Breaking Bryce (Fit younger/ugly older)

Hey guys, so sorry about the massive delay in getting this out - real life got the better of me. Had to break this up due to word limit also. Hope you enjoy!

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It was early afternoon now and already the oppressive July temperatures had taken ahold of the tiny rest stop, making it feel as muggy as a sauna. Sunlight filtered weakly through the murky windows, illuminating the motes of dust drifting lazily through the stifling air. A leaking faucet dripped steadily, accompanied only by the occasional gurgle of the pipes below. Everything felt still - trapped by the heat.

The silence was broken as the front door swung open and a man hurried towards a urinal, cursing as he undid his belt. He groaned in relief as his cock flopped out and he started pissing, swiping his free hand across his forehead to catch the sweat that had already started beading up the moment he entered the bathroom. After he was done, he went over to wash his hands, and it was there that he caught sight of a pair of feet behind him in the mirror.

Whoever was inside the cubicle looked like they’d had some kind of accident - he could see a pair of expensive-looking white sneakers covered in brown and red streaks - and the way they were sitting, legs splayed, gave him pause. He rapped on the door, asking, ā€œHey man, y’alright in there?ā€ When there was no answer, he knocked again once, twice.

Still nothing.

ā€œWelp bud, I warned ya. I’m comin’ in now - .ā€ He tried pulling on the door and, to his surprise, it was unlocked.

The sight that greeted him as the stall opened was a complete shock. For starters, the kid looked college-aged, a stark contrast to the usual crowd of old truckers, long-haul drivers, and occasional homeless that frequented this stop. He was built like a real stud, too - beefy and muscular, tan, kitted out in nice-looking sportswear, albeit stained. He looked like the kind of guy his coworkers’ nieces were obsessed with, to their chagrin - something about some sort of social media app where these prettyboys would dance with no shirts on and make money doing it, crazy as it sounded.

What was shocking was the state the guy was in - specifically, the state of his ass. Rivulets of cum and what looked like blood and liquid shit spilled out of an angry, gaping hole. The thing stretched and contracted but could never fully close; he could see the boy’s insides, a coiled red tunnel of flesh that winked back at him through the mess of fluids his entrance was coated with.

Someone had taken a marker and added a list of tallies to his abdominals as well - from what he counted, there were twenty-three hatches. Twenty-three anonymous loads - his own ass hurt to imagine it. It couldn’t have been too pleasant.

His nipples were raw and swollen, with teeth marks showing where someone had been gnawing on them. Hickies bloomed across his broad neck, a lurid tapestry in various shades of brown, blue, and purple testifying to the past night’s events. His wrists had been zip-tied to the back of the toilet as well - he could see red imprints along the guy’s arms where he’d no doubt struggled to break free of his restraints, whether that had been from agony or ecstasy.

ā€œChristā€¦ā€ John, the trucker, muttered as he reached into his pocket for his switchblade. Carefully, he cut the zip ties off and reached under the boy’s pits, grunting as he pulled him off he toilet seat into a standing position. Sheesh, the guy was heavy - and in no position to stand, as he slumped limply into John’s chest the moment he was on his feet.

ā€œShit - hey, bud, you with me?ā€ He gave the kid a gentle shake, brushing aside the matted curls to feel his forehead for a temperature. ā€œYou sick or anything? Gimme a sign - can ya hear what I’m sayin’?ā€

Slowly, the kid’s eyes fluttered open. ā€œMmgh…what timeā€¦ā€

ā€œā€˜S ā€˜round 12 at noon,ā€ John replied, still carefully cradling him to make sure he didn’t keel over. ā€œLooks like ya had a hell of a night. You doin’ ok? Need me to call someone? Your parents, maybe?ā€

ā€œMmm…I’m fine, just lemme get my…fuckin’ pants onā€¦ā€

ā€œNow I don’t know exactly what happened, but I don’t see any clothes lyin’ around. I’d guess whoever you, uh, met must’ve taken’ em.ā€

As he saw the boy’s eyes widen in panic, he pressed a reassuring hand to his back, rubbing it in soothing circles. ā€œDon’t worry - I keep a few spare changes of clothes in my truck just in case. Might be a bit big for ya - then again, seein’ how you look like a sportin’ kinda guy, maybe not - and I can hop out real quick and bring them back for ya to change into. Got some wet wipes too, if you wanna, ah, clean yourself up a bit. No offense.ā€ John gave him a kind smile. ā€œYou look a little rough right now.ā€

The boy flushed, glancing down at himself and, realizing now that he was basically nude and in the arms of a stranger, ducked his head in embarrassment. It was a pitiable sight, and John couldn’t help himself as he hugged the boy a little closer - almost on instinct - and patted his back.

