The Alpha's Dominion - Short Story

[MAXXXX100]

The Alpha's Dominion​

The gym was a cauldron of sweat and steel, the air thick with the clang of weights and primal grunts. My eyes kept drifting to him—a man carved like Branch Warren, a bodybuilding titan with veins snaking across his massive shoulders and tree-trunk thighs. His skin gleamed under the harsh lights, sweat accentuating every chiseled ridge of his pecs and abs. A dense mat of dark hair coated his chest, trailing down to a sharp V that vanished into his tight gym shorts. His name was Dax, and he moved like he owned the place, his dark eyes scanning with predatory confidence.

I’d caught him staring at me before, his gaze lingering with a knowing smirk that set my nerves on edge. My curiosity about him wasn’t just about his physique; it was the raw, magnetic dominance he radiated. That day, as I racked my weights, he swaggered over, his hulking frame towering over me. “You’re working hard,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a jolt through me. “But you need real training. Come to my private gym tonight. I’ll push you to your limits.” His eyes bored into mine, a mix of challenge and promise, and I nodded, my pulse hammering.

His private gym was a dimly lit basement, all concrete and iron, the air heavy with the scent of rubber and testosterone. Dax was already there, shirtless, his muscles bulging as he adjusted a rack of weights. “You showed,” he said, that smirk returning, his eyes raking over me like I was his next conquest. He stepped closer, his heat overwhelming, and I felt my resolve crumble. “Let’s see what you can handle,” he growled, guiding me to a bench. But instead of a workout, he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “Ever been broken in properly, boy?”

Before I could respond, his hand clamped onto my shoulder, firm and unyielding. He pressed himself against me, and I felt it—his cock, straining against his shorts, swelling into a massive, uncut weapon that pulsed with raw power. He tugged his shorts down, revealing it in all its glory: thick, veined, and intimidating, the foreskin peeling back to expose a glistening head that promised both ecstasy and agony. My breath hitched, a mix of fear and desire flooding me as he chuckled, dark and hungry. “You’re gonna take this,” he said, his voice dripping with authority.

He maneuvered me to a padded bench, his hands rough but precise, stripping me bare with ease. I was powerless under his gaze, his alpha energy swallowing the room. He positioned me on my knees, my body trembling as he lubed himself up, his massive cock looming like a threat. “Relax,” he ordered, but his tone was pure dominance, no trace of softness. As he pushed into me, the stretch was excruciating, a searing pain that made me gasp and clench. His size was brutal, every inch tearing into me, my hole struggling to accommodate his relentless girth.

As he fucked me, I felt my own cock betray me, leaking precum in a steady drip, shrinking under the intensity of his assault. Dax noticed, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. He reached down, rubbing my leaking cock with a calloused hand, his touch mocking. “Look at this little clit dick,” he taunted, his deep laugh echoing in the basement. “Leaking like a bitch already.” His fingers smeared my precum, teasing my shrinking cock, his mockery only heightening my submission. The more I winced from the pain in my hole, the more excited he got, his thrusts growing harder, his grunts louder, feeding off my discomfort like a true alpha.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, his hands bruising my hips, his massive frame pinning me down. The pain was relentless, my hole ripped apart by his unforgiving cock, but his dominance was intoxicating. He was the ultimate down-low alpha, reveling in his power, his thick, uncut weapon claiming me with every brutal thrust. “You’re mine now, cuck,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, and I surrendered completely, my body yielding to his control. The pain blurred into a twisted pleasure, his excitement at my torment sealing my role as his submissive.

When he finally came, it was with a primal roar, his body shuddering as he filled me, his grip leaving marks on my skin. He pulled out slowly, his cock still massive, glistening with triumph. He looked down at me, sprawled and broken, and smirked. “You’ll be back,” he said, tossing me a towel. “Alphas always get what they want.” I stumbled home, my hole raw and ripped apart, the pain a constant reminder of his dominance. My leaking, shrunken cock and Dax’s mocking laughter echoed in my mind, marking me as his cuck, bound to his will and already aching for his next command.

 

[MAXXXX100]

The Alpha's Claim - Part 2

The days after my encounter with Dax were a haze of soreness and obsession. My body ached, my hole still tender from his brutal conquest, but my mind was consumed by him—his voice, his smirk, the way his massive, uncut cock had reshaped me. I couldn’t shake the image of his hairy, chiseled frame or the cruel amusement in his eyes as he mocked my leaking, shrunken cock. Every twinge of pain was a reminder of his dominance, a brand that marked me as his. I told myself I wouldn’t go back, that I’d reclaim some shred of control, but deep down, I knew I was lying.


A week later, my phone buzzed with a text: “My gym. Tonight. 9 PM. Don’t keep me waiting, cuck.” My heart pounded, a mix of dread and hunger twisting in my gut. I wanted to resist, to prove I wasn’t his toy, but my body betrayed me, my cock twitching at the thought of his command. By 8:55, I was standing outside his private gym, the cold concrete exterior doing nothing to cool the heat building inside me.


Dax was waiting, shirtless again, his massive physique even more imposing in the flickering light of the basement. His dark hair clung to his sweat-slicked chest, and his shorts hung low, barely containing the bulge that had haunted my dreams. “Knew you’d come,” he said, his voice a low rumble, that predatory smirk curling his lips. He stepped closer, his scent—sweat, musk, and raw power—overwhelming me. “Strip,” he ordered, and my hands moved before my brain could protest, shedding my clothes under his unyielding gaze.


He didn’t waste time. He grabbed a thick leather collar from a nearby rack, the kind you’d see in a dungeon, not a gym. “You’re mine now,” he said, fastening it around my neck, the leather biting into my skin. The weight of it grounded me, a physical reminder of my submission. He tugged the collar, pulling me to my knees, his bulge inches from my face. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” he taunted, his hand gripping my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. I nodded, unable to lie, my cheeks burning as he chuckled.


He shoved his shorts down, his cock springing free—thick, veined, and already leaking, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal that glistening head. My mouth watered, but he didn’t let me touch it yet. Instead, he guided me to a padded mat, positioning me on all fours. “You took it once,” he growled, lubing himself up with slow, deliberate strokes. “But you’re gonna learn to crave it.” His hand landed on my ass, a sharp smack that made me yelp, the sting mingling with the ache still lingering from last time.


