TAGS: Fit younger/ugly older pairing, blackmail, use of some slurs, manipulation
Note: Hi friends! This is my first story here, so please let me know your feedback and any improvements you'd like. Photo reference for the star of this story is pictured above. I was inspired by the works of studstealer ("My Jock"), Gengoroh Tagame's "Pride" manga, and Jock Cummings' ongoing "Brandon" series and thought I'd try my hand at writing something myself.
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Man, what a dump, thought Bryce.
Just like Gerald had said, the rest stop was entirely empty - Bryce hadn’t seen a single other car in the tiny parking lot when he pulled in - and he could now see the reason why. Calling it a rest stop was generous given there were only two buildings, one consisting of a glorified waiting room with a pair of flickering vending machines and the other consisting of the run-down bathroom he had the displeasure of finding himself in. Of the three sinks, two had cracked and dust-covered mirrors above them and one was filled with a small pool of brown, foul-smelling water. Trash spewed out of the overflowing trash can in the corner onto the grimy tiled floor which must have once been checkered black and white but was now a uniform muddy gray. The standard public bathroom eau de parfum - a rank mix of dried piss, shit, and other unmentionable bodily fluids that seemed even more pungent than usual with the sweltering mid-July heat - was just the perfect fucking cherry on top.
“How long is it gonna take this fucker to get here?” Bryce muttered as he pulled out his phone to check his messenger app again. Sure enough, still no new texts from Gerald since his last message that he was on the way - and that had been almost an hour ago. Maybe the guy was just pulling his leg when he’d agreed to meet late at night for one of their sessions. They usually did this on Fridays so Bryce would have the weekends free to hang out and hit up parties with his friends; don’t mix business and pleasure, as the saying went. Still, given he’d deliberately ghosted Gerald for nearly a month until the man had begged him, blowing up his inbox with hundreds of unread messages, to meet him in person and give him real, solid cash, Bryce doubted Gerald would miss out now. A smirk crossed his face at the thought of draining a hefty $5,000 dollars this time, enough to pay for the weekend to Ibiza he’d planned with his bros for next week and still have plenty left over.
Angling his phone behind the non-broken mirror, Bryce pulled up his shirt and snapped a pic of his chest and abs. Hurry up fag, master’s got shit to do, he texted Gerald, a flash of amusement crossing his face as he saw an instant read notification and a hasty response that Gerald was 10 minutes from arriving.
Paypigs like Gerald were so easy to game once you knew which buttons to push. Of course, having the right assets helped too. At 19, years of playing baseball and basketball had left an undeniable impression on Bryce’s physique, and once he’d started college and traded sports for lifting full-time, the results had only gotten clearer. Broad shoulders with rounded delts wrapped around a solid neck, traveling down to a pair of thick biceps and forearms corded with well-trained muscle. His pecs were full and plump, earning the teasing envy of several of the girls he’d hooked up with, and each capped with a pert, rosy nipple. His 5’10 frame was supported by sturdy quads and calves, enough to comfortably fill out any pants he wore and covered in a light dusting of sandy brown hair. It wasn’t just his legs though - baseball and regular time at the squat rack had built him a deliciously juicy, perky ass, big enough he had to shimmy his way into jeans and the reason he usually tucked in the backs of his shirts. Other people deserved to see the goods, after all.
Blue-eyed, tanned, and with a full head of fluffy brown curls and a cocksure grin, Bryce had the face and body most people his age (and older) could only dream of - a modern day all-American jock practically engineered to be posted on Instagram and Tiktok for them to lust after. Bryce knew it too, which was why he’d gotten into findom in the first place. A friend’s brother who was currently playing football for Ohio State had let him in on the secret right after Bryce had started his freshman year of college. There was a whole underworld out there of seedy men who would pay handsomely for the privilege of being allowed into his orbit, selling away their savings and lives in return for nothing but degradation and submission.
