Cole’s Plan

[Ultraviolence]

Part IX: Nico’s POV

Moses and I pass the pipe back and forth.

Slow. Still. Satisfied.

Moses takes a hit—deep, slow. Holds it. Exhales a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling, like it means something. Like it seals something.

“He didn’t move,” he says, eyes locked on Cole.

I take the pipe from him. Torch it. Inhale until it burns.

“Didn’t have to.”

I exhale toward the rug. “He’s not supposed to.”

Cole’s body glows in the low light. Still bent. Still leaking. Still open like a wound.

Moses watches him—eyes sharp, amused.

“You think he knows what we did to him?”

“I think he wanted not to.”

I pass the pipe back.

Moses hits it again, deeper this time.

“Think we went too far?”

I glance at him. Let the silence hang.

“Do you feel bad?”

He exhales with a snort. Shakes his head.

“Fuck no.”

Then he laughs—low and mean. “I feel great.”

His smile is real now. Not soft. Not reflective. Just pure satisfaction.

“He wanted to be used,” he adds, voice flat.

“So we used him.”

I reach for the pipe.

“You think he knows how wrecked he is?”

Moses shrugs.

“Maybe. Not sure it matters anymore.”

We both look at him.

Cole.

Bent over like a discarded offering. Cum still dripping from his hole, drying on his thighs. The rug beneath him soaked and shining.

Moses grins.

“We made him into something better.”

I nod slowly. Torch the bowl again.

Hold it. Let the heat settle in my chest.

But the pressure in my gut keeps climbing.

I shift.

“Shit,” I mutter, stretching my back. “I gotta piss.”

I turn toward the hallway on instinct.

But Moses—gaze still fixed on Cole—doesn’t even blink.

“Don’t waste it,” he says.

I pause.

“What?”

He tilts his head toward Cole.

“Do it in him.”

My cock twitches.

This isn’t sex anymore.

It’s a rite.

I step between Cole’s legs again. Kneel. His hole’s still open, still glossy, still leaking.

I press two fingers in—slow, casual.

His body takes them like it’s second nature.

“You hear that, tiny?” I murmur. “You’re not done yet.”

He moans. Barely. Just a sound.

No words.

Maybe no awareness.

Doesn’t matter.

I guide my cock back to him. Tip first. Then deeper.

The slide is smooth. Too easy.

He doesn’t flinch.

I settle all the way in.

And I let go.

The piss hits fast—hot, almost burning—coating the inside of him, mixing with cum already filling him to the edge. My whole body slackens as it pours out of me, long and steady.

The sound is obscene.

Wet. Echoing. Real.

But underneath it?

Something quiet.

Peaceful.

Moses doesn’t speak.

Just watches. Pipe glowing between his fingers.

“Look at him take it,” I murmur.

It overflows.

Trickles out around me. Soaks his thighs. Stains the rug.

He stays still.

Shuddering.

Not from protest.

But from completion.

Like this is the final act he was made for.

When I’m empty, I pull out slow.

The gush that follows is heavy. Warm. Endless.

Piss. Cum. All of it spilling back out of him in one final offering.

Ruined. Perfect. Holy.

⸻

Part X: Moses’ POV

Cole hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.

He’s curled on the rug, knees tucked slightly in, ass still leaking, mouth parted in that perfect post-T daze. His eyes half-lidded. Glassy. Pupils wide. There’s drool on the corner of his mouth and cum drying down his thigh.

We left a pipe on the table next to him.

He’s close enough to reach it.

He hasn’t tried.

I’m on the couch. Nico’s beside me, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, packing a fresh pipe like it’s a meditative ritual. The room smells like sweat, smoke, and sex. The music’s something ambient—slow, pulsing, background filth.

I glance at my phone. Notifications. Missed calls. Low balance.

“I need money,” I mutter.

Nico doesn’t even look up.

“Yeah?”

“Rent’s late. Cards are tapped. Shit’s tight.”

He snorts. Finishes torching the bowl.

Then: “We’ve got product.”

I turn toward him. Raise an eyebrow.

He nods toward the rug.

“Right there.”

I follow his gaze.

Cole.

Ruined, compliant, perfect.

I look at him—really look.

Hair damp. Breathing shallow. Holes loose and used and wet.

“You think he’d…” I don’t even finish.

Nico chuckles.

“I don’t think the faggot has much of a choice.”

