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The Descent

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Shawn Mendes has an addiction.

He knows he does, even though he doesn’t know how or when it began, why the dark desires crept beneath the surface of skin and took hold. At first, he was disgusted with himself, by what he was doing, but the need just continued to grow within him like a cancer. Now, his mind is a prisoner to these thoughts, and all these things that once disgusted him, the smut, the filth, the descent, are the point.

Yes, the descent. Watching—no, leading—someone completely and utterly devoted him in every way away from the soft, sensual affection with which he had first ensnared them, leading that someone away and down the tunnel into the depths of depravity, teaching that someone how to debase himself and forsake his own pleasure and do it willingly, lovingly, to let Shawn mark him and brand him and feed him filth and defile every inch of his once soft body until nothing is left but Shawn’s pleasure.

He parks and exits the vehicle into the night air. It’s warm and humid outside, strange for this time of the year. He walks up the gravel path, lit now only by the moonlight. He always uses the back door, though he’s not sure why. It’s his house, after all. The travel crackles beneath his feet, an instrumental for the chorus of the insects in the foliage. There don’t appear to be any lights on inside of the house, but he knows the person he’s here to destroy is inside waiting for him. As he reaches the door, he digs into his pocket for the key. He inserts it into the lock and turns the key. Click.

He has plans.



Niall’s heart stops when the arms wrap around him in the dark hallway and lift him from the ground, one around his torso and the other around his neck, squeezing violently enough to take his breath away. But then the scent devours him, the masculine smell of Shawn, and he relaxes. He should be used to it by now, the way Shawn manages to materialize silently from the shadows when he least expects it, even when he is expecting it.

Almost immediately, Shawn’s humid breath envelops his ear and his warm mouth begins to suckle lightly on the fleshy lobe of Niall’s ear before biting down, one large hand seizing the opportunity to sneak beneath his t-shirt to tease his nipples, suddenly erect and tender as the hand brushes against the cold metal of his piercings.

“Shawn…” Niall whispers, still suffocated by Shawn’s embrace.

Shawn drops him abruptly back to the ground.

“Clothes off, wait for me in the bedroom, love,” along with a tender kiss on his neck.


Love. The word still gives him goosebumps, the way that Shawn’s whisper coats the single syllable in more affection than most boys learn to muster in a lifetime, but also the way it now seems to slide so effortlessly off of their tongues in the privacy of their bedroom. Just months ago, this was impossible.

He still remembers that night. He had just broken up with Hailee for what would be the final time, and he was consumed by a depression that could only come from a broken heart, feelings that at the time at least felt like love, but then fell—rather unwillingly—into Shawn’s warm, open arms. Shawn is the most decent guy Niall has ever met, perfect, really. He still feels shockwaves of guilty when he reflects on the thoughts that ran through his mind at the time, the way he actively avoided Shawn for weeks on end just because he suspected that Shawn might be gay, that Shawn might have feelings for him, or if nothing less at least a sexual attraction to him, all things that Niall was in no way even slightly interested in reciprocating. Niall just wanted to be mates. He’s straight, or at least he had been.

He isn’t sure what he is now. He certainly doesn’t himself gay. He isn’t attracted to men. He doesn’t think about having sexual relations with men. But Shawn Peter Raul Mendes wasn’t men, he was Shawn. And Niall has absolutely, completely, wholly surrendered himself to Shawn. Shawn has always been his safe space, and he just hadn’t realized it. Now, he does. Now, Shawn is his everything.

Niall enters the master bedroom and hurriedly strips his clothes, leaving a trail from the entrance to the foot of the bed, where he covers his eyes with the black blindfold and drops down into a squatting position, hands locked behind his head. If his eyes weren’t covered, he would be able to see the reflection of his milky body in the mirror across the room, illuminated by the warm light cutting across from the restroom, door ajar. He’s not sure how long he waits for, it always feels longer when one or more of his senses are deprived. He knows Shawn loves to make him wait, but tonight it feels like ages.

