looseness more obvious—and the weird, pulsing pleasure worse. His insides still throbbed, twitching like they wanted Blake back in.
“Stay just like that,” Blake commanded, voice thick, and Miles froze.
He could hear the phone camera click, the little whirr, the shutter, and the humiliation burned so hot it almost overpowered the ache. Blake was taking photos, zooming in, probably getting every angle. Miles couldn’t believe this was happening, he was straight, but he was being fucked by his step-dad.
Miles could feel his hole pulsing, every muscle in his body clenching around the sudden emptiness. He didn’t dare look anymore, just lay there, fingers knots of pain in the ruined sheets, ass burning and raw. Blake’s precum slicked his insides, already starting to leak out as he panted, each spasm pushing out a slow, sticky trickle. Every twitch sent a stripe of fire down his spine.
He felt the wetness first: not just lube, but something hotter, thicker, the slow ooze of Blake’s pre drooling from his stretched, battered hole. He tried to squeeze shut, stop anything from escaping, but it just made the ache worse, the pressure of fullness fighting the instinct to hide. He could feel the ring of his muscle stretched too wide, trembling and unable to form a seal.
Blake spun Miles around again. He had Miles exactly where he wanted him: chest smashed to the mattress, knees wide on the floor, ass up high like he was begging for it. The black leather collar sat snug around Miles's throat. Miles's tight hole already slick and twitching.
Blake lined up again—thick cockhead pressing right against the stretched rim.
"Hold on, baby," he growled. "This is gonna be rough."
He slammed in hard, one brutal thrust that buried him balls-deep in a single stroke.
Miles's whole body jerked forward. A raw, broken cry ripped out of him. His fingers clawed the sheets, knuckles white. The stretch was intense, burning, overwhelming, Blake's cock filling him so completely it felt like it was rearranging his insides.
Blake didn't give him time to adjust.
He pulled out almost all the way, slow enough to make Miles feel every thick inch dragging against his walls, then rammed back in with punishing force. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loud in the room. Miles's ass cheeks rippled with the impact.
"Fuck! Fuck, Blake!" Miles gasped, voice cracking.
Blake gripped Miles's hips so hard his fingers would leave bruises tomorrow. He started pounding, fast, deep, relentless. Each thrust drove Miles's face harder into the mattress, muffling his moans into desperate, wet sounds. The bedframe banged against the wall in rhythm.
Blake angled his hips, slamming straight into that spot inside Miles over and over. Miles's cock swung heavy between his legs, untouched, dripping long strings of pre-cum onto the sheets. His balls tightened with every brutal stroke.
"You feel that?" Blake snarled, slamming in so hard Miles's knees slid forward an inch. "That's me owning this tight little hole. Every fucking inch."
Miles couldn't form words anymore, just high, broken whimpers. His body rocked forward with every thrust, ass bouncing back to meet Blake like he couldn't help it. The collar tugged against his throat each time Blake yanked him back onto his cock.
Blake reached under, grabbed Miles's leaking dick in a rough fist and jerked him fast, matching the vicious rhythm of his hips.
"Don't you dare cum yet," Blake ordered, voice rough. "You hold it until I'm done using you."
Miles sobbed into the sheets, hole clenching tight around the thick shaft splitting him open. The pressure built fast, too much, too intense. His legs shook, thighs trembling.
Blake fucked him even harder, short, savage thrusts now, hips snapping forward like he was trying to break Miles in half. The room filled with the filthy sounds: wet slaps, Miles's choked moans, Blake's low grunts.
Blake’s rhythm turned feral, short, brutal snaps of his hips that buried his cock to the hilt every time, grinding deep before yanking back just enough to slam in again. Each thrust punched the air out of Miles in sharp, helpless bursts. The collar around his throat tugged with every pull, leather biting into skin, a constant reminder of who owned him now.
Miles’s face was mashed into the mattress, drool soaking the sheets beneath his cheek, tears streaking sideways across flushed skin. His mouth hung open, no longer trying to form words, just raw, animal sounds spilling out with every punishing stroke. His hole had gone from burning resistance to greedy, fluttering heat; every time Blake pulled out, the rim clung to him like it didn’t want to let go, only to stretch wide again on the brutal re-entry.
Blake’s hand on Miles’s cock never slowed, rough, slick strokes twisting around the swollen head, thumb smearing pre-cum over the slit in cruel circles. Miles’s dick jerked violently in the grip, veins standing out, balls drawn so tight they ached. He was right on the edge, body screaming for release, but Blake’s voice cut through the haze like a blade.
“Not yet,” Blake growled, slowing just enough to make Miles whine in frustration. “You cum when I fill you. Not a second before.”
He shifted his angle, deeper, harder, hitting that spot inside Miles with surgical precision. Miles’s entire body locked up, spine bowing, a strangled scream tearing out of him as white-hot pleasure-pain exploded behind his eyes. His hole spasmed wildly around Blake’s cock, milking it like it was trying to drag the orgasm out of him by force.
Blake’s control finally cracked.
“Fuck, gonna breed this slutty little hole,” he snarled, voice gone low and wrecked. His thrusts turned erratic, savage, short, grinding rolls of his hips that kept him buried balls-deep while he chased his own edge. One hand fisted in Miles’s hair, yanking his head back so the collar pulled tight, forcing Miles’s spine into a sharp arch.