ā€œI ain’t gonna judge, y’know. Just wanna make sure you get taken care of is all. Name’s John, by the way. What can I call you?ā€

ā€œBryce,ā€ the boy murmured. ā€œI’m, uh, I’m fine, by the way. You don’t have to go to all this trouble.ā€

ā€œAin’t much trouble for me - and you looked like you could use the help.ā€

He pushed Bryce off of him softly, bracing the boy as he struggled to stand straight. ā€œYou think you can hold out here while I run to my truck and grab my things? Stop’s pretty deserted this time of day, but I don’t wanna have to make ya walk out there like this if ya don’t want to.ā€
Bryce shook his head. ā€œCan…can I come with you? I don’t wanna be stuck here.ā€

John gave him a critical look. ā€œYou’ve got my word I ain’t gonna leave ya here in the buff. Sure you don’t want to rest your legs a bit? Won’t take long at all.ā€

ā€œI, umā€¦ā€ Bryce glanced down, shyly. ā€œI’d rather go with you. If it’s cool.ā€

ā€œAll good, kid. Here, lemme give ya my shirt - at least you’ll be a little bit covered that wayā€¦ā€

Unbuttoning his work flannel, John draped it over Bryce’s shoulders, helping him work his arms into the sleeves - they were a surprisingly similar fit, but for different reasons - and letting him wrap an arm over his shoulder for support as they walked out of the rest stop. The sunlight felt blinding, but the fresh air was a welcome reprieve from the stench and humidity of the bathroom. Together, they made their way to John’s long-haul, parked several spots over from Bryce’s own car, and John helped the boy up the stairs inside to his bed just behind the driver’s cabin. Once inside, John threw out a towel and set it on the edge of his mattress for Bryce to rest while he grabbed his kit from an overhead storage unit, pulling out his spare clothes and a few other items - wet wipes, bandaids, alcohol spray.

ā€œLie down a bit, and I’ll clean ya up.ā€

Bryce complied easily. John decided to go from top to bottom, tenderly cleaning off the sweat and filth that had accumulated. With every pass, the jock seemed to glow brighter in the dim lighting of the truck’s bedroom, the grime falling away to reveal swathes of healthy, radiant sun-kissed skin that felt soft as silk. Unconsciously, John’s touch found more moments to linger - in the dip of the jock’s clavicle, across the swell of his traps, dancing close to those plush cherry-red lips. There was something absolutely magnetic about the boy, something intoxicating - he was being drawn in before he even knew it.

He made no comment as he scrubbed away the tally marks across Bryce’s stomach - and if the jock was aware, he didn’t respond either - but he had to draw in a sharp intake of breath when he finally got to the boy’s asshole. Seeing it a second time was no less shocking. Some of the puffiness had thankfully subsided, but the whole area still looked angry.

ā€œYou really took a beating, huh?ā€

No answer. Bryce had moved to lying on his stomach now while John pried his asscheeks apart to assess the damage, and his face was turned away, but he could catch the telltale flush of shame cross the back of the boy’s neck at that comment. John’s hand moved of its own accord, pressing into the small of Bryce’s back, rubbing gentle circles of encouragement.

ā€œTold ya, I’m not here to judge. I’m here to help. Gonna clean ya first, and I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but bear with me for a little. Got some hemorrhoid cream too, that might help, and some aloe vera ointment as wellā€¦ā€

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At some point, Bryce had dozed off without realizing.

What woke him was a strange feeling of fullness - he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it felt familiar. Blearily, he raised his head, trying to get a sense of his surroundings - mattress, dark metal walls, dim overhead lighting - and remembered the trucker who’d helped him into his rig. John, maybe?