When Shawn finally enters the room, he doesn’t even offer Niall a passing glance, unbeknownst to the blindfolded boy. He removes his t-shirt and his black jeans and adds them carelessly to the discard mess of clothes strewn about the floor, a shirt, pants, socks, a pair of black boxer briefs. Shawn, now wearing nothing more than a pair of white Calvin Kleins, digs his hand into his underwear and scratches his balls as he walks toward the restroom.

Niall is anxious, but he also feels at peace now knowing that Shawn is so close. He can hear Shawn’s footsteps as he crosses the room and heads into the restroom off to Niall’s right, nudging the door open just enough on his way in to make the hinges squeak. Shawn doesn’t close the door, and the silence in the room is so piercing that Niall can even make out the sound of Shawn’s cotton underwear falling to the tile floor as he sits on the toilet. As the minutes drag on and the private scents and smells of Shawn relieving himself waft over Niall, he reflects on how intimate they’ve become. He tells Shawn everything. They share every dark secret. They’re devoted. They’re in love.

Eventually, the toilet flushes and Niall finally feels the footsteps moving towards him, the smell of Shawn Mendes becoming stronger in the air, and his heart stops in anticipation.

“Good boy.”

Niall’s prick immediately tries to stiffen at the sound of Shawn’s voice, and at the same time he feels two fingers from Shawn’s rough, unwashed hands slide lovingly across his lips.

“You look so good, love. So ready for it.”

“Oh, Shawn, I love—”

“Shh….” Shawn breathes as he lets his fingers gently penetrate Niall’s lips. They taste salty and even distinctly acrid, but at the same time they’re part of Shawn and that’s all Niall needs.

Shawn withdraws his fingers from Niall’s mouth and pulls his underwear down, unleashing his enormous soft cock, hanging down low between his legs. His underwear are still damp with sweat and whatever else from the day and he dangles them by the waistband in front of Niall and watches as the boy sniffs them—it reminds him of a dog. Shawn smiles and grabs Niall by the hair, lifts him to his feet, kisses him softly, and then pulls him over to the bedside table, still blinded. He tilts Niall’s head back and speaks again—Open.

Niall opens his mouth as he’s told. Shawn turns his dirty underwear inside out and wads them up into a ball. He feeds them into Niall’s open mouth. Even wadded up, it’s a substantial mass of cotton, and Niall struggles a bit, prompting Shawn to become more forceful until the gag is all the way in. Then, with one hand on Niall’s chin and the other on his head, Shawn pushes Niall’s jaw shut. He opens the drawer of the bedside table, pulls out a roll of heavy duty black masking tapes and wraps it around the lower part of Niall’s head, completely covering his mouth and securing his underwear within. He makes two or three passes around Niall’s head with the tape. It would be a nightmare to remove later, but that’s okay.

Shawn places one index finger in either one of Niall’s nipple rings and pulls down hard. Niall screams into the underwear. In one smooth motion, Shawn slaps his ass, provoking another moan, picks him up, and drops onto the bed with Niall on top of his lap. He parts Niall’s cheeks with his hands and locates the base of the black butt plug nestled deep within his crack and removes it with an audible plop.

Niall whines as he falls forward onto Shawn’s chest, his hole clenching now around empty air before relaxing into its natural gape, leaking used lubrication and semen from the night before. The flavor and the aroma of the underwear in his mouth is intense, almost overwhelming, the scent drowning his olfactory from the insides of his own body. The sweat, the bitterness, the musk, the masculinity, and its Shawn, so it’s incredible. Niall is desperate to show him affection, dreaming about what Shawn would taste like right now if only his tongue were allowed to worship it like him like he used to, licking the salt and body oils and odors away from his body. With his mouth gagged, he drags his hand down Shawn’s chest instead, making gentle love to his chest hairs.

Shawn’s considerable hands close around his hands and lift them above his head until they find the leather cuffs hanging from the ceiling, which in seconds are wrapped around both of his wrists.

“Honey—” The word gives him goosebumps. “—you look so beautiful.”

Shawn’s hands caress his arse cheeks again and lift him up just enough to position the tip of the penis at Niall’s entrance and slowly push in. From there, Niall whines and begins to sink down.