He takes a hit. Passes it to me.

I inhale. Let it fill my chest. Let the idea bloom.

Selling my brother.

Letting others use what we just broke in.

Might’ve shocked me a few hours ago.

Now?

It makes sense.

⸻

The first thing we do is get him off the rug.

He’s beautiful there, sure—curled and leaking, breath soft, spine loose—but rugs aren’t built for business. No lighting. No angle. No presence.

Nico grabs him under the arms. I lift the legs. He doesn’t resist—just makes a little noise, like a sigh laced with want, and lets us carry him like a doll.

The hallway’s dark.

My bedroom is cleaner.

Not by much—but enough.

White sheets. Dim lamp. No clutter.

We lay him down in the center of the bed, on his back, legs slightly parted. His head lolls to the side. His lips are still red. His thighs are still damp.

He looks ready.

But not finished.

“We should dress him up a little,” Nico says.

“How?”

He grins.

“Not like, clothes. Just… accessories. Make him look offered.”

I nod. Get it immediately.

I go to the drawer. Pull the basics:

The collar. Black leather. Simple buckle. No tag—yet.

A ball-stretcher. Heavier than it looks.

One of my rings. Thick silver. I slide it onto Cole’s pinky just because.

I find the wipes.

We clean his thighs, wipe the cum and piss streaks, but we don’t close him up. That’s part of the pitch. He’s still dripping. Still open. The smell of sex in the room isn’t a problem—it’s marketing.

Nico finishes wrapping his cock in the stretcher. Not tight. Just firm enough that it looks full, needy.

“Gonna redose him?” he asks.

I tilt my head. “He’s already floating, but he could float higher.”

“Fuck yeah he can,” Nico says.

One more dose of G, light and clean, right up inside him with a slim syringe. He moans when it slides in—his hips twitch, his hole flutters. His cock starts to rise again, half-chubbed, twitching inside the wrap.

He’s ready now.

Fully.

Nico and I step back. Look him over.

“You’d pay for that?” I ask.

He smirks.

“Fuck yeah I would.”

Then he pulls out his phone.

Starts scrolling.

I sit at the edge of the bed, one hand on Cole’s thigh, thumb brushing the soft rise of his inner leg. His skin’s warm. His breath steady. His body open like a locked door pried from its hinges.

Nico’s voice is casual when he speaks.

“I’ve got a guy. High-roller. Buys T from me on the regular. Told me once he likes his holes trained and high during a smoke sesh.”

“How fast?”

“Thirty minutes. Maybe less.”

He makes the call.

Cole murmurs something under his breath.

I lean in.

“What was that?”

He shifts. His voice is small. Slurred. Faint.

“Wanna be good.”

I smile.

“You already are.”

⸻

The knock comes twenty minutes later.

Two short. One long.

Nico doesn’t flinch. He slides his phone into his back pocket, walks to the door like it’s nothing. I stay in the bedroom with Cole.

He hasn’t moved much.

Still on his back. Still open. Chest rising slow. Pupils blown. Collar snug around his neck, cock half-hard inside the stretcher. He moaned once when I brushed him gaping hole with my thumb.

I hear the door open. Low voices. A deeper one—clipped, measured, not emotional. Then footsteps.

The bedroom door pushes open.

Nico leads the man in. Doesn’t say his name. Doesn’t need to.

The client is tall, sharp-shouldered, maybe late forties. Black coat. Dark jeans. No jewelry. Pale hands. Clean nails. Not flashy—just clean. That quiet type you can’t quite read. Sadist, definitely. One of those guys who doesn’t speak much because he knows the weight of his silence does more.

He walks in and looks at the bed.

At Cole.

Just stares.

Doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t speak.

His head tilts slightly. His nostrils flare—taking in the scent of sex and sweat and T in the air.

Then he finally says:

“Turn him.”

His voice is soft.

Nico and I move in unison. We roll Cole to his side, then onto his stomach. Arms slack. Ass in the air. His legs shift reflexively—subconsciously spreading. His hole, still slick, glistens under the lamp.

The client breathes in once. Deep.

Then reaches into his coat pocket.

Pulls out a thick money clip. Black elastic band around a fat stack of crisp bills. No hesitation.

He tosses it on the nightstand.

“That should cover it.”

I don’t count it.

I don’t have to.

He hasn’t stopped looking at Cole.