As he pressed into me, the pain was just as searing, my hole protesting his size, but there was something new—a twisted anticipation. My body was starting to know him, to yield to his rhythm. His thrusts were slower this time, deliberate, each one stretching me open, claiming me deeper. “Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he grunted, his hands gripping the collar to pull me back onto him. My cock, already leaking, shrank further under his dominance, a humiliating trickle of precum dripping onto the mat. He noticed, of course, his laughter dark and mocking. “Pathetic little clit,” he sneered, reaching around to flick it, the contact sending a jolt of shame and pleasure through me.


He leaned over me, his hairy chest pressed against my back, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re not just a cuck now,” he whispered, his voice dripping with control. “You’re my bitch.” The words burned, but they sank into me, binding me to him. His thrusts grew harder, his cock relentless, and I felt myself breaking apart under him, the pain and pleasure blurring into something I couldn’t name. My moans echoed in the basement, mingling with his primal grunts, the sound of his dominance filling the space.


When he came, it was with that same earth-shaking roar, his release flooding me, marking me as his. He stayed inside me for a moment, his cock pulsing, his grip on the collar unyielding. Then he pulled out, leaving me gasping, my body trembling on the mat. He stood over me, his massive frame towering, his cock still half-hard and glistening. “Clean yourself up,” he said, tossing me a towel. “You’ll be back tomorrow. I’m not done training you.”


I stumbled home again, the collar still around my neck, hidden under my hoodie. My hole throbbed, my cock still leaking, and my mind was a mess of submission and need. Dax’s words echoed in my head: “Alphas always get what they want.” I was his now, fully claimed, and as much as I hated it, I knew I’d be back, drawn to his dominance like a moth to a flame, ready to be broken again.

 

[MAXXXX100]

The Alpha's Punishment - Part 3​

The next night, I stood outside Dax’s private gym, my body already trembling with anticipation and dread. The leather collar he’d fastened around my neck last time was supposed to be with me, but in my rush, I’d forgotten it at home. My stomach churned as I pushed open the door, knowing he’d notice. The basement was as oppressive as ever, the air thick with the scent of sweat and iron. Dax stood in the center, shirtless, his massive, hairy frame gleaming under the dim lights, his shorts straining against the outline of his thick, uncut cock. His dark eyes locked onto me, and his smirk faded when he saw my bare neck.

“No collar,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You think you can disrespect me like that, cuck?” Before I could stammer an excuse, he closed the distance, his hand gripping my jaw with bruising force. “Strip,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for defiance. I fumbled out of my clothes, my pulse racing as he towered over me, his presence suffocating.

He grabbed a heavy chain from a nearby rack, cold and unyielding, and looped it around my neck, tightening it just enough to make me wince. “You forgot my collar, so you get this,” he snarled, yanking the chain to pull me to my knees. “You’re gonna learn to respect your alpha.” His shorts dropped, revealing his massive cock, already hard, the foreskin pulled back to expose a glistening head that pulsed with raw power. My own cock, pitiful in comparison, twitched and leaked, shrinking under his gaze.

“Look at this,” he said, grabbing his cock and stroking it slowly, its veined, girthy length dwarfing mine. “This is a real alpha cock. Now look at yours.” He forced my head down, making me stare at my own leaking, shrunken dick. “Compare them, cuck. Tell me what you see.”

My voice shook as I stammered, “Yours is… huge, thick, powerful. Mine’s… small, pathetic, a clit dick.” He laughed, a cruel, booming sound that echoed in the basement. “Louder,” he barked, yanking the chain. “And say it right.”

“I’m your clit dick cuck bitch!” I shouted, my face burning with shame. He smirked, pleased, but not satisfied. “Again,” he demanded, his hand squeezing my jaw. “I’m your clit dick cuck bitch!” I repeated, louder, my voice cracking. “Again!” he roared, and I chanted it three more times, each one more humiliating, my submission sinking deeper as his eyes gleamed with sadistic delight.

He shoved me onto a padded bench, positioning me on all fours, the chain dangling heavily from my neck. Instead of lube, he spat into his hand, rubbing it over his massive cock with a wicked grin. “No lube tonight, cuck,” he said. “You fucked up, so you take the pain.” He spat again, directly onto my hole, the warm slickness barely softening what was to come. As he pushed into me, the burn was unbearable, a new level of agony as his spit-slicked cock tore into me. I gasped, my body seizing, the raw friction making every inch feel like fire. My hole clenched, struggling against his unrelenting size, but he didn’t slow down, his thrusts brutal and deliberate.

“Fuck, you’re tighter like this,” he growled, his hands gripping my hips, the chain clinking with every movement. My cock leaked uncontrollably, shrinking further under the intensity, a steady drip of precum pooling beneath me. He reached around, flicking my pathetic dick with his fingers, his laughter dark and mocking. “Still leaking, huh? Chant it again, bitch.”

“I’m your clit dick cuck bitch!” I cried out, the words spilling out through gritted teeth as the pain in my hole intensified. He yanked the chain, choking me slightly, forcing me to repeat it twice more, each chant fueling his excitement, his thrusts growing harder, feeding off my torment.

His dominance was suffocating, his spit-slicked cock claiming me with every punishing stroke, the lack of lube amplifying every sensation to a torturous peak. “You don’t forget my collar again,” he snarled, slapping my ass hard enough to leave a welt. “You’re my bitch, and you’ll wear what I give you.” The chain tightened, my vision swimming as he fucked me harder, his grunts filling the room, his hairy chest pressed against my back, radiating heat and power.

When he came, it was with a primal roar, his release flooding me, the warmth a stark contrast to the searing pain. He pulled out slowly, his cock still massive, glistening with spit and triumph. He yanked the chain one last time, forcing me to my knees before him. “Look at your alpha,” he said, stroking his cock inches from my face. “Say it one more time.”