“Oh, honey, when did you get so good? Opening up that loose hole for daddy.”

With his hands shackled above his head, Niall feels completely exposed, and even though he is blindfolded, he can feel Shawn’s eyes roaming his naked body, and it’s okay.

Hickeys pepper his body, a path of ownership beginning around his meaty thighs and leading sporadically up his chest before coming to an end around his neck in a vicious assortment of dark purple bruises, love marks from Shawn’s mouth and his strong, suffocating hands.

“You look so good, love, spread out on daddy’s cock. Moan for me.”

Niall moans.

His body is smooth. Niall himself was surprised when his twink body gave way to chest hair, but he ultimately embraced it, growing out his pubic hair and a healthy happy trail to match, well-manicured, purposefully yet modestly presented to the world by way of a few buttons left undone on his shirt on any given day, evidence for all concerned that he was a man. Niall knows that his masculine chest was what inspired Shawn to follow suit and flaunt his own chest hair. Shawn had shared that with him on more than one occasion, though those feel like distant memories now. Shawn had never actually asked him to shave his body—given how Shawn now treasured his own body hair as a symbol of his masculinity, Niall knows Shawn would never ask such a thing of him—but Niall also knows deep down that he offers Shawn more pleasure this way; because of all of those moments when Shawn whispers into his ear while they are making love—“I can’t get over this ass, love. So beautiful, so fucking smooth, like a pussy”—because the first night that Niall had shaved himself, Shawn’s calloused hands had roamed his body like never before, stroking every soft, supple inch of his skin, from his sensitive nipples to his smooth, hairless ball sac; and finally because Niall now suspects that Shawn might actually be straight after all, that he longs for the soft body of a woman, yet fell in love with Niall, and so Niall can do this for him, wants to do this for Shawn, to bring him satisfaction.

His nipples are pierced, simple but thick metal rings hanging from either tit. Shawn, being the attentive lover that he is, had discovered almost immediately the command they have over Niall. Shawn taught Niall to surrender to the feelings, to let Shawn show him a sensation he had never known before, secondary only to the feeling of being filled—yes, filled by Shawn’s enormous penis. Shawn would lick his nipples and suck them and pinch them and rub them raw between his rough fingers until there was nothing left of Niall, until he was a sweaty, writhing mess. Eventually, a day came when Niall was riding cock, sweaty ass bottoming out again and again, Shawn’s fingers circling his sensitive nipples, when Shawn suddenly wrapped his arms around Niall and pulled him in close and whispered, “You would look so fucking beautiful with your nipples pierced, honey.” Again, a word that only Shawn would use. They had both been giddy with excitement on the way to the tattoo parlor where Niall had the piercings done later that day, and that night the sex had lasted for hours. At first, Shawn played with his nipples in ways that he was familiar with, with his tongue, with the tips of his fingers, but then he began to use the piercings in ways that Niall had never imagined. He would flick them and then pull on them, harder and harder until Niall began to scream. In the days and weeks that followed, Shawn would attach metal balls of increasing weight to each ring. Even now, Niall’s nipples are puffy and swollen and bruised from the constantly increasing loads Shawn subjects them to each night.

“Let’s try five pounds on each today, honey,” Shawn says as he attaches the balls to each nipple ring.

Niall violently screams into his makeshift gag. Five pounds is almost twice as much as his previous record, three pounds. The immense pain exploding from his nipples is almost unbearable, and he loses control of his body and descends all the way down Shawn’s impossibly long shaft. And then he is filled, and the pain begins to melt away, replaced by the all-encompassing warmth of Shawn’s cock.

“Fuck, I can’t believe it’s already in, love. You’re taking all ten inches of daddy’s meat like it’s nothing.”