I step back. Nico pulls the chair from the corner closer to the bed. We both sit—one on either side—framing the scene.

The client shrugs out of his coat.

He lays it across the arm of the chair without care.

I pass the pipe to Nico like it’s popcorn.

He lights it. Hits it. Passes it to me.

I take it deep. Exhale slow.

I look over at Cole.

Still pliant. Still unaware of what’s coming.

“Say something for our guest,” I murmur.

Cole stirs.

“Thank you for coming,” he slurs.

The client doesn’t smile.

But he steps forward.

Runs a hand down Cole’s back.

Then he cups Cole’s ass. Spreads him. Just an inch. Just enough.

“I like when they’re already used,” he says quietly.

“He’s full of us,” Nico says.

The client glances at him. Nods once.

I take another hit.

The client pulls out a small silver ring from his pocket—thin, cold, polished. Not jewelry. A tool. He hooks it around his finger and traces it down the center of Cole’s spine. Watching the goosebumps rise.

Then he runs a thumb down Cole’s crack. Finds the rim. Rubs it. Pushes—not in, just pressure.

Cole exhales. A long, low moan.

“How much?” the client asks.

“For what?” Nico replies, grinning.

The client lifts his gaze. Flat.

“To do what I want.”

I don’t blink.

“That was the deal.”

He nods once.

The client climbs onto the bed, not on top of Cole—beside him. Close enough to touch. Not enough to claim.

He studies him.

Like an object.

Like a prize behind glass.

“Age?”

Nico answers. “Freshly 18.”

“Experience?”

“First night.”

The client’s eyebrows twitch. Slight. Almost a smirk. But not quite.

He drags a single finger down Cole’s back. Pauses just above his ass.

“He been fisted?”

“Not yet,” I say. “But he’s ready.”

He hums. Nods slightly. Thumb presses the bruised skin of Cole’s inner thigh.

“G or T?”

“Both,” Nico says, handing me the pipe again. “We dosed him maybe forty minutes ago. Boofed G. Torched the T. Still floating.”

The client doesn’t speak.

He reaches down and gently spreads Cole again—two fingers pulling him wide, slow.

My cum. Nico’s. Still there somehow.

Still dripping.

He watches it slide out like he’s checking engine oil.

The client brushes hair from Cole’s forehead. Lifts an eyelid with his thumb.

Checks his pupils.

“Sedated, but responsive,” he says.

He slaps Cole gently across the cheek.

Cole moans. Turns his head toward the contact.

“Good boy,” the client says softly.

“What’s the max session time?”

“Two hours uninterrupted,” Nico answers.

“Aftercare?”

I shrug. “Optional.”

He nods.

Then: “Clean his mouth. Want it ready.”

I move.

I take a wet rag from the drawer, fold it, wipe gently along Cole’s lips. His mouth opens slightly, pliant. I slip two fingers inside. Press down on his tongue. He moans and sucks like it’s instinct.

The client watches.

Silent.

Cole’s mouth is clean now. Glossy with spit. Lips pink. Soft and swollen. I keep my fingers resting against his bottom lip while he breathes around them—slow, shallow, rhythmic.

He takes the edge of Cole’s jaw between two fingers and tilts his head.

Examining. Not admiring.

“Teeth?”

I slide my fingers out. Use both hands to pry his mouth open. Gently. No resistance.

He blinks up at me, high and warm and good.

“Say ‘ahh,’ baby.”

Cole does.

The sound comes out thin.

The client leans in slightly, inspecting the inside of his mouth like a mechanic checking hoses.

“Position?” he asks.

“Dealer’s choice,” Nico says, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “He’ll bend.”

“Have him ask,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Ask what?”

“For use.”

I nod once.

Lean down. Palm the side of Cole’s face.

“Cole,” I murmur. “Tell him what you want.”

He blinks slow.

The client stands, arms folded.

Cole turns his head slightly, mouth heavy, voice dreamy.

“Please, use me.”

The client raises one eyebrow.

Still doesn’t speak.

Just starts to unbuckle his belt.

The sound of the leather sliding free is loud in the quiet.

“Bring his head to the edge of the bed” he says.

I move instantly, helping Cole shift, turning his body gently, guiding him. He trembles slightly, spine slack, arms resting at his sides. He doesn’t lift his head.

He doesn’t need to.

The client stands in front of him now.

Zipper down.

Slacks open.

Not out yet.