“I’m your clit dick cuck bitch,” I whispered, broken and raw, my body trembling from the ordeal. He smirked, tossing me a rag. “Clean up and bring the collar next time, or it gets worse,” he said, his voice dripping with authority. I stumbled home, my hole burning, the chain’s weight still echoing in my mind, Dax’s mocking laughter and my own chanted submission binding me to him, my body and soul fully surrendered to his alpha’s claim.

 

[MAXXXX100]

The Alpha's Reminder - Part 4​

Days had passed since my last encounter with Dax, but my body still bore the marks of his dominance. My hole was sore, a constant ache that flared with every step, and if I coughed too hard, I could feel his cum still leaking from me, a humiliating reminder of his alpha claim. The memory of his massive, uncut cock and his mocking laughter haunted me, my shrunken cock twitching at the thought despite the pain. I was caught in a haze of shame and intoxication, unable to shake the hold he had over me.

At the public gym, I was mid-set, racking my weights, when I felt his presence before I saw him. Dax swaggered through the gym, his hulking frame drawing eyes as always, his tight shorts barely containing the bulge that had broken me. He was with his training buddy, a equally jacked guy who laughed too loudly at Dax’s jokes, but Dax’s eyes were on me, dark and predatory. He approached, leaning in close, his breath hot against my ear as his buddy lingered just out of earshot. “Tonight, my private gym, 9 p.m.,” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through me. “And don’t forget your collar, bitch. I want everyone to know you’re mine.” His words were a command, his tone leaving no room for defiance, and I nodded, my pulse racing.

In my rush to get to his private gym on time, I scrambled out the door, my mind a mess of nerves and anticipation. The collar—the leather strap he’d fastened around my neck last time, a symbol of my submission—slipped my mind entirely. I realized my mistake halfway there, but it was too late to turn back. I arrived at his basement gym at 9 p.m. sharp, my heart pounding, knowing I’d fucked up.

The air in Dax’s private gym was thick with the familiar scent of rubber and sweat, but tonight it carried an edge of menace that made my stomach churn. Dax stood in the center, shirtless, his massive physique gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His dark eyes locked onto me the moment I stepped inside, his gaze sharp and unforgiving. “You’re late,” he growled, though I was right on time. His voice was a low rumble, laced with authority that made my knees weak. He stepped closer, his hulking frame dwarfing me, his chest hair matted with sweat, his shorts barely containing the bulge that had haunted my thoughts for days.

“Where’s the collar?” he demanded, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. I stammered, my mouth dry, trying to explain that I’d forgotten it in my rush, but his eyes narrowed, silencing me. “You don’t forget my orders,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “You don’t decide what you wear. I do.” He closed the distance between us, his heat overwhelming, and grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You think you can disrespect me? You think you’re anything but my bitch?”

Before I could respond, he shoved me toward a padded bench, his strength effortless and absolute. “Strip,” he ordered, his eyes glinting with a cruel edge. I hesitated, and his hand shot out, grabbing my shirt and tearing it off in one swift motion, the fabric ripping like paper. “Now,” he barked, and I scrambled to obey, my hands shaking as I shed my clothes. Naked and exposed, I stood before him, my body trembling under his scrutiny. His gaze lingered on my cock, already shrinking under his dominance, and he sneered. “Still leaking like a bitch, huh? That little clit’s never gonna measure up.”

He circled me like a predator, his massive frame radiating power. “You disobeyed me,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “No collar, no respect. You need to learn your place.” He grabbed a length of rope from a nearby rack, his movements deliberate, and bound my wrists behind my back with quick, practiced knots. The rope bit into my skin, tight enough to sting but not enough to cut. He pushed me to my knees, my face inches from the concrete floor, and I felt his presence looming over me.

“You’re gonna feel this,” he growled, unzipping his shorts. His cock sprang free, as massive and intimidating as I remembered, thick and veined, the uncut head already glistening. My hole clenched instinctively, still raw from our last encounter, and I braced for the pain I knew was coming. But Dax had other plans. “No lube for disobedient bitches,” he said, spitting into his hand and smearing it over his cock. “You take it raw, and you take it hard.”

He grabbed my hips, positioning me over the bench, my bound wrists leaving me helpless. The first thrust was brutal, a searing invasion that tore a gasp from my throat. My hole, still tender from days ago, burned as he forced his way in, his girth stretching me beyond my limits. I whimpered, the pain overwhelming, but Dax only laughed, a deep, mocking sound that sent a shiver through me. “Cry all you want,” he taunted, his thrusts relentless, each one a punishment for my defiance. “This is what happens when you forget who owns you.”

His hands gripped my hips, bruising me as he pounded into me, his cock a weapon of dominance that claimed every inch of my being. My own cock leaked pathetically, shrinking further under his assault, and he noticed, his fingers brushing against it with a cruel chuckle. “Look at this useless thing,” he mocked, smearing my precum across my thighs. “You’re nothing but a hole for me.” The humiliation burned as hot as the pain, my body trembling with a twisted mix of agony and submission.

He didn’t let up, his thrusts growing harder, his grunts louder, feeding off my discomfort. “You don’t get to cum,” he growled, his voice thick with control. “You don’t get to enjoy this. This is for me.” His pace quickened, his massive frame shuddering as he neared his climax. With a primal roar, he came, flooding me with his seed, the heat of it searing my raw insides. I felt it leak out, a humiliating reminder of his power, as he pulled out with a satisfied grunt.

But he wasn’t done. “You don’t get to clean up,” he said, his voice cold. He untied my wrists but grabbed my torn shirt, tossing it at me. “Get out. Walk home like that, with my cum dripping out of you. Let everyone know what you are.” I opened my mouth to protest, but his glare silenced me. “Move,” he barked, and I stumbled to my feet, my legs shaky, my hole throbbing, his seed already leaking down my thighs. I pulled on what was left of my clothes, the fabric clinging to my sweat-soaked skin, and staggered toward the door.

As I reached the exit, he called after me, his voice dripping with dark promise. “Next time, you wear the collar, or this’ll feel like mercy.” I stumbled into the night, the cool air doing nothing to ease the burn of my humiliation. His cum continued to leak from me, a constant reminder of his dominance, and I knew I’d be back—collar or no collar—because Dax’s hold over me was absolute, and I was too broken to resist.