Niall’s penis is small and locked in a miniature steel-ringed cage. Shawn loves watching it swing in small circles in moments like this, as Niall rides him. Niall misses his hard cock, the feel of an unexpected hardon bulging in his underwear in the middle of the day, or masturbating himself to a big, warm nut, or even just the warmth of being inside someone, but he knows he needs to be caged like this. The first few times that they made love, Niall ejaculated handsfree almost immediately after taking Shawn’s cock. Being filled is just so intense, and he couldn’t control himself or his prick. Oh, fuck, baby, that’s right. Get your hand off your dick. You don’t need it. Come all over yourself. Show me how much you like daddy’s big dick in your ass. Show daddy how good you are, honey. Don’t bust your little nut yet, hold it in until daddy comes in your ass. But Niall couldn’t stop himself, the feeling of Shawn’s monster cock stretching his tight hole was too incredible. Shawn introduced him innocently to the idea of a cock cage, a chastity device, just to wear while they were making love, just until Shawn came inside of him, then they could take it off and he could ejaculate. It sounded perfect, and so they had ordered one for him. Oh, fuck, you look so gorgeous love. Your balls are so huge right now, they look even bigger than your little caged dick. They must be so full. You must need to bust so bad. Do you love daddy’s big cock that much? Shawn was right. He had needed to bust, desperately. He couldn’t find the words, though, so he had just moaned. Oh, honey, I think you just like being filled. That’s right, you love it. You don’t need to come, baby. You just need to be filled with daddy’s big cock, isn’t that right? Yes! Niall had agreed in the moment. And so after Shawn had come inside of him and drifted off to sleep, it just didn’t seem right to wake him and question why Shawn hadn’t unlocked his dick from the cage. Instead, Niall had just stared at the key, suspended from a chain around Shawn’s neck and resting on his chest amidst a landscape of hair and small beads of sweat, where it remains now months later as Niall rides his huge cock.

“You’re doing so amazing, love...”

“Opening up that loose hole so wide for daddy...”


“Can you feel daddy’s bush rubbing against your hole?”


“You look so fucking gorgeous right now, baby…”


“Your belly is bulging. Oh, fuck, I can literally see my dick bulging out of your tummy, honey.”

Shawn rubs the massive outline of his penis against Niall’s stomach.

“Oh, fuck. Daddy’s getting close.”

Fuck! FUCK! Shawn! I love you! I fucking love you, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes! My fucking arse is stretched so wide! I feel your big dick destroying my stomach, oh my god, I’ve never felt this full. Fuck me, daddy! Fill me up! Stretch my gaping loose hole with your huge cock!

Niall is delirious, screaming the words, but they all come out as an unintelligible series of moans and whines and screams, drowned out by a bundle of cotton that’s spent all day rubbing against sweat and piss and balls and ass. Niall is arching his back and riding Shawn’s cock for all he’s worth, and that’s not just an expression, it’s the truth, that Niall has become nothing more than a fuck toy for Shawn Mendes, he can’t come, he can’t pleasure anyone other than Shawn, his entire body belongs to Shawn. His sweaty ass slams again and again against Shawn’s hairy pelvis, nipples dark purple and swollen and bruised from the weights now slamming about his chest.

“That’s it. Slow down, baby. That’s it. You did it, honey. You did so good. You have daddy’s load.”

Niall comes to a rest, completely filled. His body crumples in exhaustion. If he weren’t suspended from the ceiling right now by the leather cuffs around his wrists, he would be collapsed on Shawn’s chest. In fact, he wishes he was. Shawn is right there below him and he just wants to cuddle with him and smell his sweat and musk and kiss and lick his sweaty chest hair and feel Shawn’s warm arms around him. As he daydreams, he feels Shawn’s hands caress his arse and lift him up off his cock.

Shawn stands up and moves to the end of the bed. He grabs Niall’s legs and pulls them gently towards the foot of the bed. Niall falls naturally into a doggystyle position, or at least what would be doggystyle if his arms weren’t suspended above him.

“Arch your back for me, baby. There you go…”

Shawn leans forward and gently caresses and kisses Niall’s left ass cheek.

“I love you so much, honey. Look at that gaping, loose hole. You’re leaking my nut, baby.”

He circles his finger around the rim.

“Do you think you can take just a little bit more for daddy?”

Niall moans again, but this time it’s an exhausted, quiet form of consent. But he still consents.

