verbalBTTM

More is coming, been thinking up a few things to complete the weekend.

Chapter 6 After a respectable number of men have blessed our holes with their relentless cocks, the four of us—danny, harry, arthur, and I—collapse onto the sticky, grime-slicked floor, forming a depraved, impassable circle. Our hungry mouths dive into each other’s holes, sucking with a feral intensity that echoes through the musky labyrinth. My tongue burrows deep into my best friend’s ass, chasing the hard-to-reach treasure of cum and sweat buried in his tender depths. Our bodies quiver with each ravenous lick and slurp, the air thick with the wet sounds of our debauchery. I hear Master’s heavy breathing, a low, primal growl, as he watches us devour one another like starved animals in this sleazy pit. My eyes flick upward, catching Master and Dom Igor stroking their thick, throbbing cocks, their gazes locked on our writhing circle. They notice my desperate glance and exchange a wicked smile. Master’s voice cuts through the haze, “See what I mean.” Dom Igor, his eyes gleaming with lustful confirmation, murmurs, “We should…” as their voices drop to a conspiratorial whisper, plotting something filthy. My stare lingers, my slender twink frame trembling with anticipation, yearning for what these two beasts might do to me. Master interrupts our butt-munching faggot circle, yanking arthur from the floor with a possessive grip. He drags him to a chaise lounge, ready to savor his tender, now broken-in hole. Dom Igor follows, a predatory grin splitting his face. Master settles into the chair, holding arthur up by his armpits like a rag-doll, slowly impaling him on his beastly, lube-slicked cock. arthur’s hole yields with a soft whimper, swallowing Master’s girth as Dom Igor binds each of arthur’s wrists with leather restraints and coarse rope, fastening them to hooks in the ceiling above. His arms are spread wide, forcing his sweat-soaked body into complete surrender, a helpless offering to these insatiable men in the flickering, cum-stained glow of the room. Meanwhile, danny, harry, and I remain on the floor, our mouths still working each other’s holes, tongues plunging deeper, driven by a insatiable hunger. The room reeks of sex and surrender, our moans blending with arthur’s gasps as Master and Dom Igor take turns ravaging his trembling frame. My eyes dart back to them, my body aching to be next, to be torn apart and claimed in this grimy paradise. Thank you, oh Lord, for guiding me to this sleazy heaven, where my parents think I’m camping. Happy fucking birthday to me. Then a Mentor and an Omega stalk over, their eyes locked on harry as if he’s their prize in this sordid game. They snatch him from our filthy circle, his body still trembling from the tongue-fucking, and whisk him toward the Saint Andrew’s cross in the corner. The Mentor’s grin is all teeth, predatory and dripping with intent, while the Omega trails behind, clutching a bottle of poppers and a coil of leather straps. Another man, an Omega, kneels before me, slurping greedily on my cock, savoring every slick drop of my precum as it starts to ooze from the tip. His tongue swirls, desperate for more, while his eyes glaze over in submissive bliss. I glance over to see harry, bound tight to the Saint Andrew’s cross, leather cuffs biting into his wrists, held firm by a Mentor and an Omega. His boyfriend, arthur, is being manhandled, forced to impale himself on Master’s throbbing cock, hoisted up and down like a filthy rag-doll in a seedy backroom. The air’s thick with sweat and lust, and harry’s jealousy burns raw, his eyes narrowing as he watches his lover’s hole get claimed. Just then, Dom Igor saunters in, a predatory grin on his face, joining Master to ravage arthur’s trembling flesh, their hands groping every inch of his surrendered body, mind, and soul in a haze of depravity. The two men feast on arthur’s tight, young hole, slick with lube and desperation. One cock slams in as the other pulls out, a relentless rhythm that echoes through the dim, musky room. arthur, usually a strict top, now writhes in ecstasy, his wrists bound by coarse ropes hooked above, his face a mix of shame and surrender. These two beasts take him apart, forcing him to face harry while they fuck him like a cheap toy. His eyes roll back, whites flashing, drool spilling from his slack mouth as he howls, lost in the pleasure of being used. His body jerks limply, a plaything for their insatiable cocks, his soul laid bare in this sleazy dungeon of desire. Not one to let a faggot go to waste, a Mentor struts back over to harry's front side, a wicked glint in his eye, trailed by an Omega clutching a bottle of poppers. Helpless, harry’s cock twitches as the Mentor drops to his knees, swallowing him whole while probing his tight hole with a slick finger. harry, a lifelong bottom, surrenders instantly as the Omega forces poppers under his nose, the