Hard core stories for the hard core. These stories are all fantasies and should not be taken as portraying either the actions or the inclinations of those individuals appearing in the accompanying photos or gifs. All photos and gifs are reblogs. If you want a post or photo of or about you deleted, please let me know and I will delete it.
For Blake, it had been hard enough accepting the reality that if he wanted to keep his new job at Acrown Industries he’d have to bend over and let the top executives fuck his ass whenever they wanted. That was so humiliating, having to play the bitch for not merely one man but close to a dozen of them who all seemed committed to ensuring that he never once returned home to his wife, Kathleen, after a long day of work without his poor fuck-hole just overflowing with their Man-spunk.
It wasn’t unusual for Blake to end up with the loads of six different guys roiling around inside his guts as he drove back home to the suburbs and his underwear was so consistently stained with his anal seepage that Blake routinely did his own laundry now. And the daily plundering of his straight ass-chute was paralleled by the numerous loads of ball-slime he had pumped down his throat every day, too. His entire workday pretty much consisted of sexually servicing his bosses with either his mouth or his ass - and frequently with both at the same time - and it didn’t take Blake more than a few days at his new job to realize that his position in the office was really nothing more than a glorified fuck-whore.
Of course, Blake didn’t tell Kathleen any of that. How could he? How could he possibly tell the woman he’d married, the woman who even now was carrying their first child, that he’d probably had more ball-seed pumped into his boypussy in his first month at work than he’d managed to supply her in the two years of their marriage? How could he possibly explain that he’d sucked so much cock that he could actually tell who was fucking his face by the taste of their cum? Or that even he didn’t think he had an asshole between his legs anymore, that even he thought of it as his boypussy? How could he possibly share any of that with his wife who was so thrilled when her husband had finally landed a well-paying job that she had finally agreed to become pregnant and have their first child?
The answer, of course, was that he couldn’t. Blake simply couldn’t tell his wife how he was really making his salary, why he was being paid so much for what had been presented to him as an entry-level job. It was an entry-level job, alright. Taking it had had effectively given his bosses permission to enter Blake’s formerly pristine back-hole whenever one of them had a big load of Man-scuzz he wanted to work off inside Blake’s tight, straight boypussy.
But as bad as Blake’s daily ordeal in his office was, at least he got to go home every night to his wife and try to forget that his boypussy was seeing way more action in a single day than her cunt saw in an entire month. And on the weekends, he could occasionally even forget that he had essentially turned himself into the office cum-dump just to keep the money flowing in. His nights and his weekends gave Blake at least a chance to see himself as he used to be - a normal straight dude married to a loving wife. It gave Blake a chance to see himself as a man again.
But then, two weeks ago, Blake was informed that he’d be accompanying a high-level negotiating team on a trip to Chicago for the purpose of scouting out and securing a site for a new regional office for Acrown Industries. He was informed that the trip would take anywhere from two weeks to a month and that while he was there he would be employed as a general go-fer for the rest of the negotiating team. Considering the uses to which he was routinely put around the office, Blake viewed this assignment with a good degree of trepidation.
Blake knew his worst fears were going to be realized when, at check in at the hotel’s front desk, it was discovered that the firm had only reserved three suites for the seven-member team. No problem, the CFO told the check-in clerk. The executives would pair up and Blake could sleep on the sofa in one of their rooms. When the clerk informed him that the sofas were not designed for sleeping purposes, the CFO told him not to worry, that Blake was very flexible and wouldn’t have any difficulty sleeping on the sofa. And, of course, he didn’t. Because Blake didn’t sleep on the sofa. Not once. Instead, every night he slept on a bed with a hard cock rammed up his straight man-cunt after a full evening of sexually servicing the entire negotiating team.
Two weeks into their stay in the hotel - and it looked like they’d be there for another full week, at least - Blake has lost count of how many times he’s been fucked on this business trip. And the abuse has been so constant, so total, so all-consuming that Blake doubted that he could ever see himself as a man again.
It wasn’t merely that he was swapped between the executives every night, so that every member of the negotiating team got an equal chance at his boypussy. Or that every evening after dinner all the executives would get together in one of the suites and gangbang the hell out of Blake’s now permanently aching hole, passing his pussy back and forth as they laughed and joked about what an incredible cum-whore their new hire had become. Or that during the daily negotiations he was frequently pulled into an alcove or shoved into a bathroom stall and brutally fucked. Or even that Blake was now regularly boning up as his bosses cored out a cunt between his legs - though Blake found that singularly embarrassing. No, all that was bad, all that was designed to make Blake feel like a cheap whore, like a piece of raw fuck-meat, like a fag-boy getting what he deserved, but it wasn’t any of that that made Blake question his own masculinity. It was his nightly phone conversations with his wife that did that.