He just watches Cole breathe in the scent of the fabric. Watches the shift in his posture.

Like a dog recognizing his leash.

Nico leans forward.

“He’s not gonna gag,” he says. “But if you want him to—he’s good at that too.”

The client gives the faintest nod.

Then, finally:

“Open.”

Cole’s mouth falls open instantly.

Waiting.

The client doesn’t move yet.

He just looks at him.

Nico passes him the pipe, offering it to him.

He lights the bowl.

Torches it perfectly.

Inhales.

Exhales.

No words yet.

Then—without ceremony—he reaches down, slides his cock free from his briefs, and lets it rest on Cole’s lower lip.

No thrust.

No grab.

Just contact. It’s a good size cock. Not as big as Nico’s or mine. But still uncut, and thick as a beer can.

His lips close gently around the tip—not sucking, not moving—just receiving. His eyes are still low, unfocused. His tongue presses up slightly, like he’s remembering how.

The client stays still.

No reaction.

He doesn’t thrust. He doesn’t instruct.

He simply observes the connection, like a man watching a flame take hold at the end of a long fuse.

Nico exhales a breath beside me.

“He’s warmer inside.”

The client slides forward an inch.

Just the head slipping in.

Cole closes his lips more firmly now. His jaw relaxes—trained. Familiar.

“Tongue,” the client says.

Cole obeys instantly—pressing the underside of his tongue along the client’s shaft, curling it slightly. It’s subtle. Skilled. Enough to show he knows what he is.

The client hums.

Approving.

Then, finally, he begins to move.

Each push forward is shallow. Controlled. Less about getting off and more about testing limits.

Cole adapts with every inch.

No gag.

No flinch.

His mouth accepts the invasion like he was made for it.

“Did he train for this?” the client asks.

“No,” I say. “Natural.”

He smiles.

It’s small.

Tight.

But it’s real.

He pushes in deeper now.

Cole breathes through his nose—soft little huffs. I can see the concentration on his face. The quiet submission. The joy of it, even through the haze.

The client pulls back slowly, cock wet and shining.

Then slaps it lightly across Cole’s cheek.

One. Two. Gentle taps.

“Good boy,” he says softly.

Cole moans.

Doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t need to.

Then the client grips the back of Cole’s head with one hand. Doesn’t thread fingers through his hair. Doesn’t pet him. Just holds—like stabilizing a vise.

He pushes in.

Not gentle now.

The head pops past Cole’s tongue and into the throat. The rhythm starts slow but deeper this time—intentional penetration, not oral play. Not for Cole’s pleasure. Not even for his own. Just to test endurance.

Cole doesn’t gag.

He moans, just barely—a little muffled sound around the shaft now pushing further with every pass.

The client breathes evenly.

In.

Out.

One hand steady at the back of Cole’s skull. The other at his side. Not using leverage. Just standing still while his cock uses the shape of Cole’s throat like a precision tool.

I feel Nico lean toward me.

Low voice, near my ear.

“Fuck, he’s really taking it.”

I don’t look at him.

Just exhale slowly.

“Told you he was good for it.”

The client adjusts slightly. Hips closer. Now the strokes go all the way in—base of his cock pressing against Cole’s lips. Each thrust followed by a slow pullback. The sound is wet. Tight. Every few seconds, Cole lets out a tiny breath around the seal in his throat.

The client starts to fuck his throat faster.

Not rough—just more rhythm. More purpose.

Cole’s arms stay limp at his sides. Drool slipping from the corners of his mouth between strokes. His body rocks slightly with each impact. But he doesn’t resist.

He knows this is the job.

The client groans quietly.

Not theatrical.

Just pleased.

He glances down—just once—to watch Cole’s lips stretch around the base.

Then pulls out.

A thread of spit and pre-cum trails from Cole’s mouth to the head of his cock.

He lets it fall.

Slaps his cock gently across Cole’s tongue again. Left cheek. Right. Then taps the tip on his bottom lip like knocking at a door.

“Fuck,” Nico whispers. “He doesn’t even flinch.”

I smirk.

“He knows better.”

Cole licks his lips. Moans softly.

Still not speaking.

Still offering.

The client steps back.

He looks down at him—mouth hanging open, glistening with spit and slick—and then he turns to me and Nico like he’s been watching a product demo and is ready to customize the next stage.

“Face down,” he says. Not to Cole. To me.

I nod.