 

[MAXXXX100]

The Alpha's Escalation - Part 5​

Days had passed since my last encounter with Dax, my body still aching from his brutal dominance, his cum leaking from me with every cough, a constant reminder of my submission. This time, I didn’t dare forget the collar. The leather strap, heavy with his claim, sat snug around my neck as I entered his private gym at 9 p.m., my heart pounding with dread and anticipation. The basement was a familiar dungeon of concrete and iron, the air thick with rubber and testosterone, and Dax stood in the center, shirtless, his massive physique gleaming under the dim lights, his dark eyes locking onto me with predatory intent.

“You remembered,” he said, his voice a low growl, his gaze flicking to the collar with a smirk of approval. “Good bitch. But don’t think it saves you. It’s time for the next step.” His tone was heavy with promise, and my stomach twisted, knowing whatever he had planned would push me further into his control. He stepped closer, his hulking frame towering over me, his chest hair matted with sweat, his shorts straining against the massive bulge that had broken me before.

“Strip,” he ordered, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. I obeyed, my hands trembling as I shed my clothes, the collar tight around my neck as I stood naked before him. He circled me, his gaze raking over my body, lingering on my shrunken cock, already leaking under his dominance. “Look at that tiny clit dick,” he laughed, his deep voice echoing in the basement. “Pathetic. You’re not a man—you’re my toy.” The humiliation burned, my cock shrinking further as he mocked me, my body betraying me with every drip of precum.

He shoved me onto a padded bench, forcing me onto my back, my legs spread, my tiny cock exposed and vulnerable. “Stay there,” he growled, his massive frame looming as he unzipped his shorts, revealing his thick, uncut cock, already hard and glistening. He positioned himself between my legs, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “You’re gonna take this, cuck,” he said, spitting into his hand and slicking himself up. The first thrust was brutal, his girth tearing into my still-sore hole, the pain searing as I gasped and clenched. His laughter filled the room, mocking my whimpers as he pounded into me, each thrust a claim of ownership.

Mid-thrust, he grabbed his phone from a nearby table, aiming it at me. “Smile for the camera, bitch,” he sneered, snapping photos as I lay there, impaled and helpless, my tiny cock leaking pathetically. “No, please,” I begged, my voice cracking, panic rising as I imagined those photos spreading. He dismissed my pleas with a cold laugh. “You don’t get a say. You’re mine.” His thrusts grew harder, his phone clicking away, capturing my humiliation as his cock stretched me to my limits, the pain blurring into a twisted submission.

He set the phone down, his eyes glinting with a new, darker intent. He reached for a container of grease, dipping his massive hand and forearm into it, the slick shine catching the light. “Time to open you up proper,” he said, chuckling to himself, his voice dripping with menace. “You have no rights, cuck. You’re just a hole.” My heart raced, fear flooding me as he positioned his greased hand at my already raw entrance. I screamed as he pushed in, his fingers stretching me beyond what I thought possible, the pain excruciating as he worked his hand deeper, laughing at my cries. “Scream all you want,” he taunted. “It just makes me harder.”

My body betrayed me again, my tiny cock twitching and then, to my horror, pissing uncontrollably, a warm stream spilling over my thighs. Dax roared with laughter, his hand relentless inside me. “Look at you, pissing yourself like a fucking baby,” he mocked. “This clit dick can’t handle a real man.” His demeaning jokes cut deeper than the pain, my humiliation complete as he stretched me open, his forearm sinking in, his dominance absolute. The agony was unbearable, but his excitement fed off my suffering, his laughter echoing as he pushed me to my breaking point.

When he finally pulled his hand out, I was a trembling mess, my hole gaping and raw. He wasn’t done. He thrust his cock back into me, his pace brutal, and with a primal roar, he came, pumping me full of his seed, the heat searing my insides. He pulled out, his cum leaking from me, mixing with the grease and my own piss, a degrading mess that marked me as his. “Get out,” he said, tossing me my clothes, his voice cold. “Go home like that. Let the world see what you are.”

I stumbled to my feet, my body ripped apart, the collar heavy around my neck. I pulled on my clothes, the fabric clinging to my sweat-soaked, cum-drenched skin, and staggered into the night. The pain was unbearable, my hole throbbing, my mind reeling with humiliation and questions. How had this happened? How had I let him take me this far? But deep down, I knew the truth: I had no choice. I was his cuck bitch, broken and bound to his will, the photos on his phone a permanent chain I could never escape.

 

[MAXXXX100]

The Alpha's Sharing - Part 6​

The days following my last encounter with Dax were a haze of pain and dread, my body barely recovering, my mind trapped in a cycle of shame and fear. The collar, now a constant around my neck, was a heavy reminder of his ownership, its leather biting into my skin as I went about my life, pretending to be normal. I had worked out I could hide it under high-collar shirts, the fabric concealing the strap that marked me as his, letting me blend into the world outside while carrying his claim in secret. But nothing was normal. His texts came sporadically, each one a jolt of panic, a reminder of the photos he held—proof of my submission, my humiliation, my tiny cock leaking under his dominance. Each message was a command, and I obeyed, knowing the consequences of defiance.

Friday night, 9 p.m., I returned to his private gym, the basement air thick with the familiar stench of rubber and sweat. My hole, still sore from his last assault, throbbed as I descended the stairs, the collar tight under my high-collar shirt, my body trembling. Dax was waiting, his massive frame shirtless and glistening, his training buddy, Marcus, at his side. Marcus was a beast of a man, his physique a chiseled masterpiece of raw power. His broad shoulders rippled with thick, corded muscles, veins snaking across his boulder-like deltoids. His pecs were slabs of granite, dusted with coarse black hair that trailed down to a sculpted eight-pack, each ab defined like it was carved from stone. His biceps bulged with every movement, the size of grapefruits, twitching with latent strength, and his thighs, thick as tree trunks, strained against his tight shorts, the fabric barely containing his raw masculinity.

“Look who’s back,” Dax sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “The cuck bitch who pisses himself.” Marcus’s lips curled into a cruel grin, his dark eyes raking over me like I was prey, his square jaw set with sadistic amusement. “This the one you broke?” he asked, stepping closer, his bulk intimidating, his shorts bulging with a massive outline. I shrank under their gazes, my cock already shrinking, leaking precum in betrayal. Dax nodded, his smirk widening. “Yeah, but we’re taking it further tonight. Time to make this hole understand its place.”