Every night they made Blake call home and talk to his wife. And, every night when he did so, one of Acrown’s executives was buried balls-deep in Blake’s pussy, reaming the shit out of the boy, fucking him like a back-alley whore. Blake had to stay on the phone, lying to his wife about the work he was doing, letting her know how much he missed her, even telling her how hard he was going to fuck her when he finally got back home, all the while having his own fuck-hole totally reamed out by one of his boss’s dicks. And it was only after the man fucking him had shot a load of his disgusting babymakers deep up inside Blake’s boypussy that Blake was allowed to end the call and get off the phone.
And, as if the raw humiliation of being cunted out while he talked to his wife wasn’t enough, a number of his bosses amused themselves by loudly slapping his ass or yelling at him to ‘squeeze that hot little pussy’ or ‘make love to that big cock coring you out,’ while Blake kept trying to explain to his wife that the walls of the hotel were paper-thin and that what she heard so clearly were actually the sounds of a couple in the hotel room next door getting it on.
Not infrequently, Blake was reduced to tears by the time he was able to say goodbye to his wife and hang up. And the fact that this whole degrading, humiliating scene was replayed night after night had eventually destroyed the few remaining remnants of self-respect that Blake had managed to hold on to since his job at Acrown Industries had started.
By this point in his trip, Blake no longer saw himself as a man. How could he? What self-respecting male would allow other men to use and abuse him the way Blake had been used and abused every night for the past two weeks? What self-respecting male would allow himself to be cunted out like a bitch while he talked on the phone to his wife? Not once, not twice, but every night for two weeks running. The answer was clear, even to Blake. No self-respecting man would ever do that - only a sniveling faggot whore would do something like that, only a sniveling faggot whore like Blake.
His bosses had been amused to discover that Blake’s wife was pregnant and was carrying their first child - a boy. And one of them had actually joked that, when the baby was born, he would immediately become the man in the family, since both of his parents were bitches. Blake had flushed like a beet when he first heard this joke but now, thinking back on it, he realized that it was true at its core. Blake was a bitch. As big a bitch as his wife. Bigger even. He had sold his manhood for a high paying job and, just like Esau selling his birthright for a mess of pottage, it wasn’t something he was ever going to get back.
He would be a bitch forever. Blake knew that now. And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all, except spread his legs wide and take another cock up his man-cunt. That he could always do because there was always another cock waiting to get in. And there would be from now on. Blake understood that now. He was a bitch and this was not merely his present but his future as well. For better or worse, Blake would be a bitch for the rest of his life. End of story.
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For Blake, it had been hard enough accepting the reality that if he wanted to keep his new job at Acrown Industries he’d have to bend over and let the top executives fuck his ass whenever they wanted. That was so humiliating, having to play the bitch for not merely one man but close to a dozen of them who all seemed committed to ensuring that he never once returned home to his wife, Kathleen, after a long day of work without his poor fuck-hole just overflowing with their Man-spunk.
It wasn’t unusual for Blake to end up with the loads of six different guys roiling around inside his guts as he drove back home to the suburbs and his underwear was so consistently stained with his anal seepage that Blake routinely did his own laundry now. And the daily plundering of his straight ass-chute was paralleled by the numerous loads of ball-slime he had pumped down his throat every day, too. His entire workday pretty much consisted of sexually servicing his bosses with either his mouth or his ass - and frequently with both at the same time - and it didn’t take Blake more than a few days at his new job to realize that his position in the office was really nothing more than a glorified fuck-whore.
Of course, Blake didn’t tell Kathleen any of that. How could he? How could he possibly tell the woman he’d married, the woman who even now was carrying their first child, that he’d probably had more ball-seed pumped into his boypussy in his first month at work than he’d managed to supply her in the two years of their marriage? How could he possibly explain that he’d sucked so much cock that he could actually tell who was fucking his face by the taste of their cum? Or that even he didn’t think he had an asshole between his legs anymore, that even he thought of it as his boypussy? How could he possibly share any of that with his wife who was so thrilled when her husband had finally landed a well-paying job that she had finally agreed to become pregnant and have their first child?
The answer, of course, was that he couldn’t. Blake simply couldn’t tell his wife how he was really making his salary, why he was being paid so much for what had been presented to him as an entry-level job. It was an entry-level job, alright. Taking it had had effectively given his bosses permission to enter Blake’s formerly pristine back-hole whenever one of them had a big load of Man-scuzz he wanted to work off inside Blake’s tight, straight boypussy.
But as bad as Blake’s daily ordeal in his office was, at least he got to go home every night to his wife and try to forget that his boypussy was seeing way more action in a single day than her cunt saw in an entire month. And on the weekends, he could occasionally even forget that he had essentially turned himself into the office cum-dump just to keep the money flowing in. His nights and his weekends gave Blake at least a chance to see himself as he used to be - a normal straight dude married to a loving wife. It gave Blake a chance to see himself as a man again.
