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.
It was hard enough being a Sigma Mu fuck-bitch and having to let all the jocks in the house fuck his tight asshole – the ‘pussy’ they’d given him – whenever they wanted, but what Cody really hated was when they’d rent him out when the house decided it needed to raise some money for a party. Anyone with $150 and a hankering for plowing muscle-boy pussy could have Cody as their fuck-bitch for the night. And Cody just hated that with a passion.
It was bad enough when he had to service some old codger, some aged dude old enough to be Cody’s grandfather. It was just so humiliating looking up and seeing some grizzled septugenarian working away inside his boycunt. It made Cody feel so cheap and tawdry being cunted-out like that.
But what was worse, much worse, was when he was rented out to some young twink, some skinny little faggot who’d molest his body and bat him around while he gleefully fucked Cody’s jock-boy ass all night long with vigor and malicious amusement. And film it, too, so he could show all his fag friends how he’d bitched out one of the wrestling team’s biggest jocks like he was some squealing little coed getting her snatch plowed out and seeded for the first time.
Over the past six months, Cody had become very popular with a whole coterie of those twinks who figured it was money well-spent every time they rented him. And Cody couldn’t help feeling that the brothers at Sigma Mu took a particular pleasure in renting Cody out to them. All of these twinks humiliated and abused Cody whenever they got the chance, but the worst, by far, was Steph Morrissey who always went out of his way to ensure that Cody found their sessions together not only degrading and demeaning but painful, too.
Looking at the skinny little prick, you’d never guess what a complete sadist he really was. Every session started off with a brutal ass-paddling, Cody being ordered to drape his muscular body over the boy’s lap and just lie there quiescently as the boy whacked away at Cody’s big buns until they were a scarlet red and Cody was sobbing like a little seven-year-old boy. And even then, Morrissey wouldn’t stop until Cody promised to be ‘a good little bitch,’ and do everything ‘Master Steph’ told him to. Cody couldn’t express how much he loathed saying those words and, more than once, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t say them no matter how much Morrissey hurt him. But every time – every time – the pain would just get to be too much, and Cody would find himself uncontrollably sobbing and telling Steph Morrisey exactly what he wanted to hear, even as Cody’s tears flowed even harder as he debased himself for the boy’s sick enjoyment.
Then, once Cody had gotten his ass blistered and promised to be ‘a good little bitch,’ Morrissey would lead Cody into the bedroom and Cody would have to climb onto the bed, raise his legs in the air, separate his butt-cheeks to fully expose his puckered rosette and then, looking directly at the camera, Cody would have to say, “Please, Master Steph, please fuck my faggot pussy. Fuck my pussy hard and make it hurt. Please, Master Steph. Please. I’m a faggot bitch and I really need a good cunting-out. Just like you always give me. But, right now, I need it bad. I need a hard cunting-out real bad.”
A lot of the men Cody was rented to paid the frat the extra fifty dollars so that they could film themselves fucking a stud like Cody, but no one made the production of it that Morrissey did. Morrissey took an obvious pleasure in forcing Cody to provide a running commentary describing exactly what the twink was doing to the muscle-bitch, as if any viewer wouldn’t be able to see with his own eyes exactly how thoroughly Morrissey was bitching Cody out. And when, either because of the pain he was feeling or his total embarrassment at the situation he was in, Cody failed to keep his commentary going to the twink’s satisfaction, Morrissey wouldn’t hesitate to bitch-slap him right on camera.
So even as Cody was enduring the incredible indignity of being cunted-out by a little twerp, Cody would have to further debase himself by thanking Morrissey for ‘fucking my boy-snatch so hard,’ or ‘biting my boy-tits just the way this horny bitch loves it.’ And when, finally, after an hour-long pounding, Morrissey was approaching his orgasm, Cody was expected to beg ‘Master Steph’ to whack off Cody’s “pathetic little boy-clit” so he could “shoot off my own load of disgusting boy-slime while you’re filling my twat-hole with your Manly seed and turning my hungry butt-twat into a faggot’s cum-pit.” Then, after Morrissey shot his load, Cody had to beg him to allow Cody “clean up the mess my faggot cunt has left on your bitch-buster,” which, of course, Morrissey graciously allowed Cody to do.