“Strip,” Dax barked, and I obeyed, my hands shaking as I shed my clothes, the collar now exposed, my only covering. They circled me, their eyes predatory, Dax’s hand brushing the leather strap around my neck. “Good bitch,” he said, his voice low. “But you’re not just mine tonight.” My heart sank as Marcus stepped forward, unzipping his shorts, revealing a cock that was a weapon in its own right. It was massive, rivaling Dax’s in size but distinct in its menace. Where Dax’s cock was thick and veiny, with a heavy foreskin that carried a musky scent, Marcus’s was smoother, the skin taut and almost polished, a deep brown shaft that curved slightly upward, ending in a flared, bulbous head that glistened with precum. His foreskin was tighter, barely retracting, giving it a sleeker look compared to Dax’s raw, rugged thickness. Marcus’s balls hung lower, heavy and full, swinging slightly as he stroked himself, the sight both intimidating and mesmerizing.

“You’re gonna serve us both,” Dax said, his tone final. “No rights, no choice.” They forced me to my knees, the cold concrete biting into my skin. Dax grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, his cock in his hand, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the musky head. “Open,” he growled, and I did, gagging as he shoved it in, the taste of dick cheese overwhelming, his girth stretching my throat. Marcus watched, stroking his sleek, curved cock, his laughter mixing with Dax’s as I choked and sputtered. “Swallow it, cuck,” Marcus taunted, stepping closer, his cock brushing my cheek, its smooth texture a stark contrast to Dax’s rougher, veiny surface. “You’re gonna take both.”

They took turns, forcing their cocks into my mouth, one after the other, my jaw aching, my throat raw. Dax’s phone was out again, snapping photos as I gagged, tears streaming down my face, my tiny cock dripping pathetically. “Look at this slut,” Dax said, showing Marcus the screen. “Perfect for sharing.” My pleas were muffled, useless, as they laughed, their dominance absolute. When they tired of my mouth, they shoved me onto a bench, my legs spread, my hole exposed.

Dax greased up his hand again, the slick sound making me flinch. “You thought last time was bad?” he said, his voice dark. “This is your life now.” His fingers pushed in, stretching my raw hole, the pain searing as I screamed. Marcus watched, stroking his curved cock, his eyes gleaming. “Fuck, that’s tight,” he said, and Dax laughed, pushing deeper, his forearm sinking in as I writhed, my body betraying me with another humiliating stream of piss. They roared with laughter, Marcus slapping my leaking cock, calling it a “useless clit.”

Then Marcus took his turn, his cock replacing Dax’s hand, thrusting into my gaping hole with brutal force. His curved shaft hit different angles, the flared head dragging against my insides, intensifying the pain and strange, unwanted pleasure. The pain was blinding, my screams echoing as they mocked me, Dax’s phone capturing every moment. “You’re nothing,” Dax said, his voice cold as Marcus pounded me. “Just a hole for real men.” When Marcus came, his seed filled me, mixing with Dax’s from before, leaking out as they pulled me off the bench, tossing me to the floor.

Dax straddled my chest, jerking himself off, his cum shooting across my face, hot and sticky, dripping into my eyes. “Leave it,” he ordered, as I reached to wipe it away. Marcus added his own load, their cum mixing, marking me as theirs. They stood over me, laughing, as I lay there, broken, my hole throbbing, my body a mess of sweat, cum, and piss.

“Get out,” Dax said, tossing me my clothes. “And keep that collar on. You’re on call now.” I stumbled into the night, the cum drying on my face, the collar heavy under my high-collar shirt, their laughter echoing in my mind. The photos, the pain, the humiliation—they owned me, and I knew there was no escape. Each step home was a reminder: I was their cuck bitch, forever bound to their dominion.

 

[tommy69]

Great story

 

[MAXXXX100]

The Alpha's Alone - Part 7​

Days had passed since my last encounter with Dax, my body still aching from his brutal dominance, his cum leaking from me with every cough, a constant reminder of my submission. This time, I didn’t dare forget the collar. The leather strap, heavy with his claim, sat snug around my neck as I entered his private gym at 9 p.m., my heart pounding with dread and anticipation. The basement was a familiar dungeon of concrete and iron, the air thick with rubber and testosterone, and Dax stood in the center, shirtless, his massive physique gleaming under the dim lights, his dark eyes locking onto me with predatory intent.

“You remembered,” he said, his voice a low growl, his gaze flicking to the collar with a smirk of approval. “Good bitch. But don’t think it saves you. It’s time for the next step.” His tone was heavy with promise, and my stomach twisted, knowing whatever he had planned would push me further into his control. He stepped closer, his hulking frame towering over me, his chest hair matted with sweat, his shorts straining against the massive bulge that had broken me before.

“Strip,” he ordered, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. I obeyed, my hands trembling as I shed my clothes, the collar tight around my neck as I stood naked before him. He circled me, his gaze raking over my body, lingering on my shrunken cock, already leaking under his dominance. “Look at that tiny clit dick,” he laughed, his deep voice echoing in the basement. “Pathetic. You’re not a man—you’re my toy.” The humiliation burned, my cock shrinking further as he mocked me, my body betraying me with every drip of precum.

He shoved me onto a padded bench, forcing me onto my back, my legs spread, my tiny cock exposed and vulnerable. “Stay there,” he growled, his massive frame looming as he unzipped his shorts, revealing his thick, uncut cock, already hard and glistening. He positioned himself between my legs, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “You’re gonna take this, cuck,” he said, spitting into his hand and slicking himself up. The first thrust was brutal, his girth tearing into my still-sore hole, the pain searing as I gasped and clenched. His laughter filled the room, mocking my whimpers as he pounded into me, each thrust a claim of ownership.

Mid-thrust, he grabbed his phone from a nearby table, aiming it at me. “Smile for the camera, bitch,” he sneered, snapping photos as I lay there, impaled and helpless, my tiny cock leaking pathetically. “No, please,” I begged, my voice cracking, panic rising as I imagined those photos spreading. He dismissed my pleas with a cold laugh. “You don’t get a say. You’re mine.” His thrusts grew harder, his phone clicking away, capturing my humiliation as his cock stretched me to my limits, the pain blurring into a twisted submission.