Shawn’s hands are so large, but even still the first finger and the second slip into the gaping hole effortlessly. Shawn moves them around inside, massaging the semen inside into the bruised walls of Niall’s rectum. Shawn loves watching his finger disappear into Niall’s body, knowing that just a few months ago this hole was used for one purpose and one purpose only and that he had opened up an entire world, and entire new purpose for Niall Horan and his hole. He continues to kiss and bite Niall’s ass playfully to distract him from the growing pressure as he inserts more and more fingers, twisting deeper and deeper into Niall’s chute. He admires the sparrow tattoo on Niall’s right ass cheek, an exact copy of the one on his right hand. He had convinced Niall to get it, and of course it had been easy. It was their little secret, his secret mark, brand, on Niall and his beautiful ass. It belongs to Shawn now.

“You’re doing so good, love. Taking my fist so well.”

He speaks the words as the sparrow on his right hand flutters into Niall’s hole.

“Remember how hard it was for you to take my fist the first time, love? All that pain, baby, I hated to see it, but look at you now. Your little ‘bum’ loves it. You take it so easy now.”

Shawn pushes his fist in deeper and then spreads out his fingers, inflating Niall’s insides. It’s so soft and warm in there and he can feel the come soaking his hands, lubricating Niall’s passage. He pushes deeper and deeper until he can see his hand leaving an imprint on Niall’s smooth stomach.

“You love it, don’t you baby? Do you want even more? Do you want me to be a little rough?”

Niall’s moan is guttural and defeated. He’s just taking it now. He just wants to please Shawn.

The hardest part is teasing Niall’s hole open enough to accept a sixth finger, but once he does, Shawn uses it to stretch the hole open enough to slip in another finger. Two, then three, then four, then five. It’s slow work, but once his second hand is in, he pushes it in further and then clinches it into a fist. The sight is beautiful, Niall’s red, puffy, stretched rim clamping shut around both of his wrists.

“You look so beautiful right now, all spread out. You have both of daddy’s fists inside you.”

Shawn pumps his fists a few times and then pulls them out with a disgusting, come-filled plop.

“Niall, you’re so perfect. Look at that gaping hole. It’s completely destroyed.”

Niall, exhausted, is already drifting off to sleep. You’re my everything, Shawn.

Shawn rubs his half-flaccid cock around Niall’s enormous, loose rim and then positions the head just inside the hole. He relaxes his muscles and a few seconds later a stream of urine spews out and into Niall. He can hear the sound of piss draining into Niall’s hole, it even sounds like pissing into a toilet, and he’s careful to keep the tip inside so that he doesn’t make a mess. Afterwards, he picks the butt plug up off the ground and closes Niall up. His ass is so stretched now that the plug is far from a tight fit, but fortunately with Niall collapsed forward, gravity also helps to keep the piss inside, soaking into Niall’s tissues. His hole should tighten up a bit over the next few days.

With Niall passed out, Shawn walks quietly over to the dresser and picks out a new pair of underwear and slips them on. He fishes his jeans and shirt from the mess on the floor and dresses. He walks toward the bed to remove the weights from Niall’s nipples, but then decides to leave them.

He walks outside and hops in the car. His home is only a fifteen minute drive and he drives in silence, sipping from a water bottle. As he draws near, the streetlight next to his house begins to flicker.

He parks and exits the vehicle into the night air. It’s warm and humid outside, strange for this time of the year. He walks up the gravel path, lit now only by the moonlight. He always uses the back door, though he’s not sure why. It’s his house, after all. The gravel crackles beneath his feet, an instrumental for the chorus of the insects in the foliage. From the outside, there don’t appear to be any lights on inside of the house, but he knows the person he’s here to destroy is inside waiting for him. As he reaches the door, he digs into his pocket for the key. He inserts it into the lock and turns the key. Click.

He has plans.

As he walks into the bedroom, Justin Bieber looks up at him. He’s lying curled up in the bed, on top of the covers. Justin always looks so comfy and cozy, wrapped up in his oversize Drew clothes, an oversized pullover and a pair of sweatpants. Shawn jumps on top of him and starts kissing him.