chemical rush melting his resistance. His hole clenches, then blooms, begging for more. The Mentor, reading his squirming body like a filthy book, widens his circling finger, then slides in two, then three, stretching harry’s eager ass in the flickering light of this sordid scene. Still unsatisfied, harry’s voice cracks as he begs, “I need more, sir, stretch my fuck hole, sir.” His plea is raw, like a wounded animal whining for release in this den of debauchery. The Mentor smirks, feeding him four fingers, but harry’s greedy hole demands more. Another hit of poppers from the Omega, and harry’s squatting now, thrusting desperately, trying to fuck himself on the Mentor’s hand like it’s his boyfriend’s cock. “Give me more, please, sir,” he screams, “I beg you, sir, feed my fuck hole, sir.” The Mentor, delighted by this pathetic display, tucks his thumb in, reshaping his hand into a slick, narrow wedge. With a generous slather of lube, he pushes deeper into harry’s quivering cavity, the room reeking of sex and surrender. A crowd gathers, drawn to harry’s depraved cries, watching his ass swallow the Mentor’s hand inch by filthy inch. His face twists in gleeful bliss, arms straining against the ropes, legs shaking uncontrollably. A deep, guttural exhale rips from his throat as the Mentor’s fist breaches him fully. harry’s torso juts forward, welcoming the invasion. Poppered up again by the Omega, he’s a drooling, shaking mess, his hole stretched wide, craving more. The Mentor twists his hand inside, and harry’s moans drown out the room’s sleazy hum. “Push your hole out, faggot, PUSH… PUSH FAGGOT!” the Mentor growls. harry’s head slams back, eyes and mouth wide, as if witnessing gods descent. His drool cascading onto his chest as a primal, bassy roar—OHHHHHH FUUUUUUUCKKKKKKK—echoes through the labyrinth, a sound so raw it barely seems human. No one can look away from this obscene spectacle. The Mentor’s fist is buried deep, harry’s body a twitching puppet on his wrist. The Mentor’s eyes lock with harry’s, a silent exchange of dominance and gratitude, before he twists his hand again, sending harry into another spiral of impossible bliss. Drool spills, his cock leaks, his body spasms to the rhythm of the Mentor’s slightest movements, played like a filthy fiddle in this grimy underworld. harry’s hole, stretched to its limits, knows this is where it belongs. Even danny’s massive cock, a beast that’d break most, couldn’t sate harry’s true hunger. Now, with his eyes vacant and his face screaming spiritual awakening, he chants, “FUCK MY CUNT OUT, SIR,” over and over, a glistening twink boy drenched in sweat and drool, reborn in the depths of his wrecked asshole. Driven by raw, wanton lust, harry’s rectum seems bottomless, a gaping void of need. Jealousy flickers as he glances at arthur, double-penetrated by Master and Dom Igor, their cocks pistoning like tools in a filthy workshop, arthur’s mind lost to the world. danny and I, watching this debauched scene, lock eyes, a silent pact that there’s more to conquer beyond our own horizons. We drop to the grimy floor, asses pressed together, feet touching, holes spread wide, begging for anyone to claim us in this sleazy pit of desire. An Omega, still licking the precum from my cock, notices our desperate display and dives in. One finger, then two, then three, my precum flowing like a faucet as he stretches me. He turns to danny for his own pepsi taste test, impaling himself on danny’s massive, ass-destroying cock, pushing until he hits a limit—danny snarls, refusing to accept. A towering figure, danny grabs the Omega’s head, commanding him to dig deeper into our fuck holes and down his cock. “Open our holes up, faggot, feed our cunts,” I chant in chorus, my hunger a gnawing void. An Alpha strides over, forcing poppers under our noses, the chemical burn fueling our depravity. A Beta joins, latching onto my needy cock, sucking with fervor. The four of us, lost in lust-fueled chaos, revel in our filth, a proud display for our brothers in this dank maze. Dom Marcus positions himself above me, as if doing push-ups, and rams his generous cock down my wanting throat, muffling my moans. He shoves the Beta aside, grabs my thighs, and yanks my legs back, circling a chubby lubed finger in my hole. Unsatisfied, he hoists me up like a sack of potatoes, planting me on all fours, my face buried in the Omega’s fucked open hole while my ass gapes for him. Lubed by my own slobber, he slams his cock in, each thrust a brutal jolt that leaves my limbs trembling and numb in this sleazy haze. danny, seeing me unravel, grips my wrists, holding me steady as I begin to shake apart. Dom Marcus is a god in this moment, giving me exactly what my filthy soul craves. (God, how I wish someone would piss on me.) My torso collapses to the cold floor, unable to do anything but take his unrelenting thrusts. Mindless, used, drooling into a puddle of my own spit, I