Unlike the studs at the frat who could go two or even three rounds without taking a break, Morrissey would always rest after every cunt-coring. And while he would always turn off the camera during these breaks, that was only so he could force Cody to watch videos from previous sessions that Morrissey had filmed. Hearing himself squealing and moaning as the twink fucked the crap out of Cody’s jock-pussy always made Cody blush like a little girl and when he’d listen to himself going on and on about what a ‘good fucking’ Morrissey was giving Cody’s ‘faggot twat-hole,’ Cody would just want to crawl under a rock and die.
After the break, though, Cody would be back in bed with Morrissey pounding away at Cody’s already aching boycunt. And the thing was, the little prick would keep going at Cody’s pussy all night long. All night long. That fucking twink had amazing stamina, even if he did have to take a break after every nutting. Cody’s cunt-lips would be swollen and inflamed, and his entire fuck-chute bruised and battered by the time the boy finished with him.
Then, just before he sent Cody on his way, he’d make Cody bend over and spread his cheeks and then ram his cock into Cody’s aching shitter and drain his bladder up Cody’s ass. For a small dude, Morrissey could spew an incredible amount of piss. Cody would be bent over for four or five minutes, as Morrissey sprayed his disgusting urine up his ass, making Cody’s belly bulge out obscenely like he was some pregnant bitch. And then, when he was finished, he’d yank his cock out of Cody’s ass, give his butt a hard swat and tell him to ‘get the fuck out of here, bitch.’
Cody would frantically pull on his clothes and hurry out the door, desperate to get back to the frat and drop the enema, though, with his battered and stretched out fuck-hole he had to waddle like a duck as he tried to keep his sphincter shut tightly. But at least half the time, he couldn’t make it back to the frat in time, and Cody would end up doubled-over on the street, spewing Morrissey’s piss and cum and his own anal slime down his legs, befouling himself as disgusted passers-by snorted their contempt. Cody had been embarrassed and humiliated countless times in the six months he’d been a Sigma Mu fuck-bitch, but nothing approached the abject mortification he felt every time he ended up spewing out Morrissey’s piss enema on a public street. Nothing came close.
And here he was again, in Morrissey’s bed, getting his muscled-butt – his faggot boypussy – reamed out by ‘Master Steph’s’ hard cock with a full night of abuse ahead of him and the gnawing fear that, come tomorrow morning, he’d be shitting himself in public. It was all Cody could do to keep from crying in his impotent frustration. And, if you look closely, he’s not even succeeding in doing that.
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It was hard enough being a Sigma Mu fuck-bitch and having to let all the jocks in the house fuck his tight asshole – the ‘pussy’ they’d given him – whenever they wanted, but what Cody really hated was when they’d rent him out when the house decided it needed to raise some money for a party. Anyone with $150 and a hankering for plowing muscle-boy pussy could have Cody as their fuck-bitch for the night. And Cody just hated that with a passion.
It was bad enough when he had to service some old codger, some aged dude old enough to be Cody’s grandfather. It was just so humiliating looking up and seeing some grizzled septugenarian working away inside his boycunt. It made Cody feel so cheap and tawdry being cunted-out like that.
But what was worse, much worse, was when he was rented out to some young twink, some skinny little faggot who’d molest his body and bat him around while he gleefully fucked Cody’s jock-boy ass all night long with vigor and malicious amusement. And film it, too, so he could show all his fag friends how he’d bitched out one of the wrestling team’s biggest jocks like he was some squealing little coed getting her snatch plowed out and seeded for the first time.
Over the past six months, Cody had become very popular with a whole coterie of those twinks who figured it was money well-spent every time they rented him. And Cody couldn’t help feeling that the brothers at Sigma Mu took a particular pleasure in renting Cody out to them. All of these twinks humiliated and abused Cody whenever they got the chance, but the worst, by far, was Steph Morrissey who always went out of his way to ensure that Cody found their sessions together not only degrading and demeaning but painful, too.
Looking at the skinny little prick, you’d never guess what a complete sadist he really was. Every session started off with a brutal ass-paddling, Cody being ordered to drape his muscular body over the boy’s lap and just lie there quiescently as the boy whacked away at Cody’s big buns until they were a scarlet red and Cody was sobbing like a little seven-year-old boy. And even then, Morrissey wouldn’t stop until Cody promised to be ‘a good little bitch,’ and do everything ‘Master Steph’ told him to. Cody couldn’t express how much he loathed saying those words and, more than once, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t say them no matter how much Morrissey hurt him. But every time – every time – the pain would just get to be too much, and Cody would find himself uncontrollably sobbing and telling Steph Morrisey exactly what he wanted to hear, even as Cody’s tears flowed even harder as he debased himself for the boy’s sick enjoyment.