He set the phone down, his eyes glinting with a new, darker intent. He reached for a container of grease, dipping his massive hand and forearm into it, the slick shine catching the light. “Time to open you up proper,” he said, chuckling to himself, his voice dripping with menace. “You have no rights, cuck. You’re just a hole.” My heart raced, fear flooding me as he positioned his greased hand at my already raw entrance. I screamed as he pushed in, his fingers stretching me beyond what I thought possible, the pain excruciating as he worked his hand deeper, laughing at my cries. “Scream all you want,” he taunted. “It just makes me harder.”

My body betrayed me again, my tiny cock twitching and then, to my horror, pissing uncontrollably, a warm stream spilling over my thighs. Dax roared with laughter, his hand relentless inside me. “Look at you, pissing yourself like a fucking baby,” he mocked. “This clit dick can’t handle a real man.” His demeaning jokes cut deeper than the pain, my humiliation complete as he stretched me open, his forearm sinking in, his dominance absolute. The agony was unbearable, but his excitement fed off my suffering, his laughter echoing as he pushed me to my breaking point.

When he finally pulled his hand out, I was a trembling mess, my hole gaping and raw. He wasn’t done. He thrust his cock back into me, his pace brutal, and with a primal roar, he came, pumping me full of his seed, the heat searing my insides. He pulled out, his cum leaking from me, mixing with the grease and my own piss, a degrading mess that marked me as his. “Get out,” he said, tossing me my clothes, his voice cold. “Go home like that. Let the world see what you are.”

I stumbled to my feet, my body ripped apart, the collar heavy around my neck. I pulled on my clothes, the fabric clinging to my sweat-soaked, cum-drenched skin, and staggered into the night. The pain was unbearable, my hole throbbing, my mind reeling with humiliation and questions. How had this happened? How had I let him take me this far? But deep down, I knew the truth: I had no choice. I was his cuck bitch, broken and bound to his will, the photos on his phone a permanent chain I could never escape.

 

[MAXXXX100]

The Alpha's Game - Part 8​

The days after Dax’s last assault were a torment of pain and dread, the collar around my neck a constant, suffocating reminder of my submission. My body was a wreck, my hole raw and leaking his cum with every step, a degrading secret I hid beneath my clothes. His texts came relentlessly, each one a stab of fear, the threat of those photos—my shame frozen in time—binding me to his will. I lived in constant terror of his next command, knowing resistance was futile.

Friday night, 9 p.m., his message hit: Meet us at the old warehouse on 5th. Wear the collar. Don’t fuck up. The new location sent ice through my veins. The warehouse district was a ghost town of crumbling buildings and shadowed alleys, far from the gym’s familiar hell. The shift felt like a descent into something darker, a new arena for their savagery. I pulled on a high-collar jacket to hide the leather strap, my hands trembling as I drove through the desolate streets, the city’s lights fading into the grim void.

The warehouse squatted ahead, a rusted shell of jagged metal and broken glass, reeking of dust and rot. I stepped inside, the cold gnawing at my skin, the collar biting into my neck. Dax and Marcus waited under a flickering fluorescent light, their massive frames radiating menace. Dax was shirtless, his hulking torso slick with sweat, his dark eyes burning with sadistic hunger. Marcus, a chiseled titan, wore a tight black tank top that clung to his granite pecs, his shorts straining against the obscene bulge of his curved cock. A table nearby held ropes, a metal chain, and a long, black cattle prod, its prongs gleaming with cruel promise.

“Cuck’s here,” Dax sneered, his voice booming in the cavernous space. “Time to play in our new shithole.” Marcus’s cruel grin spread, his eyes raking me like a predator sizing up a kill. “Gonna break this bitch proper tonight,” he growled, flexing his massive arms, his biceps like boulders. My cock shriveled, leaking precum in shameful betrayal, my body already surrendering.

“Strip,” Dax barked, his tone a whip. I obeyed, shedding my clothes until I stood naked, the collar tight around my neck, my only shield. The cold air stung, my tiny cock twitching under their predatory stares. Dax grabbed the collar, yanking me close, his breath hot and rancid. “This ain’t the gym, bitch. This is our slaughterhouse.” He shoved me toward Marcus, who snatched the cattle prod, its prongs crackling with a low buzz as he tested it. My stomach lurched, my legs buckling.

They forced me to my knees on the jagged concrete, the pain biting into my skin. Dax unzipped his shorts, his thick, uncut cock springing free, its musky stench hitting me as he peeled back the foreskin. “Open,” he snarled, thrusting into my throat, his girth choking me as I gagged. Marcus tugged the chain clipped to my collar, dragging me across the floor like a dog, my knees scraping as I struggled to keep up, Dax’s cock relentless in my mouth. Their laughter echoed, a brutal chorus of dominance.

They hauled me to a rusted metal frame, a relic of the warehouse’s past, and bound my wrists with ropes, stretching my body taut, my legs splayed, my hole exposed. Marcus jabbed the cattle prod into my ribs, the electric shock searing through me, a white-hot agony that ripped a scream from my throat. “Shut up,” he growled, zapping me again, my body convulsing as Dax laughed, his phone out, snapping photos of my writhing, leaking form. “Pathetic fucking clit dick,” Dax taunted, slapping my tiny cock, my precum dripping like a broken faucet.

“Beg for it,” Marcus demanded, his voice a low rumble. I stammered, sobbing, but another shock scorched my thigh, my scream echoing. “Louder!” Dax roared, nodding to Marcus, who jammed the prod into my side, the pain blinding. “Please, fuck me!” I wailed, tears streaming, my voice shattered. Marcus spat on his curved cock, its flared head gleaming, and positioned himself behind me. The first thrust was a brutal invasion, his thick, smooth shaft splitting me open, the flared head scraping my raw insides like a blade. Each movement was a calculated assault, his cock’s upward curve hitting deep, unfamiliar angles, sending waves of searing pain through my core. My hole clenched involuntarily, amplifying the agony, my body trembling as he pounded with relentless force, his hips slamming against me, the chain on my collar rattling with every brutal thrust. The sensation was like being torn apart, my insides stretched beyond endurance, a burning pressure that made me feel like I was splitting in two.