“Finally!” Justin breathes.

Shawn actually does love Justin, at least in the same way that he always seems to love them, at first. All the complaints about how unkempt and dirty and smelly Justin is could not be further detached from reality. Words that come to Shawn’s mind: Clean. Cuddly. Affectionate. A miracle given what a sex addict Shawn knows Justin is, but he’s put an end to that, or at least introduced Justin to a new drug.

They’re kissing. It’s not a raunchy, tongue-on-tongue makeout session that a teenager might have: it’s a series of small, sensual kisses in rapid succession. Shawn loves the sound their lips make when they smack together. He adds a little bit of tongue into the mix, running it alongside the front of Justin’s teeth and into the back of his mouth. Justin tastes like peppermint.

Shawn eases Justin’s pullover up and off of his body. He loves seeing Justin like this, shirtless, with his baggy sweatpants sagging low enough to expose half of his pristine white Calvin Klein underwear. Justin just looks so comfy. Still kissing Justin, he digs his hand under the boy and wraps them around his taut ass cheeks, rubbing the cotton. He always marvels at how clean Justin’s underwear are, as if he wears a new pair every day and doesn’t use the restroom or produce filth like normal men.

They just kiss each other and lose track of time. The world knows what they look like, the two Calvin Klein underwear models, but here they are, lips locked, Shawn’s muscular back gyrating on top of Bieber, his muscular back covering Bieber’s slight frame entirely from view.

Shawn bites Justin’s lower lip, eliciting a quiet moan. Shawn gathers spit in his mouth and pours it between Justin’s lips. Justin immediately breaks the kiss and playfully pushes Shawn away.

“What was that?”

“What, you can’t handle a little spit?”

“That’s so fucking gross, dude,” Justin says, but one of those goofy smiles plasters his face.

“You’ve literally eaten my ass on this bed, Bieber. I think you like gross.”

With that, Shawn forms another gob of spit and lets it slide and dangle from his lower lip as he looks down at Justin. Justin, still smiling, opens up his mouth and sticks his tongue out. Shawn releases the gob of spit and lets it fall gently on Justin’s tongue. As they stare directly into each other’s eyes, Justin licks it up and swallows. Shawn leans down into him and starts kissing him again, more passionately this time. They’re even closer now, arms wrapped around one another, rolling around on the bed.

Eventually, Justin ends up on top. For the first time tonight, he becomes painfully aware of Shawn’s penis pinned between his ass and Shawn’s stomach. Even with the layers of cotton and denim in between, there’s no ignoring the absolutely colossal erection that Shawn is sporting. It’s the biggest penis that Justin will ever see, though not nearly the largest object he’ll take up his ass.

“I missed you,” Justin breathes.

“I know. I missed you too.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“I can.”

“I’m married.”

“Stop talking, Bieber.”

With that, Shawn pushes Justin’s head towards his crotch. Justin unzips Shawn’s jeans and slips his hand into the waistband of Shawn’s underwear, which he has to peel away from Shawn’s skin, the sweat acting as an adhesive. Shawn lifts his ass to assist, but pulling down Shawn’s boxer briefs is still a clumsy affair. When the penis is finally free, Justin wraps his mouth around it.

“Do you like the way it tastes?”

“It’s so salty...and bitter.”

“Like I said, I think you like gross, Bieber.”

Now’s not the time to tell Justin that those rich flavors are sweat and urine and semen and the inside of an ass: he’ll learn to love them all soon. Instead, Shawn pushes Bieber’s head down to engulf more of his hardon. Justin is an amateur when it comes to giving head. He chokes on just the first four or five inches and Shawn can feel his teeth scrape the shaft a few times. But Shawn will teach him. He lets Justin try a few more times and then encourages him to lick the shaft, cleaning the filth off his penis from earlier.

Satisfied, Shawn pulls Bieber off his cock and strips the rest of his own clothes. He pushes Justin down on the bed on his back and drags his underwear down along with his sweatpants. Justin immediately covers his penis with his hands.