mumble gibberish, content in my blissful ruin. Then comes the final thrust—a torrential flood of hot, thick cum surges into me, pulsing with his heartbeat, searing my insides with liquid fire. Each spurt stretches me further, my muscles clenching to hold it in, claiming this fleeting mark of ownership. My body quakes, nerves sparking, a raw jolt shooting from my wrecked hole up my spine, leaving me gasping in the dim, sweaty glow of the labyrinth. As he pulls out, his cum dribbles slowly, tickling my raw flesh with each warm drop as it descends. I collapse, silent, head to the side, drooling with a vacant, fucked-out stare, my sweat-soaked body a testament to my surrender. Dom Marcus, seeing my lifeless state, scoops me up and carries me to a chaise lounge, sparing me the cold floor. Once layed to rest, an Omega flips me over like a spit-roasted pig, spreading my limp legs and parting my cheeks to feast on my hole, chasing Dom Marcus’s seed. It’s buried so deep, no tongue can reach it, but his relentless sucking pulls me deeper into surrender. Drop by drop, the cum oozes out, teasing my ravaged insides as his tongue probes further than I thought possible. harry, placed beside me, grabs my hand, his eyes wide with disbelief as we lie there, spread out like a buffet for these ravenous Omegas. God bless their insatiable hunger; it feels divine, and I pray it never ends as I drool, lost in this haze, my eyes nearly lifeless. Thank you, oh Lord, for guiding me to this sleazy paradise, this grimy heaven on earth where I told my parents I’d be camping. Happy fucking birthday to me. Saturday, June 26, 1993, 11:23 PM My Mentor approaches with a glass of lemonade, its cool tang a welcome relief. He settles beside me, draping an arm around my shoulders. I lean into his warmth, craving the comfort of his presence after the night’s intensity. “You did well tonight,” he says, voice low and proud. “Really well. I didn’t expect someone so young to embrace it like that.” I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “Embrace what?” He smiles softly. “Your freedom. Your openness to explore. Most guys hold back, but you dove in. I’m proud of you.” His words spark warmth in my chest. “With you all, I feel safe,” I admit. “Safer than I’ve ever felt.” Mentor replies, "This is about more than just physical pleasure; it's about the trust and devotion we share. When you submit to me, you're placing your faith in my care, and that's a profound act of love. In return, my guidance and control are a testament to my commitment to you. I'm here to watch over you, much like a protective older brother would." The Beta approaches, his grin easy. “Mind if I join?” Mentor waves him over, and the Beta slides in on my right, enveloping me in warmth. His hand grazes my belly, then strokes my hair, making me feel like a cherished pup. “You’ve blown us away,” he says. “What were you expecting?” I ask, curious. Mentor chuckles. “You’re a pledge. We don’t expect much at this stage. But you’ve got potential.” “When’s the next gathering?” I press, eager. The Beta’s fingers intertwine with mine, resting on Mentor’s torso. “That’s for you to decide,” Mentor says. “This life has to feel right for you.” “I’m having a blast,” I say, grinning. “And not just because of the sex.” “Good,” the Beta replies, his tone warm. “You’re one of us now.” I press a gentle kiss to Mentor’s bicep, a quiet thank you. He adds, “You need some polishing, though. A bit rough around the edges. But we’ll get there.” Master strides by, Scotch in hand, his presence commanding. “faggot worthington,” he says, “I hope we didn’t push you too hard earlier.” arthur, lounging nearby, smirks. “No, Sir. That was incredible. I’ve never been fucked like that.” Master’s lips curl into a smile as he leans down, planting a Scotch-tinged kiss on arthur’s forehead. He checks on us briefly before sauntering off, his confidence magnetic. My eyelids grow heavy, and Mentor notices. He guides me to the bedroom, where we collapse in each other’s arms, soon joined by the pack, our bodies a tangle of warmth and trust. Sunday, June 27, 1993, 07:16 AM Sunlight streams through the windows, warming my skin as I wake, cocooned by my pack brothers. I feel both trapped and secure, surrounded by their steady breathing. With them, I can let my guard down, like a child safe with family. Their acceptance emboldens me to face desires I once buried. Mentor catches me staring out the window, kisses my forehead, and murmurs, “Good morning.” I smile, reaching for his hand, sharing a quiet joy. The Omega stirs, growling softly as he clutches me, demanding my touch. It’s 08:03, and we rise for our ritual shower. We lather each other with care, hands gliding over every inch, a perverse act of love. Clean and dry, we tidy Master’s house, a gesture of respect. We divide into teams: one preps breakfast, while my group ventures into the forest to gather wild