“It’s so easy bro,” that brother had said as the two of them watched one of his most recent conquests - a 47 year-old middle manager at some no-name company sitting naked inside his living room - oinking and taking hit after hit of poppers. “These fags literally get off on doing what we tell them, and the more fucked up the better. Like, I got some old guy to empty half his retirement fund last month. Literally thanking me the whole time, ‘please drain me more sir’, ‘I’m such a faggot sir’, that kind of shit. They worship dudes like us - you just gotta get yourself out there, and you’ll be raking in stacks in no time.”
So, taking the advice and with some assistance to find the right sites to market himself on, Bryce started as a findom in December. By April, Bryce had taken on five paypigs and had dozens more clamoring to make him their master daily. Cashmaster_Bry was the name passed reverently around Telegram chats, everyone dying to get a glimpse of the college stud who’d rocketed onto the scene. True to the brother’s word, Bryce found the game ridiculously easy, almost pathetic at times; all he had to do was treat these men like shit, log in a few times for video chats or calls, and the money rolled in. They just lapped it up, and why wouldn’t they? For these sad men - probably lonely and unpopular in their youth, now no less embarrassing in their middle age - receiving the attention of a young stud like him was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, something that would never happen organically because of the people that they were.
Gerald was the first of and one of Bryce’s highest-paying cashpigs. They’d started off chatting on Telegram, Bryce cautiously sussing the other man out to see if he was serious. When Gerald had sent him $750 on the spot, that’s when Bryce had gotten interested. Over the past half year, Gerald had paid for numerous clothing hauls, upgrades to his car, vacations, and workout supplements. Bryce was even thinking of starting on Tren soon to give him the extra boost in the gym he wanted; he liked getting bigger, girls liked his size, and as it happened so did the rest of his stable of cashfags.
The thing with Gerald, Bryce had quickly realized, was that he was needy. Between trying to balance his classes, gym, and partying, the man’s constant requests for sessions had started to get aggravating. So over spring break, Bryce had gone no-contact and cancelled their video chat that had been planned before he left. When he flew back, he’d found that Gerald had sent him $1000 and bought his entire Amazon wishlist. The timing was almost down to the minute he stepped into his dorm, seeing the notification come up on his Cashapp just after he’d dropped his bags. It was a sign, Bryce had felt, that he could play the game with Gerald more loosely.
So, he’d cancelled their session at the end of April, citing finals studying. A day later, another deposit came for $1000. Early June he called off because he was seeing family; a few days into the vacation, $1500 showed up in his bank account. Now after a month of ignoring Gerald’s messages, he’d happened to check his messenger on a lazy afternoon and decided to entertain the request to meet at the rest stop for the accumulated payout. Bryce had even graciously agreed to a muscle worship session today; he’d just finished working out before coming here and still had a fresh pump, so thought might as well throw the proverbial dog a bone. The descriptor wasn’t too far off - Gerald’s hefty upcoming payment had Bryce in good spirits, almost a bit fond. Guys like Gerald were like his pets, albeit in a fucked up way.
Glancing through the foggy window by the bathroom door, Bryce watched a pair of headlights pull in, heard the car door slam and heavy breathing as Gerald made his way towards him. As the door opened and Gerald peeked timidly inside, Bryce gave him a perfunctory nod.
“‘Sup. You got the money?”
“Y-yeah, uh, here it is. Sir,” Gerald added hastily, holding out a bank pouch.
“Good piggy.” Unzipping the pouch, Bryce counted the rolls of bills and, satisfied, set it on the counter. “Now, because I’m feeling generous today, I’ll let you have a treat.”
He lifted up his arms and flexed, noting with no small satisfaction the way Gerald’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped. “You said you wanted to worship me, right? Well, here ya go. Get to it.”
After a dazed pause, the invitation seemed to snap Gerald back to his senses, who withdrew a plastic bag from behind his back and pulled out a bottle. Nervously, he stammered, ‘T-thank you, sir. May I…may I, uh, oil up your body? Please? Sir.”
