Through The Woods

Pierre Fitch thumbs a ride under the fading sun, his backpack slung low. A sleek black sedan pulls over, and out steps Gus Mattox—Mr. Wolf in the flesh, all sharp jaw and knowing eyes. He slides into the driver's seat with a grin that promises secrets. 'Hop in, kid. I've got a tale that'll curl your toes.' As the miles unroll, Gus spins his yarn from the dim halls of his old school, voice dropping low like velvet over gravel. Four troublemakers—Marcus Allen, Barrett Long, Andrew Rubio, Nate Alexander—lounged in detention, smirks daring the world. Gus, the stern enforcer, bent them over his desk one by one. Bare asses gleamed under the fluorescent hum as his paddle cracked down, sharp and unrelenting. Red welts bloomed like forbidden roses on pale skin; they yelped, they squirmed, but none begged mercy. The air thickened with the sting of discipline, each swat echoing their defiance. Then it happened. Cocks stirred, hardening against the wood's bite. No words needed. Marcus dropped to his knees first, lips wrapping Barrett's thick shaft in a hungry pull, tongue swirling the head with urgent greed. Barrett groaned, fingers tangling in dark hair, thrusting deep into that warm, willing mouth. Andrew sidled up, his own erection bobbing as he claimed Nate from behind—sliding in slick and sure, hips snapping with raw rhythm. Nate bucked forward, sucking Marcus while Barrett's length stretched his throat. They tangled in a frenzy, bodies slick with sweat. Andrew pounded Nate harder, balls slapping against firm cheeks, while Nate's mouth worked Marcus like a piston. Barrett pulled out, spun Marcus around, and drove into him—deep, claiming strokes that made the desk rattle. Andrew switched, filling Barrett now, a chain of lust linking them all. Moans rose sharp and ragged; cum spilled hot across thighs and torsos, their punishment twisting into pure, feral release. Gus watched it all, his story ending with a wink. 'Boys will be boys,' he murmured, eyes on the road ahead.