Dax watched, stroking his thick, veiny cock, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. When Marcus pulled out, leaving my hole gaping and throbbing, Dax took his place without pause. His cock was different—thicker, rougher, its heavy foreskin adding a gritty texture that ground against my torn entrance. Each thrust felt like a battering ram, his sheer girth stretching me to the brink, the pain a deep, pulsing fire that radiated through my pelvis. His movements were slower but heavier, each slam deliberate, driving deeper, his balls slapping against me with a sickening rhythm. The contrast between their cocks was torturous—Marcus’s sleek, curved shaft had carved me open with precision, while Dax’s rugged thickness obliterated what was left, his musky scent filling my senses as he claimed me. My screams were hoarse, my body shaking, my tiny cock leaking and pissing uncontrollably, a warm stream pooling beneath me as they laughed, Marcus zapping my chest with the prod, the shocks syncing with Dax’s thrusts, each jolt a lightning strike that made my muscles seize.

They swapped again, Marcus’s cock returning, its flared head dragging against my ravaged insides, reigniting the pain as he fucked me with renewed ferocity. The sensation was a relentless cycle of sharp, stabbing agony and a strange, unwanted pressure that built in my gut, my body betraying me with every thrust. Dax’s phone clicked, capturing my degradation, my face contorted in pain and shame, my hole a ruined mess. Marcus grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. “You’re my piss pot tonight,” he growled, pulling out and aiming his cock at my gaping hole. A hot, acrid stream flooded me, his piss burning my torn insides, the humiliating fullness overwhelming as he filled me to the brim, the excess spilling out, mixing with the cum and piss on the floor. Another shock from the prod silenced my whimpers, my body convulsing as he laughed, zapping me for flinching. “Hold it in, bitch,” he ordered, his eyes cruel.

When they were done, Dax straddled my chest, jerking off, his cum exploding across my face, hot and sticky, burning my eyes. Marcus added his load, their seed mixing, marking me as theirs. They untied me, letting me collapse into the puddle of filth, my body a broken heap. “Get out,” Dax spat, tossing me my clothes. “Keep that collar on. You’re our dog.”

I stumbled to my feet, my hole throbbing, Marcus’s piss sloshing inside me, a sickening weight in my gut. I pulled on my clothes, the fabric clinging to my sweat-soaked, cum-smeared skin, the collar heavy under my jacket. As I staggered to my car, the pressure became unbearable. Halfway home, Marcus’s piss erupted from my hole, a sudden, uncontrollable flood soaking my pants, the warm, humiliating rush making me look like a girl who’d wet herself. I sobbed, the collar choking me, the photos on Dax’s phone a permanent leash. I was their cuck bitch, their toy, their piss pot—trapped in their brutal game, forever bound to their merciless will.

 

[Alex472]

El juego del Alfa - Parte 8​

Los días después del último asalto de Dax fueron un tormento de dolor y terror. El collar alrededor de mi cuello era un recordatorio constante y sofocante de mi sumisión. Mi cuerpo era un desastre, mi agujero en carne viva, goteando su semen a cada paso, un secreto degradante que ocultaba bajo la ropa. Sus mensajes llegaban sin parar, cada uno una punzada de miedo, la amenaza de esas fotos —mi vergüenza congelada en el tiempo— me ataba a su voluntad. Vivía con el terror constante de su próxima orden, sabiendo que resistirme era inútil.

El viernes por la noche, a las 9 pm, llegó su mensaje: Nos vemos en el viejo almacén de la Quinta Avenida. Ponte el cuello. No la cagues. La nueva ubicación me heló la sangre. El distrito de almacenes era un pueblo fantasma de edificios derruidos y callejones sombríos, lejos del infierno familiar del gimnasio. El turno se sintió como un descenso a algo más oscuro, un nuevo escenario para su salvajismo. Me puse una chaqueta de cuello alto para ocultar la correa de cuero; Me temblaban las manos mientras conducía por las calles desoladas, mientras las luces de la ciudad se desvanecían en el vacío sombrío.

El almacén se extendía frente a mí, una carcasa oxidada de metal dentado y cristales rotos, que apestaba a polvo y podredumbre. Entré, con el frío carcomiéndome la piel, el collar clavándose en mi cuello. Dax y Marcus esperaban bajo una luz fluorescente parpadeante; sus enormes cuerpos irradiaban amenaza. Dax estaba sin camisa, su enorme torso cubierto de sudor, sus ojos oscuros ardían con una ansia sádica. Marcus, un titán cincelado, llevaba una ajustada camiseta negra sin mangas que se ceñía a sus pectorales de granito, y sus pantalones cortos tensaban contra el obsceno bulto de su pene curvado. Una mesa cercana que contenía cuerdas, una cadena de metal y una larga picana negra, cuyas puntas brillaban con una cruel promesa.

"Ya llegó Cuck", se burló Dax, su voz resonando en el espacio cavernoso. "Hora de jugar en nuestro nuevo agujero". La cruel sonrisa de Marcus se extiende, sus ojos escrutándome como un depredador al acecho. "Voy a romperle la cabeza a esta zorra esta noche", gruñó, flexionando sus enormes brazos, sus bíceps como rocas. Mi polla se encogió, goteando líquido preseminal en una vergonzosa traición, mi cuerpo ya se rendía.

—Desnúdate —ladró Dax con un tono cortante. Obedecí, quitándome la ropa hasta quedar desnuda, con el collar apretado alrededor del cuello, mi único escudo. El aire frío me picaba, mi pequeña polla se contraía bajo sus miradas depredadoras. Dax me agarró del collar, acercándome a él con fuerza, su aliento caliente y rancio. —Esto no es el gimnasio, zorra. Este es nuestro matadero. —Me empujó hacia Marcus, quien agarró la picana eléctrica, cuyas púas crujieron con un zumbido sordo mientras la probaba. Sentí un vuelco en el estómago y me flaquearon las piernas.