As his eyes focused, he squinted and saw John in front of him. The trucker was panting furiously, his tank top pulled over his neck exposing his chest and rounded beer gut which were covered in a mat of wiry salt-and-pepper hairs. His hands were gripping Bryce’s waist, his skin flushed and sweaty as he - very diligently - thrust his cock in and out of his hole.

Their eyes locked and John flashed him a cheerful grin, seemingly oblivious to the shock that registered across Bryce’s face. ā€œHey champ, looks like you’re feelin’ better huh?

ā€œHope ya don’t mind - you were just so damn cute lookin’ while I was cleanin’ ya up, I just had to get a little taste for myself, y’know? Figure it’s payment for me finding ya and takin’ care of ya, anyhow.ā€

He gave Bryce’s nipples a tweak, earning a low moan from the jock. ā€œThought you’d like that,ā€ John chuckled. ā€œWhatever you got up to last night, looks like those fellas had a lot of fun with those nips of yours. Had my eye on them too, but it’s a helluva lot more fun to do this kinda thing when you’re awake.ā€

Still thrusting leisurely, John dipped his head to suckle on each of Bryce’s nips. The effect was immediate - the jock writhed on the mattress, bucking his hips as his cock started to swell again.

ā€œJee-sus, you’re one hot fuckin’ stud, y’know that? Gonna make me nut if you keep actin’ up. Here, play with those titties - ā€œ He grabbed Bryce’s hands and maneuvered them to his chest ā€œ - and I’m gonna pick up the pace again. Gonna cream that pussy real good.ā€

In a daze, Bryce began to pinch and knead at his pecs while John, grunting, got back to work pounding his hole. It felt so natural somehow - waking up after being helped into some stranger’s vehicle, still fresh off an unconscious series of fucking, only to find himself being fucked, once again, by some older man. Shit, he could still feel how tender his hole was, but the slight sting did nothing to lessen the instant arousal that coursed through him at being used like this.

Was this what he was now? The kind of dude who got off on being treated like a piece of meat, a live fucktoy? Did one night really change things that much?

His head was all jumbled, embarrassment and want and anxiety all coming together in one big mess. He should tell the trucker to stop this, the rational part of him whispered. This was the kind of shit he could report to the cops, get this fucker locked up -

-but a deeper, more perverse voice didn’t want it to stop at all. He could make out every detail of the trucker’s face and body as he felt himself being opened up again, that sweet spot buried deep in his asshole begging to be railed.

ā€œShit, boy, can’t believe you’re still this tight,ā€ John groaned. ā€œFeels better’n my ex-wife’s pussy when we first met. Glad you ain’t a girl though; if I had my way with you, I’d have gotten you pregnant ten times over by nowā€¦ā€

The lewd praise, the unmistakable lust in John’s eyes as he watched him play with his nips in between pumps, the smell of the cabin quickly growing thick with musk and sweat - it was sending Bryce’s pleasure receptors into overdrive. He hadn’t even touched his dick yet, and it was still standing erect, bouncing against his abs with each thrust from the trucker, balls back to full and churning with another load of jizz just waiting to be shot out.

ā€œYou close, babygirl?ā€ the trucker panted. ā€œFuck, don’t know how long I can hold on - gonna blow soon. Gonna paint that hole white. You want me to fill you up, sweetheart?ā€

All Bryce could do, lost in the bliss of this moment, was make a dumb, guttural noise as he felt John’s cock start battering his prostate. A dollop of precum squirted from his dick, leaving a slimy trail across his stomach. John, taking that as encouragement, sped up even more, the steady plap-plap-plap of his belly colliding against the jock’s beefy ass ticking down the seconds until the inevitable climax.

ā€œOh fuck, it’s comin’ now - fuck yeah, boy, take my dick, take it all the way inside just like that… fucckkkk, I’m gonna cum - !ā€

One final collision against his g-spot, and Bryce’s eyes rolled back as his cock started squirting: fat, healthy globs of cum that streaked across his abs, against John’s stomach and chest, catching and tangling in his body hair. At the same time, John gave one last grunt, his whole body stiffening and then shuddering as a week’s worth of accumulated semen shot from his cock and flooded the boy’s hole. When he’d gotten every last drop out, the trucker collapsed against him, their sweat-slicked bodies melding together on the sheets, Bryce still too exhausted to push John away.