Bryce sneered. “You really are a hungry little fag, aren’t you. Can’t get enough of master Bry, huh? Sure, go ahead - just take off my clothes first. Shirt and pants only.”
Gerald moved with brisk efficiency, lifting Bryce’s snug grey tank top over his shoulders, brushing against the silver chain that he wore around his neck. Bryce’s sweatshorts followed, folded up with the tank top and set on the edge of the cleanest sink. The stud was left standing there only in his black Nike briefs, socks, and crisp white Air Force 1s. Even in the dingy lighting of the bathroom, Bryce’s bronze skin glowed, radiant and healthy; the light sheen of sweat from his workout only accentuated his youthful musculature. In contrast, Gerald stood at a meager 5’4, his flabby belly straining the tight yellow polo he wore which was already sweat-stained under the armpits. He was pale-skinned to Bryce’s sun-kissed russet, with a scraggly brown beard and piggy, nervous eyes set into a perpetually sweaty face. Standing next to each other, the social dichotomy between them was stark - one was a winner, the other was not. One was a taker, the other was taken from.
Awkwardly, Gerald licked his lips and uncapped the bottle of coconut oil he’d brought, warming it up between his stubby hands before beginning to apply it to Bryce’s body. He started from Bryce’s traps, massaging the oil in before moving to his rounded deltoids, down to the biceps and arms, then maneuvering over to the chest. Now this was truly the piece de resistance - the way Bryce’s pecs, already firm and full by normal standards, seemed to grow even more voluptuous as the oil was rubbed in was nothing short of spectacular. Bryce clenched his jaw as Gerald’s fingers absently brushed over his nipples, the sweet pink buds standing at attention now that the cool night air had started to set in through the gaps by the roof. He’d always had a thing for having his nips played with and would often pinch and knead them when he was jerking off - maybe ask a girl to play with them if he was feeling adventurous. Still, it wasn’t something he usually advertised about himself.
From there, Gerald massaged the rest of the oil into Bryce’s solid thighs and calves, pushing back the hem of his briefs to reach more surface area. The faint boymusk from Bryce’s now exposed pits, the lingering hint of post-workout sweat, and the slightly sweet fragrance of the coconut oil began to mingle, blending into an intoxicating cocktail of pheromones that made Gerald’s mouth water.
Noticing the man’s desire, Bryce held up a finger. “Some ground rules. You can touch and smell, but no licking - don’t want that nasty mouth of yours anywhere on me. Nothing below the belt-,” he pointed to his bulge, “-and you get five minutes only. We good?”
Gerald nodded. Bryce smirked. “Then start, piggy.”
Needing no further command, Gerald’s hands began roaming up and down Bryce’s oil-slicked body, caressing each limb and muscle with complete devotion. Bryce, for his part, went through the motions as well, hitting different poses that showed off the full breadth of his commitment to the gym. Biceps bulging, quads straining, pecs practically bursting off his chest, Bryce watched Gerald working him over ravenously, soaking in the obvious hunger the man had for more - that final bit of youthful essence which would remain snug inside the pouch of his briefs, denied. Still, Gerald made a good show of it, letting his fingers dance close to the taper of Bryce’s obliques before a single look from Bryce made him turn his head, ashamed, and redirect his groping. A bit daring today, Bryce mused. It made sense though: a month away in the cruel wintry chill of rejection would make the first taste of warmth even sweeter.
When the five minutes were over, Gerald retracted his hands obediently and bowed. “Thank you for this privilege, sir.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Thumbing through the bills in the bank pouch again, Bryce slipped on his shorts, tucking his tank-top into the waistband, and headed for the door.
“Sir?” he heard Gerald call out from behind him. “C-can I see you again soon?”
“Sure, sure,” Bryce muttered noncommittally. “Might be hard though, got some other stuff planned the rest of this summer before school starts.”
