Betrayed

Kevin Williams knelt in the dim room, heart pounding like a war drum. Kevin Miles, broad-shouldered and unyielding, gripped his chin first, forcing those piercing eyes to meet his. 'You ready to take us all, boy?' Miles growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Williams' spine. Thom Barron circled behind, callused hands sliding over Williams' back, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his ass. Sebastian Gronoff and Carlos Morales flanked him, their cocks already hard and straining against their jeans, smirks promising no mercy. Williams nodded, breath hitching. He was a power bottom, built for this—craving the stretch, the burn, the utter surrender. Miles shoved him onto all fours, unzipping with deliberate slowness. His thick shaft sprang free, veined and heavy, slapping against Williams' cheek. 'Suck it,' Miles commanded. Williams obeyed, lips parting wide to engulf the head, tongue swirling as he took it deeper, throat relaxing under the assault. Barron didn't wait. He spat into his palm, slicking his own rigid length before pressing the blunt tip against Williams' hole. One sharp thrust breached him, filling that tight ring with fire and fullness. Williams moaned around Miles' cock, the vibration drawing a hiss from the thug. Gronoff grabbed a fistful of Williams' hair, yanking his head back to feed him his turn—salty, musky, demanding. Morales stroked himself nearby, eyes locked on the scene, waiting his moment to join the frenzy. They rotated with brutal precision, testing every limit. Barron pounded deep, hips snapping like pistons, while Gronoff face-fucked Williams until tears streamed and spit dripped. Miles took his ass next, stretching him wider, the slick slide of skin on skin echoing obscenely. Morales claimed his mouth then, thick girth choking off cries as Williams bucked between them. Sweat slicked their bodies, the air thick with grunts and the wet smack of flesh. Gronoff flipped him onto his back, legs hoisted high. He plunged in, balls slapping against Williams' ass, while Miles straddled his chest, jerking off onto his heaving torso. Barron and Morales took turns at his mouth, one after the other, until Williams' jaw ached and his lips swelled. They pushed him—double penetration next, Morales easing in alongside Barron, splitting him open with exquisite agony. Williams arched, a guttural cry escaping as they synced their thrusts, filling him to bursting. The gang bang blurred into a haze of sensation: cocks switching holes, hands pinning wrists, mouths claiming bites on his thighs. They came one by one—hot spurts painting his face, flooding his ass, marking him as theirs. Williams shattered last, untouched, his own release spilling in ropes across his stomach, body quaking from the overload. Exhausted, claimed, he lay there, limits tested and gloriously broken, a power bottom forged anew in their relentless fire.