Me obligaron a arrodillarme sobre el hormigón irregular, con el dolor atravesándome la piel. Dax se bajó la cremallera de los pantalones cortos; su polla gruesa e incircuncisa saltó, y su hedor almizclado me tocó al retirar el prepucio. «Ábrete», gruñó, penetrando en mi garganta; su circunferencia me ahogaba mientras me atragantaba. Marcus tiró de la cadena sujeta a mi collar, arrastrándome por el suelo como un perro. Mis rodillas raspaban mientras luchaba por mantener el ritmo, con la polla de Dax implacable en mi boca. Sus risas resonaron, un coro brutal de dominio.

Me arrastraron hasta una estructura metálica oxidada, una reliquia del pasado del almacén, y me ataron las muñecas con cuerdas, tensando mi cuerpo, con las piernas abiertas, mi año al descubierto. Marcus me clavó la picana en las costillas; la descarga eléctrica me quemó, una agonía candente que me arrancó un grito de la garganta. "Cállate", gruñó, electrocutándome de nuevo. Mi cuerpo se convulsionaba mientras Dax reía, sacando el móvil, sacando fotos de mi cuerpo retorciéndose y goteando. "Patético clítoris", se burló Dax, dándome una palmada en mi pequeño pene, mientras mi líquido preseminal goteaba como un grifo roto.

"Ruega por ello", exigió Marcus, su voz era un murmullo bajo. Tartamudeé, sollozando, pero otra descarga me quemó el muslo, mi grito resonó. "¡Más fuerte!", rugió Dax, asintiendo a Marcus, quien me clavó la picana en el costado, el dolor cegador. "¡Por favor, fóllame!", gemí, con lágrimas corriendo, mi voz entrecortada. Marcus escupió en su polla curvada, su cabeza ensanchada reluciendo, y se colocó detrás de mí. La primera embestida fue una invasión brutal, su horrible y liso eje me partió en dos, la cabeza ensanchada raspando mis entrañas en carne viva como una cuchilla. Cada movimiento era un asalto calculado, la curva ascendente de su polla golpeando ángulos profundos y desconocidos, enviando oleadas de dolor abrasador a través de mi centro. Mi agujero se apretó involuntariamente, amplificando la agonía, mi cuerpo temblaba mientras él embestía con fuerza implacable, sus caderas golpeando contra mí, la cadena de mi collar vibraba con cada embestida brutal. La sensación era como si me desgarraran, mis entrañas se estiraron más allá de lo soportable, una presión ardiente que me hizo sentir como si me partiera en dos.

Dax observaba, acariciando su gruesa y venosa verga, con los ojos brillando de placer sádico. Cuando Marcus se retiró, dejando mi agujero abierto y palpitante, Dax ocupó su lugar sin dudarlo. Su verga era diferente: más gruesa, más áspera, su pesado prepucio añadía una textura áspera que rozaba mi entrada desgarrada. Cada embestida se sentía como un ariete, su enorme circunferencia me estiraba hasta el límite, el dolor, un fuego profundo y palpitante que irradiaba por mi pelvis. Sus movimientos eran más lentos pero más fuertes, cada embestida deliberada, penetrando más profundamente, sus testículos golpeando contra mí con un ritmo enfermizo. El contraste entre sus vergas era tortuoso: la verga lisa y curva abierta de Marcus me había con precisión, mientras que el robusto grosor de Dax arrasaba con lo que quedaba, su aroma almizclado llenaba mis sentidos mientras me reclamaba. Mis gritos eran roncos, mi cuerpo temblaba, mi pequeña polla goteaba y orinaba sin control, una corriente cálida se acumulaba debajo de mí mientras se reían, Marcus golpeando mi pecho con la picana, las descargas se sincronizaban con las embestidas de Dax, cada sacudida era un rayo que hacía que mis músculos se tensaran.

Intercambiaron de nuevo, la polla de Marcus regresó, su cabeza ensanchada arrastrándose contra mis entrañas destrozadas, reavivando el dolor mientras me follaba con renovada ferocidad. La sensación era un ciclo implacable de agonía aguda y punzante y una extraña e indeseada presión que se acumulaba en mis entrañas, mi cuerpo traicionándome con cada embestida. El teléfono de Dax hizo clic, capturando mi degradación, mi rostro contorsionado por el dolor y la vergüenza, mi agujero hecho un desastre. Marcus me agarró del pelo, tirando de mi cabeza hacia atrás. "Eres mi orinal esta noche", gruñó, saliendo y apuntando su polla abierta a mi agujero. Un chorro caliente y acre me inundó, su orina quemando mis entrañas desgarradas, la humillante plenitud abrumando mientras me llenaba hasta el borde, el exceso derramándose, mezclándose con el semen y la orina en el suelo. Otra descarga de la picana silenció mis gemidos, mi cuerpo convulsionó mientras él reía, castigándome por estremecerme. —Aguanta, perra —ordenó con una mirada cruel.

Cuando terminaron, Dax se sentó a horcajadas sobre mi pecho, masturbándose, y su semen explotó en mi cara, caliente y pegajoso, quemándome los ojos. Marcus añadió su semen, mezclándose, marcándome como suya. Me desataron, dejándome caer en el charco de suciedad, con mi cuerpo hecho un montón de pedazos. "Fuera", espetó Dax, lanzándome la ropa. "No te quites el collar. Eres nuestro perro".

Me puse de pie tambaleándome, con el agujero latiendo, la orina de Marcus chapoteando dentro de mí, un peso nauseabundo en el estómago. Me puse la ropa, la tela pegada a mi piel empapada de sudor y semen, el cuello pesado bajo mi chaqueta. Mientras me tambaleaba hacia mi coche, la presión se volvió insoportable. A medio camino a casa, la orina de Marcus brotó de mi agujero, un torrente repentino e incontrolable que me empapó los pantalones, la cálida y humillante oleada me hizo parecer una chica que se había orinado encima. Sollocé, el collar me ahogaba, las fotos en el teléfono de Dax eran una correa permanente. Yo era su zorra, su juguete, su orinal, atrapada en su juego brutal, atada para siempre a su voluntad despiadada.

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