“What’s wrong? Embarrassed?” Shawn muses, knowingly.

“Fuck you,” Justin spits back, but his face is still laced with that same naughty smile.

“I want to see it, stud.”

Justin hesitates, but finally removes his hands from his pubic area.

Shawn stares down at his crowning accomplishment. The penis of Justin Drew Bieber, caged. The penis isn’t just trapped in any cage, either, but the absolute smallest one that was available. The cage itself was nothing more than a metal helmet. There was no room for a shaft. It simply compressed the entire penis into a nub. It had been the object of Shawn’s fantasies since the day that Nick Jonas first introduced his innocent, impressionable teenage mind to chastity devices. He always knew Justin Bieber was the right person for it. Of all the boys who walk this path, who willingly but unknowingly become victims of Shawn’s descent into depravity, Justin Bieber is the ultimate prey, the alpha of alphas. No one captures that one in a million fuckboy magic like Justin. His penis has seen more action than every other boy combined. He shared with Shawn that he had sex with Hailey three or four times a day, the only way he could tame his dick and keep it away from other women. He is even hung—or at least, he was—endowed with the biggest cock Shawn has seen apart from his own. But that’s why it looks so satisfying, so perfect, right now, reduced to almost nothing. He even loves the pubic hair around it, trimmed and manicured.

“It’s so small…” Shawn whispers.

He lifts Justin’s legs and pushes them back against his chest. Justin has an amazing ass, but the true treasure is his pink hole.

“I always knew you were a bottom.”

Then they’re kissing again. This time it’s Justin Bieber whose hole stretches to swallow a never-ending, spit-lubed shaft. His tiny body is wrapped entirely in Shawn’s embrace. He can feel Shawn’s hands wrap around his throat and start to squeeze—that’s something new, and holy shit he can’t breathe but then it feels amazing, to be filled and choked at the same time. They make love for an hour like that, every moment tender, but each more intense than the one that precedes it, the sweat on their bodies accumulating, the penis reaching deeper and deeper, bulging his stomach and stretching his insides, the grip on his neck getting tighter and tighter. He can’t come, he can’t breathe, and his penis is useless but still dribbling seed all over his tattooed body. When Shawn pulls out, Justin can feel the warm semen drip out of his hole and, though he can’t see it, his mind paints a picture of his ass cheeks spread wide, with a gaping black hole nestled between. Shawn’s fingers tease his stretched rim and feed the semen back into him again and again, and each time it seems to be another finger and more pressure, until he feels like he’s being stretched again, taking even more than Shawn’s huge cock.

“Justin Bieber, you just got fisted.”


Hours later, Justin is asleep on Shawn’s chest. Shawn carefully lifts Justin’s head and delicately places it on the pillow beside him. He gets up from the bed, careful not to disturb Justin and walks out of the bedroom and down the dark hallway, still naked. He stops in front of a heavy metal door with a keypad, and types in a code. The door unlocks and he enters, walking down a long flight of stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs is a cage. He unlocks it with the key hanging from his neck. In the middle of the cage are two benches, each with a boy strapped to them. They’re gagged. Their hands are strapped together above their heads and secured to the bench. Their legs are lifted and strapped against their chests in an extreme missionary position. A black butt plug sits between their ass cheeks. They are both blindfolded and wearing muffs over their ears to block out all sound. The hairy one on the left is Nick Jonas. The one on the right is Tom Holland.

Shawn walks over to Nick and removes the muffs from his ears. He reaches into Nick’s mouth and fishes out the underwear within, a pair of Shawn’s own. He leans down and whispers in Nick’s ear.

“Do you remember when I used to ride your cock?”


“Do you remember when we used to fuck after my concerts?”


“A sweaty straight boy with an ass full of cock. You used to say that to me.”


“I loved it all, you know. Taking it up the ass. Eating your ass. Getting spit on.”

“I know you did.”

“And you would never kiss me.”

“I wanted to.”

“Me too. But I’m glad we never did.”

He runs his rough fingers over Nick’s chapped lips.

“You’re going to have some new company soon.”