Stand. Move to the bed. Grip Cole by the shoulders and slowly roll him onto his stomach—legs falling open on their own.

He’s leaking again.

The client turns slightly toward Nico.

“I want him spread. Properly.”

Nico doesn’t hesitate.

He grabs each ankle and pushes them wide. Adjusts Cole’s thighs. Folds a pillow under his hips. Then takes two fingers and spreads Cole’s hole open again. Pink. Wet. Unclenched.

“How’s that?” Nico asks.

The client hums.

“More. Make him display.”

Nico leans in.

Spits.

Drags his thumbs wider, until the skin pulls taut and the hole gapes softly.

I glance at the client. His expression is still blank.

But his cock twitches.

The client moves between his legs.

Palms his cock.

Lines it up.

Pauses.

“Talk while I take him,” he says.

Still not looking at Cole.

Looking at us.

“I want to hear what you think of what you made.”

Nico lets out a low breath.

Smiles.

“With pleasure.”

The client pushes in slow.

One long, controlled stroke.

His cock disappears into Cole’s hole without resistance.

Cole doesn’t cry out.

He exhales. Soft. Ragged.

Nico lights the pipe again. Inhales slow. Passes it to me without a word. I take a hit. The warm slide of T burns smooth behind my ribs. My cock’s still heavy. Hard again. But I don’t touch it.

I watch.

The rhythm picks up slightly—soft slaps of the client’s hips against Cole’s ass. No rush. Just depth.

“You see that?” Nico murmurs.

He’s crouched at the edge of the bed, near Cole’s shoulder. Watching the way Cole’s body folds around the client’s cock.

“Doesn’t even fight it anymore.”

“He likes it,” I reply, voice low.

I lean forward. Wipe drool from Cole’s bottom lip with my thumb.

“He gets high off being used.”

The client thrusts deeper.

Cole lets out a noise—half-moan, half-choke.

Doesn’t close his mouth.

Nico grins.

“You think he even remembers his name anymore?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I tap his cheek. Gently.

“You’re not Cole right now, are you?”

He twitches.

Whimpers.

“You’re just a hole.”

The client hums under his breath.

Pushes in harder.

The next thrust goes deeper. I see Cole’s hands tighten into loose fists. His spine arches subtly. His mouth stays open—but now he’s panting.

I cradle Cole’s jaw.

Thumb resting against his tongue.

“Say something, baby.”

He tries.

Fails.

Just a wet moan.

I stroke his cheek. “That’s good enough.”

The client leans in now, pressing his chest over Cole’s back, one hand planted on either side of his body, fucking him harder. Brutally now. Each thrust sounds wet now. Loud.

Nico takes another hit. Offers it to me.

I take the pipe.

Light it.

Inhale.

And exhale a thick cloud directly into Cole’s face.

The client’s rhythm speeds up. His breath shifts.

Closer now.

He growls something under his breath—words we don’t catch.

Then he buries himself.

One long exhale.

One loud growl.

And we know.

When he pulls out, Cole stays arched.

I sit forward.

Slide my hand between his legs.

“You feel that?” I ask him.

He shudders.

“That’s three loads tonight, baby brother.”

Nico steps in beside me.

”And many more to go."

[Erik62]

On 3/24/2025 at 9:10 AM, Ultraviolence said:

This started off as a true story, then I decided to make it into my own fantasy. I have the rest of the story written and I’ll release it in parts. It gets darker, and darker... and darker. Been trying to slim it down for readability while keeping the sexual tension there. Let me know if you guys like the format. 🙂 Oh and feel free to message me with cock pics for inspiration. 😈

Please, don't start chopping. Readability is fine & it does no good to cut off the "useless" bits. They are important to finely tune the character. We ALL KNOW their pigs but, so much more makes a character. Next chapter, PLEASE🫣. 

[Faustus]

This is really good writing! 

[Bttm2go]

You write very good stories. This one is excellent. Long format is fine with me. And the darker it is, the better.

[Pnp-pig]

Fuck man chapter 10 was hot !
 

I need to read again so I second load ready and waiting to blow @Ultraviolence

[GAwhoreSub]

This has quickly become my favorite read on this forum. I love the controlled pace, the slide into ever and ever more darkness, and mostly, I love the air of tension and menace that's floating around. Like something is about to drop off a cliff into something more depraved than even the characters know.

Fucking excellent writing.