But then, two weeks ago, Blake was informed that he’d be accompanying a high-level negotiating team on a trip to Chicago for the purpose of scouting out and securing a site for a new regional office for Acrown Industries. He was informed that the trip would take anywhere from two weeks to a month and that while he was there he would be employed as a general go-fer for the rest of the negotiating team. Considering the uses to which he was routinely put around the office, Blake viewed this assignment with a good degree of trepidation.
Blake knew his worst fears were going to be realized when, at check in at the hotel’s front desk, it was discovered that the firm had only reserved three suites for the seven-member team. No problem, the CFO told the check-in clerk. The executives would pair up and Blake could sleep on the sofa in one of their rooms. When the clerk informed him that the sofas were not designed for sleeping purposes, the CFO told him not to worry, that Blake was very flexible and wouldn’t have any difficulty sleeping on the sofa. And, of course, he didn’t. Because Blake didn’t sleep on the sofa. Not once. Instead, every night he slept on a bed with a hard cock rammed up his straight man-cunt after a full evening of sexually servicing the entire negotiating team.
Two weeks into their stay in the hotel - and it looked like they’d be there for another full week, at least - Blake has lost count of how many times he’s been fucked on this business trip. And the abuse has been so constant, so total, so all-consuming that Blake doubted that he could ever see himself as a man again.
It wasn’t merely that he was swapped between the executives every night, so that every member of the negotiating team got an equal chance at his boypussy. Or that every evening after dinner all the executives would get together in one of the suites and gangbang the hell out of Blake’s now permanently aching hole, passing his pussy back and forth as they laughed and joked about what an incredible cum-whore their new hire had become. Or that during the daily negotiations he was frequently pulled into an alcove or shoved into a bathroom stall and brutally fucked. Or even that Blake was now regularly boning up as his bosses cored out a cunt between his legs - though Blake found that singularly embarrassing. No, all that was bad, all that was designed to make Blake feel like a cheap whore, like a piece of raw fuck-meat, like a fag-boy getting what he deserved, but it wasn’t any of that that made Blake question his own masculinity. It was his nightly phone conversations with his wife that did that.
Every night they made Blake call home and talk to his wife. And, every night when he did so, one of Acrown’s executives was buried balls-deep in Blake’s pussy, reaming the shit out of the boy, fucking him like a back-alley whore. Blake had to stay on the phone, lying to his wife about the work he was doing, letting her know how much he missed her, even telling her how hard he was going to fuck her when he finally got back home, all the while having his own fuck-hole totally reamed out by one of his boss’s dicks. And it was only after the man fucking him had shot a load of his disgusting babymakers deep up inside Blake’s boypussy that Blake was allowed to end the call and get off the phone.
And, as if the raw humiliation of being cunted out while he talked to his wife wasn’t enough, a number of his bosses amused themselves by loudly slapping his ass or yelling at him to ‘squeeze that hot little pussy’ or ‘make love to that big cock coring you out,’ while Blake kept trying to explain to his wife that the walls of the hotel were paper-thin and that what she heard so clearly were actually the sounds of a couple in the hotel room next door getting it on.
Not infrequently, Blake was reduced to tears by the time he was able to say goodbye to his wife and hang up. And the fact that this whole degrading, humiliating scene was replayed night after night had eventually destroyed the few remaining remnants of self-respect that Blake had managed to hold on to since his job at Acrown Industries had started.
By this point in his trip, Blake no longer saw himself as a man. How could he? What self-respecting male would allow other men to use and abuse him the way Blake had been used and abused every night for the past two weeks? What self-respecting male would allow himself to be cunted out like a bitch while he talked on the phone to his wife? Not once, not twice, but every night for two weeks running. The answer was clear, even to Blake. No self-respecting man would ever do that - only a sniveling faggot whore would do something like that, only a sniveling faggot whore like Blake.
His bosses had been amused to discover that Blake’s wife was pregnant and was carrying their first child - a boy. And one of them had actually joked that, when the baby was born, he would immediately become the man in the family, since both of his parents were bitches. Blake had flushed like a beet when he first heard this joke but now, thinking back on it, he realized that it was true at its core. Blake was a bitch. As big a bitch as his wife. Bigger even. He had sold his manhood for a high paying job and, just like Esau selling his birthright for a mess of pottage, it wasn’t something he was ever going to get back.
He would be a bitch forever. Blake knew that now. And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all, except spread his legs wide and take another cock up his man-cunt. That he could always do because there was always another cock waiting to get in. And there would be from now on. Blake understood that now. He was a bitch and this was not merely his present but his future as well. For better or worse, Blake would be a bitch for the rest of his life. End of story.