“Do you want more, sir? I can pay - anything, sir, whatever you want, I’ll give.”
“Ah, but you’d do that for me anyway, right fag? I own you,” Bryce chuckled. Gerald blinked and flushed a deep shade of red, embarrassed. “Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you, man. Although-” he hummed appreciatively, shaking the bag of bills, “-maybe if you upped your tribute next time - say, $10k? - I might let you, uh. Suck my dick and balls?”
Gerald’s head sprang up, jaw gaping, hopeful. “R-r-really?”
There was a pause before Bryce busted out laughing. “Oh my god dude, you’re so fucking gullible! The look on your face - fucking priceless, I tell you what,” he managed in between bouts of laughter. “Holy fuck. You’re such a funny guy, I’m serious. Oh, man.”
As Bryce pulled open the door, he turned to spare Gerald one last look. “Well, it’s been fun, little piggy. ‘Til next time.” He flashed the kneeling man a smile before preparing to leave.
Just as he was fishing his car keys out of his pocket, he heard another plaintive, “Sir?”
“Huh, what?”
“M-may I show you something before you go, sir?”
Weird, Bryce thought. Well, a couple more minutes couldn’t hurt. He really was getting a little tired of Gerald though, and wanted to go home to wash the sticky coconut oil off his body. Give ‘em an inch, they’ll take a mile.
Sighing, he turned back around. “What’ve you got?”
Gerald had pulled out his phone now, and as he tapped the play button on the screen, audio began to play. To his shock, Bryce recognized the voice as his own.
“Yeah, choke on it faggot!” he heard himself say, nausea blooming in his throat and the pit of his stomach. As the darkness on the screen resolved, Bryce found himself staring a video of him and a fat, older man in a rubber gimp mask. The angle was from high up, like the camera had been placed on a bookshelf. In the video, they were both sweating profusely - Bryce’s arms hit a flex behind his head, furry pits facing the viewer, while the masked man bobbed his head and tweaked his nipples on what was unmistakably Bryce’s cock, even if his flesh body was obscuring it.
Mouth drying, Bryce started, unable to look as the video continued to play out. The masked man’s slurping and moaning, coupled with Bryce’s fit, muscular body contorting in ecstasy as he had his cock greedily swallowed, made for an intensely perverse tableau. Bryce heard his own half-bitten groans as he approached his climax, the sound stirring up deep memories from within him - ones he thought he’d already forgotten about.
“You like that, fag?”
“Mmghh, yesh sir!”
“You want my fucking jock load, is that it? You want me to fucking breed that faggy throathole?”
“P-pleasssh, sir!”
“Fuck yeah, take it! Oh fuck, here it comes - oh god, fuckkkkk, I’m gonna - RAAAAAAGH!”
The eyes of the Bryce in the video rolled back as he roared in triumph, his hands coming down to pinch his pert nipples as he shuddered violently and emptied his load into the stranger’s mouth. The last thing Bryce saw before the video ended was his glistening torso, ragged breaths coming out, as the stranger laved and polished his still throbbing dickhead.
For a while, the bathroom was silent. Bryce couldn’t tear his eyes away even though Gerald’s phone had gone black. His body felt heavy in a way that felt too awful to describe - that deepest, darkest bowel of shame that he dared not name.
This couldn’t be happening.
This couldn’t be real.
“Fort Lauderdale, hm? ‘Studying for finals’, I presume?”
Gerald’s voice had changed, Bryce realized as he finally looked to him. Gone was the timidness, the persistent stammer, the slightly wheezy, perpetually tired rattle whenever he spoke. Now, Gerald spoke clearly, and his eyes had taken on a cold, hard sheen.
Needy, worshipful Gerald slipped the phone into the back pocket of his chinos and smiled thinly. “Now, Bryce, I believe we still have some time remaining in our session today. You can close the door and set your things down. If you don’t want this video to go public, you’ll listen to what I’m about to tell you very, very carefully…”
TO BE CONTINUED