Trying to catch his breath, Bryce couldn’t help the tiny gasp that left his mouth as John stirred and his cock slipped out of his ass, sending his cum spilling out against his thighs. He could finally feel himself becoming lucid in the wake of this last orgasm; it felt like he’d had no time to think at all, from the moment he stepped into the rest stop to now, just after being fucked and bred by another stranger. The stickiness of the sweat and cum coating his skin were a shameful reminder of what he’d allowed himself to go through - the Bryce of before would’ve never gotten into a situation like this, but now…

He tilted his head to look at John, who’d already passed out and started snoring. Then he looked down at himself - at his seed, splattered across his torso, at his still softening boner - and winced. What the fuck was going on?
 
The drive back to his apartment was a blur. As soon as he got inside, he stripped off everything - the clothes John had given him, his own ruined sneakers and socks - and headed straight for the shower.

As he sat numbly on the floor, surrounded by thick plumes of steam and the steady deluge from the showerhead, he tried to decipher what had just happened to him. What the fuck had he been baited into doing? And who else had fucked him while he was still knocked out in that bathroom stall?

Those 23 tally marks kept running through his head for the next week even as he did everything he could to push them out of his memory. He’d gotten tested immediately - all clean, thank god - and texted his friends as discreetly as possible, asking if they’d gotten any weird messages, seen any weird shit posted about him. He’d scoured all the forums himself, searching his name next to as many lurid configurations of terms as he could think of - all to no avail. It really did look like nothing had leaked. His phone was miraculously untouched.

And of course that made him even more paranoid. No one would do what Gerald had done as a one-off. There was always a catch. There fucking had to be.

Quietly, he’d deleted all his camming and findom accounts, ignoring the huge backlog of messages from desperate paypigs and clients. If he got rid of all the evidence, he thought, what happened that night at the rest stop would simply disappear as if it had never happened at all. Those strange, uncomfortable feelings that came with it too - of being wanted, used by dirty old men - would disappear as well.

But things were never going to be that simple.

Something had definitely changed, he knew. Even once his ass had finished healing - a grueling process that took several weeks, a period he was painfully, uncomfortably aware of the entire time - he couldn’t shake the desires that lay deep inside him, dark and waiting. His usual porn searches did nothing; even jerking off, high off his mind, had lost its previous luster. Steadily, the shame and sexual frustration built, a ticking time bomb, until he had to act.

He set up an anonymous Grindr profile and waited. Sure enough, there were several older men in the area hosting, and one of them happened to have a gloryhole set up at home. All it took was a few messages, a couple shots of his body and dick, and the guy had been bending over backwards trying to get him to come over for a blowjob.

They’d agreed to meet on a late Saturday night when most of his friends would be out hammered and partying anyway. Bryce had declined their offers to join, saying he had somewhere to be. Instead, he drove down to the guy’s apartment, a run-of-the-mill building complex located in a quiet part of town. The door was unlocked, and as he stepped inside, he quickly found the gloryhole in question - a dark sheet where a thin, liver-spotted finger poked out and beckoned him closer.

He stripped off his shorts as asked and stuck his dick through the hole, which was quickly enveloped by the man’s wet mouth. Bryce tried to imagine what was on the other side of the partition - obviously, this guy was even older than usual, judging by the looks of his skin. His hands moved of their own will to his nips, tweaking them until they started to swell, as he envisioned the perv suckling on his cock: gray-haired, wiry and thin, bony hands working his balls and taint as he took the jock’s dick fully into his toothless, wrinkled mouth, his own untouched cock hanging pitifully as he worshipped the youthful god in front of him.

It was a turn-on like nothing else: letting some old, ugly pervert suck him, knowing just how different they were in looks and status but choosing, despite all that, to debase himself like this anyway. Disgust and desire blurred together in his mind until he couldn’t hold it in any longer and emptied jet after jet of warm, fresh jock cum into the perv’s mouth, each drop swallowed eagerly. Nothing was wasted - he shivered as the perv suckled on the hypersensitive tip, getting the last remaining droplets, before he pulled his cock free and hiked on his shorts, making a quick exit.