Then, once Cody had gotten his ass blistered and promised to be ‘a good little bitch,’ Morrissey would lead Cody into the bedroom and Cody would have to climb onto the bed, raise his legs in the air, separate his butt-cheeks to fully expose his puckered rosette and then, looking directly at the camera, Cody would have to say, “Please, Master Steph, please fuck my faggot pussy. Fuck my pussy hard and make it hurt. Please, Master Steph. Please. I’m a faggot bitch and I really need a good cunting-out. Just like you always give me. But, right now, I need it bad. I need a hard cunting-out real bad.”
A lot of the men Cody was rented to paid the frat the extra fifty dollars so that they could film themselves fucking a stud like Cody, but no one made the production of it that Morrissey did. Morrissey took an obvious pleasure in forcing Cody to provide a running commentary describing exactly what the twink was doing to the muscle-bitch, as if any viewer wouldn’t be able to see with his own eyes exactly how thoroughly Morrissey was bitching Cody out. And when, either because of the pain he was feeling or his total embarrassment at the situation he was in, Cody failed to keep his commentary going to the twink’s satisfaction, Morrissey wouldn’t hesitate to bitch-slap him right on camera.
So even as Cody was enduring the incredible indignity of being cunted-out by a little twerp, Cody would have to further debase himself by thanking Morrissey for ‘fucking my boy-snatch so hard,’ or ‘biting my boy-tits just the way this horny bitch loves it.’ And when, finally, after an hour-long pounding, Morrissey was approaching his orgasm, Cody was expected to beg ‘Master Steph’ to whack off Cody’s “pathetic little boy-clit” so he could “shoot off my own load of disgusting boy-slime while you’re filling my twat-hole with your Manly seed and turning my hungry butt-twat into a faggot’s cum-pit.” Then, after Morrissey shot his load, Cody had to beg him to allow Cody “clean up the mess my faggot cunt has left on your bitch-buster,” which, of course, Morrissey graciously allowed Cody to do.
Unlike the studs at the frat who could go two or even three rounds without taking a break, Morrissey would always rest after every cunt-coring. And while he would always turn off the camera during these breaks, that was only so he could force Cody to watch videos from previous sessions that Morrissey had filmed. Hearing himself squealing and moaning as the twink fucked the crap out of Cody’s jock-pussy always made Cody blush like a little girl and when he’d listen to himself going on and on about what a ‘good fucking’ Morrissey was giving Cody’s ‘faggot twat-hole,’ Cody would just want to crawl under a rock and die.
After the break, though, Cody would be back in bed with Morrissey pounding away at Cody’s already aching boycunt. And the thing was, the little prick would keep going at Cody’s pussy all night long. All night long. That fucking twink had amazing stamina, even if he did have to take a break after every nutting. Cody’s cunt-lips would be swollen and inflamed, and his entire fuck-chute bruised and battered by the time the boy finished with him.
Then, just before he sent Cody on his way, he’d make Cody bend over and spread his cheeks and then ram his cock into Cody’s aching shitter and drain his bladder up Cody’s ass. For a small dude, Morrissey could spew an incredible amount of piss. Cody would be bent over for four or five minutes, as Morrissey sprayed his disgusting urine up his ass, making Cody’s belly bulge out obscenely like he was some pregnant bitch. And then, when he was finished, he’d yank his cock out of Cody’s ass, give his butt a hard swat and tell him to ‘get the fuck out of here, bitch.’
Cody would frantically pull on his clothes and hurry out the door, desperate to get back to the frat and drop the enema, though, with his battered and stretched out fuck-hole he had to waddle like a duck as he tried to keep his sphincter shut tightly. But at least half the time, he couldn’t make it back to the frat in time, and Cody would end up doubled-over on the street, spewing Morrissey’s piss and cum and his own anal slime down his legs, befouling himself as disgusted passers-by snorted their contempt. Cody had been embarrassed and humiliated countless times in the six months he’d been a Sigma Mu fuck-bitch, but nothing approached the abject mortification he felt every time he ended up spewing out Morrissey’s piss enema on a public street. Nothing came close.
And here he was again, in Morrissey’s bed, getting his muscled-butt – his faggot boypussy – reamed out by ‘Master Steph’s’ hard cock with a full night of abuse ahead of him and the gnawing fear that, come tomorrow morning, he’d be shitting himself in public. It was all Cody could do to keep from crying in his impotent frustration. And, if you look closely, he’s not even succeeding in doing that.