blueberries, ripe and abundant. Thorns snag my skin, but I pick with focus, returning with a brimming haul. I rinse the berries as the griddle sizzles, and soon we serve wild blueberry pancakes and sausage—a feast laced with playful innuendo. Over breakfast, we relive last night, harry’s fervor stealing the spotlight. “What a pig,” someone laughs, recalling his desperate pleas for his Mentor’s fist. Master, smirking, adds, “Next time, boy, Dom Marko and I will handle your needs.” harry’s eyes blaze with anticipation, locked on Master’s. Sunday, June 27, 1993, 09:22 AM Master gathers us, his voice firm. “You faggots face a choice: reaffirm your oath to us forever or walk away. This commitment isn’t light. The path ahead holds challenges, responsibilities to us, yourselves, and the community. Your dedication must be unwavering. Take some time to decide.” He removes our collars, leaving us to reflect. We four—Danny, Harry, Arthur, and I wander into the woods, the sound of rustling leaves beneath their feet. They discuss what they've learned and how they've changed, they unravel the revelations of their weekend, each confession a mirror reflecting their transformed souls. What they’ve learned is not mere knowledge but a seismic shift in being, as they ponder the depths of their newfound self-awareness. Unsure of the road ahead, they contemplate the pitfalls that might lie in wait, their hearts heavy with the weight of uncertainty. The scent of pine needles dominating their senses, each step they take feels like a journey into the unknown, a path that promises both danger and transformation. When they reach the cliff, the boys gaze at the waters below. Harry speaks, his voice a mix of awe and trepidation: “I would have never jumped this before.” Arthur nods in agreement. Danny adds, “I might have on a dare, but with these guys, I had no fear.” The four nod, a silent understanding passing between them. Suddenly, Dietrich leaps off the cliff into the waters below, his scream of exhilaration echoing through the canyon. “Come on, guys, we’ve made it this far,” he shouts, his voice rising over the soothing rush of the water. The three exchange glances, hearts pounding, and jump together. The cold water shocks their skin, but the jolt quickly gives way to a rush of adrenaline and relief. The four young men emerge out of the water, bodies trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. Dietrich extends his right hand, palm down. Danny joins him, glancing at the couple. Arthur says to Harry, “It sure was intense,” as Harry places his hand in the stack. Arthur adds his on top, sealing their bond. They agree to see this through, no matter where the road leads. As they stride back, confidence in their steps, the weight of their decision lifts, and the burdens of their former lives fade away. Sunday, June 27, 1993, 11:27 AM At the compound, the scent of grilling meat and lively chatter greet us by the pool. We approach Master, kneeling before him in a final act of submission. In unison, we declare, “My name is faggot bindel, and I am a worthless faggot. I seek discipline, training, mentoring, and respect, Sir. I now reaffirm my pledge of submission, fully of my own volition, to you and my brothers as a permanent bond between us. I will never betray the trust you have bestowed in me.” Master claps, and Dom Chris presents four boxes. Opening the one marked faggot bindel, Master reveals a collar inscribed with “F” and a hood—symbols of our new identity. “Only your brothers may claim your hole; it’s sacred to us. You’re one of us now, forever a brother, do you accept this?” “Sir, yes, Sir,” we each affirm. Collars encircle our necks, masks cloak our faces, marking us as Brothers. “You are faggot bindel until you prove yourself more,” Master says. “Welcome to the Brotherhood.” Pride swells within me, as if knighted by the king, as I take my place among my faggot brothers. Sunday, June 27, 1993, 12:20 PM A feast awaits: steak sandwiches on rye with Marsala sauce, golden bacon mac and cheese, and a crisp garden salad—fuel for our souls. At the table, my re-commitment feels like home. My brothers’ congratulations warm me, grounding my pride in humility. Mentor’s voice lowers. “Soon, you’ll train at my place.” The Omega smirks, “And I’ll teach you to deep-throat without gagging—a faggot’s essential skill.” Laughter ripples through us. One by one, my brothers offer to guide my growth. I’m not alone; I’ve found my tribe, a family bound by shared desires. This meal is our communion, each bite a sacrament sealing our Brotherhood. The table is our altar, our bond sacred. danny, harry, arthur, and I are inseparable, but our circle has grown. With our pack and beyond, we’re part of something vast, a family of brothers who hide nothing. With their support, the future gleams with possibility, and I’m ready to face it. End of Chapter 6

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