The warm surge of shame came quicker this time on the way home; already he was pulling out his phone to delete the app, promising not to touch it again (at least, for a couple months until the next urge hit) when his screen lit up with an unknown number. His fingers trembled as he pressed accept on the call, suspecting who would be on the other end.

ā€œYou just couldn’t get enough, hm?ā€ Sure enough, there was Gerald’s nasally voice, the sneer in his tone evident. Bryce didn’t think he’d ever forget that voice, no matter how hard he tried.

ā€œWhat the fuck - were you following me?ā€ he hissed. ā€œI swear to god, I’ll - ā€œ

ā€œYou’ll do what? Call the police? File a restraining order and blow this all into the spotlight for everyone to see? No, Brycey,ā€ the older man mocked, ā€œI don’t think you’ll be going to anyone else about this.ā€

ā€œI’m sorry, okay? I was - I was an ass, and you got what you wanted, so why - why the fuck can’t you just leave me alone?ā€ He was borderline babbling now, desperate for this all to fade away, for the horrible conflicting feelings to vanish so that he could go back to his old life - confident, above it all, untouchable, not this untethered, needy thing he’d become ever since that fateful encounter at the rest stop.

ā€œBecause, my dear boy, this is my game. And I know it’s yours as well - I just had to show you what you were missing out on.

ā€œAs much as you’d like to call me a fag, Bryce, I’m sure we both know who the real fag is in this situation. You got your first taste, and now you’re hooked. You want this - you need this. You need other men to use you, worship you, treat you like the pile of unthinking fuckmeat that you are.

ā€œThat is your God-given purpose, and I’m the one man who can help you fulfill it in a way none of these other pathetic excursions can.ā€

A pause. ā€œThat is, if you’re still man enough to face your true self and what you really want. But I suppose if you’re not serious, I’ll find someone else - ā€œ

ā€œNo, wait - ā€œ Bryce stammered, embarrassed at how quickly the sting of potential rejection cowed him, his eagerness to please Gerald - Jesus, why did he even care about what that pervert thought?

ā€œOh?ā€ Gerald adopted a note of faux curiosity. ā€œGo on, then. I’m listening.ā€

He found himself speechless, unable to articulate the myriad of thoughts and feelings jumbling together inside his head. What would he even say? That he liked it, actually liked being tied up and manhandled and bred until he was sloppy and used up while he’d been passed out? That he’d never gotten off as good as he had that night? That his mind had never quite stopped going back to what happened to him, and wishing, against everything (he thought) he had stood for, to repeat it?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Gerald seemed to pick up on the meaning behind his hesitation.

ā€œAh, I see,ā€ the older man chuckled. ā€œThat’s quite alright - don’t need to wrack that pretty head of yours for answers. You picking up this call is answer enough.

ā€œI can tell you’re still figuring this out, so here’s my offer. You’re going to get a package in the mail soon, probably in the next couple of days. In it, there will be some, shall we say, ā€˜accessories’, as well as written instructions on what to do with them and where I’ll be.

ā€œYou have until the end of this month to meet me at the location listed on that package, and you’ll be sure to follow all of the instructions - and I mean all of them - I’ve written for you.

ā€œChoose not to show up, or chicken out on anything, even one little detail, and I’ll take it that you’re not as interested in playing as I’d assumed.

ā€œDo you understand?ā€

Gerald’s tone swung back to serious on that final question. Bryce, white-knuckled gripping the phone, swallowed down the bile at the back of his throat - not even bothering to ask where the man had gotten his address from - and muttered a sullen agreement.

ā€œExcellent,ā€ Gerald replied, sounding obviously pleased. ā€œI suppose I’ll see you - or not see you - in a few weeks. Enjoy the rest of your summer, Bryce. I hope you come to a decision soon.ā€
 
A few weeks later…

Gerald owned several apartments and houses across town - his ā€œplaypensā€, as he liked to joke. This one sat in a nicely wooded area with a long, dark driveway, situated close enough to the campus to be accessible but still discreetly hidden from prying eyes.