Finally Blake buried himself deep, grinding in circles, cock pulsing.
“Take it,” Blake hissed against his ear. “Every fucking drop.”
He slammed in one last time, deep, grinding, hips flush, and came with a guttural groan. He flooded Miles guts thick, hot pulsing spurts, so much it spilled out around Blake’s cock, even as he stayed locked inside, running down Miles's thighs in messy streaks. Miles could feel every jet, hot, heavy, marking him from the inside out. His own cock throbbed helplessly in Blake’s fist, untouched now, leaking steadily but denied.
Miles shattered right after, couldn't hold back anymore. His cock jerked in Blake's fist, shooting hard across the sheets in long, forceful ropes. His hole spasmed wildly, milking every last drop out of Blake while his body convulsed.
Blake stayed buried inside, breathing heavy, letting Miles feel the full weight of him.
Blake held there, grinding slow circles, working every last pulse into Miles’s wrecked hole until he was completely spent. Only then did he ease back, slow, letting his softening cock slip free with a wet, obscene sound.
When he finally pulled out slow, a thick gush of cum followed, dripping from Miles's puffy, wrecked hole down onto the soaked sheets.
Miles collapsed forward, ass still high, knees splayed. His hole gaped, red, swollen, ruined, unable to close. Thick white cum immediately welled up and dribbled out in slow, sticky trails, sliding down his inner thighs, pooling on the sheets beneath him. Every tiny clench just pushed more out, the sight in the mirror so filthy Miles couldn’t look away even as humiliation burned through him.
Blake reached down, scooped two fingers through the mess leaking from Miles’s hole, then brought them to Miles’s lips.
“Clean them,” he ordered softly.
Miles’s mouth opened. He sucked, tongue swirling around the bitter-salt taste of Blake’s release mixed with his own slick. His eyes fluttered shut, cheeks flaming.
Blake pulled his fingers free, wiped them on Miles’s cheek like he was marking territory again, then flipped Miles onto his back with casual strength.
Miles lay there, legs splayed, chest heaving, collar still snug around his throat.
Blake leaned over him, bracing on one arm, the other hand sliding down to cup Miles’s spent, sensitive balls.
“You did so good, baby boy,” he murmured, thumb brushing over the head of Miles’s softening cock in feather-light circles that made Miles whimper and buck. “Took every inch like you were made for it.”
Blake flipped Miles onto his back, spread his legs wide again. He watched his load leak out, smearing it over Miles's inner thighs with rough fingers.
"You're a mess, baby," he said, voice low and satisfied. "And you're keeping this collar on.”
Blake reached over to the nightstand. The silicone plug sat there, thick, black, glistening, even bigger than the fingers Blake had just split him with. Miles stared at it, heart hammering, throat dry. His ass clenched involuntarily, but the motion only made him more aware of how loose, how empty, how ruined he felt.
“Daddy’s got a present for you,” Blake murmured, voice all honey and rot.
He pressed the cool tip against Miles’s puffy, leaking hole. Miles flinched. Blake’s other hand landed heavy on his thigh, holding him down, fingers digging deep enough for Miles to feel the threat in every inch. The plug slid in slow, stretching him, and Miles bit down a yelp. His body gave, reluctantly, the ring of muscle fluttering as the widest part slipped through. Then it seated with a soft, awful pop, and Miles’s whole body spasmed.
He gasped, back arching off the ruined sheets, air punched out of his lungs. The plug filled him, stretched him, the weight of it a constant, inescapable pressure. He couldn’t forget it if he tried. It belonged in him now, a permanent reminder.
Blake stood back, satisfied. Miles watched, dazed, as Blake took more pictures.
Miles saw the little flash as the camera captured him: sprawled, ruined, plug buried so deep his flesh bulged around it, collar locked on, whole midsection streaked with dried and fresh cum. It still didn’t feel real. Couldn’t be. He was supposed to be the king of the house, the cocky jock who didn’t listen to anybody, and now he was... this.
The plug’s blunt base sat flush against his hole, stretching him open, the skin red and slick with lube and cum. Miles couldn’t move. Could barely think. Every time he twitched, the weight of it pressed deeper, impossible to ignore, the obscene fullness echoing every throb of his own spent cock.
Blake leaned in, fisted a hand in Miles’s hair and pulled him up for a kiss. For a second, Miles tensed, lips stubborn and unyielding, but the grip was iron, and the kiss was all tongue and teeth and possessiveness. The plug in his ass throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the burn sending shockwaves through his whole body.
“You're sleeping full of me tonight.” Blake said.
Miles lay there panting, body limp, face flushed, eyes glazed.
"Yes sir," he whispered, voice hoarse from screaming.
Blake leaned down, kissed him again, rough, claiming his mouth the same way he’d claimed the rest of him.
Blake laid down next to Miles, then he pulled the blanket over them both, one arm locked around Miles’s waist, keeping him close.
Blake pulled him close under the blanket, one hand locked possessively around Miles's throat, right over the collar.
No more cocky attitude. No more talking back. Just a used, obedient boy who belonged to him now. And a whole weekend ahead to break him in even more.