He was lounging in his home office upstairs, sipping a beer while he cleaned his tools - an expansive leather roll filled with sounding rods, clamps, gags, needles, and serrated rollers. He’d just had another one of his boys over for a session, a cute mop-haired redhead powerlifter who was now strung up in one of the playrooms downstairs, hooded and writhing while a network of electrodes zapped his pale, muscled body in regular intervals. None of his whimpering would make it through the walls, of course, heavily soundproofed as they were, and the door itself was locked on a timer to automatically disengaged once the pre-programmed session duration had passed.

He could always unlock the rooms early if he wanted to, but where would be the fun in that?

Still, the past afternoon of fun had come and gone and he was starting to get bored, thinking about his next conquest. The promise he’d made to Bryce had nearly slipped his mind until he caught the glare of headlights through the window and peered down to watch a car pull in. Grinning, he set his tools aside and made his way downstairs to open the front door.

Bryce stood there awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable in a full-length winter parka and wheat Timbs. There was none of that cocksure, arrogant attitude from their previous cams together - he looked unsure, foot halfway over the threshold and still nervous to step in further. There was a sheen of sweat across his face and a red flush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, part embarrassment but almost certainly from the still-stifling summer heat.

ā€œWell, if it isn’t the man of the hour,ā€ Gerald drawled. ā€œGuess you made good on that promiseā€¦ā€

Bryce nodded, seeming to gather the courage to say something, but Gerald held up a finger before he could open his mouth. ā€œJust one thing - show me that you held up your end of the deal. Strip down.ā€

ā€œHere?ā€ Bryce whined, eyes darting about nervously. ā€œBut - ā€œ

ā€œBut there’s no one else besides me who can see you from here,ā€ Gerald interrupted, ā€œand besides, you remember what the terms were, right? You’re either in this all the way, or we call it off right now. Your choice.ā€

He took pleasure watching the complicated storm of emotions brewing in the jock’s face, the way his jaw clenched as he accepted and slowly unzipped the parka and let it fall to the ground.

Gerald couldn’t help but let out an appreciative whistle at what he saw. Bryce’s sizeable cock was shaved smooth and snugly packed inside a steel chastity cage, squashed so tightly it was honestly a miracle how he’d managed to fit it in there. In contrast with his clittified manhood, Bryce’s balls hung - or rather, strained - proudly beneath, caught in the steel grip of ballstretcher. The hairless skin over his sack stretched taut and shiny, and Gerald was already thinking of the fun he’d have using it as a punching bag later.

Graffitied in runny black Sharpie across Bryce’s sweat-slicked, tan torso were slurs, nicknames, and insults - a litany of every degrading word he’d ever called his cashpigs, Gerald obviously included. ā€œFagā€, ā€œpigā€, ā€œslutā€, ā€œwhoreā€ - any man would look at him, marked up like this, and see how his place in the hierarchy had shifted. That Bryce had done it to himself just made it all the sweeter, an alpha brought low at the behest of someone he’d never have given a second thought before.

And then, there was the piece de resistance. Bryce’s gorgeous, swollen pink nipples, formerly perfect and untouched, now sported a pair of thin sterling silver rods running through the flesh. Honestly, when he’d added that little velvet-lined box to the package with instructions to find a studio and get pierced, he’d never fully expected the jock to follow through. Unlike the rest of the tasks, this would be a permanent change - he’d never be able to look at himself in the mirror the same ever again, even if he took the piercings out.

Maybe there would be some more fun to be had with this stud after all…

ā€œI’m impressed,ā€ Gerald murmured, reaching out to tweak the boy’s nipples, earning a sharp hiss of breath. ā€œYou actually did it, Bryce. You know what that means?ā€

ā€œWhat?ā€ Bryce gasped, voice breathy.
God, he did love teasing these jocks - he could already see the arousal rising, nipples and caged cock and balls swelling as he stood, exposed and debauched, for all the world to see. A perfectly stupid, desperate muscle slut, just waiting to be used.

The older man smiled. ā€œIt means you’re mine, now.ā€

And if the already blown-out, hungry look in the boy’s eyes was anything to go by, it meant that Bryce had already submitted to his new fate.

Swinging the door open and stepping aside, Gerald ushered the jock in. ā€œCome, my dear boy - we’re going to have a lot of fun tonightā€¦ā€

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Honestly, not entirely happy with the ending but I tried to get it out asap given how long it’s been. Let me know your thoughts and if there’s any other scenarios you’d like to see.